by Dayton Ward
“Uh-oh,” he said. “Won’t we get in trouble for looking at this?”
“You mean, more trouble than you’re in now?” Carlson asked.
Wainwright considered that response. “Whatever you say.” With Marshall standing next to him, he opened the folder, which contained but a single photograph of what could only be a spaceship. A large saucer was the craft’s dominating feature, along with a single, blunt cylindrical projection beneath the saucer, and two thinner, longer protuberances sweeping back from it. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, showing the picture to Marshall as he looked to Carlson. “Is this real?”
“It was taken by a military reconnaissance satellite,” Carlson said. “The object, which remains unidentified, was photographed in orbit on the morning of March 29, 1968. It disappeared later that day without a trace. One minute it was there, and the next? Nothing. We’ve never seen anything like it, and nothing matching its description has ever been reported in any UFO sighting.”
Her tone one of worry, Marshall asked, “Any ideas on whose it might be?”
Carlson sighed. “None. Could be the Ferengi, or it could be the Certoss. On the other hand, it could be someone else entirely.” He reached up to tap the photo. “Estimates are that thing is a thousand feet long, so whoever it belongs to? They seem to mean business.”
The craft was huge; that much was obvious from the picture. Though the quality of the image was far from perfect, it still was clear enough for Wainwright to get an idea of its construction, which was unlike anything he had encountered in the twenty years he had been with this project. No obvious cannons or missile tubes were visible, so what sort of weapons might it carry? Did it even have weapons at all? “This thing is incredible.”
“That’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one,” Marshall said.
“Amen to that,” added Carlson. “As you can see, when it comes to preparing for possible alien invasion? We still have quite a bit of work to do.”
Turning to Marshall, Wainwright sighed and offered a knowing smile. “That we do.” She returned his gaze, nodding in agreement.
The beach, they knew, still would be there.
THIRTY-THREE
U.S.S. Enterprise
Earth Year 2268
Kirk barked into his communicator, “Spock! Tractor beam! Keep that ship where it is!”
His voice filtered through the unit’s speaker grille, the first officer replied, “Tractor beam activated. We are holding the Tandaran vessel at maximum range, but it is attempting to overpower the beam’s effects.”
“Contact them and tell them we’ll open fire if they don’t stand down.” Even taking into account the Tandarans’ evident concerns and Colonel Abrenn’s apparent paranoia, this entire situation had gone well past bizarre and into the realm of the utterly ridiculous. Studying the stunned Abrenn, who remained unconscious where Giotto had placed him on the hangar deck, Kirk shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll give him this: He’s committed.”
“Should be committed, if you ask me.” Giotto was completing the process of removing from Abrenn his weapons, helmet, and other equipment, and handing those items to one of his people. Ensign Minecci and other members of the security staff already had performed the same actions on the other five Tandarans in the colonel’s boarding party, who now were being escorted under guard to the Enterprise brig.
“Captain,” said Spock over Kirk’s communicator, “the Tandaran ship’s engines are beginning to overheat.”
“Stand by, Spock,” replied the captain, closing his communicator as he saw Doctor McCoy stepping around Minecci, his medical kit in his hand.
“Is he all right?” asked the doctor, gesturing toward Abrenn.
Kirk nodded. “Just stunned. Can you revive him?”
“Yeah. Give me a minute.” Kneeling next to his new patient, McCoy removed a hypospray from his kit and eyed its contents for a moment before applying the injector to the side of Abrenn’s neck. The hissing sound of the drug being administered was followed a moment later by the Tandaran’s eyes fluttering open.
“Colonel,” Kirk said, trying to get a fast handle on the situation. “It’s all right. You have my word you won’t be harmed.” Having returned his phaser to his waist, he held out both hands to show he carried only his communicator.
Clearing his throat before attempting to push himself to a sitting position, Abrenn said, “All evidence to the contrary, of course.”
“You’re talking, aren’t you?” McCoy asked, having stepped back from the Tandaran. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
Abrenn ignored the physician’s verbal jab, eyeing Giotto who once again stood with phaser in hand, covering the colonel as he rose to his feet.
“Bridge to Captain Kirk,” echoed Spock’s voice from the hangar bay. “The Tandaran vessel’s engines have failed. Our sensors are detecting complete primary power loss. Life-support systems are functional, but on reserve power only.”
Watching Abrenn while listening to his first officer’s report, Kirk saw the slight shift in the Tandaran’s expression—disappointment or defeat—before he was able to school his features. “It’s over, Colonel. This needs to stop.”
“You seem to be in control, Captain,” Abrenn replied. “What will you do now?”
Instead of answering him, Kirk opened his communicator. “Kirk to bridge. Spock, contact the Tandaran ship and tell them we’re standing by to help with repairs. If they have any wounded, they can be treated here on the Enterprise. Notify Mister Scott to have a damage repair team ready to beam over.”
“Acknowledged.”
To Abrenn, Kirk said, “What about it, Colonel? Can I safely send my people over to help your ship and crew, or will the fighting continue over there?”
Sighing, the Tandaran replied, “It does not matter, Captain. I may not have succeeded in my mission, but that does not mean the mission is over. My superiors will simply send someone else, either to your Federation or to Certoss Ajahlan or both. So long as we believe a threat exists to our people, we will not stop.”
“I will go with you.”
Kirk looked over his shoulder at the sound of the new voice to see Gejalik, accompanied by Minister Ocherab, Roberta Lincoln, and Mestral, standing at the entrance to the Balatir.
Turning to face her, Abrenn said, “I beg your pardon?”
“I said I will go with you,” Gejalik repeated, stepping down the ramp leading from the Balatir’s entry hatch and walking across the hangar deck. Ocherab walked alongside her, with Lincoln and Mestral staying behind them. “I am the one you want. I represent the threat that concerns you. Minister Ocherab and her crew, as well as the rest of my planet, have nothing to do with any of this. Leave them in peace, and I will go with you. I will answer whatever questions you have to the best of my ability.”
Moving to stand beside her, Mestral said, “And with your permission, I will accompany her.”
Abrenn frowned. “Why would you do that?”
“I will be able to corroborate some elements of what she will tell you,” the Vulcan replied. “I was in contact with one of her companions during our joint time on Earth, and I mind-melded with him. Therefore, I know everything he did about their mission, at least up to that point in time.”
Looking to Lincoln, Kirk asked, “What’s your take on this?”
The young woman shrugged. “This was all her idea.”
“Well, I don’t like it,” McCoy said. When Abrenn turned to regard him, the doctor added, “What’s to say they don’t just throw her in a prison cell once they’ve got their hands on her? Or worse?”
“You know nothing about my people, Doctor,” Abrenn said.
McCoy grunted, unimpressed. “Then you need to work on your first impressions.”
“Enough,” Kirk snapped before turning to Gejalik. “You don’t have to do this.”
Releasing a small sigh, the Certoss replied, “I believe I do, Captain. Almost everything I did during the time I lived on your world w
as in defense of mine. At least, that is what I believed. It is obvious that whatever alterations have occurred to the time stream, the mission I was given is no longer relevant, and I am all that remains of a world that no longer exists. However, if going with Colonel Abrenn can allay any fears he feels I represent to his world, then I am still acting to protect the Certoss people. I am still fulfilling my duty.” She paused, glancing to Minister Ocherab, who smiled and nodded. “Please allow me that privilege.”
Ocherab said, “Gejalik’s courage inspires us all. It would be my privilege to escort her wherever the colonel wishes her to go.”
Nodding, Abrenn drew himself to his full height, and when he spoke, his voice was more subdued. “I believe that will be satisfactory.” He turned to Kirk. “Captain, I accept your offer of assistance with repairing my ship. If you will allow me to contact my second-in-command, I will see to it that you are extended every cooperation.”
“My people will help you any way they can,” Kirk replied. “As for this situation, what about a compromise? Everything can be done here aboard the Enterprise. I’m willing to act as an intermediary. We all can work through this problem together.”
Abrenn eyed him with wariness. “You would do that, after all that has transpired?”
“Yes,” Kirk said. “As for your actions against my ship, they’ll certainly raise some eyebrows back at Starfleet Command, but if you agree to what I’ve proposed, I’d offer mitigating testimony on your behalf.”
Casting his eyes toward the hangar deck, Abrenn for the first time seemed uncertain. “I do not know what to say.”
“Say yes,” McCoy offered.
After a moment, the Tandaran nodded. “Very well. I agree to your terms, Captain.”
“Excellent,” Kirk said, smiling.
After issuing orders to Spock for the repair teams to continue with their preparations to beam over to the Tandaran vessel, to McCoy to prepare for any medical situations that might need his attention, and for Commander Giotto to escort Abrenn to guest quarters—under guard, for the moment—Kirk turned his attention to Gejalik. “That was a very brave thing you volunteered to do.”
“I appreciate your support, Captain,” replied the Certoss.
Minister Ocherab added, “As do I.”
“Well, we’re not done yet, but I think we’re off to a good start.” Kirk looked to Lincoln. “Miss Lincoln, I can’t thank you enough for your help. You provided a rather unique perspective on this issue.”
Sticking out her lower lip, Lincoln blew out her breath so that it lifted her blond bangs from her forehead. “It was looking crazy there for a while, but you pulled it off.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you,” Kirk said. It would take him a week to write up a report detailing the day’s events, and at this point he had no idea what he might say.
“What will happen now?” Mestral asked.
Kirk shrugged. “I have no idea.” To Lincoln, he asked, “Any thoughts on that?”
“Believe it or not,” she replied, “there are still some loose ends that need tying up. Back in my own time, I mean.”
Trying to envision the effort necessary to track an alien working in secret, and hiding anywhere on Earth, boggled Kirk’s mind. “I don’t know how you do something like that.”
Lincoln smirked. “Well, I was hoping you might do me a small favor. Or, three.”
FULL CIRCLE
THIRTY-FOUR
New York City
July 10, 1969
The bath would be luxurious, Roberta Lincoln decided as she watched the tub fill. After a long day spent entrenched in the latest modules of study mandated for her by Gary Seven as part of her ongoing apprenticeship, her mind had all but turned to mush. Her back and shoulders ached from hours of sitting at her desk, and her thoughts were awash in the ceaseless stream of facts and figures presented to her in unrelenting, rapid-fire fashion by the Beta 5, the advanced computer system that was the major technological ally to Seven and Roberta as they carried out their work.
As was often the case at the end of days spent in this fashion, she felt it all to be a bit overwhelming for a girl who barely had finished high school. Though she at first had protested the extended coursework Seven had assigned to her, she knew that it was but one part of the rigorous, comprehensive training her mysterious employer felt was necessary if she were to function in able fashion as his partner. And all of this was in addition to the other work she was expected to complete, such as reviewing news broadcasts, intelligence briefings, and other material that was part and parcel of her job.
My job, she mused. Yeah. Just another day at the office.
Sitting in her bathrobe on the edge of the tub, Roberta once again chuckled at her own feeble attempts to think of what she did here as just some other vocation; an assignment to be carried out while occupying space in a cramped cubicle in some nondescript office building, proceeding through a set list of tasks while perusing spreadsheets or interoffice memos. After all, saving the world on a more or less regular basis from humanity’s own shortsightedness—to say nothing of the occasional alien interloper—was not something that easily boiled down to a handful of sentences on a résumé. Not for the first time, Roberta pondered what her lot in life might have been if she had continued on in her role as the bright-eyed, naïve secretary she had been just a year ago, working for what she believed to be a pair of encyclopedia research consultants?
The road not taken, and all that.
One thing Roberta did not miss was her cramped apartment in the Village. As part of her “employment” with him, Seven had seen to it that she was provided living space here in the same building as their offices; an adjoining apartment with easy, inconspicuous access to the workspace. Her first night here had been an eye-opening experience upon realizing just how damned quiet it was in the soundproof suite twelve stories above the bustling New York street life. With an expansive library in which to immerse herself—and that was before accessing the vast storehouse of information comprising the Beta 5 computer’s rather comprehensive database—and with her tea and her rather large bathtub, which was almost done filling, she had almost everything she needed to make the stresses of the day fade away.
Well, she mused, smiling at her own impish thought, that cute delivery guy they sometimes send over might not be such a bad thing.
As for Gary Seven—who occupied the apartment on the other side of their joint offices along with Isis, his mysterious shape-changing alien companion who spent a great deal of her time occupying the form of a black cat—presently he was off-world, having been summoned there by his own superiors for reasons he had not shared with her. After a year in his employ, Roberta still knew almost nothing about the Aegis or details of their interest in Earth and its inhabitants. Seven had explained some things to her, promising to continue providing her with more information as circumstances warranted and her training and knowledge level increased. Though she resented the implication that he viewed her as incapable of processing the full truth behind his benefactors and their motives, Roberta had come to realize that Seven in fact was acting in her best interests by keeping some things from her, and thereby minimizing any potential damage she might do—even by accident—as a consequence of the special secrets she and Seven shared.
I still wish he could’ve taken me along for the ride.
Despite her still being a “rookie,” she had accompanied Gary Seven off-world on a couple of occasions, and what eye-opening experiences those had been. As for the work they did here on Earth, their missions had taken them all over the globe, and in recent months Seven had been letting her take the lead, asking her to develop their plans for dealing with this investigation or that intervention. She knew he was testing her, of course, judging her ability to examine a situation from all possible angles and devise the appropriate course of action, or even to determine that the best option was to take no action. A hunch teased her, telling her that Seven was preparing her for her first s
olo mission. She was not sure if she was ready for such responsibility, but she had learned to trust Seven’s judgment and was confident he would not send her alone on a mission until he was satisfied that she was ready.
“What’s the worst that could happen?” she asked no one as she turned off the tub’s faucet and stuck her hand in the water to check its temperature. “I blow up the planet?”
Well, hopefully not tonight.
From where it lay on the vanity next to her hairbrushes, Roberta’s servo vibrated and emitted a short, lyrical string of electronic tones that she recognized as a communications signal sent from the Beta 5 computer.
“Really?” she asked, eyeing the servo with disdain. Casting a longing glance over her shoulder at the inviting tub, she grunted in irritation as she tightened her bathrobe before swiping the servo from the countertop and padding her way out of the bathroom. The entrance to the office suite from her apartment was concealed at the back of her walk-in closet, and she used the servo to unlock and open the hidden door. A moment later she was stepping into Gary Seven’s expansive, tastefully decorated office.
“Computer on,” she said, crossing the office toward the set of inlaid bookcases occupying most of the wall in front of Seven’s desk. In response to her command, the entire wall swung outward, revealing the sophisticated master control console for the Beta 5 computer. The console activated as it pivoted into view, its central viewing screen flaring to life. “What’s going on?”
“There is an unscheduled activation of communications protocols,” replied the Beta 5 in its usual haughty, high-pitched voice. “Program is not a standard component of my software.”