Elusive Salvation (Star Trek: The Original Series)

by Dayton Ward

  Opening the folder, Kirk reviewed its contents. “February 1965.” After a moment, he looked up. “James Wainwright? That name rings a bell.”

  “Indeed,” replied Spock, having also recognized the name of the air force officer who had written the report, as well as the stamp covering part of the report’s first page: TOP SECRET/MAJIC—EYES ONLY. Wainwright’s report was a detailed accounting of the craft’s discovery and eventual removal from its crash site by members of Project Blue Book.

  “However, I must admit that I was unfamiliar with the area in which the craft was found.” To Mestral, Spock said, “Booger Hollow, Arkansas, no longer exists in the twenty-third century.” What he did not say aloud was that in decades to come, that region of the United States would not fare well during the nuclear exchange that ushered in World War III. For Mestral, such events had not yet occurred. Would he still be on Earth seventy years from now, when the war would take place? Spock did not know, and he made a mental note to review any pertinent historical information stored in the Enterprise’s computer data banks upon his and Kirk’s return to the starship and their own time.

  Mestral said, “The probe was transferred to a classified subterranean military facility in San Francisco. During my time assisting Agents Wainwright and Marshall with Project Blue Book, I learned that the American government had established several of these repositories around the country. Most of them operate—or operated—independently of one another, with the complete list of locations and items stored at each facility known only to key members of the project and Majestic 12.”

  “We learned some of this during our last mission with Miss Lincoln,” said Kirk, “when she brought us to help her with the Certoss agents. It was a rather eye-opening experience.”

  During their previous encounters with Seven and Lincoln, Spock and Kirk had learned that world government and military leaders, the Americans in particular, had acquired such materials over the course of decades and perhaps longer. One of the fascinating yet puzzling aspects of humanity’s desire to learn more about the beings who chose to visit Earth was that those who acquired such knowledge then made every effort to hide that information from the public while doing their best to exploit it.

  “Except for the items of greatest interest,” Mestral continued, “which are stored at bases in Ohio and Nevada, most of the collected artifacts and data are moved to one of these other sites. These materials are usually classified under nondescriptive names such as Project 9 or Operation Deep Ice. Miss Lincoln also learned that after the dissolution of Blue Book, other initiatives were put in place to continue oversight of these facilities, presumably while Majestic’s primary mission of identifying and developing defenses against extraterrestrial threats pushed forward.”

  “If I remember correctly,” replied Kirk, “there also were a number of disinformation campaigns, designed to keep amateur enthusiasts occupied and away from any important facilities and material.”

  “That is correct, Admiral. I read some of the documentation produced to support the campaigns. It is an impressive level of effort, and it has largely succeeded with respect to keeping the public away from the military’s true efforts.”

  The computer emitted a high-pitched beep, and Spock noted that its screen now displayed a high-resolution image of a complex, multicolored technical schematic that under normal circumstances would be well beyond the capabilities of computer technology available to the general populace. The enhancements made to the unit by Mister Seven and Miss Lincoln, however, saw to it that the monitor’s depiction of Spock’s scan data was rendered with comprehensive detail. It was not as advanced as what he might expect to see using equipment aboard the Enterprise, but it would be more than sufficient for their current purposes.

  “Interesting,” he said as he regarded the diagram. “Our enhanced access to the ship’s onboard computer has only served to confirm our suspicions.”

  Stepping closer so that he could better see the information being displayed, Mestral studied the schematic and its accompanying sensor telemetry for a moment before saying, “It appears the self-destruct protocol is protected by its own separate layers of encryption and security access that are distinctly different from the procedures used to lock out the main computer.”

  “It would seem so,” replied Spock. He and Mestral, combining their individual computer expertise with assistance provided by the Beta 5, had managed to bypass the intrusion countermeasures that had been protecting the Iramahl ship’s onboard computer and data storage systems. This in turn had given them access to the operating system as well as several programs and processes that the Vulcans had determined were used to operate autonomously, such as life-support, navigational and long-range sensors, defensive systems, and other functions better served by the computer’s ability to respond faster than a living being.

  “The self-destruct procedure operates in a self-sufficient manner like these other automated processes,” said Mestral, “just as it has since its activation more than a century ago. If I understand these readings correctly, the system has been operating in a low-power mode, its monitoring processes remaining active while everything else was transitioned to a hibernating state, waiting for a command from the master control protocol to awaken from that mode.”

  Kirk said, “That sounds like something you’d find aboard a sleeper ship.”

  “Precisely,” replied Spock. The systems aboard the Iramahl vessel contained many similarities to mechanisms used aboard such vessels, which were a common development by many civilizations once their technology advanced to the point of attempting interplanetary or interstellar flight. “However, even those systems contain override protocols in the event of an emergency or other unexpected situation.”

  He pointed to the screen, indicating one particular section of the software diagram. “In this case, the self-destruct protocol has such an override, but it is keyed to a specific code entered by a particular individual, which I assume in this case to be the ship’s commander.”

  “Just like the self-destruct procedures used on Starfleet ships,” said Kirk.

  “Based on a preliminary study of this design,” said Mestral, “I do not see an alternative to entering the exact deactivation code. It appears that any attempt to circumvent the process will only result in its being executed.”

  Spock replied, “It would be best to avoid such a scenario.”

  “I second that.” Kirk crossed his arms. “What about some kind of containment or force field? Just something localized, around the ship itself. Do we have what we’d need to do something like that? At least then, if the thing does go off, we can keep it from blowing a hole in the city.”

  “That may be a possibility,” said Mestral, “but it likely would require obtaining additional components from the classified repositories, assuming we can find the appropriate items or viable substitutes. I shall consult with Miss Lincoln, Admiral.”

  On the table, Spock’s tricorder began emitting a steady beeping. Spock reached for the unit and noted the messages on its compact screen. “Ptaen life signs, Admiral, within one hundred meters of this location.”

  Twenty-Six

  There was something interfering with Noceri’s scanner readings, but Rijal had seen enough.

  “The ship is inside that structure,” he said. Crouched behind the rooftop parapet of a neighboring building, he peered through a pair of binoculars, which like several other items he and his companions carried had been stolen from humans. They were not as efficient as an optical targeting scanner, but they were adequate for his purposes.

  Beside him, Noceri continued to study the scanner. “The power readings are definitely not normal for indigenous technology, but I am unable to identify the energy signature.”

  Rijal had considered the implications of this enigma during their transit here. Had a group of humans found a way to study and replicate technology from an adv
anced race? Were members of such a civilization hiding among the human population, as he and his team had done?

  “Though we are able to detect the Iramahl ship’s transmission and the energy field that is active inside the structure,” said Noceri, “I am unable to determine whether there are any security measures in operation.”

  Kneeling to the other side of the apprentice, Bnara said, “I wonder if the Iramahl also have found this place.”

  “We have to operate under that assumption,” said Rijal. “There is only one way to be certain.” Direct action was required in order to make a proper determination. He preferred this approach, as he had grown weary of hiding and waiting.

  Removing his sidearm from the equipment satchel he wore slung over his left shoulder, Rijal verified its power level. He had been unable to fully charge the weapon, owing to the dwindling battery packs in their cache of supplies. The extended stay on this planet, coupled with the numerous, fruitless attempts to locate and detain their quarry, had done much to consume their limited resources. If this hunt continued for a protracted period, he and his companions would be forced to rely even more on weapons, tools, and other items procured from their unwitting human hosts.

  Bnara was now using the binoculars to study the target building. “There are several entrances, though we must assume they are secured or monitored in some fashion that belies their appearance.” She patted the satchel she wore slung over one shoulder. “We have ways of combating that.”

  Another tone from the scanner made Rijal turn to his apprentice, who was studying the device with renewed confusion.

  “What is it?”

  Shaking his head, Noceri replied, “This is detecting the presence of another scanning field.” He looked up from his equipment. “It is aimed at us.”

  “They can detect us?” asked Bnara. “How is that possible? Humans do not possess such technology.”

  Rijal frowned. It was an interesting development, but not insurmountable. “It seems these humans have numerous remarkable qualities.” Reaching under the collar of his uniform, he activated the garment’s masking field. Noceri and Bnara mimicked his movements. He did not even know if the fields would defeat whatever was being used to track them, but it did not matter, not now.

  “Select the entrance that places us in closest proximity to the vessel,” Rijal said, reaching into the satchel to retrieve other items he would need. “It is time.”

  • • •

  Using himself for bait was not something with which Kirk had ever felt comfortable.

  He had done it, of course, more than once, but that did not make it any more desirable a prospect now as he and the others waited. Waited for what, exactly?

  “Let’s try to keep this from spinning out of control,” he said, taking a moment to exchange glances with Spock, Roberta Lincoln, and Mestral. “There’s no way to know how they’ll react when confronted. Based on everything we know, the Ptaen aren’t actually looking to kill or even harm the Iramahl. They just want to take them back, presumably to learn how the Iramahl were able to reverse their condition.”

  “That doesn’t mean they won’t kill anybody who gets in their way,” replied Lincoln.

  Kirk nodded. “Exactly, but at least here we have something of an advantage.” Spock’s tricorder had tracked the three Ptaen life signs as they maintained their position some one hundred meters or more from this building. Were they surveying their surroundings, waiting for an opportune moment to launch an attack? Perhaps they were waiting for their Iramahl quarry to arrive. Jepolin and Opirsa had told him back on the Enterprise that neither the Iramahl nor Ptaen of this period had scanning technology on par with tricorders or sensors. They could track communications and energy readings, but not life signs. This alone gave Kirk and the group an edge, but they also had this building, which, while not impregnable, was at least a place that provided cover and concealment.

  Crossing the room to where Kirk and Spock stood with Mestral at the worktable before the Iramahl ship, Roberta Lincoln reached out to touch the green cube sitting atop the contemporary desktop computer’s monitor. “I’ve done what I can. There’s a force field around the building’s perimeter that should keep anyone from entering. We don’t use it very often, as that’s the sort of thing that might attract unwanted attention from casual passersby, but we can run it for a while without raising too much suspicion.” She gestured to the alien vessel. “Admiral, we could move this, but if you’re right about these Ptaen, they don’t want the ship. They’re just hoping it attracts the Iramahl.”

  “That’s our best guess,” replied Kirk. “Based on what Spock and Mestral have told us, there’s really not anything aboard the ship the Ptaen would want.” He frowned. “Well, except maybe for the bodies of the dead crew members.” After the ship had been relocated here from the Arctic, Lincoln had taken the step of transporting the remains of the two Iramahl from the wrecked section of the vessel and placed them in stasis tubes in another part of the warehouse. They would be handled in accordance with Iramahl customs, once the immediate issue was resolved.

  Like not blowing up Brooklyn, Kirk mused.

  “Admiral,” said Spock, his attention focused on his tricorder. “Something is wrong. My scans are being disrupted.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Kirk, feeling his hand move toward the phaser tucked into the pocket of the blue nylon jacket provided to him by Lincoln.

  The Vulcan’s eyebrow rose. “I’m uncertain. The readings were nominal a moment ago.”

  Sitting in silence on the computer monitor until now, the green cube flared to life, pulsing from within while emitting a shrill whine.

  “Computer,” said Lincoln. “Report.”

  “Fluctuation in force field energy readings,” replied the Beta 5. “Interference from outside power source.”

  Standing next to Spock, Mestral said, “Perhaps the Ptaen are employing a form of electronic countermeasures to mask their movements.”

  “Spock?” Kirk prompted.

  “That would seem to be a logical development.” Spock adjusted the controls on his tricorder. “I’m attempting to compensate.”

  It was at that moment that something exploded, punching a hole through the cavernous room’s high ceiling.

  Kirk and the others scattered as debris rained down near the room’s far end, with chunks of cement and roofing materials crashing to the floor and bouncing along its concrete surface. The explosion itself was not that loud, but Kirk’s ears still rang from the effects of the muffled blast. Turning in that direction, he fumbled the phaser from his jacket pocket as he saw first one, then two more dark figures descending through the hole. Rappelling on ropes into the room, the new arrivals dropped toward the floor too fast for Kirk to target them.

  “Admiral!”

  In the midst of bringing up his phaser to aim at one of the intruders, Kirk caught sight of the third assailant tossing something in his direction. Then Mestral was lunging at him, the Vulcan crashing into him and driving both of them to the workshop floor. The thrown object, whatever it was, clattered across the floor on the other side of the Iramahl ship and exploded.

  This time Kirk heard and felt the effects of the device, realizing an instant after it detonated that it was not designed to injure, only disorient. His vision disintegrated into white nothingness and his hearing felt as though he was underwater. He blinked in rapid fashion, trying to shake off the momentary blindness even as he heard the sounds of muted running.

  “Spock!” he shouted, almost not hearing the sound of his own voice. His vision was clearing, and he saw someone kneeling over him. It was Mestral, extending his hand. Kirk allowed the Vulcan to help him to his feet, but his gaze was already shifting to look around the room in search of the intruders. A shadowy figure darted past the wreckage of the Iramahl ship, but was gone before Kirk could get a good look at it.

  “
Miss Lincoln!”

  Kirk looked to where he had last seen her, but she was gone, though the green cube on the computer was flashing with even greater urgency than before the explosion. Any thoughts about whether the advanced mechanism might be trying to broadcast an alert or warning were lost as he saw Mestral turn and aim the servo in his right hand at . . . nothing.

  “Stop where you are,” the Vulcan called out. “We do not wish to harm you, but we will defend ourselves if necessary.”

  Reaching with his free hand to rub his eyes and clear away the last of the ghost images plaguing his vision, Kirk raised his phaser in that direction, but still saw nothing. “Mestral, what . . . ?”

  Wait.

  “They are Iramahl, Admiral,” said another voice—Spock’s. His friend appeared from around the front of the alien ship, phaser and tricorder still in hand, though his usually neat hair was somewhat disheveled. “They were using the ability Jepolin demonstrated for us back on the Enterprise.”

  “I guess it’s working,” said Lincoln as she stepped around the craft’s aft section, servo in her right hand. “I don’t see a damned thing.” She moved toward the worktable and touched the green cube, silencing its audible alert even though the device continued to flash.

  Mestral and Spock converged on each other, Spock releasing his tricorder to hang from his shoulder before extending his hand toward something or someone that remained invisible. Then he was forced to blink again as three figures seemed to coalesce out of thin air, and one of them handed Spock what appeared to be some sort of weapon. Each of the aliens was dressed in a formfitting dark garment that by itself was not remarkable, but their skin pigmentation as well as facial and cranial features denoted them without question as Iramahl.