by Greg Cox
Riley leaned forward. “What sort of overture?”
“A sexual overture, if you must know.” She sighed irritably, as though vexed at having to make such a distasteful admission. “As you are doubtless aware, A’Barra was known to have a pronounced weakness for the opposite sex. It was thought that I could employ my personal charms to wring certain concessions from him, or at least make him more . . . receptive . . . to compromise.” A smirk lifted her lips. “Certainly, I had no trouble coaxing my way into his chambers that evening, but this was before either murder.”
Kirk was skeptical. “You’ll forgive me if I find this scenario difficult to accept. From what I’ve seen, you can barely stand to be in the same room as the Oyolu. It’s hard to imagine that you would ever willingly attempt to seduce one.”
“Life is hardly that simple, Captain. I never said that the Oyolu were unattractive. Uncivilized, undisciplined, and ungrateful, certainly, but they do possess a certain exotic appeal and barbaric vitality.” She leaned back into her seat, conveying a blasé attitude. “The late Minister A’Barra, for all his faults, was undeniably a charismatic and magnetic figure. Seducing him was hardly an ordeal; I’ve done far worse in the line of duty.” She smirked at Kirk. “But I hardly need explain this to you, Captain. As we’ve established, I’m quite familiar with your exploits . . . and you too have been known to use romance as a weapon when needs be.”
Kirk ignored the gibe. “And when did this alleged encounter take place?”
“Our first night aboard the Enterprise, prior to the first full day of negotiations . . . and well before either of the assassinations.”
“And was General Tem aware of your ‘unorthodox’ diplomatic efforts?” Riley asked.
“The general was a man of strict morals and integrity. I fear he would not have approved.” A rueful note entered her voice. “Regardless, you must surely comprehend why I did not volunteer this information earlier. While I make no apologies for my actions, which were done for the good of Pavak, you can appreciate that I would hardly wish to advertise them, especially when, at the time, they seemed to bear little relevance to the investigation.”
“Or perhaps you knew how bad it would look for you,” Chekov suggested, “after A’Barra was murdered?”
“That, too, I suppose,” she admitted. “In any case, now that I have addressed your concerns, I trust that I can count on your discretion in the days to come. Airing this sordid little episode would do no one’s reputation any favors, least of all the late Mister A’Barra’s. Let us keep his memory unblemished, if only for the sake of his various wives and mistresses.”
Not so fast, Kirk thought. “Your explanation is very neat, but I’m not convinced.” He looked her over. “You appear to be unusually stressed and perhaps a little on edge. Why is that?”
Despite her self-assured manner, trembling hands betrayed her nerves. Her mouth sounded dry. Her fingers continued to drum restlessly against the tabletop. The delicate layer of fur coating her features made it hard to tell if she was flushed or pale, but she tugged on her collar as though the room was too warm for her. She blinked repeatedly.
“You have to ask?” she said. “These are trying times. Coping with the general’s death, inheriting his responsibilities in these vital negotiations . . . and now to be accused of murder? Can you truly blame me for finding these circumstances more than a little distressing?” She swept a withering gaze over all present. “Seriously, gentlemen, I have provided adequate and highly plausible explanations for any discrepancies that might have troubled you. Perhaps now you can steer your investigation into more fruitful avenues, such as back in the direction of Miss Karidian?”
Kirk frowned. Despite Gast’s glib responses, he felt certain she was hiding something. Spock would call it human intuition, and point out its fallibility, but it had served him well before. I’m missing something here, he thought. One last piece of the puzzle.
“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?” he accused her.
“I have more than answers,” she reminded him. “I have alibis for both assassinations, or have you forgotten that? I was with you when the disruptor was fired in the general’s stateroom, and I was being guarded by your own security forces the night Mister A’Barra was poisoned.”
She’s got us there, Kirk thought. That she had foolproof alibis for both murders had not escaped his mind, but the rest of the evidence had pointed to her guilt, even if he hadn’t yet figured out how she had pulled it off. Shape-shifting? Telekinesis? Mental manipulation? Hyper-acceleration? Neither Pavakians nor Oyolu were known to possess any such outré abilities, but Kirk had explored enough of the galaxy to know that, as Spock was fond of observing, there were always possibilities. He thought back to that night on E Deck, after the reception. Gast had indeed been with him when the phaser alarm went off. There was no way she could have shot Tem in his stateroom unless she could be in two places at once. And that was impossible, unless . . .
Suddenly it hit him.
“Chekov, what time was that anomalous transporter event again?”
Gast sat up straight. “Transporter?”
“Twenty-three sixteen, Captain,” Chekov reported. “Precisely forty-nine minutes before the alarm sounded.”
Two sets of disturbing memories came back to Kirk, of literally grappling with himself aboard the old Enterprise. Even after twenty years, he still had trouble sorting out his clashing recollections of those ghastly hours when he had been in two places at once. He had faced down himself in engineering, attacked himself in sickbay . . .
“The transporter,” he realized. “You didn’t use it to beam anywhere. You used it to split yourself into two separate beings.”
The same thing had happened to Kirk when beaming up from Alfa 177 decades ago. A generation of scientists and engineers had studied the incident since then, working out the theory and mechanics of how exactly a freak transporter accident had divided Kirk into two identical copies, one driven by primitive impulses, the other embodying Kirk’s higher faculties and conscience. The Alfa Effect, it had been termed. Kirk had been thoroughly debriefed on the incident over the years; he gathered that there were now several noted treatises and papers on the phenomenon, although he’d never cared to read them.
But apparently Gast had.
“Good God,” McCoy exclaimed, appalled at the very notion. “You’re saying she did that to herself . . . on purpose?”
“But there are safeguards now,” Chekov protested, “to prevent such occurrences.”
“Safeguards can be overridden.” Kirk stared accusingly at Gast. “You were a starship engineer before the war. A brilliant one, according to Tem. Maybe even talented enough to re-create the Alfa Effect using the emergency transporter.”
The original accident had resulted from contamination caused by a rare mineral substance found on Alfa 177, but now that the basic quantum theory behind the phenomenon was understood, it would surely be possible to duplicate the effect through creative use of the transporter controls. Spock or Scotty would probably be able to offer a fuller technical explanation, but Kirk didn’t need to completely understand the nuts and bolts to guess what Gast had done.
“This is absurd,” Gast said. “I’ve heard enough.”
She rose to leave, only to stumble against the side of the table. A profane curse escaped her lips as she grasped the edge of the table to steady herself. Her breathing was labored. Tufts of fine fur wafted off her face as though the stress was causing her to shed.
Of course, Kirk thought, finally realizing what was afflicting her. “Doctor, I believe the colonel requires immediate medical attention.”
“No!” She staggered toward the exit. “Leave me alone.”
Chekov moved to block her departure.
“Out of my way. You have no right.”
Kirk turned to Riley. “Ambassador, I have reason to b
elieve that this is a life-threatening medical emergency. Surely we don’t want to have another delegate expire under our watch?”
“Far from it.” Riley nodded to McCoy. “Please take action, Doctor.”
McCoy approached Gast, medical tricorder in hand.
“No, stay away,” she protested, but seemed to lack the strength to put up a fight. “I refuse to allow any sort of medical examination.”
“File a complaint,” McCoy said gruffly as he scanned her with his tricorder. Kirk assumed that McCoy had also already figured out what was wrong with Gast; after all, he’d dealt with this condition before. The tricorder hummed briefly as the doctor examined the readings. He nodded grimly, unsurprised by the results. “This woman is dying.”
Kirk could guess the diagnosis. “Transporter separation trauma.” He winced in recollection. “I remember it well . . . twice actually. Both of me went through it.”
Two halves of the same person could not survive without the other. Both Kirks had weakened the longer they were apart, and would have died had they not been reintegrated in time. Gast had been divided for at least three days now. Small wonder she was in bad shape . . . and getting worse.
“It’s fatigue, I tell you.” She collapsed back into her chair. “Nothing more.”
“In a pig’s eye.” McCoy lowered his tricorder. “These results don’t lie, Jim.” He regarded Gast with a mixture of disgust and pity. “You’re looking at half of Colonel Demme Gast.”
“But is she the good half or the bad half?” Chekov asked, eyeing Gast apprehensively.
“Neither,” she replied in a tone of weary resignation, as though realizing that there was no point in dissembling any longer. “I believe I adequately adjusted the parameters to minimize any such polarization with regards to our respective personalities . . . although if my other half ended up with the lion’s share of our aggression and killer instinct, so much the better.”
Kirk knew a confession when he heard it. “So you are responsible for the murders.”
“Not me, specifically, but the other me . . . yes, she is the guilty party.”
McCoy remained shocked. “By why in heaven’s name would you do such a thing to yourself?”
“It was necessary,” she replied. “General Tem had gone soft. My confederates and I could not allow him to endanger Pavak simply because his conscience had grown too heavy. It was tragic, but it had to be done.”
Kirk remembered how little had been left of Tem. He wondered if Gast—the other Gast, that is—had chosen to disintegrate Tem so that she would not have to look upon her dead superior’s face, preserving only an arm to make it clear that the general had been the victim of a brutal assassination.
“And A’Barra?” he prompted.
“He was far too stubbornly persistent when it came to continuing the peace talks, despite the general’s death. I could not allow him the opportunity to clear his name and carry on his devious schemes to weaken Pavak and cheat us out of our legitimate interests on Oyolo.” She smiled coldly, despite her infirmity. “And it is not as though the death of a terrorist leader is something to be mourned. Why wouldn’t we want to kill A’Barra if the opportunity arose?”
“And that business about your ‘diplomatic’ overture?” Riley asked. “Was all that a lie?”
“Without a doubt. Oh, I’m certain that my other self easily inveigled her way into A’Barra’s quarters, but no part of me would ever stoop to consorting with that terrorist. The only satisfaction he could ever give either of us was his death.”
Kirk encouraged her to keep talking. “And Lenore?”
“As you surmised, a fortuitous gift from the gods, which I took full advantage of.” She poured herself a glass of water from a pitcher on the table. The drink appeared to restore her somewhat. “Granted, I already had my alibi planned, but she made a convenient suspect in order to further divert suspicion . . . and keep you nicely distracted.”
“Distracted?” Kirk didn’t like the sound of that. “Distracted from what?”
“Wait and see, Captain. Wait and see.”
She settled back into her seat, crossing her arms atop her chest. Kirk got the distinct impression she had said all that she was going to say.
But that still left a few vital questions: Where was the other Gast?
And what was she up to now?
Twenty-Four
Located at the outer fringes of the system, Sumno was an icy dwarf planet comparable to Pluto or Lyrma XI. Its thin atmosphere lay frozen on its surface while the planet’s sun was only a large bright disk in the distance. According to Brigadier-General Pogg, who had briefed Spock and Scott en route to the planet, Sumno was home to just one small science outpost that was primarily used as an observatory for studying deep space. Due to its remote location and limited strategic value, the base was staffed by only two or three personnel and was believed to have minimal defenses. It was the last place one would expect to find a missing protomatter warhead, which might be precisely why Major Takk had been dispatched here.
The outpost came into view as the Galileo descended toward the surface. The icebound facility reminded Spock of similar outposts on Psi 2000 and Boreal IX. Solar panels, intended to capture whatever meager sunlight reached Sumno, covered the roof of the main habitation building: a low rectangular structure clearly built for efficiency rather than aesthetics. Support buildings included a garage, tool sheds, and a fusion generator complex located adjacent to the habitat. An impressive array of sensor dishes was set up to capture signals from deep space. Takk’s supply ship, Outward Six, rested on an icy landing pad carved into the planet’s frozen surface.
As the shuttlecraft circled above the base, surveying the scene, Spock employed Galileo’s sensors to scan the parked supply ship. “I detect no evidence of the warhead aboard Outward Six,” he reported. “A rudimentary force field protects the habitat, inhibiting my scans. I can neither confirm nor deny that the warhead is within the structure.”
Pogg attempted to hail the base. “Attention Sumno Station. This is Brigadier-General Pogg. I wish to speak to Major Rav Takk.”
Silence greeted his repeated hails.
“Sounds like they’re not going to make this easy for us,” Scott said from the helm.
“So it appears,” Spock agreed. “I wonder if the station’s personnel are allied with Major Takk or if he has overpowered them and taken command of the station?”
“It’s also probable,” Pogg said, “that news of my ‘defection’ has already reached even this remote base and they have been ordered to shun me.”
“That is highly likely,” Spock said. “We cannot rely on your rank to secure us access to the station.”
“So what now, Mister Spock?” Scott asked.
Spock considered their options. That the warhead was most likely on Sumno was encouraging in its own way; this far out from either Pavak or Oyolo, it posed little immediate threat to either planet. Nonetheless it was vital that the warhead be secured or destroyed in a timely fashion as its continued existence endangered the peace process if nothing else. Furthermore, the warhead’s presence on Sumno remained only a theory. The sooner its location could be definitely verified the better.
“We could try to blast our way in,” Pogg suggested, thinking like the military man he was. “Do you think this shuttle’s weapons can overcome those shields?”
“Most likely,” Spock surmised. “But that may not be necessary.” He hoped to avoid beaming into a habitat occupied by an unknown number of armed hostiles. “There may be a more effective solution to our current impasse.”
He targeted the outpost’s generator complex and fired the phasers. Twin beams of ruby energy converged on the generator, disintegrating it. An incandescent red glow briefly lit up Sumno’s frozen landscape before dying away, taking the outpost’s primary power source with it.
“Attention station,” Spock hailed the habitat directly. “This is Captain Spock of the Federation Shuttlecraft Galileo. We have destroyed your generator. You will soon lose heat and life-support. We offer you shelter aboard our craft provided you surrender peacefully.”
Sumno’s extreme environment worked in their favor. It was unlikely that the habitat could endure a long siege, even allowing for backup systems and portable heaters. He directed Scott to keep Outward Six in view in order to prevent the station’s inhabitants from seeking refuge or flight via the supply ship.
Scott was less inclined to wait the silent Pavakians out. “We still have plenty of phaser power, Mister Spock. What say we hurry things along a wee bit?”
“You may have a point, Mister Scott.”
Two mini-phaser banks were mounted to Galileo’s roof, with one more recessed into its underside. Employing the full power of the weapons, Spock targeted the solar panels covering the habitat’s roof. Cherenkov energy flashed and crackled as the base’s modest shields attempted to defend the habitat, but they were quickly overpowered by the Starfleet shuttle’s superior firepower. Phaser beams melted the solar panels into slag before surgically removing portions of the roof as well, exposing the interior of the station to Sumno’s frigid and airless environment. Spock estimated that the damaged habitat would rapidly become, well, uninhabitable.
“Nicely done, Mister Spock,” Scott said, chortling. “We’ll see how they can hold out now!”
Not very long at all, as it turned out. Within minutes, Galileo received a transmission from the station:
“Galileo. We accept your offer. We are coming out. Please hold your fire.”
Was that Major Takk speaking? Spock had no way of knowing, but he ordered Scott to land Galileo within walking distance of the habitat—and within sight of Outward Six as well. They watched warily as four individuals in complete environment suits emerged from the habitat and traversed the frozen terrain toward the shuttlecraft. Spock scanned the approaching Pavakians with the shuttle’s sensors.
