IMMEDIATELY AFTER THEIR RUN, the Federation ships looped around to stand by the Enterprise. After all, when the Romulans gathered themselves, the disabled ship was their most likely target.
But there was no counterstrike—at least, not right away. Two of the three remaining birds-of-prey—including the Ka'frah—seemed hardly to be moving at all. And the third had only positioned itself to provide cover for the first two.
It was something of a stalemate, it seemed to Kirk. He and Ascher couldn't leave the Enterprise defenseless. But neither could the Romulans leave each other.
"Mister Paultic," said the captain. "I'd like a word with Commander T'bak."
"Aye, sir."
A few seconds later, the screen filled with an image of the Ka'frah's bridge. It was in frenetic disarray. Sparks rained from ruined circuitry overhead. Officers rushed this way and that, shouting orders, directing the removal of the injured.
Nor was the figure in the command seat that of T'bak. It was that of an older man, doing his best to ignore a bloody gash in his cheek.
"This," said the Romulan, "is Subcommander T'ouru."
"Where's T'bak?" asked Kirk.
"He has been incapacitated. I am command now." He paused to listen as a fellow officer bent to whisper in his ear. Then he addressed the captain again. "What is it you want?"
"What I want," said Kirk, "is to end this. Certainly, there's been enough blood spilled to satisfy everyone concerned."
"That there has," agreed T'ouru. "But if you are asking me to surrender, it is a waste of time. I will not."
Kirk eyed him. This T'ouru was a more experienced officer than T'bak, he judged. Possibly, he could be reasoned with.
"Then I won't ask for surrender," said the captain. "What about a different sort of agreement—a truce? A mutual cessation of hostilities?"
The Romulan grunted. "You were always free to leave," he said. "Go—we will not stop you."
Kirk shook his head. "We can't go—not yet. The Enterprise is adrift, as you can see for yourself. But you can leave. None of your ships has lost engine power completely."
T'ouru frowned. "There is still the matter of the freighter. It is our duty to bring it back with us."
Kirk shrugged. "As you have no doubt noticed, the freighter is slowly making its escape now that it is free of your tractor beam."
"Yes," said T'ouru. "We are aware of that. But it is still within range of our weapons—as you have no doubt noticed."
"Are you also aware," asked Kirk, "that the freighter is in Federation space now?" He leaned back. "Or that you yourselves are?"
T'ouru's eyes narrowed. He consulted with his navigator. And found Kirk's claim to be the truth.
"It was the flow of battle that drew us this way," said the subcommander. "A battle that would have been unnecessary were it not for the trespass of your freighter."
"Nonetheless," said the captain, "your position violates the provisions of the treaty. So even if I concede, for the moment, that the freighter may have ventured into Romulan territory … it seems we now have two violations."
T'ouru grunted again. "One may say so. Are you suggesting that two such violations may cancel each other out?"
Kirk nodded. "Something like that. What do you think?"
T'ouru thought about it for what seemed like a long time. "Yes," he said at last. "I am in agreement."
"Then you will leave peacefully? Return to Romulan space?"
"We will. And you vow not to fire on us as we do so?"
"You have my word, Subcommander."
T'ouru snorted. "Good. See that you keep it."
And with that, the Romulans terminated the transmission.
For a moment, there was silence on the bridge. Then Captain Ascher cut in.
"Good work, Jim."
Kirk nodded to the bodiless voice. "Thanks, Seth. But the tough part is still ahead of me. Stand by."
Kirk got up and came around his chair, headed for the communications station.
"Sir?" asked Paultic.
The captain leaned over the control board, one hand on the back of Paultic's chair. He took a deep breath.
This had better work, he thought.
"Get me Lieutenant Uhura on the Enterprise. And only Lieutenant Uhura. If anyone else answers, abort the communication."
Paultic nodded. His hands traveled expertly over the console. And in a matter of seconds, he looked up.
"Got her," he said. "It's her operating code."
"Ask her not to report our signal," said Kirk. "Say it's of the utmost importance."
The lieutenant nodded again, did as he asked. "She's signaling compliance," he said after a moment.
"Good. Now let me speak to her."
"I know you can't say anything, Uhura, so just listen. I need your help—and I'm gambling that you'll give it to me."
Uhura looked around the bridge. So far, no one had noticed her preoccupation with the control console. They were too busy trying to figure out what the Romulans would do next.
"The accusations I made earlier were true—though I don't dare try to prove them. At first, I thought there was only one android, but I see now there are a number of them. Exposed for what they are, they'd stop at nothing to preserve themselves—wreck the entire ship, if need be. So I can't stage a confrontation."
A pause.
"All I can do, Uhura, is ask you to listen to your heart. Weigh what you saw of me on the viewscreen against what you've seen of my double."
Another pause.
"Will you help me, Uhura?"
She tapped out a response in the affirmative.
"Good. Damned good. Now, in order for the androids to be created, our people had to be beamed down to a duplication site. Was there a landing party dispatched anytime after you left Tranquillity Seven?"
She signaled that there had been.
"All right. Anyone that went planetside could have been duplicated and replaced. Can you tell me how many people that represents?"
Uhura thought for a moment, input the information into her console.
She heard Kirk curse on the other end.
"Spock is one of them, isn't he?"
Yes.
"And Sulu? Chekov?"
Yes. And yes again.
"What about Scotty?"
No.
"Doctor McCoy?"
No.
"Damn," said Kirk. "There's got to be a quicker way than this."
There was. And she didn't wait for the Dunkirk's communications officer to suggest it. Hooking up a line to the computer, she called for the list of all those who'd gone out in the shuttlecraft.
"Uhura—Paultic here says you can transmit a—wait, we're getting it now. You're one step ahead of us, Lieutenant."
She scanned the list at the same time they did. It chilled her to see all those names amassed one on top of the other. It gave weight to them. Solidity. Reality.
She glanced at the captain again—the android duplicate of the captain, she reminded herself—and saw that he was still distracted. This time, by a call from someone on the ship. Doctor McCoy, pleading again for assistance? Or Scotty, trying to convince Kirk to change his mind about the hull repair?
"Blast it all, Uhura, this is exactly what we need." The captain's enthusiasm came through loud and clear. "Now, you can do one thing more—spread the word. Talk to people you can trust. Let them know the situation—and that there will soon be a chance to do something about it."
Affirmative.
"Just take care you don't get caught—and I mean that. Be careful, Uhura."
She couldn't help but smile to herself.
Aye, sir.
"Lieutenant?"
She looked up, her spine suddenly turned to jelly. Spock was looming in front of her, his eyes seeming to bore into her consciousness.
"Yes, Mister Spock?" She forced the words out even as her fingers flew, breaking the connection with the Dunkirk. . . .
"The captain," said Spock, "asked you to contact the Potemkin. Did you not hear him?"
"I …" She steadied her voice. "I was trying to listen in on the Romulans, sir. Hoping that they would fail to scramble their messages."
"Laudable," said the first officer. "But now you have other orders."
She nodded, set about establishing contact with the other ship. She could almost feel Spock's scrutiny as she worked. Then, midway through her call sequence, she stopped—closed her eyes and allowed herself to slump in her chair.
"What's going on there?" It was Kirk's voice.
"Uhura seems to have fainted," answered Spock. She could feel his fingers closing about her shoulders. He shook her a little.
"Lieutenant?"
She opened her eyes, feigning disorientation.
"Mister Spock? What happened?"
"Obviously," he said, "your injury has caught up with you. Call for a replacement and report to sickbay."
Uhura nodded, still pretending to be groggy. "Aye, sir. Right away."
By the time K'leb reached sickbay, he was tired and sore and out of breath. But he had vowed not to put his friend down until it was on one of Doctor M'Koy's tables.
The doors were wide open. Along with half a dozen others—a couple with burdens like his and the rest themselves injured—he made his way through them.
Inside, all was chaos. The lights were dim and flickering, a result of the damage inflicted by the Romulans. There were medical personnel rushing every which way, armed with devices that K'leb couldn't even begin to guess the use of. He shifted K'liford's weight on his shoulder, found that it didn't help any, and tried to pick out an empty examining table.
But there weren't any empty ones to be found. At least, not here in the basic-care area. Doing his best to suppress a groan, K'leb lumbered through the press of bodies, past a series of empty, darkened offices, to the place where M'Koy himself had been cared for. It was two rooms down and to the …
Just as he came through the shadowy entranceway, he bumped into someone—someone tall and solid. It was all he could do to keep from dropping K'liford.
K'leb looked up—into the face of K'risteen Chap'l. He was about to ask her for help in his broken English … when he felt that same void in her that he had sensed in the captain. That same, cold emptiness where her emotions should have pulsed.
In that first fraction of a second, he knew her for what she was.
Nor did it escape her notice that he knew.
Possibly, he could have dropped K'liford and escaped her. But he hung on to his friend as he tried to whirl away—and it proved his undoing.
Chap'l grabbed his upper arm in a grip stronger than anything he'd ever felt before. It was like metal come to life.
K'leb tried to cry out, but her other hand came down over his mouth. And in the confusion, the cacophony of pain that permeated sickbay, no one noticed.
Slowly, inexorably, she began to drag him deeper into the critical-care area. Deeper into the shadows …
The P'othparan struggled, but he couldn't pull free. And now, when he tried to drop K'liford—hoping to spare him whatever fate Chap'l intended for them—the demon caught the crewman by the wrist.
And dragged both of them into the recesses of the half-darkened enclosure.
With his free arm, K'leb beat at her. Tried to pull loose the hand that covered his mouth. Kicked at her legs, attempted to hook a foot around the base of a diagnostic fixture.
It gained him nothing. They were enveloped in darkness now, where their bodies might go undiscovered for some time. Until the rest of the injured filled sickbay to capacity …
… and even then, they would be written off as casualties of war …
Suddenly, Chap'l dropped K'liford—leaving her two hands to deal with K'leb. He felt the bones of his wrist threaten to break as she raised him up into the air.
Then, letting go with one hand, she found purchase for it around his throat. And as her fingers tightened, cutting off his breath, making his pulse thunder in his ears, he wished he'd been left to die back on P'othpar … in a place he knew … and not on some strange vessel that traveled among the stars. . . .
But before the demon could choke the life out of him, before the strength left his limbs altogether—something happened. And before he knew it, K'leb was coiled up on the floor, gasping to fill his lungs with air, suffering the agony of its passage through his tortured windpipe.
When he looked up, he saw two familiar faces through the tears that had filled his eyes. One was Dok'tor M'Koy himself.
The other was U'hura. And she held something in her hand that he thought he recognized. Wasn't it the device that the security officers carried?
"Damn it to hell," breathed M'Koy, staring down at the crumpled form of K'risteen Chap'l. "You were right, Uhura."
The black woman knelt beside K'leb, put a hand on his shoulder.
"Are you all right?" she asked.
He didn't understand the words, but he caught the emotion. To reassure her, he nodded.
Then he remembered his friend. "K'liford," he said, though it was difficult for him to speak. He pointed.
M'Koy bent beside the crewman, frowned. He put his fingers to the side of K'liford's neck, just behind the ear. His frown deepened.
"Come on," he told K'leb. "Help me get him up on one of these tables."
"All right," said Kirk. "Uhura's had long enough to alert the troops."
He checked the phaser one last time, replaced it on his belt, and stepped up onto the transporter platform.
Berg made his preparations behind the control stand while Paultic looked on. Chin stood to one side of them—and her frown, which Kirk had first noticed in the corridor outside, had deepened considerably.
"Is something disturbing you, Doctor?" asked the captain.
"Permit me to ask a stupid question," said Chin. "What if your Uhura is herself a duplicate? Or just doesn't believe you're the real McCoy?"
"And she's played it straight so far only to lure me into a trap?" Kirk shrugged. "Then I've had it. But I've got to trust someone—and Uhura's as good a choice as any."
She was still frowning. He smiled.
"Don't worry, Doctor. I didn't get this far by guessing wrong very often."
Gradually, she smiled too. But he had seen more confident smiles in his lifetime.
Paultic chose that moment to clear his throat.
"Yes, Lieutenant?" said Kirk. "Have you got a question too?"
"Well, sir," said the communications officer, "I was thinking … are you sure you want to go it alone? I think I could be of some help." He glanced at Berg. "Perhaps some of the others, as well …"
Kirk shook his head.
"Strange faces would only complicate matters. But I appreciate the thought, Mister Paultic."
Chin came up to the platform and held out her hand. He took it, looked into her almond-shaped eyes.
"Good luck," she said.
"Thank you," he told her. "I hope to see you again sometime, Doctor. Under more pleasant circumstances."
She inclined her head slightly, looked up again. "I wouldn't be surprised, Captain."
He released her hand and she withdrew. Straightening, Kirk looked at the transporter chief.
"Energize, Mister Berg."
There was that familiar tingling sensation that one never quite got used to. A fraction of a second later, Kirk found himself standing in a little-used corridor, not far from the Enterprise's own transporter room. As he had hoped, there was no one around to see him materialize.
For the briefest moment, he let himself drink in his surroundings. He was home.
But it was a home in danger. Steeling himself, Kirk headed for engineering.
Scotty was just about to contact the bridge when the captain entered the engine room.
"A' was goin' t' call ye," said the chief engineer, springing out of his seat. "We're gettin' close on th' engines, sir. A' think it's best if we pay some attention t' th' breach now."
He said it as forcefully as he dared, and still he expected that Kirk would turn him down. He could scarcely believe it when the captain nodded.
"You're right, Scotty. Take Holgersson and Whitehead and start work on it right now."
The Scot felt a smile take hold. "Aye, sir," he said. "Good choices, sir." He turned, sought out the crewman Kirk had named. "Whitehead! Holgersson! Front an' center—on th' double, lads!"
The pair separated themselves from their work and approached from across the engine room. Holgersson was tall, slender, and fair. Whitehead was dark and stocky.
"Grab gear for three," said Scotty. "We're goin' t' plug that hole in deck four!" He turned to Kirk, wiped the perspiration from his brow. "How's it goin' up there, sir?"
The captain shrugged. "That last salvo evened up the odds—it's three against three now, and they don't seem as eager to attack. But I can't say we're out of the woods just yet."
"Well," said Scotty, "at least it sounds like an improvement. And as soon as th' impulse engines are back on line …"
He let his voice trail off as Holgersson and Whitehead joined them. Accepting an exposure suit from Whitehead, Scotty started for the exit. The captain was right beside him.
"Just what did we do," he asked, "that cost th' Romulans one o' their ships?"
"We played dead," explained Kirk. "And when they came by, we showed them how alive we were."
"A' see," said the Scot as they turned up the corridor. "A' should have known ye'd come up wi' somethin', sir."
Kirk nodded. "Right."
Then, before Scott could even think of protesting, the captain whirled and drew his phaser. In a blast of ruby light, Holgersson and Whitehead slumped to the deck.
Scotty couldn't believe what he'd seen. "Wha … what have ye done?" he sputtered. He started toward the fallen crewmen, but Kirk held him back.
"Not so fast," he said. "First, watch this." And producing what looked like a laser-scalpel, he knelt beside Whitehead. Quickly, deftly, he made an incision in the man's skin.
Only it wasn't skin. And what was beneath it belonged to no man.
"He's an android," breathed Scotty. Suddenly, he felt light-headed.
"They both are," said the captain, adjusting the setting on his weapon. "I wanted you to see that before I did this."
And he bathed them again in phaserlight—this time, a more destructive variety. In the blink of an eye, they were gone.
Scott turned to Kirk. "But how did ye know?" he asked.
"Never mind that now," said the captain. "What's important is that there are other androids on the ship—even on the bridge." His expression turned grimmer by a notch. "And one of them is my double."
Scott looked at him, and he had the eeriest of feelings. As if the captain were himself and then not himself, the two realities alternating in quick succession.
"… is yer double?" he echoed helplessly. "I dinna understand . . . ."
And then, abruptly, he did. It all came together—DeLong's complaint, the wild claims of the impostor on the Dunkirk … even the captain's disregard for something as serious as a hull breach.
"Sweet Mother," said Scotty. He moaned softly. "Th' lass was right, an' a' never gave 't a second thought."
"Who was?" asked Kirk.
"DeLong," said Scott. "Denise DeLong. She said there was somethin' wrong with ye—with th' captain, a' mean. She spotted th' fake some time ago—an' a' was too thickheaded t' pay attention to 'er."
"That's all past," said Kirk. "What I need now is help. Are you with me?"
Scotty nodded. "Like a hangover, sir. What've ye got in mind?"
Kirk told him.
DeLong lowered herself out of the Jeffries tube gingerly, her cramped and aching muscles protesting as they were asked to stretch again. When her feet touched the surface of the deck, she pulled her equipment down after her.
There wasn't much circuity to salvage—she had used most of it. And the damaged lengths were still in the tube, alongside the stuff that had replaced them. They could be removed later on, when time wasn't at such a premium.
With life supports operating strictly on backup, it felt cooler than usual in the corridor. That was fine with DeLong after the sweatbath she'd been through.
Taking a deep breath of unrestricted air, she leaned on an intercom plate.
"DeLong to engineering," she told the computer. A moment later, someone answered.
"DeLong? This is Campeas."
"Greetings. I've completed my section and I'm waiting for orders."
"Orders are for everyone to come home."
"Come home? Why? We can't be more than two-thirds finished in the tubes."
"Those are orders," maintained Campeas.
"Did Mister Scott say why he wanted us back?"
There was a pause, as if Campeas were deliberating over something.
"Damn it," he said finally. "I could be busted for this, Denise. Why do you have to be so stubborn?"
"What?" she pressed. "What is it?"
"The ship has been taken over by androids. The captain, Mister Spock, Mister Sulu … they're androids, all of them."
Androids.
The captain is an android?
It was hard to believe—yet it explained so much.
"You're supposed to return to engineering for your own protection. The captain said that it might become dangerous in the corridors."
"The captain? But you just told me that—"
"No," Campeas cut in. "I mean the real captain. He's here and he means to take the ship back." He cursed audibly. "Now will you come home?"
DeLong thought about it. But only for a moment.
"Where did the captain go?" she asked.
"No way," said Campeas. "I'm not going to let you stick your head into this. It's dangerous, damn it!"
No doubt. But she was already trying to figure out Kirk's whereabouts on her own.
Let's see, she thought. If I were trying to get my ship back, the first thing I'd need is firepower. That means phasers. And phasers are kept in …
Security.
"DeLong? I know what you're thinking. Don't be crazy, all right? If they needed you there, they would have—"
She pressed the plate again, stopping him short.
"Sorry about that," she said.
And leaving her equipment where it lay, she headed for the turbolift.