STAR TREK: TOS #11 - The Yesterday Saga I - Yesterday's Son

by A. C. Crispin

  Pleased by the compliment, Zar nearly forgot himself and smiled openly at her. He repressed the grin just in time. “You’ve seen my paintings?”

  “Oh, yes.” Her smile faded, slowly, and then the green eyes lost their expectant air. “You don’t have the slightest idea of what I’ve been talking about, do you?”

  “No.”

  “I’m ashamed of myself—baiting you was an unworthy impulse. Don’t worry, I’ll never let on.” She cocked her head, smiling differently this time. “Let’s forget it. Would you ... what’s wrong?” He had put a hand to his head, and his eyes narrowed.

  “I don’t know ... my head hurt.” He shook himself, and the lines of pain faded. “It’s better, now.”

  “You looked terrible for a second. You’d better check with Doctor McCoy.”

  “Maybe I will, later. Right now, I have to clean up.”

  “But I interrupted you. Go ahead with what you were doing.”

  “No, I was finished.” He tried to think of some way to prolong the conversation, but his imagination failed him. He realized that he was simply standing there, looking at her, and abruptly turned away.

  McNair stood where she was, watching the tall, slender figure. He had nearly reached the entrance when he staggered, then fell.

  Pain! It slammed him behind his eyes, and he doubled over, retching. Dimly, Zar felt his shoulder slide across the doorframe, felt his knees buckling, and the coolness of the metal wall on his half-bare body. [117] Blackness swirling with red boiled up, dimming his vision, and then there was nothing. ...

  By the time she reached him, McNair was sure he was dying. Every muscle contracted, head thrown back, he was gasping, huge, hurting lungfuls of air. The wheezing rasp of those breaths was painful to hear. As she dropped to her knees, avoiding the out-flung arms, the gasps stopped. Knowing it was hopeless, she took his face between her hands, ready to pull him away from the bulkhead so she could get a clear airway and begin artificial resuscitation.

  Suddenly, quite naturally, he began breathing again. McNair’s mouth dropped open in genuine astonishment, and she sat back on her heels, fingers checking his wrist for a pulse. Extremely fast ... but maybe that’s normal for him. Skin temperature hot, but that could be normal, also. He’s sweating ... but the exercise could account for that. ... Baffled, she shook her head.

  Black lashes lifted, and he looked at her, then seemed to realize he was sprawled, half-prone against the wall. “What?” He tried to get up. McNair put a hand on his chest, emphatically.

  “Don’t. You’d better stay still.”

  “What happened?”

  “You passed out. I never saw anything like it. I thought you were a goner. I’d have sworn you were agonal.” At his look, she explained, “When people or animals die—especially violently—they spasm and breathe the way you were, just now.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “I lived through a Romulan assault when I was twelve. Most of the other colonists didn’t. I’m sure.”

  He moved cautiously, not attempting to get up. The pain was only a memory now, gone as though it had never been. He felt slightly tired, and very hungry.

  “How do you feel?” She was watching him closely.

  “Fine.” He didn’t meet her eyes. Suddenly he was [118] conscious of the pressure of her hand, and the cool pleasurable sensation of her fingers on his skin. Through the contact, he felt her concern for him, and something else ... dimly, in the background of her mind, she was enjoying touching him. The realization confused and elated him. He wanted to stay there, not moving, content to wait for—what? The thought shook him, and before he realized what he was doing, he rolled over and got to his feet, looking down at her. “I’m fine now.”

  McNair shook her head. “You sure didn’t look fine a minute ago, but if you say so ...” She put out a hand to steady herself as she got her feet under her, and felt him catch it, pull her up with a strength that surprised her until she remembered his ancestry, and the fact that Sarpeidon was a higher than Earth-gee planet.

  “Has that ever happened to you before? Blackouts, or unconsciousness?”

  “No ...” He was hesitant, finally shook his head. “No. I don’t know what caused it ... I don’t remember ...” He looked at her, and she dropped her eyes. He sensed that she was trying to keep something from him.

  “What are you thinking of?”

  “Nothing. You better see McCoy as soon as possible. Ask him about it.”

  The gray eyes were intent, and the inhuman calm of his face was a mask. “You’re thinking about brain damage, aren’t you? Epilepsy—things like that ... right?”

  Reluctantly, she nodded.

  “I suppose it’s possible.” She watched him repress a shiver. “There’s something ...” He shook his head. “I can’t remember.”

  After he showered, they went up to the mess room to eat, and she told him about her home planet, and her training at Star Fleet Academy. He listened intently, absorbed. McNair finished her account with a description of the survival test each cadet had to [119] undergo during senior year. “It’s brutal. They pick some godforsaken planet that’s barely habitable, and they dump you there bareass, no food, no weapons, and they expect you to survive.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “So?”

  She glared at him for a moment, then realized he wasn’t being smug. “So I survived,” she said. “I had one narrow squeak, in the month I was there. Fell off a ledge and twisted my ankle—but I was lucky, I could’ve broken my neck ... what’s wrong?”

  He stared at her, horror darkening his eyes. “I remember, now.” She could barely hear him. “Seven years ... I’d forgotten what death feels like. I’ve got to see the Captain.”

  Before Teresa McNair could voice any of the questions in her mind, he was gone.

  Spock straightened up from his sensors, frowning slightly. He jiggled a switch, punched buttons, recalibrated for possible—though unlikely—atmospheric disturbance. The reading didn’t change. He flicked the intercom switch. In a moment, the Captain’s voice responded, a little fuzzily, “Kirk here.”

  “My apologies for waking you, Captain, but there is something on my sensors you should see.”

  “On my way,” came the now wide-awake response.

  The Captain reached the bridge, found Spock sitting in the command chair, chin on hand.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I have been monitoring the planet’s surface, and the emanations from the ruins.”

  “There’s been a change of some kind?”

  For answer, the First Officer moved to the sensors, and pressed buttons. He lowered his voice. “When I first began monitoring, the surface readings showed this.” A set of figures flashed onto the screen. Spock pressed another button. “Then, exactly six point four minutes ago, the readings dropped, and have [120] remained constant again, but on a slightly lower level.” He showed another set of figures.

  “As though the emanations from the Guardian have been slightly ... damped ...” Kirk murmured, studying the figures.

  “Exactly.”

  “What could cause that effect?”

  “A number of things. It could be the result of a natural change in the time emanations from the ruins. Or, it could be the result of a containing energy field of some kind.”

  “Force field?” Kirk wondered.

  “Possible. However, I should be able to pick up the presence of a force field, and my sensors show nothing. In fact, there is a curious lack of positive readings from the entire area of the Guardian.”

  “What about life-form readings—the landing party?”

  “I recalibrated for the time disturbances ... I haven’t been monitoring the landing party.”

  The Captain swung around. “Lieutenant Uhura, what’s the latest from the landing party?”

  “They reported that the communications system on the planet was out of commission completely and that they would be using belt communicators. That was almost two a
nd a half hours ago. About an hour ago they signaled that they were beaming up the collection of artifacts, which they did. They’re due to check back in again momentarily, sir.” She broke off, fingers dancing across her board. “There’s something coming in now, Captain.”

  Kirk and Spock moved to stand beside her, as she listened intently. Finally, she looked up at them, dark eyes serious. “Captain, it’s a message from Admiral Komack. Star Base One has just reported that ten Romulan vessels breached the Neutral Zone, heading in the direction of this sector. Their ETA is fourteen hours. He’s dispatched five starships and a dreadnought—at maximum warp, they should arrive in fourteen and a half hours. Maybe less.”

  [121] “Thank you, Lieutenant. Contact the landing party. Tell them to stand by to beam up. Inform Lieutenant Harris that if Doctor Vargas gives him any problems, he has my permission to bring her forcibly. I can’t have anyone left on that surface.”

  “Aye, sir.” She turned back to her communications console.

  “Spock, keep monitoring those emanations. Let me know if there’s any further change in those readings.” The Captain lowered his voice. “If there’s even a chance that Romulans might reach the Guardian, we’ve got to prevent it. Even if that means destroying Gateway.”

  The Vulcan raised an eyebrow. “Captain, the scientific loss would be—”

  “Irreparable. I know. But I may have no choice.” Kirk turned back to the communications console. “Lieutenant, do you have that channel to the landing party yet?”

  Uhura shook her head, adjusted the receptor in her ear, tried again. And again. Finally she looked back at Kirk, who was watching her tensely. “I’m sorry, sir. They don’t answer. None of them answer.”

  Chapter XII

  Over Spock’s protests, Kirk led the rescue party himself. When they arrived at the coordinates of the first landing party, they found the area deserted. The rescue party huddled together, feeling the bite of the wind, while McCoy scanned the surroundings.

  “No life-form readings—wait—very faint. This way.” They began to run.

  What was left of the landing party, as well as the archeologists, was strewn outside the wrecked camp building. Kirk clamped his teeth on his lip, and closed his eyes. A moment later, in control again, he joined McCoy, who was stooped over a prone figure.

  Doctor Vargas was hardly recognizable. As the Captain approached, McCoy caught his eye and shook his head quickly.

  “Can she talk, Bones?”

  “I doubt it.”

  At the sound of their voices, the battered form stirred and opened its eyes. “Kirk ...” The voice was so faint that the Captain shoved McCoy out of the way and nearly laid his ear on her mouth. He realized that she couldn’t see him, and took her hand.

  “I’m here, Doctor Vargas ... who was it?”

  “... Rom ...”

  “Can you give her anything to help her talk, Bones?”

  McCoy shook his head grimly. “No, Jim. Any stimulants will hasten the end.”

  “I didn’t ask you that! Can you give her anything so she can talk?”

  [123] “Cordrazine, or trimethylphenidate, but—”

  “Dammit, Bones, give ’em to her! I’ve got to know if the Romulans found the Guardian!”

  McCoy mumbled under his breath, but got out his hypo, and Kirk heard it hiss as he held it against her arm. She opened her eyes, moaned.

  “Did they find out the truth, Doctor Vargas?” He shook her slightly. “Do they know the location of the Guardian?”

  “No ... they had no drugs ... crude methods ... Torquemada ... we fought ... too many, too ... strong. But we didn’t ... tell. Stop them. ...” Her eyes closed, then opened wide, and she lurched under Kirk’s hands. He heard her ragged gasps, then her voice again, astonishingly clear. “You must stop them. My Guardian ... must not be used for ...” The blue eyes closed again, then opened as her head lolled back. The Captain lowered her gently to the ground, as McCoy closed the eyes.

  The rescue team was standing behind him when Kirk stood up. Masters, the Chief of Security, spoke up. “We checked, sir. No survivors. Butchers ... seven of my people ...” He swallowed, then spoke in a more normal tone. “Burial detail, Captain?”

  “For sixteen? Ground’s too hard. Have stretchers and body bags beamed down. Communications on scramble—tight beam. We don’t want to be monitored. We’ll have a group service when ... when this is all over. Did they all die the same way?”

  “Tortured? Yes. Why, Captain?”

  Kirk clenched his fists, took a deep breath. “For information they couldn’t have given, because they didn’t have it. The archeologists are the real heroes. They died rather than tell. Have you searched the building?”

  “Yes, sir. Ransacked. It’s a good thing they got their records out.”

  “Yes, it is. I only wish we’d gotten the people out, too. Have you taken care of identification, or does McCoy need to get retinal patterns?”

  [124] “I took care of it, sir.”

  “Very well. Get that equipment down here on the double. If we stick around much longer, we may join them.”

  “Aye, sir.”

  Kirk beckoned to McCoy. “Let’s check the Guardian. Set your phaser to kill.”

  The two walked amid the tumbled ruins until the camp building was behind them. The Captain halted, scanned the area, then took a small pair of distance lenses, scanned it again. He shook his head. “Bones, check our location on your tricorder.”

  The Doctor rattled off a string of coordinates. Kirk frowned. “I don’t understand ... we should be able to see it from here. Yet the landscape ahead is ...” His voice changed. “Bones, it’s not there. Where ... do you suppose they’ve managed to move it somehow?”

  “Hell, no, Jim. They couldn’t move that thing. It must weigh tons. Besides, I’ll bet it wouldn’t operate in a different location. Where could it be, though?”

  The Captain took out his communicator, adjusted the instrument to scramble. “Kirk to Enterprise.”

  “Enterprise, Spock here.”

  “Have you been advised as to status here?”

  “Affirmative, Captain.”

  “Are you still monitoring the readings from the ruins?”

  “Yes, Captain. They’ve remained steady, at the level you saw them.”

  “Very well. Kirk out.”

  The Captain took another long look at the area, eyes puzzled. Ruins, fallen columns, blue-gray boulders, ashy sand ... and that was all. “It can’t just have vanished, Bones! It must be out there, some—” He broke off and turned to the Doctor. “That’s it! It is out there, just where it should be—we just can’t see it!” McCoy stared at him. Kirk nodded excitedly. “A new kind of cloaking device. They’re projecting some sort of camouflage image at [125] us. The Guardian is about a hundred meters in front of us, but hidden by this ... planetary cloaking device.”

  “You could be right, Jim. Sounds reasonable to me. If you are, though, how in hell are you going to keep the Romulans from using the Guardian—if we can’t find it ourselves?”

  “Can you scan it on your tricorder? Pick up any life-form readings that would tell us where they’re located in there?”

  The Medical Officer’s tricorder hummed, then he shook his head disgustedly. “The time energies show up, but that’s all. No way to pinpoint anything else. We’re blind instrumentally, as well as visually.”

  Kirk looked thoughtful. “That gives me the beginnings of an idea ... let’s go back.”

  The first thing McCoy and Kirk saw when they materialized in the transporter room was Zar. The pallor of his face made his eyes look nearly black. His voice shook. “The landing party ... they’re all dead, aren’t they? If only I had known earlier, they might still be alive ... Juan and Dave ... Doctor Vargas ...”

  McCoy stared, realized the younger man was in shock. Kirk moved, grabbed one rigid arm, shook it. The Captain’s voice had the crack of an order. “Bones. Help me get him to sickbay.”

 
Zar moved like an automaton as they propelled him into sickbay and pushed him into a seat. The Doctor worriedly took his pulse, glanced at Kirk. “Snap out of it, son. How’d you know about the landing party?”

  The gray eyes blinked, lost some of their glazed look. “I ... knew. The same way I knew ... before. My head hurt, and I felt sick when I realized why the Romulans were attacking. The pain got worse—I passed out—and then it stopped. When I remembered the only time it had ever happened before, I knew that they were all dead.” He slumped [126] in his seat. “All dead ... I might have been able to save them, if I hadn’t ...”

  Kirk handed him a cup of black coffee, watched narrowly as the shaking fingers took it, then steadied the cup as it sloshed. “Take it easy, Zar. What do you mean, you know why the Romulans attacked?”

  “It was obvious. They invaded this system to find the Guardian. It’s potentially a deadly weapon. When I asked the computer about this sector, it didn’t even know the time portal existed, so it must be classified. I wonder how the Romulans found out?”

  “I don’t know.” Kirk shrugged, then pulled McCoy to one side as they watched Zar lean his head in his hands, exhausted. “What do you think, Bones?”

  “I don’t know, Jim. Precognition? Clairvoyance? Empathy with his friends’ terror? I can’t make guesses without more data.”

  The Captain’s mouth tightened. “You’re starting to sound like his father. I’ve got to get back to the bridge. Meanwhile, find out everything you can about this. It could be useful.”

  After Kirk left, McCoy gave his patient another cup of coffee. “Feeling better?”

  “Yes.” Zar shook his head. “I can hardly believe it, though. I talked to them only a few hours ago ... then, to see them like that ...” He pushed the cup away.