Double, Double

by Michael Jan Friedman

  And then, finally, Genti reached the end of the partitions. Shifting the weight of the phaser in his hand so that he could fire instantly if he had to, he came around the side of the bulkhead.

  Sure enough, there was Michaux. His head, barely visible over the top of his study unit, was turned toward Obobo, who stood just beyond him.

  Genti would have fired then, but he didn't have a clear shot. And besides, he might have hit his own man.

  He gestured for Obobo to move out of the way. Then he could come up and fire over the back of the study unit.

  Michaux must have noticed something in the Nigerian's eyes, however, because he whirled about.

  And saw Genti, his hand full of phaser pistol.

  And moved quicker than anyone had a right to.

  A moment later, Obobo seemed to leap into the outer bulkhead. There was a terrible crack, like the splintering of a thick branch in a dead tree. And then he came crashing down again.

  Nor was Michaux anywhere to be seen. He had darted out of harm's way—most likely headed for the exit.

  Genti's first impulse was to try to launch himself over the top of the study unit—but it would have taken too long. The quicker way was to double back the way he had come.

  His heart pounding, he raced down the aisle between the partitions. Up ahead, past the study units on his right, there was a scuffling—as of someone fleeing. But Michaux must have been bent over, because Genti still couldn't catch a glimpse of him.

  No! He can't get away, damn it!

  One slip would wreck their whole plan. If even one of the androids got by them, alerted the gang of them in security—they would be outnumbered. And by beings who had years of physical-conflict training in their memories.

  I won't let it happen!

  Just as Genti neared the door, it slid aside and something flashed through the opening. Something small and wiry, skidding on all fours.

  For a moment after the something was gone, the door remained open. Then, slowly, it began to slide back again.

  Genti managed to reach it just before it could close altogether—managed to wedge his arm and shoulder into the narrowing space.

  Pressure—but just for an instant, until the door's feedback circuits could tell it there was something stuck there. Then the safety mechanism cut in and the door began to release him.

  Pushing himself through, he scanned the corridor—first in one direction, then the other.

  There. Michaux had gone in the direction of the shorter passageway—was just now turning the corner.

  Genti took off after him, making no attempt to conceal the phaser anymore. The pounding of his boots on the metal decking crammed the corridor full of noise—but it was only a backdrop for the drumbeat of blood in his temples.

  I can't let him get away. I can't.

  The corner loomed and he slowed down to negotiate it.

  Skidded a little to the outside, unable to control his momentum.

  Almost too late, he saw Michaux spring from concealment—almost too late, depressed the trigger.

  Suddenly, there was a bolt of scarlet light between them. Michaux bounced back from it and hit the bulkhead, crumpled.

  Genti found himself on the floor as well—propped up with his free arm. But his phaser was still aimed at Michaux.

  He got to his feet cautiously, never taking his eyes off the helmsman.

  No—the android. The damned, stinking, murdering android. The sound of Obobo's body breaking came back to him, made him shiver.

  And I thought it would be so easy.

  He didn't need to use the scalpel this time. He just adjusted the setting and fired.

  When he was done, he restored the setting to stun and wiped the wetness from his face.

  How many times had Joaquin Martinez ridden this turbolift to the bridge of the Hood? Thousands? Considering that Martinez had served under the ship's previous captain, perhaps tens of thousands.

  As Kirk rode the lift now, he felt like an intruder. A pretender. The Hood wasn't his ship, as much as it had been cut from the same cloth as the Enterprise. It didn't feel right to be taking command of her.

  But, of course, it was the only way.

  The lift indicator was approaching bridge level. Kirk balanced the phaser pistol in his hand, looked at Averback beside him.

  "Ready?" he asked.

  The redheaded crewman smiled. Just that, no other answer. He had an interesting face—lots of childish freckles, yet more than its share of care lines as well.

  It was a face one could trust. Or so Kirk hoped. After all, anyone in engineering could have pushed a few buttons. But Kirk needed more than mere button pushing. He needed credibility.

  The indicator showed bridge. A moment later, the doors parted with a slight exhalation.

  And as if they were there for something as mundane as a levels check, and nothing more than that, they came out to take their prearranged positions.

  Banks was stretched out in the command chair. He took no notice of them. Nor did anyone else, for that matter, until Averback got to the engineering board. When he started the procedure for isolating security section, one of his fellow crewman let out a yelp.

  "Hey! What d'you think you're doing?" The man rose, moved to stop him.

  "That's far enough, mister," said Kirk, holding up his phaser where everyone could see it. The crewman stopped dead in his tracks, though it took a second or two before he realized that the weapon was pointed at him.

  Without a word, Averback returned to his assignment.

  Completed it.

  Banks turned in the command chair, eyed Kirk. "I don't know what you think you're doing," he said, his voice calm and controlled. "But if I were you, I'd give it up. Quickly."

  Kirk spotted someone moving off to his right, turned the phaser on her. She stopped halfway to an alarm button.

  "What I'm doing," he said, watching as the woman backed away again, "is exposing you for an impostor—an android replica of Jamal Banks, no more human than this phaser pistol."

  That gave rise to a few startled looks.

  "And if there's anyone who doesn't believe me," he went on, "you can ask Averback here."

  All eyes seemed to shift to the redhead. Averback nodded.

  "This is Captain Kirk," he said, "of the Enterprise. And it's a long story, but he's telling the truth. There are androids on the ship—infiltrated among us—and we have reason to believe that Lieutenant Banks is one of them."

  The science officer regarded Averback as if the crewman were disturbed. Then he turned back to Kirk.

  "You've really got him believing that," he said. "Don't you, Kirk?" He looked around the bridge, from one wondering face to another. "This man," he said, "is dangerous. The reason we came to Tranquillity Seven was to pick him up—after he'd been apprehended by the local authorities." He shook his head, spoke as if to Kirk alone. "I don't know why you went AWOL," he said. "Perhaps you don't either. But this won't solve anything." He stood, extended his hand in Kirk's direction. "Now, give me the phaser pistol."

  Of course, Banks knew he wouldn't do that. But it was exactly the way Kirk would have acted with an armed madman on his bridge. And the performance seemed to have had the desired effect. There were furtive looks on the faces of the bridge crew—glances from one to another as they tried to think of a way to disarm the intruder.

  The captain would have stunned Banks then and there, but it was hardly advisable to use a phaser on the bridge of a starship. Too many sensitive instruments at hand, too much potential for disaster.

  "All right," he told the android, trying to head off the boneheaded stunt that someone was bound to pull before long. "You say you're human? Prove it. Anybody got something sharp?"

  "He's trying to confuse you," countered Banks. "To distract you from the truth."

  "Wait," said Averback. "I've got something." He reached into a pocket, produced an antique penknife. The engineer looked at it for a moment. "My mom always said it would come in h
andy."

  He tossed it in Banks's direction. The android snatched it out of the air with some disdain.

  "There you go," said Kirk. "All you have to do is cut your finger. Show us some blood."

  Banks shook his head slowly from side to side, made a clucking sound. "Certainly," he said, the voice of reason incarnate. "If that's all it will take to expose your little gambit."

  For a fraction of a second, Kirk had the feeling that he might have made a mistake. Was it possible, he wondered, that not everyone who beamed down to Exo III had been duplicated?

  Then, in a flurry of motion, Banks reached down and tore the armrest off the command seat.

  Sparks geysered from electronic ruin. And before anyone could move, could react, the heavy armrest was hurtling toward Kirk's head.

  The captain ducked, feeling the thing graze his shoulder before it smashed into the closed doors of the turbolift. Before he could take another breath, Banks had vaulted over the rail and was lunging for him.

  Kirk resisted the urge to fire and whirled out of harm's way. There was a chunk in the space he had just vacated as the android's fist plowed into the bulkhead, collapsing the metal surface all around it.

  Recovering, realizing he had missed, he turned and advanced on Kirk.

  The captain backed off. "You see?" he said. "Is this your Lieutenant Banks? Could he have done this?"

  The android no longer bothered with a rebuttal. But Kirk's words did seem to have an effect on him—to trigger an awareness of the position he'd put himself in, the degree to which he'd exposed himself.

  Kirk wondered at that. Banks had acted irrationally in coming after his antagonist. After all, it had still been something of a stalemate at that point.

  Had he simply panicked? Was there a flaw in his manufacture—or in his programming—that allowed him to crack under pressure? That permitted blind anger to take over, suddenly and tumultuously?

  "Give it up," he told the android. "They're onto you now. We're all onto you."

  By then, Banks had regained his composure. He smiled.

  And laid his hand on the plate that opened the lift doors. Even as they began to part, he darted inside.

  Kirk didn't hesitate this time—not when it looked as if Banks might escape to warn the other androids. He launched himself sideways before Banks could shut the doors with the emergency override. As he hit the deck, sprawling, he sprayed phaser fire into the lift.

  In the next moment, the doors closed. The captain cursed, scrambling to his feet.

  But there was no need anymore for urgency. The lift wasn't going anyplace. Though its doors screened Banks from their sight, the indicator beside them showed that the lift was still on bridge level.

  Cautiously, phaser still at the ready, Kirk opened the doors again.

  The android was crumpled in a corner of the enclosure. Obviously, one of those wild shots had found its mark.

  Kirk put the phaser back on his belt. He turned to the bridge crew, saw the varying degrees of astonishment on their faces.

  "Anyone still have his doubts?" he asked.

  No response.

  "There are things like this all over the ship," said Averback. "And we need your help to do something about them."

  Murmurs of shock gradually turned into promises of aid. Slowly, the bridge contingent came around.

  "Good," said Kirk. "Now let's put this android away—somewhere where he won't get loose. If possible, I'd like to preserve him for—"

  He was interrupted by an insistent beeping at the communications console. The communications officer on duty—a petite blonde—moved to answer it.

  "What is it?" asked Kirk.

  "It's Admiral Straus," she said after a moment. "From Starbase Three. But … he's not coming in very clearly."

  "We've had trouble with transmission reception in this sector," said one of the other bridge officers. "Especially long-range transmissions."

  "Can you put him up on the screen?" asked Kirk.

  "I … I think so, yes," said the blonde. She twisted a few dials and the admiral's face abruptly filled the forward viewscreen, distorted by wave after wave of interference.

  "Captain Martinez?" bellowed Straus. "Can … hear me?"

  "I hear you, Admiral," answered Kirk. "But this isn't Martinez. It's Jim Kirk, and—"

  "Damn it, give me some kind … response, Hood! What the blazes … going on there?"

  "He isn't receiving our transmission," interjected the communications officer. "He can't hear you, sir."

  Kirk pounded his fist on the rail before him. "Isn't there anything we can do? Give him some sort of signal that we can hear him?"

  "Only on a subspace band," came the reply. "But he won't receive that for some time."

  "… what's the matter," Straus continued, "but I hope to hell … gets through to you somehow. It's time … rear ends in gear. The Romulans … a freighter. And they've … in force … more firepower than we expected. We need you there, Joaquin. There's no one else close enough to …" The admiral scowled. "… coordinates, just in case. But … can't hear me, then God help the others. Straus out."

  Silence for a moment.

  "Did you get those coordinates, Lieutenant?" asked Kirk.

  "They're coming through now, sir. And pretty clearly."

  "When you've got them, give them to the navigator."

  The navigation officer swiveled in his seat and faced forward—an indication of his readiness. The helmsman too assumed a position of alertness.

  A good crew, Kirk mused. Your captain trained you well. "Mister Averback," he said, "you're in charge of the android's disposal. Then get back with the others. Let them know we've regained the bridge."

  "Aye, sir," said Averback, and moved to comply.

  Kirk came around the half-destroyed command chair and sat down. For better or worse, it was where he belonged now.

  Something on the floor caught his eye—something small and shiny. He picked it up.

  "Mister Averback …" he called.

  The engineer stopped in front of the open turbolift.

  "Sir?"

  Kirk turned and tossed him the penknife. Averback caught it a little awkwardly.

  "You might need that again sometime."

  The engineer grinned. "Thank you, sir."

  "Don't mention it," said Kirk. And he turned his attention to the task ahead of them.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  AS THEY APPROACHED at impulse-normal speed, the Romulan ships were identifiable only as points of light against the black-velvet backdrop of space. The freighter was somewhere among them, but its hide didn't reflect the starlight as well.

  "All right," said Kirk. "This is close enough for now. Full stop, Mister Sulu."

  There was an almost subliminal whine as the engines shifted into standby mode.

  "Full magnification," ordered the captain.

  Spock complied. The scene on the viewscreen moved suddenly closer, revealing the vulpine shapes of the enemy vessels—four of them, as Straus had said—as well as a smaller, duller shape in their midst.

  "They've detected our presence, sir," announced Uhura. "The Romulan commander has issued us a warning."

  Kirk chuckled dryly. "Has he really? Can you give me visual contact, Lieutenant?"

  "In just a moment, Captain. We've got to … there."

  The dark visage of a Romulan warrior sprang up onto the forward viewscreen, filling it. His features were narrower, more predatory than those of most Romulans. And he was exceedingly young to be a full commander in the Imperial fleet.

  "This is Commander T'bak of the flagship Ka'frah," said the Romulan. "I will tell you only once to remove yourself from this vicinity. You are perilously close to our side of the neutral zone—Enterprise."

  He spat out that last word as if it were a curse. But then, Kirk mused, it probably was in most Romulan circles.

  "I only respond," said the android, "to your own breach of treaty. A serious breach, I might add—t
he detention of a vessel operating under Federation protection."

  The Romulan made an untranslatable sound—though Kirk understood its tone.

  "This vessel," he said, "has entered our territory. It is being searched for evidence of espionage devices."

  "It's only a freighter," countered the captain. "And it is not within your territory. It is within the neutral zone—as you are."

  "It fled into the neutral zone," spat T'bak. "It was here that we apprehended it. But it was first sighted well within the bounds of Romulan space."

  "Captain—two of the enemy's ships are coming this way," said Spock. "Judging by their trajectories, they will assume positions on either side of us. It would suggest a flanking attack."

  Kirk punched in a channel to engineering. "Shields up, Scotty. Ready phaser banks and photon torpedoes."

  "Aye, sir," came the response.

  The android had purposely allowed the Romulan to hear and see his preparations. It would show him they meant business.

  "You can avoid this," said T'bak. "Leave now."

  "Not without that freighter," said Kirk.

  "You are one against four," observed the Romulan.

  "Are you certain of that?" asked the android. "We do have cloaking devices, you know."

  It wasn't entirely true. While the Federation had indeed obtained the cloaking technology, it did not outfit its vessels with the device—since both the Romulans and the Klingons were able to penetrate any cloak.

  T'bak sneered. "We can negate the effects of the cloaking device—as you know. If there were other Federation ships here, we would have detected them."

  "Only if you knew where to look."

  It gave the Romulan pause. He barked orders to one of his officers.

  "The Romulan vessels are slowing down," reported Spock. "Coming to a halt."

  "Terminate visual contact," commanded Kirk.

  T'bak's face vanished, replaced by the view forward of the Enterprise. Sure enough, two of the enemy's ships had fanned out, taken up positions on either side of them—but they were coming no closer.

  "There," said the android. "Let him chew on that for a while."

  At the helm, Sulu chuckled appreciatively. Just as the human Sulu would have. Chekov shook his clenched fist in imitation of his own template.