Worlds in Collision Page 21

  “To kill,” Kirk said.

  “Fascinating,” Stlur commented. “Am I correct in thinking that such an order is not standard Starfleet procedure?”

  “None of this is standard procedure,” Kirk said. “I was put under arrest on my own ship.”

  “So you said,” Stlur replied, obviously thinking about something else.

  “Well, well?” Professor La’kara interrupted. “Will you do it?”

  “Of course,” Stlur said. “It is a logical decision.”

  “Then you don’t believe Mr. Spock is guilty, either?” Scott asked.

  “Spock’s involvement in these events can be determined after the threat to the scientists, from whatever quarter, has ended.” Stlur stood up from his chair and adjusted his cape.

  “Just a moment,” Kirk said. “Scotty, I want you to go with the doctor.”

  “Back to Wolfe?” Scott said in bewilderment.

  “A logical supplement to our strategy, Captain,” Stlur commented.

  “Logical?” Scott said. “To be thrown in the brig when I could be down here—”

  Kirk held up a hand to silence Scott. “Stlur needs support for what he’s saying, Scotty. By turning yourself in, you’ll be demonstrating our determination to be taken seriously. You’ll also be avoiding the troopers’ phasers, my friend.”

  “But, Captain!”

  “You have to help Stlur convince Wolfe that what he’s saying is the truth.”

  “Not necessarily the truth,” Stlur qualified. “Just more probable than whatever assumptions the commodore appears to be operating under at present.”

  “Whatever,” Kirk said. “But you have to do it, Scotty. This time it’s an order.”

  “Aye, Captain,” Scott sighed.

  “Mira will be able to visit a lot easier if you’re alive,” Kirk added with a wink, then turned to Stlur.

  “Spock sent a dispatch to me through the associates,” Kirk said. “Try to get the commodore to access Spock’s personal work files on the Enterprise. The references you’re looking for are Agronomy, Memory Gamma, Sherman, and Sradek. He said he wanted them transferred to Professor Saleel at the Vulcan Academy. Do you know him?”

  “Of him,” Stlur qualified. “An economist.”

  “An economist?” Kirk mused. “Spock’s been working on something to do with the Sherman Syndrome…?”

  “I am aware of it,” Stlur confirmed. “Do you think there is a connection?”

  “Hard to say,” Kirk said. “Spock usually has dozens of research projects in progress at any one time. But for him to have specifically mentioned it, it must be important.”

  Stlur accepted the possibility. “I shall attempt to review the files and have them forwarded in any case,” he agreed.

  “There was another thing we talked about,” Kirk said suddenly. “But no one has found it important.” He looked at Stlur. “What does the name T’Pel mean to you?”

  Stlur eyed Kirk coolly. “It is my grandmother’s name,” he said smoothly. “A very common name, to be sure. In what context was it given to you?”

  “Commodore Wolfe used it, as if it somehow explained what was going on. I found a few thousand references to it as a Vulcan female name, but nothing that connected it to what’s been going on.”

  “Did the commodore give the order to set phasers to kill before or after she used the term T’Pel?” Stlur asked.

  “After,” Kirk said. “Why? What’s the connection?”

  “I cannot say,” Stlur said, and Kirk was suddenly unsure whether he meant cannot or will not. “But I shall endeavor to find out more.” He stepped away from the lounge chairs. “Come along, Mr. Scott.”

  As Kirk accompanied Stlur and Scott to the lounge entrance and La’kara stumbled along with his accelerator-field case, the idle associate once again came to life and slipped out of their way.

  “T’Pel means something to Vulcans, doesn’t it?” Kirk said without preamble.

  “What makes you think so, Captain Kirk?” Stlur asked blandly.

  “You and Spock reacted the same way when I mentioned it.”

  “Mr. Spock reacted?” Stlur said dubiously, implying that Kirk was just as mistaken to think that he might have heard a reaction in Stlur’s own voice.

  “It’s more than just a name,” Kirk stated. Stlur had responded with a question rather than a statement intended to correct another erroneous human conclusion. Therefore, Kirk thought, borrowing from his exposure to Vulcans, his conclusion was not in error. The name T’Pel was an important factor in the events on Memory Prime. But in what way?

  “There are many names, Captain Kirk, and most of them have a multitude of meanings. I would not waste my time investigating the meaning of just that one from among so many. It would not be profitable for you.”

  Kirk smiled as he held his hand up in the Vulcan salute. He recognized a threat when he heard one. Wherever the answer lay, it would be linked with the name T’Pel.

  “Live long and prosper, Stlur,” Kirk said formally. “And good luck.”

  “Live long and prosper, Captain Kirk,” Stlur responded. “And clear thinking.”

  Kirk and La’kara said their farewells to Scott and watched as the two men walked away. They had agreed to report to Commander Farl’s troops in ten minutes; enough time to let Captain Kirk return to the service tunnels and to let La’kara return to his quarters.

  “All right, Professor,” Kirk said as Stlur and Scott turned a far corner and were gone, “your turn to go back to your room.”

  “And you’re sure you’ll be safe down in the tunnels?” La’kara asked. “I’m always getting lost in them myself. Too many pipes and colors for my liking.”

  “You just be sure to stay on this level until you come to the yellow turbolifts.” Kirk motioned behind him. “I’ll have that associate come along with me. That way I can get dispatches and keep up with Stlur and Scott’s progress.”

  The professor started to step out of the reading lounge, then spun suddenly and grabbed the captain’s arms. “I just realized!” he exclaimed. “Oh no, oh no!”

  “What?” Kirk demanded. “What?”

  “We forgot. I forgot.” La’kara stared plaintively up at Kirk. “We didn’t ask a most important question, Captain. Here we’ve sent my good friend Montgomery off with that Vulcan and we just don’t know!”

  “Know what?” Kirk demanded. Had he somehow put Scotty in danger?

  La’kara pulled Kirk down to whisper in the captain’s ear and, in a trembling voice, full of fear for his friend, said, “We never asked just where it was that Stlur studied multiphysics!”

  Twenty-one

  “How are you doing, Doctor?” Uhura asked as she and McCoy ducked into an alcove in the service tunnel to get their bearings.

  “Just fine, my dear,” McCoy replied, though he seemed relieved at the chance to lean against the wall and take a few deep breaths.

  Uhura glanced around the alcove and saw it was much the same as the others they had noticed in their double-time run through the tunnels. From the number of connector leads arranged about a half meter off the deck, she and McCoy had determined that the alcoves were designed to be used by the associates, perhaps to recharge their batteries or to connect directly to Prime’s computer network and transfer data faster than they could over a com link.

  Whatever the alcoves were used for, Uhura and the doctor had appreciated their presence because they were handy to slip into and remain hidden in whenever they had heard footsteps or other sounds in the tunnels. Though the tunnels were always lit at a uniform low intensity, Uhura knew that elsewhere in Prime, the environmental controls would be cycling up to morning and that soon many more workers would be traveling through all the tunnels and corridors.

  The communications specialist squinted across the tunnel to the directional signs that were mounted opposite the alcove, comparing the numbers and colors on the various arrows to the instructions Romaine had given them. Everything still matched up.<
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  “Two more intersections to the right,” Uhura said, “then a left turn and continue until we see a green band leading to level forty-two.”

  “Just what I was going to say,” McCoy lied unconvincingly. His breath regained, he leaned forward to stick his head out into the tunnel. “All clear,” he announced.

  Uhura followed the doctor out of the alcove and they began jogging rapidly down the tunnel, passing from one patch of low-level lighting, through a shadow zone, and into the next patch of light.

  “Watch it!” McCoy suddenly shouted.

  Before them, five meters down the hall, an associate trundled toward them. Unlike the others he and Uhura had passed that night, it was making no attempt to move to the side or otherwise get out of the humans’ path.

  Uhura and McCoy came to a halt, puffing softly, hearing the echoes of their breathing become obscured by the approaching hum of the associate.

  “That’s not normal,” McCoy said. The machine rolled closer.

  “Could it be on remote from the troopers’ command station?” Uhura asked.

  “I doubt it,” McCoy said. “It doesn’t have its visual scanner deployed. A remote technician wouldn’t be seeing anything.”

  With that the top panel of the machine sprang back and an eyestalk ground out, rotating to fix on Uhura and McCoy.

  “I don’t think it’s going to stop, Doctor,” Uhura said. There was no fear in her voice, just anger that their arrival at the scientists’ compound was going to be delayed.

  “We’ll head back for an alcove,” McCoy said, and spun around and stopped completely. He put his hand out to Uhura’s arm.

  Uhura turned. Another associate was approaching them from the other direction, its eyestalk just now extending to match the deployment of the associate farther down the tunnel.

  “Think we can jump over them?” Uhura asked, knowing that she could and hoping McCoy could as well.

  But before McCoy could answer, panels on each side of the approaching machine slid open, and manipulator arms swung out and up. Behind the two Enterprise officers, the first machine deployed its arms, too.

  “I don’t think they want us to jump,” McCoy said quietly.

  Uhura looked from one machine to the other. Both were closing at an equal rate. In seconds she and McCoy would be within reach of their mechanical arms.

  “Split and run?” McCoy suggested.

  Tactile grippers on the end of each arm began spinning like cutting saws, causing a high-pitched whine to reverberate off the tunnel walls.

  “They don’t want us to do that either,” Uhura said. She began to judge the distances she would have to jump, the twists she would have to make. It seemed impossible, but at least she would try. The captain would expect that much of her.

  McCoy reached out to squeeze Uhura’s hand. The machines rolled closer. The two humans tensed as they prepared to rush the machines. Then the associates abruptly stopped centimeters away from their prey, and from their internal speakers, echoing lightly through that long tunnel of Memory Prime, came the gentle sound of laughter.

  Kirk watched with fascination as the associate followed him down the ladderway to the lower service tunnel.

  The associate had dropped two braces to the deck from its rear wheel wells, then, with the aid of its manipulator arms, pushed itself upright so it stood two meters tall. The manipulator nearer the ladder had then reached out and grabbed the far support post. Kirk had wondered why the ladder posts had a deep groove running down each, and now saw it was a channel for a manipulator attachment to hook into.

  The associate had shifted itself over until it was lined up with the ladder and both manipulators were connected, then it simply slid down the ladder posts, stopping three centimeters above the next step off level, and reversed the procedure to return to its rolling configuration. The complete procedure took only twice the time that it had taken Kirk.

  As the machine replaced its appendages, Kirk checked to see that the tunnel was still deserted and took a moment to place himself on his mental map of the Prime installation. By keeping the associate with him, and fortunately it had yet to announce it had other duties, Kirk knew that he would learn of Wolfe’s response to Stlur and Scott’s presentation as soon as a dispatch for him was logged on the system. But in the meantime, he was incapable of simply waiting in one place. Assuming that Spock was on his way to the scientists’ compound, Kirk had decided to try and intercept him.

  The captain saw that the associate was sealed and ready for movement, then set off down the tunnel in the direction that would take him to a central intersection. If he had been in Farl’s position, Kirk would have stationed troopers at the intersection also. But there were many alcoves along the tunnel walls that Kirk could duck into. With the associate to roll in to block him, Kirk felt he could remain hidden in the event of a visual search. If the troopers were using combat tricorders, of course, he wouldn’t stand a chance. It was a risk, he knew, but one that he was willing to accept.

  Kirk heard the associate’s induction motors speed up behind him and the soft whirr of its wheels on the tunnel deck increased. Suddenly Kirk fell forward as the machine nudged him from behind and caught his heel beneath its slanted front cowling.

  Reflexively Kirk slapped the deck as he hit it, absorbing the impact without damage. He rolled quickly to see the associate reverse, stop, change its bearing, then come at him again.

  At the last moment, Kirk rolled to the left. The machine changed its forward motion instantly, but had too great a turning radius to make contact with Kirk’s body. It squealed to a stop on the decking.

  Kirk leaped up to his feet, feeling a pull in his Achilles’ tendon where the machine had hit his foot. “Module,” he said, “stop your activities!”

  “This module has other duties,” the machine blandly announced, then twisted its tires against the deck with a sound like fingernails on slate. It backed toward Kirk at high speed.

  From a standing position, it was even easier for Kirk to jump out of the way. The machine skidded to a stop like a bull overshooting its mark.

  “Machine, I order you to stop!” This was ridiculous, Kirk thought. Unless the device was now being remote-controlled by one of Farl’s troopers.

  The machine didn’t reply, but remained motionless as its top panel snapped back and its eyestalk emerged. Kirk saw his chance and rushed at the machine, bending down to reach under it and throw it over on its back. But as he struggled to lift the unexpectedly massive machine, it dropped its rear wheel-well braces and caught Kirk’s left hand against the deck.

  Grunting with the sudden pain, Kirk put everything he had into a sudden jerk and succeeded in lifting the machine for an instant and yanking out his hand. He flexed it experimentally, grimacing at the sight of his skin marked with the indentations of the brace’s gripper texture, but thankful that no bones were broken.

  The machine’s eyestalk rotated around to fix on him. “Dispatch for James T. Kirk,” the machine said in a mechanical voice, then sped at him.

  Kirk held his ground to leap when the machine wouldn’t have time to compensate. But with its full visual scanner deployed, the onboard brain could read Kirk’s body position and anticipate his move.

  At the same instant Kirk leaped, the machine swerved, catching the captain before he landed and bouncing him back into the air.

  Kirk hit the deck on his side, unbalanced and rolling, absorbing too much of the force on his left arm. His hand felt as if it were on fire.

  A quick assessment of all his intensive Academy training in tactics left him with a clear-cut decision: it was time to retreat.

  The machine paused, watching as Kirk crouched on the deck. It’s not a machine, Kirk told himself; treat it as an animal, an escaped wild animal. He took a quick glance behind him to see where the next ladderway was, but couldn’t locate the yellow exit triangle glowing anywhere. If he tried to run farther in that direction, the machine would be able to run him down. If he called
for help, the troopers would be the first to respond. There was only one way to run—past the machine and back to the first ladderway.

  Kirk stood upright, catching his breath, rotating his twisted left shoulder. The machine had anticipated his last jump, so, as in playing three-dimensional chess with Spock, Kirk decided to hold back and let the machine make the next move and the next mistake. Running through what he knew of standard duotronic brains, he decided to take up some of the machine’s processing power with distractions.

  “I request that you run a maintenance diagnosis on your logic circuits,” Kirk said to the machine, his voice ragged.

  The associate rocked back and forth on its wheels, approaching, retreating, and back again. “All logic systems operating within fault-tolerant parameters,” it announced.

  “Glad to hear it,” Kirk said. But at least whatever program or remote controller was running this machine now, it hadn’t overridden the onboard brain’s built-in standard functions. Kirk tried to remember what other functions he could call on.

  “Please report on power levels,” Kirk commanded, watching the eyestalk track him as he edged slowly to the right wall of the tunnel.

  “Power levels at seventy-six percent of full load,” the machine replied complacently, turning its forward wheels to keep itself aimed directly at Kirk. “Power consumption at nominal levels. Mean time to next recharge at current operational drain, eight hours, twenty-two minutes.”

  “Your report is in error,” Kirk said suddenly. Why not? he thought. That tactic’s worked before.

  “Objection noted and will be filed with maintenance control at next scheduled overhaul,” the associate said.

  Kirk sighed. Obviously there were new techniques in place to deal with programming conflicts these days. He feinted to the left. The eyestalk moved with him but the machine didn’t follow. Kirk swore. He realized that the visual scanner could read his intentions; and then he realized the tactic he needed to win.

  “I surrender,” Kirk announced, holding up his hands and taking a tentative step toward the device.