Star Trek The Original Series From History's Shadow (6 page)

“You seem preoccupied, Commander,” Gejalik said, and the first officer realized he had been engrossed in his silent contemplation for longer than would be considered a polite pause in any conversation.

“I apologize,” he said, opting against offering any further explanation. “You earlier said that you were one of four operatives dispatched by your military to Earth. Were similar teams deployed to other locations or time periods?”

Again, the Certoss seemed at ease with providing what Spock might consider privileged information. “There were other teams receiving the same training, though the information they were given was specific to their mission and target destination and time period. So far as I am aware, ours was the only team assigned to Earth, and we were the first group to be transported through our time-displacement generator. I do not know what happened to the others.”

Spock nodded. “If, as you suspect, the changes brought about by the end of the temporal conflict came about while you were in transit, this may have had the effect of altering your planet’s history to the point where the reality in which your mission was launched no longer exists in any recognizable form.”

“It’s a possibility to which I’ve given much consideration since arriving here,” Gejalik replied, and Spock noted the change in her demeanor. Though her facial features did not seem to lend themselves to a broad spectrum of expressions, he still believed he was seeing what his human colleagues might describe as “melancholy.” He had encountered such
reactions while in the company of his human shipmates through the years, but he often was uncertain how best to act in such situations.

“Even if I’m able to return to my homeworld,” she continued after a moment, “I’m still generations out of time. I won’t be born for more than a century.” She paused again, and the smile returned. “I long ago fell into the habit of measuring time as humans do. It was necessary to adapt to their world in every conceivable way, no matter how seemingly insignificant. Even when we were alone, we continued to display human mannerisms and speak in the relevant language, going so far as to adopt slang or other colloquialisms. It became second nature to act like our human counterparts and even to think like them. There were times when I thought I might be more human than a member of my own people. I certainly will be an alien to them should I return now.”

Spock considered her plight, knowing that in a very real sense, the predicament she faced was quite similar to that posed by the
Enterprise
crew when they had thought themselves marooned in Earth’s past. Faced with three centuries of foreknowledge, every single member of the ship’s complement represented a danger to the timeline, and it was a dilemma Captain Kirk—and Spock himself—had contemplated as they considered the choices available to them.

What options, if any, were available to Gejalik? While there were those parties who almost certainly would deem her an enemy of the Federation for her actions, there was the intriguing matter of her being from a timeline quite different from the one she now occupied. Could a soldier, operating under orders as in Gejalik’s case, be held responsible for the decisions and decrees of an authority that no longer existed? It was a question Spock suspected would occupy the attention
of Federation science and legal experts for some time, assuming the issue even was brought to their attention. Would other parties—Commodore Antonio Delgado, for example—move to quell this matter and see to it that it never received that sort of scrutiny? If so, what would become of Gejalik herself?

That line of thought was interrupted by the whistle of the ship’s intercom followed by the voice of Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.

“
Yellow Alert. The ship is now on Yellow Alert. Captain Kirk and Mister Spock, please report to the bridge. Captain Kirk and Mister Spock to the bridge, please
.”

•   •   •

Displayed upon the bridge’s oversized main viewer was the image of a spacecraft of unfamiliar design, moving at what Kirk guessed to be a very high rate of speed. Unlike most vessels with which he was familiar, he found the unidentified craft as much a work of art as it was a functional construct. Possessing no angles or straight lines, it featured long, gentle curves, as if the entire hull was created as a single piece rather than being assembled from components. It suggested grace as well as speed, something Kirk found appealing.

It’s beautiful
.

“Report,” he commanded, refocusing his attention on more important matters.

From where he sat at the bridge’s helm station, Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu looked over his shoulder. “Sensors detected its approach a few moments ago, sir, traveling at high warp on an intercept course. It’ll be within our weapons range in less than two minutes. Our shields are up and weapons are on standby, but they don’t appear to have any weapons at all.”

“You’re sure?” Kirk asked, looking to where Chekov manned the science station in Mister Spock’s stead.

The young ensign nodded. “Aye, sir. They have shields, but they’re not raised. I’ve been able to identify the ship configuration, Captain. It’s a Certoss vessel.”

“Certoss?” Kirk repeated, frowning. “They’re a long way from home.”

So far as he knew—which, admittedly, was not much—the Certoss people, though capable of interstellar travel, in general preferred not to stray too far from the worlds of their own star system. It was one of the few data points that had stood out to him during his recent review of the survey reports filed by the
U.S.S. Endeavour
’s captain following her initial contact with the race.

There was, of course, a very valid reason for the ship to be here, sitting at this moment in his brig, but to arrive here and now?

Curiouser and curiouser
.

“The vessel is about the size of a small scout craft,” Chekov said, “with a length roughly three times that of a standard Starfleet shuttlecraft, and about twice the width. Sensors are picking up nine life-forms aboard, all Certoss.”

Kirk nodded at the report. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Behind him, the turbolift doors parted and Spock emerged onto the bridge, pausing as he got his first look at the vessel displayed upon the viewscreen. His right eyebrow rose.

“Fascinating.”

“That’s what I was thinking,” Kirk said, before looking to where Uhura was sitting at the communications station. “Try hailing them again, Lieutenant.”

“Yes, sir,” Uhura replied, reaching for the Feinberg
receiver inserted into her left ear as her right hand moved across her console’s array of controls. “They’re not responding, but I can confirm that they are receiving our hails.”

“Keep at it,” Kirk said, leaning forward in his chair. “And just to see what happens, advise them that we think we know why they’re here, and we’d like to discuss it with them. Maintain Yellow Alert for now, until we see what this is about. Spock, I don’t suppose our guest mentioned anything about this?”

The Vulcan shook his head. “No, Captain, but we did activate her communications device. It’s possible that the Certoss vessel intercepted whatever message was sent, but I am at a loss to explain how they could have responded so quickly.”

Kirk had been thinking along similar lines. From what he remembered, the Certoss system was nearly two weeks distant even at maximum warp. Given its people’s penchant for staying close to home, the odds of encountering a Certoss vessel were slim enough already. What was a Certoss vessel doing in this area of space in the first place?

“Captain,” Uhura called out from the communications station, “we’re now receiving a response to our hails. They seem most eager to speak with us.”

Smiling, Kirk nodded. “I thought that might get their attention. On-screen, Lieutenant.”

The main viewscreen shifted from an image of the alien vessel to that of a Certoss. She wore a flowing, wine-colored gown highlighted by streaks of light blue, and a large oval pendant hung around her thin neck. Appearing older than Gejalik, this person stood before what Kirk at first thought might be a piece of abstract art. A closer look told him that it was some form of a wall-mounted control panel, a pattern of multicolored swirls not merely decorative but instead looking
to be the layout of controls and monitoring devices. As with the ship itself, its internal components seemed constructed with aesthetic form as well as function in mind.

I’ll bet Scotty’d have a field day poking around over there
.

“Greetings,” he said, rising from the command chair and making his way around Sulu to stand before the viewscreen. “I’m Captain James Kirk of the
Starship Enterprise
. Are you in need of assistance?”

On the screen, the Certoss female replied, “
Greetings, Captain Kirk. I am Minister Ocherab, of the Unified Envoy Vessel
Balatir.
I apologize for this rather unexpected meeting, but your sensing devices hopefully have determined that my ship carries no weapons, and that we intend no aggressive action toward you.
”

From the science station, Spock said, “Captain, the library computer verifies that a vessel matching that name and description is in service to the Certoss planetary government. In fact, since formal first contact by the
U.S.S. Endeavour,
it has been used to ferry Certoss representatives to meet with Federation diplomats.”

“Stand down from Yellow Alert,” Kirk said, satisfied with the report before returning his attention to Ocherab. “Minister, may I ask what brings you this way, and why you were on a course to intercept us?” It may have been his imagination, but he thought he detected what might pass for uncertainty or even embarrassment on the Certoss leader’s face as she looked down for a moment.

“
Captain, I must confess that I do not understand all the aspects of my current mission, but the simple answer to your question is that my government directed my vessel to this region of space
.” She appeared to falter, as though unsure of her own words, before continuing. “
Our original instructions were to rendezvous with your vessel and to seek out a meeting with you, Captain. At that time, no specific time or location was given, and this information was only relayed to me upon our arrival in this sector. However, it is my original orders that raise the most questions.
”

Intrigued even though he was sure he understood at least part of Ocherab’s confusion, Kirk asked, “In what way, Minister?”

As though deciding there was nothing to be gained by delaying any more, the Certoss straightened her posture as she gazed out from the viewscreen. “
Captain, I know this will sound odd, but the reason we are here is because we were directed to this location, at this point in time, in order to pick up a passenger reportedly in your custody. This individual is of great interest to our science ministry, owing to the fact she dispatched a message to Certoss Ajahlan
.” She paused, looking to someone or something offscreen before nodding. “
As you measure it, her message was sent three centuries ago
.”

“Three centuries?” Kirk repeated, forcing his expression to remain neutral.

It seemed the day was not yet done being odd.

SIX

Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton, Ohio

April 21, 1952

Staring at the handwritten letter for the third time, his eyes tracing each character’s curves rendered in a style as familiar to him as his own hand, James Wainwright felt his teeth clenching as sadness welled up within him.

I know your work is important to you, and you’re driven by your duty. It’s one of the many things I’ve always loved and admired about you, but I’m tired of being the second most important thing in your life. I know this wasn’t always true, and I don’t know what’s changed, but I know that I just can’t tolerate it anymore.

“Sir?” a voice called out, soft and tentative. “Are you all right?”

Wainwright cleared his throat, looking across to where Airman First Class Allison Marshall sat behind her desk, staring at him over stacks of files, books, and other papers. The piles of paperwork, along with still more material crammed into desk drawers, filing cabinets, and even the adjacent office, had all but come to define her existence—and his. She was dressed in the female variant of the Air Force enlisted member’s service uniform, with a dark blue skirt and jacket over a light blue dress shirt, and a dark blue neck tab rather than the tie worn by her male counterparts. Her dark
brown hair was pulled back and secured in a small bun at the base of her neck.

Drawing a deep breath, he shook his head. “It’s . . . nothing. Just some personal business.”

“It’s Deborah, isn’t it, sir?” Marshall asked without batting an eye.

You don’t talk to me, about anything. Is it because you can’t, or you just don’t want to?

In most other circumstances, Marshall’s question would have been inappropriate, given their professional working relationship and Wainwright’s position as her superior officer. Still, the nature of their duty assignment and the conditions under which they often were forced to operate—long hours, traveling, and maintaining secrecy from family and friends—had seen to it that they had become close friends and even confidants. Until Marshall was assigned as his clerical assistant early the previous year, Wainwright had not had anyone with whom he could discuss his work except for other case officers, and they all had their own assignments and security directives to follow. Though his wife, Deborah, at first was put off by the notion of her husband traveling across the country with another woman, she never once raised any questions or suspicions that anything untoward might be occurring between him and Marshall.

Please know that I love you, Jim, and I always will
.

Wainwright nodded. “I suppose I knew it was coming.” He folded the letter and returned it to the matching envelope he had found the previous evening on the kitchen table. Deborah and their son, Michael, had not been there when he came home after yet another trip to some other city for still another in a seemingly unending series of investigations. Earlier in the week, Deborah had broached the idea for her
and Michael to go back to California to visit her parents for a while. Given Jim’s workload and the schedule he had been keeping in recent months—along with wishing to avoid an argument—he had raised no objections. Time apart would do them good, she had told him, which Wainwright had almost found humorous considering the long periods of time he was forced to be away from home, and Deborah’s letter had confirmed the California trip.