Star Trek: The Original Series: From History's Shadow

by Dayton Ward

  “For now, anyway.” Per their instructions, she and Ian were to continue monitoring the site and preserve it from any outside contamination. The revelation of a Vulcan spacecraft on Earth in this time period would prove problematic, to say the least. Likewise, Cynthia and Ian also had been directed only to observe the crashed ship’s surviving crewmembers, with no permitted assistance or other interaction. The Vulcan scientists, as the Aegis described them, had been sent to Earth to monitor what human history one day would call “the dawn of the Space Age,” brought about by the Soviet Union’s launching of the Sputnik 1 satellite. It had been the latest in a series of clandestine reconnaissance missions to study Earth as humanity’s knowledge progressed to the point of harnessing atomic energy. Even after the formal first contact between humans and Vulcans took place more than a century from now, it would be some time before the truth of Vulcan’s prolonged interest in Earth was revealed to humanity.

  As for Sputnik, the planet’s major powers still were coming to grips with the reality of space as a possible new realm for expansion and perhaps even conquest. Even now, the United States military was laboring to replicate what the Soviets already had done, with Project Vanguard on a track for launching its own satellite within the next ninety days. Once the Americans were able to show the world that they could go head to head against their Russian counterparts, the race for space supremacy would only accelerate.

  Knowing this as well as what the future held, the Aegis had begun sending agents to Earth with a new, larger mission requiring more than simple observation. Cynthia and Ian were the first agents dispatched to the planet for this purpose, with their long-term assignment being the monitoring of technological, political, and sociological developments and undertaking whatever surreptitious action was deemed necessary in order to assist humanity through the turbulent times they soon would face.

  “I’ve had the computer working on a better sensor we can install,” Ian said, crossing his arms. “It’ll have a greater range, and also will alert us of any aerial reconnaissance that might find the ship.” Shrugging, he added, “I doubt that’ll be a problem, but it doesn’t hurt to be careful. More importantly, it’ll let us know if the Vulcans return to the site.”

  Cynthia nodded in agreement. “Good thinking, though I’m guessing the Vulcans will continue taking all necessary steps to conceal their presence. We know they have a communications device, and they’re sticking close to the crash site just in case their distress signal was picked up by someone.”

  “What if no one did hear it?” Ian asked. “What if it ends up that they’re on their own so far as any drawn-out survival plans? The longer they stay here, the greater their risk of being discovered. If that happens, we might not be in a position where we can do anything to contain the situation.”

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.” Cynthia reached over to pat Ian’s knee. “For now, we’ve got enough to worry about, just protecting the ship and crew from discovery.”

  Still, Ian’s was not an unreasonable notion. She had considered the same possibility more than once, and even had furthered that concern on to her superiors, but so far had received no response. If no directions were forthcoming, and she and Ian were left to their own devices and judgment so far as how to deal with the Vulcans, would that help or hinder Earth’s future? Such scenarios, in the abstract, had been a significant part of her training, given the likelihood of field agents having to make momentous decisions without support. Whereas words like “discretion,” “restraint,” and “proportional” were bandied about the classroom with great frequency, theoretical discussions often lacked the nuance encountered in real-world application of such hypotheses.

  Ian reached down to place his hand atop hers, which still rested on his knee. “You’ve been up all night, too. It’s Veterans Day, and all government offices are closed. There’s nothing on the schedule so far as Pearson-Thorne is concerned, so why not take the day and get some rest?”

  “I thought I told you to do that?” Cynthia asked, twisting her hand so that her fingers could interlace with his.

  Shrugging, Ian smiled. “I will if you will.” He leaned forward and she stretched so that her lips met his.

  The idea of a quiet, recuperative day had definite appeal, Cynthia decided. She and Ian had been lovers for nearly a year prior, during the last phases of their training, and it was a contributing factor toward their pairing for assignment on Earth in this time period. That was fortunate, considering how long they might be here, hiding in plain sight among those who always had called this world home. An intimate relationship with a contemporary human was out of the question, given the need for strict secrecy with respect to their true identities and mission.

  Her thoughts of leisure—and other things—were interrupted by a muted, almost musical string of tones sounding from the other side of the office. Breaking their kiss and pulling back from Ian, Cynthia swung her chair around to see a section of the room’s opposite wall swinging open toward her, revealing the master control console for their computer, the Beta 4.

  “That thing’s timing is impeccable,” Ian said.

  Unlike the office’s other fixtures and appointments, there was nothing at all contemporary about the machine’s appearance, design, or functionality. The console, molded from a black glass deca-polymer composite, housed an array of keyboards and other controls as well as six small display screens, all of which were dominated by a larger rectangular screen comprising the console’s upper portion. As the wall finished swinging open, the console was already flaring to life, all of its screens activating to depict a selection of images from local morning news broadcasts as well as scrolling readouts of information captured from the teletype transmissions of numerous prominent news organizations located around the world.

  “Computer on,” said the computer, speaking in a clipped, masculine tone that reminded Cynthia of the awkward, clunky robots from low-budget science fiction movies. “Recognize Agent 6. Recognize Agent 42.” A self-sufficient computing system possessing what its creators called “artificial intellect,” the Beta 4 was the cornerstone of the agents’ activities here on Earth. Capable of interfacing with all of the world’s communications mediums, the computer had constant access to almost anything transpiring anywhere across the globe, so long as it was being documented or reported in some fashion. Interfaced with the translocator, it could send the agents anywhere in the world at a moment’s notice, and it also was the agents’ primary connections to their superiors more than one thousand light-years across the galaxy. In the event an abandoning of their assignment was necessary, the Beta 4 would be their lifeline back to the Aegis homeworld, after which the machine would destroy itself to prevent discovery and possible exploitation by anyone here on Earth.

  “Hello,” Cynthia answered. “What have you got for us?”

  “Since launch of the second Sputnik satellite,” the Beta 4 replied, “I have continued to monitor American and Russian military communications networks. I have detected considerable message traffic in response to a report submitted last week to President Eisenhower.”

  “Gaither’s report?” Ian asked, and when Cynthia looked at him he had his arms folded once more across his chest, frowning as he rubbed his chin with his left hand.

  The computer said, “Correct, Agent 42. Analysis of classified communiques dispatched from Pentagon to high-ranking government and military officials indicates that plans are already in development to conform to several of the report’s recommendations.”

  “We knew this was coming,” Cynthia said. She had spent the previous Thursday evening reviewing the same report read by President Eisenhower earlier that same day. Deterrence & Survival in the Nuclear Age, authored by Horace Rowan Gaither, a civilian attorney and founder of a policy institute providing strategic research and analysis for the Department of Defense, recommended a significant increase in military spending with an aim toward solidifying the United States’s ability to employ and defend
against nuclear weapons.

  Ian nodded. “Sputnik isn’t to blame, not by itself, but when you combine nuclear arms proliferation with the Russians’ perceived advantage so far as exploiting space goes, it makes sense that the United States is going to be taking their own measures.”

  The Beta 4 replied, “Based on report’s recommendations and other orders disseminated through the highest echelons of American military leadership, primary focus will lie in the area of deterrence through means of amassing superior weaponry to deploy against the Soviets. Similar reports and directives from Russian government indicate their armed forces will mount a similar initiative.”

  “According to Gaither’s reported projections,” Ian said, “the total Soviet arms proliferation effort is already on par with America’s, and it will only increase in the coming years. They may not have all of the financial resources of the United States, but they’re pumping a larger chunk of what they do have into their military. The world could be facing nuclear annihilation in as little as five years.”

  “That’s consistent with what we’ve been told,” Cynthia replied, recalling the limited information they had been given regarding future human history. The Cold War that already had gripped the United States and the Soviet Union for a decade was heating up, and it would have direct as well as subtle effects on people, nations, and events around the world for years to come. What did that mean for her and Ian?

  It means we’re going to be busy.

  SIXTEEN

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Earth Year 2268

  Kirk willed the turbolift to move faster.

  “Red Alert. All hands to battle stations. This is not a drill.”

  Leaving Roberta Lincoln to conduct her own interviews with Gejalik and Mestral, he and Spock now were enduring what to Kirk seemed an eternity as the turbolift carried them to the bridge. Finally, the whine of the lift’s transit slowed, and Kirk felt his muscles tensing in anticipation as the doors opened, flooding the car with the familiar, almost soothing background sounds of the Enterprise bridge.

  “Report,” he snapped, stepping out of the lift and getting his first look at the image on the main viewscreen. At the moment, only stars greeted him.

  Though he had the conn while Kirk was off the bridge, Sulu still was seated at his helm console. “Sensors detected the approach of an unidentified vessel closing on our position at high warp speed. They’re due to arrive in about fifty-seven minutes, sir. Our scans show the vessel is armed, and their weapons are active.”

  At the science station, Ensign Chekov turned from the console, a Feinberg communications receiver inserted into his left ear. “A single ship, sir. It has ignored all our hails to this point, and they’re still on an intercept course. I have identified it as Tandaran in origin, and its configuration suggests it’s a military vessel.”

  “Tandaran?” Kirk asked, frowning. “That doesn’t ring any bells.”

  Spock, moving to relieve Chekov at the science station, said, “That is not surprising, as Starfleet’s contact with them has been very sporadic since our first recorded contact more than a century ago. They are a humanoid race, and their homeworld is listed in the library computer as Tandar Prime, located in an area of non-aligned space adjacent to Gamma Ceti. The original first contact report, as well as subsequent survey missions, notes that the Tandarans are a somewhat militaristic race, though not so severe as the Klingons or even the Romulans. Reports indicate that while they do not avoid or reject contact or trade with other governments, they prefer to confine their activities to the region of space they control. So far as I am aware, there has never been any hostile action between our two peoples.”

  “What’s their level of technology?” Kirk asked.

  Clasping his hands behind his back, the first officer replied, “Comparable to ours. Sensors indicate their weapons could pose a threat. Their shields are capable of repelling any attack we might invoke, at least for a time. According to the records in our data banks, this type of vessel is designed for fast attack missions, with a crew complement of twenty-seven persons.”

  “And they’re still coming full speed?”

  Chekov nodded. “Affirmative, sir.”

  “Without further details and given their apparent reluctance to communicate with us,” Spock added, “I am hard-pressed to classify their conduct as anything other than aggressive.”

  Stepping down into the bridge’s command well as Chekov resumed his post at the navigator’s station, Kirk said, “Let’s have a look at them, Mister Sulu.”

  “Aye, sir,” replied the helm officer, keying the necessary controls. At the center of the main viewscreen’s computer-generated image now appeared a vessel. It was sleek and angular, presenting a compressed profile that to Kirk indicated the spacecraft might also be designed for travel within a planet’s atmosphere. Dark hull plating covered the vessel from stem to stern, rendering it almost invisible against the backdrop of space save for the enhancement provided by the viewscreen’s imaging processor. Kirk saw nothing indicating running lights or even exposed portholes.

  It’s a combat ship.

  Continuing to study the Tandaran vessel as he leaned against the helm and navigation console, Kirk already was considering various tactical scenarios should the situation call for him to take action. “Any indications they have scanners of their own? Can they see that our shields are up and our weapons are active?”

  “They do possess sensor technology roughly equivalent to our own,” the Vulcan answered. “It is all but certain they have scanned us and have verified our current operational status.”

  And yet, they’re being tight-lipped while bearing down on us. There could be no mistaking its posturing, Kirk decided, with its weapons and defenses already active even at this distance. “Well, something’s got their hackles up,” he said. “What are the odds it has something to do with the Certoss ship?”

  “It is as likely a possibility as any other,” Spock said. “However, I have consulted the library computer, and I find no record of any hostile action between the Tandarans and the Certoss, which is understandable given the Certoss people’s pacifist nature. That said, there is the matter of our guests, and the unusual reasons for their being here.”

  Already thinking along similar lines, Kirk sighed. “Right.” He shifted his position so he could see Lieutenant Uhura. “Open a channel, Lieutenant.”

  At her station, the communications officer nodded, her fingers moving across her console. Like Spock, she also wore a Feinberg receiver in her left ear, and she reached up to touch the device as she worked. “Frequency open, sir.”

  Turning back to the viewscreen, Kirk drew a deep breath before calling out, “Tandaran vessel, this is Captain James T. Kirk, commanding the Federation Starship Enterprise. You are in Federation space, approaching a Starfleet vessel and a civilian craft with your weapons active. What are your intentions?” When there was no immediate response to his greeting, he glanced over his shoulder to Chekov. “Plot a targeting vector, and make sure they know our targeting sensors are scanning them. Keep weapons on standby.”

  The ensign replied, “Aye, sir.”

  Looking over to where Spock stood at the railing, Kirk offered a small smile. “Assertive, I know, but I’m hoping it might stimulate conversation.”

  Spock’s right eyebrow lifted. “Indeed.”

  Behind him, Uhura called out, “Captain, they’ve received and acknowledged our hail, and they’re requesting to speak with you.”

  “Well,” Kirk said, his smile widening. “How about that?” He schooled his features as he straightened his posture. “Onscreen.”

  The image on the viewscreen shifted from the Tandaran ship to a humanoid male, dressed in a dark gray uniform jacket worn over a black turtleneck. He was bald, and deep lines creased his face. His eyes, narrow and deep green, moved from side to side, and Kirk got the impression that he was taking in every detail of the Enterprise bridge.

  “Greetings,” Kir
k said, keeping his voice neutral. “I’m Captain Kirk. May we be of assistance?” The Tandaran’s eyes fixed on him.

  “I am Colonel Abrenn of the Tandaran Defense Directorate, in command of this vessel,” he said, his tone one of confidence, even arrogance. “I have been dispatched by my government to investigate a message sent from this area to Certoss Ajahlan. We see that a Certoss vessel is present at your current location. My orders are to determine whether a threat to Tandaran interests exists.”

  Despite himself, Kirk could not help his expression of confusion in response to the Tandaran’s statements. “I assure you, Colonel, that my ship poses no threat, either to your vessel or your people. As for the Certoss, theirs is a peaceful planet, and your scanners should have told you that their ship carries no weapons.” Stepping forward, he crossed his arms. “On the other hand, your ship seems to be quite well armed.”

  “As does yours, Captain.”

  Kirk nodded. “Yes, it does, though we prefer to use our weapons only in a defensive capacity. I’d prefer not to use them today, if it’s all the same to you.”

  “I agree with your sentiment, Captain,” Abrenn replied, “but I’m afraid that will hinge on what happens next, and where you stand should a conflict arise.”

  “As I already said,” Kirk countered, “we have no hostile intentions toward you, and to be honest, I have no idea why you’re even posturing this way.” He took another step toward the viewscreen. “What I do know is that you’re in Federation space, brandishing weapons and acting in a provocative manner, and now you’ve just threatened the safety of a Starfleet vessel. So, I’m done being polite. Explain your presence here, now, or I’ll consider your approach an aggressive action and respond accordingly.”

  On the screen, Abrenn bristled. “We are not here for you, Captain, but rather the Certoss ship. Our concerns are with the message it sent to its homeworld. If the content of the communique is accurate, then it and the Certoss people do pose a very real threat to our security.”