Nede Prime Revisited

[JFarrington 0]

Nede Prime Revisited

Starfleet Headquarters

San Francisco, Earth

It is said that within every being lies a deep desire to experience tragedy in its most visceral form, that the range of emotions, from profound grief to extreme euphoria, is a basic affirmation of life. If this were true, the desires of one Jami Farrington would have been fulfilled several times over, from the birth of her daughter, to the death of her first husband, to her marriage to Atragon followed by the rollercoaster of emotions experienced aboard the USS Manticore. If the premise were true, she would be returning with Manticore to revisit those desires, to experience that basic affirmation of life that gave validity to her own.

Instead, this so-called affirmation of life had the opposite effect.

For hours, Jami had been staring from the expansive windows that lined the corridors of Starfleet Medical’s executive wing onto the grounds below. She had occupied an office here while working under Vice Admiral Gren DeJariov, supervising the construction of the science/medical complex that now served the Academy’s School of Medicine as a teaching facility and the Federation as a research center. Its facade was now a campus landmark, not only because of the beauty of its design but because its position and window composition caught and splayed the first rays of dawn and the last rays of sunset across nearby hills and the buildings that surrounded it: a beacon of hope for the future, and remembrance for the many who had given their lives. Young and old alike favored the grassy mall that led to its entrance as a place of rest, love, and reflection.

At this particular moment, though, Jami’s mind was numb, unable to appreciate the sight or its significance.

“Hello, Mother.”

“Janis,” Jami replied, barely turning. The vestiges of Qin telepathy left by the Iota-18 nanites had signaled the young woman’s approach, but in her present state of mind it gave Jami little comfort. Born not long after her Vulcan father’s tragic death, Janis had grown tall and beautiful: outwardly Vulcan and inwardly both, by choice.

“Your expression is the same you had after Nede Prime, Mother.”

A simple observation, filled with innuendo that conjured an unwanted flash of memory. The first time Jami had left the Manticore, after Nede Prime, she vowed never to return, only to be lured back by the unseen force called duty and the insatiable human need for exploration and adventure.

Nede Prime. Like Watergate, the term needed no descriptor; it had become a descriptor in itself. The mere mention of the planet to anyone within the Federation conjured lurid details of a mission that toppled Consul General Elaine Jaffe and sent ripples to the lowest peon, like an earth tremor radiating from its epicenter. There had been an inquiry. Heads that should have rolled didn’t. The name Manticore had never been mentioned; the ship had officially never been there. Things had quieted down in ensuing years, but the phrase “looks like another Nede Prime” endured as common politispeak.

Then, as now, there had been an inquiry. This time the inquiry was different. It reached into the mind and examined the deepest recesses of the soul. It dredged up memories best left suppressed and called forth the darkest demons of the soul - those things best left buried, never to see the light of day. What the nanites left intact was unraveled and spread across an examination table to be picked over by an inquiry board of psychologists and physicians – all in the name of healing.

Jami especially remembered an encounter with Mitch Campbell, who had come for a series of interviews after Nede Prime. Retired reporter for Millennium, The Weekly News Magazine, his name had become a household word. A blue button-down shirt hid more battle scars than some of Starfleet’s finest. He’d earned his stripes behind enemy lines as an imbedded journalist where he cultivated a quiet but direct manner. A hint of gray hair fringed a bald spot, and he had a ruddiness that came from being in the trenches for days without shelter, food, or water.

Mitch’s interest in Nede Prime was a diversion from his current assignment as historian and biographer for Starfleet. He seemed to believe that Jami had more to offer than the others on his list and interviewed her almost daily for a month. His easy manner and penchant for confidentiality allowed Jami to trust him implicitly, but he was also a stickler for detail.

She remembered sitting at her desk, twirling a stylus in one hand while they engaged in the small talk that was always a precursor to the relevant question. Light from the window behind her danced from the stylus to the highly-polished dark mahogany surface of a desk had been in her family for generations. Its wood came from a tree that had existed a century before the maker cut it and would have endured another century had he not. It had a history of users and once had a life of its own.

When the relevant question came the stylus had stopped, Jami had leaned back and rubbed her eyes, then swiveled her chair towards the window. Mitch waited with the patience that had become his trademark, a patience that said take all the time you need, a patience that had gotten him in the door of many inaccessible Federation leaders and had earned him a Pulitzer Prize.

Where is he going with this? she had wondered. Why bring up Topan after all these years? What the hell does Topan have to do with Nede Prime?

“Yes, I was married to a Vulcan once,” she replied. “Topan of Vulcan, but I suppose you know that already.” The comment was more caustic than Jami intended, but she let it pass and apparently so did Mitch. “We had a child. Janis. Her father was killed in action before she was born. He never knew her, never saw her, never had the chance to see how beautiful she was, watch her first steps . . . hear her first word . . . .” Her voice trailed off. She paused to regain her composure. “I gave her my surname, but Vulcan genes are dominant, you know, and being more Vulcan than Human she was raised on Vulcan by her grandparents.”

“So you have no prejudice against Vulcans?”

It took a few seconds for the question to register, but when it did Jami turned sharply to face him, her entire body questioning his point.

If her action had sent up a flag Mitch didn’t show it. He remained relaxed, leaning back in the armchair, one ankle resting on the opposite knee, his fingers casually intertwined. He unlinked them and waved a hand over the padd on his lap. “Just wondering about your relationship with Captain Sovak. I thought it might have some bearing on your decision after the incident at Nede Prime.”

Jami exhaled slowly. Mitch had inadvertently opened a wound she thought had been healed long ago. “Captain Sovak had no bearing on my decision. He was - and still is - a very dear friend. I know that some say his ‘cold, calculating Vulcan ways’ contributed to the decision, but the fact is that Nede Prime was the proverbial last straw in a long series of missions, Mitch. You know I can’t go into specifics. Working in covert operations puts strain on a being unlike anything else. But you know that. You’ve been there.”

He nodded.

She crossed to her desk, ran her finger along a prominent grain, then slipped easily into her chair, leaning back to reach her coffee. Beneath their polished surface those grains marked years of drought and years of plenty and held countless tiny petrified organisms with which the tree had once co-existed. It was a constant reminder of mortality; the rich heritage they shared was too often shunned or forgotten in the name of progress, tossed aside as so much chaff in a winnowing wind.

“Nede Prime,” Jami began again, taking small sips as she spoke. “We had been watching their development for several years, didn’t like what we saw. ‘We’ being the Federation, of course. Oh, how we can play God.

“Pre-warp civilization. Our orders were to investigate and report findings of… technology inconsistent with their normal development, with the idea of thwarting their efforts somehow. We went. We saw. We found more than we bargained for. It got nasty. I wish I could tell you more.”

Mitch’s coffee mug nestled in an indentation he had carefully cultivated in the arm of the easy chair over the past month. He waited, his eyes firmly fixed on Jami while he ran one finger around the lip of the mug, his general expression casual. “And these orders came from . . . ?”

She paused for a long minute, studying his face. His expression didn’t waver.

“Off the record?”

Mitch sighed. “Off the record.”

“Jaffe.” Jami placed her cup with the now-cold coffee on a side table and swiveled her chair away from the window to avoid the direct rays of a setting sun. A few clicks came from beyond the office door as the night watch slipped their access codes into various terminals up and down the corridor. Her assistant, Saliq, entered briefly to retrieve the coffee tray and ask if they required anything else. As she watched him leave she wondered how Mitch could possibly think she had any prejudice whatsoever against Vulcans. Then she realized the question had been a ploy, a toss of the dice in the game of investigative journalism.

“So, Captain Sovak had nothing to do with your decision?”

Damn, he’s persistent. “Mitch, there comes a point in everyone’s life when one questions the validity of their actions, wonders what their true purpose is, wonders if what they are doing is the right thing. You know the routine.”

He nodded.

“I’d lost too many patients, too many friends, seen too many civilizations die in the name of what one or two people called justice or peace. Nede Prime was deja vu, and when Dr. Sloan was captured it was the proverbial blessing and curse. The blessing was that we now had someone on the inside. The curse was that he might lose his life.”

Jami stood and began to pace. “We were planning our strategy, sitting calmly in the conference room talking as if he was . . . some kind of asset, something to be manipulated. We discussed the people on the planet as though they were no more than obstacles in our path. I finally realized what had been nagging at me since I joined covert operations, what I had pushed to the back of my mind because I honestly believed we were making a meaningful difference in the galaxy.

“Hell, Mitch. We were dealing with living, breathing sentient beings. Not objects. Not conglomerates. Planets are populated with beings.” Her palms slammed the desk as she stopped to brace against it. “Governments are groups of beings. And ships’ crews are beings. And Elaine Jaffe, along with countless others, had lost track of the fact that Manticore was not an entity, but a ship loaded with sentient beings whose psyche can be… was being… deeply marred by directives such as she had just dealt out, and whose lives can be lost in more ways than one.”

She slumped into her chair and took a few deep breaths before continuing. “It took me over ten years to figure that out, Mitch. Ten frackin’ years of deception, death, and destruction. I had to leave. I had to leave.”

Jami sat for a long time staring out the window, looking past the construction site, beyond the waning sunset, beyond everything. When she turned around Mitch was gone. It had been an arduous journey, and she had thought it was finally over.

And yet, she had been drawn back into it. The lure of deep space? The call of duty? Her love for Atragon? All three?

Janis waited patiently by her side as the memory played itself out. She had her father’s eyes, his quiet manner, his patience.

“Though I could recommend treatment, any treatment I would recommend I am sure would be the same you have already tried.”

Jami’s smile came out as flat, but she counted it an improvement. “The nanites of Iota-18 conjured an experience that was Nede Prime ten times over, Janis. I doubt there is any going back this time. One thing is certain: I am no asset to the crew in my present state of mind. I’ve decided the best treatment is time. Time to realize it was a fabrication. Time to understand it as such and move beyond. Time to enjoy life and not worry about a future over which I have no control.”

Her daughter’s expression turned totally Vulcan and Jami half expected her to say, Worrying about the future is illogical, but what came out was, “I am here, if for no other purpose than to support you in your recovery.”

“I know,” Jami replied. “And I thank you.”