Star Trek: The Original Series: No Time Like the Past

by Greg Cox

  It was even possible, Seven realized, that she could act to prevent her own assimilation as a child, nearly a century from now. She could see to it that little Annika Hansen never became Seven of Nine . . . but what would that mean to her own future?

  “Well?” Santiago demanded. “Tell me I’m wrong.”

  Seven found herself at a loss for words, torn between her guilt and her responsibility to protect the time line. Between the individual she had become and the fully human woman she might have been—or could still be.

  “I . . . I am not certain what you mean,” she said unconvincingly.

  “Like hell you don’t,” Santiago said. “You’re not nearly as inscrutable as you think you are.” Stern eyes subjected her to a rigorous appraisal. “It’s written all over your face.”

  “That’s enough.” Kirk stepped between Seven and Santiago. “This is my ship, Commissioner. I’ll ask the questions here.”

  Seven appreciated his intervention. Santiago was far too perceptive for her liking. She preferred to keep her doubts and dilemmas private.

  “Damn it, Kirk,” Santiago protested. “You can’t keep shielding her like this. Your duty is to your own time and people, not some possible future we know nothing about. You think the Orions would hesitate to take advantage of this opportunity? Or the Klingons or the Romulans or the Gorn? We have the chance here to jump-start our technology by who knows how many generations. We could leave the Federation’s adversaries in the dust!”

  It is not the Klingons you need to worry about, Seven thought. But the Borg were barely on Starfleet’s radar yet, let alone the Dominion and other future threats to the Alpha Quadrant. “I repeat: That would be unadvisable.”

  “Why not?” Santiago demanded.

  “To do as you suggest,” she said, as much to herself as to the impassioned commissioner, “would upset the balance of power throughout the quadrant. You would risk destabilizing the entire galaxy for centuries to come.”

  “But think of all the lives you could save,” Santiago pleaded. “All the upcoming tragedies and disasters you can help us avert. All the pain you can spare us.”

  “Perhaps we need our pain,” Kirk argued. “To help us learn and grow.”

  “Indeed,” Spock said, joining the debate. “Like individuals, civilizations are shaped as much by their trials as by their victories.” He contemplated Seven soberly. “It is possible that our guest would not be doing the Federation a favor if she helps us grow too quickly or too easily.”

  “Hell,” McCoy chimed in. “Who’s to say all that future knowledge, and superior technology, wouldn’t change the Federation for the worse? You know what they say, power corrupts . . . and a little knowledge can be a dangerous thing, especially if we’re nowhere near ready for it!”

  Santiago appealed to Scotty. “Mister Scott, what do you think? You’re a practical man. Don’t tell me you don’t see the opportunity here.”

  “Well, I admit the engineer in me would give my right arm to know what sort of future know-how we’re talkin’ about here,” Scotty said, with an apologetic look at Seven. “It would be like gettin’ a sneak peek at tomorrow’s technical journals.”

  “Your scientific curiosity is understandable,” Seven replied. “But consider your own Prime Directive. Just as Starfleet is forbidden to interfere in the affairs of less-developed civilizations, so should I avoid contaminating your era.”

  “I don’t know,” Scotty said. “Ye ask me, the Prime Directive can be a pain in the arse sometimes. Me, I’m an engineer. Never had much patience with philosophy or politics. I’m all about makin’ things work better and faster. From that point of view, what’s a wee bit of time travel between friends?”

  “But even the most seemingly harmless innovations can be abused,” Spock observed. “Galactic history is replete with cautionary examples of dangers posed by too-rapid technological development. Your own species nearly destroyed itself with nuclear weapons, while the premature discovery of antimatter led to the total extinction of the ancient Gabrallians over one million years ago. Many other such tragedies come to mind.”

  “Well, sure, there’s always goin’ to be an element of risk,” Scotty argued. “But that comes with the territory. If we never took a chance on a new idea or two, we’d still be sittin’ around in caves eatin’ raw meat without so much as a fire to cook with. Ye know what they say, ye can’t make a haggis without slaughterin’ a sheep.”

  “Perhaps,” Spock said, “but you would not want to kill the sheep before its grandparents were even conceived.” He let the grotesque paradox sink in. “Timing is often everything.”

  Seven was impressed by the men’s arguments. Although products of a more primitive era, they had an excellent grasp of the issues at hand. Their cogent reasoning helped to still the guilty voices undermining her resolve, as did her prior experiences with time travel.

  Not long ago, relatively speaking, she had been recruited by the twenty-ninth-century timeship Relativity to assist them in unraveling a temporally convoluted conspiracy to destroy Voyager. Since finding herself stranded in the twenty-third century, she had dared to hope that Relativity might arrive to return her to her proper era, but since it had not already done so, within seconds of her displacement, she could only assume that no such convenient rescue was in the offing. Had her current predicament escaped their notice? Time was all but endless, after all, and Relativity could hardly be expected to police every temporal anomaly from the Big Bang to the heat death of the universe. Or was it that Relativity had some compelling reason not to intervene in this instance, perhaps to avoid some greater distortion to the time line? Seven had no idea, but it was clear that her future—and her return to same—was in her own hands.

  For better or for worse.

  “Timing is indeed crucial,” she said. “Thus the importance of the Temporal Prime Directive.”

  Santiago was not swayed by such concerns. He appeared driven by other, more emotional considerations. His voice and manner grew ever more heated.

  “So you intend to stay silent?” he pressed her. “Even if millions of innocent beings suffer the consequences?”

  Billions, she amended. “Do not think I do so lightly.”

  “The Prime Directive can be a heavy burden,” Kirk said, adopting a sympathetic tone. He seemed to speak from personal experience. “I’m sure the commissioner, of all people, can appreciate that.”

  Santiago snorted. “Don’t lecture me about the Prime Directive, Kirk. I know your reputation.”

  “I may have bent the rules on occasion,” Kirk said defiantly, not letting the other man put him on the defensive, “under extraordinary circumstances, but that doesn’t mean I don’t respect them . . . or understand why they exist.” He held up his hand to forestall any further objections from Santiago. “Now then, I let this debate continue because I felt we needed to clear the air, but you’re here as a courtesy, Commissioner. Don’t make me regret that.”

  He stared down Santiago, who grudgingly turned away from Seven to take a seat at the table. “I hope you can live with yourself, Kirk, the next time Federation lives are lost to a planetary disaster she could have warned us about.”

  “Trust me, Commissioner,” Kirk said solemnly. “They won’t be the only lives on my conscience.”

  Or mine, Seven thought. “Shall I continue with my presentation, gentlemen?”

  “Go ahead.” Kirk sat down at the head of table. “You have the floor.”

  Seven held the lightweight crystal fragment up for their inspection. “I have conducted a thorough analysis of this component. Its means of operation eludes me, as does its exact composition, but a close examination reveals a small inscription on one side of the fragment.” She indicated the location with her finger. “Here, to be precise.”

  Kirk reached for the wedge-shaped object. “If I may?”

  She surrendered the fragment although she knew there was little point. He held it up to the light and squinted.

&nb
sp; “I don’t see anything,” he confessed.

  “The inscription is out of phase with time,” she explained. Like the marker on the hidden door to the monument in the Delta Quadrant. “Your visual faculties are incapable of perceiving it . . . unlike mine.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” McCoy drawled. “Lucky for us you’re here, then.”

  “Luck . . . or design?” Kirk pondered.

  “That remains to be determined,” she replied.

  Spock inspected the fragment as well. His Vulcan eyes were no more equipped to detect temporal distortions than Kirk’s. Only her optical implant could read the clue inscribed on the fragment.

  “May I ask what the inscription is?” the science officer asked.

  “It is a stardate,” she revealed. “Thirty-Seven Fifteen Point Three.”

  Kirk processed the date. “That’s about three years ago.”

  “Three years, four months, and sixteen days,” Spock clarified. “That date corresponds exactly to the Enterprise’s visit to Gamma Trianguli VI.”

  “That is correct,” Seven stated. She had already looked up the date herself and correlated it against the ship’s logs. She noted the speed with which Spock had retrieved the data from his memory, without any need to consult the computer. Despite his half-human ancestry, his highly trained mind was clearly the equal of Tuvok’s. No wonder he was held in such high regard even in the twenty-fourth century.

  “Of course,” Kirk said, remembering. “Vaal and his worshippers.”

  “Don’t remind me,” McCoy grumbled. “We nearly got our skulls crushed by those ‘friendly’ natives, as I recall . . . before you blew up their god and taught them about the birds and bees.”

  Santiago huffed. “What was that you were saying about the Prime Directive, Kirk?”

  Kirk ignored the gibe. “Gamma Trianguli VI,” he murmured, thinking aloud. “A coincidence?”

  “Unlikely,” Seven said. “A similar stardate, displayed on the control panel of the device that brought me here, coincided with your mission to Yusub . . . and the location of this fragment. I suggest that this new clue may point us in the direction of the next component.”

  “On Gamma Trianguli VI,” Kirk said.

  “Precisely.”

  She neglected to mention the towering monument to Kirk that had housed the hidden tomb complex. That particular detail seemed too provocative to share, but lent additional credence to her theory that Kirk was somehow key to the puzzle—or was perhaps being employed as the key to a code.

  “I don’t know,” McCoy said dubiously. “That sounds like a stretch to me.”

  “Perhaps not,” she allowed. “I have good reason to believe that we will find the second fragment on Gamma Trianguli VI.”

  Kirk read between the lines. “But you can’t tell us why.”

  “No, but I believe my theory is sound.”

  Kirk smiled wryly. “In other words, you want us to set course for Gamma Trianguli VI, a planet light-years away, for reasons you can’t divulge, based on an inscription only you can read.”

  “That is an accurate summation,” she conceded.

  “You’re asking us to take a lot on faith, Seven . . . if that’s even your real name.”

  “I would not ask were the stakes not so dire,” she replied. “And need I remind you, Captain, that I did save your life down on the planet? I believe the expression is: You owe me.”

  McCoy chuckled. “Finally! An argument I can understand.”

  Kirk held his chin as he considered his decision. “Spock, how long to Gamma Trianguli VI?”

  Seven had already performed the necessary calculations, allowing for the primitive nature of the Enterprise’s warp engines.

  “Approximately four-point-nine days at warp seven,” she informed him.

  “Four-point-nine-two,” Spock corrected her. “To be precise.”

  Kirk regarded the byplay with apparent amusement. He picked up the mysterious fragment and turned it over and over in his hands. “You’ve got this all figured out, haven’t you?”

  “I hope so, Captain. For all our sakes.”

  Kirk threw up his hands in defeat. “What the devil. In for a penny, in for a pound.” He leaned forward and activated the ship’s intercom. “Kirk to the bridge. Set a course for Gamma Trianguli VI.”

  “Aye, sir,” a deep voice replied. Seven recognized the distinctive timbre of Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, whom she had met shortly after arriving on the ship. The helmsman was doubtless puzzled by the ship’s new destination, but he did not question the captain’s orders. “Setting course now.”

  “Very good, Mister Sulu. Kirk out.”

  “Thank you, Captain,” Seven said. “I appreciate your trust.”

  He shrugged. “The sooner we find the rest of that time machine, the sooner you can get back to where you belong. Not that we’re in a hurry to get rid of you, of course.”

  Seven accepted his remark in the spirit in which it was intended.

  “Of course.”

  Eight

  Gamma Trianguli VI was a Class-M planet beyond the twenty-third-century boundaries of the Federation. Even in Seven’s time, the primitive humanoids inhabiting the world had barely progressed beyond rudimentary agriculture and grass huts. They were still many millennia away from developing warp capacity, let alone time travel. The planet struck Seven as an unlikely place to find a component of a time machine, which might be a good reason to hide one there.

  “I doubt you’ll need this,” Kirk said as he handed her back her phaser in the Enterprise’s old-fashioned transporter room. “The natives are pretty friendly now that they’re no longer under Vaal’s influence.”

  Seven had studied the relevant mission logs, so she was aware that “Vaal” was the designation of an ancient super-computer that had once completely controlled the planet below. Kirk had liberated the planet’s population, which was still designated Vaalian, from the machine’s domination by draining its power reserves, not incidentally saving the Enterprise in the process. Subsequent investigations had suggested that the Vaalians were not native to the planet but had been transplanted there in a misguided social experiment designed to create an idyllic society that could not possibly advance to a level where it could destroy itself.

  “Still, it never hurts to be prepared,” he added.

  “A wise precaution,” she agreed, accepting the weapon. A primitive tricorder was slung over her shoulder, while the original lightweight fragment from Yusub was secured in a standard-issue Starfleet backpack. She had justified bringing the wedge along on the grounds that it might lead them to the next fragment, but if she was being honest with herself, she was simply not comfortable letting it out of her possession. The temporally displaced artifact held her best hope of returning to her own era in time (whatever that meant) to save Captain Janeway and the others.

  “Can’t say I’m looking forward to revisiting this place,” McCoy grumbled. “As I recall, it’s a lot more dangerous than it looks.”

  The away team—no, she corrected herself—the landing party consisted of herself, Kirk, McCoy, and a single security officer. Commissioner Santiago had wanted to join the expedition, if only to keep an eye on Seven, but Kirk had denied the man’s request since this was a research mission, not a diplomatic one. Santiago had not taken the refusal well, but Seven was grateful for the captain’s decision. She needed to concentrate on the task at hand, not waste energy deflecting the commissioner’s persistent attempts to undermine her resolve. Days had passed since she had last regenerated, and the strain was wearing on her. It was imperative that she find the means to return to Voyager with all deliberate speed.

  “You don’t need to remind me, Bones.” Kirk’s voice and face grew grim. “I lost four good men on this planet. Everybody stay on their toes. Even without Vaal, there are still serious hazards down there. Poisonous plants. Explosive rocks.”

  McCoy shook his head. “You know, that never made sense to me. Who designs a planet-
sized Garden of Eden, policed by a snake-headed computer god, and then stocks the place with venomous thorns and rocks that blow up if you bump them too hard? Kind of defeats the point of paradise.”

  “I can dispel your confusion, Doctor,” Seven said. “I have reviewed the notes on Gamma Trianguli VI in the Starfleet database, including the studies conducted of Vaal’s own memory circuits after you deactivated him, and am familiar with the prevailing theories.”

  “Of course you are.” McCoy huffed. He cast an exasperated glance at Kirk. “I can see why you didn’t bother including Spock on this little treasure hunt, Jim. Our friend here practically renders him redundant.”

  Seven was undisturbed by the doctor’s irascible attitude. She was quite accustomed to prickly physicians. Indeed, she found herself wondering how much of McCoy’s documented behavioral patterns and mannerisms had made it into the EMH’s programming. Perhaps more than she had realized before?

  “Do you desire explanations or not?” she asked.

  “Go ahead,” McCoy said with a sigh. “Shoot.”

  “To begin with, the venomous thorns are only harmful to non-Vaalians. It is speculated that they were a biological defense mechanism intended to protect the population of Gamma Trianguli VI from unwelcome visitors.”

  “Like us,” Kirk said.

  “Precisely.” Seven took care to confine herself to only those theories developed in Kirk’s time. “Subsequent studies have also confirmed that the plants produce pollen that is beneficial to the Vaalian’s immune system.”