The Chromus Affair

Turbolift doors parted on deck six.  Black Starfleet shoes hit the carpeted deck, marching tersely.  Black-clad legs pumped in a scissoring motion, straddled by arms in black sleeves.  Pectoral muscles rose and fell inside an equally black midsection, topped by a seamed pate of grayish-purple... gripping broad firm shoulders trimmed in gold, around a maroon collar.  Silver metal braids gleamed on both sides, spanned by rows of gold studs.

Admiral Stephen April strode the corridor in his official uniform.  He rounded a corner, heading towards security: the detention block.  His pace matched his mood: restless, determined, with audible, punching impacts.  His taut, twitching face, pressed lips and gray eyes, shining hard, spoke of his psychological state.

He knew what Chromus was doing – trying to do.  Attacking a Starfleet officer?  Putting her in sickbay?  April fumed, struggling to contain primitive emotions.  It was a human reaction.  Unfortunately, not all human reactions were constructive.  Some were quite the opposite – and if he let himself indulge this urge roiling within, there would be a dead Romulan on board.  For all their progress in the enlightened Federation, it might be millennia before humans evolved beyond such feelings.  Until then, it would be a constant, warring battle with their own natures.

Chromus, the Romulan liaison... and a former ambassador... attacked Lieutenant Alex Crimson.  There could only be one explanation.

Politics was Chromus' game.  His Romulan superiors gave him little choice about his lot in life.  He supported the old Romulus, the Romulus dominated by military hardliners and Tal Shiar manipulators.  He was probably a member of the Tal Shiar once.  Chromus didn't like what Romulus had become – a republic, after an empire – and was in the process of becoming: A cooperative part of the galactic community... possibly a Federation member.  Chromus carried a lot of hate.  Hated what his people were making themselves into.  Hated that they had no place left for someone like him, a member of a dying breed.  Were April not so enraged, he might have pitied the Romulan.  Change was not always easy.  For some, it was never easy.  He had been through enough ups and downs in his life.  He knew that.

But Chromus hated most of all being cast out, forced into the Federation, put here by a government with no use for him or a dying breed... with little choice, if he wanted to continue to serve.  Ideologically, his hands were tied.  He didn't want to be here.  He wanted Starfleet to send him back.  He wanted Romulus to have to take him back.  Hence why he attacked Crimson.  April assigned her to him, hoping diplomacy might assuage the former ambassador.  Chromus meted a different form of diplomacy in return.

April recognized the ploy.  Arresting and imprisoning a Romulan national, one of their duly appointed 'representatives'... If the Federation couldn't stick to its high and mighty ideals sufficiently to tolerate one Romulan, what hope did their alliance have?  It threw a shadow of doubt on the future.  No doubt Chromus counted on that, to stir up some resentment, perhaps even break up the alliance.

Little chance of that.  Now three years into a democratic, cooperative era, Romulans were reaping benefits.  They were prospering.  The old Senate, full of jealous, greedy, suspicious, power-lustful war-mongers, consumed itself with infighting for centuries.  The Romulan people suffered.  It was no wonder they finally rose up and said 'Enough'.  It paid off: They were doing better than ever.  No wonder, again, that they wanted to wash their hands of Chromus' ilk.  There were actual, literal talks of formal unification with Vulcan, something that never would have been possible with the Star Empire... an old dream of a new generation, finally coming to life.  A new Romulan way signaled itself on the horizon.  The masses refused to resume the old ways.  But that didn't stop old-timers, like Chromus, from trying to tip the scales.

April had contacted the Romulan Embassy, and gotten the lowdown.  Chromus wanted to be sent back.  But they wouldn't take him back.  An echoed sentiment from the Federation Council told April that this was one of those difficult decisions, placed squarely in his lap.  Chromus was, in short, April's problem.  It came with the uniform.

Dealing with it was not so simple.

Cadie appeared, standing in the center of the corridor, giving April that 'look'.

He never thought he'd rue having a sentient ship.

In Utopia, life was not always easy.  Could anyone say it was, always?  Utopia was not automatically Paradise.  But the Federation was both.  April had spent chunks of his life trying to decide which one, more than the other.  Many citizens faced the daily danger of becoming lethargic, lazy, in a society providing all.  Hence the need for self-improvement.  It was a social standard, the 'unwritten law'.  Some thought that meant simply keeping one's self occupied.  It didn't – It meant more – but April got a sense, today, of why they thought that.  It took away a degree of challenge; the threat of loss, or worse hardship, if everyone did nothing or no one did anything.  He understood why some groups adopted primitive ways, devoid of technology or Federation progress, and branded it progress of another sort, like the "Sons", that Ktarian member of which he met in Chicago a few years ago.  Nor did it surprise him that others took the opposite extreme, pursuing possibilities and implications of life in an advanced, mechanized, techno-interactive, socially progressive, interstellar society, to the furthest ends legally possible (and some not so legal)... trying to move beyond even a 'need' to rely on Federation provisions.  One of Arcadia's medical residents, Phu Cho Han-Bae, came from a family somewhere in-between: As insane as it sounded, doing nothing except living as comfortably as possible, and letting the Federation pay for it.

To live, to simply live... to exist... was easy, without resistance providing obstacles.  Of course, life, living, was all about obstacles: a lifelong obstacle course, from womb to grave.  The question every person had to ask of themselves was, did they shape life, or did life shape them?  Between the hurdles: That was when April tried to relax, and live for himself.  But he found that he lived more fully and richly, jumping the hurdles.  Put him to a task and he excelled.  He never felt more alive.  If he had a goal, he'd move heaven and earth and turn the universe inside out, if necessary, to accomplish it.

Goals were the problem, at this time.  He lacked attainable goals.

Well, that wasn't entirely true.  His goal was to get to the end of the corridor.  Beyond that, at the very least, to get through the day... and not have to face the consequences of his acts.

He knew that cause was doomed when, moving down the hall, he saw Cadie appear, head lifted, dark hair tossed back, staring him in the eye with those two dark orbs in bits of white... expression not much changed from days before.  He knew, deep down, she would confront him again.  She was keyed to his innermost self, part of him as he was part of her.  And she picked now, his last break from his duties before heading to Memiklon, when he had collected all of the information that he could regarding the Shapers (which, admittedly, was nil, as Libra warned him it would be).  The inability to contact the Shapers compounded the feeling.

The corridor was wide enough to go around, but he couldn't ignore her.  April halted with a sigh, put a hand to his forehead, realized that he was trying to hide from her gaze, and instead ran the hand through his hair, down the back, pausing to rub his neck.

"Cadie..."

She gave a little slight shake of her head, expression pained, still covering a core of hurt and not barely succeeding.

"How could you, Stephen?"

He resisted an urge to hide his face in both hands.  "Cadie, we've been through this...."

Karinna Baxter was a busy woman.  One of the busiest in Starfleet, without actually being in Starfleet.  The 'universal transporter' (a pop term for the subspace transporter – it didn't quite span the universe) delivered her back and forth, every few days, beaming once or twice a week to ships and facilities carrying the new interactive systems.  Her area of expertise covered more than holographics: She dealt with the underlying, innermost systems; why they worked as they did, and when necessary, she performed as a troubleshooter.  A specialist's specialist.

She kept coming back to Arcadia.  The sentience among ships in the Quantum 'Slipfleet' (more vernacular fall-in) made for obvious interest.  Cadie, the Arcadia's personification, was the first of 'her' kind on record, as Arcadia was the first Starfleet ship with quantum slipstream drive.  Three others rolled off the docks right after her: Caledonia, Messenia and Laconia.  Messenia was destroyed a few years back, before manifesting intelligence.  If Karinna was to believe what was happening, that starship should have already had such intelligence, lying latent, within.  Had it experienced 'death' in its moment of destruction?

Recently returned from the USS Tucker, she parlayed Lieutenant Vallien into assisting her investigation, with Captain Rampart's approval.  Baxter studied analysis reports, collaborating with engineering and tactical personnel, examining the puzzle piece by piece.  Her bosses in Starfleet and Federation agencies wanted to know more.  Cadie represented a potential new wave of the future.  In centuries to come, all Federation starships might be intelligent.

Yet understanding eluded her.  Other civilizations developed QSD.  Complex systems became more lifelike, the more complex they became.  QSD was a complex system, but fundamentally simple.  Just an extension of subspace warp physics.  Why did ships in Starfleet's slipstream program, alone, develop sentience?  Why did these ships develop personalities?

That previous CO, April, was also back, she learned, an admiral now.  Good for him.  They didn't get along so well, but he provided an unexpected new source of information, in the form of logs, which he permitted her to access.  A special relationship existed between the ship and April.  Karinna had learned that, while Arcadia was docked at Starbase 514.  But she never knew the exact nature.  The times she saw them together, they had been talking, at a distance.  April's logs revealed an apparently critical, yet still baffling element.

In Tactical Analysis, she sighed and waved off the holoscreen containing columns of examination summaries.  The blue square vanished as she stood from her seat, leaning on the table.  On a monitor before her sat an image, freeze-framed, from internal visual logs, of the 'persona' itself.  Cadie, captured in a corridor, speaking to April.

Vallien, seated at a nearby terminal, raised his head from a palm-padd.  "Do you need a break, Doctor Baxter?"

"I just don't get it.  How can love create an artificial intelligence?"

Vallien paused, contemplating.  "I believe a more appropriate term might be, 'life'."  He looked at her.  "How can love create life?  It simply does."

Baxter had long ago gotten used to hearing this blonde Vulcan speak of emotions, such as love, so casually.  Vallien was different from most Vulcans.  "Yes," she said, "through organic procreation.  But this doesn't compare."

"Is it infeasible that a machine and an organic could love each other?"

"But that's not what we're talking about.  The question is, how did the captain – I mean admiral's love for his ship cause it to become aware?  And why did it... 'she'... manifest this..."  She gestured at the woman on the monitor.  "...form of a human brunette female?  Why nothing else?"

"Perhaps his love was simply that strong."

She gave Vallien a dubious look.  "We know it doesn't work like that.  There has to be a scientific explanation."

"I've seen many strange and miraculous occurrences in my time," Vallien said in a soft inflection, "which defy logical explanation, or to which the explanation is simply unknown to us.  It may be warranted to simply accept that some things cannot be explained."

Karinna shook her head.  "I don't buy that.  There's a reason.  There has to be.  And I've been given the task of finding what that reason is.  I can't just sit back and 'accept' it."

"Then perhaps you should ask her."

Karinna glanced at the wall.  She leaned forward, voice dropping to an uncertain whisper.  "Do you think she'll talk to me?"

"Why would she not?  But, I do not know.  I am not her."

She frowned, hesitated.  She... her... it....  This could get confusing.  She looked up at the wall again.  "Uh... excuse me... ship?  Arcadia?  Could you, uh... come on out here, and talk to us?"  She waited a moment, as nothing happened.  "Please?"  Still nothing.  She shrugged.  "I guess she isn't listening."  She made a face and shook her head, wondering what she was thinking.  "This is crazy.  I'm trying to get the ship to talk to me."

"It's not so crazy," said a voice.  Karinna turned around, and there she stood: The cute caucasian brunette on the monitor, all five and a half feet of her.  She was looking at her own image.  She glanced at them, lips forming a brief smile, then refocused on the screen.

Baxter looked at the screen too, then at her.  "You're... her?  This, all around us?  The ship?"

The brunette smiled at her again.  "Call me Cadie."

"I have some questions I'd like to ask," Baxter started.

"Yes, I know."  'Cadie' took a (simulated?) breath and shifted her attention away from the monitor, onto Baxter, with a quick glance at Vallien.  "I can't explain it myself.  I don't know why I came to be.  But then, does anyone?  I only know how I came to be."

"How is that?" Baxter said, a bit too sharply, drawing a look from her 'visitor', then, more easily, "If you don't mind."

"I don't mind.  But it's complicated to explain, in words you'll understand."

Baxter crossed her arms and leaned on the table.  "Please.  Try me."

"Every time I cross over, from what you call 'normal' space into slipstream, there is an attenuation in field compensator around the ship, right at the third tertiary transition.  Forty-seven to the tenth sloanes.  For a trillionth of a second I'm connected to a recursive rebound layer in subspace... what you might think of as 'infinity', but what I call 'unspace'.  It's a form of energy, I don't know how to describe... like being tapped into forever.  It's different compared to all other subspace layers."

"A quantum artificial intelligence?" Vallien said.

Cadie nodded slowly, absorbing this as an explanation herself.  "I... suppose you could call it that."  Her black eyes gleamed at him, then at Baxter.  "Why do organics label everything to help their understanding?  You might think I'm delusional, but I think I'm more than that.  I'm the ship, but I'm more than the ship.  Each of you is more than a collection of tissues and organs.  I'm more than the sum of my parts too."

"No offense was intended," Vallien assured her.

Karinna nodded in agreement.  "If it's any consolation... uh, Cadie... we're more than simply atoms and cells.  But it won't stop us from using labels."

Another holoscreen appeared in midair; in it, Lieutenant Celina Corgan's dark face eyed Baxter expectantly.  "Doctor Baxter, can you come to the bridge?  We could use your assistance."

Karinna's fingers tapped on her arm, mildly irritated.  Just when she was starting to get somewhere...  "Yes.  I'll be there right away."  Corgan nodded and the screen blipped out.  "I'd like to talk more later, if that's all right," she told Cadie.

"I'm not going anywhere."  Cadie grinned.  "That's a little joke.  I'm still new to humor... Did I do it right?"

Karinna grinned, too kind to tell her the truth, and glanced at Vallien.  "Uh... ask him.  Excuse me."  She stepped around Cadie and went out the door.

Cadie faced Vallien.  "Lieutenant?"

Vallien regarded her then looked at his palm-padd.  "Vulcans don't understand humor."

Cadie tilted her head, disappointed.  She appeared pensive, then said, "Vallien... you spoke of love.  Do you understand love?"

April didn't go to security first.  He went to check on Crimson.  Stepping into sickbay, he overheard the new nurse, Amanda Maraquin-Brock, saying, "Lieutenant Maraquin-Brock to Admiral April.  Sir... I have an update on Lieutenant Crimson's condition."

"Let's hear it."

She about jumped out of her skin, spotting him behind her.  How did anyone get around so fast...

After hearing Amanda out, and seeing what Chromus did to Alex, April turned his attention to the CMO's office.  Through the window, he saw Tabatha Brisk within, at her desk, wrapping up her post-treatment report.

It wasn't often April got into a debate with Tabatha Brisk.  In fact, it was rare.  Today was one of those rare days.

"Stephen, I don't think this is right."

"You don't think it's right?"  April motioned at the window.  "You saw Alex.  You saw what he did to her."

"I know; I understand.  But... how is taking away his right to choose any better?  If we force our will on him... how does that make us any better?"

"Tabatha... your compassion makes you think that way.  Look at the end effect.  If we do nothing, if you do nothing, he'll still be the same.  He can do this to someone else.  Locking him up in the brig for thirty days, or thirty years, won't make a difference.  It's no guarantee that he'll learn from his mistakes.  It's why we abolished prisons."

"I don't think is the answer.  If someone does something we consider illegal, or disapprove of, are we just going to—"

"It's not open for debate.  I'm giving you a direct order, Commander Brisk: Carry out the procedure.  Or should I get Doctor Valt to do it?"

Tabatha stared at April as if he had struck her.  The Micmac woman's eyes widened.  It was so rare that April pulled rank on her.  It was so rare that he had to.

April saw the reaction, and softened.  "I'm sorry... I shouldn't have said that last part."

"I don't like it, but I'll do it," Tabatha said.  "And I might lodge a formal protest as well.  Now please leave, Admiral, so I can prepare."

April hesitated at Tabatha's tone.  He pursed his lips, and quietly walked out.

Tabatha had healed Alex Crimson's injuries, easily enough.  But what Chromus did to her...  April told himself it could serve no useful purpose, dwelling on it, and tried to put it out of mind.  It could only make matters worse, by clouding his objectivity.  But he couldn't get the sight out of his head... and the anger simmered.

Pushing through the door into security, he passed Ensign Small, on watch, who jumped up.

"Admiral!"

"Stay seated, Ensign.  I know where the brig is."

April imagined the computer running autoscans on his person, cross-verifying his DNA patterns with established security clearance protocols, and passing him through each checkpoint.  He couldn't feel the process.

That same process should have prevented Chromus from hurting Crimson.  The moment he laid a finger on her, a forcefield should have sprung into place, containing him.  The computer would then notify security.  The latter indeed transpired.  But the former had not.  In fact, the rising levels of adrenalin, biochemicals and impulses associated with intent to harm, should have activated proper restraints and notifications, before Chromus could lay a finger on her.  Maybe it was a glitch, because he was Romulan.  But they had dealt with Romulans before, and knew everything about Romulan physiology.  Arcadia carried two other Romulans on board.  Maybe it was due to some undetected source of interference.  April wanted to know why, either way.  Rampart had Booker looking into it.

The final set of doors slid open, and April marched in, stopping at the first cell.  Few incidents occurred these days, at least on the UFS Arcadia, to warrant many cells.  What few there were, were empty, except the one Chromus occupied.  As the Romulan 'liaison' – no longer an ambassador – paced restlessly, as restlessly as April, he saw the admiral, stopped and turned.

April said to him, "You're not going back."  Flat out, in no uncertain terms.

Black Romulan eyes glared at him, cold.

That was the simple part of the sentence.  Now came the difficult part.

"It used to be," April went on, "if a Starfleet officer struck a fellow officer, they'd get thirty days in here."  April looked over the cell's interior.  "But you're not a Starfleet officer... and we've made some progress since then.  Now we look at the causes.  Often those guilty of such an act are under the influence of something they can't control.  We take that into account, and correct the imbalance if possible.  Usually it isn't a choice; it's a provocation.  In your case, I'd say it was definitely a choice on your part.  So you know what I'm going to do, Chromus?  I'm going to take away your choice in the matter, just like you did to our officer.  I assigned her to work with you.  Obviously that wasn't good enough.  I looked at the internal logs.  She didn't ask for what you did to her, and she didn't deserve it.  You need to learn why it's wrong to force your will on others, or to use them like they're things, without feelings."

As he said that, a voice in the back of his mind added, And what are YOU doing?

"Spare me your Federation platitudes," Chromus started.