Star Trek The Original Series From History's Shadow (38 page)

“Do they have UFO sightings in Alaska?” Marshall asked. “Something tells me we’ve got a good chance of finding out.”

Chuckling at her gallows humor despite his darkening mood, Wainwright replied, “I don’t think you have too much to worry about. You weren’t involved in the worst of it. They’ll probably go easy on you, but me?” He frowned, shaking his head. “Maybe I should buy a parka.”

“You shouldn’t beat yourself up so much,” Marshall said. “It’s not healthy, Mister Wainwright.” She stepped around her desk and he mirrored her movements so that they met in the center of the office. He began reaching with his right hand but stopped himself when he realized he was about to touch her injured shoulder and changed hands. “Everything will work out. You’ll see.” She raised her free hand to touch
the side of his face. “Besides, we’ve still got each other, right?”

Wainwright grinned, reaching up to squeeze her hand. “Maybe we should retire, find someplace warm and sunny, with lots of beach to walk on, and lots of drinks with rum and little umbrellas in them. Forget all about this, and go enjoy life for a change.”

Her eyes brightening along with her smile, Marshall cast a glance toward the window, which revealed the start of another gray day. “I’m liking the sound of that.”

A knock on the door interrupted their quiet moment, and they released each other’s hands before Wainwright called out, “Come in.” The door opened to admit Jeffrey Carlson, the professor carrying a well-worn brown leather briefcase. Now close to sixty years of age, he appeared older still, his thin hair and full beard having gone from gray to white. There were heavy bags under his eyes, and he wore a pair of narrow-lens glasses perched on his nose. He was thinner than the last time Wainwright had seen him, though he moved with a confidence and strength that belied his appearance. Wainwright was not even aware that the elder man was in Ohio, figuring him to be ensconced within the confines of the super-secret Air Force base in the middle of the Nevada desert where he had been consumed with all manner of classified shenanigans.

“Jim, my old friend! Welcome back,” Carlson said, entering the office and extending his hand. As they shook, the older man gestured toward Wainwright’s stomach. “I trust you’re healing rather nicely?” Turning, he embraced Marshall while minding her injured shoulder. “Allison, the years are powerless against your beauty. You’re as radiant as ever.” Stepping back, he offered them both a warm smile. “It’s so good to see you.”

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who feels that way,” Wainwright countered.

Carlson offered a derisive snort as he set his briefcase atop Marshall’s desk. “Not at all.” He waved in a dismissive gesture. “Oh, don’t get me wrong; there are quite a few people who are none too happy with what transpired down in Florida.” Lowering his voice, the professor added, “But there are those of us who know at least some of the truth regarding your activities, and are therefore among your group of loyal supporters.”

Marshall smiled. “Of course. Figures they’d bring you back for that.”

“Regardless of what you may think, my friends, your accomplishments have not gone unnoticed.” Carlson shrugged. “On the other hand, they do raise as many questions as answers, such as how you were able to track the Certoss agents’ movements to the McKinley base and other locations.”

Clearing his throat, Wainwright said, “You can thank Mestral for that.” After discussing it, he and Marshall had elected to keep to themselves the assistance provided by the two mysterious men, the human and his Vulcan companion who had referred to themselves by their code designations, Agents 937 and 176.

“We’re still the only three who know about Mestral, right?” Marshall asked.

Carlson nodded. “So far as I know. Have you heard from him?”

“No,” Wainwright replied. “The last time we were together, he was on his way to New York. He thought he’d figured out where the Certoss might’ve had a base of operations, either there or maybe New Jersey.”

“He was going to contact us when he had something
concrete,” Marshall added, “but that was before we left for McKinley.”

Moving to one of the chairs positioned before Marshall’s desk, Carlson took a seat. “So, he’s presumably still out there, somewhere, along with two more Certoss aliens who’ve become experts at keeping a low profile after living among us for almost twenty-five years. For all we know, their life spans are such that they could go another twenty-five years, and simply outlive us.”

“Speak for yourself,” Marshall retorted, before reaching out and patting the older man’s shoulder.

“Where does that leave us?” Wainwright asked.

Carlson settled into the chair. “That’s a very good question, my friend. The short-term answer is that very little will happen. For the time being, Project Blue Book’s profile is to be curtailed; drastically, in some respects.”

Feeling his heart sink, Wainwright scowled. “They’re shutting us down?”

Marshall leaned against her desk. “But, we’ve more than proven that other alien species are out there, studying us, and a few of them don’t seem to like us all that much. What about those?”

“As always, my dear, MJ-12 will continue to take the lead in those matters, but this business of investigating every civilian UFO sighting or report of ‘alien abduction’ has done more to harm our efforts than anything else. It’s the debunked reports that give pause to those in Congress who control our funding, and they have other priorities, to say nothing of little time or patience for unrealized threats when there are plenty of real ones plaguing our world right now.”

“For years, we’ve straddled the fence between Majestic 12 and Blue Book,” Wainwright said, eyeing Carlson. “So, what
about now? Are you finally pulling us over to your side of the fence?”

The professor smiled. “That’s certainly my intention, but these things do take time. In the interim, you and Allison will be attending to various close-down activities for Blue Book. Once that’s completed, and if I get my way, you’ll be working directly for me. No more of this liaison nonsense. You’ve been watching from the sidelines and staring through the windows for far too long, and I need people I can trust.” Reaching for his briefcase, he laid it across his lap before opening it. “And on that subject, I have something I’d like you to see.” From the case, he removed a manila file folder, which he handed to Wainwright, whose eyes narrowed as he read the label adorning its front: “TOP SECRET/MAJIC EYES ONLY.” He had seen such warnings only on rare occasions over the years, and always as a consequence of Carlson sharing with him information Wainwright likely was not supposed to see.

“Uh-oh,” he said. “Won’t we get in trouble for looking at this?”

“You mean, more trouble than you’re in now?” Carlson asked.

Wainwright considered that response. “Whatever you say.” With Marshall standing next to him, he opened the folder, which contained but a single photograph of what could only be a spaceship. A large saucer was the craft’s dominating feature, along with a single, blunt cylindrical projection beneath the saucer, and two thinner, longer protuberances sweeping back from it. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, showing the picture to Marshall as he looked to Carlson. “Is this real?”

“It was taken by a military reconnaissance satellite,” Carlson said. “The object, which remains unidentified, was
photographed in orbit on the morning of March 29, 1968. It disappeared later that day without a trace. One minute it was there, and the next? Nothing. We’ve never seen anything like it, and nothing matching its description has ever been reported in any UFO sighting.”

Her tone one of worry, Marshall asked, “Any ideas on whose it might be?”

Carlson sighed. “None. Could be the Ferengi, or it could be the Certoss. On the other hand, it could be someone else entirely.” He reached up to tap the photo. “Estimates are that thing is a thousand feet long, so whoever it belongs to? They seem to mean business.”

The craft was huge; that much was obvious from the picture. Though the quality of the image was far from perfect, it still was clear enough for Wainwright to get an idea of its construction, which was unlike anything he had encountered in the twenty years he had been with this project. No obvious cannons or missile tubes were visible, so what sort of weapons might it carry? Did it even have weapons at all? “This thing is incredible.”

“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Marshall said.

“Amen to that,” added Carlson. “As you can see, when it comes to preparing for possible alien invasion? We still have quite a bit of work to do.”

Turning to Marshall, Wainwright sighed and offered a knowing smile. “That we do.” She returned his gaze, nodding in agreement.

The beach, they knew, still would be there.

THIRTY-THREE

U.S.S. Enterprise

Earth Year 2268

Kirk barked into his communicator, “Spock! Tractor beam! Keep that ship where it is!”

His voice filtered through the unit’s speaker grille, the first officer replied, “
Tractor beam activated. We are holding the Tandaran vessel at maximum range, but it is attempting to overpower the beam’s effects
.”

“Contact them and tell them we’ll open fire if they don’t stand down.” Even taking into account the Tandarans’ evident concerns and Colonel Abrenn’s apparent paranoia, this entire situation had gone well past bizarre and into the realm of the utterly ridiculous. Studying the stunned Abrenn, who remained unconscious where Giotto had placed him on the hangar deck, Kirk shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll give him this: He’s committed.”

“Should
be
committed, if you ask me.” Giotto was completing the process of removing from Abrenn his weapons, helmet, and other equipment, and handing those items to one of his people. Ensign Minecci and other members of the security staff already had performed the same actions on the other five Tandarans in the colonel’s boarding party, who now were being escorted under guard to the
Enterprise
brig.

“
Captain,
” said Spock over Kirk’s communicator, “
the Tandaran ship’s engines are beginning to overheat
.”

“Stand by, Spock,” replied the captain, closing his communicator as he saw Doctor McCoy stepping around Minecci, his medical kit in his hand.

“Is he all right?” asked the doctor, gesturing toward Abrenn.

Kirk nodded. “Just stunned. Can you revive him?”

“Yeah. Give me a minute.” Kneeling next to his new patient, McCoy removed a hypospray from his kit and eyed its contents for a moment before applying the injector to the side of Abrenn’s neck. The hissing sound of the drug being administered was followed a moment later by the Tandaran’s eyes fluttering open.

“Colonel,” Kirk said, trying to get a fast handle on the situation. “It’s all right. You have my word you won’t be harmed.” Having returned his phaser to his waist, he held out both hands to show he carried only his communicator.

Clearing his throat before attempting to push himself to a sitting position, Abrenn said, “All evidence to the contrary, of course.”

“You’re talking, aren’t you?” McCoy asked, having stepped back from the Tandaran. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

Abrenn ignored the physician’s verbal jab, eyeing Giotto who once again stood with phaser in hand, covering the colonel as he rose to his feet.

“
Bridge to Captain Kirk,
” echoed Spock’s voice from the hangar bay. “
The Tandaran vessel’s engines have failed. Our sensors are detecting complete primary power loss. Life-support systems are functional, but on reserve power only
.”

Watching Abrenn while listening to his first officer’s report, Kirk saw the slight shift in the Tandaran’s
expression—disappointment or defeat—before he was able to school his features. “It’s over, Colonel. This needs to stop.”

“You seem to be in control, Captain,” Abrenn replied. “What will you do now?”

Instead of answering him, Kirk opened his communicator. “Kirk to bridge. Spock, contact the Tandaran ship and tell them we’re standing by to help with repairs. If they have any wounded, they can be treated here on the
Enterprise
. Notify Mister Scott to have a damage repair team ready to beam over.”

“
Acknowledged
.”

To Abrenn, Kirk said, “What about it, Colonel? Can I safely send my people over to help your ship and crew, or will the fighting continue over there?”

Sighing, the Tandaran replied, “It does not matter, Captain. I may not have succeeded in my mission, but that does not mean the mission is over. My superiors will simply send someone else, either to your Federation or to Certoss Ajahlan or both. So long as we believe a threat exists to our people, we will not stop.”

“I will go with you.”

Kirk looked over his shoulder at the sound of the new voice to see Gejalik, accompanied by Minister Ocherab, Roberta Lincoln, and Mestral, standing at the entrance to the
Balatir
.

Turning to face her, Abrenn said, “I beg your pardon?”

“I said I will go with you,” Gejalik repeated, stepping down the ramp leading from the
Balatir
’s entry hatch and walking across the hangar deck. Ocherab walked alongside her, with Lincoln and Mestral staying behind them. “I am the one you want. I represent the threat that concerns you. Minister Ocherab and her crew, as well as the rest of my planet,
have nothing to do with any of this. Leave them in peace, and I will go with you. I will answer whatever questions you have to the best of my ability.”

Moving to stand beside her, Mestral said, “And with your permission, I will accompany her.”

Abrenn frowned. “Why would you do that?”

“I will be able to corroborate some elements of what she will tell you,” the Vulcan replied. “I was in contact with one of her companions during our joint time on Earth, and I mind-melded with him. Therefore, I know everything he did about their mission, at least up to that point in time.”

Looking to Lincoln, Kirk asked, “What’s your take on this?”