10 is Better Than 01 Read online

  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.