Double, Double

by Michael Jan Friedman

  "Something like that."

  Kirk glanced at the prone figure of the Martinez android.

  "It looks," he said, "like you learned more than you bargained for."

  Chin nodded in agreement.

  "The two of us," he decided, "aren't going to be of much use against so many of them. We're going to need help."

  She thought for a second. "We can start in engineering section. I know it's free of androids, because I just gave them all checkups. And there are others we can trust—Paultic, of course, and crewmen who never went down to Exo III. People who'll believe me when I tell them what I saw here."

  "I'm glad," said Kirk, "that they won't need to see the evidence themselves. Because we don't dare leave it around." He turned his phaser setting up to the next level. "If this one's friends find him like this, they'll know we're onto them. If he's merely disappeared, it'll give us a little more breathing space."

  Training the phaser on the android's body, he activated it. There was a low hum as the beam played over its target. For a fraction of a moment, the Martinez-thing rippled with scarlet light.

  Then it was gone.

  The doctor shivered. "It was almost like watching the captain himself being destroyed."

  Kirk grunted. It had been an eerie feeling, all right.

  "Come on," he said. "They'll come looking here after a while."

  Slipping the phaser under his tunic, he depressed the door control again. The panel slid aside.

  "After you," he said.

  Gathering herself, Chin led him out into the corridor.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  KIRK STRODE DOWN THE PASSAGEWAY, deep in contemplation.

  Chapel had not been able to tell him much when she contacted him—owing to the ongoing need for secrecy and the chance that someone might accidentally hook into their connection. But she had hinted sufficiently at the gravity of the situation.

  Something had gone wrong—but what?

  Was it his fault? Could he have missed something, some mall nuance of behavior on the Enterprise?

  It wasn't possible. He had every bit of knowledge that the human Kirk had had. Every bit of experience, lodged in memory.

  And yet, someone had stumbled onto their operation—or so Chapel had implied. There was an exposure that had to be sealed up.

  It must have been one of the others, then. After all, each of hem was defined by the capacities of their human templates. If that template could not foresee the results of certain actions, certain oversights … then the duplicate would have the same inadequacies.

  Brown was a prime example. His human predecessor must have been …

  "Captain?"

  Kirk looked up, saw the female figure in his path. He recognized her as the ensign who had volunteered for duty planetside.

  "DeLong," he said, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment as he continued past her.

  "Captain—wait! Please!"

  She caught up with him. Reluctantly, he turned to look at her. He noticed now that she was equipped with phaser and communicator.

  "Where are you going?" she asked. "Isn't it time for our teleport?"

  It was. And it had been his plan to be with the unsuspecting relief team that beamed down to the shuttlecraft—a necessity if he was to avoid the physical McCoy had in store For him. But Chapel's call had changed all that.

  "The beam-down has been postponed," he told her, never breaking stride. "You would have discovered that when you got to the transporter room."

  "Postponed?" she echoed. "But why?"

  He eyed her. "Is it now necessary, Ensign, for me to explain my decisions to you?"

  That seemed to take the wind out of her sails. It was the effect he had aimed for.

  "I … I didn't mean that, sir. I only meant …" She stopped herself, started again. "Then when will we beam down?"

  "You'll be notified," he said. And turned away from her, signifying an end to the conversation.

  She took the hint. A moment later, he was alone again with his thoughts.

  DeLong's first stop was in security, where she turned in her phaser and her communicator. Wood, the officer on duty, didn't seem the least bit curious about the premature return of the equipment. He just logged its receipt and went about his business.

  The whole way back to engineering, she turned the matter his way and that, trying to puzzle it out.

  First, I offend him—impugn his integrity in public, disobey him—and he asks me for forgiveness. After something like that, one would think he'd at least remember me—but no. He brushes by me in the corridor as if he's never seen me before.

  Okay, he's the captain of a fair-sized starship. Maybe he's got other things on his mind.

  But when I volunteer to beam planetside, he assures me he hasn't forgotten me—that he never could. And he smiles as he says it—with warmth, with respect. The way I'd always hoped he'd smile at me.

  She sighed.

  Then I see him in the corridor again and he gives me the cold shoulder. The coldest shoulder. As if he's never held me in any esteem at all. As if I've been nothing but a thorn in his side all along …

  She just didn't get it.

  In a daze, she made the last turn that brought her to engineering. Waited for the doors to open, headed for her customary station.

  And almost sat down on top of Campeas. She'd forgotten that he'd been assigned to cover for her in her absence.

  "DeLong?" he asked. "What are you doing here? I thought you were beaming down with the captain."

  She chuckled dryly. "It's a long story. Suffice it to say the relief party's been postponed."

  He looked up at her. "Oh." A pause. "So, do you want me to find something else to do?"

  She thought for a moment, shook her head in the negative. "That's all right. You look like you're in the middle of it already. I've got to report to Mister Scott anyway—maybe he'll ask me to do something else this shift."

  Campeas shrugged. "Okay. But if you change your mind, let me know."

  She nodded, moved away toward Mister Scott's office. Knocked on his half-open door, past which she could see him working at his computer terminal.

  "A'll be wi' ye in just a minute," he said, his eyes glued to the screen. As DeLong watched, he completed his calculations, stored the file with a satisfied smirk, and swiveled around on his chair.

  "Ah, Denise. Wha' can a' do for …" As his voice trailed off, his eyes narrowed. "Hold on now. Were ye nae supposed t' be beamin' down wi' th' relief party, lassie?"

  "I was, "she explained. "But it was called off. Postponed."

  He grunted. "That's a wee bit unusual. It was nae a malfunction, was 't?"

  She shook her head. "I don't think so. Though I have to admit I don't know that for sure."

  Another grunt, louder than the first. "Won't ye come in, Denise, and have a seat? A' think a'll just get t' th' bottom o' this."

  As DeLong sat down on one of the two worn plastic chairs in Scott's cramped cubicle, the engineering chief put in a call to the transporter room. In a moment, Mister Kyle's image came up on the monitor.

  "Aye, sir?" asked Kyle.

  "A've just heard that th' relief party didna beam down as scheduled," said Scott. "Was there some trouble down there?"

  "No trouble," reported Kyle. "The captain just called it off."

  Scott stroked his chin. "A' see. Thank ye, then. As ye were." The image blinked out and he turned to face DeLong again.

  "Well," he said, "a' guess th' bottom's a bit deeper than a' thought." He smiled. "But if th' captain's postponed th' teleport, he's sure t' have a good reason. Don't look so glum, lass—it'll be cleared up b'fore ye know it, and ye'll be beamin' down as ye were supposed to."

  She wished she could smile back at him, but she couldn't. "It's not that, sir. It's … I don't know."

  And then she blurted it out. She couldn't stop herself. Maybe it was the avuncular way he looked at her, the understanding he seemed so ready with; maybe it was jus
t her need to get it off her chest. To tell someone.

  DeLong described the way the captain had acted toward her in this instance and that. His erratic behavior, his unpredictability. As if he were two different people, each contradicting the other in word and deed.

  She didn't quite go into every detail. She made it sound as if she were just another young officer seeking her captain's high regard.

  "You've known him for a long time," she said finally. "Why is he acting like this?"

  Scott shrugged. "It does sound like strange behavior, comin' from th' captain. But then, Denise, ye have t' ask y'self how much of 't is th' captain … and how much is th' way ye see him."

  She felt herself blush, hating the way it confirmed his suggestion.

  But there it was. Scott had seen through her charade. It was out in the open now.

  "If a' may be so bold," said the chief engineer, "ye're nae th' first young woman t' take a likin' t' James T. Kirk. Nor even th' first young woman in this section." He sighed—for her, it seemed to DeLong. "An' a' can tell ye, they all got aver it. It's a natural enough thing, lassie. But it doesna go an forever."

  DeLong nodded. "I … do have a crush on him," she admitted—not an easy thing for her to do. "But it hasn't colored my perceptions. Or at least, not all that much." She thought about it some more, found she was confident about her observations. As confident as she would have been about a physics experiment back in school. "He's acted strangely toward me, sir. And I don't know why."

  She looked at Mister Scott.

  "You do believe me, don't you?"

  He pressed his lips together, tilted his head at an angle as he considered the matter.

  "A'll tell ye what," he said at last. "A'll look into it for ye. See if ye've really got any grounds for concern." He smiled. "Fair enough?"

  She smiled back, unable to prevent herself.

  "Fair enough," she said. "And … thank you, sir."

  Scott waved it away. "I have nae done anythin' yet," he said, and turned back to his terminal.

  She got up to go, paused halfway to the door.

  The chief engineer noticed. "Aye, lass?"

  "I almost forgot the reason I came to see you," she said. 'I'm available for duty and Campeas is at my station. He's doing so well, I hate to interrupt him."

  Scott nodded. "Why don't ye have a go at th' antimatter conduits?" he suggested. "They have nae been looked at in a dog's age."

  It was just the sort of mindless work she needed—though she hadn't realized it until just this moment. How had he known?

  "I'll get on it right away," she told him.

  "Good," he muttered, his mind already elsewhere as he started to call up another file.

  It was only after DeLong had gone that her words began to haunt him. So much so, in fact, that Scott had to think them through before he could turn his attention back to his work.

  DeLong wasn't one of those lovesick yeomen that liked to bat their eyelashes at the captain. She was a levelheaded individual. Even in the gym, when Kirk had beaten her with what turned out to be a dirty trick, she kept her temper better than he would have.

  And the behavior she had ascribed to the captain could certainly be called erratic. Could there be something personal in it after all? Surely, over the years, he had never seen Kirk treat any crewman unfairly, or with prejudice.

  A result of pressure, then? The Romulan situation hanging over their heads, the aborted leave on Trank Seven? Was it possible even Jim Kirk was cracking a bit under the strain?

  Then again, it was all hearsay. And Montgomery Scott was not given to convicting a man on that basis.

  First chance he got, he'd have a talk with the captain. Then it would all come out in the wash, if there was anything there in the first place.

  When Kirk entered the briefing room, the other androids were there already, waiting for him.

  He took his seat at the head of the table, acknowledged both Spock and Chapel. They inclined their heads slightly, returning the acknowledgment.

  "You have checked the room for listening devices?" he asked Spock.

  "I have," said the duplicate of the Vulcan. "Just as you ordered. And I have found nothing."

  "Good," said Kirk. He turned to the nurse. "Report."

  "I was in sickbay," she said, "only a short while when crewman Clifford and the one called K'leb came in. To see Doctor McCoy."

  Kirk held his hand up, stopping her.

  "You know of the T'nufan?" he asked.

  "Yes," said Chapel. "He was well acquainted with my human template."

  Of course, that would be the case. The others carried memories of recent occurrences on the Enterprise—whereas Kirk himself did not.

  "Proceed," he said.

  "K'leb, it seems, had encountered you on an earlier visit to sickbay—when McCoy was still in the critical-care unit. And being an empath, he had sensed your lack of human emotion."

  Empath …?

  Kirk brought his fist down sharply on the briefing-room table. "So that was it," he said out loud. He smiled bitterly at the others. "I thought he looked at me strangely. But when I learned that he was uncomfortable in the captain's presence, I assumed …"

  Spock and Chapel were looking at him, waiting for him to finish. He never did.

  And why should he? It was not necessary for them to know the magnitude of his miscalculation. Not necessary, even, for them to know he had made one—though they appeared to have gathered that much from his outburst.

  Suddenly, it seemed to him that he was balanced on the edge of a precipice—looking down into the shadowy depths of his own fallibility.

  How could he have made such an error? How?

  "All right," he said slowly, regaining his equilibrium. "The T'nufan read my lack of emotion."

  Chapel picked up on her cue.

  "Apparently, he shared the information with Mister Clifford—the only one on the ship who can understand his language to any significant extent. Clifford, in turn, brought the information to McCoy."

  Kirk nodded. "I see. And what did Clifford make of it? Was it credible to him?"

  "That much was not clear to me," said the nurse. "I think he doubted it a little, particularly at first. But he believed strongly enough in K'leb's abilities to put the matter before McCoy."

  "Why McCoy?" asked the captain.

  Chapel thought for a second.

  "I think," she said, "it was a question of trust. Clifford felt more comfortable with McCoy—or perhaps the T'nufan did." Another second. "Yes—it is more likely that it was K'leb's decision to see McCoy. After all, the doctor oversaw his recuperation. It would be natural for K'leb to place his trust in him."

  "And what was McCoy's reaction?"

  "He promised to investigate the T'nufan's suspicions."

  "Investigate?" asked Kirk. "How?"

  "After Clifford and the T'nufan left, he called you. Asked you to come in for your long-overdue physical."

  Kirk remembered, understood it all now. Something within him wound tighter, but he resisted the urge to pound the table again.

  "And when I sidestepped his request?"

  "He said you didn't sound like yourself," said Chapel. "He said you were tentative—that you seemed not to remember a wager he'd made with Kirk. And that your beaming back down might have been a ploy to escape his scrutiny."

  All that? McCoy had seen through his machinations so thoroughly? He might have expected such insight from a Vulcan—but from a human?

  Again, he had miscalculated.

  Again.

  Slowly, too slowly, Kirk brought himself to focus on his interrogation of Chapel.

  "You mentioned that he said all this. To whom did he say it?"

  "To me. By that time, he had noticed my presence in sickbay."

  The captain sat back, grunted. "So McCoy has seen through us." He was careful to say us, and not me.

  "Not completely," said the nurse. "He is not convinced that you are an impostor. A possibilit
y was what he called it."

  "A possibility," Kirk echoed. He allowed himself a smile. "And yet, we cannot allow him to continue unrestrained, spreading his suspicions of … this possibility … among the crew. No more than we can allow Clifford and the T'nufan to do so."

  "Sooner or later," Spock added, "someone will believe them."

  "Exactly," said the captain.

  "But do we dare kill them?" asked the first officer. "Especially now, when the duplication process is proceeding so well?"

  Kirk eyed him. "What are you getting at, Spock?"

  The android cocked an eyebrow. "What if we were to send these individuals down to Midos Five—as part of the relief party? It would remove them from the ship's population, Preventing them from doing any more damage than they may already have done. And after their duplication, we would have access to their memories—so we would know who else they might have spoken to."

  Kirk had to admire the simplicity of it.

  "Done," he said. "But I think you should ask them to join the relief group, Spock. They might suspect treachery if an order came down from me."

  "As you wish," said the android. "I will—"

  He was cut short by a high-pitched tone, followed by Uhura's appearance on the tabletop monitor.

  "Captain?"

  Kirk glared at her.

  "I gave orders not to be interrupted, Lieutenant."

  "Yes, I know, sir. But Admiral Straus is waiting to speak with you. He said it was urgent, sir."

  Damn. So soon?

  "Put him through, Uhura."

  A moment later, Straus's image supplanted the communications officer's.

  "Greetings, Captain," said the admiral.

  "Likewise, sir." Kirk's suspicions were confirmed by the human's expression. "It's the Romulans, isn't it?"

  The admiral nodded soberly. "Right on the money, Jim. They've commandeered a freighter, right on the edge of the neutral zone. And be warned—it's as bad as we thought it might be. Four birds-of-prey, according to the freighter's Mayday."

  Straus snorted.

  "You know, I received a lot of static for holding up three ships in this sector. But now I'm glad I did. Anything less would have placed us at a serious disadvantage—not that four to three is a situation to be hoped for, exactly."