[316] Lucsly chose to ignore the obvious sarcasm as he opened his own bag and began pulling out the clothing he would wear on their next trip through the Guardian. “The actions taken by Admiral Kirk and his crew were very unorthodox, and were ripe with potentially disastrous contaminations of the timeline. Frankly, I’m surprised the damage was as minimal as their reports stated. Our task is to evaluate the immediate consequences of their actions and use that information as part of a new curriculum on Temporal Mechanics being developed for Starfleet Academy. This is a very important assignment, Dulmer. You should be happy they offered it to us.”
Dulmer snorted. “I’ll be happy when someone offers me jamaharon on Risa.” In truth, though he would never allow his partner the satisfaction of knowing this, Dulmer actually enjoyed the PVRs. They provided a welcome respite from the mundane research duties they’d been saddled with during the last two months.
Several minutes later, the agents were appraising each other’s ensembles.
“Somehow,” Lucsly said, “I’m not entirely convinced this is a low-profile appearance.” He looked down at himself once more. His attire consisted of a pair of trousers made from some type of coarse material, the color of which was considerably faded. The cuffs of the pants were tucked into a pair of heavy boots that were badly in need of polishing. The shirt he wore had no sleeves and was adorned with a garish print on the front. Reading the caption on his chest, Lucsly looked up and asked, “What was ‘DeathTongue’ supposed to mean, anyway?”
Dulmer shrugged as he assessed his own outfit, which [317] was similar to Lucsly’s except that his shirt had sleeves, though they only fell to the midpoint between his shoulders and elbows. An arrow was printed on the shirt, pointing to Dulmer’s left and accompanied by the caption “I’m With Stupid.”
“Archives didn’t say what any of this meant,” he replied. “I know we’re supposed to blend in, but I think the ladies in Research are having a little fun at our expense.”
Lucsly smiled. “Well, where we’re headed, we won’t be given a second thought. Come on, let’s get going.” With that, he opened his tricorder, set it to active scan, and pointed it at the Guardian. For the second time that day, he busied himself with recording every scrap of information the only grudgingly cooperative mechanism would yield.
Trying to muster up a fraction of the enthusiasm his partner felt, Dulmer closed his carryall and rose to join Lucsly at the time portal. As the pair stood before the enigmatic device, Dulmer could feel an almost electrical sensation playing across his exposed skin. Was the power commanded by this ancient machine so great as to cause these sensations merely by standing before it? He shook the feeling off. It was time to go to work.
“Guardian, we require your services once more.”
In a voice that echoed in the natural alcove created by the rock formations and ruins, the Guardian replied, “Let me be your gateway.”
Dulmer felt the usual knot in his stomach. “We wish to visit the planet Earth, specifically to the site of a temporal displacement that occurred in North America in the late twentieth century.”
“Many such journeys are possible.”
[318] Unlike Lucsly, Dulmer had performed several PVRs during his early days with Temporal Investigations, so this was not his first encounter with the Guardian. However, the raw power behind the voice still felt to Dulmer as if it were vibrating the very marrow in his bones. No matter how many times he did this, he knew he would always feel this same sense of trepidation.
“The site of the displacement is southern California, Earth year 1986.”
There was a momentary pause, and then the Guardian returned with, “Step through the portal at your convenience.”
As Lucsly examined his tricorder, Dulmer watched as his partner’s features screwed up in confusion. “Wait a second. There’s something wrong. The tricorder’s detected a difference in the timeline since I scanned the last time. It seems to originate in Los Angeles, Earth year 1996.”
Dulmer’s own expression turned to one of astonishment. “1996? That’s impossible.” He paused for several seconds, racking his mind for something about the year that was familiar. “I don’t remember reading about any violations during that period.”
Looking up from the tricorder, Lucsly said, “From what I can tell, the anomaly in question appeared in 1967 and its aftereffects carried forward until 1996. At that point there is a divergence in the timeline.”
“Good Lord,” Dulmer whispered.
“We have to report this to DTI,” Lucsly prompted. “They need to figure out what to do.”
Dulmer shook his head. “What if the timeline split has altered the future in some way? We might be the only ones who aren’t affected.” It had been determined during Kirk’s [319] initial discovery of the Guardian that anyone or anything in close proximity to the time portal was somehow shielded from any changes to the timeline.
Realization abruptly dawned on Lucsly’s face. “You’re not suggesting we go back to investigate this, are you?” When Dulmer nodded silently, Lucsly’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Are you out of your mind? We’re not qualified for this! We need to contact headquarters and let them sort this out.”
Dulmer indicated the Guardian with a wave of his hand. “Think about this. If there has been an alteration in the timeline, then everything and everyone we know, if they even still exist, might not even know about this planet or the Guardian. We can’t risk that. There’s only one option, Lucsly. We have to go.”
After several seconds of agonized argument with himself, Lucsly finally nodded slowly. “You’re right.”
Dulmer thought he sensed dazzling light blinding him, but the sensation lasted only for the briefest of moments. Then, he and Lucsly were simply standing in the past.
“Well, we’re here, I think,” Lucsly said as he opened his tricorder and activated it.
Seeing something that he thought he recognized nearby, Dulmer motioned for Lucsly to follow him. He led the way to a squat, blue metallic box with a glass viewing port. Inside was what looked to be a parchment of some kind with black printing on it. Dulmer pointed to it.
“Los Angeles Times,” he read from the bold type on the paper, and then pointed to the date. “We made it, all right.”
Lucsly continued to work with his tricorder. They were [320] fortunate that there appeared to be no other people about at the moment. In fact, the scene was almost tranquil. Regardless, Dulmer kept a watch out for anyone approaching as Lucsly operated the unit.
After a few moments, he motioned for Dulmer to step closer. “Look here,” he said, indicating the tricorder’s tiny display screen.
“I’ve managed to cycle back through all the information I recorded back at the Guardian,” he said. “I think I’ve found the discrepancy.” He pressed a series of commands into the tricorder and the image shifted. First, there was a picture of what Dulmer recognized to be a common sight on 1996 Earth, an automobile. Powder blue in color, the ungainly vehicle appeared to be careening down a street. The image was distorted frequently with streaks of orange.
“That looks like phaser fire,” Dulmer commented.
Lucsly only nodded, then said, “Keep watching.”
On the screen, one of the bright ribbons of energy suddenly connected with the speeding vehicle. The automobile flared briefly with color, then promptly disappeared from sight as though it had never existed.
“Destroyed?” Dulmer asked in amazement.
“Right,” Lucsly confirmed. “Except for one thing. I just watched another scene almost identical to this one, except in that version, the automobile got away.”
“Maybe you were looking at a different automobile,” Dulmer offered.
“How many vehicles in 1996 Los Angeles get subjected to phaser fire?” Lucsly countered. “I’ll wager the number to be fairly small. So the question is, are we here to prevent that vehicle from being destroyed, or to ensure its destruction?” [321] For emphasis, he produced
the phaser from under his shirt.
Dulmer reached out frantically. “Put that thing away before someone sees it.” He looked around quickly to reassure himself that they were still alone. “All right, suppose what you say is true. Why would the Guardian show us two different versions of the same event? Why not simply show us the way it’s supposed to be and let us get on with fixing it?”
His partner shook his head, an expression of confusion etched in his features. “I remember reading Ambassador Spock’s report on the time he and Captain Kirk traveled back to 1930s Earth using the Guardian. He stated that the images he’d downloaded into his tricorder showed him two possible outcomes for a series of events that were yet to happen. It was only through time-consuming study of the information he’d gathered that he was able to determine which course of action to take.”
“The only thing I can think of that makes sense,” Dulmer said, “is that the alteration had to have occurred after we began actively studying the Guardian.” He pointed to Lucsly’s tricorder. “That contains all the readings you’ve taken of it for at least the past week. It’s possible that you recorded the two different versions of the timeline yourself, on two separate occasions. The answer to all of this could be in there.”
Lucsly pondered this for a moment, then said, “Well, we’re here and we have our tricorder. Maybe there’s something here that will provide some additional clues.” With that, he reopened the tricorder and began to scan the area.
“There’s a significant concentration of radio waves coming from a point approximately two hundred meters from [322] where we’re standing. Other than that, there’s nothing notable in the area.”
Dulmer shrugged. “Seems as good a place to start looking as any. Let’s go.”
With Lucsly’s tricorder leading the way, the pair walked quickly in the direction of the signals it had detected. To his surprise, Dulmer found himself fascinated at the world surrounding him. Quite the contrast from the cooler and more primitive climate he’d seen in 2063 Montana, the weather here was much milder. The sun shone brightly, and the trees that grew here were lush and beautiful.
“Is that it?” he asked, pointing to a large building with a dome on top. The structure was labeled “Griffith Observatory.”
Lucsly nodded. “That’s it. Astronomers used facilities like this to study stellar phenomena from Earth. It was surprisingly beneficial, though their results improved dramatically when they finally abandoned planet-based telescopes for orbiting facilities. Even the radio telescopes of the day were significantly improved when they were put into space and their telemetry relayed back down here.” He pointed to what was apparently the building’s main entrance. “This way.”
Following the tricorder’s readings led the agents into the depths of the building. It soon became apparent that the observatory also served as a museum of sorts. Lucsly quickly became adept at keeping the tricorder hidden while still being able to consult its readings, and with good reason. Several dozen people circled and studied mockups of planets and other spatial bodies, as well as early space vehicles. Despite himself, Dulmer found the various exhibits to be fascinating.
[323] It wasn’t entirely easy going, however. Even though they were making efforts to blend in with the rest of the crowd, Lucsly soon realized that he and Dulmer were still drawing curious stares from some of the other people touring the exhibits. He knew that he was keeping the tricorder effectively hidden, so what else could it be? As he turned to ask his partner his thoughts on the subject, it hit him.
Of course.
The attire chosen for him and Dulmer had been assembled with an eye toward having the agents pretend to be members of an eccentric fringe element of society reported to be popular during the late 1980s. “Punk rockers,” he believed the report stated. Of course, it was one of the several reports submitted by then-Admiral Kirk and his Enterprise command crew following their visit to 1986. Instantly, Lucsly’s imagination fed him an image of Kirk submitting the report as a joke just so that he, Lucsly, would stumble across it, read it, take every word in it as gospel, and then dress accordingly as he prepared for a PVR a century later.
Naturally their attire, while possibly adequate for a low-profile mission to 1986 where many other people might be dressed the same way, seemed to be quite out of place here in 1996, where the other people in the building seemed to have chosen more conservative ensembles.
A faint beep from his tricorder caught Lucsly’s attention. He said to Dulmer, “The receiver for the radio telescope is in the lowest level of the adjacent building. However, the tricorder is showing primitive hardwired data connections leading from it to this building.”
“Probably a computer interface,” Dulmer replied. [324] “Twentieth-century computers required such connections to communicate with different peripheral equipment, as I recall.”
They proceeded down a dimly lit corridor near the rear of the building, the only sound the telltale beeps of the tricorder. Finally, Lucsly stopped before a door on the right side of the passageway. It was a simple wooden affair, adorned with raised wooden numbers that read “123” and a simple metallic sign that warned “DO NOT ENTER—EMPLOYEES ONLY.”
“I’m not detecting any lifesigns,” Lucsly said. “So, how do we open it?”
With an impatient sigh, Dulmer reached for the round protuberance on the door, turned it clockwise, and pushed the door open.
The interior of the office itself was as much an exhibit to the pair of agents as the actual museum they had just left. It was an eclectic clutter of primitive computer equipment and dilapidated furniture. Nearly all of the available wall space was adorned with photographs of planets and various other stellar phenomena. Lucsly’s attention was drawn to one particular photo, which depicted a figure dressed in an archaic space suit. The astronaut stood next to a colorful banner of stars and stripes rising on a metallic pole from dusty, gray soil.
“That’s Alan Shepard!” he said excitedly. “This picture was taken on the moon in the 1970s! He’s standing in the Ocean of Storms.”
“Fra Mauro,” Dulmer said.
“Don’t be silly,” Lucsly snapped. “Lovell went to Fra Mauro. Shepard was at the Ocean of Storms.”
With a sigh, Dulmer recited, “Almost, but not quite. [325] Conrad was at the Ocean of Storms, Lovell was on the flight that never made it to the moon, and Shepard went to the Fra Mauro Highlands after Lovell’s mission failed.”
Lucsly looked at him skeptically. “Are you sure?”
“Tell you what,” Dulmer said. “We’ll check it out when we get back, and the loser has to do the paperwork on this mission.”
With a confident nod, Lucsly said, “Clear your padd, then.”
Dulmer shrugged. “Let’s get on with this. What’s the tricorder saying?”
Lucsly pointed to the squat computer-display monitor that sat atop the well-worn desk. “The telescope telemetry is being transferred to this computer.” He indicated the graphic representation on the monitor. “According to this, an object is being tracked in orbit.”
Nodding, Dulmer continued, “Pretty high up, too. Satellites in this time period operated in much lower orbits.” Suddenly, his head snapped up.
“Someone’s coming.”
Frantically, the agents looked for somewhere, anywhere, to hide.
“They’ve found us, all right. The orbital schematic matches Voyager’s position,” a man’s voice said.
“According to this data,” the other man, whom the first speaker had called Tuvok, added, “they are tracking the warp emissions from our engines.”
“Nobody in this century even knows what warp emissions are.” The skepticism in the other man’s voice was patently obvious.
[326] In what Dulmer had noted to be a cool, reserved voice, the one called Tuvok said, “Nevertheless, it appears they have configured their telescope to scan for them.”
Suddenly, a third voice, that of a young woman and containing more than a trace of irritation, j
oined the first two. “Excuse me? ‘Do not enter—Employees only’ ? The sign on the door?”
From inside the small closet in the far corner of the office, Dulmer listened with disapproval as the first two men quickly, and clumsily, began to fabricate some kind of excuse for being in an obviously “Off Limits” area. To Dulmer, this simply reinforced that temporal excursions should be left to those personnel who were trained to deal with the various aspects of interacting with people and events from the past. If the two morons out in the office had been trained, experienced, professional Temporal Investigators, they wouldn’t even have set foot in the office without a cover story fully rehearsed and ready to go in the event of their discovery.
Which reminded Dulmer that he didn’t have a clue what he himself might say. Any of the three individuals currently participating in the verbal sparring match out in the office could easily open the door to the tiny closet that he and Lucsly had jammed themselves into. Their efforts would be rewarded with the stupefied expressions of two trained, experienced professional Temporal Investigators.
Somehow, I’m going to have to find some way of blaming this on Sisko, or maybe even Kirk.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, he began to mentally compose his own defense, when he was suddenly interrupted.
[327] “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
“Trying to get my tricorder,” Lucsly replied in equally hushed tones.
“Well, that’s not it.”
The pair of agents had somehow managed to squeeze themselves into the minuscule storage closet amidst the collection of old computer parts, books, papers, and various other unidentifiable objects. The limited space remaining was barely large enough to contain the two men, and then only after a miraculous feat of flexibility.
“Leave it,” Dulmer said. “The Vulcan might hear it.”
STAR TREK: Strange New Worlds II Page 27
