Double, Double

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Brown stood. "I think," he said, "it is time for you to rejoin the other humans."

  In no hurry, Spock looked up at him. "And if we refuse? Will you have us killed after all?"

  The android frowned. "It will be night soon. The temperature will drop abruptly." His hair was tossed by the rising wind. "I think you will be more comfortable in the cave."

  Seeing that Brown's hand could not be easily forced, Spock got to his feet. Taking her cue from him, the nurse did likewise.

  "I must warn you," said Brown, before they could begin the walk back to the cave. "Those you see around you have not come to the conclusions I have. They will not hesitate to shoot if the situation warrants."

  Spock nodded, eyeing the nearest guard. "Understood."

  And as the last of the sun dropped behind the duplication machine, they returned to their underground prison.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  THEY WERE AN EVEN DOZEN—an ideal number, by Kirk's estimate, for the task before them. it was important to play it close to the vest for as long as they could, and a larger group would have attracted too much attention.

  Unfortunately, everyone in security was suspect, or they might have gotten access to the weapons room. As it was, Transporter Chief Berg had been able to slip a half-dozen phasers out of the shuttlecraft.

  While Berg distributed the phasers, there on the lower level of engineering, Kirk listened to the familiar hum of the impulse engines. Even on another ship, in a situation like this one, it was a comforting sound.

  "All right," he said, when the last weapon had been accepted and put away. "You all know who I am, and you've heard what's happening on the Hood. If we're to regain control of the ship, we've got to take our adversaries out one at a time." He paused. "We'll operate in pairs; each pair will have a target." He watched each face as he handed out the assignments, noting the trepidation in some.

  At the end, Genti scowled, glancing up at the entrance to his section. "It feels a little funny," he said, "conspiring like this. Planning the overthrow of the command staff—as if we were terrorists or something."

  "It feels funny to me too," said the captain. "I run a ship just like this one. But we've no other choice."

  "Are you sure about all of this?" asked a petite, redheaded engineering officer. "I mean, we're going to have a tough time explaining ourselves if we're barking up the wrong tree."

  Chin smiled grimly. "In that case, Roseann, I'll take full responsibility. After all, I'm the one who saw what was inside Captain Martinez."

  "No," said Paultic. "We're all in this together." He eyed the others. "If we have any doubts, we should leave them here."

  Berg voiced his support for this idea, and a couple of engineering people chimed in too.

  "Absolutely right," said Kirk. "We're to hit our targets fast—and hard. Any hesitation will give them the edge." He waited a moment for that to sink in. "Besides," he added, "our phasers are all set on stun. So if it turns out that we've made a mistake in some isolated instance, the worst we'll have inflicted is a headache."

  He looked around again.

  "Any questions?"

  Silence, but for the droning of the engines.

  "Then let's go," he said.

  The door to Bodrick's cabin slid aside.

  "Greetings," said the navigator, smiling his customary smile. "What can I do for you?"

  Paultic didn't answer. With a coolness that surprised him, he raised the phaser and fired.

  Bodrick was thrown backward, finally crashing into one of his desk supports. He lay still.

  "All right," said Paultic, just loudly enough to be heard out in the corridor. "He's out."

  Jacobi followed him into the cabin, shut the door behind them.

  Paultic gave the phaser to the other man—just in case—and took out the laser-scalpel Chin had given him. He knelt by Bodrick, took the navigator's hand in his, and applied the surgical beam to the index finger.

  "Well?" asked Jacobi.

  Paultic shook his head, finding it suddenly difficult to speak. It was one thing to talk about androids—and another to see the proof of it.

  Filled with loathing, he let Bodrick's hand drop to the floor.

  "It's exactly as we thought," he said. "He's an android."

  He stood and extended his hand toward Jacobi.

  "I'll do the honors," he said. "I'm the officer here."

  The engineer didn't hesitate. He handed over the phaser.

  But it wasn't as easy to complete the job as Paultic had thought it would be. Even though this monster had been in on Vedra's murder, and those of the personnel who'd been replaced. Even though, if their situations were reversed, he'd have killed Paultic without a second thought.

  After all, he looked like Bodrick. And if the navigator hadn't been his closest friend, he'd been a lot more than an acquaintance. They'd spent many an hour together on the bridge of the Hood, shared some tense moments and some happy ones.

  Then Paultic saw the android's eyes snap open, and it was all the motivation he needed.

  The phaser beam enveloped Bodrick in its glow just as he started to raise himself off the floor. Before their eyes, he vanished.

  Paultic turned to look at Jacobi. The engineer was doing his best not to look rattled.

  "Come on," said the communications officer. "Before the others start to worry about us."

  The engineer nodded a little too quickly. "Aye, sir."

  The doors to sickbay opened and First Officer Stuart stepped through them. He headed straight for Chin's office.

  The doctor looked up from her pretended study of her monitor. She waved curtly to Stuart, got up as if to greet him.

  Nor did he show any signs of suspicion. Why should he?

  There was nothing unusual about the chief medical officer needing to consult with him on one matter or another.

  So when Ensign Zuna dropped him, there in the center of the sickbay floor, the only sound was that of Stuart's body hitting the deck.

  But as Zuna emerged from hiding, she was nervous. Chin could see it in the way she looked at her victim, in the way she held her weapon.

  In the quickness with which she moved the phaser setting up a notch, ready to use it again.

  "Wait," called the doctor, bolting out of her office.

  Zuna turned to look at her. She seemed surprised, as if she had forgotten all about her.

  "Don't you remember?" she asked the ensign, lowering herself to a kneeling position at Stuart's side. "First we've got to make sure."

  Zuna swallowed. "Right," she said. "Sorry."

  The doctor muttered something reassuring as she removed the laser-scalpel from her pocket. Deftly, she rolled up Stuart's sleeve and made a tiny incision in his forearm.

  The flesh—not flesh at all, really, but some synthetic material—curled back to reveal that intricate mesh of gears and wires she had seen in Martinez's face.

  Chin sat back on her haunches, satisfied and a little revolted by the burning smell. "All right," she said as she started to get up. "You can—"

  But before she could finish, a hand shot out and grabbed her by the ankle. The pain was terrible, crushing. She screamed.

  Zuna cried out too, threatening to use the phaser. But she couldn't—not on this setting, with Chin in the android's grasp. The beam would destroy both of them.

  Zuna must have realized this, because she started fumbling with the setting. But at the same time, the android twisted Chin's foot around, and she came crashing down on top of him.

  "Sorry, doctor," said Stuart, his voice unreasonably calm. "But I need a shield."

  Holding her before him, he started to get up. His grip was viselike, irresistible.

  "Let her go," said the ensign, still struggling to restore the setting to stun. It seemed to be stuck.

  "No chance," said Stuart. "I need her to get to you."

  Zuna took a step back.

  The android half dragged, half carried the doctor across the room. Eve
ntually, he would maneuver Zuna into a corner and disable her. Then he'd kill them both.

  There was only one thing Chin thought she might try—one strategy that had any chance of working.

  If the androids were such precise replicas of human beings, they probably had human reflexes as well. After all, they had to be programmed to blink, didn't they? To take in and expel air so as to give the appearance of breathing?

  "Go ahead," said Chin. "Shoot. Don't worry about me." And as she said it, she winked.

  The ensign noticed, though she wasn't quite sure what to make of it. But she understood well enough to extend the phaser in Stuart's direction.

  "You won't do it," said the android. "You can't just kill her. She's flesh and blood. She's human."

  The words were barely out of his mouth when Chin kicked backward with all her might—catching Stuart just below the kneecap.

  Sure enough, the patella reflex was there. The android's leg buckled for just an instant, causing him to lose his balance—and his grip on her.

  She twisted free, rolled to one side.

  Nor did Zuna wait for the order Chin barked at her. Depressing the trigger, she activated the phaser—still locked in at its highest setting.

  That nimbus of coruscating energy played about the android for a moment. Then it was as if he had never existed in the first place.

  According to the duty roster, Michaux was scheduled for continuing education. Since the helmsman was one of the few crewmembers who preferred to study in the library rather than in his own cabin, Genti knew where to look for him.

  "You just watch my back," he told Obobo as the turbolift carried them down to the library level. "There may be another of them in the place, and I'll need some warning."

  The Nigerian nodded. "Don't worry, sir. I'll—"

  He cut himself short as the lift stopped—one level shy of their destination.

  When the doors opened, they revealed Jason—the security officer who'd come to check the dilithium supply. The one, Genti reminded himself, who left the damned door open and got the whole section sick. And maybe, just maybe, the one who also killed Vedra.

  Jason inclined his head slightly. "Gentlemen," he said, and entered the turbolift.

  Nor did he punch new instructions into the lift computer—which meant he was headed for the same level they were.

  The doors closed.

  Until now, Genti's stomach had been churning at the thought of shooting Michaux—Michaux, who barely weighed in at a hundred and sixty pounds.

  Now, strangely, the trepidation was gone—replaced by the heat of anger. I don't like this bastard, he decided.

  So when the lift stopped again and the doors opened to let them out, Genti pulled out his phaser. Unaware, Jason stepped out into the corridor.

  He never knew what hit him. The phaser blast sent him sprawling almost to the opposite wall.

  Obobo cursed beneath his breath, glaring at Genti as they emerged from the turbolift. "What are you doing, sir? This wasn't our assignment."

  "It is now," said the engineering chief. With liquid quickness, he got out the scalpel, used it on the base of Jason's neck.

  And saw all he needed to see.

  Without a moment's hesitation, he adjusted the phaser setting and activated it. Watching Jason blink out of existence was one of his most satisfying experiences since the day he joined Starfleet.

  "Sir?"

  Genti looked up, saw the concern in Obobo's face.

  "Can we get moving now?" the man asked.

  The chief engineer nodded. "Sure."

  "Do you want me to watch for a while?" asked Calabrese, careful to keep her voice to a whisper.

  Berg leaned away from the hairline crack between the door and the jamb—a crack created when he'd slipped his transporter key in the path of the closing door panel—and rubbed his eyes with his free hand.

  "Maybe soon, Roseann. I'm good for a few more minutes."

  "The hell you are," she told him, hunkered down just behind him in this unused utility room. "You know how tired your eyes get."

  It was true. In fact, the condition had almost kept him out of Starfleet. As it was, it had limited him to the role of transporter chief—a post far below his original aspirations.

  "No, really," he said. "I'm all right for now."

  "Just don't be a hero," she rasped.

  He smiled. "Yes, dear."

  It got a chuckle out of her, breaking the tension a little.

  Then he heard the footfalls. He held his hand up for silence and pressed his eye to the crack again.

  Nothing yet.

  The footfalls got louder, closer. The palm that cradled the phaser felt damp with sweat. Suddenly? Or had it been that way all along?

  A squeeze of his muscular shoulder. Calabrese's way of saying she was right behind him, her own phaser at the ready.

  The footfalls became louder still, echoing along the corridor. The pace was that of someone with a destination, a purpose.

  And then he saw the maker of the sounds—almost close enough now to reach out and touch. Simmons came to a halt before the door across the corridor from them, knocked on it.

  No answer.

  Of course not. Neither Martinez nor Kirk were inside any longer. The cabin was empty.

  They had known that someone from security would come by eventually—to see what was taking the captain so long. And to make sure that nothing untoward had occurred.

  What they couldn't have predicted was that it would be the chief of security himself.

  Simmons knocked again. Still no response from within.

  He drew his phaser, just as Berg heard a distinct creak behind him—the sound of Calabrese's knees working as she stood up. The transporter chief held his breath, but Simmons seemed not to have noticed.

  How acute was an android's hearing, anyway? Could he have heard them breathing as he approached? And now be playing possum, waiting only until their door opened?

  Berg didn't have to look to know Calabrese's hand was hovering over the door control. As soon as he gave the signal, she'd press it—exposing Simmons to their fire.

  And vice versa.

  The key to the whole trap was the element of surprise. But if Simmons was aware of their presence here …

  He put the thought from his mind.

  Outside in the corridor, the security chief opened a tiny compartment beside the door and punched in his override code. Almost immediately, the panel slid away.

  For a moment, Simmons just stood there, surveying the cabin beyond the threshold. Then he took a cautious step inside.

  Berg gave the signal. As the door opened, he fired.

  The phaser beam hit Simmons in the shoulder, spun him about. He fell out of Berg's line of sight.

  An instant later, Calabrese was bounding past him—across the corridor and into the cabin where Simmons had fallen.

  "No!"

  The warning was barely past his lips when he saw the sudden burst of phaser fire. In its glare, he saw Calabrese go down.

  "Roseann!" he cried, darting across the corridor and launching himself after her. He landed on his side, ready to fire at anything that moved.

  But Simmons lay stretched across the bunk, his head dangling off the side of it. And his phaser lay on the floor beneath his empty hand.

  "Thanks anyway," said Calabrese.

  Berg turned around and saw her lying behind him, wedged against a bulkhead. It made him want to laugh.

  As their job wasn't over yet, however, he contained himself. Taking possession of Simmons's phaser, he flipped the setting to off and put it in his belt. Then he took out the laser-scalpel.

  Calabrese, standing behind him now, cleared her throat rather noisily. He looked up at her.

  "You want me to do that?" she asked.

  He offered her the scalpel.

  "Sure," he said. "I think my eyes are getting a little tired."

  When he entered the library, Genti was still pumped up on adrenaline
. His muscles were loose, relaxed, and the phaser felt remarkably comfortable in his hand.

  Destroying androids wasn't half as difficult as he'd expected.

  He scanned the rows of partitioned study units as Obobo came in behind him. No sign of Michaux. For that matter, no sign of anyone—an unusual situation here. The place was usually full to capacity.

  Obobo tapped him on the shoulder and he turned. The Nigerian pointed to a small pocket of study units partially concealed by a structural bulkhead. In the ship's original design, the area had been set aside for some sort of storage—but as the demand for library use exceeded expectations, it was opened up as an annex.

  And it could be reached from either side of the bulkhead.

  Genti signaled for Obobo to approach the area from the left. He would take the longer way around—from the right, through the greater number of study units.

  As the chief engineer walked, phaser palmed against his thigh, his footfalls seemed unnaturally loud. But that, he knew, was only the product of his heightened awareness.

  And besides—the sound of footfalls was common enough in the library. Michaux couldn't know the intent behind them.

  Could he?

  Was it possible he'd gotten wind of what they were up to? And was hiding behind one of the partitions now, ready to twist someone's head off?

  Genti shrugged off that last thought.

  You're giving these androids too much credit, he told himself. Remember how easily Jason went down?

  He was little more than halfway through the mass of study units when he heard the sound of voices.

  One was Obobo's. The other he recognized as Michaux's.

  It took an effort not to hurry his steps. But the voices sounded casual, not strained. And any undue haste on his part might have attracted the helmsman's attention—aroused his suspicions.

  No, he told himself. Take your time. Obobo's fine—you can hear him.

  One of the voices fluted into laughter. It was the Nigerian's.

  See? He's okay.

  A few more steps, and again a few more. The conversation went on—something about the number-two impulse engine. More laughter.