Chapter Text

Year 2259 // 2 P. Im.

Cliopher woke in a strange room.

He’d…fallen? Yes. Tripped, ridiculously, on the steps he’d walked a thousand times in the Palace of Stars. Anyone who’d seen would shake their heads about Lord Mdang finally showing his age. Still, he could have sworn something slid beneath his feet....

He remembered falling, hitting his arm and his head, though neither ached as much as they should. And he was alert, though magical healing usually left exhaustion in its wake.

Nothing around him was familiar. Cliopher took a long breath and looked up and around from where he lay, trying to get his bearings.

The...bed? he lay on consisted of some soft material, warm to the touch. It was elevated to the level of several similar platforms within his view. Strange lights flickered all around the walls and above his head, changing rapidly and completely indecipherable.

A young woman came into view: pale skin, kind eyes, hair nearly as white as her clothing. “Hi!” she said cheerfully. “Glad to see you’re awake.”

He heard her words in Shian, but her accent was completely unfamiliar. She continued, “Can you understand me? Can you tell me your name?”

He did and he could. Not the traditional three questions, but his reply would be the same. “I am Cliopher Mdang of Tahivoa,” he said. “My island is Loaloa. My dances are Aōteketētana.”

She looked both impressed and confused. He noted her unusual form-fitting clothes and the unfamiliar metal object in her hand. The way her mouth moved when she spoke hadn’t quite matched up to the words he heard.

“I take it I’m not in Solaara anymore,” Cliopher said with resignation.

Her brow wrinkled minutely. “You mean Sol system? –no, wait,” she said, taking a small lighted tube out of her pocket and waving it above his head. “Rest easy, we’ll have time for questions later.”

Look first. Listen first. Questions later. Cliopher decided he liked her.

Judging by his lingering aches and her manner—so like Navalia when he was young—this must be a sick room of some kind, and she a physician. That made sense given his memories of the fall.

“Looking good!” the woman said. “No cranial swelling, just a few bumps and bruises left after the bone and tissue regeneration. Ready to sit up?”

With her hand to his back he did so, noting that he was wearing an unfamiliar outfit : a white tunic with no sleeves or adornments, loose white trews. Cliopher touched the material, marveling at its softness and lack of evident weave, and then his hand went to his throat in a moment of sudden panic. His efela ko was still there, and the efetana  and his efanoa. No new efela, like when he’d gone to Esa’a and met his other self. Likely not Vou’a’s doing, then. Crow? Or some other god?

“You were holding onto those when you...arrived,” said the woman with the kind eyes. “We thought it best to leave them with you. And the feathers in your hair, too.”

“Thank you,” Cliopher said, staring all around the room in wonder. It was all strange and different and unexplainable. At this point, simply looking would tell him nothing of use.

“Where am I?” he asked. “Who are you? How did I come here?”

“My name is Christine Chapel,” she said, “I’m a nurse aboard the Starship Enterprise.” She gestured around to the room and, he inferred, the wider structure of wherever this was. “As for how you got here, we were hoping you could tell us! From our perspective, it looked like you fell out of thin air.”

Not again, he thought but did not say. “Domina Christine, can you clarify some things you mentioned?”

“Domina? Christine is fine, if I can call you Cliopher. And sure.” She smiled again, looking over his head at the lights above the bed.

“Christine, I don’t know how I got here. I remember stairs, tripping and falling, hitting my head and arm.” That was beginning to feel less like an “accident” by the moment, but he put that aside for now.

She nodded, tapping again at the object in her hand. “That’s consistent with your injuries.”

“Nothing here is familiar. These lights and materials and—you said ‘Starship,’” he interrupted himself, looking about again for some clue.

“Ye-s-s-s,” she said slowly, “maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“Please!” Cliopher looked her in the eyes, trying to impress the importance of the request. “This is a ship? I need to see the stars, to know where I am.”

Christine held his gaze for a moment, glanced at the object in her hand, and sighed. “In for a penny, I guess.” Again she tapped the object.

A window opened in the wall in front of him.

He was moving amid the Sea of Stars.

Cliopher stared out the window and began to weep.

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It was only joy, he assured Christine, and asked her not to close the window.

He didn’t know where he was. The stars were utterly unfamiliar. Even on Ysthar and Voonra he knew the star paths, unique to their worlds. He hadn’t seen the skies of the outworlds with his own eyes, but travelers had sketched the primary constellations. So: He was nowhere in the nine worlds.

But he still felt Loaloa, even if he couldn’t pinpoint the direction. He would be far more distressed if he couldn’t feel his home island. Well. He’d been lost before and found his way home.

With bemusement and a professional eye, Christine watched him cry and eventually fetched a ceramic cup of water and a wet cloth for his face. He took both with gratitude and noted that he felt considerably better, his aches nearly vanished.

When he finally took in the rest of the room, he spotted a severe-looking woman in a red outfit against the far wall. She was pale with her dark hair pulled tightly back, watching him suspiciously, saying nothing. She reminded him of Ludvic as he’d stood on duty, years ago. He decided not to mention her if Christine didn’t.

She said in a confident nurse’s voice, “Before anything else, let me show you to the lavatory.” She glanced at his face to make sure he understood.

“Yes, thank you.” He slid off the bed to his feet. They were enclosed in soft white slippers.

Christine followed his gaze. “We healed your acute injuries. Your feet exhibit considerable burn and nerve damage—we can repair those scars as well, if you want?”

“No!” he said too vehemently, and then more gently, “No. They’re important to me.”

She nodded and immediately dropped the subject, which was interesting. “If you’d like to wash, you might want to do it here—most of the rooms have sonic showers but we have water showers in sickbay. For therapeutic reasons.” Christine made odd crooking motions with her fingers on the last words.

“Sonic?”

Christine raised her hand to her face in a recognizable gesture of embarrassment. “I talk too much. Just, uh, here’s the bathroom—call out if you need help.”

The bathroom proved navigable if not immediately familiar, and Cliopher managed without acutely embarrassing himself. He hoped.

When he emerged, Christine was sitting at a small table off to the side of the beds. He took the chair evidently meant for him as she tapped at that odd slate. He needed context. “What do you call that?”

“The PADD? —that. It’s like...a handheld library.”

He raised his eyebrows, exceedingly impressed. “Something like that would have made my life’s work so much easier.”

“It certainly does for ours!” She smiled and added, “I need to run through some questions, to make sure you’re not experiencing any memory loss. This is also for our records. Okay?”

Domina Audry had asked him such questions after Esa’a. He nodded, noting without comment that the woman in red had shifted position to watch them both. “Go ahead.”

“What is your name?”

“Cliopher Mdang.”

“Where were you born?”

“Tavihoa.”

“Where do you live?”

“Also Tavihoa.”

“Where are you now?” Christine rolled her eyes a little at the question.

“Somewhere completely unfamiliar that I am told is a ‘starship,’ with a nurse making sure I haven’t misplaced my sanity.”

“I’m beginning to suspect you might be the sanest person on this ship,” she murmured, and continued. “What do you recall from before you woke here?”

He thought back. “I can account for everything up to the fall. Waking, letter writing, pre-consultation research, documentation...the accident.”

“That’s good. When did you get here?”

“My time? The accident occurred at approximately the third hour of the morning , three hours before I was going to lunch with friends. Here, I don’t know.”

Christine blinked at him. “You did all that three hours before lunch? I take back the sane part.”

Cliopher began to laugh, honestly and with more than a little chagrin. “You are not the first person to say so.”

She laughed too, making a note. “Third hour of the morning—day and year?”

“In my world, the third day of the seventh month in the second year of the post-Imperial period.” The succession of threes might be something to consider later—or not. Vou’a wasn’t prone to repeating his tricks.

“Mother’s name? Siblings?”

“Eidora Mdang and one living sister, Vinyë.”

Christine’s face made a soft, sympathetic acknowledgement of the qualification. “How did you get here?”

“No idea.” None that he could confirm yet.

“First event remembered after injury?”

“Your voice. You said, ‘Hi! Glad to see you’re awake!’”

Christine groaned. “Complete lack of professionalism, captured for the record. All right, I think that definitively rules out amnesia.” She tapped the PADD again. “Are you hungry? According to our scans you shouldn’t have any problem with our replicators. Baseline human, top to bottom.”

“Um. Thank you? I’m having trouble with some of your vocabulary. ‘Scans’ and ‘replicators’?”

Christine bit her lip. “Oh. Whoops. Well...scans are how we examined you for injury. Replicators are...how we make food. And we’re communicating through the Universal Translator, a tool that allows us to understand each other.”

“That’s an incredibly powerful tool,” Cliopher said, fascinated by the implications. Same as the other things she’d mentioned; he needed more information.

“Helps me talk too much to more people. Let me get you something to eat.” She smiled and got up, nodding toward the silent woman as she crossed the room.

Cliopher took the opportunity to study the clothing he wore, the unfamiliar materials of the table and chairs, emphatically not looking at the guard.

Christine returned with a large bowl of steaming soup. It smelled wonderful. “Not fancy, but soothing. Easy on the stomach.” She hesitated. “I didn’t get your dietary preferences, so I went safe: vegetable broth, bean curd, a few greens for color. Does that work?”

“That sounds perfect.” He took up his spoon. Interestingly, all the flavors tasted familiar. “It’s delicious.” He glanced at her face. “Really! I was just thinking it tastes like something I’d have at home. Although I do enjoy a good pig roast, too.”

“Oooooh. Stop, I’ll drool. I’ve only tried that once.”

“Do your people not eat meat?” And then, rethinking the question, “My apologies if I’ve encroached on your beliefs or taboos.”

“No, not at all. Humans don’t raise animals for meat anymore on a large scale, but there are still small farms and cultural observances that require the real thing. Other races have different mores; Vulcans are strictly vegetarian and Caitians only eat meat.” She grinned, her eyes crinkling in happy memory. “I went to a traditional pig roast on Maui. One of the best meals of my life.”

An older man walked into the room before Cliopher could request a clarification about “other races.” Dark skinned, short hair; Cliopher would have taken him for Astandalan nobility, save perhaps for the beard. When he spoke, it was with a very soft, almost hoarse but still pleasant voice.

“I’m Doctor M’Benga. I see Nurse Chapel has already introduced you to your surroundings.” He cast Christine a slightly reprimanding eye, but there was amusement in it as well. “If you’re ready, Sayo Mdang, we can sit somewhere more comfortable to discuss your situation.”

Cliopher had been trying to ignore the discontinuity between lip movements and voice, but “Sayo” came across clearly as substitute for their equivalent honorific.

He sensed no menace from these people, no impression of threat. “My clothing?”

Doctor M’Benga nodded. “Cleaned and repaired as best as we were able. Christine will retrieve them.”

Christine gave a half-smirk, not at all chastened, and hurried out of view.

The doctor looked at his own PADD and seemed satisfied. “So. Your wounds are healed and there’s no sign of a concussion. Physically, you’re in excellent health.”

Interesting qualification.”You’re concerned for my mental state?”

Doctor M’Benga smiled, his eyes bright with approval. “Not appreciably at present. You’re alert, asking coherent questions, and very composed given the circumstances.”

Cliopher couldn’t help but grin. “That’s more or less my job description.” Former job description, but still applicable.

“I’d like to hear about—ah, Christine. We’ll give you a moment to dress,” Doctor M’Benga said as Christine placed a square object the size of a small crate on the table.

Cliopher looked at it with some confusion. Christine leaned over to press a spot along the top side of the square. It opened to reveal his clothing. “There you go.”

He nodded his thanks and pulled out his things as they left the room. Everything was intact, perhaps in better shape than they’d been before: deep indigo tunic uncreased, the seam at the bottom of the sandy-brown trews mended, and his sandals had definitely been more worn than this. His writing kit was untouched, and he reached in to discover that its extra compartments were functional.

Back in his own clothing he felt...exactly the same. Still out of place, still in an unfamiliar sky. But he could sense Loaloa somewhere. Fitzroy was somewhere. Hopefully, not tearing the nine worlds apart looking for him.

…unless his body back home was being inhabited by some other aspect of himself, like last time. Nothing he could do about that.

After a bit, Christine poked her head around the corner. “All ready? Great. Oh, wait, one thing before we step out. You might see people, crew members, who aren’t human.”

Maybe her translation mechanism had missed something. “Aren’t...?”

“The crew includes people from different planets. All personnel aboard are humanoids—shaped like you and me. One head, two arms, two legs. Some humanoids have different skin or ears or—here, I’ll show you.”

On the PADD she never seemed to put down, Christine conjured moving images, like flat versions of Fitzroy’s illusions.

The images changed as she spoke. “Human, baseline from our ethnocentric point of view. Vulcan, same outwardly except for the ears, and a really interesting—never mind. Andorian, blue skinned with sensory antennae. Aenar, like Andorian but albino, and blind. Tellurite, distinctive facial variation.”

Cliopher watched the images with fascination. “Different planets, different cultures, different people—all serving aboard one ship?”

She sighed. “As best we can. We’re always looking at ways to accommodate nonhumanoid crew, but for now they serve on their own ships. It’ll be really exciting when we have fully inclusive ships. I hear there’s an Edosian at the Academy who’s determined to be assigned to the Enterprise, though they’re essentially humanoid except for the third arm and leg and—I’m babbling, sorry!”

She reminded him of Clio, with all his appetite to learn. “Your passion is exceptional.”

Christine blushed. “Sometimes I get carried away.”

“It’s a virtue.”

“It gets me in trouble. Let’s get to that meeting.”

They stepped out into a metal corridor. People walked past them, moving with purpose, some calling out greetings to Christine and eyeing him with calm curiosity.

Cliopher saw people of every shape and size and some, as Christine said, who didn’t look like the people of his worlds. He very carefully did not look behind him to see if the guard was following, though he was certain she was. “All these people are the crew of this ship? How many are there?”

Christine put up a hand, a gesture he recognized as a signal to pause. “Hang on a moment. We’ll be meeting with the XO—that’s the first officer—and she’ll give you the rundown.”

He nodded and went back to watching the crew as they walked. When a stranger came to the Palace of Stars, he wouldn’t have told them anything sensitive either.

A door along the corridor slid open, silently and seemingly of its own accord—how did it do that? They entered a plain room, containing chairs around a table suitable for eight or so. A tall, elegant dark-haired woman stood waiting for them. She nodded to Christine and said, “Cliopher Mdang, welcome to the Enterprise. I’m the First Officer, Lieutenant Commander Una Chin-Riley. That’s a mouthful, so call me Number One. Please sit—can we get you anything to refresh yourself?”

“Water, please,” he said, taking a seat, amused by his easy willingness to follow the instruction of a confident, obviously powerful woman. As long as he agreed with the suggestion, of course. The fact she’d said his name correctly helped—or was that the translator tool?

The pale severe woman entered and sat without ceremony. Number One nodded to her. “Sayo Mdang, Security Chief Lieutenant Noonian Singh.”

Cliopher inclined his head. Something like a smirk touched the lieutenant’s lips. “Polite start to finish. A pleasant change.”

Number One flashed her a smile and sat, folding her hands in front of her as she faced Cliopher again. “I understand you might be experiencing a bit of culture shock. Please don’t hesitate to ask if there’s anything that’s unclear to you. Our Communications Officer—”

Doctor M’Benga came in, along with a stunningly beautiful dark-skinned young woman. In another place, he might have wondered if she was related to Melissa and his fanoa.

“—never fails. This is Comms Officer Ensign Uhura, and Doctor M’Benga you’ve already met.” A young red-haired man she didn’t introduce followed behind them, setting out glasses of water for everyone and a full carafe in the center of the table.

“Thank you,” Cliopher said to him, and the man smiled.

“My pleasure. Commander, I’ll be on call if you need anything.”

“Thank you, Yeoman Jeskin.” It was clearly a dismissal, but not an unkind one. The yeoman left with a nod, that strangely silent door again responding on its own.

“Would you state your name again, for the record?”

“I am Cliopher Mdang of Tahivoa,” he said, his voice clear. What you name yourself you are. “My island is Loaloa, and my dances are Aōteketētana.”

Christine Chapel was tapping her PADD. “Tahivoa,” she murmured. “Loaloa. Not in the database. And ayotea...ayoteakeete....”

“Aōteketētana,” he said, but it was clear the word was as unfamiliar to her as it was to anyone outside the Vangavaye-ve. “That won’t be in your library. Your stars are not my stars.”

Number One’s eyes narrowed slightly. “You sound very certain of that.”

Christine said with some chagrin, “I showed him where we were.”

“I see.” Number One said in a neutral tone, and continued, “In that case, if you’re willing, I’d like you to look at our stars from several different perspectives, to see if we can find a piece of the sky familiar to you.”

They wouldn’t, but Cliopher was willing to oblige if it made them feel better. “Of course.”

“Let’s return to the beginning and establish a timeline. From our perspective, you fell out of the air onto the Bridge. —Our command center,” she clarified to his quizzical look. “You were taken to Sickbay and examined. Doctor M’Benga?”

Doctor M’Benga nodded. “Nurse Chapel and I conducted the initial examination. Sayo Mdang was unconscious and had clear signs of trauma, primarily a mild concussion and compound fracture of the right ulna and radius. His vital signs and scans all read as human, so we attended to those injuries per protocol. He responded well. While he rested, we performed noninvasive analysis on his clothing and equipment, as well as his physiology. No diseases or contaminants were noted, no significant anomalies owing to radiation or genetics or environmental factors. By my estimation, Sayo Mdang is in excellent health. Nurse Chapel picked up the examination from there.”

Christine cleared her throat. “Right. When the system alerted me that he was waking, I checked his vitals, established that the Universal Translator was working, and asked his name. Cliopher was lucid and cogent, with full knowledge of his personal history up to the moment he fell into our laps. Uh, metaphorically speaking.”

Number One nodded. “Does that all sound correct to you, Sayo Mdang?”

“It does, and I’m thankful to have received such excellent care.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“Impressed. This ship is far beyond my worlds’ capabilities.” Ysthar had sent people to their moon and explorative craft farther out, but nothing compared to this.

Number One raised an eyebrow. “I meant you, personally.”

“I know.” He smiled. “I am personally impressed and feeling well, thank you.”

“Good. Our science officer is looking for any anomaly that might have brought you here; he’ll report when he has something. In the meantime, let’s see if we can clarify where you’ve landed.” Number One continued, “To begin: the Enterprise is a ship in service to the United Federation of Planets. The Federation, in simple terms, is a union of thousands of worlds joined together under a banner of peace.” She paused and looked at him expectantly.

Cliopher nodded and decided it was time to push a bit. “Number One, on my world I was the acting head of the government for many years. I assure you, I can handle the complex version.”

A sly grin crept across her face at the challenge. “Ha! All right, to quote from the official charter: ‘The United Federation of Planets is a supranational interstellar union of multiple planetary constituent political entities under a single central government, founded on the principles of liberty, equality, peace, justice, and progress, with the purpose of furthering the universal rights of all sentient life. Federation members exchange knowledge and resources to facilitate peaceful cooperation, scientific development, space exploration, and mutual defense.’” She ended the recitation.

“Oh, interesting! I’d like to make a note of that.” Still speaking, he reached into his kit and pulled out pens and ink and paper. “It would be a useful template in creating a mutual pact between the nine worlds.” Cliopher jotted down the salient points in neat shorthand and looked up. “Please, continue, I am accustomed to listening and writing in tandem.”

The commander’s grin widened. “Let’s make this fun. Would you be amenable to an exchange of information?”

“Certainly.”

“You said you’re from Tahivoa? We don’t know that world.”

“Ah, I gave you the simple version.” He winked, hoping the gesture translated, and was pleased by her answering smirk. “The island of Tahivoa is my family’s home, where my heart is. My ancestral island is Loaloa. The islands lie in the region of the Vangavaye-ve in the Wide Seas of the world of Zunidh.”

Ensign Uhura half-raised her hand and Number One waved for her to speak. “Your dances, Aōteketētana, that’s...fire-holders?”

Her pronunciation was perfect. He answered quietly, “The Mdang dances are the Dances of Those Who Hold the Fire.”

Number One looked intrigued. “What fire is that?”

“Light. Warmth. Civilization.”

Her laugh was loud and positively delighted . “This might be my favorite first contact ever. Our turn. Doctor M’Benga, would you explain the Starfleet mission?”

“Of course.” His voice was warmly amused. “Cliopher, we are members of Starfleet, the deep space exploratory and defense service arm of the Federation. Its principal functions include the advancement of knowledge about the galaxy and its inhabitants, and scientific and nonscientific study. Starfleet maintains Federation defense and facilitates diplomacy.”

Cliopher’s pen scratched as he glanced at the doctor. “Defense and diplomacy in the same organization? Doesn’t that invite conflict?”

The doctor’s eyebrows raised, Ensign Uhura made a soft noise of agreement, and Number One gave him a frankly assessing look. “You’ve been here for less than a day and discerned one of the most...let’s say contentious issues regarding Starfleet’s mission. Maybe one day we’ll come up with something more elegant, but it’s served the Federation well so far.”

That was clearly personal to her, and there was no reason to doubt her word. “I understand the shape of it. It’s an ambitious goal, to unite so many under a singular banner.”

Christine cleared her throat and added, “One banner, but not a single culture. Every species, every world that agrees with our core principles maintains their own customs and philosophies.”

Always look for the exception. “And the worlds that don’t agree?”

Doctor M’Benga’s voice dropped to an even lower register. “We respect their territory. Peace, if they respect ours. Conflict, if they don’t.”

Cliopher had additional questions, but it was his turn to trade. “Zunidh is one of five worlds that were once part of the Empire of Astandalas. The empire fell some years ago and the worlds are reestablishing stable communication and trade.”

“You mentioned nine worlds.”

The commander had listened. “Yes. The other four worlds were never officially part of the empire. Now there’s an opportunity to connect them all—not as one empire, but as nine cooperative worlds.”

“And you were head of the government?”

“I was the Viceroy of Zunidh, yes. I helped....” No, Fitzroy had made him promise not to downplay his accomplishments. It was an ongoing struggle. “I championed and oversaw the dissolution of the Empire with the full approval of the Last Emperor of Astandalas, instituting a more democratic structure of representatives.”

Someone whistled.

“You’re not leading the government any longer?”

Cliopher felt the joy wash over him again. “I retired.”

“Oh, good for you.” Number One grinned. “That seems like a true success story, and I’d love to hear more details. A clarification: It sounds like you don’t have starships or space travel. How do your nine worlds communicate with each other?”

He’d been considering how to answer that question. It was clear that “here”—wherever “here” was—rested under different stars than those of the nine worlds and the Sky Ocean that reflected them. His sense of Loaloa was faint but still present, much farther than it had ever been and its direction unclear. He would have so much to tell the vanà of the Nga when he returned. Those Who Name the Stars might have to add another song to Aōtekevēvana.

“Long ago,” Cliopher said slowly, choosing his words carefully, “explorers discovered places that could take a person from one world to another in an instant. Some of the gates were stable, others appeared and disappeared at intervals. There was a cataclysm some thirty years or so ago—” as the Vangavaye-ve reckoned time, at least— “that closed or destroyed most of the gates. The work to anchor and stabilize the ones that remain is an ongoing project.”

“Ah,” Number One said softly, her eyes gleaming with what Cliopher was willing to bet was a pure love of exploration, discovery, the unknown. The others in the room looked much the same. After a moment, Number One cleared her throat and said, “Here is our concern in regard to what we tell you: We have a directive that mandates no interference with less-technologically advanced cultures.”

“Look at it this way,” Cliopher said after a moment’s thought, “one person is not a culture. I have no past or future knowledge of your worlds. You have none of mine. It seems unlikely our paths will cross again.”

“There’s also the knowledge you take back with you.”

“True. And yet—what if my presence here results in interference with your culture, however inadvertent? How would you know? How could you ever know? I certainly don’t intend to change your mission—why would I, when it sounds so much like my own hopes? But we affect each other, every day, just by meeting and talking. We affect our environment by interacting with it. Where does noninvolvement become apathy? When does inaction become cruelty? What would be the point of learning about your neighbors without connecting with them?”

He could feel himself winding up and deliberately, firmly, shut his mouth.

Number One was smiling, and the others seemed delighted by the debate as well. “I see why you were entrusted to lead your world,” she said with appreciation. “You have a gift for rhetoric.”

It might have been an insult. It wasn’t. Cliopher smiled and gave a brief seated half-bow. “I’ve lost track. Was it your turn or mine?”

Number One shook her head and stood. “Enough interrogation for now. You’re in luck! The captain is cooking tonight. You’re invited to dinner in about three hours. It’s not at all required if you’re tired.”

“I wouldn’t miss it.”

“Good. Lieutenant Noonien Singh will take you to a guest room to relax before then. Please let us know if there’s anything you need.”

The severe guard nodded curtly and gestured for him to follow. She’d evidently decided he wasn’t a threat, or at least one she could deal with.

She led him through the corridors and into another room in a brisk manner. It was clearly guest suite, clean and well appointed and unused. “Fresher through there, replicator there. Ask the computer—the ship library—anything you like. If it’s classified or unknown, it’ll tell you that information is unavailable.” She indicated the rectangle on the table. “You may use the PADD if you prefer visual input.”

Cliopher had only one relevant question. “May I leave this room?”

She stared at him as if to root him in place. “You may, with reason. If you must, keep to the public areas. The computer will tell you if you stray into somewhere you’re not supposed to be.”

He wasn’t a prisoner; that was all he wanted to know. “There shouldn’t be need, thank you.”

She addressed the air. “Computer, the current occupant of this cabin is Cliopher Mdang, our guest. Answer his queries in accordance with security clearance level 1. Authorization Security Officer Lieutenant La’an Noonien-Singh, this stardate, effective immediately.”

A female voice in the air said, “Acknowledged.”

She nodded brusquely and went out.

After a brief exploration of the room, he said into the air, “Computer?”

“Working.”

“Are you alive?”

“The ship’s computer is designated nonsentient.”

Not exactly what he’d asked. Interesting. “Are you happy?”

“Inapplicable input. Please rephrase query.”

So...a tool, as Christine said. A pen might be happy to do its work, but only in a metaphorical sense. Well enough.

“I have questions....”

“Acknowledged.”

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