Stargazer Three

by Michael Jan Friedman

  Neither of his colleagues argued with the plan. But then, they were rather limited in their options.

  There was only one decision left to be made. “Who will be the decoy?” asked Runj.

  Vigo eyed the guard. “I will.”

  Sebring looked at him. “You sure?”

  Vigo nodded. “From what we’ve seen, all the invaders are Pandrilites. I may be able to confuse him for a moment, make him think I’m one of them.”

  His colleagues seemed to accept that. It would be dangerous for Vigo, no question about it. But then, it would be dangerous for all of them.

  “All right,” said Sebring. He exchanged glances with the Vobilite, and then with Vigo. “Let’s go get him.”

  Without hesitation, Sebring moved off to the left over the short, wiry turf, while Runj worked his way to the right. They moved quickly and quietly, looking like shadows on the walls.

  Vigo waited until he thought his fellow officers had placed themselves in position. Then he took a deep breath and moved out from concealment.

  “Help…” he groaned, grabbing his belly as if he’d been hit there. He staggered forward. “Help me….”

  The guard turned around and looked past the shuttle, tilting his head in an effort to see better. “Who is it? What happened?”

  “They’re right behind me…” Vigo gasped, doubling over as he advanced so the Pandrilite couldn’t see his face.

  “We’ve got to get out of here…before it’s too late….”

  The guard just stood there, caught between concern and caution. “Suddig?” he ventured, mistaking the weapons officer for one of the other invaders.

  “Yes,” Vigo grated as he lumbered forward, carrying his deception as far as he could. “Help me, please….”

  Finally putting his wariness aside, the guard rushed across the intervening space, his weapon in hand. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” he assured his fellow Pandrilite.

  No, thought Vigo. I’ve got you.

  As soon as the guard was within a few meters of him, he leaned forward just a little more and gradually accelerated his stagger into a headlong rush. Before the guard knew what was happening, Vigo was bearing him to the ground.

  The guard uttered a strangled cry and squeezed a shot off, but it missed the weapons officer and struck the ground instead, leaving a long, black streak of smoking turf.

  Vigo had the upper hand, but the guard wasn’t easy to knock out. After all, he was a Pandrilite. Vigo had to drive his fist into the intruder’s face once, twice, and a third time before he finally went limp.

  That done, the weapons officer stripped his adversary of his weapons—both the one in his hand and another that Vigo found in his belt. Then he slung the intruder over his shoulder and lumbered the rest of the way to the shuttle.

  Sebring and Runj were there already. They signaled to him that the vehicle was empty. On the other hand, they didn’t have any easy way to get inside it.

  And they couldn’t simply fire into the plasma exhaust. Not unless they wanted to blow themselves up, and half the installation into the bargain.

  “We need to get to the controls,” Vigo said as he came around the shuttle and dumped the intruder on the ground.

  “That means getting inside,” the Vobilite noted.

  “No problem,” said Sebring, hunkering down and resetting his borrowed weapon. “I haven’t yet met the shuttle hull that can stand up to a good dose of phaser fire.”

  Fortunately, Sebring and Runj were able to use the craft for cover while they worked. But Vigo remained standing, so a casual observer might think the guard was still out there.

  As Vigo watched, his colleagues unleashed a seething red barrage at the center of the hatch door. Little by little, the door’s duranium skin blackened and rippled.

  Suddenly, the Pandrilite heard shouting from across the landing area. Looking back over his shoulder, he saw a trio of angry Pandrilites running toward them.

  Sebring and Runj heard them too. But the weapons officers didn’t give any thought to defending themselves. They left that to Vigo and kept working on the hatch door—even when a couple of phaser beams sizzled past the shuttle, missing it by inches on either side.

  No longer compelled to impersonate the unconscious guard, Vigo fired back. One of his phaser bursts found an intruder and sent him sprawling, but that only made the other two fan out to make it harder for him.

  And a moment later, two more of them came out of the installation, their phasers blazing. The weapons officers were caught in a swiftly developing crossfire, beams of directed energy stabbing the night like fiery needles.

  “Come on,” growled Sebring, his face crimson with reflected phaser light as he and Runj dug their way into the shuttle. “Just a little more.”

  Vigo managed to pick off the intruder on his right flank, but it gave the one on his left a clear shot at Runj and Sebring. The Stargazer officer moved around the Vobilite to screen him, to buy him a little more time.

  But he was a fraction of a second too late. One of the enemy’s beams slammed into Runj and laid him out flat.

  Vigo returned the intruder’s fire but missed, his energy burst vanishing into the darkness beyond the landing field. And before he could take aim again, a beam from another direction nearly took his head off.

  “There!” said Sebring, his voice full of triumph. Indeed, Vigo could see through a charred, blistered hole into the shuttle’s interior. “We’re through! Now if I can just—”

  But before the human could finish, he was bludgeoned by a bloodred beam. As he fell forward against the shuttle, Vigo fired back. Then he turned and peered through the opening his colleagues had made.

  It was big enough, he estimated, for him to slip his hand through and reach the instrument panel. Runj and Sebring might not have been able to do it, but he could.

  Squeezing off another blast at the enemy to his left, Vigo sent him scurrying and secured a moment’s respite. He used it to peek inside and get a look at the craft’s controls.

  As he had expected, they weren’t any different from what one might have seen in a Stargazer shuttle. And if that were so, he knew exactly what to do.

  By that time, the intruder on his left was taking aim at him. Fortunately, Vigo was quicker. He nailed the Pandrilite square in the chest.

  But he didn’t watch the intruder go flying backward into the darkness. He was too busy thrusting his left arm into the hole in the shuttle’s hull.

  It went in up to his shoulder before his fingers touched the control panel. By feel alone, he groped his way to what he hoped was the right set of studs. Then he began pressing them in just the right order.

  At the same time, another intruder moved into view past the edge of the shuttle. With the phaser in his right hand, the weapons officer sent a crimson beam slicing through the night—while with his left hand, he continued his manipulation of the control panel.

  Another second, he thought. Just another second…

  A blast of phaser fire glanced off the skin of the shuttle, blinding him. But it didn’t keep him from doing his touchwork on the panel.

  Almost done, Vigo told himself, firing barrages to one side and then the other even though he couldn’t quite see what he was firing at.

  Finally, he touched the last stud in the sequence—and heard the shuttle’s systems spiral down into a well of silence. Only the craft’s life supports, which drew on a backup battery, continued to function.

  Another beam struck the shuttle and glanced off it, missing his head by a handsbreadth or less. But he didn’t let it faze him. Pulling his arm back out of the hole, he replaced it with the barrel of his weapon.

  Then Vigo pressed the trigger—and saw the control panel erupt in a spurt of white-hot sparks. That was important if he was to cover up his handiwork. Just to be certain, he kept firing at the thing, watching the sparks start to spawn tongues of pale blue flame.

  Keep going, he thought. As long as you—

  But befo
re he could get any further, he felt something hit him with bone-shattering force. It drove the breath from his lungs and the feeling from his body, leaving him quaking and all but inert.

  He tried to continue firing into the shuttle, but to no avail. As if from a distance, he saw the phaser fall from his hand and hit the ground.

  Come on, he urged himself. Pick it up.

  But as he bent to retrieve the weapon, he felt another impact. And a moment later, he slipped into darkness.

  Chapter Seven

  WHEN NIKOLAS ENTERED the ship’s mess hall, he could barely contain his impatience—or his excitement.

  He wanted to share it, too. So when he saw his friend Obal, he headed right for him. He didn’t even stop to get a tray full of food from the replicator.

  “You look cheerful,” Obal observed as Nikolas sat down opposite him.

  “That,” said the ensign, “is because the most amazing thing just happened to me.”

  “Oh?” said the Binderian.

  “It was unbelievable,” said Nikolas. “I was walking down the corridor and I saw one of the Asmunds coming the other way with Lieutenant Joseph.” He shook his head, still unable to believe it. “And she smiled at me.”

  The security officer looked understandably perplexed. “How unusual…” he remarked.

  Nikolas laughed. “You’re not kidding it’s unusual. I mean, it wasn’t just one of those ‘have a nice day’ smiles. I’m telling you, her whole face lit up. It looked like she was really happy to see me.”

  “Remarkable,” said Obal. “But—”

  “Now,” said Nikolas, “all I have to do is figure out whether it was Gerda or Idun and take it from there.”

  “Actually,” said the Binderian, his brow puckering, “it may be neither of them.”

  The ensign looked at him. “What are you talking about?”

  “You obviously haven’t heard, but there is a third Asmund aboard at the moment.”

  Nikolas studied his friend’s face, which was as serious as he had ever seen it. “You’re joking, right?”

  “I’m afraid I’m not,” said the security officer. “The woman who smiled at you…what was she wearing? Was it a Starfleet uniform or something else?”

  “Something else,” Nikolas recalled.

  “The black togs the Asmunds often wear when they work out?”

  Nikolas shook his head. “No. Gray tunic. Gray boots. And dark blue pants.”

  Obal nodded judiciously. “Then the woman you saw was neither Gerda nor Idun, but the third Asmund of whom I spoke.”

  Nikolas didn’t get it. “What are you saying? That they’re triplets all of a sudden?”

  “What I am saying,” Obal told him, “is that the Asmunds seem to have a counterpart in another universe, and she arrived on the Stargazer a bit more than an hour ago.”

  Nikolas frowned. Obviously, he had missed something while he was down in the science section. “Maybe you’d better start at the beginning, pal. And go nice and slow, all right?”

  Obal agreed that he would do that.

  Gerda frowned and shifted her weight in her seat. This was taking a very long time. At least, it seemed that way.

  “What’s keeping them?” she asked her sister.

  They were sitting on two of the three chairs in Idun’s anteroom—a couple of Klingon chairs fashioned from wrought iron. The third chair, which was made of softer materials to accommodate non-Klingon guests, was conspicuous by its emptiness.

  Idun shrugged. “Pug only called about a minute ago. Maybe it is turbolift traffic.”

  It was a jest—Gerda knew that. But she was too jittery to chuckle at it. “Do you think they stopped somewhere along the way?” she asked.

  “It is possible,” Idun allowed. “But—”

  A chime interrupted her, signaling that someone was waiting in the corridor outside the door.

  Idun glanced at her sister. “Enter.”

  A moment later, Pug Joseph walked in. And right behind him was a woman who looked exactly like Gerda and Idun, down to the last feature and detail.

  Even her hair was cut like the twins’. The only aspect of her appearance that set her apart was her clothing, which was of a decidedly civilian variety.

  Gerda found herself staring at the newcomer. And the newcomer was staring right back, turning from Gerda to Idun and back again.

  “It’s hard to believe what I’m looking at,” the woman said, in a voice that could have been Gerda’s or Idun’s. “Not just one of me, but two.”

  Idun nodded. “It’s strange, all right.”

  “I’ll be right outside,” Pug said. “You three sound like you’ve got a lot to talk about.”

  Gerda nodded, acknowledging the gesture. As soon as the security officer was outside, the door slid closed behind him—leaving the three of them alone.

  The newcomer smiled a little awkwardly. “Well, this is something you don’t see every day.”

  Idun laughed a short Klingon laugh. “I suppose not.” She tilted her head as if to get a better look at their guest. “We’re told that you’re from another universe.”

  “That’s the theory,” the woman said. “And I certainly haven’t got a better explanation.”

  “If that’s so,” said Gerda, “you must be one of us—my sister or myself. The question is which one.”

  The newcomer shook her head. “I’m not certain. You see, I’m a twin as well.” A shadow seemed to fall over her expression. “Or rather, I was.”

  Gerda felt a chill. “What happened?”

  “An unforeseen complication at birth. The doctors did what they could, it seems, but to no avail. My sister died.”

  Gerda exchanged uncomfortable glances with Idun. It was eerie to think that if they had been born in that other universe instead of their own, one of them might not have survived.

  “Unfortunate,” Idun observed solemnly.

  Their guest nodded. “I’ve always thought so.”

  “What was your sister’s name?” Gerda asked, hoping the reply would give them a roundabout answer to her question.

  The response was a wistful one. “Her name was Helga.”

  Gerda concealed her disappointment. If the name of the twin who had died was different from both hers and her sister’s, the one who had lived and sat before them now might be named neither Gerda nor Idun.

  Her name might be Ailsa. Or Freyja. Or Dana, or a host of other possibilities.

  In that case, they would probably never determine whose counterpart she was. Gerda began to see why the woman hadn’t simply answered their question directly.

  Idun had likely come to the same conclusion. However, she took the next step anyway. “So what is your name?”

  The newcomer shrugged. “Gerda Idun.”

  Idun smiled at the twist of fate. “So…you were given both our names?”

  “Yes,” said Gerda Idun. “It’s a long story, I’m afraid.”

  “We have time,” Gerda assured her.

  The newcomer sighed. “Orginally, my parents intended to name one of us Gerda and the other Idun—just as yours did. But my sister left us before my parents could decide who was to be who. And since my mother didn’t want to horrify either of her aunts by giving her name to the baby who had died…”

  Idun nodded. “She named her Helga.”

  “Exactly as our mother would have done,” said Gerda. “She was always afraid of what her aunts would say as well.”

  “Then you understand,” said Gerda Idun, obviously pleased that it was so. “Not everyone does, you know.”

  “Not everyone is you,” said Idun.

  They all sat in silence for a moment, appreciating the bizarre irony of the remark. But it wasn’t an especially uncomfortable silence—no more so than sitting with oneself.

  “Are your parents still alive?” Gerda asked at last.

  Gerda Idun shook her head. “They passed away a few years ago, within a couple of months of each other. From Belliard’s bipolar
disease.”

  Not a good way to go, Gerda thought. “I hope they weren’t in too much pain.”

  “Not too much,” said Gerda Idun. But the noticeable tremor in her voice made it clear that she was understating the truth. “And your parents?”

  “Killed also,” said Idun, “but not by disease. They were private cargo haulers—engine components, EPS couplings, that sort of thing.”

  “Their routes carried them well beyond the boundaries of Federation space,” Gerda noted. “They routinely ran into Orions, Athaban, Talarians.”

  “It sounds like dangerous work,” said Gerda Idun.

  “It was,” Idun confirmed. “A bit too dangerous for most other cargo haulers. But our parents were excellent pilots, and they never tried to take on more than they could handle.” She glanced at Gerda. “Until one day, they ran into a squadron of Pephili raiders.”

  “It was a one-in-a-million encounter,” said Gerda, recalling the stricken looks on her parents’ faces when they realized what they were up against. “The kind of thing that’s not supposed to happen out in space. We came out of a nebula and there they were, no doubt every bit as surprised as we were.”

  Idun heaved a sigh. “Once the Pephili had our ship in their sights, they weren’t going to stop until they stripped us of our cargo—and our lives. Our father led them on a chase, but he couldn’t elude them forever. Finally, they hit one of our warp nacelles. Our parents knew it was only a matter of time before the cowards caught up with us, so they looked for a planet on which to set down.”

  The memory was like ashes in Gerda’s mouth. “We found a class-M world and landed safely in the midst of some hills. But the Pephili came after us with a party of armed thugs.” She felt a lump in her throat and willed it away, knowing it wasn’t worthy of her. “They killed our parents, stole our cargo, and took whatever else they could rip from our ship. Then they left us there to die.”

  Gerda Idun looked from one of the sisters to the other. “Just the two of you?”

  Idun nodded. “Just the two of us. We were eight years old. And the land around us was barren as far as the eye could see. For several days, we lived on scraps we found in our ship’s pantry. Then we ran out of even those. We fully expected to starve to death, but we didn’t have the courage to set out across the wastes and try to do something about it. So we sat and waited quietly for death.”