Strangers from the Sky

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Strangers from the Sky Page 32

by Margaret Wander Bonanno


  Unless they were stopped on the

  shores and the legal ramifications of that were

  mind-boggling they could be on the ice within hours, and those

  perceptive enough to guess at Byrd could be

  here within a day or two.

  It was why Jason and the Vulcans had been so

  unceremoniously pulled out of the inquiry; it was why

  everyone still inside Byrd was running around like chickens

  wondering what to do next. It was why Melody

  Sawyer finally broke down and told Jason about

  Tatya's aunt in Kiev.

  "You did what?" Jason repeated, looking down

  at Tatya, who had collapsed all in a heap on

  the carpet in his quarters, crying again. It seemed

  all she'd done for the past two days had been cry for

  one reason or another.

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  "I thought if people knew it would help," Tatya

  blubbered. She looked up at Jason tearfully.

  "When Melody cut in, I did what she told

  me. I told Tante Mariya not to break the

  story. She wouldn't have, without my telling her.

  Someone else must have overheard. I only wanted

  to help!"

  "Oh, you helped, all right!" Sawyer spat at

  her from where she stood guard at the door, ready

  to cave in the skull of the first Ground Forces flunky

  who so much as set big toe across the

  threshold. This was a family problem, and she would

  see it stayed i. the family. The whole family was

  here, too she and Jason, Yoshi and Tatya, and

  and the other two. Whatever happened, it would happen

  inside this room. "You fixed it so the brass have

  to make the media out as liars no matter what. And

  if they have to kill your friends here in order to kill the

  stories his

  "Goddammit to hell, Sawyer!" Jason

  roared, knocking his chair over and advancing on her;

  Melody had never seen him so angry. "You!

  You've been sitting on this for how long? Why the

  hell didn't you tell me?"

  Melody pulled herself up so straight she was

  trembling.

  "Assumed the situation was contained and no need

  to trouble you, sub!" she barked. "I heard her

  retract her story and assumed the aunt bought it, and

  was She broke, came as close as she could

  to apologising. "Hell, Jason, I thought his

  "That's always been your trouble, Sawyer!" Jason

  spluttered. "How many times do I have to tell you

  don't think!"

  T'Lera passed a look to her son, a look that

  said simply: Do you still question that it is not yet

  time? Sorahl hung his head, wished only

  to return to his makeshift laboratory and his

  research, away from this human turmoil that gave him

  cause to question everything he believed.

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  "It's done now," Jason Nyere said

  helplessly, his anger gone, replaced by a great

  weariness.

  "What's going to happen to us?" Yoshi seemed

  perpetually bewildered, got up from where he'd had his

  arm around Tatya, left her to dry her own tears.

  "Jason?"

  "Ground Forces will probably evacuate their people

  and whoever else is willing to be "wiped" and

  returned home," the captain said. "I think we can

  be sure it's their intention not to be here if any

  reporters get through the security cordon. As for the

  rest of us . . ."

  All nonmilitary personnel in the dining hall

  were escorted back to their quarters until such time as

  Ground Forces decided who was to go and who would be

  allowed to stay. Rumors about the media leaks grew

  more ominous with

  repetition. What had started out as a

  few individuals' concern over a stray flying

  saucer was beginning to sound like an Earth-wide panic.

  From the white-on-white perspective at Byrd,

  there was no telling what was truth anymore.

  Jim Kirk had been among the first to return

  to his room voluntarily. Now he sat on his

  bunk and slapped his communicator shut with a

  grimace, hiding it in a secret compartment in his

  luggage. Broadcasting for too long was dangerous

  even on the high frequencies, and he hadn't been

  able to reach Mitchell or Kelso. Lee had warned

  him there might be too much interference this close to the

  Pole. Not only that, he couldn't even get through

  to Definer, who was caught up in the chaos with the rest

  of the medical personnel. Deaf, blind, and on his own,

  Jim Kirk decided it was time to act.

  He retrieved his communicator, slipped it

  into a pocket, and replaced the intell-agent ID

  in his wallet with one of Kelso's backups, which

  he'd had the presence of mind to activate before he

  left Tierra del Fuego.

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  Taking advantage of the confusion still reigning in the

  corridors among those who balked at

  leaving, Jim Kirk blended in with the pacifist

  contingent, blessing Lee Kelso for his ingenuity and

  offering a silent prayer of thanksgiving to John

  Gill for his lecture on the Dove Society.

  "An anomaly," the noted historian had

  called it in his lectures on pre-Federation

  history at the Academy. "Possibly the first time

  in human history that the intelligence community

  stopped looking upon pacifists as the enemy and joined

  with them in preserving the unity of Earth. The society

  endured for over a century, until the Romulan

  Wars focused intelligence attention outward against a

  new enemy . . ."

  Collector of esoterica even then, a certain

  eager young plebe had absorbed every shred of

  information he could find on the Dove Society,

  used its techniques and code words in a covert

  operation, with several fellow victims, in a brief

  abortive foray against a common enemy of peace in the

  person of an upperclassman named

  Finnegan. Their victory had been short-lived

  and Finnegan's vengeance swift and murderous, but

  Jim Kirk's memory for useful trivia

  endured.

  To his surprise, the pacifists

  immediately accepted him as one of their own.

  "I had a premonition," their leader confided when

  she'd secreted him in her cabin with the others, out of

  Ground Forces' earshot, "when you asked that rather

  pragmatic question of our unfortunate visitors this

  afternoon. Pity T'Lera never had a chance to answer it.

  I presume the "Colonel" is cover?"

  "Naturally." Jim Kirk grinned at her.

  She was a plump, grandmotherly type, but not

  impervious to his charm. "It lends me more

  credibility with the brassheads. Do you think they'll

  send us home?"

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  "They've already told us as much." The pacifists'

  leader sighed. "We're to be airlifted out, then

  detained somewhere while they "wipe" our

  memories, then dropped on our respective

  doorsteps as if we'd been away on a skiing
<
br />   weekend. We agreed to those terms from the beginning or

  they would never have allowed us in. But we'd hoped for a

  better outcome than this."

  "Outcome?" one of her companions demanded. "This

  is no outcome at all! The military intended

  all along to "disappear" these people. The

  news leak is just a ploy to keep us from speaking to the

  Vulcans directly!"

  "We should have called Grayson in," another

  said. "They'd have listened to him."

  They all began talking at once.

  "dis . . hear he's been ill. . . Iost his

  wife last year . . . wouldn't matter. You don't

  know Grayson. You're too young to remember, but his

  "We asked for Grayson from the beginning!" their

  leader finally silenced them in exasperation. "They

  refused to let us contact him. Obviously he

  carries too much clout."

  "Excuse me," Jim Kirk said, sticking his

  neck out. "Who is this Grayson?"

  They all looked at him, owl-eyed.

  "You are rather young," their leader said, eyeing him

  suspiciously. "And I suppose it has been that

  long. Jeremy Grayson is professor

  emeritus of the University of Pacifist Studies

  at Vancouver, one of the founding members of the United

  Earth Movement, and a hero of the Third War. Less

  flamboyant than some of the others, certainly, and

  he's been in retirement for years, but I would have

  thought his

  "Of course!" Jim Kirk lied,

  thinking fast. "He was one of my-heroes as a boy.

  I wasn't sure he was still alive. It seems a

  little awesome that he'd be the same one...."

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  They seemed to accept that. Kirk promised himself

  if he ever Scot out of this, he'd learn to be a little

  less glib.

  "If you could get in touch with Professor

  Grayson . . ." he suggested.

  "Impossible!" somebody said. "We won't be

  allowed to communicate with the outside until after

  we've been "wiped." By then we won't

  remember why we came here, or even that we came

  here."

  "But if someone else could?"

  "Jeremy would be able to find a sane solution to this;

  I'm certain of it," the leader said sadly. "And he

  commands sufficient respect from world leaders to make it

  stick. But it's too late for that now."

  "Maybe not," Jim Kirk said, and reached a

  decision.

  Starfieet's Prime Directive, he

  reminded himself, precluded interference with any

  normal culture progressing at its own

  pace. There were no regulations on the books

  pertinent to time travel. Ergo the only directive

  that applied to time travel was the moral obligation not

  to do anything that would alter the future. He didn't

  know if his mere presence here had already irrevocably

  changed history, but now that he was here, he had to do

  what he could to bring about a peaceful resolution to this

  crisis.

  He whipped his communicator out of his back

  pocket.

  "I have a device here," he began as the

  assembled pacifists gathered around to get a closer

  look. "It's highly classified, and I can't

  tell you how it works, but it's quite possible I can get

  a message to your Professor Grayson with it.

  If you can trust me to remain here as your

  spokesperson . . ."

  Before the media had broken the space-aliens

  story, and before Ground Forces and the

  PentaKrem sought some legal way to cordon off

  the entire continent of Antarctica, two small

  pleasure copters skimmed in low

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  over the floe ice and settled on their

  pontoons on the seaward edge of the Ross Ice

  Shelf some five hundred kilometers from Byrd.

  The individuals who emerged from them, ruffling the

  feathers of the penguin population with the crash and dank of

  several snowmobiles sliding down the

  unloading ramps, were anything but tourists.

  "We split up," Racher decreed at once,

  leaping onto the ice in his arctic fatigues, his

  face grey against their blinding white, his metal

  voice whirring and clicking in the frigid air. "You

  that way, we this. A pincer, with them in the center, so!"

  His mittened fist closed like a vise in

  demonstration.

  His people, an even dozen of them tilde ameless,

  faceless, sexless, and armed to the teeth stood in

  solid ranks behind him to face Easter's ragged

  crew, Red and Aghan and the only others he could

  gather on such short notice: Kaze the

  self-styled ninja and Noir, who was either

  Rastafarian, born-again Mau Mau, or Avenging

  Angel of Allah, depending upon the day of the week.

  The contrast was not lost on Easter, who was immediately on

  the defensive.

  "Says you!" he snarled, coming as close to the armed

  Racher as he dared, glaring into those unblinking

  metal eyes. "Think yer God, do yer?"

  Aghan rolled his eyes at Red, who ignored

  him. Their leader was hell-bent on prolonging their

  stay in the cold with this show of bully-boy arrogance;

  better to be snug inside the plush, well-heated

  snowmobiles, gift of an arms dealer experiencing

  some lean times since Colonel Green's demise

  and looking for fresh territory.

  "Yer don't give me orders!" Easter

  growled, scuffing his feet against the ice when Racher

  did not deign to respond. "Hear me?"

  "Together we are too visible," Racher stated

  flatly. "You wish to be captured? Perhaps you do not

  trust me? Or perhaps you are afraid?"

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  This earned him a string of curses which he dismissed

  with an indifferent shrug; even his shoulder joints had

  a metallic sound. He fondled his small laser

  rifle and glanced over his shoulder at his troops,

  who smirked in unison at their leader's cool.

  "You are finished?" Racher asked when it looked like

  Easter had run out of spit. "We split up."

  Easter cursed a final time, motioned his lot

  into their two snowmobiles, though not before

  Aghan decided to take some target practice at

  a flock of penguins.

  He aimed his automatic and let off a full

  clip, laughing manically at the splatter of blood

  and guts and feathers and the prodigality of noise

  rolling flat out over the ice with nothing to rebound it.

  "Lookit, Easter, look!" He danced in

  delight. "I got me a whole bunch of

  spacemen!"

  Racher spat on the ice. "Verrdckter!"

  His troops in their snowmobiles soon vanished

  over the horizon, far from already gelid splash of

  innocent blood, across a landscape of white on

  white.

  White lather foamed in pleasing soft billows

  against the sides of the shaving mug as Spock stirred it

  with the badger-hair brush. The brush had given him

  pause the first time Jeremy Grayson asked
him

  to assist an old man with shaking hands in the ritual

  of shaving, but Spock considered finally that the badger

  might not have minded overmuch the honor of offering its

  small life in service to a fellow creature who

  had done as much good as Grayson.

  "Hate to put you through this rigamarole, Ben,"

  Grayson said as Spock, expertly now,

  stroked the lather onto his weathered face and began

  to ply the razor. "I'm probably the last man

  on Earth who cherishes an old-fashioned barbershop

  shave. Consider it a point of vanity. I like

  to look my best even if no one can see me.

  Does that make sense?"

  STRANGERS FROM THE SKY

  "Of course, Professor," Spock replied.

  One of such age was permitted his own illogic.

  "And the "rigamarole" does not inconvenience me."

  Rather, it is something of an honor, Grandfather.

  They were in the kitchen again Jeremy

  Grayson seemed to live in the kitchen, except

  when he had visitors and the vidscreen was just coming up

  for the early morning news, Grayson's way of

  "keeping a finger on the pulse of mayhem" as he

  put it.

  "I've decided it may be safe for me to pass

  on soon," he remarked, watching the screen with the

  volume down as Spock trimmed his sideburns.

  "I do believe we've andally gotten over the need

  to kill each other on a global scale. I'll

  leave the minor skirmishes to the younger generation. Lord,

  I do get tired sometimes! Though I may

  stay around to learn if the Icarus mission finds

  anyone on Alpha Centauri."

  Spock wiped the remaining lather off the

  professor's face in silence. Grayson was

  scowling at the vidscreen.

  "burn that up a bit, would you, Ben? Your ears

  are obviously better than mine. This looks like

  something that may need our attention."

  Together they listened to several of the saner versions of the

  space-aliens story.

  "Well, what do you think of that7" Grayson

  mused.

  "Possibly a hoax?" Spock wondered

  aloud, his mind awhirl with permutations and

  calculations, none of which made much sense in the

  abstract. If the stories were true, if there were in

  fact aliens present on Earth, might their

  presence be connected with his untimely arrival?

  "Maybe, maybe not," Grayson said, pulling

  himself to his feet and groping for his cane. "But if

  it's anything like the truth, I have a fair idea the

 

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