The Real Name of Anger

Posted on Sun 27th Oct, 2024 @ 1:13am by Lieutenant Damion Ildaran
Edited on on Sun 27th Oct, 2024 @ 2:13pm

929 words; about a 5 minute read

Mission: The Phoenix Gamble
Location: Damion Ildaran's Quarters

"I sat with my anger long enough, until she told me her real name was grief." --Unknown

(Continued from here.

After finishing dinner at Orchids & Jazz, Damion went back to his quarters, ordered a glass of water from the replicator, and flopped down on his sofa. He picked up his personal PADD and began scrolling through the day's news stories from the Federation News Service.

Many of the articles were things he was already well familiar with as part of his work in Intelligence. For instance, the Federation border world Capricalia wanted to leave the Federation and ally with the remnants of the Romulan Star Empire because Capricalia was not receiving adequate Federation protection from Orion pirates. This was affecting interstellar trade in Sector 57 and causing supply-chain shortages.

Starfleet, unfortunately, was short on ships at the moment and admitted it had few to spare for that area of space. Damion frowned to himself. Surely there were plenty of older, used fighter craft that could be sent to the world--presuming the pirates didn't capture the ships, first. The Romulans' response to the negotiations had been rather condescending, Damion thought, referring to the Capricalians as a "charity case." He certainly wouldn't want to join an interstellar government on such terms.

He continued scrolling through the news until a headline caught his eye, and he froze, staring at the words as only his eyes moved and a feeling of increasing horror settled over him like a lead blanket.

A research lab connected to the Daystrom Institute had begun development of the Mark V EMH program. Starfleet upgraded the EMH program every few years or so, as new medical knowledge and techniques became available. One line in the article captured Damion's attention: The most frequent criticism of the program by physicians is the lack of proper bedside manner that a sentient doctor can provide for a patient.

Was that why Starfleet had allowed Elizabeth to function as an autonomous emergency counseling hologram--to help them create her successor, to give a future program upgrade the bedside manner the Mark V needed? If so, Starfleet had succeeded beyond its wildest dreams with her. Damion let out a shuddering sigh. Elizabeth had been a fully self-aware holographic being, capable, even, of feeling emotions, capable of wanting her own freedom from Starfleet's control. And he had loved her--still did.

If Starfleet had ever known she was self-aware, Damion suspected, its researchers would have cybernetically taken Elizabeth apart to see what made her tick. She had been, technically, Starfleet property; they had every legal right to bring her in and make whatever modifications they wanted to her personality matrix. And now she was dead, killed in a wargame by a holographic weapon that wouldn't have killed a human.

The idea of researchers picking at her program made Damion shake at the thought of her being violated in that way. And what would the upgrade look like? If the Mark V came out looking like Elizabeth, he didn't think he'd be able to stand it, much less imagine himself receiving medical treatment from it. The very idea made him feel sick.

Stop wallowing in ifs and what-ifs, Damion told himself. Focus on what you know. The mystery, I hope, has been solved. We always wondered why Starfleet was allowing Elizabeth to function as a human and why they didn't want her to let anyone on 109 know she was an ECH. I wouldn't have known if I hadn't met her on the Hermes before we transferred here, and this little experiment of theirs started. How ironic that, now she's gone, they come out with this new upgrade development.

He let out a long breath and forced himself to relax so the anger and flood of emotions would leave him. He sat still and meditated for a while, reaching for the calm that kept him alive when he was out on a field op. It eluded him for much longer than usual because his thoughts wouldn't settle.

Despite the reasonable, solid answer he had found, a niggling doubt remained about what use Starfleet had wanted to make of Dr. Elizabeth Anderson being able to function as a seemingly human being who couldn't be pegged as a hologram. Giving the Mark V EMH a better bedside manner just did not seem...reason enough. None of the possible uses for her that Damion had come up with were good. They were testing her ability to infiltrate. Why? What do they really want to infiltrate? It was a question he could not answer, only waste precious time in speculating about. Damion snorted. He hated wasting time.

Starfleet liked to paint itself as a decent, high-minded organization, but Damion had worked in Intelligence for too long to not know about the skeletons in its closets. There was an entire section of Intelligence devoted to black ops. "To defend the Federation by any means necessary" was its stated purpose, but Damion regarded it as pretty much dirty deeds done under deepest cover.

He grimaced. I'd rather Elizabeth be dead than to be mixed up with those people, and she felt the same way. That's the only thing that makes me feel any better--knowing she's free. She can't be used against her will by anyone now.

With that thought, he finally found the calm he wanted and let himself drift off to sleep.

 

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