by Greg Cox
Seven nodded.
“—whose nature and location you’re still unwilling to divulge?”
“Exactly,” Seven confirmed. “I trust you appreciate the delicacy of my position, Captain. As a visitor to your era, I don’t wish to disturb future history any more than absolutely necessary. At present, your Federation remains unaware of my sponsors, thus it is imperative that I do nothing to change that situation.”
Kirk shook his head, scowling. “That may have been good enough back in the twentieth century, but not anymore. Your activities in the past are a matter of history; there’s nothing I can do about them. But this is my era now—my present—and you’re the one who doesn’t belong here. And I don’t like the idea of you, or the aliens you represent, meddling with our affairs. Humanity’s grown a lot since the twentieth century. We don’t need any cosmic baby-sitters these days.”
“Actually, Captain,” Seven replied, “that’s exactly why I need your help. In this century, the human race has indeed graduated to a higher level of civilization, and no longer requires the intervention of my superiors.”
“Well, bravo for us,” McCoy said. He had remained within the circular command module, keeping one hand on the red guardrail just in case the ship lurched again. “Hear that, Spock? Modern-day homo sapiens isn’t nearly as primitive as you think.”
“No matter what level of advancement, Doctor,” Spock answered, not far from McCoy’s side, “there is always room for improvement. Especially with regard to humanity’s frequently unrestrained emotions.”
“What’s wrong with emotions?” Roberta blurted out. Her gaze, Kirk noted, kept drifting back to the points of Spock’s ears. Just wait till she sees an Andorian, he thought. Blue skin and antennae are even more eye-catching.
“Please, gentlemen,” Kirk asked Spock and McCoy. “Not now.” He turned back to face Seven. “What are you saying? That the Federation is outside your jurisdiction now?”
“More or less,” Seven said in a noncommittal manner. “That’s why there is no organization or infrastructure in place to assist me in this era. My superiors, and my successors, are occupied elsewhere in the galaxy, safeguarding the development of sentient races that your civilization will not encounter for generations to come.” Seven calmly stroked his cat’s head as he spoke. “Given time, I could certainly acquire a starship of my own, and whatever equipment and personnel may be required to complete my mission, but time is exactly what is at stake.”
“Meaning what?” Kirk demanded, growing annoyed by Seven’s cryptic remarks. He was exhausted, the ship was facing a difficult rescue mission, and the last thing he needed now was a meddlesome time traveler with a secret agenda. True, Seven had proved trustworthy the last time they met him, but that didn’t mean Kirk was ready to turn over the Enterprise just at Seven’s insistence. I need more than that, he thought. A lot more.
Seven paused, weighing his words carefully. “I can tell you that I’m here to untangle a temporal paradox that threatens both our futures.”
Kirk didn’t like the sound of that. He knew, from painful experience, just how fragile the time line could be. Memories of Edith Keeler came unbidden to his mind. “What sort of paradox?” he demanded. “Is something going to happen to change the past?”
“No,” Seven said. “But your own future could be changed—has been changed—unless action is taken immediately. I have reason to believe that an event damaging the proper procession of history will originate several hours from now, at a specific location within this quadrant. Trust me, that’s all you need to know, except for the coordinates of our destination.”
“I need to know a good deal more than that,” Kirk protested. “This ship is not going anywhere, except on its current course, unless I hear something better than a couple of ominous hints and warnings.”
Seven refused to give in. “Think about it, Captain Kirk. Do you really want to know your own future?”
Now there’s a question to give one pause, Kirk thought. There was a reason that time travel into the future, although theoretically possible, was expressly forbidden by every responsible scientific and civil authority. Not even a Klingon really wanted to know the day of his own death. Certainly, he thought, Edith Keeler had been better off not knowing her ultimate destiny. Kirk glanced at McCoy and wondered if the doctor was thinking of Edith, too. It had been nearly three years since they’d both watched her die, but the very thought of time travel still brought up too many painful memories.
“As far as I’m concerned,” Kirk answered finally, “the future is not set in stone. I’m planning to get there the old-fashioned way, one day at a time.”
“Unfortunately,” Seven said, “your enemies may not share your patience. It may interest you to know that the source of the temporal anomaly lies within the current boundaries of the Romulan Empire.”
“Good Lord,” McCoy exclaimed.
“Fascinating,” Spock commented.
“The Romulans?” Kirk said, momentarily surprised that Seven had even heard of them. Seven obviously knew a lot more about the universe than the average twentieth century human, but just how familiar was he with present interstellar politics? Are the Romulans really up to something, Kirk wondered, or is Seven just playing on my justifiable paranoia where the Romulan Empire is concerned? He frowned; it had been less than one standard year since the Romulans had formed an alliance with the Klingon Empire, and the situation remained tense. The Enterprise had nearly been captured by Romulan forces the last time Kirk crossed the Neutral Zone.
“Please, Captain,” Roberta spoke up. “I don’t know who or what a Romulan is, but I know you can trust Mr. Seven. I’ve been working with him for months now, and he’s definitely one of the good guys.”
“It’s not necessarily a matter of trust, Miss Lincoln,” Kirk replied, deciding to direct his attention to Seven’s youthful secretary. Perhaps she would be more forthcoming than her tight-lipped employer. “This is a Starfleet vessel. I’m responsible for the safety of my crew and the security of the United Federation of Planets, including the planet Earth. I can’t just take off on some sort of wild-goose chase because of something that might happen in the future.” He gave Roberta his most charming smile. “I don’t suppose you know what this is all about, do you?”
The cat in Seven’s arms hissed angrily. Roberta flinched, then gave the feline a dirty look. “I wasn’t going to say anything!”
Seven stepped between Kirk and Roberta. “If you have any more questions, Captain, you can direct them to me. Although I can’t promise you all the answers you’d like.”
“This is my ship, Mr. Seven, and I’ll interrogate anyone I have to,” Kirk said. He looked Seven squarely in the eye as he quite deliberately stepped around the other man to speak to Roberta again. “We may have been born in different centuries, Miss Lincoln, but we’re both from Earth. I’m from Iowa, actually. I know we both have Earth’s best interests at heart, but, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure where Mr. Seven’s true loyalties lie. What do you know about these mysterious aliens he works for?”
The cat hissed once more, but Roberta ignored the animal’s warning. She cast a quick glance at Spock, then looked away nervously. “Er, well,” she hesitated, clutching a brightly colored handbag to her chest. “I’d like to help you, Captain. I really would. But Mr. Seven . . . he works on a strictly need-to-know basis, you know? James-Bond style. For your eyes only, and all that. This tape will self-destruct in five seconds. . . .” She shrugged her shoulders. “I’m just along for the ride.”
James who? Kirk wondered. He didn’t buy Roberta’s dumb act for a minute. He knew she knew more than she was letting on. With a little more time, he thought, it might be possible to win her trust, maybe coax more of the truth out of her.
“Captain,” Seven said, “I can assure you that I am not working on behalf of the Romulans, the Klingons, the Tholians, the Gorn, or any of your present antagonists. My sponsors are far beyond the petty power struggles of t
his era. But time is of the essence. We must embark for Romulan space immediately.”
At the helm, Sulu looked back at Kirk, ready to make the course correction if necessary. “Sir?”
“The Romulan Empire,” Kirk said to Seven, “in case you’ve forgotten, is off-limits to all Starfleet vessels. Crossing the Neutral Zone could be seen as an act of war. I’m going to have to think long and hard about your request,” Kirk said honestly. He strode past Seven, back to the captain’s chair. Taking his seat, he gestured towards the main viewer. “In any event, there’s nothing I can do for you right away. As it happens, the Enterprise is already on a vital mission that cannot possibly be delayed.”
Seven glanced at the stars streaking past on the viewer. He seemed unimpressed. “I’m sure your mission is very important, Captain, but the danger I’ve detected has to take priority. All of future history is at stake.”
“Listen, Seven,” Kirk said, anger coloring his voice. “I’ve had quite enough of your high-and-mighty, all-knowing pronouncements. I’ll give your warning serious consideration; you’ve earned that much for your benevolent efforts in the past. But right now there are thousands of lives at risk on a planet several light-years away. Real flesh-and-blood lives, not vague, unspecified time paradoxes, and the Enterprise is the only hope those people have.”
“Amen,” McCoy muttered, his hand on the back of the captain’s chair. “We’re on a mission of mercy, damnit.”
“Spock,” Kirk asked, “how far are we from the Duwamish system?”
The Vulcan did not need to consult any monitors to provide an answer. “Approximately 8.23 hours, Captain, assuming no further interruptions.”
“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said. He looked across the bridge at Gary Seven. “There you have it, Mr. Seven. In a little over eight hours, we will arrive at our current destination and commence relief operations. By then, hopefully, you’ll have decided to share a little more of your information with me, so I can make an intelligent decision regarding your proposal.”
The furrows on Seven’s brow deepened, and, for a moment or two, Kirk was convinced that Seven was going to argue the matter further. Instead, Seven sighed deeply and stroked his cat’s head. “Very well, Captain, if that’s your decision. I only hope the future will survive your doubts.”
“That’s a risk I’ll just have to take,” Kirk said. “In the meantime, consider yourselves guests aboard the Enterprise. Mr. Chekov, escort Mr. Seven, Miss Lincoln, and, er, their pet to the visitor’s quarters on Level Three.”
“Aye, sir,” Chekov responded briskly. He kept one hand poised above his phaser, just in case. Seated at the helm, a few centimeters away, Sulu studiously examined the images on the main viewer. He looked relieved that Kirk’s confrontation with Seven had been defused so easily.
“Actually, Captain,” McCoy spoke up. He walked over to join Chekov and his charges. “I wouldn’t mind giving our guests a quick once-over in sickbay. Twentieth-century Earth was a cauldron of virulent and contagious diseases. I want to make sure no nasty bugs travelled through time with them.”
“That’s not necessary, Doctor,” Seven said. Kirk wondered if Seven had merely guessed McCoy’s profession, which wouldn’t be too difficult given the doctor’s reference to sickbay, or if he could actually spot a Starfleet medical officer by his uniform. Just how much did Seven know anyway? “The transporter mechanism screens for viruses and bacteria.”
“Indulge me,” McCoy said with a grin. “When was the last time I got to observe real-life products of ancient medicine close-up.” He peered at Roberta’s own friendly smile. “Good God, are those actual metal fillings in your teeth? You poor child!”
The cat in Seven’s arms flashed her own ivory fangs at the doctor.
Chapter Three
SO THIS is the future, Roberta thought as their two escorts guided she and Seven through the corridors of the Enterprise. So far she liked what she saw. A bit sterile and antiseptic, perhaps, but remarkably clean and civilized-looking. If she hadn’t known better, she would have never guessed that she was actually aboard a spaceship. Compared to the cramped capsules that the Apollo astronauts had been squeezed into, these roomy hallways were positively spacious. Her brain automatically compared her present surroundings to the NASA space footage she’d seen on television. “Hey,” she asked as an idea occurred to her, “how come we’re not all floating around weightlessly?”
“Artificial gravity,” the younger crewman said with a unmistakably Russian accent. His name was Chekov, Roberta recalled, thinking that he reminded her of one of the Beatles. Paul maybe, or George. “It’s revolutionized space travel, ever since it was invented by some very brilliant scientists at the University of Moscow.”
The older man—Dr. McCoy, Roberta remembered—snorted at Chekov’s remarks. “I think the Vulcan Science Academy might have a bone to pick with you.”
“The first Terran prototypes were tested in Moscow,” Chekov insisted patriotically. Roberta just shook her head in amazement; she was still flabbergasted to see Russians and Americans working together in space. What had happened to the space race, not to mention the Cold War? She was old enough to have vivid memories of the Cuban Missile Crisis. The situation aboard the Enterprise seemed so far away from those nerve-wracking days of fear and suspicion that it was almost impossible to believe that they were merely three hundred years in the future.
And that wasn’t the half of it. Just looking around the bridge where they’d first arrived, Roberta had seen a black woman, a Japanese man, a couple of Americans, a Russian—and an honest-to-goodness alien, for pete’s sake—all cooperating together peacefully. Compared to 1969, it was like some sort of wild, utopian fantasy. Wow, Roberta thought, feeling deeply moved all of sudden. It seemed like the late Martin Luther King’s dream had actually come true after all: a world where no one was judged by their race or nationality. “This is fantastic,” she said.
“This old place?” the doctor said with a grin. Roberta caught a trace of a southern accent. “It’s nice of you to say so, but you should see Earth these days.”
“I’d like to,” Roberta replied. Her eyes widened as a Chinese woman in a bright red uniform hurried past them in the hall. “Gee,” she exclaimed, “who would have ever guessed that miniskirts and go-go boots would still be popular in the twenty-third century?”
“Excuse me?” asked the mop-topped young Russian. “What do you mean?” On second thought, Roberta mused, maybe he reminds me more of one of the Monkees.
“Everything old is new again,” Seven commented dryly. Isis purred in agreement. Seven bent over and carefully placed the cat on the floor. “Unfortunately, we’re not here for sight-seeing.”
Party pooper, Roberta thought. Her annoyance turned to alarm, however, as she saw Seven casually remove his servo from the inside pocket of his jacket. The slim silver device looked deceptively harmless, but Roberta knew just what Seven’s weapon was capable of. Oh-oh, she thought, experiencing a twinge of guilt. Here we go again.
“What’s that?” McCoy asked, glancing at Seven. “Some sort of—” Before he could even finish his question, Seven pointed the tip of the servo at the doctor. There was a brief hum, then McCoy’s entire body began to sag slowly toward the floor. A dreamy smile broke out on his face.
“Wait! What are you doing?” Chekov said, reaching for the weapon attached to his belt. Some sort of ray gun, Roberta guessed. Seven was too fast for him, though. The servo hummed again, and Chekov’s arms dropped limply to his sides.
“That’s all right,” Seven said soothingly as he gently guided Chekov’s drooping body onto the floor next to the slumping form of Dr. McCoy. He removed Chekov’s weapon and handed it over to Roberta, who looked at it warily. The Russian crewman offered no resistance; the servo’s tranquilizing beam, she knew, left its victims quite suggestible. “Pleasant dreams, gentlemen.”
“Did you have to do that?” she asked. The two future-men had been very pleasant and hospitable; it
seemed a shame to ambush them like that.
Isis mewed sarcastically, perhaps anticipating Seven’s response. “We cannot afford to wait for the captain’s cooperation,” he announced. Stepping away from the fallen crewmen, he placed his ear against a sealed doorway built into the corridor wall. “Sounds empty,” he said. “Excellent.” Roberta scowled, unsure if he was talking to her or the cat. Sometimes it was hard to tell.
He adjusted the setting on his servo, then directed it at the closed door. Roberta heard something sizzle inside the door just before it slid open. Peering into the shadowy chamber beyond the door, she saw what looked like ordinary living quarters. Unoccupied, thankfully.
“Over here,” Seven instructed. Placing his arms under Chekov’s shoulders, he dragged the sleeping Russian into the empty room. “Help me with the other one.”
Roberta stuck the stolen ray gun into her belt, then grabbed hold of McCoy and pulled him toward the now-open doorway. Adding insult to exertion, Isis paced along beside her, meowing emphatically. “I don’t require any supervision, thank you very much,” Roberta grunted, straining to get the doctor’s body out of the corridor as quickly as possible. What if someone came along and caught them in the act? She could just imagine explaining this to Captain Kirk.
“I don’t get it,” she said as the doctor’s heels disappeared into the chamber. “Why didn’t we just wait until we got where we were going before you zapped them? Why pull this stunt in the hall?”
Straightening from a crouched position, Seven returned the servo to his pocket. “To be honest, I wasn’t entirely sure how large a staff served the ship’s medical facilities. I didn’t want to have to deal with any possible nurses or interns.” Isis padded across the floor and jumped back into Seven’s arms. “An excellent question, though, Miss Lincoln. Your strategic instincts are improving.”
Yeah, that’s me, Roberta thought. The Girl from U.N.C.L.E. She cast a guilty look back at the snoozing crewmen, easing her conscience by remembering that the tranquilizer effect was quite harmless, not to mention distinctly pleasant. Sleep tight, guys, she thought. Sorry we had to knock you out.
