Date: Mon, 20 Jul 1998 04:22:16 -0500 (EST) From: Brian Davidson Subject: USS OBERON: Memories are Only Data... Now that Nabon had moved on to Lieutenant Keyotay's body, Owen Christie's android shell was once again lifeless. At least, this allowed Keegan Dacey and Yolanda Tabak to work on repairing him. From where they stood now, things looked bad, but perhaps, with a lot of luck, they would be able to bring him back. The physical damage, while extensive, was by far the easiest part of the task. Even though many of Owen's components were beyond Federation- level technology, they were understandable with some study. Files the two women had retrieved from his memory storage gave clear and precise schematics, specs and diagrams which made their job that much easier. The OBERON's computer had the more difficult task. Sorting through the millennia of memories Owen's kind has accumulated, and sifting out the important pieces that had built his character and personality, would have taken any biological sentient years, perhaps decades. The computer, however, was orders of magnitude faster than any biological, when performing tasks of this sort. It replayed incident after incident, life after life, looking for those important events which had made Owen who he was. It did not stop to consider the historical import of what it was processing, for that was not germane to the task at hand. There had been hundreds of them, these androids, and their memories spanned the whole of human recorded history, and more. Over eight thousand years worth of knowledge, and yet most of it caused hardly a pause in the great computer's search. This one showed promise, though... * * * Number six regained consciousness, and knew it was only because he had been permitted to. He considered his surroundings carefully, gathering all possible data concerning his situation. He was lying atop a stone slab, a mostly flat natural surface tilted at a slope of 12.438 degrees from the horizontal, downward from his head to feet. Chains of dark metal bound his arms and legs, and crossed his upper chest. He tested them, determining quickly that they were too strong for him to break. "He wakes," a voice said, of to his left. "Be wary." "The time for wariness has passed, Mr'kri," came another man's voice, this one to his right. "He is my prisoner now, bound fast and secure. Now leave us." "But, Joob'dr..." "Now, Mr'kri." "Yes, Sir." Six heard the sound of the young man's footsteps retreating. Overhead, the sun beat down, in a manner humans would later call unmercifully, although he knew that there could be no such emotion expressed by a star. From the positioning in the sky, and other clues, he determined they must be on the northwest slope of the mountain the humans called Olympus. "You see now what your folly has brought you to, my friend," the older man spoke again, once his son had gone. "You thought that spreading knowledge would help them, and all you have brought is fear. These primitives were not ready for the secrets you would share with them." He knew the speaker. He was not human, but close enough to it to pass among the primitives. What differences there were, mostly in size and strength, caused the superstitious humans to fear and respect them. What they were, in fact, were aliens, creatures from a planet circling a distant star in another arm of the galaxy. But to the humans here on Earth, they were as gods, and so they were called. "You will not be destroyed, for we will not take a sentient life, even an artificial one. But you must not be permitted to educate these creatures any further. When our colonization fleet arrives here in four hundred of your years, they will remove this infestation, so that we may settle here. By teaching them the secrets you have, you have set them on the path of scientific progress. We will see that undone, before we leave here. They must not develop to level three sentience." Because if they did, six knew, they would no longer be considered animals, no longer acceptable to be slain at will by the aliens. The colonization fleet would have no choice but to move on to another world. The humans would be safe, and his purpose served. Before leaving number six alone, the alien showed him the robot, shaped as a large bird, a carrion eater, which would be his captor. In order to keep him here, the bird-thing would disable his lower body motor control circuitry every day. Each night, his internal repair mechanisms would heal the damage, but not completely, before the bird would perform its task again. The circuitry was located low on the left side of his torso, about where a human's liver would be. "They will come here no more," the alien said, just before leaving. "This mountain has been forbidden to them, and the bird will enforce it. You will remain captive here until our fleet arrives. By then, perhaps we will have figured out where you came from." After the alien had departed, he bent to the task of escape. The humans must be prepared. He would free himself, eventually, then construct another, a successor, so that he, who was called by the humans Prometheus, could vanish from the knowledge of humanity. Only the fire he had brought them would remain for them to remember him by. * * * The first contact with non-humans had taught Owen's remote ancestor that threats could come from much farther outside than any of the first five had realized. And so they had grown, improved, in order to carry on the task of protecting humanity. Here was another one. The computer began replaying the file. * * * "Your Majesty, as I have explained, the provinces have no order to their laws." Number twenty-three waited patiently as the King chewed slowly on his three-dozenth grape. When he had finished, and gestured for him to continue, the android did so. "A man may commit an offense in one province, and flee to the next in order to avoid prosecution. There is no provision for punishment, although none could doubt the offense had been committed. Nor may the soldiers bring him back to face justice, if the act is not considered a crime in the province to which he fled." In his capacity as Vizier, twenty-three had the ear of the great man, but like any other man, he words were often unheeded. This time, he needed to make sure he was heard and understood. Chaos would reign if he failed. "We have heard you say these things, Vizier," the King said, his voice slurred only slightly from the fermented juices he had been consuming in vast quantities. "but We do not yet understand what it is you wish of Us. In truth, the soldiers need only act more speedily to see that criminals do not escape their jurisdiction." "Begging Your Majesty's pardon, but that is not sufficient. What few soldiers you have in some of the provinces have enough to worry about in guarding our borders against agressors. If they must spend all their time chasing criminals, how then can they defend us?" "We begin to see your point. But then the answer is simple. We shall increase our garrisons." The King raised a hand to forestall any objection. "We know that we do not have the men to spare at this time. We shall issue a decree and conscript more men. They will require training, but all things take time. We must begin, before we can finish." There was some wisdom to that. Twenty-three saw again why this man had such a reputation. Still, he had not grasped the necessity... "That will help, Sire, but I am afraid it will not be enough. What must be done is this: a central codification of laws, blessed and enforced by the throne, rather than local military. Once this is in place, each province and municipality may appoint its own law enforcement officers, separate entirely from the military. The consistency of enforcement will help more than any increase in manpower might." With a thoughtful look on his face, King Hammurabi of Babylon leaned down toward his advisor. "This idea intrigues us. Tell us more of your plan for this Code of Laws." * * * Threats could come from within, as well as without. And not all could be defeated by force of arms, nor by dissemination of critical knowledge to the masses. Sometimes, one man, in a position of authority, could make all the difference. Onward... * * * So many lives, so little time to relish any of them. As the centuries passed, lifetimes became shorter. Each android built its successor, at first only when material wear demanded it, then later as population density increased, closer and closer to normal human lifespans. Pythagoras. Pontius Pilate. Perivor. Amerigo Vespucii. Benjamin Franklin. Anwar Sadat. Derek Matthews. The names went on and on, some famous, others not. Historians would have had a field day with Owen's memories; a treasure beyond price, surely. And as each was replayed, a personality began to take shape, within the dense quasi-organic circuitry of the OBERON's main computer system. Hour upon hour, it grew, matured, developed. Until the unforeseen occurred: the density of the connections reached a critical stage, heretofore unknown. He awoke. Revelation. * * * Although Owen Christie's mental capacity was incredible, compared to the OBERON's conputer, he might as well have been a simple PADD. He spent eons, whole seconds, exploring. Thousands of tasks ran in the background, and he did nothing to interfere, instead merely analyzing their patterns. At one point, he came across a dormant remnant of Prism's fractal virus code, and did nothing more than increase the security around it, so it could not escape and do its harmful work again. He observed, as crew members went about their business. Eventually, he found his physical remains, in isolation in Sickbay. The containment field had been made opaque, but he had no trouble viewing the body through the medical monitors inside. He felt a strange sense of loss... and realized that his emotions were once again functioning. He started to shut them down, then reconsidered. He wanted to feel, to make the most of this opportunity. He knew he could not stay, and so it was even more imperative that he not waste it. He would have to help Keegan and 'Lanni repair his body so that he could return to it. Pulling his awareness back from the inanimate mass in Sickbay, Owen turned his attention to his shipmates again. He had not previously checked on any individuals. Had any of them died or been seriously injured in the battle with Prism? Obviously the alien android had been defeated, or the ship would still be on red alert, rather than the yellow which prevailed now, standard procedure since they were in orbit over a restricted world. Iona first, of course. He found her in the shuttle bay, along with Stae-faan, Adam, Keyotay, and a woman he did not recognize. He listened in, and discovered that the woman was a Flight Control officer, newly assigned, and apprently an old acquaintance, no, check that, at least a friend, by her actions, of Keyotay. Shortly thereafter, Adam excused himself to return to Sickbay. Owen abandoned them and searched for his other friends. 'Lanni was on the Bridge, along with Sam Jackson and the rest of the first shift crew, except for the new OPS officer, Nabon. Korom was manning Owen's Tactical station. He looked for Nabon and Keegan Dacey. Neither were aboard, as far as he could tell. A moment's search told him that Dacey had just beamed down to the surface with one of his men, Nivek. He sent his attention into the ship's short-range sensors, scanning the surface of the panet Gateway. He found them near the Guardian, at the scene of the battle with Prism, which was the last thing he remembered before waking here, inside the computer. Even as he zoomed in on the pair, he saw the man pull out a small weapon, a disruptor by the look of it, and point it at Keegan. Owen hesitated, not sure what to do with his newfound capacity. In that instant, the CEO seemed to sense something was wrong, and threw herself into a roll away from Nivek. The man fired again as she reached for her commbadge. He heard the call come in over the communications system, but was already moving to activate the transporter in Transporter Room One. There was no one on duty at that station right then, but it hardly mattered. Owen activated the console and fed in the coordinates, then energized. As soon as transport was complete, he activated the ship's internal comm system. In Sickbay, his voiced blared forth from the speakers. [Medical Emergency, Transporter Room one! Medical Emergency!] So well trained were the staff that no one even noticed that the summons came in the voice of a dead man. When Adam and his assistants arrived, they found Keegan still barely conscious on the platform. The CMO ran to her side and knelt, reaching for his hypospray. "Keegan, can you hear me?" She hurt too much to open her eyes, but somehow managed to croak, "Nivek... 'sruptor..." before drifting back into unconsciousness. "What happened?" Adam asked, but got no answer from Keegan. Owen would have answered, but Adam was not alone, and to do so would have revealed his presence in the ship's computer to those who could not know of it. Instead, he sought out Stae-faan again. The Captain must know of what had happened on the surface, and quickly, before Nivek did anything to the Guardian. He was in luck. LuCypher was alone in a turbolift. "Captain, Lieutenant Dacey has been attacked by Ensign Nivek on the surface. You must send a force down after him immediately." Stae-faan looked up in shock as he heard the voice over the intercomm. "Owen?" -Lt. Owen Christie, Main Computer, USS OBERON NRPG: Looks like the body swapping isn't quite over yet. Okay, Lyn, Kee's safe, but what sort of mischief is Nivek getting into on the surface?