Ex Machina Read online

  “The skin has worn away,” Spring Rain observed after a time;

  “Dry bone

  Lies bare, the body echoing

  With long-stilled cries for water.”

  Spock frowned. “Apologies, Ms. Spring Rain, could you rephrase that?”

  She struggled to pitch it more toward fact and less toward feeling. “There was more water once,” she said as simply as she could, letting air through only one of her forehead vents so that she would sing only one layer of meaning. It felt unnatural.

  “Ah. Yes, the surface of Yonada does resemble a once-lush terrain which has become excessively dehydrated. However, given that the surface of Fabrina itself was presumably like this when Yonada was constructed, this appearance may have been artificially created.”

  “Couldn’t it have started out with more water and life, and gradually dried out through outgassing?” asked Sara Bowring, a yellow-haired human female from Life Sciences.

  “It is possible,” Spock said, “but that would conflict with the prevailing theory that the builders wished its inhabitants to believe they had never left the homeworld. If that model is correct—and at this point we have no strong evidence to the contrary—then it is unlikely that they would have given it such radically different conditions from Fabrina itself.”

  “But how did they move the people there without telling them?” Uuvu’ it asked. “How did they explain the change in gravity?”

  “The change in gravity was minor, as far as we can tell from the information in the probes. It would have been barely within the perceptual threshold. As for your first question, there are many possibilities, none of which has sufficient evidentiary support to merit singling out for discussion. But clearly the ancient Fabrini exercised great ingenuity—however deceptive it may have been—in preserving a piece of their world and their civilization, and succeeded in solving far greater problems than this.”

  Spring Rain took his point. Truly it was an extraordinary achievement. Whatever their origins, the Fabrini of ten millennia ago had managed, using only pre-warp technology, to make an extraordinary journey across space so that their race and memory could survive the death of their star system. It reminded Spring Rain of how vulnerable any one world was, how imperative it was to claim the stars if a species wished to survive. For the good of her world, she had to succeed here in Starfleet, and she had to inspire others, male and female both, to follow her here. And if the people of Yonada had been able to survive against such impossible odds, then surely she could handle being a little thirsty.

  Though she could still kill for a good wallow in the mud.

  * * *

  Nyota Uhura soared through the air of the variable-gravity gym, gliding and swooping around its perpendicular bars with the grace of a Mark IV Peregrine interceptor evading enemy fire.

  Careful, Hikaru, Sulu thought to himself. When you look at a beautiful woman in motion and think about ships, that’s when you know you need a vacation. Though thinking about Uhura’s beauty wasn’t a road he was comfortable going down either, given his luck with workplace romances. He satisfied himself with a clinical appraisal of her gymnastic form. She maneuvered herself well, gauging forces and distances, though there were a few missteps that suggested she wasn’t experienced with this gravity level. But she was so focused that she didn’t notice him watching—or didn’t choose to. A communications officer who routinely had a dozen voices yammering in her ear at once needed that kind of focus.

  Once she settled herself on a perch and took a moment to rest, Sulu applauded, and launched himself with just enough force to alight on a bar near her. She glared at him, and he belatedly realized he should have made some effort to look as if he’d been making some effort. “This is an unusual gravity,” he said. “Most people pick Mars, Luna, Vulcan, or freefall. What is this, Pluto level? Point oh six?”

  Uhura nodded. “I wanted to challenge myself. It’s low enough that it’s hard to get a sense of up and down at all, but if you let yourself think it’s freefall you get in trouble. It’s surprising how tough it can be.”

  “You’d hardly know from watching,” Sulu said.

  “That’s sweet of you to say, Hikaru, but I’m exhausted.” She just perched and breathed deeply for a moment. “Still, the low gravity feels very relaxing when you’re not trying to move through it. I just wish the blood flow to my sinuses didn’t make my voice more nasal.” Sulu nodded absently, shared in the quiet for a moment. “So how are things on the bridge?”

  “Quiet,” he replied. “We’re past the Klingon border now, and no sign of trouble.”

  “Good.”

  There was more silence, and finally Sulu asked, “So how do you think the new crew’s settling in?”

  “Oh, they’re doing fine. Everyone’s excited—a good-as-new ship, a new mission. And the alien crew members are meshing pretty well so far. Not many tensions.” She smirked. “Although I did have to break up a spat between a Caitian and an Eeiauoan yesterday.”

  “What was it about?”

  “Some territorial thing. I rearranged their duty shifts, and had them groom and make up.”

  “Okay. So it wasn’t…”

  “Wasn’t what?”

  “Well,” Sulu said, “I’ve heard people talk. Ensign Zaand, mainly, but a lot of others too.”

  “Ahh. You mean doubts about Captain Kirk. Whether he was right to take command or not.”

  “That’s it. I mean, he pulled us through, that should’ve proved it. But a lot of people…”

  “A lot of people haven’t served with Captain Kirk as long as we have. And a lot of them were very loyal to Captain Decker. He chose them personally, tried to establish relationships with as many of them as he could. They haven’t had the opportunity to get to know Captain Kirk yet.”

  Sulu absorbed her words. “What about you? I know you worked closely with Decker.” Sulu hadn’t been around for that; although he, like Chekov and others, had kept himself on Earth so he’d be available for reassignment to the Enterprise, he’d spent his time working as a test pilot for prototype small craft. He and Pavel had only been assigned to the Enterprise a couple of hours before Kirk had taken over; apparently Admiral Nogura himself had sent out orders to reassemble as much of the old command crew as possible for the V’Ger mission, even before he’d approved Kirk’s transfer of command. But Uhura had been part of Decker’s handpicked senior staff, and had played an active role in recruiting many of the nonhumans in the crew. “I hear he even considered you for first officer.”

  Uhura didn’t confirm or deny it. “So do I think he should’ve stayed in command? Hikaru, you were on the bridge that day, you heard what I said to Zaand.”

  Sulu chuckled. “You sure chewed him out, all right. But I was a bit surprised. Whenever you talked about Decker, you seemed to think the world of him.”

  Her dark, elegant eyes met his. “I did. There was a lot more to Will Decker than met the eye. He was a real Renaissance man, a man of great imagination. He had big ideas, and he worked hard to make them real. Yet he didn’t lose sight of the people he worked with. He was the kind of commander who really forms a bond with his crew, treats them like family.” She paused. “But he was young, and he’d never commanded a ship before. I know he would’ve made a great captain someday… if his path hadn’t taken him… elsewhere. But when it came down to the fate of the Earth— then I’d pick James T. Kirk every time.”

  “Me too,” Sulu said. “So… does that mean you’ll stay with the ship? After the shakedown ends… assuming they extend the shakedown into a full five-year tour?”

  “Of course. I have a lot invested in this crew.” She studied him. “And you? Are you planning to stay with the Enterprise?”

  Sulu didn’t answer right away. Restlessly, he pushed off his perch and let himself drift in a slow arc. “I’m not sure yet. I don’t know if I want to go back to being a helmsman again. I mean… I’ve done that. And I really enjoy test piloting… though I don’t know i
f that’s something I want to do indefinitely either.”

  Uhura rotated herself to watch as he drifted lazily downward, catching himself and pushing off into another arc. “So what are your long-term goals, Hikaru? Just do whatever catches your fancy for a while, then find something else?”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “I don’t think you’ll ever get your own command that way, honey.”

  He looked at her, thought a moment, then arced his way to the perch next to hers. “To tell you the truth, Nyota, I don’t know if I’m interested in command. I tell people that I want my own ship someday—they expect it, since I took command training. But—just between you, me, and the perpendicular bars—the only reason I took command training was, well, the same reason I try everything else.”

  She smiled. “To see if you can.” Sulu nodded. “And what’s the answer, usually, when you try these things? Yes or no?”

  “Usually yes,” he said with a shrug.

  “And don’t you think someone who can do all those things would make a good captain? Don’t you think maybe it’s a waste of potential if he doesn’t even try?”

  He hadn’t thought about it that way before. “Maybe,” he granted. “But I just don’t know if it’s right for me.”

  Uhura looked him over, then pushed off and arced her way to the exit, pirouetting to face him as her feet touched gently down. “And what makes you think the decision is about you?”

  * * *

  Most people, upon seeing Reiko Onami’s delicate Asian features and diminutive frame, wouldn’t normally envision her facing down a two-meter carnivore with talons and fangs. But it would never have occurred to Reiko not to. “Hrrii’ush, you have got to understand that there are rules on this ship!”

  The Betelgeusian snarled (more than usual) with his eating mouth while his speaking mouth fluted his response. “I know about ship rules!” Uuvu’ it insisted. “I would never endanger any ship or its crew! I would never have lived this long if I were so careless.”

  “I know that. But ships aren’t just about machines and ecosystems, are they? What about the social environment? Don’t you care about maintaining that?”

  Uuvu’ it quieted a bit in response. “It was just a friendly wager.”

  “Invading a locker room? With a videocorder?!”

  “Chavi’rru and I were arguing about which was stronger, human or Saurian nudity taboos. He dared me to test it. I can’t turn down a dare!” he said as though it were a law of nature. “And it was fun to see their reactions.”

  “I don’t think Lieutenant Chekov found it much fun.”

  “Which proved my point!”

  Reiko glared affectionately. She was glad that he was starting to bond with the other ’Geusians on board, beginning to move past the usual inter-pack suspicion, but she had to encourage him and the others to find less disruptive ways of interacting. “What I don’t get is, if you wanted to test taboos, why not do it with the opposite sex?”

  He let out a chirp that corresponded to a shrug. “I figured species difference would count more than sex difference. You think it wouldn’t? Hmm, I’ll have to test that next.”

  “No, you won’t! You’re in enough trouble as it is! Look, I understand how restless you can get. I know the available rec facilities are a bit spare by your standards.” Most beings would consider the Enterprise’s rec deck downright extravagant. But ’Geusians were a race of pack hunters living out their lives on ships and space stations. Some of the larger stations had hunting preserves, but slots were limited. Sometimes they went hunting on planets without sentient life, but those weren’t easy to find. For the most part, they had to sublimate their hunting drive through intense, aggressive sports and gaming. The alternative was constant warfare—though sometimes ’Geusian games didn’t seem that far removed from combat. “But you’ve got to find more appropriate outlets. No more testing people’s taboos. No more practical jokes with the gravity system. And no more attempts to bungee jump down a turboshaft.”

  “Well, it was either that or the warp shaft!”

  Reiko glared. “Look—next time you feel the urge, just go blast stuff in the phaser range.”

  “Too easy. No danger.”

  “Hrrii’ush, you keep going like this, you’ll end up with plenty of people who’ll be glad to shoot back. And I’m on the verge of being one of them.”

  “You promise?”

  Reiko growled in frustration. “Just get out of here. I’ll see you next week.”

  Uuvu’ it wasted no time in haring off to whatever duty or mischief he had next. Reiko sighed, wondering what she was going to do about him. Knack for interspecies understanding, my ass, she thought. Sure, growing up on Nelgha, she’d had to learn how to read nonhuman psyches. How else to survive when you and your parents were the only humans in the whole sector, without a Federation to back you up if you wanted to live by human rules and customs? When survival required holding your own amid the trading and scheming of dozens of different species? To her parents, it had been immersion anthropology in its purest state; to Reiko, it had been the only life she knew, and like any child, she’d grown up thinking it was normal.

  But even with all her experience, even with all the xenopsych theory and abstract understanding in the universe, some beings were just plain aggravating—even when you liked them. Reiko had liked almost every alien she’d ever met; even the scoundrels and brutes had shown some endearing qualities when she looked at them right. It was only when she’d come to Earth that she’d first found it difficult to relate to other people. Other humans.

  Reiko ran her fingers through her short, backswept hair, shook her head to clear it, and headed out of her office, making her way through the sickbay complex to check in with Christine. She found her and Dr. McCoy in the examination room, working together on the crew physicals to speed up the pace. R’trikahi, the Saurian engineer, was just finishing up. “Now, you remember to use those eyedrops twice a day,” McCoy was lecturing her. “And until your eyes are ready for the contact lenses, you keep those sunglasses on! I don’t care how they make you look—you won’t care about that anyway if you go blind!” R’trikahi bowed in thanks and left. McCoy shook his head. “Saurians. Strong as an ox, can breathe almost anything, but shine a bright light and they’re helpless. Don’t know why she and her mate don’t stay home and drink brandy with the rest of ’em.”

  Reiko glared. “The Saurians have a rich civilization older than ours, Doctor. They don’t need to travel so much because everyone else is so eager to come to them for trade. But that doesn’t preclude their right to join Starfleet if they want to.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I know. But why not serve on a ship of their own, where they can keep it nice and dark all the time?” He shook his head. “Damn fool idea, tryin’ to cram all these different species together in one environment. It’s just not natural.”

  Who did this backwoods hick think he was? “It isn’t natural for anyone to live in space.”

  McCoy scoffed. “You don’t have to tell me that. But at least you and I can breathe the air here. What about those Zaranites, the fluorine-breathers? What happens if one of their tanks gets damaged and he can’t breathe? What if it ruptures when there are other people around? People could die! Or what if that Megarite lady gets lost on some desert planet with no way to feed herself? It’s just not responsible, taking species with so many different needs and sticking ’em on the same crew.”

  “Just because something hasn’t been tried before doesn’t mean you shouldn’t do it. And if something does go wrong, you’re supposed to be the one whose job it is to fix it. If you don’t think you’re competent to do that job, Dr. McCoy, then you should turn this sickbay back over to Christine, the one who’s spent the past two years training to treat this crew.”

  McCoy grew furious. “Now, see here, little lady—”

  “Leonard.” Chapel interposed herself. “There are still patients waiting. And your shift ended ten minutes ago. Why do
n’t you go get some rest? I’ll take it from here.”

  Under Chapel’s firm gaze, McCoy subsided. “All right. But this isn’t over!”

  “You bet it isn’t,” Reiko responded.

  Once McCoy left, Chapel turned to Reiko, but the psychologist interrupted. “Don’t start with me, Christine. I know you’re fond of him—and you know I have the greatest respect for Captain Kirk. But for the life of me I can’t understand by what right Kirk put that parochial antique in the job that was meant for you, or how you could accept it.”

  “I can because Leonard is the most caring and conscientious doctor I have ever known, and the most brilliant. Maybe he hasn’t specialized in xenomedicine, but he has the genius and commitment to make up for it.”

  “Chris, the man’s a bigot.”

  “He is not,” Chapel said adamantly. “You just… you just have to know him. Learn to see past the walls he puts up. Leonard… he likes to cultivate his flaws. He thinks that if we become too perfect we lose our individuality.”

  Reiko shook her head, unconvinced. “He’s angry at the universe.”

  “Yes, he is—because it keeps hurting people, and he can’t stand seeing people in pain. I think being angry is what lets him face that pain and keep fighting against it.” Chapel smirked. “Come on, Reiko, you should know a thing or two about anger. Maybe if you didn’t keep throwing your righteous fits at everybody, you’d be a chief by now.”

  Reiko shrugged. “I don’t give a tribble’s eye about rank. I’m just here to help realize Will Decker’s dream. I’m a civilian through and through.”

  Chapel smiled. “Then you and Leonard have more in common than you think.”

  “Except he can’t get along with aliens.”

  “And you could learn some more about getting along with humans.”

  Reiko mulled it over. “Not something I had a lot of opportunity to learn, growing up. Outside of family, that is. But if you ask me, humans aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. They’re just the latest bunch of cultural imperialists. Why do you suppose Starfleet is so overwhelmingly human?”