Memories Hardened as Bright as Chrome

[Tachyon 0]

This takes place directly after last week's sim.

 

"Memories Hardened as Bright as Chrome"

A Joint Log by Ens. Demitri Mashschenko and Cdr. Tandaris Admiran

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

According to the Starfleet Guide to Standard Psychiatric Practice, the location selected for a counseling session fundamentally impacts the outcome of that event. Though the standard layout of the counselor's office was typically seen as the culmination of years of thought and consideration by dozens of talented Federation psychological experts, the Guide notes that selecting an alternative location could help relax a patient, and ultimately yield a more effective therapy session. Mashschenko had no grasp on Federation Feng Shui, but he could think of no place more relaxing than the local gin joint . . . or at least, he would be relaxed. Surely, he supposed, Admiran would be at ease...if he'd ever return with those drinks he'd been asking for. How many Trills does it take to get a rum and cola?

 

The sound of three glasses settling into place in front of Mashschenko interrupted his train of thought. Tandaris came round into view, taking a seat across from him. "Here you are . . . a rum and a cola for yourself, some Bajoran spice ale for me."

 

Mashschenko eyed the Bajoran beverage, then lifted his eyes up to meet the Trill's. "Interesting. . . ." His nonchalant tone poorly hid what sounded like an air of purpose to his statement.

 

Tandaris concealed any traces of annoyance at every little behaviour of his being analyzed--this entire meeting was an analysis, after all. Complaining about that fact wouldn't change much. If he wanted to be cruel, he could hold out, play games--so far Mashschenko seemed like a formidable opponent, but Admiran had considerable . . . home field advantage. For that same reason, however, he knew that reticence on his part would only slow down whatever painful process was required to set things aright. Smart patients played games; smarter patients knew when it was time to acquiesce.

 

Still, that didn't mean it would be easy. Knowing it would be deflected if he asked Mashschenko to do it, Tandaris held up his glass. "A toast . . . to the unexpected."

 

Demitri smirked a slight, but followed suit by raising his own glass, "To the unexpected." Deep down, he had no grand plan. No schemes to analyze or mislead. But patients always seemed to expect some master set of plans to reveal their inner secrets, and if they couldn't see them from the start, they'd spend the next hour searching for them. It was better to seem all mysterious-ish right from the get go - it was what they were expecting. And once their expectations were met, there'd be no more distractions. "You gave me quite a run before, Chief."

 

"Did I?" asked Tandaris. "What do you mean?"

 

"Some of us were weighed down by our uniforms." He took a swig from his glass, taking his time to swallow before continuing, "Not what I was expecting for a first assignment."

 

"Yes, well, I've served on many ships, and Excalibur is certainly the most interesting one I've seen. I'm sure you'll have your work cut out for you."

 

"That depends." Another swig. "Will you start talking now, or do I have to wait until the second date?"

 

Tandaris scoffed. "Now, what sort of man do you think I am, besmirching my honour like that? And here I thought I was buying drinks for a gentleman." So far, his own glass remained untouched on the polished surface between them. He sighed. "What would you like to know?"

 

The question in return was quick, "What should I know?"

 

"Oh, where to start. . . . In seven lifetimes I've been beaten, stabbed, shot, drowned, married, and made to defend theses. I've seen terrible things. Done terrible things. But none of those compare to what I've seen . . . and . . . done . . . now. What I did." Tandaris paused. "Sorry about the confusion of tense . . . but it's just one of those things."

 

Not exactly a cheerful start. Demitri supposed Tandaris saw his glass as half-empty, but that was more than he could say of his own. The counselor quickly finished off the remainder of his drink while listening to the Trill's explanation, "And what was it you did?"

 

"I--" and there it was. Reticence, despite Tandaris' resolve to be forthcoming. He glanced around surreptitiously, not enamoured with the choice of venue. "This session is confidential, correct? Even if what I say could potentially compromise the security of the ship and the safety of its crew?"

 

The counselor's eyes were fixed toward the bar, shooting a hopeful look that someone would notice his distinct lack of beverages. Only toward the end of the Trill's spiel did his glance return to his table mate, "Oh sure--unless, you know, I have one too many of these." He nodded toward the empty glass. "Reassuring, isn't it?"

 

"You might want to knock a couple more back," said Tandaris. "You know already about my accident, no need to dwell on that. I actually don't remember most of it, at least not from my point of view. I wasn't conscious. But it was, and I remember being . . . panicked. I was out of options, and suddenly this . . . form . . . seemed appropriate to my needs. But I was wrong, of course."

 

It takes a lot of practice not to look at someone like their crazy. Empathy. Self-control. Muscle memory. All of the necessary ingredients to keep someone from feeling like a self-conscious soufflé. Demitri never bothered. Perking a brow, the counselor eyed the Trill, "Whose point of view?"

 

"The ship!" Tandaris bellowed. Others around them looked in their direction, and he sheepishly lowered his voice. "The Scorpiad ship. It was conscious--not necessarily cognisant in a sentient way, but it instinctively knew something was wrong. Looking back, my own mind processes it all through a lens of sentience, so it feels more cogent than I'm sure it actually was. It sensed what we were doing to it, felt threatened, and tried to find a way to survive. I guess it thought my symbiont was a compatible place to dump its core memory. I suppose I should be flattered."

 

There's only one way to react to that. Blinking. Repeatedly. "So you saw yourself . . . because you were experiencing the perception of a spacecraft."

 

"Once I woke up, yes, I recalled everything up until the point where I went unconscious--through the senses of the ship. And now within Admiran lie its memories, if you can call them that, its experiences."

 

It wasn't the craziest thing, he'd heard. Plenty of people claim to have an outer body experience at some point in their lifetime, and the sensation had documented links with several medical conditions and herbal . . . reagents. Demitri himself could relate (the reasons for which would remain undisclosed). "You say you could see yourself. Did the others with you see the same thing? Does their record match your own--its own?" He smirked as he corrected himself.

 

Tandaris scoffed. "Well, I haven't compared with them! What am I supposed to say, 'Oh, by the way, I was the ship while it was attacking me. Care to trade notes on the play-by-play?'" He shook his head derisively. "No. And what would be the point, other than making them think I'm crazy?"

 

"Do you think you're crazy?"

 

"I don't know what to think! I've seen things most people couldn't imagine, but all my lifetimes of experiences could only amount to a thimbleful of what I . . . what I've experienced now. Don't you see? The ship wasn't sentient; it didn't process its experiences in the context of a personal narrative. Its understanding of cause and effect was rudimentary, specious. It didn't make connections in the way I, as a sentient being, can. So while I have its memories, I interpret them differently than it did. And that makes them so much more dangerous."

 

"Sounds to me like you know exactly what to think." Demitri tipped his glass, as if the gesture might cause the vessel to fill itself. Lifting his eyes back up, he offered Tandaris a critical look, "How exactly did you come up with this explanation? I'm guessing you didn't just wake up and say, 'Today, I was a spaceship.' Mmm? You processed something confusing, and came to a conclusion--albeit, a ridiculous one."

 

Tandaris ignored the last part. He understood full well how incredible this sounded. In a somewhat more calm tone, he explained, "A couple of days ago, I started building a device. The plans just came to me. I didn't know what it did, or what it was, but I felt compelled to construct it, like it was important. That's why I went to see Dr. Wydown, actually. It worried me, that I had such a strong urge and didn't know why. I'm having trouble. I can't trust myself anymore until I know how much I've changed. Until I figure out who I am now."

 

"Okay, assuming you're not, you know, crazy." He began fiddling with the glass once more, "You believe you have an explanation for your behaviour. If you really did experience the world such as the ship would, how can you possibly tackle something as existential as a 'Who am I?' question. I doubt the ship knows what it is, so how will you?"

 

"Therein lies my dilemma. Even with my greater understanding, the ship's experiences are sometimes so alien, so outside my frame of reference, that I can't always reconcile them. It's a vastness for which I did not ask."

 

"Is that what you want though. To understand?"

 

"Isn't that what we all want, counsellor?"

 

"No. Most of us pick simpler goals. Like GETTING A SECOND ROUND OF DRINKS." The last bit was shouted in the direction of the bar staff, who narrowed their eyes in the counselor's direction. "Or perhaps . . . not so simple." He glared in return.

 

Tandaris looked down at his hands and muttered, "It used to be a simple goal." Looking back up at Mashschenko, he said, "If I am to be accountable for my actions, I have to know they stem from me, and not from . . . unresolved issues. I know what the visceral reaction is to destroying planets. But it's worse than that. All the ship knew was that it could destroy planets, that, when its leash was slipped, it did destroy them. I know how it destroyed planets now. I--" he stopped mid-thought and frowned.

 

"You. . . ."

 

"I just realized what the device in engineering does."

 

"And I'm guessing it's no smoothie machine."

 

"I'm probably violating some sort of protocol by sharing this information with you, since it's classified, and you are an ensign. But as this is a 'therapy' session . . . we were trying to salvage the ship because it had a device on board capable of detonating stars. The device in engineering is a replica, or as close as I can get with Federation technology. . . .

 

"Do you see what I'm getting at now, counselor? The Scorpiad ship was capable of destroying stars, but it didn't understand how the weapon worked. I do, and using the ship's memories and my own knowledge, I can build it. And that's just the start. Everything the ship could do, did, from instinct and ability, I know--and I know how to reverse engineer it. The ship was just a tool; it didn't have to grasp with the consequences of its actions. I do."

 

"You want to talk? Fine. You want to drink? Better. You want me to have you confined to your quarters and placed under observation? Doable. But you need a goal. Something to work toward." The counselor cracked his knuckles, "Understanding isn't a goal to work toward. It's something that'll happen. Or won't." He shrugged slightly, offering the alternative.

 

"I do have a goal."

 

"Let's hear it then."

 

Tandaris sighed, picked up his untouched Bajoran spice ale, and downed it in one go. "Do I tell Captain Corizon I can blow up stars for him?"