Ex Machina

by Christopher L. Bennett

  But there would be far more unnecessary deaths, Kirk reminded himself, if he didn’t get moving down this mountain. Fortunately, his recent three-year stay on Earth had given him plenty of time to pursue his mountaineering hobby, in higher gravity than this, so he was well equipped for the challenge. Chekov guaranteed his security team could handle it as well—except for the injured Sh’aow, who’d volunteered to stay behind and secure the shuttle-craft. Kirk had ordered him to take it back to the ship and get his leg tended to, knowing the stubborn Caitian would just grit his teeth and bear it otherwise.

  To Kirk’s surprise, Natira showed no hesitation about tearing off the skirts of her elaborate gown and making her way down the mountain with the others. She was definitely the type to throw herself headlong into a decision once she’d made it—which could be an asset or a liability, depending on the decision. But then, people had said the same thing about Kirk during the Pelos hearing.

  Kirk activated his wrist communicator, turning up the gain so he could have both hands free for climbing. “Kirk to Enterprise. Mr. Sulu, any word on where the raiders came from?”

  “No, sir. We scanned no transporter beams, and no unauthorized ships docking on Yonada.”

  “That means they must’ve come up on one of the ships from the surface.”

  “We scanned those too,” came the voice of Perez at tactical. “No life signs except what there was supposed to be.”

  “Were there any sensor-shielded areas on the ships?” Chekov asked him.

  “Only the engine compartments—they’re lined with kelbonite. But that’s because the radiation from those nuclear rockets is so intense. You’d have to be suicidal to hide in there.”

  Chekov cursed in Russian. “Dammit, Perez, they are suicidal!”

  “… Oh. Oh, God, sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t think….”

  “Damn right you didn’t!”

  “Chekov,” Kirk interposed. “Deal with it later.” He’d suddenly realized that maybe he hadn’t been thinking either. “Sulu, we should be out of the shielded area by now. Can you get a transporter lock on us, beam us to the surface?”

  A pause. “Sorry, sir, you’re still in its shadow. Maybe we can find an angle—”

  Perez interrupted. “Missiles incoming from Yonada, sir!”

  “Shields and forcefield up! Arm phasers! Sorry, Captain, no beaming possible right now.”

  “Understood.” Yonada’s asteroid-defense missiles bore crude fission warheads and primitive guidance systems; the Enterprise could deal with them handily, but at this close range it would need to keep its defensive shields raised to block the radiation if they detonated. “We’ll manage the old-fashioned way.” Kirk peered at Natira. “How many of the missiles did you have left?”

  “Several dozen. I believe your engineers described their yield as forty kilotons apiece.”

  Marvelous. With the People mostly clustered around Lorina City, that was more than enough for the fanatics to kill everyone on the planet. “Let’s hurry.”

  * * *

  “I know you’re awake, Commander Spock.”

  Spock gave no acknowledgment, keeping his eyes closed. He had regained consciousness shortly before, finding himself bound and propped against a wall. His sensitive hearing told him that he was still in the temple (or a room of equivalent size and acoustical properties), that there were six to eight hostiles in the room, and that several other captives in various states of consciousness rested beside him. Spock had opted to “play possum,” as McCoy would put it, to gather intelligence. But the hostiles’ leader had proved to be observant. “You gain no advantage by continuing to feign unconsciousness,” he went on. “Indeed, my wish for your attention is the only reason you and your colleagues are still alive.”

  Spock opened his eyes and met those of his captor matter-of-factly. “Then you have my attention, Mr. Dovraku.”

  The extremist leader didn’t smile, but appeared pleased nonetheless. “You know me, then.”

  “I have heard some of your recorded sermons in the course of my research.”

  “Indeed.” Dovraku appeared genuinely curious. “And what do you make of the logic of my arguments?”

  Spock raised a brow. “I found it to be largely specious, based on ad hoc assumptions, circular reasoning, and countless other fallacies.”

  “Spock!” McCoy hissed from beside him. “Don’t antagonize him!” His advice was redundant; Spock knew he was taking a chance. But he was interested in observing the result.

  Anger burned in Dovraku’s eyes for a moment, and Spock could see the fanaticism that drove him. But then he gathered himself and took on an air of detached regret. “It is as I feared—your logic is tainted. No doubt the influence of your godkiller captain. I had hoped your communion with mighty V’Ger had purified your mind.” Spock was struck by the irony of his words. “But no matter—I will grant you the opportunity to redeem yourself. It is a privilege I grant only to the most deserving.”

  With that, Dovraku moved to stand before another group of captives, whom Spock surmised to be the opposition delegates, judging from the presence of High Priestess Rishala among them. Looking around, he saw that Soreth, Lindstrom, and Minister Tasari were also among those present. But the captain and Natira were nowhere to be seen. Undoubtedly Kirk had managed to elude capture. Spock found the thought very heartening indeed.

  “Fortunately,” Dovraku said, “one among you has already taken that opportunity for redemption. We owe that one our thanks for delivering us to this heavenly abode.”

  “I knew it!” Tasari cried, glaring at Rishala. “You’re in league with him, you all are! You smuggled these scum aboard in your shuttles!”

  The priestess shook her head, responding to Tasari but keeping her gaze on Dovraku. “I was a fool ever to tolerate him. Ever to think that he and I could have common cause. And I have renounced that folly.” She turned sadly to one of the others. “And I hoped you had too, Sonaya.”

  The thin older woman looked at her in surprise. “Why would you think it was I who did this?”

  “Paravo is too gentle, and he came with me in Kemori’s ship. And Dovraku wouldn’t deal with Kemori—he’s not religious. But you are, Sonaya, and your sect of the Book has always had an affinity with the Oracle sects. Besides, of all of us, you’re the one most afraid of Dovraku—the easiest one for him to control.” Sonaya lowered her head in mute admission.

  “Your words expose your true hypocrisy, Rishala,” Dovraku said. “Such evil times are these. Not only are the People ruled by enemies of the Oracle, but even the one who bears the name of priestess is naught but a lowly commoner who follows an ignorant corruption of the faith— who has no understanding of the Oracle’s power.”

  Rishala seemed unimpressed. “You haven’t purged your accent as well as you’d like, Dovraku. Your birth was as lowly as mine.”

  “I do not deny it. That was merely the first of the challenges I had to overcome to prove myself worthy. But I rose above it. I worked my way up from the lower levels, earned myself a place in the halls of power.”

  “You were a low-level clerk.”

  “But I was here, in direct service to my Oracle. I heard His voice, basked in His light, studied His infallible wisdom… while you crawled in darkness and strayed from the pure faith, contaminated it with your fanciful tales and emotional frenzies.”

  “What is the soul if not passion, if not imagination?”

  “The Oracle is the soul of the People. And His holy fire burns away all that contaminates its mathematical purity.”

  “The fire comes from Nidra the Deceiver. It burns us with her lies.”

  “The fire is our salvation,” Dovraku countered. “I shall show you.” He nodded to his people, who wrestled Tasari to his feet, holding him at swordpoint. “Here is an enemy of the People. He has hunted us, beaten us, murdered us in his cells. You, Rishala, have said this in your sermons as often as have I. Yet you have been able to do nothing but talk.”

&nbs
p; Dovraku stepped onto the pentagonal platform which Spock recalled was used to trigger the Oracle. Indeed, the light in the altar’s sunburst came on, indicating that Dovraku had successfully reactivated the central computer. “SPEAK,” came the Oracle’s stentorian voice.

  “O Oracle of the People,” Dovraku intoned. “Do you know who I am?”

  “YOU ARE MY PROPHET DOVRAKU,” it said. “THE PUREST OF MY BELIEVERS, AND THE AGENT OF MY RESURRECTION.” Clearly the man had done some reprogramming.

  “Mighty Oracle, great evils have befallen the People in your absence. No longer do they heed your wisdom. No longer do they carry the Instruments of Obedience to keep them to the path.”

  “WHO IS RESPONSIBLE FOR THIS BLASPHEMY?”

  “It is Natira, O most wise. She and the outworlders who led her into blasphemy.”

  “THEN SHE MUST BE PUNISHED.”

  “In time, she shall be. But for now she is out of your reach.”

  “FIND HER AND BRING HER BEFORE ME.”

  “It will be done. For now, though, we have one of her agents.” He nodded, and Tasari was brought forward. “Once he served you at Natira’s side, yet now he punishes those who remain faithful to you, and forces them to recant on pain of death.”

  “THIS CANNOT BE TOLERATED.”

  “As you say, O most wise. What is to be done?”

  “THE PUNISHMENT IS DEATH.” At that, the extremists holding Tasari took a step back.

  “Oracle!” Spock interrupted, seeking to avert what he knew was coming. “Please wait. You are being misled.”

  The light from the altar’s sensor flashed in his eyes. “YOU ARE A KNOWN BLASPHEMER, ALREADY UNDER SENTENCE OF DEATH. SHARE HIS FATE.”

  “Wait,” Dovraku said. “He has a role to play in your ascension, Mighty One.”

  “VERY WELL.”

  Spock had been counting on that. He tried again. “Oracle. The People’s journey is over. They are safe on the World of the Promise. You have fulfilled your function. There is no longer any need for you to punish.”

  A simulated thunderclap played over the temple’s audio system. “SILENCE, BLASPHEMER! THE PEOPLE MUST BE REMINDED OF THE TRUTH. THOSE WHO SIN OR STRAY FROM THE PATH WILL BE PUNISHED.”

  The air crackled. Spock knew that an ultraviolet laser in the altar was ionizing a path between itself and Tasari’s body. Current flowed along the path, and Tasari convulsed, electrical discharges flaring from his body. When Spock had been struck by this years before, it had been a tetanizing charge, calibrated to paralyze his muscles and render him unconscious. But Spock’s analysis of the temple security systems had shown they had lethal capacity as well… and the smell that now filled the room left no doubt that it had just been used.

  The stench of death filled Spock with disgust and pain. It hit him hard. Scent was one of the most primal senses, in Vulcans no less than in humans, and its impact was visceral, bypassing the rational parts of the brain. This was part of the reason modern Vulcans were vegetarian—because the smell of dead flesh triggered responses hard to reconcile with a dispassionate approach to life. Spock had encountered death many times before, even inflicted it when there was a logical necessity to do so, yet this was his first time in three years. And before he had been able to manage his disgust and grief with the Surakian disciplines. But now he didn’t know if he could master the disciplines again, didn’t even know if they applied to him anymore.

  Besides—a sapient being had died. Perhaps Tasari had not been the most agreeable of beings, but still, a life had been violently ended. Surely that was something that deserved an emotional response. Even Vulcans still acknowledged the need to grieve, though they regulated it carefully and kept it private. But right now Spock could muster only enough discipline to keep from becoming physically ill.

  Dovraku looked down at him, literally and figuratively. “Where is your control, Spock? Have you fallen so far?” He tilted his head contemplatively. “If you are to be redeemed, you must be reminded that emotion brings only weakness and pain. Perhaps a few more demonstrations will convince you.” He gestured to Rishala, whom his henchmen pulled to her feet.

  McCoy leaned over and whispered in his ear. “Pull yourself together, Spock! Mourn later—or there’ll be a lot more people to mourn!”

  Somehow, Spock was reminded of another time he and McCoy had been imprisoned together—some 5.65 years ago, on that planet populated by the descendants of Earth Romans seeded by the Preservers. Spock had just saved McCoy’s life, but had coldly brushed off the doctor’s thanks, insisting that McCoy was nothing to him but a skilled crew member whose loss would have negatively impacted efficiency. Understandably, McCoy had been angered, accusing Spock of being afraid to let his control slip, because he wouldn’t know what to do with a genuine feeling. Apparently, he had been right. Spock didn’t know what to do with what he was feeling now.

  Yet McCoy was here to help him figure it out—just as he’d always been there, whether Spock had been willing to listen or not—even when the Vulcan had given him no reason for such loyalty.

  McCoy had offered no specifics on how to pull himself together—but Spock realized that was the point. The how didn’t matter; it simply had to be done. He had to stop struggling to figure out how to manage his emotions, and just do it. Scott had called it intuition, but maybe it was more simply a matter of empirical learning, making adjustments as one went in pursuit of a specific goal. Just focus on the objective and make corrections as needed.

  Still, a voice inside him said, the empirical approach does not always lead to success. But he silenced the voice for now, knowing that he didn’t have the luxury of self-doubt at the moment.

  Dovraku had mounted the platform again. “O Oracle,” he intoned. “This is Rishala, who has usurped the title of high priestess, which only you can bestow.”

  “Oracle, I serve the Creators, as you do,” Rishala said.

  “She corrupts the truth of the Creators with vulgar tales and immoral displays. She must be punished!”

  “Dovraku!” Spock interrupted. “You say your real interest is in me. Very well—let this be between you, the Oracle, and myself. What would you have me do to earn my redemption?”

  “Great Oracle,” Dovraku said with satisfaction, “allow the blasphemer to witness what is to come. Perhaps this Vulcan’s redemption can persuade her to save her soul.”

  “LET IT BE SO.”

  “Thank you, most wise,” Dovraku purred, though it was clear who was truly giving the orders. He stepped down from the platform, and the Oracle returned to standby mode. “Tell me, first, what you witnessed when mighty V’Ger transcended this plane.”

  Spock studied him quizzically. “That is a matter of public record. The content of your recent sermons indicates that you are already conversant with the particulars.”

  “I wish to hear how you perceived it, Spock. The testimony of one who beheld the miracle firsthand.”

  Spock’s eyebrow showed what he thought of the rhetoric, but he said, “Very well. First I must provide some explanatory background.” If nothing else, it was an opportunity to “vamp,” as Kirk might say, until the captain was ready to launch his rescue. However, he chose to keep his account as factual as possible, with a minimum of interpretation, so as not to unduly reinforce Dovraku’s mystical leanings.

  He spoke of the Voyager 6 probe, and how its encounter with the ergosphere of a black hole passing through the Sol system’s outskirts had projected it on a Tipler curve across spacetime to a distant part of the universe. He told of how the probe, badly damaged by tidal stresses, had eventually drifted into a star system inhabited by a race of sapient Von Neumann machines, self-replicating automatons that presumably had evolved intelligence only after their organic creators had died out, so that they retained no knowledge of non-machine sentience. Spock considered it likely that the machines themselves had replicated out of control and overrun their creators, not out of malice but out of following their programming too well. Ironically,
only afterward did they adapt themselves to limit their procreation so they would not exhaust their system’s resources. They had little interest in starflight; their world was in an ancient globular cluster dominated by dim, metal-poor stars devoid of planets. Their probes had turned up nothing of interest to them, and they had long since abandoned interest in space by the time Voyager 6 arrived, though their knowledge of physics was unparalleled.

  The machines had studied the battered probe, repaired it, and equipped it to carry out its programming: gather all possible information and transmit that information to its planet of origin. (Of course the probe’s primitive software had contained no such abstract generalizations, only instructions for pointing and operating its instruments and antenna; but the machines had divined the purpose of those instructions and acted accordingly.) They had designed and built a technology to enable the probe to search the universe for its homeworld, and given it a form capable of evolving both physically and mentally in order to cope with the information and dangers it would encounter on its journey. Spock’s meld with V’Ger had not revealed why the Von Neumanns had done this; V’Ger had seen no need to wonder. Perhaps it was simply in their nature as social AIs to assist other AIs in carrying out their programs.

  “V’Ger was equipped with an energy matrix which dematerialized objects and stored their data—not unlike a transporter, except that the data was permanently stored as energy patterns rather than used to reconstitute the original matter, which was converted for other purposes. As a cybernetic being, V’Ger considered the true reality of things to reside in the information which defined them, rather than the physical matter of which they were composed. Which is actually true from a certain quantum-mechanical perspective—”

  “You are stalling,” Dovraku told him. “Stay on the subject. The ascension.”