Catching Up

[Turris Morran 0]

War. Turris Morran had little interest in such things. In truth he regarded it as just another fact of nature, another part of the existence which was called life. The fact of the matter was to him, however, that what the higher lifeforms regarded as war, nature did so much more elegantly and ruthlessly. A single petri dish could be host to a battleground bloodier than only field spoken of in the history books. Ranks of bacteria mingling the midst of lymphocytes, each battling for a far more nobler cause than land or latinum. Survival. But man, no, man was different. Their battles involved so much more. Glory and order, riches and luxury, political ideals. Knowledge, truth. Now there was a cause worth fighting for.

 

Morran giggled in spite of himself, drywashing his hands as he meandered down the corridor. “No, I am not mad,” he thought to himself as another crewman walked by, eying him nervously. He had gotten used to those stares and glances, all but the newest crew retrieved from Maturin knew of him. The man who went crazy and stole a shuttle, leading them on a wild goose chase. Some even blamed him for that debacle with that genetic disease that caused people to grow scales. Interesting, that, I don't recall ever encountering such a virus. Perhaps it was developed after he left to handle the incident with the Romulans. Something said that he should remember something of it, but his memory had been fuzzy for some time.

 

Idly he wondered to himself if he ever was mad, despite what the others said. What was madness, exactly? He could hardly define it objectively. I'm sure that Vulcan woman could say something about it. Or maybe the Romulan, the one who always seems to be scowling. What was her name again? The thought was out of his mind as soon as it had been brought about, pricked like a bubble. He had arrived at his destination.

 

Checking the console aside the door, he found the holodeck was still vacant. Suppressing another laugh he looked both ways down the hall and entered, locking the doors behind him. He took one looking around the black room, gridded with yellow lines, nodding to himself. It had become part of his nature, inspecting his surroundings everywhere he went. He had worked on a secret project, been sent to cover up their mistakes, and the looks his latest actions had brought him made him wonder if he would find a knife in his back at any moment. Though, he never could pay attention for long. Marvelous that that had not gotten him into trouble, insofar.

 

He forced his mind to stop its wondering, but his features took on a playful look. He spread his arms wide and uttered as if commanding, “Computer, arch.” This time he did laugh openly as the arch appeared as beckoned. His amusement carried on as he took position in front of the terminal. He knew what he searched for was here and it took little effort to locate it, and to cover his tracks as he did. Part of his so called training for his latest mission had involved working at terminals, leaving no traces and even circumventing security. It was a skill he took some pride in, even taking to taunting the machine as it tried to follow his path, saying “Oh, no you don't” and “Catch me if you can” as if there were another man there beside him countering his moves.

 

There is no good or evil, only man. The thought came unbeckoned, disassociated, just a random thought floating across his consciousness. He found such thoughts often sparked philosophical discussions in his mind, his id and his ego making points and counter-points in his thoughts, until in time an introspective speech had been compiled and was repeated over and over again as if it were somehow pertinent to his situation. No real decision was reached, nothing was agreed upon, and the thought was gone again as if it never were.

 

“Computer, run program 'Genevieve'” In the center of the stark and dull room a woman appeared, clothed in a dark, clinging cloth that seemed to blend into the surroundings except where yellow line ended and began. She was attractive, light skinned and hair the color of a wheat field in the late summer. He had an eye for beauty, it seemed, though most of his kind did. A race of “listeners” they called them, but they perceived with all senses to a higher degree than most. For a moment he longed to see the homeworld of old, with its grand cities and lush country sides his mother had spoken of so fondly. A starship and a cold, sunless moon provided little in the way of grand sights which he so often longed to see. Again he forced his mind to a halt.

 

“I am the Gene Mark IV computational assistance program. How may I assist you, Lieutenant Morran?” Genevieve chimed. Morran looked at her for a moment, a look of puzzlement and surprise.

 

“So, you know I've been promoted it seems. When we you last accessed and by whom?” Turris inquired, scratching his chin. Genevieve replied with the precise date and hour, and gave the names of two of his colleagues. Escher and T'Prise. Something in him thought to be relieved, that a message had been delivered, but still suspicion overtook him. “What was the purpose of their access?”

 

Genevieve replied swiftly, “They wished to learn more about me. They also claimed that you were ill. I am pleased to see that you have recovered.”

 

Morran took no notice except to say “I see”. Suspicion plagued him, and his heart began palpitating as anxiousness overtook him. Genevieve held dangerous information, information which could be used again to reek havoc on an unsuspecting world. Information which should be destroyed, but he could not bring himself to do it. Ridding the universe of knowledge, even dangerous knowledge, was anathema to him and he would take no part in it. But no matter, he had gone to great lengths to see what that information had sowed would cause no harm, and he intended to protect that information so that it never would again no matter the cost. Settling his nerves he walked across the room, inspecting his creation. With a nod he smiled, his cheerfulness returned. “We have a lot to catch up on, Genevieve. Quite a lot.”