The Gemini Agent

by Rick Barba

  T’Laya grinned. “I hope you gave it to her.”

  McCoy rolled his eyes. “I’ll let you girls finish up your analysis,” he said. “I need to get some biosensors on Jim now.”

  T’Laya quickly touched his arm.

  “Dr. McCoy, you’ve known Jim, what, almost a full year now,” she said.

  McCoy nodded. “We met on the recruit shuttle, first day.”

  “You’re good friends.”

  “What do you need to know?” he asked impatiently.

  T’Laya looked him in the eye.

  “Why is Kirk in Starfleet?” she asked.

  McCoy opened a sterile drawer in the nurse station and used a pair of medical tongs to extract a few biosensor patches.

  Then he said, “You don’t know?”

  “He won’t give me a straight answer,” she said. “I mean, let’s face it—he doesn’t fit the standard cadet profile.”

  McCoy paused. “No, he doesn’t,” he said. “But, being a Starfleet cadet yourself, you know that ours isn’t a standard military mission. We’re a peacekeeping, humanitarian armada. We serve in the name of exploration and science.”

  “But we fight, too,” said T’Laya.

  “If the Romulans come again, yes, we will fight,” said McCoy. “Unless of course they come in peace.”

  McCoy tapped a button on the station screen. Kirk’s latest medical tricorder readouts appeared. T’Laya watched, and then her gray eyes began flitting rapidly as she scanned.

  “Are you okay?” asked McCoy, shifting the tricorder to obscure the readings from her line of sight. It was an involuntary action on his part.

  T’Laya blinked in embarrassment. “Sorry,” she said. “It’s my training.”

  McCoy nodded, feeling a little embarrassed himself. Clearly Jim cared about this girl and she about him. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve heard about the USS Kelvin.”

  “Every cadet knows about the Kelvin,” she replied.

  “That was Jim’s dad, you know.”

  “I know.”

  “Well, then that’s probably all you need to know,” said McCoy.

  “Does he want revenge?” asked T’Laya.

  McCoy looked surprised. “Against who?”

  “Romulans,” said T’Laya.

  McCoy frowned. “Jim doesn’t operate like that.”

  “But they killed his father,” she said.

  Now McCoy leaned closer. He repeated: “Jim doesn’t operate like that.”

  T’Laya folded her arms across her chest, watching McCoy arrange the biosensors on a tray. As he was about to slip through the curtain to Kirk’s bed, she touched his arm again.

  McCoy stopped. “What else, Cadet?”

  “Thanks, Leonard.”

  He smiled. “We’re in the ICU,” he said. “Please call me Dr. McCoy.”

  And then he yanked open the curtain to find an empty white bed.

  “Good god, he’s gone again!” he cried.

  Uhura and T’Laya both jumped to their feet. T’Laya immediately sprinted toward the main entrance.

  “Where can he be?” she called.

  Uhura followed. “He can’t be far!”

  T’Laya pointed as she ran. “I’ll take the route to the dorms. You check that fountain by the Command College. Maybe he’ll go back there.”

  “Good plan,” called Uhura.

  McCoy grabbed his med-kit.

  “Keep in touch!” he shouted. “Jim is not well, and I’m the guy with the medicine.”

  McCoy trotted behind the two women until they both burst through the Medical College main entrance and veered off in opposite directions. Then he stopped. He waited until they were gone.

  “I don’t like this,” he muttered.

  He flipped open his communicator. The line was already open to Security. It had been open the past hour.

  “Anybody there?”

  A male voice crackled. “Copy.”

  “Well, he’s on the run,” said McCoy angrily.

  “Roger that,” said the voice. “We’ve got him marked. He’s moving fast.”

  McCoy gritted his teeth.

  “Damn it!” he exclaimed. “He’s not in good shape. He needs medical attention. I shouldn’t have agreed to this scheme. I’m a doctor, not a spy.”

  “Noted,” said the voice. “Don’t worry. Dark Angel won’t let him run long.”

  “You’d better not,” hissed McCoy. “He won’t last. McCoy out.”

  He flipped the communicator shut. It beeped. He flipped it back open.

  “McCoy,” he said.

  There was a pause. Then: “We lost him, Doctor,” said the voice.

  “What?” thundered McCoy.

  The voice sounded sheepish. “Well, he … jumped into a maintenance culvert by National Cemetery.”

  “So?”

  There was a pause. “He must have a map of the underground culvert system. It’s very, uh … well, we’ve got two guys lost in there.”

  “Unbelievable,” said McCoy.

  He hung up and sprinted out of the building. San Francisco National Cemetery was directly adjacent to the Medical College grounds.

  “Never trust a spook,” he muttered as he ran.

  Kirk knelt on one knee.

  “I’m tired,” he said.

  Nobody answered.

  He looked around; he was alone. Then his communicator buzzed in his pocket.

  He flipped it open and said, “Kirk here.”

  A stream of jabbering sound played: clicks, buzzes, beeps. Computer talk. He held the receiver tight to his ear until the transmission ended. Then he flipped the communicator shut.

  Change of venue, said somebody.

  Kirk nodded. He tried to stand. “I’m on my way. But I’m … I’m pretty tired.”

  They’re coming, Mr. Kirk.

  Kirk fell. He rolled over onto his back. He lay in a shallow puddle of cold water.

  “Yeah, I’ll be careful,” said Kirk.

  For twenty minutes he’d been following the inexplicable bright green line that guided him through the maintenance tunnels. But when he reached the ladder to climb out, his hands would not grip the rungs.

  Gazing up the vertical exit pipe from on his back, Kirk could see a circle of stars above. Oddly, he knew them all: He knew which six had planets. He knew Gliese 251, the nearest, just eighteen light-years away. Mekbuda, the supergiant with its radius sixty times solar. Castor and Pollux, the two brightest, the twins. He knew it was Gemini.

  He pointed up. “You’re a hell of a constellation,” he said.

  I’m close, said a voice.

  Kirk sat bolt upright. It was T’Laya.

  “Where are you?” he asked, looking around.

  Close, she said. Climb up the pipe.

  “Okay.”

  He struggled to his feet and then put his hands on the first ladder rungs. The back of his clothes and hair were soaking wet. But the thought of reaching T’Laya gave him a burst of energy. He climbed slowly but steadily to the top and rolled out of the pipe.

  “Where are you?” he called, looking around.

  Now nobody answered.

  Kirk staggered to his feet.

  A gentle dark hill rose away from the culvert. Perfect rows of ghost-white markers lined the slope. He was in National Cemetery.

  Now he saw figures, dark and crouched, gliding through the grave markers. They seemed to move impossibly fast. Kirk started to run. But it felt like he was running in water.

  They’re coming for you, said T’Laya behind him.

  Kirk spun around.

  “Where are you?” he called, spinning.

  We have to shut it down, she said. I’m sorry.

  Kirk ran again. He heard light footfalls. Behind him, a slender figure emerged from the front rank of grave markers. Its movements seemed preternatural: He saw cobalt wings, talons, a dark avenging angel. He sprinted for a battery of lights up ahead. But when he reached the perimeter security fence—a fence he knew he
could not scale—and he spun to face his pursuer, the killer angel stopped and held out one of her palms.

  She said, “Stop running, Mr. Kirk.”

  Kirk said, “Why?”

  It was Samarra Caan, of course. She raised a phaser and slowly aimed.

  “Sit down,” she said. “Make this easier for both of us.”

  “Easier?” repeated Kirk.

  Lieutenant Caan calmly prepared to fire.

  Kirk looked up and slowly closed his eyes. In the sky, the bright twins, Castor and Pollux, flickered … and then went black.

  When Gemini hailed Nverinn requesting an Alpha-level security link, he felt his throat tighten. His protection array of gridbots had just shut down forty-one more subspace frequencies. Somebody was poking around and had made inroads. Somebody with brilliant computer skills. His agent was playing pure defense now.

  But his scans showed none of the usual heavy-handed Starfleet signatures. This counterattack was original, probably coming from an individual source, and it was light on its feet.

  And now here was Gemini.

  This was not good.

  The first contact was a simple hailing sequence: Gemini’s request. Nverinn opened an infrared Alpha frequency band and then moved his fingers to the touch keyboard. No voice contact now: too time-consuming to encode, and damning evidence if somehow intercepted.

  Nverinn typed: What’s going on?

  It took a full thirty seconds for the encryption and transmission. Nverinn braced for a slow, frustrating, and perhaps disturbing exchange.

  After thirty seconds more, the reply arrived: Second infection shut down. Subject has been compromised.

  He typed: Where and how are you?

  The next message made him smile. It read simply: Safe and sound.

  As Nverinn prepared to type again, another message appeared: Gemini database secure but searchnet detected. Expect countermeasures.

  He nodded. That was already happening.

  Then he typed: Status of subject?

  The wait was almost two full minutes for this reply: Subject down.

  Nverinn stared at the words. Down?

  He typed: Clarify, please.

  But just seconds after he sent this, another Gemini message popped up: Possible termination. Events unfolding, must sign off. Gemini out.

  Nverinn felt a chill of dread.

  Gemini had been trained to terminate the project without hesitation if detection seemed imminent. But terminating the subject—that was for extreme circumstance only.

  Nverinn wondered if Gemini was conflicted. The program gave her full override on all functional decisions. But how would she proceed on this one?

  He bowed his head and whispered, “Farr Jolan, Mr. Kirk. Peace awaits.”

  CH.11.13

  Heschl's Gyrus

  Spock leaned against a tree.

  He wasn’t used to standing around aimlessly, and he was slightly embarrassed as cadets passed, including several students and ex-students who nodded respectfully. But his purpose was real and considerable.

  So he waited.

  Finally, Cadet Uhura exited the Medical College. She was in a hurry.

  “Commander!” she said, surprised.

  Spock looked down, then smiled. Yes, he thought. We are indeed in uniform.

  “How is your friend, Cadet?” he asked.

  “Good, I think,” she said. “Still unconscious when I left. But the doctor says his readings are stable and normalizing.”

  “Good to hear,” said Spock. “I will walk with you.”

  “Great!” said Uhura. “Please do.”

  Spock fell in beside her, and they moved briskly along the central promenade.

  “I need your help,” said Spock bluntly.

  Uhura smiled. “My help?” she said. “I’m your student. I don’t help, I follow orders.”

  Bemused, Spock took a few more strides before he spoke again.

  “Starfleet Intelligence has intercepted subspace transmissions,” he said. “Just fragments, most of which do not make sense. It is hard to tell if they are encrypted or just gibberish. But the outflow volume seems significant, with the transmissions routing into the Neutral Zone.”

  “Outflow?” repeated Uhura. “From where?”

  Spock knitted his brow. “Here,” he said.

  “Earth?”

  “So it seems,” he said.

  Uhura raised her eyebrows. “That’s rather disturbing,” she said.

  “Yes,” said Spock. “Thus Intelligence has given our study a Code Tango priority. And you now have Level Six security clearance.”

  Uhura smiled. “Wow,” she said. “I feel important.”

  Spock nodded but said nothing.

  “So you think it’s Romulan,” said Uhura.

  “Yes, I believe that is a strong possibility,” replied Spock. “Even encrypted Romulan can have recognizable phonology, as you know, so I need your ear. Being as it is far more gifted than mine.”

  Uhura smiled, thinking: You need my ear.

  “Well, that’s a start,” she said.

  Spock arched a puzzled eyebrow.

  Uhura continued down the promenade at a brisk pace. She seemed exhilarated, and Spock suddenly noticed that other cadets were striding with a similar sense of purpose, all in the same direction. So Spock finally asked, “If I may ask, Cadet … where is everybody going?”

  Uhura gave Spock a shocked look.

  “Commander!” she said. “It’s Zeta day.”

  Spock looked puzzled again.

  “But, Cadet,” he said. “You already know your Zeta assignment. I revealed it to you.”

  “Sure,” she said, walking faster. “But I want to know where everybody else ends up!”

  Kirk woke in the ICU again, with another IV drip in his arm. Lingering images swirled: tunnel, sky, dark angel with a phaser. His head felt like a rotting melon. A concerned McCoy was staring down at him.

  “Bones, I love these beds,” mumbled Kirk. “Can I have one?”

  McCoy grinned and took a relieved breath.

  “You should just move in here,” said the doctor.

  Kirk nodded. “By now I should have my own wing,” he said.

  The curtain around his bed pulled back, and Lieutenant Caan stepped in beside McCoy. Kirk’s eyes widened.

  Caan’s cool gaze settled on Kirk. “How is he, Leonard?” she asked.

  “Have a look,” said McCoy, gesturing at Kirk.

  Kirk pointed at her. “You shot me!” he exclaimed.

  “Yes, she did,” said McCoy. He turned to Lieutenant Caan. “Thank you, Samarra, for overcoming your well-trained instincts and setting for stun rather than killing this bozo.”

  “Killing Mr. Kirk would be bad for Starfleet,” she said with a smile.

  “I suppose so,” said McCoy.

  Kirk tried to sit up, but a Velcro strap across his chest held him down.

  “Bones, why am I strapped to this bed?” he said.

  McCoy reached under the bed and unfastened the strap.

  “Precautionary,” he said. “You suffered a series of violent seizures when we first brought you in. Frankly, it scared the hell out of me.”

  “Seizures?” Kirk sat up. Then he winced in pain, laying back down. “Wow, that hurts.”

  Lieutenant Caan watched McCoy adjust the IV drip. “You’re lucky that Dr. McCoy was with my team when we caught up to you,” she said.

  Kirk exhaled slowly and stared up at the ceiling.

  “So what’s happening to me, Bones?” he asked.

  McCoy waved his trusty tricorder.

  “We’re not entirely sure yet,” he said. “But I have some ideas. We found traces of something. Whatever’s in your system didn’t have time to fully dissipate this time. I’ve got the lab working on it.” Then something struck him. “Wait a minute!” He eyed Kirk. “Jim … you remember Samarra shooting you with her phaser?”

  “Yes, I do,” said Kirk, wincing.

  Lieut
enant Caan produced her notebook. “Do you remember anything else, Mr. Kirk?” she asked.

  Kirk blinked slowly.

  “Not sure,” he said. “A few images. Like a dream.” He met her blue gaze. “They seem unreal.”

  “Tell me everything you remember,” said Caan.

  “Well, stars, for one,” said Kirk. “I looked at the sky, and it was like a planetarium.” He stared at the ceiling again, remembering. “I knew every constellation and cluster, every star’s name. Like a star chart was overlaid on the sky.”

  Lieutenant Caan raised her eyebrows, exchanging a look with McCoy.

  “Okay,” said Kirk, a bit embarrassed. “So maybe that part was a dream.”

  “Maybe not, Jim,” said McCoy. “Listen. This thing, this … infection, for lack of a better word—I think it somehow gave you a heightened sense of perception. I say this because of some things you’ve told me over the past twelve hours.”

  Kirk tried to sit up again. “I’ve been here twelve hours?” he exclaimed.

  “Yep,” said McCoy, pushing him back down.

  “And I’ve been talking?” asked Kirk.

  “On and off,” said McCoy.

  “What did I say?” asked Kirk.

  “Among other things, you expressed concern about a dark angel,” said McCoy.

  Kirk squinted. “It was following me,” he said.

  Lieutenant Caan rested her hands on the edge of the bed and said, “That was me, Mr. Kirk.”

  “Yesterday, I asked Lieutenant Caan to put you under protective surveillance,” said McCoy.

  “I tried to be your guardian angel,” she said. “But you slipped away.”

  “I saw subtle signs of relapse and thought you might bolt again,” continued McCoy. He nodded toward Samarra. “So I contacted Samarra. Our first plan was to keep you in medical custody. But her brilliant superiors over at Intelligence wanted to let you go, hoping you’d lead them to whoever was manipulating you.”

  “Then you eluded our entire team in that insidious maze,” said Lieutenant Caan.

  “What maze?” asked Kirk.

  “The maintenance culverts, Jim,” said McCoy.

  Kirk looked confused. “The tunnel?”

  McCoy chuckled. “More like a hundred tunnels. They connect everything in the Presidio.”