Nothing Ever Happens on the U. S. S. Crazy Horse
                                         by
                                     Robert Roy


                                BIZARRENESS WARNING:
             The following short story is completely bizarre.  Don't say
                                 I didn't warn you.

                 Personal  log,  stardate  47634.3,  Doctor  Robert  Roy
            recording: Nothing ever happens on  the Crazy Horse.   Okay,
            so maybe that's completely untrue, but it sure seems like it
            to me.
                 It's my own fault, of course.   Betting my career on  a
            card game, who ever heard of  that before, but I had a  full
            house, jacks over threes.  Commander DaGama, however, had  a
            straight flush  to  the nine  and  an agenda  that  included
            getting me  to  attend  starfleet academy  for  some  bloody
            reason.   When  she  was  given command  of  the  U.  S.  S.
            Myrmidon, I assumed, arbitrarily,  that I'd be posted  there
            upon graduation.  When the Myrmidon was redesignated the  S.
            C. S. S. Myrmidon, I figured, okay, I'd prefer assignment to
            a research station, but at least on the Myrmidon I'd have an
            exciting life.  However, when I graduated and Captain DaGama
            selected a former classmate of mine, Ensign Wayne  Callahan,
            instead of me,  for her computer  science department, I  was
            astounded.   I mean,  I had  a  full doctorate  in  computer
            science, plus my graduating rank of full Lieutenant based on
            past experience, and  she selected some  kid instead of  me.
            One of these  days I'm  going to have  to have  a chat  with
            Captain Lisa J. DaGama.
                 I got my assignment to the Crazy Horse, which was fine,
            I guess.   It's  a nice  ship -  Galaxy class  - bigger  and
            better equipped than the Myrmidon would have been.   There's
            far more space dedicated to research, especially in the area
            of stellar cartography since the head of stellar cartography
            is the chief science  officer.  Anyway,  by my reckoning,  I
            was lucky that the thing with DaGama fell through.
                 The first sign that I was greatly mistaken came when  I
            first beamed aboard.   I was greeted  by the first  officer,
            Commander Michael Marek.  He seemed  a nice enough guy,  but
            the first thing he told me was that I wouldn't be needing my
            science blues.  It turns out that I'd been assigned as  part
            of the computer services contingent rather than in  computer
            science.  What the point of that was, I'll never know.  More
            than qualified  to  head  up  the  entire  computer  science
            department, I end up a subordinate in some lame yellow shirt
            job.
                 Speaking of being a subordinate,  one of the few  perks
            of the job is being able to work with Commander Moira 2, who
            is, for  all  intents  and purposes,  the  computer.    More
            specifically she is a fully sentient program running on  the
            Crazy Horse main computer.  She's the ship's second  officer
            and the head of computer services.  I'd hazard a guess  that
            she's the  most advanced  machine  intellect in  the  entire
            Federation.
                 Of course, therein lies  my problem.  Unless  something
            goes radically wrong with Moira,  there's very little I  can
            do,  because  she's  simply  better  at  doing  just   about
            everything that relates to computer services because she is,
            as  I  said,  the  computer.    She  does  all  the  routine
            maintenance on herself (when you think about it, to her that
            maintenance  is  like  me  remembering  to  feed  myself  or
            bothering to straighten my uniform).  Most of the time  when
            I run a diagnostic on her,  just to check to see how  things
            are running,  if  it's  not a  level  one  diagnostic,  it's
            basically Moira that runs  the test anyway.   I feel like  a
            parent reminding my  child to  wash behind  her ears  (Moira
            tells me  that  if  I  don't  stop  with  the  parent  child
            analogies, that  she's going  schedule an  appointment  with
            Counselor Campbell for me).
                 So, basically, what I'm saying is that I spend most  of
            my duty  hours  hanging  around  the  computer  room,  doing
            nothing, or  doing things  that Moira  could be  doing,  and
            doing better.   At least the  first few days  I got out  and
            about,  talking  to   the  various   technophobes  such   as
            Lieutenant  Commander  McMahon   and  Doctor  Hedrick,   and
            instructing on them  on how to  converse in  a civil  manner
            with Moira so that she'd comply with their requests  instead
            of accidentally  blowing  them  out  of  incorrectly  sealed
            airlocks.  Of course, now that  they are getting along  well
            together, I'm no longer  needed in that  capacity.  I  still
            get the odd request  to fix a terminal  or whatever, that  I
            immediately reroute down to engineering where such  requests
            should have gone in the first place.  Honestly, you'd  think
            I was a repairman.
                 Frankly I don't see why they posted me here at all.   I
            can see the necessity of  keeping someone aboard that  could
            repair Commander  Moira  in an  emergency,  but to  have  me
            permanently on call and wasting my time in this yellow shirt
            job is frankly pointless.  As I've said, many times, in many
            of these entirely  overlong log reports,  which I have  more
            than enough time to do seeing as I'm not busy doing anything
            else, for me, nothing ever happens on the Crazy Horse.

                                      *   *   *

                 One of my passions  is music.   It doesn't matter  what
            kind, or what instruments or anything, just so long as  it's
            quality stuff.  My quarters are stuffed with a collection of
            rare instruments,  mostly  collected  during  my  university
            years.  I have violins, violas, basses of all kinds, various
            guitars, drums and  other percussion instruments,  trumpets,
            trombones,   tubas,    synthesizers,    samplers,    flutes,
            saxophones, clarinets, and quite frankly too many to  bother
            naming.   Let's  just say  that  there isn't  any  room  for
            anything  else   but  me,   my  instruments   and  my   bed.
            Unfortunately, with all that clutter, the acoustics ended up
            being crap.
                 One of the first things I  did was do a computation  of
            where on the ship would have the best acoustics.  Or rather,
            I had Moira do it, and  considering how quickly she came  up
            with an answer, I knew that there wasn't much in the way  of
            computation required.   She already knew  the answer,  which
            meant that someone  had already  asked her  to compute  that
            location.  That meant  that I would  have either company  or
            competition, and frankly I wasn't in the mood for either.
                 I grabbed my  minivi and decided  to stake  a claim  to
            somewhere which, although lacking acoustic perfection, would
            at least be more secluded.  The minivi must have been one of
            the best inventions of the twenty first century.  Admittedly
            this is  largely  because  the  inhabitants  of  Earth  were
            spending most of  that time  dropping atomic  bombs on  each
            other, but even  if it were  invented in  the twenty  fourth
            century,   it   would   have   been   considered   a   major
            accomplishment.   It  is  essentially  a  fully  functioning
            violin (or viola, etc, depending on  what pitch you tune  it
            to), that, when folded, fits easily in the palm of your hand
            or in a pocket.
                 While  hanging  around  main  engineering,  considering
            whether I  really  wanted  to go  spelunking  about  in  the
            Jefferies tubes just for the  sake of finding good  practice
            space, I encountered  Chief Petty  Officer Stephanie  Riggs.
            After discussing a number of subjects with her, such as  why
            I was hanging around engineering for  no reason and where  I
            got a violin  that fits in  the palm of  my hand  and why  a
            computer scientist needs a rapier at his hip, and seeing  as
            it was the  end of  her shift, we  decided to  adjourn to  a
            place of socialization.
                 Stephanie suggested the ten forward lounge.  I, being a
            forced extrovert  and quite  simply  not interested  in  the
            degree of stimulation  involving in being  in the same  room
            with the  number  of  people that  frequented  ten  forward,
            counter-suggested a trip to  Rhaegosh's bar on deck  thirty.
            Stephanie pointed out that ten forward was the best place on
            the ship for star gazing.  I pointed out that Rhaegosh's bar
            was the  best place  oversee the  maintenance cycle  on  the
            matter reactant injectors.
                 Stephanie then indicated that  a maintenance cycle  was
            the absolute worst so-called high point she'd ever heard  of
            for a bar or  lounge, and that it  was unlikely that  anyone
            else would  even be  there.   I  reminded  her that  it  was
            solitude that I was seeking anyway.
                 So, we agreed.
                 While Stephanie  went  to change  into  something  more
            comfortable, a set off for Rhaegosh's, expecting her to join
            me just slightly after Satan came skating to work.

                                      *   *   *

                 Upon my  arrival,  Rhaegosh's was,  by  my  estimation,
            packed to capacity.  Of course, capacity, for me, was  about
            four people in a room that had tables and chairs enough  for
            forty.  All four of the bar's inhabitants were seated around
            the table nearest the doors, apparently playing some form of
            card game.   True  to my  introverted nature,  I selected  a
            booth on the  complete opposite side  of the  room that  was
            completely hidden from view by an intersecting bulkhead.
                 I was in a rather sociable mood.
                 As I was unfolding the minivi, the bartender showed  up
            at my  table.   She  was  rather surprised  to  see  someone
            actually occupying this table.   She seemed pleasant  enough
            and, upon  reflection, was  probably  quite attractive.    I
            hadn't really  noticed  at  the  time,  since  I  was  being
            particularly introspective  at  that  moment.    Seeing  the
            minivi, she suggested that I play something, and considering
            that I  was going  to do  that anyway  with or  without  her
            encouragement, I agreed.  She left to get my drink.

                                      *   *   *

                 After several hours of playing melodies both known  and
            improvised, I  bored of  Rhaegosh's bar  and decided  to  go
            elsewhere.  It was now delta shift, so the corridor lighting
            had already gone into the night  cycle.  For some  blatantly
            stupid reason, people insisted  that starfleet ships  should
            be dark  when it's  dark on  a certain  part of  the  planet
            Earth.  I've never seen the logic in it.  The job of running
            a starship doesn't stop when the theoretical sun goes  down,
            so why make out like it does?
                 The whole lighting problem was annoying me, and since I
            was near my quarters anyway, I decided to just forget  about
            it and go to bed.
                 Alone and locked away inside  my cabin, I threw  myself
            onto the bed.  As I laid there, staring up at the ceiling, I
            started thinking about  all the things  I wouldn't be  doing
            tomorrow.  "Moira?", I asked.
                 "Yes?", she responded in her usual  cool tones.  In  my
            head, the song  "Yours Truly,  2095" by  the Electric  Light
            Orchestra began playing, as it usually did when I  conversed
            with Moira.
                 She's got and I. Q. of a thousand and one, she's got  a
            jumpsuit on, she's also a telephone.  I don't have the exact
            figures, but it could be a  thousand and one, and seeing  as
            she's effectively the communications system, that  telephone
            thing isn't entirely out  of line, but  I'm pretty sure  the
            jumpsuit is right out.  The rest  of us will have to do  the
            jumpsuit wearing.
                 "Keep me company?"
                 Moira's response was at  least five seconds in  coming.
            Normally such a  delay might suggest  that some  maintenance
            would be required, but considering the question, I knew that
            wasn't necessary.  Some day I'll feel her cold embrace,  and
            kiss her interface, until then, I'll leave her alone.
                 "I thought you liked to be left alone.", she  answered,
            and then a moment later, "You've already spurned the company
            of two women today."
                 She knows I think of you, she reads my mind, she  tries
            to be unkind, she knows nothing of our world.
                 Changing the subject, I continued, "Why am I here?"
                 "Is that  a philosophical  question?", she  replied  on
            beat.
                 She is the latest in technology, almost mythology,  but
            she has a heart of stone.
                 "It could be, but not the philosophy of existence,  but
            of personnel.  Why've I been assigned to this department, if
            you can call the two of us a department, and on this ship of
            all places?"
                 "Funny, but  I'd  have  thought  you'd  enjoy  such  an
            arrangement.  You don't have to interact with anyone and can
            spend huge tracts  of time alone.   Am I  wrong in  thinking
            that's your ideal situation?"
                 She's only programmed  to be  very nice,  but she's  as
            cold as ice, whenever I get too near.
                 I paused  to consider  my response  before  explaining,
            "It's near ideal, but I don't do anything.  If I were in the
            same department  on another  ship, I'd  probably be  swamped
            with work."
                 "Is that what you really want?"
                 "Well, I don't necessarily want  to be swamped, but  at
            least then I'd feel useful.  The only time I'd get to really
            contribute would be if you went bonkers."
                 "You'd prefer it if I broke down more often?"
                 "At least caring  for you  would give  me something  to
            do."
                 "Is this a macho thing?  You are uncomfortable with  me
            being so self-sufficient and you want me to be more needing?
            Is that what you want?"
                 She tells me that  she likes me very  much, but when  I
            try to touch, she makes it all too clear.
                 "Moira", I essayed  cautiously, "Is it  just me, or  is
            this conversation becoming a tad bizarre?  I don't want  you
            to change, I don't want you  to be more fragile, I'm  simply
            pointing out that my skills seem to be wasted in my  current
            job.   By trade,  I'm a  computer scientist.   I  study  and
            implement  ideas  regarding  machine  learning  and  machine
            intelligence."
                 "So who's stopping you?"
                 "My current assignment, for one  thing.  I haven't  the
            resources allocated to me  that I'd need  to do any  serious
            research.    Without   the  resources,   the  only   machine
            intelligence I can study is you,  but as fascinating as  you
            are, Moira,  it'd be  like studying  adults to  learn  about
            human growth.   That is,  not very  practical.   As a  fully
            formed intellect,  you  are an  amazement  and a  bit  of  a
            miracle.  Your infinite complexities intrigue me, but in the
            final analysis, they  present me  with nothing  I can  learn
            from.  If I'd been there to  study you at the time you  were
            becoming  sentient  and   self  aware,  I'd   have  had   an
            opportunity to really get  a feel for what  you are and  how
            you became what you are."
                 "So what's  your point?",  Moira demanded.    Somewhere
            along the  line,  her  trademark  coldness  seemed  to  have
            evaporated.   I  now knew  for  certain that  Moira  had  an
            emotional awareness.
                 I love you, sincerely, yours truly ... yours truly.
                 "My point is that as much as I enjoy your company,  I'm
            not going to be  able to keep doing  what I'm doing, or  not
            doing as the case may be.  As strange as it seems, all  this
            sitting around is too stressful for me.  I'm either going to
            need some real duties, or a transfer."
                 "If that's what you want.",  Moira responded.  I  could
            tell it was the end of the conversation.
                 "At least I didn't have to cook.", I joked to myself.
                 I then  resolved never  to joke  to  myself again.    I
            obviously don't find myself particularly amusing.

                                      *   *   *

                 Seated  across  of  Counselor  Nola  J.  Campbell   and
            studying her facial expressions, it struck me as ironic that
            I was attempting to  employ psychology to understand  figure
            out what she thought  of me.  There  was really no point  in
            it, of course.
                 "... It's certainly not that I dislike Moira.  In  fact
            if there's anyone on this ship that I'm close to, it's  her.
            I just feel useless here.", I explained.
                 "We are talking about  the ship's computer.",  Campbell
            recapitulated, as if I didn't  already know how strange  the
            discussion sounded.
                 "Yes ..."
                 "I just want us to keep that in mind.  The way you tend
            to talk about  her, it's as  though she's a  real flesh  and
            blood woman."
                 "Frankly, I don't think that I do."
                 "Oh, and why's that?"
                 "Because I can't recall ever talking about a real flesh
            and blood woman that way."
                 With incredulity, Campbell asked, "Never?"
                 "Never.", was my simple reply.  It was true, after all.
            "Counselor, as I grew up, school had been my life.  For some
            reason I could never  fathom, I was driven  to study and  to
            succeed in schools  and universities.   When  I received  my
            doctorate, I suddenly  found myself  without direction,  but
            then there was the academy.   At first I was unwilling,  but
            with my  return  to  academia, I  soon  refound  my  stride.
            Through it  all, I  never had  time for  people.   I've  had
            friends, but they  were little more  than acquaintances.   I
            have never  sought companionship.    I have  instead  sought
            knowledge, with a hunger that denied all others."
                 "Sounds lonely.", the Counselor commented.
                 "Probably has  been, I  suppose, but  I wouldn't  know.
            It's the way I've always been."
                 "You mentioned  your  friends,  well  what  about  your
            parents?"
                 "What about them?"
                 "What are your feelings towards them?"
                 "They're okay.   I suppose they  were quite helpful  in
            raising me, to a certain extent.  I soon outgrew them."
                 "Outgrew them?"
                 "I don't think I've needed them since I was about  ten.
            I left when I was twelve."
                 Aghast, Campbell asked, "Why?"
                 "I had better  things to do.",  I remarked  coldly.   I
            noticed the wall  chrono, so  I indicated,  "I guess  that's
            time, Counselor.  I've  got to go see  what Moira's come  up
            with me to waste my day with today.  See you next session."
                 "Indeed.", remarked Campbell.   As I  left the room,  I
            almost saw her shiver from the coldness of my presence.

                                      *   *   *

                 On my way to the main  computer room, I asked,  "What's
            on the schedule for today, Moira?", into the air.
                 "Something different, Lieutenant.", Moira answered.   I
            was immediately intrigued by her rare use of my rank.   She,
            and just  about everyone  else on  the  ship that  knew  me,
            usually called me "Doctor".  "Please report to the bridge.",
            she continued.
                 "Yes,  Commander.",   I   replied,   with   accentuated
            formality as  I changed  my destination.   "What  then?",  I
            asked.

                                      *   *   *

                 I stepped out of the turbolift  onto the bridge.   This
            was only about the  third time I'd been  on the bridge,  and
            the other two had been to explain to Commander Willmerdinger
            that a broken console needs be reported to engineering,  and
            not computer services.
                 I walked  down  the  slope from  the  rear  bridge  and
            towards the command  centre of the  Crazy Horse.   Currently
            seated  in  the  captain's  chair  was  the  first  officer,
            Commander Michael Marek.  He noticed my arrival, and with  a
            hand gesture, he indicated  for me to take  the seat to  the
            right of him.   As I did, I  detected looks from  Lieutenant
            Commanders Willmerdinger at  the conn, Campbell  at ops  and
            Scott at tactical.  They  soon returned their attentions  to
            their jobs.
                 "I'm still  not  sure  why  I'm  here,  Commander.",  I
            indicated sotto voce.
                 Keeping his voice  quiet as well,  Marek told me,  "You
            were telling Commander Moira that  you didn't feel you  were
            contributing, right?"
                 "True."
                 "And that's because  Commander Moira does  most of  the
            work better and more efficiently than you ever could."
                 "In that department, yes, I suppose that's true.   Why,
            are you going to transfer me, sir?"
                 "Sort of."
                 "I hate 'sort of'.  'Sort of' means 'no, of course not,
            you ninny,  we're  going to  do  something you're  going  to
            hate'.  Name your torment, sir."
                 The captain's  chair  began  to be  the  focus  of  the
            attentions of most bridge crew as the dialog between  myself
            and Commander Marek started twisting towards the bizarre.
                 "Well, since  you  think  she's doing  your  work  down
            there, you're going to do her work up here, Lieutenant."
                 "I'm sorry, Commander.  Perhaps I'm being a bit  dense,
            but what are you talking about?"
                 "Okay, Commander Moira is both second officer and  head
            of computer services."
                 "I'm following you so far, sir."
                 "With her  doing all  the  work in  computer  services,
            there's effectively no room for you down there."
                 "I believe we've covered that."
                 "So she's reassigned you to her other duty area."
                 "Second officer.", I concluded.
                 "Right.", Marek  announced.   I heard  a few  gasps  of
            disbelief from the rest of the bridge crew, especially  from
            the three officers that ranked me.
                 "I'm acting second officer, or that I'm third officer."
                 "Third."
                 "With all due respect,  sir, it doesn't  make a bit  of
            difference because neither of them is a bloody job."
                 "Sure they are."
                 "No, they're not.   First  officer is  a job.   It  has
            specific duties and responsibilities attached to it.  Second
            is just formal  recognition of who  comes after  you in  the
            chain of command.   Third officer is just  plain silly.   In
            essence, sir,  you're telling  me  that instead  of  hanging
            around the computer room, doing nothing, that I should  hang
            around the bridge, doing nothing."
                 "What, do you think the rest of us do nothing all  day,
            Lieutenant?"
                 "Sir, do you remember the  day you welcomed me  aboard?
            Do you remember what colour uniform I was wearing?"
                 "I don't know."
                 "Blue."
                 "So?"
                 "Blue as in science blue.  As in computer science blue.
            As in I'm not  a command officer blue,  and not even a  line
            officer blue ... Sir."
                 "You are now."
                 "But, with all due respect, I shouldn't be,  Commander.
            I'm not trained, and nor am I qualified for the role  you're
            proposing for me,  sir.   This yellow  uniform just  doesn't
            fit."
                 "Oh well."
                 My gaze bore  a hole  into Commander  Marek's soul  for
            several seconds  while  I evaluated  the  man and  what  his
            intentions  were.    "There  are  three  duty  shifts.",   I
            postulated.
                 "Last time I checked.", Marek answered.
                 "The Captain takes one."
                 "Yes."
                 "And you another."
                 "True."
                 "Sometimes both you and the  Captain are on the  bridge
            together."
                 "I've noticed that."
                 "And when  that happens,  you do  what, give  redundant
            orders that  the  captain  could have  given  and  generally
            reinforce the captain's authority."
                 "More or less."
                 "Now, Moira takes the third shift."
                 "Usually, and yes, she does the  same for me when I  am
            in command."
                 "Okay, good.  So what I'm  guessing you want for me  is
            to be a body to sit in the centre chair when Commander Moira
            is in command."
                 "Precisely."
                 "And to  generally  reinforce yours  or  the  captain's
            authority ..."
                 "Or Moira's.", Marek interjected.
                 "Or Moira's ... depending on who's in command."
                 "Now you're getting it."
                 "So, the correct  answer to my  question about  whether
            I'd just be doing  nothing up here  instead of nothing  down
            there, would have been yes."
                 "Effectively."
                 As this  conversation made  the subtle  jump from  just
            bizarre to almost comical, I could feel the pressure of  the
            migraine building, just in behind my temples.
                 "Are you feeling  alright, Lieutenant?", Marek  queried
            me.
                 "I'd be very surprised."
                 "Perhaps you should go down to sickbay."
                 "Yes, I believe I will, sir."

                                      *   *   *

                 Entering the  turbolift,  I  began  to  find  immediate
            relief as I  left my headache  sitting there  in the  centre
            seat of the Crazy Horse.  What is wrong with Marek,  anyway?
            I've never  been over  fond of  command types,  but I  never
            expected him to  be a kook.   I hope  this is  some kind  of
            weird object lesson.
                 "Sickbay.", I told the  computer, or more correctly,  I
            told Moira.
                 "Not feeling well, eh?", she answered as the  turbolift
            began to move.
                 Sarcastically, I replied, "What was your first clue?"
                 "Pulse rate up, increase in neurotransmitter  activity,
            and the fact that you asked to go to sickbay."
                 "Yeah, but which did you get first?"
                 The turbolift  came  to  a  stop  and  another  officer
            entered.  I  don't recall  her rank  or position,  but I  do
            recall being envious of  her science blues.   "So is he  for
            real?", I asked Moira.
                 The science officer adopted a confused look,  presuming
            I was speaking to her.  I smiled inwardly as her mouth  hung
            open a moment, as  she struggled to find  a response for  me
            until Moira  mercifully  answered,  "Commander  Marek?    Of
            course he is."
                 I continued my conversation with Moira, pretending  not
            to notice the  science officer's  discomfort, saying,  "Then
            Commander Marek must be nuts.", which  I could tell got  the
            science officer's attention,  but then  the turbolift  doors
            opened and  I  proceeded  towards sickbay,  leaving  her  to
            wonder what I was talking about.  To Moira, I continued,  "I
            have no business sitting in the big chair.  Is it so hard to
            admit that a mistake has been made in my assignment?"
                 "Are you so  sure it was  a mistake?",  she asked,  and
            then noticing I  had walking past  sickbay, she added,  "And
            weren't you headed somewhere?"
                 "I was.  I feel  better, so now I  don't need to go  to
            sickbay.", I answered her, then stepped out of the corridor,
            into a companionway, and climbed up  the ladder to the  next
            deck.
                 "What are you doing now?", Moira asked me.
                 "You'll see.", I told her,  all the while thinking  the
            reverse.  As expected, I hadn't  seen anyone since I got  to
            this deck.    This  deck  would  provide  additional  living
            quarters in  case of  an emergency.   But  as there  was  no
            emergency now, it was currently empty.
                 "Where are you going?", Moira demanded.  As she did so,
            I turned sharply and entered one of the cabins.
                 "Moira?", I asked, just to see if she could still  hear
            me, and then I repeated my request, just to make sure.  When
            I got no answer, I knew everything was working perfectly.
                 When I'd first come aboard, I had certain  reservations
            about having a computer running the ship.  I mean,  normally
            a computer runs the ship, but  not to the degree that  Moira
            does.  There  have been  case after  case of  even the  most
            sophisticated machine intellects acting in the most  bizarre
            ways, often due  to external influence.   So, to  be on  the
            safe side, I decided  to create this safe  room.  As far  as
            Moira is concerned, this room doesn't exist.  No one in this
            room is  detectable  by  internal  scan.    Calls  to  their
            communicator will still get routed to them, much in the same
            way as they would be if they were off the ship.
                 Another special  advantage  of  this room  is  that  it
            allows me to access  the computer directly, without  Moira's
            intervention, allowing  me to  detect  any faults  that  may
            exist in her programming,  and correct them.   I would  only
            access her  programming if  I believed  there was  something
            drastically wrong with her.
                 And I believe that now.
                 More important,  there  may  be  something  wrong  with
            Commander Marek.  Unfortunately, that's not something I  can
            fix.

                                      *   *   *

                 It took several hours to track down what I was  looking
            for, but eventually my search paid off.  A small program was
            running in Moira's subconscious (so to speak) that was doing
            something to her thought processes.  Given time, I'd be able
            to analyze the program and its results, but unfortunately  I
            had other things to do.
                 It was  now time  for my  so-called duty  shift on  the
            bridge.  The analysis would have to wait.
                 When I walked  out into the  corridor, Moira  repeated,
            "Where are you going?"  As far as she was concerned, nothing
            out of the  ordinary had occurred.   During my  time in  the
            room, all of  her systems  responded in  a perfectly  normal
            fashion, and  she carried  out her  duties as  per  routine.
            However, she was  completely unaware that  I'd ever  entered
            the room, or that there was  even a block of time wherein  I
            was missing.
                 Quite an amazing  bit of programming,  if I  do say  so
            myself.
                 "To the bridge.", I responded  as a strode towards  the
            nearest turbolift.  Even  this sudden change of  destination
            would do nothing to make Moira suspicious.  In my mind,  the
            room began to take on an  almost magical quality.   Entering
            the turbolift, and  considering that  I'd just  told her  my
            destination, I knew there was little point in repeating  it.
            The turbolift got underway and  in moments the doors  opened
            and I walked onto the bridge.
                 Commander Marek was  still in  the command  chair as  I
            arrived.  I walked  down to the command  centre.  He saw  my
            approach and rose from the chair.
                 "First official bridge shift.", he observed.
                 "Aye, sir.", I answered.   I heard the turbolift  doors
            open again as the replacement officers filed onto the bridge
            to take over from the senior staff.
                 "The bridge is yours, Lieutenant ...", Marek began, and
            then appended, "Commander.", as  his eyes gestured  skyward.
            Apparently it  was a  reminder that  although I  sat in  the
            chair, it was Moira who was  in command.  He, and the  other
            senior officers, then departed via the turbolift.
                 The other  officers  now beginning  their  shifts  were
            surprised to see  someone seated  in the  chair that  they'd
            recently become  accustomed  to seeing  empty  during  their
            shift.  I sensed a slight air of relief from them.  Somehow,
            the sight of someone, anyone, in the centre chair, no matter
            how incompetent, was a comfort to them.
                 I wonder how long that will last.

                                      *   *   *

                 Half way through  my first bridge  shift I was  already
            bored.  Admittedly it wasn't just  the boredom of this  job,
            but the collective boredom of the weeks of uselessness  I've
            been feeling since my posting to the Crazy Horse.
                 "Lieutenant", the officer at ops began, turning to face
            me.  I  didn't know her  name, and nor  did I recognize  her
            face, but before she could speak, I held up my hand to  stop
            her, and then pointed upwards to  the ceiling.  She took  my
            meaning, turned her eyes  skyward and continued,  "Commander
            Moira, I'm picking up something  strange on the short  range
            sensors."
                 "Confirmed, Commander.",  added the  tactical  officer,
            "Some kind of energy fluctuation."
                 "Put  it  on  screen.",   Moira  said  formally.     In
            actuality, the  tactical  officer  would  then  key  in  the
            command to the computer and it  would be Moira herself  that
            carried out the command, but she  still liked to go  through
            the routine.
                 I watched  as  the  main viewscreen  fluttered  for  an
            instant, but  then  ultimately  it  only  changed  from  one
            starfield to another, and that change was barely noticeable.
            "Magnify.", Moira commanded,  and at her  command, the  view
            changed again, and again that change was hard to discern.
                 "I don't see anything.", I commented lamely, but then I
            did see something, and so did the woman at ops.
                 "There!", she said, pointing to the upper left  corner.
            It was nothing more than a  momentary wavering of the  light
            from a few stars,  but everyone on the  bridge knew what  it
            meant.
                 "Shields up!",  I  ordered  instinctively,  and  not  a
            moment too soon.   A photon torpedo  appeared from no  where
            and exploded against the newly raised  shields.  I felt  the
            chair under me shake, and I knew that if I had been standing
            I probably would have  collapsed.  Not  from the impact  but
            from the surprise.   It didn't  occur to me  until later  on
            that the ship had fired while cloaked.
                 The surprise of the attack, however, was quickly turned
            to astonishment as the ship appeared before of our eyes.  It
            was huge.  In fact it was probably not much larger than  the
            Crazy Horse, but  fear has  this way  of magnifying  things.
            The ship was long and thin compared to a Galaxy class  ship.
            It was bluish in colour, and if it reminded me of  anything,
            it was of the fabled dragons from ages past on Earth.
                 I realized that all eyes on the bridge were focused  on
            me, as though they were waiting  for my orders.  I  couldn't
            believe that  I'd have  to remind  them again,  and in  this
            situation, that it was  Moira, not me,  that was in  charge.
            Whatever Commander Marek's motivation for putting me on  the
            bridge, I now had the ammunition  to force him to change  my
            assignment.  My presence was clearly disruptive, and if even
            one person is harmed by my  being here, I'm going to  insist
            that the Captain take punitive action against Marek.  I wish
            Moira would hurry up and take charge.
                 It was then that I realized why everyone was looking at
            me.  Moira wasn't taking command of the situation, and  that
            wasn't like  her.   Something must  be wrong.   "Moira?",  I
            inquired, and then repeated,  "Moira?  Computer,  respond.",
            but all to no avail.  "The program.", I thought aloud,  once
            I'd realized the problem.  I must get down there, I thought.
            Tapping my  combadge, I  ordered,  "Captain to  the  bridge,
            senior officers to the bridge."
                 "Communications our  out, sir.",  the tactical  officer
            told me.   I  hadn't even  noticed when  my combadge  hadn't
            registered the communicator.   I mentally  noted to be  more
            observant.  A second photon torpedo hit the shields, and the
            tactical officer reported, "Forward  shields at eighty  five
            percent."
                 To the officer at the science station I ordered, "Check
            the turbolifts.  If they're working  I want you to find  the
            Captain.    Tactical,   load  weapons  and   fire  at   your
            discretion.  Helm, begin evasives."
                 "Aye, sir.", the officers responded in near unison.  It
            was a nice sound to hear.  However, it was short lived as  I
            started hearing the  buzzing sound that  the computer  makes
            when it's not accepting commands.   Another torpedo hit  the
            shields.
                 Just before the officers could all report the  problems
            at once,  I put  up my  hands and  said, "I  know,  computer
            malfunctions."  Getting out of my chair, I strode around  to
            the tactical station.   If  there was  any way  to coax  the
            computer ... Moira ... to life, I had to find it.
                 "There's nothing I can do with these.", I said under my
            breath.  Sometimes dead is dead, and the computer  interface
            to the bridge was quite dead.   Information was making  it's
            way to the displays, but there  was nothing going the  other
            way.  Maybe there  was computer control to  the rest of  the
            ship, but there was no  way to tell from  here.  "I have  to
            get off  this bridge.",  I stated,  possibly louder  than  I
            intended.
                 "You can't, sir.", responded the tactical officer, "You
            can't leave the bridge in a crisis like this."
                 "Not when the turbolifts  aren't working.  Conn,  check
            the direct  link  to  the  battle  bridge.    Tactical,  the
            observation lounge.", I  commanded as I  walked towards  the
            ready room.  Neither the door to the ready room, nor the one
            to the turbolift beside it would open.  I could see the conn
            and tactical officers were having no better luck than I.   I
            pounded my fist once on the ready room door, just to relieve
            some tension.  It helped me,  but I don't think the rest  of
            the bridge crew were helped at all by the gesture.
                 I marched back up to the back of the bridge, pulled out
            the spare tools  that I knew  would be in  a drawer next  to
            Science II.  There was a laser cutter which I handed to  the
            tactical officer, and a tricorder which I took myself.
                 "I  want  you  to  cut  through  behind  this  station.
            There's an accessway behind it.", I told the officer,  "I'll
            see if I can remote access the turbolift controls with  this
            thing."
                 More torpedoes collided with the shields.  "Shields  at
            fifty percent.", the tactical officer observed.
                 "What are they doing?", I wondered  as I worked on  the
            tricorder, "That ship  looks like  it has  the firepower  to
            blow us to atoms.  They're toying with us for some reason."
                 As  two  more  torpedoes  hit  the  Crazy  Horse,   the
            turbolift doors opened.
                 "You did it!", exclaimed the science officer.
                 "Let's go.", I told her.
                 Stepping into  the  turbolift,  I  heard  the  tactical
            officer calling after me, "Sir, where are you going?  You're
            in command."
                 "Not anymore.  You are now.", I informed him.
                 "You can't do that!", he insisted.
                 "Maybe not, but I'm  doing it anyway.   They can  court
            martial me after I fix the damned computer."
                 I hit the control  to shut the door.   I could see  the
            tactical officer's  astonished  face as  the  doors  closed.
            "We've got no inertial controls, so  we're going to have  to
            take it a bit slow.   You might want to brace yourself  best
            as you can.", I explained to the science officer who  nodded
            her head in response and wedged herself into the door frame.
                 I held onto the turbolift  control panel with one  hand
            and used the other hand to  engage the jury rigged  controls
            on the tricorder.  Luckily,  the acceleration that threw  me
            to the top of  the turbolift was over  quickly, so I got  to
            plummet back  down  to  the  floor.    The  science  officer
            snickered at my choice of expletives.  I considered  getting
            up again, but decided to just  stay down and prepare  myself
            for the braking.
                 I stopped the turbolift at almost deck eight.  I had to
            give the science  officer a boost  to get her  out into  the
            corridor.  "Let the Captain know  what's going on.", I  told
            her, and then added, "And if  you see Commander Marek,  give
            him a punch in the head for me."
                 I could hear her laughing as I closed the doors.   This
            time, I used her method, more  or less, to wedge myself  in.
            I got out at  deck eleven.  I  had considered going all  the
            way to the main computer room, but I didn't want to go  that
            far.  Besides, I would probably have greater access from  my
            little safe room.  I felt  the ship shake from the force  of
            another torpedo.

                                      *   *   *

                 Of course  the first  thing I  checked was  the  little
            program I had  discovered earlier,  and sure  enough it  was
            inhibiting Moira from controlling the  ship.  It would  have
            taken far too long  to disable the program,  so I set  about
            routine control functions around it.   Moira would be  taken
            completely out of the  loop, but at  least we'd have  manual
            control.
                 The repairs  went  smoothly.   Unfortunately,  all  the
            controls had to be  tied into this room.   My safe room  had
            become the auxiliary control  room for the  Crazy Horse.   I
            brought up the  main display, aimed  the phasers, and  fired
            them at the attacking ship.

                                      *   *   *

                 "What the  hell  was  that?", shouted  the  Captain  as
            phaser fire lanced  out in front  of the  Crazy Horse,  "Who
            fired those phasers?"
                 Security chief Scott, whose job it normally is to  fire
            the phasers, checked the  readouts at the tactical  station.
            Surprised, she  reported,  "Captain, they  were  fired  from
            holodeck four."
                 Commander Marek, seated at the Captain's right,  gulped
            loudly.   The Captain  picked up  on that  immediately,  and
            demanded, "What do you know about this, Commander?"
                 "It's a training  scenario, Captain.", Marek  answered,
            "But it shouldn't be doing that.  I'll look into it."
                 "Yes, I think you'd better."

                                      *   *   *

                 Standing outside holodeck four, Marek ordered,  "Moira,
            end the simulation."
                 After a moment's delay, Moira answered, "I can't.  He's
            disabled my control of the holodecks.  Unbelievable."
                 "Is there an override?"
                 "Yes, but it requires the Captain's authority."
                 Marek  hit  his   combadge,  saying,  "Captain,   we're
            experiencing some technical difficulties down here.  We need
            you to restore control of the holodeck to Moira."
                 "Understood", came the Captain's  terse reply.  He  did
            not seem happy.
                 "Got it.", said  Moira.  The  holodeck doors opened  to
            reveal a very confused Dr. Roy standing in the middle of the
            room.
                 "What the ... ?", Roy asked Marek.
                 Marek   explained,   "Don't   worry,   Doctor.      The
            disorientation is normal.  I'll explain it all to you on the
            way to sickbay."

                                      *   *   *

                 Dr. Hedrick, who was on duty  when they brought in  Dr.
            Roy, listened  intently  as  Moira  discussed  the  holodeck
            program.
                 "The neural inhibitor field temporally suppresses  your
            memory enough to convince you that what you are experiencing
            is real.   It's  like  falling asleep  and  waking up  in  a
            duplicate world.  I just patch  in a few false memories  for
            you  to  make  the   program  seem  consistent  and   voila.
            Actually, I got the idea from you."
                 "This was my idea?"
                 Dr. Hedrick  pressed  a hypospray  against  Roy's  arm.
            "There you go, Doctor.", he said, "That should help you with
            your memory."
                 All of a  sudden, a look  of understanding crossed  Dr.
            Roy's face.  "Of course it was my idea."
                 Commander Marek, who'd  been leaning  against the  wall
            near the doorway, walked  over towards the examining  table.
            "So, how'd  you fire  the phasers  from the  holodeck?",  he
            asked.
                 "It's a skill,  like anything else.   You don't  expect
            the magician to reveal all his tricks, do you?"
                 Marek shook his head, and asked, "You ready to go  back
            to work?"
                 "Of course I am.  I  mean, it's not like anything  ever
            happens on the Crazy Horse."

                                       THE END