Star Trek The Original Series From History's Shadow (37 page)

“Remarkable,” Gejalik said, nodding in appreciation at the level of obvious effort Jaecz had devoted to his study of this equipment. According to what he had told her and Adlar, he had stumbled upon the advanced computer’s presence almost by accident several years earlier, while conducting scans with the equipment he had constructed at his base of
operations in Trenton, New Jersey. After determining its location in New York, Jaecz spent considerable time studying the computer and its operating software via his own scanning equipment, looking for a way to breach its security protocols without alerting its owners to his activities. The process was slow, taking years, during which he almost had revealed himself to the mysterious humans overseeing the computer. The humans also possessed matter teleportation and scanning technology, setting them far apart from the rest of Earth’s inhabitants.

Careful probing actions of the computer’s vast information library had given Jaecz little insight into the identities of its users. His original intention had been for the three of them to infiltrate the office and access the device in order to gain more information, but Jaecz’s timetable had been disrupted by the acceleration of the nuclear weapons platform development and testing at the rocket base in Florida. Then, his own scanning equipment had detected the spacecraft in orbit above Earth five days earlier, as well as this computer’s own scans of the vessel, and Jaecz realized an opportunity to escape this planet might well have presented itself.

Jaecz, however, was dead. At least, that’s what Gejalik now believed. In a rare breaking of security protocol, Adlar had contacted her via phone from Florida the evening after the launch from the McKinley base and the subsequent explosion of the rocket in low Earth orbit. Using coded phrases they all had devised over the years, Adlar informed her of Jaecz’s discovery by the human agents, the ensuing chase, and the resulting confrontation that presumably had resulted in all their deaths. At the very least, Jaecz now was in the custody of the American military. The mysterious space vessel had disappeared from orbit, and Adlar had instructed
Gejalik to travel from Trenton to New York and see what she might learn about the incident from the human agents’ own records.

Gejalik adjusted the scanner once more as Jaecz had instructed her during their training sessions, after which the unit emitted another series of tones that elicited another sequence of flashing lights from the computer’s flat black panel. “
Computer,
” she said, addressing the workstation, though unsure about how to proceed, “
identify yourself
.”

“
I am a Beta 5 computer,
” replied the mechanism in the same formal, feminine tones. “
I am an advanced artificial intelligence capable of examining information and rendering independent analytical decisions. My purpose is to assist agents assigned to this planet in the accomplishment of their mission
.”

“And what mission is that?”

“
Earth technology and science have developed at a rate exceeding current political and social advancement. Agents assigned to this planet are to secretly observe progress of human civilization and take appropriate clandestine action to prevent premature annihilation.
”

It was an interesting notion, Gejalik conceded, one at total odds with her reasons for being on Earth.
Was it possible that the work of these agents might one day lead to a human civilization that did not view her people as a threat?
Her superiors had never discussed activities of this type taking place in this time period. Was it a secret to them, as well, or had such agents simply not been present in whatever timeline had brought about Earth’s aggression against Certoss Ajahlan? Gejalik’s mind swam with the possibilities.

Deactivating her shroud harness so that her human façade vanished and left her with her natural form, she said,
“Computer, are you able to scan me and make a physiological determination?”

“
Scans indicate you are a humanoid; not native to this planet. Notations in my record banks support preliminary findings that you are a member of the Certoss race
.”

Gejalik nodded even though there was no one to see her gesture. “Do your records have any other information regarding other members of my species?”

There was a pause as the Beta 5 processed the query, then it said, “
There are notations in files recorded by Agents 6, 201, and 347 regarding humanoids matching your physiology. Notations supported by numerous classified United States government agency reports
.”

“Are any members of my species in the custody of the United States government?”

“
Affirmative. One specimen collected in Yuma, Arizona, in 1952. No other specimens are indicated
.”

So, either the American military did not have Jaecz in their custody, or else that information had not yet been entered into any file or record to which this computer might have access. Deciding to change her line of inquiry, Gejalik asked, “What can you tell me about the spacecraft that was in orbit five days ago?”

“U.S.S. Enterprise,” the computer replied. “
Traveled back in time from the year 2268 to observe activities on present-day Earth
.”

Three hundred years in the future? Not so far as from where she had come, but Gejalik still was impressed. There had been no discussions with her superiors of humans sending ships or teams through time to Earth’s own past for study. “Has the ship returned to its own time?”

“
Affirmative
.”

Frowning, Gejalik asked, “How do you know this?”

“
I am able to lock onto their present location in space and time, in accordance with instructions provided by Supervisor 194
.”

Lacking the necessary technical skills, Gejalik had no idea how such a feat might be possible. She also was uncertain as to the identity of the “supervisor” mentioned by the computer, but she assumed it was the older human male she had seen entering and exiting the apartment during her reconnaissance. “So, you’re able to link to the ship?”

“
Affirmative
.”

“What about other locations and periods in time?”

“
Yes, but new coordinates can only be entered with direct supervisor authorization and security protocols
.”

Gejalik hissed in frustration. To be so close to home and have it remain just out of her reach? Though she and her companions had long ago consigned themselves to the probability of never returning to their own world, the discovery of these mysterious humans and their incongruous technology had—she was forced to admit—given her new hope. With time, Jaecz might well have devised a way to override the computer’s security procedures, but she did not possess his technical expertise.

“What about communications?” she asked, more to herself than the computer. Jaecz’s scanner had given her access to the computer’s communications system, so perhaps she could send a message, if not to the Certoss Ajahlan of her own time, then whoever might be listening. It took her several moments to compose what she thought might be a message that would not be dismissed out of hand by whomever received it. She did not even know if receiving a return message was possible. With limited time at her disposal before
the office’s true occupants returned, Gejalik knew she would have to work fast.

“
Message transmitted,
” the Beta 5 reported a moment later. From behind her, Gejalik heard a low mechanical hum. She turned to see the glassware shelves parting to reveal what at first appeared to be a large bank vault. The wheel at the vault door’s center spun of its own accord before the door itself swung open to reveal the interior chamber, from which emitted an odd high-pitched whine. A check of the scanner revealed that the vault in actuality was the matter transmission device about which Jaecz had informed her.

“This is amazing,” she said, at first not realizing that she was talking aloud, and therefore was surprised when she received a reply, but not from the computer.

“Indeed, it is.”

•   •   •

Mestral had but a moment to study the advanced computer interface that was the office’s most interesting feature, aside from the Certoss herself, who now regarded him with an expression of shock. She stood still, hands away from her body as she caught sight of the particle beam weapon in his hand.

“Gejalik, I presume?” Though he never had met her, the memories from his mind meld with Jaecz provided him with the identities of the Certoss agent’s companions, and Gejalik was the only surviving female member of their group.

It had taken some time to locate her, working from the incomplete information given to him, James Wainwright, and Allison Marshall from the reporter, Cal Sutherland, about possible alien activity at NASA facilities in Florida and Texas. Mestral spent months studying the activities, comings, and goings of hundreds of employees matching
vague descriptions offered by Sutherland’s contact, before he determined the identities of the disguised Certoss. Still more patience and time was required before one of the agents, Gejalik, led him to the loft building in Trenton, New Jersey, where he had found the eclectic assemblage of cannibalized and repurposed equipment. Mestral had been impressed with the setup, and acquainting himself with its functions had been a challenge. In contrast, following Gejalik here to New York had been a simple task.

Her brow furrowing, she said, “You are the Vulcan, Mestral. Jaecz told us about you; the observer, content to watch humanity and their fitful progression from primitive society to interstellar tyrants. You’re working with the humans, trying to stop us.”

Mestral nodded. “Yes. Your actions cannot go unchallenged. I am aware of the ‘temporal war’ in which your people fought, and how you believe that your mission is a just one, protecting your planet from potential future harm, but such action no longer is required. That conflict does not exist in this timeline. In the future to come, this planet and yours will be allies.”

“How can you know that?” Gejalik asked, making no effort to mask her skepticism. “Are you from this future?”

“No,” Mestral conceded, “but Vulcan was a party to the war in the timeline from which you came. That is not the case in the reality we inhabit. My people are peaceful explorers, studying emerging cultures like this one. If you are allowed to carry out your mission, Gejalik, you will not be acting in defense of your people, but instead be committing global genocide.”

“I’m supposed to just trust you, Vulcan?” For the first time, the Certoss moved, lowering her hands a small degree.
Mestral raised the particle beam weapon and she again stopped.

“I have no desire to harm you or your companions, but I cannot allow you to proceed. You already have lost two of your friends, and your attempt to trigger a nuclear war has failed. No such further attempts will be permitted. You must know that.”

Gejalik scowled. “I know only that I have my mission.”

She was fast. Moving before Mestral even could register what was happening, she vaulted over one of the office’s stuffed chairs and dropped to one knee behind it. Mestral saw her hand reaching for something at her waist and he fired his weapon. The particle beam whipped past the chair, but Gejalik already was moving again, jumping over the chair toward him. Trying to adjust his aim, he saw the flash of light reflecting off something metallic in her hand.

He raised his free arm in time to block the knife’s downward thrust, but Gejalik swept her other arm to knock the particle weapon from his hand. Mestral heard it fall to the carpet behind him but he ignored it, concentrating instead on the immediate threat. The knife pulled back before again coming at him and he dodged, lashing out with his left foot and catching Gejalik in her stomach. She grunted, stumbling to one side and giving him an attack opening. Lunging forward, he ducked beneath her knife and swung with the edge of his left hand, trying to dislodge the weapon from her grip. Gejalik anticipated the move and retreated, scrambling backward to give herself room. Her eyes fell on the particle beam weapon and she snatched it from the carpet. Before she could turn the weapon on him, Mestral sprinted across the carpet to close the distance, crashing into her and carrying them both into the vault.

“Wait!” Gejalik cried as they both fell to the floor, but by then it was too late. Mestral felt an odd tingling sensation playing across his exposed skin as a blue-black mist settled around them. They both scrambled to their feet and Mestral turned to look where the vault’s entry should be, but saw nothing. The fog obscured everything.

What was happening?

THIRTY-TWO

Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, Dayton, Ohio

April 22, 1968

Welcome back. —JC

The short missive was lying at the center of his desk. It was written on a small note card bearing no header or other identifying mark, but James Wainwright recognized Professor Jeffrey Carlson’s impeccable handwriting. While others might think the greeting lacked flair, Wainwright knew better, and he smiled at his friend’s simple yet thoughtful gesture.

“What’s it take for a girl to get some flowers sent her way?” asked Allison Marshall from where she stood behind her own desk. Her left arm was supported by a sling in order to keep from aggravating her wounded shoulder, but she showed no other signs of the injury she had sustained. In her free hand was a card similar to the one Wainwright held, and she gestured toward his note. “You, too?”

Wainwright nodded, realizing that he had been resting his free hand on his stomach, his fingers tracing the scar beneath his shirt that ran across his abdomen. It still itched, though he tried to ignore it. “He probably took heat from somebody up top just for offering this much.” Given the current climate surrounding Majestic 12 and Project Blue Book, Carlson might be damaging his own standing within both organizations by choosing not to distance himself
from Wainwright and, to a lesser extent, Marshall. Since the McKinley incident and throughout his recovery these past few weeks, Wainwright was able to discern the shift in thinking with respect to his and Marshall’s status within the project. It manifested in various ways, from the pointed lack of official visitors while they both convalesced at the base hospital to the lack of response as—from his apartment while on restricted duty as part of his recuperation—he attempted to catch up on the backlog of paperwork waiting for him at his office. Now that he and Marshall had returned to their official duties, or whatever remained of them, it was obvious to see that other “adjustments” were being made. Several of the filing cabinets that once had dominated their office’s rear wall were gone, as were many of the files and other boxes of documents that had filled floor and shelf space around the room. Change was in the air, Wainwright knew. What remained to be seen was its scope, and its ultimate impact on him and Marshall.