Текст книги "Killing Time "

Автор книги: Della Hise

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

Chapter Twenty-two

KIRK WAS AWAKENED from a comparatively sound sleep by the persistent whine of what could have been a shuttle's engines had he not been in the middle of a desert wilderness. As his eyes opened lazily, he discovered Richardson already sitting up, peering through the window-flap of the tiny tent.

"You may not believe this, Juliet," Richardson stated, "but that's either the cavalry coming over the hill, or else our little paradise is being invaded by the Martians."

Kirk bolted upright, threw back the tent flaps, and found himself staring at the alien craft which was slowly making its way toward the campsight at an altitude of less than a hundred feet. "There aren't any Martians, Jerry," he reminded his roommate. He crawled outside, Richardson close behind. "From the looks of it, I'd say it's probably a Romulan shuttle of some sort."

Richardson glanced sharply at Kirk. "Well," he sighed, standing up and offering his strong arm to assist Kirk to his feet. "Whatever it is, we won't have much luck hiding from it. . . ." He let the sentence trail off as he began walking toward where the machine was settling to the ground in a relatively flat area approximately fifty yards away.

Kirk felt a moment of something like elation as he looked up to the sky, his eyes settling on the smiling constellation which was directly overhead. He reached out tentatively with his mind, feeling his heart quicken when he touched a surprisingly familiar presence. He stared at the craft, then back to the stars, a smile slowly finding its way to his face.

"It's Spock," he murmured to himself as he grabbed Jerry's arm and headed toward the alien spacecraft. "I think room service finally got our message."

As the engines died down to a gentle purr, Kirk stood staring at the shuttle, trying to imagine what the ShiKahr's Vulcan captain would be doing aboard an enemy vessel. But something stirred in the back of his mind, and he knew that Spock hadn't defected, that his loyalty was still above suspicion. He waited, exchanging expectant glances with Richardson.

After another minute, the two surface doors slid apart, a ramp extending to the ground. The interior light of the craft revealed a black silhouette in the doorway, but to Kirk even that shadowy figure was immediately recognizable. He felt a moment of disbelief, and discovered that he'd been holding his breath.

Spock?

I am here, Jim, the familiar mind-voice responded as the slim figure descended the ramp and came to stand with the two stunned ensigns.

Once away from the blinding interior light of the craft, Kirk felt his jaw go slack as he looked into the fathomless black eyes which seemed to reflect starlight. "Spock?" he repeated.

"Yes, Ensign," the Vulcan responded with a gentle half-smile as he read the relief and warmth in the human's eyes. "I was able to perceive your thoughts quite some time ago. Unfortunately … I did not have the ability to come for you until now." In that moment, he felt his own doubts slowly leave him to be replaced with the contentment he'd sensed through the tenuous link. But he turned his eyes on Richardson, glancing disapprovingly at the splinted arm with one quizzical brow.

With a grin, Richardson shrugged. "Would you believe me if I told you that a beautiful nymph rose out of that spring up there and broke my arm when I called her 'Juliet'?" he asked.

"Hardly," the Vulcan responded. "However," he added, "we do not have much time." He inclined his head toward the T'Favaron."There is much to explain, and we must be on our way."

Kirk felt his stomach knot, but held back his own queries for the moment. "Just tell me one thing, Spock," he said as they neared the craft. "Were we … were we right about the time alteration theory?"

The Vulcan nodded, erasing Kirk's fears with a simple gesture. "We were correct, Jim," he confirmed, his tone nevertheless sad for a reason Kirk couldn't pinpoint. Spock glanced once again at Richardson. "I will attend to your injuries aboard the Praetor's vessel," he said. "If you will both accompany me …"

"Whoa!" Jerry protested, stopping in his tracks. "The Praetor's ship?"

"For the moment, Mister Richardson," Spock said evenly, "the Praetor is our only ally. Please follow me. As I have stated, time is of the utmost importance."

Kirk exchanged questioning looks with Richardson, then slowly followed the Vulcan up the ramp and into the brightly lit interior of the T'Favaron.

Once Spock had explained precisely how he had come to be so deeply involved with theoretical enemies, Kirk found himself relaxing just a little. But he noticed that Thea seemed to be going out of her way to avoid him; and he couldn't help but wonder if she bore some grudge he was not personally aware of.

But with Jerry sleeping on the medical cot, and the two Romulan women occupied with piloting the ship, he discovered himself alone with the Vulcan. If what Spock suggested was true, he knew they would both be facing something not unlike death; and despite his problems of the past, Kirk did not wish to die.

"How do you know you can trust those two, Spock?" he asked in a whisper. "How do you know they won't just ditch allof us on some back-water planet and leave us there to rot?"

The Vulcan shook his head. "They cannot afford to do so, Jim," he explained. "If they do not permit us to do what must be done in Earth's past, then they condemn their entire Empire to eventual and permanent madness. And, as a conquering race, insanity would hardly be profitable to them." He paused for a moment, then forced himself to meet Kirk's eyes. "Also, I believe I can trust Thea because of … other incidents," he murmured. But the words came with more difficulty than he'd imagined.

Kirk's brows furrowed as he looked up from the floor. "Such as?" he wondered, not immediately detecting the Vulcan's hesitation.

Looking away, Spock's eyes scanned the view screen, the cold void of space. "She … saved my life," he stated at last, hoping that would be enough.

Kirk smiled as he remembered the mind-fever he'd felt himself. Without explanation, it had vanished … and as he glanced at Thea, the reason became clearer. "As long as you're alive," he said, "let's assume we can trust them. What now?"

"That," the Vulcan replied with a seeming sigh of relief, "will be up to Thea. She has agreed to assist us only in getting back through time, but has made it clear that any further plans will be our own."

Kirk nodded quietly. But no matter how he looked at it, it all came back to one simple thing: nonexistence for himself, for Jerry … and for Spock. He bit the inside of his lip in silence. "I guess I've still got a little of the coward in me, Spock," he confessed, then shook his head in negation of his own impulsive statement. "It's not that I'm afraid to die. I think that's been on my mind ever since the ordeal at the Academy. But …"

Spock's eyes closed as he realized how closely those thoughts paralleled his own. "I know," he barely whispered. "We both claim to want that other timeline, those lives which seem far more real than our current reality. And yet … it is a paradox. For once time is set straight, the people we are nowwill no longer exist … and I occasionally find myself not wishing to give this up."

Kirk nodded to himself, then managed a weak smile. "Am I selfish to want both?" he wondered. "I seem to remember a friend telling me that I needed someone to look up to." He grinned, then laughed lightly. "Don't ask me where that thought originated, because I honestly don't know. But … regardless of all the problems when I first came aboard the ShiKahr, I dolook up to you now … and I think I'm afraid of losing that." He shrugged, trying to shake off the heaviness which had settled on his shoulders. "I don't even know what or who I am in that other timeline … much less whether or not I was happy. And right now … it comes down to the fact that I'm not … sureabout anything." He smiled once again. "Another dilemma, eh, Spock?"

The Vulcan remained silent for a long time, head tilting curiously as he studied the human's indirect approach. "In any timeline, I know that you will be as unique as you are now … and I believe you will find your happiness."

Kirk stared at the floor, then laughed somewhat sarcastically. "Hell, Spock," he managed, "in thisuniverse, I've never commanded anything bigger than a bath-tub fleet. The thought of a starship …"

Spock sought something reassuring to say. Within another thirty minutes, the T'Favaronwould reach maximum velocity as it fell toward the sun … and then there would be no turning back. It was now or never. He closed his eyes, relying on something he'd seen in the human's mind—an uncanny ability to turn even the most tense situations into humor. "Then perhaps you would be well advised, Jim," he suggested, "to think of the Enterpriseas a rubber duck, and the galaxy as a slightly larger tub."

Kirk looked up, jaw falling with disbelief until he observed the warm twinkle in the Vulcan's eyes. He laughed aloud. "It's called a rubber ducky, Spock!" he corrected. "A rubber ducky."

The Vulcan's head inclined in agreement, maintaining dignity to the last. "As you wish … Captain Kirk," he conceded.

As the blue orb of the Romulan sun filled the screen, Thea turned in the command chair, scanning first Spock then Kirk. As she looked at the human, she wondered what special qualities he possessed which could apparently control even the most stubborn of Vulcans, what special aura he had which made him belong at Spock's side in any universe.

"When we emerge from hyperspace," she began, forcing a professional detachment on herself, "we will be in orbit over Earth." She turned to Sarela.

The other woman studied a readout on the computer terminal, then focused her attention on Kirk and the Vulcan. "By Earth standard time, the year will be 2097—approximately six hours before the conference which would have brought about the groundwork for the United Federation of Planets." She paused. "The Praetor's advisers have informed us that the operatives will already be in San Francisco when we arrive."

Thea's eyes continued to watch the Vulcan's reaction closely despite her feigned disinterest. Once the ship reached Earth, she would never see him again; but she turned her back on the thought. "At any rate," she said, ignoring the illogical feeling of loss, "the three of you will be taken to a secluded area a few miles from where my operatives will make their attack. Since even we do not know preciselywhat occurred on that day, it will be up to you to devise a plan to stop them." She smiled wistfully, almost arrogantly, not intending to make it any easier for the Vulcan than necessary. "If you are successful, First History will automatically reinstate itself. But if you fail …" Her voice drifted off. "Should you fail," she continued at last, "my operatives will certainly kill you. Either way," she added, "you shall not be returning to this timeline or this universe. For even if my operatives are unable to destroy you, I have no intention of bringing any of you back into the Empire. The T'Favaronwill leave Earth shortly after you are released there … and we shall not meet again."

The Vulcan lifted one brow at the hardened bitterness in her voice. "If we are successful," he reasoned, "we will all simply return to the lives we held in First History. Return transportation is not necessary."

Thea smiled. "Success may not be as simple as you imagine," she pointed out. "You forget that you will be attempting to stop two of my most highly trained operatives from doing what, to them, is a pleasure. They are programmed to kill; and they will not permit themselves to be destroyed without a struggle." She laughed lightly. "They are, in my father's estimation, quite indestructible."

Kirk glanced at the Vulcan, but maintained the outward pose of self-assuredness as he saw the guarded expression in his friend's eyes.

"Am I to presume," Spock replied, "that your operatives are something more than human or even Romulan?"

"I am surprised you hadn't deduced that before, Spock," Thea stated sharply. "My father may have been a fool, but he was also the Praetor. He would hardly send flesh-and-blood men to undertake such an important task." She met the Vulcan's eyes head-on. "They are what you might term androids, my fearless captain. And they have but one purpose to their programming." She turned casually back to the control panel once again. "However," she mused, "in a few moments, it will all be rendered problematical. Do you wish to change your decision, Spock?" she asked pointedly, glancing over her shoulder. "Do you wish to admit that not even you and your brave human friend can defeat the Empire's most technologically advanced creations?"

"You might be surprised," Kirk muttered to himself. For a moment, he felt CaptainKirk reassert himself, felt the tingle of excitement a starship commander would feel when faced with the impossible. He squared his shoulders, rose from the chair, and began to pace down the aisle of the narrow craft. "In fact," he bluffed, "you've just made it infinitely simpler."

Thea's eyes widened suspiciously. "In what way?" she demanded, activating the controls which would release the ship into free-fall toward the sun.

Kirk shrugged, casting a knowing glance at the Vulcan. "Machines aren't capable of independent thought," he reminded her, trying to figure out what in all the worlds he was doing. "And if they can't reason," he continued with remarkable conviction, "they may be even less efficient than those flesh-and-blood men for which you hold such little regard." He smiled to himself, satisfied. "And as you probably know, machineshave a nasty tendency to break down at the most inopportune moments. . . ."

Thea smiled as she studied the challenging expression in the bright eyes. "It is indeed a pity you were not born Romulan, Kirk," she replied. "The Empire could use men like you."

"The Empire useseveryone, Thea," he returned coldly. "Including you."

Both brows climbed high on the Praetor's forehead. "Whether you believe me or not, James," she returned, "I dohope you are successful. For if you are, we shall surely meet again in that other universe … and perhaps I will be able to prove to you that my views hardly reflect those of the Empire you have known previously. And if not in peace," she mused, "perhaps we would be fortunate enough to meet in battle." She smiled, then turned when Sarela touched her shoulder.

The other woman indicated the panel with a quick motion. "We approach the designated coordinates to navigate an elliptical path around the sun, my Lady," she explained. "If we are to continue with this mission, we must do so now. If we move any closer to the sun without achieving light-speed, the ship will begin to heat, and the gravitational forces will crush us."

"Very well," Thea replied, her eyes lingering on Kirk for just a moment before she returned her attention to the controls. "Since our two allies seem so willing to die, let us oblige them. . . ."

The blue and green sphere completely filled the screen when the scream of the T'Favaron's engines finally died down. For a moment, as Spock glanced at the Earth, he was almost surprised that they had survived.

"We will begin descent to the planet's surface immediately," Sarela said. "Our cloaking device will prevent detection on their crude radar systems, and we will make planet-fall approximately two miles from the point where our operatives will strike."

Thea inclined her head in acknowledgment, then operated the controls which would activate the invisibility cloak and drop the ship into the atmosphere. She wouldn't allow herself to look at the Vulcan. That part of her life—and his—was over.

Kirk glanced nervously at Richardson. "How's the arm?" he asked, needing something to say to break the silence as they waited outside the T'Favaronin a small clearing among giant redwoods.

Jerry shrugged, flexing it carefully. Without the splint to which he'd grown accustomed, he found movement awkward but bearable. "Still a little sore," he confessed, "but better." He grinned nervously. "What's keeping Spock?" he grumbled at last.

Kirk shook his head, kicking at the rocky ground. "I dunno. . . ."

Inside the small craft, Thea turned to survey the Vulcan one last time. Dressed now in contemporary Earth attire, he appeared vulnerable, and she felt her hard resolve soften just a little. With Sarela checking the T'Favaron's engines in the back of the ship, she knew they were alone. "I do not wish to lose you," she said truthfully, "but I have come to understand that one cannot commit oneself to an illusion, Spock."

The Vulcan studied the tender expression on the face of his old enemy … his former lover-of-a-sort. "Sometimes," he responded very gently, "illusions are far more enduring and pleasant than reality." He held the dark eyes. "And reality is little more than a grand illusion itself—especially where you and I are concerned." He paused, trying to decide if it was gratitude or something else which made him linger. "Perhaps … if we couldchoose our destinies …" His voice drifted away.

Turning from him, Thea bit her lower lip. It hurt more than she'd expected, more than should have been permissible. "Please don't say it," she murmured. "Promises from an illusion are scarcely relevant."

The Vulcan nodded to himself, glancing through the open doors to see the sun slowly sinking beneath a cloudy autumn horizon. It was his last sunset, he realized disjointedly, the last time his eyes would ever see the greens and blues and reds and golds of Earth … or any other world. In less than six hours, he would be nothing more than a memory in the atoms of the universe.

He turned abruptly toward the double doors, toward the ramp, toward his own destiny, and did not look back.

"Spock?" A gentle plea.

He stopped, but did not turn.

An unseen hand touched his shoulder, and a final moment of warmth passed through the link. "If I could choose," Thea's voice whispered, "perhaps I would indeed choose illusion. . . ."

But her hand fell away, leaving them both alone.

Chapter Twenty-three

IN SILENCE, SPOCK, Kirk and Richardson made their way into the outskirts of the city. A gentle patter of rain had started to fall, and as they moved down the steamy gray sidewalks, occasionally passing by pedestrians and bikers, Kirk felt himself shiver. He glanced briefly at the Vulcan, noticing that his friend had carefully pulled a wool hat down to cover the irrefutably pointed ears. Spock seemed unusually silent, but the human tried to pass it off to the tension they were all starting to feel in a very tangible way. Overhead, the sky had turned slate-gray, blending almost perfectly with the ancient architecture of the old city. At last, after what seemed like hours, the Vulcan stopped, glancing up at a modern high-rise hotel which seemed vaguely out of place in the conglomeration of slanted roofs and cobblestone streets.

"From what I was able to discern through Romulan computer records of the event," the Vulcan stated, breaking the ominous silence, "the three officials who are to be assassinated will be holding a preliminary conference in this building this evening." He paused. "It was during that meeting, according to Second History, that Doctor Palmer and his two associates … disappeared."

"How did they die?" Richardson asked, pulling the bulky knit sweater, which Thea had provided, tighter around his chest as a brisk wind whipped through an open alley.

"That," the Vulcan replied, "is where the records are sparse. We know only that they were not seen after the meeting. However," he added, "I believe we can assume that the operatives would have found some method to dispose of any evidence. Also, their methods of execution were apparently sophisticated, since Second History reveals that the operatives were never captured."

Kirk nodded to himself. "Which means there's at least a billion and one possibilities, Spock," he observed. "And six hours isn't enough time to figure out which one is the right one in time to prevent it."

The Vulcan studied his human companion carefully. The rain had stopped, and the strong breeze had already started to dry the damp golden hair. "Alternatives?"

Kirk shrugged. "Well, since we know that it happened duringthe meeting, we have to find some way to be inon that meeting. The Romulans are obviously going to be designed to appear human—since Earth hasn't had any contact with alien civilizations at this point. But even if they lookhuman on the surface, if we can get into that meeting, it shouldn't be difficult to spot them."

Richardson groaned. "I seriously doubt they'll be eating nuts and bolts for an appetizer, Jim," he pointed out.

Kirk glanced at the Vulcan as a smile grew on his lips. "I've got a plan, Spock," he added, quickening his pace toward the hotel as he grabbed the Vulcan by the elbow and fairly dragged him along. "It's a long shot, but … I think I've got a role for you that'll make your charade as the Praetor look like the sixth-grade Christmas play by comparison!"

Once inside the lobby of the massive hotel, the conference room was easy enough to locate, Kirk discovered. And other than occasional glances from well-dressed businessmen, their presence scarcely seemed to be noticed. Making his way down a long hall which led to the banquet facilities, Kirk felt himself breathing a little easier.

Making one last turn into a more secluded area of the hotel, he found what he'd sought. The Starlight Ballroom rested at the end of one plushly carpeted hall; two sets of doors stood open, and various officials from numerous governmental bodies seemed to be arriving in a continuous flow. Glancing over his shoulder, Kirk motioned the Vulcan into a small corridor which apparently led into the kitchen area. Then, with Richardson at his side, the human walked boldly up to the first set of doors, and peered inside. One long table had been set with approximately thirty chairs; ornate floral arrangements ran the length of the table, and a large globe of the Earth as viewed from space rested in the center of the arrangement. Intricately carved candle holders held white candles; and with the dim lighting, the table seemed to glow with importance.

As he stood there, staring into the empty room, he soon became aware of Doctor Palmer and his associates. They seemed to stand out in the crowd, the human noticed with a grimace, as he observed several finely clothed men and women cloistering at the end of the hall less than twenty feet away. Under any other circumstances, Palmer could have been just another face in another crowd; but as Kirk looked at the man, he suddenly understood the importance of one individual dressed in a casual business suit. In Palmer's unspoken words, Kirk realized, his own future rested.

After a few moments, the crowd began drifting into the room; there was a scuffle of chairs, a murmur of hushed conversation … and absolutely no one who even vaguely resembled a Romulan. He studied the faces carefully, yet nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Any one of those thirty milling figures couldbe an assassin … or none of them. Yet something like a sixth sense warned Kirk that his hunches had paid off in the past. He glanced over his shoulder, and found Richardson engaged in mundane conversation with a stately woman who, Kirk realized, was old enough to be the ensign's mother. But at least no one seemed to object to their presence in the hall. Within another few moments, the woman smiled gently, blushed appropriately when Richardson kissed her hand, then disappeared into the banquet room. A porter came to the doors, kicked the support guards away, and allowed the last few guests to enter.

He glanced at Kirk. "Are you gentlemen part of Doctor Palmer's party?" he asked politely.

Kirk shook his head with a smile as Jerry rejoined him. "We're waiting for someone," he said casually, motioning to a nearby guest elevator.

The porter nodded with exaggerated courtesy, then quickly disappeared.

Kirk turned to Richardson, then sank down onto the plush courtesy divan against one wall. He took a deep breath. "I think we can safely assume that our little friends are inside," he stated. "We'll give it another five minutes—just long enough for things to settle down in there—and then we'll make our move."

Jerry took a deep breath, glancing around the now-empty hall. "You sure about this, Jim?" he asked.

Kirk shook his head with a lopsided grin. "Not at all," he confessed, then motioned around the corner. Presently, Spock stepped out into the corridor, one brow raising questioningly.

Kirk waited, hand poised on the doorknob. He closed his eyes for a single moment, inhaled, then turned the knob and entered the crowded room with a purposeful stride. Spock and Richardson followed close behind.

At the unexpected entry, the man Kirk recognized as Palmer stopped in mid-sentence, his weathered face tightening with curiosity and a faint hint of irritation as he studied the three intruders. "Gentlemen?" he asked, maintaining the dignified pose despite the accusing expression. "Is there some mistake here?"

Kirk smiled reassuringly as he moved to the doctor's side at the head of the table. All eyes were on him. "Please pardon the interruption, ladies and gentlemen," he began confidently, scanning the curious eyes which stared at him from the long table, "but since this meeting centers on the possibility of contacting other intelligent life in the galaxy, I thought you might be interested in something I have to show you."

His eyes turned to the Vulcan, who was still clad in the woven hat, then nodded to Richardson as all eyes followed his gaze. In a single movement, the Vulcan reached up, removed the hat, and raised his eyes to the crowd as the slanted ears and undeniably alien features were revealed.

At first, there was a moment of hushed astonishment, a few disbelieving laughs, and a general aura of shock. Kirk's eyes traveled quickly over the crowd, noting that everyone in the room was staring at the Vulcan with wide-eyed wonder—with two obvious exceptions. Those two, however, had already risen from their seats on opposite sides of the table, their faces cold and expressionless. He saw one of them raise a hand, and something metal glistened in the palm.

In one quick flurry of movement, Kirk whirled about, tripped the stunned Doctor Palmer, and sent him sprawling to the floor—out of the line of fire when a silent weapon hurled its death charge into the air. Spock had been right; it wasn't a conventional weapon. In a moment of out-of-sync disjointedness, he saw the small cartridge hit the wall behind where Palmer had been standing just a moment before. The capsule disintegrated on impact, and a green fluid oozed down the wall.

Poison—undoubtedly undetectable once in the bloodstream—and undoubtedly a poison for which there were no antidotes on Earth. The operatives had probably intended to make their silent move sometime during the meeting itself; and, at the very worst, the cause of death would have been listed as coronary arrest or massive stroke. The weapon was held in the palm of the hand, barely larger than a coin, and could be discharged repeatedly during an apparently innocent movement such as a wave of the hand.

For an instant, time stood still; but the crowd quickly began dispersing as reality returned. People ran to the exits; and Kirk noticed abstractly that Palmer and his two associates had ducked out a back entrance which lead into a kitchen area—where they would hopefully be safe until the melee was over.

He saw the Vulcan move in on one of the operatives instantaneously, the hard fist lashing out to send the pseudo-man to the ground. But the satisfaction faded when he turned to see the expression of horror on Richardson's face. In a single instant, he knew that his roommate had been hit by one of the cartridges, and he felt himself go cold inside as it all came home. They had come here to die, or simply to go back into nonexistence … but now that it was actually happening, EnsignKirk discovered himself all but paralyzed with resentment and something bordering on terror. Disjointedly, he realized that these two alien machines were responsible for the whole thing—his out of place life, the surreal universe to which he had belonged … and now for the death of his friend.

Turning his anger on the operatives, he forced himself to move, lunging across the table toward the second android. In the sudden confusion, most of the guests were already gone, and the few which remained were beginning to run toward the door, some tripping and falling, then quickly regaining their footing. As if in a film, Kirk heard the muffled shouts, the shuffling, and the sense of panic which permeated the air. In another moment, his ears detected the horrible hiss of the weapon's discharge once again, as the operative fighting Spock began firing several rounds in a circular motion, obviously aiming for the direction of Palmer.

By the time Kirk's shoulder impacted with his own android's stomach, however, the room was clear except for Spock, Richardson and the two machines.

With difficulty, Kirk wrenched his gaze away from Richardson, and managed to bring the Romulan machine to the floor. But he knew he would have little hope of defeating a mechanism in hand-to-hand combat. Desperately, he grabbed for one of the chairs which had been overturned in the panic, and brought it down across the Romulan's head. But instead of lapsing into unconsciousness as a human would have done, the operative merely rolled to its side, its expression never changing as it kicked Kirk's feet from under him and brought him down. The chair splintered, raining jagged wood.

Kirk grabbed in slow motion for the mechanical throat, then forced himself to remember that his usual street tactics would be of little value now. His eyes scanned the floor; and a bittersweet satisfaction settled in his stomach when his gaze settled on one of the candleholders which had been knocked askew. He grabbed it frantically before the operative could get a firm grip on him. Then, rolling quickly to his feet, the human backed up as the machine advanced, its cold blue eyes never wavering. When the android stood less than a foot away, looking down at Kirk as if in victory, the human lashed out with the crude weapon, driving the point of the candle holder deep inside the glass eye. The mechanism reacted only by stumbling back one step, then advancing again, using the visual sensor in the other eye to sight its target. Somewhere, it had lost the weapon it originally carried, and relied on its own strength now, moving in on the human once again.