STAR TREK ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

BY

GREG COX

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Acknowledgements

Thanks to Art Wallace and Gene Roddenberry

for making "Assignment Earth" one of my

favorite episodes of the original Star Trek

series, not to mention Robert Lansing and Teri Garr

and, of course, Isis.

Thanks also to John Ordover, for letting me

bring all these characters back; to Sumi Lee, for

Russian profanities; to Patrick Nielsen

Hayden, for going to amazing lengths to install a

balky ditto drive; to Howard Weinstein for beating

me to the punch with a Gary Seven comic book; to Tor

Books, for letting me make a graceful exit

(of a sort); and, most of all, to Karen, for hours of

careful reading and contemplation.

Prologue Camp Khitomer, Khitomer

Outpost United Federation of Planets Stardate

9521.6 A.d. 2293

THE TRAITOR'S BLOOD still pooled on the

tile floor. Excitement, and a nearly palpable

sense of relief at the disaster so narrowly averted,

suffused the assembly hall. Ambassadors,

ministers, and delegates from a dozen different worlds

looked on in shock and amazement.

"It's about the future, Madame Chancellor,"

Captain James T. Kirk declared as he

helped the President of the Federation back onto his

feet. The President held his hand over his heart,

shaken by his close brush with death only moments

before. "Some people think the future means the end of

history. Well, we haven't run out of history

quite yet."

Kirk stepped away from-the podium and the

President, addressing his explanation to a

regal-looking Klingon woman standing nearby.

Chancellor Azetbur, daughter of the martyred

Klingon leader Gorkon, listened gravely.

Near the back of the spacious chamber, amidst the

stunned onlookers, a lone Romulan went

completely

Greg Cox

unnoticed. All eyes were on Kirk and

Azetbur. Good, Commander Dellas thought, savoring

her apparent anonymity. It was just as she'd

planned.

"Your father called the future 'the undiscovered

country,"" Kirk continued. "Some people can be very

frightened of change."

Only a few meters away from Kirk, Commander

Spock stood guard over his prisoner, the disgraced

Starfleet officer Valeris. Slowly,

cautiously, Dellas began to work her way through the

crowd towards the elevated stage where Spock and his

comrades-in-arms now stood. Her eyes zeroed in

on the unsuspecting Vulcan.

Azetbur weighed Kirk's words, then nodded

somberly. "You've restored my father's faith," she

said.

High above the heads of the delegates, a shattered

glass skylight testified to the location of the failed

sniper's former perch. A difficult shot,

Dellas decided, coolly evaluating the

traitor's attempt to shoot the Federation

President. I will not make the same mistake.

Easing and elbowing her way through the throng of

spectators, keeping to the left to avoid the sizable

Ningon delegation, she drew ever nearer to Spock and

his crewmates. The Vulcan remained unaware of

her approach, intent on the historic drama

unfolding before him.

"And you've restored my son's," Kirk

replied to Azetbur. Throughout the assembly hall,

ministers and ambassadors from many different worlds

rose to applaud Kirk and his companions.

Dellas clapped as well, the better to blend with the

crowd. She quickened her step, a determined

look upon her face, until only a single row of

applauding delegates stood between her and the platform

occupied by honored StarGeet heroes.

Ironically, she found herself

standing directly behind Sarek of

Vulcan, her target's legendary

father, and a young Romulan delegate.

Pardek, Dellas thought grimly,

recogn tilde zmg his face from her

preliminary research for this

mission. Was it just her imagination,

tilde IT

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

or was the future senator already eyeing Spock

with a thoughtful, scheming expression on his face?

She glanced about quickly to see if anyone was

watching her, but all eyes remained on Kirk and

Spock and the others as they accepted the gratitude

of the entire assembly. Excellent, she thought.

There would never be a better opportunity. Ceasing

to clap, she slipped her hand beneath her grey

civilian robes and drew out a compact,

palm-sized disrupter. The metallic weapon felt

cool in her hand.

Spock stood less than seven meters away from

Dellas, a few steps to the left of his captain.

His calm, impassive face offered no clue

to his feelings at this moment. Dellas considered his

poise and dignity. Just like my father's. She

experienced a twinge of regret at what she had come

to do.

Then she raised her weapon, took aim, and

fired. tilde A coruscating beam of hot, blue

energy flashed "I

through the gap between Sarek's and Pardek's heads.

Kirk gasped in horror as the beam zipped past

him to strike Spock. The Vulcan's stoic

expression betrayed only momentary surprise before

the disrupter beam dissolved his molecular cohesion.

The destructive energies suffused his body,

consuming it entirely. For an instant, there was a

glowing blue silhouette where Spock had stood,

then nothingness. "No!" Kirk cried out as he

watched his friend disintegrate before his eyes.

The assembly erupted into pandemonium. Dozens

of delegates, humanoid and otherwise, shouted and

cried out as they fought each other to reach the exits.

Dellas heard Spock's father emit a single,

strangled sob before letting the crowd's

desperate flight carry her away. She deftly

slipped her weapon back into her robes. Done,

she thought. She felt calm, relaxed, almost

Vulcan in her serenity. It doesn't matter if

they catch me or not. I've done what I had to da

Spock was dead, and the future had been changed

forever.

a,

Chapter One

811 East 68th Street, Apt. 1 2-B

New York City, United States of

America

Planet Earth

A.d. 19 July 1969

As UsUA-RATHER, she felt lost in the fog.

The glowing azure mist, swirling and

luminescent, enveloped her com-

pletely. She could see nothing but

blue all around her, hear nothing but

her own rapid heartbeat. No matter

that she had entered this unnatural

fog dozens of

times before and emerged safely each

time; part of her always worried that

this time she would disappear into

the mist forever.

Don't be ridiculous, she told

herself. You use eleva

tors, don't you? You don't worry

about crashing down twent tilde f tilde ve

floors

every time you step into an elevator,

Yeah, another part of her psyche

replied, but elevators are normal.

Traveling by radioactive smoke is

just too freaking out-of-this-world!

She stepped forward, deeper into

the mist, which did not feel cold or

moist like real fog; it was a

seething cloud of energy that tingled

like static electricity and seemed to

pass beneath her skin and between

each individual molecule of her body.

For a

Greg Cox

heart-stopping second, she felt as if she was

dissolving into the fog, as if there was no longer any

difference between her and the swirling mist, and she hastily

frisked herself to make sure she was all still

there. She ran her fingers over the rough denim of her

jeans, her soft, cotton, tie-dyed T-shirt,

the bangs of tinted, honey-blond hair just above her

eyes. Still solid. Still intact. Thank God.

Was this trip taking longer than usual? Although she

had only entered the fog moments ago, it felt like

centuries. "Hello?" she called out. "Are we

there yet?"

As if in response, the fog grew thinner before

her eyes. Through the churning blue haze, she

glimpsed a darkness beyond and a blinking green light

somewhat further on. She rushed forward and suddenly the

fog was gone. She stumbled onto a carpeted

floor, tripping slightly as if she had encountered

an unexpected step, but managing to keep her

balance. She shook her head, torn between exasperation

and relief. After the fog, coming back to reality any

reality was always a bit of a jolt.

At first, all she could see was a translucent

green cube, about three inches wide, floating in the

darkness a few feet away. A chartreuse glow

lit the cube from within, flashing even more brightly for an

instant just

as the cube emitted a curiously feminine

"beep." tilde Then, as if summoned by the

beep, the overhead 0- lights came on, revealing

a neat and tidy office deco- i

rated with contemporary furniture. The green

cube sat atop a large black desk, next to a

silver pen and pencil set. The carpet turned out

to be a pale orange color, matching a couch and

plush chair across the room from the desk. Framed

paintings, landscapes mostly, hung on the walls,

except where cedar bookshelves occupied one entire

wall of the office. Encyclopedias, atlases, and

other hardcover reference books

filled the bookshelves.

The room's ordinary-looking furnishings were

reas6

I

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

luringly familiar. "Home sweet home,"

she murmured, then turned around to

look back the way she'd came.

What she beheld provided a jarring

contrast to the mundane appearance of

the rest of the office. A shining

steel door, more suitable to an

airlock or a bank vault, stood wide

open, exposing a darkened chamber in

which the luminescent fog continued

to swirl and billow, seeming to come

from nowhere yet never spreading

beyond the rectangular boundaries of

the doorway. No matter how hard she

strained her eyes, she could not see

beyond the fog; for all she could

tell, the shadowy tunnel behind the

fog could have stretched to

infinity and probably did. I am never

going to get used to this, she

thought.

Her sneakers, a new pair of P.f.

Flyers, tapped impatiently against

the carpet as she peered into the

fog. "C'mon," she muttered. "What's

taking you so long?"

The mist refused to answer her. She

glanced over at the flashing green

cube on the desk, v ordering if she

should risk interrupting the process

by consulting the cube. "I'll give

them five more seconds," she decided.

Four, three, two. . .

Just as she was about to give up, a

f gure appeared in the mist, hazily

at first, but quickly gaining form

and definition. Unlike her, he

emerged from the fog with the calm

and confidence of one completely at

ease with the procedure. He was a

tall, slender man dressed in a

conservative gray suit. His neatly

trimmed brown hair was edged with

gray at the temples, while his light

brown eyebrows faded, almost to

invisibility, against his craggy

features. The man's face wore a grim,

sober expression, lightened somewhat

by a hint of ironic amusement. His

right hand gently stroked the head of

a sleek, black cat he held securely

against his chest.

Always the cat, she thought. So how

come kitty can't come through on her

own7 I did

Greg Cox

The cat let out an inquisitive mew.

A collar of silvery fabric glittered

around its neck. Its eyes were

brilliant yellow ovals pierced by

thin slits of black

"Yes, Isis, we made it," he

murmured to the cat. Behind him, the

fog faded into nonexistence, leaving

not even a stray wisp to linger in

the office. The empty space beyond

the doorway now looked merely dark

and featureless, like an unlit

closet. The green cube beeped again,

and the heavy steel door began to

close automatically. Wooden panels

slid out from hidden recesses in

front of the doorway, concealing the

gleaming metal door behind three

shelves of cocktail glasses. Within

seconds, all traces of the enigmatic

fog chamber had vanished from sight.

The blond woman was no longer

surprised by the office's

transformation; she'd witnessed the

change too many times before. "About

time," she protested, crossing her

arms as she leaned back against the

sturdy desk. "What kept you?"

"A few last-minute details," he

replied, "but I think I can now

safely guarantee that Col. Armstrong

will take a very remarkable walk

tomorrow."

"Really?" She let out a long sigh

of relief. Her eyes widened as the

full enormity of the man's statement

sunk in. "Wow. Man on the moon. Even

after all I've seen in the past year,

I can still barely believe it."

"Welcome to the Space Age, Miss

Lincoln," said the man who called

himself Gary Seven. He placed the cat

gently onto the carpet. "Trust me,

this Is only the beginning."

Roberta Lincoln, age twenty, walked

across the office and dropped onto

the orange couch. Isis, her furry

black nemesis, hopped onto the couch

as well, and Roberta scooted down to

the other end of the couch, putting

at least one full cushion between

them. "The beginning," she repeated.

"That's what that spaceman from the

future, Kirk, said, too." She sunk

deeper into the couch, her gaze

drifting heavenward as if she could

probe the depths of interstellar

space

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

right through the ceiling of the

office. "Good thing me and you got to

help out a bit."

Isis made an indignant squawk.

"Oh yeah, you, too," Roberta

conceded. Sheesh, now even I'm

talking to the cat! Bad enough that

the boss keeps Kitty better informed

than me....

Seven, also known as Supervisor

194, allowed a bit of a smile to curl

his lips, apparently amused by the

byplay between Roberta and Isis. He

removed his jacket and hung it neatly

over the black metallic chair behind

his desk. "All part of the job," he

said, loosening his necktie. "The

human race has enormous potential,

but it still needs a little help now

and then."

Some job, Roberta thought. Tearing

her gaze away from the ceiling, she

glanced around Seven's unassuming

office. When she'd first started

working here, for Seven's immediate

predecessors, she'd had no trouble

accepting that "encyclopedia

research" was all that was going on.

Boy, was I in for a surprise. If I

told anyone else half of what goes on

in here, they'd think I was pulling

their leg or that I'd lost my mind.

"You know," she said, "the way you

talk, sometimes I think you forget

that you're part of the human race,

too."

The wry smile disappeared from

Seven's face, replaced by a more

pensive expression. "Very percepfive,

Miss Lincoln," he said, a touch of

melancholy deepening his voice. "You

may have a point there. Knowing what

I do, having been where I've been,

there is a bit of a . . . distancing

effect." He gave her a serious look

from across the room. "I'll have to

count on you to keep me in touch with

the rest of my species."

"Uh, sure," Roberta said, uncertain

how to respond. How do you relate to

a guy whose ancestors have been

trained by aliens for six thousand

years? "Say, that 2001 film is still

playing a few blocks away. I haven't

seen it yet." Had Seven (she could

never think of him as Gary) ever gone

to the movies? She

,

Greg Cox

had no idea. "Maybe we can hit a

matinee sometime?"

Isis hissed and gave Roberta a

dirty look. She scratched her claws

on the arm of the couch.

"Hey, don't blame me," Roberta

said. "It's not my fault they don't

let cats into the movies." Of course,

Isis wasn't always a cat, but Roberta

tried not to think about that. It was

just too weird. "So, what do you

say?" she asked Seven. "I'll even

spring for popcorn. Dutch treat."

Seven opened his mouth to respond,

but was interrupted by a piercing,

high-pitched whistle from the cube on

his desk. The glowing cube flashed

urgently, and Seven reacted as if

jolted by a live electrical wire.

Movies and moon landings were

instantly forgotten as Seven snapped

to attention. He was out from behind

the desk in an instant, striding

across the floor toward the

bookshelves. "Computer on," he said

sharply.

"What is it?" Roberta asked,

quickly catching Seven's mood. Isis

sprung from the couch, landing on all

four paws only a few inches away from

the bookshelves. The fur along the

cat's neck lifted itself in alarm.

"Emergency beacon," Seven

explained, his gaze glued to the wall

containing the bookshelves, which now

began to swing outward, rotating a

concealed computer bank into view.

Flashing horizontal and vertical

lines, in various combinations of

colors, formed changing patterns on

the surface of a gleaming, high-tech

computer that was the size of a large

refrigerator. Seven called it a

"Beta-5" computer, although Roberta

had no idea what exactly distin-

guished it from, say, a Beta-4 or a

Beta-6. She only knew that Seven's

computer, based on an ancient alien

technology, was smarter than any

other machine on Earth, circa 1969.

She wondered if the rest of the

world's computers would ever catch up

with the Beta-5. Not in my lifetime,

she thought.

if

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

A circular viewscreen, smaller than the

average television, occupied one section of the

apparatus. "Computer, identify distress

signal," Seven instructed.

The Beta-5 responded to his vocal command.

"Executing," the machine reported. Its voice,

although identifiably feminine, had a distinctly

inhuman echo. "Signal is fragmented due

to transtemporal interference."

'Transtemporal?" Seven said. Judging from the

tone of his voice, Roberta decided that was not good

news. Transtemporal, she thought, as in time

travel? She hopped off the couch and hurried to pin

Seven and Isis by the computer.

"Confirmed," the Beta-5 stated. "Tracking

source of transmission. Location Romulan Star

Empire, coordinates 83-62-171. Date,

by current Earth chronology 2269 A.d."

Roberta's jaw dropped. 2269? Three

hundred years from now?

Seven merely nodded grimly in response to the

computer's startling revelation. "Can you reconstruct

the content of the transmission?"

Illuminated lines flashed in sequence.

"Attempting to integrate signal."

Visual static appeared on the view screen.

Roberta looked over Seven's shoulder, trying

to discern some sort of recognizable image from

blurry electronic snow. She wished she knew

what she was looking for.

A pattern began to take shape upon the screen.

Soon she could make out a scratchy picture of a

man's face, accompanied by snatches of a

desperate voice interrupted by bursts of static

"146 to 194 . . . exposed . . . capture

imminent. . . technology beyond . . . at risk.

. . future history. . . recommend . . .

urgent. . . self-destruct. . . emergency . .

. no escape . . ."

Roberta thought she heard a harsh, sizzling

noise in the background, followed by a loud,

metallic crash.

14 tilde

Greg Cox

Then the static cleared for an

instant and she got a better look at

the speaker. To her surprise, she saw

that he had the same sort of strange,

pointed ears as that Martian guy, Mr.

Spock. He looked in bad shape, like

he'd been in a fight. His lip was

swollen and a trickle of green fluid

ran down the man's face from a

nasty-looking gash on his forehead.

Green" blood? she thought. This was

too weird.

The sizzling noise grew louder. The

face on the screen screamed once, a

ghastly sound that tore at Roberta's

heart, and the screen went blank.

"146," Seven barked, "please respond.

This is 194. Repeat respond

immediately!"

The screen remained blank.

"Transmission halted at origin," the

Beta-5 announced. Seven's head

drooped below his shoulders. He

clenched his fists in frustration.

For a second, he looked incredibly

tired.

"Mr. Seven?" Roberta asked

hesitantly. "Are you okay?"

He lifted his head and stepped away

from the computer. He took a deep

breath. "I'm fine,"? he answered,

"but I'm afraid the future is not."

"The future?" Roberta echoed.

"Precisely, Miss Lincoln, but which

future? That's the real question."

All business now, he addressed the

Beta"5. "Computer, analyze future

history for divergence from standard

time line." -

Lights blinked upon the face of the

futuristic apparates. A loud hum

emerged from the machine as it

processed Seven's request for at

least five minutes. Roberta was taken

aback by the delay. She had never

known the Beta-5 to take more than

ten seconds to answer any query, no

matter how complicated. "Is something

wrong?" she asked.

Isis seconded Roberta with an

inquisitive meow. Seven shushed them

both as the Beta-5 spoke at last.

"Alternate time line established. New

future deviates significantly from

established parameters."

"Point of divergence?" Seven

demanded.

l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"2293 A.d. Khitomer Peace Conference.

Assassination of Spockof Vulcan by anomalous

temporal element prior to initial meeting with

Pardek of Romulus. Result elimination of

Vulcan-Romulan reunificalion efforts in

latter half of the twenty-fourth century."

The twenty-fourth century? Roberta wondered,

struggling to keep up with the computer's revelations.

i

When did we get on to the twenty-fourth

century? What happened to 2269?

"I see," Seven said thoughtfully. "Source of

anomaly?"

"2269 A.d. Romulan Star Empire.

Coordinates 8362-aga."

Okay, Roberta thought. That's more like it. She still

had no idea what was going on, except that someone was

going to kill Mr. Spock who hadn't even been

born yet! Never mind the Age of Aquarius, her

mind wasn't expanding fast enough to keep up with

all these bizarre concepts. She still had trouble

believing that she had actually met an intelligent

being from outer space; now she had to worry about his

assassination, almost a hundred and twenty-five

years from today? Help, she thought. I need an

Excedrin.

On the rug, Isis meowed and rubbed her head

against Seven's trousers until he picked her up.

RID berta wondered grumpily if the cat had

figured out any more than she had.

Seven walked briskly across the office and

retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair.

"I'm afraid I have to postpone any movie

plans," he stated. "We have to leave again,

immediately."

"For 2269 or 2293?" Roberta asked,

hoping that it was a blatantly ridiculous question.

Please tell me he's not saying what I think

he's saying

Seven answered quite matter-of-factly. "2269.

That's the root of the trouble." He placed Isis on

the top of the desk and put on his jacket, then pushed

down the pen attached to his pen and pencil set.

'1 tilde

Greg Cox

Roberta heard a familiar clicking

sound, and watched as, across from

the desk, the shelves of decorative

glassware receded into their hidden

crevices, exposing the massive steel

door guarding the fog chamber. A

circular handle on the door spun

automatically, and the doorway swung

open once more. Roberta gulped as

Seven hurriedly manipulated a control

panel on the inner face of the door.

She didn't like the looks of this.

"Time travel?" she asked. "You're

not joking, are you?"

"As you may have noted, Miss

Lincoln," Seven replied, "I seldom

joke."

Isis sprung off the desktop and

padded over to Seven's side. To her

dismay, Roberta saw an unnatural blue

fog began to form inside the interior

of the hidden chamber. "Why the big

hurry?" she objected. Things were

moving far too fast for her. "The

future's not going anywhere, is it?"

"The longer we delay, the further

it may go offtrack," Seven explained

curtly. Seeing the bewildered look on

Roberta's face, he paused to

elaborate. "Future events can

sometimes threaten the past, Miss

Lincoln. Indeed, our own continuing

knowledge that the future has been

changed may have the effect of

ensuring that change unless we take

action to reverse it; even the

primitive quantum theory of this era

concedes that the act of observing

reality can actually change the

reality being observed."

Roberta's head was inclined to take

Seven's word for it. "This is one of

those step-on-a-butterfly,

change-the-whole-world kind of

things, right?"

"Basically," Seven confirmed, "but

in reverse. It's not common, and it's

certainly not reasonable, but it is

possible, take my word for it. We

have to act now, before any temporal

backwash robs us of the opportunity."

"Oh," Roberta said, trying to come

to terms with the concept. "Do I need

to pack?"

Seven cracked a smile. "You'll find

the twenty-third

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

century extraordinarily

well-stocked." He checked his suit's

inside pocket, drawing out a slim

silver device the size and shape of

a fountain pen, then replacing the

device in his pocket. "I believe I

have everything we need. Except was A

new thought seemed to occur to him.

He rushed back to the desk and picked

up the green cube. "Here," he said,

tossing the cube toward Roberta.

"Take this."

The cube chirped when she caught

it. She snatched a psychedelic

handbag off the plush orange chair by

the couch, and stuck the cube into

the bag.

The luminescent fog swirled within

the confines of the chamber. It

looked to Roberta like a glowing blue

whirlpool, a vaporous vortex from

which she might never return. Gary

Seven stood to one side of the

doorway, holding Isis against his

chest. "After you," he said.

Roberta swallowed hard. 2269. How

long would it take to travel forward

three hundred years? What would the

world possibly be like then? She

glanced back over her shoulder at the

wooden doorframe on the other side of

the office. Beyond that door, she

thought, lay her world as she knew

it Manhattan, movies, and moon

landings. "Here goes nothing," she

whispered.

Taking one last look at the

twentieth century, she stepped back

into the fog.

Chapter Two

Captain's log, stardate6021.4.

The Enterprise is on an emergency mission to the

planet Duwamish. Massive flooding has

endangered the Federation colony there, and Starfleet

has directed us to deliver desperately needed

food and medical supplies, as well as to assist

any necessary evacuation efforts. As the Enterprise is

the only Starfleet vessel in this sector, I can

only pray that we get to Duwamish before too many

lives are lost.

"You SHOULD GET some sleep, Jim," Dr.

Leonard McCoy groused. "You look

like hell."

Captain James T. Kirk sat up in his

chair upon the bridge of the

Enterprise, strenuously resisting an

urge to yawn. The ship's chief

medical officer hovered beside him

like an anxious mother hen. "That's

a harsh diagnosis, Bones," he

protested. "Whatever happened to

your bedside manner?"

"ltm a doctor, not a diplomat,"

McCoy said. "I'm serious, Jim. It's

been less than a week since that

nasty

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

business with Dr. Lester, and here you are, pushing

yourself as if nothing at all had happened to you. For

heaven's sake, Jim, your entire mind was

transferred out of your body and back again. That's not

exactly like getting over the flu."

Thanks for reminding me, Kirk thought. It

wasn't one of his happier memories, although the

experience of living within a woman's body had

been... educational, to say the least. He was glad

to be back in his own flesh and bones, though. For a

while there, it had looked like his five-year

exploratory mission was going to come to an abrupt and

singularly frustrating halt. "You said there were no

side effects," he reminded the doctor.

"I said I couldn't find any side effects,"

McCoy said. He shrugged his shoulders beneath his blue

medical uniform. "I also prescribed plenty of

rest, just to be safe."

I don't need rest, Kirk thought defiantly,

I need action and a chance to get back to work. The last

thing he wanted was to spend more wasted hours in his

quarters, "recuperating." Emergency

quarters had to be prepared for refugees from

Duwamish. Food rations and medical supplies

had to be cata- logued and prepped for immediate usage.

Emotional counseling would need to be provided for those

who had lost their loved ones and their homes. Kirk

made a mental note to himself to make sure all the

ship's transporters were capable of functioning at

maximum capacity, just in case they'd need

to relocate large quantities of settlers in a

hurry. He reached for the command intercom panel on the

port console. Better check with Scotty, he

thought. Get an update on the status of the primary

energizing coils and pattern buffers. . .

"I'm serious, Jim," McCoy persisted,

placing a restraining hand on Kirk's arm. "You have

a good crew. Trust them to do their jobs without you for a

few hours."

be

Greg Cox tilde j

"Spock, help me out here," Kirk said,

attempting a light, breezy tone. "Dr.

McCoy is trying to drive me from the bridge."

Spock stepped away from the bridge's science

station, where myriad lighted panels and

controls glowed against the polished black surface

of the science console. He descended into the sunken

command module to stand near Dr. McCoy. "As

unusual as it may seem," he said, "I must

concur with the doctor in this instance."

"What?" Kirk exclaimed. "Spock, not you,

too?"

The Vulcan first officer displayed no reaction

to his captain's look of betrayal. "Even at

maximum speed," he explained, "we will not reach the

Duwamish system for 9.4 hours. It is only

logical to conserve your strength until it is

needed."

"Hah!" A broad grin broke out on

McCoy's weathered face. "I never thought I'd have

to fall back on Vulcan logic, but our

pointy-eared friend here has the right idea. Save your

pigheaded stubbornness for some time when it might

actually do some good."

"I guess I'm outnumbered," Kirk said,

deciding to concede defeat gracefully. He scanned

the bridge, reassuring himself that all was in order.

Sulu was at the helm, while Chekov and Uhura

held down their usual posts at the navigation

console and the communications station,

respectively. On the main viewer at the front

of the bridge, the stars zipped by at warp speed. One

of the astronomical prints mounted above the duty

stations caught his eye a full-color

reproduction of a swirling nebula, now forever

frozen in space and time. The bridge of the

Enterprise struck him at this moment as just as durable

and unchanging as that two-dimensional nebula.

Maybe Bones is on target after all, he thought,

and the ship can get by without me for a few hours. He

rose from his chair and stretched, no longer bothering

to suppress a weary yawn. A nap was sounding

better and better. "Mr. Spock," he

announced, "you have the bridge."

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

He was just turning toward the

bright red doors of the lift entrance

when, without any warning, a tre-

mendous vibration shook the bridge.

The floor beneath his feet rocked

from one side to another. Kirk seized

the armrest of his chair to keep from

being thrown to the floor. On the

opposite side of the chair, McCoy was

not so fortunate. The ship's doctor

staggered back and forth, then began

to pitch forward. He fell toward the

hard duranium floor, only to be

rescued at the last second by Spock,

who somehow managed to take hold of

McCoy's arm while simultaneously

maintaining his own balance. Good

work Kirk thought as he struggled to

keep standing. "Red alert!" he called

out to his crew. Uhura, holding

tightly onto the communications

console, responded at once to his

command. Red warning lights began

flashing all around the bridge,

accompanied by a highpitched siren

that drowned out the gasps of the

other crewmen.

The vibration lasted several

seconds, during which he could feel

the throbbing of the floor through

the soles of his boots. Then the

shaking began to subside, and the

bridge gradually righted itself as

the Enterprise stabilized its course.

Kirk dropped back into his chair, all

thought of rest forgotten. "All

stations report, what the devil was

that?"

"Captain," Ensign Chekov called

out. "Sensors report a transporter

beam of astounding power, a hundred

times stronger than anything we've

got!"

A transporter? Kirk thought. He had

never felt a transporter beam like

that before, except for his brain

resisted the notion that occurred to

him but that was three centuries ago!

Spock's mind seemed to be racing

down the same channels. "As I recall,

Captain," he said, releasing his grip

on McCoy, who had regained his

balance, "we have experienced this

phenomenon before...."

"Captain, look!" Chekov interrupted

as two blurry blue outlines suddenly

materialized at the front of the

Hi

Greg Cox

bridge, only a couple of meters away

from Sulu's station at the helm. The

figures were blurry at first,

seemingly composed of a swirling blue

energy, then quickly defined

themselves. Alerted by his memory,

Kirk recognized the intruders even

before they fully solidified.

It was Gary Seven and his

attractive young sidekick from the

twentieth century. What was her name

again? Kirk quickly retrieved the

data from year-old memories. Roberta

Lincoln, that was it.

But what were they doing aboard the

Enterprise in this day and age? Kirk

had never expected to encounter the

pair again, let alone in his own time

and on his own ship. Even their

clothing, he noted, belonged on Earth

a few centuries ago. Seven wore an

antiquated suit and tie, while his

female companion had dressed more

casually in a loose-fitting,

multicolored shirt and a pair of

faded denim pants. They both looked

like they had stepped out of some

sort of historical costume drama.

Chekov leaped from his seat and

drew his phaser. Sulu looked ready to

do the same. Even McCoy instinctively

placed his hand on the medical

tricorder hanging from a strap over

his shoulder. "Don't move," Chekov

ordered the newcomers, "or I will

fire."

Seven ignored both the young

ensign's weapon and the blaring

alarms. "Hello again, Captain Kirk,

Mr. Spock," he said calmly. As usual,

Kirk noticed, Seven had his cat with

him. The sleek black animal nestled

against Seven's chest, seemingly

unruffled and undisturbed by its

journey through time and space. By

contrast, Roberta Lincoln looked

around with wideeyed astonishment;

Kirk guessed she'd never seen the

interior of a starship before.

"Forgive the intrusion," Seven

stated, "but I need your assistance."

"Captain?" Chekov asked, sounding

confused. He kept his phaser aimed at

the intruders. "Do you know these

people?"

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"You can stand down, Ensign," Kirk

replied, rising from his own chair.

Flicking a switch on the command

functions panel on the starboard

armrest of the chair, he deactivated

the siren and blinking red lights.

"Cancel red alert status." It

occurred to him that few of the crew

had actually met either Seven or

Roberta; only he and Spock had

actually beamed down to Earth during

that mission. "I don't think you'll

need that phaser, at least I hope

not. Meet Gary Seven and Roberta

Lincoln. They're time travellers

from twentieth century Earth, or so

I assume."

Cradled in Seven's arms, the cat

squawked noisily, as if angry at

being overlooked. Kirk didn't even

try to remember what Seven's pet was

named, although he found it slightly

odd that Seven never seemed to go

anywhere without the cat. At least

it's not a triable, he thought. -

"Good Lord," McCoy said, staring in

amazement at the strangers on the

bridge. Kirk wondered if the doctor

was remembering his own harrowing

trip to Earth's Depression era,

McCoy's only firsthand encounter

with the twentieth century. "Kind of

a long way from home, aren't they?"

the doctor said. "In time and

space."

That was certainly true, Kirk

thought. Earth was hundreds of

light-years away from their present

localion, not to mention a century

or three removed from Seven's own

time. This must be serious, he

thought. Seven wouldn't have come

all this way without a strong

reason.

"Excuse me, Captain," Lieutenant

Uhura spoke up from her post at the

communications station. She pressed

a compact silver receiver firmly

against her ear. "Chief Engineer

Scott is hailing you from engi-

neering. He wants to know what's

happening."

"Tell Scatty the situation is under

control," Kirk instructed.

"I'm glad you think so," McCoy

grumbled. The doctor gave his

captain a dubious look.

Greg Cox

Kirk shrugged, then turned his

attention to their unexpected guests.

"All right, Seven, what's so impor-

tant that you had to shake up my ship

to get here?" His fists clenched at

his sides. That damn beam almost

shook my ship apart, he thought. Last

time around, the Enterprise had

intercepted Seven's transporter beam

by accident. Don't tell me that this

was just another coincidence. I won't

buy it.

"I'm here on an urgent mission,

Captain, the nature of which I can't

fully disclose. Unfortunately, in

this century, I don't have access to

all the resources I had in your past,

so I need the Enterprise to help me

complete my mission."

"You'll have to tell me more than

that," Kirk challenged Seven. He

walked across the bridge, stepping up

from the command module and circling

around the navigation console until

he was less than a meter away from

Seven and his companions. "I suppose

you are still working on behalf of

some mysterious alien benefactors his

Seven nodded.

was whose nature and location you're

still unwilling to divulge?"

"Exactly," Seven confirmed. "I

trust you appreciate the delicacy of

my position, Captain. As a visitor to

your era, I don't wish to disturb

f uture history any more than

absolutely necessary. At present,

your Federation remains unaware of my

sponsors, thus it is imperative that

I do nothing to change that situa-

tion."

Kirk shook his head, scowling.

"That may have been good enough back

in the twentieth century, but not

anymore. Your activities in the past

are a matter of history; there's

nothing I can do about them. But this

is my era now my present and you're

the one who doesn't belong here. And

I don't like the idea of you, or the

aliens you represent, meddling with

our affairs. Humanity's grown a lot

since the twentieth

l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

century. We don't need any cosmic

baby-sitters these days."

"Actually, Captain," Seven replied,

"that's exactly why I need your help.

In this century, the human race has

indeed graduated to a higher level of

civilization, and no longer requires

the intervention of my superiors."

"Well, bravo for us," McCoy said.

He had remained within the circular

command module, keeping one hand on

the red guardrail just in case the

ship lurched again. "Hear that,

Spock? Modern-day home sapiens isn't

nearly as primitive as you think."

"No matter what level of

advancement, Doctor," Spock answered,

not far from McCoy's side, "there is

always room for improvement.

Especially with regard to humanity's

frequently unrestrained emotions."

"What's wrong with emotions?"

Roberta blurted out. Her gaze, Kirk

noted, kept drifting back to the

points of Spock's ears. Just wait

till she sees an Andorian, he

thought. Blue skin and antennae are

even more eye-catching

"Please, gentlemen," Kirk asked

Spock and McCoy. "Not now." He turned

back to face Seven. "What are you

saying? That the Federation is

outside your jurisdiction now?"

"More or less," Seven said in a

noncommittal manner. "That's why

there is no organization or

infrastructure in place to assist me

in this era. My superiors, and my

successors, are occupied elsewhere in

the galaxy, safeguarding the

development of sentient races that

your civilization will not encounter

for generations to come." Seven

calmly stroked his cat's head as he

spoke. "Given time, I could certainly

acquire a starship of my own, and

whatever equips ment and personnel

may be required to complete my

mission, but time is exactly what is

at stake."

"Meaning what?" Kirk demanded,

growing annoyed by Seven's cryptic

remarks. He was exhausted, 23

1 tilde

Greg Cox

the ship was facing a difficult rescue

mission, and the last thing he needed now was a

meddlesome time traveler with a

secret agenda. True, Seven had proved

trustworthy the last time they met him,

but that

didn't mean Kirk was ready to turn over

the Enter- caret

prise just at Seven's insistence. I need

more than that,

he thought. A lot more. . His

Seven paused, weighing his words

carefully. "I can tell you that I'm here

to untangle a temporal paradox that

threatens both our futures."

Kirk didn't like the sound of that. He

knew, from painful experience, just how

fragile the time line could be. Memories

of Edith Keeler came unbidden to his mind.

"What sort of paradox?" he demanded. "Is

something going to happen to change the

past?"

"No," Seven said. "But your own future

could be changed has been changed unless

action is taken immediately. I have reason to believe

that an event damaging the

proper procession of history will origi-

nate several hours from now, at a specific

location within this quadrant. Trust me,

that's all you need to know, except for

the coordinates of our destination."

"I need to know a good deal more than

that," Kirk protested. "This ship is not

going anywhere, except on its current

course, unless I hear something better

than a couple of ominous hints and

warnings."

Seven refused to give in. "Think about

it, Captain Kirk. Do you really want to

know your own future?"

Now there's a question to give one

pause, Kirk thought. There was a reason

that time travel into the future, although theoretically

possible, was expressly

forbidden by every responsible scientific and civil

authority. Not even a Klingon

really wanted to know the day of his own

death. Certainly, he thought, Edith Keeler had

been better off not knowing her

ultimate destiny. Kirk glanced at McCoy

and wondered if the doctor was thinking of Edith,

too. It had been nearly three years since they'd

both watched her die, but the 24

hi

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

very thought of time travel still

brought up too many painful memories.

"As far as I'm concerned," Kirk

answered finally, "the future is not

set in stone. I'm planning to get

there the old-fashioned way, one day

at a time."

"Unfortunately," Seven said, "your

enemies may not share your patience.

It may interest you to know that the

source of the temporal anomaly lies

within the current boundaries of the

Romulan Empire."

"Good Lord," McCoy exclaimed.

"Fascinating," Spock commented.

"The Romulans?" Kirk said,

momentarily surprised that Seven had

even heard of them. Seven obviously

knew a lot more about the universe

than the average twentieth century

human, but just how familiar was he

with present interstellar politics?

Are the Romahns really up to

something, Kirk wondered, or is Seven

just playing on my justifiable

paranoia where the Romulan Empire is

concerned? He frowned; it had been

less than one standard year since the

Romulans had formed an alliance with

the Klingon Empire, and the situation

remained tense. The Enterprise had

nearly been captured by Romulan

forces the last time Kirk crossed the

Neutral Zone.

"Please, Captain," Roberta spoke

up. "I don't know who or what a

Romulan is, but I know you can trust

Mr. Seven. I've been working with him

for months now, and he's definitely

one of the good guys."

"It's not necessarily a matter of

trust, Miss Lincoln," Kirk

replied,

deciding to direct his attention to

Seven's youthful secretary. Perhaps

she would be more forthcoming than

her tight-lipped employer. "This is

a Starfleet vessel. I'm responsible

for the safety of my crew and the

security of the United Federation of

Planets, including the planet Earth.

I can't just take off on some sort of

wild-goose chase because of something

that might happen in the fu25

,1

Greg Cox

sure." He gave Roberta his most

charming smile. "I don't suppose you

know what this is all about, do

you?"

The cat in Seven's arms hissed

angrily. Roberta Pinched, then gave

the feline a dirty look "I wasn't

going to say anything!"

Seven stepped between Kirk and

Roberta. "If you have any more

questions, Captain, you can direct

them to me. Although I can't promise

you all the answers you'd like."

"This is my ship, Mr. Seven, and

I'll interrogate anyone I have to,"

Kirk said. He looked Seven squarely

in the eye as he quite deliberately

stepped around the other man to

speak to Roberta again. "We may have

been born in different centuries,

Miss Lincoln, but we're both from

Earth. I'm from Iowa, actually. I

know we both have Earth's best

interests at heart, but, to be

honest, I'm not entirely sure where

Mr. Seven's true loyalties lie. What

do you know about these mysterious

aliens he works fort"

The cat hissed once more, but

Roberta ignored the animal's

warning. She cast a quick glance at

Spock, then looked away nervously.

"Er, well," she hesitated, clutching

a brightly colored handbag to her

chest. "I'd like to help you,

Captain. I really would. But Mr.

Seven . . . he works on a strictly

need-to-know basis, you know?

James-Bond style. For your eyes

only, and all that. This tape will

self-destruct in five seconds...."

She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm

just along for the ride."

James who? Kirk wondered. He didn't

buy Roberta's dumb act for a minute.

He knew she knew more than she was

letting on. With a little more time,

he thought, it might be possible to

win her trust, maybe coax more of

the truth out of her.

"Captain," Seven said, "I can

assure you that I am not working on

behalf of the Romulans, the

Klingons, the Tholians, the Gorn, or

any of your present antago26

.,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

nists. My sponsors are far beyond the

petty power struggles of this era.

But time is of the essence. We must

embark for Romulan space

immediately."

At the helm, Sulu looked back at

Kirk, ready to make the course

correction if necessary. "Sir?"

"The Romulan Empire," Kirk said to

Seven, "in case you've forgotten, is

off-limits to all Starfleet vessels.

Crossing the Neutral Zone could be

seen as an act of war. I'm going to

have to think long and hard about

your request," Kirk said honestly. He

strode past Seven, back to the

captain's chair. Taking his seat, he

gestured towards the main viewer. "In

any event, there's nothing I can do

for you right away. As it happens,

the Enterprise is already on a vital

mission that cannot possibly be

delayed."

Seven glanced at the stars

streaking past on the viewer. He

seemed unimpressed. "I'm sure your

mist sion is very important, Captain,

but the danger I've detected has to

take pAority. All of future

history

is at stake."

"Listen, Seven," Kirk said, anger

coloring his voice. "I've- had quite

enough of your high-and-mighty, all-

knowing pronouncements. I'll give

your warning serious consideration;

you've earned that much for your

benevolent efforts in th e past. But

right now there are thousands of

lives at risk on a planet several

lightyears away. Real flesh-and-blood

lives, not vague, unspecified time

paradoxes, and the Enterprise is the

only hope those people have."

"Amen," McCoy muttered, his hand on

the back of the captain's chair.

"We're on a mission of mercy,

damnit."

"Spock," Kirk asked, "how far are

we from the Duwamish system?"

The Vulcan did not need to consult

any monitors to provide an answer.

"Approximately 8.23 hours, Cam fain,

assuming no further interruptions."

"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said. He

looked

Greg Cox

across the bridge at Gary Seven.

"There you have it, Mr. Seven. In a

little over eight hours, we will

arrive at our current destination and

commence relief operations. By then,

hopefully, you'll have decided to

share a little more of your

information with me, so I can make an

intelligent decision regarding your

proposal.

The furrows on Seven's brow

deepened, and, for a moment or two,

Kirk was convinced that Seven was

going to argue the matter further.

Instead, Seven sighed deeply and

stroked his cat's head. "Very well,

Captain, if that's your decision. I

only hope the future will survive

your doubts."

"That's a risk I'll just have to

take," Kirk said. "In the meantime,

consider yourselves guests aboard the

Enterprise. Mr. Chekov, escort Mr.

Seven, Miss Lincoln, and, er, their

pet to the visitor's quarters on

Level Three."

"Aye, sir," Chekov responded

briskly. He kept one hand poised

above his phaser, just in case.

Seated at the helm, a few centimeters

away, Sulu studiously examined the

images on the main viewer. He looked

relieved that Kirk's confrontation

with Seven-had been defused so

easily. -

"Actually, Captain," McCoy spoke

up. He tilde walked over to join Chekov and

his charges. "I- wouldn't mind giving

our guests a quick once-over in

sickbay. Twentieth-century Earth was

a cauldron of virulent and contagious

diseases; I want to make sure no

nasty bugs travelled through time

with them."

"That's not necessary, Doctor,"

Seven said. Kirk wondered if Seven

had merely guessed McCoy's pro-

cession, which wouldn't be too

difficult given the doctor's

reference to sickbay, or if he could

actually spot a Starfleet medical

officer by his uniform. Just how much

did Seven know anyway? "The

transporter mechanism screens for

viruses and bacteria."

"Indulge me," McCoy said with a grin.

"When was 28

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

the last time I got to observe real-life

products of ancient medicine close-up." He

peered at Roberta's own friendly smile. "Good

God, are those actual metal fillings in your

teeth? You poor child!"

The cat in Seven's arms flashed her own ivory

fangs at the doctor.

. tilde

tilde 1 tilde i.

Chapter Three

So THIS is the future, Roberta thought

as their two escorts guided she and

Seven through the corridors of the

Enterprise. So far she liked what she

saw. A bit sterile and antiseptic,

perhaps, but remarkably clean and

civilized-lookin tilde If she hadn't known

better, she would have never guessed

that she was actually aboard a

spaceship. Compared to the cramped

cam sules that the Apollo astronauts

had been squeezed into, these roomy

hallways were positively spacious.

Her brain automatically compared her

present surroundings to the NASA

space footage she'd seen on

television. "Hey," she asked as an

idea occurred to her, "how come we're

not all floating around weight-

lessly?"

"Artificial gravity," the younger

crewman said with a unmistakably

Russian accent. His name was Chekov,

Roberta recalled, thinking that he

reminded her of one of the Beatles.

Paul maybe, or George. "It's

revolutionized space travel, ever

since it was invented

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

by some very brilliant scientists at

the University of Moscow."

The older man Dr. McCoy, Roberta

remembered snorted at Chekov's

remarks. "I think the Vulcan Science

Academy might have a bone to pick

with you."

"The first Terran prototypes were

tested in Moscow," Chekov insisted

patriotically. Roberta just shook her

head in amazement; she was still

flabbergasted to see Russians and

Americans working together in space.

What had happened to the space race,

not to mention the Cold War? She was

old enough to have vivid memories of

the Cuban Missile Crisis. The

situation aboard the Enterprise

seemed so far away from those

nerve-wracking days of fear and

suspicion that it was almost

impossible to believe that they were

merely three hundred years in the

future.

And that wasn't the half of it.

Just looking around the bridge where

they'd first arrived, Roberta had

seen a black woman, a Japanese man,

a couple of Americans, a Russian and

an honest-to-goodness alien, for

pete's sake all cooperating together

peacefully. Compared to 1969, it was

like some sort of wild, utopian

fantasy. Wow, Roberta thought,

feeling deeply moved all of sudden.

It seemed like the late Martin Luther

King's dream had actually come true

after all a world where no one was

judged by their race or nationality.

"This is fantastic," she said.

"This old place?" the doctor said

with a grin. Roberta caught a trace

of a southern accent. "It's nice of

you to say so, but you should see

Earth these days."

"I'd like to," Roberta replied. Her

eyes widened as a Chinese woman in a

bright red uniform hurried past them

in the hall. "Gee,"-she exclaimed,

"who would have ever guessed that

miniskirts and go-go 31

Greg Cox

boots would still be popular in the twenty-third

century?"

"Excuse me?" asked the mop-topped young

Russian. "What do you mean?" On second thought

Roberta mused, maybe he reminds me more of one

of the Monkees.

"Everything old is new again," Seven commented

dryly. Isis purred in agreement. Seven bent

over and carefully placed the cat on the floor.

"Unfortunately, we're not here for sight-seeing."

Party popper, Roberta thought. Her annoyance

turned to alarm, however, as she saw Seven casually

remove his servo from the inside pocket of his

jacket. The slim silver device looked

deceptively harmless, but Roberta knew just what

Seven's weapon was capable of. Oh-oh, she thought,

experiencing a twinge of guilt. Here we go again.

"What's that?" McCoy asked, glancing at

Seven. "Some sort of was Before he could even

finish his question, Seven pointed the tip of the servo at

the doctor. There was a brief hum, then

McCoy's entire body began to sag slowly

toward the floor. A dreamy smile broke out on

his face.

"Wait! What are you doing?" Chekov said,

reaching for the weapon attached to his belt. Some sort

of ray gun, Roberta guessed. Seven was too

fast for him, though. The servo hummed again, and

Chekov's arms dropped limply to his sides.

"That's all right," Seven said soothingly as he

gently guided Chekov's drooping body onto the

floor next to the slumping form of Dr. McCoy.

He removed Chekov's weapon and handed it over

to Roberta, who looked at it warily. The

Russian crewman offered no resistance; the

servo's tranquilizing beam, she knew, left its

victims quite suggestible. "Pleasant dreams,

gentlemen."

"Did you have to do that?" she asked. The two

future-men had been very pleasant and hospitable; it

seemed a shame to ambush them like that.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Isis mewed sarcastically, perhaps

anticipating Seven's response. "We

cannot afford to wait for the

captain's cooperation," he

announced. Stepping away from the

fallen crewmen, he placed his ear

against a sealed doorway built into

the corridor wall. "Sounds empty,"

he said. "Excellent." Roberta

scowled, unsure if he was talking to

her or the cat. Sometimes it was

hard to tell.

He adjusted the setting on his

servo, then directed it at the

closed door. Roberta heard something

sizzle inside the door just before

it slid open. Peering into the

shadowy chamber beyond the door, she

saw what looked like ordinary living

quarters. Unoccupied, thankfully.

"Over here," Seven instructed.

Placing his arms under Chekov's

shoulders, he dragged the sleeping

Russian into the empty room. "Help

me with the other one."

Roberta stuck the stolen ray gun

into her belt, then grabbed hold of

McCoy and pulled him toward the

now-open doorway. Adding insult to

exertion, Isis paced along beside

her, meowing emphatically. "I don't

require any supervision, thank you

very much," Roberta grunted,

straining to get the doctor's body

out of the corridor as quickly as

possible. What if someone came along

and caught them in the act? She

could just imagine explaining this

to Cam lain Kirk.

"I don't get it," she said as the

doctor's heels disappeared into the

chamber. "Why didn't we just wait

until we got where we were going

before you zapped them? Why pull

this stunt in the hall?"

Straightening from a crouched

position, Seven returned the servo

to his pocket. "To be honest, I

wasn't entirely sure how large a

staff served the ship's medical

facilities. I didn't want to have to

deal with any possible nurses or

interns." Isis padded across the

Boor and jumped back into Seven's

arms. "An excel

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lent question, though, Miss Lincoln.

Your strategic instincts are

improving."

Yeah, that's me, Roberta thought.

The Girl from U.n. C.l.e. She cast a

guilty look back at the snoozing

crewmen, easing her conscience by

remembering that the tranquilizer

effect was quite harmles s, not to

mention distinctly pleasant. Sleep

tight, guys, she thought. Sorry we

had to knock you out.

At the doorway, Seven peeked

cautiously around the edge of the

door, then withdrew his head back

into the chamber, looking around

speculatively. "There must be a

manual control," he murmured, either

to himself or to Isis. "Ah, here it

is." He slid the smooth metal door

back into place.

Roberta quickly assessed their

surroundings. The stateroom consisted

of a bedroom, a work area, and a

private bathroom with a weird-looking

shower. Pretty cozy, she decided;

frankly, it was bigger and cleaner

than her apartment in the East

Village. And I bet they don't get

cockroaches, too. Was this strictly

the VIP geauarters, or did everyone

aboard get one of these nifty little

compartments? If so, she thought,

where do I sign up?

Seven dropped Isis onto the bed,

then removed his jacket. "I'm going

to borrow the ensign's uniform," he

said. He gestured towards what looked

like some sort of futuristic closet.

"See if you can find an appropriate

disguise for yourself."

"What are the odds of that?" she

asked out loud, turning her back

while Seven changed. "Just how

sexually integrated is the future

anyway?"

"You may be surprised," Seven

commented from somewhere behind her.

"I estimate there must be over a

hundred humanoid women serving aboard

the Enterprise. It shouldn't be too

hard to find a uniform for you. If

not in this cabin, then perhaps one

nearby."

"A couple hundred?" she blurted.

This was one big ship. To her relief,

though, Roberta discovered that 34

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

the current occupant of the stateroom

apparently wore dresses. Retrieving

a bright red outfit like the ones

she'd seen on some of the female

spacetravellers, she disappeared into

the bathroom while Seven contemplated

what looked like a small, portable

television set. "Computer," he

addressed the machine, "display

interior schematics of U.s.s. En-

terprise, highlighting the most

efficient route from this location to

main engineering."

"Working," the machine replied in a

feminine voice that Roberta thought

sounded rather warmer and more human

than the Beta-5's artificial voice.

Maybe because it was actually

programmed by humans?

"That little thing is a computer?"

she asked a few minutes Later,

emerging from the bathroom. The red

uniform was snug in a few places, but

it seemed to fit enough to pass

casual inspection, or so she hoped.

The boots squeezed her toes as she

walked, making Roberta pine for her

comfy sneakers. She sighed. Nobody

said being a time-travelling secret

agent was going to be easy.

Seven did not look up from the

illuminated screen, which cast a

bluish glow upon his face. Although

Chekov's golden shirt and black

trousers barely fit him, he looked

very much at home in this era. "A

computer terminal, to be precise," he

explained, "but it's told me

everything I need to know. The ship's

engineering section is Just a

turbolift away."

Isis was curled atop Seven's neatly

folded pile of twentieth century

garments. "Let's go," he said, and

the cat leaped from its newfound bed

to rendezvous with Seven in front of

the door. "Are you ready, Miss

Lincoln?"

"I guess so," she replied. Ready

for what, exactly? She often wished

Seven wasn't so secretive by nature.

"What should I do about the purse? It

doesn't really match the uniform."

Seven squinted at the brightly colored

Peter Max 35

Hi

Greg Cox

design on Roberta's handbag. "I see what

you mean." He scanned the compartment until his

gaze landed upon a black leather bag resting on a

shelf above the computer station. "What about that?" he

suggested, pointing at the bag.

She hurried over as fast as her ill-fitting

boots permitted and lifted the bag from its shelf.

There was a shoulder-length black strap attached to the

bag and a folded-over flap held closed by a

snap. She unfastened the flap and peeked inside,

spotting a piece of metal hardware about the size

of a small record player. "What's this?" she

asked, lifting the device from the bag. It was

surprisingly lightweight.

"A tricorder," Seven declared. Observing the

puzzled expression on her face, he added,

"Don't worry about it. I'll explain later.

For now, just transfer the multipurpose controller

to the black bag."

Roberta nodded. She knew he meant the green

cube that had sunk to the bottom of her handbag; she

didn't think he'd want her to leave it behind. She

dug through the scattered contents of her bag,

overturning pieces of wadded-up kleenex, a spare

set of keys, a pack of spearmint gum, loose

change and subway tokens, tickets to an upcoming

Bob Dylan concert, nail clippers, and a

paperback copy of Stranger in a Strange Land

before she finally located the polished crystal cube.

Pacing back and forth in front of the sealed doorway,

Isis hissed impatiently.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Roberta said, dropping

the cube, into the tricorder bag, then slinging the bag

over her shoulder. "Keep your fur on, okay?"

Operating the manual controls, Seven slid the

door open. He stepped furtively into the

hallway, then beckoned for Roberta and Isis

to join him. His servo was tightly gripped in his other

hand, she noted. Once Roberta and the cat were in the

corridor, Seven carefully closed the door behind

them, concealing the dormant bodies of McCoy and

Chekov from any stray 36

i i

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

passersby. "This way," he said. Isis jumped

into his arms.

They had almost reached the nearest elevator

turbolift, Roberta corrected herself when a

pair of crewmen, one tall, one short, came

around a corners walking directly toward them.

Roberta gulped. Would their borrowed uniforms fool

these two? It was hard to imagine that the

Enterprise was so big that a couple of unfamiliar

faces could go unnoticed, but maybe it

was. tilde should probably think in terms of the

Queen be Mary, she thought, and not an old-fashioned

Saturn rocket. Her heart pounding, she glanced

over at Sev- en, but he kept his gaze fixed

straight ahead of him. His face betrayed no sign

of anxiety.

Chatting casually, the two men drew nearer

to Seven and Roberta. They seemed to be paying no

attention to either she or Seven, and, for a second,

Roberta experienced a surge of relief. They were

going to get away with it! Then the tall man halted

in his path and stared at Seven. "Hey," he said, and

Roberta felt her mouth go dry, "where'd you get that

cat?"

Figures, Roberta thought. I always knew that

damn cat was going to get us in trouble someday. The

man came closer, peering at the sleek black

animal in Seven's arms. "I used to have a cat just

like , that, named Midnight, but I left her with my

sister in the Andromeda system." He leaned his face

in toward tilde the cat's. "Hello, girl. Are

you friendly?" if "That depends," Roberta said. Just

our luck. We have to run into a cat-lover.

The man reached out to pet Isis's head, but the cat

backed away, nestling in against Seven's chest.

"Now, now, Isis," Seven chided her. "Be

good."

The cat snorted, then grudgingly allowed the man

to stroke the top of her head. Maybe we can still blu

tilde our way through this, Roberta thought. i; The

other man wandered over to join his buddy. 37

,1

Greg Cox

Roberta noted that the tall man had

a yellow shirt, while the short man

wore red; she wondered what the

significance was. Some sort of

military ranking, or simply a fashion

statement? There was still too much

she didn't know about this future

society. She felt like she was

flailing around in the dark. Can't

they tell, she fretted, that I don't

belong here?

"I've been tempted to get a new

cat," Isis's admirer said, "but I

heard that the captain isn't too keen

on having pets aboard, especially

after that tribble business."

Dribble? Roberta wondered. What's a

tribble?

"Isis and I have been together a

long time," Seven volunteered. "I

can't imagine going anywhere without

leer. Isn't that right, girl?"

Well me about it, Roberta thought

ruefully. She wasn't sure how much

longer she could fake all this

friendly chitchat. Her smile was

feeling more and more forced with

each passing second. What did they do

to spies in deep space, she wondered.

Toss them out an airlock? "Say,

shouldn't we be checking on that . .

. tricorder?" she improvised.

"Tricorder?" the other crewman

said. He glanced at the bag hanging

from her shoulder. "Looks like you

got one already."

"Er, it's not working right. We're

taking it in for repairs," Roberta

said, kicking herself mentally. Tri-

corders, tribbles . . . how was she

supposed to keep up with all this

kooky future jargon?

"Here, let me take a look at it,"

the short man offered, reaching for

her bag. "I've got a knack with

tricorders."

"He does," his friend confirmed,

still stroking Isis's fur. "I once

saw him recalibrate a medical

tricorder to detect subspace

vibrations and in three minutes, no

less."

"No!" Roberta said, holding on

tightly to the strap of her bag and

trying not to look too alarmed. "I

mean, thanks a lot, but you really

don't need to

l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

bother. It's not an emergency or

anything." Out of the corner of her

eyes, she saw an almost imperceptible

scowl appear on Seven's face. They

were rapidly losing control of the

situation, and losing time as well.

Was anyone expecting them in sickbay?

How long could they remain at large

before the captain realized they were

up to something? Her fre e hand driRed

toward the ray gun stuck in her belt.

Liice I really know how to use it,

she scolded herself

"It's no problem," the overly

helpful crewman insisted. Maybe all

these future people were just a

little too friendly and hospitable,

Roberta decided. Why couldn't they be

more like New Yorkers? He reached

again for the bag. "What sort of

trouble is it giving you?"

"A bad case of tribbles?" she

guessed. Both men looked surprised by

her response. "Subspace vibralions?"

she tried again.

Seven sighed loudly. "Go ahead,

Isis," he murmuted. "Say hello to the

nice man."

Without warning, the cat leaped

from Seven's arms, hissing and

striking out. "Hey!" the cat-lover

cried out, staggering backwards as

Isis sunk her extended claws into the

man's goWen shirt, hanging on to the

man's chest with all four paws. The

man tried to pull the enraged cat

away from his body, but Isis snapped

at his hands, drawing blood. Now

you're seeing that cat's real

personality, Roberta thought. Nasty,

isn't she?

"Hey!" the other crewman shouted.

He lunged for the cat, but Roberta

tripped him by sticking out her leg.

The man stumbled forward, almost

losing his balance. The distraction

gave Seven time to pluck his servo

from inside his boot and zap the

short man with a powerful dose of the

tranquilizer beam. A beatific smile

replaced the anger on the man's face

as he slid peacefully onto the floor.

Seven Instantly turned his

attention to the remaining crewman,

still grappling with Isis. So far,

the cat 39

Greg Cox

had succeeded in leaving five bloody scratches

down the man's cheek. "That's enough, Isis,"

Seven barked, and the cat sprung away from her

opponent, landing on all fours several meters

away. Seven pointed the servo at the other man and

fired. Midnight's proud owner slumped to the

floor beside his friend. "Hurry," Seven said to both

Isis and Roberta. He rushed to the turbolift

entrance and pressed the call-switch.

Roberta ran after him. "Shouldn't we dispose of the

bodies?" Listen to me, she thought. We sound like

Bonnie and Clyde.

"No time," Seven declared. The turbolift

arrived almost immediately. The doors slid open with a

hiss, and Roberta followed Seven inside.

Isis was the last one in; the automatic doors

almost closed on her coiled black tail. While

Roberta looked unsuccessfully for a button

to press, Seven grabbed onto a handhold position

at waist-level. "Main engineering," he re-

quested.

The turbolift started moving without even the tiniest

bump. Compared to some of the creaky, bouncy,

jerky elevators Roberta had ridden in

Manhattan and elsewhere, the turbolift's

progress felt almost motionless. Roberta couldn't

tell if they were travelling horizontally,

vertically, or both. "Pretty neat," she commented.

Isis squawked back, perhaps irked by the close

call with her tail.

They arrived seconds later, coming smoothly to a

halt. "Here we are," Seven announced, turning

to face Roberta. He retrieved Chekov's ray

gun from her belt. "Create a distraction," he

instructed.

Sure, she thought sarcastically. No problem. The

doors slid apart and she stepped out into what she

assumed was the ship's engineering section. Isis

trotted between her legs.

Roberta's eyes widened in amazement.

Engineering was more impressive than anything she had

seen on the ship so far. It was at least two

stories high and as 40

." tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

large as an airplane hanger. Computer

banks adorned with all sorts of

flashing lights and monitors lined

the walls, except at the far end of

the chamber where a huge pane of

tinted glass or plastic offered a

breathtaking view of several huge

turbinelike structures. Those have to

be the ship's engines, she thought.

She hadn't seen anything like them

since she'd toured the gigantic

hydroelectric generators at Grand

Coulee Dam as a child.

A least a half-dozen men, most of

them clad in red or brown jumpsuits,

scurried back and forth, attending to

the vast machines. They seemed too

busy to notice her at first, then a

stocky, dark-haired man wearing a red

shirt and black trousers noticed her

standing in front of the turbolift

entrance. "Hello there, lassie," he

called out with a thick Scottish

brogue. "What can I do for you?"

A distraction, Roberta recalled.

What in the world whatever world did

Seven have in mind? Surely he

couldn't zap all these people before

somebody sounded an alarm. "Uh, hi,"

she said. "I was trying to find

sickbay, but I think I got lost." At

her feet, Isis added a chorus of

meows. That's right, she thought,

giving the cat a hostile glare,

upstage me, why don't you?

"Looks to me like you need a vet

more than a doctor," the Scottish man

said. He walked toward her. "If you

don't mind, lassie, I like to keep

wee animals away from my engines." He

gestured at the turbolift just as

Gary Seven stepped out from behind

the curved walls of the turbolift. He

seized Roberta by the waist and held

Chekov's stolen ray gun to her

temple.

"This phaser is set on kill," Seven

said grimly. His tone was so icy that

Roberta actually felt a bit nervous

for a second. "Don't move a muscle,

or I'll fire.

"You!" the engineer exclaimed. He

obviously recognized Seven from

before, although Roberta didn't 41

to

"1

Greg Cox

remember him. "What the devil are you

doing here?"

"Never mind that," Seven barked.

"Where are the controls for the warp

engines7"

"Just put the phaser down, mister,"

the engineer said. By now, the

apparent hostage drama had attracted

the attention of the entire

engineering section. The other men

stood by helplessly, a few of them

producing phasers of their own and

occasionally glancing at the man in

the red shirt. Roberta couldn't be

sure, but she got the impression that

the Scottish guy was in charge.

"Please, sir," Roberta pleaded,

playing along with the gag. What do

I call him? Officer? Lieutenant?

Sergeant"..."...Don't let him kill me.

Ohmigod, I'm too young to die!"

"Don't overdo it, Miss Lincoln,"

Seven whispered in her ear.

"Remember, you're a Starfleet

officer."

Everyone's a critic, she thought,

half-expecting Isis to put in her two

cents worth, too.

"The warp controls," Seven

repeated. He pressed the muzzle of

the ray gun scratch that, phaser

against her skull. Roberta hoped he

knew what he was doing."...ationow."

The head engineer hesitated,

clearly unsure what to do. "Blast

it," he muttered, "I should have

recognized the bloody kitty." He

stared at Roberta, perhaps trying to

identify her place in the crew. He's

onto us, she thought suddenly,

convinced that the Scottish guy had

seen through their ruse. Without

removing his gaze from Seven and

Roberta, the man addressed his staff.

"Someone hail the captain," he

ordered. "Let him know what's

happening."

Bad idea, Roberta thought. Kirk

would guess who the "tilde hostage" was

instantly.

Seven shook his head. "Don't try

it." Roberta let out what she hoped

was a heartrending moan.

The engineer still Iddooked

suspicious, but apparently he decided

not to call Seven's bluff. "Over

there," he 42

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

said gruffly, a bank of computer

controls on the left. Keeping his

hold on Roberta and his eyes on the

engineering staff, Seven sidled over

to the controls. Isis kept pace with

him, eliciting a puzzled expression

from the Scottish guy, who was

obviously trying to figure out how

the cat fit into all this craziness.

Join the club, Roberta thought.

Isis sprang from the floor to land

atop the control panel. She mewed

happily, as if she'd just discovered

the mother lode of catnip. "Yes,

Isis," Seven said, scanning a row of

sliding knobs. "A very basic system.

It shouldn't be too hard to adapt at

all." He withdrew his hand from

Roberta's waist, although he kept the

phaser aimed at her with his other

hand. He adjusted one of the knobs,

then glanced at a monitor positioned

at eye level. Looking at the same

monitor, Roberta was faintly

distressed to see a thin black arrow

moving into a bright red area of the

display clearly labeled DANGER.

"Good," Seven murmured.

'AII we need to do now is invert the

matterstantimatter ratios, then factor

in a negative compensation . . ."

Isis squawked in response and slunk

toward a large white lever with a

highly visible warning label affixed

to its handle.

"Wait! Stop that!" the Scottish

engineer cried out, clearly horrified

by what he could see of Seven's

actions. Throwing caution to the

wind, he snatched a phaser from the

hand of one of his subordinates and

fired at Seven without hesitation. A

brilliant burst of energy struck

Seven in the baclc, who stiffened

suddenly, then collapsed against the

console. Chekov's phaser dropped from

his fingers, striking the floor with

a harsh metallic clang. "Thank

heaven," the engineer gasped,

thinking the danger past. "Please

step away from those controls, miss,"

he instructed rta.

Isis shoved her body against the

white lever, pushing it all the way

down.

A violent vibration shook the floor

almost immedibledc

Greg Cox

ately, sending Roberta staggering

away from the controts, nearly

tumbling head over heels. Seven's

unconscious body was thrown to the

floor, while Isis's claws scratched

futilely at the polished steel

surface of the control panel as the

cat tried to keep from sliding from

its perch. A shrill siren started

blaring as, al l around the

engineering sections, circuits began

to pop and explode. Tottering

uncertainly, Roberta happened to

observe the head engineer's shocked

expression. To her dismay, she saw

that the man's face looked utterly

white.

"God help us all, lads," he said

softly.

Chapter Four

'GWORMHOLE!," Sulu shouted as the

bridge was suddenly buffeted by a

series of floor-shaking jolts. Kirk

grabbed his armrests with both hands

to keep from being thrown from his

chair. He glanced quickly at Spock

and Uhura, desperate for information

on the status of the ship; despite

the turbulence, both officers had

succeeded in staying seated at their

respective posts. Spock was already

studying his monitom with a look of

intense concentration on his face.

The warning siren went off, for the

second time in as many hours, as the

ship's computer automatically went

to red alert.

"Ship's structural integrity

intact," Spock reported. "Shields

holding."

Yet another shock wave hit the

Enterprise, rattling the ship and

making the overhead lights flicker.

Kirk felt the jarring impact all the

way through to his bones. "On

screen," he ordered, trying to keep

the vibration out of his voice. He

didn't quite succeed.

The main viewer lit up. Instead of

the expected

4's

tilde 1

Greg Cox

starf tilde eld, it showed a swirling

vortex of cosmic forces directly in

front of them. Space-time itself was

being warped by the wormhole, churned

up into overlapping layers of

dimensional reality that disappeared

into the voracious black maw at the

center of the wormhole like muddy,

foam-flecked water disappearing down

a drain. Kirk's eyes widened. He'd

heard about wormholes before, read

about them in his theoretical physics

courses back at the Academy, but he'd

never actually seen one before, nor

been so dangerously close to its

transdimensional boundaries.

"Fascinating," he heard Spock

intone over the rumble of the shock

waves. Kirk was impressed once again

by the Vulcan's ability to remain

dispassionate and analytical even

during the midst of a catastrophe. I

can always count on Spock he thought.

"Change course," he ordered Sulu.

"Keep us out of that thing."

"I'm trying," the helmsman replied,

strain evident in his voice, "but

it's not working. The gravitational

pull is too strong. It's got us

trapped."

"Full reverse," Kirk ordered,

shouting to be heard over both the

siren and the throbbing of ship's

duranium framework. Going from full

warp to reverse would be hard on the

ship, but safer than getting sucked

into the wormhole. Scatty will

neverJorgive me for this, Kirk

thought, if we get out of this alive,

that is.

Sulu manipulated the helm controls,

a line of sweat beading upon his

brow. Their ride was getting bumpier

by the second; it was like the

Enterprise was being carried through

white-water rapids straight towards

the lip of a cascading waterfall. "No

good, sir," Sulu said a few moments

later. "We're still going in."

Damn, Kirk thought. Where the devil

did this thing come from? Why didn't

our sensors detect the wormhole

before we got too close? "Spock?" he

called out. "How did this happen?"

"According to my readings," Spock

reported from

l l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

the science station, "this is not a

natural phenomenon. The wormhole

ahead was artificially generated."

"By whom?" Kirk demanded. were they

under attack by some strange new

weapon?

"By ourselves, Captain," Spock said

evenly. "The wormhole was created by

an imbalance in our own warp

engines."

What? Before Kirk could respond,

the Enterprise was rocked by another

jarring shock. On the main viewer,

the wormhole appeared to be growing

at a geometric rate; it was almost

impossible to see the surrounding

space. The lightless black tunnel

filled the screen. We're getting

closer to the falls, Kirk realized.

There was no way to avoid the

wormhole now. They'd have to ride it

out. "Divert power to the deflector

screens," he ordered. "Maximum

strength!"

"Affirmative," Spock said. His

voice sounded thin and very far away.

As they approached the event horizon

of the wormhole, distortion effects

permeated the bridge, scrambling

Kirk's senses. Everyone appeared to

be moving in slow motion, their

bodies stretched and twisted like

figures in a funhouse mirror. To his

right, Uhura opened her mouth but the

words seemed to hang in the air,

muffled and mangled beyond

comprehension. The wormhole was

warping time, light, and sound, even

before they passed beyond the point

of no return. Kirk saw Spock rise

from his chair and step toward the

auxiliary control station next to

Sulu; the Vulcan's body seemed to

expand, then broke apart into over a

dozen separate images of Spock,

stretching from the science console

to the forward station in a

continuous ribbon of Spocks, each one

thinner than the finest sheet of

paper. were all these Spocks existing

in the same moment, Kirk wondered, or

was he seeing several consecutive mo-

ments at the same time?

On the main viewer, the wormhole

appeared to pulsate, expanding and

contracting like a dilating eye 47

Greg Cox

exposed to rapid changes of light. Sulu

frantically worked the helm controls, sweat running

down his face, his head and upper torso seeming

to stretch light-years away from his hands, tapering

away to a pinpoint beyond Kirk's ability to discern,

but the wormhole only grew nearer. K'rk braced

himself for the impact as the screen went totally black.

Here we go, he thought as the Enterprise plunged

into the abyss.

There was a blinding flash of light, strong enough

to override the safeties on the viewer, and Kirk

felt himself starting to black out. Tremendous

g-forces pressed him into his chair, pulling his

skin tightly over the bones of his face. Kirk

forced his eyes open, just in time to see colors of

unimaginable intensity burst upon the viewer in

prismatic explosions of light. It looked nothing

like ordinary space, like nothing he had ever seen. The

ship started spinning, rotating around its axis faster

and faster until his vision blurred. Nausea

gripped him. He had to bite down on his lip

to keep from vomiting. He tasted blood upon his

tongue. For an instant, his skin felt like it was on

fire, then he was so cold he trembled. The

deflectors, he thought desperately. were the

shields holding up?

Then the light faded. All Kirk's blood

seemed to rush to his head, and he had to close his

eyes for an instant. When he opened them again, the

vivid colors and the brutal g-forces were gone.

He looked around the bridge. The distortion effects

had vanished, too; everything looked back

to normal. On the main viewer, Kirk was

relieved to see ordinary space once more,

the stars zipping past the prow of the Enterprise as they

usually did.

But which stars? Kirk wondered suddenly. Where are

we now?

He checked on his crew. Sulu's head rested

against the helm controls. He appeared to have lost

consciousness for a time, but was beginning to stir. He

lifted his head and looked around. Elsewhere on the

dBut

.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

bridge, Kirk saw Uhurashake her head

groggily and retrieve her earpiece from the floor.

Only Spock seemed to have avoided passing out

entirely. He was already back at his science station,

observing the readouts on his monitors. They cast a

faint blue glow upon his face.

"Captain," Sulu asked, looking a little

dazed. "What happened?"

"We went over the falls in a barrel," Kirk

declared, "but we seem to have reached the bottom

intact." He turned toward his science officer.

"Mr. Spock? Any conclusions?"

"A unique experience, Captain," the

Vulcan commented. "I regret that the

physiological effects impaired my ability

to observe the phenomenon with complete accuracy. Still,

a review of the sensor lob; should prove most

informative."

"First things first," Kirk reminded him. "Where in

blazes are we?"

"I am attempting to determine that," Spock

said, ?"comparing our present readings against the star charts

contained in the ship's memory banks." He worked with

maximum efflc tilde ency; using one hand to access

the ship's sensors and scanners while the other hand

keyed instructions into the library computer control

panel. Kirk heard the hum of information being

transferred between the two systems. "We appear

to be quite distant from our former location, possibly

outside the Federation entirely."

How distant? Kirk worried. Although their trip

through the wormhole had been brief in duration, they

could have ended up anywhere in the universe. What if

they were lost countless light-years beyond known space?

He didn't like the idea of spending, say,

seventy-five years or so trying to get home.

On the other Hansel, he thought, that could be quite an

adventure....

"Mister Sulu," he asked. "What

is our present speed?"

it tilde

Greg Cox

The helmsman checked his controls.

"Er, full reverse, sir."

Of course, Kirk thought. "Slow to

impulse. Let's not go rushing around

until we know just where we are."

"I believe I can provide that

information now," Spock said. He rose

from his station and addressed Kirk.

Here it comes) the captain thought.

Although Spock's voice offered only

the most minute indications of his

feelings at any given moment,

something about his tone and bearing

told Kirk that this was not going to

be good news. After three years in

space, Kirk thought, I've gotten

pretty good at reading that poker

face of yours.

"According to my cal culations,"

Spock continued, "our present

coordinates are located well within

the boundaries of the Romulan Star

Empire."

Kirk heard an involuntary gasp from

Uhura. He didn't blame her. He was

also shocked to discover that they

were on the wrong side of the Neutral

Zone, deep behind enemy lines right

where Seven wanted them. "That

arrogant bastard," Kirk cursed,

suddenly realizing who had to be

responsible for the wormhole.

"Captain," Uhura announced,

interrupting Kirk's bloody-minded

musings. "It's Chief Engineer Scott

again. He says there's been a

disturbance in engineering. Something

about an intruder."

"Why am I not surprised?" Kirk

said, clenching his fist. The Romulan

Empire, he thought, appalled. Why

couldn't Seven have sent us someplace

safer, like maybe the heart of a

nova! "Lieutenant, contact Security.

I want to see Gary Seven. Now."

There was an empty chair at the

head of the conference table, but

Kirk remained standing. He was too

angry to sit down. "I should lock you

up and throw away the key," Kirk

barked at Seven, who stood at the

opposite end of the table, flanked by

two unsmiling security officers, "or,

better yet, turn you

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

over to the Romulans myself. What

were you thinkingeatossing my ship

into an wormhole?"

"For that matter," Scatty said,

sitting at the table, "I still want

to know how he did it?"

Seven, still clad in a blue

Starfleet uniform, did not look

contrite. His pen-shaped weapon

rested on the tabletop in front of

Kirk and out of Seven's reach. "I

apologize, Captain, but I had no

alternative. As I explained earlier,

my mission is extremely urgent."

"Your mission," Kirk said. "Your

priorities. I'm getting pretty tired

of hearing about your secret agenda.

You've used trickery and violence to

put my ship in a very hazardous

situation. It will be a miracle if

we make it back across the Neutral

Zone without being detected by the

Romulans. For a so-called peacemak-

er, you don't seem to mind bringing

both the Federation and the Romulan

Empire to the brink of war."

Deft vu, he thought. It had been

less than a year since he had been

in Romulan territory on an unusually

dangerous assignment. Even though he

had sum ceeded at his mission of

espionage, it had been a damn close

thing. I never expected to be back

here again so soon.

"You overestimate your importance,

Captain," Seven replied, "in the

overall scheme of things." He

ignored the two guards looming over

him. "Peace is a delicate thing.

Sometimes it requires risk to

preserve

A third security officer stood

watch over Roberta, who looked very

uncomfortable, under the circum-

stances. Seven's black cat rubbed

against the young woman's legs until

she finally bent over and picked the

cat up. "Okay, okay," Roberta

muttered. "This better?"

The cat watched the proceedings

with wide yellow eyes.

Kirk glanced around the table.

McCoy, Chekov, and Scotty had all

testified as to Seven's activities.

Greg Cox

McCoy rubbed his eyes, still looking

a bit groggy, despite a stimulant

administered by Nurse Chapel. Chekov,

wearing a fresh uniform to replace

the one stolen by Seven, glowered at

the unflappable time traveler. Kirk

guessed that the ensign was probably

furious at letting Seven ambush him

so easily. Scatty looked angry as

well, and anxious to get back to his

engines and inspect them for whatever

damage the trip through the wormhole

may have caused.

Yawning loudly, McCoy picked up

Seven's silver device from the table

and inspected it. "I don't know what

he's got in this thing, but it sure

packs a punch."

"I assure you, Doctor," Seven

commented, "that the tranquilizer

beam has no negative side effects."

He turned his attention back to Kirk.

"Captain, you must believe me. My

mission is too important to let your

anger over this incident distract you

from the larger picture. The future

is too important."

"I don't have time to debate

philosophy with you," Kirk told

Seven. "I have a ship in jeopardy and

a mission of my own to complete." He

had left Spock in charge of the

bridge, but he didn't want to stay

away too long. The Romulans could

discover the Enterprise at any

minute. "Mr. Chekov," he said, giving

the ensign an opportunity to regain

some lost face, "see to it that Mr.

Seven is confined to the brig for the

time being." He shot a glance at the

sleek black animal nestled in

Roberta's arms; Scatty had sworn

that, back in the Engineering, the

pet had actually followed Seven's

commands. "Without his cat," Kirk

added.

"Captain." Seven started to step

forwards but was restrained by the

guards. "Since we are here already,

we ought to proceed to the

coordinates I can provide. If I

induced the wormhole correctly, and

I believe I did, it should not be too

far away. I respect your feelings on

the matter, but you should not allow

this opportunity to go to waste."

Kirk ignored Seven. He had made his

decision, and his first priority was

to get the Enterprise back to

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Federation space as quickly as possible. Seven had

proven himself untrustworthy; Kirk wasn't

inclined to listen to the man's self-serving warnings

anymore. "Gentlemen," he said, heading for the

exit, "I will be on the bridge."

"Captain Kirk, wait!" Roberta said.

"What about me?"

Good question, Kirk thought, pausing to contemplate the

young woman in the red yeoman's uniform. She had

kicked her boots off for some reason, and was now

barefoot. To tell the truth, he wasn't quite clear

on her exact relationship to Seven. When he'd first

met them both, either several months ago or three

hundred years ago, depending on how you counted it,

she and Seven had seemed like fairly recent

acquaint- -- ances; indeed, she had appeared

almost as suspicious of Seven as he had been.

Yet, according to Spock's historical research,

conducted shortly after Kirk's first encounter with both

Seven and Roberta, the pair had later enjoyed a

long association, although how far that association may have

developed at the time Seven brought her

forward into the future was not clear. One thing seemed

certain, though; unlike Seven, she had not been

raised by manipulative aliens from an unknown

planet. She was a native-born Earthwoman,

circa the late 1960's.

"Honest, Captain," she insisted, "I had no

idea what he was planning. I was as surprised as-

anyone."

She gave a nervous sideways glance at the

massive i

security guard standing beside her. "I don't even

know what a wormhole is, aside from something you find

in bad apples."

She sounds convincing, Kirk thought. Then again, as

McCoy never failed to remind him, he had a

definite weakness for a pretty face. "The question is,

Miss Lincoln, would you have stopped Seven if you'd

known what he was up to?"

She looked guiltily at Seven, who stared

calmly at a sloping blue wall, seemingly

unconcerned by the

l l

Greg Cox

question. "Well," she hedged, "he Mr.

Seven, that is goes a bit far sometimes, but he

usually knows what he's doing. Most of the time. I

think."

A triangular computer node rested in the center

of the conference table. A yellow light flashed on all

three sides of the node, attracting Kirk's

attention. "What is it?" he asked.

Spock's voice emerged from the lighted terminal.

"Captain, forgive the interruption, but our

long-range scanners have detected several

Romulan ships in this vicinity, although they do not yet

appear to have detected us."

Damn, Kirk thought. "Thank you, Mr.

Spock. I will be with you shortly." He looked

back at Roberta. I Don't have time for this.

"Confine Miss Lincoln to her quarters. I'll

deal with her later."

"Yes, sir," the security guard said. He

took Roberta firmly by the arm. At first, she

looked relieved to have gotten off so lightly, then

she recalled the cat in her arms.

"Oh, no," she gasped. "Wait, Captain,

please. You can't lock me up with . . . her."

She glared balefully at the animal, who looked

back at her with an equally disdainful

expression. "It would be cruel and unusual p

tilde shment.

"You don't like the cab" Kirk asked, amused

despite the ongoing emergency.

"We don't get along," Roberta explained.

She lowered the cat onto the table. "Please, I'd

much rather have solitary confinement."

The cat stared at Kirk with unblinking yellow

eyes. It kind of made his flesh crawl,

especially when he remembered how a similar

black tabby, albeit several times larger, had

nearly had him for lunch on Pyriss VII. That,

he thought, as a certain shape-changing alien witch

came to mind, was enough to turn me of cats

permanently.

Especially black ones.

"Fine," Kirk informed Roberta. "You don't

have to

" tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

keep the cat." He nodded at the

security officers, who escorted both

her and Seven out of the conference

room, leaving the feline in question

resting atop the table.

"Well, I'm not going to take her,"

he declared to all concerned. He

looked at McCoy and Scatty. The

engineer shook his head. Kirk wasn't

surprised; the only pets Scatty

approved of came with circuit boards

and blueprints. "Bones?" he asked.

"Me?" McCoy asked, looking askance

at the feline in dispute. Then a

crafty smile appeared on his face.

"Sure," he said. "I'll take her." He

lifted the cat from the table and

draped it over his shoulder. "I know

just what to do with it put it in

Spock's room."

"Bones . . ." Kirk started.

"Hey, he said he liked it last

time," the docto r said. "I remember.

For a Vulcan, he was practically

cooing at it."

Kirk eyed the cat skeptically. The

last thing he needed was a stray

animal getting into trouble. "I have

a better idea," he declared. "You

have cages in sickbay, Doctor, for

handling biological specimens. Lock

her up."

"Sickbay?" Realizing his joke had

backfired on him, McCoy looked

appalled. "Wait a second, Jim. I'm a

doctor, not a vet!"

But Kirk was already out the door.

He had more important things to

worry about than a cat.

Spock rose from the captain's chair

the minute the turbolift doors

hissed often. "Situation, Mr.

Spock?" Kirk requested as he strode

onto the bridge.

"We have identified the nearby

vessels," Spock stated, returning to

the science station, "as a Romulan

battle cruiser, of Klingon design,

accompanied by two warbirds. There

appear to be no other space craft in

the vicinity, although I must remind

the captain of the Romulans"

cloaking capabilities."

"I'm hardly likely to forget them,"

Kirk said. He 55

1r

Greg Cox

paced in front of his chair, too full

of adrenaline to sit down. "Although

I'm not sure why they'd want to fly

cloaked within their own borders."

"That would seem to be a logical

assumption," Spock agreed. "Barring

any internal conflicts, of course."

Spock had a point there, Kirk

thought. It was possible that the

Romulan government used cloaked ships

to police their own people. He wished

he had more information to work with;

unfortunately, what he didn't know

about the internal workings of the

Romulan Star Empire would fill

several supercomputers. Hell, up

until a few years ago, the Federation

hadn't even known that the Romulans

were an offshoot of the Vulcans.

Since then, Federation intelligence

had learned precious little else,

even if he and Spock had managed to

abscond with some cloaking technology

a while back. "Any sign that they've

recognized us?"

Spock shook his head. "Not yet.

Lieutenant Uhura is monitoring their

communications. So far they have

raised no alarm at our presence."

"Keep your ears open, Lieutenant,"

Kirk said, glancing at Uhura before

returning his attention to Spock. "It

may be that the sheer unlikeliness of

our circumstances may be working in

our favor. The Romulans have no

reason to suspect that any Federation

vessel could get this far beyond

their borders without being detected.

Security is probably tighter closer

to the Neutral Zone than here at his

Kirk paused and looked at Sulu. "Do

we know exactly where we are at the

moment?"

"Yes, sir," Sulu said crisply. "At

maximum warp, we are approximately

twelve hours away from the Romulan

side of the Neutral Zone."

"Twelve hours, seventeen minutes,"

Spock added, "to be precise."

"How far are we from the Romulan

homeworlds?" Kirk asked.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"Two full sectors," Sulu reported,

much to the captain's relief. The

last thing he wanted to do was

present a possible threat to either

Romulus or Remus. That would be

equivalent to thrusting a sharp stick

into a nest of hornets.

"Mr. Sulu," he said, "set a course

for the Neutral Zone. Let's get back

to the Federation as quickly and as

quietly as possible." Easier said

than done, he thought. As he'd

already acknowledged, Romulan

security would invariably grow

tighter the nearer they got to the

border. Sooner or later, an armed

confrontation with one or more

Romulan starships was inevitable.

"Maximum warp?" Sulu asked,

adjusting his helm controls.

"No," Kirk said, finally taking his

seat in the captain's chair and

considering the matter carefully.

"That might attract the attention of

our friends out there. We don't want

to look too guilty or suspicious." He

quickly weighed speed versus stealth

and arrived at what he thought was a

reasonable compromise. "Warp factor

six, Mr. Sulu."

"Aye, aye, Captain," the helmsman

answered, but Kirk barely heard him.

He had too many other concerns on his

mind. Twelve-plus hours, and then

some, was a long time to elude

detection. The Enterprise, he knew,

was living on borrowed time. What

will I do when they catch us? he

brooded. Shoot our way ou"...Activate

the self-destruct system? One way or

another, there was no way he could

let the Romulans get their hands on

a Constitution-class starship.

He didn't even want to think about

the disaster unfolding on Duwamish

right now. Unfortunately, the

endangered colonists were on their

own; it would be a small miracle if

the Enterprise made it back to the

Federation intact, let alone arrived

at Duwamish in time to rescue the

colonists. Damn you, Gary Seven, Kirk

thought. How dare you play games with

people's lives? He wondered if he had

misjudged the

Gregox

man entirely the first time they met;

after all, Kirk reminded himself,

Seven had been willing to detonate

nuclear satellites in Earth's upper

atmosphere just to further his own

political agenda. Was Seven merely a

well-intentioned meddler or a

dangerous fanatic?

"Mr. Spock," Kirk said, "you

conducted some historical research

regarding Gary Seven after our first

encounter with him. Perhaps you can

refresh my memory on the subject

while we're waiting for the Romulans

to wake up." He spoke with a casual

flippancy he hardly felt, the better

to keep up morale on the bridge. It

was part of a captain's job to rally

the spirits of his crew. Why should

Chekov or Uhura have to share his

anxiety?

"In fact, Captain," Spock replied,

"I began preparing a report shortly

after our visitors's arrival."

Kirk's smile was quite genuine;

Spock was nothing if not reliable.

"Give me the highlights."

Spock inspected a computer printout

affixed to a magnetic clipboard. "As

you may recall, Mr. Seven claims to

have been raised by unknown aliens

who abducted his ancestors six

thousand years ago for the purpose of

training human operatives who could

then intervene during crucial points

in Earth's history. He also implied

that these same aliens have sponsored

similar operations throughout the

galaxy, although there is

insufficient evidence to either

confirm or refute this assertion."

A scary idea, Kirk thought. Whoever

these anonymous aliens were, their

activities seemed far removed from

the spirit and wisdom of the Prime

Directive Painful experience,

including mankind's disastrous first

contact with the Klingons, had taught

Starfleet how dangerous it could be

to interfere in the natural

development of an alien culture. Who

were Seven's enigmatic masters to

think that they could disregard such

risks? Granted, Kirk admitted

privately, I've been known to push

the limits of the Prime Directive a

time or two, but I never set out to

do it on purpose.

distilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"Following our initial encounter

with Mr. Seven in the late 1960's,"

Spock continued, "historical evidence

indicates that Gary Seven,

accompanied by Miss Roberta Lincoln,

continued their work for many more

years. Much of this information,

however, is speculative, and possibly

apocryphal, due to the covert nature

of their activities and Mr. Seven's

demonstrated talent for working

behind the scenes of history. Indeed,

many of the instances I have uncov-

ered may have not yet happened to the

individuals who beamed onto the

bridge not long ago. Nevertheless,

Mr. Seven and Miss Lincoln have been

linked to a number of significant

incidents, including the averted

assassination of Chairman Mao

Tse-tung at the Great Wall of China,

the apprehension of the socalled

Watergate burglars in the District of

Columbia, a well-publicized

near-disaster at the Three Mile

Island nuclear facility, the defeat

of the so-called "cybernauts" in

conjunction with a pair of British

intelligence operatives, the

successful elimination of a

top-secret conspiracy to clone world

leaders, the publication of a

best-selling treatise on global

cooperation, the destruction of

fourteen deadly biological weapons,

including one spaceborn virus, the

birth of a future Nobel prize-winning

diplomat, three successful motion

pictures of socially transforming

value, the crash of the Skylab

orbital facility (and subsequent lack

of terrestrial casualties), the

"accidental discovery" of an AIDS

vaccine, the creation of the first

true artificial intelligence . . ."

"I get the drift of it," Kirk said,

a bit impatiently. "It sounds like

Seven may have known what he was

doing in the late twentieth century,

but what's he up to now, in our time

and on my ship? Even he admits that

humanity is not rushing to blow

itself to bits anymore."

"Judging from our present

location," Spock said, "it may be

that Mr. Seven's current mission has

little to do with human history at

all."

Greg Cox i

Was that it? Kirk wondered. Did Seven deem

twenty-third century Romulan civilization in

need of his services? But, if that was the case, why

hadn't his superiors trained a Romulan

operative to work within their society? Wasn't that how

it was supposed to work? There was too much he didn't

know about Seven's shadowy organization.

"What about the young woman?" Kirk asked. "Where

does she fit in?" i

"That is not entirely clear," Spock told

him. "Her background prior to meeting Mr.

Seven is welldocumented, though. She was born and

raised in the United States of America, and is

indeed what she appears to be a typ ical human

female of the late twentieth century."

"Not too typical, I suspect," Kirk

said, remember- tilde ing how close Roberta

had come to accidentally comtilde killing him with

Seven's own weapon back in 1968. i

For someone raised centuries before the dawn of warp

travel, she had adjusted to Vulcan time

travelers and talking computers with remarkable speed.

"That may be so," Spock conceded. "Historical

records confirm her presence on or near the

sites of Seven's few verifiable exploits,

although her precise role in these events remains

open to dispute." Spock raised an eyebrow as he

scanned the data produced by the ship's computer.

"Odd. Some records suggest that Seven had

another female associate, although the

evidence recording this second woman is

ambiguous i

and frequently contradictory."

"I'm not interested in his personal life,"

Kirk said,

frustration tingeing his voice. "I want to know what

His

Seven is not telling us, and I want to know how

much

Miss Lincoln knows about his plans."

He rested his His

chin upon the knuckles of his clasped hands, consid

Bring his options. "Spock," he said finally, "I

know -- it's a lot to ask, but . . . a mind

meld?"

Spock's expression did not change, but Kirk

thought he saw a flicker of something in the Vulcan's

. .

. ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

eyes. Regret, perhaps, or reluctance. "As you

know, Captain, a Vulcan mind meld is a very

personal thing. I would be . . . uneasy . . .

about resorting to such methods in this instance, especially

without the consent of either Mr. Seven or Miss

Lincoln."

"I know that, Spoek," Kirk said. He felt

guilty about pressing his friend on such a touchy

subject, but he couldn't help thinking that the safety

of everyone aboard the Enterprise might depend on

the secrets locked in Gary Seven's skull.

"But you've used your telepathic abilities in

emergency situations before, like that time on Eminiar

VII. This may be one of those instances where we

don't have any choice, not if we want

to survive this mess."

Spock's face remained as fled as granite.

"Your point is well-taken, Captain," he

stated flatly. "If, in your judgment, a mind

meld is necessary to preserve the ship, that is your

decision as captain."

I don't want to order you to do it, Kirk thought.

He knew what it cost Spock to perform a mind

meld. He had personally witnessed the enormous

physical and

emotional toll the Vulcan endured whenever he

low- i

ered the boundaries between his mind and anotheis, seen the

anguish that contorted Spock's face and soul

- when he melded with the Horta on Janus

VI. A mind

meld could be an extraordinarily intimate and

traumatic experience, especially for someone like

Spock, who had spent his entire life carefully

concealing his emotions from the world. How could he command his

friend to undergo such an ordeal simply because of some

vague suspicions regarding Seven?

Besides, Seven was safely stowed away in the

brig.

"Well, we probably haven't reached

that point just yet," Kirk reassured Spock,

looking in vain for any trace of relief on the

Vulcan's features. "I'm merely reviewing

our options, just in case."

"As is only proper," Spock said with a nod.

Kirk felt like he'd been let off the hook, and was

grateful that he apparently hadn't imposed too

much on his 61

.,

Greg Cox

friendship with Spock. Good thing McCoy's back

in sickbay, he thought. He could just imagine the good

doctor's views on Vulcan mind melds as a

means of interrogation.

Kirk's shoulders sagged. Suddenly, all the

fatigue and tension of the last few hours caught up

with him. Over twelve hours to safety, he thought.

It was tempting to close his eyes for a few minutes,

very tempting, but how could he relax while the

Enterprise was still in Romulan territory? He

considered paging a yeoman to fetch a cup of hot

coffee. He generally frowned on food or drinks

being consumed on the bridge, but right now he was inclined

to make an exception. He reached for the

call-button on his portside armrest.

"Captain!" Uhura called out. "I'm

detecting priority transmissions between the

Romulan ships. They've gone to battle alert!"

"Confirmed, Captain," Chekov reported.

"All three vessels have changed course and are

heading

toward us." -- His

Kirk sat up straight in his chair. "This is

it," he said. "They're on to us. Raise

deflector shields. .. now!"

. ,

62 tilde

.

Chapter Five

ROBERTA WAS IMPRESSED by the size of

the guest quarters on the

Enterprise. The roomy suite was

definitely larger than her own pad

back in Manhattan. That apartment

was probably long gone in this era,

she realized, wondering briefly if

there even was a New York City in

the twenty-third century. Maybe the

whole town's been made into an

historical exhibit by now, or maybe

a theme park.

It was encouraging to see firsthand

that there was a future, though,

considering all the turmoil and

unrest back home, including the

ever-present threat of thermonuclear

annihilation. She had seen movies

like "Fail-Safe" and "Dr.

Strangelove" and even "Planet of the

Apes," all of which seemed to accept

as given that humanity would

inevitably destroy itself in a full-

scale nuclear war. Yet here was

Captain Kirk and his crew,

confidently exploring the universe

generations after all the wars and

unrest of her own time. Seven had

told her several times that the two

of them (and, okay, Isis, too) were

working to bring about a better

Greg Cox

future. Was this strange new world

what he had always had in mind?

Granted, she thought as she

explored her surroundings,

discovering her own clothes folded

neatly on the bed, the future seemed

to have its problems, too. She had no

idea who the Romulans were, but from

all Captain Kirk's talk about borders

and Neutral Zones, she gathered they

weren't exactly Earth's best friends.

Kirk talked about Romulans the same

way Americans of her time talked

about the Russians or the Red

Chinese. The more things change, she

thought, et cetera, et cetera.

She remembered the face of the

agent who had appeared on the

viewscreen back on the Beta-5. He'd

looked like he'd been in a fight or

something. Had the Romulans, whomever

they were, caused his injuries? She

wished she'd had more of a chance to

quiz Gary Seven before they'd zoomed

off to the future. How come the guy

on the screen had looked like Mr.

Spock? As nearly as she could figure

out, the same people who had attacked

Agent 146 were planning to do the

same thing to Mr. Spock, but not for

another twenty years or so. She was

kind of surprised Seven hadn't warned

Mr. Spock when he had the chance, but

she guessed that would've been

tampering with history or something.

So how come history always has to

revolve around assassinations and

things like that? It really was just

like the bad, old days back home.

But at least mankind was still

around to deal with the same old

stuff. That was something.

Upon inspection, the suite appeared

largely identical to the

single-occupant stateroom she had

scoped out while "borrowing" her

Starfleet uniform, complete with the

same funky-looking shower. She felt

slightly guilty for securing such

comfy accommodalions while Gary Seven

languished in the brig. She guessed

that Seven's cell was nowhere near as

hospita

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

ble. I suppose it's up to me to get

him out of jail, she thought, but

how?

A computer terminal resembling the

one she saw in the conference room

rested in one corner of the

stateroom, positioned atop a

triangular tabletop that fit neatly

in the juncture between two walls.

Roberta pulled up a hard plastic

chair and inspected the terminal. She

would have been impressed by how

small and compact the device was,

compared to the bulky computers of

her own era, if Seven hadn't taught

her to use even smaller devices. She

patted her purse automatically,

confirming that the crystalline cube

was still safely stored inside. The

young Russian crewman, Chekov, had

searched her bag for weapons, but

hadn't paid much attention to the

cube. Probably thought it was just a

shiny twentieth century knickknack

Roberta guessed. A paperweight from

a more primitive era.

She quickly ran her hands over the

cool metal exterior of the terminal,

seeking unsuccessfully for an onstoff

switch. Having no luck in that

endeavor, she leaned back in the

chair and crossed her arms

thoughtfully. The Beta-5 back home

responded to voice commands, she

recalled. Maybe the computers on the

Enterprise had caught up with Seven's

weird ahen science?

"Er, hello," she addressed the

terminal. "Anybody there?"

The terminal beeped in response.

The Romulan warships were already

within visual range. Kirk stared at

the main viewer, gazing intently at

the image of the Romulan battle

cruiser, flanked by the two smaller

birds-of-prey. The cruiser resembled

the one he and Spock had boarded last

year, green in color, its bulbous

command center was linked with its

rear warp nacelles by a slender,

elongated neck. Kirk knew the cruiser

was roughly the same size as the

Enterprise, while the warbirds, each

painted to resem

Greg Cox

ble a feathered raptor, were only half as large

as either the battle cruiser or the Enterprise.

Kirk reminded himself not to underestimate the two

smaller ships. Another warbird had come

dangerously close to destroying the Enterprise

during his first encounter with the Romulans.

"Phaser banks powered," Chekov reported.

"Photon torpedoes loaded and rea dy to go."

"Deflectors at maximum strength," Spock

added.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Kirk said grimly,

propared to go down fighting if it came to that. Red

alert lights flashed all around the bridge, just as

they did throughout the entire ship, he knew. His

crew were at their posts. They were as ready as they'd

ever be. Kirk just wished the odds weren't so much against

them. Three against one, he thought, and on their

homeground to boot. He carefully excised any

trace of apprehension from his voice as he spoke,

"Lieutenant Uhura, hail the commander of the

battle cruiser." Maybe it was still possible

to talk his way out of this mess, although he wasn't very

hopeful about it.

"Yes, sir," Uhura said crisply, her dark

eyes fixed on her console as she deftly

manipulated the external communications controls.

"Transmitting on all known Romulan

frequencies. . . Captain, I have a

response."

"Put it on the screen," he instructed, glad

that the Romulans hadn't chosen to shoot first and ask

ques

tions later. , The image of the three oncoming

warships was replaced by the head and shoulders of a

Rornulan officer. Kirk was struck by how much the

man resem- i bled Spock, albeit a few

years older; he had the same arched eyebrows, dark

hair, and pointed ears, al- though the lines of his

face were etched deeper, tilde

making the Romulan's stern scowl look even more

I,

severe. Kirk found it impossible

to estimate the

officer's age, especially given the sizable

disparity to 66 tilde

.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

between the human and Romulan

lifespans; the man on the screen

could have been anywhere from fifty

to a hundred years old. A heavy red

sash was draped over the man's right

shoulder. It seemed to be made from

the same thick, quilted fabric as his

gray military uniform.

"I am Commander Motak of the

Imperial battle cruiser Gladiator.

You have been identified as the

U.s.s. Enterprise, in direct

violation of the Treaty of Algeron.

You are hereby ordered to surrender

immediately and turn your ship over

to my command."

Just once, Kirk thought, I'd like

to run into a Romulan ship when I

wasn't in violation of some treaty.

It made it hard to take the moral

high ground and refute the smug

self-righteousness of the enemy

commander. He knew he couldn't

surrender, though, regardless of the

circumstances. The Federation would

never see the Enterprise again, and

Romulan Intelligence would receive a

bounty of military secrets from the

captured ship.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk," he

said, "in command of the Enterprise.

I apologize for oul'unexpected

arrival within your borders, but I

can assure you it was an accident,

entirely beyond our control. We had

an unfortunate encounter with a

wormhole that knocked us badly off

course." He chose not to mention Gary

Seven's involvement in the creation

of that wormhole; that would just

complicate matters.

"Ah, Captain Kirk." A very

unVulcanlike smirk appeared on

Motak's face. "I was hoping you were

still in command of this ship. As you

may or may not be aware, there is an

outstanding warrant for your arrest

on charges of espionage and crimes

against the Empire. The Praetor

himself has offered a sizable reward

for your capture. I look forward to

collecting

Easier said than done, Kirk

thought. "It's gratifying to know

that I'm so popular these days, but

I don't 67

Greg Cox

intend to do anything except return to Federation

territory as quiclely as possible. You're

welcome to escort us to the Neutral Zone if that

will make you feel more comfortable."

"Your very presence here constitutes an illegal

incursion into our space," Motak declared harshly.

"You will surrender, or you will be destroyed." be

"I told you, we're here by accident," Kirk

protested. "We have no military objectives."

He glimpsed a portion of the Romulan cruiser's

bridge behind Motak. Romulan soldiers wearing

golden helmets manned their posts, ready to fire

upon the Enterprise.

"Captain," Chekov interrupted, keeping his

voice low. "The other ships are spreading out around

us. They have us blocked in three directions."

Let me guess, Kirk thought. All three

ships are positioned between us and the Neutral Zone.

Keeping his hands well below the usual boundaries of the

viewer, he silently pointed to the lower righthand

corner of the screen. Chekov responded to his

signal by projecting a tactical display onto that

corner of the screen while the remainder of the viewer

continued to be dominated by Motak's grim visage.

Sure enough, Kirk noted, the warbirds had

positioned themselves above and below the Enterprise, leaving

the battle cruiser directly in their path. The

only available escape route led even deeper

into Romulan territory, not exactly a direction

he was eager to explore. He could feel the pincers

closing in. "There's no need to fight a battle

over this," he insisted, consciously averting his eyes

from the tactical display so as not to alert Motak.

"We just want to return home without starting a war."

"What you intend, and why you are here, no longer

matters," Motak replied, his smirk giving way

to a look of cool Romulan determination. "The

fact remains that you are here. You have no

choice except to surrender. Let me

demonstrate that I am quite serious." He nodded

to an offscreen subordinate and 68

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Kirk felt a chill run down his spine.

He sensed the time for talking was

running out.

"Captain!" Chekov called out,

confirming Kirk's fears. "The cruiser

is firing its disrupters!"

"Hello? Computer?" Roberta

repeated, encouraged by the way the

screen on terminal had lit up, until

an abrupt shock rocked the entire

room, sending her tumbling out of her

chair onto the floor. It felt like an

earthquake, although she didn't think

you could have earthquakes in outer

space.

Good heavens, she thought, glancing

up at the lighted computer terminal.

Did I do that?

"Deflectors down to seventy-three

percent," Spock announced calmly.

Kirk held on tightly to the armrests

on his chair, anticipating another

jolt. On the screen in front of him,

Motak's head and shoulders had been

replaced by a view of the attacking

battle cruiser. A flash of violet

energy at the prow of the ship

alerted Kirk to another attack.

Strategic options raced through his

brain, none of them very appealing.

Worst-case scenario the combined

efforts of the trio of Romulan

warships reduce the Enterprise to

spacedust. Casualties one hundred

percent.

Best-case scenario beating the

odds, he destroys all three Romulan

vessels, almost certainly sparking an

interstellar war. Casualty peace

throughout the galaxy.

Another disrupter blast shook the

bridge. Bright blue sparks new from

a control panel near Uhura, who

jumped away from her seat to avoid

the energy discharge. "Are you all

right, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked.

"I'm fine, Captain," she replied,

eyeing the console carefully as she

rerouted the communications systems

through the auxiliary circuits. She

listened intently to her earpiece.

"Commander Motak is calling again for

our surrender."

Greg Cox

"I guess he's not joking," Kirk said.

"In my experience," Spock

commented, "Romulans are not known

for their humor."

Violet energy burst once more from

the battle cruiser.

In the brig, confined behind an

invisible wall of repulsive energy,

Gary Seven felt the third blast knock

the ship about and wondered when he

should make his move. His brow

furrowed in thought, he remained

seated on the simple bench provided

by his cell.

Obviously, the Enterprise had

encountered hostilities, just as

Captain Kirk had feared and Seven had

anticipated. He wasted no thoughts on

guilt or selfrecrimination; he had

done what he had to do, and he was

confident in Kirk's ability to defend

the Enterprise for as long as was

necessary to reach their ultimate

destination. So far the mission was

going exactly as planned. The only

question was whether they would

arrive in time to rescue Agent 146.

Time travel, alas, was not an exact

science, even for his superiors.

Seven regretted momentarily that Isis

had not been confined with him; he

would have appreciated her advice.

Isis did not like being caged. The

rectangular carrier was designed for

transporting biological specimens,

not pets or honored guests, and was

far from luxurious. She paced around

and around in the cage, although

there was only barely enough room to

do so, nor could she even extend her

tail fully. And as for her other form

. . . well, that was just impossible

under the circumstances. The floor of

the cage was layered with some sort

of absorbent synthetic pad that

smelled vaguely medicinal. Her ears

bumped into the hard metal lid of the

cage every time she tried to raise

her head. It was cramped for a cat,

let alone anything else.

The cage was frustratingly effective

as well. The

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

metal lattice that surrounded her on

all four sides was tight enough that

she could not stick more than a single

claw out through the bars, and the

metal had already proven resistant to

both her jaws and her claws. The lid

itself was held down by some sort of

magnetic locking mechanism that was

both out of reach and difficult to

outwit. These humans, alas, were much

more clever than the ones she usually

encountered.

Resigned, for the moment, to her

captivity, Isis comsettled down on the

spongy floor of the cage to inspect

the world outside her prison. T he

carrier had been placed on a shelf

overlooking the sickbay. Empty beds,

equipped with elaborate displays of

monitors, lined the wall opposite her

perch. There were at least three such

beds in view, separated from each

other by one or two cat-lengths, but

very little activity fo watch. The

cross-sounding human who had brought

her here after they'd taken Seven and

the other one away had left the

premises almost as soon as he had

locked Isis into the carrier. The only

human left was a blonde-haired female

who seemed to work here. At the

moment, she appeared to be checking

the inventor ry of a built-in cabinet

at the far end of the room. Isis

meowed experimentally, and the female

turned around to look at the cage.

Intrigued, Isis made another sound

and the human female came closer.

Hmmm, this had possibilities. Isis

wondered if, perhaps, this particular

human might be a cat-lover, and if,

just maybe, she could be persuaded to

undo the lock and let Isis free.

Stranger things had happened....

How many Romulan vessels was Kirk

engaged with, Gary Seven wondered. Not

for the first time, he wished that he

could have beamed directly from his

own base in 1969 to Supervisor 146's

base in the Romulan Empire, instead of

depending on the Enterpr tilde se for

transportation, but that would not

have been wise, not while hostile

forces apparently held domin71

Greg Cox

ion over the transporter controls at

the receiving end of his trip. Under

the circumstances, the last thing he

wanted to do was beam directly into

a trap, or, worse yet, be scattered

to atoms due to interference from

this base.

Now, when the guards posted to the

brig were distracted by the larger

battle beyond these walls, would be

an excellent opportunity to escape

the brig, but, Seven decided, it was

doubtful that he could elude capture

until the Enterprise reached the

proper coordinates. Better to wait

for an occasion when he can put his

freedom to better use. Besides, the

last thing he wanted to do was

distract Captain Kirk at such a

perilous juncture.

He waited patiently in his cell

while yet another jolt buffeted the

ship, shaking the guards outside off

their feet.

"Shields down to sixty-two

percent," Spock reported. Wisps of

smoke from one or two small fires

irritated Kirk's nostrils and added

a slight haze to the atmosphere upon

the bridge. Automatic flame sup-

pression systems snuffed out the

flames before they could consume too

much oxygen, but Kirk knew that the

burning circuitry were merely minor

symptoms of the wholesale battering

the Enterprise was receiving. The

ship couldn't take many more blasts.

He could just imagine what Scatty had

to be going through down in

engineering, trying to keep the warp

engines on-line despite the damage

done by the Romulan disrupter beams.

"Captain?" Chekov asked anxiously.

"Shall I return fire?"

Kirk hesitated for only a

heartbeat. What he was about to say

went against his instincts and

disposition, but, as Spock would

surely say, it was the only logical

alternative.

"Hold your fire," he instructed

Chekov. The Enterprise was precious,

but it wasn't worth starting a war 72

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY -.

for. "Mr. Sulueafull retreat. Head away

from all three ships as fast as we can go."

"Yes, sir," Sulu said, responding immediately.

Kirk felt a slight tug of centrifugal force

as the Enterprise spun around on its axis, then

leaped forward at warp speed, pushing the limits of

its inertial dampers. On the main viewer, the

attacking battle cruiser was replaced by an open

starfield.

Here we go, Kirk thought. Zooming oSf into the

unknown. He hated to turn and run like this, but it was the

only way to avoid a fight with the Romulans without

risking his ship and crew. He couldn't help

wondering if this was all part of Gary Seven's

unknown mission. He felt like a sheep being herded

toward the slaughter. "Rear view on screen," he

commanded, restoring the battle cruiser to the main

viewer. Gladiator fell behind them, still in

pursuit but shrinking as the Enterprise gained a lead

on the other ship. But where were the warbirds?

"Position of the other ships?" he demanded.

"They are pursuing us at impulse speed,"

Chekov stated, "but the big cruiser is still hot on

our tail."

So far, so good, Kirk thought. At least they were

leaving the smaller ships behind, but how long would it be

before Motak called in reinforcements or

set up a blockade in front of them? For all

they knew, they could be heading straight toward a

Romulan armada. As fast as the Enterprise

flew, they couldn't outrace a subspace message

sent ahead of them by Motak. Or could they?

"Lieutenant," Kirk called to Uhura. The

communications specialist had returned to her chair

after bringing the short circuits at her console under

control. "Is there any way we can block

transmissions from Gladiator?"

Uhura gave him a skeptical expression.

"I can try to set up a countermodulation on their

known frequencies, Captain, but it's going to be

difficult to get a proper fix on the Romulan

ship when we're both 73

Greg Cox

travelling at warp speed, plus I'm

down to the backup communications

array anyway." She shook her head.

"I can't guarantee anything."

"Understood," Kirk said. "Do what

you can, Lieutenant." At best, he

knew, Uhura could only buy them

time. Ultimately, they had to get

out of the Romulan Empire or else

find a safe place to hide until the

Romulans stopped looking for them.

What they could really use right

now, Kirk realized, was another

convenient wormhole.

"Chekov," he asked urgently, rising

from his chair, "is the cruiser

gaining on us?"

"No, sir," the young ensign

reported. "We are maintaining a

steady lead, although they remain in

pursuit.

Good enough for now, Kirk thought.

"Mr. Spock, you have the bridge." He

stepped into a waiting turbolift.

"I'm going to have another talk with

Mr. Seven."

Chapter Six

I M SORRY, CAPTAIN, but we cannot

return to the Federation yet. I

still have to complete my mission."

The entrance to the detention cell

appeared open. Only a string of

bright white lights ran along both

sides of the empty doorway. In fact,

a powerful force field confined

Seven to the spartan, simply

furnished cell, which contained only

a simple bench and a Dair of double

bunks built into the wall. Kirk

stood so close to the force field

that he could feel the repulsive

energy of the field tingling his

skin. Seven faced him on the

opposite side of the invisible wall,

looking Kirk in the eye. They were

only centimeters apart, but more

than an energy field divided them.

"Maybe you didn't notice," Kirk

snarled, "but this ship is already

under attack by the Romulans. Per-

haps you thought you could slip in

undetected, take care of your

assignment, then sneak out again

without the Romulans knowing, but

that is no longer an option. There's

a Romulan battle cruiser out there

that would like nothing better than

to blow us all

Greg Cox

apart, and the longer we remain behind enemy lines, the

more dangerous our situation becomes. Pretty soon

we're going to be surrounded by the entire Romulan

fleet. If you know a way to return us to the

Federation, you better show it to me now."

Seven shook his head. "I regret that my

actions have placed you and your crew in jeopardy, but

my mission takes priority."

"Your mission, whatever it is, has obviously

failed," Kirk said. Two security officers

stood at attention at the entrance to the brig, each

with a type2 phaser pistol hanging on their belts.

Seven was the only prisoner they were guarding right now.

The other cells were empty. "Or are you determined

to get me, my crew, and Miss Lincoln

killed?"

"My mission has not failed, Captain,"

Seven replied. "It has barely begun." Seven

walked away from Kirk and sat down on his bench.

"Believe me, the effects of my failure would be

catastrophic to the time line itself."

"So you keep saying," Kirk said, slightly

unnerved by Seven's eerie certainty.

Even Spock seemed more human than Seven at

times, more subject to doubt and human frailty.

Could it be, Kirk permitted himself to wonder, that

Seven actually knew what he was talking about?

Kirk knew from personal experience just how

fragile the time line could be. He had once

sacrificed the life of a woman he loved

to preserve the proper course of history; how

different from that was Seven's apparent willingness

to sacrifice the Enterprise? It was a disturbing

comparison, one that only grew more so t tilde e

tilde iiore he turned it over and over in his

mind. Seven's unrelenting secretiveness tested

Kirk's patience to its utmost. Lien again, he

thought, how much did I explain to Edith? The only

difference seemed to be that Kirk had come from the

future in that instance, whereas Gary Seven had come from

the past, but in a universe subject to the

mind-twisting 76

, I

iT11 tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

paradoxes of time travel, how much of

a difference did that make?

Kirk forcibly expelled such doubts

from his mind. He couldn't afford to

let himself get caught up in all

sorts of speculative abstractions. He

had to focus on his primary

responsibility the safety of his

ship and his crew.

Obviously, Seven wasn't about to

listen to reason, so Kirk switched

tactics. "Listen to me, Seven," he

snarled, letting all his pent-up

frustration and rage out into the

open. "You have effectively taken my

ship hostage, and I am not above

using deadly force to get my people

safely home. Either you reverse your

wormhole stunt and take us back to

the Federation, or I will personally

have you beamed into space." He

smacked his hand against the force

field, letting the crackle of

discharged energy punctuate his

threat. "Do you understand me, Mr.

Seven?"

Seven blinked, caught off guard

momentarily by the sizzling flash of

the force field. Kirk felt encouraged

by Seven's surprise, but his hopes

were dashed by the prisoner's next

words. "I understand you, Captain,"

Seven replied, swiftly regaining his

customary composure, "but I do not

believe you. You are not a barbarian,

Captain. You are not even a

relatively undeveloped human of the

twentieth century. I cannot accept

that a Stardeet officer of this era

would carry out a threat of that

nature, especially against someone

such as myself, who has previously

demonstrated his good intentions

where the future is concerned."

"Maybe you don't know me as well as

you think," Kirk insisted, but with

less vehemence. Damnit, he's called

my bluff He remembered Spock's long

list of Seven's accomplishments in

the twentieth century. How harshly

can I really treat him? Earth may not

have survived without him.

"I've dealt with cold-blooded

killers

before," Seven 77

distilde ,

Greg Cox

said. "Assassins. Executioners. You're not one

of them."

And thank God for that, Kirk thought. Even if it

meant that there were limits to his powers of coercion,

limits that Seven seemed all too aware of.

Too bad this wasn't a fret-contact scenario.

It's always easier to bluff an alien than a

member of your own species.

And if Seven refused to clean up his own mess,

then Kirk would have to do it for him. "All right," he

said to Seven. "I don't have time to argue with you

anymore. If you change your mind about helping us,

tell one of the guards. In the meantime, I'm going

to do my best to keep all of us out of a Romulan

prison camp."

"Good luck, Captain," Seven replied. "I

mean that."

I'll bet you do, Kirk thought, turning his back

on the prisoner. He was only a few steps away

from the exit

when a whistle from the ship's intercom

attracted his i

attention. He approached a speaker mounted in the

adjacent wall and pressed the activation button.

"Kirk here. What is it?"

Spock's voice emerged from the speaker. "I

apologize for disturbing you, Captain, but our

long-range sensors have detected a highly

unusual phenomenon. You might want to return

to the bridge."

On his bench, Seven looked up at Kirk the

moment Spock mentioned locating something odd. He

seemed particularly interested in Spock's

discovery, his entire body seemingly going on

alert. Noting Seven's reaclion, Kirk

wondered if they were getting closer to the temporal

threat Seven kept talking about. "What about the

Romulans?" he asked Spock.

"Gladiator remains in pursuit at warp

factor 5.88. I estimate that we are about

twenty-five-point-six minutes ahead of her at

present."

"Any sign of more Romulan ships?" Kirk

asked.

"Negative," Spock replied. "The sector

we are now 78

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

crossing appears uninhabited. Indeed,

on first inspect lion, it appears

quite desolate and unremarkable."

"Aside from your intriguing

phenomenon, that is," Kirk said,

relieved to hear that the Enterprise

continued to evade her pursuers, at

least so far. He had no idea what

kind of oddity Spock had discovered,

but be knew his first officer would

not have mentioned it unless he

thought it was important. "I'll be

right with you," he said. "Captain

out."

He walked once more toward the

exit, then turned around in the

doorway to look back at Gary Seven in

his cell. "I don't suppose you have

anything you'd like to add to Spock's

report?" Seven stayed as silent as

the Sphinx. "I didn't think so," Kirk

said.

Kirk was surprised to find both

Scatty and McCoy standing by Spock's

science center on the bridge.

Scotty's presence was particularly

unexpected. Kirk would have guessed

that the engineer would have been

hard at work undoing whatever damage

was done by Gladiator's disrupters.

Usually, wild horses couldn't drag

Scatty away from his beloved engines,

especially when there were repairs to

be made.

"I suggested that Mr. Scott join

us," Spock explained as he turned

over the captain's chair to Kirk. "I

have reason to believe that the

phenomenon I mentioned may be

technological in origin, so Mr. Scott

may be able to provide some insights

into this enigma." Spock's gaze

shifted toward the two other men.

"Dr. McCoy invited himself," he added

dryly.

"I figured Chapel could hold down

the fort in sickbay," McCoy said,

"while I found out what sort of fix

we were in this time. We came through

that last fracas without any serious

casualties, but I'm not sure how much

longer our luck can hold out."

Kirk was relieved to hear that his

crew was still intact, but eager to

find out whatever Spock had

discovered. "What sort of enigma?"

Kirk asked his first officer,

glancing at the main viewer. The

screen

distilde 1 tilde

Greg Cox

revealed nothing exceptional, only a

routine if unfamiliar starfield.

Romulan space looked no different

from any other void explored bally the

Enterprise. Makes you realize, he

thought, just how artificial aRather our

borders and claims to territory

really are.

Spock returned to his science

station. "I was scanning for

wormholes, in hopes of reversing the

circumstances that brought us to this

region, when I noted some puzzling

gravitational readings in this

sector. The discrepancies were quite

subtle; if I had not been

specifically searching for

gravimetric distortions, I doubt if

I would have detected them."

Spock pressed an illuminated yellow

button on his science console and the

starscape on the main viewer was

replaced by a two-dimensional diagram

of a solar system. Colored spheres

indicated suns, moons, and planets,

while elliptical lines charted their

respective orbits. Kirk peered at the

diagram, trying and failing to

uncover its significance. He didn't

recognize this particular solar

system, but there didn't appear to be

anything remarkable about it.

"This system," Spock stated, "lies

directly before us, approximately

thirty-three-point-five-six minutes

away at our current speed. Direct

observation indicates the presence of

a single class-L sun surrounded by

six planets, none of them habitable

by life as we know it. Precise

gravitational readings, however, sug-

gest the existence of a seventh

planet, undetectable by most

conventional scanning techniques."

Scotty's eyes widened in disbelief.

"Mr. Spock, you cannot be saying what

I think you're saying."

"Indeed I am, Mr. Scott," Spock

replied. "The only logical conclusion

is that an entire planet has been

concealed by means of a cloaking

device of almost unimaginable power."

"Good Lord!" McCoy exclaimed.

Scatty shook his head vehemently.

"It's impossible to hide a planet!"

A sudden memory dashed through Kirk's

mind.

tilde 0

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"You said the same thing," he

reminded Scotty, "when our friend,

Mr. Seven, claimed to be able to do

just that." According to Seven, Kirk

recalled, his alien sponsors had

used their unearthly technology to

elude discovery even in Kirk's own

time. Could it be, he wondered, that

Seven's superiors'home base resided

in the middle of the Romulan Empire?

That seemed unlikely, but he

couldn't dismiss the possibility.

Then again, it was the Romulans who

had originally developed the

cloaking technology now used by both

them and the Klingons. Maybe this

was some sort of top secret Romulan

project?

"That thought had occurred to me as

well," Spock commented, referring to

Kirk's memories of their first

encounter with Seven. "It is perhaps

significant that the planet's

presumed location is exactly where

one would expect to find a class-M

planet in a solar system of this

nature."

"I find that very significant, Mr.

Spock." Kirk stared at the diagram

on the screen; an empty circle now

indicated the probable location of

the seventh planet, according to

Spock's calculations. Kirk didn't

even want to think about how much

power would be required to cloak a

whole planet, but he couldn't help

wondering what sort of secret the

Romulans or Seven's people could

have gone to so much effort to hide.

If the Romulans were responsible for

the cloaked planet, it was possible

that whatever they were concealing

might constitute a serious threat to

the safety of the Federation. Since

we're stuck here anyway, he thought,

it might not be a bad idea to check

this out.

He brooded for only a minute before

making his decision. "Mr. Sulu," he

instructed the helmsman, "set a

course for this mystery planet. Mr.

Spock can give you the coordinates."

"What?" McCoy blurted. He

hurried

across the bridge from the science

station to Kirk's side. "Jim, you

can't be serious!"

it,

Greg Cox

"What's the matter, Bones?" Kirk

asked, although he was none too

surprised by the doctor's reaction.

"Aren't you at all curious about

what's lurking behind that cloaking

field?"

"Curiosity killed the cat," McCoy

drawled, "and I'm not just talking

about that fuzzy feline Seven brought

aboard. Don't you think we've got

enough problems without sticking our

noses in where we're obviously not

wanted?"

"That's exactly why I want to

investig ate," Kirk said, a determined

expression on his face. "We didn't

ask to be here, but now that we are

I'm not about to turn my back on what

might be some new Romulan

super-weapon."

"You don't know that for sure," McCoy

objected.

"No I don't," Kirk said. "I don't

even know if it's the Romulans or

Gary Seven who are responsible for

this enigma, as Spock calls it. But

someone's obviously gone to a whole

lot of trouble to keep us from

finding out, and that's what worries

me."

"And what about those poor settlers

on Duwamish?" McCoy's concern was

written all over his face. "Never

mind the danger to the crew; we're

needed desperately on Duwamish. Those

people are in trouble now. We don't

have time to mess about with sneaky

Romulan mysteries."

Kirk winced inwardly. He had not

forgotten about the imperiled men and

women he had been sent to protect.

Spock came to his rescue.

"Regrettably, Doctor, time for us

has

already run out. Even at maximum

warp, the Duwamish system is now many

days away. We could not hope to

arrive in time to make a significant

difference. Logically, our needs and

priorities have changed." Spock

pressed a button and the diagram on

the main viewer was replaced by a

deceplively empty-looking starscape.

"Logic!" McCoy's face looked as

though he had just

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

bitten into an unusually sour lemon. "How can you

talk about logic when we're looking at a

catastrophe?"

"Extreme circumstances are often when clear

thinking is most required," Spock responded.

Kirk decided to interrupt the familiar argument

between Spock and McCoy. ""Starfleet has

other ships," he announced. "They may not be as

near to Duwamish as we once were, but they'll have

to do what they can. Spock is right; thanks to our friend

Mr. Seven, we've lost our chance to be

the first on the scene." Kirk peered at the image

on the screen; he could see the system's sun shining

in the distance, but

none of its planets were visible yet. He stared

into the i

approaching darkness as if he could penetrate its

mysteries by sheer will alone. Somewhere ahead, he

knew, was that invisible seventh planet, and who knows

what else. This is the right thing to do, he thought. So

why do I feel like I'm playing into Seven's

tilde 3

Chapter Seven

I THINK I'm starting to get the hang of this,

Roberta thought. She perched on the edge of the plastic

chair,

munching on a slice of pizza while she

experimented i

with the computer. At first, the so-called "food

synthesizer" had professed its ignorance of even the

simplest varieties of pizza, but, after a bit

of trial and error, she had not only managed

to reprogram the synthesizer to produce passable

slices of pizza, but she had also succeeded in teaching

it to provide a wide assortment of toppings.

Bum, she thought, biting into the sweet and

crispy result of her labors. You just can't get

a decent pineapple pizza east of the

Mississippi except on starships, I guess.

The floor was littered with earlier, failed

attempts at pizza, some of them topped with alien

substances that Roberta couldn't even begin

to identify, especially that wiggly orange stuff that

appeared to be, well, alive. Interplanetary

brotherhood was all very well and good, but Roberta

wasn't sure she wanted to meet any being that

considered that orange goo a

I were

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

condiment. Extending a bare foot

warily, she shoved the writhing slice

further away from her. "I'll make you

a deal," she said to the pizza. "I

won't eat you if you won't eat me."

The slice, thankfully, left her toes

alone.

Enough fooling around, she thought.

Time to get down to business. The

green cube rested atop the triangular

computer terminal, flashing

periodically. Establishing a link

between the cube and the computer had

been easier than she expected, at

least once the ship stopped shaking;

she wondered just how similar the

Enterprise's computer was to Seven's

good old Beta-5.

Despite her initial fears, she was

now convinced that the tremendous

jolts that had rocked the Enterprise

had not been caused by her first

experiments with the computer. The

ship must have run into some sort of

turbulence, she guessed, remembering

that one time she'd had to fly a 747

through a thunderstorm after

accidentally knocking out both pilots

with a tranquilizer beam. Boy, had

that been a bumpy flight! HI can

survive that trip, I can survive this

one, she thought, although she

couldn't help wondering exactly what

sort of rough weather you could run

into in space?

"Computer," she said, focussing on

the tiny viewscreen, "identify

location of the jail . . . I mean,

brig."

"The brig is located on Deck

Seven," the terminal answered. Yes,

Roberta decided upon hearing it

again, the voice of the Enterprise's

computer was definitely warmer and

less snooty than the Beta-5's.

"Deck Seven, right," Roberta

muttered. Like she knew where that

was. She took another tack. "Show me

what it looks like."

The terminal emitted a stern beep.

"Access to security monitors is

limited to command personnel."

"Darn," Roberta said. It made sense,

though. 85

Greg Cox

Captain Kirk wouldn't want to give any old

visitor the run of the ship. Hopefully, though, she

had resources nobody had counted on.

She gave the blinking green cube a friendly tap.

"Okay, buddy, it's your turn. Override the

ship's computer."

The flashing emerald light within the cube turned

into a continuous green glow as the cube went to work.

Roberta held her breath while a furious humming

emerged from the interior of the three-sided terminal.

"Unauthorized interface," the computer announced,

its voice sounding almost alarmed. "Unauthorized

interface, unauthor interface, un interface,

interface, interfacing . . ."

The lighted viewscreen went blank for a moment,

then came on again. Roberta gasped as she saw

what appeared to be a row of doorless cells,

observed from the vantage point of what she guessed

was an overhead camera. A string of white lights

outlined the entrances to each cell, all of which appeared

to be unoccupied except for one in the middle, which

held the unmistakable figure of Gary Seven, still

clad in his stolen gold and black uniform. Seated

on a simple, utilitarian bench, he glanced up

at the ceiling outside his cell. Roberta had the

eerie feeling that he was looking directly at her.

"Security protocols overridden," the terminal

announced, its previous voice replaced by the

cold, imperious tones of the Beta-5.

"Groovy," Roberta said, staring into the cryptic

depths of Seven's icy blue eyes.

She swallowed one last gulp of pizza, then

absentmindedly wiped her greasy fingers on her

skirt while she tried to figure out what to do

next. She licked her lips; the tangy pizza

had left her feeling thirsty. "Get me a

Fresca," she said, "with ice."

"Please supply the chemical components of this

foodstuff," the computer replied.

* * *

86 tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"Almost there," Sulu declared a bit

hesitantly. He peered through a

binocular viewing mechanism attached

to the helm console by a telescoping

metal arm. "I think."

Kirk shared the helmsman's

uncertainty. According to Spock's

calculations, they should be within

sight of the seventh planet, yet the

screen before him displayed nothing

but empty space. "Mr. Spock?" he

inquired, rapping his fingers

impatiently upon the armrest of his

chair.

"The planet should be dangerously

close by," the Vulcan confirmed. "I

recommend slowing to impulse speed."

"Do it," Kirk ordered Sulu. He

squinted at the main viewer as the

distant stars appeared to slow to a

stop. "I don't see anything ahead,

Spock."

Spock approached Kirk's chair.

"According to most conventional

scanning techniques, there is nothing

there. Nevertheless, slight

aberrations in the orbits of the

other planets in this system imply

the presence of a celestial body at

these coordinates."

"That's incredible," Kirk murmured,

genuinely amazed by the concept.

Cloaked ships were one thing, but an

entire planet? "How far out do you

think the cloaking field extends?"

"Beyond the outer atmosphere of the

planet at the very least," Spock

surmised. "Otherwise we would be able

to see a thin, gaseous shell around

the location of the planet."

"I still cannot believe it," Scatty

said, scratching his head. The

engineer had remained on the bridge,

manning an auxiliary station behind

Kirk's left shoulder. "The energy

demands alone are inconceivable.

Where do you find that kind of

power?"

"I don't think I want to know,"

McCoy said, holding on tightly to the

handrail surrounding the command

module. "The sooner we get out of

here, the better."

"All in good time, Doctor," Kirk

said. He leaned

87 tilde

were

Greg Cox

forward in his chair. "Mr. Sulu, take us

closer.. .

carefully."

"Aye, sir," Sulu said with a nod. He kept

his gaze glued to the screen in front of him, as did

everyone else on the bridge. You could hear

a pin drop, Kirk thought. He hoped that the

invisible planet didn't have any equally invisible

moons that Spock had somehow overlooked, or they

could be in for an extremely unpleasant collision.

r

"I don't suppose," he said, turning his head

towards Lieutenant Uhura, "that anybody on this

hypothetical planet is trying to get in touch with us

yet?"

"Negative, sir," Uhura reported. "No

hails at all."

Figures, Kirk thought. He wondered if the

inhabitants of the planet, assuming any existed,

had de tected the Enterprise's approach .

We'll find out soon

enough, he decided. He wasn't expecting a

friendly reception, not this deep into Romulan space.

"Go to yellow alert," he announced.

Before anyone could respond to his order, though,

Chekov called out to him. "Captain! The

Romulan vessel is closing on us!"

Damn, Kirk thought, not too surprised.

Commander Motak was not going to give up until the

Enterprise was captured or destroyed; it was just how

Kirk would- have dealt with a Romulan

warship in Federation

territory. "How much time do we have?"

Chekov wiped a trickle of sweat away from his

eyes. "Gladiator will be within firing range in

less than ten minutes."?

Kirk quickly weighed his alternatives. He

might be able to outrace Gladiator again, but only

by leaving the mystery planet behind and heading even deeper

into the heart of the Romulan Empire. Forget it,

he thought. We've come this far, we're not going

to leave until I get some answers.

A provocative question sprung to mind Did

Motak know about the cloaked planet? If this was a

Romulan military experiment, then

Gladiator's commander 88

I i,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

was probably aware of its existence

and location, but if Gary Seven or

his mysterious associates were re-

sponsible for cloaking the world, as

Seven had claimed they could . .

"Mr. Sulu," he ordered. "Take us

into that cloaking field, into the

planet's atmosphere if necessary." If

there was even a chance that Motak

did not know about the cloaking

field, then Kirk had to risk it.

"But, Captain," Sulu said, looking

away from his personal viewing unit,

"I'm not even sure where the planet

is."

"Best guess, Mr. Sulu," Kirk told

him, wishing he could offer the

helmsman better prospects. He had

never crashed the Enterprise into a

planet before, Kirk realized, but

maybe there was a first time for

everything.

"Eight minutes, Captain," Chekov

shouted.

"Mr. Sulu," Spock said calmly,

scanning the readouts on his sensor

control panel, "I have estimated the

mass and diameter of the planet in

question, based on the precise

gravimetric distortions observed. I

am feeding that data into your

navigational sensors."

"Acknowledged," Sulu replied,

glancing down at his control panel.

Kirk saw the helmsman expel a sigh of

relief.

"Just how reliable are these

estimates of yours, Spock?" Kirk

asked, anxious to know the worst.

"Approximately

sixty-eight-point-four percent," the

Vulcan stated. "The key variable is

the planet's density. If the planet's

core is less massive than is

customary for a Class-M planet, then

its diameter may be larger than

estimated."

And we end up like a py on a

windshield, Kirk thought, keeping the

grisly image to himself.

"si minutes," Chekov called out.

"Good Lord," McCoy whispered.

"We're being chased into a brick

wall. Made of invisible bricks, no

less!"

"Take a sedative, Doctor," Kirk

suggested. He felt 89

1

Greg Cox

his heart pounding in his chest, but he kept a

conftdent expression locked firmly on his face.

It took plenty of self-restraint to keep from

springing from his seat and taking the helm controls himself,

even

though he knew Hikaru Sulu was fully up to the

i

challenge, if anyone was. "Mr. Sulu?"

"Coming closer," Sulu reported, intent on his

task. Even at mere impulse speed, the margin

between safety and disaster might be a matter of

seconds.

"Five minutes," Chekov counted down.

Kirk nodded at the nervous young ensign. The big

question now was whether Kirk would destroy the

Enterprise, by ramming it into an invisible planet,

before Commander Motak got a chance. Look out below,

he thought.

For one endless moment, the viewer displayed nothing but

the diamond-speckled blackness of interplanetary

space. Then, as if the Enterprise was passing through

a gauzy curtain, the view on the screen shimmered

briefly before giving way to an entirely different

scene. Kirk suddenly glimpsed

vaporous white mists, billowing clouds,

turquoise seas, and huge continental land masses,

all rushing towards them at frightening speed. "Pull

out!" Kirk-barked.

A collision seemed inevitable, but Sulu was

already way ahead of his captain. The view on the

screen tilted vertiginously and Kirk felt

inertia yank him into his seat as the Enterprise

leveled off its flight path above the planet's

surface. A wave of nausea gripped Kirk,

and he had to clench his teeth together to keep from vomiting.

Caught off guard by the ship's abrupt chance in

course, McCoy gasped and staggered back and forth a

few steps before grabbing onto the securi

ty of the handrail once more. "Fascinating,"

Kirk ,

heard Spock observe.

Kirk's stomach settled back into place as their

flight stabilized. "Everyone in one piece?" he

asked. A chorus of affirmative responses

came from all around the bridge. Kirk nodded and

took a- deep breath

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ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

before speaking again. "Excellent

work, Mr. Sulueaand you, too, Mr.

Spock."

"I'll send you the bill for my

shattered nerves in the morning,"

McCoy groused, his dour features more

than a little green. "Next time you

want a ride like that, I recommend

you check out the Coney Island

Historical Amusement Center instead."

"Why, Bones," Kirk joked, "I didn't

know you liked roller coasters."

"I don't," the doctor declared, but

Kirk was no longer listening. He

turned toward Chekov. The young

Russian still sat at his post about

a meter to the right of Sulu. Like

the rest of the personnel on the

bridge, he looked shaken but steady.

"What about our pursuer?" Kirk

demanded. This was the moment of

truth Would Motak realize where the

Enterprise had gone? Kirk held his

breath.

"Gladiator has slowed to impulse

and is now scanning the vicinity.

They do not appear to be following

us." Chekov grinned wolfishly at the

captain. "I think we've lost them,

sir."

"Good," Kirk said, breathing a sigh

of relief. He had gambled and won. If

nothing else, this ploy would buy

them some much-needed time. He

wondered what Motak thought when the

Enterprise suddenly disappeared from

his sensors. Was there any chance

that the Romulan commander would

figure out where they were hiding?

Even at impulse speed, a starship

could cover a lot of distance in five

minutes. Kirk didn't want to stick

around long enough to find out.

"Captain," Uhura spoke up.

"Commander Motak is hailmg you on all

channels."

"Let's hear what he has to say,"

Kirk instructed, "but don't respond

unless I say so. Audio only."

Uhura flicked a switch and

Motak's

voice rang out from the bridge's

loudspeakers "Captain Kirk, the

Treaty of Algeron specifically

forbids the use of cloaking

technology on Federation starships.

Despite your earlier protestations of

innocence, you are now in 91

Greg Cox

flagrant violation of the Treaty on several

counts. I demand that you turn yourself and your ship over

to my authority immediately."

"In a pig's eye," McCoy muttered.

Uhura cut off the transmission. "That's all

there is, Captain, although the Commander's message is

being repeated at regular intervals." She removed

her earpiece and put it down on the communications

console. "Do you wish to reply?" she asked, although

she clearly guessed what his answer would be.

"Not just yet, Lieutenant," Kirk said. The

last thing he wanted to do was let Motak get a

fix on his position. He felt encouraged, though,

by the Romulan Commander's mistaken assumption that the

Enterprise itself possessed some manner of cloak;

better that he should hunt for a cloaked ship,

which could be anywhere, than guess at the existence of the

cloaked planet.

Satisfied that Motak had been thwarted for the time

being, Kirk turned his attention to the newly revealed

planet. He contemplated the image on the

screen. So near to the planet's surface, he could

see only part of one hemisphere; it was strange

to see the thinning blue atmosphere hanging over the

planet instead of the open space he was accustomed

to viewing. A heavy layer of clouds, dark with

moisture, partially obscured the topographical

features below. Rivers, lakes, and oceans of

clear blue water divided large stretches of lush

green landscapes. "One Class-M planet,"

Kirk said, exchanging a glance with Spock, "just as

predicted."

The more he thought about it, the more intriguing he found it

that Motak was apparently unaware of the cloaked

planet's presence. Whatever was hidden here had been

kept secret even from the commander of a Romulan

battle cruiser. Now, more than ever, Kirk

wanted to know what was up on the planet below and just how

much Gary Seven knew about it.

"Scan the planet for any signs of recent

habitation 92

i,

i tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

or unusual activity," he ordered. He

peered again at the sunlit sky in front of them, then

addressed Sulu. "How close to the planet are

we, anyway?"

"Close enough," Sulu informed him. "We're

cruising approximately twelve thousand meters

above the planet's surface."

Kirk whistled appreciatively. He'd never

been this close to a planet in anything larger than a

shuttle. "How stable is our orbit?"

Sulu shrugged. "We can maintain this orbit

indefinitely, as long as our power doesn't run

out."

"I hope we're not going to be around here that

long," Kirk said. Just long enough trend out what's

hiding down there, and why it was important enough to hide

a whole world, and for Gary Seven to hijack my ship

and throw it halfway across the known universe. Deep

down inside, he knew that this impossible, invisible

planet had something to do with Seven's mysterious

mission.

I don't know what the connection is, he

thought, but I'll bet I won't like it when Land out.

93 i.

'1

Chapter Eight

ROBERTA GOT uPeople off the floor and

righted her chair, which had tipped

over backwards during the Enter-

prise's last abrupt change in course.

The back of her head still stung

where it had smacked against the

door. She winced and felt beneath her

hair, searching for a bump. Just who

is flying this spaceship anyway. she

thought irritably. Isis?

She pulled the chair back into

place before the computer terminal

and plopped down in front of the

screen, only to discover that the

screen had gone black and that her

green cube had also tumbled to the

Boor. She had to get down on her

hands and knees and crawl under the

desk to retrieve it. The glamorous

life of a time-travelling secret

agent, she thought. I bet Mrs.

Peel

never has to go poking around under

the furniture.

Inspecting the cube, she was

relieved to see that the fall had

left it completely unscratched. I

shouldn't be too surprised, she

thought. After all, Seven's office

back in New York had been blown up

twice and

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

attacked by killer robots once, and the cube had

come through intact each time. One of these days she'd have

to ask Seven what exactly it was made off.

"Restore image of brig," she said, placing the

cube back atop the computer terminal. The green

cube

flickered momentarily and Roberta found herself i

peeking at the row of detention cells once more.

Like the cube, Gary Seven appeared none the

worse for wear. He stood patiently in front

of the illuminated entrance to his cell. The doorway

appeared open, which made Roberta wonder

why Seven couldn't just walk out of the cell. were

twenty-third century jails based on the honor

system or what? For the brig of a starship, security

seemed to be pretty lax.

As if in answer to her questions, Seven stepped j

closer to the doorway and held out his hand. To her

surprise, Roberta saw coruscating flashes of

white energy appear where Seven's hand intersected the

plane of the doorway. "Oh, my goodness!" she

whispered, realizing she had severely underestimated the

ship's resources. Apparently, there was something

holding Seven in his cell after all.

Grimacing, Seven attempted to push his hand through

the invisible barrier. Judging from his clenched teeth and

contorted expression, Roberta guessed this was far from

easy. For a few tense moments, the tips of his

fingers extended beyond the rectangular doorway and she

actually thought he was going to break free from his cell;

then' with a blinding surge of energy, Seven was thrown

backwards, slamming into the rear wall. Looking

slightly dazed, he slumped down onto his bench,

cradling the hand that had initiated the jolt. Roberta

suspected that he had just received a nasty shock.

This was not good. She knew she had to do something

to help. "Computer, can you turn off that force

field thingie?"

"Affirmative," the cube replied. As she

watched, a guard came into view on the screen.

He was a beefy, 95

l

Greg Cox

blond man wearing a red shirt and

black trousers, and he eyed Seven

suspiciously through the invisible

barrier; Roberta guessed that Seven's

escape attempt had not gone

unnoticed. She was still seeing spots

before her eyes from the incandescent

flash that had repelled Seven.

She waited until the guard had

turned his back on Seven. "Now," she

breathed. "Turn it off now."

"Please specify which detention

cell," the cube prompted her.

Which one? Roberta had no idea how

the cells were numbered, and she

didn't have time to figure it out.

Captain Kirk was bound to figure out

what she was up to eventually. "All

of them," she said. "Hurry." She

held

her breath, waiting anxiously to see

if her plan would work.

Instantly, the lights outlining the

entrance to each cell blinked off.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Roberta

hoped the guard wouldn't notice.

No such luck. The guard pivoted

around quickly, his eyes widening at

the sight of the unlighted doorways.

He reached for the futuristi*looking

weapon on his hip. What was it called

again? she wondered. A laser? No, not

quite, a . . . phaser! That was it.

Seven's reflexes were even faster

than the guard's. He sprang through

the now-open entrance and delivered

a blow to the guard's wrist with the

edge of his hand. The gun spun

through the air, hitting the floor a

couple yards away, then skidding to

a stop inside one of the empty

detention cells. Roberta watched it

land, wishing she were there to grab

it. It was maddening to watch the

conflict unfold on her little

computer screen and not be able to

take part.

The guard shoved Seven away and

backed towards the wall opposite the

cells. His fist slammed a button next

to a circular metal grille mounted in

the wall. The intercom, Roberta

guessed immediately. He was going to

raise an alarm.

ge

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"Computer," she blurted, "kill the

intercom in the brig."

"The internal communications system

is not a living organism." The green

cube flickered again. "Please clarify

meaning of "kill.""

"Jam it, stop it, shut it down!"

Roberta stared at the guard on the

screen, watched him open his mouth to

call for reinforcements. Seven

charged at the guard again, but he

clearly wasn't going to be able to

shut the guard up in time. Roberta

chewed her lip and crossed her

fingers.

"Affirmative," the cube reported.

On the screen, the guard shot the

intercom a confused look. He pressed

the speaker button repeatedly,

getting no response.

"Yes!" Roberta exulted as Seven

barreled into the unlucky guard,

knocking the breath out of him. The

two men grappled next to the

malfunctioning intercom, pitting

Starfleet muscle against Seven's

specialized training, until Seven

managed to seize his opponent by one

arm and flip him onto the floor.

Unfortunately, the guard landed right

outside the nearest detention cell,

only inches away from where his flung

ray gun had come to rest. "Uh-oh,"

Roberta muttered. She saw the danger

immediately, but had Seven managed to

keep track of the weapon as well?

The guard scrambled on all fours

into the cell and reached for the

gun. His fingers wrapped around the

weapon's grip and he spun around

swiftly, sat up, and fired. A beam of

brilliant red energy shot toward

Seven, who ducked out of the way at

the last second.

Roberta's jaw dropped. She knew

that Seven kept himself in peak

physical condition for a human being,

but she'd never realized he could

dodge a laser beam.

want to see that in slow motion,

she thought, wondering how she could

get the screen to show her an instant

replay.

The guard looked even more surprised.

He gulped

I,

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Greg Cox

and fired again, but Seven dived

beneath the beam. His hand reached

out and struck a lighted panel next

to the cell entrance. Wait a minute,

Roberta thought. What's he doing now?

Without warning, the lights came on

again around all the doorways into

the cells. This was bad news for the

unfortunate guard, who still had part

of one leg in the entrance when the

invisible barrier returned. Glowing

white sparks erupted all around his

limb, which was forcibly squeezed

back into the cell with the rest of

him while he howled at the sudden

shock. He grabbed onto his injured

leg and glared at Gary Seven through

the invisible prison bars.

Alerted by the sounds of the

struggle, a second security officer

ran into the brig, laser gun in hand.

But Seven was waiting for him just

inside the door. With practiced

efficiency, Seven disarmed the man

and blasted him with his own weapon.

The burst of crimson energy dropped

the second guard to the ground.

Roberta winced in sympathy; she

wasn't sure exactly what those

glowing rays did, but their effect

100ked a lot less humane than the

tranquilizer beam Seven was

accustomed to using.

Seven stepped away from the

detention cell and inspected his

borrowed Starfleet uniform for rips

or tears. Apparently, he judged it in

satisfactory shape, since he

straightened his gold shirt, tucked

the purloined ray gun in his belt,

and headed for the exit to the brig.

Before he disappeared from Roberta's

sight, however, he paused and looked

up directly at the overhead camera

lens. Once again, she had the dis-

tinct impression that her cryptic

employer was making eye contact with

her, an impression confirmed when he

winked at her once, then stepped out

into the corridor beyond the brig.

Roberta sagged back into her chair,

feeling as if she'd just been through

a fight herself which, in a weird

sort of way, she had. Okay, she

thought, now 98

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

what? Seven was on the loose again,

but what was Captain Kirk going to do

when he found out? Or had he caught

on already? Roberta decided she

needed to check on the opposition.

"Computer, show me the bridge."

"Confirmed, Captain," Uhura

reported. "There is definitely an

installation near the planet's

equator."

"What kind of installation?" Kirk

asked. So far, this installation

Uhura had detected was the only sign

of habitation on the cloaked world

below them. He looked over Uhura's

shoulder, anxious to get down to the

planet and find out what was going

on, preferably before that Romulan

battle cruiser figured out where the

Enterprise had disappeared to.

"It's hard to tell, sir," Uhura

said. She adjusted the knobs on the

emissions blanking control, filtering

out the atmospheric background noise.

"I'm picking up some transmissions,

but they're in some sort of Romulan

code."

Kirk peered at the readouts on the

external communications panel, even

though he knew Uhura could read them

better than he could. "Are you sure

they're Romulan?" Motak's apparent

ignorance concerning the cloaked

planet had half-convinced Kirk that

Seven's people, not the Romulans,

were responsible for hiding the

world. So why would they be using a

Romulan code, unless this project is

so top secret that not even a Romulan

starship commander knows about it?

"I think so, sir," she said. "I

studied Romulan cryptography at the

Academy, and these transmissions fit

those algorithms. They're specially

designed to baffle the universal

translator, not to mention the rest

of us."

"I see," Kirk said, stepping away

from the communications console. As

he recalled, Stardeet Intelliacnce

had never succeeded in cracking

Romulan 99

Greg Cox

codes, not even during Earth's first

hardfought war with the Empire in the

twenty-second century. "Do what you

can to decipher them, Lieutenant."

What were the Romulans up to, not to

mention Gary Seven and his

organization? Looks like there's only

one way to get to the bottom of this.

He marched toward the turbolift doors,

his mind made up. "In the meantime,

I'm leading a landing party to check

things out for myself. Mr. Spock, I'm

leaving you in cammend. Sulu, Chekov,

you're with me."

"Captain," Spock said, rising from

his science station. "Now is not a

logical time to embark on a

potentially hazardous mission. Are you

sure that is wise?"

"Maybe not wise," Kirk replied,

"but

necessary." Spack was right; this was

not a decision to make lightly. He

couldn't help thinking, though, that

vital matters were at stake. Why else

would Seven be here, in this day and

age? The last time their paths had

crossed, back in the twentieth

century, Seven had been instrumental

in preventing a nuclear war. Did the

present now face a similar threat? The

terrible tragedy of an old-fashioned

global conflict paled against the

possibility of an all-out war between

the Romulans and the Federation,

especially if the Empire had pushed

their cloaking technology to a whole

new level. This was about more than

just the Enterprise and its crew now.

The entire galaxy might be in danger.

He still had a responsibility to his

crew, however. "One thing more," he

instructed Spock, "if anything happens

to me, if you don't hear from me for

over an hour, I want you to take the

Enterprise and get back to the

Federation as quickly as possible."

"Jim!" McCoy protested. "That's

suicide! You have no idea what's

waiting for you down there."

Kirk ignored the doctor's

objections. "I repeat You are not to

mount any sort of rescue mission on my

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

behalf. Your first and only priority

is to get this ship and its crew

safely home. Understood?"

"Understood, Captain," Spock

answered. If the possibility of

abandoning his friend light-years be-

hind enemy lines disturbed him, he

did not show it. Kirk wasn't sure if

he should be reassured or offended.

Not wanting to beam down into the

middle of a potential firing squad,

Kirk had Scotty transport the landing

party to a site roughly half a

kilometer from the perimeter of the

presumed Romulan installation.

This region of the mystery planet

resembled other tropical jungles that

Kirk had visited. A dense canopy of

leaves, vines, and branches blotted

out the sky while moist ferns and

bracken covered the ground between

abundant tree trunks wrapped in

layers of moss. Thank goodness, he

thought, for the safety scanners

built into the transporter equipment;

otherwise, they could have been

easily beamed inside one of the

gigantic towers of timber all around

them.

A light rain was falling, the tiny

droplets streaming down his face, but

the air remained warm and humid. Kirk

wore only his usual shipboard

uniform, but he felt decidedly

overdressed. He assumed Chekov and

Sulu felt the heat as well. Deep,

bassy croaking came from the

surrounding jungle brush; frogs, Kirk

guessed, or something similar.

Probably harmless, but he kept one

hand on his phaser just in case.

He stepped forward experimentally,

gauging the planet's gravity. It was

a little heavier than he was used to,

more like the gravity on Vulcan, but

not excessively so. I wouldn't want

to run a marathon here, he decided,

but this should be fine for a little

covert reconnaissance. He sniffed the

air plenty of oxygen, along with the

ripe, pungent smell of rotting under-

brush. A real equatorial rain forest,

all right. He wondered what the

Romulans thought of the climate. 101

Greg Cox

If they were as similar to Vulcans as they

looked, they probably liked the gravity and the heat,

although this ungle was considerably damper than most

sites on Vulcan.

He glanced at his companions. Both Sulu and

Chekov appeared to have acclimated themselves to this new

environment. He saw Sulu, the amateur

botanist, bend over to inspect the toadstools

growing near the base of a looming tree

trunk about twelve centimeters in diameter.

"Grocery shopping, Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked.

"Just collecting samples," Sulu said. He

rose, placing one of the toadstools in a pocket of

his trousers. "There are some interesting specimens here.

Too bad there's not time for a complete botanical

survey."

artless Spock has to leave us behind, Kirk thought.

Then Sulu might end up with more than enough time

to catalog the planet's proliferating flora,

assuming i

they didn't land in a Romulan prison camp,

or worse. His gaze travelled up the length of

one moss covered tree until he stared into the

complex tapestry of vines and branches overhead.

The leafy cover and light precipitation made it

hard to judge the time of day, but, from the failing light,

he guessed that night was approaching. Just as well,

he thought. Spying was easier accomplished under the

cover of darkness than in broad daylight. "Mr.

Chekov, do you have the proper coordinates?"

A tricorder hung on a strap over the young

Rus- j

sian's shoulder. Chekov unslung the instrument

and unsnapped the protective head cover.

Wiping his rain-dampened bangs away from his eyes,

he examined the illuminated video display next

to the sensor controls. "Yes, Captain," he said,

pointing into the underbrush behind Kirk. "According to this, the

Romulan base is that way."

"Very good," Kirk said, contemplating a vigorous

comI

hike through the jungle. With luck, the thick

foliage would conceal their approach from whomever might

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

be guarding the installation. "Mr.

Chekov, you lead the way. Sulu, you

keep an eye out behind us for

snakes, satire-toothed tigers, or

Romulan storm troops ers." Kirk

grinned. "That should just about

cover everything."

"Almost everything, Captain," an

unexpected voice added. Kirk drew

his phaser and twisted his body

toward the source of the voice a

dimly glimpsed figure stepping out

from behind the bole of an enormous

tree. The shade concealed the

figure's features, but Kirk

recognized the voice instantly.

Damn, he thought. Things had just

gotten a lot more complicated.

"Mind if I join you?" asked Gary

Seven.

,tilde .

Chapter Nine

KIRK S COMMUNICATOR beeped before he could

reply. Keeping both eyes and his

phaser on the visitor from the

twentieth century, he lifted the

device to his face with his free hand

and snapped it open. "Kirk here. What

is it?"

Spock's voice emerged from the

communicator. ""You should be aware,

Captain, that Mr. Seven has somehow

escaped from the brig. Two security

officers were immobilized, but

neither has been seriously injured.

A ship-wide search is now in

progress, but his

"Don't bother," Kirk interrupted.

Raindrops ran down his hair, dripping

onto the back of his neck. "I know

just where Mr. Seven is at the

moment. About seven meters in front

of me, in fact."

"Indeed." Kirk couldn't see Spock,

but he could imagine the Vulcan

raising an eyebrow as he spoke.

"I suggest you inspect the

transporter rooms," Kirk suggested.

"You may find one or two more

'immobilized" personnel." Seven

shrugged, looking none too

hi

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

apologetic. "Then I want you to beam Mr.

Seven right back to the brig."

That got a reaction from Seven. "I can't let you

do that, Captain. Not yet." He drew a thin

silver instrumentfrom his pocket. Kirk's eyes

widened.

"Don't move!" he ordered. Chekov and

Sulu followed his lead, aiming their own phasers at

Seven. "Drop it," he told Seven.

"Captain Kirk," Seven began. He

didn't point his weapon at Kirk, but he

didn't let go of it either. "You don't understand...."

"Drop it," Kirk repeated. Seven had

jeopardized his crew for the last time. "I don't

care how good you are. You can't knock out all three

of us, before one of us stuns you with a phaser. You're

outnumbered."

Seven paused, as if mentally evaluating his

chances. Kirk found himself grateful that at least

Roberta Lincoln was apparently not within the

vicinity. "Perhaps you're right," Seven said finally.

The silver device slipped from his fingers, splashing

gently into a rain-filled puddle at Seven's

feet.

"I thought we took that thing away from you," Kirk

commented, lowering his phaser. Sulu and Chekov kept

Seven under guard while Kirk retrieved the

weapon from the puddle. It was just as lightweight as it

looked, even more so than a standard issue phaser.

Starfleet science would probably love to get a

look at this gadget. he thought.

"Servo has a homing device," Seven

explained. "It was easy enough to lock onto it with your

transporter and beam it back to me at the

same time that I transported down to this planet."

"A simple, one-step process, right?" Kirk

asked, impressed despite himself. He doubted that

even Scatty could manage to transport two

objects simultaneously with that much precision.

"Something like that," Seven said. "Captain, I

gave "r

you my tool as a gesture of good faith. I would

much rather work with you than against you. Now that 105

Greg Cox

we're this close to my goal, we can't afford

to keep getting in each other's way."

So Seven's mission does involve this cloaked

planet, Kirk thought. He didn't feel

surprised, just manipulated. "Sorry, Mr.

Seven. Your intentions may be sincere, but your

methods seem to involve assaulting my crew

whenever it strikes you as convenient to do so. I can't

afford to trust you, and you don't deserve it."

"But this isn't about me," Seven said. "It's about

the future." He approached Kirk, his boots

sinking into the muddy earth between them. Chekov rushed,

phaser raised, in front of Seven and forced him

to back up a few steps.

The rain was coming down even harder now,

reminding Kirk of the flood victims back on

Duwamish. Seven had endangered them as well.

Kirk slipped the servo into his pocket, then

brought his communicator up to his lips. "Spook?

Are you still there?"

"Yes, Captain. Static distorted Spock's

voice. Kirk wondered if the turbulent weather was

interfering with the transmission, or if something more ominous

was responsible for the static, maybe some kind of

jamming technology? "Is the situation under con-

trol?"

"For now," Kirk said, "but I'll feel better

when Mr. Seven is back in the brig. Beam him

up."

"You're making a mistake, Captain." Seven

glared at the phaser in Chekov's hand. "Trust

me, you have more to lose than almost anyone else."

Kirk felt a chill run down his spine that had

nothing to do with the weather. What did Seven mean, I

have the most to lose"...He watched as the familiar

sparkle of the transporter effect enveloped

Seven. His angular frame began to dissolve into a

column of golden sparks.

Then something went wrong. Without warning, the

process reversed itself. The smell of

ozone permeated the air and the usual hum of the

transporter turned

106 tilde

l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

into a harsh, screeching noise, like the sound of a

phaser on overload. Raw energy and information was

forcibly crammed back into tight, restrictive

patterns, abruptly displacing a man-sized

volume of wind and rain. Kirk felt a splash of

moisture against his face as the disrupted transporter

beam stirred up the already stormy atmosphere of the

jungle. Golden sparkles dimmed abruptly,

their radiance snuffed out, and, blinking the rain from his

eyes, Kirk saw the outline of a humanoid body

thrashing wildly amidst a disintegrating column of

energy, a scream of agony blending with the grating

screech of the distortion. Through a haze of chaotic

particles and mist, he thought he discerned a pair of

dark eyes, alive with shock and

anguish. Dear God, Kirk thought, can he

feel what's j

happening to him? The once-shimmering, now shadowy

beam of light collapsed into a writhing, radiant

figure composed of billions of

agitated electrons rushing together, reintegrating

into solid matter, into a being called Gary Seven,

who let out a cry of pain before falling forward into the

mud.

Sulu ran over to the prone figure, lifting

Seven's face from the mucky water before he could

suffocate. A sticky layer of mud adhered

to Seven's features, partially masking his

expression. A thin, brown slurry streamed from his

lips and nostrils. Sulu rolled the man over

onto his back and placed his ear against Seven's

chest. The enigmatic time traveller appeared to be

breathing, but it was difficult to tell through the rain.

Did he need a doctor? Did they dare risk

beaming McCoy down after watching Seven implode

like that? "Spock, what happened?" Kirk shouted

into the communicator. "Spock! Spock?"

There was no answer. The transmission had been

cut off. But was his communicator malfunctioning,

Kirk wondered, or had something happened to the

Enterprise? He had to know the answer. "Chekov,

try to contact the ship! Can you get through?"

The young ensign spoke into his communicator,

1,

Greg Cox

then shook his head. "Nyet, Captain,"

he called out. Tossing the worthless

communicator aside, he consulted his

tricorder. "Captain, I don't believe

it." He swung the tricorder in a full

circle around him, his gaze glued to

the readout on the instrument's

display screen. "It's a force field,

many kilometers across, all around

us, cutting us off from the ship. I

don't know where it came from. It

wasn't there a minute ago, I'm sure

of it."

"Understood," Kirk answered. He

understood all too well.

They were trapped on the planet with

no way out.

Roberta watched the monitor in her

room with growing dismay. On the

screen, the woman in the red uniform,

whose name she had learned was Uhura,

tried relentlessly to get hold of the

landing party, but without any

success. Mr. Spock and Dr.

McCoy

looked on grimly while they spoke of

a "force field" that apparently had

them stumped. She didn't need to be

on the bridge physically to sense the

tense mood that had come over the

scene.

Great, she thought bitterly, just

great. Now that the crew of the

Enterprise had lost contact with both

Gary Seven and Captain Kirk; how was

she supposed to keep track of what

was going on? Granted, Mr. Spock had

been prevented from beaming Seven

back onto the Enterprise, but that

was hardly reassuring. All she knew

was that Seven was stuck on the

planet below assuming that he had

even survived that botched

transporter job. Judging from the

tense conversations she had overheard

via the computer, not even Mr. Spock

or Scatty the engineering guy were

quite sure if Seven was still alive

and well on the planet. I have to do

something, she thought, but what?

She contemplated the illuminated

green cube sitting atop the computer

station. So far the device had acted

as an all-purpose skeleton key to

most of the 108

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Enterprise's computerized systems.

How far was she willing to push it?

"Computer," she said. "Show me

Supervisor 194. Code name Gary

Seven."

The cube blinked furiously for less

than ten seconds before responding.

"Subject is not within range of ship

s scanners.

Skhetshcow?ffeaed and tried again. How

about Captain

"Subject is not within range of

ship's scanners."

"Great," she muttered

sarcastically. It made sense, though;

the cube was limited to whatever

resources were available to the

Enterprise. If Mr. Spockand the

others couldn't locate the landing

party, then neither could she. The

cube could only override whatever

technology already existed aboard the

ship; it wasn't Aladdin's lamp.

Leaning back against her chair, she

pushed away from the computer station

and looked over at the closed door to

her temporary quarters. She was

starting to feel a little stir-crazy.

There was only so much she could do

cooped up in this comfy little

interstellar hotel room. Perhaps it

was time to stage another breakout.

She studied the green cube from a few

feet away. Maybe it was no crystal

ball, but it might work as a

get-out-ofjail-free card.

But what could she do once she was

loose? Where should she go? The

planet itself was one possibility.

She could probably figure out the

Enterprise's transporter system if

she had to; how different could it be

from the one she and Gary Seven used

all the time? Granted, there was

still that force field to deal with,

but surely it couldn't be covering

the whole world? With a little bit of

luck and a lot of hiking, she might

be able to hunt down Seven on Planet

Romulan or whatever it was called.

She refused to accept that he had

been permanently disintegrated by the

interrupted transporter beam, not

after all they had both survived back

on Earth.

tilde 1

Greg Cox

Yeah, she thought, that's a plan. Maybe I can

even hook up with Isis before I vacate the ship.

Or not. After all, someone had to stay behind to keep an

eye on the ship, and she nominated the cat.

She hurried to retrieve her old sneakers from the

bedroom, then dropped back into the chair to pull them

on. She was just lacing up the last shoe when she heard

an angry voice come from the computer screen. Something

about the tone of the speaker's voice caught her

attention, and she stared at the screen, which

continued to look in on the ship's bridge. Doctor

McCoy seemed to be having some sort of

confrontation with Mr. Spock, and he didn't look

happy.

"You can't be serious, Spock!" he objected

strenuously. "We have to organize a rescue party,

not plan our escape! What about Jim and the others?"

The alien first officer appeared unmoved by the

doctor's outburst. "We are making every effort

to reestablish contact with the captain, despite the

ongoing problem of the force field. However, if we do

not succeed in reaching him within the agreed-upon time

period, I will have no choice but to set course for the

Federation, just as Captain Kirk instructed."

"Leaving him behind, you mean," McCoy snapped,

"along with Chekov and Sulu and Seven! You

coldblooded, procedure-spouting machine , these are

human lives we're talking about!"

Roberta jumped to her feet, newly energized

by what she had just heard. This changes everything, she

thought. If the Enterprise took off for Earth, as

Mr. Pointy-Ears clearly intended, Seven would

be marooned on an alien planet so far from Earth that

not even NASA could bring him home. Forget it, she

resolved. That wasn't happening as long as

she had something to say about it.

She snatched her control cube off the top of the

computer, relieved that she didn't have to detach any

wires or cables connecting the cube to the computer

tilde 0

disE, tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

station. Let's hear it for trouble-free

technology, she thought. Now that she had established

a link between the cube and the ship's computerized brain,

proximity shouldn't matter. In theory, that is.

No time like the present to check it out, she thought,

approaching the closed door confining her to the guest

quarters. She rapped gently on the metal door,

but nothing happened; the door remained shut.

"Computer," she instructed, "open door."

The cube blinked once, the green light

reflecting off the polished steel surface of the

door. "Doorway to Suite 14-J ordered

shut under security protocols gamma-xy-5," it

announced.

Roberta rolled her eyes. She could have

predicted that. "Override security

protocols."

"Working," the cube reported. Moments

later, the door slid open, revealing the corridor

beyond. So much for house arrest she thought. These future

people shouldn't depend so much on their computers.

Then she noticed the guard posted outside her

door. Oh, she thought, I should have known it wouldn

"t be be that easy.

The guard was an athletic-looking Asian man

wearing a red shirt, black trousers, and a

surprised expression on his face. He

obviously hadn't expected her to find a way out,

although Roberta was relieved to note that he didn't

immediately reach for his gun. "Excuse me," he said.

"I'm afraid I have to ask you to step back into your

room. Captain's orders."

Talk fast, Roberta thought. "But my food

processing whatchamacallit isn't working." She

pointed back at the open doorway. "Maybe you can

take a look at it?"

The guard shook his head. "I can't leave my

post," he explained. He crossed his arms over his

chest. "If you want, I can call for a

technician."

"But I'm starving to death," Roberta lied,

conveniently forgetting her groundbreaking experiments in

pizza processing. "I haven't eaten

since 1969!"

to tilde

Greg Cox

"Well . . ." he said hesitantly, thinking it

over. He gave her a quick once-over and relaxed

his posture somewhat. That's right, she thought, I'm just

a poor, primitive waiffrom the twentieth

century. No threat to anyone, let alone a

highly trained starship trooper. He uncrossed his

arms and stepped toward the door. "Maybe you're just

overlooking something obvious."

Like a transparent escape attempt, maybe?

She moved to one side to let the guard enter her

quarters, then waited until he was all the way

inside. "Hey, what kind of trouble were you having?"

he asked. "There's food all over the floor in

here."

You won't be hungry then, she thought, and darted

into the hall, blurting instructions to the cube even as

she ran. "Seal Suite 14-J immediately!

Security Proto- i

cot er, lincoln-roberta." The cube flashed

rapidly, its flickering green radiance escaping

through the cracks between her fingers.

"Stop!" the guard shouted, rushing after her.

"Wait!" He grabbed for his phaser, but the steel

door came whooshing shut, trapping him half in and

half out of the doorway, like a New York commuter

stuck between closed subway doors. "Come back!

Captain's orders!"

He'll get free in a minute, Roberta

knew, but that may be enough. All I need to do now

is f nd one of those turbolift thingies and take

an express trip straight to the bridge, just in time

to keep Mr. Speck from stranding Gary Seven on the

wrongside of the universe.

You know, maybe the twenty-third century

wasn't so complicated after all....

"C'mon, kitty, what do you want?"

Nurse Christine Chapel offered the caged

animal another piece of nutrient bar. They

didn't actually have much in the way of pet food in

sickbay, but the all-purpose emergency ration

couldn't do the cat any harm. Unfortunately, the

animal wasn't showing any

tilde 2

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

interest in the snack, although she clearly wanted

something.

Just like Zoe, she thought, her old cat back in

her Academy days. Zoe was more tortoise-shell

colored

than midnight black, but she could be just as

finicky. I

And opinionated.

The cat emitted a singularly plaintive yowl and

tried to stick its paws through the steel grating between it

and Nurse Chapel. Golden eyes stared longingly

into the nurse's.

"I know, I know," Chapel said, "you want out of

i

that cage. But Doctor McCoy said that the

captain wanted you locked up." She didn't know

the full story behind the animal; the doctor hadn't

even mentioned the cat's name, just muttered under his

breath, then stormed off to the bridge, saying something

about "keeping an eye on that green-blooded

robot." Chapel winced slightly at the thought.

She didn't exactly share McCoy's acerbic

opinion of the ship's first officer.

The pads of the cat's front feet protruded

through the metal lattice hemming it in. The caged

feline made a sound that sounded heartbreakingly like a

whimper. Chapel glanced at the magnetic

lock on the lid of the carrier. All she needed to do

was key in the right three-character combination, which McCoy had

programmed to be simply C-A-T. She

looked again at the unhappy animal. She always was

a sucker for a sob story. "Well, maybe it

wouldn't do any harm. Just for a few minutes . . .

She reached for the lid and typed in the first two

tilde j

characters. Inside the cage, the cat watched her with

eerie concentration. Then Chapel noticed the yellow

alert lights flashing above her head, just as they had

been flashing since the captain beamed down to the

planet. Maybe this isn't such a Great idea,-

she thought. They were in enemy territory, after all.

What if the Romulans caught up with them again?

Casualties 113

1,

Greg Cox

might come flooding into the sickbay,

and there would be this cat getting

in the way, contaminating the

sterilization fields . . .

"Sorry, kitty." She reset the lock

and stepped back from the cage. "I'm

afraid you're going to have to stay

where you are until things are a

little less crazy."

To her surprise, the cat hissed

angrily and turned its back on her.

Their communicators wouldn't work,

but nothing was stopping the rain

from pouring down. A force field,

Kirk thought, located somewhere in

the stratosphere. That makes sense.

The field must have gone up just in

time to block the transporter beam

from the Enterprise, forcing Seven's

molecules to reintegrate violently.

It had been a close thing; another

second, plus or minus, and Seven

would have been safely aboard ship,

or else too far gone to solidify

again. Seven had nearly become

background radiation, permanently.

Kirk felt a pang of relief. Nobody

deserves that, he thought, not even

Gary Seven. Grudgingly, he recalled

Spock's list of Seven's various

accomplishments in the twentieth

century, then watched as Sulu helped

the stricken man assume a sitting

position next to the puddle of mud.

Apparently, he was still alive after

all Muck trickled from Seven's mouth

as he coughed violently, shaking his

entire body.

Okay, he amended privately,

especially not Seven.

But who was responsible for the

force field? Kirk's mind raced

through the possibilities. Not Seven,

surely; Seven didn't want to be

transported back to the Enterprise,

but Kirk couldn't imagine that Seven

would subject himself to such an

ordeal, risking his very corporeal

existence, just to avoid a detention

cell. Hell, he had seen the shocked

look in Seven's eyes when the beam

jerked him back to the surface. The

man had been just as caught off guard

as the rest of them.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

It had to be the Romulans, then. Not

Commander Motak of Gladiator, but whoever was in

charge of this top secret installation on this

supposedly nonexistent planet. Cloaks and

shields, Kirk thought. Someone really doesn't

want to be found.

And if the shield just went up, that could only mean

two things. Either they had detected the Enterprise in

orbit around the planet, or they had noted the

arrival of the landing party. One way or another, they

know we're here, Kirk thought. For all he knew,

they could be closing in on him and the others at this very

moment and/or attacking the Enterprise. He

didn't like either notion

"Mr. Sulu," Kirk called to the helmsman.

To his surprise, Sulu was already helping Gary

Seven onto his feet; Kirk couldn't believe the

Inan was still conscious after what he'd been through. "Can

he be movedThat"

"I think so, Captain," Seven answered for

himself. His voice sounded a bit shaky, but

determined. He used his sleeve to wipe some of the

mud away from his mouth and eyes. "We have to try."

Kirk nodded. "Let's get going. Sulu, you

help Mr. Seven. Chekov, watch out for

ambushes, but keep us heading toward that

installation." If nothing else, he thought, we have

to shut down that force f eld before Spock can beam us

back

Part of him hoped, however, that Spock would follow

his orders to the letter and Bee with- the Enterprise within

an hour, if not earlier. The sudden appearance of the

force field clearly indicated the presence of

hostile forces responding to their arrival; the smart

thing for Spock to do would be to get the ship out of here and

o ut of Romulan territory as quickly as possible.

Surely, Spock wouldn't risk the Enterprise

JUS-THAT to wait for Kirk and the others or would he?

Despite his professed devotion to logic,

Spock could be remarkably unpredictable at

times, not to mention stubbornly loyal to his friends. Just

tilde 5

i be

Greg Cox i

look at all he had risked for the sake of poor

Chris Pike. Don't do it, Spock Kirk

thought, wishing that the Vulcan's telepathy was strong

enough to hear him even from so far away, don't wait for

me. With any luck at all, the ship was already en

route to the Neutral Zone. Good luck, he thought,

imagining all the obstacles between the ship and the

Federation and recalling the friends he might never see

again Spock, Scatty, McCoy, Uhura . .

. if any crew could give the Romulans the slip

all the way back to the Federation, then they were the crew

who would do it. Godspeed, he thought.

Then he was running after Chekov through the rain and the

mud and the dark. The underbrush was not too thick

to traverse; the leafy canopy overhead kept

sunlight away from the jungle floor, cutting down

on ground-level biomass. Still, stringy vines and

exposed roots tugged on his legs as he jogged behind

Chekov, while thorny brambles snagged onto his

trousers. His boots splashed through puddles, sometime

ankledeep in thick, clingy ooze. The extra

gravity only made the trek harder. The available

light grew even fainter as the rain became a

downpour. Soon he could

barely see Chekov in front of him. The young

ensign ,

was only a vague, gray silhouette, dimly

glimpsed through the pouring sheets of rain and ever-darkening

shadows. Kirk glanced back over his shoulder,

warried about leaving Sulu and Seven behind. He saw

them trailing behind him. Seven still had one arm

draped over Sulu's shoulders and was

limping slightly. Kirk was amazed the man could

move at all, after the ordeal he'd been through.

"Keep your eyes on each other," he ordered

Chekov and Sulu, raising his voice to be heard

over the deluge. "We don't want to lose

anyone."

Muffled acknowledgments came from the two crewmen.

Maybe even from Seven, too; the voices were

difficult to make out. The only good thing about the foul

weather, he thought, was that it would help tilde 6

tilde 1

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

conceal them from any Romulan search

parties. He tried to listen for any

sounds of pursuit, but heard only the

rain cascading in his ears. His

uniform, soaked through, stuck to his

skin as he ran, weighing him down

even more. He wiped trickles of cold

rain water from his eyes and kicked

his way through the clotted jungle

growth.

A roar cut through the night,

followed by a cry of alarm. Kirk spun

around just in time to see a dark

shape drop from the trees onto Sulu

and Seven. He got a quick impression

of four outstretched legs,

green-and-black striped fur, and a

glimpse of something that looked like

ivory, before he yanked his phaser

off his belt, disregarding the sticky

brambles that hindered his arm as he

did so.

The beast had Cocked both men to

the ground and now had one of them

pinned beneath its heavy paws. Kirk

couldn't tell if the creature's prey

was Seven or Sulu; all he could see

was a confusion of flailing human

limbs and emerald fur. Worried about

hitting the downed man by mistake, he

fired a warning shot just above the

creature's head. The incandescent

beam burned through the air between

Kirk and the beast, momentarily

dispelling the shadows so that Kirk

got a brief glimpse of enraged green

eyes, a maw full of gleaming white

fangs, and a glistening ivory horn in

the center of the creature's

forehead.

The beam got the creature's

attention all right, distracting it

from its fallen prey. With a fierce

growl, the predator sprang off the

other man and charged toward Kirk,

who aimed his phaser at the attacking

beast. Before he could fire, though,

something sprayed from the tip of the

creature's single long horn. Half

liquid, half gaseous, the foreign

substance stung like acid. The spray

burned Kirk's hand where it touched

his exposed flesh; caught by surprise

by the sudden pain, he let go of his

phaser, which went flying into the

underbrush. Fumes stung his eyes and

throat. Tears streamed down his face,

mingling with pelting rain tilde 7

tilde ,1

Greg Cox to

drops, as he coughed the noxious vapors away

from his lungs.

A heavy weight slammed into him with the

force of a meteor. Kirk landed on his back in the

mud with the full mass of the creature on top of him.

Ignoring the pain from the creature's venomous

spray, he grabbed onto the animal's throat,

digging his fingers into the thick, corded muscles beneath the

creature's matted coat. The pungent odor of the

creature's fur filled his nose and mouth. Sharp

talons sank into Kirk's chest as he fought to keep

a set of snapping jaws away from his neck. The

beast's jagged fangs were only centimeters away from

his jugular, and getting closer.

"Captain!" Kirk heard Chekov splashing through

the rain-drenched jungle. The alien predator

raised its head long enough to release another dose of

its venom at the Russian. Chekov cried out in

pain and Kirk saw the flash of a phaser beam,

wildly off target, zip by overhead, missing the

creature entirely.

The ensign had distracted the beast for an instant,

though. Kirk took advantage of the animal's

inattention by rolling over onto his side and tossing the

creature's massive body into the surrounding

foliage. The beast's claws left bloody

streaks down the front of Kirk's shirt as he

leaped away from the animal and scrambled

to his feet.

The predator regained its bearings just as

swiftly. Landing on its feet, it turned around and

confronted Kirk once more. Its jaws opened wide

to roar its challenge; Kirk found himself looking

straight down the creature's gullet, past forbidding

rows of pointed teeth. He could smell the

animal's breath, as hot and fetid as the swamp that

sheltered it. The creature's ferocious roar filled

his ears.

"Just'sshwato ormeur! Ki agbo Seven!" a

voice called out. Kirk glanced away from the beast

long enough to see Gary Seven rising from the mud where he

had fallen. His voice, though tremulous at first,

gained 118

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

strength as he called out to the

animal. He staggered through the muck

until he was only centimeters away

from the creature, who turned its

head to watch him quizzically.

"Kiysora sta-riis-noktast"

Kirk expected the monster to tear

Seven apart. Instead it lowered its

head and padded over to Seven's side,

suddenly looking no more ferocious

than a kitten. Seven stroked the

creature's fur tilde overed skull and the

animal closed its eyes. Kirk wasn't

sure, but he thought he heard . . .

purring?

"Lower your weapons, gentlemen,"

Seven said to the Starfleet officers.

"Osiris poses no threat to us."

Kirk approached Seven and the

animal warily. Now that he had a

moment to catch his breath and take

a better look at the creature, Kirk

could see that Seven's friend was

quite definitely feline in nature,

despite the ivory horn that sprung

from its forehead like a mugato's. A

thin trickle of venom leaked from the

tip of the horn. The green and black

stripes upon the animal's pelt,

well-suited to camouflage in this

verdant rain forest, resembled a

Terran tiger's markings, just as the

quivering whiskers beneath the

creature's muzzle bore further

evidence to its similarity to

terrestrial felines. Kirk stared into

the big cat's emerald eyes, looking

for some sense of its intelligence.

Was this beast Seven called Osiris

actually sentient, he pondered, or

was that merely animal cunning

peering back at him? Kirk remembered

the sleek black cat that accompanied

Seven everywhere and wondered, for

the first time, whether Isis might be

more than a mere pet. He wished there

was some way he could warn Spock to

keep a closer eye on the cat.

Osiris emitted a throaty squawk.

"He apologizes for the

misunderstanding," Seven translated,

"but Osiris is suspicious of

strangers, especially these days.

Thankfully, no one was seriously

harmed."

"More or less," Kirk said. His eyes

and throat still burned from the

cat's toxic spray, but the symptoms

119

Greg Cox

seemed to be fading away. He

inspected his right hand. The skin

was red and irritated, as from a

sunburn or minor allergic reaction,

but otherwise undamaged. Osiris's

venom was intended to stun its prey,

he deduced, not finish them off. He

stretched out his hand, letting the

cool rain soothe the reddened skin.

"Chekov," he called out, remembering

that the young ensign had been

sprayed as well, "are you all right?"

"I think so, Captain," Chekov

answered, coughing mildly and rubbing

the tears from his eyes. "It stings

some, but that's all."

"How about you, Sulu?" Kirk asked.

He watched the helmsman slowly lift

himself from the soggy ground. A

thick layer of mud coated the front

of Sulu's uniform, which looked torn

and shredded around his shoulders.

Kirk looked for bite or claw marks,

and was relieved not to spot any.

"I'm fine, sir," Sulu reported. "I

just had the wind knocked out of me."

"Your men got off easy," Seven

commented to KirLike "Osiris can be

quite lethal, under the proper

circumstances."

"Such as?" Kirk prompted. His mind

raced ahead furiously, as he dug

through the underbrush, searching for

his phaser. Seven's familiarity with

this animal, so reminiscent of Isis

the cat, only confirmed Kirk's

suspicions that Seven and his

mysterious alien supervisors were

intimately connected to this entire

cloaked planet. But where did the

Romulans fit in? Kirk still couldn't

figure it out. "Exactly what sort of

circumstances are we dealing with

here? And why would Osiris be, as you

said, unusually jumpy these days?

What's going on?"

Seven sighed wearily. A growl

rumbled in the big cat's throat. "I

know, I know," he murmured

to Osiris.

"I suppose there isn't any choice."

He fixed his gray eyes on Kirk and

took another deep breath 120

Hi

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

before speaking again. "Now that

we've come this far, you need to

know something of the facts."

Finally, Kirk thought. He

retrieved his phaser from beneath a

leafy fern. It was a bit muddy, but

looked still in working order.

"It all started," Seven began,

"back in l 969...."

Chapter Ten

"DAMNIT, SPOCK, YOU can't just

abandon Jim!

Dr. McCoy's face reddened as he

spoke; Spock found it singularly

unflattering, even for a human. He

was quite accustomed to the doctor's

volatile nature, however. At times

he

even found it amusing, on an

intellectual level. This was not one

of those times.

""The captain's orders were quite

clear," he observed. He kept his gaze

flied on the viewscreen, where the

unnamed planet slowly rotated before

his eyes. It looked deceptively

innocuous and ordinary. "Should

anything happen to him, I was to use

my best efforts to return the

Enterprise to Federation space." It

was not by his choice that Spock now

occupied the captain's chair on the

bridge. Indeed, he would have

preferred otherwise, but with the

captain missing there was no other

alternative. His duty was clear.

I am sorry, Jim, Spock thought,

permitting himself a rare moment of

regret. You will be missed. He was

aware of a greater sorrow, caged

behind the wall of his intellect, yet

he was cautious not to let it demand

too

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY I

much expression, lest it break free and overpower

his logic just when his duty most required a clear and

unencumbered mind.

"Lieutenant Rodriguez," he said,

addressing the crewman who had taken Sulu's

place at the helm, "prepare to depart orbit."

"But we lost contact with Jim and the others only

an hour ago!" McCoy said, his tone growing even

more vehement. He grabbed the armrest of the captain's

chair and spun Spock around to face him. "You have

to give him a chance to turn things around. God knows

Jim's gotten out of stickier situations than this."

There was some validity to the doctor's argument,

Spock conceded. In the past, Captain Kirk had

demonstrated a consistent ability to extricate

himself from seemingly hopeless circumstances. Indeed,

Spock could immediately recall numerous instances where the

captain had defied odds that Spock had

calculated at ninety percent or higher, including

his triumphant encounters with the Gorn, the Horta,

and the so-called Squire of Gothos. The odds were

against him doing so again, but the captain had

always managed to defy the odds before. To believe

otherwise, in the face of the documented evidence of

past events, would be illogical.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he asked, "have you been

able to reestablish contact with the landing party?"

"I'm trying," she insisted, making minute

adjustments to her instrumentation even as she spoke, "but

I can't get past the force field, no matter what

frequency I use."

"Acknowledged," Spock said. "Continue your

efforts for as long as we remain within communications

range of the planet." He intended to give the

captain every chance to contact the ship in the time remaining,

but he could not delay their departure indefinitely.

By his own estimation, it was extremely unlikely

that the captain would be able to elude 123

,

Greg Cox

capture by those responsible for the

sudden appearance of the force field,

although the involvement of Mr.

Seven, an unknown factor of a

distinctly unpredictable nature, made

it impossible to calculate the odds

precisely.

The Romulans, on the other hand,

were quite predictable. They would

show the captain no mercy if they

apprehended him. On some level, Spock

privately admitted to himself, he

always found it... unsettling . . .

to deal with Romulans, more so than

during comparable interactions with

such adversaries as the Klingons or

the Tholians. In many ways they were

more similar to him than any human,

yet their aggressive militarism and

negative emotions made them each a

living repudiation of the Vulcan

ideals to which Spock had devoted his

life. If even the Romulans, who are

genetically indistinguishable from

Vulcans, cannot live according to the

teachings of Surak what hope does a

half-breed such as myse j have to

attain a state of perfect logic? The

Romulans were a mirror that offered

him only the most disturbing

reflections.

Nor had his last encounter with the

Romulans left his mind untroubled;

although tilde his duty to Starfleet had

been clear, he regretted the

deception he had been forced to

practice upon the Romulan commander,

whose trust-he had both won and

betrayed. It had felt much like

deceiving another Vulcan. The

incident, although undeniably

necessary, still plagued his con-

science.

tilde must be careful, he thought, not

to let such concerns cloud my

reasoning in this instance. "Mr.

Rodriguez, plot an evasive course

that will put as much distance as

possible between Gladiator and

ourselves."

"Aye, sir," Rodriguez answered. The

crewman was new to bridge duty and

looked verifiably nervous. Next to

him, on the other side of the

astrogator, Ensign Sheryl Gates

filled in for Chekov at the 124

,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

navigation console. She, too, looked

concerned and anxious. Spock found

such naked emotional distress

unseemly and vaguely embarrassing; he

wondered if humans realized how

obvious their emotions were, or if

they even worried about that.

Dr. McCoy, certainly, was not one

to hide his feelings. "Spock," he

whispered hoarsely, "Jim will find a

way to get back to us. You know he

will."

"I wish I could share your

certainty, Doctor, but that would not

be logical." It would be unwise to

make such a decision without

considering all available data, but

no new information appeared to be

forthcoming. "Lieutenant Uhura?"

She shook her head. "Still nothing,

sir."

"Acknowledged," Spock said. His

mind weighed the probabilities

concerning the captain's possible

survival, trying to establish logical

criteria by which he could judge how

long a delay might be too long. It

was difficult, he admitted, to

balance the equations; Captain Kirk's

resourcefulness what he called his

"luck" was a variable that was

difficult to quantify. The safety of

the entire crew outweighed that of

any single individual, but what about

when that individual was Jim? He

turned his head away from McCoy and

contemplated the screen ahead of him.

"Is our course plotted, Mr.

Rodriguez?"

"Yes, sir." The crewman looked back

over his shoulder at Spock. "Shall I

engage the engines?"')

Spock hesitated. still cannot decide

Jim's fate with so many variables

undetermined. More data is required,

but where can it be found? What would

Jim himself do under these

circumstances' He doubted that the

captain, whose actions were often

more admirable than logical, would

ever leave any member of his crew

behind, least of all Spock.

comThe captain's orders were clear,

but Spock had disobeyed orders

before, had once even risked a

court-martial and the death penalty

for the sake of another captain.

Logic and loyalty, he had learned,

ll

Greg Cox

sometimes took precedence above the chain of command, but

what was he to do when logic and loyalty pointed him

in opposite directions7

"Captain7" Rodriguez asked again, reminding

Spock that more than Kirk's life was at stake

here. The lives of everyone aboard the Enterprise

depended on Spock's decision. There seemed

only one logical decision he could make,- no

matter how hard he searched for a plausible

alternative. Deep within his soul, he felt a

terrible sorrow struggling to break free.

"The captain must be abandoned," he announced, his

voice holding only the icy coolness of his

irrefuta- i ble logic. "Set course for the

Neutral his

"Whoa there!" a female voice called out.

"Wait just one minute." Spock turned around

to see Roberta Lincoln emerge from the turbolift

at the back of the bridge. She hurried toward him,

clutching a translucent crystal cube in one hand.

The cube, Spock

observed, emitted a faint green glow. ,

"Nobody going anywhere just yet!" she declared.

"A base of operations?" comKirk said.

Seven nodded. "For the entire Romulan Star

Empire and beyond. My Romulan counterpart

initiates all his activities from here."

They crouched behind a sprawl of bushes, peeking

through the branches at a building that occupied the center

of a circular clearing about a kilometer in

diameter. The structure was not much to look at a

squat, Angular bunker seemingly constructed from

large blocks of some granitelike material.

Kirk had ,

never visited Romulus, nor did he know of

any human who ever had, but the look of the builds

reminded him of the massive stone buildings he had

seen in covertly obtained spy photos

of the Romulan capital. A mural worked its way

around the two wouldls Kirk could see from his vantage

point. Painted, two" dimensional cats of many

sizes and colors stalled 126

d'1' tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

across the mural. What is it with these people and cats?

Kirk thought, although the mural added credence

to Seven's claim that his own organization had built

this installation.

Green-tinted searchlights, inactive now, were

mounted on each corner of the building's roof.

Additionai lamps, sitting atop elevated posts,

were situated at regular intervals around the clearing.

Obviously, there was no point in waiting for the sun

to go down; the bunker and the surrounding area would be thor-

oughly illuminated at night.

Romulan soldiers, armed with disrupter

patrolled the perimeter of the bunker. Their golden

helmets were streaked by raindrops, but the guards

appeared oblivious to the weather. Their thick, padded

uniforms seemed ill-suited to the tropical

climate until Kirk remembered that

Romulans, if they were as much like

Vulcans as they looked, probably preferred

hot environments Besides, he thought, those uniJorms

probably keep out all the rain. He ducked lower

behind the bushes as a guard marched past them, about four

or five meters from their hiding place. So far,

Kirk had counted at least four guards.

"As I recall," Kirk whispered to Seven after

the guard had passed, "all you needed was an apartment

in New York City. Why cloak this entire

planet?"

"The Romulan Empire is essentially a

police state," Seven explained, "and one

equipped with far more advanced surveillance

techniques than I ever had to worry about. There's

no way Agent 146 could conceal this base in the

midst of a Romulan population center."

That had the ring of truth to it, Kirk thought.

Certainly modern-day Romulans were harder to spy

on than ancient humans; Starfleet

Intelligence would attest to that. "But I thought your people

were leaving us alone in this century?"

"The internal affairs of the Federation no longer

.

tilde 1

Greg Cox

concern us," Seven clarified,

"but-the Romalan Empire will remain

a threat to galactic peace for at

least a generation beyond your own

time."

There's discouraging news, Kirk

thought. He would have liked to have

seen peace in his lifetime, as

unlikely as it seemed where the

Romulans or the Klingons were

concerned. "Even still, a whole

planet?"

"There were other considerations,"

Seven admitted. "We hoped to preserve

this world's natural treasures, its

abundant forests and wildlife, for

future generations. The Romulans of

this time would not hesitate to

despoil this planet to further their

military agendas."

"I didn't realize your people went

in for that sort of environmental

campaign," Kirk said, glancing at the

green-striped tiger lurking beside

them in the underbrush He noticed

that both Sulu and Chekov were

keeping a safe distance from Osiris,

a reasonable enough strategy given

the big cat's formidable-looking

fangs and claws.

Seven gave Kirk a wry smile. "There

are other ways of protecting the

future besides sabotaging nuclear

satellites." His smile vanished as he

contemplated the guards stationed

around the bunker. "In any event, it

appears that even the cloaking field

was not sufficient to hide this base

from the Romulans forever. 146 must

have made a crucial mistake, alerting

the Romulans to his activities.

Captain, we cannot allow the Romulan

Empire to retain control of the

technology employed in this comnlex.

That would . . . severely alter . .

. the balance o power throughout this

quadrant."

Is that all? Kirk thought. He

suspected that, as usual, Seven

wasn't telling him the whole truth.

He was tempted to ask Seven exactly

what technology he had in mind, but

comhe doubted that Seven would give him

a straight answer anyway, so all he

could do was speculate and worry.

What coilld the Romulans do 128

I

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

with Seven's super-advanced equipment?

Remember- ing Seven's ship-shaking,

galaxy-hopping transporter beams, Kirk could

all too easily imagine worse-case scenarios

that ended with the total conquest of the Federation. "All right

then," he asked, "what are our options?"

"Most of the complex is located underground,"

Seven said. "The nerve center is located on the

lowest level, about four stories beneath the surface.

If we can get there, I can activate the

self-destruct system. After it detonates, there

won't be any equipment left for the Romulans

to analyze."

"What about the force field controls?" Kirk

asked. As long as the field was in place, there was

no way Spock could beam them back to the

Enterprise, as- suming the Enterprise was even in

transporter range. In the best of all possible

worlds, the ship was halfway through the Neutral Zone

by now. Maybe we can hijacEa Romulan

vessel to escape in, Kirk thought, or use one

of Seven's super-transporter beams to get

home. There had to be some way to come out ahead in the

end; he didn't believe in no-win scenarios.

"I should be able to disable the force field as well,"

Seven answered, then turned his head to address

Kirk face to face. "Captain, I want

to make my intentions perfectly clear. Destroying

this complex is my pri- mary responsibilit,.

If I can ensure a safe escape for all of us,

I will be appy to do so, but not if it means endangering

my m ssion. If I have to destroy us along with the

complex, then I am willing to make that

sacrifice."

Kirk shook his head. "You're not in charge of this

mission, Seven. If it comes to that, I'll make the

5 decision, not you." He wasn't afraid to die.

He'd accepted that possibility the instant he'd

decided to beam down to an uncharted planet behind

enemy lines, but he'd be damned if he'd let

Seven turn this into some sort of kamikaze

run without his permis- sign. I'm going to beat the

odds and get us all back to 129

Greg Cox

safety, whether Seven likes it or

not. He owed that much to Chekov and

Sulu at least; he owed them a captain

who refused to give up.

Still, he prayed that his earlier

decision had not doomed his two

crewmen. If I'd known I would have

Seven and Osiris on my side down

here, he thought, maybe1 wouldn't

have brought along Sulu and Chekov

for backup.

But it was too late for second

thoughts now.

"I assure you, Captain," Seven

declared, "I don't have a death wish,

but there might not be any other

choice."

I wonder if that's why he left

Roberta and the cat behind? Kirk

thought. Was this what he was

planning all along' "We'll blow up

that bridge when we come to it," Kirk

said, preferring to focus on the task

at hand. "So how do we get past the

guards?"

Seven patted the green cat's

massive skull. "I think Osiris has

some ideas concerning that."

"Mr. Spock," Lt. Uhura stated

dryly, with more than a trace of

humor in her voice, "Ensign Cho

reports that Miss Lincoln has escaped

from her quarters."

"That fact is self-evident,

Lieutenant." Spock rose from the

captain's chair to face the young

human who had just dashed out of a

turbolift. She was panting slightly,

as though she had just sprinted a

short distance. "Miss Lincoln, I must

ask you to leave the bridge."

"No way, Mister Martian." Hopping

down into the command module, she

walked around him and quite

confidently planted herself in the

seat Spock had just vacated. She

leaned against the padded black vinyl

back of the chair, holding the

glowing crystal cube in the palm of

her hand. Spock noted that she had

exchanged her Star tilde eet-issue boots

for a pair of antique tennis shoes.

"Like I said, no one is going

anywhere until I hear from Mr.

Seven." She glared at 130

1 tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Lt. Rodriguez at the helm controls. "And

that means you, buster!"

Had he been human, Spock would have been

surprised by her audaciousness. As it was, he was

slightly taken aback by her unexpected

behavior. Dr. McCoy, standing on the other side

of the captain's chair, looked positively

dumbfounded and maybe a bit amused.

"Mr. Spock?" Rodriguez asked, glancing

from Roberta to Spock and back again.

"Remain at your post, Lieutenant. You will have

your orders shortly." Spock approached

Roberta Although he would never admit it, he

experienced what a human might term a

distinct sense of relief Roberta's intervention had

provided a temporary reprieve from his dilemma

concerning the captain's fate. Indeed, it occurred

to him, the young woman might possess information

regarding Seven's mission that would help Spock

evaluate their situation. He recalled the

captain's suggestion of a mind meld....

Before he could address her, however, Roberta

raised the cube in her hand until it was level with

her face. "Computer," she said decisively.

"Maintain orbit."

The cube blinked in response. "Warp engines

at ready. Cancel previous command?"

"If that's what it takes," Roberta answered.

"Do it."

"Commander Spock," Rodriguez called out.

He stared with alarm at the systems status board at

his station. "I've lost control of the helm. The warp

engines are powering down!"

"Wow," Roberta breathed. "I wasn't sure

that was going to work." A grin broke out on her face.

"Cool."

Spock gave the cube a closer inspection.

Searching his memory, he recalled seeing the same

object, or its exact duplicate, in

Gary Seven's offices in twentieth century

Manhattan. At that time it had seemed of little

significance, but obviously that judgment had

to 1 tilde

Greg Cox

been mistaken. The voice emerging from the cube

he identified as identical to that of the highly

advanced computer Seven had employed to take

control of an orbital nuclear weapons platform.

Fascinating, he thought, despite their dire

circumstances. Either the cube provided a remote

link to Seven's central compute r, he theorized,

functioning across the gulf of time, or else it served

as a piece of advanced cybernetic hardware in its

own right. Either way, the cube was apparently capable

of overriding the command functions of the Enterprise's

own computer systems.

This constitutes a serious threat to the security of the

ship, he concluded. The prospect of placing the

Enterprise under the command of a primitive human from

three centuries ago, especially under the present

hasardous circumstances, is not one that should be

encouraged.

"Miss Lincoln," he said sternly.

"You have no authority to command this vessel. Please

return control of the computer systems to the ship's

personnel."

Roberta's face betrayed a twinge of guilt,

but she didn't budge from the captain's chair.

"Listen, Dr. Spock his

"Mr. Spock," he corrected.

"Sorry. Mr. Spock, I mean." She

leaned forward earnestly. "I've been playing J.

Edgar Hoover for the last hour or so, listening in on

you from my quarters back in the guest wing. I know

what you're planning to do, namely head back home and

leave Mr. Seven and Captain Kirk and the rest of

your buddies stranded on that planet down there. I

can't let you do that, not until I hear from Seven and

find out what he wants me to do next."

Regrettably, Spock thought, a nerve pinch was

not an option. He could not risk immobilizing

Roberta while she remained in control of the ship.

Even if he took the cube from her, he doubted if

the device would respond to his own verbal

instructions. A mind 132

it tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

meld, he thought, may well be the

only way to resolve this conflict.

Years of training, however, had

taught him that a mind meld,

especially with a nonv-ulcan, was

something to be undertaken only in

the most dire of circumstances.

Reason and discourse must always be

the first resort.

"I am no more eager to leave my

fellow officers behind than you are

to abandon Mr. Seven, but the facts

remain. A force barrier has cut off

all communications with the landing

party, including Gary Seven. It is

very possible that there will be no

further instructions for you from Mr.

Seven." Spock saw Roberta flinch at

the thought. "But while we delay, the

Enterprise and everyone aboard

remains in extreme danger. The longer

we wait, the more we risk detection

by either hostile warships or by the

unknown parties responsible for the

force field." Did Roberta understand

what a force field was, he wondered.

Clearly, she was more technologically

adept than she had first appeared.

"Miss Lincoln, you must let us take

whatever actions are necessary to

preserve the ship. Any other course

would be unwise in the extreme."

Roberta's face betrayed her

distress. "Look, you don't need to

lay a guilt trip on me. I know I'm

putting you folks in hot water, but

there isn't anything else I can do."

She looked at Spock beseechingly. He

saw both anguish and intelligence in

her eyes. "I don't pretend that I

know exactly what's going on here

Jeez, I'm just a hippie chick from

the Village who'd never even heard of

a Romulan before today. But I do know

that Mr. Seven wouldn't have come all

this way unless his mission was

massively important to the history of

the world, maybe even to the whole

freakin' universe, and he's counting

on me to cover his tilde back and bail him

out if he gets in too deep."

"Miss Lincoln, self-deprecating remarks

aside, you 133

I,

Greg Cox

and I both know that you are far more than merely a

"hippy chick." Nevertheless, there may be nothing you

can do in this instance." He felt, curiously, as though

he was arguing with himself. Could his own doubts so

closely resemble this eccentric young human's?

Fascieating, he thought.

"Yeah," Roberta answered, "but I don't know

that for sure. Besides, I've seen Seven get out of

tighter fixes than this. There was this one time, when he

had to slip over the Berlin Wall and back without

using his transporter, that I thought I was never going

to see him again. But you know what? He came back."

"Listen to that, Spock," McCoy spoke up.

"Sound like anyone we know?"

It occurred to Spock that2 like himself, the

doctor undoubtedly had mixed feelings about

Roberta's activities. If nothing else, she

had succeeded in postponing the Enterprise's

departure, just as McCoy had hoped.

"Miraculous escapes, by their very defini- tion,"

he observed, "cannot be anticipated or

relied upon."

"Yeah, but there was this other times while we were teamed

up with this wise guy reporter from Chicago, when

Seven actually sneaked in and out of the Pentagon with the

top secret plans for a new type of robot

soldier. The Quasar Tapes, or something like that.

Maybe that's not quite the same thing as some weirdo

planet light-years from who-knows-where, but if Seven

can pull that one off, maybe he could do the same here.

I mean, it's not like your own force fields did such

a great job of locking him up."

"She's got you there, Spock," McCoy

chortled, clearly enjoying himself far more than Spock

judged appropriate.

"Your remarks are not entirely helpful,

Doctor," Spock stated, "nor are they

convincing." He attempted once more to persuade

Roberta. "Your confidence in Mr. Seven's

abilities is commendable, but it 134

.. ..

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY tilde - is not

sufficient to justify retaining control of this ship.

You are not a Starfleet captain. You are a

stranger to this era and this sector of space. Logic

dictates that you return command of the ship

to those more qualified to perform that task."

Roberta turned the cube over and over in her

hands. "Logic never was my strong point, I

guess, and I've been accused of having a problem

with authority figures." She gave Spock a

defiant look, and leaned back into the captain's

chair.

"In my day, we call this a sit-in."

al

Chapter Eleven

NOCTURNAL BIRDS trilled in the

treetops overhead. Now that the cooling rain had

faded to a gentle drizzle, Kirk grew ever more

aware of the sweltering heat of the jungle. Even though

the sun had almost set, leaving the tropical forest at

the end of twilight, the air felt as hot as a

Miami afternoon. No doubt the Romulans love this

heat, he guessed, scowling, unhappy at having

to grant his foes yet another advantage in this

situation.

They were circling the clearing, keeping safely behind

the green curtain of the jungle brush. Branches

flicked against Kirk's face and stringy vines tugged

on his legs as he worked his way through the

dense foliage. Osiris led the way, gliding

effortlessly between the trees and bushes. Gary Seven

followed behind the big cat, only a few paces

ahead of Kirk, while Chekov and Sulu kept

up the rear. "So far, so good," Seven

whispered to Kirk. "Now might be a good time to j

return my servo to me."

Kirk shook his head. "You're here as a guide

and

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

observer, not a combatant. I'm in

command of this mission, and I'm not

satisfied that you wouldn't turn your

weapon on me and my crew if it suited

your purposes." Seven could not be

trusted with his handy little

slee tilde inducer, he thought. Just ask

Chekov and McCoy.

Seven apparently knew better than

to argue the point. With a resigned

expression on his face, he silently

followed Osiris until the cat came to

a halt several meters later. Kirk

glanced around; he had to admit that

this swatch of jungle seemed

indistinguishable from any other. For

all he could tell, Osiris could have

led them in a complete circle.

A throaty rumble came from the cat.

Seven nodded and turned toward Kirk.

"Osiris says this is as close as we

can get to the entrance without being

detected."

Kirk furtively crept to the edge of

the underbrush and peered through the

branches. He received a headon view

of one face of the bunker, and

glimpsed a darkened indentation that

could have been a doorway. Two

Romulan guards stood at either side

of the entrance, their disrupter

rifles at the ready. Kirk grimly

contemplated the guards, and the

expanse of open clearing between him

and the entrance. Nothing but a wide

carpet of grass, no more than a few

centimeters high, stretched in front

of him. There was no way to approach

the bunker without being spotted by

the Romulans.

"We need a distraction," Kirk

concluded. "Sulu, Chekov, I want you

to circle back and attack the bunker

from over there." He pointed to a

location many meters away. "Do

whatever's necessary to attract the

guards, then let them chase you into

the jungle. Keep them busy for as

long as you can, but don't let them

capture you. Understood?"

"Yes, Captain. Are you sure you

will be all right on your own?"

Chekov asked, giving Seven and Osiris

a suspicious look. He clearly didn't

like the idea of leaving Kirk alone

with such uncertain allies. 1 don't

. 1 tilde

Greg Cox

blame him, Kirk thought. Frankly, I'd rather

have Spock at my side.

"Your concern is noted," he said, "but I can

take care of myself." He checked to make sure he

still had his communicator. "Maintain

communications silence until I contact you. With any

luck, I'll be in touch after I've completed our

mission."

Sulu nodded. "You can count on us, sir." He

looked at Chekov and cocked his head in the

direction Kirk had indicated. "Let's go."

Keeping their heads down, the two men scurried

away into the surrounding jungle. Within seconds

Kirk had lost sight of them. Good luck, he

thought. As always, he regretted putting any of his

crew into the line of danger, but, he considered, in the

long run, getting chased through the jungle was

probably safer than infiltrating the bunker itself.

He and Seven faced the hardest part getting into the

Romulan tilde ontrolled base and destroying it

without getting themselves killed or captured in the

process. Not exactly the Kobayashi Maru,

Kirk thought, but no piece of cake.

Seven stroked Osiris's head as he watched

Chekov and Sulu disappear. "Now what?" he

asked Kirk.

"Now we wait," Kirk responded.

He called himself Septos, but his colleagues

knew him as Supervisor 146. While he

resembled a Vulcan or a Romulan in

appearance, he subscribed to neither the teachings of

Surak nor to the warrior ethic of the Empire. His

true loyalty was to the alien aegis who had trained

and sponsored his family for countless generations, indeed

since before the early Romulans broke away from their

Vulcan roots. Throughout his career, he had always

taken his duties very seriously which made his

ultimate failure all the more painful.

The fierce glare of a harsh white light added

to his torment. He tried to dose both his mner and

outer eyelids against the illumination, block out what

i C,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

happening to him,- but a sharp slap against his face

brought him back to the cruel reality of his

captivity. Staring past the blinding glare, he could

barely glimpse the outline of his assailant, but

he knew all too well who she was Commander

Dellas of the Tal Shiar, the dreaded Romulan

secret police.

"No, no, my friend," Dellas said. She was an

imposing Romulan woman, a mere sixty years

old, with short black hair cut well above the

points of her ears. A thin white scar

ran across her brow, intersecting both of her angular

eyebrows. "You cannot escape my questions that easily.

I demand your full attention." She raised her

hand, prepared to strike him again. A faint-olive

bruise marked his cheek where tilde she had slapped

him.

Septos knew his tormentor well, having

frequently perused her file in better days. The

youngest daughter of a disgraced Proconsul, she

alone had survived the purge that had erased the rest

of her family from existence. Raised from childhood

in the harsh environment of a government detention camp

on Barbaros IV, she had impressed her

captors with her cunning and ruthlessness, rising

swiftly from Agile to centurion to commander of her own

elite tasletter force, charged with investigating any and

all threats to the internal security of the Empire.

It was said, in some circles, that even the Praetor

feared her zeal and ambition.

"That's better," she said, meeting Septos's

gaze The small chamber with its bare, water-stained

gray walls had once served as his private

meditation room; Dellas had converted it to an

interrogation celLike

Septos sat on a hard metal stool

with one of D"eLlas's i

men standing behind him, holding his shoulders down while

Dellas paced back and forth in front of him. An

older Romulan, paunchy and balding, stood to one

side, using a tricorder to record the

interrogalion. This, Septos had learned, was

Vithrok, Dellas's chief scientific

advisor. Unlike most Romulan males,

il

Greg Cox

Vithrok affected a beard, perhaps to

compensate for his thinning hair. He

wore a white lab coat over his

military uniform, and looked mild

enough, yet, in his own way, the

scientist was quite as dangerous as

his cold-blooded superior; it was he

who had already deciphered too many

of Septos's technological secrets.

So far he had not gathered any new

information this session, a testament

to Septos's continued resistance.

Photon torches had been set up in a

triangle around the prisoner. Their

glare hurt his eyes and seared his

skin. You would think I would be used

to it by now, Septos thought. This

was not the first time Dellas had

subjected him to such an inquisition.

He feared it would not be the last.

Stubble dotted his jawline. His

eyes were bloodshot and streaked with

green. A swollen lip concealed the

gaps where several teeth had gone

missing. I must endure for as long as

I can, he thought. I must survive to

summon assistance, alert the others

to what has befallen here. The sheer

enormity of the catastrophe nearly

overwhelmed him. How could he have

let the Tal Shiar come into

possession of this base? How could he

have been so careless?

It was Dellas who had discovered

him. She must have been observing him

for months before making her move. He

had just returned from what had

seemed like a routine assignment,

helping key Ramulan dissidents

defect

to Vulcan, when Dellas surprised him

in his own headquarters. Her troops

had seized him and taken control of

the compound before he even had a

chance to react. Only Osiris had

managed to escape into the jungle,

although Septos knew that there was

little the cat could do without

access to the equipment within the

base. It was up to him to turn the

tables on the Romulans somehow, if

only long enough to sound an alert.

If only I'm not too late, he thought.

They've already learned so much!

"Your mental discipline is

admirable," Dellas cam

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

mented. A thick ebony cloak, indicating her

rank in the Romulan intelligence service, was

draped over the right shoulder of her uniform. "So far

you have resisted many of our most dependable drugs-.

You have even defied a Klingon mind-sifter set at

force three, which, you may be interested to know,

is the highest level that does not yet inflict

permanent brain damage on its subjects. But

your suffering is pointless. You know I will learn

everything I want, eventually. Even without your

cooperation, my scientists have already mastered much of your

technology, including your very impressive

transporter device."" Septos heard

malevolent triumph in her voice. "I have

plans for your time-travel equipment. Quite

ambitious plans, although I suspect you would find

them more than a little horrifying."

Time travel! Septos struggled not to let his

shock

show on his face. It was even worse than he

thought. tilde - He tried to imagine all the

damage a person like Dellas could do to history as

he knew it, and was frightened by all the

possibilities that came to mind. I need to slow

her down if I can, stall her for as long as I'm

able.

"What do you need from me then?" he asked

hoarsely. His throat was parched and dry. His

rumpled garments, the tan robes of an ordinary

Romulan merchant, reeked of old sweat and

spilled blood. His bare feet scraped

the cold tile floor. It was hard to even string the

words together. He had not slept in days.

Dellas shrugged. Septos glimpsed the emblem

of the Tal Shiar on her collar, some said that it was

Dellas who had actually founded that infamous

organization, although Septos had been unable

to confirm that rumor. "Maybe nothing. Maybe

everything. Information is the life's blood of the Tat

Shiar, and I want every scrap of data that may be

hiding in that traitor's skull of yours." She

laughed coldly. "One of the great advantages of

time travel is that I can depart

'41

Greg Cox

on my mission whenever I choose and

still arrive at the ideal moment.

That being the case, I prefer to know

every variable, every possible snag,

before I take action, including the

names and locations of all your

confederates and superiors." All

humor disappeared from her voice as

she leaned toward Septos until her

face was only a few centimeters away

from his. Her dark brown eyes held

no

trace of mercy. "Tell me now. Who do

you work for? Who sent you here? Tell

me!"

Septos met Dellas's stare and kept

his jaws tightly shut. Bad enough

that he had, through carelessness,

betrayed himself. Nothing would force

him to expose the others. He tried to

stand up, but strong, unforgiving

hands pressed him back down onto the

stool. I won't talk he vowed. I will

die first.

Dellas did not take his silence

well. "Don't be an idiot," she

snapped. "Give in while there's still

something left of you worth

preserving." She grabbed hold of the

duranium rod supporting one of the

photon torches and tipped it toward

Septos's face. The heat from the lamp

felt dangerously close to his flesh.

Vithrok winced and looked away;

clearly, he did not share his

commander's enthusiasm for threats

and intimidation.

"There is no one else!" Septos

protested. "I work alone!"

A cruel smile lifted the corners of

her mouth. "You're a better martyour

than a liar, Citizen Septos. In my

experience, espionage is a social

disease; no one ever contracts it

alone."

"I'm not a sw," Septos insisted for

the hundredth time. The heat from the

torch was scorching. His face felt

like it was sizzling. "I consider

myself an anonymous philanthropist,

nothing more. There is no one else."

"Perhaps he is telling the truths'

Vithrok sugBested. He nervously

stroked his whiskers.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"Silence," Dellas commanded. "This

is my field of expertise, not yours."

She returned her attention to her

prisoner, glaring accusingly at

Septos. "You are an enemy of the

Empire and a liar." Dellas stepped

away from her captive, returning the

lamp to its original position. "I

dislike mind-sifters. They're crude,

brutal things. Typically Klingon. At

their highest settings, they tend to

destroy as much of a brain as they

expose. I've seen them reduce a

brilliant scholar or poet to a

babbling imbecile." She paused to let

her words sink in. "Nonetheless, I am

not above using them when other forms

of persuasion fail to bring me the

information I desire. You should keep

that in mind. My patience is not

unlimited."

Septospermitted himself a bitter

chuckle. His flesh and bones still

ached from Dellas's previous displays

of "patience." How much more can I

endure' he wondered, close to

despair. Although he didn't want to

admit it, the thought of facing the

mindffifter again terrified him. It

had taken all his training and mental

discipline to resist the machine's

intrusions before, and his strength

had only diminished since then.

Unable to lie to himself, he knew

just how close he was to total

collapse. He could only pray that

Dellas did not realize this as well.

"Let's try this one more time," she

began, sounding slightly bored but

willing to stick with her task even

if it took her all day. "Where did

you get this technology?"

Vithrok averted his eyes once more.

Sulu caught the first guard by

surprise. Bounding out of the jungle

into the clearing, he fired his

phaser at one of the Romulan soldiers

guarding the entrance to the bunker.

Crouching down amidst the underbrush

several meters away, Kirk saw the

incandescent red beam stun the guard,

dropping him to the grass before the

shocked eyes of his fellow guard. The

other

143

Greg Cox

Romulan raised his disrupter rifle,

eager to return fire, but had to duck

for cover when Chekov emerged from

behind a tree and added his phaser

fire to Sulu's. In the light of the

energy beams, their Starfieet

uniforms were clearly visible. The

guard darted into the shadowy alcove

that held the entrance to the bunker,

then leaned out of the indentation

just enough to unleash a volley of

disrupter beams.

That's no good, Kirk thought. He

needed to get that guard away from

the doorway, not hiding behind it.

Plus, where were the other two

guards? He was sure he had counted

four soldiers earlier. He raised a

hand to signal Seven and Osiris, who

were hiding further back in the

greenery, to wait a little longer.

Come on, he silently urged Chekov and

Sulu. Lure them out into the open.

Certainly they were making enough

noise to rouse the entire Romulan

Star Empire. Besides the hiss of

their phaser beams, Sulu let out a

series of bloodcurdling whoops worthy

of any ancient samurai, while Chekov

yelled obscenities and invective in

his native Russian. At least Kirk

assumed they were insults; he

couldn't make out a word of it

himself. I just hope the Romulans

have cot their universal translators

working. It would be a shame if they

missed the full effect.

Their strenuous efforts produced

the desired effect. Two more Romulan

guards came running around the corner

of the bunker, nearly trampling over

their fallen comrade. They fired

their disrupters as they ran, forcing

the two men from the Enterprise to

retreat behind the bole of an

enormous tree whose mossy trunk

stretched toward the cloudy night

sky. The wooden giant was wide enough

to conceal both humans as they took

turns firing from either side of the

tree. Kirk knew their phasers were

set on stun. He doubted if the

Romulans were returning the favor.

Now that they had the Federation

officers outnumbered, the third guard

crept out of the shelter of the

entrance to join the other two

soldiers as they rushed

l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

toward Chekov and Sulu, disrupters blazing.

"Yes!" Kirk whispered to himself. He beckoned

Seven and Osiris closer. "Get ready," he

warned them. Osiris growled in anticipation.

Chekov scored a lucky shot, dropping another

Romulan onto the floor of the clearing The other

two kept on coming, though. Chips of wood and bark

flew where their beams struck the mighty tree.

Sulu and Chekov fired back wildly, too

busy dodging the din ruptor blasts to bother aiming

their phasers. Kirk knew they would have to retreat

soon. The Romulans were getting too close.

"Paushol y'chorte," Chekov

hollered in Russian, getting one last dig in before

abandoning his position and heading deeper into the brush,

Sulu right behind him. The Romulans got the

message all right, shouting angrily as they took

off in pursuit of the two humans, crashing through the

matted twigs and vines like rhinos on a rampage.

Kirk waited until they were entirely out of view,

then counted to five, just in case one of them turned

back.

Nobody did.

"Now!" he barked, jumping to his feet and racing

greater-than

out into the clearing. Seven and Osiris leaped forward

as well, the big cat's powerful legs propelling

him above and ahead of Kirk. As they approached the

entrance to the bunker, Osiris veered toward the prone

body of the stunned Romulan guard, still splayed out

amidst the grass. Ivory fangs dashed before

Kirk's eyes.

"Not now," Seven called out to his feline

ally. "Maybe later."

Despite Seven's admonition, Osiris

couldn't resist taking a single swat at the fallen

guard with one of his massive paws before rejoining

Kirk and Seven in front of the bunker.

On closer inspection, Kirk observed that the

humanoid-sized recess he had spotted before formed

a narrow arch in front of a gleaming metal door.

He rapped his knuckles experimentally on the 45

tilde .

Greg Cox

door; it felt like solid duranium. There was

no way his phaser could disintegrate the barrier before the

guards returned. He glanced at Seven. "Your

move."

Seven nodded. His hand resting atop Osiris's

furry skull, he addressed the door. "This is

Supervisor 194. Emergency access code

delta-sine-delta."

With a hiss of released air, the steel door

slid upwards, revealing a well-lit vestibule

beyond. Open sesame, Kirk thought, impressed by the

ease with which Seven had eliminated the obstacle.

"Maybe you belong on this mission after all, Mr.

Seven," he said as he entered the bunker with his

phaser drawn.

The entrance chamber was large enough to hold all three

of them, with marble tiled floors and stone walls that

sloped upward at an angle. A decorative

sculpture composed of parallel silver

rods hung on one wall. A porcelain vase

holding a few withered pink blooms sat atop a

marble column. Looks hospitable enough, Kirk

thought; clearly it hadn't been designed by the

Romulan military. Dried flower petals

littered the floor around the vase. Kirk guessed

that no one had watered or replaced the flowers since

the soldiers captured the base.

Seven tapped a control panel on the wall

nearby the open entrance and the metal door slid

back down into place, sealing them in. Kirk

looked around quickly. He didn't see any more

guards, but he knew they couldn't expect their

intrusion to go undetected for long.

The vestibule opened onto three corridors,

to the right, to the left, and directly ahead. "Which

way?" Kirk asked.

Osiris answered by taking off down the left-hand

i

corridor, his ivory horn pointing the way.

"After you," Seven said, gesturing toward the hall the

emerald cat had chosen.

Kirk shook his head. "You first." He trusted

Seven to a degree, but why take unnecessary chances?

He'd rather have Seven in front of him, where

he could 146

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

keep an eye on the unpredictable time

traveller. Osiris disappeared around

a corner, his tail trailing behind.

"Better hurry. Our guide is getting

ahead of us."

Seven conceded to Kirk's directive,

pursuing Osiris down the empty hall.

Glancing over his shoulder to make

sure they hadn't been spotted yet,

Kirk rushed after them. Despite the

obvious danger and urgency of his

mission, he couldn't help feeling a

trace of amusement at the sheer

unlikeliness of his situation How in

blazes did f end up chasing a

lime-colored pussycat through an

alien outpost on the wrong side of

the Neutral Zone?

He could just imagine what McCoy

would say.

"How many agents do you have in the

Empire?" Dellas demanded. "What are

their names?"

Septos tried to swallow, but his

mouth was too dry. He stared at the

floor, seeing dried streaks of his

own blood upon the tiles. "No one,"

he whispered. "I told you before."

This was not entirely true. Over

the years, he had inevitably

established contacts throughout all

levels of Romulan society, from the

imperial senate to household servants

and disaffected students. Aside from

Osiris, though, few had ever

suspected the full scope of his

operations, nor guessed at the

supremely advanced nature of his

sponsors.

Until Dellas.

She frowned in frustration. "I grow

tired of your lies. Perhaps your

remaining secrets are not worth my

efforts at gentle persuasion." She

grabbed his hair and yanked his head

back, forcing him to look up at her.

"This is your last chance. Cooperate

and you will be rewarded with your

own disgraceful existence. Defy me

and I will make you wish you had

never heard of the Tat Shiar."

His heart sank. There was no

question of his response. He was

prepared to die to protect the aegis

and its agents, but he dreaded

leaving Dellas in 147

Greg Cox

control of this base. The more time

she wasted interrogating him, the

less opportunity she had to turn his

technology against the safety of the

galaxy. If she had truly exhausted

her patience with him, what new

horrors might she turn to? He had not

forgotten her vague but chilling

reference to plans involving time

travel.

"I don't know," he stalled. "I

can't think. Maybe if I had some

water? Or a chance to sleep . . . ?"

He coughed pathetically, spitting up

globules of emerald blood. "Please,

I need to rest."

Dellas did not appear sympathetic

to his pleas. Could she see through

his desperate attempt to buy more

time? The Romulan commander stared at

him silently, her eyes narrowing in

suspicion as she tapped the toe of

he r boot impatiently against the hard

stone floor. Finally, after a

seemingly endless interval, she

turned to the aging scientist at her

side, recording the session on his

tricorder. "Very well, Vithrok.

Prepare the mind-sifter."

"No!" Septos cried out as loudly-as

his ravaged body allowed. He did not

need to feign his alarm. "You cannot.

I need only a little time to thirilLike"

"Your time is up,- Citizen

Septoseai' Dellas stated coldly. "I

warned you and, unlike yourself, I

mean what I say." She turned her back

on him and took the tricorder from

Vithrok, casually perusing its

display. "Make sure any new data is

triply encrypted," she instructed

him. As befitted a high-ranking

member of the secret police, the

commander was paranoid about secrecy;

even the lone guard wore ear plugs

beneath his helmet to keep him from

hearing any details of the

interrogation.

Vithrok removed the mind-sifter

from a pocket of his lab coat.

Although of Klingon design, the

device did not look intimidating,

consisting of a collapsible metal

ring affixed to a folded leather

hood. The ring, Septos knew from

painful experience, fitted over the

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

dome of the subject's skull while the hood

provided a degree of sensory deprivation that

heightened the effects of the mind-sifter, which operated

by passing modulated baryon waves through the cerebral

cortex of its victims. The waves interacted with the

brain's electrical impulses to produce

interference patterns that could be recorded and

translated into a crude approximation of the

subject's personal synaptic pathways. The

technology was not unlike that employed by the

mnemonic teaching machines of the ancient Eymorgs

of Sigma Draconis VI, but infinitely less

subtle. When the device was set at its highest

levels, the baryon waves provoked synaptic

overloads that could lead to seizures, brain

damage, and even death. Septos had already

experienced the headaches and nausea, the blackouts

and memory loss, caused by the mind-sifter at its

lowest settings; he dreaded what was yet to come.

Delicate silver circuitry glittered around

the metal ring. Miniature display lights

flickered to life as Vithrok powered up the

device, adjusting the energy levels by tapping

gently on a touch-sensitive pad alon

the edge of the ring. If not for the ominous darkbrown

hood hanging down from the metal band, the

electronic interrogation device might have easily

been mistaken for a decorative tiara or crown.

"We'll start at Force Four," he suggested.

"No," Deltas instructed. She regarded

Septos tilde coldly. "Force Six." i

Six! Septos lurched forward, reaching out to stop

Vithrok from placing the ring upon his head, but

the Romulan soldier standing guard behind him shoved him

roughly back onto the stool, then smacked

Septos against the head with the back of his hand, stunning

the already battered and despairing prisoner. His chin

sagged upon his chest. His arms drooped loosely

toward the floor. The hood descended over his head,

casting him into darkness as the metal ring was put in

1,, tilde

Greg Cox

place above his ears, tightening automatically

around his skull. The inside of the hood smelled like

fear. His fear.

Forgive me, Osiris, my friend, he thought. I

did my best, out I have run out of strategies.

All is lost.

"Nolan true, was he whispered, invoking the

traditional Romulan farewell. "Golan

true. his

Then, without warning, the communicator on

Dellas's belt emitted a loud buzz.

Septos heard her snatch up the device and hold

it to her lips. "Dellas here. What is it?"

Septos leaned forward, straining his ears to listen

to the voice coming from the communicator

"Commander, the installation has been attacked

by Starfleet personnel."

Starfleet! Hope surged within Septos. He

had no idea what StarDeet officers were doing here,

but it could not be good news for Dellas and her forces.

What was going on? Had Osiris somehow managed

to alert the Federation to Dellas's no doubt

catastrophic plans? Septos summoned up his

last reserves of energy and concentration. If nothing

else, Starfleet's unex

pected arrival may be the distraction I need.

tilde Disturbingly, Dellas sounded neither

surprised nor "

alarmed by the news she had just received. "I see,"

she said, sharing a knowing look with Vithrok. "From the

Enterprise, no doubt. I've been expecting

something like this ever since we identified the ship on our

sensors."

The Enterprise, Septos thought. That was James

T. Kirk's ship, he knew, but what was it doing

on this side of the Neutral Zone again? He

didn't understand. If only he could see what was

happening . . . to

"But the force field?" Vithrok said.

tilde Dellas's voice betrayed no

anxiety. "Clearly it was not sufficient to curb the

infamous Captain Kirk." She spoke again into her

communicator. "What is the status of the attack?"

"The perimeter guards repelled the initial

assault," 150

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

the voice reported. ""They are now in

pursuit of the humans."

"Acknowledged," Dellas said, handing the

tricorder back to Vithrok. "Meet me at the

entrance to Level One. I will be there at once."

She snapped the communicator shut and headed toward

the exit. Then her footsteps paused long enough for her

to look back at her prisoner. "Golan true,

citizen. It seems you will have the time you requested.

I suggest you do not waste it."

conI don't intend to, he thought, being careful not

to let his defiance show in his posture. Vithrok

deftly rolled up the sides of the hood until

Septos could see again, but he kept his gaze fixed

hopelessly upon the floor even as the Romulan

scientist lifted the mind-sifter off his head.

Vithrok-spoke not a word to Septos, nor did

he look him in the face; no doubt, Septos

guessed, the commander's scientific

advisor preferred to think of their prisoner as

merely another test animal. Septos waited

until Vithrok hurried off to catch up with

Dellas, taking the mind-sifter with him and leaving

Septos alone with just the single guard. His mind worked

furiously, trying to figure out how to best take

advantage of this opportunity.

The first thing to do was immobilize the guard.

Ordinarily, this would not be a problem; his ancestors

had been bred for centuries to provide him with a

Romulan body with the maximum possible genetic

potential, potential he had been trained from

childhood to realize. But weeks of captivity and

physical abuse had sapped much of his strength.

Even with his advanced fighting techniques, he was

by no means certain that he was in shape to overcome a

determined Romulan soldier. Stealth and

surprise were what was needed here....

A low moan escaped his lips, followed by a

series of

horrible, hacking coughs that shook his entire

body. j

Suddenly he let out a ghastly cry of pain and

toppled forward off the stool, crashing onto the

floor with 45,

Greg Cox

much noise and impact. He felt a

sharp pain where his brow connected

with the unforgiving stone floor His

body lay crumpled upon the tiles,

twitching spasmodically and bleeding

profusely from a gash in his

forehead.

"Get up," the guard commanded.

Reaching beneath his helmet, he

popped the plugs from his ears and

shoved them into a pocket in his

uniform. His accent betrayed his

origins in the outer colonies. "Get

up, you traitor!"

Aside from the twitching of his

limbs, Septos did not move from where

he had collapsed, his head turned

sideways on the floor. Greenish

saliva bubbled at the corner of his

mouth. His eyes rolled upward until

only the bloodshot whites could be

seen. His fingers and toes jerked

repeatedly, scraping against the

marble tiles, as though he was being

subjected to a sequence of electrical

shocks. A puddle of blood formed

around his head, streaming from the

wound on his brow.

"You! Can you hear me?" the guarded

demanded, sounding more uncertain

now. "What's the matter with you?"

The twitching subsided, leaving the

unresponsive body limp and

motionless. No sound escaped Septos's

lips, only a thin trail of chartreuse

drool that slid onto the floor,

merging with the darker green blood

from his head wound. It was

impossible to tell if he was alive or

dead.

Swearing under his breath, the

guard shoved the stool out of the way

and stepped closer to the figure on

the floor. He nudged Septos with the

toe of his boot, then kicked him

cruelly in the ribs. The body re-

mained inert. The guard drew his

disrupter pistol from his belt and

knelt cautiously next to the body.

He

shook the body by the shoulder,

causing Septos's head to wag back and

forth. Empty white eyes stared

lifelessly across the floor.

The pool of blood spread beneath the

guard's knee, 152

i!

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

soaking the bottom half of one leg of

his trousers. "Peafarr," the soldier

swore again, momentarily distracted

by the mess.

That moment was all Septos needed.

He snapped into action, his palms

bracing himself against the floor,

his spine arching backwards as his

legs curled up and wrapped themselves

around the his enemy's neck. Then

Septos straightened his entire body,

throwing the guard backwards. Now, he

thought, quickly, while I still have

the advantage of surprise. He

disengaged his legs from around the

guard and jumped to his feet. He

wanted to attack at once, but the

sudden movement proved too much for

him, and a wave of dizziness caught

him off guard. He tottered unsteadily

while his opponent, now flat on his

back on the floor, raised his

disrupter. Septos's eyes widened in

alarm; panic gave him the st rength he

needed and he kicked the weapon out

of the guard's hand just as he fired.

The disrupter went flying and, for an

instant, white-hot energy spun like

a pinwheel from the weapon,

threatening both Septos and the

guard. Septos felt the heat of the

beam pass within a centimeter from

his scalp. Then a deadman's switch

shut off the beam, and it dropped

harmlessly to the floor.

The guard dove towards his weapon.

Septos dove for the guard.

Septos got there first, reaching

underneath the golden helmet to grab

the guard's neck between his fingers

and squeeze down hard on a certain

vital nerve duster. The guard

stiffened, his eyes wide with shock,

then dropped face first onto the

floor. Exhausted by his exertions,

Septos almost collapsed on top of

him.

Slowly pulling his hand away from

his foe, Septos clambered to his

feet, breathing heavily. His ribs

still ached where the soldier had

kicked them. Using the hem of his

merchant's robe, he wiped the blood

from his eyes, then employed his

fingers to probe the gash on his

forehead. To his relief, it felt

fairly shallow, 153

Pi"

Greg Cox

although it bled profusely, in the

manner of many minor head wounds. No

time to worry about that now, he

thought. Dellas or her subordinates

could return at any moment. I have to

get to the command center, alert the

others.

Salvaging the disrupter from the

comatose body of the guard, he limped

over to the doorway. As expected,

Dellas had sealed and locked the exit

when she departed. No matter, he

thought. He wobbled uncertainly upon

his feet, feeling slightly light-

headed. Why does the floor feel so

cold? I must be in shock. He could

not grant himself time to recover,

though, not with all that was at

stake. Fortunately, he knew another

way out of the cell, one whose

existence Dellas had never even

guessed at.

Shivering uncontrollably within his

robes, Septos approached the far end

of the cell. The wall opposite was

bare and unadorned, so as to be

conducive to the meditation that had

once taken place here, but its

appearance, he knew, was deceptive.

Certainly neither Dellas or Vithrok

had ever guessed at the true nature

of this particular room. And why

should they have? This quadrant was

still a century away from developing

genuine haloform technology. was -- ose

control panel," he croaked, his

throat still sore and dry from his

captivity.

Concealed holographic projectors

complied immediately. The stark white

veneer of the wall disappeared,

revealing a set of manual controls.

Had he chosen, Septos could have

converted the walls of the holocell

to resemble cloud drifts, waterfalls,

flickering firelight, or sparkling

meteor showed. Osiris had

particularly enjoyed a holographic

hunting program that Septos had

installed. Septos ignored those op-

tions. Instead he activated the

emergency transporter system. Did

Dellas really think, he thought, that

I would seal myself in here with no

way out in the event of a f re or

earthquake? We value life too much to

be that careless.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

The emergency transporter was

designed to funclion independently

of the rest of the compound's

systems. In theory, it would

continue functioning even if all

other power supplies were shut

down or if, for instance, the base

fell under the control of the

Romulan secret police. The emergency

system didn't have the

interplanetary range of the primary

transporters, but it was sufficient

to get one safely to the surface or

elsewhere within the complex. That

is all I require, he resolved. That

and a few minutes at the

communications console.

He keyed in the proper coordinates

on the manual control panel, then

stepped back as the entire wall

faded away, consumed by a swirling

cloud of incandescent blue vapors.

The billowing azure patterns were

strangely hypnotic, especially in

his dazed and weakened state. He had

to shake his head violently to

regain his focus. Taking a deep

breath, he raised the stolen

disrupter and stepped into the fog.

Just give me a chance, he prayed.

Just a minute or two.

l

Chapter Twelve

THE TEMPERATURE inside the

installation was almost as hot as

the jungle outdoors, although

considerably less humid. Set for

Romulan standards of comfort, not

human. The air was as hot and dry as

a Vulcan desert and smelled faintly

of orchids. Must be near the

hydroponics lab, Gary Seven guessed.

He recalled that 146 was an avid

gardener in his spare time. Too bad

his fellow Romulans had invaded his

sanctuary.

Once more into the breach, Gary

Seven thought as he followed Osiris

through the corridors of Deployment

Base Alpha. All this covert

infiltration reminded him of that

time he and Isis had attempted to

liberate a former British

intelligence agent from the

artificial village where he was

being held captive as part of an

elaborate psychological conditioning

experintent. That mission had ended

badly, he remembered, primarily

because he had underestimated the

forces arrayed against them. He

hoped he wasn't making the same

mistake here.

Twenty-third century Romulans were

certainly

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

more dangerous adversaries than most

of the threats he'd dealt with in his

own time. Clearly, they had taken 146

by surprise; according to Osiris,

neither he nor 146 had known their

cover was exposed until they found

themselves at the wrong end of

several disruptor rifles. Osiris had

managed to escape, mauling a few

Romulan soldiers in the process, but,

unfortunately, the cat had no idea

what had occurred within the complex

since the Romulans took control. He

had not seen 146 since, and feared

for the agent's life.

Seven had done his best to reassure

the cat. He knew for certain that 146

had survived long enough to send an

SOS back across the centuries to

Seven's headquarters in Manhattan.

Assuming I've timed this correctly,

he thought, Septos should be still

alive. Here and there, though, Seven

spotted scorch marks and disrupter

burns on the solid granite walls of

the base, evidence that the Romulan

takeover had not been accomplished

without some fighting. He just prayed

they were in time to rescue his

Romulan counterpart and stop his

captors from assassinating Spock in

the future.

Part of him wished he could explain

to Captain Kirk the full nature of

his mission; surely Kirk would be

more cooperative if he knew his

friend's life was at stake. But then

he'd have to explain about Khitomer

and Pardek, the Klingon peace

initiative, and its longterm impact

on Romulan-Vulcan relations, and that

was more of the future than Kirk

could ever be allowed to know. It was

bad enough that the Romulans who had

captured the base had apparently

learned enough about the future to

want to change it. A little knowledge

can indeed be a dangerous thing, he

thought, especially in the hands of

a Romulan.

The sound of rushing bootsteps,

echoing throughout the sturdy stone

edifice, interrupted his musings.

Osiris's ears perked up and he

growled a low warning before turning

around and retreating back towards

Greg Cox

the last corner they had rounded.

Seven followed the cat's lead,

signalling Kirk with his hand.

Back behind the corner, he

flattened himself against the wall so

tightly that he could feel the grain

of the stone against his cheek, then

leaned his head out just enough that

he could peer down the corridor they

had abandoned. As expected, he saw

several Romulan soldiers in full

uniform tromping through the inter-

section at the opposite end of the

hall. Joining the hunt for Sulu and

Chekov?

Keep going, he urged them mentally.

Don't turn down this way. He glanced

back at Kirk and held up his hand

again to indicate that they needed to

wait a bit longer. Kirk nodded, his

phaser gripped tightly in his hand.

Seven admired Kirk's persistence and

determination. Too bad I can't warn

him about Soran, either.

The rhythm of the bootsteps soon

died away. Osiris started to hurry

forward, but Seven restrained him for

a few more seconds. The last thing he

wanted to do now was run headfirst

into one or more stragglers, not

while Kirk was still hanging on to

his servo. He counted to

ten slowly before tapping the big cat

on the shoulder. Osiris padded around

the corner and was halfway down the

next hall when his ears perked up

again.

This time the cat and Seven and

Kirk barely had time to duck back

behind the corner before more guards

passed through the intersection ahead

of them. This isn't going to work,

Seven realized. There's too much

activity in this part of the bunker.

He knelt down and whispered into

Osiris's ears. "We need to take a

detour. Is there an alternative

route

to the command center?"

The cat growled in reply.

"I don't care if it's the long way

around," Seven answered. "We have to

take it."

Osiris assented silently, turning

around to lead them back the way

they'd come. Seven watched the 158

of,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

cat's tail click irritably as he

retraced their steps. He couldn't blame the cat for

his impatience. He was anxious to get to Septos as

well. This is taking too long, he thought. Time was

running out.

"You seem to have a remarkable rapport with cats,

Mr. Seven," Kirk commented, coming up alongside

Seven. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain

it."

"It's . . . complicated, Captain. Now is

not the j

time."

Kirk sighed theatrically. "Just as well, I

suppose. I was always more of a dog person

myself."

The guards were not expecting the fog or the

individual inside it. Then again, they never

expected that anyone else would obtain access to the

transporter controls. Septos fired his disrupter

as soon as he was fully materialized, stunning one

of the two soldiers Dellas had left standing guard

in the command center. The Romulan crashed to the

floor, his golden helmet clanging against the stone

tiles. The other

guard had faster reflexes; he drew his own

weapon and j

fired even as Septos turned his disrupter on

him. Septos felt a blast of searing heat and

agony strike him above his left hip. Biting down

on his lip against the pain, fighting not to let go of his

weapon, he clutched this latest injury with his free

hand, feeling the cauterized flesh through a newly

burned hole in his robes. The exposed skin was still

so hot it burned his palm, forcing him to yank his hand

away after less than a second. Ignore it, he

ordered his traumatized nervous system, even though

the heat had felt like a hundred onkians or more.

Just keep megoingfor a few more minutes.

The blue haze disappeared entirely.

Despite the pain, he felt a surge of

satisfaction as the remaining guard crashed down on

top of his companion. He scanned the chamber

rapidly, assuring himself that there was no one else.

Good, he thought. He was in no shape to take on

another soldier. To be honest, he 159

11 tilde

Greg Cox

admitted to himself, even a mere

technician could disarm me at this

point

The command center occupied the

entire bottom level of the base. It

was a diamond-shaped chamber

dominated by a massive Beta-7

computer terminal built into the

northeast wall, its generous display

screen stretching all the way to the

ceiling. A gliding steel chair rested

in front of the terminal, while a

tiger-sized couch was shoved up

against the southwest wall, beneath

the velvety black folds of a hanging

tapestry. He saw Romulan tricorders

and data padds spread out atop the

couch and felt a surprisingly strong

sense of violation. How dare these

invaders clutter up his office with

evidence of their prying? Osiris

belonged on that couch, lounging

contentedly as he had in the past,

not these invasive instruments.

Osiris, he thought. Where are you

now? What are you doing? He prayed

that the cat would not try anything

too reckless. Be careful, old friend.

Don't waste your lifefor me. The pain

in his side burned like a supernova.

There's not enough of me left to

worry about....

He stepped off the transporter pad,

located at the southern tip of the

diamond, and staggered towards the

computer. It was less than a dozen

paces away, but the distance

stretched before him like a

continent. The two stunned guards lay

like mountains between him and the

computer. He took a long step over

them and dizziness nearly overwhelmed

him. His vision blurred. He felt

foggy, light-headed. The disrupter

almost slipped from his grip, but he

locked his fingers tightly around its

handle. loo, he thought desperately,

blinking his eyes and clutching again

at his side, I can't pass out now! He

stumbled forward on legs that felt

far too limp and rubbery. He kept his

eyes on the computer. Everything

seemed to be growing dimmer, but he

could still see the Beta-7 at the end

of what looked like a long, dark

tunnel. I have to hurry, he

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

thought. Dellas win discover my absence soon.

She "lit come lookingior me.

He stumbled and fell, his knee smashing against the

reinforced steel floor. His weapon escaped his

fingers, sliding across the floor away from him. The

new pain was almost a relief, distracting him

momentarily from the disrupter burn over his hip.

Grimacing, he lifted himself up and lurched forward

until he was able to grab onto the back of

his chair for support. Hovering above the floor on

a few microns of compressed air,

the chair started to glide out from beneath him; but i he

locked it in place by pressing the brake controls

on i

the right armrest. He leaned against the back of the

chair, letting it support his entire weight for a

few moments. I made it, he thought, his lungs

laboring painfully, his head sagging. I made it.

The darkness threatened to overcome him. His eyes

dosed and, for a heartbeat or two, he was tempted

to retreat into the beckoning void. I can't

possibly survive this, he thought. I hurt too

much to live. He wanted to shut down his mind and

sleep forever.

But he wasn't done yet. He still had to send a

warning, stop Dellas. He willed his eyes open

and lifted his head up. He stared at the lighted

display screen above the computer control panel,

trying to make sense of the image on the monitor

some sort of ceremony taking place in a

spacious, well-lighted chamber. There were Klingons

there, and Vulcans and humans. Septos stared at

the frozen image, focus ing all his remaining

powers of concentration on the task of

deciphering the meaning of the scene. It must be

important to Dellas if she keeps it preserved

here. What was she up to? What was this all about?

Although the image was crowded with people, one face

dominated the foreground of the image a dignified

Vulcan who looked to be of early middle age.

One eyebrow was raised slightly higher than the

other in what appeared to be an expression of

ironic amuse- 161

Greg Cox

meet. The face and the expression seemed

familiar to Septos, but also strangely wrong.

I've seen that face before, he thought. Who is it?

Think!

It was getting harder and harder to focus. Loss of

blood, lack of sleep, shock, physical

trauma... Septos could diagnose his condition

better than he could endure it. He was breathing

hard. He felt sick and nauseous. His arms

trembled as he clung to the chair. The pain in his

side seemed to be screaming at him, sending jolts

of agony through him so that every other thought was of the pain.

Ignore it, his brain screamed back. The gash

above his eyes had started bleeding again, sending

a trickle of green blood down his face. Forget

it, he told himself. The face. Focus on the

face.

The face towered above him, magnified ten times

i

larger than life. That ironic eyebrow arched

across the screen like a blackened lightning bolt

frozen in time. I know you, Septos thought. Where have

I seen you before, Why don't I recognize you?

Suddenly, as though a box had suddenly sprung

open in the pain-ravaged confines of his mind, the name

came to him. Spock. Septosis eyes widened in

recognition. It was Spock, the Vulcan first

officer on the Enterprise, but looking much older

than he had in the last intelligence update

Septos had seen. Time travel, he remembered.

Dellas had mentioned time travel Was that why the

Enterprise was in orbit at this very moment? Had

Kirk and Spock travelled backwards in time for

some reason?

Using Spock as the key, he swiftly

identified the j

other faces in the scene Kirk, Sulu,

Sarek, Azetbur . . . Azetbur? A chill

ran through him as his mind pieced the puzzle

comtgr. The trick was remembering what was supposed

to happen. "By the aegis," he whispered in the empty

room, "Khitomer!"

The truth sunk in, dulling even the fierce

burning in his side. Somehow Dellas had used the

Beta-7 to discover what was going to happen at

Khitomer over "62

,tilde .

1, tilde 1

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

twenty years from now. He had to stop

her, even if he was too weak to do so

on his own.

Call for help. That was the only

answer. It seemed probable that the

Enterprise was here to stop Dellas as

well, but they might just make a bad

situation even worse. Time travel was

too dangerous for twenty-third

century humans to meddle with,

especially humans with a personal

stake in the future. He needed some-

one he could truly count on.

If I have to, he decided, I can

activate the selfdestruct

mechanism,

and destroy the entire base. But

someone else had to be informed of

the danger, just in case Dellas

stopped him before he could

accomplish anything else.

He took a deep breath, then

unlocked the chair and pulled it away

from the computer so that he could

drop his weary body onto it. Once

more he had to fight the urge to sink

back against the support of the chair

and let his consciousness slide away.

Shaking his head and grimacing, he

reached for the control panel,

clearing the screen and activating

the transwarp transmitter. Supervisor

194, he thought. Code name Gary

Seven. He was the nearest active

agent, spatially and chronologically.

Seven is my best and only hope.

The transmitter needed a few

seconds to warm up. He set the power

flow at seven-point-five kolems and

waited for the verification prompt.

He tried to calculate how long it

would take the message to reach

primitive Earth, but adjusting for

the time warp made his head spin. His

eyelids began to droop once more. He

couldn't stop shaking he felt so

cold.

Dellas at Kh tilde tomer! The very

thought enough to freeze his blood.

The ventilation shaft was a tight

squeeze, but Gary Seven managed to

advance through the narrow tunnd,

using his knees and elbows to worm

forward. Despite the dark, his eyes

could-still make out the vague

outline of a sinuous green tail

bobbing in front 163

Greg Cox

of him, only centimeters away from

his nose. In the cramped confines of

the tubular shaft, Seven could smell

the musky odor of Osiris's glossy

coat. His own breath seemed to echo

off the s eamless, smooth metal walls

of the tunnel. A cool,

air-conditioned breeze blew past

him, emanating from the lower levels

of the base. "How are you doing,

Captain?" he asked in low tones. The

shaft was probably soundproofed, but

he didn't want to take that chance.

Kirk's voice came from somewhere

behind him. "I think I prefer

turbolifts," he answered, "but I'm

keeping up. Don't worry about me."

Actually, Captain, Seven thought, I

have plenty of other things to worry

about namely, the present

whereabouts and safety of Supervisor

146, and the urgency of destroying

the base's transporter capabilities

before these mysterious Romulans

could successfully alter the future.

1rf they haven "t already done so,

he thought grimly. How long have the

Romulans controlled this base"...Once

again, he wished that it had been

possible to beam directly from his

own base on Earth to this location,

but so far 1 46's transporter pad

remained in enemy hands. Hence, here

he was, taking the long way around

through a maze of interconnecting

horizontal and vertical tunnels.

Fortunately, Osiris seemed to know

the route, leading them onward

without hesitation. Running into the

cat in the jungle had been a stroke

of good fortune, he reflected; he

just hoped they still had a little

luck left to spare.

Humanoid voices came from up ahead.

Osiris issued a warning rumble as

they approached a stretch of black

metal grillework in the floor of the

tunnel. Snatches of conversation

drifted up into the shaft through

crisscrossing apertures, each one

only a sliver wide. Light from below

streaked the roof of the tunnel

until Osiris passed over the steel

lattice quickly, moving remarkably

quietly for such a massive animal.

Following behind the cat, Seven

paused momen

l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

tartly to peer through the slits

beneath him, spying the tops of

gleaming golden helmets and the toes

of polished military boots.

There were at least two Romulan

soldiers below. One of them shifted

his position and Seven spotted the

muzzle of a disrupter rifle. He

strained his ears to make out what

they were saying. After over a year

on Earth, his Romulan was pretty

rusty, but he caught a few words and

phrases

"Federation scum!"

"dis . . doing here?"

"catch them soon . . ."

I certainly hope they're talking

about Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant

Sulu, he thought. He did not want to

think that the Romulans were aware of

any intruders on the premises just

yet. Holding his breath, his

cautiously made his way over the

grille, feeling fairly safe in

assuming that Captain Kirk would be

equally stealthy in his movements.

Starfleet trains its officers well,

he recalled.

The soldier's voices faded away as

Seven and his allies gradually left

the lattice behind. They continued to

snake through the shadow-dark

channel, the wind blowing in their

faces. Although Seven prided himself

on his peak physical condition,

wriggling forward on one's elbows and

knees was tiring work. Exertion left

a thin layer of sweat between his

skin and his borrowed Starlet

uniform. His knees and spine felt

cramped and sore; unlike Osiris, he

was not accustomed to going about on

all fours. Thankgdness, he thought,

that claustrophobia was bred out of

my ancestors generations ago.

By Seven's count, they had already

descended three levels from the

surface. The command center could not

be much farther away. Almost there,

he thought. At last.

The tunnel eventually connected

with a vertical, tube-shaped shaft

similar in diameter to the channel

Greg Cox

they had just traversed. Warm air

blew up from somewhere below. Osiris

stopped at the brink of the gap and

growled.

Seven listened carefully to the

horned cat's descriplion of what was

ahead. "This is it?" he asked.

Osiris rumbled his assent. Keeping

his voice low, Seven passed the

information onto Captain Kirk.

"There's a ladder ahead that leads

downward to another horizontal shaft

that runs above the ceiling of the

command center and intersects with

the bottom of a turbolift shaft.

Assuming there is no turbolift in

place, we should be able to open the

doors to the command center from

within the shaft." Seven watched as

Osiris dropped headfirst down the

vertical tube in front of them.

"Captain, if you will still not

return my servo to me, I suggest you

have your phaser at hand."

"I'm ready when you are, Mr.

Seven," Kirk replied. "Let's get on

with it."

My feelings exactly, Seven thought.

Despite their differences, he

suspected he and tilde Kirk had more in

common than might seem obvious. An

equal devolion to duty, perhaps, no

matter how differently they defined

it, and a similar preference for

dealing with problems in a hands-on

manner. Although he had learned to

rely on Isis and Roberta, Seven had

never been good at delegating the

most dangerous jobs to others. Kirk

must feel much the same way. Why

else, with a starship full of trained

personnel to command, had he beamed

down to this planet himself"

Thinking of the ship reminded him

of Isis and Roberta, back aboard the

Enterprise. He hoped they were still

alive and well, despite the ongoing

threat of Romulan patrols in this

sector of space. If nothing else, he

was going to need their help when and

if he ever completed this mission.

They can take care of themselves, he

reminded himself. Certainly, this

wasn't theffrst time he had left

Roberta in a tights, 166

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

with or without Isis to keep an eye

on her. Like the time she had

outwitted that power-hungry megaloma-

niac with the white Persian kitten .

. .

Now was not the time to reminisce,

though. Seven crawled over the

circular hole in front of him, then

backed into the opening so that he

could descend feetfirst. Sturdy steel

handholds, positioned to accommodate

humanoids of conventional height,

made the downward climb easier. He

heard Kirk scrambling in the tunnel

above him, then Kirk's steps on the

rungs over his head.

His knees ached in protest when he

reached the bottom and crawled into

the horizontal tube. Not much longer,

he promised them. According to

Osiris, the opening to the turbolift

shift was just ahead and the command

center directly beneath him.

Another ventilation grille, no more

than six square centimeters in size,

waited a few meters ahead. Light from

the control room below cast a

checkerboard design on the ceiling of

the tunnel. Seven listened carefully

as he approached the grille. What was

going on underneath him? How many

Romulan guards had been stationed in

the command center? He needed to

assess the situation before they

barged in.

To his alarm, he suddenly heard the

sizzle of disrupter weapon firings,

accompanied by the sounds of bodies

hitting the floor and/or groaning in

pain. He counted at least three

distinct blasts, and smelt the

stomach-turning odor of burnt flesh.

"Seven!" Kirk whispered urgently from

behind him. Clearly, he, too, heard

the sounds of warfare. Osiris's tail

twitched nervously.

What is happening down there? Who

is shooting whom? Seven scurried

forward on his elbows and knees until

he could see through the slits in the

grille. The view was a frustrating

one, showing him little of the room

below. All he could see was empty

floor; a corner of a couch,

upholstered in black fabric; and one

arm of a Romulan soldier stretched

out upon the 167

tilde 1

Greg Cox

floor. The arm did not stir. Seven

could not tell if its owner was dead or simply

stunned.

He heard more groans and ragged breathing. Someone

stumbled in the chamber below, smacking into

something hard and resistant, then treading with tilde

agonizing slowness across the room. He's limping,

i

Seven surmised, whoever he is. The image of

Septos's face, as it had appeared on the

Beta-S's monitor back in Manhattan,

rushed back into his mind. 146 had been bleeding,

he recalled, and obviously injured....

"No," he gasped out loud as the truth sunk

in. "Osiris" Kirk! We have to hurry!" It

isn't fair, he agonized. I came so close!

The ventilation tunnel opened up onto a

vertical turbolift shaft, several sizes larger

than the cramped tubes they had crawled through so far.

Osiris growled a report and Seven was relieved

to hear that the shaft was currently empty, with no

turbolift compartments approaching. The emerald cat

pounced onto the floor of the shaft and was quickly joined

by both Seven and Kirk. The empty shaft stretched

above them for at least four stories, its opposite

end lost in murky shadows. It felt good

to stand up straight again, but Seven had no time

to savor the sensation. Taking no chances, he

directed Kirk to use his phaser to fuse the

turbolift tracks above their heads, so that no

fast- arriving compartment could arrive to squash them flat

before they could exit the shaft. The scarlet glow of the

phaser beam lit up the interior of the shaft, casting

its ruddy radiance over Kirk's face and turning

Osiris's green fur the color of mud. The

cat's gleaming horn reflected the light as well,

shining red as freshspilled blood.

Seven approached the sealed door to the command

center. Although he listened carefully, he did not

hear any more alarming sounds from the other side of the

door. Was the struggle already over? Had he arrived

too late? Hang on, 146, he thought. Help

is or' the way. Aided by the light from Kirk's

phaser, he located the

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

manual controls to the turbolift

doors. "Get ready!" he whispered to

Kirk and Osiris, who stationed

themselves in front of the sliding

double doors, fully prepared to

confront whatever might be waiting

for them on the other side. Kirk

aimed his phaser at the door and

nodded at Seven. With any luck he

thought, we still have the element of

surprise on our side. Seven pulled

down the emergency handle, every

muscle in his body tensed to spring

into action, only nothing happened.

The doors stayed shut.

"What in the . . . ?" he gasped,

caught by surprise. He tried once

more, but the manual controls did not

respond. A chance malfunction, he

wondered, or deliberate sabotage? He

might never know. All that mattered

was that time was slipping away.

Frustration and impatience raged

inside him, but he struggled to

remain in control of his feelings.

"Kirk!" he barked. "Use your phaser.

We have to burn our way in!"

Kirk did not wait for an

explanation. Adjusting the setting on

his phaser, he directed a

high-intensity beam against the

sturdy metal doors. Sparks flew and

burning steel sizzled as Kirk cut a

man-sized rectangle along the outline

of one door. So much, Seven thought,

for the element of surprise....

Someone was burning their way in!

Glancing back over his shoulder,

Septos saw sparks flying, glowing

blue and red, from the closed door to

the turbolift entrance. It must be

Dellas and her soldiers, he guessed,

coming to get me. He had used the

Beta-7 to block turbolift passage to

this level, and even ordered a

complete lockout on the manual

controls to the entrance, but

obviously that had not been enough to

stop Dellas.

He could smell the odor of burning

metal, hear the hiss of the energy

beams. Already he could see the

charred, black outline of the entry

the soldiers were cutting into the

steel of the door, marring the

geometric designs that decorated the

door's face.

Greg Cox

He was running out of time. His

enemies would be through in a matter

of seconds. He looked around for his

own disrupter and saw it lying on the

floor a few meters away. Leaning out

of his chair, he reached for the

weapon, but it was not close enough

to grab onto. He stretched his

fingers out as far as he could, but

all he could grasp was empty air. The

disrupter pistol remained a

centimeter or two out of reach,

taunting him with its deceptive

nearness and accessibility. He tried

to lean further, but the effort made

his head spin. The pain in his side,

where the guard had shot him, was an

inferno. He felt close to blacking

out.

Never mind, he thought, abandoning

the weapon. He was in no shape for a

firelight.. His thoughts were getting

fuzzier with every heartbeat. His

limbs trembled. He'd lost too much

blood. It was all he could do to stay

conscious. Even with the phaser, he

couldn't hold them off forever. His

only hope now was to alert Supervisor

l 94 before Dellas and her henchmen

burst through the door. There was

nothing he could do to stop them, or

to prevent them from realizing their

foolhardy and wildly destructive

plans.

My duty is almost over, he thought,

experiencing a singularly Vulcan

sense of calm. A line from an ancient

human playwright sprung to mind "The

readiness is all. was Humans were a

peculiar species, but some sentiments

were universal. Septos was ready to

face death as well. It would be up to

Gary Seven to stop Dellas now if only

the message got through.

An image gradually formed on the

screen of the Beta-7 computer, an

image from decades in the past and

light-years away the head and

shoulders of a human male on an Earth

that had not yet even heard of the

Romulan Star Empire. "Yes!" Septos

breathed, staring at the screen.

Behind him, he could hear the metal

door sizzling loudly. They weren't

through yet! Maybe he still had a

chance to warn the past of the danger

Dellas posed to the future. All I

need is a few more seconds.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Intent on transmitting his warning, he didn't

notice the blue haze forming on the transporter

pad behind him. The luminescent fog grew thicker and

more turbulent. A figure formed inside the haze,

gaining shape and solidity....

Kirk switched off his phaser, but kept it aimed

in front of him. Lifting his boot, he gave the

metal door a heavy kick and a large

rectangular sheet of steel fell forward, clanging

against the stone floor of the chamber beyond.

"Watch the edges," he warned, darting to one side

to avoid any possible enemy fire. "They might still

be hot."

Light from the command center flooded the shaft,

momentarily blinding Seven, whose eyes had grown

accustomed to the gloom of the ventilation tubes.

Blinking rapidly, he peered through Kirk's

improvised doorway into the chamber beyond, half-

expecting to see a battalion of Romulan

centurions.

Instead, the first thing he saw was his own head and

shoulders, projected three times larger than life

on a viewscreen that was mounted on the wall across from

the turbolift entrance. For a second he feared that

his arrival had been detected by some security

monitor, then he realized that the Gary Seven upon

the screen still wore the conservative white shirt and

tie of a professional American male of 1969,

the same clothing that he had worn when he first received

Supervisor 146's urgent plea for assistance.

That's happening right now, he realized, just as I

feared. Even though he had anticipated this very

paradox, a thrill of dead vu ran through him as he

listened to the solitary figure, seated less than

five

meters away in front of a blinking computer

bank, i

gasp out words that, at least in part, Seven had

heard before

"146 to 194. Cover exposed by Romulan

Intelligence. Capture imminent. Hostiles have

seized tech nology beyond their current capacity,

placing all at

Greg Cox

risk, including the future history of

this quadrant. Recommend immediate

action. Situation urgent. Must

activate emergency self-destruct

procedure. Repeat emergency. IJ-EAR

there is no escape for me.... his

"Acknowledged," Seven whispered to

himself. "194 responding." He stepped

forward to assure 146 that help had

indeed arrived. Thin tendrils of

smoke still rose from the edges of

the entrance the phaser had carved.

Intent on his mission, the figure

at the computer ignored the sound of

the door crashing to the floor. Even

from behind, though, Seven recognized

Supervisor 146 immediately. His gaze

was drawn to a trail of fresh green

blood that stretched across the room

to where Septos was sitting. Seven

wondered how badly his Romulan

counterpart had been hurt.

"Watch out!" Kirk cried out from

behind him. His arm thrust past

Seven's head, his upper finger ex-

tended. "Over there!"

Tearing his gaze away from the

injured Septos and his own face upon

the computer screen, Seven looked

where Kirk was pointing and spotted

an unidentified Romulan woman

emerging from the swirling blue

energies of an active transporter

platform. The woman wore a Romulan

military uniform, circa the

twenty-third century or so, and

carried a menacinglooking disrupter

rifle. Her dark eyes fixed on Septos,

who seemed oblivious to her arrival.

Utter malice filled her expression.

"No!" Seven cried out, realizing at

once what was about to happen. He

charged toward the woman, but not

fast enough. She raised her rifle

with the speed and efficiency of a

trained professional and fired a

single bright green disrupter bolt at

the unsuspecting Septos. The beam

burned through the back of the chair

and emerged from his chest, right

where his heart had been. It was a

perfect shot and a killing one.

Septos only had time for a single

scream before collapsing onto the

door in front of his chair. The 372

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

beam continued on to strike the control

panel of the computer. Sparks flew from

the panel and the oversized image of

Seven's face disappeared as the view-

screen went blank.

It's not fair, Seven raged inside,

knowing better than most that the

universe was seldom fair. He had arrived

almost exactly on time, to the very

minute, and he had still been too late.

Too late for Supervisor 146, and

perhaps for them all.

, ,

Chapter Thirteen

ROBERTA FELT LIKE a hijacker, but she

didn't know what else to do. The Enterprise did

not belong to her, yet she couldn't let Doc no,

Mr. Spock take the spaceship back to Earth,

not before she could contact Gary Seven and find out what

he was planning next. Mr. Spock was right, of

course; it was always possible that Seven had finally

run out of luck, but if she started thinking that way,

what was the point in taking off on ridiculous

adventures to the future anyway?

Yes. . . but. . . maybe. . . if. . .

All her thoughts and arguments seemed to circle around

and bite each other, like a serpent devouring its

tail. She felt impossibly conflicted. She

wondered if there was any way a space alien like

Mr. Spock could possibly understand or

sympathize with what she was going through.

Even now, sitting somewhat uncomfortably in

Captain Kirk's chair on the bridge

of the Enterprise, part of her still found it hard to accept

that she was actually dealing with a genuine

extraterrestrial life

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

form. Granted, Mr. Spock looked a lot

more human than most of the space

creatures you saw in the movies, but

it was still a trip to be talking to

a genuine, living, breathing alien.

Okay, so Gary Seven theoretically

worked for aliens, and she wasn't

quite sure what exactly Isis was

(although "demon from hell" was

Roberta's best guess), but it was one

thing to hold the idea in your head

hypothetically, and something else

altogether to look a pointy-eared

alien in the face while staging a

one-woman mutiny on a space ship

umpteen-hundred light-years from

Earth. Heck I'm a New Yorker. I

don't

even have a driver's license!

"So, don't you see?" she tried

explaining to Mr. Spock once more. "I

don't have any choice."

"Sentient beings always have

choices, Miss Lincoln. Some are

simply more difficult than others."

The alien first officer stood calmly

a few steps away from her, his hands

folded behind his back in a

reassuringly unthreatening manner.

His stiff and formal posture reminded

Roberta of the guards outside

Buckingham Palace; boy, had they

looked surprised when she and Seven

had transported in right behind them!

At least Mr. Spock hadn't tried to

have her thrown in the brig or zapped

her with his ray gun or anything Then

again, she thought, he can hardly do

that while me and my glowing green

little friend are in control of the

ship. She turned the crystal cube

over and over in her hands, wondering

what to do next. She was so stumped

she was almost tempted to ask the

darn cat for advice. Almost.

Unable to meet Mr. Spock's eyes,

she looked around the bridge. She got

a good vibe from Dr. McCoy; he was a

grouchy old guy, but he seemed to be

on her side, although she wasn't at

all sure why that should be so,

especially after Seven zapped him and

the cute Russian guy earlier. The

rest of the bridge crew was harder to

read, although Uhura seemed to be

trying very hard to reach Captain

Kirk down on

Greg Cox

the planet. I wish there was some way

I could help her, Roberta thought,

but I wouldn't know how to begin.

"Miss Lincoln, if I can have your

full attention."

"Sorry," she said, looking back at

Mr. Spock. Forget the palace guards;

suddenly he reminded her of her old

high school principal. "You were

saying something about difficult

choices?"

"Indeed," he confirmed. "I have

reached just such a decision myself,

which may help us to resolve this

impasse, but I shall require your

cooperation, as well as a

considerable degree of trust."

Something about his tone, which

struck her as, if anything, even more

somber and serious than usual, made

her sit up straight. "What kind of

trust?" she asked, not bothering to

conceal her apprehension.

"There is a procedure known as the

Vulcan mind meld," he began.

Isis fumed within her cage. For a

few moments there, it had looked like

the human female had been about to

open the carrier, but then the

infuriating creature had changed her

mind. She extended her claws in anger

and hissed through the bars of the

cage.

She had been separated from Gary

Seven for too long; she was starting

to get pretty. She knew that Seven

could take care of himself, wherever

he was, but it was that other one who

worried her. The female. Isis was

still not convinced that keeping her

around was a good Idea.

Who knew what kind of trouble she

could be getting into now?

"Let me get this straight," she

said. "You want me to say yes to some

sort of Martian ESP thing?" Images

from dozens of old Sci-Fi Theater

horror flicks raced through Roberta's

memory body snatchers and brain

transplants and psychic,

mind-controlled zombies. You know,

the alien in The Brain Eaters even

looked a bit like Mr. Spock....

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

"I do not ask this lightly," he

said, "yet it seems to me that much

of our conflict is based, as in our

previous encounter, on mutual

misunderstanding and suspicion. We

are each seeing different aspects of

the same puzzle and are uncertain as

to the other's motives. A mind meld

might allow us to overcome the

differences that are currently

dividing us."

The green cube spun rapidly in her

hands as she mulled over Mr. Spock's

proposal. He certainly had a point

when he talked about the differences

between them; they came from

different planets and centuries. Talk

about a generation gap! And

overcoming differences was supposed

to be a good thing; that was a lot of

what the whole youth movement of her

own time was all about. Still, this

was her own brain they were talking

about now, and a mind was a terrible

thing to waste....

"How do I know you won't use your

telepathic powers to, well, brainwash

me or something?" she asked.

Mr. Spock did not look offended by

her question. "I assure you, Miss

Lincoln, that is not my intent. I am

proposing a simple exchange of

information, conducted on a level so

intimate that any deception or

miscommunication will be impossible."

"I don't know," she said. "I'm not

sure." A mind meld? Simply getting

blasted by a laser beam was starting

to sound a whole lot better. Ever

since she'd hooked up with Gary

Seven, she had taken to reading a lot

of science fiction, so she thought

she had some vague idea of what Mr.

Spock was suggesting. Lord knows

she'd read enough about strange alien

beings with advanced mental

abilities. The only problem was, she

didn't know what book Seven had

dropped her into here. Was this

Stranger in a Strange Land or The

Puppet Masters?

Maybe she needed a second opinion,

one from another human being. She

looked over at Dr. McCoy. The medical

officer stood just outside and above

the

Also

Greg Cox

command module, resting his bony

elbows on the handrail. "What do you

think about all this, Doctor?" she

asked. Of all the future people on

this spaceship, he seemed the most

down-to-earth.

"Personally," he said, "I wouldn't

want that greenblooded walking

computer within spitting distance of

my gray cells, but that's just me."

He paused to give the matter further

thought. "If you want my professional

opinion, though, I have to admit that

the Vulcan mind meld is just what he

says it is. I've seen Spock meld with

people before without inflicting any

long-term psychological harm on the

other person. To be honest, it

usually seems hardest on Spock

himself."

"That is supposition, Doctor, and

irrelevant," Mr. Spock said curtly.

Although the fixed expression on his

face did not even flicker, Roberta

thought she heard a trace of

annoyance in his voice, as though he

did not like the doctor's implication

of weakness or vulnerability. For the

first time, it occurred to her that

Mr. Spock might be experiencing some

sort of anxiety over this proposed

mind meld. Hadn't he said something

about a "difficult choice" before? I

must seem just as alien to him as he

is to me, she thought. Maybe even

more so. How would If eel about

sharing my brain with a prehistoric

caveman? What sort of sacrifice was

Mr. Spock willing to make in order to

get through to her?

If he can put his innermost

thoughts on the line, can I do any

less? "Okay," she said firmly, her

decision made. "Let's grok."

Mr. Spock nodded solemnly. He

stepped forward and gestured for her

to stand up. What? Right here? Cowl

Roberta gulped nervously. Apparently

Mr. Spock was not inclined to waste

any time. Probably afraid I'll have

second thoughts if we wait any

longer, she thought. He's probably

right. She rose slowly, relinquishing

the captain's chair, then placed the

crystal cube gently down on the seat

behind her. It 178

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

should be safe enough there. After an I'm not going

anywhere. . . I thing -- "Er, what do we do

now?" she asked.

"It is not a complicated procedure," he said.

He stepped closer so that his face was only inches

away from hers. She could see a faint green outline

around the whites of his eyes. What had the doctor

said before about green blood? The man on the computer

screen back home had bled green.... "Simply

stand where you are," he spoke softly, "and listen to my

words."

Mr. Spock raised his hands, his fingers splayed

apart, and gently placed them upon her temples.

Despite her best intentions, she couldn't

help flinching a little when he touched her. She

half-expected miniature stingers to emerge from his

fingertips and burrow their way into her brain. Instead

his touch was surprisingly warm, so much so that she

wondered what the body temperature of a Vulcan

was supposed to be. Warm hands, cold heart, I

guess. "Your mind to mine," he intoned. "My

thoughts to yours."

So far this was sounding more like a hypnotist's spiel

than she liked. Roberta wondered if it was too

late to back out, change her mind. What if she

had made a terrible mistake? Gary Seven would be

lost forever and it would be all her fault, just because she

had been naive and trusting and fallen for the oldest

alien trick in the book. A harmless mind-merger?

Yeah, right!

Then her fears dissolved, along with her

identity....

"Your mind to mine." Spock experienced a minor

tremor in his resolve as he felt the barriers between

their minds beginning to blur. He acknowledged his

qualms, analyzed them as he had been trained to do

by his father, then placed them aside. Although he was

glad to have avoided such an admission, he con-

179

,111

Greg Cox

ceded that it was wise to have Dr.

McCoy on hand to observe his contact

with Miss Lincoln. Like any instance

of delicate surgery, every mind meld

contained an element of risk; it was

only logical to have a trained

medical practi tioner watching over

both participants in the meld.

Not that he truly feared any

neurobiological complications; it was

the exposure of his own deeply

guarded emotions that always daunted

him whenever he initiated a mind

meld. Unfortunately, such expm sure

was unavoidable, given the intimate

nature of the meld itself. Let it be

so, he thought. There was too much at

risk to let his private apprehensions

deter him from a logical course of

action.

"My thoughts to yours." Her

turbulent feelings lapped over the

borders of his own mind like waves

upon a beach. He sensed her

agitation, her fears and doubts and

inner strength. He closed his eyes

and saw himself through her

perceptions strange, alien, intim-

idating. He saw his own face

superimposed upon another's. A male,

of Vulcan or Romulan descent, blood

streaming from a wound in his head.

This image was prominent in her

thoughts, but he did not understand

it yet. He had to press further,

deepen their connection, become truly

one mind, one spirit, one katra

"My mind to yours."

McCoy watched the meld proceed.

Nothing appeared to be happening,

just two people standing

face-to-face, neither moving a

centimeter, but he couldn't take his

eyes away. No matter how many times

I see Spock do this, he thought, it

always makes my skin crawl. He

couldn't help remembering the time

another Spock, in a parallel

dimension that creepily echoed their

own, had ruthlessly raided McCoy's

thoughts to learn what the real Jim

Kirk was up to. It had been a

shocking and humiliating experience

that was enough to turn one off

Vulcans forever. 180

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

And yet, ironically, the genuine Spock

seldom looked more human than when he was linked

to another, more emotional being. McCoy would never

forget the look upon Vulcan's face when he merged

with Kollos, the Medusan ambassador;

Spock's familiar features had been

positively transformed by the other's heartfelt

sorrow and pity. It was like seeing an entirely

different side of Spock. Maybe that's what

makes this mind meld business so creepy and so

compelling

He didn't need to glance around the bridge to know

that everyone else was riveted by the same spectacle.

Even Uhura seemed to have stopped trying to open

hailing frequencies; he heard only a hushed

silence behind him.

I hope this works, he thought. Was it

possible that this slip of a girl held the key

to Jim's fate? It seemed unlikely, but she was

their last hope. She's certainly been full of

surprises so far.

Spock and Roberta appeared cut off from the rest

of them, isolated in their own private universe.

They seemed connected by only the lightest of touches,

yet he could sense the energy, the psychic current,

flowing between them. Pulling them apart now would be like

splitting an atom. There was a vibration, a power,

uniting them that took McCoy's breath away. With a

momentary start, he suddenly remembered the medicat

tricorder hanging from his shoulder. He removed the

instrument from its case and directed it first at

Spock, then Roberta. Their lifesigns looked

stable enough, though the tricorder detected a shocking

amount of chemical pollutants in Roberta's

blood and tissues, even traces of asbestos and

nicotine. That's what living in the past will do to you,

he groused silently. It was barbaric what people used

to put up with.

Their brain activity seemed to be within their

respective safety ranges. Roberta had

attained a mental state approximating REM

sleep, while Spock's

,81

tilde ..

Greg Cox

hyper-alert mind seemed to have

slowed to a merely human level. The

only problem was trying to distin-

guish her brainwaves from his. The

more he monitored the phenomena, the

harder it became to tell where Spock

ended and Roberta began.

As he looked on, their faces

gradually switched expressions.

Spock's stern features relaxed

conspicuously, losing their

rigorously inflexible lines. He

looked open and unguarded, almost

innocent. Angelic even. "Well, I'll

be," McCoy muttered. In contrast, a

spooky sort of calm came over

Roberta's face. She looked as cold

and impervious as the sculpted face

on an Egyptian sarcophagus. Like

Spock, in other words.

"Brrrr," McCoy whispered to

himself. The temperature on the

bridge was kept at a level

comfortable to most humanoids.

Nevertheless, a shudder ran through

the doctor as he stared wide-eyed at

the union of human and Vulcan.

He's never going to do that to me

again, he vowed. Never in a million

years.

Her mind reeled beneath a flood of

memories and sensations The fierce

glare of the Vulcan afternoon, the

heat currents rising from the

sun-baked desert floor. The rough,

scratchy tongue of I-Chaya, her

beloved sehlat, licking her face.

Cold nights atop Mount Seleya, the

light from nearby planets shining

like moons in the sky, the wind

keening through the rocky peaks. The

spicy taste of fresh plomeek soup,

hot from the nutrient processor.

Salty, all-too-human tears drying on

her cheeks as she ran home from

school, unable to face the icy

disdain of the real Vulcan children.

A hug from her mother, irrational but

reassuring . . .

His mind absorbed data faster than

he could assimirate it, trying with

only partial success to separate the

information and impressions from

their emotional content Squatting on

a blue shag carpet, watching

black-and-white images on TV, Rod

Serling intoning

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

dourly against a background of flickering stars,

Zorro on horseback, silhouetted against the

night sky. More memories flashed across his mind

Swimming in the

cool, refreshing waters off Puget Sound,

digging for j clams on the beach, white foam washing

over his toes. i

Marshmallows toasted over a campfire, sticky

and sweet with a slight taste of charcoal. Standing in the

rain, damp and cold, waiting for the school bus.

All the other kids are bigger than him; why'd he

have to skip two grades anyway? Running after his

older brothers and sisters, trying to keep

up. Looking up "precocious" in the dictionary at

Mirror Lake Elementary . . .

Her father looks on in stony silence as she

leaves for Starfleet Academy. His mother fights

back tears; how can he drop out of high school?

She feels her bond with T'Pring, stretching across

the light-years between San Francisco and

Vulcan. The pained look in Kevin's eyes when

he gives him back his ring hurts almost too much

to bear. The sudden acceleration of the shuttle, pressing

her back into her seat, as it overcomes Earth's

gravity. Staring out the window of a Greyhound bus,

watching the empty plains roll by on the way to New

York. Her first glimpse of the Enterprise in

spacedock. A want ad in the Village

Voice, something about "encyclopedia research" . .

. his

Searing pain scorches every inch of her body as the

Denevan neural parasites attack her nervous

system. He hangs by his fingertips from a window

ledge outside the Flatiron Building, dangling

fourteen stories above Broadway; how in the world

did Seven talk him into this, anyway? She feels

her newfound happi- ness slipping away as the

spores disappear from her bloodstream;

cold logic reasserts itself. Isis stares at him

with baleful yellow eyes, smug and superior as

always. The Organians reveal their true form, and

she must avert her eyes from the blinding light. He

slides down a secret tunnel under the White

House, hoping desperately that there's still time to stop

Professor 183

distilde

Greg Cox

Tepesch from brainwashing JFK and

Jackie. Making love to Zarabeth in

an ice cave. Sharing a joint with

Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock.

Now The captain is missing. Seven

is gone. What should they do? We are

in the wrong sector. We are in the

wrong time. McCoy wants to wait for

Jim. Whatever happened to Isis? The

doctor always disagrees with us.

Where is that cat anyway? We have to

do something. Why are we here? We

came through a wormhole. We got a

message in the past. Jim wanted to

investigate the cloaked planet.

Seven said we had to go into the

future. The Romulans are up to some-

thing. They want to change history.

The Romulans are dangerous. Romulans

and Vulcans look the same. Vulcans

and Romulans are not the same. He

tried to warn us. They want to kill

someone. They're going to kill.

Spock.

U.

I.

l

Chapter Fourteen

THE BODY OF THE Romulan lay upon the

floor of the command center, smoke

rising from the gaping hole in his

back. Supervisor 146, I presume,

Kirk thought. Gary Seven appeared

transfixed by the sight, frozen in

place in the center of the room,

between Kirk and the Romulan female

who had just shot 146. Kirk still

suspected that there was a lot more

going on than Seven had admitted to,

but he knew when a mission was going

badly, and this one seemed to be

heading straight to hell.

He was swinging his phaser toward

the woman when several hundred

kilograms of enraged feline barreled

past him, knocking him to one side.

Roaring like a thunderstorm, Osiris

lunged at the woman who had just

killed his master? companion?

partner? before his eyes. The

Romulan's own eyes widened in alarm

as she saw the emerald beast hurling

at her, its vicious claws extended,

its ivory horn spewing venam. Unable

to fire her own weapon in time, she

dived off the transporter platform

toward the couch to her

tilde 1

Greg Cox

left, shoving the heavy piece of furniture

away from the wall.

Osiris crashed into the platform, his claws gouging

scratches in the floor where the woman h ad been standing

only heartbeats before. Furious at the

escape of his prey, he reared up on his hind

legs, standing almost eight meters high, the tip of his

mighty horn brushing against the ceiling, and roared at

the top of his lungs, his jaws opened wide

to expose rows of ivory fangs. His roar

reverberated against the walls of the chamber, deafening

Kirk and jolting even Gary Seven from his agonized

contemplation of the dead Romulan's corpse. His

mournful eyes turned toward the towering figure of

Osiris.

It was an awe-inspiring display, but tragically

shortlived. Recovering from her shock, crouched down

between the couch and the wall, with one knee resting on the

floor and the heavy tapestry rustling above her, the

woman swung up her rifle and fired again. Kirk

couldn't hear the sound of the discharged weapon over

Osiris's mighty roar, but he saw the energy beam

shoot across the room to strike the great cat just below his

chin.

She must have adjusted the disruptor's settings, because

this bolt did more than simply burn its way through the

cat's furry hide. Instead, a burst of deadly

radiation, even brighter and more green than Osiris's

own coat, suffused the cat from head to toe. For an

instant, the glow surrounded Osiris like a

halo, and, blinking his eyes, Kirk thought he saw

the outline of a humanoid body briefly, almost

subliminally, super

imposed over the shape of the great cat, then the i

radiance faded away, taking Osiris with it.

Within seconds, the fearsome creature had been

completely disintegrated. Kirk felt an

enormous sense of loss, surprised at the depth

of the feeling; although he had known Osiris for barely

more than an hour, he knew that a rare and noble

creature had just been extin186 distilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

guished.he hoped that there were more

of Osiris's breed elsewhere in the

galaxy, perhaps on this very planet.

In the meantime, there was still

the murderer to be dealt with. "Drop

your weapon!" Kirk shouted, aiming

once more at the woman, but she

ducked down behind the back of the

couch. Damn, Kirk thought. He was

severely tempted to set his phaser on

kill and burn right through the couch

and the woman behind it, but his

Starfleet oath stayed his hand. Only

as a last resort, he vowed, risking

a glance at Seven, who was now

kneeling beside the dead Romulan,

confirming the awful truth. "Are you

all right, Mr. Seven?" he called out.

"No," Seven answered brusquely,

"but I am still functioning, if

that's what you mean." Rising from

the side of his murdered colleague,

he inspected the damaged control

panel. Occasional sparks still flick-

ered across the surface of the panel.

"You keep the commander busy, and

I'll see if I can activate the self-

destruct mechanism."

Easier said than done, Kirk

thought, although he found himself

reassured that Seven remained coolly

intent on his mission, despite the

deaths, within minutes of each other,

of two of his allies. At least he

didn't have to worry about Seven

falling apart on him, just keeping

one step ahead of a well-armed

Romulan warrior. No problem, he

thought, circling cautiously towards

the plush black couch.

A disrupter blast tore through the

back of the couch, missing Kirk by

mere centimeters. That was too close

for comfort, he thought, backing away

from the couch as quietly as he could

so as to not alert the woman to his

location. The near miss left his

heart pounding, but his mind fell

back on his Academy training,

carefully assessing his strategic

situation one armed foe out of my

line of sight, with potential

reinforcements due at any minute. Not

good.

il

Greg Cox

He glanced quickly at the transporter pad the

woman had apparently used to enter the command center.

He considered destroying it, but decided against it.

He and Seven might need the transporter

to escape once Seven engaged the self-destruct

system. Better to just keep an eye on the

pad, as well as on the turbolift entrance and on

the woman behind the couch. Too bad I'm not a

Triclopian, he thought wryly. I could use

three eyes right now.

Another blast blazed through the couch, this one hissing

past him about a meter above his right shoulder. Every time

she f res, Kirk thought, she's destroying a

piece of her shelter. Unfortunately, she still had

the edge as long as her disrupter was set on kill and

his could only stun. He wasn't sure what

exactly that couch was made of, but it might be dense

enough to blunt a phaser set on stun. I'm

outnumbered and outgunned, he mused, his finger brushing

the setting controls on his phaser. There may be no

way out of this place except through deadly force. He

was hoping it wouldn't come to that, though, especially

since, technically, he was the invader on this side

of the Neutral Zone. "Seven!" he shouted, then

swiftly

moved to one side. Sure enough, another disrupter

i

beam shot through the space he had just occupied. The

black couch was starting to look like a piece of

Swiss cheese, but there was still enough of it to hide

his opponent from sight. "How are we

doing over i

there?"

"Patience, Captain," Seven replied. "The

cam

mender's disrupter bolt damaged many crucial

com- "I portents. I believe I can

compensate by reconfiguring tilde the circuitry,

but it may take a few minutes." i "With all

deliberate speed, Mr. Seven," Kirk urged,

i

then dropped to his knees as a brilliant

green beam incinerated the air above his head. He

wondered why the Romulan had not fired at Seven

yet. Could it be that she was reluctant to damage the

control room

1 88 it

disj

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

equipment any further? According to

Seven, this was all about technology,

advanced alien technology that Seven

wanted to keep out of the hands of

the Romulans. Sounds like a plan to

me, Kirk thought, if I can just stay

alive long enough to give Seven the

time he needs. He felt like he was

playing a game of Romulan Roulette;

one of these times, the disrupter

beam was going to strike home.

For an instant, he thought he

glimpsed a piece of gray fabric, the

same color as a Romulan uniform,

through one of the holes in the

couch. He fired his phaser at that

tantalizing glimpse of gray, but

failed to hear the hoped-for sound of

a stunned body hitting the floor.

Tough luck, he thought, watching

carefully for another chance at his

foe. We're both shooting blind, and

neither of us is making any lucky

shots.

"Seven?" he called again. Yet

another beam sizzled overhead,

leaving a meter-long scorch mark

across the ceiling.

"Not quite, Captain," Seven

answered. "This task is proving more

difficult than it first appeared."

Great, Kirk thought. He took a

moment to wonder how the Enterprise

was faring. He hoped that Spock and

the others were in a better position

than he was at this point.

The tapestry hanging above and

behind the disruptor-scarred couch

rustled again, indicating movement

beneath it. Kirk gave the tapestry a

closer look. Gold and silver

needlework traced designs like cat's

eyes upon the black fabric. An idea

occurred to him.... Adjusting his

phaser to generate heat rather than

force, he fired at the tapestry. The

velvety fabric burst into flames,

then burned free from its hangers,

falling down onto his opponent's

place of concealment.

An angry scream came from behind

the couch, and the woman threw

herself into the open as if propelled

by an atom-smasher. Smoke rose from

her uniform 189

Greg Cox

where it had caught fire at over a

dozen different locations. She batted

at the darting orange and yellow

flames with her bare hands, snuffing

them out as quickly as she could.

Fury contorted her features; beneath

the ugly scar on her forehead, her

eyes blazed with hatred.

tilde think I've made an enemy, Kirk

thought. The rage on the woman's face

looked almost Klingon in its

intensity. He prided himself on being

a quick judge of character a vital

skill for a ship's captain and he

didn't like what he saw in this

particular Romulan's eyes. There was

something almost pathological about

the fury on display here, he thought,

as he watched the Romulan woman

battle the flames licking at her

clothing.

For better or for worse, her

uniform appeared to be at least

partially flame-resistant. She

quickly extinguished the fires upon

her person and seemed more or less

unscathed, although Kirk detected the

smell of burning hair in the air.

"Don't try anything," Kirk said,

aiming his phaser directly at the

woman. "Let me see your hands."

The Romulan assassin glowered at

him, but did as he instructed,

raising her empty hands palms up. Her

disrupter was nowhere in sight. Kirk

glanced quickly at the couch.

Fortunately, the burning tapestry had

not ignited the adjacent furniture

and the blaze already appeared to be

dying down. Good thing the Romulans

are so fond of stonework, he thought.

Less chance of setting this place on

fire.

"You're as resourceful as they say,

Captain Kirk," the woman said. Her

words were complimentary, but her

gaze was anything but. Despite her

vulnerable position, she stared at

Kirk with undisguised scorn.

"You recognize me?" Kirk kept his

phaser on her, discreetly switching

it back to stun. "I'm flattered."

"You're historically significant,

Kirk." A smirk appeared on her face.

"More so than you know."

What does she mean by that? "Nice to

hear it," he 190

lo

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

replied. "I suppose you intend to make your

mark as well?"

For someone faci ng the wrong end of a phaser, she

seemed remarkably confident. "Oh, I'm going

to do more than make history, Captain. I'm going

to change that."

Gary Seven looked up from his efforts at the

control panel, visibly disturbed by the woman's

words. How much does he know about her plans?

Kirk wondered. What isn't he telling me?

He risked a glance at the turbolift entrance.

There was still no sign of reinforcements, but he couldn't

help feeling that they were pushing their luck. The

woman's apparent confidence worried him. "If I

were you, I'd hurry," he instructed Seven. "For

all we know, I may have set off a silent

alarm."

"You did," Seven responded coolly. "I

shut it oh"

Now he tells me, Kirk thought. He was

getting damn tired of being in the dark all the time.

He waved the phaser in front of the woman. "Why

don't you tell me who you are and what this is all

about?"

Seven gave the woman an anxious glance. He

seemed more worried about the Romulan revealing her

secrets than she was. There's definitely something

he doesn't want me to know, Kirk deduced.

Maybe i

several somethings.

The woman sneered at him. "My name is Commander

Dellas of the Romulan Star Empire, and you,

Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Federation

Starship Enterprise, are far from home, badly

outnumbered, and hopelessly out of your depth. You may

have had some small success outwitting thick-skulled

Klingons over the years, but you cannot begin to grasp the

full subtlety of the Romulan mind."

"I haven't done so badly so far," Kirk

quipped. "And I've figured out enough to realize that this

entire operation is very hush-hush and very important,

which makes me extremely curious about

what you're planning here. And my associate over

there," he

Greg Cox

cocked his head towards Seven, "has his own

stake in stopping whatever you're up to."

Her open hands still poised in the air, Commander

Dellas inspected Gary Seven for the first time. The

scar above her eyes wrinkled in puzzlement as she

examined the stranger at the control panel. Kirk

didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed that

Dellas, who obviously knew Kirk's

background by heart, clearly did not recognize the

time traveller from the twentieth century. At least

that gives us an edge, he thought, one we're

probably going to need.

His free hand fingered the slim, metallic servo

in his pocket. He wondered if Seven's

repairs would go any faster if he gave Seven

back his device. Maybe now was the time to trust the

man with his weapon again. "Seven," he began, "what

if his

"Captain Kirk," Dellas interrupted

loudly. "Under the terms of the Treaty of Algeron,

I demand that you surrender to the local

authorities, namely myself. Furthermore, we will

demand restitution for all damage inflicted upon this

installation and its personnel,

not to mention your complete cooperation in appre- i

bending any and all Federation nationals currently

at large in this sector, which you have illegally and

inexcusably invaded will full premeditation and host

tile intent...."

Her voice rose as she continued her litany of

legalistic objections, seemingly oblivious to the

phaser that was even now threatening her at point-blank

range. For a second, Kirk wondered if the

commander had snapped there was a slightly crazy sheen

in her eyes then the truth hit him. She's stalling,

he realized, but what for" Listening carefully, he

became aware of a faint ringing in his ears, an almost

inaudible hum that was nearly drowned out by Dellas's

breathless rant. It was growing louder, though, gain-

ing strength and urgency not unlike the comparison

occurred to him instantly a phaser set to overload.

"No!" Kirk gasped. He glanced again at the

smol192

1,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

dering couch. Her disrupter!

"Seven!" he shouted. "Watch out!

It's going to blow!"

He never knew if Seven heard his

warning. The hum turned into an

ear-splitting screech and there was

a sudden, overwhelming flash of

light and force that picked him up

and threw him across the room.

He was unconscious even before he

hit the wall.

disful

Chapter Fifteen

"I . . . I," SPOCK MURMURED,

obviously shaken. "I, Spock." His hands

pulled away from Roberta and explored his own

features. His face was pale, without its usual

greenish tint. His limbs trembled. He staggered

beside the captain's chair, and McCoy rushed forward

to assist him. The doctor pulled Spock's arm

over his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around the

Vulcan's chest, holding him up as best he could.

"Good God, man!" McCoy blurted. "You

look like you're in shock! What happened? Are you

all right?"

"I . . . am well, Doctor," Spock

replied, regaining his composure through sheer force of will.

He planted his feet squarely upon the floor of the

bridge and let the trembling subside. He

regulated his breathing to attain a more focused state

of mind. "The experience was more . . . disturbing. . .

than I had anticipates

but I believe I will recover."

In fact, the shock of Roberta's revelation that

he

tilde r

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

was to be assassinated at some point

in the future had jolted him out of

the meld far more abruptly than was

advisable. Concerned for Roberta's

wetfare, he looked for the young

woman. She stood a few meters away,

blinking rapidly, her face flushed

and startled-looking. Her wide eyes

locked on Spock's and she gasped out

loud, her hands springing to her

cheeks.

"Ohmigod, Spock. I should have

realized . . . I never thought. . .

to was Clearly, Spock deduced, she had

underestimated the full extent of a

mind meld, as well as the impact of

her own memories concerning himself.

She stumbled toward him, tripping

slightly on the step in front of the

captain's chair. "They're going to

kill us! I mean, you!"

"What?" McCoy said, confusion

written on his face. "Who's going to

kill you? What is she talking about?"

"It is a long story, Doctor," Spock

stated. With as much dignity as he

could muster, he extricated himself

from McCoy's grasp and stepped aside.

"I require a few moments to process

the data myself. Perhaps if you tend

to Roberta . . . that is, Miss

Lincoln?"

"What?" McCoy said, disoriented.

Events appeered to be moving too fast

for him, a not uncommon state of

affairs, Spock reflected. The

doctor's penchant for reacting

emotionally to each new event clearly

interfered with his ability to

immediately comprehend those events.

"Yes, of course." McCoy retrieved his

tricorder and quickly scanned

Roberta's vital signs.

He could not, however, criticize

Dr. McCoy too freely in this

instance, Spock conceded. He too felt

a need to adequately respond to what

he had just learned before moving on.

It was not purely logical, but it was

necessary. His proper functioning

required the assimilation of all that

the mind meld had revealed.

in

Greg Cox

The Romulans intend to assassinate

me several years from now, thereby

changing future history Flatly stated

thus, the information lost some of

its power to disturb his thought

processes. It was fortunate, perhaps,

that Roberta knew little more about

the incident, except that the

assassination was to occur in the

year 2293, approximately twenty-four

years from the present. This fact was

not preordained, though. As temporal

theory and his own experience

testified, the flow of history could

be extremely malleable under the

right conditions. Indeed, it was

apparently the intent of unknown

forces to effect precisely such a

change to his own destiny, just as

Gary Seven intended to prevent that

change.

We are faced then, Spock concluded,

with at least three possi6uture

timelines. One, thefuture as it will

proceed without the interference of

either Gary Seven or his antagonists.

Two, the future as it will be if

hostile forces intervene. And, three,

the future that may result if Gary

Seven attempts to correct or

compensate for whatever changes his

enemies succeed in bringing about.

Three possible futures. From a

strictly philosophical perspective,

that seemed like more than enough for

any mortal being to ask for.

Furthermore, it was only logical to

assume that all timelines must

inevitably lead to his death, the

only variable being whether that

event would occur sooner or later,

therefore it would be irrational to

let the revelation of one possible

demise interfere with his mission or

his reasoning. He admitted to some

curiosity about what future action he

might take that would be so

significant that anyone living today

would go to such lengths to avert it,

but he could see why Gary Seven would

wish to conceal that information.

Time travel had its own prime

directives, as the Guardian of

Forever had once taught them.

"Spock?"

196

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

It was McCoy again. Evidently he

had assured himself that Roberta had

survived the meld in good health, and

now wished to do the same for Spock.

Without asking for the Vulcan's

consent, the doctor scanned Spock

with his medical tricorder, his gaze

intent on the readout as he swept the

device up and down, parallel to the

length of Spock's body. "Hmmm," he

muttered, mostly to himself,

"slightly elevated levels of

neurotransmitters, at least by Vulcan

standards; heartbeat and blood

pressure disgustingly regular; no

evidence of biochemical side effects

. . ." He lowered the tricorder, then

snapped its lid shut, apparently

convinced that Spock was not likely

to expire momentarily. His weathered

face took on a suspicious cast.

"Okay, Spock, what's up?"

Spock saw no need to conceal the

truth from the doctor. "Apparently,

Mr. Seven does indeed have strong

reason to believe that unknown

parties are attempting to alter the

future, a future that somehow

requires my death in the year 2293."

He explained to McCoy about the

message Seven and Roberta had

received in the twentieth century.

"And you think the message came

from that planet down there, where

Jim is?" McCoy asked. Spock noted

that Lieutenant Uhura and the rest of

the bridge crew were listening

intently to their conversation. This

was as it should be, he decided; it

was good for the crew to be

well-informed regarding their

situation, although he resolved to

say nothing that might serve to lower

their morale. He had learned from

hard experience, especially during

his ill-fated expedition to Taurus

II, that it was necessary

regrettable, but nonetheless

necessary to take into account the

emotional responses of human beings

when occupying a command position

over them. Fortunately, Starfleet

officers seldom let their emotions

get the better of their training.

Except, perhaps, for Dr. Leonard

McCoy.

Greg Cox

"Apparently Gary Seven believes

this planet to be the source of the

transmission," Spock stated, "and we

have no reason to doubt him."

"Of course not!" Roberta exclaimed.

Her voice was hoarse with emotion.

Her eyes were embarrassingly moist.

"How could you possibly doubt any of

us, after what you and I just went

through?" She grasped Spock's hand

and squeezed it. "That was

incredible. I rived your life, I

really did. What a trip! I mean, at

first I thought you were just this

strange, spooky alien, but now . . .

to You know, we actually have a lot in

common. My dad didn't really

understand me either, especially when

I dropped out of school and hit the

road. It was just like you with

Sarek. We were both so scared his

"Thank you, Miss Lincoln," Spock

interrupted, gradually extricating

his hand from her grip. Roberta's

highly emotive response to the

aftermath of the meld was becoming

uncomfortably personal, particularly

in front of McCoy and the others. "I

am grateful that you found the

experience illuminating. Perhaps now,

however, we should concentrate on the

matter at hand."

"What?" she said, still slightly

disoriented. "Oh yeah." She plopped

back down into the captain's chair,

then jumped back up again, having

forgotten that the crystal cube was

still resting where she had just sat.

"Oops!" She picked up the cube and

raised it in front of her face. The

green glow gave her features a

curiously Vulcan tint. "Computer,

return control of the ship to, um,

First Officer Spock."

"And other authorized personnel,"

Spock suggested.

"Right. And other authorized

personnel," she repeated and the cube

beeped in response. Stepping away

from the captain's chair, she

gestured toward the now-empty seat.

"All yours."

"Thank you, Miss Lincoln," Spock

replied. He

Hi.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

assumed command once more, resting

his back against the padding of the

chair. Bits and pieces of Roberta's

memories continued to spiral across

his consciousness, like stray leaves

blown about by the wind. Chocolate

mint ice cream. Fireworks on the

Fourth of July. A torchlight parade

through the streets of Seattle.

Central Park in winter. The flare of

a machine gun. A yellow submarine .

. . Spock blinked his eyes once,

clearing his mind of such psychic

residue. There was too much at stake.

He could not afford to be distracted

by the memorabilia of anoth er's

mind, no matter how intriguing.

"Lieutenant Rodriguez, what is our

status?"

"The helm is responding, sir,"

Rodriguez said. "I'm awaiting your

command."

"So, where were we anyway?" McCoy

said sarcastically, placing a hand on

the back of Spock's chair. "Oh yes,

that's right. You were just about to

leave Jim and the others high and

dry."

Roberta looked stricken and about

to protest, but Spock spoke first.

"No longer, Doctor. Our priorities

have changed. I have decided, on the

basis of the information I received

from Miss Lincoln, that the threat to

future history is something worth

risking the Enterprise for. We will

remain in this orbit to render

whatever assistance Captain Kirk or

Gary Seven may require to complete

their mission."

A misty-eyed Roberta grinned widely

and looked like she wanted to hug

Spock. To his relief, she refrained

from doing so. "I knew it!" she said.

"I knew you couldn't go through with

it."

McCoy was rendered speechless, if

only for a moment. "You mean it?

We're not leaving?" Astonishment

showed in his baggy eyes. "What the

devil changed your mind? Not that I'm

complaining, mind you."

"Granted," Spock explained, "the

facts of the matter, as relayed to us

by Gary Seven, have not

1 tilde

Greg Cox

changed essentially. But, through my exchange with

Miss Lincoln, I have gained a substantially

greater faith in Mr. Seven's judgment and

reliability. Based on his conduct in other

situations, as shared with me by Miss Lincoln, I can

only conclude that Gary Seven would not have acted as

he has done unless it was absolutely vital to the

natural progression of history."

"You're not just saying that," McCoy asked

skeptically, "because now you know your own future is

on the line?"

Spock felt stung by the suggestion, although he

suppressed the response so swiftly that it could

hardly have been said to have existed at all. "That would be

reasoning unworthy of a Starfleet officer," he re

sponded. "Furthermore, from a standpoint of

strict i

self-interest, it would be highly illogical

to risk my existence today to preserve my life some

twenty-four years hence."

"If you say so," McCoy said. He looked

unconvinced, but Spock perceived no need to further

justify his decision to the doctor. There were better

uses for his time.

"Mr. Spock," Lt. Uhura

spoke up. "Should I call for Secur ty?" she

asked, looking pointedly at Roberta. There was,

after all, the not-insignificant matter of her

illegal takeover of the Enterprise.

"That will not be necessary, Lieutenant," Spock

declared, seeing no advantage to confining Roberta to the

brig. "Miss Lincoln's insights may prove

valuable as this mission proceeds." He pointed

towards the science station he usually manned. "Miss

Lincoln, perhaps you would care to occupy that

"Got it," she assented. Cube in hand, she

scurried across the bridge to take a place at the

science station. Her eyes widened as she inspected

an impressive array of displays, switches, and

knobs. "Wow, I know what all this stuff is now!

This is the 200

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

command functions slave panel, that's

the computer audio output control, those

are the sensor display input logs . . ."

Spock was faintly alarmed at the speed

with which Roberta had assimilated his

technical knowledge. Uhura merely looked

bemused, until she suddenly stiffened in

her chair and held her earpiece closer

to her head. "Mr. Spock! It's

Gladiator.

She's coming around again, and heading

straight for the

"Confirmed," Ensign Gates reported from her

station at navigation. "Sensors

indicate that Gladiator is approaching

us at one-quarter impulse."

Spock was not surprised to hear that

the Romulan battle cruiser was still in

pursuit of the Enterprise. He doubted

that Commander Motak would give up eas-

ily. "Is there any indication," he

asked, "that they are aware of our

location?"

- "Negative," Uhura stated, shaking

her head.

"They're still searching for some sign

of us, and

demanding our surrender at regular

intervals."

"Romulans are known for their

punctuality," Spock observed, "as well

as their persistence." He considered

going to red alert, but decided he

needed more data first. "What is their

weapons status?" he asked

automatically and was surprised to hear

Roberta answer him.

"Er, their shields are up," she

announced, staring at the long-range

sensor display. She fiddled with the

controls to the high-resolution EM

scanner. "Their disrupters are fully

charged, but not targeted." She shrugged

her shoulders. "At least that's what

these doohickeys say."

"Lord help us all," McCoy exclaimed,

openly dumbfounded by Roberta's

performance. "Now I've seen everything.

Next we'll be putting the blasted cat at

the helm . . . to was

The cat, Spock thought. There was

something in Roberta's memories, an

oddness regarding the cat,

Greg Cox

that he had not fully addressed just yet. What was

Isis indeed? Merely a pet or something

far more signifi- cant? The mystery nagged at the

back of his mind, as tilde though it ought to be more

important than it seemed, j but there was no time

to think about the cat now, nor to share Dr.

McCoy's fascination with Roberta's newfound

proficiency with starship technology. Glad-

iator posed the immediate threat. All other concerns were

secondary.

He had to assume that Commander Motak had not yet

detected the presence of the cloaked world. It

appeared, though, as if he was about to do so, at which

point he would also pose a threat to Captain tilde

r Kirk, Gary Seven, and the rest of the landing party,

not to mention their chances of completing their mission

successfully and preventing any alteration to future

history. That was an outcome even less desir-

able than the total destruction of the Enterprise and

all aboard her. We are expendable, he thought.

Gary Seven is not.

ynothing else, no one will be able to assa ssinate

me in the future if I die in battle today. I

can only hope that Seven will be able to repair any

damage to the timeline caused by my premature

demise.

"They're getting closer," Ensign

Gates announced. Under stress, her voice

betrayed a slight Brooklyn accent.

"Gladiator is only minutes away from inter-

cepting the perimeter of the cloaking field."

Spock briefly wondered if it would be possible

to lure Motak into crashing Gladiator into the

planet itself, but quickly rejected the notion. The

oblitera- tion of an entire battle cruiser

would result in a

tremendous and inexcusable loss of life among

the,

Romulans. He reminded himself that Motak was

merely defending his home against a suspicious

intrader. It would be dishonorable to condemn his entire

crew to death simply for performing their duty. However

innocent of hostile intent, the Enterprise 202

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

was the ship on the wrong side of the

Neutral Zone, and a legitimate target

for the Romulans.

Furthermore, it occurred to him,

the crash of a battle cruiser into a

thriving, class-M planet would be

comparable to the catastrophic impact

of the asteroid that destroyed

Earth's prehistoric dinosaurs. The

potential for massive ecological

damage, including mass extinctions,

was too grievous to even consider

inflicting on a living world.

We must protect the planet from

Gladiator and Gladiator from the

planet, all without endangering

Captain Kirk as well. He saw only one

way to achieve that aim. "Lieutenant

Rodriguez, take us out of the

cloaking field."

"What?" McCoy blurted. "Spock, what

are you doing?"

"We must lure Gladiator away from

the planet," he explained. "The best

way to do so is by giving it

something to chase."

"Like us, for instance?"

"Precisely."

"Here we go," Rodriguez said,

directing the impulse engines by

means of the control panel at his

fingertips. The Enterprise shot out

from its orbit around the cloaked

world, leaving both the planet's

atmosphere and its protective shield

of invisibility behind. On the main

viewer, an image of the planet's

upper hemisphere dropped out of

sight, giving way to the starry

backdrop of outer space. Distant suns

glittered like diamonds against the

endless blackness, and a Romulan

battle cruiser, its warp nacelles

gleaming on opposite sides of the

kilometers-long, daggerlike structure

that connected its engines to its

prow, came rushing towards them,

undaunted and seemingly unavoidable.

"So, Spock," McCoy drawled, as the

enemy ship grew ever larger on the

screen before them, "I suppose that,

now that you know how crucial you are

to the 203

tilde 1 tilde

Greg Cox

future of the galaxy, you're going

to be even more impossible to live

with?"

"Possibly," Spock replied, "but

unless we can devise a means of

outwitting Commander Motak in the

next few moments, you will not have

to worry about that very much

longer."

, .

Chapter Sixteen

THE LAST THING Kirk remembered was a flash

like a supernova. Emerging from a dreamless sleep,

he awoke to find himself surrounded by over a

halfdozen Romulan soldiers. I suppose

it's too much to hope that this is just a bad dream, he

thought, like that one where I keep finding back at

Starfleet Academy with Finnegan....

He glanced around, swiftly taking in the

situation, which looked far from advantageous. The command

center was filled with Romulans, all in full

military uniforms and bearing weapons, except for

an olderlooking Romulan wearing a white lab

coat and apparently preoccupied with repairing the

damage to the control panel caused by the Romulan

Commander's disrupter beam. Kirk prayed that damage

was beyond

the balding scientist's ability to undo, although he

I

could hardly count on such a convenient solution to the

crisis. That would be too easy, he thought.

"Are you well, Captain?" Gary Seven

asked. He occupied a sitting position on the

floor a few meters

Greg Cox i

away, and looked as though he had regained

consciousness only a few minutes before. His face

had been reddened by the heat of the blast, inspiring

Kirk to raise a hand to his own face. The skin

felt dry and itchy, like a bad case of sunburn.

Could be worse, Kirk decided; at least he had

retained his vision. Blind and surrounded, now that would have

been a tightest!

"Well enough," he answered before the nearest guard

jabbed the muzzle of a disrupter between Kirk's eyes,

ordering him to silence and prodding Kirk hard enough

to make his eyes water. Kirk had to fight the

temptation to jump up and feed the Romulan his own

disrupter, but that, he realized, was probably not the

best long-range strategy, no matter how

satisfying it might be in the short term.

Instead he looked around for his phaser, only to see

it resting in the grip of another Romulan soldier

who was examining the foreign weapon with great interest.

Kirk guessed that he was not likely to get the

phaser back anytime soon. Checking his pocket,

he was not surprised to find Seven's servo missing

too.

A groan caught his attention and he turned

to observe the Romulan Commander Dellas, he

recalled being helped to her feet by two of her

underlings. Kirk assumed that she had taken the brunt

of the blast since she had been the closest to her

discarded disrupter when it overloaded, a sacrifice

she had evidently been willing to make in order

to render Kirk and Seven defenseless as well. A

bold but elective ploy, he conceded

reluctantly, resolving never to underestimate this

particular foe.

He inspected Commander Dellas more closely.

The disrupter burst had darkened her face and seared

away her eyebrows, which looked even odder on a

Romulan than it would on human. Her uniform was

torn and burnt in numerous places, confirming

Kirk's suspicions that not too much time had

passed since the overload knocked out

everyone in the room. He didn't recognize the

ebony cloak over her right shoul206

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

der nor the insignia upon her collar; then again,

there was a lot Stardeet still didn't know about the

Romulan military.

The commander's personality asserted itself quickly.

Shrugging off the aftereffects of the blast, she

angrily yanked her arms free from the grip of the

solicitous guards, preferring to stand on her own.

"Enough," she barked. "You should be watching over our

prisoners, not me." The soldiers backed away,

exchanging glances nervously and looking more than a little

bit frightened of their own commander.

Everything he saw just confirmed Kirk's original

assessment of Dellas. He may not have known much

about Romulans, but he knew a killer when he

saw one. There was a homicidal gleam in this

woman's eyes that went beyond the usual Romulan

suspicion of outsiders. The Romulan commanders

he had encoun- tered in the past, including Motak,

had displayed no excessive malice; they had been

honorable antago

nists, simply doing their duty as they saw it.

But this j

woman was different, he could tell just by looking in

her eyes. She reminded him less of the dignified

Romulan starship commander he had defeated in the

Neutral Zone two years ago and more like such

unscrupulous sociopaths as the late Colonel

Green, the pseudo-Nazis of Ekos, or even his

own crew's machiavellian counterparts in the

Mirror Universe. No wonder Gary Seven

doesn't want her using his technology, Kirk

thought. Looks like he was telling the truth so Jar.

"Doctor Vithrok," she demanded briskly,

glancing over at the older Romulan scientist.

"What is the status of the transporter controls?"

Gary Seven eyed Vithrok intently. He

appeared even more keen to hear the scientist's

response than Dellas herself. Of course,

Kirk realized, the transporter is the time

machine. That's how she's planning to change the

future but change it how? He couldn't begin

to guess when and where she intended to tinker

Greg Cox

with history, but it seemed safe to assume that what

was good for Commander Dellas and the Romulan Star

Empire would be bad for the rest of the

galaxy.

Watching the scientist and assessing his potential

as an adversary, Kirk spotted the tip of

Seven's servo emerging from a pocket on

Vithrok's lab jacket. So that's where it went,

he thought. He guessed that Seven had spied his

weapon as well. Too bad neither of them was in

apposition to reclaim it.

"I think it's fixed," Vithrok announced,

stepping away from the control panel. "The damage was

fairly serious, but it appears as if someone else

had already repaired the major components." He

contemplated Dellas with a quizzical expression

on his face. "Com- mender, I don't suppose

that . . . that is, can I ask whether you made any

changes to his

Kirk wondered if Dellas would admit

to accidentally blasting the panel herself while

liquidating the unfortunate Supervisor 146.

Probably not, he guessed; he doubted that one

rose far in the Romulan command without shrewder

political instincts than that.

'The equipment was injured during my apprehension

of these intruders," she said obliquely. "This one"

she nodded toward Seven "was attempting

to repair the transporter for his own corrupt

purposes when I set my disrupter to explode."

Kirk briefly considered dispelling Dellas's

evasions

with the truth, but he couldn't see any obvious

tilde - advantage to it. Dellas seemed to have

her subordinates too cowed to contradict her,

regardless of the facts. Instead he decided to try

to coax out whatever information he could from his captors.

"On behalf of the United Federation of Planets,

I protest our treatment here and demand to be put in

touch with the

proper diplomatic authorities."

Dellas laughed out loud. "This must be that

celebrated human sense of humor you seem so

proud of. As you must be aware, you can hardly demand

tilde 1 tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY Of anything, legally or

otherwise. You were captured in a blatant

attempt to infiltrate and sabotage this installs-

of tion."

"But this isn't a Romulan military

installation, is it?" Kirk challenged.

"It is now," she replied, "although you

are right that it does not appear anywhere in our

computers. Not even the Praetor knows this planet

exists, nor f about this operation." She smiled

coldly. "I am the highest authority here, and

well within my rights to have you executed on the spot."

"Oh, I doubt that you're likely to do that,"

Kirk said. "A Starfleet captain, especially

one who has eluded the Empire twice before, is

too valuable a prize to consign to an unmarked

grave on a nonexistent world. That's true no

matter how well-connected you think you are."

Dellas regarded him thoughtfully, a scowl upon

her

radiation-baked, hairless face, and Kirk

wondered for Of a moment if he'd pushed his luck

too far. Better too f far than not enough, he

thought, and hoped that he If hadn't just devised his own

ideal epitaph. "Perhaps," she said finally, then

turned to face a centurion standing to one side.

"Is the Enterprise still in orbit above us?" f

""Yes, Commander," the soldier replied. He

had removed his helmet, which he held against his chest.

be "They have repeatedly attempted to hail their cap"

f fain, but we continue to jam their transmissions."

"Good," she said tersely. "And the force

field?" Of "Still at full strength," he

reported. "They have fired none of their weapons against

it." f Kirk was stunned to hear that the Enterprise

was tilde - still orbiting the planet, but he was

careful not to let his surprise show upon his face.

What are you waiting for, Speck? Me? He would have

preferred to hear that Of his ship was safely away from

here, although, from a more selfish point of view, it was

good to know that the landing party still had a way off this

planet, m f

fill

Greg Cox

assuming he could just find a way to disable that force

field. Judging from what he had heard so far, it

sounded like Chekov and Sulu had successfully

eluded the Romulan patrols. They must be hiding

out in the jungle, waiting for further word from their

captain. He didn't intend to let them down.

Wetre not dead yet, he thought. All I need is

a chance.

"I see," Dellas said, appropriating a

fresh disrupter

from the centurion. She casually set it on

kill. "Very j well. You and your men may leave us

now. Continue i

to monitor the Federation vessel and alert me if

there is any change."

"Are you sure, Commander?" The centurion gave

Vithrok a scornful look; clearly he did not

consider the scientist adequate protection for

Dellas. "Perhaps I should stay."

"This is not for your ears, centurion, nor for any

of your men's." She raised the disrupter confidently.

"I can defend myself if necessary." She took

Kirk's phaser from another soldier and placed it

on a counter next to the computer controls. "Now,

go."

Dellas waited until all of the soldiers had

left the control room, leaving her alone with

Vithrok and the two prisoners, before giving Kirk

further consideration. She eyed him suspiciously as

she paced slowly around him and Seven. "What I

most want to know," she stated, "is why are you here?

How much do you know about our purpose here?" An

ugly sneer appeared on her burnt face. "I

refuse to accept that your presence on this world is a

mere coincidence."

"Er, Commander," Vithrok interrupted. "Now that

the soldiers have departed, I want to show you this." He

lifted the servo from his pocket, rolling the

silver cylinder nervously between his fingers. "The

centurion found it on Captain Kirk, but it's not

Starfleet issue. Citizen Septos had something

similar before we confiscated it, as I'm sure you

must recall," he appended swiftly.

"I do indeed," she stated, taking the serve from 2

tilde 0

At,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Vithrok. "An admirably compact and

lethal device, at least when

employed effectively." She dangled

the servo before Kirk's eyes, the

light from the overhead lamps

glinting off the argentinesheen of

Seven's weapon. "Now why would a

Starheet captain be carrying a piece

of alien technology identical to one

we captured from the former occupant

of this base? Curiouser and

curiouser, as I believe one of your

native fairy tales goes."

You're talking to the wrong person,

Kirk thought, sneaking a sideways

glance at Seven. The enigmatic time

traveller remained silent, paying

close attention to Vithrok's

activities at the computer station.

So far, Commander Deltas had not

paid much attention to Seven,

perhaps misled by his borrowed

Starfleet uniform. She doesn't

realize Seven is the one who made

all the travel arrangements for this

little jaunt. He didn't see any

reason to fill her in on the real

story.

"Why don't you tell me what you're

up to instead," Kirk said defiantly.

"We both know that you don't belong

here."

Dellas laughed, a sound that was

anything but infectious. She tucked

the servo into one of her boots. "I

suppose such displays of bravado

impress Klingons, but a Romulan

commander is less easily swayed."

Swinging the muzzle of her disrupter

back and forth between Kirk and

Seven, she faced the Starfleet

captain. "I'm very familiar with

your record, Kirk, and not just your

past. I know you have a long history

with the Klingons. Tell me, have you

ever experienced their mind-sifter?"

"You know, I don't like the looks

of this," Dr. McCoy said, shocking

no one with this revelation, least

of all Spock. To his mind, the

nature of the threat hardly required

explication.

Gladiator hung in the blackness, a

emerald dagger poised to stab at the

heart of the Enterprise as soon as

it came within firing range, which

Spock estimated

Greg Cox

would occur within approximately 2.5

seconds. "Lieutenant Rodriguez,

prepare to execute evasive

maneuvers," he instructed. "Take us

out of this solar system." A moment

later, the first disrupter blast

shook the Enterprise. Spock felt the

vibration all the way through to his

bones. He clenched his jaws to avoid

biting down on his tongue by

accident. All around the bridge, red

alert lights dimmed momentartly

before coming back on again.

"Boy," Roberta Lincoln exclaimed

from her perch at the science station

once the shaking stopped. She brushed

her disheveled blonde bangs away from

her eyes. "Those Romulan guys aren't

kidding!"

"Apparently not," Spock agreed,

briefly wondering why humans always

seemed to require assurance that a

situation is not intended as

humorous. were practical jokes that

pervasive an aspect of their culture?

"Evidently Commander Motak does not

intend to waste his time with further

rhetoric or threats." He established

an intercom link with engineering.

"Mr. Scott, what is the status of our

defenses?"

"After the pounding we got before,"

Scotty replied, "it's a miracle that

we have any screens at all." Spoek

heard the sounds of vigorous activity

in the background of Scotty's

transmission; it seemed that exten-

sive work was being performed even as

he conversed with the chief engineer.

"We're doing what we can down here,

but the screens aren't going to hold

out for long, I can promise you

that!"

"Deflectors down to forty-one

percent," Roberta confirmed, "which

sounds like pretty bad news to me."

"Less commentary, please, Miss

Lincoln," Spock requested as, despite

the helmsman's best efforts, another

salvo jolted the bridge, provoking a

flurry of profanity from Dr. McCoy

and a startled gasp from Lt. Uhura.

The red alert signals went out

entirely this time, and did not light

up again. Scanning the ring of 212

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

duty stations that circled the

bridge, Spock saw warning lights and

damage alerts blinking on at almost

every station, from environmental to

engineering. As unnecessary as

Roberta's remarks seemed, he could

not fault her evaluation of their

situation; the Enterprise was growing

increasing vulnerable, while Gladi-

ator had yet to receive any damage.

Their only chance was to attempt to

balance the equation. "Return fire,

Ensign Gates."

"Yes, sir," Ensign Gates

acknowledged, her hands manipulating

the phaser controls. A beam of

scarlet energy flashed across the

void to strike against the Romulan

warship's deflector shields. Spock

spotted the distinctive blue Dash of

discharged Cerenkov radiation as the

shields absorbed the phaser burst,

dissipating the destructive energies

back into the vacuum of space. Gates

fired again and shimmering fire

outlined the portside nacelle of the

battle cruiser.

Gladiator flickered like a mirage,

then disappeared entirely. "Yikes,

you disintegrated it!" Roberta ex-

claimed, sounding both relieved and

appalled. "Just like that!"

"I wish," McCoy muttered darkly. He

held on tightly to the painted red

handrail around the command module,

standing directly behind the

captain's chair.

"That is far from the case," Spock

stated, fully aware that Motak's ship

had simply activated their cloaking

device, rendering Gladiator invisible

to all their sensors. The only

consolation, he knew, was that the

battle cruiser could employ neither

its weapons nor its shields while

cloaked, guaranteeing the Enterprise

at least a momentary respite. He

doubted it would endure for long.

"Shall I keep firing, sirThat" Gates

asked. Caught up in the heat of the

battle, she seemed eager to strike

back at the Romulan cruiser.

"Fire where, Ensign?" Spock said,

contemplating 213

Greg Cox

the empty starscape on the viewer. The battle

cruiser was nowhere in evidence. "We cannot afford

to waste our remaining energy shooting blindly."

"I hope you have a better idea," McCoy

commented, lowering his voice so that only Spock could

hear him.

The doctor was free to hope, Spock thought, not

that it was likely to do much good. Strategically,

Motak had the advantage. Not only did the

cammender have fresh shields and a cloaking device

to hide behind, but he could count on reinforcements

eventually. Even if both vessels were

ultimately incapacitated, left drifting

helplessly in space, it was only a matter of time

before the Romulans sent more warships to apprehend the

Enterprise. A temporary stalemate would

eventually provide Commander Motak with final

victory.

"Uh-oh," Roberta blurted, working the ship's

sensor array. "They're back . . . behind us!"

Seconds later, a violent shudder

rattled the floor beneath their feet, dramatically

confirming Roberta's report. The image on the

main viewer shifted as the rear sensors

automatically switched the perspective, but

Spock caught only a fleeting glimpse of

Gladiator before it faded from sight once more.

Gates released another phaser blast in

retaliation. The beam pierced the darkness, continuing on

in a straight line that apparently encountered no

resistance. "Missed him!" Gates cried out,

smacking her fist against her knee in frustration.

Sparks flew from the ceiling as a wounded Enter-

i

prise suffered the effects of this latest blow. A

burning ember landed on the back of Spock's hand.

He brushed it away methodically, his mind examining

the battle just as he would approach a game of

tridimensional chess. The cloaking device was the

key, he realized. If he could eliminate that

advantage,

the Enterprise's own firepower could be brought to

tilde bear. Regrettably, however, Starfleet

military research comr

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

had yet to discover an effective

counteragent to the cloaking device

he and Captain Kirk had removed from

the Romulans on an earlier mission.

Spock himself had not previously

applied himself to the problem, but

it was unrealistic to assume that he

could provide a technological

breakthrough in the midst of battle.

Or was it? His gaze fell upon the

green crystal cube Roberta had used

to usurp control of the Enterprise.

"Miss Lincoln," he called out, "is it

possible that your computer interface

device might be of use in this

situation?"

"My what?" Roberta asked. "Oh, you

mean this thingie." She held the cube

out at roughly eye level. "What the

heck do you have in mind?"

Spock recalled that Seven claimed a

thorough mastery of cloaking

technology on the part of his anony-

mous sponsors. "If given access to

the Enterprise's sensor array, might

not your computer be able to

penetrate our adversary's cloaking

field?"

"Huh?" McCoy said. His confusion

was evident. "andBut you can't detect

a cloaked ship, Spock. That's the

whole point.?"'

Spock would not be deterred by the

doctor's dour attitude. "Just because

we lack the knowledge to do

something, that does not mean it

cannot be done, perhaps even with the

tools at hand." He braced himself as

Gladiator materialized once more out

of the ether. "Miss Lincoln,

establish the link immediately.

Ensign Gates, arm photon torpedoes,

but hold your fire until our foe

resumes a cloaked state."

In a simple shooting match, Spock

knew, Gladiafor's shields would

outlast the Enterprise. Logically,

their only hope was to accomplish the

impossible, striking against the

battle cruiser while its

deflectors

were rendered inoperative by the

cloaking effect. The only variable

was, would the Enterprise hold

together long enough to give Roberta

a chance to apply Gary Seven's alien

technology to the task of locating a

tilde 1

Greg Cox

cloaked ship? Spock started to calculate the

odds of their survival, then, on an impulse,

abandoned the effort.

As Captain Kirk had repeatedly

demonstrated, the odds weren't everything.

The casualties had begun streaming into sickbay,

just as Christine Chapel had feared. Three already,

one from Deck Sixteen and two from the shuttle "

,

landing bay. They came in carried and/or assisted

by their fellow crew members, whom she immediately set

to work loading hyposprays and sterilizing wounds.

Fortunately, none of the injuries were life threatening

yet just fractures and second-degree I

burns but the battle appeared far from

over. The yellow alert lights had been replaced

by flashing red warnings. Doctor McCoy must be on

his way, she assumed, unless he had encountered

another medical emergency en route or worse.

That was the worst part of holding down the fort like this; she

never knew when the doctor himself might be carried

into sickbay, wounded or dying, leaving her on her own

to

cope with the inevitable victims of war.

The floor suddenly dropped out from beneath her feet

as a devastating force slammed into the ship. The

entire sickbay lurched downward and Chapel

slumbled forward, smacking sideways into one of the

biobeds. One of her conscripted "orderlies" lost

hold of a tray full of medical instruments, which

crashed to the floor with a ringing metallic clang.

Surgical scalpels, heartbeat readers, med

scanners, and anabolic protoplasers rolled

across the floor as desperate crew members

scurried after them.

Out of the corner of her eye, Chapel saw a

specimen cage slide off its shelf and smash

onto the floor. Oh, no, she thought, the poor

cat! But there was nothing she could do about that now.

"Strap the wounded to the beds!" she ordered,

to protect them from any future jolts. "And watch

out for yourselves." Part of 216

were

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

her wished she knew how the battle was faring, i

whether the Enterprise was giving as good as she was

getting, but, in a way, that had nothing to do with her.

Let Mr. Spock and the others fight for the ship.

Her job was to care for the injured for as long as she was

able.

The door to the corridor whished open and two more

casualties staggered in. Radiations burns and a

head wound, she diagnosed on the run. Performing

triage automatically, she handed off the burn

victim to an ensign for first aid while she scanned

the head

injury with her medical tricorder, looking for

signs of i

serious cerebral trauma and praying she wouldn't

find any.

She didn't even notice a sleek black

shape slip out

through the open door. His

Chapter Seventeen tilde

DISRUP-RORS BLAZED amidst the silence of

space. Spock saw an incandescent flash an

instant before he felt the impact. McCoy gasped

behind him, thrown against the very handrail he had depended

on to keep himself upright. For a second it felt like the

Enterprise was going to flip end over end, but the

ship's artificial gravity kept everyone more or

less in place. Electrical fires sparked

all around the bridge, suffusing the room with smoke.

When the automatic fire suppression system

failed to activate, Uhura sprung to action

immediately, retrieving an emergency fire extinguish

er from a shelf beneath the communications console and dashing

around the bridge, putting out the blazes wherever they

flared up. "Don't worry, Mr. Spock," she

called out, coughing loudly and waving away the haze with

her free hand, "I think I have things under control."

Spock took her at her word. Uhura was a

logical choice to assume this duty; Commander

Motak seemed to have no interest in sending

transmissions

., tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

to the Enterprise. Spock peered at

Roberta through the white trails of smoke. Her

translucent cube blinked rapidly atop the ship

sensor controls. "Are you making any progress,

Miss Lincoln?" he asked.

"I think so," she shouted over the crackling

fires

and minor explosions that broke out almost as fast as

. Lt. Uhura could contain them. "It thinks your

sensor i

gadgets are awfully primitive, but it might

be able to work with them."

"Let us hope so," Spock answered, finding it

intriguing and more than a little remarkable that the fate of the

Enterprise and perhaps that of future history depended

on the unlikely abilities of a twentieth

century Earth woman and a mechanism of unknown

origin. Captain Kirk was prone to "gam- bring

on long shots," as he called it. Spock could not

help wondering what the captain would think of this

particular gamble.

"Here they come again!" Ensign Gates warned as

another flash of energy lit up the forward viewer and the

subsequent shock wave tilted the entire bridge

starboard, sending them all lurching to one side.

Knocked from its setting, the bronze

plaque mounted to the left of the turbolift doors

crashed to the floor, producing a ringing metallic

clang. The hull remained intact, though, Spock

noted; the shields were still holding, if just barely. The

intercom whistled at his side and he heard Chief

Engineer Scott reading off damage reports through

a cacophony of static and electronic distortion.

He did not need to identify every word to understand that

circumstances were dire in the extreme. We do not have

much more time, he concluded.

Suddenly, the floor buckled only a few

meters away, spraying Rodriguez with shards of

metal and released plasma. The helmsman let out

a single frantic scream

before being flung from his seat, landing hard at the i

base of the main viewscreen. "Good Lord,"

McCoy whispered hoarsely and hurried forward.

He had his 219

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Greg Cox

medical scanner out an d ready even before he reached

the injured man's side. "Talk to me, Arturo,"

he urged his patient, using a spray applicator

to treat Rodriguez's visible burns and

lacerations. "Don't die on me, man!"

Throwing an empty fire extinguisher onto the

floor, Uhura rushed back to the communications station

and hurriedly inserted her receiver into her ear.

"Uhura to sickbay. Dr. McCoy requires

assistance on the bridge . . . well, send

whomever you can!" She turned toward Spock.

"Nurse Chapel reports more casualties coming

into sickbay. No fatalities yet, but they're

running out of room for the wounded."

Ensign Gates rose to assist the doctor, but

Spock restrained him with a sharp command. "Maintain

your post, Ms. Gates." Although Rodriguez's

injuries were apparently severe, he could not concern

himself with the fate of a single crewman; that was in Dr.

McCoy's able hands now. Tapping the vital

functions override panel on his port console,

he transferred helm control to the navigation station,

knowing all the while that simply maintaining their

present course was not enough. They had to go on the

offensive, force Gladiator to go to cloaked mode

at least one more time before Commander Motak came in for the

kill. "Hold the torpedoes, but fire phasers

at will."

Gates stared at her wounded comrade for one more

heartbeat, then dropped back into her seat

and depressed the firing controls with a vengeance. A

volley of phaser beams, one after another,

detonated against Gladiator's shields, sending

cascades of rip

pling blue energy around the outline of the warship. j

Spock watched the enemy vessel with keen

interest. Would Motak respond in kind or take

the better part of valor, going to cloak before

attacking the Enterprise again? Much depended on

what next transpired.

Hi

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Spock's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as

the image of the battle cruiser rippled like a

reflection upon the water before vanishing entirely.

Now is the time, he thought. We will not have a better

opportunity. "Miss Lincoln, can you identify

the location of the hostile vessel?"

"Almost . . . sort of . . . Got it!" she

rejoiced, staring at the sensor displays. Looking across

the bridge, Spock did not recognize any of the

patterns he could discern. The cube atop the

instruments maintained a steady chartreuse glow.

"He's standing out like a sore thumb!"

What a curious simile, Spock thought.

"Transfer the coordinates to the targeting

mechanisms at once," he said, hoping that

Roberta had absorbed enough of his technical skills

to accomplish this rather elementary task. If not,

precious seconds could be lost.

"No problem," she replied, a grim

expression on her face. Ensign Gates's jaw

dropped as the necessary data was instantaneously fed

into the weapons controts. "Sock it to them!"

"Sir?" Gates asked, looking back over her

shoulder. She looked more apprehensive than

hopeful.

"You heard Miss Lincoln," Spock said.

"Fire torpedoes."

Each wrapped in a polished metallic casing,

five gleaming projectiles hurled across the

vacuum in search of the concealed battle cruiser.

Concentrating intently on the scene upon the viewer,

Spock waited for the inevitable explosions that would

occur when the photon torpedoes found their target.

He hoped that Gladiator was not so close to the

Enterprise that their ship would incur further damage

from the

resulting shock waves, although, in the

ship's present comI

state, that was hardly the greatest of their concerns.

As expected, the torpedoes converged on a single

location. The sheen of their dark surfaces captured

the far-off starlight an instant before all five

projec

tiles were consumed in a savage

matter-antimatter i

Greg Cox

reaction, yielding a blinding white light that

lasted for only a fraction of a nanosecond.

Spock's inner eyelids dropped briefly

into place to protect him from the brilliant flash;

even still, the explosion left faint blue spots in

his vision that lingered for several seconds. He noted

automatically that Gates, Roberta, and Uhura

were blinking, too. Only McCoy, engrossed in his

efforts to preserve Lt. Rodriguez's life,

seemed oblivious to the torpedoes's highly visible

demise. As the rest of the bridge crew held their

breaths, Spock heard the hiss of the doctor's

hypospray at work.

Behind Spock, the turbolift doors slid open

and two medical personnel ran onto the

bridge. They appeared taken aback by the smoke and

debris, but only for a moment, quickly joining

McCoy at the unconscious Rodriguez's

side. The doctor barked orders at both medics

while continuing to treat the helmsman's burns.

"We need to stabilize him now," he instructed

them, "before we get him to sickbay. You,

Greenburg, administer aught-pointsix-five

cc's of cordrazine, stat. Clark, apply the

EMR neutralizer. We have to deGauss those

metal fragmeets. . . to was

Confident that the medical situation was under control,

Spock scrutinized the screen in front of him for

some evidence of Gladiator's status. He hoped

that the massive battle cruiser had not been

completely destroyed by the devastating impact of the

torpedoes, but was merely incapacitated. To his

surprise, however, the starlit void upon the screen

held neither a wrecked Romulan vessel nor

any visible traces of debris. Surely, he

reasoned, without shields, the cruiser's cloaking

machinery could not have survived an attack of such

severity and remained in

working order? i

The obvious conclusion was inescapable The

pho

ton torpedoes had merely destroyed each other,

not ,f

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Gladiator. "We appear to have missed

our target," he announced.

Gates and Uhura both turned their

eyes toward Roberta, who looked both

indignant and embarrassed. She draped

one hand protectively over the

luminescent cube. "That's

impossible!" she insisted. "I know I

had that sucker in my sights."

Spock considered all the

possibilities before replying. "The

time delay," he deduced within

seconds. "Despite the speed with

which we proceeded, there was

nevertheless too great an interval

between the time Miss Lincoln

identified the exact location of the

cloaked vessel and the moment when

the torpedoes arrived at their

preprogrammed destination. During

that interval, however brief,

Gladiator had sufficient time to vary

its speed and/or its trajectory, thus

evading our torpedoes."

"Oh." Roberta gave her cube a

dubious look. Spock believed she

grasped his explanation. "So what do

we do now?"

He had already anticipated her

query. "The most effective solution

would be to use your technology to

enhance the onboard sensors of the

torpedoes themselves." He inspected

Roberta's face carefully, making

certain that she understood

completely what he was proposing.

"That would necessitate placing your

device within the scanning mechanism

of an individual torpedo."

Her voice quavered slightly as she

replied. "But, umm, wouldn't that

mean blowing it up when the bomb goes

off?"

He was relieved that she fully

comprehended his intention. "That is

precisely the sacrifice I am asking

of you, Miss Lincoln. It may be our

only chance to escape defeat"

Roberta winced at the very thought,

squinching her features together

tightly. She lifted the cube from its

resting place atop the scanner

controls and held it

Greg Cox

close against her chest. Spock realized that he

had asked her to give up what might well be her

only link to Gary Seven. "Miss Lincoln . .

. Roberta, we do not have much time." 4 "Ohhh,

okay!" she said decisively. She held out the

cube to Spock. "Where does it have to go?" "I can

run it down to the forward torpedo bay, Mr.

Spock," Uhura volunteered. Spock

swiftly surveyed the bridge; everyone else was

injured or occupied, except Roberta, who could

hardly be expected to know the shortest route to the

torpedo launchers. "Very well," he addressed

Uhura. "Refrain from using the turbolifts. They

may have been damaged by the hostilities."

"I can manage," she assured him with a confident

i

grin. "Didn't you know I won the Jovian

Triathalon

back in '59? I'll be back before the

Romulans have a chance to sneeze."

Roberta reluctantly handed over the cube to the

other woman. "Be good," she whispered to the gently

glowing crystal. "Do as you're told." Spock

found her willingness to anthropomorphize an

advanced cybernetic instrument animistic and rather

shockingly primitive; then again, he reminded himself,

she was from the twentieth century, and a human at that.

Uhura snatched the cube from her hands and raced for the

emergency exit to the left of the main viewer.

Spock heard her steps ring on the gangway to the

lower levels of the Enterprise. He estimated it

would take her approximately 6.3 minutes

to arrive at the forward torpedo bays, six decks

below, and another 0.8 minutes to explain to the

weapons engineers what had to be done. It was

probably just as well that Chief Engineer Scott

was presently at work in the Engine Rooms; he

imagined that the proud and outspoken human engineer would

not approve of placing the safety of the ship

on an unknown and untested piece of alien

technology.

to ,"

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

But would Gladiator give them time

to implement their plan? "Monitor the

surrounding space carefully," he

directed Roberta, one small portion

of his consciousness continually

intrigued at the ease with which

their anachronistic visitor had

adapted to the rhythms of the bridge.

"I wish to know the minute the enemy

vessel uncloaks."

"Aye, aye, Mr. Spock," she agreed,

recovering from the loss of her cube

with admirable haste. "I'll keep my

eyes peeled."

U nder Dr. McCoy's direction, the

two medics cautiously lifted

Lieutenant Rodriguez's supine body

from the floor. A portable stasis

field generator kept their patient

rigid and immobile, forestalling

further injuries. "He'll recover,"

McCoy informed Spock, following

behind Clarke and Greenburg, "if he

gets half a chance. God only knows

what's waiting for me in sickbay . .

. i"

"I shall endeavor to ensure that

you arrive there safely, Doctor,"

Spock said as McCoy passed by him on

the way to the turbolift entrance.

The medical team apparently wanted to

at least give the turbolift a try

before taking the long way around.

"See that you do," the doctor

drawled, then looked back at him with

concerned, compassionate eyes, "and,

Spock, good luck."

Luck was not what he required, the

Vulcan thought, only time. Why had

Gladiator not yet attacked once more?

Perhaps, he speculated, Commander

Motak remained puzzled by the

Enterprise's near miss with the

photon torpedoes. It seemed logical

to assume that, given that unexpected

development, Motak might- be

maintaining a wary distance from the

Starfleet vessel while he attempted

to discern to what extent his battle

cruiser's cloaking effect had been

compromised. In that case, Spock

reasoned, I must give the commander

more to think about.

"Ensign Gates," he ordered. "Fire

phasers at maxi

right-brace

Greg Cox

mum possible dispersion. A full 360

degree sweep from every angle of

orientation."

"But, sir," Gates protested, "we

haven't got much phaser power left to

begin with. If we spread the beam

that thin, it won't have any punch at

all."

"I am aware of that, Ensign," Spock

replied. "Knowing that, do you find

my command puzzling?"

"A bit, sir," she admitted.

"Excellent. That is exactly the

effect I intend." He leaned back

against his chair. "Fire as

instructed."

Shrugging her shoulders, as if

resigned to the fact that the ship's

commanding officer had gone insane,

Gates pressed down on the firing

controls. At once a wave of crimson

energy spread out from the Enterprise

on all sides, briefly encasing the

Federation starship at the center of

an expanding sphere of phaser light

that grew to four times the volume of

the ship itself before fading away

into the surrounding blackness.

Aboard the bridge, the starfield on

the forward viewer took on a pinkish

tint for only a heartbeat, then

reverted to ebony and silver. Once

again, Spock detected no sign of a

wounded Gladiator, but this time he

had not expected to. Although

visually impressive, the phaser burst

had been so diffuse that it was

scarcely more dangerous than ordinary

background radiation. Even an

unshielded vessel, such as the

cloaked battle cruiser, could have

withstood the discharge; its duranium

hull alone would have protected the

ship from any phaser damage.

But Spock had never intended to

inflict significant harm on Gladiator

with the showy-but-ineffectual blast.

His only target had been Commander

Motak's peace of mind. If all went as

planned, Motak would waste precious

moments attempting to decipher his

adversary's seemingly senseless

tactic, especially in the context of

Gladiator's close call with the

photon torpedoes only minutes before.

It struck Spock that a 226

i i

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

short period of contemplation and reevaluation would be

a plausible response for Motak to take under the

circumstances; unfortunately, he remembered,

Romulans did not always behave as

logically or as predictably as their Vulcan

cousins.

"Mr. Spock!" Roberta called out. She

jerked to attention at the science station. "They're

back behind us!"

"Onscreen," he ordered. "Fire rear

torpedoes."

"Yes, sir!" Gates said with enthusiasm.

Spock was grateful that his command could not interfere with

whatever operations Uhura was now supervising in the

forward torpedo bay. He consulted the chronometer

located behind the astrogator. By his calculations,

the lieutenant should have almost completed her task.

The image on the viewer flipped to show

Gladiator i

bearing down on them from behind, swooping through space like

one of the birds of prey the Romulans both

admired and emulated, its disrupter beam outpacing the

cruiser to strike like lightning against the lower hull of the

Enterprise, whose weakened shields flickered like

fireflies beneath the onslaught. Spock felt the

force of the attack all the way up in the forward

saucer section. Warning lights blinked and sirens

screamed. Above the science station, a decorative

illustration of the Milky Way galaxy

melted and bubbled away. "We've lost the

shuttlecraft hanger doors," Roberta

reported, then wrinkled her brow. "What exactly

is a shuttlecraft anyway?"

Apparently the mind meld was not one hundred

percent effective, Spock noted. He

experienced a His

distinct sensation of relief.

Two black photon torpedoes rocketed

away from the Enterprise to intercept the flight path

of Gladiator. They exploded upon contact with the

Romulan vessel's deflectors, flooding the

prow of the cruiser

I I

Greg Cox

with light but failing to even

scratch its shining green hull.

Uncloaked, Gladiator's shields

appeared formidable.

The intercom whistled loudly. Spock

pressed a switch on his armrest.

"Spock here," he said.

Uhura's voice emerged from the

speaker. "The cube has been installed

in a torpedo, sir. We're ready when

you are."

"Good work, Lieutenant," Spock

answered. "Hold until my command."

There was no point in firing the

augmented torpedo until their enemy

was once more cloaked and unshielded.

He had to put Commander Motak back on

the defensive. "Return fire, Ensign

Gates. Rear torpedoes only."

Motak's disrupters struck before

Gates could carry out Spock's orders.

The entire bridge rattled and dipped

sharply to starboard. Spock heard

Roberta use a colorful metaphor of a

scatological nature, then Ensign

Gates was thrown from her seat,

tumbling over the astrogator and

landing flat on her back near the

torn and twisted remains of the helm

controls. Electrical sparks sputtered

perilously close to her hair and

limbs. Gates rolled over, away from

the exposed circuitry and tried to

drag her way back to the navigation

station, but she could barely manage

more than a few centimeters at a

time. Gladiator would cut the

Enterprise to pieces, Spock realized,

before the battered crewman made it

back to her post.

He shot out of the captain's chair,

lunging for the weapons controls only

a few meters away. His right shoulder

collided with Roberta, who must have

had the same idea. "Sorry "bout

that," she blurted, backing away.

"After you." Spock fired the rear

torpedoes.

Gladiator dropped out of sight.

Now was the moment he had been

waiting for. He dropped back in the

captain's chair. "Lieutenant 228

l l

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Uhura," he shouted into the intercom, "release the

torpedo."

The first two torpedoes, fired automatically from

the rear torpedo launchers, zeroed in on

Gladiator's former location, then

exploded uselessly against each other. Operating the

command functions panel, Spock instructed the

viewer to track the third torpedo, the one Uhura

and the weapons engineers had fired manually from the forward

torpedo bay, the one containing an inexplicable bit

of crystalline technology that surpassed even the

considerable scientific resources of the United

Federation of Planets, the one that held their last,

best chance at survival.

"C'mon!" Roberta urged the screen as the

gleaming projectile accelerated against the backdrop

of

apparently empty space. "You can do it! Show-

j

'em what a good, old-fashioned Beta-5 can

do!"

Less vocally, but with equal concentration, Spock

focused on the torpedo's path. At first it seemed

completely random, then it reversed course and jetted

towards a completely different patch of vacant

space. A moment later, the glare of a

matterstantimatter reaction exposed nothing less

than the sight of a Romulan battle cruiser

spinning out of control. Ensign Gates expelled a

very human sigh of relief.

Spock preferred to take no chances. "Direct

our remaining phaser power against Gladiator.

Target warp nacelles only."

Gates nodded and took aim at the floundering

spacecraft. With seconds, a crimson beam of

energized light struck with surgical precision at

first one, then the other nacelle at the stern of the

battle cruiser. The beam sliced away at the

warp engines without encountering even a single blue

spark of resistance. Gladiator's shields were

down campletely. "Miss Lincoln," Spock

asked after the phasers had done their work, "what is the

status of their warp capacity?"

,,

Greg Cox

She inspected the impressive

assortment of gauges and displays at

her disposal, tweaked a knob or two,

then looked over at Spock with a wide

grin upon her face. "As nearly as I

can tell, they're dead in the water!"

"That is quite satisfactory." With

Uhura away from the bridge, Spock

activated the communications system

himself from the vital function

override panel at the captain's

chair. He hailed the disabled vessel

on the screen. "Commander Motak, this

is First Officer Spock of the U.s.s.

Enterprise. We are prepared to accept

your surrender. Do you require

assistance?"

In the past, the commanders of

Romulan warships had been known to

destroy their own vessels to avoid

capture. Spock sincerely hoped that

Commander Motak would not feel

compelled to do so within the safety

of his own borders. That would be a

tremendous waste of life and

materials.

His misgivings grew as Glaa'iator

failed to respond. Was Motak

determined to commit suicide or had

their communications equipment simply

been rendered inoperative by the

destructive effects of the photon

torpedo? "Repeat This is the

Enterprise. Do you surrender?"

Scanning various known frequencies,

including those employed by Gladiator

earlier, he detected a return signal

containing both visual and audio com-

ponents. He immediately transferred

the reply to the primary viewscreen.

Commander Motak glared at Spock

from the bridge of his crippled

warship. His dark hair was in wild

disarray and there was an ugly olive

bruise upon his forehead. A trickle

of watery green blood leaked from the

corner of his mouth. Behind his head

and shoulders, wisps of smoke and

bits of broken machinery drifted

through what was left of the cabin.

Although the life-support systems

appeared to function at an acceptable

level, it was obvious that the

."

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

ship's artificial gravity had been

knocked out of commission by the

Enterprise's attacks. As Spock

looked

on, part of a melted circuit board

floated between Motak and the source

of the transmission. The Romulan

commander batted it away with an

angry swipe of his hand.

"Where is Kirk?" he demanded,

looking less like a serene,

unemotional Vulcan and more like an

enraged Klingon warrior. "Does he

consider me no longer worthy to speak

with him directly?"

"No offense is intended," Spock

stated calmly. "The captain is

otherwise occupied."

"I hope that means he is dead,"

Motak snarled, spitting out a piece

of a broken tooth. Spock did not

correct him. If Motak preferred to

think that Captain Kirk was dead,

rather than isolated and vulnerable

on a nearby world, then Spock was

certainly not inclined to dissuade

him.

"The captain is unavailable," he

repeated. "Do you surrender?"

"Hah!" Motak laughed. "Do you think

you've won just because you've

defeated me? You're hundreds of

light-years from the Federation,

First Officer Spock. I have already

transmitted a report of your presence

here to the Imperial High Command.

More warships are warping toward this

sector at this very moment. A

veritable fleet of some of the finest

ships and commanders in the Empire."

He wiped a dab of blood from his

chin. Spock noted that Motak's hand

was wrapped in fresh white bandages.

A burn, most likely, he speculated,

or perhaps a deep cut. The pain could

not be helping to improve the

commander's disposition.

"I don't know what ingenious Vulcan

trick you played to see past my

cloaking field," he continued, "but

it won't be enough to save you from

the full wrath of the Romulan Empire.

You might as well face the truth,

First Officer Spock, neither you nor

your ship will ever see the

Federation again."

Greg Cox

"In that case," Spock replied, "I

trust you will remember the mercy we

have shown your own vessel and crew.

Enterprise out." He flicked a switch

and Motak's vengeful face disappeared

from the viewer, replaced by the

sight of Gladiator still tumbling

through space, now a victim of its

own unregulated momentum. "Miss

Lincoln, what is the status of the

Romulan vessel's life-support

mechanisms?"

"Good idea!" Roberta carefully

examined the sensor displays. "Um,

lifesigns appear to be stable. No

indications of environmental

degradation aboard the ship."

Spock judged that Gladiator was in

no immediate danger. Now that they

had lured the Romulan vessel away

from the solar system containing the

cloaked world, the nearest sun or

planetary body was hundreds of

millions of kilometers away. The ship

could afford to drift helplessly

through the vast emptiness of

interstellar space. He had learned

what he needed to know Motak's

battle cruiser had been removed as a

threat for the time being.

Spock canceled the red alert

throughout the ship, reducing their

emergency status to yellow alert. He

had no doubt that the commander had

been telling the truth when he warned

that additional Romulan warships had

already set course to intercept the

Enterprise. That was only logical.

Fortunately, the utter immensity of

the universe would grant him some

time before this further threat

required immediate action. Even at

warp speed, the Romulan military

could not instantly traverse the

immense distances that all space

travel entailed; Spock recalled the

many occasions within the Federation

when the Enterprise had been the only

starship within range of a developing

crisis. He did not expect that the

Romulans could provide reinforcements

any faster than Starfleet could.

"More foes may be en route," he said

aloud, for the benefit of Roberta and

Ensign Gates, "but they are not here

yet. Our first

.11

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

priority must be to see to the safety of Captain

Kirk and the remainder of the landing party." He cocked

his head toward Roberta. "I suspect Mr.

Seven is expecting you as well."

The turbolift doors whisked open behind him and

Lt. Uhura hurried back onto the bridge,

accompanied by a repair team and a few more

replacement crew members who fanned out to take

their positions around the cabin. Assistant Engineer

Schultz, recently transferred from Deep

Space Five, set to work repair

ing the sundered helm controls. It looked like it

might i

take him a considerable period of time.

Regrettably, they could not wait until all

repairs were completed before returning to seek out

Captain Kirk. "Ensign Gates, set course

for our previous coordinates. Maximum speed."

Chief Engineer Scott would not be pleased, but that

could not be helped.

Chapter Eighteen

IN FACT, Kirk had always managed to

avoid any Klingon mind-sifters up to

now, although Spock had been forced

to endure the device's invasive

effects on their mission to Organia

two years ago. His first officer had

been typically discreet and

unemotional when describing the

experience, but Kirk had some idea

of the kind of ordeal Spock had

suffered. He wasn't looking forward

to trying it out for himself.

He didn't see anything resembling

a mind-sifter at hand in the control

room, but he doubted that Commender

Dellas was just blowing hot air when

she threatened to use one on him. At

the moment, unfortunately, Dellas

held all the cards; she had no

reason to bluff.

"Well?" she demanded. "Are you

going to tell me what I want to

hear?" She kept her disrupter pistol

raised and ready. "Why are you here?

How much do you know?"'?

I wish I knew, Kirk realized.

Dellas would probably be relieved to

learn how little Gary Seven had told

ASSIGNMENT ETERNI-LALLY him about the

Romulan commander's ultimate ambi- tions, but

there was no reason to let her on that little detail.

"I know you're planning to change the future," he

said, hoping to rattle her.

He succeeded, to a degree. He thought he

spotted a flicker of doubt and trepidation in her

crazed, socio- pathic eyes. She

definitelyally scowled at him, visibly

displeased by his words. tilde hit a nerve, he

thought. His mind raced, searching for a way to take

advantage of this minor victory. She didn't

even want her own soldiers to hear this interrogation,

he recalled. There had to be some way to exploit

her apparent mania for secrecy.

"How did you learn that?" she barked. "Who is the

source of your information?"'"

Kirk took care not to even glance in Seven's

direc- tion. Let her think that Seven, in the

uniform he stole from Chekov, was just another

Starfleet ensign. "There's an old Earth

expression you may have heard of," he said. "That's for

me to know and for you to find out."

"Oh, I will," Dellas vowed, every syllable

infused with sadistic promise, "you can be sure of

that." She stepped away from the prisoners and called

out to the aged scientist working upon the control panel to the

late Supervisor 146's computer. "Vithrok,

how are your repairs proceeding? I may want

to speed up our timetable. We appear to have a

security problem."

Vithrok turned away from the machinery. His face

was flushed and he was slightly out of breath. Kirk

didn't recognize the instruments in his

hands; some sort of high-precision Romulan

tools, he guessed, tilde suitable for working

on delicate circuitry. "I think it's fixed,

Commander," he reported, huffing between each word. "I

can't promise every function has been restored, but

I believe that the transporter controls are now

operational."

Damn, Kirk thought. That's the last thing

Dellas less-than 235 tilde

tilde 1

Greg Cox

needs to have up and running- again, not if the

transporter could still do double duty as a time machine.

Too bad she couldn't have done a better job of

blasting it earlier.

"Excellent work, Doctor," she said.

"Program the proper coordinates into the computer.

There is too much at stake to take chances now. If

the Enterprise

stages another assault, I want to be able

to leave on my j

mission immediately."

This is sounding worse and worse, Kirk mused.

A horrible thought occurred to him what if,

by attempting to stop Dellas and failing,

he and Seven had only provoked her into setting her

mysterious plan in motion even earlier than she had

previously intended. They might well have initiated

the very disaster whatever it was that Seven had travelled so

far to prevent! He peered at his fellow prisoner,

wondering if the same ghastly reasoning was going through

Seven's head. It was impossible to tell from

Seven's stoic expression, but he certainly

looked grim and intense enough. If you're planning

to do something, Mr. Seven, Kirk thought silently,

you better do it soon.

"Actually," Vithrok replied somewhat

sheepishly, stroking his beard with his free hand, "I

can't claim all the credit. This other human," he

said, gesturing toward Gary Seven, "did a

remarkable job before I got here." The Romulan

scientist shuffled away from

his work and approached Seven, a look of genuine

,j

curiosity on his face. "Where did you learn to do

all that? Some of your . . . improvisations . . .

were quite original. Revolutionary, even."

"Is that so?" Dellas said. She no longer had

eyebrows to raise but Kirk knew that she was

intrigued. I have to distract her from Seven,

he thought. She had already learned too much from 146;

he dreaded to imagine what sort of information she could

extract from Gary Seven.

ASSIGNMENT ETERN-LLALLY

"I'm shocked at your lack of expertise," he

announced loudly. "Ensign Lincoln is just an

ordinary technician. Is Romulan science that

far behind Starfleet?"

"There was nothing ordinary about what this man did!"

Vithrok protested, obviously offended. It

looked odd to see such an unmistakable and petty

display of emotion on a Vulcanlikeface, even

though Kirk knew intellectually that Romulans were

unlike Vulcans in very many respects. "This

technology is centuries ahead of both Federation

and Romulan science. It's taken me months just

to learn the basics, and I have been honored by the

Praetor himself for my scientific accomplishments.

Twice."

"Enough, Doctor," DeIlas instructed him.

To his distress, Kirk saw that she had not been

fooled by his ruse. "You should not let the captain

bait you so easily." She scrutinized

Gary Seven carefully. "It seems I

underestimated you, Ensign Lincoln, if that's really

your name. I'd thought you merely another Starfleet

foot soldier, a minor pawn in this game, but

apparently I was mistaken." She crouched in

front of

him and thrust the muzzle of her disrupter beneath j

his chin. "Tell me who you are and what you know about

this technology."

At first, Seven said nothing. He simply gazed

back at the Romulan commander with an even

expression, showing no sign of fear. Kirk was

impressed; Seven had almost as good a poker face

as Spock.

"Tell me!" Dellas ordered, pushing

Seven's chin up with her disrupter

Seven emitted a sigh of resignation, looking

at Dellas in a distinctly condescending manner.

"All I can say is that you are poised to make a

terrible mistake. You are tampering with historical

forces you cannot begin to comprehend."

"I understand enough," Dellas replied.

"History- is determined by those with the will and the strength

to

237

Greg Cox

shape it to their own design." She

grinned smugly. "All I needed was

knowledge of the future and the

ability to go there."

Seven shook his head, acting more

like a weary teacher than a prisoner

of war. "You have not looked far

enough ahead. In the long run,

reunification is in the best

interests of both the Vulcan and the

Romutans, not to mention this entire

quadrant of the galaxy."

Reunification, Kirk thought. Was

that what this was all about? It was

hard to even imagine such an event,

Romulan and Vulcan culture had

diverged so much over the course of

the last millennia. Was it even

possible? He would have to ask Spock

what he thought, assuming they both

got back to the Federation in one

piece.

Dellas sneered at Seven. "You are

human," she said. "It is you who

cannot begin to understand. The

Vulcans have learned some interesting

things over the years, tricks of the

mind and such, but they lack the

passion and the courage that makes

any race great. the only way Vulcan

will ever join the Empire will be as

one of our conquests."

"Conquest. What a ridiculous

concept," Seven said. "I wish I could

have left that behind in the

twentieth century." His voice and

manner grew more intense and urgent.

"Is there any way I can convince you

that you're making a mistake? You

weren't meant to have this technology

yet. You're like a child playing with

fireworks."

Kirk found Seven's analogy a bit

insulting, not to mention

depressingly familiar. Does every

more adyanced civilization have to

compare us to children? he thought.

Bad enough to hear it from the

Organians or the Metrons, but from

Gary Seven, too?

Commander Dellas evidently took

offense as well. "And I thought the

captain was insolent," she remarked

acidly, her blast-darkened face

growing even darker. She pressed her

weapon much harder against 238

tilde 1

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY l

Seven's throat, sinking the muzzle of her

weapon into his flesh. "Perhaps I should remind you who

is holding the gun."

Kirk wondered for a second if Seven had

deliberately provoked Dellas, perhaps to trick

her into rendering him dead or unconscious or

otherwise incapable of being interrogated. Then Seven

surprised him by moving baster Kirk's eyes could

follow, grabbing the commander by the wrist and yanking the

point of the weapon away from his throat. "What?"

Dellas snarled as they grappled for control of the

disrupter, dragging each other up onto their feet

only a few meters away from Kirk.

He saw his opportunity and seized it, springing

to his feet and racing for the phaser resting near the

control panel. Vithrok, surprised and

flustered by the sudden violence, made a feeble try

to block Kirk, but the Starfleet officer easily

shoved the old scientist aside. Vithrok staggered

backwards, almost falling through the hole Kirk had

cut in the turbolift doors. "Commander!" he

shouted frantically, grabbing onto the seared edges

of the doors with both hands to keep from landing flat on his

back. "Commander! You have to stop him!"

Now only the hover-chair stood between Kirk and his

phaser. He grabbed onto the back of the chair and

moved to push it out of the way, but the damn thing refused

to budge. Someone left the braces on, he

realized. He didn't waste any time fumbling with the

controls; instead he darted around the chair and reached out

for the phaser which was only a few centimeters away.

Got it, he thought.

A beam of red-hot energy struck the phaser first,

melting it to slag before his eyes. Yanking his fingers

away just in time, Kirk spun around to see Commander

Dellas aiming her disrupter with one hand. Her other

hand was squeezing Seven at the juncture of his

neck and his shoulder in an all too familiar

gesture. A nerve pinch, Kirk recognized

instantly. Seven's eyes

239

i l

Greg Cox

rolled upwards until only the whites could be

seen.

She released her grip and he dropped onto the

floor tilde like a marionette whose strings had been

cut. "Please j

step away from the transporter controls,

Captain,"

Dellas insisted, turning her weapon toward him.

"We to

do not want to undo all of Doctor Vithrok's

hard work." She nudged Seven's prone body with the

toe of her boot. The visitor from old Earth did

not react at all, not even with a groan. Kirk

stared helplessly at Gary Seven's insensate form.

The whole thing had only taken a few moments.

"Perhaps your associate had a point after all,"

Dellas commented, flexing the fingers of her free hand.

"There is a thing or two we can learn from our

Vulcan kinsmen." She smiled, gazing

triumphantly at the transporter pad. "Now

let us see what we can teach them...."

Gary Seven lay sprawled upon the floor of the

control room, seemingly dead to the world. I

can't believe it, Kirk mused again. I don't

believe it. He distinctly recalled what had

happened, back in the twentieth century, when

Spock applied his signa- ture nerve pinch

to Gary Seven absolutely nothing. He wasn't

sure who was most surprised, he or Spock, but

Seven had proven completely immune to an

attack that had immobilized just about every hu- manoid

specimen Spock had ever had occasion to try it out

on. Kirk still couldn't figure out why this should be so,

especially after McCoy pronounced Seven

thoroughly human in all respects, but he had

seen with his own eyes Seven shake off the effect of the

nerve pinch as though it did nothing more than , tickle

him. It wasn't something he was ever likely to forget

Ne'sfaking it, Kirk concluded. He has

to be. Kirk refused to accept that Commander

Dellas, who tt wasn't even a true

Vulcan, could deliver a more i effective pinch

than Spock, not that he intended to i 240 tilde

tilde 1

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

share that opinion with her anytime soon. "That man

is a Federation citizen," he lied, finding it easy

to summon up the appropriate indignation.

"If you've killed him, your whole damn Empire

is going to pay!"

Dellas acted unworried by his posturings.

"He's not dead yet," she stated, keeping her

disrupter pistol aimed squarely at Kirk. He

backed away from the control panel with his hands above his

head. "No one ever dies before I have learned all

their secrets, as I trust you will discover in time."

She walked around Seven's apparently

unconscious body and took Kirk's place by the

controls. "unfortunately, that will have to wait until

I have completed my current project. A matter

of priorities, you understand."

With her free hand she pressed a button on the

control panel and a slot opened on the adjacent

wall, revealing a small storage compartment. Reaching

inside, she drew out a bundle of folded gray

fabric. "Doctor Vithrok, are the

coordinates for the time travel set?"

"Yes, Commander," the scientist replied, more

confidently than Kirk would have liked. He

scurried around Kirk to join Dellas at the

controls. everything is happening too past, Kir k

thought. Whatever Dellas was intending, whatever Seven

had journeyed so far to prevent, appeared

on the verge of happening. Kirk wished he had a

better idea of just how worried he ought to be.

Worried enough, I bet.

Dellas handed off the disrupter to Vithrok, who,

rather anxiously, kept Kirk in his sights. The

pudgy,

balding scientist swallowed repeatedly and stroked

tilde his beard. He didn't look like much of a

killer, Kirk tilde - thought, but he hardly

needed to be an expert marks- comI

man to fell a human target at such close

range.

Sometimes a nervous finger on a trigger could be l

deadlier than the coolest assassin. "Don't

move," Vithrok said. It sounded more like a plea

than a 241

be

Greg Cox

warning. "There's nothing you can do to stop her . . .

I mean, us. You shouldn't have come here. It was useless

to try...."

His commander ignored Vithrok's babbling. Moving

swiftly and efficiently, she unfolded her

bundle, which turned out to be a full-length gray

robe of a style Kirk was unfamiliar with.

She shook out the

garment, draped it over the back of the chair, then

i

removed her communicator from her belt and placed

it on the counter near the transporter controls. Un

concerned with propriety, she removed the outer layer

'a of her singed and rumpled uniform, then drew the

robe over herself. Some sort of disguise, Kirk

guessed, but what was she pretending to be? Where and when

was her ultimate destination? The robe stretched all

the way to the floor and was pleated heavily from head

to toe. An attached hood hung empty behind her

head. Dellas tugged on the sleeves to make

sure the garment fit, then looked up at Kirk.

"Not very eye-catching, is it?" she remarked.

"Trust me, it will be the height of diplomatic

fashion f several decades from now, at least

among the next generation of Romulans." She ran

her fingers lightly over her brow, feeling the faint

remains of her eye- brows. A slight scowl

darkened her expression. "This is a nuisance, but I

suppose it will have to do." She pulled the hood over

her head, shrouding her hairless forehead in shadow.

"Where I'm going, no one is going to be looking at

me until it's too late."

Kirk was getting tired of being the only person in

the room, conscious or otherwise, who didn't know

the full score. Enough cryptic hints, he thought.

Mad be Dellas was more talkative than Gary

Seven. "Per- haps I'd be more impressed," he

said, "if you let me know exactly what you have in

mind. Or are you afraid to tell me?"

She shook her head inside the heavy gray

hood. "I i

acquire secrets. I seldom share them.

Besides, I thought you already knew . . . ?" Bending

over, she 242

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

lifted the hem of her robe to check on the contents

of

one boot. Kirk saw a glint of silver as she

lifted i

Seven's seno from the boot, then replaced it.

"I was intending to use a concealed disrupter

to accomplish my aims, but perhaps it would be more ironic

to use your sleeping friend's intriguing little device.

It's small, discreet, and easily set to kill.

Perfect for my purposes."

"Tell me more," Kirk said, flashing his most

ingratiating smile. "Maybe I can find

the flaw in your plan."

Dellas easily resisted his charm. She

straightened and let the hem of the robe fall over her

boots. "What was that Terran expression you quoted

to me earlier? Oh yes, that's for me to know and for you

to find out." She turned a knob on the control

panel and Kirk heard a hum commence behind him.

Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the

transporter pad at the opposite end of the room

come to life. A faint blue mist began to form above

the pad; it looked distressingly like the haze

Dellas had unexpectedly emerged from to kill

Seven's fellow agent. "Do not deviate from the

plan, Doctor," she informed Vithrok. "After I

have departed, adjust the transporter to return me

to this time from a point sixty minutes after my arrival

in the future. That should be all the time I require

to complete my mission."

"I understand, Commander," the scientist answered.

"I will begin the procedure as soon as the initial

transport is completed." He nodded toward

Kirk. "What shall I do with this one? Perhaps I should

summon a centurion?"

"That won't be necessary," she insisted. "The fewer

who witness this operation, the better."

Dellas obviously wasn't the trusting type,

Kirk noted. "Captain Kirk is not going

anywhere. Let him watch as I transform the

future of the galaxy forever." She smirked beneath her

hood, her eyes hidden within its umbra, and began

walking toward the transporter. "If

i I

Greg Cox

all goes as scheduled, I will be back in this

chamber in a matter of moments."

The original wisps of glowing blue mist had

swollen to a dense column of fog that coiled about

itself atop the transporter platform. Kirk

desperately wanted to know what was waiting on the

other side of that fog, but how could he find out while

Vithrok's disrupter was pointed at him? He

resisted the temptation to

sneak a peek at Gary Seven, still presumedly

playing be

possum on the tile floor. If the man was

waiting for the right moment to intervene, it would have to be

soon.

Over on the counter, Dellas's discarded

communicator emitted a harsh buzz. She

paused in her path, appearing unsure how

to proceed. Her head swung from the communicator to the

glowing mist and back again. Would she ignore the

incoming message and get on with her mysterious

mission, Kirk wondered, or would she be more anxious

to receive news from her subordinates? Given that

Chekov and Sulu were still unaccounted for, he knew

what he'd do if he were Deltas get as much

information as possible.

Kirk pegged it exactly. With an impatient

snarl, Dellas spun around and stalked back to the

control panel. "What is it?" she demanded,

snatching up the communicator and throwing back her

hood. Her short black hair was charred around the

edges. Dis- turbed by the movement of the hood,

bits of burnt hair flaked off and fell upon her

shoulders.

"Commander," a voice emerged from the communicator.

Kirk strained his ears to catch every word.

"The Federation starship has returned. Sensors

con- i

firm it is the Enterprise. And, Commander," the

voice added, "they're hailing us."

Dellas squinted at Kirk as though he held

the key to this new development. In fact,

he was even more surprised than the Romulan commander,

although he endeavored not to show it. What was Spock

doing back here? Kirk had specifically ordered

him to get 244

Deli

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

the Enterprise to safety if he lost contact with the

landing party for over an hour, which surely must have

passed by now. Spock must have a very good reason for

disobeying my orders, he guessed. He usually

does.

"Put them through," she said decisively. "Use

an encrypted mode. I don't want anyone

listening to this, including yourself."

"Acknowledged," the voice reported. An

instant tilde later, Spock's face appeared

on the large screen above i the control panel.

Kirk noted that the image was an tilde unusually

tight close-up, blocking out any view of the i

ship's interior. That has to be deliberate, he

deduced; there must be something on the bridge he

doesn't want the Romulans to see, assuming that

he was even transmitting from the bridge. Kirk

mulled over the possibilities, frustrated by his

lack of clear knowledge of what Spock was up

to. What the devil is happening up on my ship?

Spock's eyes widened slightly at the sight

of Dellas in her robes. "This is the U.s.s.

Enterprise. Can I assume that you are in control

on the installation on the planet's surface?"

"You needn't be so formal, Mr. Spock,"

Deltas replied. "I know your life story even

better than you do, although I confess I am more than

a little curious as to what brings you here at this

particular time and place."

Spock raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Is

this not where and when you intend to launch your attempt to

assassinate me in the year 2293?" tilde

Kirk could not conceal his shock at Spock's words.

tilde 4

Was that what this was all about? A plot to murder

Spock? He threw an anguished look at

Seven's inert form. Why didn't you tell me?

He knew why, of course. The sanctity of the time

line and the inherent dangers in learning one's own ,

destiny, but it still came as a shock. He felt

an icy chill run through his entire body.

Greg Cox

Dellas appeared just as dumbfounded

by Spock's casual revelation. She

leaned toward the screen, her fists

squeezed tightly at her sides. "How.

. . do. . . you. . . kr tilde ow. . .

that?" she demanded, her voice

quivering with fury. Taken aback by

his superior's wild-eyed intensity,

Vithrok backed a few steps away from

her.

"That is irrelevant," Spock stated.

"The fact remains that StarDeet is

familiar with the particulars of your

scheme and cannot allow you to

succeed."

His implacable manner only served

to enrage Dellas further.

"Irrelevant!" she snapped.

"Everything is irrelevant to you

Vulcan eunuchs. Strength. Passion.

The courage to survive, the will to

conquer." She stepped back from the

screen, her chin held high. "My

father was like you, a devotee to the

heretical teachings of Surak. They

did not shield him from the harsh

realities of the world; they only

made him weaker and unable to protect

himself and his family." She raised

a clenched fist to the screen. "Your

fanatical worship of soulless logic

disgusts me. I will have you killed

a hundred times if that is what is

needed to keep your pallid,

pacifistic ways from contaminating

the Emp tilde re."

"Logic is not a shield," Spock

replied, "but a means of discovering

the truth. Nor does it necessar ily

impair one's potential for

self-defense." He eyed Dellas

dispassionately. "Your father's fate

may have been beyond his control, or

perhaps there were other factors to

consider. Contrary to what you

profess to believe, weakness is not

synonymous with reason."

"We shall see, Vulcan," she

declared. "You cannot threaten me

with your starship. This outpost's

shields are more than enough to

withstand your phasers and

transporter beams." Without asking,

she seized the disrupter pistol from

Vithrok's hand and advanced toward

Kirk. "Can you see your captain, Mr.

Spock? Do you know what I can do with

him?" She grabbed Kirk by the-arm and

dragged him

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

closer to the monitor, then stepped behind him and

pressed the muzzle of the disrupter against his temple.

"I want to know who informed you of my plans and I

want to know now. Tell who your source is, or I

will reduce your captain's brains to ionized

particles."

Roberta, Kirk realized. Gary Seven's young

companion had to have filled Spock in on the true

nature of his mission, not that this answer was likely

to satisfy Commander Dellas, even if Spock

felt inclined to share that information, which Kirk sincerely

doubted. That would only serve to expose and further

endanger Seven. Kirk assumed Seven was listening

to all this as well; no doubt he was equally curious

to find out how much Spock had learned.

By the counter, Vithrok looked on with a distinctly

queasy expression. He was probably more at home

puttering around in a lab, Kirk guessed, than

watching the interrogation and execution of hostages.

It's up to me, he thought. He knew he was only

heartbeats away from dying.

For the moment, though, Dellas was focused on

Spock's unreadable features. Taking

advantage of her distraction, he suddenly,

savagely jabbed his elbow into her midsection, then

threw himself to one

side. He tore away from Dellas's grasp

and felt his tilde - elbow connect with solid flesh

beneath the voluminous robe. Dellas gasped

explosively and fired her

weapon, but the beam missed its target, instead

etching another scar on the turbolift doors. She

did not release the weapon, however, and swung the

disrupter in search of Kirk. Hunched over in order

to make a smaller target, he scrambled toward the

control panel, hoping that Dellas would be

reluctant i

to fire wildly in the direction of Supervisor

146's advanced equipment. Beyond that his plans were

fairly sketchy; he was saving his life

one second at a time. Hi can just figure out how

to bring down the shields. . . to

Greg Cox8

"Captain, look out!" Spock shouted from the

screen.

"Commander, behind you!" Vithrok yelled. He

slammed his palm down on an alarm button and a

blaring siren filled the room. Great, Kirk thought.

We're going to have company.

Dellas froze, but it was too late. Moving

faster than Kirk would have thought possible, Gary

Seven rose to his feet and barrelled into the

Romulan commander from behind. Her disrupter flew from her

hand and skidded across the floor toward the lift

entrance. Vithrok ran for the weapon, but Kirk

tackled him before he got too far. The scientist

hit the ground hard, his flabby bulk cushioning

Kirk's own fall. Vithrok's breath smelled

slightly of Romulan ale. Tsk tsk,

Doctor, Kirk thought. Drinking on the job?

Vith rok attempted to roll over and strike back

at Kirk, yet, even with the benefit of a

Romulan's greater than human strength, the

reputedly brilliant researcher was no

match for a trained Starfleet officer. Kirk

smashed his fist into Vithrok's bearded chin. The

scientist's eyes snapped shut and his head dropped

backwards onto the floor tiles. Kirk

massaged his aching knuckles; he'd forgotten how

hard Romulan skulls could be.

An angry cry drew his attention to the back of the

control room. Kirk looked up to see Dellas

wrestling with Gary Seven in front of the

transporter pad. The luminescent fog continued

to billow above the platform as, with another ferocious

snarl, the would-be assassin shoved Seven away from

her. She glanced quickly at Kirk and Seven, at

the unclaimed disrupter lying on the floor out of reach

and at the defeated lump of her chief scientist.

Then she made her decision, spun around, and leaped

headlong into the mist.

"Stop!" Seven shouted, reaching for her, but his hand

closed on nothing but a bright blue haze. Ribbons

of glowing vapor slipped between his fingers.

it,

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

She was gone.

Seven's shoulders slumped for a moment,

then he took a deep breath and turned around to face

Kirk. "I have to go after her, Captain. It's the

only way."

Kirk nodded and stood up beside Vithrok tilde

s sleeping body. The scientist's white lab

jacket covered him like a morgue blanket.

"Understood," Kirk said. "I don't suppose you

want me to come along."

"It's your future, Captain. Think about it."

I am, Kirk thought solemnly. How could he

not? to

Part of him was acutely interested in knowing what the

galaxy would be like twenty, thirty years from today.

What would become of James T. Kirk in the

decades to come. Another five-year mission? An

admiralty? Marriage and a family? My son

David will be a grown man. What will he think of his

father then? Then again, how did he even know that he was still

going to be alive ten minutes from now, let alone

twenty-some years from now? After all, Dellas had

offered no cryptic hints as to his long-term

fate, only Spock's, and Kirk could all too

easily imagine himself reenacting Ebenezer

Scrooge's ultimate nightmare starmg at a

weathered gravestone with his own name on it.

"Maybe it's better if you go after all," he

told Seven.

Spock's oversized image towered above them on

the viewscreen. "Captain, are you quite all right?"

he tilde asked. I

Kirk looked around. The emergency siren

shrieked on, hurting his ears, but he did not yet

hear the bootsteps of approaching Romulan

guards. Hopefully, the fused tracks in the

turbolift shaft would slow any reinforcements down

for at least a few more minutes. Would that be enough time to do

what had to be done?

Seven crossed over to the control panel and

rapidly manipulated the buttons and switches

beneath the viewer. The blaring alarm ceased immediately, much

to Kirk's relief. "Activate

Self-Destruct Program j

His

Greg Cox

Omega-Prime," he addressed the

computer. He glanced back at the

transporter platform where the

swirling blue fog awaited him. His

brow furrowed in concentration.

"Commence program in twenty standard

minutes."

"Affirmative," the computer

replied. Kirk wondered why the

Romulans had never used voice com-

mands to control 1 46's apparatus.

Perhaps, he speculated, they had

disabled the system's artificial

intelligence to prevent it from

interfering with their unauthorized

takeover of the base. 7iventy

minutes, Kirk thought. That's not a

lot of time to get out of here before

everything blows up.

Seven retrieved the fallen

disrupter from the floor where it had

landed. He set it on stun and tossed

it to Kirk, who caught it easily. He

checked the weapon's weight and

balance. It was slightly heavier than

a type-2 phaser pistol. "You'll have

to hold off any Romulan soldiers

until I get back," Seven informed

him. "We can't permit them to disable

the selfdestruct sequence."

"What about the shields?" Kirk

asked. If they could just lower the

shields protecting the installation,

then Spock could beam one or both of

them to safety at the last minute.

Seven shook his head grimly. "I

can't lower them from here. Those

functions were damaged by Commander

Dellas's initial disrupter blast and

there isn't time to repair them." He

gave Kirk a probing look. "I

understand exactly what I'm asking of

you, Captain."

He wants me to hold down the fort

until the whole place goes up in

flames, Kirk translated. It was a

sobering thought; he had never

expected to go down fighting in the

sub-basement of an alien stronghold

in the middle of the Romulan Empire.

"Spock," he said, addressing the

screen. "Are there any other

options?"

.1 tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY l

"None I can see, Captain," he answered.

"The shields are quite formidable." But not formidable

enough, Kirk thought, to stop Commander Dellas from

beaming to the future. Time travel, apparently,

followed its own rules. "We can send down a

rescue party on a shuttle," Spock suggested.

"No," Kirk said. The base was too

well-guarded. There was no point risking further

lives. He hefted the disrupter in his grip and

looked at Gary Seven. He cocked his head

toward the luminescent fog. "Go," he told

Seven.

"Thank you, Captain." The turbulent azure

mist was beginning to fade. Kirk examined the churning,

energized mass of vapor, struck by how different it

looked from the transporter effect he was familiar

with. Dellas was on the other side of that mist somewhere,

intent on ending the life of a man whom at this very

moment commanded the starship in orbit above this very

planet. Had she already succeeded? There was no way

to know until Spock lived or died over two

decades from now. Would he ever know if Gary Seven

put an end to her murderous ambitions? The human

mind, he felt convinced, was never designed

to cope with the tortured causality of temporal

paradoxes. By contrast, the menace of hostile

Romulan soldiers was reassuringly concrete.

Bring on the troopers, he thought. Let Seven

worry about tomor- row's tms.

Without a backwards glance, Seven launched himself

into the mist. Kirk saw him receding into the fog for a

second, glimpsed the man's back as the glowing

vapors enveloped him. Then the mist dissolved

into nothingness, taking Seven with it. Kirk found himself

alone in the now-silent control room, aside from the

dormant body of Doctor Vithrok. Somewhere

above him, he heard the hiss of disrupters cutting

through solid steel. Dellas's guards were burning

their way to him, summoned by the alarm Seven had

extin

Greg Cox

guished. Kirk positioned himself in

front of the turbolift entrance,

disrupter in hand. Just like the

Alamo, he thought. Too bad Spock had

a front row seat. It had to be hard

on him, standing by helplessly while

Kirk defended a ticking bomb.

"Fifteen minutes to self-destruct,"

the computer announced.

if,

Chapter Nineteen

Camp Khitomer, Khitomer Outpost

United Federation of planets

Stardate 9521.6

A.d. 2293

THE TRATTOR S BLOOD still pooled on the

tile floor.

Gary Seven gave little attention to

the momentous drama unfolding around

the podium where Kirk, Spock, and

the others conferred with Azetbur,

the Klingon chancellor, only minutes

after the attempted assassination of

the president of the Federation.

These incarnations of the Enterprise

crew, so many years older than the

individuals he had just left behind

in 2269, were perfectly capable of

coping with the aftermath of that

near tragedy. He was there to stop

an even greater disaster from

occurring if he could.

The air was cooler here than on the

cloaked planet, the gravity a degree

stronger. After spending a little

over a year in the relatively

provincial environment of twentieth

century Earth, it felt odd to be

surrounded by such a wide variety of

alien races. Edging along the rear

of the crowd, beneath hanging

pennants of various hues and

designs, Seven desperately scanned

the vast assembly hall for any sign

of Dellas in her nonde

disj

pi

Greg Cox

script robe. His own borrowed Starfleet

uniform was a couple decades out of date, he

realized, but there was no time to try to alropriate

something more contemporary. He woulhave to hope that, with

everyone transfixed by the dramatic tableau at the

other end of the hall, no one would notice his fashion

lapse.

A pair of willowy Xela diplomats, their

faces concoaled behind veils of golden webbing,

shifted to the left, obscuring his view of the several

rows of seats. Seven clenched his teeth in

frustration, then began to work his way up one of the

aisles dividing one wing of spectators from

another. His gaze swept back and forth over the

densely populated chamber, hoping to catch a

glimpse of the murderous Romulan from the past.

Intent upon his search, he accidently stepped on the

hoof of a snout-faced Tellarite, who snorted at

him indignantly before returning his attention to Kirk

and his valiant compatriots.

Where was she? Seven's anxiety grew by the

second. Dellas was here, he knew, with his own

stolen weapon, no less. He tried not

to visualize what the servo could do to Spock at its

maximum setting.

Kirk said something up front, and the entire

assembly rose to its feet, making it even harder

to see across the entire hall. Seven arched his feet

to peer over and around the tawny mane of a regal

Klingon delegate. Something about the Klingon's

profile was strangely familiar. Oh, right, he

realized, Colonel Wori The roar of the

applause was deafening, but it was not loud enough to drown out

the insistent question that clamored within Seven's mind.

Where is she?

"You've restored my father's faith," Dellas

heard the Klingon leader say. The ridges on

Azetbur's brow were less pronounced than those of

many of her warriors. Dellas wondered briefly

if the chancellor had a trace of human blood in

her. That would certainly explain her distressing

adherence to her 254

1, tilde dis@.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

father's doctrine of peace between

the Federation and the Klingons.as if

the Klingons could ever be trusted .

. . to

Wrapped in her all-concealing robe,

the brim of her hood pulled down to

hide the disrupter burns upon her

face, she crept through the packed

assemblage to get a better shot at

Spock. The troublesome Vulcan, his

somber face creased with age and

concern, kept a watchful eye on a

Vulcan woman, much younger than he,

whose expression held only defeat.

Fear not, Kaleris, Dellas thought.

Your failure shall be avenged within

moments.

It was possible, she realized, that

she might never return to her own

time, now that Kirk and his unknown

ally had taken possession of the

control room back in another time and

place. There was always a chance that

her centurion might reclaim that

battlefield, thus providing Vithrok

with an opportunity to call her back

from the future, but she could not

count on that. She stared at the

revered Starfleet captain conversing

with Azetbur, so very different and

yet so very much the same as the

youthful human she had dueled with

only hours before. She had learned

from that experience that Kirk was

nothing if not unpredictable. He

might yet manage to strand her in

this era permanently.

Worse yet, either Kirk or his

enigmatic ally might try to use the

alien time travel apparatus to undo

what she was about to do, in which

case she might- have to travel

through time yet again to kill Spock

once more, and so on ad infinitum. Or

else she would simply have to kill

the accursed Vulcan at some later

point in his life. Certainly, she had

time; Spock would not devote his

efforts to reunification until some

seventy-five years from this date.

One way or another, Spock would die.

It doesn't matter what Kirk tries,

she affirmed. All she could do now

was complete her mission and hope for

the best. Spock would never meet

Pardek. The 255

.

Greg Cox

cause of Romulan-Vulcan reunification would

die in

its cradle, consigned forever to the realm of unre-

to

alized possibilities. She felt the

weight of the intruder's alien weapon lodged

securely against her calf.

"And you've restored my son's," Kirk said

softly. In one of the outer pews, a m tilde

ddle-aged human diplomat wearing a green sash

began to clap slowly. Soon the entire room

emulated his lead, rising up like a surging wave

toloin in a standing ovation for the heroic crews of the

Enterprise and the Excelsior. Even the ranks of the

Klingon soldiers, their scarlet sashes stretched

tightly across their dark leather armor, applauded

Kirk and the others. Dellas shook her head in

amaze

ment; no matter how many times she had witnessed

tilde this scene on Citizen Septos's

monitor, she still lo

couldn't believe it. Klingons cheering for Kirk?

As founding. tilde She refused to let herself be

distracted by the i

spectacle, however. Clapping herself, to avoid

notice, she gently elbowed her way through the mob of

delegates until only a single row of

applauding dignitaries stood between her and the platform

occupied by honored Starfleet heroes.

Ironically, she found herself standing just behind

Sarek of Vulcan, her target's distinguished father,

and a certain young Romulan delegate. Pardek,

Dellas thought with scorn. Was her knowledge of the future

coloring her perceplions, or was the

senator-to-be already contemplating

Spock with a treacherous expression on his face?

to

She glanced to the left and right to see if anyone was

watching her, but, no, all present remained

fixated on Kirk and Spock and their fallows as

they humbly accepted the assembly's display of

respect and affection. Excellent, she thought. There

would never be a better opportunity. Pausing in her

applause, she bent down to slide one hand within her

boot and drew out a slender silver cylinder. The

compact weapon felt cool in her hand.

Spock stood not more than seven meters away from

Dellas, a few steps to the left of his captain.

His calm, 256

tilde 1

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

impassive face offered no clue to his

feelings at this moment. Odd, she thought, she had

never realized before how much the older Spock

resembled her father. To her surprise, she

felt a pang of regret at what she had come to do.

She raised the silver instrument and Pointed it at

Spock. Her thumb caressed the minute firing

mecha- nism set into the device's gleaming

surface. An in- stant's pressure and the deed

would be done. Dow, she thought.

Suddenly a hand fell over her own. A voice

spoke through the hood covering her ears. "We don't

want to disturb any of these important people. They're

making the future."

He gave the silver device a precise twist

just as Dellas pressed down on the button.

The beam fired, but the target evaporated. So

did the entire assembly hall. The blue fog

swallowed them up instantly, and Dellas's

death-ray disappeared into a chaotic void outside

time and space. She let out a cry of frustration.

That was close, Seven thought. Good to know the

servo's automatic recall function was still working.

It had saved him several times in the past, although never

quite in this manner. He struggled to restrain the hooded

figure in his grasp, holding on tightly to both

her wrists. Thanks, too, for that all-concealing

hood; that was how he had spotted her in the end.

Most of the dignitaries at this event,

including all of 4 the Romulans, had not seen it

necessary to cover their heads indoors. Only Dellas,

compelled to conceal the injuries she'd received from the

overloaded disrupter, had hidden beneath the shadow of a

hood. He wrenched the servo from her clutch even as

the blue haze began to thin. Seven reclaimed the

device with more than a little satisfaction; it struck

him as quite appropriate that, in the end, Dellas's

insane scheme was undone by the very technology she had

Greg Cox

twisted to he r own purposes. Poetic

justice, of a sort. He hoped that

Supervisor 146 would have approved.

And the faithful Osiris as welt

Through the fading mist, he

glimpsed the control room he and

Dellas had left behind not long

ago. The sound of disrupter blasts

rang in his ears. Out of the frying

pan into the fire, he thought.

We've saved Spock's fixture. I

only pray I haven't doomed Kirk's

present.

258

l l

Chapter Twenty

Romulan Star Empire

Stardate 6021.6

A.d. 2269

"FIVE MINUTES to self-destruct."

Thanks for the update, Kirk thought wryly.

It wasn't the first time he'd raced a time bomb,

but it looked like he might be around for the final tick

of the clock this time. Outside the control room, an

undetermined number of Romulan soldiers were

crowded into the turbolift shaft, eager to charge into the

chamber and vaporize the upstart human who had

penetrated the nerve center of their new base. So

far, Kirk had managed to keep them back with the

frequent application of some well-placed disrupter

bolts.

Another shining helmet poked cautiously from behind

what was leRather of the turbolift doors. A blast of

corrosive energy from Kirk's disrupter sent the

helmet ducking back into the dimly lit shaft.

Kirk leaned

forward on the edge of the hover-chair's seat and i

waited for the next brave soul to dare the

doorway. At least he didn't have

to worry about pulse grenades; he

could just imagine what Commander Dellas would do i

tilde 1

Greg Cox

to any of her subordinates who even risked

destroying the precious equipment in the control

room. He didn't blame them for being cautious.

"Four minutes to self-destruct."

The base had to be destroyed, he knew. Its

advanced technology, now exposed within Romulan

borders, was a threat to the Federation and the future itself.

If he had to go up in flames with it . . . well,

that was only his duty. At least, Spock is here

to witness my last stand. The Vulcan's face,

looking far more grimmer than normal, watched him from

the monitor. Funny, Kirk mused, I always

thought I'd die alone. He fired another shot at

the entrance just to keep the Romulans on their toes.

"Three minutes to self-destruct."

He sneaked a peek at the transporter

platform. No Romulan sneak attack beaming

in, but no sign of Gary Seven either. "Spock,"

he began, suddenly feeling strangely

tongue-tied. How did you say good-bye

forever to your best friend? "It's beginning to look like

I've finally used up all my nine lives."

On the screen, Spock's arched brows shot

upward like old solid fuel rockets.

"Captain!" he said hoarsely, his voice choked with

uncharacteristic emotion. "The cat!"

Chief Engineer Scott was in the primary

transporter room, waiting anxiously for the

shields on the planet below to falter for just a moment

so he could beam the captain to safety, when Isis

arrived. His eyes widened in confusion as the door

slid open a crack and the cat slipped inside.

"Say there!" he exclaimed. "What the devil are

you doing here?"

His expression grew even more astounded when, before his

very eyes, the black cat vanished and she

materialized instead. "Saints preserve us!" he

gasped.

She was a humanoid female of striking

appearance, clad in a revealing two-piece outfit

that contrasted shimmering black silk against pale,

alabaster flesh 260

I, tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

Equally black was the lustrous dark

hair that fell below her shoulders. Two velvet

hairpieces, shaped like the ears of a cat,

decorated the top of her scalp, while a

strangely familiar silver collar sparkled around

her throat. Golden eyes, dwelling beneath long

black lashes, considered Scotty with a mixture of

amusement and curiosity. She waved a languid

arm toward the transporter controls. "May I?"

she purred.

He staggered backwards, taken aback by the

unexpeeled transformation and profoundly grateful that

there divas nothing wrong with his heart. His eyes,

though . . . now, that was another thing altogether. Keeping his

sights on the seductive figure, and unable to do

otherwise, he reached out and activated the intercom

unit on the wall. "Mr. Spock," he

exclaimed, "you're not going to believe this, but Mr.

Seven's wee kit is here, and she's just changed

into a full-sized lassie!" The exotic

cat-woman stepped forward, rustling the sheer black

fabric of her skirt, and inspected the

transporter controls. "And, Mr. Spock, I

think she wants to use the transporter."

To his surprise, Spock took his startling

news in stride. "Understood, Mr.

Scott. Please allow your visitor to proceed."

Scotty couldn't believe his ears. "Are you quite

certain, Mr. Spock?"

"This individual may be the captain's last

hope," Spock stated emphatically. "And time is

of the essence."

"If you say so, Mr. Spock." Scotty

remained dubious. He could only hope that someone

would explain it all to him eventually. He nodded at

the lady in question. "All right, lassie. It's all

yours."

Costumed more appropriately for a night spot

on Argelius Two than for the primary

transporter room of the starship Enterprise, the

woman confidently took her place behind the podium

containing the transporter controls. Her hands

deftly worked the equipment, adjusting this, realigning

that. Scotty

.11 tilde

Greg Cox

tried to keep track of what she was doing, but she

moved too quickly for his eyes to follow and, besides,

i

what he did see didn't seem

to make sense. "Whoa there," he blurted at one

point. "You can't do that. The Heisenberg compensation

ratio is all wrong. You're going to bollix the

quantum spin regu lators...." to

The woman ignored him. Just like a cat,

Scotty thought. She continued to wreak havoc on the

transporter's carefully maintained settings and

parameters. The chief engineer felt like an expert

driver stuck in the back seat while a lunatic

sat behind the wheel. What was Mr. Spock thinking?

Why put the captain's life in the hands of a

bloody pussycat?

Or whatever this baffling creature was.

"Two minutes to self-destruct."

The Romulans were growing more desperate

to recapture the control room. No doubt they could

hear the countdown as well, Kirk realized,

especially with those keen Vulcanlike ears. He was

impressed by their discipline and determination; lesser

forces would have already evacuated the installation in

anticipation of the devastation to come. They're not going

to stop, he thought, until all of us are dead.

A ferocious hail of disrupter fire came from the

phaser-carved doorway into the turbolift shaft,

form mg him to abandon his comfortable seat to take

a more defensive posture behind the overturned couch.

To avoid an accidental fatality, he had already

shoved Dr. Vithrok's insensate form up against the

wall adjacent to the doorway, out of the line of

fire. Keeping his head low, Kirk shot

directly into the barrage and was rewarded with the sound of a

Ramulan body striking the floor. The assault

barely slackened, though. Beams of destructive

energy zipped

above his head, so close that he could feel the heat

of His

the disrupter rays. He had no illusions that they

were set on stun.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

His own disrupter was running low on

power, but that hardly mattered. Whatever form of

conflagration destroyed the

compound would end the standoff long

before either side ran out of ammo.

"One minute to self-destruct."

This is it, he thought. I just hope the Enterprise

makes it back home in one

piece.

He released another blast at the gaping

breach in the turbolift doors, then was

jolted by the sound of the transporter

pad humming back to life. His gaze darted

quickly from the control room entrance to the transporter

platform, where he saw

that same incandescent haze taking form

once more. This is bad, he thought. There was no

way he could hold off incursions

from two directions.

Was there any way the Romulans could

halt the countdown at this point? Kirk

vowed not to give them a chance, no

matter what it took.

He did his best to maintain a close

watch over both fronts of the battle.

Lethal energy bolts scorched the bare

stone wall behind him while two humanoid

outlines gradually formed within the

churning blue fog Kirk fired at the door

again, just to keep the Romulan troops

occupied, then swung his weapon around to target the

new arrivals. His finger

tightened on the trigger.

"Don't shoot, Captain;" Gary Seven

called out, and

Kirk pointed the disruptor toward the

ceiling. The

time traveller emerged from the haze,

pushing a

cloaked figure ahead of him. Kirk

recognized Commender Dellas at once. She

glared at him from

beneath her hood with baleful,

unforgiving eyes.

"Fire!" she shouted at her troops. "Kill

him! Kill

them both!" -

Seven used the commander as a human

shield, while Kirk covered Seven and his

prisoner with a blistering cascade of

disrupter beams until they were safely

beside him behind the couch. He cast an

urgent look at Seven. "Spock?"

Greg Cox

"The future is as it should be," Seven assured

him. ,

He kept his servo pointed straight at Commander

Deltas. She started to open her mouth again, but

Seven flicked a switch on the silver

device and she

drooped onto the floor. Even tranquilized,

the look on tilde her face was bitter and angry.

i

"Ten seconds to self-destruct," the computer

anpounced. Seven looked to Kirk for confirmation.

"You called it a bit close," Kirk

acknowledged. He glanced at the transporter pad.

Disruptor fire from the doorway struck home against

the platform, dispelling the luminescent mist and causing

showers of sparks to erupt from the base of the platform.

"Maybe too dose."

"I see," Seven said quiet ly. At the

control panel across the room, blue electric

fire crackled across the array of lighted buttons

and exacting gauges as Supervisor 146's

futuristic computer prepared to consume itself. On the

imposing screen above the controls, Spock's alert

visage flickered, then disappeared as the monitor

went blank. Kirk thought he heard Spock mention

Scotty's name just before he was cut off.

"Five seconds to self-destruct, four,

three, two . . ." tilde Kirk closed his

eyes instinctively and braced for the -- D inferno

to come. Would he feel the shock wave, he

wondered, or simply a single second of

all-consuming D heat and agony? Every nerve ending

of-his body anticipated the searing pain. Instead,

he felt an un- mistakable tingle rush through him from

head to toe. He was being beamed out! But how? he

wondered. The shields . . . his ,

He opened his eyes to find himself crouching on a

"dis tilde less-than

transporter pad aboard the Enterprise.

Dellas and Gary Seven and Doctor Vithrok

had also materia- lized, although both Romulans

lay unconscious upon the floor of the transporter.

With a sigh of relief, followed by a deep breath

of the Enterprise's pressurized atmosphere,

Kirk rose to i, his feet and saw Scatty standing

several meters away 264

D, tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

from the transporter controls. The

chief engineer had one hand on the

intercom and an absolutely flabber-

gasted expression on his face. "Mr.

Scott?"

Apparently quite speechless at the

moment, Scatty nodded at the

transporter controls. Kirk followed

the engineer's gaze until he spotted

the sleek black cat sitting atop the

controls, casually scratching one

ear. Purring loudly, the cat leaped

from the podium to Gary Seven's

waiting arms.

"Good girl, Isis," he cooed at the

animal, tucking her against his

chest and affectionately stroking

her head. "That's a good girl."

I'

Chapter Twenty-one

THE PLANK r DUWAMISH hung in space

upon

the main viewer. Judging from the heavy

amount of cloud cover encircling the

world, Kirk wasn't surprised that they

were having trouble with flooding. He

couldn't even see the southern continent, where most of the

colonists lived, through all the turbulence in the

atmosphere. "Begin transporting

emergency medical .

supplies immediately," he spoke into the

intercom

receiver on his starboard armrest.

"Contact the leaders of each settlement

and determine what their most

pressing needs are."

He inspected the chronometer located

behind the astrogator between Sulu and

Chekov. He shook his head in wonder.

"I still can't believe you got us here," Kirk said

to Gary Seven, "let alone two

hours ahead of our scheduled arrival

time." Seven and Roberta Lincoln stood to the

port side of the command module. Both had changed

back into their garb from the twentieth century, which

Kirk found

distinctly reassuring; he

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

had never tmIy been comfortable with the sight of Gary

Seven in a Starfleet uniform, regardless of the

circumstances. Roberta stared in open amazement at

the vapor-swathed orb upon the screen. The cat,

Isis, whose name Kirk was now never likely

to forget, was cradled, as usual, within Seven's

arms. She looked merely decorative,

and deceptively harmless.

"I don't suppose," Kirk asked, "that you'd

care to explain exactly how that wormhole trick

works, not to mention how your furry little friend there managed

to beam us out through the Romulans' shields?"

Seven gave his cat a gentle pat on the head.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Captain.

Trust me, your culture is not ready for those

technological breakthroughs yet, which is why I

took care to remove all records of the

procedures from your ship's computer banks. Just be

thankful that Isis was able to make do with the equipment

at hand to beam the four of us to safety, as well as the

remaining Romulan soldiers." Seven permitted

himself a faint smile. "I suppose I could

mention, without going into any of the details, that warp

technology and transporter science are not as

unrelated as you might think. Both involve an

artificially induced translocation within the spacetime

matrix itself...."

Seated at the engineering station, Scatty leaned

forward avidly. Isis let out an outraged

squawk. "There, there, girl," Seven murmured

to the ant- mat, smoothing down the miffed fur along

the cat's spine. "I was being careful. I

wasn't going to spill all the beans."

Just our luck, Kirk thought. The cat

subscribes to the Prime Directive.

"I still say it's bloody impossible, all of

it!" Scatty fumed. Once he got over the

shock of the catstwoman's miraculous intervention,

the chief engineer had been acting personally offended that

both Seven and Isis Lffd could make his beloved

Enterprise do things he'd 267

Greg Coxj

never even dreamed of. "There's some manner of

trickery afoot, you can be sure of it."

Seven tactfully changed the subject.

"Captain, if I might ask, what do you intend

to do with our prisoners?"

Commander Dellas and Dr. Vithrok remained

confined in the brig, pending the proper disposition of their

cases. Although Kirk had been content to leave the

other Romulans stranded on the jungle planet

until a rescue ship stumbled onto them, which

probably wouldn't be long now that the planet's

cloaking device had been destroyed, Dellas and

Vithrok presented a trickier problem,

especially with all they knew of what was yet to come.

The ruthless commander, in particular, was too

dangerous to let run around loose.

"I'm not sure," Kirk admitted. "Once

our relief mission here is completed, I expect

I will turn them over to Starfleet Intelligence,

at which point they will undoubtedly end up as a

bargaining chips in our ongoing dealings with the Romulan

Empire. I wouldn't be surprised if one or

both of them were eventually returned to the Romulans

as part of a

prisoner exchange, although not until Starfleet

thinks comI

they've wrung every last piece of valuable info from

her or him."

"I thought as much," Seven stated, all business

once again. "There may be more we can do to avoid a

replay of this near disaster." He turned his head

toward Spock. "Mr. Spock, correct me if

I'm wrong, but I believe that most Vulcans

possess the ability to delete specific

memories from a subject's mind via a

telepathic mind touch?"

Spock's eyes found Kirk, then looked away

quickly. "That is true," he admitted. "I have

done so myself . . . under specie right-brace

circumstances."

Kirk wasn't sure exactly what Spock was

referring to, but he had to concede that Seven's

suggestion had 268

Hi

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY .

some merit. There was something inherently disturbing about

the idea of tampering with anyone's mind like that, but

something had to be done about these Romulans's

frighteningly prophetic knowledge of the future. Certainly

it was a far more humane solution than any the commander

herself would have con- ceived. "Don't worry, Mr.

Seven," he said. "I'll see to it that they can't

try this again. Is that an acceptable option to you, Mr.

Spock?"

"Yes, Captain," the Vulcan said

solemnly. More than anyone else, he had the most

to lose if Commander Dellas or Dr. Vithrok

retained their unnatural understanding of Spock's

possible destiny. He's taken this all even better

than anyone had a right to expect, even from him,

Kirk thought, although, when you think about it, we don't

know a whole lot more than we did before. I always

knew Spock was a singularly unique

individual, with a lot to offer the universe. Commander

Dellas's bizarre assassination scheme

only confirms that.

"Any more loose ends you're worried about, Mr.

Seven?" Kirk asked. He left his chair to join

Seven and Roberta by the railing.

"Not that I can think of, Captain," Seven said

thoughtfully. "I regret the deaths of both Septos

and Osiris, but unfortunately their fates fell

within the natural progression of the time line. They were

apparently meant to die now, in their own time,

unlike the anomalous threat Deltas posed

to Mr. Spock in your own future. I'm afraid

I must content myself with the knowledge that our time travel

technology has been kept out of the hands of the

unready."

"You know," Kirk said, "I could point out that you

seem to have little or no qualms about using your own time

machine."

"That's different, Captain," Seven stated without

a trace of humor. "I know what I'm doing."

l l

Greg Cox

Some things never change, Kirk thought, and Gary

Seven's maddening self-assurance seems to be one

of those things. No wonder he's so fond of

that cat. They both were accustomed to acting superior

to everyone around them.

"Well, Miss Lincoln," he said, "I

hope you enjoyed your trip to the twenty-third

century."

Roberta threw up her hands in the air. "It

hasn't been the most mellow trip I've ever

taken, but, boy, has it been a mind-blowing

experience!" She gazed again at the alien world on the

viewer. "Are there really human-type people living

there?"

"7,323,501," Spock confirmed..

"Give or take a newborn baby or two,"

McCoy added. "Maternity wards seldom take

time off for floods."

Isis meowed loudly and Gary Seven nodded in

agreement. "If you no longer have need of our

assistance, Captain, we should return to our own

era."

"Can't we stay and look around a little longer?"

Roberta asked in a beseeching tone. "I still

haven't figured out what a tribble is."

Isis licked her lips.

"Maybe another time," Seven said simply.

"Captain?"

Kirk shook Seven's hand, then did the same with

Roberta. "Mr. Chekov, if you would please

escort our guests to the nearest transporter

room."

The young Russian eyed the man, woman, and cat

suspiciously. Evidently, h e had not forgotten the

way Seven had waylaid him with a tranquilizer

i

beam earlier. "After you," he said sullenly,

patting the phaser on his hip and gesturing toward the

turbolift.

Kirk watched as the three time travellers,

along with their reluctant chaperone, disappeared within the

turbolift. He strolled back to his chair and

slowly

li ax.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

settled in. There was still much to

do to aid the hardpressed settlers on

Duwamish, and he was anxious to get

to work.

And yet . . .

"I have to admit, gentlemen," he

said to Spock and McCoy, "that I'm a

trifle uneasy about letting a self-

righteous wild card like Gary Seven

run around through history." He

rested his chin on his palm. "Do you

think it was wise just to let him go

like that?"

Spock rose from his science station

and approached the command module.

"I'm afraid we had no choice,

Captain. I have continued to probe

the historical records for evidence

of both Gary Seven's and Roberta

Lincoln's activities in the past.

Aside from the instances I discussed

with you earlier, I have uncovered

yet another episode that provides a

most compelling reason for allowing

our recent guests to fulfill their

destinies."

"Which is?" Kirk asked.

"Yes, cough it up, Spock," McCoy

said impatiently. "Don't leave us

hanging."

If Kirk didn't know better, he

would have sworn that Spock paused

for nothing more than dramatic

effect. How very human, he thought.

"It seems," Spock said finally,

"that, almost three decades after the

time they have just returned to, Mr.

Seven and Miss Lincoln, as well as

their remarkable feline ally, will be

instrumental in the eventual defeat

and overthrow of one Khan Noonien

Singh."

Even McCoy was impressed. "Well,

I'll be," he muttered.

Khan, Kirk thought gravely,

remembering the indomitable warlord

who had tried to extend his conquests

to include the twenty-third century,

and at the height of his power. The

trio had quite a task ahead of them.

Better them than us, I guess. One

clash with Khan was enough for a

lifetime.

l

Greg Cox

"That's a fascinating bit of

historical trivia, Mr. Spock," he said.

Captain Kirk turned his attention back to the

tempestuous atmosphere of the planet upon the

screen. "Now then, I believe we have a flood

to handle...."

tilde 4t

Chapter Twenty-two

811 East 68th Street, Apt. 12-B

New York City, United States of

America

Planet Earth

A.d. 20 July 1969

THEY GOT BACK in time to watch the moon

landing on TV, or rather on the circular monitor of

Gary Seven's Beta-5 computer. Roberta was

surprised at how indistinct and scratchy the

black-and-white images were, especially compared

to all the high-tech scanners on the U.s.s.

Enterprise. She hoped she hadn't been spoiled

forever by the conveniences of the next, next, next

century.

"One small step for man . . . a giant step

for mankind," Neil Armstrong intoned, no doubt

uncomfortably aware of the millions and

millions of ears back on Earth listening in on this

megahistoric moment. Does he have any idea,

she wondered, where that big step is going to lead? She

sure did, and it gave her renewed hope for the

future of that struggling, feuding, comfussing species

known as the human race. A United Federation of

Planets, she marvelled. Imagine!

"Do you ever think we'll run into Spock and

Kirk and that bunch again?" she asked. She was

stretched out on the couch watching the footage from

Apollo 273

1, .

Greg Cox

Eleven. Gary Seven sat behind his

desk, jotting down some notes on

their completed mission; later, she

knew, he would dictate a fuller

report to the automatic typewriter in

the next room. Isis was curled up on

the plush orange jar opposite the

couch. She alone seemed profoundly

disinterested in humanity's first

walk on the moon, preferring to

devote all her attention to cleaning

her paws.

"Who knows?" Seven replied. "I am

certain that the aegis will assign a

new operative to that era eventually,

but the obligation to preserve and

nurture civilization, as you have

surely noted, can lead one down the

most unexpected paths. Certainly, the

crew of the Enterprise, and those

that follow them, will frequently

find themselves at the cutting edge

of history."

"So what happens to them anyway?"

Roberta asked. "Do you know?"

"The same thing that happens to all

of us, Miss Lincoln, if we're lucky.

A mixture of tragedy and triumph that

eventually passes into the realm of

memory." He lowered his pen to the

desktop and loosened his tie. "So,

are you still interested in attending

the motion picture you mentioned

earlier?"

Roberta heard a hissing sound from

the overstuffed orange chair.

Glancing across the office, she was

surprised but not too surprised to

see an exotic, dark-haired woman

looking back at her with an aloof,

almost haughty expression on her

elegant features. Roberta blinked

involuntarily, and when she opened

her eyes again, the woman had

vanished, as usual. Isis the cat

turned her back on Roberta and coiled

up into a ball of shining black fur.

Not again, Roberta thought. She'd

lost track of how many times this had

happened to her over the past twelve

months or so, and never when Seven

was looking! Fine, she decided, big

deal. After jumping three hundred

years in the future, and piloting a

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY i

starship, it was going to take more than a smug,

sneaky cat-lady to rattle her. "A movie

sounds great," she enthused, giving Isis her best

this'll-show-you look. "But how "bout we hit

Funny Girl instead of 2001? After the trip we

just took, I'm afraid it won't live

up to the real thing!"

,j tilde

Epilogue

Camp Khitomer,

Khitomer Outpost

United Federation of

Planets Stardate

9521.6 A.d. 2293

THE TRAITOR S BLOOD

had been washed away

at last.

Spock considered

the busy assembly

hall. Now that the

stain of death had

been efficiently

disposed of, and

Valeris and her

fellow conspirators

escorted away by the

president's personal

security team, there

was little evidence

of the violence that

had briefly marred

the proceedings,

except for,

paradoxically, a more

recess tive and

convivial atmosphere

among the gathered

ambassadors,

ministers, and

delegates. It seemed

odd to conclude that

attempted murder and

subterfuge could

increase the

probability of peace,

but that appeared to

be precisely the

case. Fascinating, he

thought.

He walked past the

podium and, for a

moment, felt a

peculiar chill along

his spine, almost as

if, to use a

typically colorful

human expression,

someone had "walked

on his grave." Then

the moment passed and

Spock went on his

way, barely missing a

step. A1though it

looked as though the

reception might en-

dure for hours, he

did not intend to

linger Further. 277

i,

Greg Cox

There was much work to be done; among other duties,

he needed to provide Starfleet officials with a

complete report on the events of the past few hours

before returning to the Enterprise.

His father, as grave and imposing as always, stood a

few meters away, conversing with a Vulcanoid

indi- i

vidual whom Spock did not recognize, although

he deduced from the man's attire that he was some

manner of Romulan official, perhaps a

senator or consul. Sarek observed Spock's

approach and beckoned him over with a minute motion of

his hand. The

gesture was so subtle and controlled that it was

unlikely that anyone who was not born of Vulcan

would have even been aware of the summons. Even

Spock thought that, at times such as this, his father

resembled a marble statue more than a living entity;

nevertheless, he dutifully joined Sarek and the other

man in one of the aisles leading to the back of the hall.

"My son," Sarek spoke, "I should like

to introduce you to an individual with whom you may

find much to discuss." The other man, whose prominent

jowls suggested a dignified visage just beginning

to sum cumb to age, appraised Spock with his

eyes. He had an alert and confident manner with just

a hint of calculation; more like a statesman, Spock

judged, than a starship commander. "Let me present

Senator Pardek, of the Krocton Segment of

Romulus."

Spock raised his hand in the traditional

Vulcan greeting. "Live long and prosper,

Pardek of Romulus.

"And you as well," the senator replied. "You would

be surprised at how long I have been

looking forward to this meeting."

It is the Day of Reckoning

It Is the Day of Judgement

Itis...

STAR To

DAY OF HONOR

A Four-Part KiingonlMore Saga

That Spans the Generations

Available

from Pocket Books

POCKET

Book S -- 1244 03

5 tilde dii,"'tilde equals A at

ACE n tilde 6EnER-AND-NOT tilde

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CONTINUING

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A TENTH ANNIVERSARY TRTBU-REvery @.the

definitive commemorative album for one of Star

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750 photos and illustrations.

JUDITH AND GARFIEED REEVES-STEVENS

INTRODUCTION BY RICK BERMAN AFTERWORD

BY ROBERT JUSTMAN Available in

Hardcover From Pocket Books

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Coming Next Month from Pocket Books

BYE near tilde EnEvery tilde ilTZO"

S tilde ARFLEE, ACADEMY

71'e Best and the Brightest

by

Susan Wright

Please turn the page for an excerpt

from

Starfleet Academy

The Best and file Brightest

JAYMEWAS RIGHT no one paid any attention

to three orange-clad workers opening

the access port in the alleyway.

K ids were running past, women were

hanging clothes out overhead, and

antigrav carts laden with warehouse

goods or fresh produce trundled by

on both sides.

Closing the portal overhead, they

stood in a rounded dirtfloor chamber

similar to the one shown on the

media broadcasts where Data's head

was found. Titus felt a sinking

feeling, wondering if all the

caverns had been reconditioned by

the workforces over the years.

"This way," he ordered, keeping his

worries to himself. At the rear of

the chamber was a long ladder

leading down. Here the walls were

more jagged and the black pit was

too deep to be illuminated by their

hand lights. Titus began to feel a

little better. "Down we go!"

"Wait," Jayme said, unslinging her

pack. "We have to put these on."

She held out the white jet-boots

issued by Starfleet.

Titus took one look and groaned. "We

don't need those!"

"I'm not going without safety

gear," Jayme insisted. "And I'm not

going to let you two go, either.

This is supposed to be fun, not

life-threatening." She glanced down

into the shaft. "And those rungs

look slimy."

Bobbie Ray checked the two pairs

she set out for them. "You brought

my size!"

Jayme slipped her white boots on

and tightened the straps. With a

little puff of dust, she activated

the jets and

tilde 11

lifted a few inches off the ground. "Good for

thirty hours use."

Bobbie Ray buckled his boots on and was soon

lifting himself up to the ceiling. "Maybe we should

skip the ladder and go down this way."

"Maybe you want to give up now and go back to the

Quad!" Titus retorted. "What's the use of

exploring if you might as well be in a

holodeck?"

Both of them hovered silently, staring down at

him. After a few moments, Titus flung up his

hands. "Have it your way, then! But we only use the

boots in an emergency or I'm

quitting right now."

Jayme sank back down to the ground.

"That's why I brought the jet-boots. For

emergencies."

Titus waited until Bobbie Ray also

slowly floated down before jerking on his jet-boots

and tightening them in place. "I think if you can't

manage to hang on to a ladder, then you get what you

deserve."

Bobbie Ray laughed. "Then you go first, fearless

leader."

Titus had the satisfaction of hearing the Rex's

laughter abruptly end as they started down the ladder.

For most humanoids, any sort of vertical

drop offered a test of nerves. Especially when you

couldn't see the bottom.

The light at the opening dwindled as they descended.

He skipped the side tunnel that went in the

direction of the Presidio and Starfleet

Academy, choosing to go as deep as they could. The

fracture widened at the bottom, becoming more rugged

and raw. They went through a steeply inclined crack,

into an underground canyon that stretched as far across as the

Assembly Hall. A stream had eroded the

bottom into a gorge, and they had to edge along the

wall,

brushing their hands against the slippery,

calcified coating on the rocks. Titus could

imagine the tremendous force of earthquakes breaking

open the crust around the San Anareas Fault,

leaving behind a network of caverns and crushed rock.

Titus took them up a high talus mound and

into the next cavern, where flowstone coated the cave

fill, narrowing the volume of the void. This cavern was

filled with fallen ceiling blocks and the stalactites

had been broken off short by earth

tremors. Additional seepage gave them an

unusually fat, short appearance.

They retreated to the shaft. Though the ladder left

off, the shaft continued down. Titus uncoiled the

rope he had brought and hooked them into it. The other

two followed him without a word of complaint.

It wasn't far to the bottom, where another inclined

tunnel led them east again, following the path of the

caverns overhead. Water coated the walls, and after

tramping carefully through the tunnel, Titus

noticed a fissure overhead only because he was

looking for it. Just as he suspected once they had

muscled their way up to the top of the shaft, they were in

another large cavern, in line with the other two they had

passed through.

"It was cut off from the last cavern by the talus

mound," Titus said nonchalantly, pleased that he

had guessed cor- rectly.

They had to go through a jag in the shaft to get into the

cavern, and they were slightly elevated above the

floor. Jumping down, Titus felt the loose

rock shift and slip under his feet. Jayme

actually went down on her hands and knees, unable

to keep her balance, while Bobbie Ray hung on

to the stone lip they had just jumped over, staring up

openmouthed at the dramatic long, hanging ceiling that

dripped continuously, the fat drops sparkling like

rainbow stars under their hand lights.

"Look up here!" Jayme called, halfway

up the gentle slope of the talus incline. "I think

the ceiling fell in back here."

"It looks like the roof sank until it ran into the

ground," Bobbie Ray agreed, swatting at the

elusive, fat drops that bombed them from above.

They climbed the shifting slope to the point where the

ground and ceiling met. Rounded debris constantly

moved under their hands and knees. Titus examined some

of the bits and was surprised to see elongated pieces

as well as the more traditional "pearls."

"Why aren't there any stalactites in this

cavern?" Jayme asked, standing in the last possible

space at the upper end. A dense curtain of

drops speckled the air in front of them.

"If there's too much water, there's no time for the

sediment to form between each drop," Titus explained.

I From] tilde i.

"That's what makes the cave pearls the sediment

forms as they're polished and agitated by the water."

"I think they're beautiful," Jayme said,

gathering a few in tilde her hand. tilde i

Titus squatted down next to her in a

relatively drip-free zone. He aimed his

tricorder at one of the elongated pearls. "This is

bone! Human bone!"

Bobbie Ray immediately dropped his pearls,

absently rubbing his hands on his coveralls as he

looked at the tricorder readings. "You're right.

They're ancient!"

Jayme was also hanging over his arm, trying to see.

"Give me a second," he ordered, keying in the

commands. "Somewhere between twelve and fifteen thousand

years old!"

"That's when humans first moved onto this continent,"

Jayme breathed, gently cupping her pearls in her

palms. "They must have used these caves as

shelter or storage. This is amazing!"

Titus hardly had a chance to savor their find before

Bobbie Ray muttered, "Uh-oh! I think

we've got trouble."

The Rex was staring back at the hole they had

climbed up. Water was welling up and pouring over the

low lip that held back the piles of cave pearls.

It made a rushing sound as it disappeared into the ground.

"What's happening?!" Bobbie Ray cried in

true panic. "How are we going to get out?"

Jayme dipped her fingers in the water and stuck

them in her mouth. "Salty. That's what I was

afraid of. The tide comI must be rising."

They both turned to look at Titus, mutdy

demanding that he do something. He knew he probably

looked as panicked as Bobbie Ray. "The

tide?"

"Yes, the tide's coming in," Jayme repeated,

frantically scrambling through the cave pearls to the

wall, examining it with her hand light. "I don't

see a high-water mark anywhere. Could it . . .

Is it possible . . ."

"You mean this whole cave gets filled with

water?" Bobbie Ray asked in a high voice.

Titus could only shake his head. "I

don't know! We don't have oceans on

Antaranan!"

"What!" Jayme shrieked. "You brought us in here

and be you didn't know what you were doing?" tilde

Hi

"I'm going in," Titus said,

suddenly feeling much calmer, knowing

that he had to take control. He'd

gotten them into this mess.

"You'll drown!" Jaymecried out.

"That tunnel we came down it's lower

than this cave. It must be filled

with water too!"

Titus swallowed, remembering how

long the tunnel was. "We may not have

oceans on Antaranan, but that doesn't

mean we didn't have water. I'm a good

swimmer."

"I'm not!" Bobbie Ray wailed,

trying to shake the water from the

fur on his hands. He was shivering

and wet through.

"Get up to the top," Titus ordered.

"I'll be back with help."

The other two cadets reluctantly

retreated as he flung gear from his

pouch water flask, extra rope leaving

only the necessities with enough room

left to wedge his jet-boots in.

Standing hip deep in the hole,

wincing from the biting cold water,

he glanced back up at the cadets.

"Hang tight!"

They didn't look reassured.

Taking a deep breath, he ducked

under the water. Immediately he knew

it wouldn't work. The surge of water

welling up carried him back to the

surface.

As he broke into the air again, he

was saying, "All right! It's all

right! I've got an idea."

He quickly removed the jet-boots

from his pouch and strapped them on.

Water was nearing his waist now. He

didn't care if it killed him, he

wasn't going to give up this time.

Diving down headfirst, he turned on

the boots. The jets churned the water

and almost drove him into the rock

wall, but he eased off the power and

used his hands to guide him around

the jag in the tunnel. Underwater,

even with the hand light he could

hardly see, so he groped his way

down, feeling the scrape of rocks

against his coveralls as the boots

propelled him through the water.

Everything was getting dark and

hazy, and his chest seemed ready to

burst. Titus wasn't sure he was going

to make it to the vertical shaft.

* **

Jaymefelt sorry for Bobbie Ray, huddled

next to her at the top of the talus slope.

"Maybe it won't reach this far," she offered.

Bobbie Ray was wiping at his fur with the fleshy

palm of one hand, smoothing and smoothing it, pressing

all the water out. Then he would twitch and shake,

making the damp hair stand out again. Then he would pick

another patch and begin the whole process over again.

It seemed more like a nervous reaction than an effort

to dry himself.

"Do you think he drowned yet?" Bobbie Ray

asked, unable to meet her eyes.

"Umm," she murmured. "By now, he either drowned

or got out alive."

"Are you going to try it?" Bobbie Ray asked.

Jayme wasn't aware that her calculating

glances at the hole had been that obvious. "I'll

try it before I drown in here."

Bobbie Ray went back to stroking his fur,

concentrating on every swipe.

"I'll help you," she assured him.

"That won't do any good. I could barely pass the

Starfleet swimming requirements. And you don't

know how hard that was for me."

Jayme silently patted his knee. She

wasn't sure she could make it, but every bit of her

mind and body was focused on that hole, ready

to dive through the water and turn on her jet-boots just

like Titus. Even if it did kill her. Because that

was better than sitting here until the water rose

up around i

her chin.

"I just wish I knew if he made it," she

murmured.

"Wait a few more minutes. Maybe he'll come

back."

They both stared at the hole.

The shaft was full of water too. Titus

desperately revved the boots, aiming straight

up, his hand clenched on the control so tightly that even

if he drowned he knew he would surface.

When he thought he was passing out, he broke

into air. The shower of water that rose with him, and his

surge in speed left him gasping and laughing and, when

he finally

could, crying out in relief. Arrowing up, he

raised both i

id

arms, trying to pick up more speed, thinking about

Jayme and Bobbie Ray back in that death trap.

He was going so fast that the opening approached before

he realized it. Braking, he hit the ceiling and

bounced down, managing to twist in midair in order

to land on the floor of the access entrance.

Still panting and gasping, almost hysterical with his near

miss, he rolled over in the dirt, trying to wipe

the muddy dust that settled on his face and eyes.

When he could finally see, Starsa, Moll Enor and

Nev Reah were several meters away, standing in the

access room staring at him.

"What happened to you!" Moll Enor demanded.

"What are you doing here?" Titus said

at the same time.

Starsa raised one hand slightly, blinking in

amazement at his dramatic appearance. "I listened

outside your door the other night, and I heard you

planning to come down to the caves without me his

"You what!" Titus interrupted, wishing he could

box her ears. "I should report you his

"I saw the hole filling with water," Starsa

retorted, "and my tricorder said you were down there."

"We beamed over because we were afraid you were in

trouble," Moll Enor added.

"We are!" Titus forgot about Starsa's gross

invasion of

privacy just one of many seeing only the heavy

packs i

Nev Reoh was sitting on. "Jayme and

Bobbie Ray are trapped in a cavern down below.

The tide's coming in and it's filling the tunnels!"

l

Look for STAR TREK Fiction from

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Star Treks The Original Series

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Roddenberry Star Trek II The Wrath of

Khan Vonda N. Mclutyre Star

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Country 1 M. Dillard Star Trek VII

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Duane

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Reeves-Stevens Best Destiny Diane Carey

Shadows on the Sun Michael Jan Friedman

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Picture Gene Roddenberry 2 The Entropy

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IC-LINGON Gambit Robert E. Vardeman

bled The Covenant of the Crown Howard Weinstein

5 The Prometheus Design Sondra Marshak

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6 The Abode of Life Lee Correy

7 Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan

Vonda N. McIntyre 8 Black Fire

tilde Sonni Cooper

9 Triangle Sondra Marshak and Myrna

Culbreath 10 Web of the Romulans tilde

M. S. Murdock

11 Yesterday's Son A C Crispin

12 Mutiny on the Enterprise Robert E.

Vardeman 13 The Wounded Sky tilde Diane

Duane

to

14 The Trellisane Confrontation David

Dvorkin 15 Corona Greg Bear

16 The Final Reflection John M Ford

17 Star Trek 111 The Search for Spock

Vonda n McIntyre 18 My

Enemy, My Ally tilde Diane Duane

19 The Tears of the Singers tilde Melinda

Snodgrass 20 The Vulcan Academy

Murders Jean Lorrah 21 Uhura's Song

Janet Kagan

22 Shadow Lord tilde Laurence Yep

23 Ishmael tilde Barbara Hambly

24 Killing Time tilde Della Van

Hise

25 Dwellers in the Crucible tilde

Margaret Wander Bonanno 26 Pawns and

Symbols tilde Majiliss Larson

27 Mindshadow. J. M Dillard

28 Crisis on Centaurus tilde Brad

Ferguson His

*29 Dreadnought! tilde Diane Carey

30 Demons tilde J. M. Dillard

31 Battlestations! tilde Diane Carey

32 Chain of Attack tilde Gene

DeWeese

33 Deep Domain Howard Weinstein

34 Dreams of the Raven Carmen Carter

35 The Romulan Way tilde Diane

Duane tilde Peter Morwood 36 How Much

for Just the Planet? tilde John M.

Ford 37 Bloodthirst J. M. Dillard

38 The IDIC Epidemic tilde Jean

Lorrah

39 Time for Yesterday A C Crispin jar

bledj Timetrap David Dvorkin

bleda The Three-Minute Universe Barbara

Paul bledb Memory Prime tilde Judith and

Garfield Reeves-Stevens *bledc The Final

Nexus Gene DeWeese

bledd Vulcan's Glory D C Fontana

blede Double, Double Michael Jan Friedman

bledf The Cry of the Onlies tilde Judy

Klass

bledg The Kobayashi Maru Julia Ecklar

bledh Rules of Engagement Peter Morwood

bledi The Pandora Principle Carolyn

Clowes 50 Doctor's Orders Diane

Duane

51 Enemy Unseen V E Mitchell

52 Home Is the Hunter tilde Dana

Kramer Rolls 53

Ghost-Walker.barbaraHambly

54 A Flag Full oiStars Brad

Ferguson

55 Renegade tilde Gene

DeWeese

56 Legacy tilde Michael Jan

Friedman

.; i.

57 The Rifl tilde Peter David

58 Face of Fire tilde Michael Jan

Friedman tilde 59 The Disinherited tilde

Peter David j 60 Ice Trap L. A.

Graf

61 Sanctuary tilde John Vornholt

62 Death Count tilde L A. Graf

63 Shell Game tilde Melissa

Crandall

64 The Starship Trap Mel Gilden

65 Windows on a Lost World tilde V

E. Mitchell 66 From the Depths tilde

Victor Milan

67 The Great Starship Race tilde Diane

Carey 68 Firestorm L. A. Graf

69 The Patrian Transgression Simon

Hawke 70 Traitor Winds L. A. Graf

71 Crossroad tilde Barbara Hambly

72 The Better Man Howard Weinstein

73 Recovery J. M. Dillard D 74

The Fearful Summons tilde Denny

Martin Flynn 75 First Frontier tilde

Diane Carey and Dr. James I. Kirkland

76 The Captain's Daughter tilde Peter

David 77 Twilight's End tilde Jerry

Oltion 78 The Rings of Tautee tilde Dean

W. Smith and Kristine K Rusch 79

Invasion 1 First Strike tilde Diane

Carey 80 The Joy Machine tilde James

Gunn 81 Mudd in Your Eye Jerry Oltion

82 Mind Meld tilde John Vornholt

83 Heart of the Sun Pamela Sargent and

George Zebrowski 84 Assignment Eternity

Greg Cox

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Encounter at Farpoint David Gerrold

Unification Jeri Taylor Relics Michael

Jan Friedman Descent Diane Carey All

Good Things Michael Jan Friedman Star

Trek Klingon Dean W. Smith and Kristine

K Rusch Star Trek VII Generations J.

M. Dillard Metamorphosis Jean Lorrah

Vendetta Peter David Reunion tilde

Michael Jan Friedman Imzadi tilde

Peter David The Devil's Heart tilde

Carmen Carter Dark Mirror tilde

Diane Duane Q-Squared tilde Peter

David Crossover tilde Michael Jan

Friedman Kahless tilde Michael Jan

Friedman Star Trek First Contact tilde J.

M. Dillard I Ghost Ship Diane Carey

2 The Peacekeepers Gene DeWeese 3 The

Children of Hamlin Carmen Carter bled Survivors

Jean Lorrah 5 Strike Zone tilde Peter

David 6 Power Hungry Howard Weinstein

7 Masks John Vornholt 8 The

Captains" Honor tilde David and Daniel

Dvorkin 9 A Call to Darkness tilde

Michael Jan Friedman 10 A Rock and a

Hard Place Peter David 11 Gulliver's

Fugitives Keith Sharee 12 Doomsday World

tilde David, Carter, Friedman and Greenberg

13 The Eyes of the Beholders A C

Crispin 14 Exiles tilde Howard Weinstein

15 Fortune's Light Michael Jan

Friedman 16 Contamination John Vornholt

17 Boogeymen Mel Gilden 18

Q-in-Law tilde Peter David 19

Perchance to Dream Howard Weinstein 20

Spartacus tilde T. L. Mancour 21

Chains of Command tilde W. A McCay

and E. L. Flood 22 Imbalance tilde V

E. Mitchell 23 War Drums tilde John

Vornholt ,,

24 Nightshade Laurell right-brace Can

Hamilton 25 Grounded tilde David

Bischo tilde 26 The Romulan Prize

Simon Hawke Of 27 Guises of the Mind

tilde Rebecca Neason 28 Here There Be

Dragons John Peel 29 Sins of Commission

Susan Wright 30 Debtors' Planet W.

R. Thompson 31 Foreign Foes tilde

David Galanter and Greg Brodeur 32

Requiem Michael fan Friedman and Kevin

Ryan 33 Balance of Power Dafydd ab

Hugh 34 Haze of Gloreav tilde Simon

Hawke Of 35 The Romulan Stratagem

Robert Greenberger 36 Into the Nebula Gene

DeWeese Of 37 The Last Stand tilde

Brad FerBuson 38 Dragon's Honor

tilde Kij Johnson tilde Greg Cox

39 Rogue Saucer tilde John V ornholt

bledj Possession J. M. Dillard and Kathleen

O'Malley bleda Invasion 2 The Soldiers

of Fear tilde Dean W. Smith and Kristine

K. Rusch bledb Infiltrator tilde

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To Storm Heaven Esther Friesner f fi

of

Star Trek Deep Space Nine0 The

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Jeter The Way of the Warrior tilde Diane

Carey Star Tree- Klingon -- Dean W.

Smith and Kristine K Rusch Trials and

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Fallen Heroes Dafydd ab Hugh 6

Betrayal tilde Lois Tilton 7 Warchild

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John Vornholt 9 Proud Hellos

Melissa Scott 10 Valhalla Nathan

Archer 11 Devil in the Sky Greg Cox

tilde John Gregory Betancoun 12 The

tilde aertian Gamble tilde Robert

Sheckley 13 Station Rage tilde Diane

Carey 14 The Longffstight tilde

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15 Objective Major John Peel 16

Invasion 3 Time's Enemy L A. Graf

17 The Heart of the Warrior John Gregory

Betancourt 1 X Saratoga Michael Jan

Friedman 19 The Tempest Susan Wright

20 Wrath of the Prophets P. David, M.

J. Friedman, R. Greenberger 21 Trial

by Error Mark Garland

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Caretaker tilde L. A. Graf 2 The

Escape tilde Dean W. Smith 45

Kristine K. Rusch 3 Ragnarok tilde

Nathan Archer bled Violations tilde Susan

Wright 5 Incident at Arbuk tilde John

Greggory Betancourt 6 The Murdered Sun

Christie Golden 7 Ghost of a Chance tilde

Mark A. Garland and Charles G. McGraw 8

Cybersong tilde S. N. Lewitt 9

Invasion bled The Final Fury Dafydd ab

Hugh 10 Bless the Beasts Karen Haber 11

The Garden Melissa Scott 12 Chrysalis

tilde David Niall Wilson 13 The

Black Shore.gregCox 14

Marooned tilde Christie Golden 15 Echoes

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ofCards.peter David 2 Into the Void tilde

Peter David 3 The Two-Front War

Peter David bled End Game tilde Peter

David StZZ.R Trelc 9 Day of Honor

Book One Ancient Blood tilde Diane

Carey Book Two Armageddon Sky L. A.

Graf Book Three Ner Klingon Soul tilde

Michael Jan Friedman Book Four

Treaty's Law Dean W. Smith and Kristine

K. Rusch