Spectre

by William Shatner

  "What about the others?" Kirk asked.

  McCoy didn't know what he meant.

  "There're more than a thousand crew members on this ship," Kirk said. "Some of them are bound to be counterparts and we don't have time to scan them all."

  "We're just supposed to leave her in command?"

  "She's Starfleet's problem. Not mine."

  But McCoy didn't agree. "Jim, maybe you better take another look in the holographic mirror and see whose uniform you're wearing."

  Without thought, Kirk felt his hands become fists, as if a fight were only seconds away. "I'd wear a Cardassian uniform if I thought it would help me get Teilani back."

  McCoy was growing more agitated with each moment. "For God's sake, Jim, the admiral's been standing in the way of everything you've tried to do to find out what's happened to Teilani. Don't you think Starfleet will take that into consideration when you've exposed her as a mirror-universe spy?"

  Kirk threw up his hands, as upset as the doctor. " Eventually. After fifteen boards of inquiry, twenty-two reports, and six months' worth of investigations into what I had for breakfast. There's no time, Bones. I am not going through channels on this one. I'm sick of it."

  McCoy gave up. He looked at the mirror Spock. "So, is this what your Kirk was like? A stubborn, pigheaded megalomaniac with a piece of inert matter for a brain?"

  The mirror Spock seemed unperturbed by the argument that raged before him. "My Kirk would have assassinated the admiral the instant she was revealed as a spy. And then he would have killed you, slowly and painfully, for insulting him."

  McCoy rolled his eyes. "So, what's the captain's pleasure? Assuming you're not going to assassinate her."

  Kirk had already given that careful thought. "The Sovereign's carrying runabouts. They're for Starbase 250, but they're fully operational."

  "Piracy, hijacking . . . sounds like you're off to a fine start," McCoy said. "These are special runabouts, I take it. Ones that can outrun the Sovereign?"

  "All we have to do is make it to the Goldin Discontinuity. Even the Sovereign can't find us in there."

  McCoy stared hard at Kirk. " 'We'?"

  Kirk was surprised. "Bones, back on Earth you were all set to help me, even when Spock was following Starfleet orders not to."

  "That was before I found out one of Star-fleet's most important fleet admirals was a spy, and in command of one of its most powerful ships. That's a dangerous situation and I have to do something about it, even if you don't."

  Kirk looked to the mirror Spock. "For what it's worth, this is usually when our Spock suggests some completely different approach to the problem."

  "Any ideas?" McCoy asked hopefully.

  "It is not wise to leave the Nechayev from my universe in command of this ship. However, to wrest command from her will undoubtedly entail identifying all the other counterpart spies who have infiltrated the crew. And, I estimate that within four point two six hours, Nechayev will have learned from other Alliance operatives that the information I gave her concerning the Vulcan resistance was false. At which point, our lives are forfeit. Including yours, Doctor.

  "Thus, logic dictates we do as Captain Kirk suggests—get off this ship in the most expedient manner possible."

  "Well, you're no improvement, that's for sure," McCoy said. To Kirk, he added, "And how does stealing a runabout and disappearing into the Discontinuity help Teilani?"

  "We can go to Chal, Bones. I can get that message from whoever kidnapped her. I can respond to it myself, track them down, set a trap . . . anything is better than being a prisoner on this ship and doing nothing."

  "You really think you can get away with it?"

  Kirk put aside all pretense. "Honestly? I don't know. But I do know that I have to try. Now, are you going with me?"

  McCoy looked at the mirror Spock again. "If he gets away with this, how long am I going to last on this ship when Nechayev figures out what happened?"

  The intendant considered the question for several moments. Then, "Assuming she follows standard Alliance protocol, you would be in her custody in approximately twenty-two minutes. Your time of death then would be determined by your resistance to torture, and I do not have enough data to calculate that time period with any confidence."

  McCoy sighed and started taking off his lab coat. "Have you ever heard of a press-gang?" he asked Kirk.

  "We'll make it," Kirk said. "Everything's arranged."

  "Now you tell me." McCoy pulled on his jacket, then opened a storage locker to take out a medkit.

  "I had to know if you were staying or going. Intendant?"

  "I am ready."

  Kirk, McCoy, and the mirror Spock started for the sickbay doors. But McCoy balked before reaching them. "Is it such a good idea to just walk through the corridors? Shouldn't we be crawling through the Jefferies tubes?"

  "Scotty said the engineering controls would report unauthorized access to the tubes," Kirk explained.

  "Scotty's in on this?"

  "Everyone is," Kirk said. And the fact that he had such a strong team gave him the confidence he needed to face what he knew was going to be a risky operation. He wasn't familiar with all the capabilities of this new starship, and he suspected that attempting to evade her in a runabout would be the equivalent of taking on the old Enterprise with a shuttlecraft. Alone, he wouldn't think of attempting it. But with his friends, he knew he would at least have a chance.

  "We're going to make it," Kirk said as he approached the doors and they began to slide open. "This is going to work."

  And then he stepped into the corridor to face five phaser rifles held by an equal number of serious-faced security officers.

  Admiral Nechayev stepped forward and took McCoy's medkit. "Your use of the tricorder was very clumsy, Doctor. Especially with the intendant's neurocortical monitor already in place."

  Kirk said nothing, at last understanding the reason why the admiral had left sickbay in such a nonconfrontational manner.

  She had misled him. Perfectly.

  And he had let her.

  "Don't look so surprised, Kirk," she said. "Where I come from, so many studies were written about Tiberius, analyzing him, deconstructing him, trying to understand why he became what he became . . . I almost feel as if I know you. And I certainly can predict every move you make."

  She waved her hand at her security team, and Kirk knew without question that they were all counterparts, just like the admiral.

  "Take the intendant and McCoy to the brig." The admiral walked closer to Kirk, and her features were transformed into a mask of unrestrained, primal hatred. "But Captain Kirk I will personally escort to the agony booth."

  EIGHTEEN

  In that instant, total awareness came to Kirk.

  The flow of air in the corridor, empty of all personnel except for his companions, the security team, and the admiral.

  He could smell the slight antiseptic tang that had spilled through the doors from sickbay.

  He could see the flutter of Nechayev's pulse in the hollow of her neck, the stubble on the chin of the lead rifleman, the texture of the traction carpet beneath his feet.

  In that instant, he closed his eyes, and saw the clearing in Chal that would become his home.

  Would become his home.

  That knowledge became his dream. His mantra. His goal.

  Kirk felt the heat of Chal's twin suns on his back. He inhaled slowly, finding his center, filling his senses with the memory of dial's burgeoning vegetation, its promise of life.

  And at the core of everything he experienced, at the core of everything he had become, there was Teilani.

  Nothing in this universe, or the other, would ever keep him from her.

  There was no chance of failure.

  No possibility for error.

  And as surely as he drew that single, centering, focusing breath, he knew that was a truth beyond all others.

  He opened his eyes again, looked directly into the cold stare of Alynna Ne
chayev, a human collaborator from some other reality, and knew she could no more stand before him than she could withstand the fury of a supernova.

  It was apparent that she mistook his silence for surrender.

  "Fear looks good on you, Tiberius."

  Kirk still didn't respond. His mind raced with all the possibilities before him.

  The agony booth did not concern him.

  What was pain compared to the loss of Teilani's life and love?

  But this starship was the unknown factor in the equation of his escape.

  It would have security forcefields at every intersection. Anesthezine gas. More than a thousand crew members who would follow their commander's orders to stop Kirk without question.

  Once captured, he conceded it might be possible that escape would no longer be an option.

  Thus his strategy chose itself.

  He must not be captured.

  Therefore, he would not be captured.

  All this, in less than a second.

  The action that followed was even more quickly determined.

  He drove his open hand into Nechayev's jaw, hearing the satisfying splinter of her teeth as she was knocked back into the corridor bulkhead.

  And before he had even finished following through on that sudden blow, he spun to kick away the closest phaser rifle.

  It was not a kick of his youth. It did not have the height or the power of what he had once commanded.

  But its aim was perfect.

  He heard the crack of the rifleman's thumb breaking and his cry of pain, even as the muzzle of his phaser rifle snapped through the air to hit the face of the next rifleman in line.

  By then, in just that split second, the mirror Spock had joined Kirk's attack. Again, he was not as fast as the Spock of old, not even as fast as the Spock of today, but his hand found the shoulder of the middle rifleman and dropped him with a nerve pitch perfected over twice a human lifetime.

  By then, however, the element of surprise was gone.

  Kirk and the mirror Spock faced two riflemen. Even as a cadet, Kirk could never have reached them before they could fire.

  Which meant, they could not be allowed to fire.

  Slowly, one rifleman raised his hand to his comm badge.

  Kirk beat him to it.

  "Computer—security alert! Suppress weapons fire in corridor B, deck eight. Authorization: Kirk!"

  The riflemen fired.

  Too late.

  Their weapons had been suppressed.

  Kirk and the mirror Spock were on them in moments.

  But these were young men, and they were ready for the assault.

  The first blow from his attacker, Kirk deflected. But the second came too quickly after the first, and struck him in the solar plexus.

  Kirk felt his breath explode from him, even as the shock of the impact traveled through to his back.

  He stumbled to one side, in danger of losing his footing.

  But in the face of victory, the young man made a mistake born of enthusiasm and inexperience. He threw a kick at Kirk's face when it wasn't needed.

  Kirk only had to move his head a few centimeters to avoid the blow, then grabbed the young man's boot, simultaneously steadying himself, then rotating the captured foot until a resounding crack exploded in the corridor.

  The hapless security officer screamed and Kirk released his foot.

  Enraged, the young man instinctively, foolishly, inadvertently, shifted his weight to his fractured ankle as he swung his leg down.

  He was on the corridor deck a second later, writhing in torment.

  The mirror Spock's attacker, though, had made no mistakes. He held the intendant in a head lock and was pressing his body forward to cut off the elder Vulcan's blood flow to his brain.

  At the same time, he was backing away with his captive.

  Kirk picked up a useless phaser rifle, caught up with the last officer, and started to swing the rifle butt toward his head.

  The officer went into a crouch, pushing the mirror Spock into the path of the rifle.

  But Kirk had never intended to follow through and so stopping his swing was simple.

  Instead, as he had planned, Kirk had forced the officer to loosen his chokehold and the mirror Spock exploited the moment by driving a precisely placed elbow into the man's groin.

  The security officer instantly lost all strength, and the mirror Spock spun around to pinch his shoulder, ending his distress and his consciousness at the same time.

  Kirk turned to check on the status of the first combatants. McCoy was already dispensing the blue liquid from his hypospray.

  "Help me get them into sickbay," McCoy said.

  "I didn't hit them that hard."

  "You want to leave them here for someone else to find?"

  Kirk and the mirror Spock began dragging their defeated attackers, and their weapons, into sickbay, placing the unconscious security officers and the admiral on treatment beds at McCoy's instructions.

  Then McCoy said, "Computer: Activate the EMH."

  A holographic doctor rippled into view in the center of the sickbay. Kirk was surprised to see it was not the familiar, acerbic-looking version he had encountered before, but a thinner, younger model, with a shock of blond hair.

  "Please state the nature of the medical emergency."

  "These people are spies," McCoy said quickly, "who intend to take over the Sovereign and deliver her into enemy hands."

  "My goodness," the hologram said. Kirk thought it was an unusual reaction for a computer construct. Perhaps its programming was still being adjusted.

  McCoy gave the doctor his instructions. "Treat them as necessary for minor injuries, but keep them unconscious until new personnel arrive from Starfleet Command. Under no circumstances are you to allow them to be revived on the instructions of anyone currently onboard this vessel. That is a direct order."

  But the hologram seemed taken aback at the sight of one of his patients. "That's not a spy, that's Admiral Nechayev!"

  "Check her quantum signature," McCoy said.

  "I'm a doctor, not a quantum mechanic."

  "She's not from this universe," McCoy insisted.

  The EMH looked pained. "How can someone not be from this universe? By definition, that's all there is. I'm so confused."

  Kirk wasn't willing to accept any more delays. "Bones, what's wrong with this thing?"

  At that, the hologram actually appeared insulted. "I'll have you know I am not a thing. I am an Emergency Medical Hologram, Mark Two."

  "You're a doctor and a Starfleet officer," McCoy growled. "Get to work and follow orders."

  The hologram drew himself up in a huff. "Very well, but I don't have to be happy about it."

  "You're a program," Kirk said. "You're not supposed to be happy about anything. C'mon, Bones, Intendant, let's move it." Kirk picked up one of the phaser rifles, checked its charge readout. Full. It could be useful in other areas of the ship where the suppression system had not been activated.

  "Now, I'm feeling depressed," the hologram said.

  But by then, Kirk, McCoy, and the mirror Spock were already stepping through the sickbay doors.

  "And alone," the hologram called after them.

  As they walked quickly along the corridor, the mirror Spock seemed troubled by what they had just seen.

  "Was that program functioning properly?"

  "None of them do," McCoy said. "But Starfleet insists on field-testing them anyway. I think they do it to make doctors feel needed."

  They came to a turbolift alcove.

  The mirror Spock seemed unsure about continuing. "Such a confined space. Is this wise?"

  "We're on borrowed time as it is," Kirk said. He forced his thumbnail into a narrow gap at the side of the rifle he carried, then flicked open the cover of the weapon's internal control panel. As he waited for the lift to arrive, he quickly input his security code, to allow him to reset the rifle's computer ID. If another security team tried to suppr
ess this weapon in a different location on the ship by specifying its original ID, Kirk knew he might gain a few extra seconds of phaser firepower before anyone realized he had changed the code. "The turbolift will at least be faster."

  "Good idea," McCoy said as the lift doors puffed open. "After all, it's not as if we want to stop and take some time to think about what we're doing."

  Kirk smiled as he waved his phaser rifle toward the empty lift car. "You go first, Bones. Just in case it's a trap."

  Grumbling, McCoy entered the lift with the mirror Spock. Kirk checked up and down the corridor one last time, then followed them, "Main shuttlebay," he said.

  The turbolift slipped sideways as it began its run through the upper hull section of the ship.

  "Is that where we're going to meet Scott?" McCoy asked.

  Kirk nodded. "And Janeway and T'Val. And Spock."

  McCoy frowned. "You've been busy."

  "I do my best."

  Only ten meters of corridor separated the nearest turbolifi alcove from the large doors leading to the main shuttlebay. Kick stepped out into that stretch first, the mirror Spock hanging back with McCoy and the phaser rifle.

  There was no one in the corridor.

  And that was immediately suspicious.

  Kirk knew the shuttlebays were among the busiest areas of a starship. There were always engineers, shuttle pilots, cargo handlers, and maintenance specialists coming and going. The fact that none appeared to be doing so now suggested that the corridor had been purposely cleared, just as the corridor outside sickbay had been. He wasn't willing to accept that for some reason, all shuttlebay activity had been suddenly consigned to the aft bay on deck fourteen.

  Kirk walked cautiously along the long curve of the bulkhead, past the large cargo doors. The corridor here was highceilinged, intended to accommodate oversized crates and machinery being transferred from the bay to storage areas elsewhere on the ship. Sound traveled well here, but Kirk heard nothing except the muffled rumble of the ship's environmental systems.

  He jogged past the alcove in the opposite direction.

  Still no sign of anyone.

  At the very least, he, McCoy, and the mirror Spock would be able to reach the shuttlebay doors before anyone else could come after them.