Gary Seven leaned against the back of the couch and sipped from a cup of hot tea that he held in his left hand. His right arm was draped over Robbie’s shoulders and she snuggled into the crook of his arm. Isis slept at the other end of the couch. The Beta 5’s screen was exposed on the wall. He was waiting for headquarters to respond to the report he had sent back. Doubt still gnawed at him.
“What’s done is done, Gary. You did what you thought best. You chose life over death, and I can’t believe that’s wrong.”
He snuggled his head against hers. “I love you. But what if I’ve unleashed something terrible on the world? That’s what I was sent here to stop.”
Before Robbie could respond, the grizzled but kindly face of Zagor, the one who had trained Seven, appeared on the screen of the Beta 5. Zagor was not human, but he took on the countenance of an old man when he dealt with Seven or any other human. That way, no operative could ever reveal who had sent them. This used to bother Gary, but he had finally come to think of Zagor as the man he appeared to be.
Zagor nodded in greeting. “Gary. Roberta. How nice to see you again. We have analyzed your report at great length. Frankly, our social dynamicists are quite concerned. They estimate that the likelihood of human civilization destroying itself will rise to 78.2 percent if these genetically enhanced children survive to adulthood unfettered.”
Seven sagged back. “Then I’ve made a mess of it.”
“Perhaps not. There is the matter of the bombs and who set them.”
“Do we know who did it?” Seven asked.
Zagor shrugged. “We do not, I am sorry to say.”
“But why would they come to Earth to kill a few children?” Robbie asked.
Zagor shook his head and said, “We are not certain. However, the whole business smacks of an attempt to manipulate the time line. Foolish and dangerous, especially since this era is so fragile and unstable for humanity. Even tiny changes could lead to unpredictable results.”
“Oh,” she said, her face locked into a frown. Suddenly Robbie brightened. “But doesn’t this mean that Gary did the right thing?”
Gary squeezed her hand but shook his head. “By making the odds better than three to one that humanity will destroy itself? Hardly a triumph.”
“Now wait a minute,” Robbie said. “If these time travelers wanted the children dead, then that might be a pretty good reason to keep them alive.”
Zagor laughed. “Roberta, I quite agree. My people do not time travel by choice, and we peek into the time line as little as possible. Interpretation is perilous, cause and effect often obscure. We do not know the ultimate consequence of the actions taken by Gary. Who knows what advances may come more quickly as a result of these children?” Then his face grew sad. “Or what grief. Every coin has two faces. You both have much work ahead to reduce the odds of destruction for humanity, but take heart.
“For our part, we will inform an organization in the far future of Earth, one that polices the time continuum to prevent such disruptions.” Zagor folded his hands and smiled. “Agent Seven, your report is accepted, and we recommend no further action regarding the children at this time. However, you are instructed to monitor their progress and set up means to detect any further attempts to interfere with the time line.”
“We will, Zagor,” Seven said. Zagor nodded and his image faded leaving only the blank screen of the Beta 5. Gary pulled Robbie close to him. “You won’t be hearing any more doubts from me about my decision. You’re right. It’s done, and we’ve got work to do.”
“Not for the rest of the day we don’t,” she said and kissed him long and hard. Then they sat quietly, sipping tea.
“You never finished the story of your aunt’s cousin,” he said at last.
“What?”
“You said she changed her name from Hinkeldorff.”
“What about it?”
“What did she change it to?”
“Oh. Crampot.”
It was the first time Seven had used the pen to help remove tea from a carpet.
Echoes
Randy Tatano
SECOND PRIZE
Randy Tatano is a former television reporter making his second appearance in Strange New Worlds. His first story, “Remembering the Future,” appeared in Strange New Worlds 9. The Stamford, Connecticut, native has just completed a novel he hopes to publish. He’d like to thank Margaret Clark, Paula Block, and especially Dean Wesley Smith for his encouragement over the years and for creating a supportive environment for writers on his website. And of course, nothing would be possible without wife Myra, his soulmate and muse for the past nineteen years.
“T his is completely different,” said Doctor Solomon, finishing his third cup of coffee and banging his mug on the table. “Shinzon was a clone. He was evil. It was also two hundred years ago.”
“David, you know how the Federation feels about genetic engineering, even to fight the Borg,” said Commander Jillian Rush, keeping her voice just above a whisper. The topic was taboo and the Starbase dining room was peppered with Federation officials, though she doubted anyone could hear their discussion above the loud conversation that filled the place. “They’ll never go for it.” She took another bite of her salad.
The door whooshed open and Solomon smiled. “They already have,” he said, pointing to the entrance.
A handsome thirty-something man in a Starfleet uniform entered, moved to the food replicator and placed his order in a British staccato. “Chicken sandwich. Tea. Earl Grey. Hot.”
Jillian looked back at Solomon. Eyes the color of pale topaz grew wide as she gestured to the man. “Him?” she asked, talking through the spinach leaves.
Solomon nodded, his smile growing out of his weathered face.
Jillian couldn’t believe it, but it was there right in front of her. The broad shoulders, the piercing eyes, the unmistakable swagger were James T. Kirk’s. He shot her a smile right out of a Starfleet history book as he picked up his tray and passed their table. His musky cologne remained in his wake. But the accent and deep vocals belonged to Jean-Luc Picard. The voice definitely didn’t match the face. “How? When?” she asked.
Solomon leaned forward a bit, his chocolate brown eyes gleaming like a child’s on Christmas morning. “I got the approval a few years ago. Acquiring the DNA of Starfleet’s greatest captains was a little tricky without raising suspicion, as you can imagine.”
Jillian washed the spinach leaves down her throat with sweet iced tea, her lone non-healthy addiction, the sugar giving her a shot of adrenaline she didn’t need. “What did you do, employ grave robbers?”
“Time travelers.” Solomon ran his hands back through his salt-and-pepper crew cut. “I don’t know exactly how it was done. I told them what I needed, and they provided it.”
“They?”
“The less you know the better. This is beyond top secret. Only two high-ranking members of the Federation even know about it. Along with a few covert operatives.”
Jillian watched as the Kirk-Picard hybrid began to eat his lunch, and seemed to be quite formal in doing so, wiping the corners of his mouth after each bite. The chicken sandwich may as well have been Beef Wellington. “So,” said Jillian, “you’re telling me that he’s half James Kirk and half Jean-Luc Picard?”
“Uh, well … not exactly,” said Solomon.
Jillian tossed her fork into the salad bowl. “What do you mean, not exactly?” She pulled her dark brown hair back behind her ears, placed her hands on the cool table and leaned forward, looking at him like an angry parent even though she was ten years younger. “What other ingredients are in this recipe, David?”
Solomon looked at the hybrid to avoid her eyes. “Only two others. Kathryn Janeway is one. She dealt with the Borg on a personal level. She had a long, close relationship with Seven of Nine. She knew every Borg still has a soul buried deep inside. And she had other qualities I needed. Or rather, he needed.” He looked back at her again. “Also, the Picard part isn’t
totally Picard.”
“Huh?”
“His DNA was acquired when he was Locutus. So in effect, his genetic code contains what might best be referred to as echoes of the Borg.”
“Wow, this just keeps getting better and better. So did you get Kirk’s DNA when he was split into the good Kirk and the evil Kirk?”
“No, Kirk is plain old James T. Kirk. From just after the Khitomer Accords near the end of his Starfleet career.”
Suddenly Jillian realized there was even more. “You said there were two others. Janeway and who?”
He shook his head. “I cannot tell you. Even those behind this project do not know. I’m not sure they would approve. I know you wouldn’t.”
“Wow, that makes me feel comfortable.”
“But it was necessary if this mission is to succeed.”
“And this mission is?”
“The end of the Borg. Forever.”
“So does he have a name?” asked Jillian, cocking her head in the direction of the hybrid.
“He does,” said Solomon. He called to the hybrid across the room. “Sam, come join us.”
The hybrid looked in their direction, ran a napkin across his mouth, picked up his tray, and walked to their table. He put down his lunch and extended his hand. “I didn’t see you over here, Doctor Solomon,” said Sam.
Solomon shook his hand. “Sam, I’d like you to meet the best science officer in the fleet, Commander Jillian Rush. Jillian, this is Captain Sam Farragut.”
Sam turned to Jillian and extended his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Commander Rush,” he said, Picard’s voice coming out of Kirk’s mouth.
“Likewise Captain,” she said, jaw dropping in amazement like a star-struck teenager as she experienced a warm, firm grip and got a closer look. Solomon’s work was incredible. The captains in question were long dead, but every Starfleet officer knew Kirk, Picard and Janeway’s mannerisms from holodeck simulations required at the Academy. Sam Farragut could be James Kirk’s brother. The walk with a purpose, the strong jaw, the look. The voice was definitely Picard, refined and proper with a little whiskey scratch to it that screamed Kathryn Janeway. The captain pulled out a chair and sat down.
“I’ve been meaning to stop by, Doctor Solomon,” said Farragut. “But my schedule has been rather full. I know we have a lot to do before …” He stopped and nodded toward Jillian.
“You can speak freely in front of Commander Rush,” said Solomon. “She’ll be joining us on the mission.”
I’ll what? Jillian stared enough cutlery to host a dinner party through Solomon, who then gave her his famous Oh-sorry-Jillian-I-forgot-to-tell-you-about-that-part-of-the-experiment look.
“Excellent,” said Farragut. He turned toward Jillian. “Then you must be as excited as I am.”
“Blown away,” said Jillian, turning toward Solomon with a faux smile. “You have no idea.”
“Jillian and I have worked together on various projects for more than fifteen years,” said Solomon.
And it might not make it to sixteen when I get through with you …
He continued. “She was instrumental in coming up with the plan.”
I was?
“I’m honored to be chosen to command the mission,” said a smiling Captain Farragut. “A once in a lifetime opportunity to rid the universe of the Borg.” Suddenly he turned serious. “Let them die.”
“We’re certainly in agreement on that, Captain,” said Solomon.
Farragut’s combadge beeped. “Farragut here …”
“Priority message for you, Captain.”
“I’ll take it in my office,” he said. He got up to leave. “Guess I’ll have to take a rain check.”
“We’ll talk soon,” said Solomon.
“Make it so. Tomorrow,” said Farragut. “Very nice meeting you, Commander Rush,” he said, nodding at Jillian as he walked away.
“You too,” she said. Jillian waited for him to get out of earshot before she let her voice jump across the table at Solomon. “You wanna tell me the rest of the story, David?”
“I would love to,” he said. But then he stopped talking.
“Well?”
“Unfortunately I cannot. You will have to wait till we are under way.”
“Under way? To where?”
The turbolift doors opened and Jillian stepped out onto the bridge. The crew was making last minute preparations to get under way. She could feel the excitement in the air, as everyone knew this mission was quite different.
She ran her fingers across the raised letters of the brass dedication plaque adorning the wall. Jillian liked the U.S.S. McAuliffe, though the air temperature was a bit chilly for her taste. Commissioned just six months ago, the ship still had a new antiseptic smell to it, yet the corps of engineers had worked out all the bugs. The science station featured the best equipment Starfleet had to offer. Designed for a crew of thirty, she was only carrying seven on this mission. Jillian would like having the ship almost to herself, as she and Solomon were the only people not assigned to the bridge full-time. She straightened her new uniform, which fit her tall, well-toned body perfectly. Jillian slid her hand across the smooth steel railing that ran around the perimeter of the bridge as she walked toward David Solomon, who was standing behind the Captain’s chair. Farragut was busy giving orders.
“Now are you going to tell me where we’re going?” she asked.
“Soon as we get under way,” said Solomon.
“Never a straight answer,” said Jillian. “No wonder you never got married.”
“Guess the invitation to your wedding got lost in the mail,” he countered.
“Touché.”
Farragut heard her voice and turned around. “Commander Rush, I trust you found the equipment on our little ship suitable?”
“Very nice, Captain.”
“Everything check out?”
“All systems working perfectly, Captain. You have some really nice toys. I’m like a kid in a candy store.”
“Good.” He turned to Solomon. “Are we ready, then, Doctor Solomon?”
“Everything is in place,” said David, casually leaning his slender two-meter frame against the back railing.
Farragut turned back and faced the helm. “Take us out, Mister Kaylon,” he said, sliding to the edge of the captain’s chair.
Lieutenant Frank Kaylon engaged the thrusters of the McAuliffe and nudged the ship out of spacedock. This was Jillian’s fourth ship, but she always liked being on the bridge as a mission got under way.
The ship moved out into open space. “We’re clear, sir,” said Kaylon, a thirtyish officer whose square jaw belonged in a Starfleet recruiting poster. “Course heading, Captain?”
Wow, even the helmsman doesn’t know where we’re going.
“Lay in a course for the Borg home planet,” said the Captain.
Kaylon turned around and looked at Farragut as though he were crazy. “Sir?”
“You heard me, mister,” snapped Farragut.
Jillian’s mouth went dry in an instant. She turned on a dime, grabbed Solomon’s forearm and pulled him to the back of the bridge. “David, what the hell are you doing?”
Solomon took her hand in his own. “I couldn’t tell you, Jillian. In fact, the Captain and I are the only people on this ship who knew our destination. We had to maintain the utmost secrecy.”
She moved to within a few inches of his face and lowered her voice. “You had no right to drag me on a suicide mission without telling me first.”
“It’s not a suicide mission, Jillian. You have to trust me.”
“No, we’re just going to drop in on the Borg for a visit. I didn’t volunteer for this, David. Stop this ship, right now!”
Sam Farragut overheard and swung his chair around to face her. “I’m sorry, Commander Rush, but that is not possible. Once the mission began there was no turning back. We cannot risk having any information regarding our plan leave this vessel until we complete our mission.”
/> “Why am I even here?” she asked.
“That will become clear very soon,” said Solomon.
“I’m sorry if you were misled, Commander,” said Farragut, sitting down with Jillian in the otherwise empty dining room. He placed a plate filled with chicken parmigiana and garlic bread on the table. “I simply assumed …”
“Well, you assumed wrong,” she snapped. She exhaled and realized she was arguing with the wrong man. “I’m sorry, Captain, that was out of line.”
“I can understand your feelings,” said Farragut. “Traveling to the Borg homeworld isn’t exactly in your job description as a scientist. But since the plan was your inspiration I thought you were on board.”
Well, obviously everyone knows the plan but me. Since David is keeping me in the dark, maybe I can pry it out of this guy. “So what do you think of our chances, Captain?”
“If I knew the entire plan, I could answer accurately.”
“Excuse me?”
“For security reasons, Doctor Solomon has only informed me of my part in this mission. I honestly have no idea what the two of you will be doing.”
“You’re the captain and you don’t know?”
“I trust my superiors and Doctor Solomon. They have assured me that everything will become clear at the proper time.”
Jillian couldn’t even begin to process this giant riddle of which she had become a part. She sat there, fuming, wanting to strangle David Solomon. She ate a few spoonfuls of her minestrone, but it tasted liked ketchup with rubber vegetables. She could smell the garlic from Farragut’s plate and wished it was in her soup. She shook her head and looked off into space, trying to find a reason to calm her nerves as she grabbed the side of the bowl to warm her hands.
“Jillian. You know, I’ve heard that name before, but I can’t place it,” said Sam Farragut, obviously wanting to change the subject.
“It’s not terribly common,” said Jillian, still wanting to maintain her anger but being polite. “Kind of old fashioned. My mother named me after a marine biologist of some note. I looked her up once. Turned out she spelled it with a G.”
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