by Dayton Ward
Kirk asked, “When would this have taken place?”
“Approximately eighty of your years prior to my departure from Certoss Ajahlan to twentieth-century Earth,” Gejalik replied.
Lincoln added, “About ninety years from now. In a different timeline, of course.”
“Though Colonel Abrenn’s concerns are somewhat extreme,” Spock said, “they at least are understandable. The Tandarans obviously believe that some sequence of events might be enabled that could, in theory, restore the timeline where they and the Certoss once again are enemies and a threat to Tandaran Prime.”
Kirk reached up to rub the bridge of his nose, feeling the onset of another headache. He was thankful for heeding Spock’s advice to leave Mestral out of this meeting, which already had broached several topics of future history far ahead of the era he called home. “Just listening to all of that is exhausting”
Lincoln, with a hint of amusement in her eyes, replied, “How do you think I feel? This isn’t exactly just another day at the office for me, either, and that’s saying something.”
“What am I to report to my leadership?” Ocherab asked after a moment, and Kirk could see that she was wrestling with her own feelings as well as the staggering revelations she had endured. “How does one tell her entire species that everything we know—everything we represent and have accomplished—might well be the result of someone else’s machinations, or their whims? Are we nothing more than playthings for another’s amusement?” For the first time, the minister seemed overwhelmed by what she had been told, and she took a seat at the conference table. Gejalik sat next to her, continuing to hold Ocherab’s hand.
“Minister,” she said, “believe me when I tell you I understand what you must be feeling. After all, I was trained and sent to inflict the same sort of tampering on another world and its people.” She looked to Kirk, Spock, and Lincoln. “I do not ask forgiveness for that. I was a soldier, carrying out my duty during a time of conflict. It is obvious that our efforts to disrupt your society’s development were a failure, and the evidence before me suggests that this was a good thing, particularly if what Miss Lincoln has said is true, and our people only were acting in response to influences leveled upon us.” Returning her gaze to Ocherab, she added, “And you say our world is one of peace and prosperity? How could I not want that for our people? If the worst thing to come from all of this is that I am displaced from a reality in which war was a way of life, then it seems but a small price to pay. Perhaps it is best that no one else ever knows that truth.”
Ocherab once more gripped Gejalik’s hands in both of hers. “It seems as though fate has seen fit to give you an opportunity for a new life, in a world you may not recognize but which still is your own.”
“Thank you, Minister,” Gejalik said, and Kirk was certain he detected the Certoss equivalent of an expression of gratitude and even relief gracing her features.
“I don’t think it’s your own people you have to worry about,” he said. “The Tandarans, on the other hand, are going to be harder to convince. They’re obviously worried not just about you, but what you represent. The knowledge you possess about future history, particularly theirs, is something they want. They’re terrified that you might just be the first of an invading army from a future that, so far as we know, can’t exist in this timeline.”
“Let’s say for the sake of argument that the Tandarans know, suspect, or are in a position where they might find out what eventually happens to them in the other timeline,” Lincoln said. “You, Gejalik, are everything they fought against in a war remembered by no one on your planet or theirs. They want that reality to stay buried, and there may be no limit to how far they’re willing to go to make sure that happens.”
If it was Lincoln’s intention to frighten Gejalik, the Certoss agent’s body language and expression told Kirk that her efforts were succeeding. After a moment, she seemed to collect herself, the soldier and her training once more coming to the fore. “I suppose I should be able to understand and even appreciate that,” she said, her voice taking on a harder tone. “The world I left destroyed the Tandarans. We did it because they were working to do the same thing to us. It was war, and we were fighting for our very survival. We eliminated a threat.”
She looked to Kirk. “Just as I was fighting your people, who also were a threat, or would be a threat, or however you want to describe it. I was willing to annihilate your entire civilization at a point centuries before they ever could do anything to harm us, in effect waging battle against people who would be dead long before our two planets ever became aware of each other. I have no justification for feeling anything toward the Tandarans except understanding. If surrendering me to them is what’s required for the Certoss people to continue to enjoy the peace they have known for uncounted generations, then I willingly offer myself to that cause.”
“A noble gesture, Gejalik,” Spock said, “though one I fear may be insufficient. It is reasonable to assume that Colonel Abrenn will suspect we now possess knowledge of the other timeline and the very different reality experienced both by the Certoss and the Tandarans, to say nothing of our own history with respect to the Temporal Cold War.”
Kirk had been considering that very possibility. Would Abrenn risk war with the Federation by attacking the Enterprise, believing such radical action was justified in order to protect his people? Kirk had to ask himself how he might react, given similar circumstances.
“Bridge to Captain Kirk,” said the voice of Lieutenant Sulu piped through the ship’s intercom.
Reaching for the comm switch set into the table before him, Kirk activated the connection. “Go ahead, Mister Sulu.”
“Sir, you asked to be notified when the Tandaran vessel was ten minutes from intercept. They’re maintaining course and speed, and their weapons and shields are still active. They’ve commenced a full sensor sweep of us, including the Certoss vessel.”
“Have they tried hailing us?” Kirk asked, already knowing the answer.
“Negative, sir. They’ve not initiated any communication, and they’re not responding to our hails, though Lieutenant Uhura confirms they’re receiving.”
Kirk grunted in irritation. “Maintain alert status. I’m on my way up now.” He severed the link and rose from his chair, gesturing for his first officer to follow him. “Mister Spock, it’s time to go and greet our new guests. Let’s hope they’re a bit more cordial than they’ve been up to this point.”
“I find that unlikely, Captain,” the Vulcan replied as he moved to follow Kirk from the briefing room.
Sighing, Kirk shook his head. “Yeah, me too.”
TWENTY
Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton, Ohio
September 26, 1963
Crouching in the shadows afforded by the trees lining the access road, Adlar and Gejalik watched the Air Force sentry walking his post around the warehouse across the narrow street. Warehouse 13B was a two-story metal structure, one of half a dozen located in this area of the base at the far edge of the flight line. A careful inspection of the adjacent buildings showed no signs of exterior activity, though lights were on in several windows, testifying to the work being carried out even at this late hour, but only this warehouse seemed to have its own security detail. The guard was one of two on duty, each walking in opposite directions as they circled the building, and they nodded to each other as they passed, continuing on with their prescribed patrol routes. Having observed the sentries make this same circuit four previous times, Adlar now had a sense of how long the guards took to walk their routes. Both men wore helmets and carried what Adlar recognized as M2 carbine rifles slung over their shoulders, and he also noted the holstered pistols on their hips.
“Just the two,” Gejalik said, keeping her voice low. In her hand she carried a small scanner, the illumination of its display muted so as to avoid detection by the guards or another random passerby. “However, there are several life-forms inside the structure. Most of them do not appear
to be in proximity to the probe. I suspect that it is currently under guard. We’ll have to be careful.”
Notification of the probe’s recovery had come in the form of a cryptic message delivered via phone from Jaecz, ostensibly from the undisclosed location where he was working in the northeastern United States. Following his encounter with the Vulcan, Jaecz had increased his own shroud of security, moving at frequent intervals and maintaining a low profile in the hopes of thwarting any attempts the Vulcan might make to trace his movements. The message Jaecz had sent was short and lacking in detail, but still enough to bring Adlar and Gejalik to Wright-Patterson, where the Air Force had brought the unmanned survey probe they had recovered from a crash site in rural Ohio. At this point nothing about the device was known except that its construction suggested a Vulcan origin. Had the probe been sent to search for Mestral, the wayward scientist who had elected to remain on Earth rather than being rescued the previous year? Adlar doubted that. According to Jaecz, Mestral was believed dead, so the probe likely was part of an ongoing program of covert surveillance intended to monitor humanity’s continued societal and technological advancement.
Manned or automated, the device might still prove useful, in that it almost certainly contained components and other materials that could be utilized in helping them make contact with someone—anyone—on Certoss Ajahlan. Though the likelihood of receiving any sort of message or assistance across time to the future from whence they had been dispatched seemed to fade with every passing year, neither Adlar nor Gejalik had surrendered all hope on that front. As always and until ordered otherwise, both they and Jaecz had pledged to continue exhausting all efforts at making contact as well as continuing their mission here.
Still, Adlar mused, it would be nice to receive some sign that we’ve not been forgotten, or discarded.
“If they follow their established protocols,” Gejalik said, her attention divided between the warehouse and her scanner, “the device will be moved to the area they’re preparing at their permanent facility inside Hangar 18.”
Once that happened, Adlar knew that his and Gejalik’s ability to access the probe would be hampered if not made outright impossible. The American military groups charged with safeguarding items of this sort had become quite adept at carrying out such tasks. Monitoring their movements and activities consumed a great deal of time and resources, despite the obvious technological advantages they possessed. The humans’ approach to security—maintaining information within a small, compartmentalized sphere of control—thwarted most efforts at scrutiny.
Most, but not all. Adlar and Gejalik had been somewhat successful at tracking the movements of certain individuals. Doing so had become a bit easier in recent years now that military and civilian agencies were partnering to further the American government’s goal of completing a successful manned landing on Earth’s lone natural satellite. Two years earlier, John F. Kennedy, the President of the United States, had laid out his bold vision of seeing such a landing take place within ten years as a means of solidifying the country’s superiority over its Cold War rival, the Soviet Union, so far as space exploration was concerned. Advances were being made and the United States was beginning to close the gap. Project Mercury, comprising the first serious attempts to match the Russian achievements, had completed its final flight earlier in the year. The next phase of Kennedy’s goal, Project Gemini, would launch test flights within the next two years, and a massive industrial and technological effort now was under way to bring about the eventual goal of landing crafts and pilots on the moon.
Even as the civilian agency spearheaded the lunar program, other firms operating under military oversight were continuing to develop and construct weapons of increasing capability. The United States’ nuclear arsenal was growing at an alarming rate, staying apace with that of the Soviet Union. Both powers now possessed far more firepower than ever would be needed in the event an exchange of such weapons ever took place. While sophisticated protocols had been enacted to prevent the use of such weapons unless either side viewed it as the only remaining option, the specter of nuclear annihilation had been a constant presence for years. Such scenarios had been a staple of films and stories depicting the consequences and aftermath of nuclear holocaust for more than a decade, equaled only by the number of fantastic tales showing all manner of invasions by malevolent alien conquerors. Away from those fictions was reality, including one short intense period the previous year that had seen the United States and Russia come to within moments of waging atomic war on each other. Though catastrophe had been avoided on that occasion, how easy would it be to exploit either side’s paranoia and fear in order to bring about such an event?
We shall soon see, Adlar thought.
“Are you ready?” Adlar asked, opening the control panel of his shroud harness. Like Gejalik, he already had programmed the device for the human form he planned to assume for their infiltration of the warehouse.
Gejalik deactivated her scanner and returned it to one of the compartments of the belt she wore over her bodysuit. “Yes,” she said, activating her own harness. Her outward appearance shifted so that she now was a human female dressed in an Air Force lieutenant’s uniform. All traces of her Certoss physiology, clothing, and equipment once again were hidden, the human disguise flawless to detection by anything save scanning equipment far more advanced than what was possible by current human technology.
His own disguise now consistent with Gejalik’s as he had taken on the outward appearance of a male captain, Adlar reached into the standard military-issue briefcase he had brought with them and extracted a pair of .45 caliber pistols along with a purse designed for use by female Air Force officers. Gejalik took one of the pistols and, after verifying that it was loaded and its safety engaged, placed the weapon inside the purse.
They waited until both guards had moved out of sight before making their way to Warehouse 13B’s front entrance. Managing the door lock was a simple enough exercise thanks to the electromagnetic driver Adlar produced from his briefcase. Once inside, they made their way through the building’s front section, which consisted of office and meeting space. Turning a corner in the narrow corridor, they saw a set of large metal double doors leading to what Gejalik already had determined was the warehouse’s main floor. Before the entry stood two more Air Force guards, each holding an M2 rifle. Unlike the sentries outside, these two men were dressed in green fatigue uniforms with matching caps pulled low over their eyes. Both men straightened their postures at Adlar and Gejalik’s approach, coming to attention and offering proper salutes with their rifles.
“Good evening, sir. Ma’am,” said the higher ranked of the pair, a staff sergeant, and when he spoke Adlar detected an accent to his voice indicating the man was from one of the United States’ southern regions. “May we help you?”
Affecting a calm demeanor suggesting he and Gejalik had every right to be there, Adlar returned the salute before waving past the sergeant toward the door. “We’re actually very late to a pretty important meeting, Sergeant. I’m sure at least somebody in there with more stuff on his collar than all of us is wondering where we are.”
The sergeant appeared unimpressed with the fabricated plight. “I’ll need to see your identification and authorization, sir. Major Fellini’s orders.”
Adlar never had the chance to say anything before a thin beam of green energy shot from behind him to hit the sergeant in the chest. The sergeant’s eyes rolled back in his head and he fell against the door, only just beginning to slide to the floor before the same fate befell his companion. Adlar caught the guard’s rifle, preventing a possible accidental firing as the second man dropped into an unconscious heap. It had taken mere seconds for Gejalik to incapacitate both men.
“You’re really rather effective with that,” Adlar said, turning to see Gejalik wielding one of their compact stun devices.
Gejalik nodded. “Thank you.” She gestured with the weapon before returning it to her waistband and strai
ghtening her jacket. “Remind me to thank Jaecz for it the next time we’re able to communicate.” Constructed by Jaecz, the devices were concealed with minimal effort, and also were preferable nonlethal alternatives to the .45 pistols they carried. Though Adlar had little concern over killing if circumstances required it, doing so when it could be avoided was a practice he had favored despite the endless drills and lectures to the contrary instilled by his various training instructors. Of course, he knew how odd his personal predilections were in the face of his mission, which if successful would see to the obliteration of most if not all of the human species.
Yes, it’s contrary, but I do not care. Regardless of the mission and what was required of him, he wanted to retain at least some small measure of dignity and honor. He knew it was a semantic argument he likely would lose if faced with a debate, but for now the minor, even irrelevant distinction would have to be sufficient.
As Adlar verified that they were out of commission, Gejalik retrieved the portable scanner from her purse. Activating the unit, she touched a control and studied its display.
“It’s in the chamber beyond these doors. I’m scanning two other life-forms, one male and one female.” She frowned, tapping another control. “Interesting. The scanner’s detecting unusual power sources. It’s small, but there, and inconsistent with present human technology.”