Chapter Text
Residence and laboratory of Dr. Neil Abbott
Alert, Nunavut
Three weeks later
Maren hugged herself against the chill as she climbed the few steps up to Neil’s door and buzzed the intercom. It was a comparatively balmy -18 C today, but that was still way colder than she liked it. At least this time, she was dressed the part, in thick cold-weather gear with a hood that closed around her face, leaving little more than her green eyes exposed to the cold.
“I’ll be right there,” came the now-familiar voice over the speaker. Maren couldn’t help but smile.
The door slid open, and Neil blinked rapidly in surprise. “Miss O’Connor?”
Maren loosened her hood to let him see her face, and grinned as she saw his features melt into a relieved expression at the sight of her smooth, pale, lightly freckled skin. “All better,” she told him, still smiling. “I was cleared for regular activity a week ago. I would have called you sooner, but I was busy with the inquiry. I just came to say thank you. I had some extra transporter credits, and it just felt like the right thing to do to come see you in person. I mean, you saved my life.”
“It was nothing. Please, come in,” Neil said, motioning for her to enter the lab. Maren gladly took him up on the opportunity to get out of the cold.
As she stepped inside, the memories of the night she’d last been there burned in the back of her mind, but she quickly doused the flames. She was okay now. No matter how terrible the test had been, she’d passed it. Her parents were pissed, and Schmidt was in danger of losing his job, but she was here, and alive, and ultimately no worse for the wear, thanks to The Doctor’s excellent care at Starfleet Medical … and thanks to Neil.
She pulled an isochip out of her coat pocket and handed it to him. “I brought you something,” she told him. “A gift, of sorts. You can take it or leave it.” She wasn’t entirely sure he would want the gift, but she had given a lot of thought to what she would have wanted if Icheb hadn’t made it through his test, and more than anything, she would have wanted access to his personal logs – particularly the ones he’d marked ‘private.’ As next of kin, Neil would have received Caris’s standard personal logs, but not the private, passcode-protected ones.
Neil looked at the chip curiously. “What’s this?”
“I hacked into Caris’s old files and downloaded her private logs,” Maren explained. Neil’s eyes widened in surprise. “Don’t worry, I didn’t listen to them,” she added quickly. “I have no idea what’s in them. And maybe it’s been so long you just want to let it go, and that’s fine. But I know if it was me, and I lost Icheb, I’d want this piece of him. I’d want the chance to get to know him even better than I did in life.”
Neil’s eyes filled with tears as he silently took the chip and closed it in his hand. “Thank you,” he said, hoarsely. He cleared his throat and blinked back the tears. “You could get in a lot of trouble for this, you know.”
Maren smirked slightly. “Only if they catch me,” she said. “And I don’t think they will.” She’d hacked into classified personnel documents dozens of times over the past four years, and most of them were a hell of a lot more sensitive than this one. It was extremely unlikely Starfleet would notice or care about the intrusion, but, as always, she’d meticulously covered her steps just in case.
Neil looked at her with a bemused expression. “You know, there’s a fine line between confidence and hubris,” he told her. “Don’t wind up like Icarus.”
Maren got the reference. The ancient myth about the boy who flew too close to the sun with the wings of wax his father gave him. It hadn’t ended well. “I’ll try to be careful,” she promised Neil, with a small smile.
Neil shook his head, looking a bit unnerved by the gift, but also profoundly grateful. Carefully – almost reverently – he slipped the isochip into his pants pocket. “So, the inquiry,” he said. “They called to question me a couple of times, but I haven’t heard much more. Just how much trouble is Lew in?”
Maren shrugged. “I don’t know,” she said. “I know they’re not happy with him. I think it was the weather control thing that pushed them over the edge. You’re not supposed to tamper with that unless the benefits outweigh the impact. Screwing with one cadet apparently doesn’t qualify.”
“When will you know the outcome?” Neil asked.
“This afternoon,” Maren replied. “I have to be back at the Academy by 1400 hours for the final verdict.”
Neil nodded thoughtfully, his face unreadable. Maren couldn’t tell if he was hoping for the worst for Schmidt, or just curious what would become of his old friend.
“I can let you know what happens if you like,” she told him.
Neil shook his head. “You know, it’s been a while since I’ve been to San Francisco,” he said. “I might just take an afternoon trip.”
****
There were far more people in the room than Maren had expected. It seemed more than a few other Starfleet Academy students and their families were interested to see what became of the legendary Commander Lewellyn Schmidt. He was sitting at a long table facing the disciplinary commission, and his face was being projected onto two large screens on either side of the room. He looked miserable but stoic, and Maren almost felt sorry for him.
Beside her, Icheb slipped his hand into hers and squeezed it. He’d gotten clearance from B’Elanna to take a shuttle to Earth for the final hearing, with explicit instructions to tell Schmidt exactly what B’Elanna thought of him – instructions that Maren was quite certain Icheb had no intention of carrying out. She suspected B’Elanna knew that just as well as she did, but had simply wanted to get her feelings off her chest.
Maren squeezed his hand back and glanced over at him. He looked troubled, but she couldn’t pinpoint what was bothering him. Usually, she could read him like a book, but today he was oddly quiet, even for him. She had no idea what was happening in his overactive mind.
Gently, she nudged him. “You okay?” she whispered.
He glanced down at her and nodded. His expression changed slightly – there was just a hint of a reassuring smile in his eyes – but still, he said nothing. Maren knew better than to push him. He’d talk when he was ready.
She returned her attention to the front of the room, where the inquiry panel was just filing in. Admiral T’Lott, the Academy commandant, was presiding. Maren’s advisor, Professor O’Brien was up there, along with a number of other faculty and administrators who made up the inquiry board, most of whom she didn’t know very well.
She and Icheb were seated near the front of the gallery, since it was her survival test that had spurred the inquiry. She craned her neck to look behind her, to see if she could spot her parents in the crowd. Icheb had arranged for them to transport in for the day, and she was looking forward to showing them that she was back to full health. The last time they had seen her, she had been at Starfleet Medical with a face full of scars and damaged lungs that refused to keep her oxygen levels up when she exerted herself too much. They had been extremely concerned, but she had insisted they go home after one interminable day dealing with her mother Elise’s overdramatic worrying and a surprise visit from Seven that had been awkward, at best.
She couldn’t find them in the crowd, but she did see Neil, standing at the back of the room, leaning against the smooth stone wall. She also spotted Tom Paris – B’Elanna hadn’t been able to get away from work for the day, but Tom had flown Icheb in. He was sitting next to Seven and The Doctor, and the three of them appeared to be deep in some sort of discussion.
She turned back around in her seat just in time to see Admiral T’Lott reach out and touch the console on the long, curved podium. An artificial chime sounded loudly throughout the chamber. “The hearing will now come to order,” the Bolian announced, in his notoriously thunderous baritone. The room, previously noisy with conversation, settled into quiet.
“We are here today to announce the findings of the special inquiry into the events leading to the injury of Cadet First Class Maren O’Connor, with particular emphasis on the conduct of Commander Lewellyn Schmidt,” said T’Lott. “As most of you know, Cadet O’Connor sustained life-threatening injuries requiring extensive treatment at Starfleet Medical during her survival test. The inquiry board has spent the past two weeks conducting interviews with the numerous individuals involved in designing Cadet O’Connor’s test in order to determine whether Starfleet safety protocols were breached, and if not, whether those safety protocols need to be updated.” The enormous Bolian glanced down at a PADD and looked up again, straight at Commander Schmidt. “Commander Schmidt, please rise,” he said. Then he squinted out at the crowd. “Cadet O’Connor, please come forward as well.”
Maren swallowed hard. She wasn’t sure why she hadn’t expected to be called up front, but it was a surprise all the same. With a nervous glance at Icheb, she stood up and did as she was told, edging her way over to the aisle and walking toward the dais until she was standing side-by-side with Schmidt, just a couple of meters apart.
“Cadet,” T’Lott addressed her, “the inquiry board has found that in large part, your injuries were caused by your own failure to recognize the danger of your situation and activate your emergency beacon.” Maren nodded. She’d heard that lecture more times than she could count over the past three weeks. “However, your responsibility is mitigated by the fact that Commander Schmidt used artificial means to create a scenario in which it would be impossible for you to survive, and blocked you from accessing information that would have been available to other cadets, which would have allowed you to make a more fully-informed decision about your situation. We find that unacceptable.”
Maren stared straight ahead and tried not to fidget. She didn’t dare glance over at Schmidt, whom she was fairly certain had to be plotting her murder at this very moment.
“Additionally, despite your unorthodox and needlessly risky approach to the test, you did manage to survive it,” T’Lott continued. “For that, you are to be congratulated. With that said, your passage of the test came at significant cost to the Federation. For that reason, the disciplinary board has decided to issue you 35 demerits. I suggest you behave yourself until graduation.”
Maren drew in her breath and nodded. “Yes, sir,” she said. 35 demerits. Add that to the ten she’d received for breaking the Kobayashi Maru simulator, the three she’d received the night she and Icheb had broken into the Observatory after hours, and the two she’d gotten when she’d been caught breaking curfew plebe year, and that made 50. At 60, you were kicked out.
Luckily, with Icheb off-world, all she really did anymore was study. The likelihood of any further run-ins with the disciplinary board were pretty slim. She breathed a small sigh of relief.
“Commander Schmidt,” T’Lott said, his booming voice drawing Maren immediately out of her thoughts. This time, she couldn’t stop herself from glancing over at Schmidt. For someone she was pretty sure was about to face the Starfleet equivalent of a 20th-century firing squad, he looked surprisingly nonplussed, almost as if he was just calmly waiting to discover his fate, but didn’t much care what it was.
“During the course of their investigation, the inquiry board found several anomalies with regard to Cadet O’Connor’s test,” T’Lott said. “You admitted to communicating orders to Earth Weather Control without express authorization by the President, and reprogramming the cadet’s escape pod to lock her out of the maintenance systems. You testified that this was necessary due to the cadet’s prior history of using her prodigious engineering skills to her advantage to defeat previous scenarios. The inquiry board disagrees.”
Beside her, Schmidt frowned, but otherwise gave no reaction.
“While certain members of the inquiry board concur that Cadet O’Connor’s propensity to program her way out of any situation is cause for some concern, her engineering skill is her greatest strength as a cadet and future Starfleet officer,” T’Lott continued. “Indeed, the cadet has already proven her worth to Starfleet through her work on the slipstream drive project, for which she was awarded the Daystrom Prize. To intentionally deny her the ability to use the single greatest resource at her disposal is a step that you have not taken with regard to any other cadet the inquiry board is aware of in your eight years of service as director of the survival testing program.”
“Additionally, during the course of the inquiry board’s investigation, certain ethical questions came up. You brought in an outside programmer to reprogram Cadet O’Connor’s pod, knowing that the programmer in question shares a close personal relationship with the cadet and has for some years. Multiple witnesses have testified that when that programmer told you he felt his involvement was a conflict of interest, you told him to consider it a post-academy psych test.”
At that, a few murmurs went through the crowd. On the monitors behind the dais, Maren could see expressions of surprise and disapproval on a number of faces directly behind Schmidt and herself.
“As you know, such a test does not exist unless expressly ordered by an officer’s commanding officer or CMO,” T’Lott said. “In this case, no such test was ordered, nor has the programmer’s psychological stability been called into question at any time. Put succinctly, Commander, you were out of line.”
By now, Schmidt looked uncomfortable. He shifted on his feet almost imperceptibly, looking as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Although Maren was standing right beside him, she continued watching him on the monitors behind the dais, not wanting to turn her head in his direction, lest he return her gaze. She had the uneasy feeling she was watching the end of a man’s career, and that ultimately, it was all her fault. After all – as everyone kept reminding her – she could have just punched out.
“Before the inquiry board issues its final declaration, you will be given a chance to speak for yourself,” T’Lott told Schmidt. “This isn’t your first time before the board, so you know the procedure. You have five minutes. The inquiry board will then briefly break to consider your words and, if necessary, amend their judgment. You may begin now.”
Finally, Maren did look over at Schmidt. For a man his age, he looked older than he should. Much of his dark hair had already gone white, giving him a salt-and-pepper look that might have been attractive had his face not looked so haggard. Quite simply, the man looked exhausted.
With a heavy sigh, Schmidt reached out and triggered the microphone on the long desk. For a long moment, he was silent. Then he turned to face Maren.
“Cadet O’Connor, congratulations on your achievement and impending graduation,” he said. “I have no doubt you will make a fine Starfleet officer, and I am sincerely glad you have not suffered lasting damage from your exposure to the elements.”
Maren’s cheeks burned at the unexpected words of praise. “Thank you, sir,” she murmured, just loudly enough for him to hear, but not so loudly that the microphone picked it up and broadcast her voice throughout the massive chamber.
Schmidt turned back to the panel. “Sirs, I won’t be needing five minutes. I’m going to use this time to announce my resignation, effective immediately.”
A gasp went through the crowd, including Maren, who turned to look at Schmidt, wide-eyed. He glanced at her briefly before turning back to the dais, where T’Lott, O’Brien and the inquiry board looked every bit as stunned as she felt.
“I want to say that it has truly been a pleasure to serve the Federation these last twenty years,” said Schmidt. He glanced over at Maren. “And truly, there are no hard feelings, Cadet. I honestly wish you the best in the future.” There was a kind of sadness to his voice as he said the words, along with a note of apprehension, even worry. Maren got the distinct impression that although she had passed the test in Starfleet’s eyes, in Schmidt’s, she had failed it. Maybe Icheb was right about the whole ‘knowing when to quit’ thing. Either way, she had feeling that while Schmidt sincerely wished her the best, he was also expecting the worst. “I yield my time,” he finished, looking back up at the panel.
“Resignations must be submitted in writing,” T’Lott protested, looking stern.
“It’s already in your inbox, sir,” Schmidt replied. “Thumbprinted and witnessed. I apologize for the poor timing, but I think we can all agree it’s time for me to go. I’ve provided a list of possible replacements to head up the testing program.”
T’Lott looked like he wanted to protest, but this obviously wasn’t the place to do it. Behind Maren, the crowd was whispering furiously to each other, the din growing louder with every passing second.
“Order!” shouted T’Lott, and the room went almost silent. The only sound was T’Lott’s voice reverberating off the polished stone walls.
“Obviously, this hearing is adjourned,” the Commandant said. “Schmidt, meet me in my office in fifteen minutes,” he added, with a stern look down at the newly-resigned former officer.
Maren turned to Schmidt in disbelief. All around them, people were milling around, filing out of the room, staring at them, talking, shouting, but somehow she filtered it all out. “Why did you do that?” she asked, her voice coming out in a breathless gasp.
Schmidt met her gaze, his lips set in a grim line, somewhere between a grimace and a smile. “Sometimes you have to know when to quit,” he said.
The words pierced Maren like a phaser beam. “That’s all it ever was, wasn’t it?” she asked. “Icheb told me he thought you were trying to teach us that. Why didn’t you just tell them?”
“Because I failed my own test,” he replied, with a rueful half-smile. “I let my emotions get in the way of my duty. I know you think I set you up for revenge, O’Connor, but that wasn’t it. Believe it or not, I admire you.”
Maren’s jaw dropped open. “What?” she asked. Surely she had heard him incorrectly.
“Come on, O’Connor. Not everyone – hell, not anyone but you – can say they won the Daystrom at 20. And that exploit you pulled on the Kobayashi Maru was inspired. But your single-mindedness makes you a danger to yourself and others. What happened to you during the test was exactly the scenario I was trying to avoid.” He sighed heavily, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. It was a bit warm here under the bright dais lights, Maren realized.
“I knew a girl like you once,” Schmidt said, after a moment’s silence. “Whip-smart, resourceful, and determined. Too determined for her own good, it turned out. She was more afraid of failure than she was of death, so death caught up to her first. She was only thirty. Sure, there’s a new element on the periodic table now, thanks to her tenacity, but everyone who knew her would rather have her alive today, rather than just a footnote in a chemistry book. I’ve been watching your career since you won the Daystrom, O’Connor, and I am genuinely worried that you will turn out the same way. The difference is, when you do, it’s incredibly likely that you’re going to take a lot of innocent people with you.”
“I don’t understand,” Maren said, frowning. “I would never knowingly put another person’s life at risk.”
“And that’s part of the problem,” Schmidt snapped. “You have a remarkable inability to see the bigger picture. You can hyperfocus on a problem of incredible magnitude and solve it with ease, but you don’t think about the consequences down the line. Sometimes putting someone else’s life at risk is called for. Sometimes it’s the right thing to do.”
He sighed again, and locked his eyes on hers. “You haven’t run into your impossible scenario yet, O’Connor, but when you do, I want you to remember this day, and everything that led up to it,” he said, in grave tones. “Life is not a simulation you can tweak with some exotic code – especially life in Starfleet. Space is dark, cold, airless, and dangerous as hell. Quite frankly, it makes your survival test look like a walk through Golden Gate Park on a summer’s day.”
Maren blanched at that, but she knew, deep down, he was telling her the truth. She racked her brain for something to say, but before she could open her mouth, she was interrupted by another voice.
“I think you’ve made your point, Lew.” Maren turned in surprise to see Neil and Icheb standing next to them. She’d been so absorbed in her conversation with Schmidt that she hadn’t noticed them come up. A quick glance around the rest of the room revealed that it had mostly emptied. Only her parents, Seven, Tom and the Doctor remained, standing at the rear of the chamber, making what she assumed was the universe’s most awkward small talk. She understood completely why Icheb wasn’t up there with them.
“Neil,” Schmidt acknowledged the scientist, with a curt nod. “Come to see my downfall?” he added, wryly.
Neil shook his head. “No, Lew. I came to bury the hatchet.”
Schmidt raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. “Three weeks ago you were ready to destroy me.”
“That was then,” Neil said. “This is now. Look, Caris has been gone a long time. It’s time we both moved on, isn’t it? That’s what you’ve been lecturing the girl about, right? Knowing when to quit? Well, I’m quitting. I quit blaming you. I quit hating you.”
Schmidt stared silently at Neil, still looking disbelieving. Neil sighed. “Come on, Lew. If even half of what you just said to Maren is the truth, then you can’t be the bastard I thought you were. If all of this – ” he gestured around at the grand empty chamber – “was about preventing her from becoming another Caris, well, it’s not the way I would have done it, but it proves you’re not heartless. It proves you gave a damn about her death.”
“Damn it, Neil, there wasn’t a moment during the last twelve years I didn’t think about it,” Schmidt said, his voice suddenly choked with emotion. “Don’t think for a minute that I wouldn’t have traded my life for hers if I could have. I still would. I told you that three weeks ago.”
Neil nodded silently, then slowly extended his hand for Schmidt to shake. Schmidt took it, looking like he might burst into tears at any moment.
“You’re late,” Neil said, as the two men shook hands. “That big Bolian admiral gave you fifteen minutes, remember? I wouldn’t want to piss him off.”
“He’s not my boss anymore,” Schmidt pointed out, with a wry smile.
“Then you should have time for a drink after he reams you out,” Neil replied. “Seeing as how you’re unemployed now, the first round is on me. Come on, I’ll walk over with you.”
Schmidt stared at Neil for a long moment, then finally nodded. “I think I’d like that very much,” he said. “Thank you.”
The two men excused themselves, wishing Maren and Icheb good luck as they departed. As they walked away, the couple exchanged a long, bewildered look. “What just happened?” Maren asked Icheb.
Her boyfriend shook his head as he gazed after Neil and Schmidt. “I think you broke the survival test,” he said. “However, I believe you may have inadvertently repaired something much more important.”
Maren stared after the two men as they exited the chamber. She had a lot of thinking to do. But first, there were more pressing matters to attend to. She took Icheb by the hand and headed toward the rear of the hall, where Tom and The Doctor were holding court. “Come on,” she said, tugging Icheb along. “Let’s go rescue Seven and my parents.”