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

by Dayton Ward

  There was a knock on the door, and they looked at each other in confusion for a moment before Wainwright called out, “Come in.” When the door opened, it was to admit two men he did not recognize. Both wore dark, conservative suits, though the taller of the pair also wore a fedora pulled low over his eyes.

  “Good evening, Mister Wainwright,” his companion said, before turning to Marshall. “Miss Marshall. We apologize for calling on you unannounced, but we have some information we think you’ll find important.” He looked to be in his mid-thirties, with brown hair and bright hazel eyes, and carried himself with a self-confidence—perhaps even arrogance—that only natural leaders tended to exude.

  “Who are you?” Wainwright asked, scowling. He felt his hand twitch, wanting to reach for the pistol in its holster beneath his left arm, but he forced himself to remain still. “How the hell did you even get in here?”

  “That’s not really important,” he replied, “though to make it easy for all of us, you can call me Agent 937.” He indicated his companion. “This is Agent 176. I hope you’ll understand that we need to protect our identities, but it’s the information we have for you that’s of true importance. It’s also very sensitive, which is why I need to insist that you not share it with anyone; not even your Vulcan friend, Mestral.”

  Despite himself, Wainwright could not help his mouth opening in shock at the unexpected demand. He exchanged confused glances with Marshall before asking, “How do you . . . ?”

  The man held up his hand. “Hopefully, now, you understand that this isn’t a joke. Our information pertains to the Certoss, and how we can help you find them.” He paused, offering a small, humorless smile. “Interested?”

  Okay, Wainwright conceded. That’s one way to get my attention.

  TWENTY-FIVE

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Earth Year 2268

  Phaser in hand and followed by a pair of security guards, Kirk lunged from the turbolift the instant the doors opened and sprinted down the narrow observation deck overlooking the starboard side of the Enterprise’s shuttlecraft hangar bay. Standing near one of the viewing ports was Lieutenant Commander Barry Giotto, along with two more guards. The security chief, also wielding a phaser, gestured with his weapon toward the window.

  “Six of them, sir,” he said by way of greeting. “We’ve sealed off the bay, and I’ve got teams at every exit. The only way they’re getting out of there is the same way they got in.”

  Kirk nodded, getting his first look at the odd situation unfolding on the hangar deck. “Scotty’s working on that.” The chief engineer already had reestablished the ship’s deflector shields. Though they were not yet at full strength, they still were more than the Tandaran ship could boast. For now, the Enterprise had the tactical advantage so far as ship-to-ship combat was concerned, though that was not the issue at the moment.

  While Giotto dispatched the four security guards to join teams he had positioned at different exits, Kirk peered down through the viewing port at the Balatir sitting in the center of the bay. The Certoss vessel took up much more space than a shuttlecraft sitting in that same position. Two shuttles, the Galileo and the Copernicus, were positioned before the bay’s rear bulkhead, and the enormous clamshell doors to Kirk’s left of course were closed, providing the only barrier separating this part of the ship from the harsh, unforgiving vacuum of space. Six figures, all dressed in what Kirk figured to be some kind of tactical assault uniform consisting of torso armor with a molded neck and a helmet with a wide face shield, milled about the Balatir, each of them brandishing a formidable-looking rifle. None of the intruders was attempting to gain entry to the craft. “Nice work reacting to the threat, Commander.”

  “I tried communicating with them through the intercom, but they’re not answering. Any idea what’s going on?”

  Shaking his head, Kirk said, “Obviously some kind of last-ditch play to grab the Certoss.” The Enterprise’s final phaser and torpedo barrage had succeeded in incapacitating the Tandaran ship, forcing it to fall from warp speed but not before Colonel Abrenn had executed a daring, if inexplicable plan: deploying a boarding party. The move was as bold as it was unexpected, but Giotto and his team seemed to have reacted in fine fashion, and now that the Tandarans were here, Kirk could not see the upside to the strategy. “But why not simply beam them off the Enterprise?”

  “I might have the answer to that,” Giotto replied, examining his tricorder. “They must’ve figured they could snatch the Certoss and get away before we were able to react, but the Certoss vessel activated her own deflector shields. The boarding party can’t get past them to board the ship, and now we’ve cut them off from beaming away.”

  “Are all the Certoss on their ship?” Kirk asked.

  Giotto nodded. “They’re even heavy a few bodies. Another Certoss, a Vulcan, and a human.”

  Kirk frowned. “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, sir. Checked it twice. Our friendly stowaways pulled a fast one on the Tandarans. Pretty smart thinking.”

  That explains where Miss Lincoln went. She must have used whatever technology and abilities she possessed to move from the bridge to the hangar deck during those final hellish moments of the skirmish with the Tandaran ship. It appeared she also had gathered Gejalik and Mestral, anticipating some kind of action either to beam them from the Enterprise, or a raid to capture them. Kirk was certain Lincoln had to be the one responsible for getting Minister Ocherab to raise her vessel’s shields, thereby thwarting any attempt to have her crew spirited away by Tandaran transporters, forcing Colonel Abrenn into this far more rash course of action. Well done, Miss Lincoln, but can we take advantage of it?

  His communicator beeped, interrupting his train of thought. Retrieving the unit from where it rested at the small of his back, he flipped it open. “Kirk here.”

  “Spock here, Captain,” his first officer replied over the secure link, for which Kirk had opted in order to avoid the Tandarans from eavesdropping in the event they were able to access the intraship communications system. “The Tandaran vessel’s main engines and most of its weapons remain offline, but they have managed to restore their deflector shields.”

  That was certain to complicate the current situation, Kirk decided. “With both ships’ shields up, nobody’s transporting anywhere. As for the boarding party, they’re all wearing some kind of armor that looks like it might double as an environment suit. I’m going to guess that flooding the deck with anesthezine gas won’t work.”

  “We could depressurize the bay,” Giotto said. When Kirk eyed him with skepticism, the commander added, “Just a thought, sir.”

  Kirk asked, “Spock, is the Tandaran party in contact with its ship?”

  “Negative. We are presently jamming their communications.”

  “What about their ship? Any hints they may be gearing up for another fight?”

  “None that we can detect. They may be holding back from any further attacks now that they have people over here.”

  Giotto said, “I wouldn’t count on that lasting, sir. They might decide the boarding party’s expendable, particularly if they can’t get through to them thanks to our jamming.”

  “Agreed,” Kirk replied. “Spock, hail the Tandaran vessel and tell them that we’re not looking to harm their people, but we’ll take action if they try anything. And if you think they’re about to pull something, you hit them first. Aim to incapacitate, but do whatever you think’s necessary to keep them from taking out our shields again.”

  The first officer said, “Acknowledged.”

  “Keep me apprised of the boarding party’s movements and activities, and open a channel to the hangar deck from this location. I want to try talking to them.”

  “Lieutenant Uhura has established the link, sir.”

  “Let me know if there’s any change in the Tandaran ship’s condition or actions. Kirk out.” Closing his communicator, he stared down at the hangar deck once more. The six Tandarans were watching him from wh
ere they stood at various positions around the Balatir, holding their rifles in a manner that would allow them to bring the weapons to bear in rapid fashion. Studying each of their faces, it took Kirk a moment to realize that one of the boarding party members looked to be Colonel Abrenn himself. Keeping his eyes on the Tandaran leader, he moved to the comm panel mounted to the section of bulkhead separating two viewing ports and pressed the unit’s activation switch.

  “Colonel Abrenn, this is Captain Kirk. By now you’ve realized that you can’t get to the Certoss, and you can’t contact your ship. The hangar deck has been sealed off from the rest of the ship, so there’s nowhere for you to go. Surrender now, and I promise that you won’t be harmed.”

  “Captain,” replied the Tandaran leader, moving toward the hangar deck’s center so that he could see Kirk, “you know I cannot leave without the Certoss. Allow me to do so, and we can end this without further harm to either of our vessels or crews.”

  “And you know I can’t just let you take them,” Kirk replied. “You realize that your boarding my ship will be seen as an act of aggression against the Federation? Is that really your intention? Surely we can find a way to settle this. Whatever your concerns, I promise you they’ll get a fair hearing. Let me help you, Colonel.”

  Abrenn’s statement was as flat as the expression with which he regarded Kirk. “You can help me by surrendering the Certoss.”

  Shaking his head in irritation, Kirk said, “All right, let’s look at this another way. Your current tactical situation is—shall we say—precarious. Nobody’s getting in or out of there unless I say so. My people have sealed off every point of entry to the hangar deck. There’s only one way out, and I’ve got my finger on the button for that.” To emphasize his point, he gestured with his phaser toward the enormous hangar doors. “I don’t know if those suits of yours work in vacuum, and I’d prefer not to test them.”

  “Suffice it to say that we are capable of fighting in any number of hostile environments, Captain. We may be trapped here, but I assure you we are not without options.” Abrenn raised his rifle to aim at the viewing port and fired. Pulling away from the window, Kirk and Giotto dropped to the deck the instant before a bolt of red-white energy punched through the transparasteel barrier. Both men covered their heads with their arms as shrapnel fragments exploded into the corridor. Additional shots impacted against the other viewing ports, inflicting more damage and hurling still more debris into the passageway. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, Kirk scurried to the bulkhead beneath one of the ruined windows, angling for a position that would allow him to peer into the hangar bay without exposing himself to fire, when his communicator chirped. “Kirk here,” he snapped after retrieving the unit and flipping open its cover.

  “Captain,” Spock said, “I’m detecting a new energy reading emanating from the hangar deck. It is not being generated by any of our systems or the Certoss vessel. It definitely has a self-contained power source, but I cannot determine whether it might be an explosive device of some kind. It appears the device also is jamming the Balatir’s communications, as I am unable to contact Minister Ocherab.”

  “If it’s some kind of bomb,” Giotto said, “we can’t let them set it off down there.”

  Another tone sounded across the open channel, indicating another party trying to contact him, and Kirk switched his communicator’s frequency. “Kirk here.”

  “Ensign Minecci, sir. We’ve got eyes on the intruders. They’re setting up something on the deck next to the Certoss ship. Can’t tell what it is from here, but the way they’re moving around down there . . .” The ensign was cut off as a barrage of Tandaran weapons fire was aimed in his direction and he dropped out of sight. Kirk’s eyes widened in horror, and he wondered if he had just seen the man killed right in front of him. A moment later the young officer’s bald dome poked up above the destroyed viewing port’s frame, and he waved. “Still here, sir,” he said over his communicator as more fire assaulted his position.

  Giotto said, “It doesn’t make sense that they’d detonate an explosive with no place to take any real cover.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” Kirk replied as he switched his communicator back to its primary frequency. “Spock, the device you’re scanning. Is its power reading anything like the weapons they used to take out our shields?”

  There was a pause before the first officer said, “There is a definite similarity, Captain. It is possible the device is meant to overload the Certoss vessel’s shields in the same manner as was done to ours.”

  “Damn it,” Kirk hissed. If Abrenn managed to force his way aboard the Balatir, he would gain the leverage of a hostage situation. Kirk needed something to turn things in his favor.

  There was, he decided, one option.

  “Spock, initiate procedures for depressurizing the hangar deck.”

  The time for talking was over.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Los Angeles, California

  February 23, 1968

  Cal Sutherland caught the faint scent of developer solution as he held the photographs, a consequence of him removing them from the darkroom after his return from the bank and before they had been given sufficient time to dry. On any other day he would have exercised the proper restraint and allowed the copies to complete their development process, but everything about them demanded he move with judicious haste. He would have to let them finish drying before readying them for the mail. Was it his imagination, or could he feel an energy radiating from the pictures, some intangible quality linking these images to the actual subjects that had been captured on film?

  “And you say you trust this guy, this informant of yours?” asked James Wainwright from the other end of a long-distance connection between Sutherland’s office and whatever Dayton-based phone booth Wainwright had selected as his clandestine point of contact. The line was bad enough that Sutherland had to strain to hear over the sound of afternoon downtown traffic coming through his closed office window, and Wainwright already was talking in a raised voice.

  “Yeah, he’s solid. He’s one of my most loyal readers. Had a subscription from the start; the whole smash. Don’t get me wrong, I treat anything that comes my way with a grain of salt, but just wait until you get a load of these pictures, Jim. They’ll blow your mind.” His eyes traced over every feature of the dark figure displayed prominently in the photo’s center. Unlike countless other photographs submitted to Watch the Skies or rival magazines or even to Blue Book case officers like Jim Wainwright, this was no indistinct, blurry shadow challenging all attempts at identification. Instead, the subject of this photo was depicted in stark focus, leaving little to the imagination.

  It’s a damned alien.

  “You’re sure it’s what we’ve been looking for?” Wainwright asked, and Sutherland noted the other man’s habitual guarded approach to speaking on the phone. While it was certain that the Blue Book case officer revealed far less information than he possessed on the topic, Wainwright was not a doubter or debunker. He was aware of what was happening all around the planet and right under the noses of nearly everyone, and he wanted nothing more than solid, indisputable evidence to substantiate what he already knew to be true.

  “It’s just like you described.” Though the figure in the picture at first looked human, there could be no mistaking the odd, ruddy tint to its skin or the total lack of hair on its head, to say nothing of having no real ears. Only a pair of small holes above its mouth suggested a nose, but it was the hands that commanded Sutherland’s attention, each possessing what looked to be two thumbs flanking three long, thin fingers. Its eyes and mouth were dark and ominous, a feeling accented by the thing’s dark, skintight bodysuit and the harness worn across its chest. “I’ve never had a picture this good, of anything.”

  “I’m amazed your contact was able to get it,” Wainwright said. “From everything we know about these . . . people, they’re usually a lot better at covering their tracks.”

  “According to him, it was
a freak accident. I don’t have all the details, and I won’t have a chance to ask him for at least a month or so.”

  Wainwright asked, “But you know how to reach him? Where he’s working?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t know his schedule. They send him on a lot of trips.” In truth, Sutherland knew his contact’s full identity and that he was employed by NASA at McKinley Rocket Base in Florida, working on some top-secret collaborative venture between the civilian space agency and the military. He saw no need to share that information with Wainwright, just as he kept to himself his network of supporters and sources from around the country. Though he figured Wainwright, with the full backing of the United States government, could find anyone and anything given sufficient time and effort, Sutherland felt no compelling need to make that task any easier for him.

  “I guess that part’s not really important,” Wainwright said, “at least for now, though there may come a time when I need to speak to him. Still, I need to know everything about the . . . the person in the photograph. You know he’s good at . . . disguises, right? Finding him in the middle of thousands of people on that base won’t be easy.”

  “I hear you, brother.” Sutherland had seen firsthand the Certoss’s abilities to change their appearances to conceal their alien identities, using the odd harness strapped across their chests. He could not even begin to comprehend how such a device might work, but he had to admit it would come in handy, like something a bad guy might use in one of those James Bond movies. “What are you thinking?”