Worlds in Collision Page 22

  The machine paused, as if thinking over Kirk’s offer, then said, “This module is not programmed for game playing.” Its eyestalk followed Kirk carefully as its tires shifted to stay aimed at him.

  “No, really,” Kirk continued, “you’ve won the shirt off my back.” Tightening his eyes at the pain of sudden movement, Kirk quickly pulled his gold tunic over his head, exhaling with relief when it was off and the machine had not used the chance to attack him again. Too much sudden and unexpected visual input, Kirk concluded. He held the tunic in his right hand, holding it out to the side and shaking it.

  You’ve only got one visual scanner, Kirk thought, and now you have two points of reference. He took another step toward the machine. He could hear the flywheels in its induction motors come up to speed, preparing for a sudden burst of acceleration.

  “Emergency! Emergency!” Kirk said urgently.

  “Do you require assistance?” the associate automatically began, preparing for the kill.

  “Fire! Airlock failure! Wounded on level five!” Kirk figured he had a full second before the machine would process all the automatic response sequences he had called forth. He jumped to the left. The machine followed but with a noticeable lag. It began to advance.

  Kirk feinted again. The machine missed it as its onboard processors sampled data less frequently to accommodate its emergency time-sharing mode. Then Kirk ran for the device, swung his tunic out in front of him, and snagged the eyestalk as he jumped onto its back.

  The associate locked its wheels and came to a bumping halt. Kirk knelt behind the eyestalk and held on to it as his knees bounced along the top of the machine, almost sending him off the side.

  The associate was now motionless except for its weaving eyestalk. Kirk wrapped his tunic around the visual scanner three more times to ensure that not even infrared could pass through the fabric. The device was blinded. He could make it to the ladderway.

  Then the machine shuddered as its side panels sprang back and its manipulator arms burst out from both sides. Kirk flinched as the tactile grippers at the end of each arm began to whirl and the arms snapped up. He knew the instant he jumped off to run, the onboard sensors would lock on to him and he’d be sliced open as easily as the insulation on the pipes above him before his foot touched the deck. But if he stayed in place another few seconds, the onboard brain would have calculated the eyestalk’s position and the arms would descend into the volume of space that Kirk now occupied.

  Kirk’s mind accelerated. There was a way out. There had to be.

  The arms arced slowly into the space above the associate. Kirk hunched down, closer to the machine’s top surface, to buy himself an extra half second. He stared down the trunk of the eyestalk, into the appendage bay it had emerged from.

  Of course! Kirk thought as the whirling cutters descended. It’s a research associate. It wasn’t armored for vacuum or battle. He shot his arm into the appendage bay, groping blindly until his fingers grasped a thick bundle of wires. Then he yanked.

  The machine bucked as transtator current pulsed through Kirk’s arm. The manipulator arms jerked, a slowing cutter sliced against Kirk’s back as the arms trembled, then collapsed to the deck, all internal hydraulic pressure exhausted.

  The current cut out as a fail-safe system switched the batteries out of circuit. Kirk’s body slumped against the associate’s top, rolled to the side, then fell off to the deck.

  A slight crackling sound resonated within the associate. A thin wisp of smoke swirled from the open appendage bay, flowing around the tunic-wrapped eyestalk that drooped like a dying plant.

  Kirk stared blurrily at the pipes on the ceiling, trying to shake off the effects of the current. His left hand and arm throbbed with pain, his entire right side ached through a distant layer of shocked numbness. Another sound entered his consciousness: a familiar sound.

  He looked down the corridor. Another associate advanced, eyestalk already extended. Kirk groaned, forcing his left arm to push him up against the shell of the associate beside him. His mind tried to sort out the swimming double images before him. He pulled at his black T-shirt, preparing to pull it off to use against the visual scanner. But the task suddenly seemed too complicated.

  The second associate stopped by Kirk. Its eyestalk bent down to focus on him. Kirk stared back in defiance.

  “This module thought you might be in need of some assistance, Captain Kirk,” the machine said in a voice that bore no trace of mechanical origins. “But I see that I was mistaken.”

  Kirk blinked as he tried to place the machine’s comments in context. The eyestalk moved up to examine the smoking ruin of the associate Kirk had battled, then rotated back to look into the captain’s eyes.

  “As a mutual acquaintance would say, Captain,” the machine announced, “fascinating.”

  Kirk closed his eyes to blink, and found they wouldn’t open again. As the rest of the universe rushed away from him, he had only one thought….

  “…Spock. Spock?” Kirk sat up suddenly and his head exploded in a star bow of color. Gentle hands pushed him back to lie against something soft.

  “I am here, Captain,” Spock said in the darkness beyond Kirk’s eyes.

  Kirk felt the cool tingle of a spray hypo against his neck.

  “You’ll be all right, Jim,” Bones said. “You had a nasty transtator shock but no real harm done.”

  Kirk opened his eyes and saw McCoy and Uhura looking down on him with worry and relief on their faces. Spock was there, too, and under the circumstances did the best that he could. Kirk also saw Romaine and Nensi in the background, faces etched with exhaustion and worry.

  Kirk held his left hand in front of his face and studied the bandage that wrapped it. “Transtator shock?” he asked.

  “Not all of it,” McCoy said. “You’ve got an abraded hand, a wrenched shoulder, and a deep cut on your back…. But as your physician, I’ve come to accept those kinds of injuries as your normal state of health.”

  “Do you remember what happened, Captain?” Spock inquired.

  “An associate,” Kirk said as it came back to him. “It tried to attack me, I short-circuited it…a second associate came….” He looked directly at Spock as if he doubted what he said next. “The second one spoke to me…as if it was alive.”

  “How else should I have spoken to you?” a familiar voice asked.

  Spock stepped out of the captain’s line of vision and Kirk saw that they were in some sort of equipment room. He could hear pumps operating and smelled a faint odor of disinfectant. It reminded him of the swimming pool on the Enterprise.

  Then he saw what Spock had made way for. An associate, identical to all the others he had seen so far, rolled up to the table he lay on and extended its eyestalk toward him.

  “May I introduce Two,” Spock said.

  “Two?” Kirk questioned.

  “Two. It is a Pathfinder.”

  Kirk rotated his shoulders and found that McCoy’s anti-inflammatory drugs had done their work. He had almost full flexibility in both, though his left hand was still stiff and he could feel the pull in his back where the protoplaser had sealed his cutter wound.

  “So with all that you’ve said considered,” Kirk concluded as he slipped off whatever it was that McCoy had rigged as a sickbed, “I’d say we have only one conclusion.”

  “I would be most interested to hear you share that with us, Captain,” Spock said.

  Kirk smiled. He had missed his science officer.

  “Lifelike robots, appearing as Romulans, have assembled on Memory Prime to assassinate one or more of the scientists attending the prize ceremonies. To support their attempt, they have installed a secondary transporter network and have set up an override system that allows them to control the associates.” Kirk glanced around to see that no one had any objections, or at least was saving them until he had finished.

  “We can also assume that the assassins have generated subspace interference to prevent any signals from lea
ving Prime that might alert Starfleet security forces.”

  “Newscasts are still getting out, though,” Romaine interjected.

  “Keeps appearances normal,” Kirk said. “If the newscasts were blocked, no one would have to wait for an alert signal to get troops here in hours. The advertisers would demand they go in right away.” He walked back and forth in the equipment room, drawing everything together and seeing that it worked perfectly. “If Uhura’s suspicions are correct and the last message Wolfe received from Komack did originate from Prime, rather than just being transferred up from a ground station, then it’s probable that all the rest of the Fleet ships here are receiving false communications. Additional false signals would have to be passed on to Starfleet, too, in order for Command not to suspect that no one here is receiving their communications.”

  “Captain,” Spock said as Kirk paused, “though the scenario you describe is internally logical, it is unfortunately based on a technological assumption which I believe has no merit.”

  “Which is?” Kirk asked.

  “The extent of subspace interference which you propose is not possible given our present state of technology,” Spock answered.

  “He’s right, Captain,” Uhura added. “Subspace channels are virtually two-dimensional. Random signals that are energetic enough to jam one channel invariably smear out to affect the whole FTL spectrum.”

  “Given our present state of technology,” Kirk said, “I agree with you. But the robots that captured Scotty and me were more advanced than any I’ve seen before. If the Romulans, or their suppliers, the Klingons, have come up with impressive breakthroughs in robotics, then why not allow for the possibility that they have come up with an equally advanced method of controlling subspace interference?”

  “I point out that every rapid breakthrough in Klingon science has followed the subjugation of a technologically advanced culture, Captain. While I doubt that Klingons could have developed such technologies on their own, I am also skeptical of their ability to conquer a race that had already developed them.” Spock was obviously not impressed with the captain’s reasoning.

  “Do you have another possibility for us to consider?” Kirk asked.

  “Not at this time.”

  Kirk looked at the associate by the door. “How about the Pathfinder?”

  The machine’s eyestalk looked dumbly back.

  “Over here, Captain.” Two’s voice came from one of the two associates that had brought Uhura and McCoy to the swimming-pool equipment room.

  Kirk walked over to the associate who had spoken. It was still unnerving to be faced with a consciousness that could jump between host bodies, as it were. The Pathfinder had explained that his central core was still located twelve kilometers away, deep in the asteroid’s center, and it was simply banking a few functions through an I/O port to make com-link contact with the associates.

  Romaine had been stunned by the synthetic consciousness’s offhand revelation, but no matter how many times she had tried to question it, the Pathfinder had insisted it did not know where the I/O channel was located.

  “Part of the agreement in coming to work at Memory Prime was that the Pathfinders would have no direct access to outside systems and control networks,” Romaine pointed out.

  “That contract was initiated after I withdrew from access,” Two had replied, “so perhaps those conditions do not apply to me.” Then it laughed. Kirk had found that ability even more unnerving.

  “So?” Kirk repeated. “Do you have any other possibilities to suggest to us?”

  “Not at this time,” the Pathfinder said in a passable imitation of Spock’s voice. It laughed again.

  “Two.” Kirk spoke again, trying to ignore the unnerving laughter. “Have any dispatches been logged for us on the associates’ message network?”

  “Nothing so far, Captain,” the Pathfinder said from the associate over by the door.

  “Can you access the communications channels to see if anything has been said about calling off the hunt for Spock and the rest of us?” Kirk tried.

  The Pathfinder returned to the associate by Kirk. “Commander Farl has ordered his troops not to use the portable transporters because a second system is interfering with their operations,” it said. “All internal transportation systems are now being shut down and will be inoperative within the next four minutes. Emergency transportation facilities will be provided by the Enterprise and the Valquez.”

  “I was right about that one, then,” Kirk said, glancing at Spock. He turned back to the machine. “When do the opening ceremonies start?”

  “Two hours, three minutes, eighteen seconds…seventeen seconds…six—”

  “That will do, thank you,” Kirk interrupted.

  “Can you scan through the list of scientists attending the ceremonies and identify those whose deaths would be most disruptive to the Federation at this time?” Spock asked.

  “That’s a good one,” the Pathfinder replied. “Give me a few seconds to work out the probabilities.”

  “Good idea, Spock,” Kirk said. Then he narrowed his eyes at the Vulcan. “I have a good question for it, as well.”

  The Pathfinder rejoined them before Spock could reply.

  “There are forty-seven scientists attending the prize ceremonies whose deaths could result in the virtual collapse of Federation initiatives in weapons design, propulsion technology, and political organization.”

  “Is Professor La’kara on that list?” Kirk asked.

  “Zoareem La’kara is on the third level of importance.”

  “Are any of the scientists who traveled on the Enterprise among the forty-seven most vital scientists?” Kirk tried again.

  “Nope,” the Pathfinder said.

  “Where does Academician Sradek rank?” Spock asked.

  “Fifth rank. Of no long-term importance,” Two replied.

  Kirk studied Spock’s reaction. Despite Stlur’s comment, the science officer did exhibit reactions to those who knew him well enough to read them. “You don’t agree with that assessment?” Kirk asked.

  “Sradek has made many valuable contributions to the growth and the stability of the Federation,” Spock said.

  “But not recently,” the Pathfinder countered. “Sradek is growing old and his contemporary work is not sound.”

  “But he’s a nominee for the Peace Prize,” Nensi said.

  “For negotiations concluded almost two standard years ago,” the Pathfinder replied. “He has completed no work of importance since that time and has hindered the work of the Sherman’s Planet famine board of inquiry.”

  “Fascinating,” Spock said with as much excitement as anyone could ever expect to hear from him. “I have recently reached a similar conclusion based on Sradek’s failure to recognize the existence of the Sherman Syndrome as anything more than a statistical artifact.”

  “It is obvious,” the Pathfinder stated condescendingly.

  Spock walked over to the associate who currently housed Two’s remote functions. “What data can you produce to support the basic argument of the Sherman Syndrome?” Spock asked.

  “Most of the raw data are stored on Memory Gamma but the conclusions are generally evolved here,” Two said. “Give me a few seconds to sift it.”

  Kirk had had enough. “Spock, we can get back to agriculture when the assassins have been stopped. Time for my question.” He turned to the associate that had just spoken. “Pathfinder Two, how does the name T’Pel connect with the assassination attempt we have been discussing?”

  “Captain Kirk,” Spock said, “there is no logical reason to—”

  “Perfectly,” the associate next to Kirk replied. Then the Pathfinder banked to the associate beside Spock and said, “Sherman Syndrome data has been interfered with. I am attempting to reconstruct.”

  “What do you mean by ‘perfectly’?” Kirk said, looking from one associate to the next.

  “Who else but an Adept of T’Pel would contemplate the assassinatio
n of the Federation’s greatest scientists,” the third associate in the middle replied, “and be able to accomplish it?”

  “Who or what is an Adept of T’Pel?” Kirk demanded.

  “Pathfinder,” Spock interrupted, “I ask that you provide the information I requested to support the Sherman Syndrome.”

  “Spock!” Kirk snapped. “I said that can wait!” He turned to the associate. “Pathfinder, explain the meaning of an Adept of T’Pel.”

  “They are the guild of Vulcan assassins,” the associate by Kirk said.

  “Sherman Syndrome data has been recon—” the associate by Spock said.

  Kirk was locked into position, not daring to breathe so he wouldn’t miss an instant of the bizarre three-sided conversation. But his associate said nothing more. Neither did Spock’s.

  “I/O port shut down,” Romaine said finally, breaking the silence. “It cut out in midword.”

  “Spock,” McCoy said in wonderment, “a Vulcan guild of assassins? Is such a thing possible?”

  Everyone turned to look at Spock. The Vulcan’s face was frozen in an expression completely devoid of meaning.

  “What about it, Spock?” Kirk said, his anger apparent. “You’ve known something all along, haven’t you?”

  “Not known, Captain. Suspected,” Spock said at last.

  “Isn’t that splitting logical hairs, Mr. Spock?” McCoy asked. “Have you actually had information that might have stopped any of this?”

  “No, Doctor, I have not had information that could have stopped any of the steps that have been taken thus far. I had suspicions, based only on my own knowledge, and with no supportable evidence. The suggestion that Memory Prime was to be subjected to an attack instigated by the Adepts of T’Pel, would have been met with ridicule”—Spock looked at the captain as if only he would understand—“and violated a sacred Vulcan trust.”

  “Then there are such things as Vulcan assassins?” McCoy gasped.

  “Absolutely not, Doctor,” Spock stated. “Such a concept would not be tolerated on my planet. Indeed, it is not tolerated.”