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We spent the rest of the weekend watching Trek, hour upon hour, and I knew then that I would marry her.

This story is dedicated to Allison Baker, my wife and Star Trek viewing companion.

Prologue

2336 (Old Calendar)

It was early morning, the sun just beginning to spill across the lowland plains. The colonists were starting their days, heading out to check atmospheric sensors or to collect astronomical data retrieved overnight by automated telescopes or to feed the live specimens in pens at the community’s edge. It was a bright spring morning, greeted by the high, trilling songs of brightly colored birds, the only native life-forms larger than insects on Omicron Theta before the arrival of the research colony. Most of the colonists found it difficult not to smile when hearing the high, sweet song of the birds, who seemed a sign of new life and boundless optimism.

Most of the colonists found it difficult. Not all.

“Will those damned things ever shut up?!” The man threw a spanner clattering to the floor. “Maybe we should just shoot them all down and serve them for supper, eh?”

“Eat them?” The woman pursed her lips in distaste. “When the replicators can whip up anything we like?” She bent to pick up the spanner and set it back on the bench, beside the still body splayed out before them.

“Why not?” The man gave a sly, humorless smile. “We’d kill two proverbial birds with a single stone, as it were. Or a single phaser, I suppose. We’d be saved their incessant chattering, and we’d get a home-cooked meal in the bargain.”

“And who’ll be doing this cooking, Noonien?” She raised an eyebrow. “You?”

“Me?” He chuckled, and bent low over the body. “Juliana, my dear, if you married me for my culinary skills, I’m afraid you’re getting the short end of the stick.” He paused, attempting to twist off a limb from its socket. “Come on, blast you,” he growled, gritting his teeth. When the limb came loose with an audible pop, the man fell off balance, sprawling back onto the cold, smooth floor.

“Are you all right?” the woman asked, coming around the side of the table. She reached out a hand, with evident concern; the man didn’t take it, but gave her the detached limb instead.

“No,” the man said simply, remaining on the ground, his arms resting on his knees. He shook his head, scowling. “No, Juliana, I’m most definitely not all right.”

“Noonien, dear, you know we’ve made the right decision.” With care, she put the detached limb in the case. “You know we have.”

“Oh, really?” He pushed himself up onto his feet, wincing somewhat as his joints complained. “I’ll tell you what I do know, my dear, and it’s that this marks the fourth occasion on which we’ve had to deactivate and disassemble one of my creations, and I’m getting more than a little tired of it.”

She gave a slight, sad little smile, and came over to stand beside him. “I know this can’t be easy for you.” She laid a hand on his shoulder. “It isn’t easy for me, either. But you and I agreed that Lore had been acting strangely recently, exhibiting emotional instability and increasing degrees of aggression.”

He sighed, and placed a hand over hers. “I know, I know, it’s just…”

“Just that you thought we had it this time?”

He nodded. “Yes, damn it, I was sure we had.”

“We were certainly close,” she agreed.

The man laid a hand on the body’s chest, the golden-hued skin cold under his fingers. “But you know, the others are going to be happy about this, I’m sure.”

She smiled. “Oh, at least one person won’t be quite so happy about it, I can assure you.” He gave her a questioning look. “Tom Handy bet me the cost of a trip to Risa that it would take me at least another month to convince you to deactivate Lore.”

He looked up from the body to meet her eyes, and grinned. “He didn’t.”

She nodded. “Fancy a trip to Risa?”

He walked around the bench, and began detaching another limb from its socket. “We could use the break,” he answered with a sigh. “Still, I’ll be eager to get back to work.”

She arched an eyebrow. “A new project?