Star Trek: Department of Temporal Investigations - 01 - Watching the Clock

by Christopher L. Bennett

  Dulmur sighed and moved to sit down opposite his longtime partner. He could read the anxiety in Lucsly’s face, even though—or perhaps because—he’d never seen that precise look before. “You’re thinking there’s a new front opening up in the Cold War.”

  “First the Deltan time perceptor incident, then this happening a year, two months, and a week later? And don’t forget the Tox Uthat incident in ’66.”

  “That’s nearly a six-year gap.”

  “Not a huge interval from a perspective centuries uptime.”

  Dulmur thought it over for a long while. “Well. There’s no proof. Three future incursions in seven years—one only speculative.”

  “Still . . .”

  “Still . . . if there’s even a chance you’re right . . .” He spent another long moment in thought. “We have to be on our guard, partner. More than ever. If something’s gonna happen, we need to be out where we can do the most good.”

  Lucsly studied him, his expression guarded. “‘We’?”

  A heavy sigh. “Yeah. If we need to be at our full strength, then there’s no sense breaking up the team. We do work pretty well together.”

  “Mm,” was all Lucsly said. A moment later: “What about Aldebaran?”

  “Aah, I never liked shellmouths anyway. Present company excepted.” Lucsly gave him the mildly annoyed look that was the closest thing in his repertoire to a show of appreciation for a joke. “And who’m I kidding, I’d probably go stir-crazy stuck in an office all day.” He’d felt himself confined by his lack of career advancement, but now that he thought about his prospects in the face of a potential major threat, he realized he would feel far more powerless behind a desk by himself than he would in the field alongside his partner.

  Lucsly offered only companionable silence in response, but it was enough. It had always been enough.

  PRESENT TIME

  STARDATE 59061.4 to 59087.2

  XV

  Fourth Day of Xan’lahr, Year of Kahless 1008, Klingon Imperial Calendar A Saturday

  Vulcan Science Council Research Station 1

  40 Eridani System

  10:53 UTC

  Agent Shelan wondered if it would really hurt diplomatic relations with the Klingon Empire all that much if she tossed Korath, Son of Monak, into an antimatter reactor. Surely if anyone would recognize homicide as a valid response to intolerable annoyance, it would be the Klingons. Then again, by Klingon standards, the physicist’s relentless, graceless come-ons would probably be considered endearing.

  Korath was one of a number of participants in a scientific exchange program recently organized by the Bacco Administration. The Federation had spent nearly the past year working to strengthen ties with those states who had allied with it during the Borg invasion—including the Klingon Empire, the Imperial Romulan State, the Ferengi Alliance, the Cardassian Union, and the Talarian Republic—and President Bacco wished to dispel the Typhon Pact’s allegations that her intent was to create a military bloc. And so, with the first anniversary of the Borg’s final defeat less than a month away, this exchange was one of several programs under way to promote the cultural, scientific, and humanitarian benefits of a strengthened alliance. Most of the other governments had sent some of their top scientists to tour the Federation’s leading research facilities, while some of the Federation’s greatest minds were doing the same in neighboring nations. The Klingon Science Institute had included Korath as one of its envoys, perhaps to get him out of their hair for a while. Shelan had been assigned to keep an eye on him and the other researchers with temporal credentials in the group, such as Ronarek, a former member of the Imperial Romulan Institute of Research who had defected when the IRS was dissolved late last year, and Nart, a Ferengi physicist whose work was reportedly underwritten by Lant, a Ferengi businessman who had used an ancient Ludugian temporal transporter to make a killing in the investment market in 2376 (and earlier) and was believed to be trying to replicate his time-travel feats after the Starfleet Corps of Engineers had destroyed the device.

  If anything, Shelan would have expected Nart to be the one to spend most of his time plying her with degrading come-ons. But she supposed that, as a Suliban, she should know better than to buy into stereotypes. Nart was actually rather adorable, a shy, soft-spoken Ferengi whose desire for acquisition was directed entirely toward knowledge. Though he worked for Lant, he seemed interested only in the pure research and not its illicit applications. His demeanor was absently yet consistently polite, always listening with sincere attention to anyone who spoke to him and never seeming to care—or perhaps even notice—whether the speaker was male or female.

  Korath, on the other hand, was aggressively aware of Shelan’s femaleness. In theory, she might not have minded so much; the tall, still-youthful warrior-scientist was not bad-looking if one’s tastes ran that way, and he had a rich, operatically trained baritone that was rather pleasant, particularly since his delivery tended to be less bombastic than that of many Klingon nobles. But he was an ambitious, greedy sort, and the way he looked at Shelan was that of a spoiled child eyeing a desired toy. Rather than trying to woo her, he treated her as something he was entitled to possess, and it angered him when she rebuffed his advances. It had been a delicate balance to assert her unavailability without scuttling her mission to protect him.

  Moreover, though he was undeniably a genius, his scientific curiosity and effort were geared exclusively toward weaponry and warfare, with little regard for ethics. Now, for instance, the scientists were being lectured by Dr. T’Pan, the noted subspace morphologist, on the Science Council’s latest discovery, a new form of exotic matter with the ability to amplify gravity and mass, potentially offering a new, more efficient means of creating artificial gravity. “Unfortunately,” T’Pan told the assembled group, “the reaction, once triggered, propagates exponentially. As yet, we know of no means to limit or control the gravitational increase. We cannot even safely experiment with the substance aboard this station.”

  “But it is neutral until triggered by a sufficient energy infusion, correct?” Korath asked. “So it could be handled safely prior to use.”

  “With adequate containment, yes. But until we can harness the effect sufficiently to allow for constructive use—”

  “Who said anything about constructive uses?” Korath countered, grinning. “What you have here, if it performs as you claim, could be a devastating weapon. I would like to see a demonstration immediately.”

  “That is out of the question,” T’Pan insisted.

  “I stand ready to offer a generous trade—”

  “It is not for sale. Even if it existed in more than trace quantities, which it does not as yet, we would not make it available for military use.”

  Korath growled in his throat. “Then naturally you will publish your work so that we may attempt to replicate it for ourselves.”

  T’Pan exchanged a look with Secretary of Technology Forzrat, the Androssi female who served as the visiting scientists’ host. Forzrat stepped forward and said, “That’s a matter that can be explored in the future. If we succeed in establishing a stronger alliance, a process for scientific and technological exchange will be a major part of it—along with a set of mutually agreed-upon ethical safeguards as well.”

  Korath looked frustrated, but now his own supervisor from the KSI was staring him into silence. Shelan suppressed a grin.

  The rest of the tour was about as boring as one would expect from a group of Vulcans lecturing about arcane science to other scientists. There wasn’t even any actual temporal research going on here for Shelan to be professionally concerned about. This is ridiculous, she thought more than once in the ensuing hours. Somewhen out there, the Cabal’s Sponsor and others like him are planning attacks, maybe even undermining the course of history right now. And I’m stuck babysitting an amoral fool who’s only ever dabbled in temporal physics. I didn’t join the DTI to stand on the sidelines! There’s a war on and I need to be fighting it!

>   It was a relief when Shelan was able to return to her quarters for the night, after brushing off one more attempt by Korath to invite himself in with her. After running a quick tricorder sweep to ensure he hadn’t planted any microcameras, Shelan thankfully undressed and stepped into the sonic shower.

  Only to find herself in a far more humid environment. Far bigger, too. She looked around wildly. She was in a grotto of volcanic stone, enclosed on all sides by high outcroppings. She stood on a narrow shore around a bubbling hot spring. The gravity was noticeably lighter than the Vulcan-normal level aboard the research station. She was somewhere very far from where she was supposed to be. And she was completely naked.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” came a voice. Shelan spun to see an exotic-looking woman soaking in the bubbling pool. Her bare skin was bronze with a tinge of green and her dark hair was pinned up over intricately scalloped ears. “You seemed tense . . . I thought you might like a relaxing place to have a conversation.”

  Shelan did relax just a bit. Her hostess had chosen to make herself just as vulnerable as Shelan, if not more so, so the intent was not to intimidate. Besides, she recognized the woman from Dulmur’s descriptions. “You’re Jena Noi,” she said. “Federation Temporal Agency, thirty-first century.”

  “Good. No need for introductions.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Nowhere you’d know. Beyond your current borders. But it’ll become a major vacation spot in about forty years.”

  Shelan’s heart raced. “When am I?”

  “Don’t worry, I didn’t bring you through time,” Noi said. “I know your employers frown on that. Well, no more than an hour or so. And I’ll be returning you to the exact moment you left. No one will know you were gone, even if you decide to linger here awhile. Which I would really recommend. It’s wonderful.”

  Shelan sighed. “Why not?” she said, and gingerly lowered herself into the pool, not too close to Noi. “I have to say, you’ve taken the concept of a secret talk in the shower to new heights.” She settled in and took a shuddering breath. It really did feel quite refreshing. “So who are we keeping it secret from?”

  “Everyone,” Noi said. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to keep a secret centuries after the fact?”

  Shelan deliberated. “Sometimes it’s easy. Knowledge is forgotten all the time. Records are lost, miscopied, or never made at all. Historians interpret and distort the history they study.”

  “And time travelers can go back and fill in the gaps in that knowledge.”

  “If they know where to look.”

  Noi smiled. “Good. I knew I was right to call on you. Whatever your agency’s technological limitations, you train good people.”

  “A hot bath, sweet talk . . . you must really want something big from me.”

  Noi frowned. “Why the mistrust? We’re on the same side.”

  “When it suits you,” Shelan said. “But if you’ve studied me—and I assume you did so rather thoroughly before contacting me—then you know I have an interest in . . . twenty-second-century history.”

  Noi pursed her lips. “It came up.”

  “I’ve read up on your . . . associate Mister Daniels, or so he called himself. Some of the claims he made to Jonathan Archer were rather . . . extravagant. Really—schoolchildren building temporal communicators at their desks? Any civilization that reckless would’ve wiped itself out of history by the lunch period. He also claimed time travel hadn’t been perfected yet in the Cabal Sponsor’s time, when we know the Federation has it at least two centuries earlier.”

  Noi gave a long-suffering chuckle. “Ahh, Daniels . . . well, you know we couldn’t reveal too much about the future to Captain Archer. Daniels had his own . . . idiosyncratic way of keeping secrets. His point of view was that he had to tell Archer something.”

  “And what’s your point of view, Agent Noi?”

  The uptime operative stood and came closer to Shelan, lowering herself back into the water next to the Suliban agent. “That we’re all in this fight together, Shelan. I know we rarely treat your department as equals, but it’s not from lack of respect. You were the ones who started it all. The first step that led to us. That’s why it’s so important to protect you.” She sighed. “And that’s why I don’t make this request of you lightly.”

  Shelan let her shoulders sink into the hot water’s embrace. “Oh, here it comes. Why me? Don’t you usually go to Lucsly?”

  “This mission is one uniquely suited for your heritage and abilities.”

  There was only one thing that could mean. “My Cabal genes are dormant, recessive. I don’t have any special abilities beyond endurance and flexibility. Which I doubt would be of much use to you—unless there’s an additional reason you’ve brought me here naked,” she added with a smirk.

  Noi smiled. “You underrate yourself. Aside from the courage and dedication of a DTI field agent, you have great potential that only needs to be unlocked. I can help you access it.”

  Shelan straightened, searching Noi’s lambent eyes. “And in return?”

  “I won’t lie to you, Shelan. What I’m asking of you is probably the riskiest mission any DTI agent has ever undertaken. But it’s also, without question, the most important.”

  Shelan studied her a bit longer, then gave an insouciant chuckle. “Why go to all this trouble? You should’ve just told me that in the first place. Now tell me more. . . .”

  Axis of Time

  Early Warp Age, Anthropocene Epoch

  As before, all attempts to crack the problem with the Axis of Time from the outside proved futile, forcing Ranjea and Garcia to penetrate the pocket universe once again in hopes of finding an internal solution. This time, however, the occupants of the shuttle Cincinnatus—including Commander Heather Petersen, temporarily reassigned from the Everett—went in with full awareness that unless they found a solution, they might never come back out, at least not in their own era.

  Progress had been made since the agents’ original visit. Upon their arrival within the Axis timespace, they found a small station of Vomnin design occupying the local interface zone. They were promptly hailed and invited to dock—with a sense of urgency, Ranjea thought. Once they docked and disembarked aboard the station, they found Subdirector Sikran loping forward in haste to meet them. “Thank the Ancients you’re here!” the stout Vomnin representative cried. “Please tell me you’ve come to offer us a way out!”

  His words confirmed that the simplest assumption had been correct: the occupants of the Axis were simply trapped within it. In the days that the crews of Bezorek station and the U.S.S. Asimov had spent trying in vain to communicate with the Axis interior, hypotheses had been formulated ranging from the death of everyone within the Axis to the abduction of new arrivals for unknown purposes. “I’m afraid not,” Ranjea replied. “We’re here to investigate the problem.”

  Sikran sagged. “Then you are trapped here along with everyone else.”

  “Everyone?” Garcia said. “So it’s not just our interface that’s affected?”

  “No. The entire Axis has been cut off from the outside universe. Or rather, ships may still enter, but leaving is impossible. Any attempt to depart through the interface zones brings you right back to your starting point, just like in the rest of the Axis.”

  “And the occupants don’t know why?” Heather Petersen asked. “It’s not something that’s happened before?”

  “Oh, they have their suspicions,” Sikran replied. “You’ll have to speak to them about that.”

  “So they shall,” came a new voice. The agents and Petersen spun to see a contingent of Axis security which had suddenly arrived. The leader was a powerfully built, red-scaled reptilian with a golden head crest, a compact forward-leaning body, and a heavy, counterbalancing tail. Ranjea recognized him as a Talich, a member species of the same Colloquium of Progress to which Councillor Oydia belonged.

  The burly Talich strode forward to confront the newcomers. “The Council has questi
ons for you. You will attend.”

  “Gladly,” Ranjea said. “We have questions of our own.”

  Axis Hub Station

  Middle Calabrian Age, Lower Pleistocene

  “You claim you had nothing to do with this?” Councillor Damyz demanded. The elderly Yeshel spoke slowly, but his usual gentle manner had been replaced with suspicion.

  “Some of our own people were trapped here along with you,” Ranjea reminded them.

  “So they claimed,” said Councillor Temarel, raising an upswept brow in a very Vulcanoid gesture. “Perhaps Starfleet is even blameless. But you made it clear that your civilian government opposes trade through the Axis. Perhaps you took preemptive action.”

  “Councillor, my government also opposes forcible intervention in the affairs of others. This is not our doing.”

  Councillor Oydia came up to him and stared, her huge violet eyes holding his gaze. Ranjea sensed a release of pheromones drawing him into an empathic rapport, an induced merging like a more one-sided version of the Deltan opening of the self. He responded to it in kind, taking Oydia’s silver-furred hands in his and opening himself empathically. Soon she was as transfixed as she had intended him to be. But he promptly released her from it. She gasped and took a moment to gather herself. A smile snuck out and was quickly masked. “I, ah, I believe he tells the truth,” the councillor told her fellows.

  Lirahn, who had been quiet until now, stepped forward. “Of course he does,” the statuesque Selakar said, stroking Ranjea’s cheek. “Despite the efforts of Shiiem’s cronies to blame outsiders, we all know that this sabotage was committed from within. Rather than allow the democratic process to dictate trade policy, the conservative faction has chosen to take drastic action to enforce their denial of free trade.”

  “Absurd!” Temarel cried. “We would not take such extreme measures.”