Elusive Salvation (Star Trek: The Original Series)

by Dayton Ward

  Drevina nodded. “I am just grateful he escaped injury.” The altercation with the Ptaen hunters had been as sudden as it was vicious. There had been no warning, even though she and Glorick had detected the arrival of the Ptaen scout craft days earlier. They had been unable to track its point of origin with the equipment at their disposal, which only served to reinforce their friend Canderon’s opinion that the time had come to set up a more permanent base of operations from which they could better protect themselves and avoid these sorts of surprise confrontations. He had left several days earlier from the farm that had served as their home for more than a decade, scouting locations that might serve as a suitable hiding place.

  “We should go,” she said after a moment. “There is much to do.” She and Glorick had spent the past hours disposing of the two Ptaen hunters who had attacked them the previous evening, and ridding the farmhouse of all traces of their presence. Then there was the matter of seeing Captain Wainwright safely back to his quarters here on the air force base. The neural scanner from their sparse medical kit had been useful in wiping the man’s short-term memory, though Drevina disliked using the device due to the blunt manner in which it operated. Individual memories could not be removed, forcing Drevina to erase everything dating back several hours, to provide a gap of time that could be explained in some other fashion. It had taken her several decades to modify the device to work on human neural pathways without causing undue harm or wiping away greater portions of a person’s memory than necessary.

  “Do you think there will be others?” asked Glorick.

  “We must assume as much.” It was the first time they had seen any sign of Ptaen pursuit in many years, and Drevina had wondered if the Consortium might well have abandoned their hopes of finding her and her companions. She had lain awake on many nights, wondering how Ptaen and Iramahl civilization had fared since their flight into deep, uncharted space. Had her people overthrown their oppressors, or had the Ptaen only strengthened their tyrannical grip? The few Ptaen hunters she had been able to question had offered no useful information, leading her to theorize that they also were uninformed as to current events on their homeworld.

  What Drevina and the others had never been able to determine with certainty was whether the Ptaen who had been chasing them all these years on Earth were part of the same group, or if the Consortium had sent more than one team of hunters. Her suspicions about there having been more than one attempt were strengthened with the sighting of the unidentified craft five nights earlier in the skies above New Jersey. There had been no way to verify that the spaceship—if indeed it was such a vessel—had been of Ptaen origin, but the subsequent arrival of the hunter team could not be coincidental. Had the ship just arrived at Earth? It was also possible that the craft had been here for some time, with the hunters only using it when they discovered some clue as to their quarry’s whereabouts.

  “People will wonder about the Clarkes.” As he spoke, Glorick’s expression turned somber. “That is unfortunate, though unavoidable.”

  Drevina nodded in agreement. The couple who once had lived on the farm she and her friends had used as a temporary home were two of a very limited number of humans the Iramahl had been able to trust with the truth of their identities. The male, Henry Clarke, had discovered Drevina, Glorick, and Canderon taking refuge in his barn during a fierce rainstorm, finding them before Drevina had been able to use her abilities to prevent him from seeing them. Though the first moments of that meeting had been tense, Glorick had succeeded in convincing the human that he was in no danger. Clarke, who described himself as “a man of faith,” had admitted to having those beliefs shaken as his eyes fell upon beings from another world, but in short order his gentle, compassionate nature asserted itself.

  Both he and his mate, Martha, had treated Drevina and her companions with kindness and respect from that first day. Many nights were spent in that barn, with the Iramahl sharing stories from their long journey into exile, their arrival here on Earth, and the decades that had passed with them hiding from Ptaen hunters. The farm’s remote location afforded a high degree of isolation, allowing Drevina and the others relative freedom of movement, though they quickly fell into a habit of leaving the barn only at night. It had taken months of work, but Glorick and Canderon eventually succeeded in excavating a tunnel connecting the barn with the Clarkes’ house, allowing transit back and forth with no risk of observation by casual passersby or—as the Iramahl feared—Ptaen search teams.

  Drevina and the others had been saddened when Henry Clarke fell victim two years earlier to a heart attack. Despite her best efforts and the medical equipment at their disposal, she had been unable to resuscitate him. Martha had been devastated, falling into a spiral of depression from which she would never emerge. The three Iramahl had elected to stay and care for her, which made it all the worse when they found her one morning in her bed, having died in her sleep after taking a large dose of medication. In the months since then, Drevina and her companions had stayed at the farm, using for cover Drevina’s growing ability not just to mask their presence but also to make others think they were seeing someone else. When necessary, Drevina and Glorick adopted the Clarkes’ personas, but it was a short-term measure at best.

  The farm was already falling to neglect, as the Iramahl were unable to tend to it as Henry Clarke had done. Martha Clarke’s passing had not been reported to the proper authorities, though Drevina and Glorick had seen to it that her remains were placed secretly with those of her husband in the local cemetery. Sooner or later, someone familiar with the Clarkes would get suspicious, and that would attract attention the Iramahl fugitives did not need.

  “We will leave things as well as we are able,” said Drevina, “but it is again time to move.” How many times had they been forced to take this same action over the course of the century they had lived in hiding here on Earth? Too many, Drevina conceded, but what other choice did they have? Canderon had become convinced that their original distress message had not been received and help was never coming. Glorick was the first one to discuss the possibility of finding another way off the planet and attempting to return to their home planet, but even he knew that to be an implausible notion. The humans had only possessed aeronautical technology for less than fifty years, and the very idea of venturing beyond the confines of this world was constrained to works of fiction. That left using a Ptaen craft if one could be found, and the hunters had been very careful not to leave them at known locations on the occasions teams managed to find their targets.

  They had heard and read stories about sightings of unidentified flying objects in locations around the world, but none of these reports had seemed credible. Legends seemed to have been spun about one craft in particular, which many people believed to have crash-landed in the deserts of New Mexico just a few years earlier. Though that event appeared to be the starting point for most people’s awareness of such unexplained craft, stories of mysterious objects hovering over cities and towns went back much further. Drevina and her companions had even investigated one such incident alleged to have occurred in the small village of Aurora, Texas, more than fifty years earlier, but they had found no evidence to substantiate the claims.

  As for the event at Roswell and sightings reported after that crash, the refugees had come to learn that the government of this society was actively searching for confirmation that such craft existed and that they were piloted by extraterrestrial beings. They sent agents to investigate, such as the one Drevina and Glorick had just encountered. There would be more like this man, she knew, but they were a lesser problem than the Ptaen hunters, at least for now.

  “After all this time, they still chase us,” Glorick said, shaking his head. “One would think the pursuit would be viewed as fruitless.”

  “If they are still hunting us, that means we remain valuable to our own people as well as the Consortium. And that means our own people still seek us as well. We must the
refore find a new home, some place to hide and prepare, for we must keep up with our portion of the fight.”

  Drevina saw the doubt on Glorick’s face as he asked, “For how long?”

  “Until the fight is over, one way or another.”

  Ten

  U.S.S. Enterprise

  Earth Year 2283

  Nogura looked tired, Kirk decided. Had the admiral even slept since dispatching the Enterprise? Between the hunt for the Iramahl ship and the subsequent discussion with Jepolin and Opirsa, it had been nearly one full Earth day. Even Kirk had only managed a couple of brief naps, and he was beginning to feel fatigue taking hold. How did Nogura manage to keep exhaustion at bay?

  If the admiral was operating at less than peak efficiency, it was not apparent by his voice. “According to the latest reports, Jim, there’s no sign of any living Iramahl anywhere on the planet, or anything that might be the remains of an Iramahl, or any indications of a ship matching the description and specifications you sent. There are still some areas to be checked, but I’m not holding out much hope.”

  “How much time do you think it’ll be before an initial sweep is completed, sir?” asked Kirk, sitting at his desk and staring at the admiral’s visage on the viewscreen occupying the rear wall of his guest quarters. The suite had been assigned to him for the duration of his stay aboard the Enterprise, which made sense given that Spock occupied the rooms designated for the ship’s captain. Still, it was an odd feeling for Kirk, being a guest on what once had been his vessel.

  Looking at something off screen, Nogura replied, “Approximately five hours. Most of the places that are left are those that present problems for sensors. Deep ocean trenches and things of that sort. There are some areas that have been marked for a closer look, and we’re dispatching teams to those locations now, just to be thorough. What do you plan to tell your guests?”

  “That’s a good question.”

  From where he stood behind Kirk, Spock said, “It is possible that the Iramahl fugitives, assuming they made successful planetfall, took steps to mask the presence of themselves and their vessel. They may very well have destroyed the ship, or found a place to scuttle it so that it remained undetectable.”

  “It’s hard to believe that there’s any place on Earth that might prove a suitable hiding place from state-of-the-art sensor technology,” said Kirk.

  Nogura leaned back in his chair. “Let’s say you’re right about them having found a place to hide their ship. What about the Iramahl themselves? If your estimates are correct and they managed to live to the late twenty-first or early twenty-second centuries, we should still be able to detect some residual bio-scan readings.”

  “That presupposes the Iramahl did not take steps to eliminate evidence of their own passing, Admiral.”

  “So you think they may have . . . what? Disintegrated themselves at the point of death or near-death?”

  “I accept that as a rather extreme scenario, sir, but it’s not beyond the realm of possibility.”

  Nogura made a show of covering his face with one hand. “One of these days, I’ll learn to just smile and nod whenever I discuss anything with a Vulcan. It’d just be easier for everyone.” Returning his hand to his lap, he regarded Kirk through the screen. “The Federation Council is preparing to dispatch a diplomatic envoy to the Iramahl homeworld. My gut tells me that the Ptaen Consortium will have something to say about that once they get wind of it.”

  “We’ve never dealt with either of these governments before,” Kirk said. “The Ptaen are likely to be unhappy with any perception that we’re taking the Iramahl’s side in whatever ongoing dispute they have.”

  “That’s for the diplomats to figure out. Speaking of which, a couple will be on their way out to you. Until then, you’re our point person with our guests. We’ll keep you apprised of the sensor sweeps here. Nogura out.”

  The communication link was severed and Nogura’s face disappeared, replaced by an image of the Federation seal. Kirk swiveled his chair away from his desk to face Spock, who remained standing a few paces behind him with his hands clasped behind his back.

  “How is it that we’ve never encountered either of these two races before?”

  Spock’s right eyebrow rose. “It is not surprising, given the location of their respective star systems on the far side of Klingon territory. We are not even fully aware of all the different civilizations the Empire has subjugated, let alone any worlds in that area of space that remains unaligned or unconquered by the Klingons.”

  His door chime sounded, and Kirk ordered the door to open. It slid aside to reveal the lanky form of Leonard McCoy, who sauntered into the room and moved to the couch along the wall in the office section of Kirk’s quarters. Without waiting for an invitation, McCoy dropped onto the couch.

  “Got anything to drink in this place?” the doctor asked by way of greeting.

  “And hello to you, too, Doctor,” said Kirk, stifling a smile.

  McCoy sighed. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time, Jim, but those people are something else.”

  Spock said, “You are of course referring to our Iramahl guests.”

  “No, Spock. I mean the two crewmen sweeping the hangar deck.” Grunting something Kirk could not hear, the doctor shifted his position on the couch and crossed his legs. “We’ve seen our share of genetic engineering in our day, but never like this. Usually, the goal of such manipulation is to make enhancements—address deficiencies, improve quality of life, that sort of thing—but this is completely different. The changes made by the Ptaen to artificially and deliberately shorten the life span of an entire race? And for the sole purpose of maximizing their ability to control them?” His expression grew contemptuous. “It’s disgusting.”

  Kirk eyed his friend with sympathy. Among Leonard McCoy’s many qualities was his unfailing humanity when it came to anyone who might be even tangentially in his care. Just a brief visit with Jepolin and Opirsa in the Enterprise’s sickbay, conducted immediately following the doctor’s arrival from Jupiter Station, had been enough to ignite within him the same fiery passion he had displayed as a physician for all the years Kirk had known him.

  “Bones, is there anything we can do to help them?” asked Kirk.

  Blowing out his breath, McCoy replied, “I don’t know, Jim. At least, I don’t know yet. Christine and I discussed a few tests we can run. Jepolin and Opirsa have agreed to provide some blood samples we can use for further study. Given time, we may be able to come up with something similar to what their own scientists created.”

  Spock said, “The cure apparently developed by the Iramahl scientists resulted from years of research, about which we have no details.”

  “You’re right,” said McCoy. “We’d be starting from scratch, but they’re here and they’ve asked for our help, and you know how much I hate standing around and trying to behave myself while the diplomats and other grown-ups are talking.” He looked to Kirk. “I honestly don’t know if we can help them, or how long it’ll take, but we have to try. What else are we going to do?”

  “For now, just do what you’ve been doing, Bones. Get started on your tests. I’ll clear it with Nogura to make sure you get whatever help and resources you need.” Turning his chair, he looked up to Spock. “If those Iramahl landed on Earth four hundred years ago, there has to be some evidence; something they left behind. They somehow sent a distress call, so they were hoping someone would find them. It makes sense that they’d plan for that.” He had only been mildly surprised to learn that the message Jepolin mentioned had come from yet another extraterrestrial being living on Earth during the nineteenth century. The Iramahl envoy had not shared the identity of that individual, which only served to make Kirk wonder just how many aliens had decided to call Earth home in the centuries before humanity left their world and found other civilizations living among the stars.

  It
seems we’re the galaxy’s preferred vacation destination.

  Spock said, “Now that Doctor McCoy and Doctor Chapel have completed an initial examination of our guests, and Mister Scott has conducted a survey of their vessel, I believe I may be able to provide Admiral Nogura with additional information that can be used to refine the sensor sweeps currently being conducted. However, given the span of time that has passed, we must entertain the possibility that the Iramahl and their ship were somehow lost.”

  “He’s right, Jim,” added McCoy. “Suppose they survived to the twenty-first century. World War III wiped out whole sections of the planet. They could easily have been caught up in that, or one of the earlier wars, or some natural disaster. They could’ve been found by someone and imprisoned or dissected, or stuffed in a vault somewhere. We already know people of that era managed to find more than a few examples of alien technology. Hell, some of that was probably even our fault. Remember how paranoid humanity was in the twentieth century? How we were always pointing missiles at each other and ready to end it all with the push of a button? Imagine living during that time and finding aliens from another planet.”

  Kirk did not have to imagine such a scenario, having already observed it firsthand on more than one occasion. Indeed, he and Spock . . .

  Indeed, we have.

  “Spock,” he said, surprised at himself for the idea beginning to take form in his mind, “what if we had a way to determine their whereabouts and activities during an earlier point in time.”

  It seemed to Kirk that his friend took an extra moment to gather his apparent meaning, but when he did, both eyebrows rose.

  “Admiral, may I remind you that the risks which come with traveling through time are not to be underestimated. Undertaking such a task, with no means of determining a logical destination point in the past, would only exacerbate those dangers.”

  McCoy added, “And let’s not forget that it’s just a plain crazy idea, all by itself.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Besides, can’t you just hear what Nogura and the other admirals at Starfleet Command would say once you even suggest this? Nogura might have a heart attack just on general principle.”