Ex Machina Read online

  “What kind of ‘grievances’ could they have?” McCoy asked incredulously. “Do they really want to go back to living in constant dread that a hunk of tin is going to fry their brains for saying the wrong thing?”

  “This isn’t just about the Oracle, Doctor. There are a lot of factions with a lot of different issues driving them. Like I said, the terrorists represent one extremist cult. Most Lorini don’t interpret things in quite the same way. And that includes the current high priestess, Rishala. She’s the one who represents the beliefs of the majority, not the terrorists.”

  “He is about to propose that Rishala can be negotiated with,” Soreth interrupted again. “And he is being illogical. Rishala has voiced her solidarity with the fanatics.”

  “She’s expressed support for their goal of overthrowing Natira, but that doesn’t mean she shares their reasons for wanting her gone, or their ideas about what to do afterward. And her faction hasn’t engaged in any actual violence. If anything, she’s been trying to keep things from getting too far out of hand. Maybe if we offer her an alternative to the militants, let her feel that we’re willing to listen to her, to work with her, then she’ll change her tune.”

  “Never,” Natira said. “Rishala is an avowed enemy of the state. She denounces me daily in her sermons.”

  “But she’s the most influential religious figure on this planet, Captain. And I believe she can be reasonable, if we’re willing to give her a chance.”

  Soreth lifted a scathing eyebrow. “Rishala is a devout believer in a fiction invented by her ancestors as a means of social regulation and mass deception. I would hardly consider that reasonable.”

  “That may be how it started out, but it’s been part of their lives for ten thousand years, and the People have given it their own meanings beyond what the ancient Fabrini may have intended.”

  “In either case, it is an invention, having no relation to reality.”

  “Well, whether you believe in its teachings or not, Soreth, it’s a powerful and pervasive cultural force, a focus for a people’s aspirations and values. And I don’t automatically assume it’s progress to give something like that up.”

  “Which is quite consistent with your pattern of allowing your youthful romanticism to interfere with your rational judgment.”

  “Well, maybe if you weren’t so rigid—”

  “Enough!” Natira snapped. “I have heard this argument too many times from you both. And my mind is not swayed. I will not legitimize Rishala by negotiating with her.”

  “With respect, Governess,” Kirk said, “it can’t hurt to try.”

  “No. Rishala cannot be reasoned with. She is driven solely by ambition and hate. She condemns me for deeds she claims I committed as high priestess, yet she has seized that very title for herself, as a platform for her venom.”

  Kirk studied her. “Well, clearly there’s no love lost between the two of you. But maybe if she were approached by a neutral party, she might be more receptive.”

  “No.”

  McCoy cleared his throat, and traded a meaningful look with Kirk: Let me try something. Kirk nodded fractionally. “Uhm… Natira… I think it’s worth the effort.” She stared at him, but remained quiet, listening. “I know it’s taking a chance… but…” He steeled himself and moved closer to her. “The Natira I remember didn’t hesitate to take a chance on people. Even a big, life-changing chance with someone she barely knew. Even knowing it would bring pain, and loss… she still seized that chance, accepted the risk, because she was open to the good it could bring. And when that Natira found out that the things she’d believed in weren’t really true, she resisted for a bit, but she found the courage to open her mind to new possibilities. And that’s… that’s something I always admired about her.”

  Kirk winced in sympathy for his friend. Bones was so guilty already, feeling he’d used Natira before, and now here he was deliberately playing on her affections. It would only make it harder to come clean with her when the time came.

  But in the bigger picture, McCoy was doing the right thing, using whatever means possible to work toward peace, toward saving lives. The surgeon hated seeing others in pain, but understood that sometimes he had to do a small harm to heal a greater one. Not that such rationalizations would help him sleep better. They never did for Kirk, anyway.

  In any case, McCoy’s entreaties proved effective. Natira softened, pondered for a moment, and said, “Very well, McCoy. As always you speak wisely. I must not close my mind to new possibilities, or I shall be no better than those who have placed the People in danger.”

  “Thank you, Natira,” McCoy said.

  “Yes, thank you, Governess.” Kirk turned to the sociologist. “Mr. Lindstrom, you seem to have considerable familiarity with the Lorini religious community. Do you suppose you could arrange a meeting between Rishala and myself?”

  “I’ll see what I can do, sir. I’m not that much of an expert—they still see me as an outsider—but I have some contacts I can try.”

  “Then it is settled,” Natira said in a commanding tone, as though it had been her idea all along. “Let us return. I have guest rooms prepared for you all.”

  “That’s very kind of you, but it’s not necessary,” Kirk said. “We can just beam back up to our ship.”

  “As you wish. But… McCoy, I would be grateful if you could remain for a time. I am curious to know how your studies of our medicine have proceeded in your time away.”

  Bones threw Kirk a look, but Kirk’s gaze told him, You got what you asked of her, now you owe her something in return. At least that was what he tried to convey; after three years apart, he wasn’t sure if they could still read each other as effortlessly as before. But the doctor squared his shoulders and told Natira, “Yes, I think I can manage that.”

  * * *

  Soreth of Vulcan would have been quick to point out, if the subject arose, that nostalgia was an illogical emotion. Yet after eighteen decades of life, it was sometimes natural enough to reflect on the changes which had occurred during that time, and to acknowledge that some of those changes had not been for the better.

  As he entered the Federation consulate—a quieter place now that its nonessential personnel had been beamed to the Enterprise for their protection—Soreth reflected that when he had been young, there had been an orderly system to the known universe. The Vulcans had maintained that order, bringing their guidance to less mature civilizations, keeping threats to those civilizations in check, and diligently sheltering those too primitive to handle knowledge of the greater universe. It had been a stable, rational way of doing things. But then the humans had unraveled all that. In their childish enthusiasm, they had barged out into the universe, disrupted the whole astropolitical landscape, and gotten embroiled in several wars. True, in the wake of those actions they’d played a central role in creating the Federation, which had turned out very well indeed—but only, Soreth was certain, because of the Vulcans’ choice to participate in the alliance and continue the peacekeeping and civilization-building activities they’d been engaged in all along.

  Yet somehow Starfleet had come to take over the lion’s share of those responsibilities, and Starfleet was so… human. Most Vulcans today had come to accept that. Keeping the peace sometimes required actions inconsistent with Surak’s pacifistic ideals, and if the humans were so insistent on doing the work, it spared the Vulcans from having to get their hands dirty. But Soreth believed that, whatever the moral compromises, the task should be undertaken by those most qualified to handle it. By handing the task off to humanity, Vulcans had chosen their own moral comfort over their responsibility to others, and that, Soreth was convinced, had been selfish and shortsighted. Humans meant well, but they were simply too immature.

  He was thus disappointed that Natira had called in the Enterprise. He felt that he and the governess had established a good working relationship based on mutual trust. She had always been quite receptive to his advice, and had thoroughly renounced the
superstitious follies of her past. She and Soreth had been working out a reasoned strategy for dealing with the unrest, an aggressive education campaign directed against the atavistic ideas that led the Lorini astray. And her security forces had been an adequate adjunct to that strategy, he was sure. But Natira was still an emotional being, and these attacks had frightened her into calling in Starfleet unnecessarily.

  After touring the sites of the recent incidents, Soreth had to admit it was not unreasonable to seek a stronger military presence. He just wasn’t sure about the choice of starships. James Kirk was as human as humans got, a known disruptive element, infamous for his reckless, impulsive tactics. And Spock… well, on the tour he had seemed perfectly controlled. But Soreth knew he had failed Kolinahr. Of course, Kolinahr was an advanced discipline that few Vulcans actually undertook, and fewer still succeeded in. But Spock’s failure had had an inevitable quality to it. Though any initiate’s reasons for pursuing the discipline were private, it was widely accepted that Spock had undertaken it in an attempt to purge his human half. His failure to do so was symbolic: what was innate could never be truly purged. Then again, Soreth thought, Spock had been at a double disadvantage. Not only was half of him human, but the other half was a melder.

  One of the changes which had come about over Soreth’s lifetime had been the mainstreaming of that minority of Vulcans with the innate ability to mind-meld, and a renewed openness about the telepathic procedures that Soreth had been raised to consider uncouth and perverted. Even nonmelders had the capacity for a more limited mind-touch, but to Soreth’s generation, such things were intended only to establish the mating bond, and otherwise were not used or spoken of. Vulcans were supposed to relate only on a rational plane, and mental communication, let alone the actual blending of minds, operated on a distastefully visceral level. It was an unsafe practice in the best of circumstances; melders risked compromising their identity, their privacy and their mental balance even if their partners had no deficit of skill or ethics. They could not help how they were born, but the responsible thing was to recognize the ability as a maladaptive aberration and avoid exercising it. Just because it was “natural” didn’t mean it should be embraced, any more than the “natural” emotions of hatred or rage should be.

  But in this as well, modern Vulcans had lost sight of their responsibilities. And Soreth believed it was again due to human influence. Their emotional openness had confounded the Vulcan sense of propriety, brought private and impolite things out into the open, and encouraged a breakdown of public morals. Now Vulcan’s own ambassador to the Federation was a melder—and he had married a human woman and borne a son with her. (True, Vulcan’s first ambassador to Earth had been Sarek’s grandfather, and may thus have been a melder as well, but at least he’d had the decency to keep quiet about it.)

  Indeed, it seemed the melders tended to be persistently involved with humans, as though they were kindred spirits. Those few Vulcans who had served on human ships always seemed to be melders, and had a pattern of letting themselves become far too influenced by human ways—going back to T’Pol, the first Vulcan to crew with humans. When Soreth had been briefly acquainted with her in his youth, she had been an admirable and proper Vulcan from whom the High Command expected great things. But her interaction with humans had led her to experiment with emotion, in ways that had changed her permanently and infamously. At least Spock had recognized the problem and made an effort to correct it, but that effort had failed, and now he was back among that human crew yet again. Soreth suspected the pattern would repeat itself; indeed, he’d heard rumors suggesting that it already had, and more. Not that Vulcans engaged in gossip, of course.

  On reaching his office, Soreth found a message awaiting him—from the Enterprise, of all places. It was from Spanla, a Vulcan nurse on the crew. Soreth raised an eyebrow, but dismissed the synchronicity as a meaningless coincidence and opened the message. The young Vulcan’s thin face appeared on the screen. “Peace and long life, Commissioner Soreth,” he began. “It is my judgment that there is something about Commander Spock of which you should be informed.”

  Soreth leaned forward, fascinated.

  * * *

  The first time Leonard McCoy had been alone with Natira, he’d believed he was dying. This time, he only wished he were dead. Anything to spare him from having to face her now. He’d gotten himself into this, but he had no idea what he would say, how he’d respond to… whatever she said or did.

  Natira’s residential suite, like her office, was spacious and open, with abundant windows through which an unfairly romantic sunset was visible. The decorations were eclectic, with little of evident Fabrini origin, except for a pedestal in familiar black marble, on which rested a copy of the Book of the People. McCoy was disquieted to see holos of himself, taken during his research visit here, adorning one wall near her bed. “You, um… you have a lovely place,” he said. “Quite a view.”

  Natira smiled fondly and moved toward him. “Ohh, McCoy. Leonard. You need not stand at such remove, we are alone! I have waited far too long for this. Come, sit.”

  She took his hands, and he let her lead him over to the couch. He sat down gingerly, and Natira leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder. She let out a long sigh, and simply stayed there, silent, for a long moment. “Ohh, this is such a relief,” she finally said. “Just the two of us… no duties, no crises, no ministers and functionaries clamoring for attention. For this little while, I can be at peace, like a little girl resting in her father’s arms.” McCoy was relaxing now, thinking this wasn’t so bad. Simple, chaste, platonic—he could do that. Except her hair smelled really good….

  “These have been such burdensome times. So many turn against me when I only seek to help them…. It pains me, dear Leonard, and makes me sad. For them, and for myself.”

  She looked up at him. “I must apologize, Leonard. When you were here before, I made too little time for you, feeling that the burdens of government did not allow such a luxury as companionship. But now I see they demand it, for no one can bear such weights alone.”

  Now she rose to face him more directly, and clasped his hands. “Besides, now I know something of what you felt when first we met. I too have had a brush with my mortality. And so I understand the urgency of seizing the opportunities we have. And more… I wish to ensure that I can leave a legacy, pass on a part of myself to ensure the vitality of Lorina, as I have encouraged the rest of the People to do.”

  Oh, God. “Natira… what are you saying?”

  She beamed. “That I am ready now. Ready to resume what once we started, and let nothing else stand between us.” She reached up and touched his right temple. “When Spock removed the Instrument from you, I believed it meant our marriage was over. Now I know that I was wrong—that the Instrument was a tool of tyranny, not a bond of love. Its loss meant nothing to what we shared. As far as I am concerned, Leonard McCoy, you are still my husband. And I wish you to be my children’s sire as well.”

  She moved forward to kiss him… but he rose convulsively and began to pace. “Leonard, what is wrong?”

  “Natira, I… Don’t misunderstand, I’m very flattered, but…” But what? How could he just come out and tell her, at this of all moments, that his feelings for her had not been genuine? That, although he thought kindly of her and wished her only happiness, he only wanted to return to his ship and his life?

  Except… was that his life? Back in Starfleet again, against his better judgment? Struggling to catch up with a sickbay and a crew that Chapel knew better anyway? It wasn’t as though he’d been exactly happy on the Enterprise. But what was the alternative? To go back to his lonely little cabin in the mountains? If he wanted that kind of a life, couldn’t he have it here, and have someone to keep him company to boot?

  Aw, who’m I kidding? The way he’d mishandled her affections before, how could he trust himself to do right by her now? Sooner or later, he always bungled his relationships, always ended up hurting them�
�Nancy, Jocelyn, Tonia. And Natira, though she didn’t know it yet. He could play along, let her keep her illusions, and wangle for himself what might be a life worth having. But it couldn’t work based on false pretenses. And children, again? He’d let Joanna down enough times. Sure, it could be a chance to start anew, avoid the old mistakes—but more likely it would just be a chance to make whole new ones.

  Natira stood, and faced him sternly. “Leonard, have you nothing to say? Surely you owe me some reply.”

  “I honestly don’t know what to say, Natira. I do think you’re a remarkable woman. And you were there for me at a time when I needed comfort…. I’ll always be grateful to you for that. But…” It’s not the crime, it’s the cover-up. Just get it over with. “But that’s why I owe it to you to be honest. Natira, when we met… I wasn’t myself. I’d just received a terrible shock, I wasn’t thinking clearly. When you offered me a… a purpose for the life I had left, I jumped at it, because I had nothing left to lose. But it was the act of a desperate man, Natira… not a man in love.”

  “I see.” Her gaze had grown cold. “I understand now. Why you left. Not only the first time, but the second. I was never anything real to you—you simply used me as a… a distraction and then tossed me aside, like a cheap harlot. And now you use me again, to get your captain his meeting with Rishala, only to toss me aside again!”

  “No, that’s not what I’m saying. I just… I wanted to be honest with you, before we… before we can figure out what to do next.”

  “It is quite clear to me what to do next. Go, McCoy! Return to your ship and do not come back.”

  “But I—” He broke off, knowing there was nothing more he could say. He could see how hurt she was beneath her anger. She’d made herself vulnerable to him, and he’d chosen that moment to deliver his blow. She had every right to feel betrayed, and right now he had no right to stand in her presence. So he lowered his head and raised his wrist communicator. “McCoy to Enterprise. One to beam up, these coordinates.” He’d never welcomed the sensation of beaming quite so much.