Star Trek - TOS - Time For Yesterday Ann Crispin

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<body>Time for Yesterday by<br >Ann Crispin

This is a sequal to Yesterday’s Son.<br >

”THE PERSON WHO COMMUNICATED WITH THE GUARDIAN WAS MY SON…<br >

Admiral Morrow looked at Spock incredulously.<br >

”Your-” Kirk doubted that Morrow could have looked more thunderstruck if<br >the conference table had come to life and danced a hornpipe. It was a full thirty seconds before the admiral could speak.<br >

”I apologize, Mr. Spock … but your personnel records never …”<br >

He cleared his throat. “At any rate,” Morrow continued, “the important<br >thing is that contact was established. What your son did once, he may be able to do again. Where is he?”<br >

”I am afraid that will be impossible, Admiral,” Spock said levelly, but<br >something shadowed the dark eyes for a moment. “My son has been dead for five thousand years.”<br >

POCKET BOOKS<br >

New York London Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore<br >

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and<br >incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,<br >living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Excerpt from “Me Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” from Collected Poems<br >1909-1962 by T. S. Eliot, copyright 1936 by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.; copyright 1963, 1964 by T. S. Eliot. Reprinted by permission of<br >the publisher.

Excerpt from “Being to Timelessness As It’s to Time” copyright 1950 by<br >E. E. Cummings. Reprinted from Complete Poems 1913-1962 by E. E Cummings by permission of Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Inc.<br >

An Original Publication of POCKET BOOKS<br >

POCKET BOOKS, a division of Simon Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the<br >Americas, New York, NY 10020

Copyright C 1988 Paramount Pictures Corporation.<br >

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of Paramount Pictures Corporation.<br >

This book is published by Pocket Books, a division of Simon & Schuster<br >Inc., under exclusive license from Paramount Pictures Corporation.

For information address Pocket Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New<br >York, NY 10020

ISBN 0-671-70094-4<br >

First Pocket Books printing April 1988<br >

10 9 8 7 6 5 4<br >

POCKET and colophon are trademarks of Simon & Schuster Inc.<br >

Printed in the U.S.A.<br >

This book is dedicated to my friend Deb Marshall, who patiently<br >listened, enthused (as only she can) and encouraged me from the moment of Zar’s conception, through the long years of gestation, and proudly<br >midwifed the printed birth with champagne, flowers and hugs.

Thanks, Deb.<br >

Acknowledgments<br >

For editorial criticism, advice, hand-holding and an occasional<br >(well-deserved) kick in the pants

The Whileaway Writers Co-op Teresa Bigbee, Deborah Marshall, Anne Moroz<br >and, of course, Kathleen O’Malley

(who is truly a rare bird, genus rubricatrix splendiferous)<br >

Special thanks also to Jannean Elliott for patient, longdistance<br >listening My friends Howard Weinstein, Bob Greenberger and Dave McDonnell Rusty Wornam, who discovered D’berahan’s secret identity Also<br >

Merrilee Heifetz, my agent-who sold it Karen”Haas-who bought it David<br >Stem-who edited it For scientific information pertaining to black holes and other astronomical phenomena (any errors are exclusively my own)<br >

Dr. Robert Harrington of the U.S. Naval Observatory, the man who saved<br >Centaurus from a horrible fate, for information on Alpha Centauri and its three stars<br >

INTRODUCTION<br >

Trek story began emerging from the typewriter-Yesterday’s Son. To be<br >honest, I didn’t really write that book … it wrote me.

I was obsessed. I bought a used IBM typewriter for 400 (a fortune to<br >me, then … I had to borrow the money from my credit union and pay it back at the rate of 18 a month, and there were times I scraped to make<br >that payment), but by that time, I’d have mortgaged my soul to keep going.<br >

Writing fever is worse than gold fever, and I had it bad.<br >

Every night I’d call my long-suffering best buddy and read her whatever<br >I’d produced that day. It’s a wonder Deb didn’t move to Outer Patagonia to escape.<br >

By the time I was three chapters into the story, it had become more than<br >a lark, more than “just fooling around” -I wanted to sell that book. And there was a little voice inside me that kept whispering I would sell it.<br >Even when I snarled at it to shut up, that the entire notion was nuts, the little voice in the back of my head kept insisting that the book<br >would be published-somehow, someday. It whispered at me the entire year it took to write the five drafts of the novel. It continued to whisper<br >when the manuscript was submitted. It whispered for the next three years, while the fate of the book hung in limbo.<br >

But you know the rest, if you read Howard Weinstein’s introduction to<br >Yesterday’s Son.

What you may not know is that the story not only got published, it<br >surprised everyone by becoming the first Star Trek book (excluding the movie novelizations) to make it onto the New York Times bestseller list.<br >Since then, that occurrence has become fairly commonplace, but at the time, it was a minor phenomenon.<br >

(And you, the readers, were responsible for putting it there, so I’d<br >like to thank each and every one of you who plunked down your hard-earned cash and bought the novel.<br >

While I’m on the subject, thanks for buying this one, too’ Maybe you<br >should pick up a second copy for a deserving friend, as long as you’re in the bookstore. I wouldn’t object … )<br >

All kidding aside, the success of Yesterday’s Son gave me the<br >opportunity to become a full-time writer, and I now realize that, all those years ago, I was telling Mrs. Duckett the truth-I just didn’t<br >know it then. I never wanted to be anything else than a writer.

But when Yesterday’s Son was released in 1983, I thought I was finished<br >being a Star Trek writer. Zar’s story was over, as far as I was concerned.<br >

Hah!<br >

Then in 1985, I was sitting at my word processor, and my treacherous<br >mind suddenly said, “What if?” again. And, so fast I could scarcely believe it (about a month, as I recall), I had a contract to write a<br >sequel … the book you’re holding in your hands.

Oddly enough, a couple of months after I contracted to write Time for<br >Yesterday, many of the fan letters I received began asking if I’d ever considered doing a sequel to Yesterday’s Son. Telepathy? Empathy? A<br >Star Trek group consciousness? Your guess is as good as mine …

Speaking of fan letters brings me to my real reason for writing this.<br >Since the advent of my first Star Trek book, I’ve gotten literally hundreds of letters. (Most with an SASE, bless you, Howie!) The<br >overwhelming majority have been the kind that gladden a writer’s heart. So far I’ve answered over five hundred, and am currently about fifty to<br >sixty behind. (I’m always behind, so if you write me c/o Pocket Books, please be patient. If you just want a quick response to a specific<br >question, or an autograph, try enclosing a stamped, self-addressed postcard.)<br >

I love hearing from fans, please believe me. I really enjoy knowing<br >what you think about what I’ve written. However, answering dozens of letters does take time away from my writing schedule. Especially since<br >fully three-quarters of the folks who write ask me the same question. So I’m taking this opportunity to respond en masse to that most-oftenasked<br >question, which is

I have written a Star Trek book of my own. How do I get it read and<br >published?”

I’m truly sorry to say this, but you probably don’t.<br >

Pocket Books no longer reads unsolicited Star Trek manuscripts, as they<br >did back in 1979 when Yesterday’s Son was submitted. Due to the overwhelming number of submissions they have received, they now only<br >read and purchase manuscripts submitted by professional literary agents. My editor tells me that they currently have books scheduled for years<br >from now.

So what is my best advice for people who want to sell a Star Trek book?<br >It’s to write an original book or two set in your own universe. Rewrite until your book is good enough to publish (aye, there’s the rub!) and<br >then keep submitting it to publishers until it’s sold.* When that happens, you’ll be able to get an agent without much difficulty. Your<br >agent will submit your Star Trek novel, it will be read, then maybe Pocket Books will want to buy it. (And, yes, they’re the only company<br >with the legal right to publish Star Trek novels.)

Unless you’re dead-set on becoming a professional writer, that’s a lot<br >of trouble to put yourself through just to get a Star Trek book submitted. And nobody makes a decent living off simply writing Trek<br >novels. You can’t sell enough of them.

If you’re dead-set on becoming a professional writer, my advice is about<br >the same Write in your own universe, sell your books, get a reputation in the field, then Pocket Books will be pleased to read your Star Trek<br >manuscript when your agent submits it.

Believe me, I understand the attraction writing Star Trek stories has<br >for Star Trek fans. It’s a siren lure … wanting to put words in the mouths of characters we know and love so well. And for me (and for<br >other writers I know), part of the enticement is that it’s much easier to write Star Trek stories than to write original stories.<br >

To me, writing a Star Trek novel is like swimming in a nice heated pool.<br >You grow tired, you get exercise, but it’s comparatively effortless. But, as I discovered when I began working on other original stories,<br >plotting one of my own novels, or the first book in my upcoming Star Bridge series, writing in my own universe was like trying to swim in the<br >cold ocean surf. You have to work harder just to stay afloat; making headway is slow, difficult going. (For example, I’ve been working on<br >o ne book of mine, Suncastle, for five years.)

But writing stories set in your own universe is infinitely worthwhile<br >… though there are times when you have to keep reminding yourself of that. There are days when you feel as though you can’t write another<br >page, another paragraph … sometimes even another word.

But you do. If you’re a writer, you can’t stop.<br >

Best of luck to all of you out there. Here’s hoping you enjoy reading<br >Timefor Yesterday half as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Ann Crispin August 1987<br >

Historian’s Note Time for Yesterday takes place after the events<br >chronicled in Star Trek The Motion Picture and Howard Weinstein’s novel Deep Domain.<br >

Prologue<br >

SECOND-IN-WAR CLETAS PACED nervously before the guarded door to his<br >Sovren’s office, toes squashing inside his boots with every stride. Even through the thick stone walls of the fortress, he could still hear the<br >dull booms of thunder, the furious hissing of the rain. His dark gray cloak was black with water; it dripped soggily, but Cletas barely<br >noticed the discomfort-he was too tired, too worried, too miserable.

The torches in their wall sconces flickered in the draft as the door<br >opened and Voba, the Sovren’s aide, peered out.

”You can come in now,” he whispered, stepping into the hall. “Ingev and<br >Reydel are just finishing up their report on the range we can expect from the new-what do they call them?-catapults.”<br >

Cletas beckoned to the aide-de-camp, a short, slight man with reddish<br >hair and a comical blob of a nose. “How is he tonight?” he asked, pitching his voice for Voba’s ears alone.<br >

The wiry little man shrugged. “The damp is playing rough with his leg,”<br >he said, sotto voce. “But is it true what I heard? That today the High Priestess of the Danreg foretold-“<br >

Cletas silenced the aide-de-camp with a glare, knowing that his refusal<br >to speak would be taken as assent, even so.

Voba flushed angrily as he signaled the guards to open the door.<br >

Cletas stepped into the study, a small, almost cozy chamber in<br >comparison to the rest of the fortress. His empty stomach lurched, then knotted with anxiety. As the three figures seated at the massive inlaid<br >table turned toward them, Voba announced formally, “Second-in-War Cletas requests audience, sire.”<br >

” It looks more like Second Cletas should be requesting a hot meal and<br >bath,” the Sovren said, his mouth quirking in what Cletas, from long association, recognized as a smile.<br >

”Come in and shed that waterlogged cloak! You’re dripping on my rug.”<br >

Cletas swung the steaming folds off his shoulders, nodding to Ingev and<br >Reydel, First and Second Heavy Weapons Commanders, as he crossed the planked floor (avoiding the brightly woven blue rug with his wet<br >footgear), then saluted and dropped to one knee, head bowed. “My liege.”<br >

”Tonight is hardly the night for formality, Cletas,” his Sovren said<br >mildly, one slanting eyebrow rising with amusement. “Sit down and ask Voba to help you off with those boots. I could hear you squashing from<br >out in the hall.”

As Voba wrestled with the Second’s feet, the Sovren turned back to his<br >other two officers. “So we can expect nearly twice the range of the experimental model?” he asked. “What about the size of the stones?”<br >

”We can adjust the size of the throwing-cup from that of twice a man’s<br >helmet to nearly half a meter in diameter, sire,” Ingev reported. “Of course, the heavier the stone, the shorter the range. Perhaps 450<br >meters at most for the biggest missiles, those weighing more than twenty-five kilograms.”<br >

”Good. Shore up the bankings on the paths they must travel and check<br >the drainage.”

”Yes, sire,” Ingev and Reydel murmured, rolling up their vellum lists<br >and drawings.

”Voba, please bring the Second something to eat,” the Sovren said to his<br >aide-de-camp, as Cletas moved his chair to join them at the table. “Will you have sufficient troops and draft vykar to move all six of the<br >machines, Commander Ingev?”

Ingev, a short, squat man with the bowed legs of a cavalryman, exchanged<br >a sideways look with his tall blond Second-in-Command. “We could use another 120 troops, my liege,” he said, after a moment’s thought.<br >”Twenty for each machine.”

”Very well. Cletas, see to it that Commander Ingev is detailed 120 of<br >your auxiliary infantry. Most of them should have time to rejoin their companies before they engage. The catapults will only be useful while<br >the enemy is crossing the Redbank, before we engage.”

The Second-in-War caught himself before he could grimace outright, but<br >the keen gray eyes opposite him had picked up his reluctance, he knew … they missed very little. “As you order, sire,” he said, stiffly.<br >

Ingev and Reydel were already standing. “Have we your leave, sire?”<br >

”Of course,” the Sovren nodded, sketching a salute in answer to theirs.<br >”Try to get some sleep.”

As their footsteps faded in ‘ the hall outside, Cletas turned to his<br >Sovren, his protest no longer hidden. “A hundred and twenty infantry fighters, my liege! That’s a whole company and more I may lose if they<br >can’t rejoin their ranks. And for what-to nursemaid and push along those-those-” he sputtered to a halt, realizing he was on the verge of<br >insubordination. “Why, sire?”

”Because, Cletas my friend, those catapults may spell the difference<br >between outright defeat and stalemate for us. I don’t dare even think the word ‘victory’-that would be rank folly considering the odds we<br >face.” The Sovren’s lean face was hard and drawn beneath his clipped black beard and moustache, and his gray eyes held his Second’s with a<br >bleak intensity. “But the Asyri, the Kerren, and the Danreg have never seen anything like what we’ve so painstakingly built, and the terror<br >their hordes will feel when faced by a sky raining boulders will cause them even more harm than the rocks themselves.”<br >

”But can you be sure the things will actually work in a combat<br >situation? They’ve never been tried-“

”Oh, yes, they have. Not here, not now. But they’ll work.<br >

Have I been wrong before?”<br >

Cletas ran a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair in tired resignation,<br >thinking of all the changes the Sovren had introduced in the twenty years he’d known him. New ways ofcounting, oftneasuring, even<br >ofspeaking and reading …

lamps, drainage systems, schooling the children, riding the vykar in<br >addition to hitching them to wagons, better armor, smelling iron instead of the softer, more malleable bronze …<br >

”No, my liege. You haven’t been wrong,” he admitted.<br >

”Still …” He grinned ruefully. “I wish we didn’t have to try them<br >for the first time in the last battle we both may see.

If you’ve finally made a mistake, I’d hate to miss the chance to sa. “I<br >told you so.”

His Sovren’s mouth-softened into a genuine, rare smile.<br >

”I’ll keep your wish in mind.” He rolled up a parchment map, his hard,<br >long-fingered hands moving with his customary quick efficiency. “Did you meet with your spies, or did they all drown on the way?”<br >

”We met, sire,” Cletas said. “The situation hasn’t changed much.<br >Heldeon of Danreg Ford has set up camp on the northern slope of Big Snowy, and this afternoon the War Queen Laol and Rorgan DeathHand met<br >with him there.

They talked for about two hours, then rejoined their troops.<br >

”My informant said that the meeting was interrupted by the discovery of<br >three spies, which caused some finger pointing, but then they calmed down and shared wine and broke bread like the best of friends. Even the<br >rain couldn’t damp the greed in their eyes as they looked down at New Araen.”<br >

The Sovren’s face retained its usual impassivity, but Cletas was quick<br >to note the sagging of his big shoulders.

”So we can’t even hope they’ll cut a few of each other’s throats before<br >they open ours,” he said softly, bitterly. “And with this rain still continuing, Moorgate Plain will be so soft the enemy will scarcely need<br >shovels to dig our graves.

Presuming they have the decency to bury us, which is doubtful.”<br >

Cletas nodded, knowing that, although he could no longer hear the<br >downpour outside, his ruler could. “If this rain keeps up, we might as well forget about fighting. The troops won’t be able to march, the<br >catapults won’t roll, and the cavalry will look like pottery figures ready for firing.”<br >

”We’ll need two days of sun in order to have decent footing.”<br >

”I know,” Cletas agreed, staring gloomily into the savory stew Voba slid<br >in front of him. Absently, he broke off a chunk of hard reddish bread and began chewing on it. “We may be forced to abandon the cavalry<br >flanks if the ground is this bad. After all that drilling …” he sighed. -Vykar Troop Commander Yarlev will cry, you know.”<br >

The Sovren ignored the levity this time, his eyes intent on his Second’s<br >face. “The meeting with your spies and scouts,” he said. “How did it go? Something is disturbing you. I could feel it as soon as I saw<br >you.”

Cletas shivered a little, thinking of all the times his Sovren had<br >somehow sensed matters that he would have rather kept secret. At times it frightened him to realize that this man, so different physically from<br >his adopted people, was also different inside. He thought differently, in some manner Cletas couldn’t explain. He could sense thoughts and<br >emotions and, sometimes, the coming of death.

”I’m sorry, old friend,” the Sovren said gently. “Did I rattle you<br >again? You ought to be used to it by now. But what about the rest of your report? Is the Redbank still flooded? Has the High Priestess of<br >the Danreg pronounced the battle oracle yet? When will they march?”

”No,” Cletas said heavily, “she hasn’t pronounced it yet.<br >

We know that Heldeon’s people-and, for the moment at least, we can<br >include Rorgan DeathHand’s Asyri and Laol’s Clan Kerren also-won’t fight without it. As for the river, my sources estimated that they<br >won’t be able to cross the Redbank until day after tomorrow at the earliest. More likely three days.”<br >

The Sovren watched him intently as Cletas spooned gravy onto his bread.<br >”Then what did happen today? Voba knew something, too … I could tell. What is it?”<br >

The Second took a huge bite of the gravy-sopped bread and chewed, while<br >trying desperately to think of a way to phrase his news. Perhaps if he started with the plan he’d developed, it wouldn’t seem so … final.<br >Cletas swallowed the bread, aided by a swig of rochab wine. “The High Priestess, Wynn,” he began, “is Heldeon’s daughter, in addition to her<br >service to the Goddess.”

”So?”<br >

”She’s a widow, who lost husband and child two years ago in an Asyri<br >raid. Not a lass anymore, but still of bearing age, my liege … they say her father values her counsel more than any of his clan chiefs. And,<br >it’s reported, likely looking … tall, with-“

”I repeat, so?” The Sovren’s voice was as hard and flat as his eyes now,<br >and Cletas felt himself flinching away from the palpable wave of anger emanating from his ruler.<br >

”Explain what all this has to do with her battle oracle, damn it!”<br >

..Sire,” Cletas met those nearly colorless eyes, then, all his<br >resolutions toward subtlety forgotten, blurted, “it’s been nearly a score of years now since the Lady Araen-the Goddess keep her-passed the<br >Final Veil. If you wish, it could be a matter of State, no true union! Consider it, my liege, please!”<br >

”Cletas, if you’re implying what I think you’re implying, you’re out of<br >line.” The Sovren’s face was drawn, its harsh, angular planes making him appear almost inhuman. “if I’ve misread your admittedly disjointed<br >statement, then clarify your meaning.”

”My meaning, sire, is this If the High Priestess Wynn could be captured<br >before she can pronounce the oracle for the coming battle, then the Danreg will be thrown into confusion. Their troops may even refuse to<br >march.”

One slanted brow rose in surprise. “Hmm … Cletas, that’s a far more<br >logical suggestion than most of the ones the Council voiced today. Do you think a small raiding party could engineer such a capture?”<br >

”I would volunteer to lead it personally, my liege,” Cletas said.<br >”Tonight.” He braced himself. “However, that only constitutes the first part of my plan, sire. Once the woman is within our walls, it may be<br >possible to …” he hesitated, searching for words, “it may be possible to … reason …<br >

with her. Convince her that an alliance by marriage would benefit both<br >our peoples. Bride-raiding is common among the Danreg, something they will excuse if done for the purpose of honorable marriage.”<br >

With an abrupt, furious movement, the Sovren stood up and turned his<br >back on his Second-in-War. Cletas went on, stubbornly, “Heldeon’s people hold the ties of blood-kin and marriage-kin so sacred that they<br >would never fight against one of their own. If you could convince this woman to ally with you in a State handfasting, Heldeon might even be<br >moved tojoin our cause. At worst, he would withdraw his troops to avoid the sin of raising sword against one who is blood-by-marfiage.”<br >

As Cletas finished, the Sovren began pacing, and even his limp (caused<br >by a spear he’d taken through his left thigh years ago) could not mask the anger plain to read in every stride. “Did the Council put you up to<br >this?” he asked tightly. His face was still impassive, but his eyes made the Second shudder, knowing he’d reopened an old-but still<br >agonizing-wound.

”No, sire,” he said, forcing himself to gaze steadily at his ruler. “It<br >might be a way to save New Araen, and that’s all I’m thinking of … that, and the fact that you’ve been alone too long. Nineteen years . .<br >.” He hesitated, thinking of his own Marya and their son and daughter, trying to imagine life without them. “That’s too long to be alone.”<br >

”I spent seven years in total solitude, once. I’ll manage,” the<br >Sovren’s voice was curt. He stood with his hands clasped behind his back, facing a wall painting he’d done twenty years ago, when his<br >stronghold was first built. The Second had never understood the subject matter-stars, and an outspread hand, beneath an odd, disklike shape.<br >

Once he’d asked his ruler what it meant, only to be told, “It’s a<br >message for someone who hasn’t been born yet.”

The Second dragged his thoughts back to the present with an effort-there<br >was something strangely hypnotic about those painted stars. They weren’t just white specks of light the way they appeared in the<br >nighttime sky, but tiny spheres of all colors, hanging like scattered jewels against the black background. Cletas had never seen stars like<br >that.

”Sire, won’t you even consider my plan? It could mean life instead of<br >death for all the Lakreo Valley. Would it be such a terrible price to pay, to take a consort? Heldeon has nearly eight thousand troops, and<br >if he could be swayed to our side …”

The Sovren sighed, turning back to face him, weariness of more than body<br >cloaking him, shadowing his features beneath his thick black hair. “Very well, Cletas. I promise to consider the second part of your plan,<br >assuming you’re successful in capturing the woman tonight.”

”Thank you, my liege.”<br >

”But you’re sure she hasn’t given the battle oracle yet?<br >

Third-in-War Trebor Damas mentioned that there was some kind of ceremony<br >going on up on the hillside today, and that the High Priestess was speaking.”<br >

Cletas sighed. Here it is, then. I should have known I couldn’t keep<br >it from him. “I’m positive about the battle oracle, sire. What the High Priestess announced today was that she’d had a Sending concerning<br >you.”

One eyebrow went up in wry amusement. “Me? And how stands the Lady<br >Wynn’s record in these matters?”

”She … has never been wrong, sire. At least, not that my sources<br >could discover,” Cletas admitted.

”Cletas, you look as though your favorite hunting cat had died. What is<br >it? What did she say?”

The Second-in-War forced himself to meet those tired gray eyes. “She<br >said. “Only if he who is halt walks healed, if he who is death-struck in battle rises whole, only then can victory slip from us-then only will<br >the Goddess turn Her face away. “

This time the eyebrow nearly vanished beneath the black hair. “Indeed,”<br >the Sovren said slowly. “So, today Wynn, High Priestess of the Danreg, who has a perfect record in her prophecies, foretold my death in the<br >coming battle.”

”But, sire-” Cletas made a helpless gesture. “Maybe this time, she’s<br >wrong.”

”As my own estimable sire would remark,” the Sovren paused, clearly<br >remembering, “fascinating.”

”Is that all you can say?” Cletas snorted indignantly. “A few moments<br >ago you looked ready to break me in two for suggesting you take another consort, and now, when I tell you it’s been prophesied that you won’t<br >survive this battle, you just look mildly interested”-he thumped his fist on the table with exasperation—and quote your father? Was he as<br >coldblooded?”

”Well, actually, no,” the Sovren said, amused at his Second’s outburst,<br >”both of us are rather warmblooded, by comparison with the rest of you. By about three degrees, or SO.”<br >

Cletas gave him a measuring glance. “This must be a night for<br >revelations,” he said. “I’ve never heard you mention your father before. Does he still live? Where is he?”<br >

The gray eyes softened suddenly, wistfully, in the stern face. “My<br >father…” he mused. “Someone I haven’t seen in more than twenty years, now.” He twisted a heavy silver wrist-guard absently, not looking<br >up. “I still miss him, you know? Almost as much as I miss Araen. I knew them both such a short time …”<br >

”Is he dead?” Something about his Sovren’s manner of speaking made<br >Cletas think not.

”Dead?” The ruler made a small sound, almost a chuckle.<br >

”No, he’s not dead.”<br >

”Is he …” Cletas hesitated, “like you?”<br >

”You mean physically?” The Sovren ruffled the hair over his ears, hair<br >deliberately left shaggy to disguise his most obvious “difference.” He’d learned early that minimizing his differences made his rule easier.<br >”Yes, I definitely take after his side of the family, Cletas.”

”Was-is-he a ruler too, my liege?”<br >

”Well … no, not really. Actually, the last I knew, he was a<br >Second-in-Command, like you, my friend. He serves his ruler as loyally and well as you do me. Together, the two of them have had at least as<br >many adventures, and their exploits have become legendary.”

”Great warriors, eh?”<br >

”When necessary, Cletas. But most of the time they tread the paths of<br >peace.”

”Would that we could, too, sire,” Cletas said, trying to envision such a<br >land. “is there any chance you could summon them? We could use two such fighters, now.”<br >

Slowly the Sovren shook his head, the expression in his eyes faraway, as<br >though he were looking at something wonderful he could never have again. ”No, Cletas. They are farther away than mere distance. If you rode<br >hard for all the days and nights left in your life, and your son and then your daughter rode for all the days and nights of theirs, they<br >could never even draw near to them. Finding them would be as impossible as pulling down a handful of stars …”<br >

His words trailed off, then, after a moment, he straightened, his voice<br >hardening. “Come on, Cletas. Let’s go over those armory requisitions Trebor Damas sent over. We haven’t much time left.”<br >

Chapter One<br >

THE FOG WAS a tangible thing, muffling the ocean at the foot of the<br >tall, plunging cliff, concealing the jagged rocks awash in surf beneath its woolly blanket. Even the whoosh-boom of the mighty Pacific, here at<br >romantically dubbed Lands End, was reduced by the fog to faint slurping noises that echoed and rebounded eerily in the heavy mist. The ma n<br >standing by the edge of the cliff was at one moment wrapped in almost total silence, then the next, could clearly hear the mournful barks of<br >the sea lions gathered on the protruding rocks and navigational buoys.

A newborn breeze began whipping his dark wavy hair, and he knew from<br >long experience that it spelled death for this particular fog. San Francisco mists were tenacious, but the wind always won in the end,<br >herding them out to sea, breaking them against the hills, smothering them in the valleys.<br >

For a moment the man felt a sudden pity for the fog, helpless before the<br >air currents. You’re getting morbid, he told himself. Stop it right here, or you’ll spend the rest of the day depressed. Besides, he<br >checked his wrist chrono, lunchtime was over ten minutes ago … you’re late.<br >

But he made no move to turn and retrace his steps back to the dully<br >gleaming parabolas and towers of Starfleet Command. After all, what good was rank if you couldn’t take an I I extra half hour for lunch once<br >in a while? It wasn’t as if his aide, Lieutenant Thasten, would shake an accusing blue finger at him … the Andorian would appreciate the<br >chance to catch up on her workload from this morning. He kept her busy … must remember to put her in for a promotion, he made a mental note.<br >Anyone who can keep my office as organized as Thasten has for the past few years has earned the equivalent of a battlefield commission …<br >

He began walking through the moving fogbank, immersed in memories,<br >memories that crowded his mind whenever it wasn’t fully occupied with work. The echoes in the mist sounded like a voice, and his mind shaped<br >the sounds into the words he’d heard so often those last three months…

Jim… how soon can I go home, son? Jim, I hate this place… Familiar<br >pain stabbed him, dulling now after six months, but still there. For a second he was back in that austere little chapel in Riverside, Iowa,<br >knowing that in a few minutes he would have to carry the little box to the rows of wall crypts and slide it into the newest one … the<br >polished bronze plate identifying the niche as the final resting place for the earthly remains of his mother, Winona Kirk …<br >

The hiss of a two-seater messenger skimmer jerked him back to San<br >Francisco and the present. It swooped down, hovering a half meter above the clifftop, and the pilot, a young lieutenant, leaned out, her manner<br >at once respectful and urgent. “Admiral Kirk, Admiral Morrow requests your presence, Sir.”<br >

James T. Kirk hastily swung up into the little snub-nosed vehicle, and<br >the lieutenant lifted them with-a rush even before he’d finished activating his safety field. Lands End dwindled away beneath him as he<br >looked down; then, as the craft banked and turned east, Kirk watched the amberorange towers of the Golden Gate Bridge emerge from the white<br >fogbank like the ethereal spires of some fairyland.

”What’s up, Lieutenant? Where are we going?”<br >

”My orders were to take you to central headquarters, Sir,”<br >

the lieutenant said, her expression carefully neutral. “Admiral Morrow<br >did not tell me why, though he did say it was urgent.”

Minutes later, the skimmer docked in the central shuttle bay at<br >Starfleet Command, and Kirk headed immediately for Morrow’s office. He was still wondering why the commander, Starfleet, had summoned him, and<br >spent a few moments mentally reviewing the status of his current assignments. Nothing wrong there-he was ahead of time on most of them,<br >and, barring bureaucratic snafus (a continual menace), all would be completed on schedule.<br >

His boots clicked impatiently up to the lifts in the northern tower and<br >the admiral scowled, seeing that all were in use. He forced himself not to fidget as he waited, his hazel eyes traveling impatiently over the<br >magnificent vista of San Francisco and the Bay visible through the fifty-story sweep of plex filling the tower’s lobby with polarized<br >sunshine. The fog was completely gone, now, and Sol turned the pale bronze, gold, and white lobby into a shining marvel, broken only at<br >ground level by splotches of green, vermilion, and cobalt-colored plants.<br >

Come on, come on, he thought, forcing himself not to turn and stab the<br >lift button again. Morrow said it was urgent …

The lift chimed softly, apologetically, behind him. “Level 43, Section<br >17,” Kirk announced, stepping into the glassy bullet.

The lift deposited him in the corridor before the admiral’s office. As<br >the entrance portal hissed out of his way, Kirk was startled to find himself facing Lieutenant Thasten, who was just leaving. “Thasten,<br >what’s going on?”

”I brought your things, Admiral,” she said, indicating his packed travel<br >bag sitting on the carpet in the reception area.

”Do you know when you’ll be back, Sir?”<br >

Kirk grimaced. “I didn’t know I was going until this moment. I’ll let<br >you know, Thasten. In my absence, please ask Commander Arex to attend the services for Captain Ikeya and the Constellation’s crew.”<br >

”Yes, sir.”<br >

Kirk turned away to find Morrow’s aide busy keying his voder. “Admiral<br >Kirk is here, sir.”

”Please go right in, Admiral,” he said, almost immediately, then ushered<br >Kirk into Morrow’s private office, the admiral’s travel bag grasped firmly in his topmost talons.<br >

Harry Morrow was waiting for them, his dark, handsome face drawn and<br >sober. “Hold the questions, Jim,” he said.

”One of our ships is in trouble. We haven’t got much time.<br >

Cochise is standing by. I’ll brief you as soon as we’re underway.”<br >

Kirk nodded, taking his bag from the aide. Morrow pressed a button and<br >avid-screen wall swung aside, revealing a small transporter unit with two pads. As they stepped up, the aide spoke softly into a<br >communicator, then Kirk felt the familiar sensation of displacement as the walls shimmered, then solidified, revealing a different location.<br >

The first person he saw as he stepped forward into the Cochise’s small<br >transporter room was his former First Officer. “Spock!” he exclaimed, striding over to the Vulcan.<br >

”What the hell are you doing here?”<br >

”Admiral Morrow sent for me,” Spock told him. “I just arrived.”<br >

”You’re looking well,” Kirk said. “How long has it been?”<br >

”One month, six days, seventeen hours, nineteen min-“<br >

”The question was rhetorical, Spock-as you very well know,” Kirk broke<br >in, grinning. “It’s good to see you.”

And you, Jim.”<br >

”Gentlemen,” came Morrow’s voice from behind Kirk, “I hate to break up<br >old home week, but we don’t have much time.”

Kirk turned to follow the admiral. “All right, Harry, let’s hear a few<br >of those answers you promised me. Where are we going? Why all the secrecy?”<br >

Morrow nodded. “The secrecy is because you’re still James T. Kirk,<br >media darling, and I didn’t want reporters getting wind of this situation. The last thing we want is a panic.”<br >

”A panic?” Kirk’s good-natured smile faded.<br >

Morrow nodded. “The briefing room is this way, gentlemen.”<br >

As they left the transporter room, the barely felt vibrations of the<br >ship’s engines altered, and Kirk realized they’d already left Earth orbit at full impulse power. Morrow wasn’t kidding about being in a<br >hurry, he thought, following the admiral. We must be halfway to Pluto already. Where are we headed? Which ship is in trouble?<br >

Cochise was one of the Hermes Class I Scouts, with a usual complement of<br >about 200 crew and officers. But as he trailed Morrow’s broad back through the nearly empty corridors, Kirk realized that the ship must be<br >running with just a skeleton crew.

The admiral led them to the small briefing room, activated the security<br >screens, then waved them to seats. “We have a big problem, gentlemen. Something is threatening the Federation, something with a potential for<br >destruction that is … limitless, I suppose. Worse than Vejur, much worse. The aspect of the problem that is our immediate concern is<br >Alpha Centauri B, and the Kismet, a Federation courier ship which is now stranded about 100,000,000 kilometers from the star.”<br >

”Stranded?” Kirk leaned forward, frowning.<br >

”Yes. It’s been there for nearly sixteen hours now, helpless, its<br >computer system entirely shorted out.”

Spock’s eyebrow climbed nearly to his hairline. “The entire system?<br >Most … unusual. The backups are nonfunctional?”

Morrow nodded brusquely. “It’s all part of what’s happening to Alpha<br >Centauri B. The star has been enveloped by a wave of time displacement that is speeding up its aging.<br >

It’s consuming itself at an incredible rate-converting its hydrogen into<br >helium as though millions of years were passing in minutes. We’re evacuating the population of Kent to Centaurus, praying that we have<br >enough time to finish before the star swells into a red giant and engulfs its planets. That could happen as early as twenty hours from<br >now, by some estimates.”

Kirk stared at the admiral, stunned. Alpha Centauri was a triple star<br >system. Alpha Centauri A was a yellow sun slightly larger and brighter than Sol, orbited by Centaurus and fourteen other, uninhabited planets.<br >Alpha Centauri B was its nearby (thirty to forty A.U. distant) smaller, orange companion. Both were distantly orbited by a small red dwarf, a<br >flare star named Proxima Centauri. Kirk had known that Proxima Centauri was the closest star to Earth’s solar system before he could read.<br >

Alpha A had shown signs of instability for hundreds of years, but its<br >slight fluctuations were negligible on a stellar scale. Kirk had never heard of any problems with Alpha B-under normal circumstances, both<br >stars should have remained unchanged for billions of years. Alpha B was orbited by six planets. The most Earth-like one, Kent, had been settled<br >by humans over a hundred years before. Kirk had visited there more times than he could recall.<br >

He also owned property on Centa urus, only one system away … a valley<br >he’d bought over the years and named Garrovick Valley, in honor of his first captain. Kirk had a brief, piercing memory of his little cabin<br >there, the hours of peace and quiet-of fishing in the Farragut River.

It took him a moment to find his voice. “And the Kismet?<br >

It’s caught in this … wave … of accelerated time, too?”<br >

”No,” said Spock, positively. “Logic dictates that if it had been,<br >everyone aboard would have been killed instantaneously. Aged and fallen to dust before they could even realize what was happening to them.”<br >

Harry Morrow was nodding agreement. “Right. Though they had to explain<br >that to me in words of one syllable too, Jim, so don’t look like that.”

Kirk had been feeling stupid. “You’d think I’d have gotten used to it<br >after all these years of working with Vulcans. So what is the problem with the Kismet’s computers?”<br >

”The EMP effect,” the commander of Starfleet told him.<br >

”Any massive thermonuclear reaction-whether it’s from a bomb or a<br >star-causes an electromagnetic pulse that shorts out computers-and communications. Anyway, the ship is drifting in space, and if it’s<br >there much longer…” He shrugged, making a curiously final flick of his fingers.<br >

”Can we get close enough to the ship to rescue the crew without getting<br >caught by the EMP effect ourselves?” Kirk asked.

”I don’t know,” Morrow said. “Communication is impossible, of course,<br >since their systems are down. Our deflector shields will protect us-that’s how they’re managing to evacuate Kent-but as to whether we can<br >get close enough to the ship to attempt a rescue …” He frowned, shaking his head. “Kismet got caught by the EMP before it had enough<br >warning to activate its shields. All we can do is get there as fast as we can and see what we can do. My science staff is working on the<br >problem of how to stay shielded and still use the transporter … though, as you know, we’ve never figured out a way to do that yet.”<br >

”I will offer my assistance to them,” Spock said. “What is our ETA?”<br >

Morrow’s eyes flicked to the chronometer. “At warp eight, we should be<br >there in about fifteen hours.”

”Cutting it pretty close,” Kirk muttered.<br >

”We only found out about it an hour ago. Kismet was in communication<br >with Kent when it was hit, but it took awhile for the news to reach us. Communications from the evacuation area have been sporadic and<br >confusing, as you might guess.”

”What percentage of the population of Kent has currently been<br >evacuated?” Spock asked.

”Our last report said seventy-five percent.”<br >

”Hell of a lot of people left, then,” Kirk said grimly. And then,<br >because he had to know, he said, trying to keep his concern from showing, “I gather this won’t affect Centaurus?”<br >

”Alpha B may engulf or sear the outermost gas giants in the Centaurian<br >system,- Spock said, his quick glance at his friend acknowledging the reason for Kirk’s anxiety, “but Centaurus itself should be far enough<br >away to escape the heat. As to the cosmic rays …” He raised an eyebrow at Morrow.<br >

”We’ve got special planetary shielding rigged,” the admiral told them,<br >”to deflect the rays. Don’t worry, Jim, your valley will be safe. I still remember the fishing there.”<br >

Kirk sighed. “Thanks, Harry.”<br >

Spock steepled his fingers, a familiar gesture to Kirk from all the<br >briefings they’d shared over the years. It meant he was thinking hard. ”You said this was only one aspect of a larger problem, Admiral Morrow,”<br >the Vulcan said. “Is that larger problem, by any chance, connected with the loss of the Constellation ten days ago?”<br >

Kirk stiffened, glancing quickly from the Vulcan to the admiral.<br >

Morrow nodded, reluctantly. “Yes, it-“<br >

The admiral was interrupted by the signal above the door flashing. When<br >he keyed it open, a Tellarite ensign hurried in, saluting, her tiny eyes crinkled with anxiety. “This message just came in for you, Admiral.<br >Priority One, Sir.”

Morrow reached for the cassette the younger officer held out. “Thank<br >you, Ensign.”

While he watched the admiral scan the message, Kirk’s mind flashed back<br >to Morrow’s revelation about the Constellation and her fate. He’d known her captain, Carmen lkeya, for over ten years. She’d been the first<br >woman to command a starship, though now there were several others.

He could see her in his mind’s eye, almond eyes beneath unruly<br >salt-and-pepper hair, a reckless, “give ‘em hell” grin on her lined face. Whatever had happened to Carmen-and it was apparently more than<br >the official Starfleet designation of “missing, presumed destroyed”-Kirk was willing to bet she’d gone down swinging.<br >

His musings were interrupted by Morrow’s soft curse.<br >

The admiral’s broad shoulders sagged suddenly. “What is it, Harry?”<br >

Spock, too, was leaning forward in his seat, though his expression, as<br >usual, remained unreadable.

Morrow shook his head. “I just got confirmation that the Kismet carried<br >a passenger. I’d hoped that perhaps he’d been delayed somehow and wasn’t aboard …” he sighed, “but he is.”<br >

”Who is? What passenger?” Kirk was beginning to feel as if he’d fallen<br >down a rabbit hole.

”I wanted to talk to the three of you together,” Morrow went on<br >mumbling, half to himself. “You’re such a wellknown team, so I ordered him to catch the next ship for Earth.”<br >

”The three of us . Kirk looked over at Spock, who nodded solemnly at<br >him. “You’re telling me Kismet’s passengeris … Dr. Leonard McCoy.”

”Yes.<br >

Chapter Two<br >

”OH, SHIT,” KIRK SAID. “This is a hell of a mess.”<br >

”Indeed,” agreed Spock.<br >

Morrow nodded grimly.<br >

Spock finally broke the ensuing dismal silence. “Admiral Morrow,<br >perhaps you might explain the entire problem -and why you felt ‘the three of us’ were uniquely suited to advise you.”<br >

Morrow took a deep breath. “First, remember that this is all Priority<br >One Secret. I wasn’t given the complete picture until day before yesterday. Only the Secretary General of the Federation Council, and<br >four other people-two of them theoretical physicists-know everything that I’m going to tell you.”<br >

Kirk watched the admiral, wondering why the theatric buildup-he’d known<br >Harry Morrow for years, and drama wasn’t his style. It’s as though he has to nerve himselfupjust to put it into words.<br >

”More stars than Alpha Centauri B are dying prematurely,” Morrow began.<br >”I expect Mr. Spock has seen articles in scientific journals speculating on the sudden increase in star deaths.” He glanced over at<br >the Vulcan.

Spock nodded. “Yes. Statistically, there have been fully ten times as<br >many star deaths in our galaxy as there should have been during the past two solar months. Astronomical TWE FOR YESTERDAY<br >

physicists have been unable to account for this increase, but,<br >extrapolating this trend to include stars of ten-plus solar masses, the projected result is indeed disquieting-“<br >

”You mean terrifying,” Morrow interrupted. “What you haven’t read in<br >those articles is the reason for these star deaths.”

He paused, and Kirk guessed, “More of these time waves?”<br >

”Yes. Fortunately, until yesterday, none of the stars that had been<br >affected has had inhabited planets. But now Alpha Centauri B is dying. Picture what one of those waves of accelerated time would do to Sol. Or<br >40 Eridani. Kent has a population of fifty million. What’s the population of Vulcan?”<br >

”Seven billion, seven hundred and fifty-two thousand -as of the most<br >recent full-count census.”

”And Earth has nearly twice that many.” Morrow rubbed his forehead as<br >though to ease a headache. “I’ve ordered every freighter, every pleasure yacht, every Starfleet vessel within range to assist in Kent’s<br >evacuation. We just might make it.”

”And the Constellation?” Kirk asked. “What happened to it?”<br >

”The ship came out of warp too soon,” Morrow said.<br >

”It-” He was interrupted by the bosun’s whistle. The admiral activated<br >the small vid-screen. “Morrow here.”

”Admiral,” the communications officer was a middleaged Native American<br >man, “I’ve just received a shielded signal from the Secretary General of the Federation Council.”<br >

”Decode and patch through to me here.”<br >

A moment later, he scanned the translation, his face drawn and gray with<br >shock. “Neutrino detectors have located signs of growing instability in Canopus. The secretary general wants to know how many<br >Federation-registered vessels in that sector could be used for evacuation purposes.”<br >

Morrow activated the screen again. “Lieutenant Buck, respond that I’ll<br >have to do some checking,” he said, slowly.

”I don’t know how many private yachts we may be able to commandeer.<br >Inform the secretary that I’ll get her an answer as soon as possible.”

Morrow switched off the unit, his expression a study in frustration.<br >”Two inhabited planets in the Canopus system,” he growled. “Eight billion people. I’m afraid this briefing will have to wait until I get<br >that information through to T’Kyra. Jim, I’ll need your help to chase down some commercial shipping figures. Spock, report to the scientific<br >team.”

During the next hours, Kirk pushed his worry about McCoy to the back of<br >his mind, forcing himself to concentrate on the difficult task of tracing the routes and schedules of potentially available cargo ships in<br >the Canopus sector.

Once he looked up at a diffident, “Sir?” to find the Tellarite ensign<br >waiting with a pot of coffee and a plate of sandwiches. He ate them mechanically, hardly noticing that they were his favorite, chicken<br >salad. It was only when his fingers marched blindly across an empty plate that he realized he’d been ravenous.<br >

The coffee he drank black, grateful for its scalding energy boost. When<br >he got up to find the head, he looked at his chronometer and was startled to realize he’d been sitting there for nearly fiv e hours.<br >

Two pots of coffee, a sonic shower, and a twenty-minute nap (when he<br >inadvertently nodded off over his figures) later, he had finished the analysis Morrow wanted. Kirk keyed the final data into the banks, then<br >transmitted copies of his findings to Morrow. His eyes were gritty and raw as he rubbed them, trying to will away a throbbing headache.<br >

Ought to get my eyes checked, he thought, standing up and stretching.<br >His back creaked.

I’ve only been awake for thirty-four hours, he thought, disgustedly.<br >Must be really getting old. Time was when I could put in thirty-six hours and still be readyfor afight. For the first time in hours he let<br >himself think of Bones, wondering how his friend was faring. It’s got to he hell, trapped in that little ship with all the systems dead, blind<br >and deaf waiting for that star to swell up and swallow them …

The portal slid aside and Spock entered. The Vulcan, Kirk noted sourly,<br >appeared far more rested and alert than he had any right to look. He raised an eyebrow at Kirk’s expression. “Are you all right, Jim?”<br >

The admiral nodded wearily. “How long till we reach Kismet?”<br >

”We are almost within sensor range of her last recorded position now.<br >Admiral Morrow said he could use our help on the bridge, since Cochise is carrying a minimal crew.”<br >

”Good. Anything is better than sitting around worrying.”<br >

The two officers headed for the bridge. Though the scout ship was much<br >smaller than the heavy cruisers such as the Enterprise, it was designed along similar lines. Kirk stood for a moment looking at the captain’s<br >seat, the viewscreen, each station, and drew a breath of contentment to be back in space, with the feel of a ship beneath his feet. It was<br >impossible to feel happiness, of course-Bones was out there, in danger. But it had been months since he’d even left Earth orbit.<br >

It’s only when I’m back out here that I realize how much I miss it, he<br >thought. I leave something out here when I’m planet-bound … a part of my soul.<br >

”Jim, can you take the helm?” Morrow asked, turning in the captain’s<br >seat to regard him. “I just sent my helm officer and navigator down to the shuttle deck, in case we locate them.”<br >

”Aye, Sir,” Kirk said, giving his best “eager ensign” salute and heading<br >for the control and navigation console.

”Mr. Spock, please take the sensors. I want a constant monitor.”<br >

”Understood, Admiral,” Spock murmured, assuming his station beside the<br >science officer.

”Are we clear, Mr. Spock?”<br >

”Yes, Sir. Our best orbit for sensor scanning will be at a distance of<br >120,000,000 kilometers, Admiral, and we will need to maintain our shields. The EMP emanations are continuous.”<br >

”Very well. Ahead one-quarter impulse, helm. Heading three-four-two,<br >mark four.”

Kirk found himself scanning the console for the proper controls. Wish<br >Sulu were here. He set the course, then eased the switch up in its slot. Cochise glided smoothly on her way Alpha Centauri B stood out<br >clearly in their forward screens by now, as a small yellowish-orange sphere slightly smaller than the sun as seen from Earth.<br >

”I am detecting considerable neutrino activity, Admiral,” Spock said.<br >”Alpha B could begin expanding into an orange giant at any moment.”

”Magnification on forward viewscreen. Increase filters.”<br >

Alpha B rippled larger, then larger still. Kirk stared at the star.<br >Look at those sunspots. Never seen so many. And the solarflares!

”Any sign of Kismet, Mr. Spock?”<br >

”Negative, Admiral.”<br >

”Increase speed to one-half impulse, Jim. Same heading.”<br >

”Aye, Sir.” Kirk found he was failing back into his days as an ensign<br >helmsman on the Farragut. His fingers danced over the controls with fewer and fewer hesitations.<br >

Slowly, Cochise settled into orbit around the star. At this rate, it’ll<br >take us daysjust to circle it, Kirk thought anxiously.

Yet he knew they couldn’t afford to miss the tiny Kismet on their<br >sensors-they wouldn’t get a second chance. If, indeed, they were granted afirst chance.<br >

The electromagnetic wave disrupted communications, so they could not<br >even check on how the evacuation of Kent was proceeding. Kirk guided Cochise in her orbit, keeping a careful watch on their power levels.<br >”Admiral,” he said, after nearly an hour had passed, “keeping our screens up at full capacity is draining our power reserves faster than<br >projected.”

”How long can we keep searching at this rate?” Morrow asked.<br >

”Not more than another two hours,” Kirk told him. “Did the Kismet’s<br >last communication give her location coordinates?”

”Yes,” Morrow said. “Her last reported location was where we entered<br >orbit.”

”But she’s had nearly thirty-two hours to drift away from there,” Kirk<br >pointed out.

”Inertia,” Spock said, nodding approvingly at his former captain.<br >”Logically, we cannot afford to ignore the fact that a body traveling at any given speed tends to remain at that speed unless acted upon by an<br >outside force.”

Morrow rubbed his forehead. “I see what you mean …<br >

but can we afford to take the chance that we’ll miss them by skipping<br >part of our search pattern?Kirk took a deep breath. “Can we afford not to?”<br >

”How fast was Kismet going when she encountered the EMP wave?” Spock<br >asked.

”She was due for a brief message relay at Kent,” Morrow told him, “which<br >is why she came out of warp. If Captain Perez was following a textbook approach, he should have been traveling at three-quarter impulse power.”<br >

”That gives me something to go on, then.” Working with feverish haste,<br >Kirk set up the problem on the navigation computers, double-checking his figures, remembering to allow for the increased buffeting of Alpha B’s<br >solar wind on a powerless-but still gliding-vessel. He fed all available data into the computer, then asked it to plot a projected<br >course in three dimensions. Moments later, he had his answer.

”Spock, it’s been a long time since I did anything like this.<br >

Will you check my figures?”<br >

In his absorption, Kirk had forgotten that he wasn’t in command. Spock<br >glanced at Admiral Morrow for permission, who nodded. Kirk transferred his data to the science console, then sat tensely, trying not to think<br >that McCoy’s life might depend on what they did in the next few minutes.

The Vulcan straightened after a moment. “Verified,” he said, glancing<br >over at Kirk. “Logically, that is where they should be.”

”All right, Jim,” Morrow said, after looking over the projection, “lay<br >in your course. Warp factor one.”

Cochise leaped ahead beneath Kirk’s fingers. Twenty minutes later, Kirk<br >announced, “We’ve reached my projected coordinates, Admiral. Decreasing to sublight.”<br >

”Any sign of them, Mr. Spock?”<br >

”Nothing, Admiral.”<br >

”Implement standard search grid. Slow to one-half impulse.”<br >

Kirk piloted Cochise through the maneuvers of the search grid<br >automatically, his mouth dry with anxiety. What if he’d been wrong? We might have passed them by already.<br >

Bones could be ten thousand kilometers behind us, on that ship with no<br >life-support systems … he could be dying, right this minute, they could all be dead …<br >

Ten minutes … Fifteen … Thirty … One hour.<br >

One hour and twenty minutes.<br >

”Power status, Jim?”<br >

”We can maintain full shielding only another fifteen minutes,” Kirk said<br >quietly, feeling despair settle over him like a shroud. “If we search any longer, we won’t be able to keep up our shields long enough to get<br >away ourselves.”

Morrow’s dark features held nothing but sympathy” “We’ll search, then.<br >You did everything you could, Jim.

Don’t look like that.”<br >

Kirk shook his head, numb with the realization that this time, they<br >weren’t going to pull a miracle out of thin air.

This time, they were “I’m picking up something.” Spock’s flat tone held<br >an undercurrent of excitement.

”Kismet?” Morrow leaned forward.<br >

,”Verified, Admiral. The vessel is dead ahead, heading mark three point<br >four-two.”

Kirk felt relief wash over him, relief that was almost immediately<br >replaced by increased tension. Are we too late?

Are they still alive?<br >

Cochise approached the drifting courier ship. Except for her emergency<br >running lights, she was dead in space. “Well, we’ve found her,” Morrow said, to nobody in particular, now, how do we contact her? All her<br >communication systems are down. She can’t see or hear us.”

Cochise’s science officer, a woman named Lisa Washington, turned to<br >regard the image on the forward viewscreen.

”Send someone out to knock on their airlock?” she suggested, deadpan.<br >

Despite his worry, Kirk’s mouth twitched at the picture her suggestion<br >conjured up. “Too bad we can’t, Lieutenant.” Then, abruptly, he straightened in his seat. “Hey, that’s it! We’ll knock on their hull!”<br >

”Huh?” Washington said, frowning.<br >

”Fire our phasers over her bow, just close enough to rattle them a<br >little! Do it in a regular pattern, so they know we’re here!”

Spock was already nodding. “It could work, Admiral Morrow.”<br >

”Let’s try it. Jim, fire when ready.”<br >

”Aye, Sir. Firing phaser one.” Kirk pressed the firing button, and the<br >deadly beam shot out.

By firing in shorter and then longer bursts, he was able to create a<br >pattern. He gave them the old “dot-dot-dot, dashdash-dash, dot-dot-dot” of the SOS, repeated it, then, on impulse, followed it up with<br >”shave-and-a-haircut.”

Then they sat waiting, rigid with hope and fear, praying for some sign<br >of life aboard the crippled vessel. Kirk found himself wishing they could drop their screens, just for a second, so their sensors could lock<br >onto the crew and beam them aboard, but he knew that was impossible. The next move was up to Kismet.<br >

Five minutes crept by. Ten.<br >

”Should I signal again, Admiral?” Kirk asked, trying to keep his voice<br >level.

”Yes-no!” Morrow was on his feet, his gaze never leaving the viewscreen.<br >”The airlock’s opening!”

Automatically, Kirk increased the magnification, so they could all make<br >out a bulky figure in a thruster suit, hanging against the backdrop of space and the side of Kismet’s hull.<br >

As they watched, the figure uncapped a safety line. The lock cycled<br >again, opening to disgorge three more figures in ordinary spacesuits. As each spacesuited figure left the airlock, the occupant of the thruster<br >suit hooked them together with the line. In ten minutes, there were two thruster suits, with ten spacesuited figures linked to each.<br >

With their white, slightly reflective suits, they resembled misshapen<br >pearls strung together, suspended against a velvet case of infinite blackness.<br >

They’ll have to use the manual overrides when they activale the thruster<br >suits, Kirk thought. The computers wont work. They’ll have to mentally compule their trajectory and how many seconds of thrust to allow.<br >

”How will we get them aboard?” Lieutenant Buck wondered.<br >

”If they get close enough, that’s where we use the shuttlecraft,” Morrow<br >said. “if we turn Cochise so our hangar deck entrance faces away from the star, the ship’s bulk will block the EMP. We can drop our forward<br >shield long enough to let the shuttle leave and return.”

”Shuttle deck,” Morrow continued, into his intercom.<br >

”Ready cargo shuttle Onizuka to retrieve Kismet crew.”<br >

”Aye, Admiral. Standing by.”<br >

”They’ve triggered thruster ignition!” Kirk said.<br >

He watched, mouth dry, as the thrusters cut in, sending the suited<br >figures zipping toward Cochise. Each ofthe linked spacesuits jerked, in turn, as the line tightened, then was towed willy-nilly behind the<br >thruster operator. Like a giant game ofcrack the whip, Kirk thought. There are going to be some stiffnecks and backs tomorrow.<br >

Finally, just after both pearl strands of spacesuits passed the forward<br >viewscreen at a distance of several kilometers, Kirk saw the braking thrusters fire. Did they gauge it right?<br >

Will they stop where the shuttle can reach them?<br >

”Shuttle deck here,” said the intercom, a minute later.<br >

”We have them in range. Navigator Ferguson says we’ll be launching in a<br >minute. Stand by to drop number four deflector shield.”

An excited whoop went up from the bridge crew. Kirk sat poised, waiting<br >to drop, then reactivate, the screen.

Finally, after what seemed an interminable interval-but was actually<br >about fifteen minutes-Ferguson’s contralto reported “We have them, Admiral Morrow. They’re A-OK.<br >

Shuttle deck doors are closing behind us. You may reactivate number<br >four deflector.”

Kirk held himself together long enough to trigger the shield, then<br >leaped up to grip Morrow’s hand. The admiral’s eyes were shining. “We did it!”<br >

”Thank God,” Kirk said softly. Relief washed through him, making him<br >feel light, free. He smiled when Morrow slapped him on the shoulder.

”Put yourself in for a medal, Admiral Kirk,” Morrow chortled. “If it<br >hadn’t been for you we’d never have figured out where they were.”

”Just a little logic at the right time.” Kirk’s grin grew so broad it<br >felt as if it might split his face. “Guess after all these years some of it finally rubbed off on me, right, Spock?”<br >

The Vulcan stood surveying the celebrants, hands clasped behind his<br >back. “Admiral, with your permission, I would like to join the medical team on the shuttle deck.”<br >

Morrow nodded. “You can both go. As soon as McCoy’s able, notify me<br >and report to the briefing room. We’ve got a lot to discuss.”

Kirk and Spock reached the shuttle deck just as the last of the<br >spacesuited figures was helped out of the crowded confines of the Onizuka’s storage compartment. “Do you see Bones?”<br >

”There.” The Vulcan pointed. Both officers hurried over to a<br >spacesuited figure that sat slumped on the shuttle’s cargo ramp, obviously having trouble removing its helmet.<br >

As they approached from the doctor’s blind side, Spock triggered the<br >emergency release mechanism at the rear of the helmet, suddenly freeing the stubborn headgear.<br >

McCoy’s irascible tones abruptly emerged. “-stupid damn idiotic<br >spacesuit-ouch!”

Kirk lifted the helmet out of the doctor’s hands, then stepped around to<br >face his former chief surgeon. “Easy, Bones. Spock and I went to too much trouble to rescue you, just to watch you knock yourself out with<br >your own helmet.”

Leonard McCoy’s jaw dropped with an almost audible clunk. “Jim? Spock?<br >What the hell-?”

Somehow the doctor was on his feet and suddenly, without knowing quite<br >what he intended, Kirk had both arms around his friend and was thumping him on the back-and being thumped in turn. They laughed until they<br >choked, and then, just as their laughter was threatening to turn into something far more embarrassing, Spock ostentatiously cleared his<br >throat. “if you two intend to continue, I shall wait for you in the briefing room.”<br >

McCoy mock-glared at the Vulcan. “Why, you coldblooded sonofa-“<br >

”Now, Bones,” Kirk interrupted hastily, smothering a grin.<br >

McCoy glanced at him, then a slow, reluctant smile lightened the<br >doctor’s haggard features. “Hell, I couldn’t be mad at Lucifer himself right now-especially if he just helped save my life. How the hell are<br >you, Spock?”

”I am well, Doctor,” the Vulcan replied, only his dark eyes revealing<br >his relieved pleasure at seeing his sparring partner again. “Gratified to find you in such good-if profane-spirits.”<br >

”Come on, let’s get you out of this suit,” Kirk said. “I hate to rush<br >you, after the trip you’ve had, but we’ve got an emergency on our hands, and Admiral Morrow-for some reason we don’t yet understand-wants our<br >advice in trying to solve it.”

”Is that why he ordered me back to Earth?”<br >

”Apparently,” Spock said. Together, he and Kirk helped McCoy pull off<br >his spacesuit. Kirk’s nose wrinkled.

The doctor bridled at his expression. “I’ve been living in this<br >double-damned thing for the last fourteen hours, Jim.

You were no bed of roses after the Tholian incident, remember?” And I<br >haven’t had a bite to eat in more than a day-not that I wanted to eat much after the artificial gravity cut out. Good thing their infirmary<br >had plenty of anti-nausea medicine. I had so many patients I barely had time to worry. What a mess!”<br >

”I imagine we can delay long enough to get you a shower and some food,”<br >Kirk said, as they made their way through the crowded shuttlecraft deck.

”I don’t know as my stomach’s that settled, yet. I haven’t done a<br >spacesuit drill since basic … hanging there, feeling like every part of you is falling forever … in different directions.” The doctor<br >gulped, shuddering. “Even that damned transporter is better than being towed through space. I hope to hell I never have to go through that<br >again.”

”Small chance of that,” Kirk reassured him. “We’re back in warp drive,<br >heading for Kent to pick up as many refugees as Cochise will hold before we go back to Earth.”<br >

After the doctor had taken his shower and the three officers had shared<br >food and coffee in the small galley, they informed Admiral Morrow that they were assembling in the briefing room.<br >

While they waited for Morrow to arrive, Kirk lounged back in his seat,<br >looking across the table at McCoy and Spock, wondering just how many times he’d sat with these two men trying to solve tough problems before.<br >It’s been a long time since we’ve worked together … hope we havent lost the old touch.<br >

Kirk hadn’t seen his former medical officer in nearly a year. Until<br >yesterday, McCoy had been teaching a course in Xeno-anatomy at the Starfleet medical school on Prima, parsecs away.<br >

Kirk hadn’t seen much of Spock either, though they were at least<br >stationed on the same world. The Vulcan was an instructor at Starfleet Academy and spent much of his time accompanying his students on training<br >details.

”Despite everything, Jim, you look great.” McCoy’s craggy features were<br >tired, the lines around his eyes and down his cheeks etched so deeply with fatigue that his eyes looked sunken. But their blue was as bright<br >as ever.

”Thanks, Bones. I’ve been trying to keep up the workouts.”<br >

”How is Peter?”<br >

”Fine,” Kirk said. “Mom’s death hit him hard at first, but the<br >resiliency of youth …” He shrugged, turning to look at the Vulcan. ”By the way, Spock, how are the cadets?<br >

Whipped ‘em all into shape yet?”<br >

”It is a never-ending struggle, Admiral,” Spock said, straight-faced.<br >”Many of them are human, and they tend to … infect … the others.”

McCoy grimaced. -Vulcans have no honor, Jim. He knows I’m too tired to<br >muster a comeback, so he’s taking advantage of me.”

”You’ll be here awhile, is my guess, so you’ll have plenty of time to<br >resharpen the old wit, Bones.”

”Yeah,” the doctor agreed, pensively. “No telling when …. get back.<br >My class is probably offering up sacrifices to Hippocrates-I had a test scheduled for today. It’s anyone’s guess when they’ll get it.”<br >

The door slid open, and Harry Morrow entered. “Dr. McCoy, I’m glad<br >you’re safe.” He shook hands gravely.

”Have Jim and Spock explained why we’re here?”<br >

”No. But I gather that something is happening to Alpha Centauri B-that<br >it’s going to blow up, or something.”

Spock was already shaking his head. “No, Doctor, it will not explode.<br >But what is happening to it is fully as dangerous for Kent. Very soon it is going to swell into an orange giant, then it will cool slightly to<br >become a red giant.”

”What will happen to Kent?”<br >

”When Alpha B begins to swell, it will engulf all of its planets-not to<br >mention several of Alpha A’s gas giants.”

”What about Centaurus?” McCoy asked quickly. The doctor had lived on<br >the planet for some years, and it was still his official residence of record.<br >

”Safe,” Kirk reassured him. “They’re shielding it.”<br >

”But if we ev acuate all the people on Kent-” McCoy began.<br >

Spock shook his head. “The problem does not end with Alpha B, Doctor.<br >Admiral Morrow has explained that several other stars are also aging at a greatly accelerated rate, due to waves of time displacement that are<br >causing them to speed up consumption of their internal hydrogen.”

”You want to explain all that in Standard English, Spock?” McCoy glared<br >at the Vulcan. “Preferably words of one syllable? Remember, I’m a doctor, not a-“<br >

”Cosmological physicist,” Spock supplied, as the medical officer groped<br >for a term. “Very well.” He steepled his lean fingers and thought for a moment. “Perhaps the best way to begin is to remind you that stars,<br >like living beings, possess finite lifespans. When they have converted enough of their internal fuel supply of hydrogen to helium, they die.”<br >

”I know that much,” the doctor growled.<br >

”Good,” said Spock, unruffled. “Small or medium-size stars, like Sol-or<br >Alpha A and B-swell into red giants, then dwindle into white dwarfs. The fifespan of a small-tomedium-size star is approximately ten billion<br >years, plus or minus one or two billion.”

”I thought you implied this was an immediate problem,” McCoy observed<br >sarcastically. “Doesn’t sound like anything I should stay awake nights worrying over.”<br >

Spock made a small, impatient sound … not quite an ahem.”<br >

”Dr. McCoy, since there is nothing you or anyone else could do to<br >prevent the natural or unnatural consequences of aging in a star,” the Vulcan raised his eyebrow, staying awake worrying about the eventuality<br >constitutes a completely illogical reaction.”

”Don’t, Bones,” Kirk put in hastily, seeing the light of battle in the<br >doctor’s eyes. “We’re with you, Spock. Go on .

”Very well. The larger the mass ofthe star in question, the shorter its<br >lifespan. Massive, heavyweight stars will exhaust their internal supplies of hydrogen in only ten million years or so. The star then<br >balloons outward, becoming a red supergiant, and ultimately explodes-a supernova.”<br >

”And that’s been happening a lot lately?” Kirk remembered Morrow and<br >Spock’s previous talk.

”Correct, Admiral. To be more precise, there has been a marked increase<br >in star deaths of all types.”

”What happens to the supernovas?” McCoy asked, intrigued in spite of<br >himself. “Do they just blow themselves into atoms?”

”The correct plural is supernovae, Doctor. Yes, some stars do just<br >that, becoming clouds of ionized hydrogen we term nebulae. Others, however, collapse back into themselves. Those with lesser mass become<br >neutron stars. The remains of the most massive stars, however, collapse into gravity wells so intense that not even light can escape.”<br >

”Black holes,” Kirk said.<br >

”That is the popular term for the phenomenon.”<br >

”But we’ve discovered them before,” the doctor protested. “They swallow<br >up anything that gets trapped within their gravity pulls, but mostly that’s just space gas or dust, and occasionally a stray asteroid or<br >something. They’ve never posed a threat to a planet!”

”You mean they haven’t yet, Doctor,” Morrow cautioned.<br >

”But that’s because the explored universe is a big place, and there<br >aren’t many of them. But with more developing -possibly many more . . .” he trailed off with a shrug and an expression that spoke more<br >eloquently than words. “I received word only hours ago that Canopus is affected.”<br >

”Canopus, too?” McCoy was visibly upset. “I’ve got an old friend who<br >retired on Serenity.”

”Starfleet is currently evacuating the population of the system,” Morrow<br >said. “We just hope we can move eight billion people off two worlds before the star goes supernova and its interior collapses. Fortunately,<br >our estimates indicate we’ll have several months, so we can probably save those lives. Canopus is a younger star than Alpha B.”<br >

The commander, Starfleet, sighed. “But it’s too late for Carmen Ikeya<br >and the crew of the Constellation.”

”What happened, Harry?” Kirk asked. “I knew Carmen, you know.”<br >

”So did L” Morrow rubbed his eyes tiredly. “We can only guess at how it<br >happened, but we know what happened.

Constellation came out of warp too soon and emerged in real space within<br >the event horizon of a new black hole just discovered in Sector 87. There was a Cepheid-class star there, just like Canopus, named<br >Achernar-was. Now there’s a black hole, and the Constellation is trapped within it.”<br >

”Can’t it get out?” McCoy demanded.<br >

”No, Doctor.” Spock was matter-of-fact. “The nature of a black hole is<br >that it exerts such a pull of gravity that nothing can escape-not even light itself. Hence the term ‘black’ hole.”<br >

”And the starship’s been swallowed up?”<br >

Spock hesitated. “Time, space, and gravity are intermingled terms when<br >discussing black holes, Doctor. Insofar as the crew of the Constellation are concerned, their lives were snuffed out by the<br >enormous gravitational stresses within the hole approximately 6.7 nanoseconds after crossing the event horizon-the point of no return, to<br >express it colloquially.”

The Vulcan misinterpreted McCoy’s shocked stare for lack of<br >comprehension. “A nanosecond, Doctor, is onebillionth of a second. If their engines were still functioning, they may have experienced perhaps<br >an additional nanosecond or two-“

”Damn it, Spock!” the doctor snarled. “You ought to know by now how<br >sick and tired I am of listening to you rattle off facts and figures cool as a cucumber when you’re talking about people-sentient<br >beings-dying!”

”Doctor, I am as distressed by this development as you are,” the Vulcan<br >replied levelly, “but raising my voice or evidencing extreme agitation will hardly help the Consiellation. Even though their image will remain<br >on our gravitational sensors for all eternity, the ship and its crew are gone.”<br >

”You mean the Constellation is still there?” Kirk was confused. “How<br >can it be on our sensors if it’s been destroyed?”

Spock expressed frustration with a small sigh. “it is difficult to<br >explain without recourse to equations, but to the distant observers-us-the Constellation will remain trapped within the event<br >horizon forever, like an insect in amber.”

”Hub?” McCoy frowned. “Why?”<br >

”Because observed elapsed time virtually ceases once the event horizon<br >is crossed. To our sensors, the Constellation is there, and will be there, for all time. But from the point of view of anyone aboard the<br >vessel, the starship was destroyed immediately.”

McCoy glanced at Kirk incredulously. “Waitaminit, Spock. Are you<br >trying to tell me the Constellation is in two places at once? That’s crazy-impossible!”<br >

”No, Doctor.” The Vulcan permitted himself another sigh. “But to<br >explain more fully would require time we do not have. I am afraid that I must ask you to accept my explanation on faith.”<br >

The medical officer snorted, but, after a warning glance from Kirk,<br >subsided. “Okay. I believe you. But why is all this happening? What made the Constellation miscalculate coming out of warp?”<br >

”We don’t know for sure, it all happened too fast,” Morrow said. “Matter<br >of fact, if it hadn’t been for the team of scientists monitoring the black hole, she’d have been listed as just another missing vessel.”<br >

”Know for sure,” Kirk repeated. “You have a theory, then?”<br >

”Not me,” Morrow smiled wryly. “You think I understand that kind of<br >math? R’t’lk of Hamal is the one who correlated the data. She believes that the Constellation’s chronos were running fast, so the ship came out<br >of warp too soon.”

Kirk tried unsuccessfuly to fathom that theory. “The chronos were<br >wrong-but that’s impossible! There are backup systems, fail-safes, computer tie-ins-!” He shook his head stubbornly. “Starships measure<br >time by stardate. It’s the most accurate time constant ever discovered- Kirk broke off, hearing his own words. Sudden comprehension began<br >coalescing in his mind.

Spock was already nodding. “I see,” the Vulcan said slowly. “The<br >Hamalki physicist was not suggesting that the Constellation’s time-keeping devices were at fault. Instead, Professor R’t’lk is<br >theorizing that time itself was running too fast aboard the vessel.”

”What would that do?” McCoy asked.<br >

”For one thing, if that is indeed the case, it would mean that Captain<br >Ikeya and her crew were already dead when her ship crossed the event horizon. Aged and disintegrated into nothingness between one breath and<br >the next.”

”Well,” Kirk said, feeling a little sick, “at least they didn’t suffer.”<br >

”They would’ve never known what hit them,” Morrow agreed.<br >

”Admiral Morrow,” Spock said, with quiet urgency, “in following this<br >possibility through to its logical conclusion, I conjecture that R’Ok also believes this speed-up in time is responsible for all the premature<br >star deaths?” The Vulcan’s eyebrow rose inquiringly.

Morrow nodded. “My compliments, Mr. Spock. It took me nearly ten<br >minutes of explanation to comprehend all the ramifications of what they were trying to tell me-and you figured it out like that, ” he snapped<br >his fingers.

”Now you’ve done it,” McCoy muttered slowly. “As if his head weren’t<br >swelled enough already …”

The Vulcan ignored the doctor. The angular planes of his face tightened<br >and even as Kirk watched, the faintly greenish skin paled visibly. “This is … most alarming,” he said, his voice a near-whisper. “if this<br >phenomenon continues, it will mean the end …”

”Of what?” McCoy asked blankly.<br >

”Everything.”<br >

”You mean …” The doctor’s hands closed on the table as though he<br >wanted to reassure himself that it was still solid. “Spock, are you talking about the end of the universe?<br >

How? They discovered the first black hole over two hundred years ago,<br >and we’re still here.”

”Indeed we are,” the Vulcan agreed, but his calm voice held a hollow<br >ring. “But if time w ere to be speeded up, or run irregularly, it would create enormous stresses on the space-time fabric, Doctor. We live in<br >an expanding universe, but its motion, for the most part, is only detected by examining the redshifting in the spectra of distant stars<br >and galaxies.”

McCoy nodded slowly. “Okay, I remember about that.<br >

It’s hard to picture, though.”<br >

”It may help you to visualize this expansion if you think of the<br >galaxies as individual seeds in a seedcake dough.

When the dough begins to rise, the seeds move away from each other. The<br >motion of galaxies in our universe is somewhat analogous.”

”So what does this have to do with star deaths and black holes?” Kirk<br >asked.

”We do not really know what the end of the universe will be like, Jim.<br >We can only theorize-and most of the prevailing theories today agree that billions of years from now, the stars will have burned themselves<br >out to ash, or collapsed into black holes-which will then engulf most of any remaining matter before dying themselves. The universe will end, as<br >T. S. Eliot said in’The Hollow Men,. “Not with a bang, but a whimper.”<br >

Kirk tried to imagine an infinite void, bare of matter, even of atoms.<br >Nothing but a few scattered decaying protons or electrons, perhaps. “And you think this decay might be speeded up, so the universe ends much<br >sooner than it otherwise would?”

”it is possible, Admiral. We also do not know what effect many black<br >holes appearing would have on the fabric of Space-time. It could be that poking too many holes in an expanding universe would result in<br >massive rips-rather like punching holes in a mesh that is being tugged on from all sides. Eventually, it would unravel completely. Of course,<br >the cosmos has at least four dimensions, not two,” the Vulcan added meditatively.<br >

”Who gives a hell how many dimensions there are?”<br >

McCoy demanded, throwing his hands up. “Does all this mean we’re going<br >to blink out like soap bubbles tomorrow?”

”Hardly, Doctor,” Spock said, in a tone of excessive patience. “The<br >universe is approximately fifteen billion years old. If it ages normally, it will last more than a trillion years. The immediate danger<br >here is presented by the star deaths, and how long it will take before any ‘rips’ begin to appear.”<br >

”R’t’lk has already calculated how long we have to stop this,” Morrow<br >said, glancing down at a printout. “Since the phenomenon is originating in our own galaxy, we have approximately ninety days before the damage<br >will become irreparable”

”Ninety days!” Kirk felt his heart trying to squeeze itself out of his<br >chest, then begin to slam in hard, fast, waiting beats. Adrenaline rush made him shake. “Harry, if you called us in here just so we could<br >update our wills, I wish you’d let me die in blissful ignorance.” He took a deep breath, controlling his wash of fear with an effort,<br >thinking hard. “But there’s got to be something we can do about this, or you wouldn’t have called us. And why the three of us, as opposed to<br >all the officers in the Fleet?”

Kirk thought he heard Spock murmur, “Logical,” even as Morrow gave him<br >an approving glance. “You’re right, Jim. I did have a special reason for needing you three. We’ve discovered the source of the<br >time-distortion waves that are causing time to accelerate, and it’s located in Sector 90.4.”<br >

”You mean Gateway? Are you saying the Guardian is causing all this?”<br >

Sector 90.4 was located in one of the older portions of the explored<br >galaxy, a desolate stretch of space containing only a few burned-out black dwarf stars plus a scattering of rocky planetoids. The only<br >marginally habitable world (it possessed an oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, but no life) was the one the Federation had code-named “Gateway.”<br >

Gateway was covered with ruins from a civilization so unthinkably<br >ancient that little was known about it even after years of study by Federation archeologists. The only intact structure (if one could call<br >it that) was the monolithic stone wheel that called itself “The Guardian of Forever.”<br >

The Guardian was sentient, self-aware, yet nonliving as Kirk understood<br >life. It was also a time portal possessed of vast and quixotic powers-able to project the entire history of a world in minutes. Any<br >observer foolhardy enough to jump through its central opening ran the risk of altering history; the time portal instantly transported<br >travelers back to whatever world and time requested.

The Enterprise had discovered the Guardian years ago, by tracing the<br >”ripples” of time-displacement the entity gave off. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy had been the first men to use the time portal. Nightmares about<br >that “trip” still occasionally woke Kirk, leaving him lying wakeful in the dark.<br >

The admiral was jerked out of his memories by Morrow’s voice “I’m<br >afraid so, Jim. And, since you three discovered the Guardian, I thought you might have some insights “Precisely what is the Guardian doing?”<br >Spock inquired.

”Nobody is sure about anything except that it will no longer respond to<br >questions, and that the nature of those time-displacement waves it gives off has altered. They are now being emitted at widely varying<br >intervals.”

”And those waves are speeding up time?” McCoy asked.<br >

”Is that why the stars are aging and dying prematurely?”<br >

”We don’t know any more about these emissions than we did about the old<br >ones, Doctor,” Morrow said. “It’s equally possible, I suppose, that all these years the Guardian has been slowing down the aging of the stars to<br >lengthen their lifespans. We just don’t know.”

”It said that it had been there ‘since before OUI SU burned hot in<br >space,” Kirk mused. “We knew it had many strange powers, but I never dreamed it was capable of anything like this. Have the archeologists on<br >Gateway been able to get any response from it at all?”

”None,” Morrow said. “It hasn’t responded to any inquiries or attempts<br >at communication for-” he glanced down at the report in front of him, ”for 174 Solar days now.<br >

We lost contact with the current archeological team and the patrolling<br >ship two months ago. We’re presuming the worst.”

”Have you tried a telepath?” Spock asked suddenly.<br >

”A lelepath?” Morrow’s eyebrows rose. “No, that is one thing no one has<br >tried. What makes you think a telepath might be able to communicate with the Guardian? As far as I know it’s actually some sort of<br >incredibly advanced computer, isn’t it? Besides, there aren’t that many espers around.”<br >

”At the time the Guardian was first discovered, Spock was one of the<br >scientific team chosen to study it. He knows as much about it as anyone living,” Kirk told the admiral, with a sharp glance at the Vulcan.<br >

”I know,” Morrow said, his eyes never leaving Spock’s face. “I read his<br >report several times. It never mentioned that he had attempted a mindmeld with the time portal.”<br >

Kirk heard McCoy’s soft, indrawn breath, and knew that the doctor was<br >remembering, just as he was, the identity of the person who had successfully contacted the Guardian mentally. Hastily, he began,<br >”Spock’s theory that the Guardian can be contacted by a mindmeld is-“

Without looking at him, the Vulcan raised a hand, and Kirk subsided into<br >uneasy silence. “No, Admiral Morrow, I did not attempt telepathic contact with the Guardian. I saw it done, however.”<br >

”Since the Guardian is one of the best-kept secrets in the Federation,”<br >Morrow said evenly, “I think I am justified in requiring you to identify this individual.”<br >

”A young Vulcan relative of Spock’s-” Dr. McCoy began, then Spock<br >turned to the medical officer with a spark of amused affection in his eyes. “I appreciate your attempt to protect me, Doctor, but such a<br >grave situation requires nothing less than the truth.” He faced Morrow again.<br >

”Admiral, the person who communicated mentally with the Guardian was my<br >son, Zar.”

”Ybur-” Kirk doubted that Morrow could have looked more thunderstruck if<br >the conference table had come to life and danced a hornpipe. It was a full thirty seconds before the admiral could speak. “I apologize, Mr.<br >Spock, for intruding on your privacy, but your personnel records never . . .” He cleared his throat. “However, as you said, the situation is<br >extremely threatening. But I had no idea …- Morrow cleared his throat again. “At any rate, the important thing is that contact was<br >established. What your son did once, he may be able to do again. Where is he?”<br >

”I am afraid that will be impossible, Admiral,” Spock said levelly, but<br >something shadowed the dark eyes for a moment. “My son has been dead for five thousand years.”<br >

Chapter Three<br >

SPOCK WATCHED MORROW trying to recover from this second, greater shock.<br >The Vulcan kept his features from betraying his amusement. That is the second time he has opened his, mouth, then closed it without emitting<br >any sound …

”Perhaps I should explain,” Spock gently offered.<br >

The admiral nodded wordlessly.<br >

”Approximately 14.5 years ago, now, the Enterprise was assigned to<br >observe the imminent nova of the star Beta Niobe, as well as warn the inhabitants of the planet Sarpeidon of their star’s fate. But we<br >discovered when we beamed down that all the inhabitants had taken refuge in their planet’s past. Through a mischance, Dr. McCoy and I were also<br >thrust through their time portal into the planet’s last ice age … some 5,000 years ago.”<br >

Spock glanced over at McCoy. He is surprised that I can speak about<br >what happened with such equanimity. Before Kolinahr, I could not have done so …<br >

The Vulcan turned his gaze back to Morrow. “in Sarpeidon’s past, we<br >discovered Zarabeth, a woman who had been wrongly exiled to that harsh time period alone. It would have been fatal for McCoy and me to remain<br >in the ice age, and equally deadly for her to go back through the portal. We had to leave her there.”<br >

”And she was …- Morrow trailed off delicately. -Zar’s mother.”<br >Spock nodded. “I had no idea, of course, that he had been born until we analyzed prehistoric records the Enterprise’s computers had copied from<br >Sarpeidon’s main library. Zar had painted his own likeness on the walls of Zarabeth’s cave. There was,” he steepled his fingers before him, “a<br >pronounced resemblance.”

”I see,” the admiral said. “But how did you get back there to meet him,<br >if that world no longer existed?”

”T’Pau secured permission from the Federation Council for me to employ<br >the Guardian to visit Sarpeidon’s past,” Spock replied. “Zar then returned to the present of 14.5 years ago with me.”<br >

”And Starfleet Command never knew?”<br >

”Admiral Komack did,” Kirk spoke up. “We told him the whole story,<br >after the Romulan mess was over and Zar had gone.”

”Romulans?” Morrow was looking increasingly dazed.<br >

”They tried to take over Gateway. Spock and Zar were most of the reason<br >they failed.”

”Was that when the archeological expedition was massacred?”<br >

”Yes,” Spock said. “I believe the details were mostly supressed under<br >the heightened security prevailing after the incident.”

”And Zar? Where did he go? I gather he was an adult?”<br >

”Zar was about twenty-eight,” Spock said, the memories racing through<br >his mind in a series of flashing mental pictures. “After the battle for Gateway, he elected to return to Sarpeidon’s past. The planet’s history<br >showed that he had, in fact, returned-and he did not want to chance creating a paradox, after all we had gone through to safeguard the<br >integrity of the timestream.”

”I see,” Morrow said, after a long moment’s pause. “And I appreciate<br >your honesty, Mr. Spock. Be assured that I’ll respect your confidence. Back to the problem at hand, you say your son contacted the Guardian<br >telepathically? How many times?”

”Once,” Spock said.<br >

”Twice,” Kirk corrected. The Vulcan turned to him, his eyebrow rising<br >in surprise. “I saw him do it right after he first came through,” Kirk explained. “He … told me that the Guardian was alive, but not in any<br >way that he understood life. He said that it communicated with him.”

”Fascinating,” the Vulcan commented. “You never told me.”<br >

”Frankly, I completely forgot about it until this moment.”<br >

”And you also saw him in contact with it?” Morrow asked, turning to<br >Spock.

The Vulcan hesitated, searching his memory so deeply for the precise<br >sequence of events that for a second he was back there, feeling the chill slash of the wind, hearing its everpresent moan, and seeing Zar,<br >his fur cloak whipping about him, hand touching the unthinkably ancient stone of the Guardian. Seeing him-and knowing, again, the pain of his<br >leaving. I did not want you to go, he silently told that vivid memory-image. I almost went a er you … scarcely a day fit has gone<br >by since, that I have not thought ofyou and wished you well, across the years …<br >

Spock came back into the present with a rush, realizing Morrow was<br >waiting. “The second time was just before he left. He touched the monolith, and it presented him with a view of a valley on Sarpeidon-just<br >that view, and no other-which is in complete contrast to the portal’s customary modus operandi. I believe he communicated mentally, giving<br >the Guardian a silent command-which it obeyed.”

”I see …” Morrow shook his head. “Too bad he can’t help us this<br >time. But there are other telepaths-“

”Admiral Morrow,” the vid-screen brightened into life.<br >

”We’re within hailing distance of Kent.”<br >

”Can we talk to them?”<br >

”We can talk to the group that is controlling the evacuation on the<br >planet’s nightside. The dayside blocks off the EMP.”Get me whoever is coordinating the evacuation.”<br >

Moments later, an older woman’s face filled the screen.<br >

Spock had never seen anyone look more exhausted, yet her eyes, though<br >bloodshot, met Morrow’s steadily, and her speech was clear. “Martha Hardesty, Coordinator for Planetary Civil Defense, Admiral Morrow.”<br >

”How many left to come aboard?”<br >

”Just the remainder of the evacuation team, now. About two hundred and<br >fifty of us.”

”That’ll be tight.” Morrow glanced over at Spock.<br >

”How’s Alpha B holding out?”<br >

The Vulcan shook his head. “I checked status with Lieutenant Washington<br >before we began this briefing, Admiral, and she informed me that the star was already beginning to swell.”<br >

”Damn it … how much time do you think we have?”<br >

”Insufficient data to speculate, sir.”<br >

Morrow opened a channel to the bridge. “Lieutenant Washington, how long<br >do we have to get those people out of here?”

”Admiral,” Washington sounded extremely nervous, “the sooner we’re at<br >least another A.U. from that thing, the happier I’ll be. I can see it growing, Sir.”<br >

”We’ve run out of time,” Morrow told Hardesty. “Send your people up in<br >whatever shuttles you’ve got, and we’ll keep a steady flow through the transporter. Are all civilians gone?”<br >

”No.” Hardesty’s gray features took on even grimmer lines. “There are<br >184 idiots who refused to leave.”

”Damn! Stubborn fools-“<br >

”We couldn’t force them. Some of them were old, said they were ready to<br >go anyway. Some wouldn’t believe us, no matter what we told them. A few-” she fought down a surge of hysterical laughter, “said they wanted<br >to watch, if you can picture that.

”Oh, I can believe it,” Morrow said bitterly. “Never mind, Hardesty.<br >You did what you could. Send your people UP.”

”We’re coming.”<br >

An hour later, Spock stood with Kirk, Martha Hardesty, Dr. McCoy, and<br >Admiral Morrow on the bridge as Cochise pulled out of orbit. When the ship emerged from behind the planet’s bulk, he blinked in dismay.<br >

Alpha B was swelling even as they watched. The star was already twice<br >its normal size. Spock stared at it, riveted by the sense that here was something out of control, something malignant, growing without reason,<br >against nature.

The screens wavered as Alpha B took on new, even larger contours. The<br >star was still orange-yellow, but Spock knew that would not last. Soon it would cool even as it ballooned, wantonly consuming its inner fires.<br >Eventually it would become a red giant, so huge that, four years and four months from now, when its light reached Earth, it would dominate<br >the skies of the southern latitudes, visible even during daylight hours.

Cochise headed out and away at impulse power. “Olson’s gone,” Lisa<br >Washington said calmly, referring to Alpha B’s innermost planet.

The consumption of the little, dead world, similar in size and makeup to<br >Mercury in the Sol System, hadn’t even caused a flicker on their screens. As Cochise backed away from the burgeoning star, slowly,<br >recording the event, Washington stoically reeled off the names of its planets as they died. “Perry is gone …” Then, minutes later,<br >”That was Lang, it’s gone.”

And, finally, “Kent . Her voice broke, and Spock knew she was thinking,<br >even as he was, of the 184 sentient beings and the wildlife seared into nothingness.<br >

Martha Hardesty began sobbing. “My home … I’ll never see it again<br >… my home, my home…”

Kirk patted her shoulder, and the old woman broke down completely. The<br >admiral held her, patting her back gently, whispering comfortingly. Watching Kirk’s face, Spock realized, with a sudden surge of empathy,<br >that the old woman’s words had brought back memories of Winona Kirk’s last days, of her anguished pleas to her son to take her home.<br >

Jim’s mother had forgotten that her home had been destroyed when<br >lightning struck the 350-year-old farmhouse, burning it to the ground. Had it not been for young Peter Kirk, home on vacation from Starfleet<br >Academy, Winona would have perished, but her grandson had carried her, unconscious from the smoke, to safety. The accident had provided a<br >setback she never recovered from, either physically or mentally. She died six months later, of pneumonia.<br >

”Well, guess I’d better go see if I can help out the doctor,” McCoy’s<br >voice broke into Spock’s musings. “Some of those refugees are undoubtedly going to need sedatives. We’re too crowded to afford mass<br >hysteria.”

”The medical staff aboard Cochise, unlike the rest of the crew, is at<br >full strength, Doctor,” Spock told him. “Admiral Morrow anticipated this situation. I believe your time, and Jim’s, would be better spent<br >in rest. We will need to be alert when we reach Starfleet Headquarters.”<br >

McCoy paused, considering. “I hate like hell to saylit, but you’re<br >right, Spock. But only if you rest, too. An don’t want to hear any crap about Vulcans and how long they can postpone sleep. Deal?”<br >

Having won this round, the Vulcan could afford to be gracious. Spock<br >inclined his head. “Very well, Doctor.”

The three officers wound up bunking in a three-bed room with three other<br >officers-and, due to their importance to the mission, they had been given favored status. Little Cochise nearly bulged with people.<br >Refugees cluttered the hallways and filled the small rec deck. There were long lines to use the lavatories. Sobbing became part of the<br >background noise, mingling with the faint vibration of the warp engines.

Spock had decided he would lie down until Kirk and McCoy drifted off,<br >then get up and offer his services to the medical teams, but the events of the past two days had tired him more than he’d realized. Within<br >minutes, he felt himself sinking toward sleep, and, with a sigh, gave in and let it take him.<br >

The Vulcan dreamed he was standing in a featureless void, extending to<br >infinity in all directions-and yet, somehow, he could see infinity, and knew that nowhere was there anything else. No stars, no planets-no<br >dust, no atoms TjME FOR YESTERDAY

… nothing. Nothing, nothing, nothing. He shivered, realizing that<br >this was what they had all feared-the end of the universe.

He had never felt so alone.<br >

There must be something, he thought, glancing carefully around.<br >Something … someone … He twisted, turning completely around. There must be someone …<br >

And there was. For a moment, he thought he was looking into a mirror,<br >then realized he was seeing Zar, though his son was considerably older than when he’d last seen him.<br >

They stared at each other, and Zar spoke, but no sound emerged. Ofcourse<br >not, Spock thought. We are in vacuum.

Sound does not travel through vacuum.<br >

”Zar,” he tried to say. “Son-“<br >

But he could make no sound, either.<br >

We cannot be alive in vacuum without spacesuits, Spock realized, then. I<br >must be dreaming.

And awoke.<br >

Somewhere one of the refugees was shrieking with pain and despair. The<br >engines had changed their barely perceptible vibrations. Impulse drive, the Vulcan thought. We are nearing Earth orbit.<br >

”You could’ve knocked me over with a feather, Jim,” Leonard McCoy said<br >irritably, picking up his drink. He glowered at the collection of ancient weapons hanging on the wall of Kirk’s San Francisco apartment.<br >”I swear, every time I think I’ve got that pointy-eared sonofagun figured out, he does an about-face like the one he pulled yesterday.<br >

It’s pure cussedness on his part.”<br >

”Forgive me for sounding skeptical,” Kirk said mildly, “but don’t you<br >think a desire to help in the face of such a potential threat might be part of what triggered Spock’s revelation?”<br >

McCoy shot him an Et tu, Jim? look, then sighed and shrugged. “Well,<br >you can’t blame me for getting sore. I was in the middle of lying like a rug for him, only to have him yank it out from under me.” He shook his<br >head, a smile touching his blue eyes. “Wish I’d gotten a holo of Morrow’s face. I don’t think he’d have looked any more poleaxed it both<br >the Romulan Praetor and the Klingon Emperor had toe-danced into his conference room wearing pink tutus.”<br >

Kirk couldn’t repress a grin. “He was pretty surprised.”<br >

”I guess he never saw that report you filed with Admiral Kornack.”<br >

”Why should he? The commander, Starfleet, has too many responsibilities<br >to sit around reading old reports.”

Kirk sipped his brandy. “Besides, I’m not sure I ever got around to<br >stating Zar’s exact relationship to Spock. I may have left it a little … vague.”<br >

”I see.”<br >

”Don’t give me that ‘holier than thou’ look, Bones. You were the one<br >who never mentioned the fact that our estimable Vulcan and Zarabeth discovered the pleasure of each other’s company back in ice-age<br >Sarpeidon. From your report, nobody could have guessed they ever got past the handshake stage.”<br >

McCoy’s glance was sardonic. “Reports are supposed to be composed<br >offacts, Admiral. All I had until we found out about Zar’s existence were speculations.” He took a quick, nervous sip of his drink. “After<br >all, it’s not as though I was there when … I mean he trailed off, staring fixedly down at his bourbon.<br >

Kirk took pity on his friend and rescued him by changing the subject.<br >”This whole business with the Guardian has me stumped,” he said. “After untold millennia of operation -if we take what it has told us as<br >truth-what could be wrong?.”

”A loose connection?” McCoy hazarded, grinning.<br >

Kirk got up and went into the kitchen. “You’ve got a warped sense of<br >humor, Bones. Have I ever told you that?”

”Constantly, for the past nineteen years or so.”<br >

”We might as well eat.” The admiral began scanning menus on his kitchen<br >terminal. “What would you like?”

”Fried chicken and mashed potatoes.”<br >

Kirk’s fingers skipped over the keyboard. “Coming UP.”<br >

The doctor hooked a leg over the stool at the breakfast bar and sat<br >down, watching as Kirk tossed salad with quick, expert motions. The food preparation unit beeped, and the admiral withdrew two steaming<br >plates. “Here you go, Bones.”

”Thanks. At least the condemned will have time for a few hearty last<br >meals.” McCoy scooped up a forkful of mashed potato.

”The whole notion is so … incomprehensible.” Kirk picked at his<br >own greens. “I mean, for all the years I’ve been in Starfleet, I’ve traveled maybe … I don’t know … one tenth of a percent of space as<br >far as we’ve been able to see or measure it? One one-hundredth of a percent? One millionth? What’s one millionth of infinity, Bones? If I<br >can’t imagine it, then how the hell is the end of it going to seem real to me, either?”<br >

”Yeah, I know what you mean. I’ve always been more comfortable poking<br >around in inner space-inside the human body, that is-than I ever felt thinking about out there. ” McCoy sighed. “But after watching Alpha B,<br >I find that I can now imagine Sol swelling up and steaming off San Francisco Bay out there-not to mention the rest of the oceans.”<br >

”I dreamed about just that last night,” Kirk admitted.<br >

”If only we had more time!” McCoy stabbed savagely at a slice of tomato.<br >

Ninety days, the little mantra repeated itself in Kirk’s mind, as it had<br >been doing ever since yesterday. Ninety days. If we can’t change what’s happening, at least that’s enough time to get out to that<br >research station to see Carol and David … maybe I ought to tell David, this time …<br >

Spock’s reference to Zar had made the admiral think even more about his<br >own son, David Marcus. At least the Vulcan had met his adult son, had gotten to know him, even if only for a few weeks. In the face of this<br >new threat, the admiral felt his own mortality weighing on him again, more strongly than ever before.<br >

I always thought there’d be time … years, decades …<br >

but now … ninety days … Kirk shook his head, frowning.<br >

That’s it, he decided. No matter how this turns out, I’m going to<br >arrange a meeting. I’m going to tell him … no matter what Carol and I agreed long ago, it’s past time.<br >

Maybe we can spend some time together, get to know each other …<br >

The communications system flashed, interrupting his thoughts. “Admiral<br >Kirk here. Go ahead.”

The screen filled with Morrow’s dark, handsome features.<br >

”We’ve found one, Jim,” the admiral said, without preamble.<br >

”One what?”<br >

”A telepath. She’s got one of the highest sensitivity ratings<br >around-not surprising, considering that she’s a Marishal. Spock helped me interview candidates.”<br >

”Where is Spock?”<br >

”On his way over to your place now. Can you leave tomorrow?”<br >

Kirk reached over and began programming a vegetarian meal. “You mean<br >for Gateway?”

Morrow nodded. “I want you to take charge of getting that telepath out<br >there as quickly as possible. Can you leave tomorrow?”

”Of course,” Kirk said, then smiled. “Harry … ?” he began.<br >

”What, Jim?”<br >

”Do I get the Enterprise?”<br >

Morrow shook his head bemusedly. “I should have known. Can she be<br >readied in time?”

”She can. Scotty’s never failed me yet.”<br >

Morrow sighed. “You want Chief Engineer Scott, too?”<br >

”Along with Commander Uhura and Commander Sulu -has he gotten that<br >promotion to captain yet?”

”It’s in the works.”<br >

”Tell him I need him. He’ll come.” Kirk turned to McCoy. “And …<br >let’s see, where’s Dr. Chapel?”

”Researching Hephaestus fever on Vulcan.”<br >

”Too far. And Reliant’s been assigned to a long-term mission, so<br >Chekov’s out. But at least Scotty, Uhura, and Sulu, Harry. And anyone they request for their departments.”<br >

”Yanking that many key people off their jobs is going to disrupt half of<br >Starfleet!” the admiral protested.

Kirk smiled serenely.<br >

Morrow scowled. “But you’ve got me over a barrel, and you know it.<br >Okay, you’ve got them.” He smiled with grim amusement. “Will there be anything else, 0 Hero of Starfleet?”<br >

”That ought to do it,” Kirk said, blandly.<br >

”And you’ll leave tomorrow?”<br >

”You bet.”<br >

”All fight, I’ll have my aide contact your crew immediately,” Morrow<br >said.

”Tell them to meet me aboard ship. Bones, Spock and I will beam up as<br >soon as he gets here.”

”Right.” Morrow broke the connection.<br >

McCoy surveyed his former captain in amazement as Kirk calmly resumed<br >his interrupted dinner. “Harry Morrow wasn’t kidding when he said half of Starfleet is going to be in turmoil because of this! Not to mention<br >the academy having to find other berths for all those cadets. I’m surprised Morrow didn’t tell you to go to hell, Jim.”<br >

”Nope,” Kirk said, complacently, around a last mouthful of eggplant<br >parmesan. “He needs us. This mission is too important to settle for less than the best.”<br >

The door signal chimed. “That’s Spock,” Kirk said, triggering the<br >unlocking mechanism and wiping his mouth. “I’m going to get into uniform. Tell him his dinner’s ready.”<br >

Kirk’s bedroom door closed even as the Vulcan walked in.<br >

”Hello, Spock. Here’s your dinner,” McCoy told the Vulcan, taking the<br >plate out of the unit. “Jim’s getting dressed.

We’re beaming up to the ship right away, so don’t dawdle.”<br >

Spock sat down and picked up his fork. “The Enterprise, I presume?”<br >

McCoy grinned. “How’d you guess?”<br >

”Vulcans never guess. Knowing the admiral, it was the only logical<br >response.”

Enterprise! Just to be back aboard his ship lifted James Kirk’s<br >spirits. He stood in the turboelevator and could barely restrain himself from touching her. You’re arting like an ensign with hisfirst<br >assignment, he chided himself.

But why not? He was alone; there was no one to see. Kirk put out a<br >hand and patted the olive-gold padding inset into the walls. “It’s good to be back,” he whispered. “I’ve missed YOU.”<br >

He grinned, feeling foolish, but not caring. The turboelevator<br >decelerated, then stopped.

”Bridge,” the destination readout flashed.<br >

Ever since the Enterprise had been refitted prior to their encounter<br >with Vejur, Kirk had felt a bit disconcerted by the redesign of the bridge. He missed the red doors, his feet didn’t auto matically know the<br >number of strides it would take to reach the command seat … some of the consoles were in the wrong places. Little things, but it always<br >took him a few minutes to adjust.

Most of the crew was now aboard; Commander Nyota Uhura swung to face him<br >as he entered, a warm smile brightening her dark, tired features-he knew she’d been working without relief so she could personally double-check<br >all of communications, and he silently blessed her for it.

Spock was there, too, bent over the science station beside<br >Lieutenant-Commander Naraht, the Horta science officer.

”Sulu?” Kirk asked, looking around.<br >

”He and his staff just beamed aboard,” Spock responded.<br >

Kirk sank into the command seat, then signaled the engineering deck.<br >”This is Admiral Kirk. Mr. Scott, are you there?”

”Aye, Sir,” came the familiar Scot’s burr.<br >

”Estimated time till departure?”<br >

”I’ve just completed nd’systems checks, Sir. We’ll be ready whenever<br >you give the word.”

”I knew I could count on you, Scotty. We’ll be heading out as soon as<br >our passenger is beamed aboard.”

”Verra good, Admiral.”<br >

”Admiral,” Uhura said, “transporter chief reports the Marishal is safely<br >aboard, Sir, and that Dr. McCoy will escort her to her assigned quarters.”<br >

Behind Kirk the bridge doors opened, and a moment later Commander Hikaru<br >Sulu walked by, pausing with a brief salute and smile for his commanding officer. At Kirk’s signal, he slipped into the helmsman’s seat that a<br >junior officer hastily vacated.

”We have clearance, Admiral,” he said, as a light on his console flashed<br >green.

”Stand by to depart spacedock, Mr. Sulu,” Kirk said.<br >

”Uhura, signal Admiral Morrow, please.”<br >

”Go ahead, Sir.”<br >

”Harry, we’re on our way. Good luck keeping things together here.”<br >

Morrow’s voice was warm. “Good luck to you and your crew, Jim. We’ll<br >be keeping our fingers crossed for you.”

”A few prayers might not hurt, either,” Kirk muttered under his breath<br >as Uhura terminated the transmission.

Slowly, cautiously, the Enterprise drifted through the cavernous maw of<br >the Starfleet spacedock. The doors slid back, then they were free, in temporary orbit. “Beneath” them Earth turned, the Pacific uppermost,<br >clouds gleaming white over azure water. The brownish-green landmass of North America was still visible on the far right.<br >

”Lieutenant s’Bysh,” Kirk said, to the green-skinned navigator, “compute<br >our course and best speed to Sector

”Aye, Sir.”<br >

Kirk sat gazing around the bridge, mentally rehearsing the “all crew”<br >speech he would give as soon as they were underway. He’d barely gotten past “vital,” when the Orion woman turned around from her navigation<br >console.

”Course computed and laid in, Sir.”<br >

”Mr. Sulu, prepare to implement course.”<br >

”Aye, Sir.” Sulu’s long fingers danced over his helm console surely,<br >without a moment’s hesitation.

The admiral’s mouth quirked as he watched the helmsman. “I’m grateful<br >that you consented to join us, Mr. Sulu.

I’d have given a lot for your skills a couple of days ago, when I found<br >myself trying to handle a tricky piloting job.”

The helmsman looked deliberately inscrutable, but the dark almond eyes<br >twinkled. “May I respectfully inquire whether the admiral’s ship successfully reached its intended destination?”<br >

Kirk chuckled.. “Eventually, Hikaru. After a few wrong turns. Are we<br >ready?”

”Course laid in, sir.”<br >

”Then take us out, Commander. Impulse power.”<br >

”Aye, sir!” Sulu’s voice betrayed excitement, and Kirk knew just how he<br >felt.

The helmsman increased speed to full impulse power, and suddenly the<br >stars blurred ahead of them and Sol was gone. Within minutes they were nearing the gas giants.<br >

Still watching Saturn as it receded into the blackness, Kirk pressed the<br >button for the all-ship intercom. “This is-” the captain, he almost said, but corrected himself in time, “Admiral Kirk, commanding. First,<br >let me congratulate all crew members on the speed and dispatch they’ve shown in readying the Enterprise for a deep-space mission. I am unable<br >to reveal the details of our assignment, but it is vital to the safety of the Federation. I know you will continue to give one hundred percent<br >of yourselves.” He paused for a second, realizing there was nothing more to say except ‘thank you.”<br >

”Thank you. Kirk out.”<br >

He leaned back in his seat, gazing at the viewscreen.<br >

Ahead of them lay nothing but innumerable stars, blazing with all<br >colors, all hues. So beautiful, he thought. I’ve come home again.

He found himself wondering-for the hundredth time -why he’d ever<br >accepted the promotion that had turned him into a desk-bound, planet-bound administrator. Part of it had been that he knew Starfleet<br >needed competent people for high command slots; at the time it had seemed like his duty. But more and more often, he wondered whether his<br >duty really lay in doing what he now knew he did best -commanding a starship. Exploring. Solving problems.<br >

Averting threats.<br >

Ifonly we can handle this one, he thought, feeling the fear stir again.<br >For all her speed, Enterprise could not transport him fast enough. Ninety days …<br >

If only, he found himself thinking, he could figure out some way to stay<br >aboard his ship, even after the mission to Gateway was finished-one way or the other. If the universe were going to run down, James Kirk knew<br >where he wanted to spend his last months or years-in space. Was there a way to gain that freedom? Could he manage to talk Morrow into returning<br >him to space duty?

I could always do something to make them demote me, he thought. Disobey<br >orders, or go AWOL. He grinned sourly.

Sure, that’ll be the day.<br >

”Admiral, we’re nearing the orbit of Pluto,” Sulu said.<br >

Kirk opened the channel to Engineering. “Scotty, arc we clear for warp<br >drive?”

”Any time, Admiral.”<br >

”Thank you, Mr. Scott. Ahead warp factor seven, Mr. Sulu.”<br >

Enterprise quivered for a split second, then flung herself into<br >infinity. Kirk felt the change immediately, throughout his body, as he watched the stars blur, sliding past, leaving their afterimages to<br >shimmer, rainbow-colored, in his eyes.

He stood up. “Mr. Sulu, you have the con. I’ll be in the VIP cabin.<br >Mr. Spock, let’s go welcome our guest.”

Kirk walked into the rightmost turboelevator, remembering the days when<br >there had been only one exit from the bridge. They’d all had occasion to regret that fact more than once-the new design was infinitely better.<br >

But he still missed the red doors.<br >

Spock joined him in seconds and Kirk keyed their destination into the<br >turbolift. The doors closed. “Ten days to reach Gateway,” the Vulcan said.<br >

Kirk nodded. “And no doubt Scotty’s going to be pulling his hair out by<br >the time we reach there. Sustained highspeed cruising puts a strain on his beloved ‘baims.”<br >

His former First Officer’s mouth curved infinitesimally.<br >

”I well remember.”<br >

”So do L” Kirk admitted, diffidently. “I miss it, Spock.<br >

Do you?”<br >

The Vulcan’s gaze was level. “At times, Jim. But I also value my<br >current assignment; teaching the young carries its own rewards.”

”I agree. I wish I could spend more time doing just that.”<br >

Kirk frowned, ruefully. “Harry keeps promising me that soon I’ll be<br >able to teach at least half-time, but every time I make plans to do just that, there’s another brushfire to put out.” He sighed. “Well, I’ve<br >almost cleared away my current projects. After that, I swear, if anyone waves another memo to initial at me, I’m going to run off and join the<br >space marines.”

The Vulcan’s eyebrow rose, but he only said, “You know how much we value<br >your experience, Jim. Your record as a starship commander has never been equalled-much less excelled. The cadets learn a great deal from<br >you.”

Kirk smiled. “And when I’m teaching, we get to see each other more<br >often.”

The turbolift slowed and stopped, and the two officers stepped out.<br >”Before we meet our guest, refresh my mind on the Marishal, Spock. I’ve seen references to Marish, but I know very little about its people.”<br >

”The Manishal,” the Vulcan said, “are a race of nontechnological bipeds<br >from a planet located near the Procyon sector. They are gentle, prolific herbivores, completely nonaggressive. Their discovery by the<br >Federation nearly two decades ago came as a fortunate occurrence in their history; they had seriously overpopulated their world, to the<br >point where only strict reproductive control would save them from starvation. Vulcan teams were brought in to teach them biofeedback<br >techniques of population limitation.”

”Have you ever met one?”<br >

”No, they seldom travel off-world. I will be interested to discover why<br >this D’berahan chose to do so.”

”What else do you know about them?”<br >

”They are a nocturnal people, and possess no ears or other auditory<br >organs. Instead, they appear to have developed telepathy as a survival characteristic against the many predators on their world. Current<br >research indicates they developed the telepathy first, then, later, sentience, which is unusual. Most known telepathic species developed<br >sentience first.”

”And they’re powerful telepaths,” Kirk said.<br >

”Very. So powerful that they never developed any form of spoken or<br >written language. Physically, they are small and furred. The Marishal have three sexes females, that produce ova, males, that produce sperm,<br >and carriers-who receive fertilized ova, nurture them until birthing, then suckle them for the first months of their lives. From that point<br >on, the young become part of the herd, and the responsibility of all. Marishal mature very fast, and their lifespans are comparatively<br >short-fifteen years from birth to death.”

”That is short,” Kirk said. “This D’berahan … is it male, female or<br >a carrier?”

”Unknown, Jim. All Marishal sexual orga ns are concealed in a pouch near<br >the being’s abdomen. Since all the Federation’s contacts have been with Marishal who identified themselves as female-once they understood the<br >concept of a mere two sexes, which reportedly amused them-I would hypothesize that perhaps D’berahan is female. Admiral Morrow did say<br >’she,” did he not?”

”Yes, you’re right. Okay, then, ‘she’ it is.”<br >

Kirk stopped before the VIP suite and raised a finger to press the<br >intercom, but he never completed the action.

Instead, a “voice” filled his mind.<br >

[Enter, welcome you both.]<br >

Kirk had no trouble understanding the nonverbal concepts filling his<br >mind with a soft, somehow furry warmth.

The portal slid aside, and Kirk walked in, blinking. The cabin<br >illumination had been darkened to considerably less than normal ship’s lighting. Doctor McCoy was seated on the couch, and a creature crouched<br >near him. As the two officers entered, the being-she, Kirk reminded himself -scrambled down and drew herself up to her full height.<br >

The top of her head came to just above Kirk’s belt.<br >

The Marishal vaguely resembled a wallaby, in that she balanced herself<br >on a stubby tail and two powerful hind legs, and had two arms extending from almost nonexistent shoulders. She wore no clothing; her fur was<br >short and plushy, a mottled brown and green, shading to palest amber on the belly and whiskered face. Her head was narrow, with a domed<br >forehead rising above a blunt muzzle. A topknot of brownish fluff began just above her huge, wide-pupiled amber eyes.<br >

”Ma’am.” McCoy’s Georgia drawl was in full force, as was his “old-time<br >Southern gentleman” charm. “May I present James T. Kirk and Mr. Spock. This is D’berahan, from Marish.”<br >

”How do you do,” Kirk said, bowing slightly, and on his right, Spock<br >gave the Vulcan salute and murmured his greeting in his native tongue. Of course, Kirk realized.<br >

Languages are almost extraneous when communicating with a being<br >possessing this level of telepathy.

He tried clumsily to phrase his greeting mentally, without verbalizing,<br >but the furry warmth was in his mind again.

[Vocalize, Admiral, please, for your comfort. This one]-an image of the<br >Marishal sprang into his mind, vibrant and individual-[comprehends your good wishes delivered in your normal manner. Comfort is best between<br >those who must strive together for the good of the All.]

Kirk nodded, noting that Spock was doing the same.<br >

What message did she send him? he wondered. The same?A different one?<br >

The Marishal waved a graceful, fully opposing “hand” -the digits moved<br >so fast Kirk hadn’t yet counted them -toward the seats. [Rest/comfort yourselves. Tell this one more of our shared peril.]<br >

Kirk looked over at Spock. “As our science expert, I’ll turn this one<br >over to you.”

The Vulcan nodded, then, after a moment of staring into the Marishal’s<br >enormous eyes, put out a hand to lightly touch her forehead. Several seconds later, he broke contact, and Uberahan turned back to Kirk.<br >

[This one fully comprehends, gratitude to]-Spock’s saturnine features<br >flashed across Kirk’s mind-[Be assured, this one will utmostly strive to contact]-the Guardian of Forever’s bagel-shape flickered-[so that<br >harmony/ continuity of the blessed All may be preserved to its natural conclusion. But, truth to tell, this one’s extremities tremble with<br >flight-urge whenever the thought occurs that failure may prove disaster of such completeness.]<br >

”That you try ‘utmostly’ is all anyone can ask,” Kirk said, liking the<br >being for her honesty. “And I’ve been having some of those ’flight-urge’ feelings, too.”<br >

”As have we all,” Spock agreed, gravely.<br >

Spock had little free time during the voyage to Sector 90.4, and<br >ordinarily would have spent it in solitary meditation in his quarters, but instead, he chose to spend it visiting D’berahan. He liked the<br >Marishal; she was a gentle, sensitive creature with a quiet sense of humor. Her religious belief in the “All” reminded him of the Vulcan<br >philosophy of NOME. Best of all, she did not demand emotion from him the way Humans often did; he knew she accepted him for the way he was.<br >

Uberahan benefited even more than Spock from their friendship. The<br >Vulcan was the only officer aboard who was telepathic; only with him could she freely discuss her mission.<br >

And telepathic contact, Spock realized almost immediately, was essential<br >to the alien’s mental well-being. She explained that the Marishal were very social beings, with every waking hour (and much of their dream<br >time) given to telepathic interaction. Mental solitude, to D’berahan, was nearly as painful as the presence of a shipful of nontelepaths, most<br >of whom were unable to “shield” their thoughts.

He also learned her personal history. Uberahan was eight years old,<br >and, compared to the rest of her rather insular species, she had an adventurous, unconventional turn of mind-which explained her presence on<br >Earth. She had been attending college, studying literature, drama, and art.<br >

Despite her people’s lack of a written language, D’berahan wanted to<br >record some of their mentally told legends and images so nontelepaths could read, see, and appreciate her people’s art and myth.<br >

[This one has learned to distill words from thoughts], she told him,<br >[and the method of inscribing such words by keying them into your electronic think-machines]-an image of a computer terminal flashed into<br >the Vulcan’s mind. [This one will use words and visuals to render an approximation oQ-she hesitated, searching for a concept-[our<br >”mind-plays,”

”mind-dances,” and mindpaintings.”]<br >

I am pleased to know that, Spock responded. The ones you have shown me<br >are indeed beautiful and worthy ofpreservation.

[If only this one may prove worthy of her ambition. This one has but<br >little talent for the arts in the eyes of her people], D’berahan admitted.<br >

I do not agree with their perception, Spock reassured her.<br >

Perhaps you, like many artistic pioneers, will need time to make you<br >honored on your own world, but your work will certainly be lauded in the Federation, if what I ha representative. ve seen is<br >

[You are kind to tell me thus)-her mental projection carried extra<br >warmth, the telepathic equivalent of a smile -[This one hopes she may prove worthy of your confidence.]<br >

During their visits, the Vulcan discovered that D’berahan was actually a<br >carrier, not a female. But you refer to yourself as “she, ” he told her. Please, teach me the correct term in yourlanguage.<br >

[The thoughtconcept/word you have grasped is correct) came the amused reply. [Among my people, we have but one way of expressing all gender<br >… as “life-giver.” Your universal translators rendered this as “she,” and so we are all known … males, females, and carriers. Are we not<br >all givers-of-life?]

Indeed, Spock responded. I had not thought of it in that way before.<br >

[And you, my friend? Are you not a life-giver?]<br >

Spock had a sudden memory of Zar, as he had glimpsed him in his dream,<br >and knew the Marishal shared the image.

Yes, I am, he answered. Though I have not seen my son for years. We<br >are separated by-death, he started to say, then, for some reason he did not analyze, said instead-time as well as space.<br >

[Nevertheless], the Marishal told him, [in the immensity of the All, you<br >are forever his father.]

I find that thought, Spock told her, seriously, to be a singularly<br >comforting one. You are wise, Dberahan.

[But I am not logical, as you have told me many times already] her<br >thought was gently teasing. [Can there then be wisdom beyond logic?)

There have been times I have found that to be true, the Vulcan admitted.<br >But do not tell Doctor McCoy I said so, please. I would never hear the end of it.<br >

”Entering Sector 90.4, Admiral,” Sulu announced.<br >

Here we go, Kirk thought. He took a deep breath; he’d made his peace<br >with the cosmos last night, sharing a Saurian brandy with Spock and McCoy in his quarters. They’d talked a little, but mostly they’d just<br >sat, companions for so long that words were no longer necessary at such a moment.<br >

Kirk saw that the Vulcan was watching him, waiting for his signal.<br >”Prepare for full sensor monitoring, Mr. Spock.”

”Ready, Admiral,” Spock said, and turned to his board.<br >

Commander Uhura sat on his right, and a Ryjhahx lieutenant on his left;<br >their task was to monitor the newly installed auxiliary sensors that would give the Enterprise additional wtsws range.<br >

”Decrease to sublight, helm.”<br >

The star-rainbows blurred, ran, then darkened into the inky blackness of<br >normal space-time. Everyone aboard felt the translation into sublight velocity, as their bodies gave a brief, nonphysical twitch.<br >

Sector 90.4 lay around them, dark with the remains of burned-out and<br >exploded suns. The star residue glowed faintly once they were inside it; it was only when viewed from outside the system that it appeared as<br >a dark blot against the normal luminous stars.

”Time wave!” 6hura called. “Bearing four-three-six mark two-eight!”<br >

”Evasive, Mr. Sulu!”<br >

Enterprise heeled over so fast that her internal gravity systems lagged<br >half a second behind-everything lurched for a moment, then steadied. Kirk slapped his restraint system button, and felt the field grip his<br >torso, while the clamps settled over his thighs. Guess we made it, he thought dazedly, a moment later. Since we’re still here.<br >

”Mr. Spock, can you give us a schematic showing the waves, so s’Bysh<br >and Mr. Sulu can plot a course in?”

”Difficult, Admiral.” Spock sounded abstracted, and even his calm tones<br >held an edge of tension. “They spread out after they are emitted … in some places they even overlap.”<br >

Great, just great. “Well, do your best. We need guidance, we can’t<br >just go on leapfrogging over them-we’ll plunge into another one.”

Spock was programming so fast he didn’t even respond.<br >

Kirk waited until he paused after transferring the requested data to the<br >navigation and helm consoles. “Well? Can we get in?”

”Yes, though doing so will require pinpoint navigational and helm<br >accuracy.”

”Lieutenant s’Bysh? Mr. Sulu?”<br >

The Asian’s tone was abstracted. “Still working, Admiral.”<br >

Kirk leaned over and saw the glowing schematic on the navigational<br >console, showing the time disturbances in violet. They coiled around the small red sphere that was Gateway like a nest of cobras, and the<br >many places where they overlapped gleamed yellow. Kirk wet his lips. ”s’Bysh, Sulu, if you can get us through that labyrinth, I’ll he trailed<br >off, unable to think of a reward or incentive wonderful enough. “I’ll be very glad,” he finished anticlimactically.<br >

”I’m trying, Admiral,” s’Bysh murmured, in her soft, throaty voice. Sulu<br >gave his commanding officer a quick nod that said he understood, without ever looking up from his board. Tense moments crawled by as they<br >drifted, monitoring the time waves, waiting.

Finally the helmsman turned back. “Course plotted and laid in, sir.”<br >

”Very good, Mr. Sulu, s’Bysh. Stand by to implement.”<br >

Kirk keyed his intercom. “Mr. Scott, prepare for a rough ride.”<br >

”Aye, Admiral. Wengines won’t let you down.”<br >

”Take us through, Mr. Sulu.”<br >

Enterprise gained speed slowly, until they were traveling at half<br >impulse power. The heavy cruiser swung back and forth, up and down, as it followed the wildly looping course through a menace they couldn’t<br >even see. Kirk forgot to breathe as Sulu’s fingers made minute course corrections and changes.<br >

”Time wave dead ahead, seven-six-nine mark oh-four!”<br >

the Ryjhahx’s voder shrilled.<br >

Sulu’s hands were there, and the Enterprise’s brilliant green blob on<br >the schematic sailed over the undulating violet coil that was the computer’s representation of the time wave.<br >

The admiral let out his breath after ten more seconds had gone by, and<br >they were still there, growing ever closer to the little red sphere. He just sat there, feeling helpless, wishing there was something he could<br >do as the minutes dragged by.

And then, when his uniform felt clammy with sweat and his heart was<br >tired of jumping with fear, just when he thought he couldn’t stand it a moment longer, the red sphere wasn’t little anymore-and there was a<br >small planet in their viewscreen.

”We made it,” Sulu mumbled, wonderingly. “Hey, we made it!”<br >

”We did,” Kirk said. “Congratulations on a difficult job well done,<br >everyone. That was one hell of a course you plotted, Lieutenant.”

s’Bysh gave him a grateful smile as she pushed sweatdamp black curls off<br >her forehead. “Thank you, Admiral.”

Kirk turned to his helmsman. “Sulu, words are inadequate. I’m<br >convinced nobody else in this entire galaxy could have accomplished what I’ve just seen you do today.”<br >

Sulu tried, without much success, to look suitably modest.<br >

Kirk turned to the Vulcan. “Mr. Spock, are we safe here?”<br >

”As long as we hug the side of the planet opposite to our destination,<br >we can remain beneath the trajectory of the waves, Admiral. Unless, of course,” the Vulcan’s voice was very level, “that trajectory changes.”<br >

”Will we be able to get within range of our target?”<br >

”We should be able to take the shuttlecraft down in safety. On the<br >surface, I will be able to continue monitoring using my tricorder tied into the ship’s computers.”<br >

”Commander Uhura, can you raise the archeological expedition? Any<br >response from the El Nath?”

She tried for several minutes, then shook her head. “No response on any<br >frequency, sir.”

”Spock, what do your sensors indicate?”<br >

”No life forms at all, Admiral.”<br >

Kirk sighed. “I guess that comes as no surpfise. Two starships, now .<br >. .” He gave himself a mental shake and keyed the intercom. “Mr. Scott, you have the con. If you don’t hear from us in an hour, assume<br >the worst, and get the Enterprise out of here. Understood?”

”Aye, Admiral,” Scotty said, resignedly. “Good luck.”<br >

Chapter Four<br >

SPOCK PILOTED THE SHUTTLECRAFT through Gateway’s erratic winds, rolling<br >and pitching, cruising only a hundred meters above the jumbled, grayish-white ruins that covered the entire surface of the ancient<br >little world.

Nobody spoke aboard the craft, though the Vulcan was conscious of a<br >subliminal mental “hum” from D’berahan -the telepathic equivalent of nervous pacing, perhaps.<br >

Finally, after a last buffeting by the constant wind, Spock swooped them<br >toward a relatively level space, setting them down onto what might have once been a courtyard, or street. He powered down the shuttlecraft<br >automatically, hardly daring to take his eyes off his sensors.

They were only 137 meters from the Guardian, and, though his instruments<br >told the Vulcan this particular spot was not in the line-of-sight of the time waves, they would be directly in their path as they approached on<br >foot. If a time wave erupted, there would be no time to escape …

Spock frowned as he adjusted his tricorder. There would be no time,<br >period.

”We must hurry,” he told the others as they climbed out of the craft.<br >The Vulcan glanced over at the alien, who moved with her customary half-hop, half-shuffle.<br >

”D’berahan, if you would permit … T’ He made a mental picture for the<br >Marishal.

[Certainly. This one’s feet are unused to heaped stone for footing.]<br >

Bending down, Spock picked up the little alien, cradling her as he would<br >a child, and began picking his way across the buckled stone. The Vulcan glanced over at the site where the archeologists’ camp had stood, but<br >saw no sign of it.

Logically, it crumbled to nothingness when the first time wave hit, he<br >thought, remembering the informal concert he had attended there long ago with a twinge of sadness. I wonder why Gateway itself is seemingly<br >immune to the time waves. There must be something unique about this world and these ruins. If we succeed, I must ask the Guardian …<br >

Kirk and McCoy followed them, all three men scrambling a little as the<br >broken rock underfoot shifted with their weight. As they drew closer to the massive stone monolith that was the Guardian, the ruins became more<br >intact. The three officers were forced to detour around crumbling walls, duck beneath half-fallen columns. The sky overhead remained<br >black and star-filled, unchanged for millennia, and the same wind moaned among the stones, forlorn.<br >

. Spock felt something move against his chest, and glanced down to see<br >a bulge ripple beneath the Marishal’s abdominal fur. Even as he looked, another small bulge heaved and subsided. Dberahan! Spock thought, his<br >mental voice the equivalent of a groan. You are carrying?

[Of course. I am a carrier, after all. Do not be concerned, SpockJ the<br >Marishal’s mental “voice” was tranquil. [Think, my friend. This threat we face is too great to let individual concerns affect our actions.]<br >

You should have told us, he protested.<br >

[Why? Doctor McCoy has some very odd ideas about life-giving …<br >almost, he regards it as an illness. He would have forbidden this one to try what she must. And when this one is carrying, she is at the<br >height of her thoughtsensitivity. It is always so, for protection of the unborn. So this one could have no better chance at success.]<br >But[Besides, it is too late to turn back.)

Spock was reluctantly forced to concede the logic of her statements. He<br >stumbled on, his jaw set, his eyes grim.

They reached the Guardian, and Spock put the Marishal down. She stood<br >next to it, looking doubly small and fragile against its enormous stone bulk. [Does it have a name that I may call?]<br >

”It calls itself the Guardian of Forever,” McCoy answered.<br >

She motioned them all to step back. [Very well. Please do not<br >interrupt this one’s concentration.]

The Marishal’s presence was abruptly gone from Spock’s mind as she<br >turned to face the monolith, closing her eyes.

He glanced over at Kirk and McCoy and could see the anxiety in their<br >expressions. He tried, without much success, to regain his customary inner calm.<br >

Gradually, Spock became conscious of a strong telepathic calling. It<br >was not aimed at him, so he caught only the fringes, and, glancing at Kirk and McCoy, the Vulcan realized they felt nothing. But the sheer<br >surnmoningforce behind it left him awed. Uberahan’s mental cry went on, and on …<br >

He sensed that she was concentrating her entire being on picking up the<br >mental emanations from the Guardian, trying to track them, to follow them through a vast, trackless void … and she was succeeding! He<br >glimpsed her triumph as she touched -then D’berahan stiffened and gave a small shrill cry (the first audible sound he had heard her make). Her<br >huge eyes opened, wide and blind, and Spock leaped toward her, seeing, sensing, agony-both physical and mental. “Doctor!” he cried.<br >

McCoy was already moving.<br >

Uberahan crumpled where she stood. Spock and McCoy barely reached her<br >in time to keep her head from striking the rocky ground as she fell.

”What happened?” Kirk crouched over Spock and McCoy as they eased the<br >Marishal to the ground.

McCoy ran his medical scanner over the small form.<br >

”Cardiac arrhythmia! Damn!” He began scrabbling through his belt<br >medikit.

Spock clamped his fingers against the fluffy topknot on the alien’s<br >skull. Dberahan?

Her consciousness was only a fading spark in a rush of darkness, like<br >the light of a single candle trying to stand against a hurricane. Spock lost contact with his surroundings, his own body, as he sent his mind<br >racing after hers. It was like being in space, out of control, speeding through darkness shot through with images that were totally alien -for a<br >moment Spock remembered his journey through Vej u r.

But Vejur had been a m achine, Sterile, devoid of all passion except a<br >programmed compulsion to ingest data.

D’berahan was a person, lively, whimsical, humorous-to realize that she<br >was dying filled the Vulcan with grief, and an iron determination to save her. He launched himself after her with every bit of will he<br >possessed.

Even though his consciousness no longer responded to external stimuli,<br >his ears automatically picked up and recorded the sounds of concerned voices “Can I help, Bones?”<br >

”Hold her arms. She keeps trying to curl up. I’ve got to get some<br >cordrazine into her.”

”Won’t that hurt her? She’s an alien.”<br >

”Dying’s gonna hurt her a lot worse. There.” The hiss of the hypo<br >followed. “I’ve been studying Marishal physiology ever since I knew there’d be one aboard, Jim. Give me a little credit!”<br >

”Sorry, Bones.”<br >

Spock was gaining on the tiny spark. He increased his speed, ignoring<br >the alien images assaulting his mind.

Flashes of Marishal faces, of a world he’d never seen. A total absence<br >of sound. Telepathic “voices” in such profusion that they jumbled into a single mental scream.<br >

”She’s stabilizing a little, Jim.”<br >

”Spock’s trying a mindmeld.”<br >

”We’ll have to monitor him, too. If she goes, she could drag him with<br >her.”

”Should we try to separate them, Bones?”<br >

”I don’t know, Jim. He might be able to save her.”<br >

Spock caught the flickering life-spark and thrust his consciousness into<br >it. There was no time for finesse.

Dberahan! This is Spock. Use my strength to regain yourself Link with<br >me!

There was no response.<br >

Only then did Spock become aware of the reason for the alien’s collapse<br >and imminent demise. If he’d thought D’berahan’s mind alien, it was as nothing to the mental chaos surrounding him now. The Vulcan was jolted<br >as though he had been struck by a massive electrical shock.

The Guardian. The force of the time-entity’s consciousness enveloped<br >him-vast, ancient, powerful. Allencompassing.

He was linked with an awareness that made all of Vejur’s knowledge and<br >logic seem infantile. And yet that awareness, while it was fundamentally artificial in nature, was not passionless. The Guardian<br >loved, it hungered, it was lonely -all on a level that made Spock feel that, by comparison’, he had always been the happiest of beings.<br >

Wordsconcepts took shape in his mind

SUMMONING … SEARCHING … LONGING. FULFILL PRIMARY PROGRAMMING. BUT<br >WHERE? SO MANY UNIVERSES … INFINITY.

INFINITE LOOP? SURELY NOT… BUT … THE LONELINESS. THE SUMMONING.<br >THE SEARCHING…

The intensity of that communication nearly blasted Spock’s mind into<br >gibbering withdrawal-now he understood why D’berahan had collapsed. The little alien had absorbed the full force of that questing, anguished<br >superconsciousness, absorbed it at a far greater level than the Vulcan, with his lesser telepathic abilities, ever could.<br >

He wrenched his attention away from the Guardian and cast about for the<br >Marishal. She must be here-or had that minuscule spark been engulfed? Had it gone out forever?<br >

”This isn’t good, Jim. Now Spock’s heartbeat is becoming irregular.”<br >

”Damn it, Bones, he’s going to kill himself! We’ve got to get him away<br >from her!”

”D’berahan will die if we do.”<br >

”She’l ‘ I die anyway. I-we-can’t lose Spock.”<br >

”His muscles are spasmed, Jim. Can’t … budge …<br >

them . .<br >

”Let me try, Bones. Oh, no. We’ll have to break his fingers.”<br >

Dberahan? Spock thought, casting about, feeling desperation for the<br >second time in his life. Dberahan?

CANNOT NEGLECT SECONDARY PROGRAMMING. MANY SUCH JOURNEYS ARE POSSIBLE.<br >LET ME BE YOUR GATEWAY. ACTIVATE SECONDARY INTELLIGENCE PERIPHERAL TO REINSTATE TEMPORAL PROGRAMMING FUNCTION.<br >

D’berahan? Spock began withdrawing his consciousness, suddenly<br >convinced she was gone, and he was in terrible danger.

But even as he started his retreat, he became aware of a faint presence.<br >

[?) D’berahan!<br >

There was no concrete response, but Spock knew that as much of her mind<br >as remained was with him. He fled, “towing” the Marishal.

”Wait a minute, Jim! His heartbeat’s evening out and getting stronger.”<br >

”What about the Marishal?”<br >

”She’s not dead, Jim-but I’m not sure whether she’s really alive.”<br >

”Catatonia?”<br >

”Similar, I think. I’ll need to do brainwave scans.”<br >

Spock came back to his body like a swimmer who has been submerged far<br >past the lung-bursting point. He gasped, all his muscles jerking, then sagged, exhausted, darkness threatening to engulf him. Only Kirk’s<br >supporting arm kept him from collapsing. “Spock! Are you all right?”

The Vulcan shut his eyes, concentrating on slowing his breathing,<br >controlling his muscles. “I am … well.” Painfully he sat up, then steadied himself, and Kirk let him go.<br >

”D’berahan?”<br >

”She’s still alive,” McCoy said grimly, “physically, at least. Mentally<br >… I don’t know.”

Spock wavered to his feet. D’berahan was limp, eyes closed, her chest<br >rising and falling. The Vulcan hesitantly touched her, but could detect only a faint echo of her mental presence. “She has withdrawn,” he said.<br >”The force of the Guardian’s communication was too intense for her to withstand it and remain sane. And I haven’t the mental strength to<br >reach her.”

”Will she recover?” Kirk anxiously asked both officers.<br >

”Unknown,” Spock said.<br >

”I have no idea,” McCoy admitted. “All I can do is make sure she’s<br >given all possible supportive treatment. She may pull out of it by herself. We’d better get her back to the shuttlecraft.” The doctor<br >moved to pick up the Marishal. As he touched her body, it stiffened.

”Another seizure?” Kirk dropped to his knees beside the medical officer.<br >

”Nooooo …” McCoy ran his scanner over the little alien. “More<br >like-” He broke off, running the instrument over her belly again. His eyes were blazing furiously when he raised them to meet the Vulcan’s.<br >”Did you know about this?”

Spock placed a gentle hand on the Marishal’s abdomen.<br >

”Not until we landed. She would not allow me to tell you, Doctor. She<br >is experiencing contractions?”

”Apparently.” McCoy’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Damn you, Spock! I<br >would never have let her…” He began palpating the Marishal’s midsection with cautious, capable fingers.<br >

”That is what she said,” Spock replied, levelly. “She considered this<br >mission worth the risk to herself and her unborn.”

”Oh, no!” Horror replaced confusion on Kirk’s features.<br >

”Are you trying to tell me she’s going to have a baby?”<br >

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