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Chapter Text

The string of numbers scrolling up Spock’s scanner was the first positive development in forty-five hours; it appeared they might actually manage to save themselves from the deadly virus that had infected the entire ship. He looked up. “Captain, we’ve found a potential source of ryetalyn on the planet’s surface.” There was no answer from the Captain’s chair. “Captain?” Spock repeated, struggling to keep the concern out of his voice.

The captain startled and sat up straighter. “Sorry, I haven’t been getting enough sleep lately.”

“Of course, sir.” Spock’s eyes tracked to Nyota’s station, currently manned by Ensign Richeldis. He crossed the two-point-four meters to the captain’s chair to rest a hand lightly on his shoulder, just high enough that his index finger grazed the skin of the captain’s neck. It was uncharacteristically warm and through the touch, he could sense a diffuse ache and crushing fatigue. Jim—Kirk when on duty, he reminded himself, turned toward him, eyebrows raised in a question. Spock informed him, “You are flushed, your body temperature is above normal, and your eyes are red.”

Kirk opened his mouth, undoubtedly to protest that he was “fine,” but paused and ran his hand over his face instead. “It was only a matter of time.” He suppressed a cough and accompanying wince. “Bones wasn’t kidding when he said Rigellian fever comes on quickly.”

“Indeed. I intend to take a team to the planet’s surface to collect ryetalyn for processing into antitoxin. McCoy and Chekov are, as far as I know, still asymptomatic.”

Kirk rested his forehead in his laced hands. “You going to suggest I relieve myself of duty?”

“To the contrary, Captain. Doctor McCoy will insist on remaining with you if he knows you are ill, and the number of unaffected senior officers is dwindling. We have less than six hours to retrieve and process the antitoxin before the first patients succumb.”

There was another uncharacteristically long pause before the captain said, “Right, take Bones and Chekov. Keep us posted up here.”

“I shall do so. As soon as we have beamed down, inform Chapel that you have begun to develop symptoms.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will, I promise.” Kirk waved him away.

Spock spared only a glance at Uhura’s station on his way off the bridge. She had been the first to fall ill and had been confined to sickbay under sedation for the past five point eight hours while they searched the system for a planet with accessible ryetalyn deposits on its surface. Against all odds, they had found such a planet, and Spock intended to collect and process the lifesaving agent before Nyota—before any member of the crew—lost their life to the disease. Richeldis offered him a tight smile on his way out the door. He acknowledged her with a brief nod before the turbolift doors closed behind him.

*

Leonard McCoy jogged from Uhura’s biobed to Giotto’s in response to the latest alarm, swearing under his breath. Lieutenant Uhura, Security Chief Giotto, Scotty, and Spock had all been exposed three days ago while responding to a distress call from a previously uncontacted species. They had made repairs to the Hsseih ship without incident, but the virus had incorporated itself into the DNA of their respiratory epithelium before they returned, rendering it invisible to the transporter biofilters. First encounters with newly discovered species were always an epidemiological risk, but of all the things to encounter out here, a new strain of Rigellian fever that defied their standard immunizations was his personal nightmare.

A few hours ago, Uhura collapsed at her station, followed soon after by Giotto, then Scotty about two hours later. It was too late to quarantine. The airborne virus had already gotten into the ventilation system and infected the entire crew. Spock and sh’Ralha down in astrometrics would probably survive it, but chances were slim for the rest of them. Even with the best care, Rigellian fever had a ninety percent case mortality rate in species with iron based blood unless a chelating antitoxin based on the mineral ryetalyn could be administered before the damage became too severe—and once Leonard’s medical staff all went down, there would be no “best care” available.

The door to Sickbay slid open and Spock stepped through. “There’s no change in Uhura’s condition,” Leonard said wearily.

Spock nodded but didn’t turn to look at him immediately, instead walking to Uhura’s biobed to stand with his hands clasped too tightly behind him. “How long?”

“Four hours, six if we’re lucky until the damage is irreversible. We’ve got fifty more showing symptoms now. I’m having them rest in their quarters for now.”

“The orbital survey of Holberg 917-G has detected substantial deposits of ryetalyn. Chekov and I will accompany you to obtain it.”

“Jim’s not going with us?” Leonard asked warily.

“He determined it was more appropriate for him to remain aboard.”

“Meaning he’s sick,” Leonard guessed. Spock wouldn’t confirm his suspicions, but the little wrinkle between his brows did it for him. “He didn’t think I’d go if I knew.” McCoy shook his head. “Identifying and processing ryetalyn is tricky. I wouldn’t leave the job to anyone else—Jim’s life isn’t the only one on the line.”

“Understood, Doctor. Shall we?”

“Time’s a wastin’,” Leonard agreed. He grabbed his kit and followed Spock out the door and down the hall to the turbolift. “And how are you doing?”

“I am not yet symptomatic. In my case, it is likely to take another one to three days before symptoms appear.”

“Not what I meant.” And Spock knew it, but Leonard didn’t feel like giving him grief for compartmentalizing today, not with Jim sick too. “For what it’s worth, M’Benga can do as good a job looking after Uhura and Jim as I can.” He put his hands behind his back and faced the turbolift door until it delivered them, then half-jogged to the transporter room to find Chekov waiting.

Spock addressed the navigator. “Most of the Security division is already showing signs of illness. You and I will keep watch for threats while Doctor McCoy collects the ryetalyn.”

“Understood, sir,” Chekov said. They took their places on the transporter and waited for the tech to put them down on the surface.

*

Leonard had rarely seen such an aggressively pink sky. The sparse vegetation was adapted to an arid climate and mostly a contrasting deep blue. The colors were individually pretty but a little much in combination. He pulled his tricorder out to run a scan. “There’s a large deposit of ryetalyn bearing 273, one point eight kilometers from here. Uhura and Giotto should be stable for another four to six hours. After that, there will be too much damage to their cardiovascular systems for the antitoxin to do any good.” He started off in the direction the tricorder indicated, expecting Chekov and Spock to keep up.

Spock interrupted him. “Strange. Readings indicate a life form in the vicinity. Humanoid.”

There weren’t supposed to be any humanoids living on this godforsaken hunk of rock. “We need to warn them off, Spock! The three of us might not be symptomatic yet but we’re all shedding virus.”

“Indeed, Doctor. Ship’s sensors did not pick up any evidence of humanoid life. You may be assured I would have informed you so that we could take precautions.”

“Let’s get on with it and hope we don’t run into them,” Leonard said. “This way, Chekov.”

Leonard picked his way over the rough ground with Spock on his left and Chekov on his right and a little behind him. They’d be keeping an eye out for trouble so he could keep his eyes peeled for the violet crystals of ryetalyn. Spock stopped short, clearly having heard something suspicious. Chekov closed the gap between them. A silver drone maybe half the height of a man with a spherical top and tapered body flew into sight. Abruptly it fired a beam of blue energy that hit the ground less than a meter in front of them, throwing sparks and sending a pulse of heat their way. A warning shot, Leonard assumed. How polite of it.

The three of them dashed for cover. Spock and Chekov aimed their phasers at the thing. “Fire at will, Ensign,” Spock said, but when they pressed the triggers their phasers didn’t respond. The thing shot at them again, the bolt landing right at their feet. It drifted slowly toward them as though to block their escape. Spock and Chekov stepped between Leonard and the machine for all the good it would do.

A figure, partially obscured by the drone, approached. “Do not kill,” he said. The floating weapons platform stood down, drifting away from them to hover near the man’s shoulder. He looked human, perhaps seventy years old but in good health, silver haired and dressed in a garish paisley tunic and leggings along with a royal blue cape. Leonard pegged him as an ostentatious eccentric.

“I am commander Spock of the—” Spock began.

“I know who you are,” the man interrupted. “I have monitored your ship since it entered this system.”

They were too short of time to spend it chatting with and incidentally exposing the locals. Leonard spoke up. “Then you know why we’re here.”

The man glared at them. “You will leave my planet immediately.”

“Your planet, sir?” Spock asked.

“My retreat from the unpleasantness of life on Earth. And the company of people.”

Spock made another attempt to reason with him. “Mr.—”

“Flint,” the man supplied.

Spock continued, “Mr. Flint. Our entire crew has been exposed to Rigellian fever. We need only a kilogram of ryetalyn to produce an antidote which will save all our lives.”

“Nevertheless, you are trespassing, Commander,” Flint insisted.

Spock’s voice took on a familiar strained patience. “We have no choice, Mr. Flint. We are willing to pay for it, or trade for it.”

“You have nothing that I want.”

“You have shown us nothing that proves you have sole rights to the resources on this planet. We will remain long enough to collect the ryetalyn and then we will be gone. You are under no obligation to interact with us.” Recluse or not, the emergency circumstances made it legal for them to obtain what they needed, especially given that it was such a small amount and could be done quickly and with no damage to the man’s property.

Flint stepped inside Spock’s personal space, toe to toe and almost nose to nose with the Vulcan. “If you do not leave voluntarily I have the power to force you to leave or kill you where you stand.”

Spock stood his ground. “Rigellian fever is airborne and highly contagious even in the incubation period. Just the time we have spent speaking to one another is likely to have infected you. You will require the treatment just as our crew does.”

Leonard had had just about enough of the callousness of the aptly named Flint. “Have you ever seen a victim of Rigellian fever? It only takes a day to kill once symptoms appear. The effects are similar to those of the Black Death. The circulatory and lymphatic systems become infected and the patient becomes septic. Blood leaks out of the vessels and the lungs fill with fluid. At that point, it's just a race to see whether you bleed out first or suffocate.”

Surprisingly, Leonard’s diatribe stunned the man to temporary silence. “Constantinople,” Flint finally said, his face growing pinched. “Summer, 1334. It marched through the streets, the sewers. It left the city by ox cart, by sea to kill half of Europe. The rats in the walls rustled and squealed in the night as they too died.”

“Are you a student of history, sir?” Spock asked quietly. A student of history wouldn’t have that look on his face or horror in his voice. Leonard would bet good liquor the man had witnessed a deadly epidemic sometime in his life.

“I am,” Flint replied. “The Enterprise, a plague ship.” He seemed to come to a decision. “You have two hours, at the end of which time you will leave.”

“We are most grateful, Mr. Flint,” Spock said.

Flint gestured to the floating robot. “M-4 will gather the ryetalyn. How much do you require?”

“One kilogram. And I’ll be sure to make up a dose for you too since we’ve gone and exposed you.”

“That won’t be necessary, Doctor. I doubt I am susceptible. Come, permit me to offer you more comfortable surroundings.”

Leonard would have preferred to just collect the ryetalyn himself and get out of there, but under the circumstances, they would have to humor their well armed and capricious host.

*

Pavel brought up the rear of their little party, keeping a lookout for more murder robots. A short walk brought them to a bridge leading to Flint’s home. So he had a castle. A real, live ornate, enormous castle with Byzantine architecture that reminded him of Russia. He had a bad case of friendliness whiplash he’d decided not to suppress given that their host had gone from murderous to accommodating in the space of about five seconds. He had no intention of trusting the man, and he suspected neither the commander nor the doctor trusted him either.

Inside, the castle was a mix of modern and ancient. There were rich rugs on the floor, paintings on the walls—actual paintings rather than prints, and fancy antique furniture. Pavel took up a guard position by the entry, facing so that he could keep track of all the doors leading into or out of the room.

Commander Spock stopped in the center of the room. “Our ship’s sensors failed to detect your presence here, Mr. Flint. I assure you if they had, we would simply have hailed you and requested the ryetalyn, rather than beaming down to expose you.”

“My planet is surrounded by screens which create the impression of lifelessness,” Flint explained, “as a protection against the curious or the uninvited.”

“Then you live here alone.”

“Except for M-4, which serves as butler, housekeeper, gardener, and guardian.”

“Your home is wery beautiful, Mr. Flint,” Pavel said. “Very beautiful,” he corrected with an effort.

Dr. McCoy took an interest in a collection of old books on Flint’s antique desk. “You have quite a collection here. A Shakespeare first folio, a Gutenberg Bible, Creation monographs by…” he listed until Pavel stopped listening to him flatter the old man. Both he and Spock were acting casual and respectful, but Pavel had spent many hours working on the ship’s computer systems with Spock, often during some crisis or other, and he could see the tension in the line of his commanding officer’s shoulders and the stiffness in his jaw.

He hoped they would get the antitoxin in time.

*

Rayna had spent a lifetime wondering what people other than Flint were like. Their home was far from the center of civilization, or civilization “such as it is,” as Flint would call it when they spoke over dinner. Her guardian was stern in his instruction, detailed and precise in his work, and given to periods of silent brooding during which, as the closest thing he had to a daughter, she ensured he took his meals and had something of intellectual interest at hand to distract him.

She supposed she was happy. Certainly, she was grateful for their refuge from violent and foolish humanity, though at times she entertained a desire to experience some of those places she had learned about in books or on screens. These three people, conversing with Flint only a few walls away, had been to so many fascinating places, she was sure, and had done so many interesting things. They pulled at her curiosity hard enough that it ached in her limbs. Still, she made herself sit quietly like an obedient not-quite-daughter and told herself to be glad she had been granted the opportunity to watch the men from her room.

Flint disappeared from her screen and, predictably enough, appeared beside her. “Have you found your observations edifying so far, Rayna?”

She walked over to him, her excitement quickening her steps. “At last I have seen other humans!”

“Other men,” Flint corrected.

“One of them is not human,” she agreed, having noticed the odd ears and complexion.

“The Vulcan,” Flint supplied.

“So that is a Vulcan.” She turned away just long enough to compose herself before springing her trap. “I should like to discuss subdimensional physics with him. You’ve taught me all you know in the area and you say Vulcans know more.” She wanted more than that. She wanted to observe the men’s body language and compare it to Flint’s. She wanted to hear language spoken in a new cadence. And the funny blond one? She just wanted to get close enough to study his face.

Flint dismissed them all. “Even the Vulcan is not your intellectual equal. Nor mine. They merely have a somewhat more direct appreciation of subdimensional physics than we.”

“Let me meet them,” she asked, her curiosity leading to rashness. Flint knew everything, including what was best for Rayna. Who was she to plead with him?

Flint stepped closer to her. “They are selfish, brutal. A part of the human community which I have rejected, and from which I have shielded you.”

She knew he only wanted to protect her, but they would be here for such a short time, and she might not have another chance to study humanity. “Soon they will be gone and you will have your peaceful home back. Just for now, let me meet them.”

His face changed. He took her by the shoulders, leaned in, and put his mouth on hers, lightly, but pulled away as if one of them had done something wrong. “Rayna,” he said, his voice soft and his eyes sad, “Are you lonely?”

“What does it mean to be lonely?” She knew that people generally suffered when alone. Rayna was not alone; she had Flint, but the sight of others who were not Flint made her restless with the desire to know them.

Flint smiled sadly. “It’s thirst. It’s a flower dying in the desert.” He touched her cheek and turned away. Rayna didn’t ask him to explain the metaphor. She didn’t like the look on his face when she admitted to not understanding something human. He had protected her from other humans, finding them silly and dangerous. Why, then, was his disappointment so cutting when she failed to behave enough like them?

She thought back through the books she’d read—thousands of them during her education. Humans lived in groups, not alone on planets with only their guardians for company. Was this aching need to talk to a new person, any new person, what lonely meant? “Flint, please don’t take this opportunity away from me,” she pleaded. “It’s so exciting!”

“Exciting?” She’d piqued his curiosity. “You’ve never made a demand of me before.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, ready to take it back.

“Do not be sorry. It might be interesting to see how they interact with you.” She had done well then, after all. He checked a monitor set into the wall. “M-4 has collected the ryetalyn. I will delay them for a time so that you may have your opportunity to study them.”

Rayna followed Flint to the parlor where he had left the men from the ship. She halted in the doorway, not far from where the young blond man kept watch. Flint was occupied offering the services of his lab and inviting the men to dinner. Rayna crept forward.

He saw her and startled. Rayna put a finger to her lips, then whispered, “What is your name?”

“Ensign Pavel Chekov. Mr. Flint said he was alone,” he accused.

“He was worried about me,” Rayna explained. “Humans are violent and unpredictable.”

“I think I take exception to that,” Pavel Chekov said, relaxing. He smiled in a slightly silly way and winked.

He was expecting some kind of response, but Rayna didn’t know what, exactly. “Flint informed me that you need ryetalyn to treat a disease on your ship.”

“Yes, that is right. If we do not have it, we will all be dead in perhaps two days.”

“You are Starfleet. Soldiers. Among the stars.”

His smile grew more natural. “Explorers. Soldiers only when we have to be.”

She saw Flint put out his hand. “Excuse me,” she said, hastening past Pavel Chekov to join her guardian in the parlor.

“Gentlemen,” Flint said, “May I present Rayna Kapec.”

“I thought you lived alone,” the doctor said, his brows knit together in what might have been confusion.

“I meant there are no others besides my family,” Flint told them, an obvious untruth. Was this what was called a “polite fiction” in books?

Flint continued his introductions. “This gentleman is Dr. McCoy, and this is Mr. Spock. And I believe the young gentleman is—”

She interrupted in her excitement, “Pavel Chekov. We spoke in the entryway.”

“I see.” Flint’s tone was mildly disapproving.

Rayna decided engaging the Vulcan in conversation would be more acceptable to Flint. “Mr. Spock, I do hope we can find the time to discuss subspace field mechanics. I have read T’Kuei’s work, but I found the discussion of pattern interactions in transport to be incomplete.”

The Vulcan nodded politely, but without enthusiasm. “Indeed, a fascinating topic. However, might I suggest you discuss it with Mr. Chekov. He is the ship’s navigator and quite well versed in the subject. Perhaps he could share some of his current research.”

She caught Pavel Chekov’s eye as he took a couple of hesitant steps into the room. “That sounds splendid!” she said, holding out a hand to beckon him in.

Flint cut her off. “Her parents were killed in an accident while in my employ. Before dying, they placed their infant daughter into my custody. I have raised and educated her.”

“Rayna Kapec. That is Russian name,” Pavel noted.

“So it is,” Flint told him. “Tell me, what do you think of my Rayna?” Flint seemed to be taking some pleasure in showing her off, but there was a touch of challenge in his voice.

The young man’s cheeks turned pink and he ducked his head. “She seems an intelligent and lovely woman, sir.”

Flint nodded. “And so she is.”

“What else are you interested in, besides subspace phenomena?” Pavel asked, grinning.

She tilted her head as if that were a strange question to ask. “Everything. Less than that is a betrayal of the intellect.”

“Yes!” he said, rising onto his toes for a moment. “Do you feel, when you discover there is something in the universe you do not know, that there is a hole inside you that must be filled?”

“I do!” She looked around to find Flint. He was staring at her intensely. She turned back to Pavel, uncomfortable.

From behind her, Flint continued detailing her accomplishments. “Rayna possesses the equivalent of seventeen university degrees.”

Chekov grinned. “That’s wonderful! I have only—nine? Yes, nine. Mostly physics and chemistry related. And Russian literature. Space travel is exciting, sometimes, but often there is nothing to do for weeks and weeks. So we study. Have you read Tolstoy?”

“I have! Have you read Dostoyevsky?”

“Of course!”

Flint continued talking about how intelligent and well read Rayna was. He was, she supposed, proud of her achievements, though how they would serve her if she never left their refuge was an open question. He seemed to approve of Vulcans more than humans if his favoring of Mr. Spock was any indication. She had heard they were pacifists and so perhaps less objectionable than humans, which made the senseless loss of their whole planet all the more tragic. This particular Vulcan seemed too preoccupied to entertain a young woman in want of intelligent company, though. Rayna offered the younger human a bright smile, then turned to Flint. “May I converse with Pavel?”

He nodded graciously. “Certainly, as long as you remain in the parlor.”

Dismissed, she led Pavel to a couch and sat down beside him. The smile on his face had grown, if anything, wider. She hardly knew where to begin. “Lately I have been interested in subdimensional physics, especially the interaction of mind with exotic matter and energy. Have you studied these phenomena on your ship?”

“Of course! They are wery--very important to matter transporters.”

Rayna nodded enthusiastically. “I have read philosophical works on the transporter conundrum. The transporter destroys the body and makes a copy elsewhere—a quantum duplicate. There is discussion of whether that means the one transported dies and is replaced.”

Chekov smiled. “It is real, technical problem with technological solution.” He reached into his pocket for a small object, which he held in his open palm. It was a sort of medallion, a lozenge of polished stone or glass, the warm gold color interrupted by a maze of silvery circuitry embedded throughout.

“It’s beautiful. What is it?”

“An analog capture matrix. It is part of the transporter pattern buffer. It interfaces with the standing tetryon neutrino fields all intelligent life forms project into subspace and stabilizes them during transport, so they slip off the body being dematerialized and catch on to the body materializing at the destination.”

“So it’s a soul-catcher?” The research she had read had been puzzling in that regard, the Vulcans emphasizing the critical importance of this subspace field to the continuation of the individual, but circumlocuting around their rationale.

Chekov’s brow wrinkled for a moment while he decided what to say. “It is Vulcan technology. For all their logic, they are in their hearts mystics. I do know that if it becomes damaged or misaligned, strange things happen.”

She peered closer at it but hesitated to touch it uninvited. “What kind of strange things?”

“One being becoming two, or two becoming one. Interactions with near parallel universes. Body swapping.”

“None of those sound pleasant,” she allowed. “May I hold it?”

“Certainly.” He handed her the object.

It fit neatly into the hollow of her palm and was warmer and lighter than she had expected. “Oh, it’s amber!”

Chekov leaned in close so his curly hair brushed against hers. “It is. This one is real Earth amber, three hundred forty million years old. If you look closely you can see a fragment of a leaf fossilized inside.” He indicated the spot with a finger and she leaned in close to see.

“I see it! A fern of some kind. If it’s so important, why use an imperfect stone to make it?”

Chekov shook his head. “I do not know. But knowing Spock, I imagine it is for the aesthetic.”

“Is that why you have one in your pocket?”

He shrugged. “Perhaps. And for luck."

Chapter Text

Leonard followed M-4 into the laboratory, though it did him little good, as the floating robot passed through a second door that slid shut and would not admit him. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to learn from watching the thing drift back and forth behind a frosted glass window. He picked up a bottle of reagent, which was unlabeled. Not a good sign, though he supposed the robot might not need written labels to identify materials. The entire situation made him deeply uncomfortable. He ought to be up on the Enterprise ensuring that the ryetalyn was refined and prepared for infusion efficiently and correctly, not standing around in a mysterious recluse’s castle. If he wasn’t going to be useful, he’d rather be in Sickbay with his patients. With Jim.

He took a moment to check in. “Enterprise, this is McCoy. Get me M’Benga or Chapel.”

“Just a moment,” the unfamiliar voice of the ensign filling in for Uhura said.

After a moment, he heard M’Benga’s voice, sounding rough and raw. “What’s the ETA on the ryetalyn?” he asked.

“Less than two hours. How are the three of them holding up?”

“They’re all hanging on. Scotty’s the worst of the bunch right now. And we’ve got three more critical, including the Captain. You know how his immune system responds to challenge.”

Leonard sighed. “That I do. What’s our total caseload?”

“One hundred four at last count.”

“And you’re one of them,” Leonard guessed.

“Sorry to say.”

“Keep me posted. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He flipped the comm closed and propped himself against the lab bench to wait for M-4, rubbing at the headache growing behind his eyes.

*

Pavel was having his ass handed to him by a beautiful woman and loving every minute of it. Rayna Kapec was an absolute shark at billiards, though they hadn’t gotten that far into the game since both had become distracted several times when a billiards analogy relevant to warp fields or quantum gravity popped into one of their heads and needed to be shared.

There was something familiar about the way she moved, the way she thought, the way her eyes lit on everything for not quite long enough or just a little too long. He found himself letting his guard down, letting the mathematics that filled his head spill out of his mouth without worrying that she might find him strange or dull.

Flint was trying to engage Spock in conversation without much success, the Vulcan seeming more inclined to pensive silence. Pavel was sure he’d be beside himself with worry too if his girlfriend was critically ill and waiting for medicine being made in the next room by a terrifying murder robot.

“What is it like?” Rayna asked Pavel after a short silence.

“What is what like?”

“Traveling on a ship. Being somewhere new every day.”

It was hard to imagine what Rayna’s life must have been like, growing up with only a humorless old man for company, never leaving this castle, however opulent it might be. She was like a princess locked in a tower. “It is good. The crew is family to me and there is always something new and amazing to learn. I wish you could come and see.” He heard music coming from across the room and stood to see who was playing, Rayna following at his side. It was Spock, playing a waltz. He grinned at Rayna. “Do you dance?”

“I taught her myself,” Flint said. He seemed to need to take credit for everything Rayna did, as though he thought of her as an extension of his ego rather than a person in her own right. It bothered Pavel.

“Rayna, do you want to dance?” he repeated, deliberately facing Rayna and only Rayna.

“I would, thank you,” she said, though her eyes slid toward Flint for a moment first as though she was asking permission.

They circled the room, first slowly, getting used to each other, and then more energetically. Pavel felt his cheeks heat and his face crack into a grin he was sure looked silly.

He leaned in to whisper in Rayna’s ear. “Look at Spock. He only makes that face when he’s playing music.”

She moved her head slightly to see and their cheeks brushed, then she ducked her head shyly and he thought his ears and cheeks would catch fire. They took another spin and he caught a glimpse of Flint watching them intensely. He leaned in to whisper again, “If I were to kiss you, would Flint tear me to pieces?”

She pondered his question. “I do not believe so. He would have M-4 dispatch you instead.”

“I guess we should stick to dancing, then.” He whirled her around the room again, barely missing the billiards table.

Dr. McCoy plodded into the room, grim-faced and heavy limbed. “Spock.”

Spock stopped playing and Pavel stepped away from Rayna. “What is it, Doctor?” Spock said.

“The ryetalyn is contaminated with irillium. Nine hundred parts per million.” Chekov could almost hear the ghosts of the curses the doctor wouldn’t say in front of their host.

Spock clarified for Flint, “Irillium will bind to the ryetalyn, rendering it ineffective.”

Flint turned his gaze to the floor for a moment. “Most unfortunate that it was not detected. I will accompany M-4 myself to collect more and ensure its purity.” He started for the door. “You’re welcome to join me, Doctor.”

“Thank you,” McCoy muttered after him, sounding less than thankful. He toyed absently with his wedding band.

“How will this delay affect our timetable, Doctor?” Spock said, even more flatly than usual.

McCoy pressed his lips into a thin line. “We have two and a half hours. If we let the robot do the processing, we can get it done in time. It works twice as fast as I can.”

“And yet it made a critical error,” Spock noted.

McCoy threw up his hands and shook his head. “We can just hope that there’s uncontaminated ryetalyn available locally. We don’t have time to remove the impurities.”

“Indeed.” He glanced at Flint, then back to McCoy. “Keep a close eye on our host.”

“Like a hawk,” McCoy said. When he turned to follow Flint, he swayed slightly and caught himself against the wall before disappearing around the corner.

“Mr. Spock,” Pavel said. The Commander would not have been able to see McCoy leave from the alcove. “I believe the doctor is ill.”

Mr. Spock nodded grimly. “I am aware. We can only hope he is able to function long enough to deliver the antitoxin.”

“You knew?”

“You and the doctor are both symptomatic.”

Pavel was flushed and sweating, but that could just be from waltzing around the room with a pretty girl. “I do not believe so, sir,” he said.

Spock lifted a few sheets of paper from the piano, changing the subject. “Come here. Look at this sheet music.”

“Of course, sir?” Pavel found himself momentarily confused by the change of subject. He approached Spock. Rayna trailed behind him, still holding his hand.

“How familiar are you with Johannes Brahms?”

Pavel glanced sideways at Rayna, not wanting to admit ignorance in front of her. “Was a talented composer,” he said.

Spock looked pointedly at Rayna. “This work is highly unusual. It is clearly Brahms’ work, an original manuscript, but I have neither played nor heard it before.”

Waltzes all sounded kind of the same to Pavel, so he just nodded as if he knew what Spock was talking about. “That is unusual. Are you certain?”

“Ninety percent certain. Rayna, did you or Flint write this?”

Rayna stopped short and folded her hands in front of her. “I don’t know. If he did it was before I came to him. Is it important?”

“Not to our current predicament,” Spock told her. “If you will excuse me, I believe I will offer my assistance to the doctor. Mr. Chekov, keep the young lady company.” Spock left them alone in the parlor, his parting words clearly an order. They had reason to mistrust Flint and, by extension, Rayna, but he had a hard time believing that the too-earnest young woman would be involved in a conspiracy.

He led Rayna back to the settee, capturing her hands between his and sitting facing her. She wrinkled her forehead. “You are warmer than you were,” she said. “Are you ill?”

“We all are. Rigellian fever. It is okay. We will have our antitoxin and everything will be fine.”

She looked away again. “And then you will go.”

“I…yes. We will.”

“I would rather you did not.” She stared at their hands.

“Flint would prefer that we do, I think.”

Rayna twisted their hands together where they rested between them. “I have everything I should want here, and yet. When I consider that you will go away and my life will be as it was, I feel empty. Restless. You especially. I do not want you to go away.”

He didn’t know if it was the sad look in her eyes or the rising fever he could no longer pretend he didn’t feel, but he blurted, “What if you came with us?”

She startled and pulled away from him a little. “Oh, but I couldn’t! Flint would never allow me to leave.”

“How old are you?” Pavel asked, only realizing the question was rude after it flew out of his mouth.

Rayna blinked at him. “That’s something I ought to know.”

Pavel had to agree. “Most people do.” His mind filed that unusual fact away to think about later.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I think you are at least twenty, maybe twenty-five. That’s old enough to make your own decisions.”

Rayna shook her head vehemently. “I am not very good at making decisions. Flint is the greatest, kindest, wisest man in the galaxy. and he loves me. I do as he wills and he ensures I have everything I need.”

“Everything but company,” Pavel reminded her.

She sighed. “Everything but that.” She stood. “I need to go.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Yes. No. I hope so.” She stood up so fast her dress brushed a sheaf of papers to the floor, then she walked, slow and sedate, with her arms folded across her chest and her head bowed, into the anteroom just outside the lab. Pavel resisted the urge to follow.

*

Leonard found it increasingly difficult to keep up with M-4 and Flint. He wasn’t incapacitated yet—he ought to have a few more hours before that was a problem, though he feared that his recent bout of xenopolycythemia might negatively affect his course. Flint and the robot were a good twenty meters ahead of him when the old man shouted, “We have found sufficient ryetalyn for your needs!”

“Bring it here so I can scan it. We can’t afford to waste another couple of hours processing useless minerals.” He sat down on a boulder to dab at his forehead with his sleeve, then covered his eyes to give them a rest from the sunlight until he heard Flint’s footsteps on the sandy soil and the faint whir of M-4 coming up beside him. He flipped on his tricorder to scan the specimen bag full of violet crystals.

“These look good,” he told them, surprised and annoyed by the raspy catch in his voice. When he stood, his vision darkened for a moment and he had to lower his stance to stay upright. The moment of near-syncope passed and he started forward after Flint and M-4, finding the going much slower than he’d have liked. Flint slowed his steps as a courtesy. “At the rate I’m going, we won’t get back to your place in time to make the antitoxin,” he puffed.

In the distance, he could see a blue shirted figure approaching. He chucked his chin at it. “That will be Spock. Go on ahead. He can supervise M-4 as well as I can.”

Flint strode off after his robot. Leonard decided the dusty ground was as good a place to sit down for a while as any. He plucked a hollow grass stem the color of lilacs, took a conscientious moment to scan it for toxins, and put it to his lips. He didn’t have the breath to produce a satisfying whistle, so he tossed it aside in time to see Spock conferring with M-4 and Flint before the two moved on and Spock continued toward him

That was not the idea. Spock needed to supervise those two before they ruined another batch of antitoxin. He tried to stand but only made it to his knees before bruise dark circles obscured his vision. By the time they cleared, Spock was at his side. Leonard made it the rest of the way to his feet and promptly and embarrassingly collapsed against Spock.

The Vulcan wrapped an arm tightly around Leonard’s body and put Leonard’s hand firmly on his opposite shoulder. “Your illness is progressing more rapidly than I would have expected,” he said.

Leonard was glad of the support but felt obligated to make a token protest he knew would be rejected. “I can walk, you know.”

“You and I both know that to be false.”

“I could manage if I had to,” Leonard protested.

“And you don’t have to, so you will not.”

They continued making their slow way back to the castle, one step at a time. “How are you holding up?” Leonard asked once he caught his breath a little.

Spock didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was softer than usual. “My thoughts turn frequently to Nyota. I should be there with her. But I must be here to have the best chance to save her life.”

Leonard gathered enough breath to speak. “Jim and Nyota are in good hands with M’Benga. Scotty and Giotto too. He’ll keep them stable until we can get back with the antitoxin.”

“You are merely saying so to comfort me.”

“I’m saying it to comfort both of us, but you know Geoff. He won’t give up on either of them.” That short speech left him breathless.

Spock shifted his hold to take more of Leonard’s weight. “Their survival does not depend solely on Dr. M’Benga’s perseverance.”

“You sure know how to be helpful,” Leonard wheezed, hoping the sarcasm was still evident in his voice.

“If I were not helpful you would still be sitting on the ground.”

“You know what I meant.”

“Indeed.”

*

Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock were taking longer than Pavel hoped; either that or the headache he might be just imagining was making him impatient. He got up to pace and found himself circling toward the doorway through which Rayna had disappeared. She stood inside a room that looked a little like a laboratory, facing away from him, turned instead toward an unmarked door. He took a couple of steps into the room and when she failed to notice him, picked up and set down an unmarked bottle of clear blue liquid, hoping the sound would catch her attention.

She turned around stiffly, her eyes wide with what looked like fear.

“Are you all right, Rayna?” he asked.

“No,” she answered. She turned back around to face the door again.

“What’s in there?”

“I do not know. Flint told me never to go in there. He provides for me in every other way. In this I obey him.”

In everything you obey him, Pavel didn’t say. “Are you afraid of him?”

“Flint would not harm me,” she said, after a long pause.

“That was not a no.” Pavel moved closer, afraid he might spook her. He put his hands on her shoulders and she searched his face for something, he didn’t know what. “It will be alright,” he said, not sure whether he was being completely truthful. “Can I hold you? It might help.”

She nodded and he pulled her delicately toward him. She seemed brittle in his arms, fragile, and he held her as gingerly as he might hug his great grandmother, even though she didn’t resemble her in the slightest. His involuntary chuckle made her startle. “You are very pretty,” he told her.

She stiffened suddenly, raising her head to look over his shoulder. He turned to see M-4 approaching them. It was making that threatening whistle and the lights around its middle were pulsing red. Pavel pushed Rayna out of the way and tried to get it to follow him instead. It didn’t take much trying. The thing flanked him when he tried to get to the door. Trying to go around the lab bench in the other direction didn’t help.

Rayna shouted, “Stop command!”

It got him backed up against the wall and floated toward him. “Stop!” Rayna shouted again, to no effect. The robot pressed forward. Pavel wondered why it hadn’t just shot him with one of its lasers. Did it not want to set the room on fire? What would it do when it reached him? He tensed to duck down under the thing when a phaser blast lit it up blue and vaporized it. A puff of heat, not quite enough to singe his eyebrows, washed over him.

Spock stood in the doorway. “Thank you, sir!” Pavel said, sagging against the wall in relief.

“Fortunately, the robot did not detect my presence and deactivate my phaser.”

Pavel ran to Rayna. “Are you all right?”

Rayna stared at the space where M-4 had been. “I do not know.” She looked him in the eye. “It would have killed you!”

“It’s all right. We’re safe now,” he told her, pulling her into another gentle hug. Spock made an eyebrow at him. Pavel returned it. Rayna looked at him and ran a finger along the ridge of his brow, then copied the gesture. It looked so adorable on her that he kissed her on the forehead before he considered what he was doing.

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him back.

*

Chapter Text

Flint was angry. He was wearing his stern protective face, but he was angry. At Pavel, certainly, but also at Rayna. He directed his explanation to Spock, who had placed himself between Flint and Pavel. Rayna stood beside the young man, wanting to take his hand, to smooth out the clenched fist he was hiding behind his body and soften the line of his tense shoulders.

Flint lectured the three of them. “M-4 was designed to defend this household and its members. No doubt I should have altered its instructions to account for the unauthorized but predictable behavior of these young people. It believed Ensign Chekov here was attacking Rayna.”

If it thought Pavel was attacking her, why hadn’t it stopped when she ordered it to? M-4 always obeyed her wishes just as Rayna obeyed Flint’s. She didn’t understand why Flint wasn’t telling the entire truth, nor could she immediately determine what that truth was. It was distressing to see him behaving in this way.

Spock continued speaking in that calm, measured voice of his. “So if it were here now, it would not—” The Vulcan’s words were cut off by the replacement M-4 entering the room. Pavel twitched and took a step backward.

“Too useful a device to be without, really,” Flint said, with a smile on his face that made Rayna uncomfortable. “Fortunately, I keep several in reserve in case of an accident. It will now return to the lab to continue refining the antitoxin under Doctor McCoy’s watchful eye.”

“Be glad, gentlemen, that you remain in my good graces. I will not hesitate to protect myself or what is mine.”

“I don’t like the way you talk about her,” Pavel blurted.

“Know your place, young man,” Flint snapped. “Rayna, you see how childish he is. Would you call him brave or foolish?”

Rayna could not meet his eyes. She searched her mind for an answer which would not anger him, but would also not be false. Finally, she said, “I am glad he did not die.”

“Of course you are, Rayna. Death, when unnecessary, is a tragic thing.” He turned to Spock and Pavel. “May I suggest you wait here patiently and safely until Dr. McCoy returns with the ryetalyn?” He smiled without humor. “You can see that my defense systems operate automatically, and also not always in accordance with my wishes.”

“I would prefer to attend the doctor myself,” Spock said.

“I assure you he is as well as can be expected,” Flint said coldly. “Come, Rayna.” He headed out of the room, expecting Rayna to follow. She caught Pavel’s eye. He met hers briefly and looked away with a sweet, silly smile.

Flint stopped in the doorway. “Rayna,” he said firmly. She turned away from Pavel and followed, feeling confused and hollow. When she turned back to look at their guests, Flint repeated, “Come,” and none too gently took her hand, more dragging than leading her away.

*

Pavel watched Rayna disappear around the corner with Flint. “Commander, the way he orders her around. She is not a child, it seems wrong to me.”

Spock pulled the tricorder off from around his neck. “Ensign, since we are dependent on Mr. Flint for the ryetalyn, we must prioritize the survival of the crew over our concerns for the young lady.”

“That doesn’t seem fair to her.”

Spock pressed his lips together in an unmistakable frown. “I would prefer not to make it an order. By all means, remain civil, but do not arouse Flint’s jealousy further.”

Pavel perched on the edge of his chair to watch Spock fiddle with his tricorder. Flint’s behavior was confusing in the extreme. “Sir, if he is jealous, why did he suggest we spend so much time together? Why did he allow us to dance?”

Spock looked up from his tricorder. “His behavior does appear to defy human logic, at least as I understand it.”

“Sir, he raised her from a baby! He’s—grooming her to be his kept woman!”

Spock turned back to Pavel, his expression softening. “And if we were not all less than a day from death I would be more inclined to take action. Uhura, Scott, and Giotto cannot wait much longer for the antitoxin. We can afford no further delays.” He set down the tricorder and took out his communicator. “Spock to Enterprise.”

“Sulu here.” Was it Pavel’s imagination or did the voice sound heavy and breathless? “Status on the epidemic?”

“Of course, sir. Over sixty percent of the crew are showing symptoms, most in the earliest stages.” He paused to cough. “Scotty and Uhura are critical, but hanging on.”

Pavel could see the color and expression drain out of the Commander’s face, leaving him as still as a stone carving. “And the Captain?”

“Not much better.”

“Understood. All indications are that we will be able to administer the antitoxin within the hour. What information have you been able to gather about our host?”

Sulu paused, probably to confer with someone out of earshot. “We can’t find anything on a Mr. Flint. The planet was purchased thirty years ago by a Mr. Brack, a wealthy recluse.”

Spock turned to Pavel. “Chekov, were you able to ascertain an age and birth date for Miss Kapec?”

“No, I was not. And sir,” he tried to think of how best to explain, “she seemed as puzzled at that fact as I am. She does not know her own age, not even to an approximation.”

Spock nodded understanding and spoke into the communicator. “Have you run the name Rayna Kapec? A female human between seventeen and twenty-eight years old, placed in Flint’s care as an infant?”

“Not yet, but we will.”

“Let me know what you find. Spock out.” He gestured to Pavel to come closer. “We have a further mystery. My scans of Mr. Flint indicate that he is human or very nearly so, yet he appears to be approximately six thousand years old. Some biophysical indicators are unusual as well.”

“Is he Olympian like Apollo?”

“An excellent question, Ensign. I am not certain.”

Another question occurred to Pavel, but he hesitated for a moment before asking. “Have you scanned Rayna?”

“I have. The results of that scan shed no further light on Flint’s origins.”

Spock’s subtle evasion did not escape Pavel’s notice, but he decided not to press the matter. Instead, he asked, “How long do Uhura and Scotty have?”

“Two hours at most before their bodies are likely to have sustained too much damage to permit recovery. Without the ryetalyn, the rest of us will succumb over the next twenty hours.”

“Except you.”

“Except for myself and the one Andorian aboard. Statistically, out of the crew, we could expect as many as ten to fifteen others to survive.”

“I thought the ryetalyn was supposed to be ready by now. What’s keeping them?”

Spock stood and walked to the doorway of the room in which they had been told to wait. “I begin to wonder whether the delay is intentional on the part of Mr. Flint.”

“Why would he want to keep us here longer?”

“It is possible he does not intend to allow us to leave at all, as our deaths would prevent us from reporting his presence here and potentially ending his isolation.”

Pavel nodded. “And the risk that Rayna might choose not to stay with him.”

“That as well, Ensign. Just so you are aware, it is likely we are being monitored.”

“I understand, sir.” There were far too many objects in the room in which surveillance equipment could be hidden. They couldn’t hope to search them all.

Spock’s communicator chirped. He flipped it open. “Spock here.”

“We’ve completed the computer search on Rayna Kapec. There is no record of her ever having existed, just like Flint.”

“Thank you, Mr. Scott.” Spock shut off the link. “Interesting.”

“Just like Flint.”

“Precisely, though perhaps for different reasons. We must ascertain the situation regarding the ryetalyn. Come. We should attempt to locate Dr. McCoy.”

Pavel followed Spock out of the sitting room. Rayna met them just as they were leaving. “Pavel?” she said, looking distressed. “I’ve come to say goodbye.”

Spock looked from Pavel to Rayna and back. “Ensign, I will be in the lab. Do not delay for too long.”

“Yes, sir,” Pavel said. He hurried over to Rayna and took her hands in his. “I wish we did not have to say goodbye.”

She dipped her head. He caught her chin with his finger and raised it, wanting badly to kiss her but worried that he would be taking advantage. “Are you happy here?”

She blinked at him for a long time with those large, strange eyes of hers. “Is happiness the purpose of existence?”

“Well, it’s not the only purpose,” he answered, suddenly defensive. “But it’s important. You shouldn’t feel like you have to sacrifice your own happiness just because someone else wants you to.”

She looked away to toy with her sleeves. “Pavel, I owe Flint everything. Without him, who would I be?”

He leaned in to rest his forehead against hers. “Maybe someone who wasn’t so afraid.”

*

Spock could hear the doctor’s labored breathing before he even reached the anteroom. He found him curled up on the floor with his back to the lab bench, his head cradled in his hands, his fever high enough to radiate perceptible heat even without touch to confirm.

McCoy mumbled into his arms, “I tested the ryetalyn a couple of minutes ago. It looked perfect, but then M-4 just up and left with it.”

Spock crouched beside him. “Did you see where it went?”

“I’m sorry Spock, I tried to follow, but I can’t even stand up.”

“Is there anything I can do to assist?”

McCoy didn’t even look up. “Bring me my bag. And get that ryetalyn!”

Spock retrieved McCoy’s medkit and set it down beside him, but hesitated to leave him alone in his current state.

McCoy shoved him away, his hand hot against Spock’s side. “Go! I’m not at death’s door yet. Send Chekov my way for a hypo or two when you see him.”

Spock nodded curtly and hurried back out to the parlor to find Chekov standing in the middle of the room, looking lost. “Mr. Chekov, are you well?”

“No,” Chekov said very softly. He shook his head. “I’m fine, sir. Do we have the ryetalyn?”

“M-4 appears to have taken it. We’ll have to search.” He tuned his tricorder to detect M-4’s energy signature. “Through that door.”

“That’s the room Rayna said Flint told her never to enter.”

“Interesting,” Spock told him. Though if what he suspected about Rayna were true, perhaps not surprising. “I will enter and retrieve the ryetalyn.”

“I’m coming with you,” Chekov said.

“Ensign, I do not believe that is wise.”

The young man squared off his stance. “Sir, if two of us go, there is a better chance that one of us will make it out with the ryetalyn.”

He could find no valid counterargument to Chekov’s logic. The door slid open of its own accord when they approached. The glass containers of ryetalyn sat on a counter near the door. Across the room lay a table on which a form lay, covered with a green sheet. A label declared in tidy print, “Rayna #16.”

Chekov ran toward it. Spock strode quickly after him, catching him by the arm before he could pull back the sheet. The ensign met his eyes deliberately. “I need to see.”

Spock released him. Chekov pulled back the sheet to reveal a deathly still body, young, female and beautiful, though hairless. Chekov pondered the body for a while before replacing the sheet gently. He turned back to Spock with a worried expression. “Do you suppose our Rayna is Rayna seventeen? Or Rayna fifteen?”

“Ensign.” Spock gestured with his chin toward a set of three other tables, labeled as Raynas thirteen, fourteen, and fifteen.

Chekov sagged in relief. “This is good. She is not about to be replaced. But. What happened to the other Raynas?”

“Perhaps there will be a moment to ask Mr. Flint after we have the ryetalyn safely aboard the Enterprise.” He paused, regarding the young man. “You suspected as well.”

Chekov nodded. “The signs, they are small, but they are there.”

Spock turned at the sound of footsteps. McCoy, looking distinctly ill, but upright, approached the tables with his medscanner in hand. “They’re androids,” he said after a moment.

“Are they dead?” Chekov asked.

“They were never alive, Chekov, not really.” McCoy half leaned, half fell against Rayna #16’s table.

Chekov protested adamantly, “Rayna is alive. Just because she is a different kind of alive than you are does not make her less so!”

“A noble sentiment, young Chekov.” Flint stood behind them, his expression proud, almost smug. “Rayna, all of the Raynas, are my creations.”

“What was wrong with the others?”Chekov asked.

“It took longer to perfect the mind than the body, I am afraid. The earliest models were unsatisfactory. I deactivated them. These last four suffered neural net cascade failures.”

As Spock had suspected. “As have all known attempts at producing true artificial intelligence using Earth technology. Once you knew you were condemning them to die, why did you continue to make more of them?”

“Simple. I have been alone and lonely for centuries. I had hoped to create for myself a companion who would remain by my side, as immortal as I.”

Spock asked, for confirmation, “Your collection of Rembrandt originals. The Brahms waltz. Your work as well?”

Flint nodded. “I am Rembrandt. And Brahms. Among others. Methuselah and Merlin,” he nodded toward Chekov, “Koschei and Rasputin, though I fear I was the victim of very bad press in those cases.”

“We are not a forgiving people.” Chekov was still focused on the line of deactivated androids.

Spock pressed for more information. “When and where were you born?”

“Three thousand eight hundred years, more or less, before the Common Era, in a town in Mesopotamia that has been lost to memory. I was Ocarin, a soldier, a bully, and a fool. I fell in battle, pierced in the heart, but I did not die.”

“You learned that you were immortal,” McCoy concluded. “Spock, may I see the scans you took?”

“Certainly, doctor.”

McCoy took a seat on one of the ornate chairs and scrolled through the scans. “Flint, did you ever meet any of the Olympian immortals?”

“I encountered a small community in Greece. I found them to be pompous and frequently cruel. We parted ways soon after. I learned over time to conceal my immortality, to live some portion of a life, and move on before my nature was discovered. I encountered a few others like me over the millennia, but familiarity breeds contempt, and we always parted ways.”

McCoy turned to Spock, “He might be part Olympian. I don’t see any evidence of the power storage organ, though.”

Flint continued, “I have married a hundred times, taken still more lovers, only to watch them age and die. Or grow restless and wander. A woman’s mind fairs even more poorly than a man’s when trapped in an immortal body. She becomes more than her sex can contain. And less. Do you understand, Mr. Spock?”

Spock nodded. “You wanted a companion as brilliant and immortal as yourself.”

“And yet soft and feminine. A gentle creature to accept my care and appreciate my genius.” His eyes strayed to a painting on the wall, a smiling woman playing the lute. “Serah. We were together for over a century, but she grew shrewish and independent and one day, she boarded a ship and I never saw her again. Rayna was designed for and by me. I could not love her more.”

“Spock, how long have you known?” Chekov asked.

“I scanned her while you two were playing billiards. When did you begin to suspect, Ensign?”

“After we were attacked by M-4.”

“And it did not matter to you?”

Chekov looked genuinely puzzled. “Why should it, sir?”

Flint scoffed. “You cannot love an android, young man. And certainly not that one. She is mine, my handiwork. My property. She is what I most desire.”

Chekov shouted, “But in every way that matters, you are her father, not her lover! Commander, it is wrong for him to imprison her like this.”

Spock warned, “Ensign, we are at an impasse as regards Rayna. The lives of our crewmates must take precedence.”

“Does she know?” Chekov asked Flint.

“She will never know,” Flint said. There was a certainty in his tone that Spock immediately identified as a threat.

“Chekov, we must go now,” Spock said. He flipped open his communicator.

Flint interrupted him with a solemn proclamation. “You will stay.”

Chapter Text

“Does she know?” Pavel asked.

“She will never know,” Flint said. His face hardened, all friendliness instantly gone from it.

“Chekov, we must go,” Spock said. He flipped open his communicator.

Flint’s words landed like stones. “You will stay.”

“Why?” McCoy demanded.

Spock’s voice was weary and sad. “We have discovered what he is, Doctor.”

McCoy leaned forward in his chair, anger apparently giving him a brief respite from his exhaustion. “And what he is hardly matters anymore. Phoebus Apollo is teaching Classics at Oxford and reviving ancient Greek musical forms, last I heard. Isho Naziri has been working for Doctors Without Borders for over a century. Heck, there are two immortals serving in Starfleet, last I heard.”

Flint seemed unimpressed. “So, not unheard of, but still rare enough to be a curiosity. I will not become an exhibit. My privacy was my own. Your trespass was your doing, not mine.”

“We can remain silent,” Spock offered.

The stubborn old fool wouldn’t budge. “I have put too much time and effort into creating this refuge. I will not risk its compromise.” Pavel couldn’t help but feel he was punishing them for his behavior with Rayna. The thought made his hands ball into fists. He deliberately settled into parade rest, clasping them behind his back.

Spock pulled out his communicator. “Spock to Enterprise.” Nothing happened. “Mr. Scott, do you read?” His words had grown more clipped. They didn’t have time for this. Uhura and Scotty didn’t at least, and by now Giotto was probably no better.

The look on Flint’s face was sad but implacable. “They cannot respond, Commander.”

“What have you done to them?” Pavel lunged forward, but Spock caught him across the chest with his forearm, stopping him from rushing Flint.

Flint tapped a button on the remote in his hand and a miniature Enterprise appeared on a table beside them. Spock flinched perceptibly, then moved to examine it. “It does appear to be the Enterprise,” he told them. Suspended in time and space.”

“No time will pass for them until I wish it to,” Flint confirmed.

McCoy forced himself to his feet, keeping one hand on the arm of the chair for support. “If you could have done this from the beginning, why not do so then, rather than leave the crew to suffer while we processed the ryetalyn?”

“I had no desire to show my hand too soon. Thank you, by the way, young Chekov, you have done Rayna and me a great service, though I doubt she will see it that way immediately.” He took a couple of steps away from them. “It is time for the three of you to join your crew.”

“So we can be displayed like the rest of your decorations?” Pavel protested.

“I am a merciful man. I could kill every one of you. I have tossed many enemies into the fire in my long years. You will not die, merely rest in suspension.”

“For how long do you intend to hold us thus?” Spock’s gaze kept straying toward the ship on the table.

“A millennium, perhaps two. Until you have been forgotten and I am ready to move on from this world.”

McCoy spat his words. “You have known and created such beauty, witnessed so much history, watched your species evolve out of cruelty and barbarism through your enormous lifetime and now you would do this to us?”

“The flowers of my past pale before the nettles of my present. Perhaps, Doctor, I am merely a product of my time. I must see to my own needs.”

“What needs?” McCoy pressed.

“Tonight I have seen something wondrous, something I’ve waited for, labored for. Nothing may be allowed to endanger it. At last, my Rayna’s emotions have stirred to life. Now they will turn to me in this solitude I preserve.”

*

Rayna had hoped to catch sight of the men from the Enterprise one last time before they returned to their ship. She might be obligated to remain after all Flint had done for her, but they would go on to have adventures she could only dream about.

Hearing her name piqued her curiosity and she’d crept closer. She heard Flint declare that he would hold the men and their ship in stasis in order to preserve his little haven—the cage he’d built to keep her in.

Something seemed to break inside her, a dam holding back an aching hugeness she couldn’t contain. She crept forward, first fearful that Flint would condemn her for listening in, and then more purposefully. The ship rested on the table like one of Flint’s works of art.

A word worked its way up her throat. “No.”

“Rayna.” Flint seemed genuinely surprised to see her.

“You must not do this to them.”

“I must,” he said, his voice equal parts gentle and firm.

The Vulcan tilted his head just so. “What will you feel for him when we are gone?” he asked her. The question was unanswerable. She felt as though claws were digging into her chest.

“How do you think it will affect her if you harm the first real friend she’s ever had?” McCoy said.

Spock looked at the doctor, who was now holding himself upright with both hands braced on the chair and the table. “We have kept greater secrets than this, Mr. Flint. Return our ship to us and no one will ever need to know you are here.”

Flint looked from Spock to Rayna and back. His shoulders dropped a little. The ship on the table shimmered for a moment and disappeared. Rayna caught Pavel’s eye. He gave her a sad half-smile and a shrug.

“This is why you delayed the processing of the ryetalyn,” Spock said calmly. “You realized what was happening between Rayna and Ensign Chekov.”

“I am sorry, sir,” Pavel said.

“You could not have known the cost.”

“You put us together so we would—so you could—” Pavel shook his head in disbelief. “You thought you could make her fall in love and then just take over?”

Flint stared at Rayna with an expression she had not seen before. It frightened her almost as much as when M-4 threatened Pavel. “I will take what is mine when she comes to me. We are mated, of a kind. Immortal. You must forget your feelings in this matter. You are young, and many other women will catch your eye.”

Pavel started forward so he stood a handspan from Flint’s chest. “You are a monster! You think, you think this is about having Rayna to myself? After I see how you treat her? After you used me like a—like a software patch?” He got off one hard shove before Flint barreled into him and they fell, scrambling, to the floor.

Spock grabbed Pavel by the collar of his uniform shirt, pulling him away. “Ensign, desist from this behavior.”

Pavel raised his head to meet his superior’s gaze. “Get Dr. McCoy and the ryetalyn to the Enterprise, sir. I will not leave her with him.”

“Ensign, she is an android. Not human,” Spock said quietly. An android? What could he mean? That had to be a lie! She remembered growing up, she remembered Flint teaching her everything she knew. She remembered—but did she, really? Why didn’t she know how old she was?

Pavel’s words cut through her paralysis. “Neither are you, Commander! If you think that makes even a tiny amount of difference to me, sir, then you do not know me at all.” Rayna was an android. Flint said so. Spock confirmed it. Not a human. Not--a person? How could Pavel say that didn’t matter to him? She shook her head, trying to think. Did it matter or didn’t it? Was she a thing or a person?

“Rayna is mine! I made her and I will have her!” Flint shouted. He dove at Pavel and Spock, knocking them down, grabbing Pavel by the front of his shirt. Rayna gasped at his violence.

Once Spock was clear of them, he opened his communicator. “Mr. Scott, beam Dr. McCoy up immediately.” The doctor shimmered, became a glittery cloud, and disappeared.

Flint got Pavel trapped under his body and slammed him, hard, into the floor. Rayna staggered as though she were the one caught. “I cannot be the cause of this,” she said, so quietly only she could hear. She found her voice. “I will not be the cause of this!”

Pavel squirmed and gasped. Flint’s hands crept up toward his throat.

“Please, stop!” she shouted. “Do not!”

Spock stopped in his tracks, a couple of steps from Pavel and Flint. Flint froze in place.

“I. Choose.” She balled her hands into fists. Something fought her, every word, every motion that defied Flint’s wishes. “Where I want to go. What I want to do.” She might not be human, but she was not a thing to be fought over or traded like a piece of art. “I choose.”

Flint sat back but kept his hands planted on Pavel’s shoulders. Pavel looked on, a smile lighting up his face despite the blood coloring his lips. Flint scowled. “Rayna!”

“No,” Rayna said, getting used to the feel of it in her mouth. “Do not order me. No one can order me.”

Pavel took advantage of Flint’s distraction to break the older man’s hold and try to sit. “Yes! You’ve got it! Go on.” He turned back to Flint. “Her spirit is free now! You cannot own her.”

There was a whirling storm, anger and joy, fear and hope clashing inside her, so huge and sudden she couldn’t contain it all. The Vulcan took another step toward her. “Ensign, Flint, I urge you to stop.”

Flint stepped up between them. “No man usurps my place.”

Pavel struggled to his feet. “It’s not your place, not now. It never was. Rayna is not your toy. She is your child. And she is growing up. She can make her own choices.”

Flint nodded. “That is what I’ve worked for. She will choose me. She must choose me.”

“You could come with us, if you wanted,” Pavel said. “You don’t have to be alone.”

“Stay with me, Rayna.” Flint’s voice had softened, but the words still felt like an order. How long until that gentleness was replaced with stone? Her mind wanted to go so many directions that she couldn’t make her thoughts move from one to another, from axiom to conclusion. It hurt.

The Vulcan’s measured voice cut through her confusion. “Ensign, remember the risk you take.”

“The threshold cascade,” Pavel said. He scrambled to his feet to gently put his hands on Rayna’s shoulders, but the look in his eyes sent her spinning even faster in her mind. She couldn’t think, it hurt— "Look at me, Rayna. Match your breaths to mine.” She was an android. Why did she breathe?

“Rayna, I made you, you love me—” Flint said in her ear.

Pavel snapped, “Just wait, Flint. Rayna, take your time.” She shook her head, trying to clear it and Pavel seemed to see something in her eyes because he held her still, searching them. “Commander, I can do this, but I need help. I know you melded with Nomad. You can help her, hold her until I can fix this.”

The Vulcan approached them both. “I can make no promises.” Their voices were growing difficult to understand. A sound like wind howled in her ears. Pavel lowered her gently to the floor.

“We don’t need promises, we just need time,” he said.

Her eyes slipped closed. Pavel’s arms wrapped tight around her. “Rayna, hold on for me. Mr. Spock, I have an analog capture matrix with me. If we can integrate it into her neural net, it will stabilize her subspace neutrino field.”

More hands on her, cool and softly tingling with something new. Spock’s voice, clearer and more resonant than Pavel’s. “Rayna, may I join your mind? Your life is in danger.”

If I am an android, do I have a mind? Do I have a life to endanger?

The voice insisted, “You have a self. It is sufficient.”

What do I do?

“Be still. There is no past. There is no future. There is only now.”

She tried to obey. She fell through a nothingness shaped by gravity fields drawing her this way and that, at their center a whirling darkness that dragged and tore. She caught at silvery threads of light and they held her so that she swung suspended over nothing, a horrifying fascination pulling her down and down and Not there. Here. Focus.

Above and around her were shapes, felt rather than seen, smooth lines and clean, sharp facets, triangles on triangles, stable and secure. She traced them, following the Vulcan’s guidance, and held on.

*

Chekov spoke quickly into his communicator. “Kevin, I need a microcircuitry repair kit beamed down as fast as you can. There should be one behind the transporter console.”

“Coming right up, Pavel,” Riley said. Spock was kneeling behind Rayna, supporting her body with his, one hand pressed against her forehead, the other wrapped around her body to hold her in place.

Flint loomed at Pavel’s shoulder. “There is nothing you can do, young man. Once the process begins, it cannot be stopped.”

“We can do this, Mr. Flint.”

Flint scoffed. “You really think you can do better than I can? I have been researching positronic matrices for several decades. I designed Rayna. I have watched earlier versions fail.”

A red metal box sparkled into existence on the floor beside Pavel. “You did not have a Vulcan to stabilize her neural patterns, and you did not have an analog capture matrix to keep them stable.”

Flint crouched next to Spock and Rayna. “This should not be possible.”

“Mr. Spock has melded with artificial intelligences before.” Intelligence. One. So far as he knew. “Mr. Flint, how best do we connect this to her neural interface?”

“Either way I lose her,” he muttered.

Pavel didn’t have time to deal with Flint blue screening. He pulled a fine strand of wire out of the repair kit and wrapped it around the lozenge of amber three times, then twisted the ends into a small loop at the top to create a medallion that could be hung on a chain. That accomplished, he found a short range transmitter button, affixed it to the back, and turned back to Flint again, hoping the man might be useful for something.

“What’s her frequency range? Unless you want to open her head up a two-way transmitter’s going to be the quickest way to add the analog capacity.”

Flint stood a couple of meters away, facing away from them. “This is futile. Let her go.”

Some father he was. Pavel would have to test frequencies until he found a match by trial and error. “I will give up if and when Mr. Spock does. If there was no hope, he would tell us.” The Vulcan was still curled protectively around Rayna, tense and muttering.

Pavel pulled out another piece of fine wire. He ran the wire through the loop at the top of the medallion, knelt next to Rayna, and placed it so it sat at the base of her throat, then wrapped the wire around her neck and twisted the ends together so that it rested there like a makeshift necklace. He held the frequency modulator in one hand, first setting the transmitter to a common midrange frequency.

Almost there, except for the hard part. “Mr. Spock?” he said, not too loud, hoping he’d be heard. “I need to set the transmitter frequency.”

There was no response. He took one deep breath for courage and settled his free hand over the one on Rayna’s shoulder, then repeated his request. The Commander twitched, then tugged Pavel down, hard, and reached for his face. Pavel swallowed his panic long enough to say, “Yes, okay, we do this.”

His disorientation was as sudden and shocking as though he had been flung into empty space, but he was quickly caught and held in place, an abstraction beside him he identified as his commander, who held tightly to a silvery brightness like a grenade caught in the act of exploding.

He blinked, and found himself able to see his own hands and the modulator, though shattering brightness and tilting, spinning vertigo still dragged at his mind. He moved the dial with his thumb and pursed his lips to blow through queasiness. After a few seconds, he felt a prompt to move the dial again, and then again, and then the shattering grenade brightened, dimmed, and settled into a steadier glow. The modulator fell out of his hand, clinked, and rolled when it hit the floor.

The grip on his thoughts relaxed and fell away, leaving him unmoored. He collapsed across the both of them, breathing through nausea and a headache like an ice pick through his left eye.

“...they are both stable enough to transport, but require further medical attention,” Spock’s voice said behind him. “Ensign Chekov has not yet received the antitoxin, and Miss Kapec requires further management of her condition. I intend to transport them to the Enterprise. Miss Kapec’s schematics would be helpful.”

Flint’s voice was poised between anger and agony. “Go. Just go!”

The ornate room faded away.

Chapter Text

Rayna woke as she always did, all at once, her mind switching from sketchily remembered ticking over into full and disorienting awareness. She was lying on a low couch made to look like leather, in a small office—she could determine its size to the nearest millimeter if she chose. Two of the walls ended at table height, to be replaced with transparent glasteel to the ceiling. Pavel sat at a desk with his back to her, reading off a datapad.

A faint vibration entered her body through her feet. “Where am I?” she asked.

The chair squeaked when Pavel spun to face her. “Dr. McCoy’s office on the Enterprise. The Sickbay is very full, but the doctor wanted us both nearby.”

“I’m not a real person,” she said. The fact of it tangled her thoughts like before, when Flint had insisted he owned her and Pavel told her she was free. “I never even read Dostoyevsky. My opinions about it are not mine.”

“Read it for real, then,” Pavel said with a shrug, as though it were a simple thing to discover that one’s past was a fabrication.

She rested her chin on her hand and looked up at him. “Could you love me, as I am now? Now that you know?”

Pavel paused for a little too long. His hands moved in front of him as though he were gathering clouds. “I do not feel as I did—”

“Because I am a thing,” she said, resigned to it.

“Because you are baby.” Pavel moved to sit beside her on the couch and caught up her hands in his. “Mr. Spock and I worked very hard to save you—to help you be—born. If you were not worthy, we would not have done this.” He touched her throat, where something warm rested. “You must wear this always. We can make a pretty setting for it, or we can put it inside you to keep it safe.”

She strained to look. The analog capture matrix had been wrapped in loops of thin wire and held to her throat by more wire, which wasn’t the most comfortable. “It has ten petabyte capacity. Plenty of space for you to work out all those complex calculations you did not have to manage before.”

“What happened to me?”

“We call it threshold cascade. It is like a meltdown, like Dr. McCoy and I sometimes have because of--is just because. It is not important. You left the tracks of your programming, your mind did not know what to do. It was destroying itself. Mr. Spock gave you time, and I,” he tapped the medallion, “gave you space.”

“I wished to discuss subdimensional physics with him. I had not expected a demonstration of its practical applications.”

She pondered the scratched tile floor. “It is not comfortable.”

“What isn’t?”

She couldn’t look up at him, so she looked at their twined hands. “I have always known what I was, what was expected of me. Now I find out it was all a lie. Even I am a kind of lie. It is not comfortable to exist this way.”

Pavel scrubbed at his hair. “No, I suppose it is not. Do you wish we had not helped you?”

Rayna stopped to think that through. “No. I am grateful you helped me. I prefer to exist. To experience.”

There was a knock at the door. “Come,” Pavel said.

It was Doctor McCoy, looking less pale than when she had last seen him. He thumped into the chair Pavel had just left, pulled out a scanner, and waved it over each of them. “Still haven’t slept, have you, Chekov?”

“I needed to be sure Rayna was okay.”

“Well if you don’t sleep soon you’re going to be plenty miserable between the Rigellian fever and the aftereffects of jumping into a threeway meld. The antitoxin will save your life but even with it Rigellian fever’s no joke.”

“How is the Captain?” Pavel asked.

“Like hell, but he’ll live. He’s allergic to ryetalyn, surprise surprise. Scotty and Uhura look like they’ll pull through too, though I’m thinking Scotty might need a new pair of lungs. Spock’s crammed onto Uhura’s biobed guiding her through a healing trance because he doesn’t know when to say when and take a goddam nap.” He fixed his attention on Rayna. “How are you feeling?”

She made the effort to look at him directly and think his question through. “I don’t know. I don’t know the names for these things happening in my body and mind.”

The doctor nodded. “Fair enough. You seem stable for the moment, though I’d trust Chekov’s assessment over mine. He’s the programmer.” He settled back into the chair and stretched, joints popping audibly. “We need to talk about Flint.”

The name pinched a snarl into her thoughts. Her hands hurt. She looked down to see them curled into fists. “I suppose.” She looked to Pavel for support. “I suppose we must.”

McCoy continued, “After what he did to the ship, what he threatened to do to us, Commander Spock deemed it necessary to break orbit and leave the system immediately. At present we are a half day away by shuttle. If you wish to return--”

“I do not,” she said firmly.

McCoy slapped his hands against his thighs, nodded curtly, and stood. “Well, that answers that, then. Chekov, I’ve got a nice biobed for you. Rayna, you can stay with him until we find you quarters if you promise to let him sleep. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a husband to watch over until his histamine levels go down. Chekov, say goodnight.” Pavel looked over at the doctor as though he was contemplating refusing him, but in the end, he just squeezed her shoulder and followed him to the door. McCoy paused in the doorway. “You can come with us.”

Rayna followed them out into the sickbay, which was cast in deep shadow, lit only by sparing spotlights. Every bed was occupied, including cots on the floor. They followed McCoy around a corner, weaving between the closely packed beds, to a cot with a portable monitor at the head. Pavel fell into the cot, suddenly showing every bit of the exhaustion he must have been hiding for her sake. For her sake.

Her clothes weren’t designed for sitting on the floor, but she managed without tearing the dress. Dr. McCoy plied Pavel with a couple of hyposprays and snapped a biomonitoring bracelet around his wrist. An alarm went off across the room. McCoy was off to answer it before she could even thank him. She turned back to Pavel and yawned.

He laughed.

“Do I amuse you?”

“It’s just, sleep we both need. But I had not realized that Flint would have made you yawn.”

“Why would he not have paid as much attention to detail as he does with all his creations?” Pavel winced at her tone. She tried to reassure him. “I do not believe I am angry at you.”

His face relaxed, though whether it was because he believed her or because the sedative he’d been given was taking effect, she didn’t know.

“My family calls me Pasha,” Pavel said. “I think I would like it if you did, too.”

The warmth in her chest might not be real, but she appreciated it anyway. “Go to sleep, Pasha.”

*

The ship was running with a skeleton crew, having flown back toward Federation space and parked itself in orbit around a lifeless hunk of rock supporting a small science outpost, far from potential threats. Everyone had gotten Rigellian fever, though only twenty remained in Sickbay. No one was up to working full shifts except Spock, who had moved onto the bridge permanently, it seemed. Pavel did his requisite four hours nodding off at his post, then turned the helm over to Kevin Riley, who looked as pasty and exhausted as Pavel felt.

Rayna met him in the mess for today’s meal selection, chosen to be something Flint would never deign to let her eat. The scientist in him wondered how Flint had managed to create a digestive system that was entirely synthetic and incredibly durable, but also managed to allow her not only to taste food but to process it into usable fuel. The friend in him just enjoyed seeing her expressions when she tried something messy and unhealthy like the chili cheese fries in front of her now.

He nibbled fries off the edge of their shared plate, still too queasy to eat much. “Can I come to your quarters after lunch?” she asked.

“Sure, but I’ll probably just fall asleep.”

“I like watching you sleep.”

If they were dating, which they most definitely were not, that would be sweet. As it was, he wasn’t sure what to think of it. “Do you still have a crush on me?”

“Yes,” she said. “To the extent that I understand the term.”

“I’m still too old for you.”

“I know.” She took the tray to the recycler, took a few moments to greet some of the other members of the crew by name, then offered him her arm. He wasn’t too proud to take it, given that he was much too proud to fall down in front of everyone.

He opened the door to his quarters and was so tired he didn’t care that she saw him kick off his boots and leave them where they lay. The bed was calling to him with a sweet siren song. He flopped onto it. She curled up in his chair. “I wonder if Flint has already started on my replacement.”

“Probably.”

She sighed. “I wish I didn’t miss him so much. I think of him, alone, and I feel like I betrayed him by leaving. But I would have died there. Withered like a flower without water, just like he said.”

“He was the closest thing you had to a father, of course you miss him.”

“But I also hate him for what he would have done to all of you. And for lying to me. My whole life is a story he told. I didn’t do the things I remember. I didn’t study and learn, I was programmed to be brilliant.”

“Are you catching up on all the Russian classics?” Pavel asked.

“Captain Kirk suggested Solzhenitsyn. He said I might find it therapeutic.” She frowned and propped her chin on her hands. “I wish I could just forget. Not everything, just—the end. The look on Flint’s face when he ordered me to love him.” She knelt by the side of the bed to take his hand in hers. “My programming is accessible. You could find the memory and erase it for me. Or Spock could, perhaps?”

“No,” Pavel said.

She pulled on his hand a little when she slumped against the bed. “But it hurts.”

“I know. But that pain helped you grow.” He rolled onto his side to touch the amber medallion at her throat. “You forget that pain, you might forget what you learned from it.”

“How do you live with that kind of pain?”

“Time.” He sighed and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “I can still see the look on Mr. Spock’s face when we beamed him up and his mother was not there.”

“What happened to her?”

Pavel’s breath still caught in his throat when he talked about that day. “She died--during transport. I could not catch her in time.”

“What could you possibly have learned from that, Pasha?”

He huffed a bitter laugh. “I was seventeen. I thought I could do anything. It was the first time I failed when it mattered.”

“What did I learn? That I was made to be a toy for a lonely old man?”

“That you are the only one who gets to decide what your purpose is.”

Rayna hugged One Day in the Life of Ivan Denisovich to her chest. “What if I don’t know?”

Pavel gazed at her, dressed as she was in a pair of Christine’s sweatpants, one of Pavel’s Academy sweatshirts, and a pair of striped fuzzy socks from he didn’t even know where. “Rayna Kapec, you have all the time in the world to figure it out.”