Strangers from the Sky

by Margaret Wander Bonanno

  among his peers as Old Reliable the man who could

  find anything, fix anything (and, as those who knew him

  from the Academy could verify, "organise" anything

  that wasn't nailed down) had suddenly revealed himself

  as a closet Egyptologist.

  "Why, Lee, you amaze me!" Jim Kirk said

  softly when he'd done.

  "It's a hobby." Kelso shrugged. "I've

  always been interested in architecture."

  "What about the treasures, Lee?" Gary tweaked

  him, shaking cobalt-blue sand out of the

  communicator. It sprinkled like fairy dust down

  the stairs to mingle with the reddish sand on the floor, a

  reminder that where they had been was not

  hallucination, but no guarantee that where they were was not.

  "Where's King Tut's gold? Where's the ancient

  papyrus with the secret code? Where's the hidden

  passageway to get us out of here?"

  "There are some hieroglyphs over here,"

  Elizabeth Dehner said helpfully, interested in

  what Kelso had been saying and anxious to shut

  Mitchell up at any cost. "At least that's what

  I think they are."

  Kelso had already investigated them.

  "They're not true pictographs. Coptic

  graffiti. Centuries younger, and inferior to the real

  thing."

  "Excuse us!" Mitchell murmured.

  "At least the lights are a little more

  contemporary," Kirk observed, studying the wall

  sconces near the high stone ceiling, listening to the

  echo of his own voice. "For a minute there you had me

  expecting torchlight processions. All right,

  let's say Egypt, for the sake of argument. That

  puts us in a lot less difficulty than we would

  be anywhere else. All we have to do is find a way

  out of here, locate Spock his

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  "Just like that," Mitchell remarked dryly,

  refitting the casing on the communicator and testing it.

  "Nothing to it!

  "Have you got that thing working yet?" Kirk de- manded

  impatiently. "If we can home on a

  Starfleet frequency his

  "Oh, it's working, all right," Mitchell

  assured him. "But I can't broadcast. There's no

  range. Something's jamming it."

  Kirk turned to Dehner. "What about the

  tricord- ers?"

  "Same problem, Captain," she replied. "I

  can read anyone inside the chamber, but I can't get

  beyond the walls."

  "There's some kind of damping field all around us,

  Jim," Mitchell reported, snapping the

  communicator shut with finality. "Something out there

  wants us incommunicado. And if it's the same

  thing that was strong enough to bring us here, offhand I'd say

  we're in pretty deep his

  "Very astute, Mr. Mitchell," said a voice

  behind them, a voice that did not echo, but spoke in the

  same heavily accented Standard that Kirk thought he'd

  imagined before. "However, allow me to assure you that

  your fears are unfounded. I mean you no

  harm."

  He had not come down the steps, had not entered to the

  sound of stone walls sliding open to Gary

  Mitchell's suggested hidden passageway, was

  simply there with them curious apparition out of another

  age or reality, turbaned and white-robed, too

  thin for his height or too tall for his weight

  wraithlike, insubstantial, grinning like the

  proverbial Cheshire cat, and carrying (kirk

  saws

  a bone-china tea service on a teakwood

  tray.

  "You're the one!" Kirk advanced on him, finger

  pointed accusingly. "The voice I heard. Are you

  responsible for bringing us here?"

  "Quite responsible, Captain," the wraith

  acquiesced

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKI

  with a small bow, setting the tea service down on

  the steps in lieu of furniture, spreading his long

  fingers in apology. "Guilty as charged, though I

  assure you that was not my original intention."

  Kirk opened his mouth and nothing came out.

  Nonplussed, he looked up at

  Mitchell for

  suggestions. Mitchell shrugged.

  "What was?" Kirk asked carefully.

  "I was attempting," the stranger said, fussing with the

  tea things, "an expeninent in the manipulation of time.

  It was not intended to involve anyone else. You and your

  crew simply got in the way."

  Behind him, Kirk could hear Dehner's tricorder

  whirring busily. Cool and collected, she was

  taking readings on the stranger. Good! Kirk thought,

  clearing his throat.

  "I am Captain James T. Kirk of the

  Federation starship Enterprise. We were on a

  peaceful mission his

  "Oh, I know all that, Captain," the stranger

  said, waving it away with one long hand and nearly

  upsetting the teapot. "Though at present I do not

  know how I know. I know all manner of useless

  things. It is when I try to employ my knowledge in some

  way that might benefit me in my plight that I

  succeed only in making matters worse. Do you

  take honey in your tea, Cam fain?"

  Before Kirk could refuse, assert himself, even

  shout something incoherent, Dehner's voice came from

  behind him.

  "He's human, Captain," Dehner whispered.

  "More or less."

  "What's that supposed to mean?" Kirk demanded.

  "She means, Captain," the stranger said, still

  holding the teacup (seeing that Kirk had no intention

  of taking it, he offered it to Dehner, who shut off

  her tricorder and accepted it with a shrug in Kirk's

  direction), "that while some of my readings are within

  human norms, many are not. She will tell you that my

  neurological 197

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  patterns are paranormal, for example,

  particularly what you would classify as esper

  ratings, and that she is unable to determine my age."

  "Exactly," Definer said coolly, as if his

  knowing all that didn't surprise her in the least.

  She leaned against the steps sipping her tea as if it

  were the most normal thing to do under the circumstances.

  Kirk wondered if it was. "How did you know? Have

  you been tested before, Mr. his

  "Parneb," the stranger said, pouring a second

  cup of tea. "Mahmoud Gamal al-Parneb

  Nezaj, If you please, though Parneb is the one

  name I shall carry with me through all my incarnations.

  Mr. Mitchell?"

  "My mama told me never to take tea with

  strangers," Mitchell quipped pleasantly from his

  perch near the top of the staircase. His arms were

  folded, he leaned casually against the wall, but a

  certain tightness about the mouth let Kirk know that he

  was coiled and ready to spring if he gave the word.

  "Ah, but we are no longer strangers!" Parneb

  protested, offering the tea and some biscuits to Lee

  Kelso, who had never been known to refuse anything

  edible. "I know who you are, and I will tell you as much

  abo
ut myself as I can remember. And in due course I

  shall do all in my power to get you home safely. But

  you must first promise me you will not do anything

  precipitous.

  "It's mint!" Kelso said past a mouthful of

  biscuit, referring to the tea, to which he'd added a

  generous dollop of honey. "It's very good."

  "From my own garden," Parneb said with a trace of

  pride. "And the honey is from my own apiary.

  IN-VO skills which will hold me in good stead down the

  ages."

  "One of my crewmen is still missing," Kirk

  inter- rupted, shaking off a kind of Through the

  Looking- Glass malaise that seemed to have

  captured Kelso at least. All this

  pouring and sipping, pattering and chat

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  tering, were getting to him; he had a sudden desire

  to smash crockery. "He was with us on that planet his

  "Yes, I know, the Vulcan," Parneb said

  calmly. "Pity, I don't quite know how that

  happened; you were all supposed to arrive here.

  Malesh, a single Vulcan can't be that difficult

  to find."

  "We are in Egypt, aren't we?" Kelso

  wanted to know.

  "Most definitely, Mr. Kelso. And I quite

  enjoyed your lecture on the subject." Parneb

  poured himself a cup of tea at last, folding his

  ectomorphic personage onto the stone steps

  to sip at it delicately. "You and your

  associates have managed to surmise a great deal

  despite the restrictions I have placed on you

  by confining you to this cellar; it was not intended to be a

  dungeon, Mr. Mitchell, truly. I must also

  accept responsibility for jamming your equipment,

  Captain. I was aware that your training and your

  talents would demand that you attempt to escape or

  to seek help from outside. But, like you, I

  also have a manner of Prime Directive. I cannot

  have you announcing your presence in a century that is not

  your own."

  Slowly Kirk began to comprehend what Parneb

  was really saying. He had by his own admission

  transported them across parsecs of distance. Why not

  time as well?

  "Parneb," Kirk said with the last ounce of

  patience he possessed. "What century is this?"

  "Why, one of mine, of course," Parneb seemed

  surprised that Kirk didn't know. "But as to which of

  them let me think . . ."

  It was more than Kirk could stand.

  "I want answers!" he gritted out through clenched

  teeth. "I don't know who or what you are

  sorcerer, con man, or just plain lunatic but if

  you don't release us, tell me what's happened

  to my first officer and my ship, and get us back where

  we belong, I'll"

  "You'll what, Captain?" Parneb went on

  placidly sipping his tea.

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  Kirk lunged for him, found himself grabbing what

  felt sickeningly like cobwebs, until it

  melted out from under him. Kirk lurched forward, hit the

  steps hands first, broke his fall, and rolled onto

  the floor. Beside him Parneb's teacup tumbled,

  splashed, and smashed to bits. Parneb was elsewhere.

  "Please don't do that again, Captain." Kirk

  leaped to his feet to find the conjurer standing in the center

  of the room, smoothing his clothing fastidiously. "It

  wrinkles the djellaba and is undignified for both

  of us. I told you I would do what I could. But I

  need time. And your present behavior is hardly

  conducive to my letting you out of here at all."

  Kirk seethed, mentally adding his skinned hands to the

  bruises he already owed this disappearing dervish.

  "Patience, Captain, for just a bit longer,"

  Parneb advised affably. He saw that Kelso was

  examining the walls again. "Mr. Kelso, I would be

  most interested in how you rate this structure

  comparative to others of the same period . . ."

  He linked his arm in Kelso's and within moments the

  two were off on a tour around the room, pattering

  away as if they had all the time in the world. Kirk

  collected his wits and looked around him at the others

  Dehner sitting with teacup in hand as if she didn't

  know what else to do, Mitchell poised on the

  staircase like a deceptively sleepy

  cat. Alice through the looking glass, Kirk

  mused, had had to keep running in order to stay in the

  same place. Exhausted, he climbed up to sit

  beside Mitchell.

  "Gary, I'm stumped," he said. "I can't

  seem to get through to this character at all."

  His manner was not consistent with any

  regulation command technique he knew, but he was

  wise enough to recognise his own myopia and seek a

  second opinion. He had relied on

  Mitchell's advice for so long....

  "Patience and diplomacy, kid." Mitchell's

  lips barely

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  moved, his eyes never left the white-clad

  figure of their host, as if he suspected him of

  overhearing their conversation even at this distance. "Humor

  him, like Lee's doing now."

  "Lee," Kirk said testily, "is off on his

  own little cloud somewhere. If I hear one more discourse

  on architecture I'm going to his

  "Is he, Jim?" Mitchell wondered. "You

  know Lee as well as I do. He can be a maniac

  sometimes, sure, but he's never lost his

  perspective. Ever since this Parneb character popped

  up, he's been playing him like a violin. Lee was

  the one who found out we were in

  Egypt."

  Kirk watched the two figures on the far side

  of the room, suddenly saw Kelso's seeming

  flakiness in a new light.

  "The Good Cop/bad Cop scenario." He

  smiled.

  "All I know is, it's old," Kelso had

  explained it to them, preparatory to using it

  to extricate them from some jam or other. "Earth

  origin, variation on the Devil's Advocate

  scenario. One guy plays the Bad Cop real

  mean, ready to beat the guy in the middle to a pulp.

  The other guy plays it sympathetic, like it's all

  he can do to hold the first guy off. That way the guy in

  the middle trusts the Good Cop to protect him from the

  Bad Cop, and he'll tell him anything."

  "And you're the Bad Cop," Kirk said.

  "Perfect bit of casting, no?" Mitchell

  grinned. "And you're the quarterback." He grew

  uncharacteristically serious. "Lee and I'll block

  for you, Jim, you know that. But it's still your play."

  Kirk smiled his gratitude. A man

  was fortunate to find such a friend once in a lifetime;

  a commander who could claim such a man as his confidant

  was doubly blessed.

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  "Captain?" It was Elizabeth Dehner, who'd

  been observingarneb too. "Much as I hate to find

  myself in agreement with Mr. Mitchell, the

  technique is psychologically sound."

  "There you are!" Mitchell said dryly. "Now that

  you'v
e got the UFPMA Seal of Approval his

  "Easy, Gary, easy!" Kirk felt like

  laughing for the first time. "Save your act for Parneb."

  "Who said I was acting?" Mitchell wondered with a

  quizzical look at Dehner.

  Before she could say a word Parneb was

  suddenly, silently among them again. There was no

  telling how much he'd overheard.

  "It is time now," he announced with a wave of his

  hand. "If you will all come with me . . ." He chose

  to make a conventional exit this time, moving up the

  stairs as if there were not several tons of stone between them

  and freedom. Kirk, right behind him, was strangely

  unsurprised to find that there were not.

  Mitchell uncoiled himself from the steps and

  let Kelso pass him.

  "Come on, Alice in Wonderland," he called

  down to Dehner. "Tea party's over."

  Dehner shouldered her tricorder and glared up at

  him.

  "Someday, Mr. Mitchell, I'm going to look

  inside your head and find the cause of that calculated

  misogyny," she said coldly.

  "I've got nothing against women," Mitchell on

  jected, trying to take her arm. "They're some of my

  favorite people. When they act like women."

  "Maybe you're just jealous of my trying to get between

  you and your captain," Dehner suggested, wrenching

  free of him, ignoring the insult not the first of its

  kind she'd heard, certainly.

  "My advice has saved Jim Kirk's life

  more than once," Mitchell said stonily. Playing

  the Bad Cop

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  already? Elizabeth Dehner wondered, or did

  he really mean to sound so menacing? "If he needs

  your advice, he'll ask for it."

  The staircase spiraled upward through several

  narrow turnings within windowless, featureless

  stone walls that Kelso assured them, to Parneb's

  obvious delight, were of much later construction, opening

  out suddenly into a suite of airy, almost-modern

  rooms. Kelso was ecstatic.

  "Mud-brick construction, domed ceilings, rounded

  arches!" he raved. "It looks like a Hassan

  Fathy. Parneb?"

  "Close, Mr. Kelso," Parneb beamed at

  him. "The architect will be a disciple of Fathy's

  at the end of the last century."

  Mitchell, meanwhile, was not looking at the

  architecture but at the mass of medieval

  miscellany contained within it.

  "He's got all the trappings, Jim!"

  Mitchell sounded amazed. "Look at all this

  stuff!