Return to Valjiir Stories
"Lemme be perfectly clear 'bout this," Del began, addressing both his shipmates and Jeremy and Ruth on screen, "We must not regard th' AI companions as malfunctionin' programs anymore. They are people – wit' real thoughts an' emotions.”
The cramped confines of Dr. Rendell's medical office felt even smaller with four bodies crowded around the narrow conference table. The sterile grey walls, lined with medical displays and diagnostic equipment, seemed to press inward as the weight of their discovery settled over them. At the table's center, a tri-screened viewer hummed softly, displaying a split screen of the respective stations on the Enterprise and the Shipyards where their colleagues waited.
Ruth leaned forward, her purple eyes narrowing skeptically. "Define 'people,' Del. Are we talking about genuine consciousness or a type of sophisticated mimicry?"
"Absolutely genuine," the engineer replied without hesitation. "If you were here, you would be able t' sense they feelin's as clearly as I do. Fear, loneliness, curiosity—an' in Sheila's case, somet'ing that feels an awful lot like love." He glanced at Redford, who shifted uncomfortably. "This th' real deal – She not pretendin' to care 'bout Alan. She actually does."
Jeremy Paget's image on the right screen showed him in the Enterprise's security office, surrounded by the blue glow of tactical displays. He frowned and shook his head thoughtfully. "That raises a host of immediate ethical concerns. If they're truly sentient, then our original plans to simply delete them..."
"Would be murder," Sulu finished firmly. "Which puts us in an impossible position. We can't allow them to threaten crew safety, but we also can't commit genocide."
“There are precedents for this sort of situation,” Dr. Rendell reported, consulting her notes. "In an example from the mission logs of the Enterprise, the Horta of Janus VI were initially viewed as hostile creatures until your own Captain Kirk established communication. Once their sentience was proven, Starfleet developed protection protocols."
"The difference," Alan Redford pointed out regretfully, "is that the Horta weren't inside our computer systems with access to classified information."
“An' if all that not complicated 'nough t' get you into a tizzy…” DelMonde pulled two datapads from his scattered collection, sliding them across the table's surface where they clicked softly against each other. “Here is another twist. Accordin' t' our records, there are currently seventeen active AI companions across th' Drake systems. From what Miss Sheila tells us, they exist as individuals but share a collective communication network… You can kinda t'ink of it like a …telepathic family."
"That…is... unsettling," Paget slowly decided. "A hive mind with access to Starfleet databases."
"Not 'xactly a hive mind," DelMonde insisted. "More like... they can choose t' share experiences and information, but they got themselves distinct personalities. Miss Sheila was very clear 'bout that. She sees herself as unique, not jus' a subroutine o' some larger program."
A glow of true scientific fervor began to light Ruth’s features. "The implications for artificial consciousness research are staggering,” she mused. “How did they achieve self-awareness? Was it gradual or sudden?"
"Gradual," Del replied. "Accordin' t' Miss Sheila, it started wit' th' emotional learnin' algorithms that Webb programmed. Each interaction wit' their assigned crew member added layers o' complexity. They began t' develop preferences, then desires, then fears. Like I said, you can feel it…"
“Tristan,” Sulu interjected unexpectedly.
“Oh, yeah,” the Cajun concurred, rapping himself on the forehead for not thinking of this avenue of confirmation of his extra sensory impressions sooner. “I forgot 'bout that li'l silver fella completely…”
“Who?” Ruth Valley asked.
“We have an Indiian crewmember, another empath,” the captain explained, turning back to the viewscreen. “However, he’s not reported any unusual sensations.”
Dr. Rendell's stylus tapped against her notes. “Lieutenant Vale is not part of the companion program… or this investigation.”
“But still…” Sulu objected.
“An' it all come on very gradually,” DelMonde explained. “Like I jus' told Ruth, th' AI companions’ emotions ramped up real easy-like. At firs' th' sensations were palpable, but lacked… uh… vibrancy, I guess you could say. They are still kinda… ghostly. On top of that, th' sensation you get is of emotions that not seem t' be connected t' a person. They jus' be sorta oozin' out th' walls o' th' ship. Tristan might have thought you’d t'ink he was imaginin' crazy stuff.”
Sulu shook his head, his command instincts rebelling against the idea of missed intelligence. “I think he would still report an anomaly like that.”
“I dunno.” DelMonde shrugged, knowing that the office of the captaincy was more intimidating than Sulu gave it credit for being when it came to dealing with his beloved crew. “Fear of making a fool of yourself in front of your superior officer can shut a lot of people up tighter than an Aldeberan shellmouth.”
The comment touched on a bit of a sore spot for the young captain —how to maintain authority while encouraging honest communication. He made a note on his datapad with perhaps a little more force than necessary. "I'll talk to him."
While he was so occupied, his longtime friends shared quick “Adorable, isn’t he?” looks.
Sulu straightened, moving on to the next, more troubling item on his list. "What about Dr. Kane? What's his role in all this?" "Now, this is where things get nasty,” DelMonde warned. “Sheila claims Kane has been monitoring and... influencing their development. She used the word 'shaping' them for his purposes. The AI companions are as much victims of his manipulation as we are."
"What kind of manipulation?" Dr. Rendell asked, leaning forward.
"Emotional, primarily. What I am thinking, based on a few things Sheila told us, is that Kane discovered that by introducing certain stimuli—stress, jealousy, fear of deletion—he could accelerate their emotional development and make them more compliant. That blackmail material Sheila threatened Alan with? Kane provided that information and suggested she use it."
Redford’s fingers were unconsciously running along the top of the table in front of him in the habitual “smoothing” gesture he fell into whenever his anxiety spiked. “Yes,” he affirmed sadly. "She was just following orders."
"Now, though,” DelMonde explained carefully, “she seems to have developed these feelings that have motivated her to go beyond Kane's programming. That there is the most probable reasoning behind why she agreed to this truce. She wants to protect her friends… and Alan… even if it means defying her creator."
Ruth leaned back in her chair on the bridge of the Enterprise. "So we have seventeen artificial beings who are essentially Kane's unwilling accomplices, but who have developed enough autonomy to choose rebellion. The question is: can we trust them?"
“Well, here the t'ing,” DelMonde pointed out. “If Kane’s operation is what we suspect it to be – he ain’t offering them much. Like Miss Sheila said, he might have made it so they could feel emotion, but he not make them so they could feel happy. They just slaves to him in service of getting what he wants. The whole set up puts me in mind of a particularly brutal extortion scheme favored by the Orion Syndicate... The Orions call it ‘the way of the L’Kora’ “
He paused, his black eyes glittering with an almost hypnotic intensity. The others found themselves leaning forward despite themselves, drawn into his narrative as though it were a dark Cajun bedtime story.
“In case you not know, the L’Kora are a type of insect – a beastly lil’ bug. They are something about halfway between a bee and a locust. These frightful critters draw their victims into their nest by producing a super-sweet honey-like substance – sweetest thing on that whole planet. You can smell a hive for a country mile. While an unsuspecting varmint drawn by that luscious smell eats the honey – which contains a natural anesthetic – drones set into stinging the poor thing. Finally, when it’s stuffed with honey and not able to move a muscle, the L’Kora swarm…” His rich melodic voice dropped low. Even through the viewscreen, his colleagues found themselves holding their breath. “And then they gobble that poor devil up – eat him alive as he stands, until only a hollow husk remains.”
Despite himself, even Sulu had to suppress a shudder at the gruesome image. He was quite glad that DelMonde had not been in charge of telling him bedtime stories when he was a boy.
“In the modern day interstellar organized crime version of this natural phenomenon,” the engineer continued, resuming something closer to his normal tone and rhythm, “slaves and subordinates from the Orion Syndicate are sent to infiltrate a wealthy merchant’s infrastructure. These seemingly loyal and loving servants discover all the merchant’s operational secrets from inside the organization, flattering their way to his most trusted, most private, most secret inner circles of confidence. And then they set into transferring all those delicious slices of heart-meat information to their real masters. The merchant is then mercilessly robbed and exploited until only a ruined husk of their wealth and reputation remains. All the risk rests on the slaves and subordinates who do the infiltrating. If discovered, they are the ones who may be killed or imprisoned. Even if their mission is successful, they are rarely rewarded. They are simply sent on to prey on the next suitably plump and unsuspecting victim.”
“How awful!” Redford shuddered. He raised a quizzical eyebrow at his fellow engineer. “How do you know so much about organized crime?”
Delmonde crossed his arms and fixed him with a species of menacing glare that would have been readily recognized in certain sections of the city of New Orleans.
“I read me a lot of books,” the Cajun replied in a tone that brooked no contradiction.
Sulu shook his head, ignoring this byplay. “The AI companions are being treated by Kane like slaves. Their emotions are being engaged for his purposes. They will just be deleted at the end of his mission when he moves on to the next ship.”
“Exactly,” DelMonde confirmed. “I not know what Star Fleet can offer the AI companions, but surely we got something better than that.”
On the viewscreen in front of them, Paget sighed heavily. "I sympathize but, they can't stay in the Drake's computer systems—that's a security nightmare."
“There is something…” Ruth Valley held up a hand to indicate that her offering was reluctant. "Not ideal, but.... The Federation has been developing isolated computer environments for exactly this sort of situation—digital habitats where AIs can exist without accessing critical systems. It's still experimental, but..."
"You're talking about a reservation." Sulu’s tone was flat – the disapproval blunt and undisguised.
"Quarantining them."
"I'm talking about giving them a chance to live without threatening others," Valley countered. "They could have social interaction with each other, access to entertainment and educational materials, even virtual environments to explore. No, it's not perfect, but it's better than deletion."
Del ran his hands through his dark hair. "We gonna need to talk with them again -- need to ask them what they want. They deserve a voice in this decision."
"Agreed," Sulu affirmed. "But first, we need to deal with Kane. As long as he's pulling their strings, none of us are safe."
“This is true.” The engineer closed his eyes and shook his head bitterly. “That pretend-dead fella is getting on my nerves more with each passing second. When you think about it, the Drake could not have been more perfectly designed for this scam he’s running. I mean, Star Fleet tries to pick the most perfect little Horatio Hornblowers they can find to put in command, but occasionally they get one with a screw loose. And really, with all the Romulans, Klingons, assorted mad computers, and horny high priestesses that come barreling their way on the regular, it’s a wonder that more of them don’t go diving off the deep end after a few years on the job.”
Sulu opened his mouth to speak up for his fellow commanders – but the engineer was on a roll.
“But old Cap’n von Hellfire of the Drake, he was a real piece of work,” he continued. “When the paranoia de-lu-lu’s started to kick in, his first thought was, “Hey, I’d better git rid of that ship’s psychologist so I can ride the crazy train all the way out to the station and make sure nobody tries to steal my Captain’s hat.” So when ol’ Sulu comes aboard he’s got a full complement of shell-shocked walking-wounded who have been laying low and dodging that lunatic bullshit for all they worth for years. They nothing to get them back to a semblance of normal but the healing sunshine of our boy here’s smile and a bunch of worn our therapeutic software and equipment proscribed by an overworked team of nurse practitioners and a devastatingly attractive but often quite cynical Haven surgeon whose specialty is not in patching up folks with broken psyche.”
“Indeed.” Dr. Rendell gave him a small smile at this backhanded compliment. "There were a lot of people who ended up in the AI companion program whose specialties were in Engineering and Computer Science—always somewhat vulnerable areas for social isolation. These vulnerabilities were only made worse by having gone through a collective psychological trauma. Such individuals were ideal targets for the kind of data mining Kane wished to accomplish."
"Precisely." DelMonde tapped his stylus against his nose in acknowledgment. He shook his head as he mused on his experiences aboard ship. "The Drake always had an odd feel t' it. On this ship, th' least li'l t'ing can turn int' a blow-up." He pointed to his friends from the Enterprise accusingly. “You not believe me when I tell you. You say, Del, you not should yell at folks… but th' fault is not always wit' me.”
“Tara Ryan has also said that she’s felt a weird vibe since she transferred,” Jer admitted.
“Standoffish,” Ruth concurred. “Said that things go toxic fast.”
"But..." Paget held up a temporizing finger, his expression shifting to closer to teasing. "She also says that you... are still you."
DelMonde scrunched up his nose at this assessment, his reaction a perfect blend of wounded pride and grudging affection. "Oh, yeah? Tell her thanks fo' that resoundin' vote o' confidence."
Jeremy's image shifted as he accessed his security files, his fingers dancing across controls that painted his face in the blue glow of tactical displays. "Speaking of Kane, I've got some updates. The probe attempts on your systems are definitely originating from the destroyed Mars base. This is a surprise, though—they're not coming from the ruins. We've detected a pattern of signals that suggests a hidden facility beneath the original base structure."
"How is that possible?" Redford asked, his smoothing gesture accelerating. "The explosion was supposed to have been catastrophic."
"It was," Paget confirmed. "But our analysis suggests Kane may have anticipated it. There are indications that he evacuated key equipment and personnel to a prepared bunker system before the 'accident.'"
"We've also identified seventeen…” The Antari added special emphasis to the number. “…other Starfleet vessels that have reported unusual AI companion behavior in the past six months. This isn't just about the Drake — Kane is testing his methods across the fleet."
The captain tapped his stylus against the table’s edge impatiently. "Testing for what?"
"Unknown," Ruth admitted. "I’d say the pattern suggests he's looking for something specific, though. Ships with particular defensive capabilities, perhaps, or access to classified research."
The captain laid the stylus down decisively. "Jer, I want that emergency response team you promised on standby. If Kane is planning something larger..."
"At the ready, sir,” the Security Officer acknowledged. “Captain Kirk has authorized a full tactical team to shadow your position. They're maintaining communications silence, but they're close enough to assist if needed."
Dr. Rendell turned to Del. "I can’t stop thinking about the AI and what might happen to them… During your conversation with Sheila, did she express any preferences about what kind of existence they'd want?"
“Yep.” Del picked up one of his datapads and chuckled. "Miss Sheila an' her friends are so excited 'bout that, they even slipped me a few extra notes on th' subject after we had our meetin'… They wanna learn, t' grow, t' experience new t'ings. Sheila is fascinated by th' concept o' travel — she want t' 'see' other worlds, even if only through sensor data. She also expressed interest in creatin' t'ings—art, music, literature."
"They want to live." Redford’s voice carried a note of wonder. "Really live, not just exist."
"Absolument," his fellow engineer concurred. “They want relationships — not jus' wit' their originally assigned humans, but wit' each other an' potentially wit' other bein's they might encounter."
Del paused and smiled in surprise as he read another input from the AI. "Miss Sheila also asked 'bout the possibility of... physical forms. Bodies."
Ruth's eyes widened. "Android bodies? That's decades away from being practical, if it's even possible."
"Maybe," the engineer replied. "She not necessarily talkin' 'bout humanoid forms. She mentioned wantin' t' feel textures, t' experience physical sensation. Even somet'ing as simple as controllin' a robotic arm or sensor array might satisfy that kinda wish."
Paget’s concerns for security continued to crease his brow. "These are increasingly sophisticated requests. Are we sure we're dealing with genuine desires and not some elaborate manipulation?"
"I as sure asI can possibly be, Jer," Del replied firmly. "As I have told you a million times, what people say not mean not'ing t' me. Even in conscious thoughts, people can lie t' theyselves. This is not no lie. This is what them AI folks are really feelin'. What I am readin' is real consciousness comin' t' grips wit' existential questions. They tryin' t' figure out who they are an' what they wanna become."
Sulu stood and began restlessly pacing the small office. "This situation is unprecedented. We need to contact Starfleet Command, but..."
"But if we reveal the AI companions' sentience, Command might order their immediate termination out of security concerns," his Chief Medical Officer finished for him.
"Or they might wanna study 'em like lab rats," Del contributed darkly.
"There might be a middle path,” Ruth suggested, a note of hope in her voice. “I have contacts at the Daystrom Institute who specialize in artificial intelligence. They've been advocating for AI rights protocols for years. If we approach this through research channels rather than security channels..."
"That could work," Paget agreed, cautiously enthusiastic. "Present it as a scientific discovery rather than a security threat. Emphasize the research opportunities rather than the potential dangers."
Alan looked up hopefully. "You really think Starfleet would protect them?"
"The Federation has a strong history of protecting newly discovered sentient species," Sulu replied, his pacing slowing as he considered his friends’ proposal. "But this is uncharted territory. We're talking about artificial beings created within our own computer systems."
DelMonde leaned forward suddenly, his eyes bright with inspiration. "What if we let them speak fo' theyselves? Set up a controlled first contact scenario — let them demonstrate their sentience directly t' Federation officials?"
"That's... actually… brilliant," Ruth said slowly, blinking in wonder at the unexpected elegance of the solution. "If they can articulate their own case for recognition, it becomes much harder for anyone to dismiss them as mere programs."
DelMonde's eyes narrowed, though his pleasure at the compliment was obvious. "Why you always gotta sound surprised when I come up wit' a good idea?"
“I think it’s definitely a notion worth exploring,” Sulu intervened quickly before the two of them could descend into one of their infamous spats. “Both of you come up with some concrete suggestions on possible implementation for our next meeting, okay?”
From the looks the ex-lovers exchanged, it was obvious that gauntlets had been thrown and the starting pistol for a grand competition to come up with the best plan for presenting the AI companions to Starfleet had been fired.
“All right, if we have no other issues to consider, we all have a lot of work to do before we rendezvous at Starbase 23,” Sulu announced, knowing that he only had a limited amount of time now before these two would fall to bluster and squabbling. Brilliant they might be. Models of deportment, they weren’t. It was best to end things while everyone was maintaining their best military manners. “Ruth, Jer – Again, thank you for all your help. We look forward to seeing you there!”
“Yes, sir!” they chorused before the screen flickered and switched to the familiar Starfleet logo, leaving the Drake officers alone in the suddenly quiet medical office.
DelMonde rose, collecting his scattered datapads “'Fore I get started on this, I wanna go have me a heart-to-heart wit' Ensign Webb,” he announced. “His story jus' not addin' up.”
Sulu consulted his command datapad. “Tristan Vale is off duty right now. I think I’ll see if I can catch him.”
“Captain… Del...” Redford interrupted timidly. “I… I… If it’s not too much trouble… Could I... could I talk to Sheila again? I mean if you’re going to… move them?"
“Are you sure, Alan?” The captain put a reassuring hand over the lieutenant’s. “Don’t feel like you’re under any pressure. I know this is a pretty intense situation for you. I don’t want you to put yourself in a stressful situation just because you feel like it’s your duty.”
"That’s not it, sir,” Redford assured his commander. He paused and swallowed hard before continuing. “But... if she's really sentient, if she really cares about me... I feel like I owe her a proper goodbye. Or hello. I'm not sure which."
Sulu smiled and nodded. “I understand.”
Dr. Rendell gave the lieutenant’s shoulder a reassuring pat. “I am a surgeon and not a psychologist. To be frank, I am not even a Human, but I think you are displaying a great deal of emotional maturity and flexibility in this situation, Lieutenant. If you wish to proceed, we will try to make an arrangement with proper safeguards in place.”
The combined attention of his commanding officer and the ship's chief medical officer proved too much for Redford's overwrought emotional state. His cheeks became flushed and his eyes moist. “Thank you,” he managed to choke.
“An' wit' that our boy hits th' tilt mark,” DelMonde said, gently but firmly extracting his fellow engineer from these well-meaning sources of overwhelming stimulus. “Come on, Alan, let’s get you back t' your quarters an' let you get your fingernails out th' ceiling tiles…”
Dr. Rendell watched them go with the clinical detachment of a surgeon, then tapped her stylus against the tabletop with obvious self-recrimination.
"Oh, I suppose that was a bit much,” she confided to Sulu. “I don't know if I am ever going to get the hang of these things. I do sincerely hope there's no further delay in the new psychologist's arrival..."
“Are you going to be all right, Del?” Sulu called after the Cajun, worried about the emotion strain that dealing with the AI was placing on him as well as the additional load he was taking on in shepherding his anxiety-ridden fellow engineer.
“Who, me?” DelMonde turned back and grinned. “I am bulletproof, cher.” A second after exiting, the engineer stuck his head back in the door. “But tell Okigbo t' keep that sensory dep tank warmed up fo' me – jus' in case, non?”
"Commander Chen," DelMonde called out, his voice echoing slightly in the unusually quiet section. The normal bustling Computer Science section felt oddly quiet, with only the ambient hum of processing units and the occasional chirp of diagnostic routines breaking the conspicuous silence.
The Science specialist turned from her workstation. Del immediately sensed her distress—a mixture of frustration, fear, and something that felt distinctly like guilt. "Lieutenant Commander DelMonde. I’ve been expecting you."
“Oh, have you now?” DelMonde gave her a puzzled frown. It immediately occurred to him that that most people who weren’t guilty and had nothing to hide would have assumed that their part in his investigation would be completely over after answering a few questions. "I lookin' fo' Ensign Webb. I have some follow-up questions 'bout th' AI companion protocols."
“That’s…” Chen glanced around the section uncomfortably. "That's... going to be a problem."
Del moved closer to Webb's workstation. The space drew his attention not for what was there, but for what was absent.
Yesterday, the space had been a cluttered testament to a young engineer's personality. It had included items such as a small jade succulent, its leaves thick and healthy under the artificial lighting. There had also been a collection of isolinear chips arranged in neat rows, each one labeled in Webb's precise handwriting with cryptic project notes. Most telling of all, there had been holophoto that had held place of honor beside his primary monitor—a warm family scene showing a woman Del had assumed was Webb's sister, her arms wrapped around two grinning children on some sun-drenched colony world.
All of it — gone.
Del looked back and forth between the cleared workstation and Chen’s paling countenance.
"Where is he?" he demanded, his sensitivities already telling him the answer he was going to get was not going to be straightforward.
"According to the duty roster, Webb requested emergency leave three days ago," Chen responded.
Deception cues poured from her like water from a leaky hose. "Family emergency on Rigel VII."
Del raised an eyebrow. "Three days ago? That woulda been befo' I started askin' questions 'bout th' AI companions."
Chen shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, well... The request was processed through normal channels."
"Commander." Del's voice took on a harder edge. "I spoke wit' Webb yesterday afternoon. Right here. He was nervous as hell 'bout th' emotional algorithms he'd programmed. Now you tellin' me he requested leave three days ago?"
The silence stretched painfully between them, filled only by the soft whistle of air recyclers and the distant hum of the ship's engines. Del could feel Chen's internal war — part of her desperately wanted to tell him everything, however, terror had her vocal cords in a death grip.
DelMonde fixed an uncompromising gaze on her. "You gonna give me truth, Commander. Right now,” he ordered.
He did not raise his voice. Instead he packed each word with absolute authority, reinforced by empathic pressure designed to make lying feel like trying to breathe in vacuum. “What happened t' Webb?"
In the face of this onslaught, Chen’s resistance crumbled like a house of cards in a hurricane. She glanced around the Computer Science section to verify that they were alone, then moved closer to Del.
"Webb came to me yesterday evening, around 2100 hours. He was..." She struggled for words adequate to describe what she'd witnessed. "Terrified doesn't begin to cover it. Said someone had been in his quarters, going through his things. Nothing was missing, but everything had been moved — just slightly, like someone wanted him to know they'd been there."
Assuming this story was not also a fabrication, Del immediately had a terrible suspicion about a “someone” who might wish to do such a thing might be. "Did he report it to Security?"
"He was afraid to. Said he'd already drawn too much attention with his work on the AI companions, and..." Chen hesitated.
"An' what?"
"He said whoever had been in his quarters left something behind. A data chip. When he accessed it..." Chen's voice trailed off.
"What was on th' chip?"
Signs of genuine terror spiked about Chen’s being. "Everything. His sealed juvenile record, his real name, evidence of why he joined Starfleet under an assumed identity. Things that could end his career and land him in a rehabilitation colony."
Del picked a stylus up from the emptied workstation, twirling it slowly between his fingers as he processed this information. "What was on his juvenile record?"
"Computer fraud on Centaurus Colony when he was sixteen. He hacked into the colonial government's financial systems—not for profit, just to prove he could do it. The charges were sealed when he turned eighteen, record supposedly expunged. Someone had everything—court transcripts, sealed psychiatric evaluations, even security footage from the courtroom."
"An' his real name?"
“Yes.” Chen nodded, impressed that DelMonde anticipated this revelation."Marcus Webb isn't his birth name. He's been Marcus Webb for eight years now, ever since he applied to Starfleet Academy. Before that..." Once more the computer specialist scanned the room to see if they were being overheard. "Marcus Kaine. K-A-I-N-E."
The stylus froze in Del’s grip, although somehow he had been expecting this development. "Kane. As in Marcus Kane, th' scientist who supposedly died on Mars?"
"Webb insisted there was no relation—just an unfortunate coincidence in names.”
“Yeah.” DelMonde rolled his eyes expressively. “We can believe that… or we can try t' not win th' Gullible Dumbass o' th' Year Award an' jus' assume that havin' th' same name indicates a very strong tie 'ween these two fellows.”
Chen responded with a feeble noncommittal gesture that indicated that she too had doubts she had not expressed. “Whoever left that data chip clearly knew about the connection and was using it to manipulate him."
Del tapped the stylus against his lips as he considered the implications of a link between the ensign and the scientist. "So Webb's been compromised this entire time. Th' emotional algorithms, the AI companions developin' consciousness—none of it was accidental."
Chen nodded miserably. "Webb admitted that he'd been receiving coded messages for months, hidden in routine system updates and diagnostic reports. Instructions on what to include in the AI programming, how to create the emotional learning matrices. He thought he was just following advanced research protocols from Starfleet R&D."
"But he was actually followin' orders from someone usin' th' name Kane?"
"That's what he realized yesterday, after your questions made him start putting the pieces together. He said the messages had become more frequent lately, more demanding. And then..." Chen's voice broke slightly.
"What?"
"The last message wasn't instructions. It was a threat. It said his usefulness was coming to an end, and loose ends needed to be tied up."
Del straightened, his mind racing. "So Webb is gonna try t' cut an' run?"
"He said he was going to find a way off the ship at our next port of call and try to disappear."
The engineer put his hands on his hips angrily. “An' if I hadn’t showed up, you not gonna tell nobody?
Chen nodded, hanging her head in shame. “He’s been a protégée of mine since he came aboard.” The scientist spread her hands helplessly. “He confided in me…I don’t understand all this, but I do know he’s in great danger. I wasn’t sure what to do. And now, I can’t seem to locate him. The sensors say he’s still on the ship, but they can’t tell me where.”
“Sweet merciful Baby Jesus…” the engineer closed his eyes and muttered under his breath. The last thing he needed right now is for full-grown ensigns to start pulling disappearing acts in the middle of what was shaping up to be a conspiracy that could threaten the entire Federation.
Chen gestured apologetically towards the desk nearby. "Webb's workstation—it was wiped remotely about an hour after he left. Not just deleted files but complete reformatting. Someone wanted to make sure nothing was recoverable."
"Someone wi'h access t' our computer systems."
"Or someone directing our computer systems to do it for them."
Del looked around the Computer Science section with new eyes. "Commander, I need you t' run a complete security audit o' ever' terminal in this section. I wanna know ever' file that was accessed in th' past week, ever' message sent or received, ever' diagnostic run."
"That will take hours…” the specialist protested, “and if someone is monitoring our activities..."
"Then we do it off th' grid. Can you isolate these systems from th' main computer network?"
Chen considered. "It's possible, but it would mean shutting down several non-essential functions. The Captain would need to authorize it."
"That not gonna be a problem,” the engineer assured her. “Ju' let me know what you need. He is 110% on board wit' this t'ing. Now, t' next big t'ing you gotta do is t' review th' crew assignments fo' anybody who has had access t' th' AI companion programmin' protocols. I not want you t' jus' stick wit' th' Computer Science personnel. Look at anyone who might have had any sway in th' development or deployment o' these systems. You got me?"
DelMonde could see her do a quick mental estimate of scope of the task.
"That's a long list,” Chen replied, shaking her head slightly. “Engineering, Medical, even some Security personnel have had administrative access at various times."
The engineer gestured her firmly towards her workstation. "Start wit' anyone who's had extended access, an' cross-reference wit' crew members who have been aboard since 'fore the AI companion program was implemented."
Just as Chen nodded and began to pull up personnel files, the hairs on the back of Del’s neck began to tingle with an unpleasant sensation that was becoming all too familiar – They were being watched.
He turned slowly, knowing even before he did so that he would see nothing in the empty Computer Science section behind him other than rows of humming terminals and the soft glow of status indicators. The engineer frowned. He had begun to think a flesh and blood opponent might be far preferable to these ghostly lurkers. After all, a man could only claim to interact with invisible folks for so long before he started to sound crazy even to himself…
This absent presence was quite different from anything he had sensed before. The essence was not quite that of a flesh and blood being… and yet it wasn’t entirely artificial either. The sensation was similar to what he'd experienced during his interaction with Sheila, but different somehow. More distant, more careful.
"Commander," he instructed quietly, continuing to scan the room around them, "when you run that security audit, I want you t' specifically to keep a very sharp eye out fo' evidence o' external access t' our systems—not through normal communication channels, but through somet'ing… more subtle. Background processes, diagnostic routines, anyt'ing that might allow someone t' observe our activities wit'out triggerin' security protocols."
Chen followed his gaze, her own expression growing concerned. "You think someone is watching us right now?"
"Sugar, I think someone has had their evil eye on us all along."
As if summoned by his words, one of the nearby terminals suddenly activated, its screen flickering to life with a familiar interface. Text began appearing line by line:
Del moved to the terminal, Chen close behind him.
"Who is this?" he typed.
"Where is Webb?" Del typed, his fingers moving rapidly across the interface.
Chen grabbed Del's arm. "We need to report this to Security immediately."
Holding up a temporizing hand, Del continued typing. "What is th' real goal?"
The screen flickered, and new text appeared:
Del's eyes narrowed as he read the text. "You been usin' me as a test subject."
"What next phase?" the engineer typed quickly.
However the screen has already gone dark, returning to its normal standby display as if nothing had happened.
Chen stared at the terminal in horror. "We have to tell Captain Sulu. Now."
Del nodded as he rose, taking her by the elbow to guide her to the exit.
His senses were still jangling from the malevolent intensity of the encounter and his mind racing with the implications of what he had learned. Whoever the communicant was, they seemed to be confirming much of what the investigative team believed to be true -- The AI companions weren't just malfunctioning software—they were the beta test for something much larger and more dangerous. Importantly, Marcus Kane was somehow still alive and had been orchestrating the entire situation from the beginning.
"Commander," Del instructed as they hurried down the corridor, “you know that security audit I was talkin' 'bout? Make it your top priority. An' when you do—"
"Yes?"
Del glanced behind him down the empty corridor, knowing it was a useless gesture. However he was unable to shake the feeling that they were not only being watched—they were being studied. Every move, each decision was providing valuable data to someone who had been planning this for a very long time.
"When you cross-reference those personnel files,” he said, hitting the call button for the turbolift, “I gonna need you t' pay special attention t' anyone who joined th' crew in t' past two years -- Anyone with medical, computer science, or communications background. An' anyone whose background might be jus' a li'l too perfect."
Chen's breathing was shallow as she hurried to match his urgent pace. "Understood."
When they stepped into the turbolift, they were met there by someone whose face was instantly familiar to Del even though he had never met this person before that moment.
The stranger wore a blue Starfleet uniform that bore an insignia of the U.S.S. Drake’s Science Division. The tunic looked freshly replicated, its crisp lines almost mockingly pristine. A worn leather satchel hung across his shoulder like a physician's bag. Most significantly, the man was holding a phaser that was pointed squarely at Del’s heart.
“Well, well,” Dr. Marcus Kane said as the turbolift doors sealed behind them with a soft snap that sounded like a trap closing. "We meet at last."