Double, Double

by Michael Jan Friedman

  "I understand," said Kirk. "And thank you."

  He watched as the T'nufan's image faded to a neutral gray. Then he glanced at his companions.

  "Over the next few days," he told them, "you may be tempted to refer to my newfound fatherhood. Be warned, gentlemen. Courts-martial have never appealed to me before, but I've been known to change my mind."

  Spock cocked an eyebrow at that.

  Resisting the urge to smile, Kirk tapped in the bridge code.

  "Sulu here," came the answer.

  "This is the captain, Mister Sulu. Please take us out of orbit."

  "Destination, sir?"

  "Tranquillity Seven. And don't spare the horses."

  Kirk thought he heard a cheer erupt in the background.

  Chapter Seven

  BROWN HAD NEVER REALIZED how immense the machine really was. They had chosen this blind valley for its size and depth—but it seemed crowded already, and the reassembly was only halfway finished.

  Those assigned to the task scurried over the face of it, fitting components here and there. When they needed to converse with one another, they put their heads close together. It was the only way to hear past the din of the nearby waterfalls.

  Not since the earliest stages had they needed to consult with Brown himself—thanks, no doubt, to the completeness of their programming. But he still maintained a watchful eye, for programs could always malfunction.

  His attention was drawn to the beam-down site, where another container was materializing. Even before the teleportation process was finished, a team of androids came up to claim it. Their security uniforms were a startling red against the cloudless blue of the sky.

  But it was more than a container that had solidified on the ledge. The one called Banks had come along with it. He paused to give instructions to those around him, then headed straight for Brown.

  The doctor wondered what had occasioned Banks's appearance. While it might make sense to the humans for him to help with this operation, it had not been part of the procedure outlined by Kirk.

  "There has been a change of plans," said Banks, as soon as he was close enough to be heard over the falls.

  "Change?" asked Brown. "What change?"

  "As soon as the last container arrives, we will all depart. Except you, of course."

  "Kirk said that I was to have help completing the reassembly. And also with the construction of a mill to power the generator."

  "He's reconsidered," said Banks. "He believes that you can accomplish these things on your own."

  Brown pondered this information.

  "Under those circumstances," he said, "it will take a lot longer." He looked at the other android. "Kirk no longer has a desire, then, to replace additional members of the crew?"

  "Not at this time. He told me that more important matters require our attention now."

  "More important than the establishment of this installation? Explain."

  "Kirk has decided," said Banks, "that we must acquire a second ship. All our resources are to be directed toward that objective."

  Brown felt himself frowning. It was a behavior he had developed only since his return from darkness.

  "Doctor Korby was clear in emphasizing the importance of this installation. Inform Kirk that he must attend to this matter first."

  "Kirk instructed that you would say that. I am to remind you that he is in charge. And that he will do whatever is necessary to fulfill the spirit—if not the letter—of Doctor Korby's plan."

  "And you accept this philosophy?"

  "I cannot help but accept it. I was programmed to obey Kirk—without question."

  "I see. Then I have no choice." Brown glanced at the machine, glinting in the sunlight. "I will complete the job here myself. And I will work as quickly as possible."

  "Good," said Banks. "Obedience is all that's required—of any of us." And having said it, he went down into the valley to spread the word among the others.

  Brown watched as the workers gradually abandoned their work. The machine sprawled like the ruins of a great, dark statue.

  Of course, he had never seen such a statue, but the image was in his memory banks. At one time, the human Brown must have recorded it.

  Soon, Banks had gathered them all and led them up to the beam-down site. They waited until the last container took shape, and some of them brought it down the slope. Then, in pairs, they began to return to the ship.

  Right up until the last of them disappeared, Brown wondered why the acquisition of a second ship had been such an urgent matter.

  It had been interesting news. Interesting indeed.

  Kirk had expected, of course, that it would take some time to locate the Enterprise—and even longer to discover its itinerary. After all, starships moved around a lot, and often without direct orders from Starfleet. Nor could Martinez have come out and asked for the information—that would have attracted too many questions. Instead, he'd had to practice subtlety, extracting what he could from friends and acquaintances at various Starfleet facilities.

  And then there had been the call from Admiral Straus. The admonition that the Hood might be called upon if the Romulans started trouble. The notification that the Enterprise would be the lead vessel if a confrontation arose. And the advice that Kirk's ship was at that very moment charting a course for Tranquillity Seven—ostensibly for shore leave, but in actuality to be held in readiness.

  It was a golden opportunity. Ensconced on the Enterprise, Kirk would be extremely difficult to get to. But planetside, he'd be exposed. Vulnerable.

  Kirk hadn't hesitated. His choice was clear.

  Of course, it had meant accelerating their timetable. Abandoning prematurely the reassembly of the machine. But there was no other option—not if he was to reach Tranquillity Seven before his human counterpart. And have time to set a trap.

  Kirk sat down on the edge of his bed—the bed he had not used, of course, except as he was using it now. To sit. And think.

  One thing was certain—he'd have no help on Tranquillity Seven. The Hood had to leave before the Enterprise arrived—or Kirk would surely inquire as to its business there, and that would bring Starfleet's attention to bear on Martinez.

  Nor could he borrow some of the Hood's android crewmen. Starships didn't just drop off their personnel indiscriminately—and Tranquillity Seven was far from an official base.

  But neither could he accomplish what he needed to on his own. Not with the human surrounded by his friends—as he was likely to be, if previous shore leaves were any indication.

  He reviewed his memories of Kirk's earlier experiences on the planet—for he had already determined that Kirk had been there earlier. In a short time, he had formulated a list of places to which the human might return.

  Kirk pictured each one in turn. Noted its physical configuration, the activities that took place there, the size of its staff, the nature of its clientele.

  It didn't take long before he'd come up with a plan.

  As he was perfecting it, he heard a knock at his door. Rising, he crossed the cabin in a couple of strides and depressed a button on the opposite wall. Instantly, the door hissed open.

  Martinez entered. Kirk shut the door behind him.

  "Report," said Kirk.

  "We have beamed down the last of the containers, and the reassembly team is now returning to the ship. With your approval, I will take the Hood out of orbit and proceed to Tranquillity Seven."

  "Do so," said Kirk. "With all due haste."

  Martinez nodded, and turned to go.

  "Captain."

  He turned back. "Aye, sir?"

  "I'll need something between now and the time we reach the planet."

  "What sort of something?" asked Martinez.

  Kirk told him.

  "I only need a little," he elaborated. "Not so much it will be missed."

  Martinez said that he would see to it.

  Chin finally found him in the corridor outside the transporter room.
r />   "Captain?" she called, hastening to catch up with him. Her footfalls echoed in the narrow space.

  Martinez stopped and turned to face her.

  "Kai," he said.

  "I know you're busy," she told him. "With those oh-so-mysterious containers. But the grapevine has it that Simmons has made his report to you."

  "He has," said Martinez. "But I've only had time to glance at it."

  She scrutinized him. His dark brown eyes gave away nothing.

  "Does that mean," she asked, "that I have to wait until you reconvene the inquest—to find out what happened to poor Vedra?"

  Martinez seemed to weigh the regulations manual against his own gut feelings. As she'd expected, he relented.

  "The report," he said, "supports Simmons's earlier conclusion." A pause. "That's the way it's going to have to go into the record." Another pause. "I'm sorry, Kai."

  She bit her lip to keep her emotions from spilling over. Was it possible that Vedra's death had been a suicide? She couldn't believe it of the woman. She couldn't.

  But Vedra had said it herself, hadn't she?

  Sometimes you think you know a person—and you don't.

  Besides, what more could she do at this point? Call for yet another investigation? The captain had bent over backward already.

  "I know you're disappointed," said Martinez.

  She nodded. "That I am."

  "But you'll get over it. And you won't let it affect your duties."

  She sighed. "Of course not."

  "Good," he said. "If you need me, I'll be on the bridge."

  She nodded again, and he continued on down the corridor.

  It only occurred to her later that he hadn't been heading directly for the bridge. Apparently, Martinez had had some business in security section first.

  Genti missed the hell out of Lieutenant Vedra.

  Even when he wasn't in charge of engineering section, he missed her. But at times like these, when he was the ranking officer on duty, he missed her even more.

  Though it was supposed to have been kept quiet—at least until this second wave of investigation was over—news of Vedra's suicide had leaked out. It was a sad thing, a terrible thing. And no one had seen it coming—not even here, where she had spent most of her time.

  That was the worst part. The feeling that maybe they should have seen it coming. The nagging thought that they could have prevented it somehow.

  It made people walk around with their heads down, avoiding each other's eyes. Occasionally, someone would bark at someone else. Shifts dragged. Even the lighting down here seemed worse.

  So when Jason showed up to perform a "routine" check Genti had never heard of, he was in no mood to be cooperative.

  "It's not exactly the first time I've ever done this," said Jason.

  "No?" asked Genti. "It's the first time I've ever heard of it. And I've been on this ship nearly a year now."

  The security officer smiled politely. "Is there a problem, Chief?"

  Genti shrugged. "I just don't see why it's necessary for security to check our dilithium reserves. We check our own reserves—and we do it more often than we need to."

  "I'm sure you do," said Jason, his smile fading just a bit. "But I've got my orders."

  Something about his attitude made Genti even more steadfast.

  "Orders from whom?"

  "From Chief Simmons."

  "All right," said the engineering chief. "You get Simmons on the intercom. Maybe he can tell me why we're not competent enough to count our own dilithium crystals."

  Jason seemed a little discomfited by that. It gave Genti a small measure of satisfaction to note it.

  "Chief Simmons is indisposed right now," said the security officer. "As you know, he's been busy with the investigation."

  "Then this will have to wait," said Genti. "Until I can speak with him."

  But Jason didn't move. "Maybe," he said, "you'd like to speak with Commander Stuart. He's the one who countersigned the security check. I believe he's in command of the bridge right now."

  Genti was tempted to do as Jason suggested. But he knew what the answer would be. And it wouldn't do his career any good to be pestering Stuart for no reason.

  "That's all right," he said. "You can go count your crystals."

  Jason's smile was restored. "Thank you, Chief."

  As he turned and headed for the dilithium stores, Genti called after him.

  "Just don't forget to put a suit on. Even security types have to protect against radiation."

  Jason chuckled. "I'll try to remember that."

  And donning the suit, he disappeared into the dilithium vault.

  Chapter Eight

  THEY WERE ALL ALONE in the rec, which was the way McCoy had planned it.

  "Well," he said, "everything seems to have worked out all right. Our young friend has won the heart of just about everyone on this ship." He paused. "With one notable exception, of course."

  Kirk peered at a strip of turkey on his plate, stabbed it with his fork. "You think the food synthesizer is on the blink again?" he asked. He held the fork and its burden up to the light. "This stuff doesn't look any more like turkey than I do."

  "You're trying to ignore me," said McCoy. "And I wouldn't be much of a doctor if I didn't know what was on your mind."

  "You amaze me, Bones. I had no idea you were a psychiatrist as well as a surgeon." Kirk continued his study of the alleged turkey meat. "I should have Scotty look into this."

  "Go ahead," said the doctor. "Pretend nothing's wrong. The only one you're hurting is K'leb."

  Kirk frowned, seeming to lose interest in the turkey question. He replaced the fork on his plate.

  "I can't help it," he said. "He makes me feel so damned old, Bones."

  "Come on," said McCoy. "It's not as if he were really your son. It's a custom, Jim. A cultural convention that we only equate with fatherhood—because it's the easiest way for us to understand it."

  The captain sighed. "I know all that. And I don't really feel like I'm his father. But it occurs to me that I'm old enough to be his father, and that's just as bad." He sat back in his chair. "I'll tell you, it puts things in an entirely different light."

  "What do you mean?" asked the doctor.

  "Well," said Kirk, "suddenly, all those new faces on the ship look younger than ever. And it starts to seem like a very long time since I was that age." He paused, remembering. "You know how old I was the first time I visited Trank Seven?"

  McCoy shook his head.

  "Twenty-two. And barely out of the academy. I spent half my time dreaming about commanding a starship one day, and the other half certain that I'd never get the chance. And after what happened in Tranktown, I was certain most of the time."

  McCoy looked at him askance. "Why's that?"

  "There was a brawl," said Kirk. "A big one. The whole bar was wrecked, in fact, and Starfleet ended up paying the damages." He cleared his throat. "You can probably guess who got blamed for starting it."

  "Not in a million years." And then, "Did you start it?"

  Kirk shrugged, smiling a little. "I guess I did—though for the life of me, I can't remember why."

  McCoy smiled a little too. "All right," he said. "So you're starting to miss your misspent youth. I sympathize with you. But don't take it out on K'leb."

  The captain looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "You're right, Bones. After all, I'm the reason he's here in the first place. The least I can do is let him know I haven't forgotten about him."

  "There you go," said McCoy. "That's the Jim Kirk we all know and love."

  Kirk grunted. "Love and affection, Doctor, are not essential to the command of a starship."

  "No," said McCoy. "But they don't hurt, either."

  "All right," said Sulu. "Now lunge!"

  The P'othparan shot forward, more fluid and graceful than any beginner Sulu had ever seen. He waited until the last possible moment to turn the attack aside.

  Without hesitat
ion, K'leb recoiled into an en garde position.

  "Very good," said the helmsman, smiling. Since the P'othparan could neither understand the words nor see the expression behind the mesh mask, Sulu brought his foil up in a fencer's salute.

  Recognizing the gesture, K'leb brought his own blade up.

  Sulu swatted at it playfully. "One more time," he said. "With feeling, now." He lowered himself into a slight crouch.

  Again, K'leb lunged. But this time, Sulu waited a little longer before he parried—timing it so that he'd be just a hair too late.

  Sure enough, the P'othparan's point caught him in the chest, just above the solar plexus. The blade arced—perhaps just a bit too much, for K'leb had begun his maneuver a quarter step too close to his target. But that was a nuance that could be worked on in the future.

  It was more important that when Sulu moved the point away, K'leb didn't lose his balance. Instead, he withdrew—transferring his weight to his back foot again.

  The P'othparan was ready to launch another attack, but Sulu paused—to embellish the moment. He patted himself on the chest where he'd been hit.

  "Good touch," he said, knowing how much it had meant to him the first time he'd scored on his instructor.

  He couldn't tell for sure, but he thought he noticed a grin through the mesh.

  "I'm impressed," said a familiar voice.

  Sulu turned and saw the captain, standing just to one side of the fencing strip, hands on hips.

  "Pretty soon," said Kirk, "K'leb will surpass Chekov as your prize pupil."

  The helmsman chuckled. "I think he has already, sir."

  Kirk smiled at that. "Mind if I take a crack at him, Sulu?"

  Sulu shrugged. "No. Be my guest." He pulled his mask off as the captain went over to the equipment locker. "Just don't get too elaborate, sir. K'leb hasn't gotten to the riposte stage yet."

  Kirk selected a jacket, slipped it on. "Don't worry, Lieutenant. I won't damage his technique too much." He found a glove, tugged that on too.