CHAPTER SEVEN
The first image Spock sees upon regaining consciousness is his captain. Smiling. The captain appears to have diminished in size. And to be missing his lower limbs.
Vision problems are a symptom of concussion. It is probable that the nonsensical image is the result of his exposure to the pressure wave. Spock closes his eyes and gives a stern instruction to his disordered thought patterns. When he reopens his eyelids it is apparent that he is in fact looking at a holographic image of his commanding officer. The picture is affixed to a wall alongside a computer. He is in an office then. He is lying on a floor which is unclean. His phaser and communicator are gone. And he is not alone.
A pair of Starfleet boots obstructs his field of vision to the right. The boots belong to the captain although Spock would resist any attempt by McCoy or anyone else to determine exactly how or why he knows this. The captain is in possession of both his lower limbs.
Vulcans do not breathe sighs of relief. However, they can allow themselves some logical satisfaction that the commanding officer of the fleet's flagship remains apparently intact although apparently unconscious. From his current viewpoint it is impossible to discern whether Kirk has sustained any more serious injuries.
It is only when he attempts to regain a vertical position that he realises he is restrained. The crude but effective fastening encircles his wrists and is attached to vertical pipework that extends from floor to ceiling. The pipe appears to be welded titanium. Spock can produce a formula for the force that would be required to break a titanium weld in less than point eight of a second. The necessary force far exceeds the muscular strength of a single Vulcan male. Which is why he is not proud of himself for testing the laws of physics for rather more than two minutes.
The noise his fastenings make against the pipework does have the effect of bringing Kirk round with a groan. He squints up at the ceiling.
"Mister Spock. Might I suggest that your attempts to break that pipe are likely to prove counter-productive..."
"Captain. Are you injured?"
Ignoring his first officer's question, Kirk swings his feet round to give himself enough purchase to lever himself up against the wall. He too is restrained and in a similar fashion although he appears to be attached to a horizontal duct at floor level. He continues
"...because, if I'm not mistaken, that particular pipe is likely to contain either coolant or waste water, neither of which would be a welcome addition to our current environment."
"I can assure you, captain. There is no danger of the pipe-"
"-breaking. Yes, I know. It looks like titanium to me. Which begs the question-"
"-you have not answered my question, captain. Have you suffered any injury as a result of recent events?"
"I have a headache the size of Andromeda, if you must know. And my foot's gone to sleep." He stamps his boots, and winces. "Ouch. Make that both feet. What about you, Mister Spock? Any side-effects? Other than delusions of super-Vulcan strength?"
"I am quite well, thank you, sir. And while the pipe would appear to be constructed of titanium, I think it likely my restraints are not. Therefore I..."
"-yet those handcuffs are attached to Vulcan skin over Vulcan bone. I remember Newton's third law quite well, thank you science officer, and I would prefer your wrists remain undamaged. We may need them. Now will you kindly stop rattling your chains like a ghoul and let me listen for a minute?"
Spock obliges. Subduing the treacherous wave of warmth that rises at this indication of the captain's concern for his physical wellbeing, he directs his own senses to the surrounding environment. And hears only a distant clanking and the low hum of a generator working too hard. Kirk, aware of the superiority of Vulcan hearing, tilts his head.
"So what do you think? It's awfully quiet. Did Giotto and McCoy get the colonists out?"
Spock considers. "I am unsure how much time has elapsed during our period of unconsciousness. It is possible that they did indeed succeed and we are alone because the personnel who are responsible for our current situation are now engaged in pursuit."
"So where are Kingley and Yamamoto? Where's Rawlson? And what..." Kirk stops and stares, incredulity creeping into his tone. "... what the hell is my picture doing on that wall?"
Spock knows the captain is frustrated, and that Kirk does not expect him to produce accurate answers to these questions. Since he is unable to provide a useful reply he falls back on a tactic he has found effective in the past.
"It would appear, Captain, you have a fan. Although I cannot understand why anyone would choose to clutter their place of work with such distracting ephemera."
Spock is rewarded with a twitch of the lips that tells him he has been successful, at least partially, in relieving the current tension.
"So you're saying that you'd find being exposed to my picture distracting, Mister Spock. I must admit I'm flattered."
"I made no such assertion, Captain. I was merely making an observation. And I would further submit that the usual occupant of this office is displaying an illogical compulsion to decorate his or her workspace with trivia and is therefore more than likely to be human."
"More than likely? That's unusually imprecise for you, Spock. Are you sure that stun grenade hasn't had more of an impact than you're admitting?"
"I had refrained from giving you the exact odds, sir, however since you request them-"
"-No, please don't. Headache. Andromeda. Remember?"
Kirk sighs and shifts position, sliding sideways along a small portion of the ducting before a supporting bracket halts his progress. They are now sitting almost alongside each other which allows Spock to see, beneath the dust, the mottled bruising on Kirk's cheek.
Yet it is the unseen hurt which concerns the Vulcan. Alpha 177 was four years ago; the logs were completed and closed. By mutual unspoken consent neither of them has discussed those events in the intervening period. Yet, looking at his captain now, his eyes dark in contemplation, Spock suspects that the confrontation with his negative alter ego is never far from his friend's thoughts.
Jim Kirk is fearless. At least that's his reputation and it's been earned. But Spock knows the captain fears two things: losing his command and losing his crew. The duplication, threw both those into sharp relief. And now, here on Deneb III, they are facing the echoes of a nightmare. Instinct tells him it is time to break the silence. He draws a breath.
"Jim. There is something I have wanted to ask you-"
But he gets no further. He feels it as a vibration before acute Vulcan hearing translates the movement into sound. He turns his head towards the door.
"Spock?" But then Kirk hears them too. Three sets of footsteps drawing nearer. He draws his spine straighter against the wall.
If the Enterprise's first officer had an imagination, which of course, being Vulcan, he does not, he could imagine that at times like this his captain develops his own forcefield; a glow and a glower that are not detectable by tricorder but are nevertheless undoubtedly present when dealing with a threat to his ship, his crew or his command.
The man who appears in the doorway does not at first sight appear to represent any of those things. Dishevelled and distracted, he is short and slightly overweight, wearing a grubby lab coat over Starfleet science blue and carrying a padd. He is flanked by two men in Starfleet uniform. Red shirts, Spock notes. Unlike the man they accompany these officers exude a palpable air of menace.
"Ah, awake. Yes, yes. At last. Excuse me, gentlemen just one minute."
Fussing with something on his padd the new arrival crosses the office to the computer where he taps the screen and frowns at something. Kirk's eyes follow him then flick back to the door. The two henchmen - Spock is not sure why his brain has supplied that label but he is quite certain it fits - are standing guard. With folded arms and sneers that match each other but not the uniform they wear. Tutting at what he sees on the screen, the lab coat connects the padd to a dock, then turns and clasps his hands to his chest.
"Well, now. So here we are. Captain Kirk. At long last. And Commander Spock, isn't it? So pleased to finally make your acquaintance."
Kirk may be attached to a length of ducting, recovering from a sustained period of unconsciousness, missing several crew members, and suffering from a galaxy sized headache, but his reply perfectly matches the boardroom meeting tone set by their new acquaintance.
"I'm sorry, you have us at a disadvantage, as you see." He might be apologising for an administrative oversight. "I don't believe we've met."
The small eyes narrow, squinting down at the pair on the floor as if they have forgotten both their agenda and their briefing papers.
"Why, no. I suppose we haven't. Although I would have thought you might... Well, no matter, no matter. The name's Rawlson, Paul Rawlson. Forgive me for not shaking hands. But I see there you really are at a disadvantage." He gives a high pitched laugh that makes Spock grateful for his inbuilt resistance to irritation. He can detect from the muscles working in his Kirk's jaw that his captain is less immune to the laugh's effects. Kirk clenches his teeth for a moment but manages to continue in the same vein.
"Commander Rawlson." The stress on the rank is deliberate. "I confess I am surprised to see you. Conditions here had led us to suspect something untoward had happened to you. Starfleet sent us to inspect-"
"-yes, and isn't that ironic?" There is a glitter Rawlson's eyes that Spock decides he does not like. "They send Captain Kirk to inspect us."
He pivots round, arm flung wide in a grand gesture that takes in the office of broken equipment and scattered papers. "So what do you think, Kirk. Do we pass muster? Will we be getting a gold star from the fleet's flagship?" This time the laugh is a broken thing that crawls scratching down Spock's spine. And he knows. There are only two possible explanations for this behaviour from the man selected by Starfleet to lead a colony on a hostile world. Neither of them are palatable.
Kirk has reached the same conclusion. Spock can read the thought as clearly as if the captain were shouting it across the room. But Kirk does not shout. He smiles. A smile to humour a madman. And for a brief moment of irrelevancy Spock wonders how long it is since he saw his captain's face lit by a genuine smile. For once his eidetic memory fails him.
"Listen, Rawlson. We've obviously caught you at a bad time. I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding. We're here to help. If we can just contact Starfleet-"
"- contact Starfleet? " There is outrage in the rising tone and in the flush that rises to plump cheeks. "Well, good luck with that, Kirk. Do you know how many times I've contacted Command in recent months and been fobbed off with some pathetic excuse?" His voice changes in mimicry of some faceless bureaucrat. "I'm sorry, Commander your supplies shipment has been diverted. Apologies, Commander. If you can just hold on a few more weeks.' Starfleet has abandoned us, Kirk. I learned that lesson months ago."
"Abandoned...?" Kirk frowns. "That makes no sense, Commander. Our very presence here now proves-"
"-proves nothing," sneers Rawlson. "You said it. You're here to inspect us - to tick some bureaucratic boxes. Not to provide supplies. Not to help. But then I should have realised." Suddenly he's down in a crouch, face to face with Kirk who returns his gaze calmly despite the spittle in the corners of the man's mouth. "I used to worship you, you know, Kirk. Golden boy of the service. The man who defeats the odds. I even put up your picture. Did you see it? I've kept it. A souvenir of my naivety. Of a time before I realised the truth. About you. About Starfleet."
"The truth, Commander?" Kirk's tone hardens. "The truth is you had a responsibility here. Men and women who depended on you. Now fourteen of them are dead."
Rawlson recoils. Kirk pulls himself a little straighter against the wall. "Yes, we've seen them - stacked like so much firewood in an empty warehouse. What the hell were you thinking, Rawlson? What sort of sick experiment have you been conducting here?"
For a moment Spock thinks the man in the lab coat is about to strike the captain. But before he can move there's a whistle from his communicator. Breathing heavily Rawlson backs away pulling the device from his belt and flipping it open.
"Rawlson here."
The voice is splintered by static. "It's Miller. Commander, you'd better get up here."
"On my way." Rawlson crosses back to the computer and disconnects the padd. He seems about to say something but instead crosses to the two guards at the door and nods towards the men on the floor.
"Watch them." Then, staring at the padd screen, he heads out of the door.
Spock keeps his voice low. "Captain, I am not sure that was a wise tactic. The commander would appear to be subject to unpredictable behaviour patterns."
Kirk is thoughtful. "I needed to push him, Spock. To see how far he'd go. So what do you think? Has the man simply gone mad? Or is this Rawlson's duplicate? An imposter?"
"Without a psych profile of the Commander before his current assignment we lack data for a full analysis. However, I fear the latter." Spock glances towards the men standing guard and tilts his head towards his shoulder, away from their gaze. "And I think we can safely surmise that our current companions are similarly compromised."
Kirk looks over his shoulder. "I think your logic is sound, Mister Spock. The question is, can we turn that to our advantage?"
-oOo-
