The Joy Machine 05 - Shadows and Memories
Title: The Joy Machine
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
As before, descriptions of the refitted Enterprise follow the blueprints of The Star Fleet Technical Manual by Franz Joseph.
The telepathic New Mankind movement is actually Gene Roddenberry’s invention. No, really. It can be found in the novelization of Star Trek - The Motion Picture, written by the Great Bird of the Galaxy himself. He was the one who got the later Vice-Admiral Lori Ciana (one of the characters getting killed in TMP’s transporter accident) briefly married to Kirk and made her a member of the NM movement. I kid you not!
Originally, this was part of the previous chapter, but it ran so long that I decided to break it in two.
CHAPTER 5 - SHADOWS AND MEMORIES
Every single member of the crew, from the Captain to the lowliest enlisted personnel, agreed that the addition of the V.I.P lounge to the rec deck (originally containing a few holochambers only) had been the best idea the refitters of the ship could have come up, no matter the amount of thought they might have given the whole refitting process.
This doughnut-shaped area - that comprised most of Deck C and had approximately the same diameter as the main bridge - was probably the most pleasant place on the entire ship. Its special kitchen was capable of serving VIPs (or crewmembers with unusual dietary requirements) cuisine that wasn’t available thorough the ship’s default food processor units. The dining area surrounded the kitchen and extended to the outer hull, with both booth and table sitting available. It had six food and beverage units and was open to all ship’s personnel, functioning as the mess hall, unless an official reception was being held - like in this very evening.
Wall-mounted viewscreens simulated windows in the mess hall, providing three-dimensional images of the space outside. These screens were also capable of displaying TriVid programmes or communications from Starfleet Command. They were meant to be used when the captain saw the necessity of sharing visual records with the entire crew - in such cases all off-duty crewmembers were expected to hurry to the rec deck.
The Officers’ Lounge was located at the stern end of Level Three. The four huge viewports here were the only real windows on the entire ship, and off-duty personnel often came her to admire the real time view of space. Unless the ship was in warp transit, of course, in which case the transparent aluminium planes automatically became frosted, as everyone but Vulcans and Deltans found the sight of distorted space highly disturbing.
On both sides of the viewports, small planter areas displayed a fine selection of plants from several Federation worlds, and a small pool contained brightly coloured tropical fish. The rarest and most exotic species was the Talosian singing plant - the Enterprise was the proud owner of four from the two dozen bushes existing anywhere outside of Talos IV.
Just forward of this section of the lounge was a bar and a privacy area, restricted to officers only. Two large viewscreens - like the ones in the mess hall - were mounted in the stern bulkhead of the lounge, allowing all VIPs or senior officers access to the full range of ship’s communications services. This arrangement made it possible to use the privacy area as conference room for negotiations when only a small number of negotiating partners was involved. The viewscreens also provided a full exterior and interior tour of the Enterprise - with the exception of sensitive areas, of course. A snack bar on the starboard side of the lounge offered a food and beverage unit and two tables for personnel seating.
All in all, it was an elegant and functional place, fully equipped not only to provide everything a multi-species crew of five hundred might need, but also to match the demands of alien dignitaries of all kinds. How could it be otherwise? This was the Enterprise, after all. Even though it wasn’t officially the flagship of Starfleet, it was perhaps the most famous vessel of the Federation, and fame came with certain obligations.
Captain Kirk had chosen the Officers’ Lounge to be the location where the reception honouring the Denebian ambassador should take place. Long tables with snacks and beverages were placed opposite the viewports, while freshly prepared, hot dishes could be consumed in both rooms of the privacy area. With all the senior officers and most of the science department heads present, any other solution would have the available space hopelessly crowded. The lounge was large, considering that it was situated aboard a starship, but living space was limited, even aboard the Enterprise.
Cassiopeia was more in her element than she’d been in yahrens. For the first time since the destruction, she was finally able to put all those endless curses concerning social behaviour, human psychology and anatomy and diplomatic interference she’d attended to in her youth to good use. Now she could show what winning the highest academic honours of Old Gemini’s most rewarded school of religious teaching had meant. Or the awarding of the golden fringe, which she had been allowed to wear along the neck and hem lines of her street-robe, and which required Gemonese men to treat her with special dignity.
She could not expect these well-meaning strangers to understand what socialation had meant - what it still meant - in Gemonese society. That it had been an honourable profession, back on their old world, practiced with the blessing of the elders for over four thousand yahrens. That being selected as a senior socialator and the accompanying privilege of teaching promising young candidates would mean high social status on New Gemini again, one day. But until she could return to her old vocation, at least she could show them what her thorough training was worth.
Wearing her best evening dress to honour the occasion - a shoulder-free, cinnamon-coloured, one-piece clinging outfit that threatened to become transparent in the right light - she strolled through the large room. So far, everything was running smoothly. Her two assistants-on-duty, the lovely, blonde Yeoman Theresa Ross and Yeoman Tonia Barrows, of whom… interesting rumours were coursing all over the ship, did excellent work. They were right on schedule, which meant a timely end of the gathering, to the not-so-secret relief of both captain and on-duty personnel.
After the usual toasts and diplomatic platitudes everyone had attacked the tables to pile food onto their plates and now the festive crowd was scattered in smaller groups all over the lounge and the private areas, depending on the actual topic of the various conversations. Ambassador Krsna had snatched Colonel Tigh right away, of course, to drill him for details about the rebuilding of the Twelve Worlds. Uhura joined them, of course, as well as the Deltans, whose government was heavily involved in said rebuilding, on several of the New Colonies.
T’Pel and Xon, currently the only two Vulcans aboard, were drinking tea in quiet agreement, commenting Sulu’s lengthy botanical excursion with the occasional, polite nod. A third group, consisting of Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy and Chief Engineer Scott, was standing in the snack bar. If their facial expression - and the alarming speed with which the alcohol was evaporating from their glasses - was any indication, they were already in the mourning phase of their ‘grand olde times’, as Mr. Scott liked to put it.
Mr. Chekov was having a tentative conversation with the attractive but slightly intimidating Lieutenant M’Botabwe. Security and Justice had to work hand in hand, especially aboard a starship that operated outside of charted territory, so this was a good sign. It wouldn’t do any good, however, if the lawyer continued frightening the living Hades out of the young security chief. Cassiopeia made a mental note to talk to Lieutenant M’Botabwe about it later. She seemed too intelligent not to notice Chekov’s insecurities, and it could cause great harm if she used that knowledge about him in a situation that would make them find themselves on opposite sides.
Besides, Chekov didn’t deserve that. He did have the gift to become a good commanding officer, given enough time. He was just still too young and nervous.
Only one person had withdrawn from the gathering, all but hiding in a corner seat of the sunken observation area, turning a long, untouched glass of Aldebaran whiskey around in his hand: Willard Decker. The young man was staring out at the long stripes of distorted starlight in outer space. He must have ordered one of the viewports to become partially transparent again, and was now contemplating a view that under normal circumstances he’d have found unnerving.
Cassiopeia walked around a group of science officers who were animatedly discussing the most likely candidates to win the next Nobel and Zee Magnees-prizes and descended the flat steps that led to the observation area. Past experience told her that the first officer was in serious need of a compassionate listener, and who could be better at that than a highly trained socialator whose very job was to help people in emotional trouble?
“Dissing the party, Lieutenant Commander?” she asked neutrally, taking the empty seat on the young man’s side.
“Don’t feel like celebrating today,” Decker all but growled, without as much as a glance in her direction. He certainly didn’t look like somebody who was just about to pour out his very heart to a complete stranger. But Cassiopeia knew better what he really needed. Dealing with difficult clients was one of her special gifts.
“Oh?” she replied in the same conversational manner. “Tell me, Lieutenant Commander, are you always this moody or did you get up with the wrong foot today?”
Decker murmured something unintelligible and glared into his untouched drink dismissively. Cassiopeia waited, silently and patiently. Sooner or later, that treatment usually loosened peoples’ tongues. This time was no exception.
“Well, if you have to know, although I can’t see why, this was supposed to be my wedding day,” the young man finally bit out through clenched teeth.
Cassiopeia often (and rightly) praised herself of not being easily surprised or shocked. Socialators saw and heard more than average people and grew used to strange things. At the moment, however, she nearly choked on her drink.
“And why is it not?” she asked, after a moment of shocked silence.
Decker nodded, his pale, young face bitter and disappointed.
“My… fiancée left a year and a half ago to visit an old friend of her family on some remote colony world. She never returned.”
“Any idea where she could be now?” Cassiopeia asked. Decker shook his head.
“None. She never told me who this old friend was and where he lived. I was able to track her route as far as Antares, but from there on, she continued her journey with a private company - destination unknown. Sure, they had filed a flight path, but that didn’t help me much. Their trail just got lost after a few stops on the way. I haven’t heard of her since then.”
For a while Cassiopeia remained silent. Decker’s behaviour clearly indicated that this was the first time he’d spoken about his loss to anyone. She didn’t want to urge him on. The young man needed time to deal with his pain at his own pace.
“What was she like?” she asked after a lengthy pause.
Decker raised his head, slowly, almost reluctantly. This was the first time he actually looked at her during their entire conversation.
“Danielle? Well, she was of French origins but born on the Rigel VI colony already. Her parents died when she was absolving college level trade school on Earth, and she joined the same group of the so-called New Mankind where my mother and I were members at that time. That’s how we actually met.”
Cassiopeia pulled a face. She had made contact with the New Mankind movement, of course, whose followers formed some sort of telepathic group consciousness - as a socialator and a diplomatic attaché, it was part of her duties to become familiar with the most important human religions, philosophies and social movements - but wasn’t terribly impressed by them. The same model that worked just fine in a Deltan clan marriage, for example, had two different - but equally unfortunate - results when tried by humans. Either a particularly strong and charismatic group leader enslaved the rest of the unit, as they called their groups, mentally, or - if they were on about the same telepathic level - thy lost all creativity and initiative. Thy simply submerged in their pleasantly lukewarm mental mud bath and lost interest in everything else. Boomer called them smarmy borays who were afraid to accept responsibility, and at times Cassiopeia was seriously tempted to use that fairly unprofessional epithet, too. With an attitude like that, the New Mankind practically begged to be subjudged by every aggressor that came their way.
Seeing her expression, Decker gave her a thin smile.
“Oh, I agree with you completely,” he said. “This… thing just doesn’t seem to be the right one for humans, does it? But Danielle didn’t have the strength to deal with the unexpected death of her parents - it was a mining incident - on her own, and she hoped to find support in our unit,” he all but spat that last word.
“May I ask why do you reject the model?” Cassiopeia asked, now truly curious. This conversation promised to give her unexpected insight into a movement she hadn’t succeeded to infiltrate yet.
Decker made a helplessly angry gesture.
“They called in a human being the very thing that makes him or her human,” he replied. “The hunger for knowledge, the curiosity, the individuality. If it were up to them, we’d stop all our scientific research project and just sit around, staring at our navels for the rest of our lives. The most radical groups even demand the unilateral disarmament of Starfleet and that we severe all our ties but trade agreements to the rest of the Federation and only care for our own business in the future.”
“Some kind of ‘back-to-Earth’ movement?” Cassiopeia guessed.
“In a manner, yes,” Decker nodded. “The funny thing is, they don’t seem to understand how harebrained the mere idea is to begin with. I mean, the majority of mankind doesn’t even live on Earth anymore.”
“Has your fiancée shared these ideas?” Cassiopeia asked.
Decker shook his head. “No; and most of them aren’t quite that blended yet, either. I think what the more… rational circles pursue is, before everything else, control."
“I believe I can see the advantage of that,” Cassiopeia said thoughtfully. “The more people belong to such units, the bigger part of society are they able to control. And control means power. A lot of power. Yes, I can see where that could lead.”
“Yeas, that’s what this is all about,” Decker agreed. “And that is also the reason, I believe, why they’re all so… xenophobic.”
“What do you mean?” Cassiopeia frowned.
“Have you never wondered what it’s always humans who join the movement?” Decker asked. “It’s true that our telepathic abilities can be activated by the right training, but they are usually not very effective. Most humans are barely able to keep up a continuous telepathic bond within their own unit. Would the movement accept really strong telepathic species, like Deltans of Vulcans, their leaders won’t be able to keep their plans secret any longer, not even from their simple followers. Each unit is only as strong as its strongest telepath, and no human could ever match himself with a Deltan. Not to mention that Vulcans would never open themselves to a group of humans voluntarily.”
“So you believe that the true power behind the movement has something special in planning?” Cassiopeia asked.
Decker nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
“I’m sure they have,” he replied. “I’m just not sure what it is. Perhaps were those plans back when I still belonged to a unit not completely worked out yet. It was six years ago, after all, before I specialized for my major field at the Academy.”
“Are there many Starfleet officers who belong to the New Mankind?” Cassiopeia couldn’t help but be a little surprised. Somehow she expected the members of the Federation Fleet more… practical than to fell for something like that.
“Not many,” Decker shook his head, “and the ones who’ve joined are usually hapless somnambulists, working in the lower levels of the diplomatic or administrative area. Like Commodore Lori Ciana at Starfleet Command.”
“They’d still have some sort of insight into secret operations, though,” Cassiopeia said. “Personally, I find that thought more than just a bit unsettling.”
Decker waved off her concerns.
“They’re harmless,” he said. “Grass eaters, every single one of them. I only know one of the men in the background who could become really dangerous. One with too much power in his hands already, and not because of his role in the movement.”
“Because of what then?” Cassiopeia asked
“I mean real power,” Decker explained. “Financial power, influence, contacts to the highest circles… that sort of thing.”
Cassiopeia nodded. She was familiar with that kind of power, wielded by the great patrician Houses of Caprica, Scorpia and other old colonies. She hadn’t known that they had their Federation counterparts - although she should have guessed. Human nature was depressingly similar everywhere in the galaxy - or beyond.
“And who is this man?” she asked.
“Ever heard the name of Lang Caradon?” Decker replied with a question of his own.
Cassiopeia frowned. She was fairly sure she’d already heard that name somewhere, and not that long ago, either.
“You’ve probably met him before you came aboard,” Decker added helpfully. “He’s one of the richest men of the Federation and has generously supported the rebuilding of some of your colonies… for reasons of his own.”
“That’s right,” now Cassiopeia now could recall the unobtrusive image of an elegantly greying, middle-aged man who looked as harmless as a university professor with his short, well-groomed beard, his old-fashioned eyeglasses and that deceivingly soft voice - if only there weren’t those calculating eyes. “The founder of Caradon Industries, isn’t he? And I remember being told that he was the tactical advisor of the admirals Rittenhouse and Iota.”
“That he is,” Decker agreed. “Aside from owning one of the richest dilithium mines on Coridan, the lithium cracking station on Delta Vega, several shipyards at the Aldebaran Colony, some cybernetic research labs on his own asteroid, situated in the asteroid belt of the Merak System, where the orbital dock of his private merchant fleet can be found, too.”
“That’s a lot of influence and awfully big money,” Cassiopeia said in concern. She would have to report this to Tigh, so that Caradon’s activities could be tracked back home. “And you think this man is one of the puppet masters behind the New Mankind movement?”
“I don’t think it; I know that for certain,” Decker replied dryly. “My mother used to be one of the leading animators of the movement, and for a while, Caradon showed a great deal of interest for her. For about as long as my father used to be the commanding officer of the first Constellation.”
“I heard your father had died a hero when he tried to destroy the planet killer robot,” Cassiopeia said tentatively. “And that without his sacrifice Captain Kirk would never have figured out how to neutralize that doomsday weapon.”
“Yeah, he did,” Decked shrugged. “At least he didn’t die for nothing. He was supposed to become the military governor of Deep Space Station Epsilon 7, after finishing his five-year-mission. Had he lived, that would have enabled him to spend more time with his family… or, at the very least, with his son. I don’t think my mother was going to renew their marriage contract. They’d grown apart too much already.”
“Epsilon 7... That’s Semiramis, isn’t it? The huge space station on the border of our sector?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Right,” Decker nodded. “It’s usually called Starbase 7, but that’s not the correct name. There are big differences between a Starbase and an independent deep space station. Well, after my father died, the Old Man gave the job Commodore Hunter. But I assume you know Hunter already. She’s the ranking Starfleet representative your people have to deal with all the time, after all.”
“Of course,” Cassiopeia nodded. She’s an excellent warrior... and a very intelligent woman. We’ve had a few... enlightening conversations, after the great battle with the Cylons, and I hope that wasn’t my last chance to talk to her,” she returned to their original topic. “So, do you think that this Caradon person only showed interest for your mother because his real interest was for the position of your father?”
“And good old Dad threw a wrench in his work with his heroic death,” Decker supplied with a wry grin. “That’s only my personal opinion, of course; you shouldn’t take it for face value. But if something, I know these paradise birds like the back of my hand, since I had the questionable pleasure to spend my entire childhood among them.”
“It’s surprising, then that they haven’t succeeded to convert you,” Cassiopeia said. “As a rule, children are easily influenced. More so when they are trying to make a parent happy.”
“My telepathic sensibility can only be topped by that of a Denebian whale,” Decker laughed mirthlessly. “That’s about the only thing I’ve inherited from my father, and I’m grateful for that - that the unit was unable to absorb me. They saw it a bit differently, of course. They considered me a genetic failure, a mentally disabled person - blindhead is their name for people like me. Mother wasn’t very happy when I turned out one. But my so-called disability made it possible for me to keep my own mind… and to get Danielle out of their clutches, after a while.”
“Was she more… perceptive?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Somewhat more; bus she wasn’t particularly gifted, either,” the young man shrugged in defeat. “She was just… just lonely and confused, you know. She always needed someone to lean on. For more than four years, I was good enough for the job. But then se left me, and apparently, that old friend of her father’s proved to be a better protection than I could hope to be.”
“You really think that it’s so simple?” Cassiopeia felt really sorry for him, but at the same time, she couldn’t believe that there wouldn’t be more behind it.
Decker nodded, slowly, soberly.
“We were very much in love, of course,” he murmured, “but… I think we were mostly looking for support by each other, before everything else. Now it seems she has found better support. I just wish she’d been more honest to me.”
“And what about you?”
“I still have Starfleet,” Decker sighed. “First officer of the Enterprise is several sizes bigger than I’d have chosen for my first command position, but if Captain Kirk thinks I’m needed here, I’ll do my best not to disappoint him. That’s more than enough to keep my mind occupied - most of the time anyway.”
Cassiopeia nodded in understanding. It was easy to notice that - despite their somewhat bumpy start - the young Decker had found in Kirk the father figure his own always absent father, who’d died way too early, could never be. And it seemed that Kirk was actually not half as uncomfortable with this role as one would have expected from such a vain and self-centered man as some people thought him to be.
Of course, the grown son of an old friend never makes a man seem as old as a grown son of his own would, the socialator thought a bit maliciously, especially when one could always point out how big the age difference had been. Men like Kirk usually reacted well to admiration, and Will Decker was on the best way to develop some good, old-fashioned hero worship for his captain. Even if he was still a little angry about the sudden change of his previous orders.
“But you still do love her, don’t you?” she asked quietly. “I mean Danielle...”
Decker didn’t answer right away. For a few endless moments, he just stared into his drink, as if he’d expected to find the right answer in the opaque green liquid. Then he emptied the glass in one long swallow.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I honestly don’t know.”
Chapter 06 - Disturbing News
Author: Soledad
For disclaimer, rating, etc. see the secondary index page
Author’s notes:
As before, descriptions of the refitted Enterprise follow the blueprints of The Star Fleet Technical Manual by Franz Joseph.
The telepathic New Mankind movement is actually Gene Roddenberry’s invention. No, really. It can be found in the novelization of Star Trek - The Motion Picture, written by the Great Bird of the Galaxy himself. He was the one who got the later Vice-Admiral Lori Ciana (one of the characters getting killed in TMP’s transporter accident) briefly married to Kirk and made her a member of the NM movement. I kid you not!
Originally, this was part of the previous chapter, but it ran so long that I decided to break it in two.
CHAPTER 5 - SHADOWS AND MEMORIES
Every single member of the crew, from the Captain to the lowliest enlisted personnel, agreed that the addition of the V.I.P lounge to the rec deck (originally containing a few holochambers only) had been the best idea the refitters of the ship could have come up, no matter the amount of thought they might have given the whole refitting process.
This doughnut-shaped area - that comprised most of Deck C and had approximately the same diameter as the main bridge - was probably the most pleasant place on the entire ship. Its special kitchen was capable of serving VIPs (or crewmembers with unusual dietary requirements) cuisine that wasn’t available thorough the ship’s default food processor units. The dining area surrounded the kitchen and extended to the outer hull, with both booth and table sitting available. It had six food and beverage units and was open to all ship’s personnel, functioning as the mess hall, unless an official reception was being held - like in this very evening.
Wall-mounted viewscreens simulated windows in the mess hall, providing three-dimensional images of the space outside. These screens were also capable of displaying TriVid programmes or communications from Starfleet Command. They were meant to be used when the captain saw the necessity of sharing visual records with the entire crew - in such cases all off-duty crewmembers were expected to hurry to the rec deck.
The Officers’ Lounge was located at the stern end of Level Three. The four huge viewports here were the only real windows on the entire ship, and off-duty personnel often came her to admire the real time view of space. Unless the ship was in warp transit, of course, in which case the transparent aluminium planes automatically became frosted, as everyone but Vulcans and Deltans found the sight of distorted space highly disturbing.
On both sides of the viewports, small planter areas displayed a fine selection of plants from several Federation worlds, and a small pool contained brightly coloured tropical fish. The rarest and most exotic species was the Talosian singing plant - the Enterprise was the proud owner of four from the two dozen bushes existing anywhere outside of Talos IV.
Just forward of this section of the lounge was a bar and a privacy area, restricted to officers only. Two large viewscreens - like the ones in the mess hall - were mounted in the stern bulkhead of the lounge, allowing all VIPs or senior officers access to the full range of ship’s communications services. This arrangement made it possible to use the privacy area as conference room for negotiations when only a small number of negotiating partners was involved. The viewscreens also provided a full exterior and interior tour of the Enterprise - with the exception of sensitive areas, of course. A snack bar on the starboard side of the lounge offered a food and beverage unit and two tables for personnel seating.
All in all, it was an elegant and functional place, fully equipped not only to provide everything a multi-species crew of five hundred might need, but also to match the demands of alien dignitaries of all kinds. How could it be otherwise? This was the Enterprise, after all. Even though it wasn’t officially the flagship of Starfleet, it was perhaps the most famous vessel of the Federation, and fame came with certain obligations.
Captain Kirk had chosen the Officers’ Lounge to be the location where the reception honouring the Denebian ambassador should take place. Long tables with snacks and beverages were placed opposite the viewports, while freshly prepared, hot dishes could be consumed in both rooms of the privacy area. With all the senior officers and most of the science department heads present, any other solution would have the available space hopelessly crowded. The lounge was large, considering that it was situated aboard a starship, but living space was limited, even aboard the Enterprise.
Cassiopeia was more in her element than she’d been in yahrens. For the first time since the destruction, she was finally able to put all those endless curses concerning social behaviour, human psychology and anatomy and diplomatic interference she’d attended to in her youth to good use. Now she could show what winning the highest academic honours of Old Gemini’s most rewarded school of religious teaching had meant. Or the awarding of the golden fringe, which she had been allowed to wear along the neck and hem lines of her street-robe, and which required Gemonese men to treat her with special dignity.
She could not expect these well-meaning strangers to understand what socialation had meant - what it still meant - in Gemonese society. That it had been an honourable profession, back on their old world, practiced with the blessing of the elders for over four thousand yahrens. That being selected as a senior socialator and the accompanying privilege of teaching promising young candidates would mean high social status on New Gemini again, one day. But until she could return to her old vocation, at least she could show them what her thorough training was worth.
Wearing her best evening dress to honour the occasion - a shoulder-free, cinnamon-coloured, one-piece clinging outfit that threatened to become transparent in the right light - she strolled through the large room. So far, everything was running smoothly. Her two assistants-on-duty, the lovely, blonde Yeoman Theresa Ross and Yeoman Tonia Barrows, of whom… interesting rumours were coursing all over the ship, did excellent work. They were right on schedule, which meant a timely end of the gathering, to the not-so-secret relief of both captain and on-duty personnel.
After the usual toasts and diplomatic platitudes everyone had attacked the tables to pile food onto their plates and now the festive crowd was scattered in smaller groups all over the lounge and the private areas, depending on the actual topic of the various conversations. Ambassador Krsna had snatched Colonel Tigh right away, of course, to drill him for details about the rebuilding of the Twelve Worlds. Uhura joined them, of course, as well as the Deltans, whose government was heavily involved in said rebuilding, on several of the New Colonies.
T’Pel and Xon, currently the only two Vulcans aboard, were drinking tea in quiet agreement, commenting Sulu’s lengthy botanical excursion with the occasional, polite nod. A third group, consisting of Captain Kirk, Dr. McCoy and Chief Engineer Scott, was standing in the snack bar. If their facial expression - and the alarming speed with which the alcohol was evaporating from their glasses - was any indication, they were already in the mourning phase of their ‘grand olde times’, as Mr. Scott liked to put it.
Mr. Chekov was having a tentative conversation with the attractive but slightly intimidating Lieutenant M’Botabwe. Security and Justice had to work hand in hand, especially aboard a starship that operated outside of charted territory, so this was a good sign. It wouldn’t do any good, however, if the lawyer continued frightening the living Hades out of the young security chief. Cassiopeia made a mental note to talk to Lieutenant M’Botabwe about it later. She seemed too intelligent not to notice Chekov’s insecurities, and it could cause great harm if she used that knowledge about him in a situation that would make them find themselves on opposite sides.
Besides, Chekov didn’t deserve that. He did have the gift to become a good commanding officer, given enough time. He was just still too young and nervous.
Only one person had withdrawn from the gathering, all but hiding in a corner seat of the sunken observation area, turning a long, untouched glass of Aldebaran whiskey around in his hand: Willard Decker. The young man was staring out at the long stripes of distorted starlight in outer space. He must have ordered one of the viewports to become partially transparent again, and was now contemplating a view that under normal circumstances he’d have found unnerving.
Cassiopeia walked around a group of science officers who were animatedly discussing the most likely candidates to win the next Nobel and Zee Magnees-prizes and descended the flat steps that led to the observation area. Past experience told her that the first officer was in serious need of a compassionate listener, and who could be better at that than a highly trained socialator whose very job was to help people in emotional trouble?
“Dissing the party, Lieutenant Commander?” she asked neutrally, taking the empty seat on the young man’s side.
“Don’t feel like celebrating today,” Decker all but growled, without as much as a glance in her direction. He certainly didn’t look like somebody who was just about to pour out his very heart to a complete stranger. But Cassiopeia knew better what he really needed. Dealing with difficult clients was one of her special gifts.
“Oh?” she replied in the same conversational manner. “Tell me, Lieutenant Commander, are you always this moody or did you get up with the wrong foot today?”
Decker murmured something unintelligible and glared into his untouched drink dismissively. Cassiopeia waited, silently and patiently. Sooner or later, that treatment usually loosened peoples’ tongues. This time was no exception.
“Well, if you have to know, although I can’t see why, this was supposed to be my wedding day,” the young man finally bit out through clenched teeth.
Cassiopeia often (and rightly) praised herself of not being easily surprised or shocked. Socialators saw and heard more than average people and grew used to strange things. At the moment, however, she nearly choked on her drink.
“And why is it not?” she asked, after a moment of shocked silence.
Decker nodded, his pale, young face bitter and disappointed.
“My… fiancée left a year and a half ago to visit an old friend of her family on some remote colony world. She never returned.”
“Any idea where she could be now?” Cassiopeia asked. Decker shook his head.
“None. She never told me who this old friend was and where he lived. I was able to track her route as far as Antares, but from there on, she continued her journey with a private company - destination unknown. Sure, they had filed a flight path, but that didn’t help me much. Their trail just got lost after a few stops on the way. I haven’t heard of her since then.”
For a while Cassiopeia remained silent. Decker’s behaviour clearly indicated that this was the first time he’d spoken about his loss to anyone. She didn’t want to urge him on. The young man needed time to deal with his pain at his own pace.
“What was she like?” she asked after a lengthy pause.
Decker raised his head, slowly, almost reluctantly. This was the first time he actually looked at her during their entire conversation.
“Danielle? Well, she was of French origins but born on the Rigel VI colony already. Her parents died when she was absolving college level trade school on Earth, and she joined the same group of the so-called New Mankind where my mother and I were members at that time. That’s how we actually met.”
Cassiopeia pulled a face. She had made contact with the New Mankind movement, of course, whose followers formed some sort of telepathic group consciousness - as a socialator and a diplomatic attaché, it was part of her duties to become familiar with the most important human religions, philosophies and social movements - but wasn’t terribly impressed by them. The same model that worked just fine in a Deltan clan marriage, for example, had two different - but equally unfortunate - results when tried by humans. Either a particularly strong and charismatic group leader enslaved the rest of the unit, as they called their groups, mentally, or - if they were on about the same telepathic level - thy lost all creativity and initiative. Thy simply submerged in their pleasantly lukewarm mental mud bath and lost interest in everything else. Boomer called them smarmy borays who were afraid to accept responsibility, and at times Cassiopeia was seriously tempted to use that fairly unprofessional epithet, too. With an attitude like that, the New Mankind practically begged to be subjudged by every aggressor that came their way.
Seeing her expression, Decker gave her a thin smile.
“Oh, I agree with you completely,” he said. “This… thing just doesn’t seem to be the right one for humans, does it? But Danielle didn’t have the strength to deal with the unexpected death of her parents - it was a mining incident - on her own, and she hoped to find support in our unit,” he all but spat that last word.
“May I ask why do you reject the model?” Cassiopeia asked, now truly curious. This conversation promised to give her unexpected insight into a movement she hadn’t succeeded to infiltrate yet.
Decker made a helplessly angry gesture.
“They called in a human being the very thing that makes him or her human,” he replied. “The hunger for knowledge, the curiosity, the individuality. If it were up to them, we’d stop all our scientific research project and just sit around, staring at our navels for the rest of our lives. The most radical groups even demand the unilateral disarmament of Starfleet and that we severe all our ties but trade agreements to the rest of the Federation and only care for our own business in the future.”
“Some kind of ‘back-to-Earth’ movement?” Cassiopeia guessed.
“In a manner, yes,” Decker nodded. “The funny thing is, they don’t seem to understand how harebrained the mere idea is to begin with. I mean, the majority of mankind doesn’t even live on Earth anymore.”
“Has your fiancée shared these ideas?” Cassiopeia asked.
Decker shook his head. “No; and most of them aren’t quite that blended yet, either. I think what the more… rational circles pursue is, before everything else, control."
“I believe I can see the advantage of that,” Cassiopeia said thoughtfully. “The more people belong to such units, the bigger part of society are they able to control. And control means power. A lot of power. Yes, I can see where that could lead.”
“Yeas, that’s what this is all about,” Decker agreed. “And that is also the reason, I believe, why they’re all so… xenophobic.”
“What do you mean?” Cassiopeia frowned.
“Have you never wondered what it’s always humans who join the movement?” Decker asked. “It’s true that our telepathic abilities can be activated by the right training, but they are usually not very effective. Most humans are barely able to keep up a continuous telepathic bond within their own unit. Would the movement accept really strong telepathic species, like Deltans of Vulcans, their leaders won’t be able to keep their plans secret any longer, not even from their simple followers. Each unit is only as strong as its strongest telepath, and no human could ever match himself with a Deltan. Not to mention that Vulcans would never open themselves to a group of humans voluntarily.”
“So you believe that the true power behind the movement has something special in planning?” Cassiopeia asked.
Decker nodded slowly, thoughtfully.
“I’m sure they have,” he replied. “I’m just not sure what it is. Perhaps were those plans back when I still belonged to a unit not completely worked out yet. It was six years ago, after all, before I specialized for my major field at the Academy.”
“Are there many Starfleet officers who belong to the New Mankind?” Cassiopeia couldn’t help but be a little surprised. Somehow she expected the members of the Federation Fleet more… practical than to fell for something like that.
“Not many,” Decker shook his head, “and the ones who’ve joined are usually hapless somnambulists, working in the lower levels of the diplomatic or administrative area. Like Commodore Lori Ciana at Starfleet Command.”
“They’d still have some sort of insight into secret operations, though,” Cassiopeia said. “Personally, I find that thought more than just a bit unsettling.”
Decker waved off her concerns.
“They’re harmless,” he said. “Grass eaters, every single one of them. I only know one of the men in the background who could become really dangerous. One with too much power in his hands already, and not because of his role in the movement.”
“Because of what then?” Cassiopeia asked
“I mean real power,” Decker explained. “Financial power, influence, contacts to the highest circles… that sort of thing.”
Cassiopeia nodded. She was familiar with that kind of power, wielded by the great patrician Houses of Caprica, Scorpia and other old colonies. She hadn’t known that they had their Federation counterparts - although she should have guessed. Human nature was depressingly similar everywhere in the galaxy - or beyond.
“And who is this man?” she asked.
“Ever heard the name of Lang Caradon?” Decker replied with a question of his own.
Cassiopeia frowned. She was fairly sure she’d already heard that name somewhere, and not that long ago, either.
“You’ve probably met him before you came aboard,” Decker added helpfully. “He’s one of the richest men of the Federation and has generously supported the rebuilding of some of your colonies… for reasons of his own.”
“That’s right,” now Cassiopeia now could recall the unobtrusive image of an elegantly greying, middle-aged man who looked as harmless as a university professor with his short, well-groomed beard, his old-fashioned eyeglasses and that deceivingly soft voice - if only there weren’t those calculating eyes. “The founder of Caradon Industries, isn’t he? And I remember being told that he was the tactical advisor of the admirals Rittenhouse and Iota.”
“That he is,” Decker agreed. “Aside from owning one of the richest dilithium mines on Coridan, the lithium cracking station on Delta Vega, several shipyards at the Aldebaran Colony, some cybernetic research labs on his own asteroid, situated in the asteroid belt of the Merak System, where the orbital dock of his private merchant fleet can be found, too.”
“That’s a lot of influence and awfully big money,” Cassiopeia said in concern. She would have to report this to Tigh, so that Caradon’s activities could be tracked back home. “And you think this man is one of the puppet masters behind the New Mankind movement?”
“I don’t think it; I know that for certain,” Decker replied dryly. “My mother used to be one of the leading animators of the movement, and for a while, Caradon showed a great deal of interest for her. For about as long as my father used to be the commanding officer of the first Constellation.”
“I heard your father had died a hero when he tried to destroy the planet killer robot,” Cassiopeia said tentatively. “And that without his sacrifice Captain Kirk would never have figured out how to neutralize that doomsday weapon.”
“Yeah, he did,” Decked shrugged. “At least he didn’t die for nothing. He was supposed to become the military governor of Deep Space Station Epsilon 7, after finishing his five-year-mission. Had he lived, that would have enabled him to spend more time with his family… or, at the very least, with his son. I don’t think my mother was going to renew their marriage contract. They’d grown apart too much already.”
“Epsilon 7... That’s Semiramis, isn’t it? The huge space station on the border of our sector?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Right,” Decker nodded. “It’s usually called Starbase 7, but that’s not the correct name. There are big differences between a Starbase and an independent deep space station. Well, after my father died, the Old Man gave the job Commodore Hunter. But I assume you know Hunter already. She’s the ranking Starfleet representative your people have to deal with all the time, after all.”
“Of course,” Cassiopeia nodded. She’s an excellent warrior... and a very intelligent woman. We’ve had a few... enlightening conversations, after the great battle with the Cylons, and I hope that wasn’t my last chance to talk to her,” she returned to their original topic. “So, do you think that this Caradon person only showed interest for your mother because his real interest was for the position of your father?”
“And good old Dad threw a wrench in his work with his heroic death,” Decker supplied with a wry grin. “That’s only my personal opinion, of course; you shouldn’t take it for face value. But if something, I know these paradise birds like the back of my hand, since I had the questionable pleasure to spend my entire childhood among them.”
“It’s surprising, then that they haven’t succeeded to convert you,” Cassiopeia said. “As a rule, children are easily influenced. More so when they are trying to make a parent happy.”
“My telepathic sensibility can only be topped by that of a Denebian whale,” Decker laughed mirthlessly. “That’s about the only thing I’ve inherited from my father, and I’m grateful for that - that the unit was unable to absorb me. They saw it a bit differently, of course. They considered me a genetic failure, a mentally disabled person - blindhead is their name for people like me. Mother wasn’t very happy when I turned out one. But my so-called disability made it possible for me to keep my own mind… and to get Danielle out of their clutches, after a while.”
“Was she more… perceptive?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Somewhat more; bus she wasn’t particularly gifted, either,” the young man shrugged in defeat. “She was just… just lonely and confused, you know. She always needed someone to lean on. For more than four years, I was good enough for the job. But then se left me, and apparently, that old friend of her father’s proved to be a better protection than I could hope to be.”
“You really think that it’s so simple?” Cassiopeia felt really sorry for him, but at the same time, she couldn’t believe that there wouldn’t be more behind it.
Decker nodded, slowly, soberly.
“We were very much in love, of course,” he murmured, “but… I think we were mostly looking for support by each other, before everything else. Now it seems she has found better support. I just wish she’d been more honest to me.”
“And what about you?”
“I still have Starfleet,” Decker sighed. “First officer of the Enterprise is several sizes bigger than I’d have chosen for my first command position, but if Captain Kirk thinks I’m needed here, I’ll do my best not to disappoint him. That’s more than enough to keep my mind occupied - most of the time anyway.”
Cassiopeia nodded in understanding. It was easy to notice that - despite their somewhat bumpy start - the young Decker had found in Kirk the father figure his own always absent father, who’d died way too early, could never be. And it seemed that Kirk was actually not half as uncomfortable with this role as one would have expected from such a vain and self-centered man as some people thought him to be.
Of course, the grown son of an old friend never makes a man seem as old as a grown son of his own would, the socialator thought a bit maliciously, especially when one could always point out how big the age difference had been. Men like Kirk usually reacted well to admiration, and Will Decker was on the best way to develop some good, old-fashioned hero worship for his captain. Even if he was still a little angry about the sudden change of his previous orders.
“But you still do love her, don’t you?” she asked quietly. “I mean Danielle...”
Decker didn’t answer right away. For a few endless moments, he just stared into his drink, as if he’d expected to find the right answer in the opaque green liquid. Then he emptied the glass in one long swallow.
“I don’t know,” he replied. “I honestly don’t know.”
Chapter 06 - Disturbing News