Ex Machina

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Entering the turbolift and sending it down into the bowels of the ship, Chekov pondered his assignments. If he could pick only three besides himself, he’d have to pick them well. To be honest, he didn’t think the odds of serious trouble were too great; the captain was right that Yonada was a more controllable location than somewhere on Lorina would be. The worst danger would be that fighting would break out between the delegates, who were mostly past their physical prime and would not be armed. In that case, Chekov’s goal was to establish a strong security presence that would serve as a deterrent just by being seen.

  Nizhoni and Howard were already on Yonada with Mr. Spock and his researchers—though a different part of Yonada from the conference site. That rendered them unavailable, since he’d rather keep them there. Worene and M’sharna were still on recuperative leave. That was too bad, since Worene’s fierce features made her effectively intimidating despite her slight build—so long as the observer was unaware of her playful, pixieish personality. Perhaps Chavi’rru would do as well, since he had the height as well as the predatory looks; but the ’Geusian was inexperienced and not the most likely being to understand the delicate etiquette of a diplomatic conference. All right, Sh’aow then. The gray-furred Caitian was on duty monitoring the Shesshran activity—who better than a cat to watch winged creatures?—but he could be relieved. Swenson would be an effective presence, with his massive build… and for a third…

  Yes, perhaps this was the time. He hit the intercom. “Crewman Swenson, Crewman Sh’aow… and Ensign Zaand, report to me in the hangar bay in fifteen minutes. Chekov out.”

  The lift deposited him on Deck 18, on the second level of the cavernous cargo/landing bay complex that took up most of the secondary hull in this new design. It was one of the largest open spaces Chekov had ever seen inside a Starfleet vessel, so wide that two exposed turboshafts ran straight through it from floor to ceiling, for there was nowhere else to fit them in this part of the ship. And when the retractable floor was rolled back into the hulls for access to the storage bays below, it was even huger.

  Instead of pumping the air out for launch as before— which would have been prohibitively time-consuming for this vast space—this design depended on a single forcefield across the hangar doors to hold in that enormous volume of air. It was a low-level forcefield at that, the “momentum filter” type, strong enough to contain something lightweight like an air molecule or a hapless crew member, but weak enough to be penetrated by a massive object like a shuttle-craft. That was the theory, anyway, but it seemed to Chekov that the mass of all these individual air molecules had to add up. Starfleet had a lot of confidence in its forcefields, but as Chekov made his way back to the shuttle hangars, he decided he was just as glad that the landing-bay doors were closed at the moment.

  Wanting something maneuverable and combat-capable, he chose to eschew the regular wedge-shaped shuttles and had the crew chief ready Shuttlecraft 9, the Zhang Sui. The winged, bullet-shaped six-seater was designed for combat operations, with fighterlike maneuverability, a large cockpit window for good visibility, and gull-wing doors for swift entry and exit. Chekov knew Sulu had been involved in its design and testing and was eager to try it out for real; but Spock was doing research on Yonada and Scotty’s duties were keeping him out of the bridge rotation for the duration of the shakedown, so Sulu would have to hold down the center seat while Chekov piloted his new toy. He smiled at the thought. He wouldn’t have let that consideration sway his decision, of course, but it was a nice perk.

  Fifteen minutes wasn’t quite enough time to perform a preflight safety check on the Zhang Sui, but Chekov was content to let his team wait; that was a large part of their job, after all. When he was done clearing the shuttle, he was pleased to see his team standing stoically at attention, awaiting his instructions. He made his way across the echoing hangar bay and gave them a quick, efficient mission briefing.

  With that out of the way, though, he pulled Zaand aside. The Rhaandarite was practically beaming with boyish gratitude and enthusiasm. “I’m glad to see you’re looking forward to this,” Chekov said. “But I assume I can count on you to keep your excitement under control.”

  “Of course, sir. I’ll respect all the appropriate behavioral protocols.”

  “And you do realize that we’ll be working closely with Captain Kirk.”

  Zaand’s expression became carefully neutral. “I understand that, sir.”

  “I thought it would do you good to see the captain at work—particularly in a diplomatic situation. It’s a chance to learn more about how he really does things, how his mind works. Make the most of the opportunity, Ensign.”

  “Aye, sir. I’ll do my best, sir.” He seemed sincere enough, and Chekov chose to take it as a good sign. He really hoped that Zaand could come to terms with serving under Kirk. He was a bit raw, but he had a sharp mind and keen observational skills, very beneficial traits in security. And his enthusiasm for the work—not just the Rhaandarite love of order, but his own eagerness to succeed—was something Chekov was glad to see. It reminded him of the overeager ensign he’d been just a few short years ago—a lifetime ago.

  * * *

  If the Enterprise’s hangar complex was huge, then Yonada’s was absolutely immense. It had originally housed over a thousand ships, intended to shuttle a population of millions down to Lorina’s surface. Many had been massive single-use landers, hulking spheres that still stood where they had plunked themselves down on the surface, some converted into living space, others (those less conveniently situated) designated as monuments—especially the one that had crash-landed in the mountains, killing all 2,400 of its occupants. The landers had been designed with every possible safeguard, and the S.C.E. had carefully refurbished every one before clearing it for use; but entry, descent, and landing would always remain a perilous undertaking no matter how many precautions were taken. That was why transporters had caught on so widely. But beaming Yonada’s million and change to the surface would have been prohibitive.

  Most of the ships had been reusable surface-to-orbit shuttles of various sizes and designs; apparently the Fabrini had crammed their asteroidal ark with every available STO craft they had. The bulk of the population transfer had been done this way, a few dozen or hundred people at a time, over and over again for months on end. There had been fatalities here too, of course, but “only” in the low hundreds. Afterward, the Federation engineers and archaeologists had gone crazy over the shuttles, studying them to learn all they could about Fabrini technology and material culture. But many of the shuttles had remained in use, providing the Lorini with the orbital capability that they used to maintain Yonada, to emplace weather and comm satellites, and to survey their new planet for prospective settlement sites and hidden perils.

  Now a few of those shuttles were returning to their hangar again, ferrying the various delegations from the surface, along with the Zhang Sui from the Enterprise. As Chekov piloted the shuttle to follow them into the hangar, Kirk watched from behind, experiencing a sense of déjà vu. Closing in on the vast, artificial asteroid-vessel, flying through a gaping orifice into a dark, cavernous space large enough to hold the Enterprise—it reminded him of the journey into V’Ger. Why had that seemed so much more awesome than this? Yonada was far larger than V’Ger had been. But Kirk hadn’t entered it this way before. Transporters might have been a safer way to travel, but they were far less scenic. And even now, Yonada’s rough, crater-pitted surface was far more mundane than the eldritch techno-organic landscape of V’Ger, with its intricate textures and bizarre geometries, its rolling striated hills and deep chasms alternating with immense plains of pure energy. In all his journeys, Kirk had never beheld a sight as profoundly, beautifully alien as V’Ger. But Yonada was just a big hunk of rock, its outer surface nothing but an ugly agglomeration of asteroid fragments accreted against the outer shell and melted just enough to flow together into an uneven but solid mass. Judging from what Spock’s people now believed, the rough
surface hadn’t even been meant as a deliberate disguise; it had just been a bare-bones, down-and-dirty way to shield the generation ship against space debris and radiation. But that in its own way was something worthy of awe, Kirk reflected. It was remarkable what the Fabrini had accomplished with the limited time and technology at their disposal.

  The hangar facility was actually located above the Yonadan “sky,” in one of the two largest bulges of the roughly octahedral asteroid; the fission thrusters occupied the other, on the opposite end. The Yonadi had forgotten the existence of this facility until the Book of the People had revealed how to reach it through a bank of elevators in the adjacent “mountain”—elevators that had been sealed off by some prior regime. The Enterprise’s initial scans hadn’t revealed it, since it was shielded by the same kelbonite-victurium alloy as the inner shell—meaning it would be difficult to beam anyone in or out. The conference would be held in a hastily converted staging room of the hangar complex, which made a suitably neutral ground because, though it was part of Yonada, it was not a part which had any prior association with any of the factions involved.

  If nothing else, the various parties all appeared equally tense as Kirk entered the debarcation lounge. Fortunately it was a large room, since there were quite a few people here and it was good to have some space between them. Natira had brought a few government functionaries and a number of security troops led by Tasari, along with Soreth, who was here to help Kirk represent the Federation team but had found it more efficient to travel with Natira. Kirk had to wonder how that would look to the other side. Mr. Lindstrom, more concerned about appearances, had chosen to go to the trouble to beam aboard the Enterprise and take the shuttle with Kirk. There had been a practical gain from that too, since it had given Kirk a chance to confer briefly with the sociologist about negotiating strategies. On the other end of the room, Rishala stood with three other figures in traditional dress, presumably her fellow religious and community leaders. They were flanked by a few burly types in homespun, apparently their own informal security, who were exchanging antagonistic looks with Tasari’s men.

  Kirk was about to step forward and say something to try to break the tension when a well-groomed, fiftyish redhead stepped forward from Natira’s group (its far outskirts, in fact) and spoke with an orator’s polished delivery, albeit without the upper-class grandeur of Natira’s speech. “Good, we are now all here. For those who don’t know me, I am Dumali, minority leader in the Lorina Parliament. As an official of the state and a friend of the People, I hope that I may help to bridge the divide between our factions. At the very least,” she said with a self-deprecating smile, “I’m in a position to make introductions. If you will all follow me into the meeting chamber…”

  Tasari stepped forward. “After my people have done a security sweep.”

  “And our people,” said the younger of the men with Rishala.

  “Of course,” Kirk interposed. “And my people will go with you both to make sure everything goes smoothly.”

  While the security teams swept the room and checked each other’s work, Dumali proceeded with the introductions. Rishala’s associates turned out to be Kemori, an influential secular leader in the community; Sonaya, head of the Bookist sect; and Paravo, an elderly fixture of the community, who commanded much respect but little authority (or so Lindstrom whispered in Kirk’s ear). Kirk noted that Kemori made a point of acting like he was in charge of the group, though the others gravitated around Rishala. The dark-haired young man also made a point of confronting Kirk. “I wish to make it abundantly clear,” Kemori said in what Kirk was coming to recognize as an upper-class accent, “that the People will not allow ourselves to be bullied by your presence. Our faith and our resolve remain as firm as ever.”

  “No one is here to bully anyone, Mr. Kemori,” Kirk said pleasantly. “I have great respect for your people’s beliefs and their resolve.”

  “Difficult words to believe, coming from a man who makes a career out of dismantling other people’s Oracles.”

  Kirk didn’t rise to the bait. “In fact, as our shuttle was on approach to Yonada just now, I found myself deeply awed by the achievements of your Creators.” He pitched his voice louder. “Whatever… differences our various groups may have in our interpretation of the Creators, I’m sure we can all agree that they were remarkable beings of great wisdom and foresight. And it’s my hope that we can use that agreement as the basis for a broader accord.”

  “Well spoken, Captain,” Kemori said with veiled skepticism. “We shall see if your actions live up to your words.”

  The various security people emerged and declared the room safe, and Dumali led the negotiators in—insisting that each security force be allowed only one guard within the room itself. Kirk brought Chekov in. Kemori objected when Tasari ordered one of his men to follow him, but Natira reminded them that Tasari was her Minister of Security, no mere guard. An argument seemed about to break out, until Dumali persuaded the opposition representatives to back down.

  Kirk had envisioned his role as that of a neutral mediator, but Dumali seemed to be the one assuming that role here. Kirk reminded himself that in the eyes of the opposition, he and the Federation were in bed with Natira’s government, or even controlling it outright. Dumali was apparently considered the closest thing here to a neutral party, if only because her dual allegiances canceled each other out. “Governess Natira has asked to speak first,” Dumali said, “and we at least owe that courtesy to her office, and to her former role as high priestess.” Whatever unflattering subtext may have underlaid her words, she kept it from her voice. Kemori seemed about to object, but Rishala quieted him with a look and a nod. Kirk was content to let the others set the pace, and only step in if… be honest, when things got out of hand.

  Natira rose, and took in the others with her gaze. As always, she took on a grand oratorical mien. “My fellow Lorini, and esteemed guests from the Federation, I thank you for coming. This conference is far overdue… and I confess that I have been largely responsible for that.” The opposition members appeared stunned. Natira’s haughtiness took on an unaccustomed tinge of contrition. “I have always loved the People with a passion, and that zeal to do what I believe is best for them has sometimes led me to excess. The passion of those who disagree with me is no less, and we have all been driven to certain excesses in recent times. Excess has built upon excess, and it cannot end until someone makes the choice to step back from one’s passion and break the cycle.

  “Today I make that choice. Each of us has our own vision for the future of the People, and I am ready to admit that my vision cannot succeed alone. We must combine our visions and discern a common future, or we can be sure of having none at all.

  “However,” she added, “the choice must be mutual to succeed. We must ease off the pressure together, or we will unbalance the whole. I tell you bluntly now, I am prepared to make concessions—but only if you are prepared to do the same.”

  “That,” Kemori countered, “depends entirely on what you would have us concede.”

  “Firstly, of course, that the terrorism must end.”

  “Dovraku is not under our control.”

  “But he has your support. His agents are sheltered among those who heed your speeches and sermons. His resources and funds are supplied by the alleged charity groups you organize. Those groups must be dismantled.”

  “That’s unacceptable,” Rishala interposed. “Our charities perform essential services for the People, particularly for those the state has turned its back on. They provide our People with the only alternatives to your secular education, your modern clothes.”

  “And they provide Dovraku with funds, with bomb-making materials, with intelligence on his targets.”

  “They do what they believe they must to take care of the People. If you can convince them, through us, that the state no longer threatens the People’s way of life, then they won’t work against the state anymore. Their existence is not the problem.�
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  “But they undermine our efforts to provide optimal services and opportunities to all the People. At the very least, they need to be incorporated into the formal social-services infrastructure, so their efforts may be coordinated with ours.”

  “If that means compromising our traditions, then the state remains a threat.”

  “If I may,” Kirk interjected, “I think we’ve already established that some compromise will be necessary on both sides.”

  Rishala gave him a nod of acknowledgment. “Yes, indeed. Perhaps I was overzealous.” She threw Natira an impish look, daring her to comment. The governess retained her aplomb.

  Kemori leaned forward. “But the state has yet to give any indication of what compromises it will make, beyond vague platitudes. If the state wants Dovraku neutralized as an enemy to peace, then we demand the removal of the other enemy to the peace: Governess Natira herself.”

  Natira shot to her feet. “That is unacceptable! I am the one who came here offering to make a compromise.”

  “Exactly. You asserted your willingness to step back— and your desire to maintain the balance. If you wish to convince us of your sincerity on both counts, it will take a gesture of unmistakable commitment. Your willingness to surrender your office would be the most effective such gesture.”

  “The governorship is an elected office, is it not?” Kirk asked. “Surely the People can choose for themselves whom they’d rather have as a leader.”

  “But the election is not for two more years,” said Natira.

  “And the current laws only give suffrage to the literate,” said Kemori. “It biases the electorate toward Natira and her modern Fedraysha ideas.”

  “It takes an informed electorate to make a responsible choice,” Soreth interposed.

  “There are other ways to be informed than reading,” Rishala told him. “When we can’t read, we talk, we listen, we share in the community. We are informed of each other, of the soul of the People, not of some distant star or ancient war recorded in a computer file. So how are we not qualified to vote on the issues that affect the People?”