Legacies

by Greg Cox

  Time travel was new to Starfleet, having been first achieved by Enterprise barely more than a year ago—and duplicated months later after a near-catastrophic run-in with a black star. There was already some talk of employing the technique to deliberately travel back in time to conduct historical research, but this was still unexplored territory that nobody really had a handle on just yet. Starfleet itself was divided on the subject, with some urging extreme caution where time travel was concerned and others equally vocal about pushing forward into the fourth dimension.

  Kirk wondered where Captain Una sided on this issue.

  “A moment, Captain,” Spock said, “while I analyze our recordings of what just transpired.”

  “This just keeps getting crazier,” McCoy complained. He leaned in toward Kirk and lowered his voice. “You ever going to fill me in on just what the devil has possessed her?”

  Kirk sympathized with the doctor’s confusion, but remained conscious of Bates standing nearby, not to mention Sulu and Chekov and the rest of the bridge crew, who had to be just as baffled as McCoy. There was no way to fully explain Una’s actions—or his own—without speaking openly of the Key.

  “Not now, Doctor,” he said firmly.

  “Well, then when—?” McCoy began, only to be silenced by a stern look from Kirk. Getting the message, he backed off for the moment. “Never mind. I can wait.”

  Thank heaven for small favors, Kirk thought. I’ve got my hands full with a renegade captain. I don’t need a curious doctor breathing down my neck too.

  Spock spoke up from the science station.

  “I have completed my calculations. Judging from her recorded speed, her proximity to the white dwarf, the precise mass of the star, and the duration of the maneuver, I estimate that the Shimizu did not actually break the time barrier, but simply used the slingshot effect to exit the system at high speed and accelerate beyond our reach.”

  “Just enough to shake our tail,” Kirk said, understanding. “And get a substantial head start on us.”

  “As I expect she planned all along.” Spock swiveled his seat toward Kirk. “This particular white dwarf was detected by long-range instruments generations ago and is duly listed in all the relevant databases.”

  “So she would have known it was here,” Kirk realized. “Along her escape route.”

  Spock nodded. “Without a doubt.”

  The Enterprise continued to approach the dead star, albeit at impulse. Its faint luminosity cast a spectral glow over the surrounding space. More dead than alive, it had still proven capable of aiding and abetting a fugitive.

  Sulu looked back at Kirk. “Shall we follow her, sir?”

  Kirk was tempted. He hated being outsmarted by Una, if not quite as much as he was troubled by the idea of her heading toward the Klingon Empire with the Key. But he had not forgotten just how close the Enterprise had come to destruction the last time they had attempted the slingshot maneuver. Maybe Una was willing to take that chance with her own life, but Kirk was not about to risk his ship—and over four hundred lives—just to keep the Shimizu from getting away.

  “Negative,” Kirk said. “Set a course for the Korinar Sector.”

  Una may have gained a head start, but this chase wasn’t over yet, since he had a pretty good idea where she was ultimately going with that Key.

  Back to where it all began, eighteen years ago . . .

  * * *

  2249

  * * *

  Five

  Captain’s log, 2 October 2249 CE

  Even after four years exploring the final frontier, the universe still finds way to surprise us. While conducting a routine survey of the remote Libros system, we find ourselves confronted with a most perplexing mystery, as well as, possibly, a troubling moral dilemma. . . .

  “Well, I’ll be,” Captain Robert April said. “This is unexpected.”

  The first captain of the Space Ship Enterprise contemplated the latest sensor readings from the planet below, which were displayed on the data slate in his hands. A wooly gray cardigan, worn over his gold turtleneck tunic, gave him a benign avuncular air, as did his gentle, fortyish features, wavy brown hair, and twinkling chestnut eyes. A distinct Coventry accent betrayed his roots back on Earth.

  “You can say that again,” First Officer Lorna Simon replied from the science station at starboard. Nearing retirement age, she was a short, round woman whose silver hair and shrewd eyes testified to a lifetime of experience. Her tough, no-nonsense attitude had helped see the Enterprise through any number of challenges. A blue tunic and black slacks fit her comfortably. “Preliminary sensor scans indicate a large artificial complex on the planet’s surface that was not there ten years ago . . . and shouldn’t be there now.”

  Probably not, April thought. Earlier unmanned probes, surveying the system a decade ago, had reported a primitive, preindustrial culture on the planet, but now an advanced technological fortress seemed to have appeared out of nowhere.

  “Conquest, colonization,” Simon ticked off the possibilities. “That’s the only explanation that makes sense. The energy readings I’m picking up from the citadel indicate technology ridiculously beyond the natives’ last-reported stage of development.”

  “You’re most likely right,” April agreed. “But can we be certain that alien intervention is the only explanation? Punctuated development—where a sentient species suddenly takes a great leap forward after centuries, even millennia, of cultural and scientific stasis—is not unheard-of in this galaxy. Look at the way the H’Ramo jumped from a feudal civilization, composed of warring fiefdoms, to a democratic world government in barely more than a generation . . . or even the rapid-fire, cascading scientific advances on Earth from, say, the twentieth century on. Or the Vulcans’ Great Awakening, for that matter.”

  Simon shook her head.

  “I’m still not buying it. According to those old surveys, the inhabitants of Libros III were barely out of the stone age. Even if they underwent a renaissance to end all renaissances, there’s no way they could have built that citadel in less than ten years . . . not unless they had help.”

  “If that complex even houses the indigenous population at all,” April said. “For all we know, it could be an alien outpost . . . or military base.”

  Lorna shot him a look. “The Klingons?”

  “I hope not,” April said. “Our most recent intelligence is that the Empire has not expanded into this sector yet, but you know the Klingons. They’re always pushing outward, even where they’re not welcome.”

  Almost a century had passed since the Broken Bow incident, and relations between the Federation and the Klingon Empire had hardly improved since that tumultuous first contact. With the Federation expanding by means of diplomacy and exploration, and the Empire aggressively extending its borders through naked conquest and subterfuge, the two galactic superpowers seemed to be on a collision course, with occasional border skirmishes becoming more and more frequent. April himself had butted heads with the Klingons more than once, sometimes with dire results. There were those, even in Starfleet, who thought that war was inevitable, but April didn’t want to believe that. An optimist at heart, he wanted to believe that the universe had room enough for everyone.

  But maybe he was just being naïve.

  “Are there any indications that the citadel is Klingon in origin?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Simon admitted. “Honestly, the energy signatures don’t match the technology of any interstellar civilization I’m familiar with.”

  And that’s saying something, April thought, given his first officer’s lifetime of experience. “So we may have newcomers on our hands, strangers to us and strangers to Libros III, who appear to have already established a toehold on the planet.”

  He contemplated the lush green world on the main viewer. Cottony white clouds drifted above scattered seas and continents
that gave it a pleasant resemblance to Earth. Libros was a Class-M planet that looked exceedingly hospitable; only the fact that it was already inhabited by sentient life-forms had kept it from being a target ripe for colonization. The Prime Directive was quite clear when it came to setting up shop on planets with their own indigenous peoples. But perhaps these newcomers were not concerned with such niceties?

  “I wonder where in the galaxy our new friends hail from,” he said.

  “And how they got here,” Lieutenant Una added from the nav station. The dark-haired young Illyrian looked up from the readouts on her control panel. “Tactical sensors do not detect the presence of any other vessels in this system, let alone in orbit or on the planet’s surface. The Enterprise is the only spacecraft for light-years in every direction.”

  April took her word for it. Over the last few years, Una had more than lived up to her reputation as a prodigy, showing a natural aptitude for every post to which she’d been assigned. Una had graduated first in her class at the Academy, and one year ahead of schedule to boot. Despite her youth, April considered himself lucky to have snagged her for his crew and had recently promoted her to lieutenant. She was going places, that was for certain.

  “That’s easily enough accounted for, Una,” he said, addressing her with his customary informality. “The ship—or ships—that transported them here may have already come and gone. Lord knows the Federation has plenty of isolated colonies and science stations that may only see a visiting starship every few years at most. Perhaps our newcomers were dropped off some time ago and left to fend for themselves.” He rested his chin on his knuckles. “Which still begs the question of who they are and what exactly they’re doing on Libros III.”

  “And what they’re doing to the original inhabitants of the planet,” Lorna Simon said grimly. “Orbital scans are picking up evidence of sizable agricultural projects, deforestation, maybe even some degree of biological terraforming. Entire forests and jungles have been razed. Rivers have been dammed and diverted. Mountains strip-mined.” A frown deepened the well-earned creases on her face. “Have to wonder where our newcomers are finding the labor for such ambitious undertakings—and whether the native Librosians are going along with this willingly.”

  April heard what she was saying. “You fear the colonists are exploiting the locals?”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time in history,” she replied. “Sad to say.”

  “Nor the last,” he admitted. April was an optimist, but he was also a realist. When a more technologically advanced culture moved into territory occupied by a less developed people, the results were often tragic for the latter. “Particularly if that new territory has resources to exploit.”

  “That’s how I read this,” Simon said. “Judging from the way the newcomers seem to be running roughshod over the planet’s environment, we may have stumbled onto a full-scale planetary occupation that’s been under way for as long as ten years now.” She scowled at her readings. “I guess those people in the citadel don’t have their version of the Prime Directive.”

  “But we do,” April said. “Which puts us in a thorny situation.”

  “Sir?” Una gave him a concerned look. “Surely we can’t just stand by and let a primitive species be oppressed, maybe even enslaved, by alien invaders. The Librosians deserve the right to determine their own future, without outside interference. That’s what the Prime Directive is all about.”

  April recalled that the Illyrians, perhaps even more than most cultures, placed great stock on freedom and self-determination. As a people, they were known to choose death over servitude. Indeed, Una had once bluffed some Suliban terrorists by threatening to blow up an entire space station full of hostages, including herself.

  Or had she been bluffing?

  “I’m afraid it’s more complicated than that,” he said. “The Prime Directive is our regulation; to force it on others, like those mysterious newcomers down there, might itself be seen as a violation of the Prime Directive.”

  Una eyed him skeptically. “Sophistry, sir?”

  “Not at all,” he insisted. “Suppose that conquest or colonization is an integral part of the newcomers’ culture or biology. Are we imposing our own beliefs on them if we interfere with their efforts on Libros III?”

  Simon snorted. “Conquest comes naturally to the Klingons. Doesn’t mean we have to roll out the welcome mat for them.”

  “When they venture into our territory, threaten our people, certainly not,” April agreed. “But we’re currently far beyond the boundaries of the Federation. We have no jurisdiction over Libros III, while, for all we know, the newcomers may well consider that they have a legal claim on the planet, according to their own rules and customs.”

  The newcomers had effectively planted their flag. Maybe that was enough as far as they were concerned?

  “But what of the Librosians, sir?” Una persisted. “Wasn’t it their planet already? And isn’t their natural development already being interfered with?”

  “Ah, there’s the rub to be sure.” April’s affable manner grew more somber. “Don’t think me insensitive to your concerns, Una. History contains all too many horror stories of native populations and cultures being oppressed and even exterminated by foreign intruders. The last thing this poor galaxy needs is one more such tragedy, but the Prime Directive exists to prevent us from rushing in and playing God where we don’t belong. We need to tread lightly here, at least until all the facts are in.”

  The problem with the Prime Directive, he reflected, was that it was still subject to interpretation. Perhaps someday, a few generations hence, there would be a substantial body of precedents for future Starfleet captains to draw upon when making their decisions, but at present the ink was barely dry on the Directive, which allowed for considerable leeway when it came to the actual business of encountering strange new worlds and civilizations. And perhaps that was just as well. In his experience, there was seldom a one-size-fits-all approach to every situation, and a certain degree of flexibility was not always a bad thing, even if that meant some hard choices sometimes.

  “In that case, Captain,” Una said, “perhaps what is required is more data.”

  April nodded. “Right you are, Lieutenant. A discreet scouting mission is definitely in order.”

  “Permission to lead the landing party, sir?” Una requested.

  “That’s the captain’s call, Lieutenant,” Simon said. “Don’t get pushy.”

  “Now, now, Lorna,” April replied, unbothered by Una’s request. Unlike some younger, brasher captains, he didn’t feel compelled to lead every landing mission. “Let’s not discourage individual initiative.” He regarded the young lieutenant thoughtfully; Una had yet to lead a landing party on her own, but was probably ready for that responsibility. “You clearly have strong feelings on this subject, Una. Be honest now: Are you going to be able to keep those feelings under control?”

  She raised her chin high.

  “I’m Illyrian, sir. Vulcans envy our self-control.”

  She doesn’t lack confidence, that one, April thought, repressing a chuckle. Then again, considering her stellar track record, why should she?

  “Careful, Una,” he said gently. “There’s a human saying, ‘Pride goeth before the fall.’ ”

  “Proverbs, 16:18,” she cited. “And I believe the actual quote is ‘Pride goeth before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall.’ ”

  Touché, April thought. “Very well, Lieutenant. Organize a landing party and report to the transporter room. And I’d advise including Lieutenant Commander Martinez in the party. He’s a good man to have along in these situations.”

  Raul Martinez was a smart, able-bodied officer who had already spearheaded several successful planetary missions. He had proven he could keep a cool head—and, if necessary, a low profile—on any number of occasions, some of them more than a little
dicey. Like that nasty business on Sofya V, for instance. April had faith in Una, but it couldn’t hurt having a more seasoned officer backing her up the first time she commanded a landing party.

  If Una’s ego was threatened by Martinez’s inclusion, she gave no indication of it. She was that confident, perhaps.

  “Thank you, Captain.” She sprang to her feet and turned the nav station over to Ensign Stevens, who was on standby. “I won’t let you down.”

  She marched briskly to the turbolift, which carried her away from the bridge. Simon sighed as she watched the eager young lieutenant depart.

  “Why do I always think she’s gunning for my job?”

  “Give her time,” April said. “Give her time.”

  Six

  “Hey, Number One,” Ensign Tim Shimizu greeted Una as she entered the transporter room. “You get roped into this expedition too?”

  She had personally selected her friend for the landing party. The gangly, easygoing biologist had been her best friend since their Academy days and was one of the few crew members aboard the Enterprise who still addressed her by that nickname. A neatly trimmed goatee added character to his face, or so he insisted. He had been a year ahead of her when they’d first met in San Francisco, but she’d caught up with him soon enough. Unlike others, he’d never acted threatened or intimidated by her excellence or even by the fact that, as of recently, she now outranked him. She appreciated that more than she ever let on.

  “I didn’t get drafted,” she replied. “I’m leading this mission. And we’re on duty, so it’s ‘Lieutenant Una’ if you don’t mind.”

  He shrugged and flashed an infectious grin. “What can I say? You’ll always be ‘Number One’ to me, although we both know you would have never made it to the top without me backing you up all the way.”

  “Keep telling yourself that, Shimizu.”

  The transporter room was abuzz with prelanding excitement. Word of the mysterious alien citadel had spread through the ship faster than a Rigelian fever, proving again that subspace radio was no match for scuttlebutt when transmitting news. Besides herself and Shimizu, the landing party consisted of Martinez and three security officers: Griffin, Le May, and Cambias. All had arrived fully equipped for the mission; Una inspected her own gear, making sure her communicator, tricorder, laser pistol, and universal translator all were in working order. A lightweight backpack held additional equipment, such as a first-aid kit and containers for soil samples and biological specimens. She clipped her weapon and communicator onto the backpack’s straps. The tricorder was slung over her shoulder. A lightweight gray jacket was intended to provide protection from the elements.