Double, Double

by Michael Jan Friedman

  She smiled, quickly and deferentially.

  "I don't suppose," he began, "you know why I've asked you here, Ensign?"

  "I … I do, sir."

  He was a little surprised by her response. After all, it had only been a rhetorical question.

  "You do?" he asked her.

  She nodded. "Aye, sir. To relieve me of my duties. For the way I acted earlier—in the gym."

  He sensed that his mouth was gaping, and he closed it.

  "I apologize, sir. Both formally and as one person to another. For what I said, for the way I acted, and for ignoring you when you called me in the corridor afterward."

  Kirk leaned back in his chair, only beginning to comprehend. He took a brief moment to marvel at the infinite potential for misunderstanding in the universe.

  "Ensign," he said finally, "I didn't come here to listen to an apology."

  "I know, sir," said DeLong. "I didn't expect it to change your mind. I only wanted you to know how I felt."

  He shook his head.

  "The reason I called you here," he went on, "is so I could apologize."

  DeLong blinked a few times, as if she were having trouble with her eyes.

  "I beg your pardon, sir?"

  "Look," said Kirk, "in the course of performing our duties, we are sometimes called upon to play only by the rules, and we are sometimes called upon to make up our own. That's the only way, on occasion, that we can survive."

  She nodded—a little numbly, perhaps.

  "But among ourselves," he continued, "there must always be rules. Civilized behavior. That's why I'd like to apologize for what I did a little while ago. I just didn't know the proper etiquette for dallis'kari. If I had, I assure you, I would never have tried that maneuver."

  It took DeLong a little while to come up with a response.

  "I … I don't know what to say," she told him finally.

  "Say you accept my apology," he suggested.

  She smiled—and with something more than relief, it seemed to him.

  "I accept, sir. As long as you accept mine."

  He nodded. "Done."

  Chapter Five

  SHIP'S SURGEON KAI CHIN shook her head as the container materialized on the floor of the hold.

  "Damn," she said, "you'd think we were beaming up the whole planet, rock by bloody rock."

  Chief Engineer Gauri Vedra frowned as she watched the forklift approach the container, heft it, and shuttle it over to its designated berth.

  "It's a good thing," she said, "that we overhauled the whole transporter system when we had the chance." She sighed. "As it is, I'm surprised that there hasn't been a malfunction."

  Vedra flipped the toggle that opened communications with the transporter room.

  "Vedra here," she said. "Everything all right up there?"

  "Just fine," said Berg, the transporter chief. "Everything's working like a charm."

  "Be careful," said Vedra. "That's how she usually acts before she decides to get cranky."

  "Aye, ma'am," said Berg, though he might have reminded her that he knew the unit as well as she did. "I'll keep an eye out."

  Vedra flipped the switch off, folded her arms across her chest, and watched the next container achieve solidity. Though it went without a hitch, the concern in her face deepened.

  Chin changed the subject again. "So?" she asked. "What do you think we're bringing aboard anyway? Lord knows, those containers look heavy enough to be full of dilithium."

  "No," said Vedra. "If it were something like that, they'd be shielded, and they're not." She bit her lip. "Those two we're supposed to be rescuing are archaeologists. Who knows? Maybe they—"

  There was a beeping, and Vedra opened communications again.

  "Vedra here."

  "Berg again, ma'am. Science Officer Banks and Security Chief Simmons are requesting to be beamed up. You asked me to tell you when …"

  "Thanks," said Vedra. "I'll be right up."

  Chin followed her as she started across the hold for the turbolift. "Mind if I tag along? I think I've lost my fascination for these containers."

  "By all means," said Vedra. But her mind was elsewhere already.

  It was hard for Chin to figure out exactly what Banks meant to the engineering chief. Certainly, there was no romance there—or at least none that she'd ever detected.

  But whenever someone criticized him, she defended him. And whenever his confidence needed an overhaul, she was available.

  In a way, she treated him like one of her engines.

  A form of maternal instinct? Perhaps. Unlike Chin, Vedra had never had any children of her own.

  The lift door opened and they stepped inside. As the door closed again, Chin felt the almost imperceptible ascent through the various levels of the ship.

  The doctor regarded her fellow officer—her slender form, her dark, intense features.

  "You worry too much," she said gently.

  Vedra snorted. "It's my job to worry."

  Then they'd reached the transporter level, and the door was sliding away. Vedra was through the opening instantly, and Chin had to walk briskly to keep up.

  They entered the transporter room just as the air began to shimmer. As they watched, three figures began to take shape. Banks, Simmons, and Jason—one of the dozen or so security people who'd beamed down at the captain's request.

  It seemed to Chin that it took a little too long for the group to materialize. But Vedra said nothing, and she was the expert. The last thing the doctor wanted to do was alarm her unnecessarily.

  The sparkling died down and the trio stepped off the transporter platform. But instead of acknowledging any of the others—Vedra, Berg, or Chin, herself—they marched right past them into the corridor beyond.

  Vedra looked as if one of her engines had suddenly failed. Then her expression hardened as her hurt turned to anger.

  "That wasn't very nice," said Chin. "Was it?"

  "No," said the chief engineer. "Sometimes you think you know a person—and you don't."

  One moment, he was in the empty cavern that had once housed the huge replication machinery.

  The next, he was in the transporter room of the Hood.

  Kirk stepped down from the transporter platform and surveyed the facility. It was exactly what he'd expected—a tribute to the human Kirk's capacity for detail.

  As instructed, Martinez had dispatched the regular transporter-room personnel to attend to other duties. First Officer Stuart was manning the controls.

  Kirk turned to Martinez, who was standing with Brown alongside the transporter console. "Shall we proceed, Captain?"

  "Aye, sir," said Martinez. "Come, Doctor."

  The door retracted and they emerged into the brightly lit corridor. The captain and Brown walked in front, Kirk behind. It seemed the natural position for a lowly second assistant. And it had the virtue of making him invisible—hardly worth noticing.

  Of course, there was only one person left on board that he knew could identify him. But how many others might have seen the human Kirk at a distance? It paid to take as few chances as possible.

  That is why they'd selected quarters in close proximity to the transporter room. They were likely to come across fewer crewmen on the way.

  As it turned out, they saw no one else until they reached the turbolift. When the doors opened, there were two humans inside—a male and a female.

  But both snapped to attention as soon as they recognized Martinez. And since he never gave them leave to stand at ease, they hardly got a glance at the faces of his civilian guests.

  Moments later, they exited the lift and negotiated a short, semicircular hallway. It was empty, like the one outside the transporter room.

  At the third door, Martinez stopped and produced a computer key. When he inserted it into a slot in the wall, the door slid aside, revealing the cabin beyond it.

  It wasn't very big. But then, Kirk required no amenities.

  "This will do nicely," he said.r />
  "Good," said Martinez. "I'm glad you're pleased."

  Kirk listened for footsteps in the adjoining corridors. When he heard none, he asked his question.

  Martinez nodded. "Aye. I've already decided how to accomplish that."

  "It is imperative that it be done immediately," said Kirk. "If I should be recognized, our plans will have to be accelerated. And that, of course, will reduce our ultimate chances for success."

  "What are you talking about?" asked Brown.

  "It is no concern of yours," Kirk told him. "Only a precaution. A security measure."

  "You wish to terminate one of the humans," said Brown. He glanced at Martinez. "As the captain and the others were terminated."

  Kirk found the other android's eyes, held them with his own. "And if that is my wish?" he asked. "Did we not agree that I am best equipped to make such decisions?"

  Brown frowned. He looked at the floor.

  "Yes," he said. "We did agree."

  Kirk returned his attention to Martinez.

  "How will this task be carried out? And by whom?"

  The captain told him.

  "I approve," said Kirk. "Let me know when it has been completed."

  "I will, sir," said Martinez.

  Brown remained silent.

  "Shall I show the doctor to his quarters now?" asked the captain.

  "By all means," said Kirk.

  For a moment, he watched the two of them continue down the hall. Then he closed the door of his cabin and went to sit at the computer terminal. Activating it, he called up files on all colonized planets in the sector.

  He had planned on starting from scratch, on comparing all those characteristics which would lend a world to their purposes. A permanent population, which could gradually be replicated and replaced. Large stretches of unexplored wilderness so the work could be done in secrecy. Ample quantities of the raw materials requisite to android manufacture. And natural energy sources, to fuel the machinery.

  But when he scanned the list of possible host planets, one of them popped out at him.

  Midos Five.

  It was the one Doctor Korby himself had selected, with the help of the first android Kirk. The one that had been deemed ideal.

  Nor was it far from their current position. They would hardly have to use their warp drive to get there.

  When Vedra's door slid aside, Banks was standing in the rectangular opening. His ebony skin had a glimmer of gold on it from the corridor lights.

  "Hello, Gauri," he said. "May I come in?"

  Stone-faced, she nodded.

  He took a step in, stood there. Frowned, as the door closed behind him.

  "Chin was right. You really are upset with me—aren't you?"

  She shrugged. What could she say? She didn't own him. He was a starship officer, as she was. Friendship, as she'd found before, had its limits.

  Like the machines she tended. Not even they remained constant.

  "I didn't see you down in the transporter room," he said, by way of apology. "I swear I didn't. The captain had me so agitated I didn't know which way was up."

  That much was probably true, Vedra conceded. She hadn't seen Banks stop moving since he'd beamed up.

  "Still," she said, trying to keep the pique out of her voice, "you've been back a full day, and not even a word of hello."

  He had no one else to say hello to—that much was certain. On the entire ship, she was his only friend. But she didn't see fit to remind him of that.

  Banks sighed.

  "I'm sorry," he said. "I forget sometimes that you have feelings too. You seem like such a rock." He shrugged. "It didn't occur to me that I could upset you."

  She felt the heat rushing to her face, decided to change the subject.

  "Forget it. What's done is done. Why don't you pull up a chair and tell me what you found down there."

  He smiled, walked over to her collection of exotic liqueurs. With his back to her, he began pouring into an equally exotic glass.

  "First," he said, "a toast. To my transfer."

  Her anger dropped away suddenly. "It came through?"

  "Yes." He began to pour the second glass. "A new assignment—on the Potemkin. It doesn't become effective for a few weeks yet, but it's official."

  "Jamal … I'm so happy for you."

  Finished pouring, he turned back to her with the glasses in his hands. One held a ruby-red liquid—Maratakken brandy, her favorite. The other contained an amber liquid—Terran whiskey.

  "I knew you would be," he said. He smiled like a child. "This is a big opportunity for me, Gauri. I can do great things on the Potemkin. Improve it—vastly."

  It was a strange way to put it—but then, Banks had always spoken strangely. Perhaps that was one of the traits that had disenchanted the plainspeaking captain.

  Although she was still certain that Althea had been the real reason for Martinez's hostility. When he'd lost her, he'd lost more than a science officer—he'd lost a lover. How could Banks ever have replaced her?

  "I'm sure you'll do well there," said Vedra. "And be much happier than you were here."

  He handed her the glass with the ruby-red liquor, lifted his own almost to eye level.

  "To new beginnings," he said.

  She laughed a little. "To new beginnings," she agreed. And she drank, though she would miss him. In some ways, perhaps, even more than he would miss her.

  The brandy was warm and sweet. It felt good going down.

  When she took her glass from her lips, Banks was already wiping his mouth with the back of his free hand.

  As the brandy went to her head, she remembered the cargo, and Chin's curiosity—and would have asked him about it if he hadn't spoken first.

  "Do you remember," he asked, "the cocktail party on Starbase Five?"

  She grunted. "How could I forget? It was like a who's who of Starfleet Command."

  "Do you recall the other group of starship officers there?"

  She thought for a moment. The brandy was affecting her more than usual, she noted.

  "From the Enterprise," she said finally. "Weren't they?"

  "Yes," he said. "And do you remember their captain? We were introduced to him."

  She thought again, and it was a little like swimming upstream—against a strong current.

  "Kirk," she said. Her voice sounded strange in her ears. Tinny. Maybe she shouldn't have had the brandy on an empty stomach.

  "That was his name, yes. Kirk." Banks's eyes narrowed. "It's really too bad that you happened to meet him."

  That was a strange thing to say—even for Banks.

  "I don't understand," she told him. She felt the glass growing heavy in her hand, and she put it down. But it hit the table harder than it should have, and it jiggled dangerously before it finally came to rest.

  "If you hadn't met him," Banks went on, "you couldn't identify him."

  Her vision was starting to blur. She fought down panic.

  "Jamal … I don't feel well. I don't know what you're …"

  Vedra tried to get to her feet, but she couldn't move. Her muscles suddenly seemed weak, rubbery.

  "And if you couldn't identify him," he said, his voice echoing in her brain now, "you'd be no danger to him. To us."

  It was only then she realized what had happened. Somehow, Banks had slipped something into her drink. Something that acted with terrible quickness.

  But why?

  "Jamal, don't do this to me." Her words were distant, unintelligible. They ebbed and flowed like a tide. "Call sickbay … please …"

  She tried to launch herself toward her cabin door, but only succeeded in flopping onto the floor.

  Banks knelt by her side, his face looming above hers.

  "You see, Gauri, he must not be recognized. And with you gone, there'll be no one left on this ship who can do that."

  It was becoming hard to breathe now. Vedra struggled for air, tried to grab hold of Banks's shirt.

  "Jamal … I love you. .
. ."

  "It will not take long," he said. "Nor is there an antidote."

  "Please …"

  Her throat constricted then, and she could not speak. Darkness closed over her.

  And oblivion.

  Kirk, alone in the guest quarters that had been assigned to him, watched the gathering in the briefing room with great interest. It hadn't been easy, he knew, for Martinez to run a closed-circuit link between the two locations. But it had helped to have the entire security team in on the project.

  Six officers sat around the table in their dress uniforms. As regulations demanded, the proceedings were being recorded directly into the ship's log.

  Starfleet took its inquests seriously. Especially where high-ranking personnel were involved.

  "I would like to begin," said Martinez, "by referring to Lieutenant Commander Vedra's record with Starfleet—one of courage, duty, and distinction."

  Kirk nodded, satisfied. It was exactly the way any starship captain would have begun such a proceeding. By praising the deceased—before getting into the grisly details.

  It took some time for Martinez to list Vedra's honors and accomplishments. In the meantime, Kirk concentrated on the humans in the room—Chief Medical Officer Chin and Communications Officer Paultic. Both were grim-faced, subdued. But neither seemed to suspect that they shared the briefing table with Vedra's murderer.

  And why should they? The androids played their roles well. Banks was appropriately wistful. Stuart and Simmons appeared to accept the tragedy stoically.

  Then Martinez broached the subject of the death itself—and the manner in which it had been carried out.

  "The evidence," he said reluctantly, "points overwhelmingly to suicide."

  Chin shook her head. "No. I don't believe it."

  They all turned to look at her.

  "I don't believe she took her own life," said Chin.

  When Martinez spoke again, his voice was softer.

  "Doctor, you yourself performed the autopsy. You found the traces of poison in Vedra's blood. And the alcohol with which she had mixed it. Given her recent history of depression …"

  "Typical of chief engineering officers," insisted Chin. "It comes with the territory—the frustrations. The pressure." She looked from one to the other of them. "But she was nowhere near cracking."