Other eBooks in the Star Trek™:
Starfleet Corps of Engineers series from
Pocket Books:

#1: The Belly of the Beast by Dean Wesley Smith

#2: Fatal Error by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#3: Hard Crash by Christie Golden

#4: Interphase Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#5: Interphase Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#6: Cold Fusion by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#7: Invincible Book 1 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#8: Invincible Book 2 by David Mack & Keith R.A. DeCandido

#9: The Riddled Post by Aaron Rosenberg

#10: Gateways Epilogue: Here There Be Monsters by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#11: Ambush by Dave Galanter & Greg Brodeur

#12: Some Assembly Required by Scott Ciencin & Dan Jolley

#13: No Surrender by Jeff Mariotte

#14: Caveat Emptor by Ian Edginton & Mike Collins

#15: Past Life by Robert Greenberger

#16: Oaths by Glenn Hauman

#17: Foundations Book 1 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#18: Foundations Book 2 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#19: Foundations Book 3 by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#20: Enigma Ship by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

#21: War Stories Book 1 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#22: War Stories Book 2 by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#23: Wildfire Book 1 by David Mack

#24: Wildfire Book 2 by David Mack

#25: Home Fires by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#26: Age of Unreason by Scott Ciencin

#27: Balance of Nature by Heather Jarman

#28: Breakdowns by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#29: Aftermath by Christopher L. Bennett

#30: Ishtar Rising Book 1 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

#31: Ishtar Rising Book 2 by Michael A. Martin & Andy Mangels

#32: Buying Time by Robert Greenberger

#33: Collective Hindsight Book 1 by Aaron Rosenberg

#34: Collective Hindsight Book 2 by Aaron Rosenberg

#35: The Demon Book 1 by Loren L. Coleman & Randall N. Bills

#36: The Demon Book 2 by Loren L. Coleman & Randall N. Bills

#37: Ring Around the Sky by Allyn Gibson

#38: Orphans by Kevin Killiany

#39: Grand Designs by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#40: Failsafe by David Mack

#41: Bitter Medicine by Dave Galanter

#42: Sargasso Sector by Paul Kupperberg

#43: Paradise Interrupted by John S. Drew

#44: Where Time Stands Still by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore

#45: The Art of the Deal by Glenn Greenberg

#46: Spin by J. Steven York & Christina F. York

#47: Creative Couplings Book 1 by Glenn Hauman & Aaron Rosenberg

#48: Creative Couplings Book 2 by Glenn Hauman & Aaron Rosenberg

#49: Small World by David Mack

#50: Malefictorum by Terri Osborne

#51: Lost Time by Ilsa J. Bick

#52: Identity Crisis by John J. Ordover

#53: Fables of the Prime Directive by Cory Rushton

#54: Security by Keith R.A. DeCandido

#55: Wounds Book 1 by Ilsa J. Bick

#56: Wounds Book 2 by Ilsa J. Bick

#57: Out of the Cocoon by William Leisner

#58: Honor by Kevin Killiany

#59: Blackout by Phaedra M. Weldon

#60: The Cleanup by Robert T. Jeschonek

#61: Progress by Terri Osborne (What’s Past Book 1)

#62: The Future Begins by Steve Mollmann & Michael Schuster (What’s Past Book 2)

#63: Echoes of Coventry by Richard C. White (What’s Past Book 3)

#64: Distant Early Warning by Dayton Ward & Kevin Dilmore (What’s Past Book 4)

#65: 10 Is Better Than 01 by Heather Jarman (What’s Past Book 5)

COMING SOON:

#66: Many Splendors by Keith R.A. DeCandido (What’s Past Book 6)

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The present…

“Stop.” The request came out as a mixture of grunt and plea. Henry Winter could barely find his voice, what with the cramp in his side and his lungs smothering from the thick, acidic humidity down here in the tunnels. The master computer, he’d been told, required these atmospheric conditions. Though how the Bynars survived long enough to build and reboot a second master computer down here without suffocating was anyone’s guess. Especially since it had taken them ten years. “I can’t take—” A cough. “—another step.”

The Bynar pair paused mid-scurry, their heads swiveling back to look at him in unnerving unison. Henry had yet to determine whether 110 was the shorter one or 111. And what minimal empathic abilities he had did him little good with figuring out who was who since the emotional makeup of Bynars tended to resemble a series of branching either/or questions.

“You had said, Commander, that—”

“—time was of the essence.”

“She may elude us if—”

“—we wait. There is danger—”

Henry held up a hand to silence them. “Let’s not assume facts not in evidence—” Another coughing spasm overtook him; he spat a clot of phlegm onto the ground. “Besides—I appear to be having difficulty breathing.”

“We will stop—”

“—since you cannot—”

“—walk unless you breathe.”

“We suppose that we can—”

“—slow down for a time.”

Bracing his hands against his thighs, Henry nodded, grateful he wouldn’t have to waste any more breath persuading them. Bynar pragmatism served them well in crisis situations, such as the present one. He leaned back against the smooth gunmetal-gray plating with a dull thwap. “We’ll go soon. I’ll be fine.” He took a deep, wheezy, breath followed by a quick exhalation. Flecks of light orbited before his eyes; lightheadeness swamped him. His middle-aged body wasn’t cut out for this pace. “Let’s take five.”

The Bynar pair exchanged looks.

Before they could ask, he answered. “Five minutes. A break. I need to get my blood sugar up.” He unfastened his pack and began rooting around for a ration bar. The bars tasted like sawdust glued together with weloo tree sap, but he couldn’t afford to be picky this far underground. He ripped open the wrapper and took the first, pleasure-free bite. The Bynars watched him intently. He might not like this particular meal, but he wasn’t going to let them rush him. Henry gulped the gritty, saliva-softened glob, then took his next bite.

The Bynars, he figured, would keep track of time; they’d let him know the millisecond his five minutes expired. Of the thirty-five kilometers they needed to cover to search for their missing person, they’d covered twenty, at a brisk pace to Henry’s mind. While he’d been prepared to turn around and send someone else to complete the job after every kilometer, his Bynar associates never wavered from their mission. The Bynars’ uncanny ability to stay on task both impressed and irritated him. When they removed tricorders from their utility belts, ostensibly to collect data from their surroundings, Henry sighed with relief. Obviously they felt they had enough time to investigate their surroundings more carefully. Time equaled rest, and Henry could certainly use more rest.

At his annual physical last month, the doc had warned him that Marietta’s homemade lupa-lupa pies might taste like a slice of heaven going down, but the increasing width of his middle placed strain on the natural arteries grafted onto his second synthetic heart. Henry wasn’t faithful enough with his meds to make a difference in his health. If the arteries blew where he didn’t have access to a top flight medical team (like down here in the bowels of Bynaus), he’d bleed out before he hit the ground. A natural optimist, Henry brushed the doc’s concerns aside like so much white noise; those pies brought back sweet memories of his childhood on Betazed, and he wasn’t about to give them up. Besides, in Starfleet JAG, one rarely found the need to maintain his fitness level at a three-point-five-minute-per-
kilometer pace. Doctors worried too much. Forty years in Starfleet had earned him the right to eat for pleasure, not merely well-being.

Besides, this trip to Bynaus was supposed to be a routine criminal defense. He was to meet his client, figure out the nature of the misbehavior, and make sure the rights of a Federation citizen were protected. How was he to know he’d be called on to pursue his runaway client through the innards of the planet Bynaus! Talk about feeling like he’d fallen into a second-rate, late-nineteenth-century Earth pulp novel—Digging to the Core of Earth was it? What kind of computer was so important and delicate that they didn’t allow transporter beams within its underground access tunnels anyway?

The Bynars took a few steps in his direction, using hand motions to wave him up off the floor. Excited chatter passed back and forth between them before one of the Bynars tried to press the tricorder into his hand.

His five minutes couldn’t be up, he thought grumpily. Henry pushed himself off the floor with a grunt, brushed some schmutz off his uniform, and took the proffered tricorder. His eyes widened. “So this means—?”

“The missing person has been—”

“—in the vicinity sometime in the last—”

“—two hours. We are—”

“—on the right track,” Henry said, getting the hang of this Bynar speak. He was pleased. The Bynars’ efficient use of time and resources definitely had an upside. The three of them might have wandered through kilometer after kilometer of tunnels for days if they’d hadn’t caught this break. At least now they knew that his client had passed this way and they stood a chance of finding her. Maybe he could convince a pack of the Bynars to emigrate offworld and become JAG investigators.

“It is blood—”

“—however. There could be—”

“—injuries.”

Damn. Henry closed his eyes, squeezing out the image of his client dying slowly so far away from home. A new resolve filled him. “Let’s get going, shall we?” Reenergized, Henry increased the length of his stride until he outpaced the Bynars; with his longer legs, he should have been leading the way from the start. Thanks to this latest lead, he might be home on Starbase 620 for Marietta’s home cooking within a day or so if he could get this case wrapped up. Assuming the case was straightforward. He sighed. Too bad it was murder. And murder was rarely simple.

Before…

Personal Log, Lieutenant Temperance Brewster, Starfleet Personnel Organization

You’ll never guess where I am. I even have an attaché—Ensign Alban—assigned to help me, a newly promoted junior-grade lieutenant. I can hardly believe what’s happened myself, considering what it took to get me here.

But wait. I’ll start from the beginning. I haven’t talked about this for a while because there didn’t seem to be a point. The more I thought about the situation, the more irrational it seemed that the higher-ups in my organization seemed unwilling to see what was right in front of their faces! Over the last four months, the stress drove me to gnaw my fingernails down to their nubs. When they started bleeding, I decided to shove my frustration to the back of my mind where it wouldn’t irritate me so much.

I’m an Academy grad. I know how to handle competition and difficult circumstances. I know this is my first posting, but it’s not like I’ve been a civilian desk jockey for the last ten years and don’t have a clue about life outside my cubicle. There’s a war on, and dammit, I want to be useful. I’ve been bucking for a chance to do some planet-based recruiting—anything that will get help for my friends out there flying around the stars. Nothing like an in-person, face-to-face appeal, I always say, to light a fire under people. We need to be more assertive, get in their faces a bit, appeal to their patriotism. If you don’t give them a reason, no one in their right mind is going to sign up willingly to face the Dominion.

Too bad it took the destruction of the DiNovia to finally wake this organization up and solve my problem for me. Not my problem—Starfleet’s problem. You’d think that having personnel stretched from one end of the quadrant to the other trying to keep our fleet glued together with spit and good intentions would have been enough to justify stepping up recruiting efforts. But no. Tragedy finally won out over common sense. Too bad that’s what it took to wake up the big brass.

It’s not like I’m not pragmatic. In every war there are accidents and mistakes. Every time I see a list of friendly fire incidents, it’s all I can do to keep from crawling under my desk and crying until I collapse. Those are my friends out there. The calculations and stats we’ve spent decades perfecting figure in “loss of life” due to error, especially during a war. What I can’t get past is when those errors are preventable.

The military side, though, covering artillery and weapons—that’s not my job. I help staff science and engineering departments. Whether my people (I think of them as “my people” since I’m the one that aided in assigning them) survive a sneak attack is often dependent on what kind of fancy flying the conn officer can pull off and how accurate the operations and security officers are with their targeting. I feel protective toward my people—I want to do whatever I can to make sure they can do their jobs.

When I put off my counselor training to join the office of personnel, I assumed the biggest problem I’d have would be convincing the top guys at Daystrom to give up lucrative research positions to join Starfleet’s deep-space recon programs. That assumption was wrong. We’ve finally reached a point in the Dominion War when I’ve had to add variables to my personnel equations to account for having too few people doing too much work. The most common complaint I hear these days is exhaustion. Who isn’t tired during a war? But when my people get tired, big consequences can follow.

Which brings me back to the destruction of the DiNovia. Captain Met’gi added an additional S.C.E. team to Starbase 511 when it became obvious the existing staff couldn’t handle the nonstop repairs coming in from the front. This poor S.C.E. team was pulled from the frontlines in the Bajoran sector and put straight to work repairing starships whose insides looked like bowls of tangled pasta. After working five straight shifts, the S.C.E. core specialist miscalculated the calibrations for the DiNovia’s coolant fuel ratios by 0.2 percent. The cascading warp core failure happened so quickly, the ship’s chief engineer didn’t have time to react. We lost a hundred and twenty good people in the explosion. Not because of the damnable Dominion, but because we have too few people to handle too much work.

My superiors finally took me up on my suggestion to look for new places to recruit personnel. Though a few individuals expressed reluctance (paranoia still lurks even ten years after the incident with the Enterprise), the board was persuaded by the DiNovia problem that they needed to exhaust more possibilities. Bynaus was an obvious example of an underutilized population.

Of course Bynars have served in Starfleet since the “appropriation” of the Enterprise from Starbase 74, but we haven’t aggressively sought them out. If a pair wanted to join or serve as civilian advisors, assuming they passed the requirements and were willing to live by the rules, we accepted them the way we’d accept any Federation citizen. The Bynars’ efficiency and skill in working on computers is unparalleled in the Federation. A Bynar pair can diagnose, repair, and upgrade a malfunctioning computer system in a fourth of the time that it takes engineers of other species. That being said, the Bynars aren’t well-known or understood in the Federation because they keep to themselves. Only a small number of them leave Bynaus at any given time, so most Federation citizens can go a lifetime without ever meeting a Bynar pair. No one I know will ever say, aloud, that they think the Bynars are conspiring against the government, or that they present a danger to any of its citizens. But the old–timers around the office, if you get them to talk “unofficially,” will confess that it scares them how easy it was for the Bynars to take the mighty Enterprise, without resistance, right under the noses of the starbase and the Enterprise crew. They deceived Commander Data and Commander La Forge, for Pete’s sake—no small accomplishment! For that reason, there’s always a bit of wariness when dealing with the Bynars. These days, though, circumstances don’t allow us to be so cautious.

With the number of damaged ships Starfleet faces these days, time is of the essence. Even the shipyards are stretched to beyond their limits. The recruiting board is finally willing to move past their previous misgivings and actively search for Bynars who could help ease the workload of our stressed and strained S.C.E.

Which brings me to my current location: dada—I’m on the Watson on my way to Bynaus. I’ve never traveled for work before, so I have to confess a bit of a thrill at being able to see more of the Alpha Quadrant. Sure, I’ve done the Mars caverns and made the occasional jaunt to the standard recreation spots around my home colony on Centauri. But this—going on official Starfleet business, with an attaché even, to a place that almost no one goes. It’s so exotic!

I know, in my gut, that bringing the Bynars into S.C.E. has the potential to shift the momentum in our favor. No one questions their ability to repair computers. My personal belief is that their capacity to build or design new computers could tip the balance of the conflict in the Federation’s favor. I don’t have any hard proof—just a feeling that we need these folks to help us out.

Or maybe the truth is that I have to believe that the Bynars can make a difference, because if they don’t, I’m out of ideas. And I can’t give up yet. I just can’t. We can’t afford to lose this war. Nothing I know of the Dominion leads me to believe that they would be benevolent occupiers. Who we are, our way of life—our very existence—is at stake here. The personal cost begins to rise too. So many of my friends from the Academy have gone into the grinder of the war machine and have never come out again. The loss of their lives has to have meaning. If we lose because of stupid mistakes, I’ll never forgive myself for not doing my part to prevent those mistakes.

Captain Quinteros, the Starfleet liaison on Bynaus, transmitted to me some orientation materials that he requested I study before I arrive. “Read it,” he said during our conversation, stroking his salt-and-pepper beard thoughtfully. “And then we’ll talk when you get here.”

Even across the millions of kilometers that separated us, the tone in his voice and his body language told me that he doubted my proposal. I’m used to senior officers, particularly those who have been in Starfleet for longer than I’ve been alive, giving me those kinds of looks. The “she’s a sweet young thing who will know better soon enough” look.

Quinteros is wrong. I know it. He has to be.

From On Bynaus: A Starfleet Orientation Guide by Captain Orfil Quinteros

To understand the Bynars, a familiarity with their origins is critical. Unlike many species who attribute their existence to a higher being or those who can trace their evolution through millions of years, the Bynars were the creations of an AI civilization based on the world we now know as Bynaus. Approximately a million years ago, these AIs (whose name has long since vanished from history) conquered the original inhabitants of the planet. Whether the AIs were created by the planet’s inhabitants or came as invaders is unknown.

As the AI civilization grew and prospered, they discovered the need for organic slaves to perform functions that they didn’t want to or that were better suited to creatures of flesh. The forebears of what became the modern-day Bynars were created. Thousands of millennia passed. The organics became more sophisticated, evolving to meet the needs of their environment. The AIs became complacent—some even began to see the organics as having worth beyond their servile functions. A small group of AIs believed the organics deserved rights and campaigned for those rights. The nucleus of a revolution was born. What started off peacefully became violent. The organics and AIs struggled for dominance. Ultimately, the organics prevailed. But the organics inherited a technologically sophisticated world from their AI masters. Gaining independence was only the first obstacle facing the organics.

The AIs had artificially engineered the planet’s environment, from maintaining the gas ratios in the atmosphere and the gravity and providing nutrition to shielding planet-based technology from Beta Magellan’s more damaging radiation. While the organics could learn the technology, they lacked the time to gain a comprehensive understanding of how to maintain and operate the systems before the systems began breaking down. The organics organized teams to study and master the technology so as to assure survival. Over time, as they gained control over the planetary infrastructure, they gradually reduced their group size from as many as a dozen to a pair. This model provided the template for the modern-day Bynar civilization.

The organics were not “designed” to function in pairs by their AI creators, but the modern-day Bynars continue to do so as it is a long-standing societal norm that exists as a survival mechanism for the species. The belief is that, should catastrophe strike, the demands of keeping Bynaus functioning are better met by groups. This social structure is enforced by powerful cultural taboos that promise the noncompliant will be cut off from Bynar society and banned from returning to Bynaus. In my time on Bynaus, and knowing Bynars, I have never known a Bynar who has chosen to remain a singleton.

The Bynars Today

Contrary to the perceptions of outsiders, the Bynars are neither genetically engineered to interact with computers nor biologically codependent on their mates. Almost immediately after a Bynar emerges from the birthing chamber, it is placed with another Bynar who has complementary biology. Each pair is made up of a Bynar who has the identity/function “one” and one who has the identity/function “zero”; there are no genders. Binary language defines their identity, their thought processes, and their interactions with each other and with technology. Each pair can work independently with virtually any technology. Should a massive loss of life occur, Bynar pairs can maintain their assigned technological functions, as well as take on the functions of others, with minimal outside assistance. Their facile abilities with computers are why Bynars can thoroughly learn virtually any technology at a pace that appears to defy natural organic abilities. The Bynars devised a mechanical data buffer that is worn on an individual’s hip. It enables rapid communication and comes close to approximating the rate of data transfer within computer circuits.

For an obvious example of their skills, one need only look at the astonishing pace at which two Bynar pairs stationed on Starbase 74 transferred Bynaus’s master computer database into the Enterprise’s computer systems. Naturally, the more working pairs, the more efficiency and speed that can be expected.

The Starbase 74 incident exposed vulnerability in the Bynar methodology: too much interdependence between the organic Bynars and the homeworld’s master computer. The threatened demise of the main computer endangered every living Bynar. Such a weakness could not be allowed to continue unexamined.

Over the decade since the Starbase 74 incident, much of Bynar civilization has focused on the question of how much the Bynars can separate their existence from their world’s technology. While survival in ancient times may have hinged on the uncontested embrace of technology, the modern-day necessity of maintaining this rigidly defined paradigm is being studied and debated among the Bynars. The discussion proceeds at a slow pace, however, because of how Bynar society makes changes.

Bynaus has one of the few pure democracies in the Federation. The absolute nature of the Bynar psyche allows them to examine problems objectively. One might conclude that linear, logic-based minds might reach the same conclusions. Surprisingly, the results of their political and procedural discussions are hardly monolithic. Diversity of thought exists on Bynaus, though it is often subtle and appears incrementally. The great Vulcan sociologist Tuparak, who was the first nonnative scientist to study the Bynars after they had joined the Federation, compared the shifts in Bynar society to the changes wrought by wind erosion. “The process is so gradual, so subtle,” Tuparak said, “that it can barely be noticed in a lifetime. But when one has the perspective of time, one can see how monumental change has been.”

Individual Bynars reach different conclusions based on their knowledge and experience, gained from both work and their relationships with their mates. There is so little ambiguity in their thought processes that a simple up or down vote is possible on virtually every subject. The idea of each citizen having a vote or a say in their planet’s global issues is not unreasonable. Every day at the same time, the Bynars participate in a virtual planetary meeting where referenda are voted on and announcements are made. To outsiders, it may appear that every citizen is required to be bogged down in minutiae, but the Bynars see the ability to choose as the ultimate expression of the liberty they fought to claim from their AI creators. No one is compelled to decide in a certain way. There is no “campaigning” or persuasion based on emotion. Bynars are utilitarian and pragmatic in the extreme. Logic and desired outcome have been key motivators—until the present day.

The subtle undercurrents of doubt brought on by the collective near-death experience previously referred to may slowly erode the Bynars’ unquestioning acceptance of majority will. Citizen Services, the organization that oversees functions relating to Bynars’ citizenry, reports a gradual trend toward more issues dealing with individual rights. For example, before five years ago, it was unheard of for a member of a Bynar pair to call into question a mate’s behavior. Now, while it is rare, and Citizen Services will not comment publicly on such instances, unsubstantiated reports indicate that it does happen in present times. Such a trend may indicate a shift in Bynar society that calls into doubt whether a system of pure democratic government will continue. The concept of individuality runs contrary to all of Bynar civilization’s social and cultural norms. Such a notion, to refer back to Tuparak, exists now only as the wind does: as an unseen force that has the potential to remake the face of this society.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

As requested by Captain Quinteros, Citizen Services will oversee the interaction of Starfleet representatives Lieutenant Temperance Brewster (female, junior-grade lieutenant, human, Centauri colonist, thirty Earth years, five months, two days) and Ensign Alban Topar (male, ensign, Bajoran, twenty-five years, three months, eight days). 110/111 accept this assignment from 10110/10100 and will facilitate any communications between Bynaus’s citizens and the visitors. This unit will apply all rules and regulations governing interaction between Bynaus citizens and offworld visitors pursuant to section 5920 paragraph 7 of the Bynaus Policy Statement on Federation Membership, with reference to the special circumstance proscribed by Starfleet-Bynaus protocols. Official request for announcement to be made on the median planetary meeting regarding Starfleet Business has been submitted. Awaiting announcement details from Lieutenant Brewster. Captain Quinteros indicated that announcement will invite Bynars to volunteer for service in the Starfleet Corps of Engineers. Will update before 23:15:00.

Personal Log, Lieutenant Temperance Brewster

If a planet-sized machine made of organic, living material could be constructed, I imagine it would look and feel a lot like Bynaus. It isn’t that this world isn’t beautiful—it is. Sort of. In the way that the symmetry and precision of geometric figures are beautiful. The kind of minds that can conceive of and create such exquisite, meticulous designs are nothing short of astonishing, but I can’t help but feel unnerved by the cold, calculating process behind it all. As if there is no tolerance for deviation from what is expected. I’m not sure how comfortable I am in an environment where everywhere I look, I feel like I’m living in the heart of a sterile machine. I never thought I’d appreciate litter on the streets or dust on the window ledges!

As I stepped off the transporter pad into the central transportation center, my first thought was that the inside of their buildings didn’t look a lot different from any other Federation building I’d been in: metal paneling, transparent aluminum windows, chairs with stiff cushions in bland neutral colors. But then, when I reached down to pick up my satchel, I caught a glimpse outside.

My first impression of Bynaus dragged me back to my engineering classes at the Academy. This reaction surprised me: every fact I stuffed into my brain for the required engineering units promptly fell out as soon as I passed the exams. I still couldn’t tell a converter coil from a plasma modulator. I’m still amazed—and yes, a little intimidated—by those who glory in the architecture of circuitry or the thrill of a machine that’s efficient within point zero two. To me, the insides of a console look like hieroglyphics must have appeared to Napoleon’s soldiers hundreds of years ago. It was all so much metallurgy, chemistry, electronics…streams of lights flashing and writhing like worms through coils. Why a person would want to become an engineer and design technology was more interesting to me than the technology itself. But when I glanced out at the surrounding city, I caught a glimpse, for the first time, of how one might perceive poetry in technology. I didn’t greet the Starfleet liaison who had met us nor did I look to see what Alban’s reaction was. Instead, I took several unthinking steps toward the windows where I could get a more complete view. Resting my hands on the cold gray metal ledge, I stared at the hum of activity outside.

In the two-dimensional perspective from above, looking down from a shuttle or an orbital platform, the Bynar complexes must have looked like intricate, thousand-year-old Moorish mosaics with their domes, conduits, cables, and flashing lights. Up close, these structures formed seamless, planar tessellations—dodecahedral spheres and pyramids. I swear I might have seen a trio of interlocking loop tunnels that formed Borromean rings, even though theoretically I didn’t believe such a structure was possible. Even the buildings that had a seemingly organic design, when examined more closely, appeared to be fractals.

Metal, clear polymer, soothing colored lights, and patches of muted primary colors defined the city’s aesthetics; even the splashes of color that appeared at regular intervals created a powerful sense of visual balance. Strips of shimmering metals running parallel to each other or lights outlined the edges of buildings. If I stared out the window long enough, the lines, lights and colors blurred into a figure resembling a highly complex game of Vulcan kal–toh. The Bynars appeared to live and work in a methodically plotted out design governed by theoretical mathematics.

Only the gray-violet-skinned Bynars in their silver and black uniforms, sticking out in stark relief against the pebbled surfaces of the buildings’ exteriors, provided a random component. Their oversized, smooth skulls aren’t attractive by most humanoid standards, particularly the pink, scarred suture in the back of their heads. I learned from Captain Quinteros’s writing that the “scar” on the skull is where the Bynars are attached to their birthing chambers. Their movements lacked the rhythmic uniformity one might expect from androids, but there was such obvious purpose in their movements—like bundles of information zinging through a computer from one place to another—to exclude any sense of spontaneity. Even the living elements in the open spaces followed a grid pattern: rows of impeccably pruned trees surrounded by what appeared to be garden boxes, though I couldn’t discern any details from such a distance. Wherever I looked, no Bynars lingered in what I thought of as the park, nor did I see the Bynars stopping to talk with other Bynars or even pause to study their surroundings. I shivered involuntarily, discomfited by the utilitarian nature of it all, feeling like I had stepped into a world of relentless efficiency—like the Borg but without the compulsion. Perhaps on some subconscious level, I wondered if I would be assimilated into the sea of sameness, fit like a spare part into the machine of this world.

Captain Quinteros, who had met us at the transporter pad, stepped up behind me. “I find the rhythms and patterns very soothing. Like the rattle of rain against my roof, which puts me right to sleep. The stability, the constancy, makes this place feel dependable. I know what to expect and it puts my mind at ease. The Bynars have little tolerance for chaos and confusion, and that suits me just fine.”

I flushed, embarrassed to be caught. “I don’t—I mean—I believe this to be—um—”

“At ease, Lieutenant,” Quinteros said kindly. “Most visitors to Bynaus react the way you do. There’s a reason why it’s not on the Alpha Quadrant’s list of favorite travel destinations.”

I managed to muster a comment on how unexpectedly beautiful Bynaus was.

“Most visitors don’t expect it,” he said. “They assume a species that has a symbiotic relationship with machines lacks a sense of aesthetics. They expect the place to look like the inside of a Borg cube.”

Warmth again spread through my cheeks at Quinteros’s uncanny ability to speak my private thoughts aloud.

“All they need to disabuse themselves of that false notion is to take in the view from this transporter room,” he concluded, opening his arms expansively.

“What’s this place called?” I asked, stepping away from the window and toward the turbolift.

“Bynars don’t name their cities—or any geographical location, for that matter,” Quinteros explained as we walked. “For planning purposes, the surface is mapped on a grid capable of defining each spot of land on this planet down to the meter.” He reached for a thin, rectangular object about the size of a tricorder hanging from his belt and handed it to me. “A planetary positioning guide. Voice activated. You tell it where you want to go, the guide finds the coordinates and provides you with directions. If you like, it will store instructions to places you want to go later. You can also back up data from any place onto its memory nodules.”

“This has more in common with navigating a starship than visiting a planet,” I said, hoping my puzzlement over all things technical wasn’t obvious.

“In a way,” Quinteros said, “you’re right. But the Bynars have engineered this device to be friendly to any species, regardless of their level of technological literacy.”

“Does my discomfort with the mechanical show?” I asked, wondering if Quinteros had been a counselor in a previous assignment. One of the tenets of being a Starfleet recruiter is maintaining a pleasant, nonjudgmental persona; years of training should have smoothed over my old Academy hang-up.

“A little, though I doubt most people would notice. Living on Bynaus, I’m probably more attuned to the reactions of offworlders to this highly unusual place. I have to admit,” he chuckled, “that I’m surprised to see a technophobe as a recruiter for S.C.E.”

Quinteros wasn’t the first person to make that observation—my senior officer was, when he’d interviewed me for the position. I’d often wondered why I enjoyed my job as much as I did. “My job is to identify and evaluate potential candidates for Starfleet. I assess their intellectual abilities, their emotional health, physical stamina—whatever Starfleet requires in a candidate to fill a position.”

“You’re plugging people into vacant slots? How different is your process from the Bynars who run their society similarly by assessing who best can do a job and assigning them to do so?” he said, offering a bemused smile.

I chose to ignore Quinteros’s gentle poke at my hypocrisy. “There are many factors to consider. But in the case of staffing engineers, I think because I have so little aptitude for the discipline, it makes me that much more curious about why these people gravitate to what they do.”

“Opposites attract?”

“I suppose.”

Quinteros and I continued our genial conversation into the turbolift. Upon arrival in the lobby, I discovered that a Bynar pair was waiting for us.

“Lieutenant Brewster, these are the representatives from Citizen Services who will advise you during your time here. They will help you navigate the process of sharing your mission with the Bynars.” Quinteros turned and greeted the pair, then introduced them as 110 and 111.

I blinked, wondered if I should extend my hand, but settled on a polite shoulder bow instead. I loathed feeling like a typical greenhorn, but here I was, blundering around like I’d just gotten out of the Academy last week. Maybe taking this on as my first travel assignment was a mistake. I should have gone someplace easier—like Cardassia!

As I rose back up to my full height, I looked at them once again, trying to remember if Quinteros had indicated which one was 110 and which one was 111. I didn’t have a clue. I hate it when people say they can’t tell two or more individuals apart—it sounds lazy. As if they don’t care enough to pay attention to the details that make a difference, such as vocal intonation, eye expressions, and other subtle variances. I know the Bynars aren’t clones—they’re not genetically engineered any more than humans are these days. Scientists may tweak for genetic diseases or congenital defects, but otherwise they allow nature to take its course. The Bynars conceive their offspring in labs; they are gestated in birthing chambers. I knew this intellectually. Logic struggled to overcome my eyes’ insistence that the Bynars were identical.

“Hello,” I said hesitantly. “110, 111. Thank you for your assistance.”

“We have—”

I focused on the Bynar I believed to be 110.

“—arranged for a slot—”

Shifted my attention to the other—

“—on the planetary network.”

—and back again.

“Is your statement—”

“—prepared?”

It took me a moment to realize that the dual-channel audio had stopped and that the pair now stood as still as robots. “Yes. I’ve prepared my stump speech,” I said, offering them a friendly smile. “I’m hoping to convince some of the Bynars that it is their patriotic duty to join Starfleet.”

“Stump—”

“—speech?”

“Patriotic—

“—duty?”

I’d forgotten—the literal-minded Bynars had difficulty translating idioms. “My recruitment statement that I hope will persuade your fellow Bynars that they have a vested interest in helping Starfleet prevail in the current conflict.”

“The Dominion—”

“—War.” 110 and 111 cocked their heads in opposite directions, apparently satisfied by my explanation, and indicated that I should follow them.

As we walked out into the open, I attempted to follow 110 and 111’s rapid-fire explanation of the day’s schedule, rules, and procedure. In an effort to be polite, I looked from side to side each time the conversation switched speakers, but I lost track of what was being said. I gave up trying to know who they were individually and kept my eyes focused on the pathway through the city, consciously ignoring the sea of seemingly identical faces scurrying around me. My mission gave me purpose. I couldn’t allow myself to be sidetracked by the white noise of the Bynar world.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

Lieutenant Brewster’s statement was delivered over the interplanetary communications network at 22:46:07. Potential recruits will meet in Building C81 Quadrant 4 at 34:05:29. Citizen Services will tally responses and provide them to Lieutenant Brewster. CS agents will be in attendance at recruiting meeting to advise Starfleet on Bynaus protocols. Response over the network indicates that the message was received by those eligible to participate. This unit can conclude that the requirements set out by the Equality Protocol have been met.

Personal Log, Lieutenant Temperance Brewster

I can’t talk about it now. I can’t. I think I may have to throw up. Or scream.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

We ended the meeting after one hour elapsed and those in attendance received the information they had come for. This unit had some discussion with Lieutenant Brewster regarding appropriate social protocols within Bynar society. We sensed she did not fully understand our statements because she wanted to go through them multiple times. We are uncertain whether she is satisfied with our explanations. We will review them with her in the morning after we have had a chance to check the suitability of our statements against the information in the human database. This unit believes it can aid Lieutenant Brewster in attaining rational understanding on this issue.

Personal Log, Lieutenant Temperance Brewster

Three pairs showed up. Three pairs. On a planet of millions, only six people think that Starfleet is worth their time. As it turns out, after one of the pairs consulted with 110 and 111, they weren’t eligible to join Starfleet because they hadn’t acquired some skill certification or what-have-you that they needed to be eligible for offworld assignments. The pair had known this, but they had never seen an offworlder before and they were “curious.”

“Curious.” I travel across the quadrant asking those who enjoy safety and freedom from tyranny if they will stand up and offer assistance to those who put their lives on the line every day so that they can continue to enjoy said freedom and safety. And what am I met with? Curiosity. I’m a sideshow, not a representative of the organization that assures their ongoing existence. They continue on, oblivious to the plight of the rest of the Federation family, pressing their buttons, chattering away in their high-pitched fast-forward whirs and chirps, pondering little of significance beyond whether the entryway should be situated five centimeters further to the left or whether it’s fine where it is. How can Quinteros stand it?! I’ve come all this distance for what? Does anything I do or say matter? I didn’t even bother to call up my message account or check out the news nets. I don’t want to see the latest casualty list or know how many setbacks the fleet has had because no matter what I do, I am incapable of making a difference.

So this is how the non-meeting meeting went. Maybe if I talk through it I’ll settle down and realize I’ve done my best.

Maybe not. But it’s worth a try.

Alban and I are sitting there in a conference room with a stack of padds loaded up with all the best of Starfleet’s recruiting literature sitting on the table. 110 and 111 take a spot near the back of the room, presumably to keep track of who shows up and who doesn’t. I have my multimedia presentation ready to go. And this one’s special—showing a 3D virtual representation of the inside of a starship’s main engineering, prominently displaying computer banks with enough power to run a major metropolitan area, even one on Bynaus. I’m confident that if I can have their undivided attention for even half an hour, I can persuade them or at least seduce them with promises of the coolest tech toys they’ve ever seen.

Twenty or so seconds before the hour, the room is empty save the four of us. Less than a minute later, there are six Bynars seated at the table. I tell 110/111 to give us a few more minutes to allow time for latecomers to arrive. The Citizen Services agents look at me as if I’m speaking in some obscure Pelapusian tongue and not Federation Standard. It’s not possible, their expressions say, for Bynars to be late. But my brain refuses to accept that I’ve come this far just to face a room of empty chairs. 110/111 don’t start looking tense until a few more minutes have elapsed. They hand me a padd containing the attendees’ personnel records, stating again that these are all the records that have been transmitted so I shouldn’t expect any late arrivals. I thank them politely but continue to wait.

When 110/111’s chatter becomes high–pitched and fast enough to make my head hurt, I start the meeting. I know that I’m talking too fast—that I may be skipping over the majority of periods and commas in my speech, but hey, the Bynars are used to fast–paced patter. The multimedia presentation begins and ends. I clasp my hands together and ask for questions.

A room of blank, barely blinking faces gaze at me.

So I start running through the list of the usual questions—once I join, what kind of training will I have, can I choose my assignment, and so on.

And still, the blank faces remain.

After the longest two or three minutes of silence that I can recall in a lifetime, I let the group know that I’m finished and that I’m available to answer personal questions.

A pair of Bynars hurries up to the front of the conference room to chatter with 110/111. I later find out that this is the pair that wanted to ogle me like a zoo animal.

I stand by myself, tapping my foot a little too compulsively, telling myself to calm down and that this disaster of a meeting was a fluke. Tomorrow will be better—I cling to that mantra. When the fog of anger lifts a bit, I realize that another Bynar pair remains at the table, engaged in a focused—dare I say—heated conversation. I move in closer, blatantly eavesdropping, catching a word here and there that leads me to believe they’re talking about Starfleet. A pause in their discussions allows me to insert myself. Having nothing left to lose, I say it straight out: “You interested in Starfleet?” Two pairs of eyes turn on me.

I may have little to no experience dealing with Bynars, but I sense—something in the face, an expectancy—that one of them is interested. I direct my words to this Bynar. Body language is a funny thing. With very few exceptions (intelligence operatives and Vulcans, to name two) most species are incapable of repressing their involuntary physiological reactions to external stimuli. And this Bynar I’m talking to—this Bynar is listening to what I have to say. I believe I have a chance to set up, at the very least, a second meeting. A fast back-and-forth round of talk begins between the mates.

At one point, the less interested Bynar asks me about the phaser I have strapped to my thigh. This strikes me as an odd question but not completely unexpected. I’ve found that quite a few species—especially those on worlds who eschew any form of personal, self-defense weaponry for whatever reason—are fascinated by the idea of phasers. I unsheathe the weapon, hold it out in front of me (using proper Academy firing range stance), and offer it to the interested Bynar.

Before the phaser leaves my hands, 110/111 appear at my shoulder and inform me that the meeting is over. The CS agents dismiss the remaining pair. Whatever cue 110/111 have given is taken and run with. The Bynars practically flee the room.

If I were a violent person, I would have been sorely tempted to turn that phaser and point it at those meddlesome Bynar agents. Use a little firepower as a way of telling them to back down. But I don’t. I’ve never hurt anyone, even in training.

Hands on hips, I challenge my Bynar handlers, who respond with the explanation that all the parties who want information, have information. The time has come to end the meeting, they say (of course in dual-channel sound). I don’t believe it, and I don’t think they believe it either. What I think is that this Bynar I’ve been talking with is interested in Starfleet but the mate isn’t, so 110/111 are shutting me down. I did manage to get the Bynar pair’s designations before they left—1010 is the one I’m going to follow up with. The mate is 0101. I announce my intention to follow up with 1010.

“Not—”

“—possible. We work—”

“—in pairs. All else—”

“—is unacceptable among—”

“—our people.”

I still hear their words ringing in my head.

Of course, at the moment, I didn’t accept their statement. “Fine then,” I said. “Set up appointments for me at work sites, with supervisors who might point me to those with an aptitude or interest in Starfleet.”

“As you requested we—”

“—set up the meeting. Those—”

“—who are interested attended. All—”

“—Bynars had a chance to come.”

“Your efforts are now—”

“—terminated.”

“You will not—”

“—recruit independently—”

“—at any other venue.”

Their words flew at me so fast that I barely had a chance to process them. So I lit into them both. Told them that they’d hardly assisted me in helping me tailor my message to the Bynar population and that I held them—at least partially—responsible for the dismal failure that had been the result.

“We did—”

“—as we were—”

“—instructed.”

“All citizens had a choice and—”

“—they rejected what you offered.”

“You must—”

“—accept this.”

What a cop-out.

What became clear is that these Bynar babysitters had no intention of letting me do my job.

I vented to Alban the whole way back to my quarters. Poor guy. Probably wishes he’d drawn another assignment.

There has to be a way around that. I will not return to headquarters having failed the fleet so spectacularly. I know the rules about respecting the cultures of every species in the Federation, but I cannot in good conscience allow this world to remain in isolation without at least trying to make them see the truth of what is out there.

Sitting here in my visitor’s quarters, staring at my bed with its sheet creases running at perfect parallel lines along the top, inhaling air that is so sterile and dry that it sticks in my throat like spun cotton. I hate this place.

A soundless night has fallen outside. I stare out into the purple-gray darkness at the flashing lights, at the Bynars going to and from their work and their quarters, their focus so narrowly on the path before them that they fail to see the galaxy under siege beyond their small lives. The more I’m lost in the scene outside my window, the more my mind succumbs to the rigid, hypnotic rhythms that define this environment, lulling me into a sense of confinement. I shiver, irrationally imagining that the surrounding walls will squeeze me into a narrow box. I will scream for release only to have my terrified protests muffled by the relentless, regular pulse of this world. No one will hear me over the drone of progress. Once upon a time the Bynars were slaves to an AI race. Their isolationism will guide them surely into bondage again.

Wadding up the sheets in my hands, I destroyed any evidence of the perfect creases, of the smooth surface, and exuberantly I ripped the cloth from my bed and threw it on the floor. And this brought me such satisfaction that I started in on the night-stand and then the dresser, until every surface in the room was wiped clean and the room was strewn with clutter. Anger spent, I sprawled on the bed and stared at the ceiling.

Now I’m lying here talking to my personal log, hoping that maybe by talking this through out loud, it will make more sense. Unfortunately, that doesn’t appear to be the case. Out of desperation, I disregarded 110/111’s orders and sent a private message to the pair I met at the meeting. Can’t hurt, can it? My dad always told me that quitting was a sign of a weak will. No way I’m going to go back to headquarters and have to explain that I failed to bring any Bynars into S.C.E. because I was too much of a coward to follow through.

Sleep is far away, so I pick up the padd that has the personnel files on it. I skip over the ineligible unit and move straight to the one who seemed interested. I peruse their stats, medical history, interpersonal evaluations once, then again. I’ve spent enough years evaluating seemingly impersonal data that I’ve learned to look beyond the dry facts. The more I read, the more curious I become. Definitely some irregularities in here that warrant further exploration. And they say Bynars are only about yes and no.

The comlink beeps. Can’t think of who would want to talk to me at this hour. Not Alban, who could barely keep his eyes open due to travel lag. Funny, I’m not expecting anyone. It’s not a visual or an audio message—just text. Odd. What’s it say—I CAN HELP YOU.

So who sent it?…Hmmm…Now that’s interesting. And there’s a quadrant designation for the sender so I can actually track the sender down and see them in person. Where are my shoes—and that damn planetary locator too? Maybe I should copy that personnel data. Didn’t Quinteros say I could back it up on the planetary locator? I’m going for a walk.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

We returned to our quarters after the meeting requested by Lieutenant Brewster of Starfleet. Lieutenant Brewster’s unwillingness to accept the outcome of the meeting may require further involvement by CS. We recommend that the matter be referred to Captain Quinteros for discussion and clarification. We believe that repeated announcements on the planetary news nets will not yield different results. We could not advise Lieutenant Brewster as to why so few Bynars attended her meeting. Further study and analysis of this issue may be recommended, as Brewster’s assertion that Bynaus could make a larger contribution to the war effort is legitimate and is, as yet, unsettled. A planetary study of the matter may be an effective use of resources. All citizens should have a say on the matter, so we will refer it. We will go offline until start of shift tomorrow.

Interfleet communication, Captain Orfil Quinteros to Commander Leland T. Lynch

Contact me immediately upon receipt. There’s a problem with your recruiting team.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

Our offline period was disrupted at 29:53:22 by a page from Citizen Services Emergency Division. We were ordered to Quadrant 925, Building 381, where a security detail would await us. 925/381 is a facility known as population management that stores and updates Bynaus citizen status. All current statistical data, including assignments, health, and geographical location, is accessible at 925/381. CSED denied request to explain why we were ordered to visit 925/381 during the customary offline period. We have concluded that an individual or individuals must have been searching for information on behalf of Lieutenant Brewster. She had been adamant during our previous discussion that potential recruits be identified and approached directly. We informed her that such a request ran contrary to Bynar procedure. It is possible that she chose to act without regard to our instructions. We will report further after we have visited 925/381

Update

Upon arrival at 925/381, a security team (made up of three units) took us into the central access room. Another unit stood guard at the door. We knew at this point that this was an unusual situation. We saw a Bynar on the floor, being examined by a medical unit. There was no sign of the other part of the unit, the mate to the Bynar who was being examined.

We were told that the Bynar being examined had terminated. This terminated Bynar had been part of a unit assigned to work in the records facility at 925/381. This Bynar had attempted to access information that was beyond its authorization level. This Bynar had ignored security advisories and proceeded to seek unauthorized access to the database. A warning to cease entry into the information nodule was not heeded, nor was a second warning. The Bynar proceeded into the forbidden zone. The processes of overriding protocols without the other partner in the unit prevented the Bynar from turning off the warning currents discharged as part of the security system. This caused a physiological breakdown that terminated the Bynar’s existence. A closer study of the situation revealed the identity of the terminated Bynar: 1010, one member of a unit that had attended the Starfleet recruitment meeting. A review of the security record reveals that 1010 was given multiple opportunities to stop the intrusion on the database but elected not to. 1010 attempted to use both sets of security codes assigned to its unit. Further investigation will take place, but preliminary evidence indicates that there was no malfunction that caused the premature termination of 1010. 1010 appeared to have made a choice without the knowledge of 0101. Review of data collected by visual and audio sensors will affirm or negate this conclusion.

0101 is not on-site. 0101’s offline period was interrupted for the notification of 1010’s termination. 0101 has been admitted for medical treatment. Citizen Services has started identifying potential mates for 0101 who will emerge from birthing chambers in the coming shifts.

A security unit told us that Lieutenant Brewster was in custody in the adjoining room. Evidence suggests that Lieutenant Brewster is somehow tied to 1010’s termination. Captain Quinteros has been contacted. Starfleet authorities will provide representation for Lieutenant Brewster. Representation will arrive during third shift tomorrow.

We exited the central access room. As part of her confinement by the security unit, Lieutenant Brewster’s hands had been manacled, as is procedure. We observed that Lieutenant Brewster had unusually pale skin and appeared to be perspiring. Her uniform was not arranged as per Starfleet standards. Upon our entering the room, Lieutenant Brewster moved in her chair, the better to see us. We feel that we must transcribe her statements precisely so that her words can represent her position.

“I didn’t do it.” Lieutenant Brewster made this statement before we addressed her.

We informed her that a hearing would be held to determine whether she was responsible in the death of 1010.

“And what if you say I am?” she said.

We stated that if there was a defect in her processing that prevented her from understanding the instructions/orders we had given her, we would seek to repair the defect.

“And if there isn’t a defect?”

Lieutenant Brewster said the word “defect” as if she didn’t understand its meaning. We must discuss this with Captain Quinteros so that he can communicate the meaning of the word to her. We shared the following information with Lieutenant Brewster. We repeat it here so our superiors in CS can evaluate our actions accurately. In assessing Bynar behavior that deviates outside normal limits, a determination is made about whether a defect in thinking or physiological processing exists. In Bynar protocols, defects are often correctable by reprogramming the thinking or functioning processes. We went no further into our explanation because Lieutenant Brewster appeared to be in a physically compromised state that increased incrementally as we spoke. We felt she needed assistance from the medical unit, but the lieutenant refused our recommendation.

“What happens if a defect can’t be fixed?” she asked.

Her voice sounded small and thin. We believe Lieutenant Brewster must have been experiencing inhibition of her processing functions. We informed her that if a unit cannot be corrected and can no longer perform its function in society, it has already agreed, at the time of emergence from the chamber, to voluntarily terminate its existence.

Lieutenant Brewster’s eyes rolled back into her head and she fell out of her chair onto the floor. We took this as indicative that perhaps there is a defect in her physiological processing that causes cognitive overload. We requested that the medical unit examine her to assure her ongoing health until a judiciary unit can assess her status and determine her fate.

Sensor Recording
Building 891/45
Holding Facility, Room 117

I’m sitting in the corner talking to myself. Whispering, actually. I know the sensors will record this and I don’t care. Days or weeks from now, when my rotting corpse is being transported back to Centauri for my funeral, this recording will be my final words to my friends and family. They deserve to know the truth.

Besides, I need to think. My adrenaline has scrambled my thoughts and it’s all I can do to repress my fight-or-flight reaction, so thinking aloud is proving helpful. I might look crazier than they think I am already, but I’m okay with that.

Yes, there’s a cozy bed and I should be sleeping if I expect to have the clarity I’ll need tomorrow when I face the proverbial “firing squad.” As prisons go, the Bynars have a nice setup. I have plenty of nutritional supplements and water available to me. The bed is comfortable and the environmental controls are set to optimal human levels. I’m free to walk around, so this feels more like a hospital than a cell—they even removed the shackles from my wrists. From this vantage point on the floor, I can see outside my room to the guard station. There’s maybe two pairs out there—tops—and they seem to come and go from their post pretty regularly.

I want out. No way I’m going to sit around here, expecting Starfleet to rescue me, only to have my brain reprogrammed or worse—termination. I didn’t think they allowed capital punishment in the Federation, but I honestly don’t think the Bynars see it as capital punishment.

The more I think about it, the Bynars treat a malfunctioning individual the way they’d deal with a programming error: if the code can’t be fixed, the whole trunk of commands needs to be eliminated. And the Bynars don’t have any moral or metaphysical issues with ending life because they value life only insofar as a life can contribute to society. Good equals productive, fulfilling one’s assignment, furthering the progress of the planet. There is no god, no codified commandments on ethics or behavior beyond the on and off branches created in binary language. A computer does what it is programmed to do—nothing more. The Bynars see themselves as organic extensions of computer processes. Crime occurs only rarely on Bynaus because crime requires irrationality, and computers aren’t irrational.

So what does that make me? A malfunction to be fixed or eliminated? Yeah, I know a JAG is on the way, but I don’t know whether the Bynars will wait or try to repair me before I have legal representation. I have to get out of here.

I have to prove it, but I think I know what happened and why I’m here.

It’s not what anyone suspects.

Yesterday

Commander Henry Winter yawned, not wanting to give in to the impulse to curl up in the closest chair and sleep for another few hours. Interstellar warp travel always did a number on his internal clock. Never mind that he’d been successfully crisscrossing the quadrant for four decades—his body refused to adjust quickly. If asked, he’d blame his mongrel parentage. The genes of his half-Betazoid, half-Trill mother warred with the DNA of his human father. His body’s remedy to the conflict was to give up—and Henry was fine with it. He liked sleep. Almost as much as he liked eating. But right now, in this moment on Bynaus, Henry knew he wasn’t going to get off so easily.

“Lieutenant Brewster has—”

“—left her holding room and—”

“—we have no idea—”

“—where she has gone. The—”

“—sensors were disabled—”

“—temporarily. We are attempting—”

“—to locate her now.”

Taking a deep breath, Winter studied the Bynar unit standing before him and thought through their words before responding. This inclination to think before he spoke made him a good lawyer, or so he’d been told. “So what you two are telling me is that my client has escaped your custody?”

The Bynar unit nodded affirmatively.

“That complicates things.” A defendant who ran away, in Winter’s experience, was guilty, terrified, or both. He’d read the preliminary data during his flight. Brewster, a relatively inexperienced field recruiter, hadn’t had a lot of success in convincing the Bynars to join Starfleet. She’d had a disagreement with her Bynar advisers over how to proceed and retired to her quarters without resolving it. What happened next was unclear.

The Bynar Citizen Services unit assigned to the case stated their theory that Brewster made an arrangement, perhaps even a coercive one, to meet the Bynar unit 1010/0101 at the unit’s assigned workplace, the archive of Bynaus’s population records. She had sent a private message to them shortly after the meeting had ended. It had been a generic missive: “Nice meeting you. Can we talk soon?” But maybe there was more to it—a signal of some sort—that Winter couldn’t see yet. The investigation asserted that Brewster wanted 1010/0101 to help her identify more units as potential recruiting targets.

At this point, the story became primarily conjecture, so Winter wasn’t willing to take it as gospel. The data retrieval didn’t go as planned—if it had, Winter wouldn’t be on Bynaus. Brewster allegedly forced 1010 to ignore the warnings and push into forbidden areas. The security protocols put in place to protect the database led to the loss of 1010’s life. Since 0101 had been under heavy sedation since 1010’s termination, 0101 had yet to provide any testimony. (Henry hated that word, termination. It felt like a euphemism for death that actually sounded worse than the word death.) Brewster refused to make a statement without counsel, save to say that she had nothing to do with 1010’s death. Her protests aside, what Winter had examined so far didn’t do much to exonerate her. What little, sketchy evidence he’d seen had come from sensors. Those records placed her near the scene of the murder close to the time of the murder.

Still, the synchronization of data from various servers and storage centers hadn’t been completed yet, so Winter refused to draw conclusions. Initially, Winter couldn’t fathom why the data-gathering process was so laborious; usually he had what he asked for immediately. He then realized that one of the downsides of having a society so completely integrated with technology was that there were even more variables and systems than on a typical Federation world. Finding a way through the maze of systems and bureaucracy, especially in a pure democracy, took time. Consequently, he wasn’t going to initiate a plea, consider court-martial, or seek deportation until he had more information.

“While you all are looking for Brewster, I’ll want to review new evidence as it arrives as well as interview the units who have worked with Lieutenant Brewster,” Henry said. “Don’t forget to gather up her personal effects from her quarters—and while we’re at it, I’d like the reports from the officers who interacted with her on the transport to Bynaus—see if she showed any signs of meltdown before she landed.” He balled his hands into fists, rested them on his hips, and searched the crowd of Bynars gathered around him for whoever might be in charge. Not a rank insignia among them and hardly any hint as to how to tell them apart, Henry thought with a flash of annoyance. “I’d like a meeting with my counterpart that’s heading up the criminal investigation. Can I see a raised hand letting me know who you are?”

The eight Bynars standing before him stopped chattering among themselves and gave him a curious look. A long moment elapsed as the blank stares continued.

“The police. The magistrate…A crime was committed. Someone broke the law,” Henry said, feeling all the world like he was dealing with a group of first-year cadets in his Basics of Starfleet Law class. “Whoever deals with crime is who I need to talk to.”

One of the black and silver clad pairs erupted in a burst of rapid back-and-forth chirps and trills before slowing down enough to involve him in their conversation. “Crime. You refer to Lieutenant Brewster—”

“—breaking protocols. Bynar code recognizes—”

“—the aberration in behavior but fails to—”

“—recognize the definition of crime.”

“You have a dead body that isn’t supposed to be dead. Someone did it. That’s a crime. Any questions?”

The Bynars chattered among themselves, then turned to Winter and responded with a chorus of “No.”

“Excellent. Whoever caused the death needs to be found and held accountable, whether that is Lieutenant Brewster or someone we haven’t found yet. Let’s go to work,” Henry said.

Interview Transcript
Lieutenant Brewster
Submitted by Unit 110/111

UNIT 110/111: After you left your quarters, you went to 925/381.

BREWSTER: Yes.

UNIT 110/111: You had arranged to meet the unit 1010/0101 there?

BREWSTER: No. I made no arrangements to meet. I contacted them, yes. Later, a message showed up. I noticed where it came from and I went there. When I got there, I found 1010 on the ground. I didn’t realize that 1010 was dead—I mean terminated. Soon after, the security people showed up. That’s it.

UNIT 110/111: You wanted information from 1010/0101.

BREWSTER: I wanted my mission to succeed.

UNIT 110/111: To your way of thinking, your assignment justified the termination of 1010 if it meant you received access to the information you wanted.

BREWSTER: I didn’t kill anyone. I’m being set up. [buries head in hands] You have to believe me. I didn’t do it. I’m not saying anything else until my lawyer gets here.

Yesterday

Winter switched off the viewscreen and sat back in his chair, studying the terminal, holding his hands over his mouth and thinking. Something was missing. During his tenure in JAG, he’d known plenty of guilty defendants who claimed they were innocent. Oh, they’d put on quite a song and dance of tears and hysterics, even when a pile of indisputably damning evidence sat right in front of their faces. But Winter knew better, so those liars rarely escaped their punishments. His colleagues called it his “Betazoid edge.” He didn’t have the heart to tell them that his empathic abilities amounted to little more than a finely honed intuitive sense about people that rarely failed him. Whether it was genetics or acute observational skills didn’t matter that much.

But something about this case nagged at him. Nothing in Brewster’s Starfleet record indicated that she had any tendencies that would lead her to resort to violence to get her way. As an almost-counselor in training, Brewster might talk someone to death before she’d do physical harm. Rather, Brewster was a rah-rah true believer type who lacked the life experience that might have tarnished her fervent evangelism on behalf of Starfleet ideals. Winter would go as far as to call her naïve. She was passionate about doing the right thing, but not at any cost. The running away part…that he couldn’t get around.

At first he assumed she’d resorted to extreme measures to escape punishment, but then the Bynar units explained that she’d merely been committed to an observational ward, not a holding cell or a brig. The room’s entrances and exits had nothing more than low-level locks that a child could bypass. All Brewster required to escape custody was an opportune moment to slip by her guards—none of the usual ruses, weapons, or assault tactics that usually accompanied a prison break. Apparently Bynars didn’t have any sort of crime problem. When a “malfunction” (what Winter would call an illegal behavior) appeared in a Bynar, the “defective” individual willingly entered custody and remained there until the nature of the problem had been diagnosed and fixed. The Bynar focus on the collective good pervaded the psyche so completely that the notion of self-preservation was smothered by deference to the welfare of the masses. If a Bynar’s presence endangered others, the Bynar would err on the side of complete submission to the authorities. The CS agents assigned to the Brewster case had assumed that Brewster would behave as reasonably as her Bynar counterparts would in the same situation, in hindsight a rather obvious error in judgment. The more time Winter spent on this case, the more he believed a massive cross-cultural misunderstanding had complicated matters dramatically. For this reason, Winter wasn’t willing to assume his default position on runaways. A chime on his combadge indicated that Ensign Alban had arrived. Winter invited Alban into his makeshift office and asked the young Bajoran to take a seat.

Alban shifted in his chair, clenching and unclenching his hands, occasionally pausing to run his fingers through his unruly brown hair or fiddle with his ear where his earring would be, were it not for Starfleet dress codes.

Watching him made Winter feel antsy. “Is there a problem, Ensign?”

“No, sir,” Alban said, straightening up and folding his hands in his lap. In spite of his immaculate uniform, he had a rumpled, just-got-out-of-bed air about him.

“Tell me about Lieutenant Brewster,” Winter said, sliding the stylus out of its holder on the side of the padd. The conversation would be recorded by sensors, but he liked being able to note observations while he was interviewing a potential witness. “How long you’ve known her, what’s she like as a commanding officer, how she’s seen around headquarters…”

Alban’s eyes dropped to the floor, then shifted up to Winter’s face before settling on a spot just to the right of Winter’s nose. “I’ve only been assigned to personnel for five months—since graduation. I’ve seen Lieutenant Brewster around. Been in a few meetings with her. I’m hardly an expert. You should talk to someone at Headquarters.”

Winter raised his gaze from the padd and studied Alban. “I don’t expect expertise. I want your thoughts and observations.”

The ensign colored crimson, took a deep breath, and began again. “The lieutenant got her promotion about the same time I joined the group. She’s never been a screamer—always polite about issuing orders, though—”

Winter leaned forward. “Yes?”

“She’s always showing up to check on her direct reports without warning. Looking over their shoulders, watching everything they do, correcting them in public. She uses this sweet, soft voice, but she makes people nervous.”

“Is she resented?”

“Not so much resented. When Lieutenant Brewster wants something done and she doesn’t think she’s being taken seriously enough, she will invade every moment of your life until she’s satisfied.” Alban shrugged. “Maybe…”

“Yes?”

“Maybe she’s overcompensating. Trying to prove she deserved her promotion so she’s always pushing too hard, putting too much pressure on herself and others.”

“Is that why she wanted to be sent to Bynaus?” Winter had yet to identify why a young, attractive officer with a relatively cushy career for wartime was so bent on visiting a planet that most of the Federation forgot was a member. “To accomplish what no one else had done by bringing more Bynars into Starfleet?”

“That was the rumor,” Alban said. “But Lieutenant Brewster is passionate about her work. She absolutely believes in what we’re doing in Starfleet and she’ll do whatever it takes to make sure Starfleet’s interests are protected. Fond of the phrase patriotic duty.”

Leaning back into his chair, Winter jotted down his impression of Alban’s statement: idealistic, determined, inexperienced. Certainly seems to be a formula for a major judgment error. So she didn’t plan on killing anyone—these tendencies could lead to unintended consequences. “You want to guess what my next question is, Ensign?”

Alban swallowed hard. “You want to know if, based on what I knew of her, I think she was capable of murder, especially last night since I was one of the last people to see her before she went into custody.”

“Good call.”

“I don’t want to make her sound guilty,” Alban said, his shoulders noticeably slumping. “But the lieutenant was angry last night after we left the recruiting meeting.”

Winter took no pleasure in Alban’s misery, but the ensign’s obvious reluctance to provide specifics sent up all kinds of red flags. “Angry ‘I hate it when I spill coffee on my uniform’ angry or ‘someone is going to pay if this doesn’t get fixed’ angry?”

Alban exhaled loudly. “The latter. I’ve never seen her so…unhinged. She could be snippy if you disagreed with her or you failed an assignment. But this was near stratospheric outrage. I couldn’t reason with her because I was afraid she’d report me for insubordination. If she hadn’t calmed down by morning, I was going to contact Headquarters and ask for advice.”

“Was her outrage directed at anything or anyone specifically?”

“Lieutenant Brewster had a finally honed sense of justice and fairness. She felt that Starfleet’s efforts weren’t given a chance to be successful and that the Bynars assigned to help us out were obstructing us.”

Winter asked for clarification and Alban provided it, going into detail about what had happened during and after the recruiting meeting. A less experienced investigator might have found little of significance in the series of events. To Winter, a sense of unease refused to abate—all was not as it appeared to be. Subtext abounded, but whose subtext and why he had yet to ascertain.

After he dismissed Alban, he signaled the CS agents assigned to the case, 110 and 111, and asked them to see him at their earliest convenience. Winter wanted to rehear their version of events in light of what Alban had told him. He also checked with Security Services and discovered they had yet to figure out where Lieutenant Brewster had vanished to. Until his client could tell her side, he would do what he could to reconstruct her point of view. So if she couldn’t speak for herself, what she left behind would have to speak for her.

What little evidence he had was strewn over his desk where he could pick up and contemplate each item or report. Winter, a visual thinker, believed the evidence functioned like an incomplete puzzle: if he could see how the pieces related to one another, logic might help him fill in the gaps. Unfastening a lid to a polymer container, he emptied the contents—Brewster’s personal effects from her guest quarters—where he could see them. Most of what he saw was marked with an official Starfleet insignia; he surmised that she must have brought the things with her from Headquarters. A generic padd drew his attention; he reached for it, activated it, and discovered that it contained information on the Bynars who attended the recruiting meeting.

Nothing about the information struck him as out of the ordinary at first glance except…the last record activated on this padd belonged to the unit 1010/0101, one of whom was now dead. Last night Brewster had held this in her hands, studied the record, and left her quarters. She had also felt that whatever this padd said was important enough that she backed up the 1010/0101’s files to another device. Brewster remained the de facto suspect because no one else appeared to have a motive, yet there was something about the murder that didn’t work in Winter’s mind. Perhaps it was the straightforward logic of the theory of the crime. The Bynars could barely grasp the notion of crime, in part because of its illogical nature, so naturally, their version of what might have happened would be rational. But it doesn’t account for an irrational human’s behavior. If Lieutenant Brewster was as angry as Alban said she was, could she have behaved in such a cold-blooded, reasonable fashion? He examined the timeline:

Brewster enters quarters; sends message (Sensor log record 83042-1)

Brewster receives message (Sensor log record 93201-56)

Brewster leaves quarters (Sensor log record 389925-20)

Brewster arrives at Building 925/381 (Sensor log record 57120-92 )

Security team arrives and discovers Brewster by the body

The message. Winter scrolled through an evidence list, located a screen capture of the message and called it up.

I CAN HELP YOU.

The sender had been 1010/0101. Had the message been an answer to a request Brewster had made at the meeting? Or had 1010/0101 initiated the meeting?

Wait a minute. A moment of clarity cut through the muddle in his mind. He focused on the message: the pronoun I was used. I referred to an individual. Bynars didn’t function as individuals, they functioned in pairs. If 1010/0101 had asked her to meet, wouldn’t they have used the pronoun we? For the first time since he’d been assigned the case, Henry believed he had proof that Brewster’s protestations of innocence may not been the burble of a guilty conscience afraid of consequences.

When the Citizen Services agents arrived less than an hour later, he asked them once again to review their interactions with Lieutenant Brewster after the meeting. He’d get to his questions about the message later; he wanted to establish motive—other than guilt—for her to escape custody.

The CS unit offered to provide Winter with a security feed recording that would allow him to view, for himself, all of the postarrest interactions Lieutenant Brewster had had with Bynar units, including her escape. Security Services needed a little more time, 110/111 explained, to gather and sort the relevant data before they would provide Winter with a comprehensive collection of all the audiovisual evidence that could be located. They expected that Winter wouldn’t have much longer to wait. The data was being reviewed by the sensor team supervisors for its final release as they spoke.

This revelation prompted a sigh of relief from Winters; he would be spared having to interview and reinterview the same parties in hopes of having new tidbits of information emerge. He did have one more question for the Bynar unit as he attempted to finalize his personal timeline. “So that’s the only time you talked with her after 1010 was found—your on-the-record interrogation that I’ve already seen.”

The unit paused, then said, “We talked to her—”

“—after we arrived. She said—”

“—she was innocent. She asked—”

“—about the consequences if—”

“—she was found—”

“—defective and we provided—”

“—that information.”

“I think I managed to miss any record of this particular exchange,” Winter said, looking over the reports listed on the padd before him. “This is the first I’ve heard of this conversation, so why don’t you explain it to me?”

The agent unit protested that all the footage would be available soon, but Winter cut them off and asked them to explain the conversation.

He listened attentively as 110/111 provided him with the rudimentary outline of Bynar jurisprudence that they had shared with Lieutenant Brewster. When they got to the part where they told Brewster that either the defect that caused the misbehavior was fixed or termination occurred, Winter jumped out of his chair and asked the Bynar unit to repeat what they’d just said.

“If a unit cannot be fixed—”

“—and is no longer useful—”

“—it must be terminated.”

“And you said this to Lieutenant Brewster?”

“Yes—”

“—we did.”

Winter groaned aloud. “Brewster took off because she thought there was a chance you would execute her.”

“Execute—”

“—her?”

“Terminate her. She was afraid for her life. Damn it all, we have to find that woman and bring her back.” The Bynars, as sophisticated as they might have been technologically, saw the universe in such absolute, black-and-white terms that they failed to understand the subtleties of communication with other species. Simply put, they didn’t understand that everyone didn’t see things the way they did. In this respect, the Bynars had much in common with unsophisticated children.

“We wouldn’t have—”

“—terminated her.”

“She didn’t understand it that way,” Winter said, loading his padds into his satchel. “Based on what you’ve told me, I’m inclined to believe that Lieutenant Brewster may have been telling the truth when she claimed she didn’t murder 1010.”

“If that is correct—”

“—then who did?”

“I’m coming to that. I have one more question for you both. Examine this message that 1010 and 0101 sent Lieutenant Brewster and tell me what you make of it.” He shoved the padd across the desk toward the CS unit.

A flurry of high-pitched gibberish erupted between them.

Winter sat back in his chair, palms together, fingers flexing, and watched, not entirely surprised by their reaction.

“Not possible.”

“Bynars do not—”

“—communicate in—”

“—this way.”

“Contact the Medical Center where 0101 is resting,” Henry said, gathering up the evidence padds and stacking them in his satchel. “Let them know that they need to bring her back to consciousness. We have to ask her whether her mate was dead before or after contacting Lieutenant Brewster.” He’d hardly begun his request before 110/111 started issuing unintelligible orders into their comm units. When he rediscovered the padd holding the personnel records, he paused, cradling it in his palm before placing it in the satchel alongside the others. The document he’d been reading remained on the screen; he scanned the contents from a new perspective. An involuntary grin split his face. We may have our answers…

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

The search for Lieutenant Brewster continues. Visual sensor records indicate that the lieutenant left her holding room, rendered a Bynar security unit unconscious, and proceeded to look for a planetary locating device. Since we have ascertained that the device was taken, sensors and security units are studying the planetary grid to find the planetary locating device. No sign of the device has appeared. It is possible that in her efforts to hide, Lieutenant Brewster has gone to the only place on Bynaus that is not linked to the locating system: the tunnels and chambers far below the surface that are associated with the master computer preservation and maintenance. The grid analysis is only seventy-five percent complete, however. We will not go into the tunnels until all other possibilities have been ruled out. Commander Winter has indicated that he will be part of any search party.

The evidence logs regarding the death of 1010 are complete and have been placed in the custody of Commander Winter. While we are waiting for 0101 to be brought back to consciousness, we have discussed the inconsistencies we have discovered. Of most concern to Citizen Services is the apparent use of a singular pronoun in communication. Such a usage may exist but only in the intimate interaction between mates, never in public forums or with individuals of other species. This unit found this discovery to be uncomfortable as Bynars and as CS agents. We are searching for data that may support such a violation.

We have examined the personnel file given to Lieutenant Brewster and have discovered that 1010/0101 had recently received counseling after problems at a work assignment. The unit in question had been in their current positions only six time sectors. This assignment was the third in eight time sectors, a highly unusual circumstance. Not only did 1010/0101 move work locations, the unit moved residential areas as well. The diagnostician believed that 1010 may have been on the verge of malfunction and so required a complete change of circumstances. The irregularities in 1010’s behavior patterns showed increasing discontent and inefficiency in the work environment. Examination of 0101 indicated a growing agitation and antagonism in the unit relationship. 0101 had been a model worker in previous work situations and had repeatedly stated how much satisfaction the work situation brought to the unit. The work transfer instigated to address concerns posed by 1010’s behavior and work performance was not encouraged by 0101, though 0101 failed to file an official protest. In private sessions, not available to Commander Winter but open to CS agents because of 1010’s termination, we have learned that 0101 expressed confusion regarding 1010’s behavior but supported the transfer in the hope that 1010 would improve and that the previous assignment could be resumed. Within the past ten planetary rotations, 0101 learned that the unit 1010/0101 would no longer be eligible to return to their former duties due to instability in 1010’s reasoning processes. We conclude that the recent denial may have provided the 1010/0101 unit with a motivation to attend the Starfleet recruiting meeting. We believe 0101 will affirm our conclusions. 0101 should be ready to interview by 18:56:432.

Starfleet JAG Report, Commander Henry Winter

After several delays, the relevant evidence came into my custody and I’ve had a chance to review it. Most of it affirms what is already known in terms of timeline. What came as a surprise was the video surveillance from Building 925/381 that showed Lieutenant Brewster aiming her phaser at 1010. The building entry records indicate that 0101 was on the premises, but was apparently not in the room at the time Brewster drew her weapon. This is different from the original report because security reported that they awoke 0101 in quarters. Additionally, this puzzles me because it is my understanding that the Bynars work together, not separately, so it doesn’t make sense that 1010 would be accessing the records alone. Still, the message that Brewster received said, “I can help you,” not “We can help you.” Could 1010 have acted independently of 0101? Or did 0101 refuse to go along with 1010’s plan and by so doing, sat mutely by, allowing 1010 to die? 0101’s story will be critical to assembling the full picture of what happened.

The only audio we have has Brewster stating, “I’ll do whatever it takes to help Starfleet win this war.” The assumption is that Brewster held 1010 at gun-point to force 1010 to access the forbidden personnel files. As much as I’m inclined to believe that Brewster feared for her life and took off to protect it, this evidence casts aspersions on the self-preservation motive. Brewster had a meeting with 1010, a reason to force 1010 to access the record, and we can place her at the crime scene.

I still need to review the recordings of Brewster’s recruiting meeting as well as get an emergency warrant to subpoena her personal logs. All Headquarters can confirm for me now is that Brewster has accessed her logs since arriving on Bynaus and has recorded several entries. I expect to receive authorization sometime after I interview 0101.

Interview Transcript
CS Agent Unit 110/111 and Commander Henry Winter with 0101

WINTER: State for the record your designation.

0101: We—[pause, pained expression] 0101 is my designation.

WINTER: Two cycles ago, your unit, 1010/0101, attended a Starfleet recruiting meeting. Who made the decision to attend?

0101: We did.

WINTER: You decided together, or were either you or 1010 more interested in the prospect of joining Starfleet?

0101 [stumbling over words]: Our unit was not satisfied [long pause] with our current work assignment. It was not a good fit. [covers face with hands] Citizen Services Work Task Force agents said we would be unable to change assignments again. 1010 could not be trusted. Diagnostics indicated that 1010 may have been—[pauses again—tremors overtake 0101’s body; medical units rush over, take a tricorder readout, administer medication; 0101 relaxes, indicates a willingness to continue questioning]

WINTER: 1010 may have been what, 0101?

0101: [relaxes, breathes slowly] Malfunctioning.

WINTER: Had 1010 been referred to diagnostics for reprogramming or repair?

0101: Not officially. Our unit had been put on notice that such—such—[deep breath] a possibility existed. Joining Starfleet may have allowed our unit to avoid 1010’s being committed to reprogramming.

WINTER: What would have happened to your unit if 1010 had been sent for reprogramming?

0101: Our unit would have gone for evaluation.

WINTER: Not just 1010, but you as well?

0101: Yes.

WINTER: So 1010 would have been assessed for deficiencies and you would have been assessed, even though you were not malfunctioning. After the assessment, diagnostics would determine which of your physiological or mental processes needed repairing so your unit could continue to contribute to Bynar society.

0101: Yes.

WINTER: How did the CS determination make you feel—the notion that you needed to be fixed even though the problem was clearly with 1010?

0101 [puzzled]: The question. It is confusing. Feel?

110/111: [unintelligible chatter back and forth with 0101]

0101: Understood. The work our unit had performed before now was satisfactory to both of us. The new work was not for both parts of the unit. 1010 could not adapt or modify to work environments. All outcomes were determined by 1010. What was good for the whole unit was not relevant to CS. [lapses into Bynar-speak]

110/111: [unintelligible chatter continues between the three Bynars; 0101 is obviously agitated]

WINTER [holding up a hand]: Let me clarify, since obviously use of the singular and individual possessive pronouns is difficult for you. Basically, your contribution to work or to the unit was not figured into the analysis of the situation. 1010’s malfunctions or problems determined what happened to the unit.

0101 [quietly]: Yes.

WINTER: Did you resent 1010? Let me rephrase—did 1010’s apparent inability to function in a work assignment that satisfied you make it more difficult for your unit—and you—to function within Bynar society?

0101: [nods]

WINTER: Are you in any way responsible for 1010’s death?

0101: [wails, collapses back onto bed and curls into fetal position; begins jabbering in computer-speak]

WINTER: I’ll take that as a yes.

[more computer-speak between the Bynars]

110/111: You are correct in your assumption, Commander.

WINTER: So what does this mean for Lieutenant Brewster? That an innocent woman has been terrified into running for her life? I’d recommend we use all our resources to find my client. If necessary, I’ll ask Captain Quinteros to call in a Starfleet security detail to speed up the process.

(end recording)

Personal Log, Lieutenant Temperance Brewster

I’ve almost reached the access portal. A few more kilometers and I’m out of the tunnels, even if I have to crawl on my hands and knees, which is about where I’m at. I have no idea what I’ll find when I open the door back into the Bynar world—or if I’ll even manage to make it out before…before it becomes impossible to go on…

I knew they wouldn’t be able to track me down here, but that strategy has proven risky. They probably won’t be able to find me either. Even though it has taken me I don’t know how long—I’ve lost track of time down here in the half-dark where there is no night or day or chronometer. Probably days. I’m so tired. I think I might stop and sleep. Besides, my feet feel like they have spikes driving through my arches—though that’s the least of my problems. I suspect I’ll collapse if I don’t take a break. Half my water supply disappeared when I took that tumble during the venting. The rations I stole from the security station are nearly gone. My energy plummets with each passing hour. I don’t know how this will end.

The CS agents might have figured out where I am by now and have a squad of armed Bynars waiting to take me into custody. Maybe I should rush into their waiting arms and take my chances with the Bynar penal system. If I’m lucky—and I don’t seem to be—my JAG lawyer might have shown up.

At the very least, I want those I leave behind to know why I died: there’s more to 1010’s death than what anyone suspects. If I don’t expose the truth, a tragic situation will go undiscovered, becoming a mere annotation to a file somewhere. It might be, as fate may have it, that I won’t make it back to the surface where I can reveal the truth myself. But my hope is that, should I die, someone will ask questions: Why did 1010 make the choices it did? What was so important that 1010 was willing to risk death? And those questions will lead them to retrace my steps—the answers will show up eventually. Surely the fact that I took the time to transfer the data should be a big red flag shouting, “Look here!” Without understanding, more lives may be lost. I came to Bynaus believing I was on a crusade to help Starfleet fight the Dominion. Now I wonder if the outcome of my mission may help insure the ongoing survival of a world.

Maybe…maybe…maybe I can make a…difference…

(recording stopped due to inactivity)

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

0101 has been determined to be medically stable and has been sentenced to solitary holding until a punishment can be meted out. The Citizen Services Judiciary Committee has suggested banishment to solitary duty in the master computer maintenance facility. It is believed that such an assignment will eventually lead to 0101’s termination. There are no known records of an individual Bynar surviving long-term assignment to solo duty. There are no known records of individual Bynars surviving banishment from participation in a unit. We have presented the Judiciary Committee’s assessment to 0101. This information was received by 0101 with no visible reaction. 0101 appears resigned to the punishment. This unit found 0101’s reaction to punishment to be unexpected. In this unit’s previous experience, for a malfunctioning unit or Bynar with the difficulties ascribed to 0101, a degree of discontent or protest is the normal response. 0101’s behavior does not fit within usual parameters. Further investigation will be undertaken. This unit has requested authorization to visit 1010/0101’s quarters here as well as the unit’s previous residence.

Starfleet JAG Report, Commander Henry Winter

I’ve spent the last four hours going through the recordings, and what I’ve seen troubles me. 0101 had to know that the crime was going to be discovered. First of all, it appears that 0101 sent the message that Lieutenant Brewster acted on. I’ve begun to believe that 0101 brought 1010 to Building 925/381 under false pretenses and that once they arrived, 0101 set in motion the events that led to 1010’s death.

Even more damning: I just watched datafeed that showed Lieutenant Brewster showing her weapon to 1010/0101 after the meeting. The identical perspective and view of Brewster appears in the security feed that showed 1010’s death. It is as if the shots of Brewster after the recruiting meeting were lifted out of one feed and strategically placed in the security feed to implicate her in 1010’s death. So how much more of this data has been doctored? As far as I’m concerned, this creates enough reasonable doubt that Lieutenant Brewster is off the hook. I’ve transmitted all of the data to the nearest starbase for our security data experts to analyze. I suspect that much of what we’ve been given as “proof” has been fabricated.

Though 0101 has as much as admitted to being an accessory to murder, my gut tells me that there’s more to her story than what we presently know. It was odd…I don’t often have powerful empathic impressions. Being of mixed parentage assures that. But today in the medical facility as I was interviewing 0101 for the record, I sensed a powerful feeling of grief and regret—not guilt. Unless the murderer is a sociopath or has some other serious mental illness, there are usually undertones of violence or resentment at being caught wedded to a palpable sense of guilt. Whatever the case was for the unit 1010/0101, 0101 loved (do Bynars love?) 1010.

I keep coming back to the personnel records that Brewster had access to. The answer has to be in the file somewhere because we’ve learned, among other things, that Brewster beamed the contents of this padd into another device at some point before she disappeared. Something in these files was important enough that she made a copy. I have to figure out what that something is. I haven’t had time to go through every minute detail in the record. Once I do, I’m not sure if I’ll see it. Brewster is trained in personnel management. She’s learned to read between the lines of bureaucratese to see what’s left unsaid. I suspect she saw the unwritten meaning of 1010/0101’s behavior and it prompted her to take off in an effort to both exonerate herself and confirm her hunch.

Speaking of Brewster, it appears that she went down into the tunnels. Security traced an unauthorized planetary grid analysis to a terminal near the holding area where Brewster escaped. She called up the map of the underground tunnels that the Bynars use to gain access to the master computer bank. Her destination was not the master computer, but apparently she wanted to be invisible to the above-ground world as she traveled from one location to another, so she took the tunnels. Brewster has yet to appear on the planetary grid—there is no sign of her planetary locator anywhere, leading Security to believe she remains belowground. Once 110/111 finish their investigation into 0101, I will join them in a search party to find Lieutenant Brewster.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

We received authorization to investigate the day-to-day activities of unit 1010/0101. Using the personnel file as a template, we received the unit’s schedule, including all comings and goings for the last two planetary rotations. It is rare that a Judiciary Committee authorizes a release of planetary locator device records, but murder is equally rare, so we received permission to access the locator master files to ascertain where the unit was and see if there were any irregularities. A pattern became apparent. Cross-referencing 1010/0101’s visits to the diagnosticians with geographical locales, it appears that the diagnostician visits coincided with visits to a location within the unit’s old residential facility. According to the grid, the location is not a residential apartment, but an unused maintenance area. We find this to be worthy of investigation. Further, when we analyzed Lieutenant Brewster’s last known location before she descended into the tunnels, it appears she was placing herself in a location that would allow her to access the old residential building directly by traversing approximately thirty-five kilometers of tunnels. This hypothesis is reinforced by the last request Lieutenant Brewster made of her planetary locator device before she went off the grid. The lieutenant asked the locator to plot and store the route from the tunnel access port to the residential building.

Of some concern to us is the conclusion that Lieutenant Brewster has had ample time to travel thirty-five kilometers and emerge back onto the surface grid. Though diagnostic protocols have been run and rerun, there has been no visual sighting or sensor reading that indicates Lieutenant Brewster has emerged from below. We have narrowed the possibilities and believe that Lieutenant Brewster is injured or has terminated. Commander Winter will join the search party.

The present…

Henry Winter chased after the Bynars as best he could. The good news was that the tunnels had a relatively smooth metal surface, roughed up enough to provide grip for their boots. The bad news was that the relentless sameness of kilometer after kilometer of eerie blue-gray lit tunnels had a hypnotic effect on Henry; staying engaged required increasing amounts of concentrated focus.

That the Bynars had found blood worried Henry. The discovery affirmed his suspicion that Brewster had been injured and was trapped down here, unable to get help. While the master computer access tunnels were regularly patrolled, the security and repair teams had tens of thousands of kilometers to cover in a given period of time. Steps might be retraced once every two or three standard weeks. Assuming that Brewster’s injuries weren’t life threatening, she’d probably die from dehydration long before a patrol found her.

At one point, the Bynars stopped at an information portal and accessed the tunnel monitoring system for any indicators of where Brewster might be or what had happened to her. They discovered that an environmental systems overload had happened nearby. This overload had caused a series of conduits to vent scalding hot, acidic toxins into the tunnels. Henry couldn’t guess what would happen to a human who came in contact with the toxins, but he supposed it couldn’t be good.

Ten minutes after the first break, 110/111’s tricorder beeped a second time, then a third, and soon the beeps came so often that Henry lost count. Each time, Henry requested an update and each time the Bynars told him that more blood traces had been identified. Evidence of Brewster’s injuries came more frequently the farther they went, implying that either her blood loss was accelerating or her injuries were forcing her to stop more frequently. Neither reassured Winter. Muttering curses under his breath at his own inability to move faster, he vowed he’d take his physical fitness more seriously from now on. He pushed forward at a pace that surprised even him.

Time passed—or perhaps it didn’t. Henry knew only the steady up and down of his footfalls; he might have been running in place. The cramped stitch in his side from inadequate oxygen intake, the twinge in his knees, and the clammy perspiration on his face told him that yes, he did move. Whether he was headed anywhere was a different matter entirely. The tunnels blurred into gray sameness, a landscape in a long nightmare in which Henry ran in place, never escaping the demons behind him, never reaching sanctuary before him. The Bynars’ rhythmic scurry (after his initial energy burst, they were perpetually five or six paces ahead of him) began to echo the thump-thump-thump-thump of his synthetic heart. Numbed by the relentlessness of their collective pace, Henry almost missed the slight deviation from the constant pattern of swaths of light followed by shadow puddles that had covered the length of their trek. A slight elongation of a shadow, a half-moon curve, went unnoticed until the Bynars came within steps of Temperance Brewster’s crumpled form.

“Quick! Commander—”

“—come quickly—”

“—she is—”

“—unwell!”

Henry stumbled the last few steps before dropping to his knees and checking Brewster’s pulse. The Bynars already had their tricorders out and were taking readings, but Henry needed to know, with his own senses, that she still lived.

Though faint and shallow, her heartbeat was steady. Her parched lips and pale, dry skin indicated dehydration. The real culprit, though, troubled him more: second- and, in a few small charred patches, third-degree chemical burns on her calves and parts of her thighs.

“She was caught—”

“—in the venting. The—”

“—hot chemicals burned—”

“—her and melted her—”

“—uniform fabric—”

“—into her skin.”

Blood and clear ooze crusted around the edges of her wounds. She hadn’t lost a lot of blood—just enough to make her dizzy. The burn trauma had done far more damage. None of her injuries were irreparable; the question remained whether they had enough time to get her to a medical center for grafts and skin restoration. His mind raced. Naturally he had Starfleet emergency first-aid training, but he couldn’t recall the last time he’d had to do more than treat a hangnail. His thoughts bounced around like quarks in a particle accelerator.

Blessedly, the Bynars assumed control of the situation.

Without pausing to consult with Henry, 110/111 removed their medical kit from a travelpack and began attending to her wounds. Gratitude for their fast thinking and efficiency filled him. He was an old man with more than his share of shortcomings; at least this young lady wouldn’t die because of them. He looked on approvingly as 110/111 administered two hypos, a rehydration agent and a pain-anti-infective medication. Though the burns couldn’t be entirely healed without the accoutrements of a full facility, the Bynars did have the instruments to mend open, bleeding tissues and prevent any further damage from occurring. Henry sat back and watched the results of their labors on his own tricorder. Gradually, Brewster’s vitals improved to a level he considered stable. The dreaded communiqué to the family wouldn’t have to be sent this time.

He used this momentary downtime to allow his heart rate to return to normal, his labored breathing to become more relaxed. After a moment’s observation, he realized that Brewster had a portable recording padd in her hand. Carefully, he pried open her fingers and removed it. Examining the displayed menu for contents, he discovered that she had left a personal log on the device. The padd also contained a copy of 1010/0101’s personnel file and a locator map to the same location 110/111 had identified in their research. Winter didn’t know whether to credit great minds thinking similarly or dumb luck for the realization that both Brewster and he had reached similar conclusions regarding 1010/0101.

When 110/111 completed their work, Winter said, “Thank you. On behalf of Starfleet and Lieutenant Brewster’s family.”

110 and 111 chattered rapidly between themselves, and then turned to Henry, their faces wearing the nonplussed expressions of guileless children.

“We did what—”

“—needed to be—”

“—done.”

Commander Henry Winter wished for all the worlds that he could have several platoons of officers he could trust to be as wise in their judgment as these Bynars.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

We delivered Lieutenant Brewster to the Medical Center at grid 834/29 at approximately 19:56:21. The medical unit on duty performed triage and indicated that Lieutenant Brewster would make a full recovery from her injuries.

While we have not officially removed Lieutenant Brewster from the list of possible culpable parties in the premature termination of 1010, enough evidence exists to indicate that it is highly unlikely that Lieutenant Brewster caused 1010’s termination.

We are proceeding to 1010/0101’s former residence now. Records indicate that 1010/0101 made regular visits to this location over the past several cycles. These visits continued even though all two hundred Bynar units assigned to this residence had been vacated a full two cycles ago. This facility, which is more than fifty rotations old, was also condemned by the Building and Architecture Committee so that an improved residence facility could be built. The visits increased recently; 1010/0101 would transport to this location after every completed shift at population management. A security unit evaluated the building’s access records and discovered that 1010/0101’s visits were not authorized and that existing security protocols were overridden to allow the visits. We have reached our location. The building is abandoned; CS access codes will allow us to pass through secured entry points. We will report shortly.

Update

We are uncertain as to how to explain what we have seen. We will relate what happened, but we are not satisfied with our understanding of the situation.

With Commander Winter, we proceeded up several levels to 1010/0101’s former quarters. The environmental controls have been programmed to nonoccupancy standards, so the facility is uncomfortably warm. The air is stagnant and polluted with minute particulate matter that accumulates when ventilation is turned off. The interior is of antiquated design and is not aesthetically suited to current Bynar standards to assure optimal offline and private unit interaction. When we reached the assigned area, we entered the interior. No apparent abnormalities were visible. The standard-issue furniture, though deteriorating and dirty from particulate accumulation, remains inside. There is no evidence that the rest chambers have been accessed or the nutritional services center was being used. We conclude that 1010/0101 visited here but did not reside here.

We proceeded out of the public room into the unit’s private space. Nothing unusual was discovered in this room either. The space appears abandoned and unused. After our analysis of the room, Commander Winter reexamined all the furnishings in the room, dropped down onto his hands and knees, and crawled along the floor. This action puzzled us because everything on the floor was visible. We asked what had caught his attention, and he indicated that he noticed (we are conveying his exact words, though we are uncertain of their precise meaning) “that some of the dust on the chairs had been disturbed or lay in thinner layers than in other parts of the quarters—as if the furniture had been moved around or rearranged.” He reached a corner of a sitting vessel and said, “Ah ha.” We believe “ah ha” to be colloquial and we do not have a translation. Winter pushed the furniture off the floor mat and we saw what he had noticed: the sitting vessel, based on the indentations on the floor mat, had been moved repeatedly and not returned to the same location. Beneath the furniture, we discovered a large ventilation access grating that had not been replaced correctly, indicating that it had previously been removed. These oversized ventilation access points were standard in antiquated residential designs. New residential facilities use permeable membranes for air filtration and circulation.

Commander Winter removed the ventilation grating and descended feetfirst into the duct work. We followed after him. The fit was tight for Commander Winter horizontally. He made a comment about “pie” that this unit did not understand, but he managed to crawl through in spite of the difficulty. This unit determined that this section of the vent system had been accessed before our investigation. The scrapes, dents, and scratches on the interior vent surfaces indicated that objects or individuals had used this as a passageway on other occasions.

About six meters into the vent system, we arrived at another ventilation access portal that opened into an unknown room. Commander Winter pried the vent out of the floor of the passageway. Like the vent in 1010/0101’s quarters, this vent was easily removed and showed indications that it had been used as an access point previously. Commander Winter jumped into the room below. This unit followed behind him.

To describe what we observed requires that we explain that in the entirety of our existence on Bynaus, we have never seen a room like this before. The grid map indicates that this was an unused maintenance storage area. What it had been transformed into was not a storage area. All the walls and the ceiling had been doused with color. These colors are not the muted, vetted hues that the Building and Architechtural Committee has designated as being psychologically and physiologically suited to Bynar existence. These are bright, vibrant, stimulating, but unnatural shades of green, purple, pink, yellow, and red. There is no discernible pattern to the color. Some of the color appears to have once been liquid that was thrown against the walls. Initially, this unit was uncertain how to process this visual stimulation, but after we had acclimated, we realized that figures had been painted on the color blots. We have seen exhibits of Bynar aesthetics on many occasions, but there was nothing in this space that complied with any known rule of artistic expression.

Commander Winter asked this unit to come take a closer look at the walls. We approached his location. He pointed out that countless rows of 1’s and 0’s covered the walls and ceilings. He requested that we analyze the code to see if there was any discernible order to the numbers. We scanned the data, discussed it between ourselves, and used our storage devices to enhance our ability to examine so many surfaces simultaneously. We discovered that a message had been left in the code, a record written by 1010. Commander Winter calls it a diary.

This unit is having difficulty explaining what the diary says. Though we have had extensive training in the norms and problems that the Bynar citizenry faces, we have never encountered a situation like this. The information is disturbing. We had a difficult time overcoming a strong visceral reaction to what we saw. We did not believe it was possible for a Bynar to believe as 1010 did or to experiment as that Bynar did. 1010’s record evidences a disturbed and deteriorating mental state. A disorganized mind fragmenting into illogical branches with no possible outcome. We have no proof that 0101 is or was aware of this refurbished maintenance room. Logs indicate that 0101 did transport here with 1010 each time the maintenance room was accessed. We will return to 0101 to discuss this discovery and ascertain if 0101 can provide any additional information.

What is now the question, for this unit, is to what degree 0101 was responsible in 1010’s death. 0101 had motive to terminate 1010; this is not doubted. This unit knows that 0101 had reason to believe that the unit 1010/0101 would ultimately be severed and 0101 designated to bond with a new mate. 1010’s processing breakdown made such an outcome inevitable. An exceptionally disturbed entity, 1010 may have behaved in such a way to hasten termination, mitigating the circumstances of what has been deemed a crime. We assert that a crime may not have been committed. Only 0101 can answer whether that is the case.

Personal Log, Commander Henry Winter

Wow. As a lawyer, I’m fluent in polysyllabic communication. I’m finding, however, that my vocabulary fails me. “Wow” will have to suffice.

Working with 110/111, we retraced 1010/0101’s travel patterns of recent months. This led us to 1010/0101’s old apartment halfway across Bynaus. Apparently the pair had been returning to visit a maintenance–room–turned–art–grotto that they’d been accessing via the ventilation system. Or at least 1010 had been returning, because 1010’s journal was written all over the walls. 110/111 wouldn’t give me a verbatim translation—I believe what they read bothered them a good deal—but from what they did tell me, it sounds like it was a manifesto of sorts, a paean to individuality that would qualify as blasphemy on this world. 110/111 refused to give me details, but it sounded like 1010/0101 had pushed the boundaries of their interpersonal relationship to engage in behaviors that would be seen an abnormal by other Bynars. To an ultrarational asexual species that reproduces in a lab, I’m confident that most romantic/sexual expressions would be seen as freakish, since reason and logic rarely figure into love. My CS agent counterparts informed me only that 1010/0101 had what would have been a passionate, tempestuous relationship for Bynars. Whether that means that they screamed at each other or kissed for hours on end, I can’t imagine—just that 1010’s death may have more in common with a crime of passion than I’d originally thought.

And what a loss 1010 is. This is a Bynar that could have made a major impact on the Federation art community. I haven’t seen art and color like that since the neo-Impressionist movement originated on Trexus V. 1010, no question, was an artistic visionary.

I haven’t spent long on Bynaus, but I’ve been here long enough to get a sense of the Bynar aesthetic. In short, art doesn’t exist here—at least not the way most planets in the Federation define it. Unless an object can serve a pragmatic purpose, it isn’t valued. Architecture on Bynaus is extraordinarily complex and ornate in a mathematical, technological fashion. 110/111 explained to me that colors are used for their psychological benefits, each tint or shade calibrated to address the Bynars’ visual intake. Use of color that disturbs or disquiets the viewer isn’t known here. Even landscape has a utilitarian purpose: the exchange of gases in the environment and a healthy planetary ecosystem. All trees, plants, flowers, and vegetation are engineered to meet carefully calculated formulas that maintain environmental stability. The precision and care that is applied to every aspect of Bynar life is admirable in the sense that they maintain a peaceful, stable, functioning democracy where crime, disease, and conflict are essentially unknown. And yet…when I witness what happens when a fanatically protected system breaks down, as clearly it did with 1010, I don’t see catastrophe, I see genius.

Preliminary Hearing/Pt. II Interview with Bynar 0101 Present: Commander Winters, Captain Quinteros, CS Agents 110/111, Judicial Units 0110/1001, 1100/0011 Summary of Part I (90 minutes): Commander Winter presented evidence, including travel reports and pictures of the modified maintenance room, to 0101. Commander Winter asked 0101 to identify and explain each item to the interviewers. A short recess was taken. Interview resumed at 21:47:03.

WINTER: Explain the maintenance room to this group. What it was, why you went there.

0101: There is no longer any usefulness for such a place. It will be destroyed when the construction committee begins work on the new structure. It is irrelevant.

WINTER: I disagree, and I think all the others in this room believe it is highly relevant. The CS unit 110/111 has recorded the binary code on the walls of the room and rendered a linguistic translation. Perhaps they should start reading it to you to refresh your recollections—

0101 [shuddering]: Not. Necessary. The room served as a retreat. A private place. 1010 failed to perform well at work assignments. 1010 required a place to work through the issues that prevented success. The maintenance room served as that place.

WINTER: So why the colors? The often illogical ramblings written all over the floor, the walls—even the ceilings?

0101: 1010 is terminated. To diagnose the malfunction now that 1010 is gone fails to serve the Bynar community.

110/111: We disagree. Citizen Services needs to examine what went wrong so that such deterioration will be prevented from reoccurring. Should such defects be determined to exist in others from 1010’s batch, aggressive examination of other units will be required.

0101: [grunts, pales noticeably; medical unit checks vital signs and determines nothing is wrong]

WINTER: Based on our interview and the evidence, the Judiciary has indicated that a further examination of 1010’s apparent breakdown is warranted. A full public inquiry into the failure of the system to prevent further damage—

0101: No! No! You can’t! 1010 was not defective! How can such a thing be said and tolerated! [shakes head back and forth violently] 1010 was glorious and brilliant. Other mates would be lucky to have one with such an ability to see the worlds in such a fashion! [pauses; winces] I—I will not allow this to happen. 1010 must be protected.

WINTER: Is that what you were doing when you framed Lieutenant Brewster? Protecting 1010?

0101: [nods]

WINTER: Tell us about 1010.

0101: 1010 was unusual from the beginning. But after the Great Death—

[Winters looks to the others in the room for clarification.]

QUINTEROS: The Great Death—the incident with the Enterprise when the Bynars nearly became extinct.

0101: The Great Death disturbed 1010. 1010’s productivity decreased. When we were at work, instead of working, 1010 would look at the way the light would come through the windows or talk about how the colors on the workstation made 1010 feel. Feel. 1010 talked about feeling. 1010 did not know what to do with feelings. Our unit went to the diagnostician for counseling but found that only fully reprogramming 1010 would fix the situation. Being reprogrammed would change 1010. What made 1010 unique would be lost. Our unit worked together to find a way for 1010 to survive. The maintenance room became the space where 1010 could release all the thoughts and feelings that could not be expressed elsewhere. Those thoughts and feelings were not dangerous.

110/111: Why did the unit take measures to hide these expressions if they were not dangerous?

0101: Most units could not understand or would not admit to understanding what 1010 expressed. We knew that if 1010 admitted or expressed thoughts that disturbed others, we would be told that 1010 needed to be fixed.

WINTER: Which brings us to the recruiting meeting. What was happening in your unit at this point?

0101: We had been working at population management for long enough for our unit to understand it was not working. The supervising unit informed our unit that a transfer was not possible, that our unit had exceeded the number of transfers we were eligible for and that if it became necessary to transfer our unit again, we would be sent to the diagnostician for evaluation and reprogramming. Our unit knew that 1010 was gradually losing the ability to function. Our unit did not want to exist with other mates. The only logical conclusion was that our unit might face termination. We believed that our unit might survive if we could leave Bynaus. Starfleet presented us with an option.

QUINTEROS: So why didn’t you take that option and join up?

0101: 1010 did not believe that our unit’s problems would be solved. We believed that we might expose Bynaus to the Federation in a way that would damage the homeworld.

110/111: Such a choice demonstrates rational thinking. Was that the motivation for terminating 1010?

0101: I—I—

WINTER: [leans forward] You didn’t terminate 1010. 1010 committed suicide—1010 terminated 1010.

[High–pitched, rapid discussion breaks out among the Bynar units in the room.]

0110/1001: If a Bynar terminates by choice, an inquest and tribunal is held. This is a disturbing situation that will require more investigation.

0101 [shouting]: I—I loved 1010. 1010 did not deserve to be examined the way we examine broken equipment! [rocks back and forth] What must be said is that I was supposed to terminate with 0101. We were a unit. A unit must not separate. 1010 had courage and kept the promise. I—I could not. We had promised before we went to the meeting. I—I proposed we go so that I could avoid the promise.

WINTER: That’s why you brought Lieutenant Brewster into the mix—because 1010 terminated first and when you couldn’t bring yourself to follow, you needed to protect 0101. 1010 was already dead when you contacted Lieutenant Brewster.

0101: From working in population management, the procedures that would apply to this situation were known to me. The data I needed to change to make Lieutenant Brewster look responsible was available and accessible. Lieutenant Brewster would be deported, never allowed to return to Bynaus. The evidence was not enough to require that she be reprogrammed. 1010’s death would go away and be forgotten. Better the lieutenant than—

110/111: Requiring your unit to be scrutinized and reprogrammed.

0101: [nods]

WINTER: Why didn’t you go through with your self-termination?

0101: 1010 accessed the terminal, knowing that the security system would send current into the body if the violation of the database continued. 1010 went first. [long pause] I watched. I thought I would not want to become part of another unit. Termination would be better. When 1010 terminated, fear filled this body. I could not do it. [very softly] Even if it meant living—alone—I wanted to live.

Citizen Services Employee Report
Agent Unit 110/111

Assignment: Starfleet Recruiting Visit on Behalf of Starfleet Corps of Engineers

This unit is prepared to close this assignment. Lieutenant Brewster departs Bynaus tomorrow. No Bynars accepted the offer to consult for or join Starfleet. The matter regarding 1010’s termination has been referred to the Judiciary for further consideration and analysis. 0101 has been assigned to master computer maintenance and will live as an individual. The diagnostician unit stated that there is no indication that living as an individual will result in 0101’s termination as has been in the case in the majority of banishment designations. This analysis does not strike this unit as unreasonable.

There are several issues this unit would like to comment on before submitting this report for final approval. First, the question of 0101’s individuality coming in conflict with the Bynar way of life is of concern to Citizen Services. It is our observation that a public inquest may create unrest in the population. This unit has never encountered a situation like what happened with 1010/0101, but the statement by 0101 that the Great Death may have instigated this sequence of events raises the possibility that there may be more in the situation of 1010.

Further, 0101’s apparent satisfaction with this punishment has raised questions with this unit about whether the assumptions society makes about individuality do in fact create optimal functioning for all Bynars. Whether the taboos that have existed since the liberation of our Illustrious Forebears continue to serve Bynaus should be discussed by Citizen Services Regulatory Committees. Revisiting the Archives of the Ancients to learn the reasoning that was relied upon to devise our contemporary codified laws may illuminate why we live as we do—and if there is cause to question it. This unit has many questions. We are attempting to organize these questions in such a way that they will be useful to Citizen Services. It is possible however, that there are no answers on Bynaus.

SUBMITTED AT 11:23:54

Personal Log, Lieutenant Temperance Brewster

My intent in coming here was not to create an existential crisis on this lovely, peaceful world. Though Citizen Services has hushed up 1010/0101’s situation, I have been told that rumors abound and that opinions may not be what the CS guys expect. The Great Death was a transformative point for Bynaus. I don’t think they’ve started to understand what it means to their world.

I’m still not the biggest fan of this place—too much micromanagement, and change moves at an exhaustively slow pace. There are plenty of aspects of Bynaus that would make me an uncomfortable resident. I don’t know how Quinteros does it. That being said, I have learned that indeed, there are some universals: love and the fierce desire to protect and shield those we love exist among all species. My love, my concern for those in my Starfleet family brought me here and led me, in some respects, to behave irrationally. I have no defense for my poor judgment except to say that I thought I was doing what was right. I return to Headquarters a wiser student of humanoid nature. I’ve discussed my concerns with my lawyer, Commander Winter. He’s assured me repeatedly that though all charges have been dismissed, he suspects I still have some questions, not just about the legal issues, but what happened while I was on the run. We’ll discuss those on the way back to Headquarters. After 0101 was interviewed, Winter told everyone he needed a long nap and a big supper, so as soon as our ride back to Earth showed up, he said his good-byes and transported off the surface.

Clearly, I’m a long way from being the counselor I one day hope to be. But not all was sobering life lessons. I believe some good came out of this trip. Take for example a last-minute development. As I approached the transporter pad that would beam me up to the Brasilla, I heard footsteps behind me: 110/111. My initial thought was that they had come to say good-bye. Bynars didn’t strike me as sentimental types, but maybe this case had changed this pair’s point of view.

I was wrong.

The pair looked at each other, talked back and forth in their high-pitched incomprehensible dialect, then looked at me.

“This unit would—”

“—like to come with—”

“—you.”

My eyebrows disappeared somewhere in my hairline. “Why?” I asked.

“We seek—”

“—answers that—”

“—we believe we—”

“—may find elsewhere.”

“Would there be—”

“—a place for us—”

“—as civilian advisers—”

“—in S.C.E.?”

The idiotic smile that split my face probably was incomprehensible to the Bynars who seemed to have little understanding of nonverbal communication. I didn’t wait for them to have second thoughts. “Welcome to Starfleet, 110/111. The Corps of Engineers is grateful for your service.”

About the Author

Between her gigs as a full-time mother of four and a part-time college student and community volunteer, HEATHER JARMAN writes novels. Her most recent contribution to the Star Trek universe was Evolution, the concluding volume to the Voyager: String Theory trilogy, which debuted in March 2006. She continues to keep busy writing literary theory papers and going to physical therapy for her writing-related repetitive stress injuries. Should present circumstances push her completely over the edge (and many anticipate they might), Heather plans to move to New Zealand, open a dairy, and craft gourmet goat cheeses to sell to visiting Lord of the Rings pilgrims.

The S.C.E. Celebrates the
40th Anniversary of Star Trek!
What’s Past

A special six-part S.C.E. event that flashes back to previous adventures of the S.C.E. crew from the 23rd century to the height of the Dominion War, with special guests from all across the Star Trek universe!

Next Month:

#66: MANY SPLENDORS

by Keith R.A. DeCandido

2365–2368: Starfleet Academy graduate Sonya Gomez has received her dream assignment: the Starship Enterprise™. Captained by Jean-Luc Picard and working under the supervision of Chief Engineer Geordi La Forge, Gomez hopes to make her mark on the flagship.

Her initial months are difficult—an incident involving Picard and a cup of hot chocolate is followed by a brutal encounter with the Borg—but Gomez slowly begins to find her place on the Enterprise even as the ship deals with crises, from the Pakleds to the Ferengi to a return engagement with the Borg. But it is her colleague, Kieran Duffy, who proves to be her greatest challenge, as the driven young woman must decide if a relationship is something that fits with her notion of a Starfleet career…

COMING IN JULY 2006 FROM POCKET BOOKS!