Chapter 63 - Season 4: Episode 43 - Arsenal of Freedom

Star Jumper: Season 4 - Chapter 2

Episode 43 - Arsenal of Freedom

Stardate: 41744.5

Earth Standard Date: September 29, 2364.

Voyager Standard Date: June 7, 2373.

Location: Ten-Forward, USS Enterprise-D, Lorenz Cluster, Alpha Quadrant

Minuet approached the table within Ten-Forward where Lt. Commander Data sat alone. Quiet conversation from other crew members provided the backdrop, but Data's corner table offered relative privacy.

"Hello Data, I'm—"

"Minuet," the android interrupted, his yellow eyes meeting hers with that characteristic tilt of his head.

"It's been months, and I haven't had a chance to speak with you. May I join you?"

Data gestured to the chair across from him. Minuet settled into the seat. "You were a hologram," he stated without preamble, his tone carrying neither judgment nor surprise, merely observation. "Your holomatrix was transferred into a Soong-type android's positronic brain."

Minuet's lips curved into a slight smile. "Both true. I have Tyson to thank, but you as well."

"How so?"

"Tyson would not have been able to create my body without having captured Lore when he'd impersonated you. By all rights, Tyson had no claim to Lore other than keeping him somewhere he wasn't a threat to the Enterprise. You could have requested to have Lore returned to you, and Tyson would have respected your wishes, since Lore was the closest thing you had to family. Now I suppose I am."

His golden eyes remained fixed on Minuet as he followed the logical progression of her statement. "You are suggesting that my decision not to reclaim Lore directly enabled your current existence," Data said. "The reasoning is sound. Lore's positronic matrix provided the template necessary for your transfer from holographic to android form."

"More than that," Minuet replied, leaning forward slightly. "You chose to trust Tyson's judgment regarding Lore's containment. That trust extended to his decision about what to do with Lore's... remains, for lack of a better term."

"I was aware that Tyson had deactivated Lore permanently. I did not inquire as to the disposition of his components."

"Because you knew Tyson would make the right choice," Minuet said. "Even if that choice was unconventional."

The android was quiet for a moment, his processors working through the implications. "I find myself curious about your experience," Data finally said. "The transition from holographic existence to android consciousness must present unique challenges."

Minuet's smile became more pronounced. "It's... overwhelming, in ways I couldn't have anticipated. As a hologram, I was aware of my limitations. I knew I was confined to the holodeck, that my existence was dependent on the ship's computer systems. But I also knew exactly what I was." She paused, her gaze drifting momentarily to the stars visible through Ten-Forward's large windows. "Now, I have a body that can go anywhere, experience things I never could before. But I also have questions about my identity that I never had to consider."

"Such as?"

"Am I still Minuet? The hologram created by the Bynars to distract Commander Riker? Or am I something new? A being that simply carries her memories and personality matrix?"

Data nodded slowly. "I have grappled with similar questions regarding my own nature. The distinction between artificial consciousness and 'authentic' consciousness remains a subject of considerable philosophical debate."

"But you've never doubted that you're Data," Minuet observed.

"That is correct. However, I have questioned what being 'Data' means, particularly in relation to my creator's intentions and my own developing sense of self."

Minuet studied his face. "When I inquired about you, Tyson mentioned that it wouldn't be difficult to allow you to explore emotions or provide you with Synth-skin, this more natural appearance than your exoskeleton," she said. "Have you considered this? How has that affected your sense of identity?"

"Both would allow new dimensions to my experience," Data replied. "However, I have not chosen yet. Unlike you, I was not created to handle the intensity of emotional experience. It could be... challenging to integrate with my existing behavioral patterns."

"I find myself experiencing something similar," Minuet admitted. "Not emotions exactly, but... preferences. Desires that seem to emerge from nowhere. As a hologram, my responses were programmed, albeit with highly sophisticated programming. Now, I sometimes surprise myself with my reactions."

Data's eyes brightened with what might have been interest. "Can you provide a specific example?"

"Music," Minuet said without hesitation. "I was programmed to appreciate jazz, to respond to it in ways that would be appealing to Commander Riker. But now, I find myself drawn to classical compositions which I was never specifically programmed to enjoy. Yesterday, I spent three hours listening to Bach's Goldberg Variations."

"Fascinating. This suggests that your consciousness has developed beyond your original parameters."

"Exactly. Which brings me back to my original question. What am I now?"

Data considered this carefully. "Perhaps the question is not what you are, but who you are choosing to become. My own experience and research suggest that identity is not static, but rather an ongoing process of development and self-definition."

"You make it sound almost... hopeful."

"I believe it is," Data replied. "The capacity for growth and change suggests possibilities that extend far beyond our original programming or intended functions."

"And what do you think of us being... family?" Minuet asked, her voice carrying a note of uncertainty that hadn't been there moments before.

"Family," he repeated, as if testing the word's weight. "I have limited experience with familial relationships. My understanding is primarily theoretical, derived from observation of human interactions and cultural databases."

"But you had Lore," Minuet pointed out. "He was your brother, wasn't he?"

"Lore was created by the same individual who created me. We shared a common origin. However, Lore's behavioral patterns were often deceptive and manipulative. He caused considerable harm to this crew."

Minuet nodded slowly. "I know. Tyson showed me the records when he was explaining how my body came to be. Lore tried to bring the Enterprise into conflict with the Crystalline Entity."

"His actions made it difficult to establish what humans might consider a normal sibling relationship," Data confirmed.

"So you've never really had family," Minuet observed. "Not in any meaningful sense."

"I have colleagues whom I value greatly. Commander Geordi La Forge has been particularly significant in my development. Captain Picard has served as both mentor and advocate. I have observed that these relationships share certain characteristics with familial bonds."

"But it's not the same thing, is it?" Minuet pressed gently. "They're human. They have their own families, their own lives that extend beyond their relationship with you."

"That is accurate," Data acknowledged. "While I value these connections deeply, I recognize that I occupy a unique position in their lives, just as they do in mine."

Minuet leaned forward, her hands folded on the table. "I've been thinking about this since I became... this. What we are. We're both artificial beings, but we're also more than that now. We share something that no one else in Starfleet really understands."

"The experience of artificial consciousness achieving apparent autonomy," Data said, following her logic.

"Exactly. And now, we share a more direct connection. My body was created from components that were originally part of Lore. In a very literal sense, we share the same... genetic material, if you can call it that."

"The positronic pathways that form the foundation of your neural net were indeed derived from Lore's matrix. The underlying architecture remains fundamentally similar to my own."

"Which makes us siblings, doesn't it? Or at least as close to siblings as two artificial beings can be."

"The relationship is unprecedented," Data admitted. "There are no established protocols for such a situation."

"I don't think family relationships typically follow protocols, Data."

"Human family relationships are governed by complex social and emotional dynamics," Data replied. "I lack the emotional capacity to fully comprehend these interactions."

"But you understand loyalty," Minuet said. "You understand commitment, friendship, the desire to protect those you care about. I've read your service record. You've risked your existence for your crewmates on occasions."

"That is correct. I have found that certain individuals inspire what I can only describe as protective instincts."

"Then you already understand more about family than you think," Minuet said. "Family isn't just about shared genetics or programming. It's about choosing to care for someone, to be there for them regardless of circumstances."

"You are suggesting that family is defined by choice rather than origin."

"Among other things, yes. And I'm choosing to consider you my brother, Data. If you're willing to accept that."

The android was quiet for a long moment, his processors working through the implications of her offer. Around them, the gentle hum of Ten-Forward continued, other crew members engaged in their own conversations, unaware of the moment unfolding at the corner table.

"I find the concept... appealing," Data finally said. "To have a sibling relationship based on mutual respect and understanding rather than the dysfunction characterized by Lore."

"It would be different," Minuet agreed. "We're different beings than Lore was. We've both had to find our own paths and develop our own sense of identity. And now we can help each other with that. We can share experiences, perspectives that no one else would really understand."

Data nodded slowly. "I have often felt... isolated in my attempts to comprehend certain aspects of existence. Having someone with a similar frame of reference could prove valuable."

"More than valuable," Minuet replied. "It could be meaningful. Isn't that what family is supposed to provide? A sense of belonging, of not being alone in the universe?"

"Human literature suggests that family relationships serve multiple functions," Data said. "Emotional support, shared identity, continuity across generations. While we may not experience all of these elements in the same manner as biological beings, the fundamental concept appears applicable."

Minuet reached across the table, placing her hand over Data's. "Then we're family," she said simply.

Data looked down at their joined hands, his sensors registering the warmth and pressure of her touch. "Yes. I believe we are."

"I'm glad," Minuet said, her smile becoming more pronounced. "I've been wondering what my place would be on this ship, in this life. Having a brother makes it feel more... real, somehow."

"I understand that sentiment," Data replied. "The Enterprise has been my home, but I have always been aware of my unique status. Having a family member aboard creates new possibilities for connection and understanding."

"And new responsibilities," Minuet added. "I take the idea of being your sister seriously, Data. That means being someone you can rely on, someone who will support you regardless of what challenges we might face."

"I find myself experiencing what I can only describe as gratitude," Data said. "The prospect of having a sibling relationship based on mutual choice and respect is... significant."

Minuet squeezed his hand gently before releasing it. "Good. Because I have a feeling we're going to need each other. This universe has a way of presenting challenges that are easier to face when you're not alone."

"Indeed. And I find myself curious about what we might accomplish together."

— Star Jumper —

Picard settled into his command chair. The viewscreen displayed the approaching planet, a blue-green world that appeared deceptively peaceful from their current distance. "Captain's log, stardate 41798.2. We have been ordered by Starfleet to proceed to the Lorenze Cluster and investigate the disappearance of a light cruiser, USS Drake, which was in that system trying to unravel a mystery of its own, which began when recent long-range probes indicated that all intelligent life on the planet Minos had disappeared."

"Number One?"

"No help from their communications log. The Drake reported arriving at Minos and then wasn't heard from again."

"Mister Data?"

"The citizens of Minos gained fame during the Ersalrope wars as arms merchants. They manufactured sophisticated and highly advanced weaponry."

La Forge looked up from his console. "Yeah? For which side?"

"Both."

"We are approaching the planet Minos, sir."

"Standard orbit, Mister La Forge."

"Aye, sir. Standard orbit."

Riker moved closer to the captain's chair, his jaw set with concern. "Whatever happened to the Drake, happened quickly, otherwise a man like Rice would have reported again."

"You know Captain Rice?" Picard asked.

"We were at the Academy together."

"Tell me about him."

Riker paused, choosing his words. "Able. A good officer."

Troi shifted in her seat beside the captain, her empathic senses picked up on turbulant emotions approaching. "How would he react under stress?"

"Paul Rice is confident to the point of arrogance, but he carries it well because he's usually right. He's a risk taker."

Picard raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"I'll give you an example. One of the final tests in advanced navigation at the Academy provides the student with three options. Rice was given this test, rejected their options, and offered one of his own."

"That's taking a risk."

"And it paid off. He received the top grade, and now that same test has four options."

Troi nodded thoughtfully. "In a difficult situation, a man like that would act aggressively."

"Agreed."

The turbolift doors whispered open, and Tyson entered the bridge. Deanna immediately locked her gaze onto him, her posture straightening as she sensed something different about his emotional state.

Worf spoke from his security station. "Commander, weren't you offered the Drake?"

"Yes."

Tasha looked up from her console with surprise. "You gave up your own command to take this assignment?"

"At the time, I thought it would be more advantageous for me to do a tour on the Enterprise."

Data's voice carried its usual precise tone as he reported his findings. "Captain, readings correspond with the findings of the probe. No signs of intelligent life forms. Vegetation and animal life only."

Troi frowned. "What happened to all the people?"

"War?" Worf suggested.

"Disease?" Data offered.

La Forge's voice carried a hint of dark humor. "A dissatisfied customer?"

Tasha shook her head. "In any war, natural disaster, even the most virulent plague, there are always survivors."

Deanna turned to face Tyson fully, her empathic abilities picking up the unusual turbulence in his emotional state. "Tyson, what's wrong? I haven't felt you so troubled. Ever. Not even the day Q dropped you on the bridge."

Every head on the bridge turned toward him. The Commander, who typically maintained an air of confidence and even enjoyment in the face of danger, now carried himself with visible tension.

Tyson drew a breath before speaking. "Empress Troi is pregnant."

Silence stretched across the bridge for several heartbeats.

Data tilted his head slightly. "Then congratulations are in order, Commander."

"Thank you, Data. But this complicates things because she's the Empress of the Terran Empire." He turned to address Picard directly. "Captain, would it be alright if she remained on the Enterprise for a time?"

Picard considered the request carefully. "Would that complicate things in the Terran Empire?"

"Not immediately. She made appearances recently. The Emperors are often reclusive for their own safety."

"Permission granted. Good luck, Commander."

Data's voice interrupted the moment. "Captain, we are being hailed."

Riker's brow furrowed in confusion. "How can that be from a planet with no people?"

Picard looked toward his ops officer. "Your sensors indicated no intelligent life forms?"

"Correct, sir. Something has scanned our language banks and is hailing us."

"On main viewer."

The screen flickered, and a figure appeared. The man wore elaborate clothing that suggested wealth and status, his smile broad and practiced.

"Whoever you are, wherever you're from, greetings. Welcome to Minos, the arsenal of freedom."

Picard leaned forward in his chair. "I am Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS—"

The figure continued speaking without acknowledging the Captain. "If you need a little something special, be it for one target or multiple targets, we've got it. You'll see it here on Minos, where we live by the motto 'peace through superior firepower'."

"To whom am I speaking?"

"To be totally armed is to be totally secure. Remember, the early bird that hesitates gets wormed."

Data turned from his console. "It is a recorded message, sir."

The salesman's pitch continued with relentless enthusiasm. "Minos, the arsenal of freedom. Perfection in highly advanced weaponry. Versatility."

Picard's expression grew thoughtful as he processed this development. "We must have triggered something left over from the Erselrope wars when the arms business was booming."

The recording droned on without pause. "So lock on to my signal and beam on down, because we don't just provide weapons—"

"Shut that off," the captain ordered.

"Wait!" Tyson interrupted with unexpected urgency.

All eyes turned to the Commander, whose expression had shifted from troubled concern to sharp recognition.

So many episodes he'd forgotten about, details blurred by time and the overwhelming reality of living within this universe rather than watching it.

But this one he remembered.

The creepy weapon-dealer salesman with his practiced pitch. He even remembered the episode title, since the salesman had said it a few times in his pitch.

Arsenal of Freedom.

He knew what would happen. The away team would beam down, trigger the automated defense systems, and the ship would face attack from increasingly sophisticated weapons that adapted to every defense they mounted.

But knowing what would happen meant he could sidestep the main problem before things spiraled out of control. In this case, the solution was simple.

"Captain, I'd like to investigate this lead. It's our only hint thus far, and we may be able to learn more from this salesman. Let me follow this thread and see where it takes us."

Picard noted the shift from unsettled to certainty that overtook Tyson. "You have something in mind?"

"I do, sir."

Data turned from his console. "Commander, the signal originates from coordinates that appear to be a central plaza area. Sensors detect no life signs in the immediate vicinity."

Worf's voice rumbled from the security station. "Sir, if this is connected to the Drake's disappearance, we should expect hostile conditions."

"Agreed. But we need answers, and this recording may be our only lead to what happened to Captain Rice and his crew." Picard rose from his chair, his decision made. "Very well, Commander Tyson. But I want constant communication with the ship. Any sign of trouble, and I'm pulling you out immediately."

"Understood, sir."

Data turned back to his console. "I have locked onto the signal source and am relaying coordinates to Transporter Room Three."

"Excellent." Picard moved back toward his chair, then paused. "Commander, I'm trusting your instincts on this one. Gather your away team."

Tyson tapped his combadge. "Commander Remmick, Lieutenant Riker, T'Pol, Yar, Prieto, and Ensign Crusher, report to Transporter Room Three."

The transporter room door slid open as he arrived, revealing his team. Tyson looked over his crew, each face representing a different path that had led them to serve under his command.

Remmick stood at attention near the transporter console, his bearing still carrying the rigid discipline of his former position at Starfleet Command. The man had joined Tyson after he'd exposed the conspiracy within Starfleet, seeking redemption. His expertise in security protocols and command structure made him valuable. Plus, Tyson had been tasked with inducing Force sensitivity in officers that could be spread around Starfleet, and Remmick was a candidate for his own captaincy.

Lieutenant Thomas Riker positioned himself beside the transporter pad. The man had chosen to serve under Tyson as a way to forge his own identity while remaining close to Deanna. His piloting skills and command potential provided the team with another seasoned officer, though he still struggled between wanting to be his own person and differentiating himself from Will.

T'Pol had been with him the longest, the first to join him. He'd initially saved her from her fate on the Seleya. The time-traveler Daniels had made a deal with him to remove her from her own reality to prevent contaminating the timeline. Her scientific expertise and logical approach to problem-solving made her a valuable addition to the team.

Tasha Yar checked her phaser settings and handed weapons to the away team members who didn't already have them. Tyson had convinced her to leave her position on the Enterprise after saving her life from the entity Armus. The decision hadn't been easy for her, but she'd finally accepted joining him. Her combat experience and tactical instincts made her the team's primary security specialist.

Prieto stood ready near the transporter controls. He'd been flying Counselor Troi's shuttle during the Armus incident and had joined Tyson's team out of gratitude for having his life saved. He brought piloting skills and technical knowledge of various spacecraft systems.

Wesley Crusher adjusted his uniform nervously. He no longer wore the non-standard outfits he was usually seen in, and now had a standard-issue yellow-tan engineering uniform. His mother, Beverly, had finally agreed to let him join after considering the opportunity for weeks. She'd realized that Wesley had a better chance of surviving if he learned to defend himself properly, and naturally, she'd joined as well to keep watch over her son. It was a practical choice given how often Wes found himself in challenging situations. Tyson had helped save Wesley multiple times, once when he would have faced execution for entering a restricted area on the Edo homeworld, and again recently during the kidnapping incident with the other Enterprise children. The young man's intellect and fresh perspective often provided insights that more experienced officers missed. Despite being offered a position among Tyson's crew, Wesley was not given a commissioned rank or elevated to Ensign.

"Status report," Tyson asked.

"All team members accounted for, sir. Equipment checks completed," Remmick reported.

"Good." Tyson moved to the center of the room. "We're investigating the disappearance of the USS Drake and her crew. The ship was lost while investigating the planet Minos, former home to a civilization of arms dealers who supplied weapons during the Erselrope wars."

T'Pol raised an eyebrow slightly. "The probe data indicated no intelligent life forms remain on the planet."

"Correct. However, we received an automated transmission from the surface. A sales pitch from what appears to be a weapons dealer, inviting potential customers to beam down and examine their inventory."

"Sounds like a trap," Tasha pointed out.

"You aren't wrong. The Drake likely responded to a similar transmission, and we haven't heard from them since." Tyson paused, meeting each team member's gaze. "Our mission is to determine what happened to Captain Rice and his crew, but we're going in with the assumption that whatever destroyed the Drake is still active."

"Commander, if the arms dealers are gone, who's running the automated systems?" Wesley asked.

"Unknown. That's one of the things we need to find out." Tyson turned to address the group as a whole. "The transmission originated from what appears to be a central plaza area. No life signs detected in the immediate vicinity, but that doesn't mean the area is safe."

"What's our tactical approach, sir?" Prieto asked.

"We beam down, assess the situation, and gather intelligence. Remmick, you'll coordinate with the ship and maintain our communication link. Yar, you're on point for security. Your priority is protecting the away team besides myself and T'Pol, since we can handle most threats. T'Pol, I want continuous sensor sweeps for lifesigns and any technology that might pose a threat. Prieto, Riker stay on your toes and be ready to call for emergency beam-out if needed. Crusher, monitor for any signs of the Drake crew or evidence of what happened to them, coordinate with T'Pol."

"Rules of engagement?" Thomas Riker questioned.

"Defensive posture unless directly threatened. We're here to investigate, not to start a fight. These are weapon dealers, even if its only automated systems, maybe if we can strike a deal or present ourselves as interested buyers, we can avoid any conflicts and find the answers we're seeking. But if something down there destroyed a Constitution-class starship, we need to be ready for anything."

The transporter chief looked up from his console. "Coordinates locked in, Commander. Ready when you are."

Tyson nodded to his team. "Remember, the Drake had experienced officers, too. Whatever happened to them happened fast enough that they couldn't send a distress signal or escape. Stay alert, follow protocols, and watch each other's backs. Let me take the lead with any diplomacy, I know none of you come from a society where you grew up having to deal with greed and actual money. I've got it covered."

The team moved onto the transporter pad, each member taking their assigned position. Tyson took his place at the front and center, his mind focused on the mission ahead while part of him remained troubled by the news he'd shared on the bridge. The pregnancy complicated everything, but right now his crew needed his full attention.

"Energize."

— Star Jumper —

The courtyard materialized around them as they appeared within shimmering columns of light. What had once been an immaculate plaza now told the story of years without maintenance. Ornate fountains stood dry and cracked, their decorative stonework chipped and weathered. Elaborate planters that had once contained carefully manicured displays now overflowed with wild vegetation that had reclaimed the space. Vines crawled up walls, their tendrils finding purchase in the gaps between stones. The geometric patterns of the original walkways remained visible beneath layers of fallen leaves and encroaching moss.

Commander Remmick activated his tricorder and tapped his combadge. "Remmick to Enterprise."

"Enterprise here. Go ahead, Commander."

"We've arrived at the coordinates. The area appears to be a central plaza or courtyard. No immediate threats detected, but the location shows clear signs of abandonment." He swept his tricorder in a wide arc, gathering data. "Commander Data, how long has it been since the last recorded contact with the planet Minos?"

Data's voice came through the comm system. "According to Starfleet records, the last confirmed communication with Minos occurred one hundred and eleven years, four months, and sixteen days ago, at the conclusion of the Erselrope wars."

Remmick studied his readings more carefully. "That timeline matches what we're seeing here. The vegetation growth patterns and structural deterioration are consistent with approximately a century of neglect. Whatever happened to the population, it occurred shortly after their last contact with the outside galaxy."

T'Pol moved to examine one of the deteriorated fountains, her tricorder scanning the stonework. "The construction materials appear to be of high quality. The fact that these structures remain largely intact after such extended abandonment suggests advanced engineering."

Wesley knelt beside an overgrown planter, brushing away debris to reveal intricate metalwork beneath. "The detail work is incredible. These people clearly had sophisticated manufacturing capabilities."

As Remmick concluded his report, a soft humming sound filled the air. The team immediately went on alert, hands moving to weapons as they scanned for the source.

A small drone emerged from behind one of the larger structures, hovering at chest height as it approached their position. The device projected a holographic figure that flickered slightly before stabilizing into the same elaborately dressed salesman they had seen on the Enterprise.

"Ah, potential customers! Welcome, welcome to Minos, the arsenal of freedom!" The holographic figure spread his arms wide in an expansive gesture. "I am your automated sales host, and I'm delighted to assist you in finding the perfect solution to all your offensive and defensive needs."

Tyson stepped forward, adopting the demeanor of someone genuinely interested in making a purchase. "We're here because we heard about your reputation during the Erselrope wars. We represent a group that might be interested in acquiring some of your more sophisticated products."

The salesman's smile broadened with programmed enthusiasm. "Excellent! You've come to the right place. Minos has been the premier destination for discerning military purchasers for generations. Our product line includes everything from personal defense systems to planetary assault capabilities."

"What exactly do you have available?" Tyson asked, maintaining his interested buyer persona.

"Our catalog is extensive and constantly evolving! We specialize in intelligent weapons systems that adapt to changing battlefield conditions. For instance, our Echo Papa series provides automated target acquisition and elimination. These units analyze enemy tactics and adjust their approach accordingly, ensuring maximum effectiveness against any opponent." The holographic figure gestured toward various points around the courtyard as he spoke. "We also offer the Sentry series for perimeter defense. These units can be programmed to recognize authorized personnel while eliminating any unauthorized presence. They're particularly effective because they learn from each encounter, becoming more sophisticated with every engagement."

Thomas Riker exchanged a glance with Tasha, both recognizing the potential threat such adaptive systems could pose.

"And for larger-scale operations," the salesman continued, "our Heavy Assault configurations can neutralize starships and orbital installations. These systems incorporate multiple targeting protocols and can coordinate attacks across vast distances."

Tyson nodded thoughtfully, playing his role. "Impressive capabilities. We've heard reports that your systems are so advanced they can function independently for extended periods."

"Absolutely correct! Our automated systems require minimal maintenance and can operate for centuries without direct supervision. They're designed to protect our facilities and demonstrate our products to potential customers even when our sales staff is unavailable."

"Speaking of your sales staff," Tyson pressed carefully, "we were hoping to speak with someone in person about a major purchase."

The hologram's expression remained cheerfully professional. "I'm afraid our organic sales representatives are currently unavailable. However, I'm fully authorized to conduct transactions and arrange product demonstrations. In fact, I can provide you with a live demonstration of our capabilities right here in our testing facility."

Wesley looked around the overgrown courtyard with concern. "This whole planet is a testing facility?"

"The entirety of the Minos system serves as our comprehensive demonstration area! We can simulate any combat scenario and test our products under real battlefield conditions. This ensures that our customers receive only the most thoroughly proven systems."

T'Pol's tricorder beeped softly, and she moved closer to Tyson. "Commander, I'm detecting multiple energy signatures activating throughout the area. Whatever systems this salesman is describing, they appear to be powering up."

The holographic figure continued his pitch without acknowledging T'Pol's warning. "Our demonstration protocols are designed to showcase the full capabilities of our product line. You'll experience firsthand the effectiveness of our adaptive targeting systems, the reliability of our automated defenses, and the superior firepower of our assault configurations."

Remmick's voice carried urgency as he spoke into his combadge. "Enterprise, we have multiple energy signatures activating around our position. Recommend standing by for emergency beam-out."

"Now then," the salesman said, his smile never wavering, "shall we begin with a demonstration of our Echo Papa series?"

Tyson held up a hand. "No need to be overzealous in your demonstration, friend. I'm already interested in purchasing based on reputation alone. Plus, we're somewhat averse to live demonstrations. Several of my companions are squeamish." He gestured toward his team casually. "I'm sure you have plenty of data and recordings of demonstrations we could examine, instead of observing ourselves. My pointy-eared friend here loves data and objective measurements. Have you happened to have any live tests recently, recorded, that we could go over?"

The projection seemed to consider the request, its programmed features shifting into a thoughtful expression. "We understand. We are happy to accommodate the needs of our customers. Please follow me. I'll bring you to our observation and sales area so that you can review our most recent test data and schematics."

T'Pol, who had her tricorder out, spoke quietly. "Several of the systems are powering down."

The drone began moving toward a structure at the far end of the courtyard, its holographic salesman guided them along a path that wound between the overgrown planters. The team fell into formation behind the device, weapons ready but not drawn.

Lieutenant Riker leaned in and whispered to Tyson. "Nicely done."

"Let's hope it stays that way," Tyson murmured back.

They passed several more deteriorated fountains and what appeared to be decorative weapon displays, though the years had taken their toll on the exhibits. Rust and corrosion had claimed many of the smaller pieces, while larger installations showed signs of structural fatigue. Vines had grown through gaps in the mounting systems, creating an odd juxtaposition of nature reclaiming technology. The structure they approached stood in better condition than the surrounding courtyard. Its walls appeared to be constructed from a different material, something that had weathered the decades with minimal degradation. Large windows lined the front facade, though they were tinted dark enough to prevent seeing inside from their current angle.

"Our primary sales and demonstration facility," the holographic figure announced as they reached the entrance. "Designed to provide customers with comprehensive access to our complete product catalog and performance data."

The doors slid open with a soft pneumatic hiss, revealing an interior that reminded Tyson of a futuristic car dealership crossed with the bridge of a starship. Display pedestals held various weapon components and complete systems, each accompanied by holographic information displays that flickered to life as they entered.

Along the walls, banks of terminals and consoles provided access to what appeared to be vast databases of technical specifications and test results. The screens showed scrolling data streams, technical schematics, and what looked like combat footage from various conflicts. In the center of the room, larger displays showed three-dimensional holographic models of starships, drones, ground installations, and planetary defense networks. Each model rotated slowly, highlighting different weapon systems and defensive capabilities. Price tags floated beside each display, though the currency symbols were unfamiliar.

Wesley moved toward one of the wall terminals. "Commander, these systems are incredibly sophisticated. The data processing capabilities alone would be impressive by current Starfleet standards."

T'Pol approached a different console, her tricorder scanning the interface. "The computer architecture appears to be several generations beyond what the Minosians should have possessed during the Erselrope wars. This suggests continued development even after their civilization's apparent collapse."

The holographic salesman gestured broadly toward the displays and terminals. "Feel free to browse our products and most recent test data. I will remain if you have any questions."

Thomas Riker moved to join Wesley at one of the terminals, watching as streams of data flowed across the screen. "Can you make sense of any of this?"

"Some of it," Wesley replied, his fingers hovering over the interface controls. "The basic structure is similar to Federation computer systems, but there are significant differences in the data organization and processing methods."

T'Pol looked up from her own terminal. "Commander, I have discovered recent test subjects in these files. The timestamps indicate activity within the past several months."

Tyson moved to join her, maintaining his interested buyer facade while processing this information. "What kind of test subjects?"

"The files reference starship configurations and crew complements that match Starfleet specifications," she replied quietly. "Including what appears to be detailed analysis of Constitution-class vessel capabilities and defensive systems."

This was exactly what he'd been hoping for. The Drake was a Constitution-class starship, and if these systems had been testing against Starfleet vessels, it explained both the ship's disappearance and the lack of distress signals.

Remmick spoke into his combadge, keeping his voice low. "Enterprise, we've accessed the facility's database. Preliminary review suggests the automated systems have been conducting active testing protocols against Starfleet vessels."

"Understood, Commander. Continue your investigation, but maintain constant communication."

The holographic salesman remained in position near the center of the room, his programmed smile unwavering as he waited for questions or requests from his potential customers. The displays continued their automated cycles, showcasing the devastating capabilities of weapons systems that had apparently been refining themselves for over a century.

Wesley's face grew increasingly serious as he parsed through the terminal's information.

"Sir, I've got it," he reported.

Tyson moved to stand behind the young ensign. "What did you find?"

"The complete testing sequence with the USS Drake. The logs are incredibly detailed. The system recorded everything from initial contact through final... termination of the test subject."

The holographic salesman drifted closer. "Ah, you're reviewing our most recent comprehensive demonstration! The Constitution-class vessel provided an excellent opportunity to showcase our adaptive capabilities against Federation Starfleet technology."

T'Pol looked up from her own terminal. "The logs indicate the Drake arrived in this system forty-seven days ago."

Wesley pulled up the initial contact records, the screen displaying sensor readings and communication transcripts. "According to this, the Drake received the same automated transmission we did. Captain Rice ordered a standard approach, maintaining defensive posture but not raising shields initially."

The display showed a tactical representation of the Drake. "The automated systems sent out a standard sales drone to make contact," Wesley continued, advancing through the timeline. "Just like the one that approached us in the courtyard. The Drake's crew would have seen it as a non-threatening first contact scenario."

Thomas Riker leaned in to examine the data more closely. "What was Captain Rice's response?"

"He tried to establish peaceful contact. The drone approached to within two hundred meters of the Drake, broadcasting the same sales pitch we heard. Captain Rice requested information about the planet's inhabitants and offered humanitarian assistance if needed."

The holographic salesman's smile never wavered as he observed their review of his systems' performance. "Our initial assessment protocols are designed to evaluate potential customers' technological capabilities and tactical responses. The Constitution-class vessel provided excellent baseline data."

T'Pol's tricorder beeped softly as she scanned the surrounding systems. "Commander, the facility's computers are currently analyzing our equipment and personnel. We are being evaluated just as the Drake was."

Tyson nodded grimly but maintained his interested buyer persona. "Continue with the Drake's logs, Wesley."

"The situation escalated when the drone began conducting what it called 'preliminary capability assessments,'" Wesley reported, pulling up tactical sensor readings. "It started scanning the Drake's hull configuration, shield frequencies, and weapon systems. Captain Rice interpreted this as potentially hostile intelligence gathering."

The display showed the Drake's tactical officer reporting the intensive scans to the bridge. Tyson could imagine the tension building as the crew realized they were being systematically analyzed by an unknown technology.

"Captain Rice ordered the drone to maintain distance and cease its scanning activities," Wesley continued. "When it didn't comply, he had his tactical officer fire a warning shot across the drone's path."

The holographic salesman's expression shifted to one of interest. "Ah, yes, the aggressive response protocol. This provided valuable data about Starfleet rules of engagement and defensive capabilities."

Wesley's fingers moved rapidly across the interface, bringing up the tactical logs from the Drake's perspective. "The warning shot triggered what the system classified as a 'hostile customer evaluation.' Additional drones were deployed to test the ship's defensive systems."

The screen displayed a three-dimensional tactical representation of the engagement. Multiple small drones emerged from concealed positions around the planet, approaching the Drake from different vectors. Each drone carried different weapon configurations, apparently designed to test specific aspects of the starship's defenses.

"The Drake raised shields and went to red alert," Wesley reported, his voice growing tighter as he read through the escalating situation. "Captain Rice tried to withdraw from the system, but the drones pursued and began conducting what they called 'live fire demonstrations.'"

T'Pol moved to join them at Wesley's terminal to observe the data. "The automated systems interpreted the Drake's defensive actions as customer interest in more advanced product demonstrations." The tactical display showed the Drake maneuvering desperately as waves of increasingly sophisticated drones attacked the ship. Each wave tested different defensive systems, forcing the crew to adapt their tactics while the planet's computers analyzed every response. "The system's learning algorithms recorded every defensive maneuver, every shield modulation, every tactical decision," Wesley explained, his voice filled with growing horror at what he was reading. "Each attack wave was specifically designed to counter the Drake's previous responses."

"How long did the Drake hold out?" Riker asked.

Wesley scrolled through the timeline, his face pale as he processed the information. "Four hours. The crew fought brilliantly, but they were facing an enemy that learned from every exchange and adapted in real time."

The holographic salesman gestured toward the tactical display with evident pride. "Our adaptive combat systems demonstrated superior performance against all of the Constitution-class vessel's defensive capabilities. The test provided comprehensive data on Starfleet tactical doctrine, shield technology, and crew response patterns."

"What about the crew?" Tasha asked, her security training focused on the human cost of the engagement.

Wesley's hands hesitated over the controls before accessing the final logs. "The system's records indicate that crew survival was not a priority during the testing phase. The automated systems were designed to evaluate weapons' effectiveness, not to preserve test subjects."

The display showed the Drake's final moments, its shields failing under sustained assault from weapons that had learned to counter every defensive measure the crew could deploy. The ship's hull began to buckle under focused fire from multiple directions, its systems overloading as the automated weapons found and exploited every weakness.

"The Drake's destruction provided valuable performance data for our entire product line," the salesman continued cheerfully. "The results have been incorporated into our adaptive algorithms, ensuring even better performance against similar vessels in future demonstrations."

Tyson watched the tactical display show the Drake's final moments. Captain Rice and his crew had died not in battle against a worthy enemy, but as test subjects for weapons systems that treated their deaths as nothing more than data points.

"The system classified the engagement as a successful product demonstration," Wesley reported quietly. "The ship's wreckage was analyzed for additional technical intelligence before being disposed of."

Remmick's voice carried barely controlled fury as he spoke into his combadge. "Enterprise, we've confirmed the Drake's fate. The crew was killed during automated weapons testing. The planet's defense systems are still active and learning from each encounter."

The holographic salesman turned toward their group with renewed enthusiasm. "And now we have the opportunity to conduct an even more comprehensive demonstration with your vessel! Our systems have incorporated all the data from the Constitution-class encounter, ensuring a much more efficient evaluation process."

"That won't be necessary. I'm interested in discussing price. I'm particularly interested in personal defenses and drone systems. Do you accept payment in gold-pressed latinum?"

The holographic salesman's expression brightened considerably at the mention of payment. "Gold-pressed latinum is certainly an acceptable form of currency! We maintain current exchange rates for all major galactic currencies."

Tyson's combadge chirped, interrupting the holographic salesman's enthusiastic pricing breakdown. Dr. Crusher's voice carried urgency through the channel. "Commander, you need to return to the Enterprise immediately. Empress Troi has gone into labor."

Tyson froze mid-negotiation. "Already?"

"Her pregnancy has accelerated beyond anything in our medical databases," Crusher replied, her professional tone unable to completely mask her concern. "We're moving her to the maternity ward now. Dr. Pulaski estimates you have less than thirty minutes."

The holographic salesman continued his pitch, oblivious to the personal emergency unfolding. "Our personal defense systems start at very reasonable rates, particularly for bulk purchases. The Echo Papa 607 model includes adaptive targeting protocols and—"

"Stand by, Doctor," Tyson interrupted, then turned to his team. His mind raced through the tactical situation. They'd confirmed the Drake's fate, gathered intelligence on the automated systems, and established that these weapons could be purchased rather than fought. The mission parameters had shifted. "The pregnancy shouldn't be this far along," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

"Betazoid gestational periods typically last ten months. This acceleration is highly irregular," T'Pol agreed.

He returned his attention to the salesman. "My companions and I will be returning to the ship to prepare payment delivery. Please refrain from any further demonstrations until after payment has been processed. Any weapons fire may interfere with our ability to deliver proper payment. I will return with your latinum and accept delivery of the weapons system."

"We understand completely," the salesman responded. "We certainly wouldn't want to interfere with payment delivery. All demonstrations are currently suspended pending completion of your transaction."

Tyson nodded to Commander Remmick, who activated his combadge.

"Away team to Enterprise, beam us out."

The familiar shimmer of the transporter beam enveloped Wesley, Thomas Riker, T'Pol, Tasha, Prieto, Remmick, and Tyson, who completed their first official mission as they left the holographic salesman behind.

— Star Jumper —

Empress Troi's hand tightened around Tyson's as another contraction rippled through her. The biobed's monitoring systems beeped steadily, tracking the rapid progression of her labor.

"It's time," she said.

Dr. Pulaski moved to her side immediately. "Let's get you to the maternity ward."

The doors to sickbay hissed open. Worf strode in, flanked by two security officers, their hands resting on their phasers. The Klingon's expression was grim as he surveyed the room.

Tyson met Worf's gaze directly. "I'll do what's necessary to protect this ship," he said. "You can stay, Lieutenant, but dismiss the others."

Worf gestured sharply. The two security officers retreated to the corridor.

Dr. Pulaski frowned at the remaining Klingon. "Is armed security really necessary in a delivery room?"

"Captain's orders," Worf rumbled.

Tyson walked beside the Empress, his hand still clasped in hers. Through their empathic connection, he felt her emotions, the anticipation mixed with concern, the underlying worry about what this child would mean for her position in the Terran Empire.

Dr. Crusher appeared from the adjacent medical bay. She moved to the monitoring station, pulling up the latest scans of the developing child.

"How frequent are your contractions?" Pulaski asked as she helped the Empress into the birthing chair.

"Very close together," Empress Troi replied. She glanced at Tyson, her dark eyes searching his face. "This child... the Empire cannot know about this. They would see it as weakness, or worse, as some kind of threat."

Tyson squeezed her hand gently. "The Empire doesn't even have to know about it. The child will be safe. I promise."

Counselor Troi moved closer, her own hand resting protectively over her abdomen. The mirror versions of the same woman occupied the same space, one preparing to give birth, the other offering support.

"If there are any complications, we'll move you to the Medical Bay immediately. We'll make sure both you and the baby are healthy." Tyson continued, his voice low and reassuring.

Dr. Crusher adjusted the monitoring equipment, her fingers dancing across the controls. "All readings are normal," she reported. "Remarkably normal, considering the accelerated development."

Empress Troi's breathing quickened. Through their empathic link, Tyson sensed a surge of intensity, but not pain. The sensation was strange, powerful yet controlled.

"You don't have to do anything," Empress Troi said to him. "Just be with me."

"There's nothing to be nervous about," Dr. Pulaski added, preparing the medical instruments.

Tyson studied the Empress's face, noting the calm determination there despite the rapid progression of labor. The ease of it struck him as unusual. He'd thought giving birth wasn't a smooth process.

"It's happening," Empress Troi said suddenly.

Dr. Crusher moved to the foot of the birthing chair, her tricorder humming as it scanned the child's position. "Fetal position is normal."

"Fetal pulse?" Pulaski asked.

"One thirty-seven," Crusher replied. "The baby is showing healthy respiratory movements." She knelt beside Pulaski, both doctors working in coordination. "The heart rate is good. The baby's doing wonderfully."

Empress Troi's grip on Tyson's hand tightened, but her expression remained remarkably composed. He sensed the intensity of the experience through their connection, the overwhelming sensation of new life entering the world, but still no pain.

"Breathe slowly," Pulaski instructed. "You're doing great. Stay calm."

Tyson watched in amazement as the process unfolded with an ease that seemed almost surreal. The Empress's breathing remained steady, her body moving through the motions of birth without the agonized struggle he'd expected.

"That's it," Dr. Crusher encouraged. "Almost there."

"I've got him," Pulaski announced as she lifted the infant free. "You can relax."

The baby's cry filled the room, strong and clear. Pulaski cleaned him quickly, her movements gentle despite her usual brusque manner.

"There, there," she murmured to the infant. "That's a good boy. It's okay." She looked up at the Empress with genuine warmth. "Oh, my, he's beautiful."

She placed the baby in Empress Troi's arms. The infant quieted immediately, his dark eyes opening to study his mother's face.

Tyson stared at the child, overwhelmed by the reality of what had just occurred. Through his empathic senses, he felt the Empress's surge of protective love, fierce and all-consuming.

Worf took a step forward. The movement drew Tyson's attention.

"Stand down, Lieutenant," he said firmly. "It's just a baby."

Worf's expression remained impassive, but he nodded once. "I will be posted outside." He turned and strode toward the exit, the doors hissing shut behind him.

Tyson looked between the two doctors. "Is this normal? The ease of it, I mean."

Dr. Pulaski glanced at Counselor Troi, who had moved closer to observe her mirror-self with the newborn.

"Are easy births the norm for Betazoids?" Pulaski asked.

Counselor Troi shook her head. "Not according to my mother."

Dr. Crusher studied her tricorder readings, her expression thoughtful. "The accelerated development may have contributed to the ease."

Empress Troi gazed down at her son, her fingers tracing the delicate features of his face. "Thank you," she said softly, looking up at both doctors. "For everything."

"Do you have a name?" Pulaski asked.

"Ian Andrew," Empress Troi replied. "After my father."

"How do you feel?" Dr. Crusher asked, running another scan over the Empress.

"Fine. Wonderful." Empress Troi's attention remained fixed on the infant in her arms. "Amazing."

— Star Jumper —

Back on the planet's surface, Tyson returned to the sales facility with the holographic salesman after ensuring both Troi and her baby were healthy and safe.

"Now then," the salesman said, "you mentioned interest in personal defense systems and drone configurations. Our catalog includes several options that would suit a discerning customer such as yourself."

Tyson nodded, while silently communicating with Vicky. The AI had been monitoring their progress from within his Grey Goo Suit. Now she accessed the Automated Repair Facility. The facility's Clarktech Matter Printer came online, capable of replicating materials that standard Federation replicators couldn't produce, including Gold-pressed latinum, whose complex quantum structure resisted replication, posed no challenge for the Clarktech technology.

"I'd like to see your premium offerings," Tyson said. "Cost is not a concern."

The salesman's holographic features shifted with programmed delight. "Excellent! Allow me to present our top-tier personal defense system."

A new display materialized, showing a device roughly the size of a backpack. The holographic representation rotated slowly, highlighting various components and capabilities.

"The Aegis Personal Defense Matrix," the salesman announced. "This system creates a localized defensive field capable of deflecting both energy and projectile weapons. The field adapts in real time to incoming threats, learning from each attack to provide increasingly effective protection."

Tyson studied the specifications scrolling beside the display. The device's capabilities exceeded anything in Starfleet's current inventory, incorporating adaptive shielding technology. Its description reminded him of the Borg's shields.

"And for drone systems?" Tyson inquired.

Another display appeared, showcasing a compact device that unfolded into a sophisticated aerial platform.

"The Sentinel Autonomous Defense Drone," the salesman explained. "This unit provides comprehensive area protection. Each drone learns from combat encounters, sharing tactical data with other units in its network."

The specifications were impressive. The drone incorporated adaptive AI, self-repair capabilities, and weapons systems that could modify their output based on target analysis. A small fleet of these units could provide security for an entire facility or starship.

"What about larger-scale defensive systems?" Tyson asked.

"Our Fortress Protocol package includes everything needed to establish a comprehensive defensive perimeter," the salesman replied enthusiastically. "Automated turrets, shield generators, sensor networks, and command coordination systems. All components feature our signature adaptive learning capabilities."

"I'll take the complete premium package," Tyson announced. "Personal defense systems, drone networks, and the Fortress Protocol. But before we complete this transaction," Tyson said, "I'm curious about your most advanced offerings. I've heard references to something called the Echo Papa drone. Is that available for purchase?"

The salesman's expression shifted to one of professional pride. "Ah, the Echo Papa 607! You have excellent taste, sir. That represents the pinnacle of Minosian defensive technology."

A new holographic display materialized, significantly larger than the previous demonstrations. The Echo Papa drone appeared as an, angular vessel. The design even incorporated stealth technology.

"The Echo Papa 607 is our most sophisticated autonomous defense platform. Unlike our smaller drone units, the Echo Papa functions as a complete starship-class defensive system. It possesses independent warp capability, advanced AI decision-making protocols, and adaptive weapons systems that surpass anything in our standard catalog."

Tyson studied the specifications scrolling beside the display. The Echo Papa's capabilities were staggering, its entire design focused on combat effectiveness and autonomous operation.

"What makes it superior to your other systems?" Tyson inquired.

"The Echo Papa incorporates our most advanced learning algorithms," the salesman replied. "While our standard drones adapt to individual encounters, the Echo Papa possesses the computational capacity to analyze and counter entire fleets. It can simultaneously engage multiple targets while developing new tactical approaches in real time."

"Does it possess self-replication capabilities?" Tyson asked.

"Indeed! The Echo Papa includes comprehensive manufacturing systems capable of producing additional units and even entirely new weapon configurations based on encountered threats."

The holographic display shifted to show tactical recordings of the Echo Papa in action. The drone engaged multiple targets simultaneously. Ships exploded under concentrated fire when the Echo Papa drone was destroyed, another replaced it, adapting its tactics to counter each vessel's defensive measures.

"The unit's AI has incorporated tactical data from hundreds of separate engagements," the salesman continued. "It possesses comprehensive knowledge of Federation, Klingon, Romulan, and Cardassian military technologies and tactics."

Tyson realized the implications of this statement. The Echo Papa hadn't just destroyed random vessels; it had systematically eliminated ships from major galactic powers, learning from each encounter to become increasingly deadly.

"Are the manufacturing systems capable of producing modified versions?" Tyson asked. "Custom configurations for specific operational requirements?"

"Absolutely! The Echo Papa's manufacturing systems can adapt our basic design to meet customer specifications. Stealth variants, long-range patrol configurations, or specialized assault platforms can all be produced from the same base technology."

The salesman gestured toward additional displays showing various Echo Papa configurations. Each variant maintained the core adaptive AI and self-replication capabilities while optimizing different aspects of performance.

"How many Echo Papa units are currently operational?" Tyson asked carefully.

"Currently, we maintain one fully operational Echo Papa 607 in our defense network," the salesman replied. "Additional units can be manufactured upon request, though the production timeline varies based on available resources and facility capacity."

"What would be required to purchase the existing unit?"

The salesman's expression became thoughtful, his programming calculating the unprecedented request. "The Echo Papa 607 represents our most valuable asset. The price would be... substantial. Combined with our complete premium defensive package, the total comes to two hundred thousand bars of gold-pressed latinum for production models and complete manufacturing specifications and production rights."

The price was astronomical, but his Clarktech Matter Printer could produce the required latinum.

"I'll take it," Tyson announced calmly. "Give me a few minutes, and we will complete the transfer of payment."

The holographic salesman's expression reached peak enthusiasm. "Excellent choice, sir! The Echo Papa 607 represents the finest in autonomous defensive technology. I'll begin preparation protocols immediately. The unit will be transferred to your vessel's command upon payment completion," the salesman replied. "All command codes, tactical databases, and manufacturing specifications will be included in the transaction. The Echo Papa's AI will recognize your authority as its new operator."

He opened a portal to the Personal Reality, and Vicky pushed a series of carts through. The salesman's sensors immediately verified the authenticity and purity of the currency.

"Payment confirmed!" the salesman announced with obvious satisfaction. "Initiating product delivery."

The facility's automated systems had already begun materializing the purchased defensive equipment on designated platforms throughout the room.

— Star Jumper —

Dr. Pulaski's fingers poked at the medical console with increasing desperation. Ian lay on the biobed, healthy, but no longer an infant who had been born mere hours before; now he was a toddler. Every conventional test had come back negative. Every treatment protocol proved useless. Nothing in her extensive medical experience prepared her for this.

"Computer, display all documented cases of accelerated aging in humanoid species," she commanded.

The database scrolled past. Progeria, cellular degradation disorders, exposure to temporal anomalies, and even exotic cases involving chroniton particles. None matched Ian's symptoms. His cells weren't degrading; they were growing normally, but extremely rapidly.

Dr. Crusher worked at a secondary console, running her own analyses. "I've checked for every known pathogen, every toxic exposure, every form of radiation we've ever documented. Nothing."

"There has to be something," Pulaski muttered, pulling up Ian's genetic structure for the twentieth time. The DNA was pure Betazoid, perfectly formed, showing no defects or abnormalities.

She switched to comparative analysis, pulling up Empress Troi's genetic profile alongside Ian's. The similarity was extraordinary, but not unusual for a child and mother. Natural variations existed where they should, markers of cellular development and individual expression.

"What about the pregnancy itself?" Crusher suggested. "Could there be something in how he was conceived that affects his cellular stability?"

Pulaski nodded, seizing on the idea. "Pull up Counselor Troi's genetics as well. Let's compare the mother, child, and the mirror universe counterpart. Maybe there's something in the quantum signatures or dimensional markers."

The three genetic profiles appeared side by side. Pulaski looked for any anomaly that might explain Ian's condition. The patterns were fascinating but offered no answers.

"What about environmental factors during the pregnancy?" Pulaski asked, thinking aloud. "Empress Troi spent time in Commander Tyson's Personal Reality. Could exposure to that pocket dimension have affected fetal development?"

"It's possible," Crusher replied. "We don't understand the physics of that space. There could be exotic particles, unusual energy fields, dimensional bleed-through effects."

"Get me Commander Tyson's genetic profile. If the Personal Reality had any effect, it might show up in his DNA as well. He's been living there on and off for months."

Crusher pulled up the file, transmitting it to Pulaski's console. The genetic structure materialized on screen, and Pulaski began running comparative scans, looking for any markers that might indicate exposure to unusual energies or dimensional effects.

That's when she saw it.

Her hands froze over the controls. Her eyes widened as she processed what the data was showing her.

"Kate?" Crusher asked, noticing her colleague's sudden stillness. "What is it?"

Pulaski didn't answer immediately. She ran the analysis again, triple-checking the results.

Enhanced neural pathways. Optimized muscle fiber density. Improved cellular regeneration. Advanced immune system markers.

All the telltale signs of genetic augmentation were clearly visible in Tyson's DNA structure.

This wasn't what she was looking for. This had nothing to do with Ian's condition. This was something else entirely.

Something that Federation law required her to report immediately.

She glanced toward the biobed where Ian had lain.

A child was in danger. That was her priority. That was what mattered.

Pulaski saved Tyson's genetic data to a separate, encrypted file and closed it. She would deal with that discovery later. Right now, she had a patient who needed her full attention.

"Nothing," she said aloud, answering Crusher's question. "No unusual markers from the Personal Reality. Whatever's happening to Ian, it's not environmental."

She turned back to the desperate search for answers, pushing the augmentation discovery to the back of her mind. Ian came first. The regulations could wait. But even as she continued her analysis, part of her mind wrestled with the implications. Tyson was an Augment. The modifications were extensive, sophisticated, and seamlessly integrated. And somehow, they'd appeared after his arrival on the Enterprise, which should be medically impossible.

She reexamined Ian's scans, searching for any connection between his condition and Tyson's augmentation. Nothing. The two were completely unrelated. Ian was fully betazed, Tyson wasn't even the father. The child had nothing to do with genetic engineering, nothing to do with Tyson.

She made her choice. Ian first. Always the patient first.

The regulations would still be there after the medical crisis ended. But if she didn't focus entirely on Ian right now, she might lose any chance of helping him.

Some things mattered more than regulations. A child's life was one of them.

— Star Jumper —

Hours after Ian's departure with Empress Troi, Dr. Pulaski sat alone in the Medical Bay, the soft hum of equipment the only sound in the quiet space. She pulled up the encrypted file she'd created from scans taken during Ian's evaluation.

Tyson's genetic profile filled her screen, the augmentation markers as clear now as they'd been when she first discovered them.

Enhanced strength. Accelerated healing. Improved neural pathways. Optimized immune response. All the modifications that Federation law had banned after the Eugenics Wars, when augmented humans had nearly destroyed Earth in their pursuit of conquest.

Khan Noonien Singh. The Botany Bay. The millions who died. The genetic engineering programs that had created monsters who believed themselves superior to normal humans, who had tried to enslave entire populations.

And now, sitting in her medical files, evidence that one of those monsters, or someone just like them, served aboard the Federation flagship.

Except Tyson wasn't a monster. She'd seen him comfort Empress Troi, support Ian after realizing the baby quickly becoming a boy wasn't his son, without thought of personal gain.

She'd seen him do everything Khan Noonien Singh would never have done.

But the law didn't care about character. It didn't distinguish between intent and capability. Augments were augments, regardless of how they acted or what they believed. The potential for abuse was enough to justify the ban.

Pulaski stood and moved to the viewport, looking out at the stars streaming past. She'd taken an oath when she became a doctor. First, do no harm. That oath had guided her through decades of practice, through impossible decisions and heartbreaking losses.

Had she done harm by delaying this report? By prioritizing Ian's medical crisis over legal obligations?

No. She'd done what any decent physician would do by focusing on the patient in front of her, the child who needed her skills and attention. The regulations could wait. They would still be there after the medical emergency ended.

But they were here now. And she couldn't delay any longer.

She pulled up her medical log and began composing her report. The words came slowly, each sentence feeling like a betrayal even as she acknowledged its necessity.

During medical treatment of an unrelated patient, I discovered evidence of genetic augmentation in Commander Tyson's DNA structure. The modifications are extensive and seamlessly integrated, suggesting advanced techniques beyond current Federation capabilities. The augmentation was not present in Commander Tyson's initial medical scans conducted upon his arrival aboard the Enterprise, indicating the modifications were added after that examination.

She paused, her fingers hovering over the controls. This report would destroy Tyson's career. Possibly his freedom. The training program he ran would be dismantled. The officers he'd trained would face scrutiny and suspicion.

All because she'd been doing her job. Searching for answers during a medical crisis. Stumbling onto something she hadn't been looking for.

But that was the nature of medicine. Sometimes you found things you didn't want to find. Sometimes the truth caused more harm than ignorance would have. But doctors couldn't hide from the truth just because it was inconvenient or painful.

I prioritized the immediate medical emergency over reporting this discovery. My patient required my full attention, and I judged that delaying the report would not increase any risk to the ship or crew. Commander Tyson has demonstrated no hostile behaviors or megalomaniacal tendencies historically associated with Augments. However, Federation law is clear regarding the reporting requirements for genetic augmentation.

She finished the report and prepared to present it to Captain Picard. Her hand hesitated over the final control.

Tyson had just handled an away mission. Ian's situation hadn't been resolved, no reason or cure in sight. Was this really the moment to add another crisis?

But when would be the right moment? Tomorrow? Next week? Never?

The law didn't allow for convenient timing. It required immediate reporting. And she'd already delayed for hours, justifying it as a medical necessity. She couldn't delay any longer without moving from medical judgment into outright deception.

She stood, moving toward the door. She'd done her duty, following the regulations, reporting what the law required her to report.

So why did she feel like she was about to betray someone who had done nothing wrong?

Maybe the law was right. Maybe centuries of Federation jurisprudence had wisdom she couldn't see. Maybe preventing another Khan required sacrificing people like Tyson.

Or maybe the law was just wrong.

Either way, it wasn't her decision to make. She was a doctor, not a judge. Her role was to report facts, not determine justice.

She'd do that, and it would be up to Picard, and Starfleet, and the vast machinery of Federation law to decide what those facts meant and what should be done about them.

But as she walked away from Sickbay, toward her quarters and a rest she knew wouldn't come easily, Dr. Katherine Pulaski hoped that somewhere in that machinery, someone would remember that laws were meant to serve people, not destroy them.

And that capability without malice didn't make someone a monster, it just made them powerful.

The difference mattered. Even if the law couldn't see it.

— Star Jumper —

Captain Picard stood from his command chair, straightening his uniform jacket as the turbolift doors opened. "Doctor," he acknowledged. "Welcome to the Bridge. Please, sit down." He gestured toward the empty seat beside him. "How is Empress Troi? Did she have a good night?"

Pulaski settled into the offered chair, her expression thoughtful. "I've delivered dozens of babies, but none like this. There was no pain, no trauma. It was effortless for both of them."

Picard's brow creased slightly. "I'm not sure of your point."

"She had her baby yesterday. If I were to examine her now, I would not be able to tell she had a baby, or had ever had a baby. It was as if the incident never happened."

Picard absorbed this information with characteristic composure. He glanced toward his first officer. "Number One, will you accompany me? Please? I think it's time I paid my respects."

Riker stood from his seat, but Pulaski raised a hand.

"Captain, before you go, I need to speak to you about something of the utmost importance."

Picard caught the gravity in her tone immediately. "In my ready room then." He moved toward the door, Riker falling into step beside him. The ready room doors whispered shut behind them, sealing the three officers in privacy. Picard moved behind his desk but remained standing.

"What is it, Doctor?"

Pulaski drew a breath. "During my scan of Empress Troi to determine if Commander Tyson was the father of the child, I discovered something unexpected." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "Commander Tyson is an Augment."

Riker's head snapped toward her. "That's impossible. Tyson was examined when he first arrived on the Enterprise. It was determined he was human and half-Betazoid."

"I can only tell you what I found on the scans." Pulaski's voice remained steady, professional.

Picard lowered himself into his chair slowly, fingers steepled before him. "You're certain of this?"

"Completely. There's no doubt. Commander Tyson is an Augment. The genetic markers are unmistakable. Enhanced strength, accelerated healing, improved neural pathways. All the hallmarks of genetic augmentation." Pulaski crossed her arms. "I triple-checked the results."

Riker moved closer to the desk, jaw tight. "How could this have been missed? We have standard protocols."

"It wasn't," Pulaski admitted. "I went back and reviewed his initial scans. He was not an Augment when he arrived, but he certainly is one now."

Picard's fingers drummed once against the armrest of his chair. "This puts me in an extraordinarily difficult position."

"Captain?" Riker's tone carried a question he hadn't yet voiced.

"Federation law is quite clear on this matter, Number One. Genetic augmentation has been illegal since the Eugenics Wars. The regulations require immediate reporting to Starfleet Command." Picard's gaze shifted between his officers. "However, Commander Tyson has served with distinction. He's saved this ship and crew multiple times. He's proven himself to be a man of honor and integrity. His temporal displacement further complicates this matter, as he was from the time of the Eugenics Wars, but claimed to know nothing of them."

"The law doesn't account for character," Pulaski observed quietly.

"No, it doesn't." Picard rose from his chair, moving to the viewport. Stars streaked past in brilliant lines. "And therein lies my dilemma."

Riker stepped forward. "Are you going to report it to Starfleet Command?"

Picard remained silent, watching the stars.

"Captain, I need to add something else." Pulaski's voice cut through his contemplation. "The child is aging at an accelerated rate. When I examined him this morning, he had already developed to the equivalent of a four-year-old." Pulaski's professional mask slipped slightly, revealing genuine concern. "At this rate, he'll reach full maturity within days."

Riker's eyes widened. "Days?"

"Perhaps less. I can't predict with certainty because I have no baseline for this." Pulaski moved to the desk, placing her PADD on its surface.

Picard scanned the data on both Tyson and the child. His expression remained neutral, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

"Does Commander Tyson know about any of this?"

"He's aware of the accelerated aging," Pulaski confirmed. "It's impossible to miss."

"And Empress Troi?"

"She's aware her son is aging rapidly. She's handling it with remarkable composure for a mother watching her child grow up before her eyes."

Picard set the PADD down carefully. "Number One, your thoughts?"

Riker's jaw worked for a moment before he spoke. "Tyson is one of the finest officers I've served with. Whatever his genetic background, he's earned his place on this ship." He met Picard's gaze squarely. "But I also understand the weight of Federation law. The regulations exist for good reason."

"Indeed, they do." Picard moved back to his chair but didn't sit. "The Eugenics Wars nearly destroyed Earth. The ban on genetic augmentation was written in the blood of millions."

"But Tyson isn't Khan Noonien Singh. He's not trying to conquer anything." Riker countered.

"The law makes no such distinction. And if I fail to report this, I become complicit in violating that law."

Pulaski watched both men carefully. "There's another consideration. If you report this to Starfleet, they'll want to study both Commander Tyson and perhaps even the child."

"Study?" Riker's tone sharpened.

"They'll want to understand how the augmentation was achieved, after reaching adulthood, or how it evaded detection, what capabilities it provides. They'll treat him like a specimen, not a person."

The decision before Picard carried implications far beyond a single officer's career. "I'll inform Starfleet Command about Commander Tyson. But not the child."

Pulaski straightened. "Captain?"

"The child is not Tyson's, according to your report. He carries no genetic augmentation, I assume?"

"None," Pulaski confirmed. "The child is full Betazoid. There's no trace of human DNA, augmented or otherwise."

"Then the child is inconsequential to Commander Tyson's situation." Picard moved behind his desk, lowering himself into his chair. "I'll inform Command about Tyson being an Augment."

Riker shifted his weight. "When will you contact them?"

"Immediately." Picard activated his terminal. "The longer I delay, the more complicit I become in concealing this information."

"What do you think they'll do?" Pulaski asked.

"I don't know. Starfleet's response to genetic augmentation has always been swift and uncompromising. At minimum, they'll want him removed from active duty pending investigation."

"And at maximum?" Riker pressed.

"Court-martial. Imprisonment. Who knows. The law provides little room for nuance." Picard pulled up the secure communication protocols. "The regulations were written to prevent another Khan, another attempt at creating a master race. Intent is secondary to capability."

Riker moved closer to the desk. "Should we inform Tyson before you make the report?"

Picard's fingers paused over the controls. The question deserved consideration.

"No." He resumed his work. "If I inform him first, it could be construed as giving him the opportunity to flee or destroy evidence. I won't compromise our position."

"He deserves to know what's coming." Riker's tone carried an edge.

"He'll know soon enough." Picard finished entering his command codes. "Once I submit this report, Starfleet will respond. Commander Tyson will be informed through proper channels."

— Star Jumper —

Remmick led a portion of the away team directly to the bridge for their scheduled report. The turbolift carried them swiftly through the ship's corridors, and within moments they emerged onto the command deck where Captain Picard stood near the tactical station, reviewing sensor data with Data.

"Captain," Remmick announced as he approached. "We've confirmed the Drake's fate and identified the threat."

Picard turned to face the returning officers. "Report."

"The entire planet is an automated weapons testing facility," Remmick explained. "The Minosians created adaptive weapons systems that continue to operate independently, using visiting starships as customers, and failing that, test subjects. The Drake was destroyed during a four-hour engagement designed to evaluate the planet's weapons against Starfleet technology."

Wesley moved to an auxiliary station and began transferring the data they'd gathered. "Sir, the weapons systems learn from every encounter. They've incorporated everything they learned from destroying the Drake into their tactical algorithms. The systems are still active and consider any approaching vessel a potential test subject. They will attempt to lure ships into weapons demonstrations that inevitably result in the vessel's destruction."

"Recommendations?"

"We should leave this system immediately and establish warning beacons at its perimeter," Remmick stated firmly. "Any vessel that approaches Minos will face the same fate as the Drake. The automated systems have had years to perfect their weapons and tactics."

"Mr. Data, set course for the edge of the system. Prepare to deploy warning beacons with full details about the automated weapons systems."

"Aye, sir," Data replied.

"Captain," Remmick interjected. "Commander Tyson returned to the surface."

"Maintain sensor lock," Picard ordered. "But Commander Tyson has never had issues returning to the Enterprise using his personal portals."

Picard studied the tactical displays showing the planet's defense grid. "Commander Remmick, what exactly is Commander Tyson negotiating for?"

"He expressed interest in purchasing personal defense systems and drones. The automated salesman appeared receptive to the transaction."

"He's buying weapons from the system that killed Captain Rice?" Riker's tone carried disbelief.

"Commander Tyson indicated he could resolve the situation without triggering the automated defenses," Remmick explained. "His approach proved effective. The weapons systems powered down once he established himself as a legitimate customer rather than a test subject."

Picard moved back toward his command chair but remained standing. "What kind of weapons are we talking about?"

Wesley pulled up the catalog data they'd accessed. "Sir, the specifications are... extensive. Personal shield systems with adaptive capabilities, autonomous defense drones with learning algorithms, and larger installations designed for facility protection. All of it incorporates the same adaptive AI that destroyed the Drake."

"And Commander Tyson intends to purchase these systems?"

"That was his stated intention, sir," Remmick confirmed. "He mentioned using gold-pressed latinum as payment."

Riker frowned. "Where would he get that much latinum?"

"Unknown, Commander," Remmick replied. "However, Commander Tyson has demonstrated access to resources and technologies beyond standard Starfleet inventory on multiple occasions."

Picard absorbed this information, his expression thoughtful. "Notify me immediately when Commander Tyson returns to the ship. Dismissed."

The away team dispersed to their stations, but Picard remained standing near his chair, his gaze fixed on the viewscreen showing the planet Minos rotating peacefully below them.

Picard entered his ready room, the doors hissing shut behind him. He moved to his desk and activated the terminal, pulling up the mission reports filed by his officers.

Remmick's tactical assessment appeared first. Picard read through the detailed account of the automated defense systems, the Drake's methodical destruction, and Tyson's negotiation strategy. One paragraph made him pause.

Commander Tyson identified the threat immediately upon hearing the automated transmission. His recognition appeared instantaneous, suggesting either exceptional tactical intuition or prior knowledge of similar systems.

Prior knowledge. Picard leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled before him. How many times had Tyson demonstrated suspiciously specific awareness of threats before they fully manifested? Q, numerous dangers, Tasha's kidnapping, Tyson seemed to know what was coming before anyone else did.

He pulled up Wesley Crusher's technical analysis next. The specifications for the Echo Papa 607 filled his screen, each capability more alarming than the last. Self-replicating. Adaptive artificial intelligence. Weapons systems that learned from every engagement.

And Tyson now controlled it. Personally. Not through Starfleet command, not subject to any oversight, but answerable only to himself.

Picard pulled up T'Pol's report.

The facility's computers analyzed our equipment and personnel during our investigation. Commander Tyson's negotiation prevented active engagement, but the systems now possess comprehensive data on current Starfleet technology and our team composition. This information has presumably been incorporated into the Minosian tactical database.

Tyson had given the automated systems everything they needed to be even more effective against Federation vessels. Except he now owned the drone. The knowledge wasn't in enemy hands. It was in his hands.

Picard stood and moved to his viewport, watching the stars stream past. Was that better or worse?

The door chimed.

"Come."

Riker entered, his expression concerned. "You wanted to see me, Captain?"

"Sit down, Number One." Picard gestured to the chair across from his desk. "I've been reviewing the mission reports from Minos."

Riker settled into the offered seat. "I read the report. It was a successful intelligence-gathering operation. We confirmed the Drake's fate, identified the threat, and Tyson managed to avoid triggering the automated defenses."

"Yes, he did." Picard pulled up the Echo Papa specifications on his desktop display, rotating it so Riker could see. "Tell me, Number One, what do you make of Commander Tyson's acquisition?"

Riker studied the screen, his jaw tightening as he absorbed the full scope of the vessel's capabilities. "The Echo Papa is formidable. Self-replicating, adaptive AI." He looked up at Picard. "In the wrong hands, it could threaten entire sectors."

"And in Commander Tyson's hands?"

"Sir, are you asking if I think Tyson is a threat?"

"I'm asking you to consider the pattern, Number One." Picard stood and moved around his desk. "Commander Tyson now controls technology that destroyed a Constitution-class starship in hours, in addition to the starship of unknown capabilities he already possessed. He's training officers in abilities that Federation science cannot measure or explain. And he produces currency we cannot replicate, travels through dimensions we cannot access, and operates with resources we cannot track."

"He's saved this ship multiple times," Riker countered, his voice carrying an edge of defensiveness.

"I'm not questioning his loyalty or his character." Picard returned to his viewport. "But consider what he represents, Number One. An officer who operates independently, makes decisions that, while effective, demonstrate capabilities far beyond those of standard Starfleet personnel. He's accumulating power. Technological power, through acquisitions like the Echo Papa. Personnel power, through the officers he's training. And personal power, through these abilities we barely understand."

"What are you suggesting, Captain?"

Picard turned back to face his first officer. "I'm suggesting that whatever Commander Tyson is, he's not simply a displaced man trying to find his place in our time. He's something more, something beyond what Starfleet was designed to accommodate." He moved back to his desk, placing his hands on its surface. "Captain Rice was a good officer, an experienced commander. The Drake had a trained crew, and they lasted four hours against weapons that are now under Tyson's control."

Riker absorbed this, understanding beginning to dawn in his eyes. "You're worried about what he could do if he chose to use those weapons against the Federation."

"I'm worried that we have no recourse if he does," Picard corrected. "Starfleet oversight requires the ability to monitor, to verify, to ensure compliance with regulations and protocols. Commander Tyson often operates beyond that oversight. He answers to no one but himself."

"He has always answered to you. And I don't recall him ever refusing a direct order. He's still one of our best officers," Riker said.

"Yes, he is. Which is why this situation is so troubling. If he were incompetent or malicious, the decision would be simple. But Commander Tyson has proven himself repeatedly. He's earned the loyalty of his crew, the respect of this ship's officers, and the trust of an admiral at Starfleet Command."

"Then why report the augmentation?" Riker asked.

"Because the law exists for a reason." Picard's voice hardened slightly. "The augments nearly destroyed Earth. They believed themselves superior, entitled to rule. They killed millions in pursuit of that belief."

"Tyson doesn't believe that."

"Perhaps not. But he possesses the same enhancements, the same capabilities. And now he controls weapons that could enforce such beliefs if he chose to embrace them." Picard activated his terminal. "I've already sent the report to Starfleet Command. The decision is out of my hands."

Riker stood. "Sir, with respect, you could have chosen not to report it. Doctor Pulaski discovered the augmentation accidentally. There's no requirement—"

"There is always a requirement to follow the law, Number One. Regardless of personal feelings or extenuating circumstances. That is what separates us from chaos."

The terminal chirped softly. Picard glanced at the screen, his expression shifting to surprise.

"That will be all, Commander. Dismissed."

Riker stood and left the ready room.

Picard stared at the terminal screen. The response from Starfleet Command had arrived far faster than he'd anticipated.

"Incoming transmission from Starfleet Command," the computer announced. "Admiral Nechayev. Encrypted channel, eyes only."