The Gemini Agent

by Rick Barba

  “What does it do?” he asked.

  Salla grinned. “It punches some nice holes in the bad guy’s botnet,” she said. “That should be a good kick in the groin for now.”

  Chekov unconsciously pushed his legs closer together.

  “It’s got a hell of a defensive grid, though,” added Salla in admiration. “It fights back hard. It has a massive attack vector. I don’t think these are Russians or anyone else I’ve seen before.”

  Chekov nodded. “I’ve never seen an infection quite so robust and … alive,” he said.

  Salla glanced at her watch.

  “I have to go,” she said, jumping up. “I’m almost late for Astrosciences.” She flipped her notepad shut, then slipped it into her bookpack on the table.

  “How is that class going?” asked Chekov, trying not to sound disappointed that she was leaving.

  “Great!” said Salla as she slung the pack over her shoulder. “Except for the Japanese dude, Sulu. He’s beaten me on every exam so far by a margin of at least two points.” She grinned. “I’m gonna get him next week on the final.”

  “Good luck,” said Chekov.

  “You think your room is clean and dry yet?” she asked.

  Chekov shrugged. “I’ll go check now,” he replied.

  Salla gave Chekov a good-bye pat on the back, then hurried away. “Let’s link up again tonight,” she called back. “This is fun.”

  Chekov brightened.

  “Aye!” he replied. “Sounds good!”

  Chekov watched the air she’d just passed through for a few seconds, still at odds with the clear attraction he was feeling toward his neighbor.

  When he reached his room in Nimitz, Chekov was surprised to find it already cleaned up and livable. A building services team had suctioned water from the hall too, and radiant panels along the corridor had dried everything. When Chekov’s door closed behind him with its customary whoosh, he immediately crouched to check the manual override latch.

  “Ha,” he muttered with a grin. “Now I’ll always know where you are.”

  But seeing the door shut gave him an involuntary shudder. Giving in to impulse, he double-tapped the open button on the panel. This opened the door … and locked it in that position.

  Maybe just for a while, he thought.

  Now Chekov sat at his workdesk. He noted that his system had already been rebooted. He rested his fingers on the touchscreen for a second, and then typed his login password. His home screen popped up immediately. Chekov took a breath and then smiled.

  Then the ceiling lights popped … and the room went black.

  “Ay, mother,” cried Chekov.

  Now the memory of his attacker’s dark, mocking image rose in his vision. In his mind’s eye he saw a monster. He remembered the distorted voice: Cold water is a bad way to die. He stared at his glowing workdesk screen. It was still working. What would appear?

  And then he heard that voice, though undistorted this time, from his open doorway.

  “Mr. Chekov,” it said.

  Chekov twirled to face the voice. A dark figure, backlit by the corridor lights, stood silhouetted in the doorway.

  “Who are you?” asked Chekov.

  “I’m a quarry rat,” said the figure.

  Chekov stood up. “Are you here to kill me?” he asked.

  “Nah,” said the figure. “Unless of course … you can’t handle Russian vodka.”

  The figure held up a bottle.

  An hour later, Kirk and Chekov sat side-by-side on the floor of Chekov’s room, staring at the Russian’s laptop screen.

  “So you actually hate Tikhonov?” asked Kirk for the third time, watching Chekov type.

  “Very deeply,” replied Chekov.

  “Wow,” said Kirk. “So he bullies you.”

  Chekov shrugged. “He bullies everybody.”

  Kirk nodded. “True,” he said. “But I bet it’s worse with his countrymen. Especially when they’re two-thirds his age but twice as smart.”

  Chekov grinned. His visitor, well aware of his age, had been kidding about the vodka. Apparently it was a gift for Tikhonov, which Chekov didn’t really understand, but he hadn’t asked for a fuller explanation because the sight of Kirk had initially made him so nervous. But it seemed more and more like Kirk really was a good guy. Chekov began to relax.

  He pointed to the screen. “Here’s more stuff on you. The malicious searchbot extracted this from your files, then stashed it in zombie databases.” He tapped the screen.

  Kirk rubbed his chin. “So you’re saying hundreds of innocent servers across the planet are now storing personal information on James Tiberius Kirk?”

  “More like millions,” said Chekov. “On dozens of planets. The data are chopped up into very tiny bits.”

  Kirk started laughing. “Good god, that’s hilarious,” he said.

  “Maybe so,” said Chekov. “But it appears to have accessed all your Starfleet records—psych profiling, background security check, and full medical tricorder scan files. Whoever’s behind this infection has mined enough data to almost recreate you.”

  Kirk stared at the screen. “I can’t imagine a bigger waste of time and resources.”

  A new set of images started streaming on-screen. Chekov watched happily and then said, “Ah, look. Cadet Salla’s parasite worm continues to bear fruit. Here’s more stolen data on you.”

  Kirk pointed in disbelief. “Hey, that’s my senior year at Riverside Central!”

  “It says you got kicked off the basketball team,” said Chekov, reading off the screen.

  “Yep,” said Kirk, smiling nostalgically. “Those were great days.” He pointed again. “That’s the Riverside Quarry.”

  Chekov shivered involuntarily. “The one with the cold, dark water?”

  “Oh yeah,” said Kirk. “Fifty-four degrees. And colder as you go deeper.” He closed his eyes, smiling and remembering. “We used to meet the cheer squad down there. I went skinny-dipping in that quarry for the very first time when I was about your age,” he began to reminisce. Then he shook his head as if to clear it, bringing himself back to the present day.

  “Tomorrow is a big day,” he said to Chekov. “The Zeta ship rosters get posted. Then we’ll have our first section meetings.”

  “Right!” said Chekov. “I forgot.”

  “You forgot?”

  Chekov smiled. “I’ve been busy.” He made a swimming motion. “Snorkeling in my room.”

  Kirk glanced at his watch, then stood up.

  “Thanks, kid,” he said. “I’m really sorry this happened to you. I appreciate your help.” He gave Chekov an earnest look, then added, “Seriously … I hope we’re on the same bridge someday.”

  Chekov stood as well. “That would be an adventure,” he said.

  They shook hands.

  “Let me know if you find anything else of interest,” said Kirk.

  “Aye,” said Chekov with a nod.

  As Kirk turned to go, he saluted and said, “Full throttle, Mr. Chekov.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said Chekov with an amused return salute.

  Kirk walked to the elevator and punched the down button. As he stood waiting, he glanced at the bottle of Stolichnaya he was carrying, remembering what he was going to do with it. Originally his plan had been to share a drink with Chekov, but as soon as he met the kid, he remembered his age and realized he wasn’t someone he could share a drink with. But it was no matter … He knew another Russian who would enjoy the bottle. And if that Russian drinks too much the night before a big mission, so be it, Kirk thought with an amused grin.

  He rode down just one floor. Then he went to Nimitz 266 and then knocked on the door.

  Viktor Tikhonov answered.

  “Kirk!” boomed Tikhonov. His voice was a baritone blast. He glanced down, adding, “What’s that?”

  Kirk held up the Stolichnaya bottle.

  “It’s a Molotov cocktail,” he said.

  Tikhonov smiled. “So you’ve come t
o sabotage me?”

  “No,” said Kirk. “I can’t beat you, so I’ve decided to join you.”

  Tikhonov laughed appreciatively. Kirk handed him the bottle, and the Russian examined it.

  “Ah, the Elit!” he said. “This is very good stuff, Mr. Kirk.”

  Kirk nodded slightly. “Good luck tomorrow, Viktor.”

  Tikhonov nodded back.

  “I have no doubt we’ll be jousting again soon, Kirk,” he said with a scary smile.

  Viktor Tikhonov unscrewed the bottle cap, took a huge feral swallow, and rammed his palm into the door button. Every move he made was infused with undisguised, unabashed arrogance. His accent wasn’t as thick as Chekov’s, but it did the job. It said, Yes, I’m Russian, and I’m going to destroy your puny illusions.

  As the door slid shut, Kirk smiled.

  Then he headed back to the Medical College, where he was about to learn some very bad news.

  CH.10.13

  Dark Angel

  The sun had already sizzled into the Pacific behind the Golden Gate Bridge. Kirk jogged down the tree-lined promenade that connected the residence quad with the rest of the campus. As he turned toward the Medical College at a walkway intersection, he felt a rush of blood to his head and stopped.

  “Whoa!” he said, leaning over.

  Not ready to run yet.

  As Kirk let the dizziness pass, he caught a glimpse of a thin, shadowy figure gliding through the trees behind him. He turned to it.

  “Uhura?” he called, confused.

  The figure disappeared.

  Kirk watched for a second: no sign of movement. He turned to take a step, then stopped again. Again he bent down. His vision was gyrating. He wondered if he’d actually seen anything.

  After a few seconds, he felt a little better. But he walked slowly the rest of the way.

  When Kirk entered the Medical College lecture hall, McCoy took one look at him and then hustled up the center stairs.

  “You look terrible,” said McCoy.

  “I’m okay, Bones,” said Kirk, holding up his hands. “Really.”

  “Don’t insult me, Jim,” said McCoy. “I’m a doctor.”

  “Yes,” said Kirk. “I believe you’ve mentioned that before.”

  “You’re flushed and unsteady,” said McCoy, sliding a medical tricorder from his hip pouch. “Sit!”

  As Kirk slumped into the nearest desk chair, T’Laya approached to feel his forehead.

  “No fever, at least,” she said.

  Kirk looked around. “Where’s Uhura?” he asked.

  “Not here yet,” said T’Laya, sitting in the next chair.

  “I think I saw her out on the promenade,” said Kirk.

  “Wow, you’re really sweating,” said T’Laya. Looking upset, she started rubbing Kirk’s back.

  Kirk wiped his forehead.

  “Well, I ran here,” he said. He squinted and looked at T’Laya through one eye. “Sort of.”

  McCoy was waving the tricorder around Kirk’s head and shoulders. “Heart rate elevated,” he said. “I don’t like this. Your thyroxines are sky-high.”

  “Oh, I do that on purpose,” said Kirk.

  “Not funny, Jim,” said McCoy. “It means your metabolic rate is going wacko again.”

  “I just need to rest a minute,” said Kirk.

  McCoy said, “If this keeps up, you’ll be resting in my ICU again.”

  Kirk gave him a ragged smile. “Only if they give me the good ice cream this time,” he said. Then he turned to T’Laya.

  Her eyes were shimmering wet.

  “Whoa there, darlin’. I’m okay. Really.” He grabbed her hand. “Hey.”

  She tried to speak but couldn’t. For a few seconds she could only blink out tears.

  Kirk put his hand on her cheek. “I thought Vulcans were big on logic and stuff,” he said. He flicked away a descending tear with his thumb. “Crying isn’t logical.”

  “I guess I’m a bad Vulcan,” she said.

  Kirk grinned. “I like my Vulcans bad.”

  McCoy sat down heavily in the chair on Kirk’s other side.

  “Listen, Jim, we’ve got some news,” he said. He looked over at T’Laya. “It’s not good, and given your condition right now, the timing is terrible. But the sooner you know, the better.”

  Kirk saw that McCoy was grimly serious. And T’Laya continued to look despondent.

  “Okay,” he said. “What is it?”

  McCoy took a deep breath. “I took your advice and stopped in to see Lieutenant Caan at Security.” A bare hint of smile passed over his lips. “It was interesting. I saw the video. We discussed your case further. She had some keen insights, and I think Samarra is convinced you’re not the perpetrator of these shenanigans.”

  “Samarra,” repeated Kirk, smiling.

  Now McCoy smiled too. But the smile disappeared quickly.

  Kirk nodded. “But?”

  “But … in accordance with Starfleet regulations regarding ongoing investigations, you’re grounded until further notice,” said McCoy.

  It took a moment to sink in.

  Then Kirk said: “Grounded?”

  McCoy nodded yes.

  “You mean I’m banned from Zeta,” said Kirk.

  “I’m sorry, Jim.”

  Kirk’s head was pounding again. He closed his eyes, rubbing his temples.

  T’Laya gently rubbed his shoulders.

  “This sucks,” she said.

  As Kirk slid his arm around her, he heard someone push through the lecture hall doors. It was Uhura.

  “Hey,” she called. “Is something wrong? You people look like you’re at a funeral.”

  “Jim’s grounded,” said McCoy. “No Zeta for him.”

  Uhura looked astounded. “But that’s not fair,” she protested.

  “No, but it’s regulation,” said McCoy.

  Uhura sat in the row behind the others. After a few seconds of silence, she said: “Did anybody find anything?”

  T’Laya turned. “Nobody saw him in my quadrant,” she said to Uhura.

  McCoy shook his head and said, “No witnesses for me either, but I did have a nice talk with Lieutenant Caan. She has some leads.”

  T’Laya narrowed her eyes. “Yeah, I’ll bet she does,” she said.

  Then Kirk raised his hand. “I was with Pavel Chekov,” he said.

  McCoy widened his eyes. “What? You’re joking again, right?”

  Kirk shook his head. “He’s a really good kid,” he said. “Very smart. He’s some kind of computer whiz too. He and some geek buddies are trying to trace the infectious agent that attacked his room.”

  T’Laya sat up straight. She said, “The kid is a genius, I’ve heard.”

  Kirk’s eyes glazed a bit. He said, “He found like a zillion files that some searchbot stole, including all of my Starfleet personnel records.” He snickered. “He said that someone has enough information to recreate me if they wanted to. Can you imagine, two of me?” As Kirk talked, his words slurred ever so slightly.

  Uhura leaned forward. “Kirk, you don’t sound good.”

  “I agree,” said McCoy. “Jim, let’s get you to an ICU exam room.”

  T’Laya wrapped both hands around Kirk’s arm and helped him up. Her Vulcan strength surprised him.

  “Wow,” said Kirk, smiling. Then he frowned. “Wait. Uhura, did you find any witnesses?”

  Uhura nodded. “Actually, I did.”

  Kirk brightened. “Who?”

  “Let’s get you to Medical first,” she said.

  Minutes later Kirk sat on a white hospital bed.

  He was vaguely aware of another presence. It seemed to be next to him. But when he turned to look, nobody was there. He heard his friend Bones talking. Bones was like the older brother he missed. Then he saw Sam, his brother, walking.

  “Sam,” said Kirk. But Sam kept walking.

  Kirk slid to the floor and then stood at the green curtain that circled the white bed.

 
I’ll meet you there shortly, said somebody.

  Kirk looked around again. Nobody.

  Go now, said the voice. Before they notice.

  Kirk heard Bones again. He heard Uhura. Then he heard T’Laya. They were his friends, talking beyond the green curtain. But this voice was different.

  Kirk slid through the curtain on the side opposite the others and then left the ICU through the main exit, nodding at the check-in nurse as he passed her. She smiled back warmly. In just seconds he was under the black sky rippled with stars. He gazed up as he walked. He even closed his eyes.

  His feet knew where to go.

  When he was a boy, Kirk did this often: walked with his eyes closed.

  Why? asked a voice.

  “I liked the way it felt,” said Kirk.

  How did it feel?

  “It made old places feel new,” said Kirk, and suddenly that feeling infused him again. “Our yard or the kitchen. Anywhere, really.”

  Was it a feeling of discovery?

  Kirk shrugged. “I guess it was.”

  Now Kirk felt something else. It was an old fear.

  What is it?

  Kirk opened his eyes. He glanced back. Dark figures were following him.

  T’Laya used a stylus pen to mark the Starfleet Academy campus map displayed on the touchscreen in the ICU nurse station.

  “So, he was possibly spotted right here?” she asked.

  Standing next to her, Uhura nodded. “Yeah, that’s the spot.”

  “It doesn’t tell us much,” said T’Laya, frustrated.

  Dr. McCoy stood behind her with his arms folded impatiently.

  “No, it doesn’t,” he said. “Look, ladies, all this speculation has been fascinating, but I’ve got a patient to attend to.”

  Uhura had met a cadet who knew Kirk—a female, of course—and had seen him the night he disappeared. He was standing knee-deep in the fountain in front of the Command College simulator lab. According to the cadet, Kirk was shivering and looked drunk. She had approached him, but he received a communicator call—although, oddly, he answered but didn’t speak. Then he hung up and walked away.

  “She’s sure it was Jim?” asked T’Laya.

  Uhura gave her a wry look, and then opened up her notepad.

  “They went out a couple of times. Her exact words were: ‘After the, uh, expletive deleted didn’t call me back last time, I spent a couple of weeks hunting him down.’” Uhura pursed her lips. “Then she asked if I knew his room number.”