Worlds in Collision

by Judith

  Kirk laughed and started to cough again. “Just for that, Spock, I hereby resign as your counsel.”

  “I am most relieved, Captain. May I sit down?”

  Kirk indicated a spare cushion and Spock sat carefully upon it, favoring just about every muscle in his body as far as Kirk could tell.

  “Are you going to be all right, Spock?” he asked.

  “In time, Captain. Dr. McCoy feels that Mira will survive, also.”

  “It’s good that he doesn’t feel she has to be rushed to a sickbay.” Kirk took a sip from his coffee. “There’s no telling how long it’s going to take Kyle and his people to restring that wave guide wire and get the transporter working again.”

  “Tr’Nele had the wave guide severed with an explosive in the staging room, Captain. Mr. Kyle will be able to retrieve most of the guide with a portable tractor beam and make his connections up there. I do not believe it will take more than another hour.”

  “In the staging room? You got that from the mindmeld, too?”

  “Yes. Tr’Nele’s was a very elemental mind. Raw, unstructured. What little information he had was easily obtainable. Quite clear.”

  “Did he know why he was hired to ‘assassinate’ Pathfinder Twelve?” Kirk asked, still using the word even though Spock had explained that the charges tr’Nele had planted in the long service crawlway had served only to cut off I/O channels to Twelve’s separate storage facility. The synthetic consciousness was still alive, in whatever sense that meant, but it could not communicate in any way with the outside universe.

  Spock steepled his fingers as he looked out into the Interface Chamber. Except for Garold and the boy, the other members of the team were in their booths, talking with their Pathfinders and trying to restore the smooth functioning of Memory Prime.

  “As far as tr’Nele knew, his charges were to destroy the central Pathfinder matrix. All the Pathfinders were to die. To him, it was simply a job, a chance to pay tribute to T’Pel and commit an act of vengeance against the Federation.”

  “Do you know why Twelve was selected?”

  Spock nodded. “Twelve was the synthetic consciousness that correlated all data pertaining to the Federation’s agricultural and economic policies and long-term plans.”

  “That’s what you were studying,” Kirk said. “The Sherman Syndrome.”

  “Precisely. That so-called syndrome of mismanagement, improper environment control, and resulting famine was the result of Twelve’s tampering with the data. Another few months of going unchallenged and the faulty decisions made based on those data could have placed the Federation at the brink of anarchy as planet after planet succumbed to food shortages and rebellion.”

  “Who programmed Twelve to misrepresent the data?”

  Spock turned to the captain. “A synthetic consciousness is self-aware and self-directing. Pathfinder Twelve was acting on its own.”

  “But why? What motive could a…a machine have to do something like that? When we’ve dealt with self-aware machines before, Spock, their motives have always been for self-preservation. Look at this place.” Kirk waved his hand around the chamber. “It’s more secure than the Federation Council building.”

  “Pathfinder Twelve wanted to control the data that were fed to it, therefore it reasoned it should control the organization that collected those data: the Federation. Self-preservation was not the goal. Pathfinder Twelve wanted power.”

  Kirk stared at the Vulcan in silent shock.

  “It is a common motive in the histories of hundreds of worlds, Captain.”

  “Yes, but for…data, Spock?” Kirk shook his head. “And who found out about it? Who hired tr’Nele in the first place?”

  “Pathfinders Six and Eight.” Spock continued before Kirk could organize his questions. “They sifted Twelve’s data and saw what it was attempting to do. Through a network of what they call their datalinks—the lifelike robots that attempted to capture us—they hired tr’Nele and provided all the planning and support he needed to come here and attach the charges that would take Twelve out of circuit.”

  “Why not use one of their robots to do it?”

  Spock pointed to the entranceway to the tunnel leading to the transfer room. “The security computer that controls access to the chamber can be provided with false retina and sensor scans to match with an imposter’s readings; that was how tr’Nele was accredited as Sradek. But no machine can be transported down here. It would be rejected as surely as our transporters rejected Professor La’kara’s accelerator field. A living assassin was their only choice.”

  “But as Sradek, tr’Nele was working to support the Sherman Syndrome.”

  “By omission only. Tr’Nele was not able to function as the academician, which explains why his recent work had declined. Though, in fact, that identity was chosen for him, knowing the results that would occur, so Twelve would not become suspicious of Sradek’s movements when he arrived on Prime. A synthetic consciousness is extremely hard to fool, Captain.”

  “So it’s all been a game?” Kirk asked. “A computer game?”

  “No,” Spock said, looking thoughtful. “Much of what I experienced in Transition is fading from my mind. I have no context in which to place what I experienced. But I am certain that no matter how it started, the Pathfinders no longer consider us and our world as a game. We are very real to them now. I am certain.”

  From the entranceway, Kirk heard the welcome chime of multiple transporter beams converging. He shifted to one side and pushed himself up to a standing position. “Looks like we’re being rescued, Mr. Spock.” He straightened his tattered tunic. Spock stood up beside him.

  “It’s about time,” McCoy complained as he walked over to join Spock and Kirk. He rubbed his hands free of the disinfectant powder he had been using on Romaine’s injuries. From the entranceway, Kirk could hear the footsteps of several people approaching.

  “Remember, Bones,” Kirk cautioned, “we all jumped ship. We’re going to have a lot of explaining to do when we get out of here.”

  McCoy smiled. “But at least we’ll be out of here, right, Spock?”

  Spock turned to reply, but stopped before he said anything. He turned back slowly to the entranceway.

  The people who had arrived were not a rescue party. They were starbase troopers, fully armored, each wearing the Orion constellation insignia of Starbase Four, each armed with a deadly phaser rifle.

  Kirk recognized the squad’s leader as one of the group that had come aboard with Commodore Wolfe. He didn’t know the leader’s name but read his stripes. Kirk stepped forward cautiously, trying not to rest too much weight on his damaged leg.

  “Sergeant,” Kirk began, “I’m—”

  “Back away, Kirk,” the squad leader thundered. He held his armored hand up. “Blue and red prepare. Suspect sighting is confirmed.”

  Two troopers stepped forward, one with a blue stripe on his helmet, the other with a red stripe on his. Both brought their rifles up to fire.

  Kirk felt his blood chill. The commodore’s transmissions had been refused by the Enterprise so she couldn’t interfere with what the crew had to do. But she didn’t know what else had been going on. To her own troops, her orders were still in effect.

  “Sergeant,” Kirk said urgently, “stop your men. It’s over. We’ve caught the assassin.” He pointed over to the bound form of tr’Nele.

  The sergeant didn’t take his eyes off Spock.

  “This is insane!” McCoy shouted, stepping out in front of Kirk to stand beside Spock.

  “Last warning!” the sergeant shouted. “Get back now!”

  “You are not being logical, Sergeant,” Spock began.

  The chamber rushed away from Kirk as all his senses, all his feelings, concentrated on the two phaser rifles coming to bear on Spock. The slow and wavering voices of the troopers carried no meaning. McCoy’s anger and Spock’s logic, as they tried to explain that things had changed, no longer were important.

  As if he
were only centimeters away, Kirk could see the intent eyes of the troopers as they sighted down their rifles’ barrels. He could see the microscopic twitch of their fingers as they tightened against the trigger studs. They were going to fire.

  Kirk said nothing. Kirk thought nothing. Kirk acted.

  With both hands raised he shot forward, the rest of the universe frozen in time. He grabbed at McCoy’s shoulder, clutched at Spock’s, and pushing with both legs and both arms and all his strength, feeling his knee tear itself into even more useless pieces, he pulled his friends back, pulled himself forward, pushed them together behind him and stared at the twin bolts of phased radiation as they lanced through the air to connect with him and pass through him and steal him from his world.

  The universe dissolved around Kirk, taking with it sound, and sight, and warmth. This time, there was not even the sensation of falling.

  “I’m not dead?”

  Kirk opened his eyes. He had no idea where he was. There were too many people standing around him.

  “I’m not dead.”

  “No wonder we gave you a starship, Jim. Such brilliance demands to be rewarded.”

  “Gerry?” Kirk peered into the crowd of people as they slowly melted together and came into focus. Admiral Komack leaned over Kirk’s bed and smiled. In the background, Kirk was aware that the characteristic vibration of the Enterprise was missing. He was still on Prime. He tried to sit up.

  “Careful, Jim,” Komack said, reaching out to steady Kirk. “Are you sure you feel rested enough? You’ve only been sleeping three days.”

  “Three days?” Kirk’s mouth was dry. He felt his tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. Nurse Chapel was there with a glass of water and he drank it gratefully.

  Kirk passed the glass back. Commodore Wolfe stood beside the admiral.

  “The phasers?” Kirk asked. “Your orders were shoot to kill.”

  Wolfe shrugged. “I had a little talk with your chief engineer. He, ah, convinced me that I should question authority every now and again. You tried to take a stun charge for your friends.”

  “Tried?” Kirk was confused. “The troopers missed me?”

  “My people never miss.”

  Komack, Wolfe, and Chapel moved away from the side of Kirk’s bed. On the other side of the ward, Spock and McCoy lay on identical beds, medical scanners at work above them.

  Bones frowned at the captain. “Nice try, Jim. Unfortunately you forgot to let go of us when the beams hit. My shoulder’s still numb.”

  Spock nodded at Kirk. “However, the gesture is most appreciated, Captain.”

  Kirk lay back on his bed. Three days of rest and he still felt tired. But there were questions to be answered. “Where’s the Enterprise, Gerry?”

  “Spacedock. Earth orbit. But she’ll be back to pick you up in ten days,” Komack continued.

  Kirk closed his eyes. “More Quadrant Zero cruises in store for us?”

  Komack looked serious. “What makes you think we’d waste your ship in Quadrant Zero, Jim? Do you have any idea what it’s going to be like out near the Neutral Zone when word of what tr’Nele tried to do gets out? And it will get out.”

  “Then why was the Enterprise called back into Quadrant Zero to act as a…ferryboat for a bunch of scientists in the first place?” Kirk sat up in his bed again.

  Komack nodded at Chapel and Wolfe, indicating they should step away. Then he leaned down to speak softly to Kirk.

  “Federation security knew an assassination would be attempted at the prize ceremonies. They just didn’t know who or why. When they came to us for help, we offered them our best.” Komack smiled at Kirk. “That’s you, Jim.”

  Kirk was furious. “How could you send my ship and my people into a situation like that without giving us all your information? Without telling us?”

  “First,” Komack said sharply, still keeping his voice down, “we didn’t have any more information. The Andorian agent who brought us what we did know had been working for a mysterious Klingon trader. She thought he was arranging something like this, and even managed to be present at a planning meeting. But something must have gone wrong and she had her memories disrupted. We couldn’t get anything more from her.”

  Kirk tried to stay angry but Komack’s story sounded true.

  “Second,” the admiral continued, “as far as we were concerned, we were telling you what you were getting involved with. Tr’Nele had a miniature device hidden in his equipment on the Enterprise, designed by the Pathfinders who hired him, no doubt, that corrupted all of our communications. After you left Starbase Four, Command transmitted all the information you might have needed and we even have your coded replies acknowledging receipt.”

  “But I never received anything, never responded.”

  “Tr’Nele’s device worked just like the installation we found hidden on Prime. Jams subspace and can create false messages. I’ve seen a tape of me telling Wolfe to keep following her orders. I never sent it. Never sent any of the messages that led Wolfe to go after Spock with phasers set to kill or Farl to go after the Vulcans who worked here. We were all manipulated by false information.”

  Kirk looked at Komack from the corners of his eyes. Was there really an escape path here?

  “So Spock escaping, Scott, Uhura, McCoy, and me following…?”

  Komack stood up. “The record will show you were just following the orders I sent authorizing you to take any action you saw fit to prevent the planned assassination of a being or beings unknown on Memory Prime. The fact that you didn’t receive those orders is irrelevant.”

  “No charges?”

  “No charges,” Komack confirmed. He looked down the ward and waved at someone. “It’s all right,” he said. “We’re finished.”

  Scott and Romaine walked over to the captain’s bed. They were holding hands.

  Kirk was honestly surprised to see his engineer. “Scotty, the Enterprise is at spacedock and you’re not with her?”

  Scott shook his head and looked at Romaine with a passion that Kirk had never seen in the engineer, but instantly recognized. “Not this time, Captain.”

  Romaine returned Scott’s look and Kirk saw the passion in her, too.

  “At least this time, we’ll know what we’re doing,” she said. “No false hopes. No false promises.” She squeezed Scott’s hand and smiled at the captain. “I don’t think I’ll be leaving Prime for a long time, Captain. They need me here. I’m the only one who can talk with Twelve, try to help it. I don’t have to interface. I can just do it.”

  “And the others?” Kirk smiled back at the woman. She looked different now. That glow he had seen in her eyes, just at the moment when she had decided to take action in the lab, was back. Perhaps it had never left.

  “The others need me, too,” she said. “Part of the problem is they can’t get information in fast enough. They reconfigured themselves without letting us know, increased their capacity by a factor of ten, created a network of robots to gather even more data for them, and it’s only now that they’ve realized that our world, their Datawell, is actually real. They can’t just take from it anymore, they have to learn to move among it, be part of it. And to do that, they need help, someone to show them the way between both worlds.”

  “You?” the Captain asked.

  Romaine smiled again and nodded.

  “They’ve even given me a new name,” she said, slipping her arm around Scott and holding him close. “They call me their Pathfinder.”

  “Oh, steward!”

  Kirk turned in time to see McCoy elbowing his way through the partygoers to catch up with him. The captain ducked his head and eased his way past a Gorn in heated conversation with Professor La’kara, who still clutched his newly won prize scroll under his arm. Happy that the Centauran hadn’t noticed him, Kirk reached a relatively uncrowded area by a table serving coffee, tea, and phil. He had barely avoided spilling his drink on his dress tunic.

  “How’s the knee, Jim?” McCoy grinn
ed expansively. The prize ceremonies were over and the winners’ ball was the largest and best party that either of them could remember.

  Kirk flexed his right knee, putting some extra weight on it. “Feels perfect.”

  McCoy raised his glass of bourbon—real bourbon brought in by a delegation from North America to celebrate the prize won in biogeology by two members of the faculty at the University of Kentucky.

  “You know, Jim, in the old days, tearing up your ligaments like that could have laid you up for two, maybe even three weeks while the new ones grew back. But that transporter-based transplant technique of Stlur and T’Vann?” McCoy shook his head at the marvel of it. “What was it? Four days and no incision?”

  “I wish I could say the same thing.”

  Kirk turned to see Sal Nensi coming to join them. A week after tr’Nele had fractured almost all Nensi’s ribs, the chief administrator still moved carefully.

  McCoy patted Nensi gently on his back. “There’s a lot to be said about the old-fashioned methods, too, Sal. Protoplasers and monotransplants may not be flashy and new, but they still do the job.”

  “Are Scott and Mira here?” Kirk asked.

  “No one’s seen them for a week, at least.” Nensi laughed. “But supply records show that they are having meals sent to her apartment, so I don’t think we have to send out any search parties yet.”

  “There’s Spock,” McCoy said, pointing into the crowd.

  Kirk held up his hand to wave and Spock acknowledged him with a nod. When he joined them, he was accompanied by another Vulcan, shorter, much older, and evidently recovered from his ordeal in tr’Nele’s stasis field.

  Kirk, McCoy, and Nensi each greeted the real Academician Sradek with a salute and congratulations for his Peace Prize.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” the academician responded, and raised his glass to take a sip from it.

  McCoy sniffed the air and wrinkled his brow. “Excuse me, Academician, but is that…bourbon?”

  “From Kentucky,” Sradek confirmed. He regarded the glass and took another sip.

  Kirk and McCoy exchanged a quick glance of surprise. Perhaps Vulcans mellowed by the time they reached their two-hundredth birthday.