Star Trek: The Original Series: From History's Shadow
Page 34
Pushing aside that unpleasant thought, Michael rose from the couch and reached across his father for the remote control sitting on the recliner’s far armrest. He used the unit to reduce the television’s volume so that he could only just hear the voice of the late evening news anchor talking over the sound of his father’s soft snoring. As Michael suspected, the change in the room’s background noise was sufficient to rouse his father, who grunted and twitched before jerking his head upright. His eyes were red-rimmed and heavy, and he looked around the room in a daze for several seconds.
“Mikey?”
“Hey, Dad.” One month after his fiftieth birthday, and his father had reverted to calling him “Mikey” as he had years and years earlier. “You okay? If you’re tired, I can help you get ready for bed.”
Shaking his head, Wainwright replied, “Nah, that’s okay. The night nurse always helps me, and she’s better-looking than you are.”
Michael chuckled at that, heartened to hear a hint of his father’s old sense of humor. He seemed to be feeling better after his brief nap. “Are you hungry? Want something to eat or drink? I was thinking I’d run to the cafeteria for a cup of coffee for the road. I need to be heading back.” With the drive back to Sacramento, he would not make it to bed until after midnight, and he had to be at work at seven the next morning for a conference call with his company’s New York office.
Again, his father declined. “Allison always brings me coffee.”
“Allison?” Michael asked, forcing himself not to react any further to the reference. “Don’t you mean Stephanie?”
Instead of answering, Wainwright paused, casting his gaze toward the television before looking around the room. After a moment, he said, “Yeah, Stephanie.” He sighed. “Allison. I miss her.”
“I know, Dad,” Michael said, his voice low. “I know.”
His father and Allison Marshall had been friends and professional partners during their joint time in the Air Force, becoming lovers at some point after his and Mom’s divorce. Allison had remained at his side even during the brief period Wainwright spent in a military hospital while suffering from a form of post-traumatic stress. The condition had been brought about as a consequence of something that had happened during his time in the service, much of which, so far as Michael knew, remained classified. Upon his release from the hospital in 1972 and the final severing of his government ties, he and Allison had married and moved to California in order to be near Michael and his wife, Emily, and their three daughters, where he proceeded to work on being nothing more than a perfect, doting grandfather. It was not until Michael’s youngest child, Michelle, had graduated high school that Allison became ill, passing away less than a year later after a brief, harsh battle with cancer. Two years after that, Wainwright began exhibiting early Alzheimer’s symptoms. Everything had happened so fast, it seemed, though Michael was thankful for the years his father had been able to enjoy following the long period of his life that remained cloaked in secrecy.
Stifling a yawn, Michael rose from the couch and stretched the muscles in his back. “Okay, Dad, I should get going. Emily doesn’t like it when I’m driving late.” Though his wife understood his desire to spend time with his father, she often expressed worry that he would fall asleep during the drive home after one of his regular weeknight visits. “Are you sure I can’t get you anything before . . .”
Wainwright’s attention was fixated on the television. He even had lowered his recliner’s footrest and now was leaning forward in the chair as though trying to get closer to the screen, his eyes widening as he stared at the image it displayed. Turning to see what had so riveted his father, Michael caught just a few seconds of what looked to be an airplane flying low—very low—over a nighttime city skyline. A red banner stretching across the bottom of the screen highlighted the caption “AMATEUR VIDEO.”
“Turn it up,” Wainwright said, pointing at the television. “Turn it up.”
Michael fumbled for the remote control and aimed it at the TV to increase its volume as a different news anchor, one he didn’t recognize, appeared on the screen before a reduced version of the footage that had just aired, now playing on a repeating loop as the man spoke into the camera.
“. . . an hour ago by a man using his camcorder to tape a backyard barbecue. The massive unidentifiable object does not appear to be a meteorite, weather balloon, or satellite, and one aviation expert we’ve spoken to has stated that it’s definitely not any kind of U.S. aircraft currently in use. We’re awaiting investigation by local authorities, and we’ll keep you updated as news develops on this incredible story.”
“Wow,” Michael said, impressed with what he had just seen. “I’ve never seen anything like that before. What about you?” When his father did not respond, Michael turned and saw that Wainwright no longer was looking at the television but rather seemed to be staring into space.
“Saucer. Three cylindrical projections. It’s not Russian. Nothing like it.”
Frowning, Michael stepped closer. “Dad? Are you okay?” He considered alerting Stephanie, the nurse on duty tonight in this wing of the home’s assisted-living facility, but held off when it appeared his father might once more be settling down. His features seemed to relax, and he leaned back in the recliner. The only vestige of his abrupt change in demeanor was his expression, one of intense concentration as though he was struggling to recall some long-lost memory. After a few more seconds his features softened and he blinked several times before looking up at Michael and offering him a quizzical look.
“Michael? It’s getting late. Shouldn’t you be heading home?” Wainwright looked around before his gaze settled on the small clock sitting on the table next to his chair. “I should probably get to bed, too,” he said, then grinned. “Send Stephanie in here to tuck me in, would you?”
“Sure, Dad,” Michael said, chuckling again. “Whatever you say. You sure you’re all right?” He gestured toward the television. “You were acting like you’d seen that flying whatever it was before. Was it a UFO?” Though his father discussed his time in the military only on rare occasions, Michael was aware of his work for the Air Force’s mysterious Project Blue Book back in the 1960s. The only thing Michael knew about the project was that it was part of a government effort to determine whether flying saucers and beings from other worlds were real. He could not recall his father ever talking about that part of his service career.
Wainwright shook his head, all indications of his earlier agitation now gone. “No. Just in the movies. Those things aren’t real,” he said, but Michael was certain he still heard a hint of doubt in his father’s voice.
“Those things aren’t real.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thanks very much to my editors, for taking a chance on this rather odd book. It’s been something of a “passion project” for many years, and I’m grateful that I finally got to get it out of my head.
I’d always wanted to tell a story in a vein similar to what Greg Cox accomplished in The Eugenics Wars: The Rise and Fall of Khan Noonien Singh, with its blending of real history and “Star Trek history.” They are among my very favorite Star Trek novels, and I’m grateful that Greg gave me his blessing to try my hand at a story that sort of dovetails with his books.
Thanks also are due to Christopher L. Bennett, for his Department of Temporal Investigations novel Forgotten History, as well as Ben Guilfoy for his short story “Mestral,” from the Star Trek: Strange New Worlds 9 anthology. Though I first conceived of this book years ago, I tailored a few aspects of the story so as to remain consistent with what Christopher and Ben subsequently established in their tales. Any mistakes or oversights in this regard are mine alone.
As one might imagine, I conducted a bit of research into the “UFO phenomenon.” These three books deserve special mention for the assistance and inspiration they provided: Flying Saucers: The Startling Evidence of the Invasion From Outer Space, by Coral E. Lorenzen; The Case for the UFO, by M. K. Jessup; and Proj
ect Blue Book, by Brad Steiger.
Finally, I tip my hat to the following episodes and their writers for their contributions to Star Trek lore, as they provided various points of “continuity departure” throughout this novel:
Star Trek “Tomorrow Is Yesterday,” written by D. C. Fontana;
Star Trek “Assignment: Earth,” teleplay by Art Wallace and story by Gene Roddenberry and Art Wallace;
Star Trek: Deep Space Nine “Little Green Men,” teleplay by Ira Steven Behr & Robert Hewitt Wolfe; story by Toni Mayberry & Jack Treviño;
Star Trek: Voyager “Future’s End, Parts 1 & 2,” written by Brannon Braga & Joe Menosky;
Star Trek: Enterprise “Detained,” teleplay by Mike Sussman & Phyllis Strong; story by Rick Berman & Brannon Braga;
Star Trek: Enterprise “Carbon Creek,” teleplay by Chris Black; story by Rick Berman & Brannon Braga & Dan O’Shannon.
One last thing: I decided to set “McKinley Rocket Base” in Florida, based on the map we see Gary Seven studying in “Assignment: Earth.” Not wanting the base to take the place of Cape Canaveral in “Star Trek land,” I instead placed it more or less in the vicinity of what in the real world is Patrick Air Force Base, an actual installation in close proximity to the Kennedy Space Center. It’s a bit of a hat tip to I Dream of Jeannie, which was set in and around Cocoa Beach and the Cape. Patrick was never named in that series, but it’s the Air Force base closest to Cocoa Beach. So, there.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Dayton Ward has been modified to fit this medium, to write in the space allotted, and has been edited for content. Reader discretion is advised.
Visit Dayton on the web at
www.daytonward.com
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This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and events are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or places or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN 978-1-4767-1900-9
ISBN 978-1-4767-1901-6 (ebook)
Contents
Historian’s Note
Aftereffects
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Beginnings
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Full Circle
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
One Last Thing
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Acknowledgments
About the Author