Ex Machina

by Christopher L. Bennett

  “Maybe.” Kirk met her gaze challengingly. “But you’re the one who told me that the story can be told in different ways and still contain the same truth. So why is this way of telling it such a threat? Why does this new evidence prevent the sides from coexisting?”

  “It isn’t the evidence that matters. The People only use it to serve what’s already in their hearts.” She fell silent, thinking. “Which I suppose is your point as well as mine, though we have a… difference in emphasis.” She chuckled gingerly, and Kirk joined her.

  Rishala reached out and took his hand. “I said I was angry with you, James Kirk. Then I saw how my own people behaved… how they lost all control… so violent….” She shuddered, and he clasped her hand tighter. “I can’t pretend we have the moral high ground anymore. It’s in all of us, to hate.”

  “Tensions are high,” Kirk said. “Sooner or later these things reach critical mass, take on a life of their own… and trying to lay blame only feeds the flames. It doesn’t matter who’s right or who started it—only who’s brave enough to end it.”

  “Tell Natira that.”

  “I intend to.”

  “I wonder if it’ll be more effective from you,” she mused. “You managed to change her mind once before. You’re quite the orator, James. Natira places great stock in pretty words and elegant delivery.”

  “Call me Jim.” Kirk shook his head. “I’m no great speaker. Always… floundering for what to say next. You, on the other hand, are one of the most… captivating speakers I’ve ever heard.”

  “But that’s raw and passionate, scandalous to Natira’s rarefied sensibilities. And with my accent—” She broke off. “You can’t tell, can you, through those translators of yours? Let’s just say I don’t come from close to the surface.” Kirk remembered that the upper class on Yonada had been that quite literally, living on the more spacious higher levels of Yonada’s onion-layered underground.

  “I don’t know, though,” Rishala sighed. “Maybe my accent has changed. I thought I spoke with the voice of the common people… but lately fewer and fewer will listen to me.”

  “They got pretty upset when the guards attacked you,” Kirk reminded her.

  She shook her head. “They only used me as an excuse. I urged calm and they wouldn’t listen.” She was quiet for a moment. “I was afraid it would be a mistake to let them talk me into becoming high priestess. Before, that was a title of the ones who lived above and told the rest of us what to do. I should’ve known that the title would come between me and my people.”

  Rishala studied Kirk. “I think that may be another thing we have in common.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been listening to people talk, while I’ve lain here. And I saw your face when you came in. You and your crew also seem to have a title between you. Or a question of who should hold the title. You don’t think they trust you.”

  He looked at her closely. “Do they?”

  She shrugged. “It’s not my place to say that. But it can’t be easy for them to trust you, when you don’t trust yourself.” Rishala sat up on her elbow to face him more directly. “What happened between you and this Decker, that leaves you so unsure of your place?”

  Kirk hesitated to tell her. She was someone he barely knew, and given her political stance, he still wasn’t sure whether she would be a help or a hindrance to his efforts on Lorina. But she was easy to talk to, a comforting presence. There was a serenity and nurturing strength to her that reminded him of Edith Keeler. The reminder of that loss sent a pang through him, still sharper after six years than the loss of Lori was after just a month. It reminded him that he wasn’t ready yet to let himself get too close to another woman.

  Still, all she was offering was to listen, to hear his confession, as it were. He found he couldn’t say no. So he told her the story of how he’d groomed Decker for this command, then pushed him aside at the last moment. How he’d clashed with Decker and finally watched ineffectually as the man sacrificed himself. Rishala listened patiently, then spent a few moments contemplating his tale in silence. “So… do you feel that the wrong man commanded the mission?”

  Kirk pondered the question, and had to answer, “N-n-no… I believed it needed a more experienced captain than Decker, and I still think that was a valid command judgment. But… I could’ve gone about it differently. Commanded the mission while leaving him in command of the ship.”

  “But the whole mission took place on the ship. Couldn’t that have led to confusion at a crucial time?”

  “Perhaps,” he replied slowly.

  “Was that an argument you used to convince your admiral to give you command?”

  “As a matter of fact, it was. But what if it was self-serving?”

  “Your admiral is an experienced leader, yes?”

  Kirk smiled. “Sometimes it seems like he’s been in charge since Cochrane was a pup. Forever,” he amended at her quizzical look.

  “So if that argument had been flawed, he wouldn’t have accepted it.”

  “I… suppose not.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Then what is it that really troubles you, Jim?”

  Kirk gathered his thoughts. “Decker,” he said. “I drove him to it.”

  Rishala processed that. “Didn’t he say that joining with V’Ger was what he wanted?”

  “That’s what he said. But… I didn’t understand why. The Will Decker I knew was an ambitious career officer. He wanted nothing more than to be a starship captain. To be this starship’s captain. It was his whole life for over two years. When I took that away… what was left?”

  “Look at it another way. Before he knew V’Ger, how could he know that it offered something he wanted more?”

  “But… what was it that he wanted? To be with Ilia? I can understand that, I suppose. They had a relationship. But I didn’t think it was something he’d sacrifice everything for. If it had been, he never would’ve left Delta IV.”

  Rishala gave him that look again, as though he were a slow student she expected better from. “A career… a ship… a lover… you still see only the worldly things, Jim.” Her eyes lost focus. “When I think about what you describe—ascending to a higher plane, transcending the physical world—I envy him. He’s achieved the goal that Vari and Baima envisioned for us, to one day escape the trap of mortal matter. The trap of desire. You speak of what Decker wanted to acquire, to possess. But what he did within V’Ger was to give. He chose to share his soul with another being, a being who needed what he could offer it. Why can’t that be what he wanted? Why couldn’t he value that goal more than any worldly gain?”

  They sat in silence as Kirk absorbed her words. But after a time she spoke again. “You’re troubled, because you want your crew’s approval and they haven’t given it. But is that what really matters? Or is the question what you can give to them?”

  Kirk smiled ironically. “I suppose I could ask you the same question. You give to your people—how’s that working out for you?”

  She returned the smile, and the irony. “The truth is in the trying, not the succeeding.”

  * * *

  Natira’s secretary looked on in alarm as McCoy stormed toward the office door. “The governess is in a meeting with the Shesshran ambassador, sir,” she said. “You don’t want to go in there.”

  Honey, you don’t know the half of it, McCoy thought. He knew that Natira wouldn’t be happy to see him even if she weren’t trying to deal with a member of that contentious species. But he was through letting his emotional hang-ups get in the way of his work.

  Natira didn’t even seem to notice as he barged in, for her view was blocked by a whole lot of Shesshran. There was only one of them there, but it was a big one, well over two meters tall, its angular headfin scraping the ceiling, its shimmering wings spread imposingly wide. Most of its long-beaked head was encased in a mask connected to an air tank on its back; McCoy reminded himself that the air pressure here was less than a third of what the S
hesshran were used to. “We were assured that your presence in our system would be unobtrusive,” the ambassador—a female—was saying rather loudly. “That you would lead your own lives and not interfere in ours. Those were the terms of our contract!”

  “That has not changed,” Natira replied in cool, diplomatic tones. “We are still committed to the peaceful coexistence of our two—”

  “You claim to be, but these rebels clearly are not. These people who would impose their beliefs on others.” The pterosaurian ambassador shook herself in apparent disgust, making rainbow patterns shimmer across her fine silver scales, whose featherlike microserrations created the diffraction-grating effect. “Humanoid madness. To think you could force another being to believe as you do, or stamp out competing beliefs. What good is any belief that can’t stand to face some competition?”

  “I assure you, Ambassador Ak’pethhit, that my government is committed to crushing this rebellion.”

  “You had better be. Because the Shesshran will not tolerate any threats to the sovereignty of the individual. If you do not eliminate this rebellion soon, it will be seen as a breach of contract, and we will no longer be obligated to tolerate your presence here.”

  “You would expel us?!”

  “That is the best case—if you are quick enough in leaving.”

  “Do not think us helpless, Madam Ambassador. Removing us from our Promised World would not be as easy as you think.”

  “Your Federation cohorts would not use their might to protect you. Their own laws would shackle them.”

  “The People are not without might of our own. Yonada’s missiles may have been created for peaceful purposes, but space debris is not the only thing they can target.”

  “Your antique missiles would be no match for us. But it would excite me to see you make the attempt.” The ambassador didn’t give her the chance to reply, instead whirling away dramatically and storming out—or trying to, since her awkwardness in this gravity diminished the effect.

  Still, she nearly knocked McCoy over in the process. Natira noticed the doctor for the first time, and her expression—had it been fear?—grew cold and hard. “I did not summon you.”

  He came on strong, his anger exceeding hers. “That’s exactly the problem! I’m not getting called in where I’m needed! Did you know your Minister Tasari is refusing to let me treat the injured he arrested after the riot?”

  She appeared unmoved. “We have our own medical resources, as you are well aware.”

  “And they aren’t being allowed in either!” McCoy leaned forward, hands on her desk. “Several prisoners have already died in Tasari’s custody. What’s more, at least one of them died of injuries I didn’t see on him after the riot, before Tasari’s thugs dragged him away.”

  “Are you insinuating that Tasari’s people inflicted those injuries?”

  “Well, he does seem to lose a lot of prisoners that way!”

  Natira glared. “And why should I believe these charges coming from you?”

  That brought him up short. “Look… Natira,” he went on more softly, “you have every right to be mad at me. But don’t take it out on these people.”

  She met his eyes for a few moments, then paced out from behind her desk. “I have faith in Minister Tasari. I do not believe he would harm the innocent. His methods can be forceful, it is true. But we are fighting a war for the future of the People, and we will do whatever must be done in order to prevail. Those who refuse to cooperate, who abet the enemy, have only themselves to blame.”

  “These aren’t terrorists, Natira! They’re ordinary people who got pushed too far. And either way, it doesn’t matter! They’re injured people and they need medical attention!”

  “Then they should cooperate, and renounce their sympathy for the fanatics! A stern hand is the only way to make them understand!”

  McCoy stared in disbelief. “My God, woman, I never took you for a fool!”

  “What?”

  “When they attack you, it just makes you more determined to fight back and win, you just said so yourself. So why in hell would you possibly think that attacking them would make them back down?!”

  “So what would you have me do, McCoy? Surrender?”

  “Just give them a little slack, for God’s sake! Try to understand their point of view, instead of bein’ so blasted self-righteous all the time!”

  “I do not understand you,” Natira said, shaking her head. “You, your captain… first you pushed me to abandon the People’s false beliefs, yet now you demand that I heed them! What is it that you want from me?”

  “How about a little patience? A little understanding that when people are going through changes… maybe they aren’t entirely sure what they believe, or what they want. And maybe if you try to rush them to decide,” he went on, his tone becoming more pleading, “they’ll get more confused, and make mistakes. And you might end up driving them away when they would’ve been willing to work things out with you.”

  She looked at him warily. “And what if I give them another chance and they only hurt me again?”

  McCoy sighed. “Then at least you understand them a little better… and maybe that improves your chances for the next time.”

  Natira bowed her head, absorbed in thought for a time. Finally she made her way slowly around the desk. “I have not seen this side of you before, Leonard. Your passion surprises me.”

  “Well… like I said, when we first met I wasn’t quite myself.”

  “And the second time you came… when you were so reserved toward me—that was out of discomfort.”

  “Out of shame, and fear,” he admitted. “I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. I was stupid about it.”

  “And I never saw,” she said wistfully, “for I never knew the real McCoy.” That evoked a chuckle. “What amuses you so?”

  “Uh, doesn’t matter. So—this is who I am,” he went on, spreading his arms. “A bad-tempered old curmudgeon who can’t keep his opinions to himself. Not very pretty, is it?”

  She appraised him. “On the contrary. It makes me better understand what drew me to you in the first place. I must have sensed some echo of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Come, sit.” She led him over to the couch. “My father was much as you are,” she said once they were seated. “Quick to speak his mind. And he did not always accept the Oracle’s dogma easily. He felt the pain of warning many times in his life, and the lesson never took for very long. Still, he managed to restrain himself for long enough to be mated, and raise a young daughter.

  “But that daughter inherited his inquisitive ways. It is true, all children question what they are told, and the Oracle was patient with children. It would never have fatally punished one who spoke blasphemy if that one was underage.” She lowered her head, continuing with more difficulty. “But my questions made it harder for my father to keep his peace. I expressed doubts about the Oracle’s dogma, about the tale of our origins, and it grew harder and harder for him to defend that which he did not truly believe.” Her voice faltered. “One day I questioned once too often, and he could restrain himself no more. He told me that I must know the truth, that the world was not as we were told. He felt the pain of warning, but it only deepened his urgency. He tried to tell me… what, I do not know.” She blinked away tears. “For the Oracle… would not let him…. It stopped him…from ever speaking again….”

  It seemed the most natural thing in the world to take her into his arms and comfort her sobs. “Natira… I’m so sorry….”

  Soon she gathered herself. “After that… seeing that happen before my eyes… I no longer questioned the Oracle. I persuaded myself that all its teachings were truth, to be accepted without hesitation. I became the most loyal and obedient servant the Oracle could possibly have had— not because I truly believed in my heart, but because I was too afraid to doubt. I was enslaved,” she went on with growing bitterness, “terrorized into complete submission. And in time my total
obedience, my cowardice, was rewarded with the role of high priestess, the Oracle’s unquestioning mouthpiece. So loyal a slave was I that I became the youngest ever elevated to that post.

  “Then you came, you and your captain. Your words reawakened the doubts I had kept buried for all those years, and you showed me I could be free of the Oracle’s retribution. I resisted at first, out of fear, out of habit… but in my heart I knew that I had been living a lie, and your truth could free me.”

  McCoy studied her thoughtfully. “Hm. I always thought you came around a bit easily, for someone in your position.”

  “And now you know why.”

  “I guess I also know why you’re so hostile to anything connected to your old religion.”

  She stared. “Should I not be? It was a tool for the deception and enslavement of the People. It destroyed countless lives. Too long I tolerated it, condoned it, even assisted in its reign of terror! I cannot allow it to rise again, Leonard!”

  “Even if it means getting more blood on your hands, Natira? What difference does it make if you take those lives in support of the faith or in fighting against it?”

  “You do not understand.”

  “I understand, Natira. Only too well. I understand what it’s like to feel responsible for a father’s death.” He went on reluctantly. “I’ve hardly ever told this to anyone… but when I was a young doctor, fresh out of residency, my father fell ill with a terminal disease. As far as I knew, there was no cure.” He quirked a brow. “Kind of ironic, considering how we met. But anyway… he asked me to… to end the pain.”

  She looked at him intently. “To end his life?”

  “Yes. All I had to do was turn off the machine that was keeping him alive. I agonized over the decision. I’ve never believed it was right to intentionally end someone’s life for any reason—it goes against everything a doctor stands for. To say that a life ceases to be worth living when it reaches a certain level of difficulty—where can you draw that line? If being on life support isn’t a life worth living, then what about being in a wheelchair? What about being mentally ill? My God, if everyone who ever felt their life wasn’t worth living actually ended it, most people would never make it out of adolescence. And more than one tyrant has used euthanasia as an excuse for genocide. It’s a dangerous, insidious thing, to try to put limits on whose life is worth living.