Star Trek: The Original Series: No Time Like the Past

by Greg Cox

Thankfully, Scotty and his crew had gotten the main deflectors back in working order during the final stretch of their journey to the system, which had proven less eventful now that the Navaar had been sent running. The Bellingham had gone its own way, taking the treacherous Cyril Hague with it, leaving the Enterprise to continue its quest on its own. Kirk certainly hoped they wouldn’t require any more reinforcements.

  “Impact in five seconds,” Chekov said. “Four, three, two, one . . .”

  A bout of minor turbulence, which was nothing compared to the pummeling the ship had taken during the battle in the Neutral Zone, rattled the bridge for a moment or two before subsiding.

  “That’s it?” Uhura said, sounding mildly disappointed. “I was expecting something more . . . dramatic.”

  “The interstellar medium through which the hot gases are expanding is too tenuous to generate a shock wave of sufficient force to impact our shields,” Spock explained. “What brief turbulence we experienced was purely the result of thermal and density changes.”

  Uhura shrugged. “If you say so, Mister Spock.”

  “Frankly, I can live with a little less drama after everything we’ve been through,” Kirk said. He sipped from a cup of coffee that had slopped over the sides a bit. “Slow to one-half impulse.”

  “Aye, sir,” Sulu said. “Welcome to the Beta Niobe system . . . or what’s left of it.”

  Spock had briefed him on what to expect. Inside concentric bubbles of expelled plasma and radiation was an empty void inhabited only by a newborn neutron star that was all that remained of the swollen red giant that Beta Niobe had once been. The blazing crimson sun had compacted into a tiny blue sphere, only about twenty kilometers in diameter, but incredibly dense. No trace of Sarpeidon or any other satellite registered on their sensors. An entire world, with a long and storied history, had been vaporized by the supernova, only two years ago. Kirk remembered the Enterprise warping away from the doomed system only minutes before Beta Niobe exploded. That had been closer than any of them would have liked.

  “Radiation levels?” he asked.

  “High concentrations of gamma and x-rays emanating from the neutron star,” Spock said, peering into his scanner. “Nothing our shields cannot withstand for a time, but I would not advise lingering in this system longer than necessary.”

  “Duly noted,” Kirk said. “Maintain shields at maximum.”

  “Aye, sir.” Chekov gazed out at the desolate system. The Enterprise occupied Sarpeidon’s former orbit at a safe distance from the tiny neutron star, which was just a bright blue ball on the viewer, smaller than Kirk’s hometown in Iowa. “A pity Doctor Seven couldn’t make it here with us.”

  A mock memorial service had been held for Seven, along with Lieutenant Tang. Kirk had been uncomfortable perpetrating the hoax, particularly in conjunction with a funeral, but had seen no better option. The crew deserved closure, and Seven’s survival had to be kept secret.

  “I know what you mean, Ensign,” he replied. “But we can honor her memory by completing the work she nobly gave her life to protect.”

  The “official” explanation for continuing on to Beta Niobe, even after Seven’s tragic “death,” was that the misplaced time traveler had been investigating the possible source of a temporal disturbance sometime in the future. Supposedly, the Enterprise was now confirming her theories so that the future would have the data they needed to avert the disturbance when the time came. Like the best cover stories, this was close enough to the truth to pass muster.

  “But the supernova destroyed everything,” Chekov pointed out. “If you don’t mind me asking, sir, what is there left to investigate here?”

  Good question, Kirk thought, groping for a plausible response.

  Spock came to his rescue. “There is a theory, as yet unconfirmed, that the Sarpeids’ ambitious use of time travel took advantage of a temporal wave created by the supernova itself, propagating itself backward through time. Our task here is to examine the surviving stellar remnant for traces of such a wave.”

  Kirk wondered if that was a real theory or just something Spock had manufactured for the occasion. The Vulcan’s poker face made it impossible to tell.

  “I see,” Chekov said, mulling it over. “But where do Cheron and Gamma Trianguli VI fit into that theory? They didn’t practice time travel, did they?”

  “I’m afraid that’s classified,” Kirk said, playing his trump card. “Strictly need to know.”

  Chekov looked abashed. “I’m sorry, Keptin. I didn’t mean to pry.”

  “No need to apologize, Mister Chekov,” Kirk said. “You’re a Starfleet officer. A healthy curiosity is part of the job description. Why else are we out here, except to find out what’s lying beyond the next star or nebula?” He peered at the two-year-old neutron star before them, struck with wonder despite the urgency of their mission. “I’m sure Doctor Seven would agree.”

  “I am confident of that as well,” Spock agreed. “And in that spirit, I suggest we proceed with our scientific investigation of this system.”

  “Right you are, Mister Spock.” Kirk rose from his chair and headed for the turbolift. Repair teams had done wonders patching up the damage from the invasion, but a few battle scars remained. He resolved to have them dealt with at the first opportunity. “Spock, you’re with me. Mister Scott is waiting in the transporter room to beam that probe of yours to the designated coordinates.” He declined to mention that the “probe” in question was blonde and hailed from another era. “Mister Sulu, you have the conn.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  • • •

  Scotty was indeed waiting in the transporter room, along with McCoy, Santiago, and Seven. She was already putting on an environmental suit when Kirk and Spock arrived. A torpedo-shaped probe casing, which had been used to covertly transfer her from the isolation ward to the transporter room, lay open to one side, exposing the hollowed-out cavity inside. A second space suit awaited Kirk.

  “Captain,” she greeted him. The protective suit was made of a flexible silver material that covered her arms, legs, and torso, beneath a more rigid unit that fit over her shoulders and chest. A bulky transparent helmet rested on a counter, waiting to be donned. The nameplate on the front of the helmet had been deliberately kept blank. “I commend you and Mister Scott for the speed at which the Enterprise has arrived at our destination. I am ready to conclude our quest.”

  “As am I,” Kirk said. “How are you holding up?”

  Although she had been resting more or less in peace since her “death” in the Neutral Zone, she still was looking shaky. She swayed slightly, struggling to maintain her usual formal posture. Her eyes were puffy, her skin dry and unhealthy looking, as though she hadn’t slept in days. Whatever tricks McCoy and Spock had been employing to help keep her body together appeared to be reaching the limits of their effectiveness. She needed to “regenerate” soon, whatever that meant.

  “I am . . . functional,” she stated. Her shoulders drooped, as though weighed down by the sturdy construction of the space suit. “But perhaps another dose of stimulant is advisable.”

  McCoy frowned. “I know this was my idea, but I don’t like how much you’re relying on these injections to stay on your feet. The long-term consequences—”

  “Are irrelevant, Doctor, if I cannot return to my own era before long.” She cocked her head, exposing her bare neck. “The hypospray, if you please.”

  “All right, damn it.” He pressed the instrument against her jugular. A hiss accompanied its operation. “Here’s hoping you won’t need any more of these.”

  “I share your hope, Doctor. Believe me.”

  Spock helped Kirk into an environmental suit, which seemed a prudent precaution, considering.

  “With any luck, we won’t need these suits either,” Kirk said, “provided the fragments cause us to be transported back into Sarpeidon’s past . . . and not into empty space.”

  “I don’t know, Jim,” McCoy said, shaking his head. “Beam
ing down to a planet that doesn’t exist anymore? That’s one hell of a leap of faith. What if you just end up floating out in the vacuum instead?”

  Kirk shrugged. “In which case, Scotty will lock onto us and beam us back aboard. No harm done, except to our mission.”

  “But the radiation—” McCoy began.

  “Their suits will provide adequate protection for the short time they are outside the ship,” Spock said, “assuming they find themselves in space at all. Our working theory, which is supported by what we have already observed, is that they will instead find themselves transported to Sarpeidon’s past, much as we ourselves have been on occasion.”

  It wasn’t long ago, Kirk recalled, that the three of them had traveled back through time to Sarpeidon’s past in search of Spock’s son, conceived during their previous mission to the planet. They had successfully rescued Zar from a desolate ice age, but the young man had ultimately chosen to return to his own time in order to live and die five thousand years ago, as the history of his world decreed. Kirk had to imagine that their return to this system had stirred up plenty of bittersweet memories for his friend, not that you’d know it from Spock’s stoic façade.

  “Don’t remind me,” McCoy said.

  “I would hope that would not be necessary,” Spock replied, “despite the fallibility of your human memory.” He turned toward Kirk. “Captain, let me point out once again that we are now in possession of three fragments. In theory, I should be able to accompany you and Seven on this expedition.”

  Kirk shook his head. “We’ve been through this. The Enterprise has already come under attack once during this affair. I’m not willing to have both of its senior officers stuck in the past of a vaporized planet if the Orions come gunning for revenge.” He glanced over at Scotty. “No offense, Mister Scott.”

  “No worries,” Scotty assured him. “I’d just as soon have ye or Mister Spock in command durin’ a tight spot, given a choice. I’d rather look after my engines than be stuck on the bridge any day.”

  Spock persisted. “I think it is extremely unlikely that the Enterprise will encounter the Orions again. The deception with Seven—”

  “May not be sufficient, Mister Spock.” Kirk finished climbing into the suit, so that only the helmet remained to be put on. “I’ve made my decision. Seven and I managed on our own on Cheron. We can manage on Sarpeidon, if we make it back to when the planet was still in one piece.”

  His reasoning was sound, but Kirk privately admitted to another motive as well. He had no desire to subject his friend to the pain of revisiting, once again, the world where he had lost both Zarabeth and, eventually, their son. Kirk knew what it was like to lose a woman to the cruel vagaries of time travel . . . and to have a son you could never know. If he could spare Spock the heartache, he was going to do it. What was the good of being captain if you couldn’t pull rank sometimes—for your friend’s sake?

  “Very well. Then perhaps a security officer,” Spock suggested.

  “Negative, Mister Spock. I’m not bringing another person into this circle of trust. As I just told Chekov, this is strictly need to know.”

  Plus, to be honest, he didn’t want to risk losing another security officer on this highly unorthodox quest. Bergstrom, Jadello, Tang . . . Kirk wasn’t up to sacrificing another of his crew on the altar of the future. This “leap of faith” was his to take and his alone.

  Aside from Seven, of course.

  “Understood,” Spock assented grudgingly. “We will, of course, be monitoring the designated coordinates so that we can beam you back to the ship the instant you return from your quest.”

  “That’s what I’m counting on,” Kirk said.

  • • •

  Seven stepped forward. “It is possible that I shall not be returning to the Enterprise once I have reassembled the device that brought me to this era. That being the case, I wish to take the opportunity to thank you all for your assistance and hospitality. It has been very . . . intriguing . . . exploring this time period with you. I could not ask for better guides to the twenty-third century.”

  “It’s been a pleasure,” McCoy said, breaking out his characteristic Southern charm. “If you’re at all typical of what the future has to offer, then tomorrow is looking bright indeed, at least as far as I’m concerned.”

  Seven was mildly surprised by his glowing endorsement. “Despite my . . . deviations . . . from baseline humanity?”

  “It’s not what I’m used to,” he admitted, “but maybe that’s not the point. Just because humanity might not be ready for your various physiological ‘improvements’ right now doesn’t mean we won’t be at some point in the future. There was a time when we weren’t ready for warp travel either, but look at us now. Progress isn’t always a bad thing, as long as it comes in its own time.”

  Spock arched an eyebrow. “You never cease to amaze me, Doctor. I was unaware that you had such an open mind.”

  “Damn straight I do,” McCoy said. “And don’t you forget it.”

  Seven realized now that their banter masked a deep kinship. It reminded her in some ways of the frequent verbal jousting between Tuvok and Neelix, which in no way negated the trust and loyalty between them. She experienced a pang of nostalgia for Voyager, which she ascribed to physical fatigue and mental exhaustion. Lack of regeneration was making her annoyingly sentimental.

  “Just the same,” McCoy added, “I’m still going to scrub all your medical data from the ship’s computer. No need to bring on your brave new world before it’s due.”

  “I also intend to purge the computer of any data that might compromise your time line,” Spock stated. “Or warn your past self of what is to come.”

  Once again she realized that an opportunity existed to warn her parents against venturing into Borg space. It was not too late to prevent little Annika Hansen from being assimilated by the Collective many years hence. She could possibly change her own future and regain a normal, human childhood . . . at the risk of sacrificing the individual she had become. She pushed the temptation aside, but not without a pang of regret.

  “That is for the best,” she agreed.

  “I’m going to keep my mouth shut, too,” Santiago said. “And don’t worry about that no-good aide of mine. He’s looking at some pretty serious charges for espionage, not to mention aiding and abetting attacks on a Federation starship and a diplomatic conference. I’m sure he can be . . . persuaded . . . to keep silent if it means not being turned over to the Yusubi, whose brand of justice is a good deal harsher than the Federation’s.”

  “Would serve him right to face a little old-fashioned eye for an eye,” Scotty commented, “but aye, I imagine that’s a powerful incentive to play ball and bite his tongue where Seven is concerned.”

  “Let us hope so,” she said. “Regardless, I appreciate your collective discretion, gentlemen.”

  “It’s the smart thing to do,” Kirk said. “Loose lips and all that.”

  Spock took a moment to bid Seven farewell. “I too have valued your time about the Enterprise. It is reassuring to see that the humans of the future will not all be as emotional and impulsive as the good doctor. Your keen mind and resourcefulness are a credit to your own time, whenever it may be.”

  “As are yours,” she replied. “I thank you again for sharing your meditative techniques with me. They made a difference.”

  “I am pleased to hear it.” He raised his hand in a Vulcan salute. “Live long and prosper, Annika Seven.”

  She splayed her fingers likewise. A slight tremor marred the gesture. “Live long and prosper, Spock of Vulcan,” she replied, knowing that he would. “And my thanks to you as well, Mister Scott. Your assistance was invaluable.”

  “All in a day’s work,” he assured her. “Godspeed, lass. Hope ye have less of a bumpy ride this time.”

  Seven hoped so as well. She saw no point in prolonging her exit any longer. The fourth component of the time machine awaited her, as did Voyager nearly a century from no
w. She had not forgotten the danger Captain Janeway and the rest of the away team had been facing when last she saw them. Possibly there was still a chance to save them, if she returned to the right point in time?

  “Shall we proceed, Captain?” she addressed Kirk. Her brief stint aboard the Relativity came to mind. “There is a saying among time travelers that strikes me as highly relevant at this juncture.”

  “Which is?” Kirk asked.

  “There’s no time like the past.”

  Thirty-four

  Instead of the blackness of space, she found herself in an endless white wasteland. Windblown snow melted against the heated visor of her helmet. Icy cliffs, piled high with snow, blocked her view of the horizon, hemming her and Kirk in. A geriatric red sun, sinking toward the west, seemed to provide little in the way of warmth. The frozen landscape had an arctic blue tinge. The wind’s mournful keening could be heard even through her helmet. Her gloved hands held on tightly to two violet wedges.

  “Welcome to the ice age,” Kirk said via the communicators in their helmets. He gripped the third segment in his right hand. “Seems the fragments brought us into Sarpeidon’s past as expected.” He glanced around at the glacial wilderness. A floodlight from his helmet fought against the swirling snow obscuring their vision. “This place is a little colder than I remembered.”

  Seven had familiarized herself with Kirk’s mission logs concerning Sarpeidon. “At least you are unlikely to be tried for witchcraft this time.”

  “There’s that,” he conceded. “But would it have killed these fragments to have brought us here in summer?”

  “Perhaps this is summer,” she pointed out.

  “Now, there’s a terrifying thought.” A speculative tone entered his voice. “I wonder, do you think we might encounter Zarabeth . . . or Zar?”

  “Unlikely,” Seven stated. “Sarpeidon’s glacial epochs lasted many millennia and covered much of the planet’s surface. The odds that these are the same geographical coordinates, at the same time, are remote in the extreme.”