by Greg Cox
“Bones . . .” Kirk started.
“Hey, he said he liked it last time,” the doctor said. “I remember. For a Vulcan, he was practically cooing at it.”
Kirk eyed the cat skeptically. The last thing he needed was a stray animal getting into trouble. “I have a better idea,” he declared. “You have cages in sickbay, Doctor, for handling biological specimens. Lock her up.”
“Sickbay?” Realizing his joke had backfired on him, McCoy looked appalled. “Wait a second, Jim. I’m a doctor, not a vet!”
But Kirk was already out the door. He had more important things to worry about than a cat.
* * *
Spock rose from the captain’s chair the minute the turbolift doors hissed often. “Situation, Mr. Spock?” Kirk requested as he strode onto the bridge.
“We have identified the nearby vessels,” Spock stated, returning to the science station, “as a Romulan battle cruiser, of Klingon design, accompanied by two warbirds. There appear to be no other spacecraft in the vicinity, although I must remind the captain of the Romulans’ cloaking capabilities.”
“I’m hardly likely to forget them,” Kirk said. He paced in front of his chair, too full of adrenaline to sit down. “Although I’m not sure why they’d want to fly cloaked within their own borders.”
“That would seem to be a logical assumption,” Spock agreed. “Barring any internal conflicts, of course.”
Spock had a point there, Kirk thought. It was possible that the Romulan government used cloaked ships to police their own people. He wished he had more information to work with; unfortunately, what he didn’t know about the internal workings of the Romulan Star Empire would fill several supercomputers. Hell, up until a few years ago, the Federation hadn’t even known that the Romulans were an offshoot of the Vulcans. Since then, Federation intelligence had learned precious little else, even if he and Spock had managed to abscond with some cloaking technology a while back. “Any sign that they’ve recognized us?”
Spock shook his head. “Not yet. Lieutenant Uhura is monitoring their communications. So far they have raised no alarm at our presence.”
“Keep your ears open, Lieutenant,” Kirk said, glancing at Uhura before returning his attention to Spock. “It may be that the sheer unlikeliness of our circumstances may be working in our favor. The Romulans have no reason to suspect that any Federation vessel could get this far beyond their borders without being detected. Security is probably tighter closer to the Neutral Zone than here at—” Kirk paused and looked at Sulu. “Do we know exactly where we are at the moment?”
“Yes, sir,” Sulu said crisply. “At maximum warp, we are approximately twelve hours away from the Romulan side of the Neutral Zone.”
“Twelve hours, seventeen minutes,” Spock added, “to be precise.”
“How far are we from the Romulan homeworlds?” Kirk asked.
“Two full sectors,” Sulu reported, much to the captain’s relief. The last thing he wanted to do was present a possible threat to either Romulus or Remus. That would be equivalent to thrusting a sharp stick into a nest of hornets.
“Mr. Sulu,” he said, “set a course for the Neutral Zone. Let’s get back to the Federation as quickly and as quietly as possible.” Easier said than done, he thought. As he’d already acknowledged, Romulan security would invariably grow tighter the nearer they got to the border. Sooner or later, an armed confrontation with one or more Romulan starships was inevitable.
“Maximum warp?” Sulu asked, adjusting his helm controls.
“No,” Kirk said, finally taking his seat in the captain’s chair and considering the matter carefully. “That might attract the attention of our friends out there. We don’t want to look too guilty or suspicious.” He quickly weighed speed versus stealth and arrived at what he thought was a reasonable compromise. “Warp factor six, Mr. Sulu.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” the helmsman answered, but Kirk barely heard him. He had too many other concerns on his mind. Twelve-plus hours, and then some, was a long time to elude detection. The Enterprise, he knew, was living on borrowed time. What will I do when they catch us? he brooded. Shoot our way out? Activate the self-destruct system? One way or another, there was no way he could let the Romulans get their hands on a Constitution-class starship.
He didn’t even want to think about the disaster unfolding on Duwamish right now. Unfortunately, the endangered colonists were on their own; it would be a small miracle if the Enterprise made it back to the Federation intact, let alone arrived at Duwamish in time to rescue the colonists. Damn you, Gary Seven, Kirk thought. How dare you play games with people’s lives? He wondered if he had misjudged the man entirely the first time they met; after all, Kirk reminded himself, Seven had been willing to detonate nuclear satellites in Earth’s upper atmosphere just to further his own political agenda. Was Seven merely a well-intentioned meddler—or a dangerous fanatic?
“Mr. Spock,” Kirk said, “you conducted some historical research regarding Gary Seven after our first encounter with him. Perhaps you can refresh my memory on the subject while we’re waiting for the Romulans to wake up.” He spoke with a casual flippancy he hardly felt, the better to keep up morale on the bridge. It was part of a captain’s job to rally the spirits of his crew. Why should Chekov or Uhura have to share his anxiety?
“In fact, Captain,” Spock replied, “I began preparing a report shortly after our visitors’s arrival.”
Kirk’s smile was quite genuine; Spock was nothing if not reliable. “Give me the highlights.”
Spock inspected a computer printout affixed to a magnetic clipboard. “As you may recall, Mr. Seven claims to have been raised by unknown aliens who abducted his ancestors six thousand years ago for the purpose of training human operatives who could then intervene during crucial points in Earth’s history. He also implied that these same aliens have sponsored similar operations throughout the galaxy, although there is insufficient evidence to either confirm or refute this assertion.”
A scary idea, Kirk thought. Whoever these anonymous aliens were, their activities seemed far removed from the spirit and wisdom of the Prime Directive. Painful experience, including mankind’s disastrous first contact with the Klingons, had taught Starfleet how dangerous it could be to interfere in the natural development of an alien culture. Who were Seven’s enigmatic masters to think that they could disregard such risks? Granted, Kirk admitted privately, I’ve been known to push the limits of the Prime Directive a time or two, but I never set out to do it on purpose.
“Following our initial encounter with Mr. Seven in the late 1960’s,” Spock continued, “historical evidence indicates that Gary Seven, accompanied by Miss Roberta Lincoln, continued their work for many more years. Much of this information, however, is speculative, and possibly apocryphal, due to the covert nature of their activities and Mr. Seven’s demonstrated talent for working behind the scenes of history. Indeed, many of the instances I have uncovered may have not yet happened to the individuals who beamed onto the bridge not long ago. Nevertheless, Mr. Seven and Miss Lincoln have been linked to a number of significant incidents, including the averted assassination of Chairman Mao Tse-tung at the Great Wall of China, the apprehension of the so-called Watergate burglars in the District of Columbia, a well-publicized near-disaster at the Three Mile Island nuclear facility, the defeat of the so-called ‘cybernauts’ in conjunction with a pair of British intelligence operatives, the successful elimination of a top-secret conspiracy to clone world leaders, the publication of a best-selling treatise on global cooperation, the destruction of fourteen deadly biological weapons, including one spaceborn virus, the birth of a future Nobel prize-winning diplomat, three successful motion pictures of socially transforming value, the crash of the Skylab orbital facility (and subsequent lack of terrestrial casualties), the ‘accidental discovery’ of an AIDS vaccine, the creation of the first true artificial intelligence . . .”
“I get the drift of it,” Kirk said, a bit impatiently. “It
sounds like Seven may have known what he was doing in the late twentieth century, but what’s he up to now, in our time and on my ship? Even he admits that humanity is not rushing to blow itself to bits anymore.”
“Judging from our present location,” Spock said, “it may be that Mr. Seven’s current mission has little to do with human history at all.”
Was that it? Kirk wondered. Did Seven deem twenty-third century Romulan civilization in need of his services? But, if that was the case, why hadn’t his superiors trained a Romulan operative to work within their society? Wasn’t that how it was supposed to work? There was too much he didn’t know about Seven’s shadowy organization.
“What about the young woman?” Kirk asked. “Where does she fit in?”
“That is not entirely clear,” Spock told him. “Her background prior to meeting Mr. Seven is well-documented, though. She was born and raised in the United States of America, and is indeed what she appears to be: a typical human female of the late twentieth century.”
“Not too typical, I suspect,” Kirk said, remembering how close Roberta had come to accidentally killing him with Seven’s own weapon back in 1968. For someone raised centuries before the dawn of warp travel, she had adjusted to Vulcan time travelers and talking computers with remarkable speed.
“That may be so,” Spock conceded. “Historical records confirm her presence on or near the sites of Seven’s few verifiable exploits, although her precise role in these events remains open to dispute.” Spock raised an eyebrow as he scanned the data produced by the ship’s computer. “Odd. Some records suggest that Seven had another female associate, although the evidence recording this second woman is ambiguous and frequently contradictory.”
“I’m not interested in his personal life,” Kirk said, frustration tingeing his voice. “I want to know what Seven is not telling us, and I want to know how much Miss Lincoln knows about his plans.” He rested his chin upon the knuckles of his clasped hands, considering his options. “Spock,” he said finally, “I know it’s a lot to ask, but . . . a mind meld?”
Spock’s expression did not change, but Kirk thought he saw a flicker of something in the Vulcan’s eyes. Regret, perhaps, or reluctance. “As you know, Captain, a Vulcan mind meld is a very personal thing. I would be . . . uneasy . . . about resorting to such methods in this instance, especially without the consent of either Mr. Seven or Miss Lincoln.”
“I know that, Spock,” Kirk said. He felt guilty about pressing his friend on such a touchy subject, but he couldn’t help thinking that the safety of everyone aboard the Enterprise might depend on the secrets locked in Gary Seven’s skull. “But you’ve used your telepathic abilities in emergency situations before, like that time on Eminiar VII. This may be one of those instances where we don’t have any choice, not if we want to survive this mess.”
Spock’s face remained as fixed as granite. “Your point is well-taken, Captain,” he stated flatly. “If, in your judgment, a mind meld is necessary to preserve the ship, that is your decision as captain.”
I don’t want to order you to do it, Kirk thought. He knew what it cost Spock to perform a mind meld. He had personally witnessed the enormous physical and emotional toll the Vulcan endured whenever he lowered the boundaries between his mind and another’s, seen the anguish that contorted Spock’s face and soul when he melded with the Horta on Janus VI. A mind meld could be an extraordinarily intimate and traumatic experience, especially for someone like Spock, who had spent his entire life carefully concealing his emotions from the world. How could he command his friend to undergo such an ordeal simply because of some vague suspicions regarding Seven?
Besides, Seven was safely stowed away in the brig.
“Well, we probably haven’t reached that point just yet,” Kirk reassured Spock, looking in vain for any trace of relief on the Vulcan’s features. “I’m merely reviewing our options, just in case.”
“As is only proper,” Spock said with a nod. Kirk felt like he’d been let off the hook, and was grateful that he apparently hadn’t imposed too much on his friendship with Spock. Good thing McCoy’s back in sickbay, he thought. He could just imagine the good doctor’s views on Vulcan mind melds as a means of interrogation.
Kirk’s shoulders sagged. Suddenly, all the fatigue and tension of the last few hours caught up with him. Over twelve hours to safety, he thought. It was tempting to close his eyes for a few minutes, very tempting, but how could he relax while the Enterprise was still in Romulan territory? He considered paging a yeoman to fetch a cup of hot coffee. He generally frowned on food or drinks being consumed on the bridge, but right now he was inclined to make an exception. He reached for the call-button on his portside armrest.
“Captain!” Uhura called out. “I’m detecting priority transmissions between the Romulan ships. They’ve gone to battle alert!”
“Confirmed, Captain,” Chekov reported. “All three vessels have changed course—and are heading toward us.”
Kirk sat up straight in his chair. “This is it,” he said. “They’re on to us. Raise deflector shields . . . now!”
Chapter Five
ROBERTA WAS IMPRESSED by the size of the guest quarters on the Enterprise. The roomy suite was definitely larger than her own pad back in Manhattan. That apartment was probably long gone in this era, she realized, wondering briefly if there even was a New York City in the twenty-third century. Maybe the whole town’s been made into an historical exhibit by now, or maybe a theme park.
It was encouraging to see firsthand that there was a future, though, considering all the turmoil and unrest back home, including the ever-present threat of thermonuclear annihilation. She had seen movies like “Fail-Safe” and “Dr. Strangelove” and even “Planet of the Apes,” all of which seemed to accept as given that humanity would inevitably destroy itself in a full-scale nuclear war. Yet here was Captain Kirk and his crew, confidently exploring the universe generations after all the wars and unrest of her own time. Seven had told her several times that the two of them (and, okay, Isis, too) were working to bring about a better future. Was this strange new world what he had always had in mind?
Granted, she thought as she explored her surroundings, discovering her own clothes folded neatly on the bed, the future seemed to have its problems, too. She had no idea who the Romulans were, but from all Captain Kirk’s talk about borders and Neutral Zones, she gathered they weren’t exactly Earth’s best friends. Kirk talked about Romulans the same way Americans of her time talked about the Russians or the Red Chinese. The more things change, she thought, et cetera, et cetera.
She remembered the face of the agent who had appeared on the viewscreen back on the Beta-5. He’d looked like he’d been in a fight or something. Had the Romulans, whomever they were, caused his injuries? She wished she’d had more of a chance to quiz Gary Seven before they’d zoomed off to the future. How come the guy on the screen had looked like Mr. Spock? As nearly as she could figure out, the same people who had attacked Agent 146 were planning to do the same thing to Mr. Spock, but not for another twenty years or so. She was kind of surprised Seven hadn’t warned Mr. Spock when he had the chance, but she guessed that would’ve been tampering with history or something. So how come history always has to revolve around assassinations and things like that? It really was just like the bad, old days back home.
But at least mankind was still around to deal with the same old stuff. That was something.
Upon inspection, the suite appeared largely identical to the single-occupant stateroom she had scoped out while “borrowing” her Starfleet uniform, complete with the same funky-looking shower. She felt slightly guilty for securing such comfy accommodations while Gary Seven languished in the brig. She guessed that Seven’s cell was nowhere near as hospitable. I suppose it’s up to me to get him out of jail, she thought, but how?
A computer terminal resembling the one she saw in the conference room rested in one corner of the stateroom, positioned atop a triangular tabletop that fit
neatly in the juncture between two walls. Roberta pulled up a hard plastic chair and inspected the terminal. She would have been impressed by how small and compact the device was, compared to the bulky computers of her own era, if Seven hadn’t taught her to use even smaller devices. She patted her purse automatically, confirming that the crystalline cube was still safely stored inside. The young Russian crewman, Chekov, had searched her bag for weapons, but hadn’t paid much attention to the cube. Probably thought it was just a shiny twentieth century knick-knack, Roberta guessed. A paperweight from a more primitive era.
She quickly ran her hands over the cool metal exterior of the terminal, seeking unsuccessfully for an on/off switch. Having no luck in that endeavor, she leaned back in the chair and crossed her arms thoughtfully. The Beta-5 back home responded to voice commands, she recalled. Maybe the computers on the Enterprise had caught up with Seven’s weird alien science?
“Er, hello,” she addressed the terminal. “Anybody there?”
The terminal beeped in response.
* * *
The Romulan warships were already within visual range. Kirk stared at the main viewer, gazing intently at the image of the Romulan battle cruiser, flanked by the two smaller birds-of-prey. The cruiser resembled the one he and Spock had boarded last year; green in color, its bulbous command center was linked with its rear warp nacelles by a slender, elongated neck. Kirk knew the cruiser was roughly the same size as the Enterprise, while the warbirds, each painted to resemble a feathered raptor, were only half as large as either the battle cruiser or the Enterprise. Kirk reminded himself not to underestimate the two smaller ships. Another warbird had come dangerously close to destroying the Enterprise during his first encounter with the Romulans.
“Phaser banks powered,” Chekov reported. “Photon torpedoes loaded and ready to go.”
“Deflectors at maximum strength,” Spock added.