Double, Double

by Michael Jan Friedman

  The black woman knelt beside K'leb, put a hand on his shoulder.

  "Are you all right?" she asked.

  He didn't understand the words, but he caught the emotion. To reassure her, he nodded.

  Then he remembered his friend. "K'liford," he said, though it was difficult for him to speak. He pointed.

  M'Koy bent beside the crewman, frowned. He put his fingers to the side of K'liford's neck, just behind the ear. His frown deepened.

  "Come on," he told K'leb. "Help me get him up on one of these tables."

  "All right," said Kirk. "Uhura's had long enough to alert the troops."

  He checked the phaser one last time, replaced it on his belt, and stepped up onto the transporter platform.

  Berg made his preparations behind the control stand while Paultic looked on. Chin stood to one side of them—and her frown, which Kirk had first noticed in the corridor outside, had deepened considerably.

  "Is something disturbing you, Doctor?" asked the captain.

  "Permit me to ask a stupid question," said Chin. "What if your Uhura is herself a duplicate? Or just doesn't believe you're the real McCoy?"

  "And she's played it straight so far only to lure me into a trap?" Kirk shrugged. "Then I've had it. But I've got to trust someone—and Uhura's as good a choice as any."

  She was still frowning. He smiled.

  "Don't worry, Doctor. I didn't get this far by guessing wrong very often."

  Gradually, she smiled too. But he had seen more confident smiles in his lifetime.

  Paultic chose that moment to clear his throat.

  "Yes, Lieutenant?" said Kirk. "Have you got a question too?"

  "Well, sir," said the communications officer, "I was thinking … are you sure you want to go it alone? I think I could be of some help." He glanced at Berg. "Perhaps some of the others, as well …"

  Kirk shook his head.

  "Strange faces would only complicate matters. But I appreciate the thought, Mister Paultic."

  Chin came up to the platform and held out her hand. He took it, looked into her almond-shaped eyes.

  "Good luck," she said.

  "Thank you," he told her. "I hope to see you again sometime, Doctor. Under more pleasant circumstances."

  She inclined her head slightly, looked up again. "I wouldn't be surprised, Captain."

  He released her hand and she withdrew. Straightening, Kirk looked at the transporter chief.

  "Energize, Mister Berg."

  There was that familiar tingling sensation that one never quite got used to. A fraction of a second later, Kirk found himself standing in a little-used corridor, not far from the Enterprise's own transporter room. As he had hoped, there was no one around to see him materialize.

  For the briefest moment, he let himself drink in his surroundings. He was home.

  But it was a home in danger. Steeling himself, Kirk headed for engineering.

  Scotty was just about to contact the bridge when the captain entered the engine room.

  "A' was goin' t' call ye," said the chief engineer, springing out of his seat. "We're gettin' close on th' engines, sir. A' think it's best if we pay some attention t' th' breach now."

  He said it as forcefully as he dared, and still he expected that Kirk would turn him down. He could scarcely believe it when the captain nodded.

  "You're right, Scotty. Take Holgersson and Whitehead and start work on it right now."

  The Scot felt a smile take hold. "Aye, sir," he said. "Good choices, sir." He turned, sought out the crewman Kirk had named. "Whitehead! Holgersson! Front an' center—on th' double, lads!"

  The pair separated themselves from their work and approached from across the engine room. Holgersson was tall, slender, and fair. Whitehead was dark and stocky.

  "Grab gear for three," said Scotty. "We're goin' t' plug that hole in deck four!" He turned to Kirk, wiped the perspiration from his brow. "How's it goin' up there, sir?"

  The captain shrugged. "That last salvo evened up the odds—it's three against three now, and they don't seem as eager to attack. But I can't say we're out of the woods just yet."

  "Well," said Scotty, "at least it sounds like an improvement. And as soon as th' impulse engines are back on line …"

  He let his voice trail off as Holgersson and Whitehead joined them. Accepting an exposure suit from Whitehead, Scotty started for the exit. The captain was right beside him.

  "Just what did we do," he asked, "that cost th' Romulans one o' their ships?"

  "We played dead," explained Kirk. "And when they came by, we showed them how alive we were."

  "A' see," said the Scot as they turned up the corridor. "A' should have known ye'd come up wi' somethin', sir."

  Kirk nodded. "Right."

  Then, before Scott could even think of protesting, the captain whirled and drew his phaser. In a blast of ruby light, Holgersson and Whitehead slumped to the deck.

  Scotty couldn't believe what he'd seen. "Wha … what have ye done?" he sputtered. He started toward the fallen crewmen, but Kirk held him back.

  "Not so fast," he said. "First, watch this." And producing what looked like a laser-scalpel, he knelt beside Whitehead. Quickly, deftly, he made an incision in the man's skin.

  Only it wasn't skin. And what was beneath it belonged to no man.

  "He's an android," breathed Scotty. Suddenly, he felt light-headed.

  "They both are," said the captain, adjusting the setting on his weapon. "I wanted you to see that before I did this."

  And he bathed them again in phaserlight—this time, a more destructive variety. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.

  Scott turned to Kirk. "But how did ye know?" he asked.

  "Never mind that now," said the captain. "What's important is that there are other androids on the ship—even on the bridge." His expression turned grimmer by a notch. "And one of them is my double."

  Scott looked at him, and he had the eeriest of feelings. As if the captain were himself and then not himself, the two realities alternating in quick succession.

  "… is yer double?" he echoed helplessly. "I dinna understand . . . ."

  And then, abruptly, he did. It all came together—DeLong's complaint, the wild claims of the impostor on the Dunkirk … even the captain's disregard for something as serious as a hull breach.

  "Sweet Mother," said Scotty. He moaned softly. "Th' lass was right, an' a' never gave 't a second thought."

  "Who was?" asked Kirk.

  "DeLong," said Scott. "Denise DeLong. She said there was somethin' wrong with ye—with th' captain, a' mean. She spotted th' fake some time ago—an' a' was too thickheaded t' pay attention to 'er."

  "That's all past," said Kirk. "What I need now is help. Are you with me?"

  Scotty nodded. "Like a hangover, sir. What've ye got in mind?"

  Kirk told him.

  DeLong lowered herself out of the Jeffries tube gingerly, her cramped and aching muscles protesting as they were asked to stretch again. When her feet touched the surface of the deck, she pulled her equipment down after her.

  There wasn't much circuity to salvage—she had used most of it. And the damaged lengths were still in the tube, alongside the stuff that had replaced them. They could be removed later on, when time wasn't at such a premium.

  With life supports operating strictly on backup, it felt cooler than usual in the corridor. That was fine with DeLong after the sweatbath she'd been through.

  Taking a deep breath of unrestricted air, she leaned on an intercom plate.

  "DeLong to engineering," she told the computer. A moment later, someone answered.

  "DeLong? This is Campeas."

  "Greetings. I've completed my section and I'm waiting for orders."

  "Orders are for everyone to come home."

  "Come home? Why? We can't be more than two-thirds finished in the tubes."

  "Those are orders," maintained Campeas.

  "Did Mister Scott say why he wanted us back?"

  Th
ere was a pause, as if Campeas were deliberating over something.

  "Damn it," he said finally. "I could be busted for this, Denise. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"

  "What?" she pressed. "What is it?"

  "The ship has been taken over by androids. The captain, Mister Spock, Mister Sulu … they're androids, all of them."

  Androids.

  The captain is an android?

  It was hard to believe—yet it explained so much.

  "You're supposed to return to engineering for your own protection. The captain said that it might become dangerous in the corridors."

  "The captain? But you just told me that—"

  "No," Campeas cut in. "I mean the real captain. He's here and he means to take the ship back." He cursed audibly. "Now will you come home?"

  DeLong thought about it. But only for a moment.

  "Where did the captain go?" she asked.

  "No way," said Campeas. "I'm not going to let you stick your head into this. It's dangerous, damn it!"

  No doubt. But she was already trying to figure out Kirk's whereabouts on her own.

  Let's see, she thought. If I were trying to get my ship back, the first thing I'd need is firepower. That means phasers. And phasers are kept in …

  Security.

  "DeLong? I know what you're thinking. Don't be crazy, all right? If they needed you there, they would have—"

  She pressed the plate again, stopping him short.

  "Sorry about that," she said.

  And leaving her equipment where it lay, she headed for the turbolift.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  "THIS IS KIRK. Access to contents, please."

  There was a whirring sound as the compartment door swung aside, revealing the foremost tray of phaser pistols.

  Quickly, the captain removed them from their holders and handed them out. By the time he was finished, there were half a dozen empty spaces in the tray.

  "Check yer charges," said Scotty, and each of the crewmen followed his advice. But there were no complaints; the phasers had been well maintained.

  "Remember," said Kirk, "you're to keep them set on stun—just in case. I don't want any flesh-and-blood people getting killed if they get in the way."

  After all, these were engineers—not security officers. Their training in phaser use had only been cursory at best. For a moment, the captain had a distinct feeling of déjà vu. Hadn't he just been through this exercise on the Dunkirk? And hadn't he led a group of engineers there too?

  Yes. The situation was much as it had been on the Dunkirk. Except that there, only one android had occupied the bridge. Here on the Enterprise, there were a lot more—at the very least, the other Kirk, Spock, Sulu, and Chekov. Plus any of the others that might have joined them.

  So the strategy here had to be different. They would have to find and destroy the androids elsewhere on the ship—then find a way to recover the bridge.

  Unfortunately, this was a smaller group than that available to him on the Dunkirk. With so much of the engineering staff out on repair duty, he had had to make do.

  Still, if all went according to plan, seven would be enough.

  "You may close now," he told the door.

  More whirring as it swung shut. When Kirk heard the lock engage, he applied the finishing touch.

  "Captain's override," he said. "Respond to only one voice—that of Kirk, James T., Captain. Access by all other parties prohibited."

  A small, green light in the corner of the door blinked three times, then went dark. The override had been accepted and confirmed.

  Of course, they still wouldn't quite have a monopoly on the phaser supply. Every on-duty security officer would be armed with one, and during battle conditions they were all on duty.

  But only six of the names on Uhura's list had been in security section. If they could find and eliminate those six, the rest of the androids would be denied the use of firearms.

  With all their other physical advantages, it was crucial to at least deny them that one.

  "All right," he said, glancing at Scotty and then at the others. "You all know what your assignments are. Let's get a move on."

  Kirk had hardly finished his exhortation when a cry rang out—and a second later, a phaser beam sliced the air by the suddenly open entranceway.

  Bodies dived for cover all around him as return fire crisscrossed the cabin. Kirk himself lunged for a storage alcove, twisting just enough to avoid a sizzling shaft of phaserlight.

  He spotted Scotty behind an overturned table, pointed to the entrance in lieu of a question. The chief engineer shrugged.

  "You can't escape," said one of their adversaries, standing just outside the opening. "Throw out your weapons."

  Kirk recognized the voice. It belonged to Wood—one of those who had been in the shuttlecraft.

  "Mister Wood," he called. "This is the captain. There's been a mistake."

  Slowly, he emerged from the alcove, his hands held high—where Wood and the others could see them.

  There was murmuring out in the corridor. Kirk saw shadows writhing against the far bulkhead—shadows that indicated not one figure, but a number of them.

  "That phaser went off by accident," he said. "Was anyone hurt out there?"

  Ice water trickling down his back, he took a couple of steps toward the doorway. At the same time, he brought his hands down. Slowly.

  "No," came Wood's response. "No one was hurt."

  Finally, he showed himself. And from the other side of the entranceway, Paikert joined him.

  Kirk wasn't surprised. Paikert too had been down to Midos Five.

  "We thought you were on the bridge," said Wood.

  "I was," said the captain. "But it became necessary to arm ourselves." He thought furiously as he took another step toward the security officers. "I … I have reason to believe that the Romulans have teleported aboard."

  He watched their faces. There was at least a flicker of doubt. Then Wood's brows came together.

  "You are lying," he said flatly. And as one, he and Paikert raised their phasers.

  But they never got a burst off between them. Half a dozen stun beams converged on them, sent them spinning out of sight.

  Kirk leaped forward, flattened himself against the inner wall of the cabin, to one side of the doorway. He waited for the space of a heartbeat, his blood pounding in his ears. Nothing.

  As Scotty took up a position on the other side of the aperture, the captain peered outside.

  The corridor—a short one—was host to the crumpled forms of Wood and Paikert. Otherwise, it was empty. But there was a sound of retreating footfalls just around the corner.

  "Come on," he told Scotty. "We can't let them get to an intercom."

  Fortunately, there wasn't one for a fair stretch. With any luck, they would get a shot at the androids before they reached it.

  But as Kirk led the charge around the bend, he caught a glimpse of someone crouched at the end of the hallway. Reflexes taking over, he hit the deck.

  The phaser beam struck the bulkhead behind him, left it a smoking mess. Quickly, he scurried back to cover.

  Another blast followed the first. The air reeked of ozone.

  "Damn," said Scotty. "Th' bloody bastard's got us pinned here!"

  True, Kirk thought. And in the meantime, his friends are on their way to alert the bridge.

  He couldn't allow it.

  "Give me some cover fire," he told Scotty. "I'm going after him."

  DeLong was aware of the rapid footfalls for a second or two before she realized they were headed her way. Reflexively, she flicked her wrist, clearing the ends of the dallis'kari.

  It was only after she'd already started for security that some good, sensible caution had taken hold. And since the gym was on the way, she had stopped by long enough to pick up some insurance.

  The footfalls got closer. DeLong plastered herself against a bulkhead and waited for the maker of them to go by.

  Of cou
rse, she knew that it might not be an android. It might be one of her fellow crewmen, on urgent business. Or worse, fleeing the androids.

  So she wouldn't wield the dallis'kari with intent to disable. All she would do is stop the runner for a few minutes—tangle him up long enough to assess the situation.

  And though she hated to admit it, the best way to do that was to repeat the captain's maneuver—the street trick that had made her lose her temper in the gym.

  The sounds of approach were louder, more imminent. Then louder still.

  Another couple of seconds … Now!

  She and Silverman saw each other at the same time. But by then, of course, it was too late for him.

  As he twisted to point his weapon at her, his legs were already wrapped up in the dallis'kari. He toppled, sprawled the phaser spinning out of his hand.

  She took a couple of steps toward him, stopped. Now what? Do I just ask him if he's an android?

  But Silverman answered without her asking. Taking the thongs of the dallis'kari in his hands, he tore them apart like strands of odlo grass.

  His eyes, trained on her the whole time, were cold. Deadly.

  The phaser, she reminded herself. She made a break for it.

  And very nearly got to it. But just as her fingers were about to close on the pistol, she felt a heavy shoulder come driving into the backs of her knees. Her legs folded under the impact, and both she and Silverman sprawled across the corridor.

  DeLong was up first, but it was no use. The android reached out with incredible quickness, grabbed her wrist.

  And drew her back to him.

  She struck him with her free hand across the face. Once, twice, as hard as she could.

  He hardly seemed to feel it.

  Then he flung her against the bulkhead. She hit it hard, so hard that she almost blacked out. She could taste blood in her mouth as she tried to straighten up, using the bulkhead for support.

  The android took a step forward, brought his fist back. Dazed, she just watched it, waited for it to come forward.

  But something else happened. There was a blur, as of someone leaping feetfirst through the air, and suddenly the android was down on one knee. Just a couple of meters from him, Critelli was scrambling to his feet.