Spectre

by William Shatner

  Kirk stared accusingly at the mirror Spock. "How could you let that happen?"

  But now there was anger even in that Spock, or perhaps frustration. "It had to happen. I needed power I could not obtain for myself. So I propelled my Kirk to the emperor's throne. And when he had taken it, that was when I moved against him."

  Kirk didn't believe it. "If you couldn't stand up to him when he was a starship captain, how could you take him on when he had become a caesar?"

  The mirror Spock stared fixedly at Kirk, dark eyes glittering with serious intent. "Because, Captain. I had spent ten years planning for that day, from the moment he returned to my universe and I proposed our partnership based on what I had learned from you and your crew. For ten years, I orchestrated every alliance Tiberius made, brokered every treaty, managed every campaign. And when all the power I needed to reform the Empire was concentrated in Tiberius's hands, I took it."

  Kirk studied the mirror Spock, wondering if that somber face was the last one his counterpart had seen before finally being assassinated, as he must have been. He wondered what it had taken for two universes to diverge so that here, he and Spock had become the closest of friends, and there, the deadliest of enemies. "And what happened to Tiberius?"

  Janeway answered, filled with disgust. "Intendant Spock engineered the coup to be bloodless. It was. Tiberius escaped."

  "And in the meantime," Kirk said, "you became emperor?"

  "No. Again you make assumptions. That title was abolished at once. The first of many reforms. I remained subcommander, an appointed position, and then instituted the reforms that were necessary to allow each world within the Empire to select a representative to sit on a governing council." The other Spock rubbed his eyes with thumb and forefinger, as if he were feeling as tired as Kirk. "When you came to my universe, I mind-melded with Dr. McCoy. From him, I learned a great deal of your universe. And of the political organization of your Federation. It became my model."

  Janeway slipped her small tricorder from an equipment pouch on her combat suit and checked its readout once again. "Intendant Spock, we must continue. The others will be waiting."

  "Youth," the mirror Spock said.

  "So impatient." Janeway aimed her tricorder down the tunnel, checking in the direction they had come. "For good reason, sir. Our transporter beams might as well have been beacons in this system."

  That comment puzzled Kirk. If the transporter beams that had brought him to the moon were that easily traced, then it should only have taken a few seconds for Earth authorities to track him. Why the delay?

  The other Spock indicated the sloping tunnel on the left. "Our destination is this way."

  Kirk kept to the mirror Spock's side, both of them moving slowly to keep from bouncing too high in the low-ceilinged tunnel. Janeway remained a few paces behind. "How far did you get with your reforms?" Kirk asked.

  "Quite far," the other Spock replied. "Within ten months of overthrowing Tiberius, the Imperial Senate met for the first time. Half the members had been selected through graft and corruption. Bribery was rampant. But, by the end of the session, because of the reforms I proposed, I was elected to a five-year term as commander in chief, and received unanimous support for ending the imperial tithe, and for unilaterally withdrawing occupation forces from more than fifty worlds."

  "All in ten months," Kirk said, impressed. It appeared that the Spock of the mirror universe was as formidable as his own.

  But the mirror Spock did not let Kirk hold that opinion for more than a few seconds. "Ten months which spelled the end of any chance the galaxy had of ever achieving the peace and security it has in your universe."

  "Beam-ins!" Janeway suddenly announced.

  "How many?" the other Spock asked.

  Janeway read the tricorder. "Two so far . . . there's three . . . four . . ." She looked at the mirror Spock, her bristle-length hair almost black in the dim glow of the fusion globes, her eyes alive with the bright status lights of the tricorder. "We have less than five minutes before they track us."

  The other Spock drew himself up. "It will be time enough."

  Janeway held out her hand to Kirk. "In case it's not, I want my phaser back."

  "I can handle this for you," Kirk said. "No charges, no complaints. The authorities will listen to me. Chances are, that's a Starfleet security team."

  Janeway and the mirror Spock looked at each other, then at Kirk.

  "Starfleet will have no idea where we've taken you," the other Spock said.

  "We used transporters from our universe," Janeway added. "They're completely different from the type you use. Your sensors can't easily detect them."

  "Then who's after us?" Kirk asked.

  "The enemy," Janeway answered.

  "The Alliance," Spock added. "The one element I did not include in my calculations."

  "Small steps," Janeway said urgently. "Push forward, not up." She grabbed the mirror Spock's arm, and despite the Vulcan aversion to being touched, he did not protest.

  Janeway and the other Spock began a series of slow shuffling steps along the tunnel floor that served to accelerate them as if they were running flat-out on Earth.

  Kirk didn't see that he had a choice. He moved off after them, pleased that his Starfleet training for low-gravity environments came back to him so quickly.

  He caught up to Janeway and the mirror Spock at another branch in the network of old mining tunnels. Whatever the motives of the visitors from the mirror universe, Kirk decided, this was the oddest kidnapping he had ever encountered, let alone personally experienced. He wondered what Teilani would make of it when he told her. And he had no doubt that sometime soon he would tell her. Any other possibility was unthinkable.

  Kirk fell into step with his abductors. "Who or what is the Alliance?"'

  "The Cardassians," the mirror Spock said.

  "And the Klingons," Janeway added.

  "Working together?" Kirk asked. Bizarre, he thought.

  "More than that," the mirror Spock explained. "They are a true political union, as consolidated as your own Federation."

  Kirk struggled to keep his breathing controlled. He had no idea how long he'd be expected to keep up this pace. Janeway was handling it well. But the other Spock, so much weaker than the one he knew, was already fighting to catch his breath.

  "I can't imagine what it would take to get the Klingons to ally their empire with another," Kirk said. He knew the Klingons. They had been his enemies for decades. They were not known for cooperation.

  "But clearly you did imagine it," the mirror Spock said between gulps of air. "Because it was you who brought them together."

  Janeway and the mirror Spock suddenly twisted to the right and Kirk skidded as he tried to match their trajectory—and missed. Instead, he hit another rocky wall. A vein of glistening ice ran through it.

  He stumbled, regained his footing, then quickly retraced the three meters by which he had bypassed the turn.

  The opening in the tunnel wall took him into a large grotto. One entire wall, ten meters high, fifty long, was solid ice. The chill in the large cavern was intense.

  For a moment, Kirk paused at the opening, naturally averse to entering any new territory without checking for hidden dangers. But all he saw was a portable, field transporter platform, surrounded by newer, brighter fusion lights mounted on slender tripods. The mirror Spock and Janeway had already reached the platform, Intendant Spock clutching at his chest and leaning against Janeway for support.

  A third figure was there as well. Another Vulcan, Kirk saw. A young woman with a disruptor scar on her forehead and a crude biomechanical hand.

  Kirk ran to join them. He was unprepared for the look of disgust on the young Vulcan's face when she saw him.

  "Jim Kirk," he said

  The Vulcan looked ready to strike him. "I know who you are."

  Kirk ignored her. He turned to Janeway, pointed to the transporter platform. "Is that how we get out?"

  "It's how we
escape," Janeway said. "I—"

  Then the electronic whine of a disruptor beam cut her off just as the female Vulcan flew screaming through the air, her body surrounded by a nimbus of crackling disruptor fire.

  Escape was no longer possible.

  James T. Kirk was at war again.

  EIGHT

  Picard awoke to the smell of something burning. Or maybe it was the smell that had brought him from sleep.

  He stirred against the comforter, peered out into the darkness of his room, but saw no sign of daylight through the draped window. It was still late. Still night. A comforting thought.

  He yawned, stretched, sat up in the large soft bed, and sniffed the air again. He could smell apples, a hint of vanilla. Marie's cooking, he thought. His sister-in-law was so like his brother, so like his father. No replicators for them. Much better to spend hours in the kitchen, feeding wood to the impossibly old, cast-iron stove, chopping each ingredient by hand, ingredients grown here in the vineyard's gardens, or on one of the small farms nearby. Not that I mind, Picard thought. Marie's tarte tatin was exquisite, as good as his mother's. He remembered waking up in this same house to hear his mother at work in the kitchen, late at night, early in the morning. The house filled with the savory aroma of her culinary magic.

  Picard smiled. At peace. This was his home. Where he had grown up, and to where he would return in time. To his home and family and all good things . . .

  "Uncle!"

  Picard was instantly alert. That had been René, his nephew, calling out. But from where? Across the hall? Downstairs? Somewhere out in the yard?

  Picard threw back the comforter and slipped from the warmth of the bed The smooth wood of the oak floor was icy cold, the air autumn brisk.

  "Papa!"

  René again—urgent. Frightened.

  "René!"

  And that was Robert, Picard's brother, shouting out in alarm.

  They need me, Picard thought.

  But that was all right. It was as it should be. He was a starship captain. No matter what difficulty or danger his family faced, Picard would be there to protect them.

  He started toward the door, realized he was naked, looked around for his clothes, his uniform, but in the dark bedroom he could see nothing clearly, as if a fog had seeped in through the window.

  "Jean-Luc! Hurry!"

  Robert needed him. There was no time for delay. Picard ran across the room to the bedroom door. He put his hand on the brass knob, started to turn it—

  —and lost his breath to pain as the flesh of his hand was seared by the burning metal.

  "Uncle, please!"

  René was near panic. Picard wouldn't let the pain stop him. He kept his hand in contact with the scorching knob, turned it, pulled open the door—

  —and faced a wall of fire that stretched into distances beyond all reason.

  The heat engulfed Picard and he raised an arm before his eyes, almost overcome by the gale of rushing smoke and the deafening roar of the flames.

  Every instinct told him to step back inside the bedroom and close the door, to retreat to safety and sleep.

  But René was somewhere inside those flames. An elevenyearold child who wanted to be like his uncle Jean-Luc.

  Picard could hear the boy.

  Hear the boy calling for him.

  Hear the boy screaming with agony for his uncle to save him.

  Picard moved his arm and stared into the full fury of the all-devouring fire.

  There! Before him! No more than a meter away!

  René reached out to him . . . Robert beside him . . . flames eating at them . . . calling for him . . . always calling for him . . .

  The starship captain.

  Picard slapped at his chest. "Picard to Enterprise!" he cried.

  But he wore no comm badge. There was no response. Even she had abandoned him.

  As he had abandoned his family.

  What Picard saw then he had no words to express. The way fire consumed a human body.

  Until only a small blackened hand remained, still reaching out for him.

  For Picard, this moment had moved beyond the physical. This moment had moved beyond any being's ability to endure.

  In this dream, in this nightmare, there was only one thing left for Picard to do—

  He refused to surrender. He threw himself into the flames, felt them boil away his flesh as still he struggled to reach through time itself to save his family, until—

  It ended as it always did, and he awoke.

  Except, this time, he was not in his cabin on the Enterprise. He was on the Voyager. Still in sickbay.

  Neelix was there, a cool cloth in one hand, dabbing at Picard's forehead as Picard caught his breath.

  "It's all right," Neelix said softly. "You're all right. You're safe. You're safe."

  Picard grabbed Neelix's hand. He remembered the holographic doctor. The agonizer descending, and then . . .

  "Neelix . . . what happened?"

  "It's over," the Talaxian said. "That's all you need to know. It's over and everything's all right now."

  Neelix left the cloth on Picard's forehead. He slid a hand beneath Picard's neck, raised his head. "This time, it's just water." He held a glass for Picard to drink from.

  But even the water was like fire to Picard. His throat ached, as if he had inhaled acrid smoke. Every muscle in his body resisted the slightest movement. He slumped back to the bed, too overcome to even sip water.

  "What . . . what did I tell them?"

  Neelix waved his hands reassuringly. "Anyone would have talked. They have ways of getting inside what you're thinking. It's the agonizer. You can't blame yourself."

  But Picard had no use for sympathy. "What did I tell them?"

  "Well, codes . . . some numbers and letters . . . I don't know what they were. But the Gul hasn't come back, so I guess the codes did what she needed them to do."

  Picard stared up at the ceiling. So much for Starfleet conditioning. If he had given Rutal the decoy code, the Enterprise would already have set her own course for the nearest starbase. Since the Cardassian had not returned to kill him, he could only assume she had succeeded in extracting the real codes from him.

  Only a handful of hours ago, he had told Will Riker that the Enterprise was the most sophisticated piece of machinery ever built by humanity, and a simple, human intolerance to pain had resulted in him giving up his ship to the enemy.

  "Neelix," Picard said in a tone that indicated he would allow no argument. "You must free me from these restraints."

  "I . . . can't."

  Picard had run out of patience. "Neelix, you don't have a choice!"

  Neelix backed away. "But . . . where would you go?"

  "To my ship. Release me, now!"

  Neelix wrung his hands. The twitch under his eye grew so strong he was winking. "But . . . the Enterprise . . . Captain . . . Gul Rutal brought her crew aboard and . . . she took it. The Enterprise is gone."

  Picard felt a stab of pain pierce his chest. She had abandoned him, just as in that terrible nightmare. "When?"

  "An hour ago, maybe two. I was sitting here with you so I don't know."

  "Where are they taking her?"

  "I . . . don't know that, either." All Picard's pent-up fury escaped him. "Do you know what that ship is capable of?"

  Neelix covered his face with his hands, began sobbing. "Please . . . don't shout at me . . . please . . ."

  This is useless, Picard thought in angry despair. Neelix was a broken person. Who knew how many times he had been subjected to what Picard had just experienced?

  Picard took pity on him. Changed his tone. "It's all right, Neelix. I know what you're up against."

  Neelix bobbed his head, appreciating Picard's understanding. He took a few deep breaths, calming himself. "I'd offer you something to eat, but . . . it's too soon. You have to take it easy for a day."

  Picard forced himself to remain nonconfrontational. "Thank you."

  A sma
ll anxious smile appeared on the Talaxian's face, as if he was relieved that Picard had decided to stop asking the impossible of him.

  Picard looked around the sickbay. There had to be some way of getting free. Some way of contacting his crew. Suddenly, it came to him that since this duplicate ship was built according to Starfleet's designs . . .

  "Computer," Picard said, "locate Commander William Riker."

  The familiar female voice replied, "Commander Riker is being held in detention cell four."

  Despite Neelix's look of horror, Picard continued. "Open a channel to him, please."

  "Commander Riker is being held incommunicado. No channels are available."

  Picard could accept that. At least he had learned that Riker was alive and on Voyager. That meant that his odds of escape had just doubled, at least.

  "Computer, how many crew members from the Enterprise are currently on board Voyager? "

  "Five hundred and eighty-three."

  Picard was surprised. That was more than half. And Voyager was a much smaller ship.

  "Where are they on Voyager?"

  "Three hundred and twelve are in emergency-holding forcefields in the shuttlebay, deck ten. Two hundred and fifteen are confined to cargo bays two through twelve. Thirtyfour are confined in the brig. Eight are under guard in engineering. Seven are in cryostasis awaiting burial. Two are on the bridge. And the remaining five individuals are under guard in the following locations: turbolift two, hydroponics, transporter control, corridor five on deck eight, and sickbay."

  Picard took a steadying breath and asked for the names of the seven dead crew members. The computer recited them. He knew them all. But only the Bolian, Mr. Karo, was from his bridge crew.

  Picard began quizzing the computer on the whereabouts of his other key command staff. Data and Troi also were being detained on Voyager, like Riker, unreachable through communications channels. Crusher and La Forge, though, had been kept on the Enterprise with the remainder of the crew.

  But there the computer's stream of information ended. Each inquiry Picard made about the Enterprise's destination or mission, no matter how obliquely he phrased his request, was rebuffed with a curt request for his security-clearance code. Picard's own Starfleet codes were not accepted.