HL: Golden Opportunities II

 Episode Name:  HL: Golden Opportunities II

   Written By:  Turtledove and K'net-Mauri

         Cast:  Fortunae, Golden, Iconian Inquisitor and 
                The Inquisitor.

  Produced By:  Starfleet

  Directed By:  Fortunae

     Aired On:  Sat Mar 13 07:49:33 2004

     Stardate:  53942.8

Time: Fri Mar 12 03:32:39 2004

Stardate: 53940.0

Continued from part one...

"Is that responsibility?" asks the Inquisitor, "Getting in where people really need your help and enjoying the rush along the way?" joy of winning "Accepting responsibility for the lives of others is keeping them safe. Is it winning for those who cannot win for themselves? Is it committing to do something? What is asked?"What is expected?

Time: Fri Mar 12 03:43:55 2004

Stardate: 53940.0

Golden says, "You seem to be really hung up on this winning thing. Everything is not defined in terms of winning and losing; though, I suppose it can be, it's just not the parlance I chose to employ for every situation. I'm not sure I can explain responsibility to you in those terms. And that is probably because you want me to, and I don't. Look ... responsibility is a big, complex topic. You aren't going to boil it down to a few pithy phrases. Committing to something, to do something, to taking an opportunity -- that is part of responsibility, but just a part of it. Responsibility is something you *own*. It's easy to confuse with parallel concepts like duty... like, honor... like obligation. Should I explain? I chose to. Duty, is a responsibility you choose to take on that is defined by the consensual perception in terms of what you must or must not do to execute your responsibility. Honor is a code of conduct you choose to follow the tenets of which, by accepting, dictates your choices on how and even at times why you do things. Often, part of honor is fulfilling your duty. Often, part of your duty is complying with a code of honor. But Honor is more about how you do and duty is more about what you do. Obligation is typically a responsibility you take on via expectations of the social consensus of your habitation or species. If you have a child, you may chose to take on the obligation of raising it -- but your code of honor may not require it -- and your duty may directly interfere with it. You see, these are all forms of responsibility, and not even all of them. What you are asking about seems to fall into the narrower quantities of Duty or Honor."

The Inquisitor says, "Explain in other terms," dissemble or elucidate "It is not I who am hung up on winning, it is you. It is you who choose to win." It tilts its head forward, then back. "We will talk about other things. We will talk about duty and honor and obligation. Is that what you are? Is it your function to carry these responsibilities?"

Golden says, "It is not a matter of function, its a matter of choice. Like... are you chosing to interrogate me because you are doing your duty? Are you chosing to interrogate me because you are honor bound to do so? Are you chosing to interrogate me because you are obligated to? I interrogating me your responsibility? Or... is it that unlike me, you don't have any choice?"

GAME: Golden spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Golden (claiming advantage) contests his Behavior Modification (Resistance) skill vs Iconian Inquisitor's Behavior Modification (Brainwashing) skill and Succeeds!

"Could it be that you have chosen your function?" asks the creature.

Golden says, "Can it be I don't chose to defined in terms of a function? Did you chose your function? What is your function?"

The Inquisitor meets questions only with more questions: "What defines you, if not your function? What do you do?" What are is your life for?

Golden says, "I define myself for me, others have their own definitions, some we agree on some we do not. Is this what you do? What is *your* function? As to what is life for -- come on, that old philosophical salt? The answers to that are more numerous than their are stars in the universe. The function of life is the continuation of the species, if you go by biology. Are you talking about a grand design? Are you talking about a role in a societal group? That's a broad question, it doesn't serve your cause for definitive answers. It might serve your cause to keep me talking though. Why don't you chose to answer some questions, maybe I'll chose to talk about the meaning of life."

"This is what I am doing," says the Inquisitor. Maybe that's an answer. "If the function of life is to continue its species, what is the function of self? What is the definition of the self you design for yourself?"

Golden says, "Oh clever -- you mean to say that you are answering my questions -- meaning questions I have regarding myself. But you aren't. See, I know *who* I am. I know *what* I'm about. You are the mystery to me, the unknown quantity. And now beginning to see this is not really a dialogue at all, and you probably are incapable of learning even when you pull the moments that taught me right out of my head... I'm starting to think it is a waste of my time, regardless of how much I may or may not have, to chose it talking with you."

And then, as if to punctuate this point... Dylan Stands up. He doesn't go anywhere. But he stands up. And he looks at the interrogator with a gauging expression at the same time wondering why he didn't stand up before.

The Inquisitor reaches out for Golden again with its slow white arm, even as he rises, moving to touch him. It says, "I know who you are. For you to know who I am you must also know who you are. You must understand your function. You must realise your self. We will discover the truth. We will find what your responsibility is." Its cold white hand brushes his cheekbone. Another thin arm moves forward to touch his chest, buzzing in his head, the strange space and the strange creature fading as vivid memory floods consciousness. The pressure of its hands, gently pushing him back down is still there for a slim moment after the alien surroundings are replaced with a once-familiar space.

May 14th, 2369

I’m shocked. I lift the PADD again and reread it to be sure I didn’t imagine it. Lois walks into the squadron room, she smells of peppermint so I know she just showered. “What’cha reading Goldenboy? You’re dad coming down here to pick you up or are you going out to Bali to meet up with him and his tour group?”

This reminds me I’ll have to call my father and tell him I’m not going back to Mars with him for the term break. I reread the message again to be sure. It doesn’t seem real.

“Hey! Dylan. Talking here, pretend it matters.” Lois winks at me when I snap back to the here and now and look up at her. She looks amused. I am not sure if I want to actually tell her what this is. I will have to eventually but… my squadron is not going to like this. I’m not sure how I feel about this. Stalling isn’t going to help.

“It’s a message from the Commandant’s office.” I’m dissembling. Okay, it is a message from the Commandant’s office but that isn’t what it *is*.

“I take it that it’s not a letter thanking you for attending, Starfleet will give you a ride home and wishes you well in your future non-Starfleet career.” Lois is baiting me, trying to use humor to mask her growing tension. She suspects what it is. She doesn’t like it.

“What makes you think it isn’t Lois?”

“That would be the lack of you sobbing like my little sister drawing false reassurances from your squadron-mates while we mock you heavily in our internal monologues.”

I roll my eyes. Particularly because she’s probably right about my state if this was such a letter. “Well, you are correct; it is not a letter about being sent down.”

“Spill, string bean, or I’m feeding beans to Cucutti.” She wraggles her eyebrows with menace, I frown. I am in fact threatened, Cucutti should be entered into the Federation Museum of Biological Wonders. Biohazard stickers should be applied to the entrance to any door where he sleeps.

I pass the PADD over to her and she nods once and smirks in satisfaction as she takes it, as if commending me for my wise deference to her threat. I scratch the side of my nose with my index finger while she reads. I consider the swell of her bosom as I follow the line of her arm from the PADD down. I realize what I am thinking about and scold myself, moving to the window to look out at the campus while she finishes.

Her cry of “Whoo Hoo!” Was not what I was expecting. I turn from the window and she’s jumping on me, arms wrapped around my neck and hugging tight. This too, not what I expected. I want to ask her why she is so excited – I’m trying not to notice how it feels to have her pressing up against me like that. Focus, Golden, Focus. She’s talking now, I’m missing what she is saying. “—and even though you won’t be with us we can point you out and make claim right! And you can slip us some of the super secret Red Squad training supplements. I can’t believe you aren’t bouncing around! We need to have a party!”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” I say. “I’m not even sure if I am going to accept the appointment.”

“Not accept the appointment? Are you crazy? That’s a letter to join *Red Squadron*. That’s the key to the fast track. That’s the key to the choice assignment. Are you kidding me? Not going to accept – you must be in shock, that’s all.” She’s babbling – no, just effusive.

“I don’t know, Lois. I mean, the opportunity is great yes – but I’m not sure if I buy into this special treatment for the best of the best idea. I mean, all of us here are already the best of the best, how many times do they need to sift for eliteness.”

She blinks at me and drops her jaw then closes it. She releases the hug and instead extends her finger and begins poking my collar bone. This actually hurts. This is unauthorized contact, a disciplinary infraction, but since I had not intention for reporting her for the hug, the poking would be hypocritical to report. “That’s nonsense Goldenboy. Nova and Red Squadron set a bench mark – they give the other squadrons a “dragon” to battle and try to outdo – and they insure that our future leaders of leaders get that extra training from the start. The Federation is facing new challenges – the Borg comes to mind – new techniques, new approaches – the Fleet is changing to meet those challenges with smaller ships and smaller crews with bigger phaser banks, and you are going to be trained to be on the cutting edge of those changes. Don’t you get it? This is *great* for you, Goldenboy. “

“Still, if I leave the squadron – you guys need me to maintain the squadron rating in the --,” She cuts me off. She sort of reminds me of my mother as she does that. I bury that notion with extreme prejudice.

“We’ll do just fine *without* you, Goldenboy … and its not like we won’t still be on the same campus. No no no, you aren’t going to use us as an excuse to turn down this opportunity. Put you thumb on the PADD indicating you received and accepted. Come on, let’s go.”

I relent. She’s right of course, it’s a great opportunity and if they invited me, I earned it, right? I don’t have some Captain parent subtly pulling strings for me. “What’s the rush Lois? I have weeks before I have to respond. I can think about it.”

She moves back closer. Very close. She turns his pixie nose up and stares into my eyes. I feel my eyebrow beginning to raise. “Because,” she says, her voice oddly huskier than it normally is. I wonder if it’s because she’s emotional about my transfer. “The sooner you signal your acceptance the sooner you aren’t part of this squadron any more.”

I blink, confused. She putting the PADD into my hand. “What? You’re trying to hurry me out of the squadron?”

She pats my cheek, “Goldenboy, you’re such an idiot sometimes. As soon as you *push the accept* you aren’t in *this* squadron anymore.” She jerks her head toward the squadron standing orders on the cork board. I look that way and my eyes narrow and focus without my intent to read rule number seven, “There will be no fraternization of a romantic or carnal nature between cadets who are members of this squadron with others which are members of this squadron.” I feel myself blushing.

“Ohhh…” I understand.

“Ohhh…” She agrees.

I push the button.

197,725 B.C.E.

The Iconian's cold thin white hands press Golden down, back to where he was sitting, little hands, two on his chest now, one on his shoulder, the one caressing his face. It speaks: "Was your choice honourable? Did you do your duty? Are you obliged to be the best? To leave your friends behind for the fast track, for the choice assignment? To set the the mark? To inspire" urge force "Others to be better" or fail more grandly "? Was it your self who made this choice or was it life" biology "demanding that your species continue?" Is that what it is to win? To survive?

Golden says, "Which choice?" He is sitting, but not concerned about it... his posture is loser, more confident. "Joining Red Squadron? Or having sex with Lois on the squadron leader's desk?"

"You had to make one choice to have another," replies the Inquisitor. "Why did you choose Red Squadron?"

Golden says, "Despite the way it may look, having sex with Lois was only a factor in the choice in so far as I pushed the acceptance respond button *right then* and not after taking a few weeks to really think about the choice. But why did I choose Red Squadron?" He rubs his chin. He thinks about it. "Many reasons. Some good, some bad. You need a list? One, they chose me. Two, everything Lois said was true -- better opportunities -- or so it looked at the time. Superior access to training, patronage by senior officers, special access to events -- like the Commandant's Ball. Prestige -- glory -- acclaim. These things are important when you are young... well, more than they should be, and more than you probably want to admit when you're older. It seemed like a short cut to where I wanted to go anyway. A shortcut full of hard work and even more strigent standards, but the long term potential reward seemed like a good deal. And you know... it *was*. For a while. I mean... these were some of the very, very best the Academy had at the time, okay? Brilliant, talented, gifted. I often felt like I didn't *really* belong among them. Things came so easy to them, even the hard workd. For me it was a constant struggle to feel like I was *keeping up*, let alone making my own mark. I realize this seems like a conflict -- hard work but lazy path, but, as Ifni would have such things, both were true. I seduced myself with the shiny special barracks and the posh extra access to the J.T.K. Tactical Training Center and knowing that as long as I was able to hold my post in Red Squadron, the Academy was a sure thing. The risk was more intimate, but more reassuring. As to winning and suriving -- it takes really special circumstances for a lack of your survival to count as a win for you."

The Inquisitor strokes Golden's chest with its strange hand, softly, as if urging him to lie back down. It doesn't press, though. It says, "A shortcut to where you want to go? Where did you want to go? To what purpose would Red Squadron carry you? Besides Lois, right then? What long-term potential reward were you seeking?"

Golden reaches out and puts his hand around one of the pale creatures wrists. "Is the concept of a *career* not something you are up on? No matter. I wanted to be in Starfleet as young as I could say the word. My parents tried very hard to help me understand what being Starfleet really was -- and what being in Starfleet meant for me as a citizen, as a person. Remember when my father said, if you are going to do something, be the best at it? Well that is what Red Squad looked like to me. The road to being the best at what I did, in the company of the best, leading the best that the Federation had to offer. I was the cream looking to rise to the top, not realizing I was jumping into the churn."

The Inquisitor's hand still moves. It's mandibles rub together, but it seems undisturbed by Golden's movement. It says, "You wanted a career? Of Starfleet, the Starfleet your parents spoke about? To help others. To serve? To experience excitement? To show you were the best?"

Golden says, "Starfleet was -- is -- the best possible place for me to experience all of those thing. A career. The Starfleet of my parents. Helping others. Making a difference. Facing exciting challenges. You know, there has been a drift in these memories of mine you have been pulling out, and you aren't following it. What are you looking for? Do you even know?"

The Inquisitor pets Golden's chest with little feathery movements, its wrist still in his hand. "What is the drift? What am I showing you? I am looking for truth."

Golden says, "The drift is, Starfleet was the vessel I chose to explore my opportunities. Starfleet was the responsibility I wanted. I'm not sure you are looking for Truth -- but I think you are looking for a hook. What is the hook?"

"You talk of your choices, of your opportunities to explore," says the Inquisitor. "You evade the drift. What are you? To what purpose do you explore? For what benefit do you choose? What function do you fulfill? Are your responsibilities part of your self or are they acquitals?"

Golden sits up again, pushing back on the arm he has grasped, perhaps trying to leverage the Inquistor away. "I am myself. It's not a condition or state I need to justify or explain to you or anyone or any*thing* else. To what purpose do you ask your questions? Truth is nebulous as you use it and so a lie. I doubt you know what *Truth* is. Your function is clearly to ask questions, to what end I suspect and considering that, I almost feel sorry for you because you are not going to fulfill your function. Responsibilities may be used by some by some to acquit their choices -- I chose my responsibilities. I own them. Maybe you are capable of understanding what I am talking about, a limitation of your function. Choices are part of self, responsibilities are things you can choose or choose not. We've been down this trade route before, but you aren't making the exchange."

"Do you need to explain your self to yourself?" asks the creature, its one wrist-captured arm bending as it's pushed away, though another remains on Golden's shoulder. "You own your responsibility? It can be taken from you, whatever you choose." It lifts its hand from his shoulder to his face, sets his head buzzing again, and again moves closer, gently, implacably pushing his body back towards its original position.

April 29th, 2372

The Commandant looks angry. I’m standing at ease, my hands clasped behind my back. I have to concentrate to keep my knee from shaking, I’m nervous.

“Cadet Golden, are you seriously requesting to be dropped from Red Squadron so close to the end of your time here?”

“Yes, Commandant.”

“Well son, you better explain this to me.”

“Sir, I do not wish to be associated with the actions taken by Red Squadron in assistance to Admiral Leyton’s coup attempt. I was not party to this operation and feel it would unduly miscolor my own service record to be associated with traitors.”

“Cadet, the cadets have been cleared of any misconduct. They were taking orders they believed to be lawful directly from the Admiral.”

“Orders I would have questioned or refused to obey had I been present, sir. A Starfleet Admiral cannot order the disabling of the planetary power grid for a member world, regardless of his placement or authority. There was no complicity writ of authorization from the United Earth Government. I am a Martian, sir, the sovereign rights of the Terran Government is of particular importance to me. It’s still humanity's planet sir, Federation Capital or not.”

“So you would just separate yourself from your fellow squadron-mates because they trusted their superiors?”

“It was their responsibility to confirm the legality of their orders sir. I want a new billet. I don’t care where to. The lowest rated squadron will be fine if that is all that is available.”

“Realizing this would jeopardize your class standing?”

“Aye sir.”

“Cadet, your request is denied.”

“Permission to protest this ruling, sir?”

“Protest all you like Golden. I am the final authority when it comes to this Academy, and you aren’t going to further embarrass this institution by highlighting this matter any more than it has been already by leaving the squadron. Am I clear, Cadet?”

“Crystal clear, sir, Aye Aye.”

“Dismissed.”

I snap to attention and turn on my heel. I’m angry, but I made my point. Its on the record now. I choose to not take responsibility for this action. If the Admiral has friends and they don’t like, that is their problem.

197,725 B.C.E.

Golden looks angry, perhaps sympathy for the relived memory -- perhaps angry it was brought up.

The Inquisitor has somehow returned Golden to his recumbent position, and is again at his side, a length of its thin white arm away. It withdraws the appendage and fixes its alien and studious look on him again, "Did you own the responsibility not to take responsibility for this action? The commendant said the cadets were cleared of misconduct" not responsible "Did he take the choice to take or not take responsibility from you? Is the choice important? Did something change?"

Golden says, "They sabotaged the power grid for the entire planet and helped the Admiral responsible for defending the planet, and thus by extension the Federation Capital attempt a military coup against our lawfully appointed democratically chosen leadership. As far as I am concerned the whole lot of them should have been *sent down*. And that includes one of my best friends. They broke a primary tenat of what being in Starfleet is supposed to be about and all they got was the wagging finger of be more careful next time. It was crap! The Admiral pardoned the squadron blanketedly -- I wasn't even on the *planet*. There I am -- caked in mud -- OpFor exercises with the guys at the Directorate of Operations School and one of them pipes up, "Hey Golden, aren't you Red Squad" And of course -- I'm *proud* to be in Red Squad so I say, "Yes. Yes I am." And he says, "Your squadron just got busted for backing Admiral Leyton in a Coup and the Acting Chief of Starfleet Security just took them all in custody. I guess... we better take you in and hold you until you're cleared." That's right. In the brig. Innocent. In the brig. Because I *chose* to be part of the squadron that Admiral Leyton considered best qualified to help him take over the Federation. Angry then? Yes. Angry still? Yes. And those guys.... some of them went off to important careers anyway... and some of them got blown to hell because they figured even when they mess up real bad nothing real bad is going to happen to them. Unfortunately, Ifni doesn't play favorites like that and the Valient buried a chunk of the guilty and the guiltless in shot. And that friend -- one of my best friends -- a man for whose wedding I have accepted the responsibility to stand up for him for -- the man who I have been telling people they just don't get, he's a good guy. He's an upright man. Well he learned so much from being let off the hook that he blew up an entire base full of people to cover our tracks. Did he ask permission? No. Did he consider that we might all go up with the base? Doesn't seem like it. Did it matter to him that those people were for the most part *unconscious* and perhaps our medical officer could have shot them up with a short term memory loss disruptor and covered our tracks that way? No! He Blew up the base and killed *everybody* because he was taught that sometimes you can break the rules and it's okay if your motives were pure. I don't chose to take responsibility for that. And I don't chose to take responsibility for the coup. And the choice is important because an Admiral can't decide for *me* if I feel responsible or not except on paper. Inside, where it matters, that's my call. My choice. So yeah, some things changed. That's part of life. Things change. For most of us that means growing, adapting.. part of survival. For some, it just means you are dead. Take from that what you will."

The Inquisitor hisses softly from its robe-hidden carapace again. "Is it the rules that are important?" it asks, "Or the motive?" intent "There are rules by which you assign responsibility in your self regardless of what is said outside yourself? The commendant says they are not responsible, but you know they are. Do they choose to take the responsibility, as you choose not to?"

Golden says, "We talked about this way back at the start. Different layers. Personal, social, cultural consensus. The Commandant said they were not responsible because they believed they were conducting OPFor exercises as part of a new planetary security program. They were dupes. They were tricked. They were forgiven. Most of them, probably forgave themselves. Earth, forgave them. But I didn't, I don't, and I am unlikely to do so in the future because I chose not to. As to rules, there are rules, you can chose to follow them or choose not to follow them. Your rightness or wrongness, as I have explained already, can be defined from many perspectives. I don't know if they choose to take responsibility, if they did, would I be more forgiving? I don't know, if it comes up, I'll find out."

"We will talk about this layer," the Iconian says. "Your layer. You choose to take responsibility. You choose to assign it to others and you choose to forgive them or not if they fail to take it. Define rightness or wrongness from your perspective. You choose to take responsibility, you choose to take duty and honour and obligation. And these choices tell you what to choose next. You define your self in layers of choices?"

Golden says, "The choices we make are both defined by who we are and define who we are. It is part of the dichotomy of free will. You can't control the universe, but you can *choose* how your react to the variables the universe throws at you. Control is an illusion, but at the same time a very real power. Choice is like a dance with so many partners you often don't know who are dancing with, but your choices touch their lives and your choices touch yours. It's all interwoven, collectively we all play our part, and individually we are all played by the Collective parts of everyone else. Someone put you here to ask these questions. That choice then opened up the choices I have in this situation. Choices they had a part in creating, but which they have no control over because I am making them."

Time: Sat Mar 13 00:54:39 2004

Stardate: 53942.1

The Inquisitor settles back a little, folding its six long arms neatly across its its robe-shrouded torso. It looks at Golden for a long time, then speaks, "Your self is defined by your choices and your choices are in turn defined by your self. You define your function by your own choice. Causality exists, random factors exist, but you control your choices. I am here to ask questions. You are here to choose if you will answer them, and how?" It pauses, exhaling its hissing breath as it looks at him. "You have chosen responsibility, as your parents taught you to choose. That choice limits further choices, as your presence here and my presence here limits your choices as to further actions. Responsibility is encoded in systems of rules. Duty rules. Honour rules. Obligation rules. Did Red Squadron fail in their duty? Is it not their duty to obey the Admiral? Yet in doing so, they failed in some other duty." broke the rules "A primary tenet" rule "of what being in Starfleet is about." that people in Starfleet must follow "You do not forgive them, or this other you speak of, who broke the rules." killed with pure motives "You are angry that they have been forgiven." fate plays no favourites. "Would you forgive such failing in yourself? What happens when you break the rules you have chosen to accept?"

The Iconian reaches out again, unfolding just one arm. The touch, the buzzing in his head, clarifying suddenly in the pulse-quickening memory of energy-weapon fire and...

August 19th, 2373

Kedha whips her head to face me, her glossy black hair flashes outward than settles back in place. Her eyes burn as she glares at me, “This is entirely your fault Golden!” Despite the fact that I am hunched down behind scrap starship parts and energy weapons fire is passing over my position, I can’t help but notice how “alive” she looks. I’m angry of course. She’s blaming me, again, for something that is completely her fault. I can be angry and notice how stunning she is at the same time. I’m sure a counselor would just tell me that I have a mixture of attraction to her similarities to myself, and the added spice of forbidden fruit. I laugh in my head when I remember the look on her face the week before when she entered the lift at the hotel on Arogolis and discovered me in there with Catch as those four dabo girls. Yeah, she wants me.

I don’t want her though. Well. Maybe just once. For purposes of comparison.

Oh wait, I’m in a firefight, maybe I should concentrate on that, but first, the banter.

“You give me too much credit Voidrai – only a Romulan has the experience and technical skill to have moved us so completely out of position. I remain in awe of your expertise.”

“I should gut you like a Bholas’Tho!” I know what she’s referring to is particularly unpleasant when the Universal Translator doesn’t translate. Her hand is sitting on the handle of her blade. Again. She does like to threaten to cut me. I wonder if that is Romulan foreplay?

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda – blah blah blah. Why don’t you just keep on with that cowering behind cover thing you are so good at and let me take care of this, alright? You know, the Starfleet way.” She frowns and her forehead wrinkles for her effort, forehead protrusion not withstanding. This means her Universal Translator probably didn’t have a match for Blah. This is of course why I used it. I peek over our cover and pop back down. I see that Johlson is with the shooter on the roof. The profile says Johlson can be negotiated with.

“If the Captain of the Yeager had simply let us fire on their ship before they landed we would not be in this situation in the first place. So much for your *Starfleet* way you excrement.”

“We don’t fire on ships without cause, your say so – not cause. No proof of misconduct means we gather proper evidence and then we move in. They landed, they’ve been naughty, and the warrants came through, now we take them down. It’s all about the proper authorization.”

“It’s all about your mewling Federation ethics – we all *knew* what they were up to, that is why my government is forcing me to work with half-trained children like *you*!”

“Whatever sister, half trained children like me have kept kicking your Romulan butts for the past two centuries – I wouldn’t wave that flag too much ‘cause it just embarrasses you. I’m going to try to negotiate with Johlson.”

“Please to be sure to stand up to your full height and speak slowly and clearly, if I’m lucky you’ll get shot right through your squeaking mouth and the loss of firepower will be more than compensated by the aggregate increase in squad intelligence.”

“You mean they’ll shot to warn me and hit you by accident? Excellent plan!” I sneer at her as she looks me daggers and I raise my voice, “Jholson! I’m Ensign Golden, 128th Rapid Response Team. I know you are busy right now but I think you should know that my team is closing in on your position. We have no intention of taking you down – we’re just here to observe the Romulans doing it.”

“Romulans!” Johlson calls out, “What the hell are Romulans doing here?”

“Those weapons you are picking up were stolen from the Praetor’s navy. He wants them back, and everybody who is handling them is going back with them to answer questions. Sorry Johlson – nothing I can do – you know how the diplomats play things. First the DMZ, now you go to the Romulan Authorities.”

“Damn Diplomats! Selling the entire Federation to our enemies one piece at a time! I’m not going with the Romulans Ensign! They’ll have to kill us and we’ll sure be trying to kill them! You got me boy?”

“Hey, Johlson – however you want to play it. I don’t think they meant to take you alive anyway. I think they just told us that so we wouldn’t get in the way. You ever seen what a Romulan disruptor does to a man? I imagine that hurts something fierce.”

“What the hell! You can’t just stand around and let them come in here and gun us down. It was just an *arms* deal. That’s not a capital crime!”

“What do you want me to do Johlson? My orders say not to engage and not to interfere. The only way I could get you out of this fix is if you were already my prisoner, which you aren’t, so --- maybe if you surrender to them you can get a lawyer to stay your extradition before you actually get across the border. Hmmm… cloaked ship though, they may not decide to actually turn you over no matter what the judge might say. You know Romulans.” Kehda is eyeing me, I can’t read her expression, but I see her hand tightening on her disruptor pistol.

“Right kid – I surrender to you and your team and then there is no Romulans.”

“Don’t surrender, there are Romulans. All I can promise you is a trial and a sentence to a penal colony, heck, their offering an all expenses paid trip to the Star Empire – not many Federation citizens get that opportunity. I’d almost envy you if it wasn’t for the unbearable torture thing.”

“Just a second kid, I need to confer with my colleagues.”

“Confer all you like; don’t know how much time you have, one of them just moved up next to me and is telling me to shut up. I think they are counting down for their attack.”

“Damnit,” Jolhson yells. I smile, he’s buying it. Criminals are stupid. That is why they are criminals. “Look – we surrender to you – Starfleet. We’re dropping our weapons, we’re coming out one at a time.” I look at my tricorder. I don’t trust him but they are dropping their weapons.

“Single file, Johlson. I’ll be covering you, if you try anything funny then I won’t have custody of you. You get my meaning, right?”

They come out one at a time, Voidrai covers them while I put the cuffs on and have them lay belly down on the ground. She doesn’t say anything until they are beamed up to the Yeager’s brig.

“Ensign Golden,” she says. “You are an excellent liar, something I suspected for quite some time.”

I chose to take this as a compliment. I love my job.

197,725 B.C.E.

"You succeeded," says the Iconian. "You enjoyed this work. It did not matter that you lied" betrayed "to Johlson. It did not matter that you sent him to his death. Inform this one of the meaning" form "of this contradition. You had more than the pleasure" joy of winning "of doing what the Romulan female tried to do, better and faster than she could. This is a choice of responsibility. You fullfiled one responsibility" following orders, doing the job, quickly and cleanly "but failed another."

Golden says, "First of all -- Johlson did not go to his death specifically, he was sentenced to a Federation Penal Colony. That Colony was later hit by the Dominion in the war and everybody on it died. I did enjoy talking him into surrendering. I exaggerated some facts, I misrepresented the actual situation but within the bounderies of the larger perspective. And I did it to save myself from getting shot or having to shoot anyone else. I'll skip the moral temporizing and focus on the important thing, and it's important to your earlier question as well. When I got back to the ship, I filed a report. I included my subterfuge in exacting detail. I turned myself in, making the fact that I had chosen to trick Johlson clear to my superiors. They decided that my deception was a tactical decision that facilitated the completion of the mission objectives within the acceptable margin of discretion provided. Ergo, I did not fail in my responsibilities, rather, I fulfilled them by reporting my breech of the code that demands truth -- I chose to break the rule, I chose the possible risks for my choice, I pointed out my choice, I accepted that I might be punished, as I had agreed to be when I swore my oath of commission. Your turn, define what function means in the context you use it and in your denotative perspective."

Task, action, purpose," replies the thing, "When we know the force that drives the things that you do, we will know your function." It draws its long arm away, folding it against its chest again. "Your responsibility" he important thing "was to save yourself and others from being shot, and to complete the mission. Does your responsibility to complete the mission preclude other responsibilities?"

Golden shakes his head. "Too broad a question, the universe is not that absolute in the variables presented. There are bounderies you may cross and bounderies you may not cross and sometimes they are explained and sometimes you must simply *know* them. Sometimes you will be right, sometimes you will be wrong. Not violating the bounderies is a mission all it's own. The mission of the moment may require you to fail in that larger mission to complete the intimate mission at hand. This give you a choice of which mission to fulfill, or perhaps inspires you to reinvent the entire situation and find a third choice that allows you to fulfill both missions. Again it's the layers of responsibility and rules -- personal rules, operational rules, societal rules. If you say This is Okay, then it is Okay for you. If your immediate compansions say, It may not be okay, it may be okay for you but it may not for them so you have to chose if you follow your own assessment or that of your peers. If you say it is okay, but your peers say it is neither okay nor not okay but your community says it is not okay, you must chose if you will uphold the perspective of your community or your own, knowing that your community may choose to bring recrimination or punishment to you for your choice; which is the price you agreed to pay by not heeding your community."

"You pretend to have no room for the absolute in your mind," says the Inquisitor, "And yet you understand the concept of infinity. Infinity is absolute. Infinate variables reflect the absolute." It pauses. The rotating light makes its face go bright, the chunkles of precious metals dangling from its seeping wounds glitter. "You know boundries." rules "You will not claim that not violating these boundries the larger mission or the smaller, but say that it is a matter of variables presented. And yet your choices are subject to rules." responsibility "What are the rules that tell you when breaking the rules is right?" breaking the rules is following the rules "You cannot choose between personal rules, operational rules, and societal rules on a random basis."

Golden says, "Now you are sequing into an entirely different area -- Reason vs Intuition. I am content to speak on that but first I will correct you. I don't pretend to have no room for the absolute in mind. Infinity is absolute? Infinity is the absolute lack of absolute definition, an absolute apellation for something that cannot be fathomed and admission that our perception or cognitive abilities are finite but at the same time are without limit in potential because we can know that there is more than we can comprehend. Lay down a meter stick and focus on it, there you have a finite absolute. That is a meter. But then, potential works in -- what if that meter stick was not measured properly? What if I am not actually seeing the meter stick accurately due to a limit of my vision? What if that is actually a yard stick and I have tricked into thinking a yard is a meter. now, that definition is not so finite. And everything that finite definition was used to measure now has this additional variables to consider. Then take a step back and look at the meter stick in comparison to the room, now you can define this as a room with a meter stick, or a maybe meter stick; or you can define this as a meter stick with a room around it, or a maybe meter stick with a room around it. And maybe this room is part of a larger building, part of a neighborhood, part of a suburb, part of a city, part of a country, part of a district, part of a state, part of a nation, part of a planet, part of a system and on and on and on. Your absolute becomes buried under potential. So you chose the perspetive. You chose which variable to believe and you act in accordance with that choice. You define what is absolute for you, others project thier absolutes on you which you may or may not give credence to -- but the bottom line is, your absolute is an illusion, or a consensus, but in the face of the infinite, you must admit you need the illusion to operate even as you admit the illusion is artificial. So you make it real, while you make it unreal. Such is the nature of Infi. Do you still want to talk about the duality of Reason and Intuition?"

The Inquisitor the Inquisitor moves its head forward, gazing at Golden with its largest forward-facing pair of eyes. It says, "The universe is fractal in nature. In infinity, all things contain infinity. Infinity is not hidden by infinite potential. It cannot be hidden. Only made unreal. Talk about reason and intuition. You use these tools to make things real and unreal."

Golden says, "So you believe inifinity is contained within infinity, yet containment itself is contrary to the definition of infinity -- that is the framework you chose to employ to operate under? You can chose that?"

"Containment is not contrary to the nature of infinity," says the Iconian. "How do you choose what is to be real and what is to be unreal? Which responsibility is the most real?"

Golden laughs, and while laughing rises again. "You are starting to make definitive statemens in opposition to my own. Are you learning? Everything is contained within Infinity, Infinity is contained within everything as applied through the principal of probability and potential -- but Infinity is without bounderies, so while being contained, cannot being contained*. As to real and unreal -- most accept what the perspective of consensus agrees to, or the bounderies of their personal perception in senses -- but the intellect knows that what can be conceived is thus possible, and though it may not be real in the context of the senses, it is real within the flow of possibility. This is why IDIC is a nice starting point, but ultimately is limited in the broader applications because of it's originators' insistant on logic, which is typical based at it's most fundemental root, on a falsehood that is agreed to be considered truth by a consensus. But you want to talk about Reason and Inuition. Some choices are made by considering the known variables and through reason choosing the application one finds to meet the most of the needs of responsibility as possible. Sometimes all that are known, sometimes even those that were unknown at the time. I am thirsty, I know if I drink water my need will be relieved. I reason than getting a drink of water is the best course to meet my responsibility to take care of myself - I choose to get a glass of water. Intuition on the other hand is the basis of choice, often without any basis in applicable reason. Sometimes subconscious analysis of patterns the conscious mind does not yet understand it sees, sometimes the impulses of instincts born with one's sentience. When faced with no choice that reason finds agreeable in relation to one's responsibilities -- intuition may guide the choice. And for good or ill, choices made by reason or intuition carry the equal end choice of choosing to be responsible for the results of the choice or not.

The Inquisitor unfolds its arms, but it doesn't reach for the rising Golden. It says, "You admit that control is an illusion, and yet demand the illusion of control. I am" you are "learning." Without the illusion, you refuse to learn to understand why you need the illusion. "Continue. Reason bases conclusions on the perceptions of the senses. You percieve others. Your uncle and parents instilled in you responsibility towards others. You percieve responsibility in others and guilt if they fail it." It reaches for him now, slowly.

February 20th, 2374

My hands clench and unclench, I can’t control them. I am furious. I think of Janglin. I think of Culna. I think of Ortiz. I want to shoot someone.

Catch squeezes my shoulder; he’s trying to reassure me. I don’t want to be reassured. I’m outraged. I feel betrayed. How *could* they do this? Benetiz calls over to me, “Hey Dylan – you can’t take it personally. Ifni reveals mysterious intentions.

I snarl. “You can take Ifni and shove her right you’re a--,” Catch clears his throat, I stop. “Sorry Benetiz. I’m just… I’m just… how they hell can they do that!”

Benetiz is old school, he’s been with the RRT since the program started. He and the other original 128th officers are all into this Ifni mumbo jumbo. They say it’s just a joke, not a real religion – but they act like it’s a real religion. Maybe that is part of the faith, treating it like it’s a joke – ever since I got to this unit they’ve been invoking Ifni whenever things go right, and even more when things go wrong. It’s all about duality and finding humor in the absurd to it doesn’t drive you mad and finding the serious in the laughable. Sometimes I find myself referring to Ifni without thinking about. Maybe it’s just part of the esprit’d’corps lingo of bonding.

“Dylan, Dylan, Dylan… it makes perfect sense. Since it looks like the Jem’hadar have completely wiped out the Masquis, it suits Ifni’s sense of irony to have the Federation President pardon them, even though they’ve been a major pain in our posteriors in some form or another since Marshall started negotiating the terms of the DMZ treaty with the Cardassians back in 68. They’re dead, so why not pardon them? Get it?”

“No I don’t get it! They need to rot in jail – and those that aren’t dead need to *go* to prison. They killed Janglin! They killed Culna! And they tortured Ortiz and *then* killed him. They are Traitors. They are criminals. They are murderers. They are terrorists. Death was too good for them. They need to *pay* for their crimes.”

Catch says to me, “Dylan, I understand the need for justice – but we have to accept that they are pardoned and move on. We’re not fighting them anymore, now it’s the Jem’hadar. We have to stay focused. No more pirates, no more rogue Klingons, no more Masquis – Dominon only.”

I want to pop Catch right in the eye and grab his hair and bash him into the hull a few times to knock some sense into him. And this startles me. Catch is my friend. He’s been like a mentor to me. Maybe I am getting too caught up in the passions of all of this. I think back to parents, to Uncle Ongus – I feel guilty. I feel ashamed.

But I still want to see those Masquis bastards pay.

I need to distract myself. I need to concentrate on something else. I’m too raw. Not good for a mission. I consider Benetiz. “Okay Benny – explain this to me again. Start with the whole Ifni thing and how embracing this philosophy will help me gain proper perspective.”

He cocks his head. I think he is gauging if I am actually ready to Listen. I shift in my seat, he better start talking soon or he can forget it. He nods, and then he begins.

And I begin to understand.

197,725 B.C.E.

The Inquisitor has drawn its hand away when Golden returns to the room of darkness and light. It says,"You were angry because you lost your illusion of control. You did not control the situation enought to fullfil your responsibility to see that they pay for their crimes" lack of responsibility "while the ones you sought to punish earned their punishment seeking to punish yet others for yet other crimes. They are wrong because they are not following the rules you follow. You are right because you follow the rules. Was it a personal rule that made you seek vengance? A societal one? An operational one?" It moves towards him slightly, leaning its head closer. "You chose your own responsibility to be real and theirs to be unreal. Did Benetiz teach you to unmake that choice when their pardon made that responsibility impossible to fulfil?"

Golden is angry again as he comes out of that memory, a fresh bitter anger that reminds him that this is not a debate about philosophy, the interrogator is the enemy not the potential liberator. His eyes narrow. "It is a personal choice to seek *justice*. My friends died," were murdered "by the rules of the concensus their killers should have been detained and be held responsible for their acts -- the President pardoned them, ergo forgiving their murder of Starfleet Officers who were doing their duty -- ergo saying it is okay for criminals to kill us. The president betrayed our social contract of trust -- but we - I - am still obligated to obey. So the paradigm of the pursuit changes -- I watch them for reversion to type -- and when I find they have -- then in the memory of the justice they were released from, I chose to the obligation of insuring they pay for their misconduct within the confines of the consensus for same. Benetiz didn't teach me to unmake my choice -- he taught me how to choose a different perspective and find..." A slight wry expression forms the angry one moving away "...understanding -- to find a point of view where I could tolerate what was intolerable, suffer the insufferable, clarify my options and continue with the operations of life that don't involve the point of contention. He taught me how to chose perspective instead of having perspective be chosen for me."

GAME: Golden spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Golden (claiming advantage) contests his Behavior Modification (Resistance) skill vs Iconian Inquisitor's Behavior Modification (Brainwashing) skill and Succeeds!

"Justice," says the Iconian. "is holding individuals responsible for obeying the rules of the consensus?" your rules "Regardless of wether they choose to accept it?" The creature leans its head yet closer, its mandibles rubbing together. "Benetiz taught you to choose another perspective, where the intolerable was tolerable, the insufferable sufferable. What understanding is that? To accept that the illusion of control cannot always be real. To resign yourself. You cannot always be responsible just as you cannot always win. There will not always be justice and you accept it by placing the responsibility" when your illusion of control is broken "on chance." mysterious intentions

Golden says, "Justice -- like so many things we have discussed, has layers. Personal Justice. Community Justice. The Nebulous Concept of Perfect Justice. Benetiz illustrated to me a deeper level of the same lesson Uncle Ongus taught me. You can accept the perception that is offered to you and find something impossible, or you can choose to see possibility. You can accept the perception that is offered to you and find something unbearable, or you can choose to bear it. If a mode of operation is impeding you from accomplishing a situation, find another perspective where you *can* work from, and if you can accept the responsibility that comes with that perspective, then choose it. You can lock me in a cell and I can say I can't escape. Or I can say that now I have more time to think about the way subspace fields interact. I change your cell into my opportunity. Just one example. Understanding that your choices are limited only by the limitations you choose to put on them, you can transcend the situation, think outside the box you are in, find a new choice. Choose Different. Operate in a new mode."

"You do not change your cell to opportunity," says the Iconian. "You choose to focus on your perceptions of the opportunities within the cell. This does not mean your choices are limited only by your choice of limitations. There are possible choices that are impossible to fulfil within the cell" manifest physical existance "They are not choices you can make. Focusing on the manners in which the cell fails to confine you is a choice about real and unreal that does not effect the actual cell. This control is an illusion."

Golden says, "No. You are wrong. You are limited by your mode, you cannot see the choice. You talk of truth, but you cannot grasp a truth that your mode does not accept as valid. You are the one in the cage, the box, the prison. You choose not to see beyond your mode; or perhaps you are restrained from doing so, but that is not a flaw I share with you. You can make *any* choice. Fulfilling the choice, Ifni has no obligation to support your choice. But you can still make the choice, even if making the choice makes you mad. Even if making the choice seperates you from the consensus of perception. Free Will is choice. I could chose to believe there is no cell. For me the cell would cease to exist. It may exist to everyone else, but it would not longer constrain me in my own mind. Layers of perception, layers of truth, layers of self, layers of possibility, layers of choices. The mode you select colors your perception, and how you perceive defines your choices. Surely even you, can grasp that. We entered this mode with you asking question with the expectation I would answer them. Now we find the fact to be, your questions are becoming increasingly irrelevant. The longer you ask them, the closer to be free I become."

"That choice effects only you. Unconstrained in your own mind, you make choices in your own mind, effect possibilities only in your own mind. Your freedom to impose results on physical manifestations" other beings "is gone. You are not free. You cannot benefit the group. You cannot create justice. You have no duty, honour or obligation. You have only the illusion of control. The cage can be real or unreal for you, but it is always actual. It is responsibility and limitless choice that lack actuality, even as you dwell in a real cage of these things." The Iconian steps closer, reaches again with its curious strange hand to touch his chin, the same spot it touched him when he first woke. The humming that might have gone unheard in the background beating of Golden's own blood rises.

March 8th, 2375

The drink in my hand is cold, condensation wetting my fingers. I feel old. I am cold. Inside; the sun here on Risa is actually warm. Pleasant. Unreal. My life is light years away. I miss the dark. I miss the purpose. I miss the never ending stream of fresh replacements that die so quickly there is little point in learning more than their last names. I miss Catch. I miss the war.

I blame that counselor. Lieutenant Embriga. Clueless. A casualty waiting to happen. These people here, pretending they are having fun. Pretending there is no war. Pretending they can forget what is really happening by embracing a few weeks of hedonism. I am torn between the belief that it is they that I was fighting for and the realization that I have nothing in common with them anymore. Am I still human? What does that mean anymore?

“I see you’ve been on numerous combat missions Lieutenant,” Embriga had asked.

“Two hundred and ninety-seven,” I had clarified.

“And this was over a period of…” She’s checking the record.

“Since the fall of 2372 until this month,” I clarified. It had been February of 2375 at the time. “Things picked up once the war broke out.” My attempt at a joke. I’m not very funny anymore. I remember I used to be funny. Back when this was still fun.

“And you’ve had no leave during this time? You’ve been in combat rotation for over two years…?”

“Like I said, things picked up when the war broke out. Speaking of the war, it seems it is still going on. Are we done now? My team is waiting for me; we have a mission to plan for.” I was impatient. She was wasting my time. I had no idea how much of my time she planned on wasting.

“Lieutenant, you do realize that you are supposed to take leave at least once after every year of combat rotation, its necessary for a healthy mindset.”

“There is nothing wrong with my mindset, Counselor. My mind is in the war. That keeps me alive. Sometimes it keeps people who listen to me alive. Sitting here talking about it is not keeping people alive. I know you think your job is important. I’m sure you help lots of people. Let me be blunt. I don’t need your help. I don’t want your help. I want you to let me leave now. The war isn’t waiting for us to finish our chat.” I was getting angry, I thought of Infi. I was sure this was amusing her.

“I’m afraid the war is going to have to get by without you Lieutenant. I’m going to have to relieve you of your field status until a mandatory R&R period is concluded.”

“You are making a mistake.”

“I don’t think so.”

“People are going to die.”

“It is a war, Lieutenant, that is an unfortunate aspect of war. The war isn’t going to fall apart without your participation.”

“You don’t know that.”

“No, but I have reason to believe that it’s likely.”

“My people need me. I have a job to do.”

“Your people will get by without you. You need a break. Can you hear yourself?”

“Can you hear me? I need to get back to my unit. I don’t have time for your “break”. This is a war. I know you may not get that back here in your rear echelon lumbar supporting ergonomically perfect office chair, Counselor, but I have *real* work to do. Hard work in dark places with people who have no fear and where life is as long as you are good enough to make it. No hugs. No searching your feelings. Move shoot move. You are messing with the program.”

I remember she was frightened. I frightened her. I think that pleased me. I can’t remember. My edge is softening. This place is softening me. I need my edge. I want the war back. There is my waiter. He has a PADD for me. He’s happy to help me. How nice for him. Casualty waiting to happen. I open the PADD. It’s from Starfleet Command. My war is being given back. I feel excited. I have a job to do. I chose it. I’m responsible for it. It’s mine.

No. It’s transfer orders. Beta Quadrant. Starbase. New team. Dulcais Sector. I check a map. It’s as far from the war as they could send me. Damn that Counselor. I take a deep breath. I laugh. I feel better, because I know that I’m not laughing alone. I’m laughing with Ifni.

197,725 B.C.E.

"The cage of your duty" to keep them safe "So separated you from those othersthat you find them alien" nothing in common "You miss the purpose. You miss the responsibility." The Iconian's voice comes slowly. "It is the cage you wish to return to and it is the cage you cannot escape," the choice you will not make "to go back to the war you miss. Against orders, against the rules," people are going to die "but not a mistake if the counsellor made one. You cannot do that." you're not responsible for avoiding that mistake, your duty is to obey orders "And you call again on your ability to see opportunities left over when choices are denied you. You submit to the control of others" you're making a mistake. people are going to die "and say it is what you choose and call it freedom to make any choice."

Golden shakes his head -- pushing the inquisitor back and waving an extended finger in it's face to the negatory. "I had a choice. I could have resigned my commission. Joined a mercenary company. Gone right back to the Front -- but, part of the responsibility of being in Starfleet is following the orders of your superiors, which means sometimes you have to chose to accept situations you don't want. Like a transfer. Or, you can chose to get out. Or you can chose to disobey and face the consequences of that choice. But I *was* in a cage. A cage I built for myself. A mode I chose because it was the one that kept me alive. Kept me from cracking under the weight I found myself carrying. That me was happy because I chose to narrow my criteria for what made me happy. I embraced the clarity of vision that the mode gave me -- enemy or ally. Win or Die. War is full of chaos but at the extended perception it is less complicated because you have an easier time understanding your place in it. I did not submit to the control of others, I chose to follow the orders of others as the cost of the opportunity to be in Starfleet. An opportunity we have already discussed. A responsibility we have already explored. A choice we have already danced around. The point you are missing... is that I could choose to resign my commission, I would lose access and opportunities different options would materialize. The control *does* exist because you can chose to participate or choose not."

GAME: Golden spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Golden (claiming advantage) contests his Behavior Modification (Resistance) skill vs Iconian Inquisitor's Behavior Modification (Brainwashing) skill and Succeeds!

Golden says, "Like I choose not to participate in this any further." He says this seizing the robe of the inquisitor with both his hands and pushing the pale creature into the seat he had spent so much time in himself. "Is this what you expected? Is this what you were looking for?"

"Do you accept the consequences of your refusal?" counters the Inquisitor, its spider-like face not registering suprise as its long limbs fold under the pressure of Golden's sudden pushing. "Are you looking for something, or are you just making a choice to avoid an uncomfortable situation when choices are very limited? Do you want to begin again?" It doesn't turn away this time, but it summons the buzzing in Dylan's head again, the buzzing that threatens to become a blinding roar...

GAME: Golden spends a courage point.

<CONTEST> Iconian Inquisitor contests his Behavior Modification (Brainwashing) skill vs Golden's Behavior Modification (Resistance) skill (given advantage) and Succeeds!

<CONTEST> Golden (claiming advantage) contests his Fitness (Vitality) skill vs a difficulty of Difficult and Succeeds!

. o O Golden thinks "no. no! NO! NO THERE IS NO PAAAAAAAAARRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHHH"

Golden is back in the burn, it's comes pouring back in, never really gone, the pain is *real* even if nothing else is... punishment for defiance ... punishment for ... no. No. Accept the Pain. Accept that it's a real experience. But know the experience is false. Just stimulation. Just simulation. Dylan makes another choice.

"You are not free," says the Inquisitor, no longer in the chair when Golden returns from red pain. But Dylan is still standing. "You cannot choose here beyond questions and pain. There is nowhere you can choose outside of the cage of your responsibility. Even if failing to choose outside it is a mistake." people are going to die. "You choose to allow responsibility to make you a slave of others. You choose to choose things that cage you." The thing reaches out, touches him again, all six of its long thin arms unfolding, the buzzing in his head rising again, perhaps it means to bring back that red burning world that is just simulation. Its weird little hands push him towards the place where he came awake, urging him to lie down again, to lie down in a warm dark memory...

December 20th, 2376

I am content. It is dark in this place that is not my own, but I know it well. My lover's deep breathes caress my ears. I feel her without touching her. I am amazed and I smile in the dark. She said yes. I knew she would but still that does not make the awe that she would any less. I can feel her dreaming. When I sleep I feel her, my dreams are not so dark anymore.

I know things.

I know in another life where I was dead at seventeen, my imzadi was never in the Federation Diplomatic Service. She was a diplomatic officer on a Starship in the Alpha Quadrant, Command Red. Just like me. In a world where I died she was never encouraged to leave the academy and be a civilian diplomat. So she never went to Qo'nos. So she never came here. Because I was not here.

So I know that They put her here. I know why they did it. Leverage. To control me. I have the skills They want. I have drive They need. I have a tendancy to do what is right and what is legal instead of what I'm told. The last part is an inconvenience. So. She is here. I would thank them, but I chose to give credit to Ifni. To Ifni They are puppets as much as They would make me. As much as They would make her.

In another life where I was dead at seventeen, because I was dead, They chose another. Commander Vez.

But here they chose me. So she is dead.

I wonder if I was better because I was weak to Aliana? I wonder alot of Vez was not better for this job I have chosen to accept responsibility for.

I told Havaris I was willing to let Vez step up if I she was better. I told him I was willing to die if necessary to make that happen. He sneered at me, that hurt. He described me in many unpleasant ways. That hurt too. He accused me of playing Prophet. Lots of hurt. Hurt I am used to though. I accept that hurt as part of the responsibility I have chosen to accept.

It's hard for my team. It's hard for me sometimes too. I'm not not perfect. Far from it. Very far, if you ask Commander Ghorev. Why do I care what he thinks? Because I want to respect him? Because I do? How can they hate me so much when the so don't *know* me. They assume so much. The people who do know me... do they love me? Some do. Some admire. Some just follow. Aliana tells me they hate me because they are afraid of me. Am I scary?

I know things.

I know things I can't tell her. And she knows I do. And she trusts me. And she loves me. I love her.

Everybody dead in little more than a year. Find a way to stop it Golden. While you do that, fight a war with the Romulans would you? Just a little war. Don't talk about it. Oh yes, they'll shoot you. They'll even send a mission back in time to *assassinate* you. But don't talk about it. They'll kidnap citizens, you'll stop them and they'll try to destroy your ship. But don't talk about. Don't talk about plots to kill Foreign Heads of State. Don't talk about threaten guests in the dark. Don't talk about the Old Woman. Don't talk about the Other Tyler. Don't talk about how our Tyler shuts down when you mention the Old Woman.

They think they know things. But I know things that nobody else knows.

Not Wendy. Not Sinclaire. Not Duncan. Not Galven. Not Balin. Not Ghorev. Not Havaris. Not Aliana.

I am content. I am at Peace. Because I know.

I know we will win.

Because I chose that responsibility.

197,725 B.C.E.

"You choose to see as real your choice" fallacious "To give away the drive They want. The drive They need. You are the puppet in the cage, unable to escape the choices that others offer, the limitations they give you in the name of responsibility." you must win. people are going to die. honour. duty. obligation. "You do what is right" by rules They choose "you do what is legal" by laws They make "and you choose to credit your rewards to chance because you will not take the responsibility of seeing what your responsibility makes you. It is easier to see the group," keep them safe "and accept your hurt when they do not accept that you are the hero who bears the great responsibility. That is easy, compared to this." discovering your function, seeing the actual boundries of your cage "You say you are not perfect. I think you think you are. The responsibility you choose is right and that chosen by others is lesser. You use reason, intuition, to see which responsibility must be adhered to when two or more are incompatable. You know things. You have the power to know the right oice" you're making a mistake "You believe you have it because you are responsible" follow the rules, obey orders, keep silent "and you are responsible because you chose to be responsible knowing that was the right choice. Your responsibility may be real but it is no more actual than the freedoms of a cage. Your responsibility is to choose what others give you to chose. What They give you to chose. Your choice is not freedom. It is not your function to choose freely."

Golden stands up to his full height, stretching. He considers the words of the inquisitor, lips a thin line.

Golden says, "I can choose to resign. I can choose to run away, spend what days ae left doing something else ... like being a recreational advisor on Risa. I can choose to tell their secrets. I can choose to keep them. Every human has the potential to be hero. Maybe every sentient has that potential, I haven't met them all so I don't know. There is no cage -- there is choice. I choose to be responsible. I choose not to break. I choose not to fail. I choose not to bend. I *do* have the opportunity to choose what is right because of the responsibilities I own. I do have an obligation to follow rules, obey orders, keep silent if I wish to keep the opportunities the responsibilities provide. It has been said by many a wiser philosopher than I that life, for a sentient, is about exploring the opportunities and the outcomes of their choices of Free Will. It has been argued by some that Free Will is a principal criteria for qualifying as a sentient. My life is not about function. I am a human being -- we aren't defined by a *function*. We may *serve* many *functions* in our lives but there is not one single *function*.""

Golden says, "But as you reminded me... I *do* have a job to do. A job I choose to do. A responsibility I chose to accept."

Golden says, "It is not something I'm going to attend to staying here with you."

Golden turns and takes long strides into the nimbus of white light, leaving behind the pale creature. The sound of steps upon water, not quite splashes, reaches him. Time passes.

There is a slow cycle of dark-light. From somewhere, a persistant piercing beam flashes, intermittently, like light from a mirror. The two cycles mingle, dark-flash, light-flash... The pattern is random enough to avoid adequate prediction, but eventually, he is able to filter out the vague impression of walls and the vague feeling of being surrounded by water. There is no sign of the source of the fluctuation, and Dylan feels no urge to seek the answer either. Still, aware of this odd lack of curiosity, he still finds motive to keep walking until he is lost from view.

And somewhere, Dylan Golden snaps awake.

----- Fin History Lessons: Golden Opportunities

The History Lessons... will continue.