10 is Better Than 01 Read online

  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 da
y.

  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 expans
ively.

  “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.”