Star Trek - Log 2 Page 6

  Now, with their shield strength down at least fifty percent, well—

  At least, he mused with savage satisfaction, they'd prevented the escape of the Vendorian spy. Spock's query came back to him. He, too, wondered how the Romulans had managed to convince the shape-changer to do the dirty work for them. From what little he knew of Vendorian civilization, the alliance made no sense.

  After what seemed like hours, he finally reached the main engineering bay. In response to his questions, a harried technician directed him up to another deck. A short climb and he emerged in the middle of another, larger group of milling crew members. One directed him forward. He found Gabler and Scott hunched over an open panel.

  "What happened, Scotty?"

  "Hello, sir. I'm sure I don't know. I came up here to battle-check the backup deflector-shield relays." His voice took on a tone of puzzled outrage. "And here was this common tech, calm as you please, taking the connections to pieces!

  "Now, the sight of me in such a situation ought to have frozen the good man solid to the deck—workin' unauthorized with such equipment. Instead, he just smiled confident as you please and came over to help me on deck. That's all I remember."

  "He couldn't have been at it long, sir," put in Gabler. "We found the chief right after I talked to you."

  "He was at it long enough," growled Scotty. The chief’s attitude did not inspire feelings of confidence in Kirk.

  "How long will it take to fix, Scotty?"

  "At least two hours, Captain."

  Two hours!

  "Well, get on it. That's all." Kirk turned and left. He knew better than to make melodramatic pronouncements. If Scott said it would take two hours, it would do no good for Kirk to say, "Do it in one!" The chief engineer's time estimates were as reliable as his work. Two hours then, working at top speed, and he'd have his shields back.

  But could they possibly stall the Romulans for two hours, when the Romulan commander had given him five minutes, and those reluctantly? They might not have two seconds left.

  They had one bargaining chip left, just one—and that was the Enterprise herself.

  Already the Romulan commander had admitted that his only interest was in the starship—intact and in working order. If the Romulan's sensors were worth a handful of components, they'd know by now that the Enterprise's shields had been severely weakened. Kirk didn't think they'd hold off forcing a decision in order to give their Vendorian a chance to escape. If he got away, all well and good . . . a bonus. If not, he had served his purpose.

  However, they would hesitate before destroying the prize they'd worked so hard to snare. How long the vision of the Enterprise as a captured ship would keep the Romulan commander's natural belligerence in check Kirk didn't know, and that was the crucial factor.

  A destroyed Enterprise would be a small blow to Federation strength compared to a fully operational captured one—but a blow nonetheless.

  Kirk had no choice. He'd have to take the chance the Romulans wanted the starship badly enough to hold off firing on her. Nerves and not phasers would decide the outcome of this confrontation.

  He smiled and felt a little better.

  There were worse things to bet on than the avarice of a Romulan . . .

  IV

  A single shuttle craft was lined up facing the Enterprise's bay doors. Those doors wouldn't open now until a number of highly trained people had replaced certain stripped bearings and other deliberately ruined parts.

  Three security guards had actually made it into the bay before the order to lock all doorways had taken effect. One of them was lying slumped across the open portway leading into the shuttle. Another lay crumpled at the foot of the ramp leading up into it.

  The third stood quietly facing the other occupant of the soundless chamber.

  Anne Nored kept her phaser pointed at him. The hand holding it didn't waver, didn't shake. Neither did her voice.

  "You're not getting past me this time. I've learned my lesson."

  The form of Carter Winston nodded slowly. "Yes, he said you were like this. Efficient, professional, as well as affectionate and beautiful. You're quite everything he said you were, Anne." The muzzle of the powerful phaser didn't dip a centimeter.

  There was suspicion in her gaze, hesitancy in her voice—but she had to ask.

  "Carter . . . what did he say? How . . . how do you know him so well?"

  The Winston/Vendorian spoke. Despite the fact that instinct told her she should regard its every word as a clever lie, there was something in Winston's voice that . . . no, darn it, not Winston's! Only a sly mimicry, an uncanny imitation.

  Reproduction or not, something in the voice sounded almost honest.

  "He said many things. Some were feelings, deep feelings he could not always fully express or adequately convey. Emotions that, while I understood the words and the flat meanings of them, clearly held a good deal more than I could comprehend. Language can sometimes be infuriatingly uncommunicative, can tease and confuse instead of enlighten.

  "I tried hard to understand these feelings. So many of the ideas and concepts that he tried to convey to me were new, alien, strange—but always intriguing. The less I understood, the more I wanted to know." Winston shook his head.

  "My people have their faults, but they are compounded by this peculiar ability of ours to mimic others, to change our shape. Something so natural to us seems so frighteningly strange to other intelligent beings. I understand that lower creatures on many worlds can perform similar feats. But when the ability is coupled with intelligence, other races grow nervous.

  "Sometimes," he continued bitterly, "we—" His voice shifted back to a more gentle tone. "But Carter Winston truly loved you."

  The phaser shifted ever so slightly, but still remained fixed on the figure in front of her. Blazes, where were the backup security personnel?

  She had no way of knowing that Kirk had ordered the shuttle bay sealed off from the rest of the ship. Where was the captain, or Mr. Spock? Someone to give orders, to take this responsibility off her hands.

  She ought to have said nothing to the creature, ought to have kept her mouth shut, and at least beamed it slightly in one leg to restrict its movement.

  Instead, she asked softly, "How did he die?"

  "Winston's ship did indeed encounter severe meteor activity in open space. But the damage it sustained was not from the swarm Captain Kirk found me drifting in. The deflector shields of his small ship were too weak to protect him from the violent assault of that original storm.

  "The shields held only long enough for him to locate a possible landing site and refuge. The only one—Vendoria. Winston knew that world was under edict, forbidden to travelers, but he had no choice in the matter. It was a miracle he managed to land his vessel at all. Neither he nor his ship, however, survived the landing intact. His injuries were severe." Winston shuffled his feet.

  "As is our custom, upon conclusion of primary surgery he was left in the care of a single one of us." He looked straight at her. "Me. He lived on for almost four of your years before the damage to his system exceeded the repair capabilities of our medical science.

  "We became very close in those four years." There was a pause while the two looked at each other—one perhaps a little too human, the other a great deal less so.

  Or was he?

  "You're so much like him—his voice, his little gestures, his mannerisms. Even the inflections in certain words."

  "You must understand, Anne, that my people enjoy our talent for mimicry. It is pleasure to us. But because of it we are cut off from the rest of the civilized galaxy. Therefore anything new to imitate is regarded as a great novelty. To a large extent it becomes the exclusive property of its discoverer. So it was with myself and Carter Winston.

  "I often went about in his shape, this shape. For longer and longer periods of time. A most remarkable form. Wearing it gave me the greatest pleasure, because it fit so well not only physically but mentally.

  "
And I think Winston himself enjoyed seeing me in his own image. While my own form was not repulsive to him—as an interstellar trader he had no primitive shape prejudices—I think the chance to see and to speak with . . . himself . . . made it easier for him in his last days." Winston smiled.

  "It was not as though he died with only an alien monster at his side."

  "And he did say that he loved me?"

  "Yes. Often. And that brings up another problem." He hesitated. "You see, I feel I absorbed a great many of the attitudes and emotions he felt. The longer I was with him, the more strongly ingrained these attitudes became. I do not know how it is with humans, but a Vendorian cannot remain in close association, let alone in the same shape, of another being without becoming in a sense a part of him.

  "There were times, after our association had grown close, that when Winston grew hungry, I was hungry. If he felt tired and exhausted, I grew tired and exhausted. It became deeper than that. If he felt pain then I, in his form, was hurt. We would commiserate together on his sad situation. I would cheer him and he would attempt to raise my spirits.

  "Our unity grew even to the point where when he would feel homesick, I could feel a deep longing for a world I had never seen, would never set foot on. And," his voice dropped lower, "his love for you was very, very strong. I could not help but be affected by such a strong emotion." He looked up at her again.

  "Because I was there when he died, Anne, it did not end."

  Unwillingly, she found herself shaking. She let the phaser drop low, lower. He could have made a move toward her at any time now, but he didn't. All thoughts of aggression had vanished from her mind. A suspicious moisture began to form at the corners of her eyes. She raised a free hand, tried to brush it away. It wasn't possible. Tears started to trickle down her cheeks in most unmilitary fashion.

  Both hands came up, but this time it was to reach out to him, instinctively.

  "Carter—"

  He moved close. One hand touched the fingers gripping the phaser. She didn't resist. His hands moved high, held her firmly by the shoulders and pushed gently away.

  "You must not weep for me."

  "Carter, I—"

  "Anne, this is what I am."

  He stepped back and crossed both arms over his chest. Carter Winston disappeared.

  In his place rose a tall, seven-tentacled entity, a nightmare shape of thick orange cables and a bulbous, bejeweled head. It spoke, and the voice was the voice of Carter Winston—but now sounding oddly distant, echoing. It came from a voicebox no longer human.

  "How could you love . . . this?"

  Her hands dropped from her mouth, to which they'd jerked with the first gasp of surprise. Like most humans, she'd never seen a Vendorian. The form was as inhuman and thoroughly alien as the wildest dreams of drug-induced narcosis.

  But the first shock passed. The creature crossed tentacles and once again shifted into the familiar figure of Carter Winston. There was sympathy in its once-again human voice and . . . something else?

  "You see why I told you it would be best to forget me," the alien said, unaware of the change in pronoun.

  "But unfortunately, I can't," came the voice of Captain Kirk. Both figures turned to face a side entrance. Kirk had arrived moments ahead of the requested security team. He held a phaser on Winston.

  He never had a chance to use it, because the shock wave from the first bolt fired by the Romulan phaser banks threw them all to the floor of the hanger. Dazed, Kirk rolled over, tried to force himself to his feet and focus the phaser at the same time. His vision cleared rapidly and he glanced around the shuttle bay, looking frantically in all directions.

  As expected, the alien was gone again.

  He noticed Anne Nored. She had one hand on her forehead and was having difficulty getting to her feet. Kirk helped her up.

  "Carter . . . Carter . . ."

  "The Vendorian is gone, Lieutenant Nored," said Kirk tightly. "I've got to get back to the bridge. Will you be all right?"

  "Yes, just a bump. I've got to get back to security." She took a step and almost fell over.

  Kirk half carried, half guided her to the exit. The security team met them there.

  "Ensign Tuan reporting, Captain." The excited junior officer was trying to look at Kirk respectfully and over his shoulder into, the cavernous shuttle bay at the same time. "Where's the alien, sir?"

  "The alien is gone again, Mr. Tuan. And stop waving that phaser around before you hurt yourself." The ensign looked properly abashed and hurried to holster the weapon. Kirk sighed.

  "Post a guard here. The outer doors are jammed, but the alien might try to burn an exit for the shuttle. Alert the armory and engineering. And security central. They'll have to start the search over again, but maybe we can keep the thing confined to this deck, this time."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Lieutenant Nored, somehow I think security can manage without you." She didn't look up at him. "You come to the bridge with me. There's a chance you might be useful there."

  He felt like adding a few other choice comments. She'd had the alien trapped again and once more it had escaped. While he found himself sympathizing with her state of mind, he couldn't condone her actions. Mr. Spock would be even less understanding. Meanwhile, it would be better for her on the bridge, away from the actual search. It was a better alternative than the brig.

  Besides, it would be hard to claim she had let the thing get away voluntarily. The Romulans had contributed to that.

  Yes, what about the Romulans?

  Spock was waiting with a report. He started talking before Kirk had resumed his seat. Anne Nored wandered around the bridge, looking lost. She was still numbed, and not entirely from being thrown to the deck.

  "Direct hit, Captain," Spock informed him calmly. "There is some damage to the secondary propulsive systems. Their commander has apparently weighed his choices and has concluded we've had enough time to make up our minds. He's ready to fight."

  "I only felt one shock wave, Mr. Spock. No subsequent attacks?"

  "No, Captain. Only the single phaser strike."

  "Then he's hoping to force our hand, one way or the other, but he still wants the ship. There's nothing in the damaged section but automatic machinery. He's trying to avoid casualties at this point, trying to disable us without giving a reason for an all-out battle."

  He looked back to Lt. M'ress, at the communications console now, as she broke in on his summary.

  "The Rromulan commanderr is signaling, sirr. Shall I put him on the scrreen?"

  "I'd rather you put him . . . go ahead, Lieutenant."

  A moment later the face of the Romulan leader had once more taken the place of his ships on the main viewscreen.

  The Romulans would make terrible poker players, Kirk reflected. Their expressions were even broader and less inhibited than those of humans. Their ambassadors and consuls must have a terrible time practicing the wiles of diplomacy.

  For example, the commander now undoubtedly thought he was maintaining the Romulan equivalent of a straight face, but his expectant smile reached from ear to ear.

  "Captain Kirk," he began, and there was unconcealed anticipation in his voice, too. I wonder what he's up to now, Kirk mused. He didn't relish the pickle they'd gotten themselves into.

  "All our main batteries are trained on your ship. I have observed a . . . ah, singular lack of defensive effort on your part. To resist at this point would be not only useless but criminally wasteful of life.

  "If you have no regard for yourself or your ship, think of your crew. Our recent attack was intentionally directed at uninhabited areas of your ship. I cannot guarantee the selectivity of gunners in the future." He managed to look apologetic as he leaned forward slightly.

  "Will you now surrender your vessel? As you know, my people are not in the habit of giving second chances."

  That was the Romulan's way of telling him that, yes, he wanted the Enterprise and no, he didn't want it enough to give him an
y more time. Kirk's thoughts raced.

  He might be able, to figure a way out of this, if the back of his mind wasn't busy worrying about what the Vendorian was up to. And he could cope with the Vendorian if it wasn't for the Romulans. But the two of them together!

  It didn't matter. He didn't have any more time, anyway.

  Without full deflectors, he thought angrily, we're just a clay pigeon for them. Kirk had never seen a clay pigeon in his life and probably wouldn't have recognized one if it had fallen into his lunch. But archaic metaphors had a way of sticking around in the terran language.

  "Practicality does suggest capitulation at this point, Captain," observed Spock. "I, too, see no solution to our present dilemma. There are other starships, there is no other self."

  Of course, there are other ships, Kirk thought. But how much chance would he have of getting another command after giving up the Enterprise without firing a shot?

  And what chance did his crew have? Could he guarantee their safety once the Enterprise was in Romulan hands?

  Sulu had been morosely monitoring inship as well as exterior sensors, checking his gauges and dials. Now he interrupted Spock's advice excitedly . . . interrupted Kirk's depression. Interrupted all action on the bridge.

  "Captain, I don't understand . . . but the deflector shields are coming up again!"

  In two steps Kirk was at his shoulder, staring down at the indicators in disbelief "It's only one shield—"

  "Yes, sir, but it's our prime defensive screen, and it's between us and the Romulans. Look," he pointed to one energy gauge, "it's operating at full strength."

  Kirk rushed back to his chair. A wise man does not question the sudden appearance of a cache of spears when the barbarians are at his gate. He throws them. Time to question their origin when pulling them out of his attackers.

  They had to act immediately, before some idle technician on one of the battle cruisers noticed the resurgence of strength in the Enterprise's defensive fields.

  "Mr. Sulu, aim for the propulsion units on the lead Romulan vessel. Phasers and photon torpedoes in combination." Sulu's hands played the controls like an organ.