Elusive Salvation (Star Trek: The Original Series)

by Dayton Ward

  “I’ve seen a lot of strange shit in my day, Major, but I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around what you and that group of yours is doing.” Vessey shook his head. “Aliens and spaceships? That’s the sort of thing I dismissed as the junk my grandchildren watch on Saturday morning cartoons.” He gestured around his office, which was tastefully appointed with a selection of photographs and other mementos that—like the several rows of ribbons on his uniform jacket—celebrated his lengthy service. “Then I get this job and people like you tell me we’ve had these things running around the planet for at least forty years, if not longer.”

  Wheeler released a knowing sigh. “There are days I feel the same way, sir.”

  “How the hell are we supposed to explain this to the president?” asked Vessey.

  “With the truth, sir, as always. As far as I’m concerned, this just proves what we’ve been saying all along. Aliens are here, actively working at something. We don’t know what it is, how many of them there are, or what it might be leading toward, but that ship didn’t just disappear on its own; someone or something took it, somewhere.” He blew out his breath. “I just don’t have the first damned clue where.”

  Vessey said, “Well, whatever happened, it didn’t fly out of there, at least as far as we can tell. I’ve already had SAC, Space Command, and NORAD verify that there were no satellite detections of anything resembling a launch anywhere around the world. The bird we retasked to cover the crash site shows that the ship was there on one pass, and gone the next. Whatever happened, it’s like whoever moved the ship knew when the satellite would be overhead.”

  All of this information had been given to Wheeler even before he left the Distant Early Warning station at Tuktoyaktuk. Liaison officers from the Strategic Air Command headquarters at Offutt Air Force Base in Omaha, Nebraska, as well as the Air Force Space Command at Peterson Air Force Base in Colorado Springs and the North American Aerospace Defense Command at the adjacent Cheyenne Mountain facility had all contributed updated data. This telemetry, gathered from the network of American military satellites as well as other sensor equipment to determine the existence of any unidentified threat anywhere in the world, told Wheeler what he had suspected as he gazed at the hole in the ice where the alien ship had once rested: the craft had vanished.

  Where had it gone? More importantly, who had taken it?

  “This just helps to crystallize the problem, General,” said Wheeler leaning forward in his chair. “There are those in this administration and within the military leadership who either have no idea what we’re dealing with, or else they’ve somehow become convinced that there’s no longer a threat. You and I both know better, sir.”

  Vessey gave him a sidelong glance. “You’re telling me you know what I know, Major?”

  Sensing he was being teased if not outright tested, Wheeler replied, “I know that you’ve spent a long career planning for the worst-case scenario, General, and that you’ve used your position as chairman to convince others to think along the same lines. That’s why you’ve pressed the president to expand our reach around the world and to keep pushing back against the Soviets. It’s why you recommended we not ignore the offensive and defensive advantages of satellites, space stations, and space-based weapons. You’re the reason he’s so hot about SDI, and why you lobbied for a unified command to oversee military space operations.” He offered a small grin. “I’ve been paying attention, sir.”

  For the first time since the meeting began, Vessey smiled. “Glad to see someone is.” Sitting up in his chair, the general rested his forearms on his desk. “And you’re right. Despite my earlier comments, I’ve been aware of this alien business since the minute I was read into your group’s activities. I’d heard rumors, of course, and twenty years ago things like Project Blue Book were a joke to most of us.” He shook his head. “Of course, now I know that was the point, at least for the most part, right? Give cover for you and those who came before you. Damn fine job of keeping a lid on this, for whatever the hell my opinion’s worth.”

  “Right now, it’s worth a lot, sir.” Wheeler tapped a finger on the general’s desk. “We need you and your support, particularly now. This situation with the ship is just the sort of thing Majestic was created to deal with and to figure out how to fight. We can’t go half-stepping now, otherwise it’s forty years of work down the crapper.”

  Before Vessey could respond, the small box sitting next to the phone on one corner of his desk beeped, and a female voice said, “General Vessey, sir, I know you said no interruptions, but I have a Marine lieutenant here who’s requesting to speak with Major Wheeler. He says it’s urgent, sir.”

  Vessey eyed Wheeler. “One of yours?”

  “Probably my aide, General.” Lieutenant Joseph Moreno had accompanied him to the Pentagon and until at least a few moments ago had been working in a private office provided to him by one of Vessey’s assistants.

  Vessey frowned. “It’s been my experience that when a Marine says something’s urgent, you pay attention.” Pressing a button on the intercom, he said, “Send him in here, Sergeant.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  A moment later the door opened, and Wheeler shifted in his seat to see Moreno enter the office, dressed in a Marine officer’s green uniform trousers and jacket over a khaki shirt and tie. The lieutenant was carrying a square canvas bag in his left hand. He closed the heavy wooden door before proceeding to within a pace of Vessey’s desk and assuming a position of attention.

  “Good afternoon, General. Lieutenant Moreno, reporting as ordered.”

  Vessey waved a hand toward the junior officer. “Well, I just invited you in, Lieutenant. You’re the one who wanted to join the party. Stand easy, Marine.”

  “Thank you, sir. I apologize for the intrusion, but Major Wheeler instructed me to contact him immediately if we got any new information about a possible location on the missing alien craft.”

  “You’re saying you’ve got something?” asked Wheeler.

  Moreno nodded. “Yes, sir.” To Vessey, he said, “You’re going to want to see this too, General.” He hefted the bag he still carried. “If I may?”

  “Have at it, Lieutenant,” said Vessey, gesturing for Moreno to move to the small round conference table in his office’s far corner. The Marine laid the bag atop the table and unzipped it, withdrawing a blocky piece of off-white plastic that Wheeler recognized as a portable computer. Part of the unit operated on a hinge, and when Moreno flipped up this section, it revealed a monochrome monitor with orange text on a black background.

  “Nice toy,” remarked Vessey.

  “It’s a model developed for the DoD, sir,” said Moreno. “Civilian versions that have some of this level of capability will be along in a year or so.”

  The general snorted. “Great. I’ve got a grandson who’ll love that. I figure he’s the one who’s going to program all the robots to kill us in the future.”

  Moreno pressed a sequence of keys that Wheeler only half followed, and the result was the computer’s compact monitor beginning to generate a map of the United States. Loath as he was to admit it, Wheeler had not yet jumped on the personal computer bandwagon with the same enthusiasm as the generation coming up behind him. On the other hand, Moreno was young enough that he likely had received some kind of computer training in high school before gaining greater exposure in college and later from the Marine Corps Computer Sciences School in Quantico, Virginia. Whereas Wheeler was competent enough to navigate a typical pocket calculator, Moreno was at home interacting with these far more sophisticated contraptions.

  “What are we looking at, Lieutenant?” asked Wheeler.

  Moreno said, “When we first examined the alien ship on site in Canada, we were able to detect a low-frequency transmission coming from it. We still have no idea what it was saying, General, or who was meant to hear it. When we were revived and saw that the ship
was gone, we attempted to track the signal but it was long gone, and we thought that was that.”

  He tapped another handful of keystrokes, and a series of concentric circles appeared, overlaying the map with a small orange circle at its center positioned over what Wheeler realized was the Raven Rock Mountain Complex just over the border in Pennsylvania. Other smaller dots represented the Pentagon and the White House, but it was a third dot in the screen’s upper right quadrant that drew Wheeler’s attention.

  “New York?” he asked, pointing to the display.

  “Yes, sir,” replied Moreno. “Our equipment picked up the transmission twice, on the same low frequency, and at both times the duration was less than two minutes.”

  Vessey, standing with his arms folded across his chest, asked, “How the hell were you even able to track it in the first place?”

  “Well, that’s a pretty interesting story, General,” replied the lieutenant, who then paused to offer Wheeler an uncertain look.

  Letting his subordinate off the hook, Wheeler said, “We’ve enjoyed the occasional technological breakthrough over the years, sir, thanks to various . . . items . . . we’ve acquired during our ongoing investigations.”

  His eyes narrowing in obvious skepticism, Vessey pointed to the computer. “You’re saying that thing is from an alien ship or other piece of equipment?”

  “No, sir,” replied Wheeler. “However, scientists with our organization have been successful in some limited reverse engineering of certain components, including the onboard computer systems of a vessel we retrieved back in the sixties.” When Vessey opened his mouth to respond, Wheeler added, “The file for that and a select number of cases investigated over the years is not readily accessible beyond MJ-12 personnel, General. I didn’t even know about it until Project Cygnus was initiated.”

  “I think I’m going to want to read those files,” said Vessey.

  “Already in process, sir.” Indeed, Wheeler had requested authorization to have the general read into the entire scope of the missions of both Majestic and Cygnus, as well as unrestricted access to the extensive archives of both groups. Unlike some of his predecessors, Vessey had demonstrated during his tenure as chairman that he was serious not only about protecting the United States from foreign enemies, but also defending humanity from threats beyond the confines of its home planet. Though obviously unknown to the public, the real reasons for Vessey and the Joint Chiefs championing a greater emphasis on an American military presence in space was dictated less by concern over terrestrial threats as it was those from the stars, but selling the latter idea was of course a politically untenable option. Better to focus the fears of congressional leaders and concerned citizenry on an enemy they could see and understand, after all.

  “The original technology utilized materials we can’t reproduce,” explained Moreno. “Some really crazy additions to the periodic table, sir. However, in most cases we were able to find workable alternatives, but our substitutes resulted in our being able to only partially re-create the functionality of the original components.” He gestured to the computer. “While we’ve made significant progress in our computer miniaturization and processing efforts, we’re still years or even decades away from the kind of power and portability the alien tech promises.” He sighed. “But when that gets here? Watch out.”

  “What about this signal?” asked Vessey. “How were you able to track it?”

  Moreno cleared his throat. “Once we had a recording of it, along with notes about its frequency, signal strength, duration, and rate of cycling, we input all of that information to our mainframe at Raven Rock, then hit the switch and let the machine start chewing on it. The process took the better part of the day, mostly due to our equipment still having issues with detecting anything broadcast on such a low frequency and power level. To be honest, we would’ve missed it the first time if not for the signal technician who was on duty. She caught it just by sheer luck, then was able to figure it out when even the computer wasn’t sure.”

  “Can you pinpoint its location?” asked Wheeler.

  The lieutenant’s expression fell, and he shook his head. “Not to an exact spot, sir, but we can get within spitting distance.” Reaching for the portable computer’s keyboard, he tapped another sequence of keys and the map shifted to focus on New York, then refreshed with a larger image of the state. The orange dot turned into a circle, inside of which was the recognizable landscape of Manhattan and the northwest area of Brooklyn.

  “That’s it?” Doubt laced Vessey’s question.

  Wheeler replied, “With all due respect, General, it’s a lot more than we had this morning.” He studied the map, noting that the center of the circle fell over the waters of the East River running between Brooklyn to the south and Manhattan to the north.

  “You’re from New York, Moreno,” he said after a moment. “What’s our best bet?”

  Without hesitation, the Marine said, “The Navy Yard, sir. That area’s been going downhill for years. There are dozens, maybe even hundreds of buildings in or near that area that’d be perfect for hiding. You could probably stay there for years without anybody noticing. Once we’re on the ground, we should be able to hone in on the signal and get a fix on its location.”

  “That’s our play, then,” said Wheeler, nodding with renewed confidence. “We’ll start at one end and make a complete sweep until we find it.”

  Whoever had taken the ship from him would not do so a second time.

  Twenty-Four

  Starfleet Medical Research Facility, Jupiter Station

  Earth Year 2283

  Seldom did a day go by that Leonard McCoy did not want to take a phaser to a piece of equipment that had wronged him in some real or perceived manner. There also were rare occasions when he thought of taking some offending piece of technology to the nearest airlock and jettisoning it into space.

  Today was shaping up to be one of those days.

  “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time,” he said, pushing himself away from the computer terminal and slumping even deeper into his chair, “but this is a whole other ballgame, right here.”

  Sitting across from him at the table they had been sharing in his lab, Doctor Christine Chapel looked up from her own work and regarded McCoy with what he recognized as an expression of sympathy. “Maybe you need to take a break. How long have you been at that, anyway?”

  McCoy glanced at the computer display’s chronometer. “A while.” He sighed. “What else am I going to do? I can’t just sit here, waiting for Jim and Spock to come back from wherever the hell they’ve gone off to. Who knows what kind of trouble they’re stirring up, and without me to clean up their mess.”

  “Are you saying you wanted to go with them?” asked Chapel.

  McCoy cast a sidelong glance in her direction. “Christine, how long have we known each other?”

  “About twenty years, give or take.”

  “Then you should know by now that I hate the idea of time travel even more than I hate transporters.” He shook his head. “Traveling through time is like playing with fire. It’s dangerous, even when it’s done for the most noble of reasons.”

  Upon hearing Kirk’s proposal to utilize time travel in order to make contact with Gary Seven, McCoy thought his friends had taken leave of their sanity. Though he had participated in time travel on more than one occasion, it was not something McCoy viewed with a casual air. The very real risk of altering the course of history, even as a result of the most innocent of acts, was something he, Kirk, and Spock had debated before and after each of their previous journeys through time. They had repeated that discussion before Spock’s launching of the probe and revisited the topic prior to his and Kirk’s departure with Roberta Lincoln to the twentieth century.

  “I can only imagine what Admiral Nogura must be thinking right now,” said Chapel. “There’s no way he would’ve
authorized a mission like this. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near his office right now. Or Admiral Morrow’s, for that matter.”

  “Why do you think I came back out here?” The facilities at Jupiter Station were the real reason for his return, but being five hundred million miles away from Starfleet Headquarters also had a definite appeal. As a favor to Kirk, he had joined the admiral along with Spock and the rest of their friends on the Enterprise once the situation with the Iramahl and their reasons for coming to the Sol system became clearer. However, after taking some initial blood samples from Jepolin and Opirsa and conducting a series of preliminary screenings and other tests on the Iramahl representatives, McCoy had decided even the starship’s wide-ranging lab spaces and services would be insufficient for further research. Once the Enterprise had been transferred to Starfleet Academy as a training vessel, it no longer was a priority for receiving the latest system upgrades and enhancements to its onboard facilities. With that in mind, he opted for his much more comprehensive laboratory and other resources here on the station to assist him in his research. Still, it saddened him to see the once state-of-the-art starship reduced or diminished in this way, even though he knew he was being overly emotional.

  Spock would raise both of his eyebrows if he heard you talking like this.

  “Thing is,” McCoy said after another moment, “Jim’s right. Or Spock’s right and he was able to convince Jim to go along. Sure, them taking off without asking permission is probably going to raise a lot of hackles, but getting approval for something like this could take weeks or months. For that matter, it’s even money on whether the brass would sign off on the idea in the first place. You could argue that Jim was right to go before anyone could tell him not to.”

  A small smile on her lips, Chapel replied, “You think there’s a chance Nogura will see it that way?”