Cutting a neat slice through the casing, Janeway tried to tell herself she wasn’t mangling their computer further—she was attempting to repair it. Torres removed the cover plate on the interface unit so they could directly link the optical cable to the main input line of the processor.
“Accessing main control unit,” Torres said, manipulating the interface sequence. “Reading general system failure…”
“Let me try.” Janeway accessed the subprograms in the interface and ordered a level-three diagnostic to be performed. The unit warned that all data currently engaged would be lost. Janeway hesitated, not sure if that meant the Tutopan translation program or the operating system itself.
“It might permanently fuse the registers on the isolinear chips,” Torres warned the captain under her breath.
“The only other option is a system shutdown, and that’s almost guaranteed to polarize those circuits. No, this is the only way.”
Janeway initiated the diagnostic program, and held her breath.
“Microprograms engaged, elementary operational steps beginning,” Torres announced, relief clear in her voice.
“Good.” The captain anxiously leaned closer to read the monitor.
“Timing signals activated, very good…”
“Is it working?” Andross asked.
As the system checks continued to clear with no program errors, Janeway looked up. “I believe so. The operating system is initiating the sequence of elementary operational steps supplied by the interface.”
Prog called out from her terminal, “Our link is being interrupted by their unit.” She shook her head at Andross. “I’ve lost access to the processor.”
Andross considered the two Starfleet officers. “Can you use that interface to access our network?”
Janeway quickly got to her feet. “We’re taking our processor back to the ship.”
Prog joined Andross, leaning over as if to examine the interface.
“We may be able to use this unit.”
Torres blocked her from getting any closer. “This is our computer.”
Janeway also took a defensive stance. “What’s going on here?”
“Andross, I can do it,” Prog said, craning her neck to see.
“That interface unit directs data through the system for processing and output, activating the functional elements of the operational system.
My automated setup program can be loaded directly through it.”
“Good work,” Andross told her quietly. He nodded to Janeway and Torres. “You’ve been a great help.”
He casually stepped back, raising a small cylinder in his fist.
Torres growled low in her throat, tensing as if ready to lunge at him.
But before either of them could move, a fine mist shot into their faces.
Janeway felt the same throat-crushing sensation she remembered from the attack by the Kapon. As she went down, Andross was ordering, “Get that interface working. We’re running out of time.”
Janeway slumped back against one of the Tutopan processors, her chin sinking into her chest. The room was blurry but she could make out Prog and Andross working over their computer. The sedative fought with the antidote Tuvok had given her, yet she had to strain to stay awake.
Andross spoke into his wrist communicator. “This is it, compatriots.
Get into position.”
Prog’s voice came from somewhere above Janeway. “Automated setup initiating. Standby for operation.”
Andross stood over Janeway. She feigned unconsciousness while trying to get control of herself. She might not get a second chance.
“I’m truly sorry for this,” Andross said. “But it’s time my people took action to claim the rights that belong to them.”
Prog’s voice was tensely eager. “Program ready for input and operation.”
Janeway slit her eyes to judge her position. As Andross turned to give the order, she braced herself and slashed her leg into the back of his knees. The small man flipped into the air, letting out a cry of amazement. Janeway rolled away as he hit the floor with a solid “Oofff!”
Janeway was on her feet, disoriented but moving. She was glad to hear Torres behind her, scrambling for position. Andross was gasping and wheezing in a crumpled pile.
“I’ve got him,” Torres called out.
Prog drew back in alarm as Janeway lurched toward her. The nerve gas seemed to trap her like a tangled net, making it hard to move or see.
Yet the sequence on the panel was clear enough, with the abort command blinking on the upper right.
Janeway reached for the panel just as Prog realized what she was doing.
The Tutopan grabbed hold of her arm, but didn’t seem to know what to do next. Any other time Janeway would have had no trouble shaking her off, but the gas made every move take three times as long. Behind her, Andross pushed Torres away from him.
She could hear Torres curse as she fell.
With all of the command authority Janeway possessed, she stared right into Prog’s eyes and ordered, “Don’t do it!”
Prog almost obeyed, an instinctive reaction that said a lot about Tutopan society. But she caught herself just as the door to the lift opened. “Andross!” she cried out.
Several House guards emerged from the lift with their gas guns held ready.
Janeway slumped slightly in relief, as the gray uniforms stomped closer.
“We came when we didn’t get the signal,” one of the guards said.
His gun was leveled directly at Janeway. “We thought there was trouble.”
“Smart thinking.” Andross clutched an arm across his stomach, hunching over. He pointed to Janeway, breathlessly ordering, “Take her away from the main terminal.”
The guard motioned, and Janeway eased back when Prog let go of her arm.
The twin ejection tubes of the gun were aimed directly at her face, and she wasn’t sure what another dose of the gas would do to her. Or to Torres, who was already down on her hands and knees, mumbling to herself.
“Sit over there,” the guard ordered Janeway. She awkwardly lowered herself next to Torres.
One of the other guards was helping Andross to the main control terminal. “Begin the operation,” he said hoarsely.
Janeway leaned closer to Torres. “How are you doing?”
“Na… s’ good,” Torres slurred, her head hanging.
“Better sit down,” Janeway advised.
Torres lowered her hip to the ground and kept right on going, ending up sprawled out on the floor. She blinked at the ceiling, obviously too drugged to try to get up again. Janeway wondered if the bit errors in the medical replicator had caused the antidote to malfunction, or if B’Elanna’s half-Klingon metabolism was especially vulnerable to the neural toxin.
“We have switching networks and relay stations on-line,” Prog announced. “Satellite communications, educational and entertainment database systems, as well as electronic-funds transfer conduits are available.”
“That’s everything we need.” Andross leaned against the main terminal, still bowed over. “Terminate the links to the other processors.”
The guard standing over Janeway spoke into his wrist communicator.
“This is it! Take your places.” The other guard let out a shout of approval, thrusting his fist into the air.
Janeway could hear more people arriving in the lift.
The distinctive sound of machinery powering down accompanied Prog’s voice: “Processors off-line.”
Andross swayed into Janeway’s view, and she tried to focus on his face.
He was obviously in pain, but his voice held grudging admiration.
“Thanks to you, years of planning and effort are about to pay off.”
Janeway tried to protest, but her mouth wouldn’t obey. What have we done? She had to stop him before it was too late”Ready, Andross?”
“Shut down the main power grid,” Andross ordered. “And open the official House broadcast channel. It’s time everyone knows—the revolution has begun!”
Zimmerman stood in front of the small viewscreen in sickbay, watching ships moving over the Hub while the starfield glimmered in the background. Kes had told him about the large viewscreen on the bridge that he himself sometimes appeared on, and she had described what it felt like to look out the windows on the observation deck, or through the stasis field of the huge shuttlebay doors….
It was beyond his comprehension. He had created a personal subroutine to deal with sensory images and events that didn’t pertain to his activities as chief medical officer, and yet… he didn’t know what it was like to look out a window.
“At last,” Ensign Kim announced. “Something is finally going right.”
Kim finished his examination of the latest diagnostic of overall systems performance. “The reserpine treatment seems to be having some effect. Efficiency is up eight percent.”
“Just as I predicted,” Zimmerman assured him, exactly as if everything were functioning normally. He was aware that his response was at odds with his current status, but the patient-interface program was capable of a certain amount of leeway in regards to the truth. Hypocrisy was occasionally necessary during treatment, but that was usually to cover the severity of a biosystems failure on the part of the patient, not the doctor.
“Perhaps the dosage should be increeeeee—” he started to suggest.
“Uh-oh,” Kim exclaimed, covering his ears with his hands. “Not again!”
Zimmerman immediately engaged a manual override, deleting the intended comment and ending vocalization. Performance errors were unacceptable in a medical unit, yet he had been forced to install an override on the termination sequence of his self-diagnostic program. Otherwise, his projected image would be constantly terminated while he was in the midst of his research on the bioneural tissue.
“The delays in his system are getting worse,” Kes pointed out.
The doctor wasn’t accustomed to seeing that worried expression directed at himself.
Kim leaned over the medical terminal. “I don’t understand it.
He’s apparently having some sort of systemic reaction to the reserpine treatment.”
The doctor deliberately gestured to himself, reminding them that he was self-aware even if he wasn’t corporeal. “I am here, Ensign.”
Zimmerman wasn’t satisfied by Kim’s apologetic glance. Actually, there was nothing satisfying about the current situation. His self-maintenance program had attempted to compensate for the system errors by creating multiple backup memory files, updating them continuously, while his decision tracks were routed through logic-error routines for triple redundancy. In fact, he had done everything that could be considered reasonable in order to prevent malfunction, but the performance errors continued to occur. And that… bothered him.
“Reserpine does act as a sedative,” Kes agreed. “A system depressant.”
Zimmerman could tell his projected image was moving five nanoseconds slower than usual parameters. “How is it possible that reserpine applied to the neural gel packs of the computer core is affecting my program?”
“You yourself compared the computer network to an animal’s nervous system,” Kes told him. “If the missing processor could be considered the cerebral cortex, then the memory core would seem to function in a similar way to the brain stem, receiving sensory input and preparing the ship’s systems for intense activity necessary in offense and defense.”
“The `fight-or-flight reaction.”” Kim noticed her curious expression, and quickly added, “I’ve been reading those neurological files you gave me.”
“Humph,” Zimmerman replied, finding vagueness to sometimes to be beneficial during patient interface. “It is true that most of the malfunctions appear to be responses to nonexistent emergency scenarios.”
“I’ve seen how the ODN pathways interconnect,” Kes said. “Even in living organisms, we aren’t sure exactly how the nervous system harmonizes with the other physical systems of the body, but it does.
The doctor is reacting no differently from any other patient whose body has been injured.”
Kim shook his head. “I can’t believe that—it sounds as if you’re saying Voyager is alive….”
“The keystone of a living organism is a single focus of action, with the internal regulation integrated successfully with the environment.
Isn’t that was the computer system does for the ship?” Kes hurried on before he could interrupt. “B’Elanna was correct—theoretically the auxiliary processor and subprocessors have no reflex connections established between them, yet they’re reacting as if there is a physiological unity.”
“I guess you could put it that way,” Kim grudgingly agreed.
“We have the evidence in front of our eyes.” She turned to study Zimmerman, who drew back slightly at being the object of attention.
“The doctor’s program is a direct manifestation of the computer systems, exactly the same way that emotions are a direct response to sensory input.”
Kim also turned to consider the doctor. “His reaction does confirm the effect that the reserpine treatment is having on the ODN. He’s functioning again, but his alertness is reduced because the impulses have been inhibited.”
Zimmerman held up his hands to stop them. “I believe I understand.”
There was no decision track to cover these circumstances; however, his self-maintenance program had long ago installed a special decision tree to handle contingencies that were directly related to his own well-being. It had seemed a necessary step in light of the slow crew response to his needs.
“You indicated that the impulse transmissions are traveling both directions along the neural pathways.”
“That’s correct,” Kim said. “But what does that have to do with anything?”
“If it’s true that I am a direct manifestation of this… organism you call Voyager, then it stands to reason that I am capable of controlling the functions of the ODN.”
He saw no need to give them any more warning than that.
Zimmerman updated his memory files, then accessed his direct link to the main computer core.
Chakotay was running over the snow-covered hills of ancient Earth, with the cold air rasping in his throat, and the branches of evergreens whipping past his face. It was a cleansing run, as he pushed himself to keep up with his spirit guide”Commander Chakotay, this is Tuvok.”
Chakotay broke from the meditation, taking only a moment to recover from his disorientation. One good thing about the recent chemical treatment: at least their communicators were working again. “Chakotay, here.”