"Shell I slow down?" asked the Russian.
"Please do," said Kirk. "And take us in as low as you can."
Chekov obliged. The mountainscape gradually loomed closer.
And then Spock saw what had made the flash. The deep valley in which it was hidden had kept him from discerning it sooner. It was a mill of some sort, meant to harness the power of the water that cascaded down through the valley.
More curious, however, was the shape that sprawled below the mill. It was big and dark, and it had an oily sheen he had seen somewhere before. Some kind of machinery? That would explain the need for a mill.
But the colony had no mining projects going on this far out into the wilderness. Or at least, they weren't supposed to. The Federation never allowed mining operations to exceed a certain prescribed area, so as not to seriously disturb any local ecologies.
Yet here it was. Some sort of installation—though as the Columbus got closer, it became obvious to Spock that the purpose of the thing was not mining.
By then, the unoccupied crew members had been drawn to the window panels—the captain included. Wood whistled. Silverman muttered a curse beneath his breath.
"Any ideas," asked Kirk, "as to what that monstrosity out there might be?" Then, when no one answered, "Spock?"
"It is difficult to say," returned the Vulcan, "without closer inspection."
The captain hardly hesitated at all. It was as if he had already made his decision, even before he'd gotten his first officer's input.
"If we need to take a closer look," said Kirk, "then that's what we'll do. You see any safe landing sites, Mister Chekov?"
The navigator paused as he scanned the terrain. The shuttlecraft passed over the installation, came about, and approached it from another angle.
"There," said Chekov finally. He pointed at the forward viewscreen. "Thet ledge over there should do the trick."
Kirk peered over the Russian's shoulder at the screen. "All right," he barked. "Let's try it."
Chekov looped the Columbus around, managed to make it hover for a moment, and then landed it without incident. Sitting back from the controls, he took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
"Well done," said the captain. He indicated the compartment where the phasers were stored. "If you would be so kind, Mister Silverman."
"Aye, sir," said Silverman, and moved to pass out the pistols.
When Kirk received his, he adjusted the output mechanism. "Set 'em on stun," he told the others. "And be careful. It's entirely possible that this installation and our abductor are somehow related. If he is holed up here, there's a good chance we'll find him armed." He clipped the phaser onto his belt. "Mister Chekov and Nurse Chapel will remain with the ship—at least until we find out what's going on down there." He nodded to Spock. "The rest of you, come with me."
Neither Chekov nor Chapel were too happy about being left behind. Spock could tell by their expressions. But to their credit, neither of them complained out loud.
The hatch door opened, allowing a windblown chill into the shuttlecraft. The captain was the first to leap out, followed by Wood, Silverman, and Paikert. Spock brought up the rear.
The slope that stretched between them and the great, dark machine was long and steep. Once they started down, it was difficult to stop before they had reached the bottom of it—and another ledge of sorts.
The captain leaned close to Spock's ear so he could be heard over the din of the rushing river.
"Looks innocent enough," he said. "Let's keep going."
But Spock shook his head. "Not all at once. We should fan out on either side of the installation. It will give us a better chance of locating our adversary before he locates us."
Kirk glanced at him, smiled. "Of course," he said. "You didn't think I was going to bunch us all up, did you?"
Actually, the Vulcan had thought just that. On reflection, however, he remonstrated with himself.
The captain was a battle-trained veteran. He would never have made such an elementary mistake.
And yet, it had certainly seemed …
Kirk gestured to the security officers. "You three take the river side," he instructed them. They nodded, began to descend in that direction.
Another gesture, meant for Spock, and then the captain made his way down from the ledge. A moment later, the Vulcan followed, his phaser held at the ready.
As they approached the machine shape, it seemed even bigger, more menacing. But the surface they faced, at least, had no niches in it where an attacker might conceal himself.
Wood, Silverman, and Paikert skirted the installation to the left; Kirk and Spock came around to the right of it. Soon, the security officers were cut off from their view, and they were in the lee of the thing. The roar of the river was less deafening here, with no wind to carry the sound.
Spock couldn't help but note the strange, oily surface, the remarkably simple construction. Whatever purpose it served, it had been designed with an eye to economy.
And there was something familiar about it—naggingly so. But there was no time now for lengthy consideration of the matter. There seemed to be an irregular series of projections along the machine's flank up ahead—choice spots for a sniper—and the captain was proceeding toward them at an incautious pace.
He was just about to call to Kirk when he heard it—the sound of phraser beams ripping the air.
Spock whirled, saw the slope above them sizzle with errant phaser fire. And the thin, red beams were originating somewhere on the other side of the installation.
The Vulcan didn't hesitate. He darted around the perimeter of the machine, careful to use it for cover as much as possible. Lurid shafts of phaserlight continued to stab the slope. There was a sudden cry, and Wood fell sprawling where Spock could see him.
Fighting the urge to go to the crewman's aid, Spock peered around the corner of the installation. What he saw was completely unexpected.
Flat on their bellies, the two remaining security officers were firing in the direction of the river—where, hidden among the rocks and half-immersed in the water, a seemingly large number of adversaries had pinned them with crisscrossing blasts.
As Spock watched, Paikert scrambled to his feet and tried to make it to the machine.
Instantly, two of the hidden stood to get a better shot at him. Spock aimed, fired, and dropped one.
But the other caught Paikert a couple of yards short of his goal. The big man grunted with the impact and folded nearly at the Vulcan's feet.
"Spock!" It was the captain, just behind him. "Damn it, what's going on?"
"Ambush," he said, turning to look at Kirk. "They were hiding in the …" He was only halfway through his answer when he saw the beam lance out at him. The force of it knocked his phaser out of his hand, sent him spinning into the machine.
"All right," said Kirk, taking a step closer. "Move away from the machine."
The Vulcan fought to make sense of it. "Jim …" he began.
"I told you to move," said Kirk.
Spock measured the look in the captain's eye and wondered about his sudden concern for the machine.
Then, abruptly, the pieces started falling into place. Spock glanced at the oily metal surface, remembered finally where he had seen it before. Only it had been in a cave then, and the lighting had been much different, and the machine's components had been configured to fit a more confined space.
Of course.
Kirk must have seen the realization in his eyes. "That's right," he said, coming closer still. "Though I must confess I'm disappointed. I thought you would have figured it out before this."
Spock heard another cry—Silverman's, he told himself.
"I regret," he said, "that I failed in that regard. But not for the same reason, perhaps."
Without moving his eyes—and thereby giving the thought away—the Vulcan gauged the distance between himself and the android. Just one more step, he urged inwardly.
Kirk took it, stopped. Smiled.
"No. Not for the same reason." The briefest of pauses. "Sweet dreams, Mis—"
Before he could finish, Spock lunged. Too late, the android triggered his phaser. The beam zagged wildly as they went down in a tangle of struggling limbs.
Spock found Kirk's wrist, grabbed it, twisted—and the phaser tumbled free. Pressing his advantage, he brought his fist up—then drove it down across the face that was his friend's.
Once.
And again.
But before he could strike a third time, the android lashed out. Spock felt his throat seized in a grip like coridium; felt the sudden and intense pressure on his windpipe.
The Vulcan's powerful fists beat against Kirk's shoulders in an attempt to break the android's hold. But Kirk had the leverage now. No force Spock could muster would make him let go.
The phaser …
Spock turned his head just enough to catch a glimpse of it. It was only a few feet away.
He threw an arm out suddenly, reaching for the weapon. His long fingers stretched to grasp it.
But it was too far. Inches too far.
The android's grip tightened. And from the edges of Spock's vision, the darkness gradually swept inward.
"Wait!" cried Chapel. "There's the captain!"
She gestured with the hand that held the phaser.
Sure enough, it was Kirk hoisting himself up onto the lower ledge. And he seemed in no great hurry.
Chekov relaxed. For the last few minutes, he'd been torn in two different directions. Part of him had wanted to go charging down the slope as soon as he'd seen the phaser fire. But another part of him recognized his duty—to stay with the shuttlecraft until instructed otherwise.
His compromise had been to grab a phaser pistol and to climb out after Christine. And to kneel alongside the Columbus, hoping the others would send back a sign that they were all right.
Then the phaser fire had stopped—as abruptly as it had begun. And in that instant, Chekov had decided to follow his shipmates after all.
"Yes," he agreed. "It's him. End he seems to be in reasonably good health." For a moment, he watched the captain start the difficult trek back up the slope. Then he deactivated his phaser, hitched it onto his belt, and started down to meet Kirk halfway.
Christine was right behind him, her nurse's instincts alert in case the captain signaled that she was needed. But Kirk signaled no such thing. Instead, he held up a hand to let them know all was well.
But the slope was steep, and it was hard to descend slowly. In a matter of seconds, Chekov was almost face-to-face with his commanding officer.
"I tried to contact you," said the captain, "but there was no response. Now I see why."
"We saw phaser fire," said Chekov. "Is everything all right, sir?"
Kirk nodded as Christine joined them. "It's all under control now. I think we've got the man we were looking for."
"No one was hurt?" asked the nurse.
"No one," said the captain. "We took him without any casualties."
"What about the kidnep victims?" asked the Russian.
Kirk frowned again, shook his head. "No sign—so far. But we haven't managed to get inside the installation yet. Hopefully, once we do …"
"I request permission," said Chekov, "to help in the search."
"Me too, sir," said Chapel.
The captain glanced at the unattended shuttlecraft, then regarded them again.
"The Columbus doesn't seem to be in any danger," he said finally. "Permission granted."
And turning, he started back down toward the installation.
Glad for the opportunity to make themselves useful, Chekov and Chapel fell in behind him.
Chapter Eighteen
PAULTIC CAME INTO SICKBAY just as Genti was leaving. They nodded to one another.
"Under the weather?" asked the communications officer.
"Under something," muttered Genti, and was gone.
Doctor Chin stood next to one of the diagnostic platforms, peering up at the dormant life-functions display with her arms folded tightly across her chest.
She didn't turn away from it, either, until Paultic was more than halfway across the room. And as soon as she'd acknowledged his presence there, she resumed her scrutiny of the thing.
"I don't want to say anything," remarked Paultic, "but you're staring at a dead display."
Chin grunted, supplying no more answer than that. But a moment later, she spun about, her dark eyes alert as if after a long sleep.
"So," she said, "what can I do for you?"
Paultic looked down into her delicately sculptured face. And blushed, despite himself.
"It's not really a medical problem," he told her.
She smiled. "I'll be the judge of that."
"No—really. It's actually more of a … um, political problem."
The smile faded a little. "Really?"
He nodded. "I need some advice."
She searched his eyes, saw the trouble there. "All right," she said. "Then let's repair to my office."
A couple of moments later, she had closed the door behind him. They took seats on either side of her desk.
She regarded him patiently, waiting for him to begin. So he did.
"On my last shift," he said, "we received a message from a freighter captain. He said that the captain of one of our other starships—the Enterprise—had been stranded or something on Tranquillity Seven."
Chin raised an eyebrow. "Interesting planet to get stranded on."
"Just what I thought—especially since we just dropped that archaeologist off there. But there's more interesting to come." He licked his lips. "It's still not clear to me how this captain got separated from his ship—I mean, the message was garbled, and we didn't get too many details from the freighter anyway. But Martinez seemed to understand the whole thing without too much trouble. No sooner do we break contact than he's asking Bodrick to chart a course for Trank Seven. Again."
The doctor leaned back in her chair, truly interested now.
He shrugged. "Naturally, I began to set up a channel to the nearest starbase, figuring that the captain will want to report his being out of position if the Romulans should start something. But just for protocol's sake, I clear it with him. And what do you think he says? 'No thanks, Lieutenant. We won't be gone long enough for it to matter.' Or something to that effect."
Chin regarded him. "That is a little strange—under the circumstances. I was under the impression that we weren't to budge from our position."
Paultic nodded. "You're right—we weren't. I was on the board when the orders came in. And yet, Martinez just diverges from them on his own authority. Worse, he doesn't even let anybody know he's leaving." He cursed softly. "It's more than a little strange, Doc—it's court-martial material."
Chin's forehead wrinkled. "I see."
"That's not even the end of it. As soon as my shift is over, Stuart takes me aside. 'I don't want you discussing what happened on the bridge with anyone,' he says. 'Not even those who were there at the time. This is a much bigger deal than it seems. Crucial, in fact, to Federation security.'
"And you should have seen the way he looked at me. As if he was ready to kill me if I didn't agree to keep my mouth shut." Paultic looked down and saw that his hands had balled into fists. He relaxed them. "I hate to tell you what I think, Doc."
"Go ahead," she urged him.
"I've got a hunch that the captain and Stuart are mixed up in something serious—something the Federation wouldn't quite approve of. And they're willing to risk leaving their position in order to keep it covered up."
Chin's dark eyes narrowed. "Then you think this other captain—the one who's stranded on Tranquillity Seven—is somehow in league with them?"
Paultic nodded. "Kirk, James Tiberius. I looked him up in the computer, to see if I could find out anything useful about him. His record, as it turns out, is exemplary—but he knows Martinez pretty well. It seems they attended the academy together."
The do
ctor harumphed, much as she would have over a distrubing reading on a diagnostic display.
"Kirk," she repeated. "I believe Vedra spoke of him once." She scowled. "But she seemed impressed with him—and Vedra did not impress easily."
"One never knows," said Paultic. "Up until now, I was pretty impressed with Captain Martinez." He shook his head. "Hell, I would've given my life for him if he'd asked me to."
Chin chuckled dryly. "Yes," she said. "I echo the sentiment." For a moment, her eyes went unfocused as she contemplated Paultic knew-not-what. But after a while, they took on a new hardness, a new opacity. She fixed him with that gaze.
"I must tell you," she said, "that under normal circumstances, I would have a hard time giving credence to any of this. But I've been seeing some pretty puzzling things myself."
Paultic leaned forward. "Like what?"
She indicated the area outside her office with a tilt of her head. "Genti—and the others in engineering. They all have a touch of radiation sickness. It seems that one of the security people was sent in to inventory the dilithium, and he didn't seal the chamber up right when he left."
"But why is security counting crystals? Isn't that engineering's job?"
"It always has been," said Chin. "Now, with Vedra gone, I can see why the captain would want to tighten the controls down there. But to send a security officer to inventory the dilithium? It seems like overkill."
She winced at her own choice of words.
"And then, of course, there is the matter of Vedra herself."
Paultic saw the doctor blanch a little.
"That's right," he said. "You doubted it was a suicide right from the beginning."
She nodded. "Yes. I did. But I put my trust in the captain's hands. And when he told me that the overwhelming evidence pointed to suicide—even after a second investigation—I talked myself into believing it."
She paused.
"But now, I wonder if I could've been right in the first place." Her brow furrowed suddenly, and her hand shot to her mouth.
"What is it?" he asked.
Her hand fell away. "The containers," she breathed.
Paultic saw where she was headed. "None of us knew what was in them," he said. "We still don't." He pounded his fist on the desk, and the synthetic material shivered. "Damn! Maybe that's what it's all about—the contents of those containers."
Double, Double Page 18