Forbidden Fruit
Posted on Wed Mar 29th, 2023 @ 12:53pm by Saalkan & Ensign Khaiel D'hikatsi
Edited on on Sun Apr 30th, 2023 @ 11:42am
3,025 words; about a 15 minute read
Mission:
Season 1 Interlude II (E5.5)
Location: Risa
Timeline: ID 4
V'tosh Katur.
Whatever that meeting was, it had not been what Khaiel was expecting. As a child born of mixed heritage with exposure to multiple cultures, Khaiel's mind was always open when meeting new groups. It was part of what made him so reticent. Where others saw overcautiousness, he saw thoughtfulness. If other people wanted to engage in what appeared to be a semi-public orgy, then more power to them. Khaiel headed back to the Villa so he could lose himself inside a long soak and fight back the urge to blind himself. The sight of Mrazak going off with no fewer than three paramours was something that would take a long time to forget.
Khaiel thrust his hands into his pockets and lowered his head in a slouch as he walked. Feeling invisible was a natural trait for him. Despite his intellectual acumen and no small skill set, he seldom stood out. It suited him. Only being noticed when desired was a trait envied by many people. Getting noticed is what got him kidnapped by Sebastian Ingram and taken to Mars. That had led him directly into Memory Theta's orbit, to his conscription into Mrazak's service, to him exposing NICK to the authorities and being forced to relinquish him. Now, here he was, in paradise and hating every minute of it.
His fingers brushed against a small object in his pocket. Even without visual confirmation, his knowing fingertips recognized the feel of an isolinear chip on touch. He pulled it out anyway and just stared. There were no markings on it of any kind. No serial numbers, no model numbers, no logo. It was almost certainly a custom design replicated for a personal and private use. But it was even more certainly not his. How had an isolinear chip found its way into his pocket? There had been...
"Ugh..."
Khaiel suddenly remembered a tall stranger who had clipped his shoulder on the way out of the conference center. Had he dropped the isolinear chip? Should Khaiel return it? That would mean returning to that group of maniacs. He stopped and turned his head back to the conference center before looking back at the isolinear chip resting in the palm of his hand. What if he just threw it away? Nobody would know. Well, that's not true. He would know. Khaiel took a deep breath and sighed.
Sliding the isolinear chip into the data port of his private PADD, Khaiel attempted to access it.
Encrypted.
"What?!"
The word made Khaiel blink. His PADD had preloaded a number of decryption protocols already keyed to a multitude of programming languages and coding formats. This defied them all. That meant it was highly encrypted and more than likely not Khaiel's business.
But then the script changed. Rather than the failed access message, the letters had prearranged to a proto-Vulcan language characters that bore similarities to Old Romulan. Khaiel wasn't a linguist, but he recognized the letters on sight. It was his full name.
Back in his hut, Khaiel had connected his private PADD to the guest computer terminal in order to bypass the usual safeties in order to access the good stuff. The Federation dark web was dark and full of terrors, rightly filtered through layers of real-time responsive firewalls defended by digital guardians armed with recursive quantum programming. But, in this case, Khaiel risked contracting vicious malware in hopes of figuring out who had taken the time to encrypt an isolinear chip with his name written in potentially ancient Romulan lettering. Even if he had been spied on, he had attended the V'tosh Katur conference on a whim. It couldn't have been any of them who had prepared this data cache.
Curiosity had gotten the better of him. With the visual interface turned off as to avoid the unfiltered spamming, Khaiel scanned the raw digital readout with keen eyes until he spotted a pattern on which to base his new decryption algorithm. It was based on ancient Romulan, in which Khaiel was barely literate. Fortunately, patterns were patterns, and the algorithm didn't need much more direction than his limited literacy could afford.
What resulted from the decryption was both intriguing and a bit anticlimactic. It was a string of numbers. The first series was easily identifiable as the current Stardate plus six hours. The next series was global coordinates.
Someone had gone through an incredibly intricate level of effort to create an elaborate invitation to a meeting. Should he go? It couldn't be stranger than the one he had fled, but that was a low bar. Was it safe? Should he alert anyone? Looking around, though, Khaiel realized that he had formed virtually no relationships with anyone at Memory Theta. If he went missing, they would likely find him, but he felt neither duty nor inclination to let anyone know where he was going. Upon that realization, Khaiel admitted to himself that he did, indeed, intend to go. This was a vacation, after all. There was room for a little adventure.
Dusk had fallen, leaving only the tinge of golden orange to hold back the encroaching darkness of night. Or at least the silvery indigo of twilight which passed for night on Risa. The meeting place was an antiquated commercial building that had once held the offices of a defunct interstellar industry. Now it was an annex building for Risa's rental services for private corporate events and so seldom went used. Security was minimal because there was nothing to steal. Maintenance was automated because there was little to maintain. There were even stairwells, a vestige of older times. There wasn't even a name for the structure, just an index number among several lining the outskirts of the commercial zone far away from Temtibi Lagoon.
Khaiel had little trouble spoofing authorized access to the exterior gate, the interior gate, or the side door which advertised rooftop access. Shadows darkened the way forward, giving Khaiel pause. Should he really proceed? There was no telling who or what lied in store. Willing himself to go on, Khaiel walked onward and upward, his uneasiness growing with every step. The enclosed ground access to the zigzagging stairwell to the roof soon opened up to the gorgeous skyline.
While the sight was breathtaking, there was nothing and nobody on top of the roof. Even the communications relay had been dismantled, leaving a gouge in the roof structure behind long ago.
"Hello?" Khaiel called out. "I'm here."
This was the right time and the right coordinates. Khaiel had verified and reverified more times than he cared to admit. Had this been an elaborate joke? What sick fool would do such a thing? Khaiel kicked at the rooftop and turned around to leave.
Rather than the empty stairwell, he saw an imposing silhouette. A tall figure whose outline was obscured by a long, flowing overcoat against the setting sun at his back. His prominent pointed ears stood out in stark relief to the waning daylight.
"Who... who are you?" Khaiel asked, recovering from the surprise he felt at the stranger's sudden appearance.
The man stepped forward, hands stowed in his pockets, and as he did so blocked out more of the setting sun. Khaiel could begin to see distinct features -- fair skin, brown hair, penetrating gray eyes. And he was unmistakably Vulcan. "That is the wrong question," the man said. "How well do you ever know anyone? Identity is but an illusion, one often thrust upon us by others who are unworthy of the privilege. No, my young friend, who I am is not the most pressing question at present."
"What do you want from me?" The question shot out of Khaiel's mouth without further prompting.
"Ah." The tall Vulcan smiled approvingly. "That's nearer the mark, but it is still not the most important question. You overcame my challenges, trivial obstacles for you but quite significant for the average person who blindly accepts the world they are presented." Stepping close enough that he looked down on Khaiel and forced the younger hybrid to crane his chin upward, the man said, "Ask the question that you have never let yourself ask of anyone."
The forwardness of the stranger's speech and demeanor were disarming. Khaiel felt a stirring within him that he couldn't understand. It wasn't driven by reason or factual analysis. Instead it was an inexplicable compulsion to act, but upon what he didn't know. There was simply a desire to move, to attain, to... "What can you do for me?"
The smile curled into a smirk that was an mischievous as it was ominous. "Very good," said the tall Vulcan with a slow clap of congratulations. "You have taken a small but important step toward actualization."
Khaiel closed his eyes and sighed through his nose. This man was wasting his time. "If you have a point, please get to it."
"Please?" The tall Vulcan was taken aback, his prominent brow rising high into his forehead. "Do you always lace your directives with special pleading? You must sound especially pathetic should you ever resort to begging."
"I don't have to take this," Khaiel said. He wanted to leave and even made the first few steps to do just that, but the tall Vulcan was blocking his path.
"Of course. You are free to go." But the tall Vulcan didn't move a muscle.
If Khaiel was to leave, he would have to go through the other man... or find another way down. Torn between aggravation at the man's mind games and curiosity for whatever could be found beyond them, Khaiel shrugged his shoulders. "Right now I just want you to get out of my way."
"So make me."
The words weren't a challenge, but a simple directive. Was it really that simple? Khaiel put his hand on the stranger's chest and moved him to the side. There was no resistance from the man, so Khaiel walked past him and set his foot on the first step back down the stairwell. Back toward the prison that his life had become.
"Is that where you want to go?"
With that question, Khaiel couldn't hold back any more. He not only stopped, but turned around and got directly in the tall stranger's face. "I don't know who you are or what you want with me, but I resent the fact you lured me out here for this sophomoric nonsense." He put a finger in the man's face. "If you have a proposition for me, then I want to hear it, otherwise I want you to go back to whatever dark corner you came from!"
The man nodded and grinned wide, giving his long face a hawkish likeness. "Resplendent," he whispered. "That didn't take long. Not long at all."
Khaiel shook his head in disbelief. "Look, I'm sorry I ever went to that V'tosh Katur thing. You're all crazy and I don't want anything more to do with any of you!"
"Vulcans Without Logic," the tall stranger translated. "Why the marginalized of every society seek to define themselves by the pejorative labels with which the blind masses stigmatize them is something that has always eluded me. How can you be free if you wear the shackles of your oppressor?" He shook his head with mocking disdain. "Even rebellion legitimizes the oppressor's claim to oppression. No, 'tis better to disregard in full any and all designations of your oppressor, denying them existence privileges in all ways ontological save for the strictly unavoidable." His smile was icy and void of any trace of compassion. "Ignorance is extinction, and so to ignore an adversary is to extinguish them. Who would you wink from existence if you had the opportunity?"
There was an immediate face which came to mind. Khaiel scowled in an expression which mirrored the one he envisioned.
"There!" The tall stranger turned passionate and raised a hand as if to pluck the thought out of Khaiel's mind. "You thought of someone. An individual who has wronged you, nay, robbed you of something deeply personal to yourself. Name them."
"Mr-mrazak. Captain Mrazak."
"And what did he take from you?"
"NICK." It was a reluctant admission, but Khaiel was so far outside his comfort zone that he couldn't remember when he left it. "My..." How could he define NICK? He was more than an AI.
"A friend."
Khaiel nodded.
"Then why don't you take NICK back?"
"It's complicated," Khaiel began to say.
"Then let's uncomplicate it," the Vulcan said. "We could do it now."
"I don't know you," Khaiel protested. "You could be anybody. Work for anybody. V'Shar [Vulcan Security]. Tal'Shiar. Black Nagus. Maybe you're just insane."
The list of organizations made the tall Vulcan laugh, but the accusation of insanity cut the laughter short with an abrupt snap of the jaw. "Insanity is a misnomer to describe the minimization of self felt by an inferior mind in the presence of greatness. Are you insane for the personal value you feel for your AI?"
Khaiel looked down at his feet. "No." It was quiet but firm.
Leaning forward, the tall stranger whispered, "So what are you going to do about it?"
"About what?" Khaiel asked, looking up.
"Taking back what is yours," the stranger said. "What else?"
"I want him back," Khaiel said, "but I don't know how to keep him. They'll just take him away again."
"So you'll just let him get away with it? A brilliant mind such as yours, surrendering what belongs to you merely because someone demanded it." The stranger shrugged. "Perhaps I've misjudged you. Perhaps NICK deserves to remain in the custody of Captain Mrazak. Perhaps--"
Khaiel had clenched his hands into fists. Before he knew it, one of them swung at the tall Vulcan. Just before making contact, though, the tail of the tall stranger's coat flapped in the wind as he darted to a new position nearly behind Khaiel. Part of that was from his quick step, but mostly it was from the way he had pinned Khaiel's arm behind his back with one firm hand. His other hand fell into the position to inflict the infamous Vulcan neck pinch, locked in enough to send a jolt through Khaiel's spine but without sufficient pressure to execute.
"While I commend you for finally taking action," said the tall stranger, "you should not bite the hand which feeds you." He pushed Khaiel away, which sent Khaiel careening on unstable feet until he finally lost his balance and fell.
"Starfleet feeds me," Khaiel said from the ground, "yet you want me to bite them."
"Really?" The rubbed his chin. "As I recall, Ensign Khaiel D'hikatsi, you were pursuing breakthroughs at the Academy that would change the very definition of machine-learning and social technology -- until Starfleet nixed your research focus. You were supposed to be assigned to a prestigious research position -- until Starfleet sent you to Memory Theta where research careers go to die behind an impenetrable cloak of secrecy. And that only set you up for the final insult of having your commanding officer steal that which you love most. Who is biting whom, my friend?"
"You aren't my friend," Khaiel said, though there was no conviction behind the words. If anything, he felt sorrow. This man spoke the truth. Khaiel could do worse for friends than him. "I don't even know your name."
The smirk came back as the Vulcan's eyes narrowed in delight. "I am called Saalkan," he said, clearly loving the sound of it even from his own voice. "And I am indeed your friend because I will help you get NICK back for good."
"Just like that, huh?" Khaiel turned his head askance in disbelief. "No strings attached?"
"I'm on a mission of sorts," Saalkan admitted, "and everyone has to earn their keep as we work together toward a common goal. But something tells me that won't be a problem in your case." He rubbed his chin where Khaiel's punch had nearly connected. "You're already punching above your weight."
Khaiel was reticent. Whatever this Saalkan's mission was, it represented a line of no return. If he joined with this man, he would almost certainly leave his Starfleet commission behind for good. "I'm no traitor," he said weakly.
"You think we mean to betray the Federation?" Saalkan showed genuine surprise and then cackled. "No, my friend, the mission's benefactors aim to save the Federation, even if from itself. Want to know more?" Reaching into his pocket, Saalkan threw down a communicator and a challenge along with it. "Pick it up and see for yourself."
Looking down at the communicator which bounced to lay at rest between his feet, Khaiel went through his options. Duty dictated he should walk away and report this Saalkan to every applicable authority for what sounded suspiciously like seditious talk. But Saalkan had made valid points. What had Starfleet really done for him? What had he already sacrificed for Starfleet? What more would Starfleet demand? What if Saalkan was telling the truth? What if this secret mission was a noble cause to save the Federation? Was that really any different than Memory Theta's secret mandate that effectively circumvented numerous interstellar treaties in the name of the greater good?
"All right." Khaiel knelt down and picked up the communicator as if it were a venomous snake. "Show me more. I'm not promising anything. Not until you tell me how your mission will save the Federation and keep NICK safe."
"I wouldn't have it any other way." Saalkan favored Khaiel with a half grin and activated his own communicator. "See you on the other side."
Saalkan vanished in a flash of transporter energies, leaving Khaiel alone. The communicator in Khaiel's hand made his palm sweat despite suddenly feeling cold and heavy. Lifting it up, Khaiel stared at it for a moment, willing himself to take the step over the threshold into what he hoped against hope would not be a dreadful mistake.
And then he did. Whisked away to parts unknown, a flash of transporter energies briefly illuminated the empty rooftop before it faded back to twilight gray.
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