Star Trek The Original Series From History's Shadow (25 page)

Most, but not all.
Adlar and Gejalik had been somewhat successful at tracking the movements of certain individuals. Doing so had become a bit easier in recent years now that military and civilian agencies were partnering to further the American government’s goal of completing a successful manned landing on Earth’s lone natural satellite. Two years earlier, John F. Kennedy, the President of the United States, had laid out his bold vision of seeing such a landing take place within ten years as a means of solidifying the country’s superiority over its Cold War rival, the Soviet Union, so far as space exploration was concerned. Advances were being made and the United States was beginning to close the gap. Project Mercury, comprising the first serious attempts to match the Russian achievements, had completed its final flight earlier in
the year. The next phase of Kennedy’s goal, Project Gemini, would launch test flights within the next two years, and a massive industrial and technological effort now was under way to bring about the eventual goal of landing crafts and pilots on the moon.

Even as the civilian agency spearheaded the lunar program, other firms operating under military oversight were continuing to develop and construct weapons of increasing capability. The United States’ nuclear arsenal was growing at an alarming rate, staying apace with that of the Soviet Union. Both powers now possessed far more firepower than ever would be needed in the event an exchange of such weapons ever took place. While sophisticated protocols had been enacted to prevent the use of such weapons unless either side viewed it as the only remaining option, the specter of nuclear annihilation had been a constant presence for years. Such scenarios had been a staple of films and stories depicting the consequences and aftermath of nuclear holocaust for more than a decade, equaled only by the number of fantastic tales showing all manner of invasions by malevolent alien conquerors. Away from those fictions was reality, including one short intense period the previous year that had seen the United States and Russia come to within moments of waging atomic war on each other. Though catastrophe had been avoided on that occasion, how easy would it be to exploit either side’s paranoia and fear in order to bring about such an event?

We shall soon see,
Adlar thought.

“Are you ready?” Adlar asked, opening the control panel of his shroud harness. Like Gejalik, he already had programmed the device for the human form he planned to assume for their infiltration of the warehouse.

Gejalik deactivated her scanner and returned it to one of the compartments of the belt she wore over her bodysuit. “Yes,” she said, activating her own harness. Her outward appearance shifted so that she now was a human female dressed in an Air Force lieutenant’s uniform. All traces of her Certoss physiology, clothing, and equipment once again were hidden, the human disguise flawless to detection by anything save scanning equipment far more advanced than what was possible by current human technology.

His own disguise now consistent with Gejalik’s as he had taken on the outward appearance of a male captain, Adlar reached into the standard military-issue briefcase he had brought with them and extracted a pair of .45 caliber pistols along with a purse designed for use by female Air Force officers. Gejalik took one of the pistols and, after verifying that it was loaded and its safety engaged, placed the weapon inside the purse.

They waited until both guards had moved out of sight before making their way to Warehouse 13B’s front entrance. Managing the door lock was a simple enough exercise thanks to the electromagnetic driver Adlar produced from his briefcase. Once inside, they made their way through the building’s front section, which consisted of office and meeting space. Turning a corner in the narrow corridor, they saw a set of large metal double doors leading to what Gejalik already had determined was the warehouse’s main floor. Before the entry stood two more Air Force guards, each holding an M2 rifle. Unlike the sentries outside, these two men were dressed in green fatigue uniforms with matching caps pulled low over their eyes. Both men straightened their postures at Adlar and Gejalik’s approach, coming to attention and offering proper salutes with their rifles.

“Good evening, sir. Ma’am,” said the higher ranked of the pair, a staff sergeant, and when he spoke Adlar detected an accent to his voice indicating the man was from one of the United States’ southern regions. “May we help you?”

Affecting a calm demeanor suggesting he and Gejalik had every right to be there, Adlar returned the salute before waving past the sergeant toward the door. “We’re actually very late to a pretty important meeting, Sergeant. I’m sure at least somebody in there with more stuff on his collar than all of us is wondering where we are.”

The sergeant appeared unimpressed with the fabricated plight. “I’ll need to see your identification and authorization, sir. Major Fellini’s orders.”

Adlar never had the chance to say anything before a thin beam of green energy shot from behind him to hit the sergeant in the chest. The sergeant’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell against the door, only just beginning to slide to the floor before the same fate befell his companion. Adlar caught the guard’s rifle, preventing a possible accidental firing as the second man dropped into an unconscious heap. It had taken mere seconds for Gejalik to incapacitate both men.

“You’re really rather effective with that,” Adlar said, turning to see Gejalik wielding one of their compact stun devices.

Gejalik nodded. “Thank you.” She gestured with the weapon before returning it to her waistband and straightening her jacket. “Remind me to thank Jaecz for it the next time we’re able to communicate.” Constructed by Jaecz, the devices were concealed with minimal effort, and also were preferable nonlethal alternatives to the .45 pistols they carried. Though Adlar had little concern over killing if circumstances required it, doing so when it could be avoided was a practice he had favored despite the endless drills and lectures to the contrary
instilled by his various training instructors. Of course, he knew how odd his personal predilections were in the face of his mission, which if successful would see to the obliteration of most if not all of the human species.

Yes, it’s contrary, but I do not care
. Regardless of the mission and what was required of him, he wanted to retain at least some small measure of dignity and honor. He knew it was a semantic argument he likely would lose if faced with a debate, but for now the minor, even irrelevant distinction would have to be sufficient.

As Adlar verified that they were out of commission, Gejalik retrieved the portable scanner from her purse. Activating the unit, she touched a control and studied its display.

“It’s in the chamber beyond these doors. I’m scanning two other life-forms, one male and one female.” She frowned, tapping another control. “Interesting. The scanner’s detecting unusual power sources. It’s small, but there, and inconsistent with present human technology.”

“Something from the probe?” Adlar asked.

“I don’t know.” Keeping the scanner activated, Gejalik reached with her free hand to retrieve the .45 pistol from her purse. “Ready?”

Pulling out his own sidearm, Adlar said nothing as he used the driver to unlock the door before pushing it open. The entrance led to another short, dimly lit corridor that ended ten meters ahead of them at a heavy black curtain. Adlar held up a hand and motioned for Gejalik to listen, and she nodded as she confirmed what he thought he had heard: Someone beyond the curtain was talking. To Adlar the voice sounded female. Gesturing for Gejalik to follow, he peered through the curtain, but saw nothing in his immediate line of sight. With as little movement as possible, he pushed through the curtain.

The room beyond was large and open, rising two stories above the floor to the warehouse’s vaulted metal ceiling. Rows of metal shelving dominated the chamber’s back half, connected by catwalks and ladders. The forward area had been converted to an open workspace that reminded Adlar of the building in Yuma where they had found the spacecraft being tested by the humans. In the center of the open area, surrounded by work lights mounted on tripods, was a metal object, its shell almost black in color. The probe was not quite a cylinder, its squat height making each end appear ovular in shape. Smaller cylinders mounted to either side suggested to Adlar a form of faster-than-light propulsion. He also recognized one of the written Vulcan languages from collections of symbols scattered across its surface. Standing before the probe was a human male with short blond hair and wearing green fatigues, talking in a low voice though no one else seemed to be nearby. It took Adlar an extra moment to realize that the man appeared to be talking into something he held in his hand, a slim, silver object.

Who is this?

That was all Adlar had time to consider before something moved to his left, and he saw a dark figure aiming something at him.

•   •   •

Cynthia Foster was sure she had hit the intruder with her servo, the compact weapon’s stun beam in theory being more than sufficient to pacify a target from this distance. The new arrival’s reaction—firing a pistol in her direction—told her otherwise.

“Ian! Look out!” she shouted, diving for cover behind a row of wooden cargo crates as more shots rang out in the warehouse. Who were the man and woman who had come
through the curtain? It was unlikely that they were ordinary Air Force officers, not if the small device the woman held was any indication. It had emitted an energy reading unlike anything to which any normal human should have access. Moving to the row’s far end, Cynthia maneuvered herself so that she could peer over the top of the crate she now found herself behind, orienting herself to face back toward the curtain and the entrance through which the intruders had come. No sooner was she able to get a look than the woman fired her own pistol in Cynthia’s direction.

The guns are conventional enough,
she chided herself.
Move your ass, Agent 6
.

Recalling the warehouse’s interior, she adjusted her servo’s settings before taking off at a run back the way she had come. As she moved, she looked up over the top of the cargo crates and aimed the servo at the large, single-bulb floodlights hanging from the ceiling nearest the entrance and fired. The bulb exploded from the force of the servo’s sonic beam, sending shattered glass cascading to the floor. She saw the two figures running away from the curtain, seeking cover, and she repeated the action on another of the lights. The two intruders moved behind another large wooden crate and Cynthia destroyed a third light, plunging the forward half of the room into near darkness.

“Ian,” she murmured. Ian Pendleton, standing exposed next to the Vulcan probe at the time of the intruders’ arrival, obviously had sought cover once gunfire erupted.
Where was he?
Cynthia forced herself not to worry about her fellow agent and concentrate instead on the two assailants.
Who are they?
It was likely that they had come for the probe, but how did they even know it was here? The device was supposed to be a closely guarded secret, known only to a handful of
American military and civilian officials. She and Ian knew about the probe only because they had tracked its movements as it had assumed orbit over Earth and began its clandestine surveillance of the planet. The mission given to her and her fellow agent was supposed to be simple: Retrieve the probe and safeguard it from further study by the American military or anyone else.

Cynthia dove across an open space between two crates, hearing the whine of a pistol shot skipping off the concrete behind her. Then she heard the sound of Ian’s servo followed by shattering glass, and another section of the warehouse fell into darkness. Agent 42 was mimicking her actions from wherever he had ended up in the large room, and now she heard the sounds of footsteps running across the warehouse floor. She saw a lone, shadowy figure sprinting toward the rows of storage shelves at the back of the room and recognized Ian’s distinctive running stride. More bullets followed after the agent, a few of them chewing into the crates he passed as he lunged once more for protection. With their attackers distracted, Cynthia rose from her crouch and fired her servo, but the weapon’s stun beam again had no effect save to alert the intruders to her position.

“Halt!”

The shouted voice was coming from the other end of the warehouse, and Cynthia looked around the crate to see three men running into the chamber, each brandishing M2 carbine rifles. One of the guards, a senior airman judging from his rank chevrons, was the group’s apparent leader and he already was raising his rifle to point it at the pair of intruders. Now that they were standing near one of the lights that had not yet been destroyed, Cynthia could see that they both were wearing Air Force officer uniforms.

“Hold it right there!” he yelled. “Drop those weapons right now!”

Neither of the intruders hesitated before turning their pistols on the new arrivals and firing. Cynthia flinched as the men were cut down in seconds, only one of them able even to call out in surprise and pain before all three dropped to the floor.

No!

“Cynthia!”

Ian’s shout made her look over the crate to see that her partner had scrambled to the second-level catwalk bordering one aisle of shelves. He had found a weapon of his own, another M2, and was aiming it at another section of the warehouse floor.

“They’re to your right!” he called out, gesturing with the rifle’s muzzle. Bullets ricocheted off the metal framework around him and he ducked, returning fire with his own weapon. Cynthia knew Ian was not attempting to hurt or kill their opponents, but instead was laying down covering fire for her. Dashing for a collection of larger cargo crates near the base of the shelves, she saw the other woman aiming her pistol and firing. A pair of bullets whipped past the back of her head and Cynthia heard them tear into the wall to her left before she jumped behind the nearest crate. She landed in awkward fashion on the unyielding concrete floor, wincing at the stab of pain in her ribs.