My Enemy My Ally

by Diane Duane

  Scotty nodded.

  "Most of the laboratory space where I believe the actual work is being done is on the inmost level, near the computer core and the computer control rooms. This project has been most prodigal of computer hardware, since most of the actual gene-splitting and other microsurgery used to correct the 'drifted' linkages of the DNA is performed by the computers. They are in fact all that makes it possible—for each cell of genetic and neural material must be individually corrected, and thousands of years' worth of human labor would be needed to make even a gram of the stuff. The computers are the heart of the business. Put them out of operation, and part of the danger is done."

  She folded her hands, staring at the schematic as it rotated. "But only part. The surgical computers are innocent enough by themselves; but the computer banks containing the actual locations of the linkages that are corrected, and the nature of the corrections, must also be destroyed. I have reason to believe that this data is extant only here, reproduced nowhere else in the Empire—partly due to the wonderful paranoia of the Praetorate, which is terrified that some other party they don't approve of might get hold of it. Destroy this information, all this data, and then you have truly destroyed the menace. It would take them years to reproduce their results—if that's even possible, for there are literally thousands of linkages in each molecule of Vulcan DNA that are corrected in the operation. No one could remember them all."

  "Pity we can't just blow the place up," Mr. Chekov said.

  "I agree," Jim said. "Unfortunately, I don't think the crew of Intrepid would appreciate it. . . . Ael, where do you think they will be?"

  "My guess would be here," she said, reaching into the hologram to indicate a large area off to one side of the labs. "It is convenient to the laboratories, large enough to hold several hundred people without too much trouble—and sealed off on three sides by structural bulkheads too strong for even the massed strength of Vulcans to damage." She looked somber. "If they are able to manage anything at this point. I would hypothesize that their captors, not wanting to take chances with such a dangerous resource, have them constantly drugged, or mind-controlled, or both."

  "The mind control is likeliest," Spock said, looking grim. "It would do less harm, chemically speaking, to the brain and neural tissue that the researchers are after. Which raises another problem, Commander. Do you have any idea where the already corrected tissue would be kept?"

  "None."

  "Why, Spock?" Jim said.

  "Because it, too, is alive," Spock said, "and we must find it. It would be not only immoral but illogical to rescue the crew of the Intrepid and leave other living Vulcan material behind."

  Ael watched Jim open his mouth, then close it. "Spock," he said, "I want you to know I'm no happier about the killing that has happened—and may soon happen—than you are. But this is just … I don't know … just meat. . . ."

  "It's alive, Jim," McCoy said, very quietly. "He's right. If there's any chance, we can't leave the stockpiled material there. Not only for ethical reasons; for tactical ones as well. Any remaining material can be used to work backward and recreate the research. If we can't take it with us, it must at least be destroyed. But it must be found."

  Jim looked at McCoy and Spock, then nodded. "All right," he said. "That makes things even more complicated, but what're a few more complications among friends? Mr. Matlock, let's talk about the actual plan of attack."

  "Yes, sir." Matlock stood up with a small control-pad in one hand and began setting markers, small dots of light, into the hologram. "We will be dividing our attack force into four parts, and hitting the base in four different areas. Here, in what the Commander has identified as staff and crew quarters, to secure those station personnel who aren't on duty: here, in two different places near the labs, flanking the area where the most resistance is likely to occur immediately on our arrival; and here, where the Commander suspects the Intrepid's crew to be held prisoner."

  Matlock eyed the station schematic with what looked to Ael like genuine relish. "The four groups, once the station's screens have been reduced, will beam down simultaneously and each secure its assigned area, while also sealing off the unoccupied parts of the station to prevent our being attacked from several different 'rears.' Additionally, each of these two groups"—he pointed at the attack forces near the labs—"will secure the transporters to prevent any of the station people from utilizing in-station beaming. Just in case, once we leave, the Enterprise will have her screens up to prevent any counterattack from the station should our hold on the transporters be broken at any time."

  "That is well thought of," Ael said. "Captain, gentlefolk, a Rihannsu is at her most dangerous when her territory is threatened … we are rather atavistic that way. Even scientists will be able to fight with terrible ferocity; and remember that at the moment this is still partly a military facility. Not starship personnel—but soldiers nonetheless, people with a deadly hatred of the Federation. And a worse hatred of you, if they find out who you are: my sister-daughter had many friends." She looked across at Spock. "Do not hesitate to kill. They will not hesitate to kill you after that first second's confusion."

  Spock lowered his eyes, said nothing. "The ship will be scanning constantly," Mr. Matlock said, "monitoring the situation on the station and advising the attack parties via scrambled communications of developments. Once the indicated areas are secure, the computer attack group—Mr. Spock and the people he'll name for you shortly—will assemble, locate the computers, and begin that part of the operation. Sir?"

  Spock looked up. "Along with the Commander, Lieutenant Kerasus, Mr. Athendë, and several others from the Commander's staff and from Security, we will tap into the computers and either remove or destroy all pertinent information concerning the mind-technique researches. In the case that complete removal of the information proves to be impossible, I have with the Commander's assistance developed a 'virus' program that will infect the computers the next time they are brought into operational mode, dumping and wiping their total memories. Once the 'infection' is successfully accomplished, we will attempt to activate the computers and obtain the location of the already manufactured genetic material. In the case that either of these objectives proves unattainable, we will destroy the computer installation and rejoin the main attack group."

  "Which, as soon as the transporters are secured, will be locating and freeing the Vulcans," Mr. Matlock said. "Our sensors are sufficiently accurate at close range to tell the difference between Vulcan and Rihannsu life-readings—unlike the Rihannsu instruments. Once the Vulcans are freed, we will call the ship and begin beaming them back aboard the Enterprise via cargo transporters."

  "Gonna be crowded up there," McCoy said softly. "What about Intrepid?"

  Ael shook her head at him. "That's an unknown, Doctor. My guess would be that they will have her inside the screens, held by tractors; and it's likely they will have shut her engines down. Mr. Scott, how long does a restart cycle take?"

  "That depends on how long the engines have been cold," Scott said. "Postulatin' worst case, and the Intrepid's refitted engines, fifteen minutes."

  "The best estimated in-and-out time for this operation is forty minutes, Mr. Scott," Matlock said.

  "Well, let's hope we can get at her early, then, if her engines are down. A cold matter-antimatter mix can't be hurried."

  "And if for some reason we have to get out of there before she's restarted," Jim said sadly, "we can't leave her there to be taken apart and analyzed. We'll have to blow her up."

  There was silence all around the table at that, except for Scott. "Ach, the poor lass," he said.

  "That's all, Captain," Mr. Matlock said. "After we beam back with the Intrepid crew and the genetic material, there'll be nothing to stop us from heading out of Rihannsu space with Bloodwing at warp eight."

  McCoy was going through his cassettes again. "That's all, he says."

  "Very well," Jim said. "Any questions?"

  "Only one," Ael
said quietly.

  "Commander?"

  "Why did you let me talk you into this? …"

  Jim gave her a cockeyed look. There were chuckles around the table, but Ael noticed that he did not join in them, and neither did Spock or McCoy. "We'll go into that after we've successfully completed the operation, Commander," he said. "As for the rest of you—brief your departments: get your timings from Mr. Matlock: and get into your battle whites. We assemble in Recreation in two hours. Dismissed."

  Out they went, obedient and quick and looking eager. Ael turned to glance at Jim, who said, "Cold feet, Ael?"

  She stared at him. "My boots are fine."

  "I mean, are you—" He stopped. "What a stupid question. I beg your pardon. Come with me and I'll take you down to the Quartermaster's department to be fitted and armed—"

  "I have my own weaponry, Captain," she said, "and I'll do best with it, I think. But as for your uniform—I shall be proud to wear it."

  "Why, thank you."

  "… Just this once."

  "We wouldn't want to keep you in it a moment longer than necessary," Jim said, getting up with an utterly indecipherable expression.

  Ael followed him out of the room, shaking her head in unaccustomed perplexity. She had said something wrong again. Or was it as it seemed, that this man kept his pride on the outside, waiting for someone to tear it? Why did he do that? There was no understanding him. . . .

  Curses on the man!

  Two hours later she stood on the Bridge of the Enterprise again, feeling even stranger about it than she had; for there was Levaeri V ahead of them—within sensor range, though they had not yet hailed her. "I'll wait a bit," she said to the man who stood with his two hundred gathered crewpeople, down in the Recreation Room. "It would not be like me to hurry in this situation, Captain. I would let them have a long, long look and be amazed."

  "Anything so long as we catch them by surprise," Jim said.

  "Yes. Aidoann reports that control is now completely transferred to the Auxiliary Bridge, and your other people left aboard ship are under 'guard' with various of my folk from Bloodwing, so that we will pass an inspection if necessary."

  "Is Scotty all right down there?"

  "He reports all systems operational, and the next two subspace jamming buoys dropped. Meanwhile, there are no Enterprise people up here at all now, and I tell you it looks strange."

  "I bet," said the cheerful voice. "Is Subcommander Tafv with you?"

  "Here, Captain," Tafv said, from the communications console.

  "Take care of my ship, Subcommander," the voice said.

  "Sir, I shall. Commander, Levaeri is hailing us. We are nearing the shield boundary—and sensors are showing a starship tethered inside the shields. No ID running—but the sensor readings match its shape to that of Intrepid."

  "Well," Jim said, "it's showtime." He sounded annoyed, and pleased, and terrified, all at once. "Commander, will you join us?"

  "As soon as the screens are down. Don't wait for me, Jim. Get your people down to the cargo transporters. I have your coordinates, and my whites are in the lift."

  "Ael—good luck."

  "And the Elements with us," she said, "for we'll need Them. Out."

  She turned to Tafv, seeing on his face the same mixed excitement and dread she felt. "Open a frequency for the station, son. They've looked long enough."

  "Madam," he said, demonstrating that same lovely and unnecessary courtesy he had shown her on coming back aboard Bloodwing. Ael sat straight in the center seat, finding her control, stripping the fear out of her heart.

  "Levaeri station to Bloodwing," said a female voice.

  "This is Commander-General Ael t'Rllaillieu," said Ael, very calm, very proud, "presently aboard the captured vessel USS Enterprise. To whom am I speaking?"

  "Centurion Ndeian tr'Jeiai, Commander."

  O, by my Element, no—not Ndeian—"Ndeian," she said, merry-voiced, "what in the Names of Fire and Air are you doing all the way out here? I thought you were on ch'Havran by now, raising fvai!"

  "Reenlistment," Ndeian said. "They're desperate, Ael; they offered to make me rich. The funny thing is that I believed them—"

  "You always were credulous." Ael's heart cried out inside her. "Ndeian, are you commanding?"

  "No, Gwiu t'Laheiin is; but we've heard of your coming, we have orders—"

  —her stomach twisted itself into a knot in a single second—

  "—to give you anything you ask for if you stop. Forgive me, Ael, but I don't think they want you to stay. Our orders were to 'expedite your arrival and departure.'"

  "We won't be here long, Ndeian. I need some provisions for Bloodwing, and some of my people are in need of better medical help than we have here on the ship; we had a difficult time getting hold of this bright prize. You don't seem to be doing too badly in that department yourself, though."

  "No," Ndeian said, "Battlequeen brought that one in. Ael, just settle into standard orbit and we'll drop screens for you and your technical people and the doctor."

  "Assuming standard orbit, Ndeian. See you in a bit. T'Rllaillieu out."

  She waved at Tafv, heartsick. He closed down the channel, then looked at his instruments and said, "Screens are down, Commander. We're in orbit under them."

  "Well done." She got up, hurried out of the Bridge, looking around at the place—bizarrely open, bright, lovely for an instrument of destruction. Ndeian's destruction, and a thousand others'—"Keep her well, Tafv," she said; and it was all she could manage. The lift doors opened for her. She picked up her white coverall, that lay neatly folded on the floor, and began struggling into it—sparing a hand from the business to hit the communicator button on the lift wall. "Recreation!"

  "We heard," the Captain's voice came back. "We're on our way. Out."

  The lift stopped, opened its doors. Ael ran down the hall, into one of the cargo transporter rooms, pulled out her phaser and leapt up onto the platform, with a great group of her own people and Jim's. The young man behind the transporter console set the delay, headed for the platform himself, and they all dissolved in shimmer together.

  It must have been something different about the Federation transporters, something unsettling in their engineering—or maybe just Ael's own suppressed fear, crying out in her mind—that made her think she heard, as she dematerialized, the sound of phaserwhine outside the Transporter Room, and a scream. . . .

  Fourteen

  Montgomery Scott paced the Auxiliary Bridge like a caged creature. "This will be the last batch going," he said to the universe in general, and to Uhura and Chekov and Sulu, who were in there with him, along with Khiy and Nniol and Haehwe. "And I don't like it, indeed I don't."

  Sulu and Chekov exchanged glances, which Scotty noticed and filed away; they didn't like it either. "It's a fool's errand, that's what it is," Scotty said, looking over Chekov's shoulder at a trim control and reaching down to uselessly check its calibration.

  "You should have said something in the briefing, Mr. Scott," Uhura said softly from her station.

  "Aye," Scotty said, letting out a long breath, "but what good would it ha' done, lass? You know how the Captain is when his mind's made up. After that, it's the Universe that'd best bend, for it won't be himsel' that's doing it."

  He paced around the little room one more time. That was the problem with it, he decided. It was little; too much power crammed into too small a space for the people who had to handle it. Like Bloodwing's poor little scrap of a bridge, if you could even dignify it with the name. A black hole, it was. And this was too. Squeezed in between the armory and the downstairs food processors, a ridiculous spot—"Are they ready?" Scotty said.

  "They report ready," Uhura said. "—There they go."

  "Good luck to them," Sulu said, staring down at the uncomfortable view on the little screen. Levaeri V station hung there right beneath them, an ugly great sheet of metal stuck all over with pipes and stanchions and antennae and whatnot else. It offended Scotty
's sense of design, and confirmed a lot of his private thoughts about Romulan engineering. "Prefab space stations," he muttered. "Where's the sense in that? Probably fall apart if you looked at it."

  "They do," said Khiy quietly from the Engineering station. "They're shabby, sir."

  "Aye lad, I daresay." Scotty gave one last disgusted look at the thing, then turned to Uhura. "Are they transported safe?"

  "Yes, sir, they report arrival—"

  "Well enough. I just wish I were down there with the Captain—"

  Someone shrieked. Someone did it again, and again, and Scotty recovered from the involuntary attempted leap of his heart from his chest at the sound of his ship screaming. It was the intruder alert siren, a sound like no other. "Screens," he cried at Sulu, "screens, man!"—and leapt for the board himself. Sulu had already hit the control, and the banshee wailing of the ship cut sharply off; but Uhura had turned to the rest of them with a look of terrible alarm on her face, one hand to the transdator in her ear, the other flicking switch after switch on her station's panel. "Mr. Scott, intruders on decks four, eight, nine, twelve—"

  "Where from!"

  "Already transported, Mr. Scott. Not traceable—"

  "Bloodwing," Scotty said bitterly, and swung on Khiy.

  "No!" Khiy cried. "Mr. Scott, the Commander would never—"

  "Not the Commander, lad," Scotty said, feeling himself turning red. "But I'll bet I know who. Why didna the Captain see it? Khiy, seal us off from the rest of the deck—bring down all the bulkheads south of thirty. Never mind—" and he headed over to the Engineering station and did it himself; poor Khiy was out of his depth, no shame to him. "Lieutenant Uhura, find on what's goin' on out there."

  "Confused, Mr. Scott. Fighting on six and eight. Other parts of the ship calling in and asking what the problem is—"

  "Tell them. No, wait. Chekov, help Khiy. I want every door in this ship locked. Cut power reversibly if you have to, we'll worry about the details later."