STAR TREK - TOS - 84 - Assignment Eternity

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STAR TREK ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

GREG COX

CEC 108 POCKET BOOKS New York

London Toronto Sydney Tokyo Singapore

The sale of this book without its cover is

unauthorized. H you purchased this book without a

cover, you should be aware that it was reported to the

publisher as "unsold and destroyed." Neither the

author nor the publisher has received payment for the

sate of this "stripped book."

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters,

places and incidents are products of the author's

imagination or are used fictitiously. Any

resemblance to actual events or locales or

persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental.

An Original Publication of POCKET

BOOKS POCKET BOOKS, a division of

Simon and Schuster Inc. 1230 Avenue of the

Americas, New York, NY 10020

STAR TREK is a Registered Trademark of

Paramount Pictures.

A POCKET BOOK

This book is published by Pocket Books, a

division of Simon and Schuster IDC., under

exclusive license from Paramount Pictures.

to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form

whatsoever. For information address Pocket Books,

1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York,

NY 10020

ISBN 0-671-00117-5 First Pocket

Books printing January 1998 10 9 8 7

6 5 4 3 2 1

POCKET and colophon are registered

trademarks of Simon and Schuster Inc.

Printed in the U.s.a.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Art Wallace and Gene Roddenberry

for making "Assignment Earth" one of my

favorite episodes of the original Star Trek

series, not to mention Robert Lansing and Teri Garr

and, of course, Isis.

Thanks also to John Ordover, for letting me

bring all these characters back; to Sumi Lee, for

Russian profanities; to Patrick Nielsen

Hayden, for going to amazing lengths to install a

balky ditto drive; to Howard Weinstein for beating

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

Books, for letting me make a graceful exit

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

careful reading and contemplation.

Prologue Camp Khitomer, Khitomer

Outpost United Federation of Planets Stardate

9521.6 A.d. 2293

THE TRAITOR'S BLOOD still pooled on the

tile floor. Excitement, and a nearly palpable

sense of relief at the disaster so narrowly averted,

suffused the assembly hall. Ambassadors,

ministers, and delegates from a dozen different worlds

looked on in shock and amazement.

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

Captain James T. Kirk declared as he

helped the President of the Federation back onto his

feet. The President held his hand over his heart,

shaken by his close brush with death only moments

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

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

quite yet."

Kirk stepped away from-the podium and the

President, addressing his explanation to a

regal-looking Klingon woman standing nearby.

Chancellor Azetbur, daughter of the martyred

Klingon leader Gorkon, listened gravely.

Near the back of the spacious chamber, amidst the

stunned onlookers, a lone Romulan went

completely

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unnoticed. All eyes were on Kirk and

Azetbur. Good, Commander Dellas thought, savoring

her apparent anonymity. It was just as she'd

planned.

"Your father called the future 'the undiscovered

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

frightened of change."

Only a few meters away from Kirk, Commander

Spock stood guard over his prisoner, the disgraced

Starfleet officer Valeris. Slowly,

cautiously, Dellas began to work her way through the

crowd towards the elevated stage where Spock and his

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

on the unsuspecting Vulcan.

Azetbur weighed Kirk's words, then nodded

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

said.

High above the heads of the delegates, a shattered

glass skylight testified to the location of the failed

sniper's former perch. A difficult shot,

Dellas decided, coolly evaluating the

traitor's attempt to shoot the Federation

President. I will not make the same mistake.

Easing and elbowing her way through the throng of

spectators, keeping to the left to avoid the sizable

Ningon delegation, she drew ever nearer to Spock and

his crewmates. The Vulcan remained unaware of

her approach, intent on the historic drama

unfolding before him.

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

replied to Azetbur. Throughout the assembly hall,

ministers and ambassadors from many different worlds

rose to applaud Kirk and his companions.

Dellas clapped as well, the better to blend with the

crowd. She quickened her step, a determined

look upon her face, until only a single row of

applauding delegates stood between her and the platform

occupied by honored StarGeet heroes.

Ironically, she found herself

standing directly behind Sarek of

Vulcan, her target's legendary

father, and a young Romulan delegate.

Pardek, Dellas thought grimly,

recogn tilde zmg his face from her

preliminary research for this

mission. Was it just her imagination,

tilde IT

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

or was the future senator already eyeing Spock

with a thoughtful, scheming expression on his face?

She glanced about quickly to see if anyone was

watching her, but all eyes remained on Kirk and

Spock and the others as they accepted the gratitude

of the entire assembly. Excellent, she thought.

There would never be a better opportunity. Ceasing

to clap, she slipped her hand beneath her grey

civilian robes and drew out a compact,

palm-sized disrupter. The metallic weapon felt

cool in her hand.

Spock stood less than seven meters away from

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

His calm, impassive face offered no clue

to his feelings at this moment. Dellas considered his

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

experienced a twinge of regret at what she had come

to do.

Then she raised her weapon, took aim, and

fired. tilde A coruscating beam of hot, blue

energy flashed "I

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

Kirk gasped in horror as the beam zipped past

him to strike Spock. The Vulcan's stoic

expression betrayed only momentary surprise before

the disrupter beam dissolved his molecular cohesion.

The destructive energies suffused his body,

consuming it entirely. For an instant, there was a

glowing blue silhouette where Spock had stood,

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

watched his friend disintegrate before his eyes.

The assembly erupted into pandemonium. Dozens

of delegates, humanoid and otherwise, shouted and

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

Dellas heard Spock's father emit a single,

strangled sob before letting the crowd's

desperate flight carry her away. She deftly

slipped her weapon back into her robes. Done,

she thought. She felt calm, relaxed, almost

Vulcan in her serenity. It doesn't matter if

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

Spock was dead, and the future had been changed

forever.

Chapter One

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

New York City, United States of

America

Planet Earth

A.d. 19 July 1969

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

The glowing azure mist, swirling and

luminescent, enveloped her com-

pletely. She could see nothing but

blue all around her, hear nothing but

her own rapid heartbeat. No matter

that she had entered this unnatural

fog dozens of

times before and emerged safely each

time; part of her always worried that

this time she would disappear into

the mist forever.

Don't be ridiculous, she told

herself. You use eleva

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

about crashing down twent tilde f tilde ve

floors

every time you step into an elevator,

Yeah, another part of her psyche

replied, but elevators are normal.

Traveling by radioactive smoke is

just too freaking out-of-this-world!

She stepped forward, deeper into

the mist, which did not feel cold or

moist like real fog; it was a

seething cloud of energy that tingled

like static electricity and seemed to

pass beneath her skin and between

each individual molecule of her body.

For a

Greg Cox

heart-stopping second, she felt as if she was

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

difference between her and the swirling mist, and she hastily

frisked herself to make sure she was all still

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

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

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

eyes. Still solid. Still intact. Thank God.

Was this trip taking longer than usual? Although she

had only entered the fog moments ago, it felt like

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

there yet?"

As if in response, the fog grew thinner before

her eyes. Through the churning blue haze, she

glimpsed a darkness beyond and a blinking green light

somewhat further on. She rushed forward and suddenly the

fog was gone. She stumbled onto a carpeted

floor, tripping slightly as if she had encountered

an unexpected step, but managing to keep her

balance. She shook her head, torn between exasperation

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

reality was always a bit of a jolt.

At first, all she could see was a translucent

green cube, about three inches wide, floating in the

darkness a few feet away. A chartreuse glow

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

instant just

as the cube emitted a curiously feminine

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

beep, the overhead 0- lights came on, revealing

a neat and tidy office deco- i

rated with contemporary furniture. The green

cube sat atop a large black desk, next to a

silver pen and pencil set. The carpet turned out

to be a pale orange color, matching a couch and

plush chair across the room from the desk. Framed

paintings, landscapes mostly, hung on the walls,

except where cedar bookshelves occupied one entire

wall of the office. Encyclopedias, atlases, and

other hardcover reference books

filled the bookshelves.

The room's ordinary-looking furnishings were

reas6

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

luringly familiar. "Home sweet home,"

she murmured, then turned around to

look back the way she'd came.

What she beheld provided a jarring

contrast to the mundane appearance of

the rest of the office. A shining

steel door, more suitable to an

airlock or a bank vault, stood wide

open, exposing a darkened chamber in

which the luminescent fog continued

to swirl and billow, seeming to come

from nowhere yet never spreading

beyond the rectangular boundaries of

the doorway. No matter how hard she

strained her eyes, she could not see

beyond the fog; for all she could

tell, the shadowy tunnel behind the

fog could have stretched to

infinity and probably did. I am never

going to get used to this, she

thought.

Her sneakers, a new pair of P.f.

Flyers, tapped impatiently against

the carpet as she peered into the

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

taking you so long?"

The mist refused to answer her. She

glanced over at the flashing green

cube on the desk, v ordering if she

should risk interrupting the process

by consulting the cube. "I'll give

them five more seconds," she decided.

Four, three, two. . .

Just as she was about to give up, a

f gure appeared in the mist, hazily

at first, but quickly gaining form

and definition. Unlike her, he

emerged from the fog with the calm

and confidence of one completely at

ease with the procedure. He was a

tall, slender man dressed in a

conservative gray suit. His neatly

trimmed brown hair was edged with

gray at the temples, while his light

brown eyebrows faded, almost to

invisibility, against his craggy

features. The man's face wore a grim,

sober expression, lightened somewhat

by a hint of ironic amusement. His

right hand gently stroked the head of

a sleek, black cat he held securely

against his chest.

Always the cat, she thought. So how

come kitty can't come through on her

own7 I did

Greg Cox

The cat let out an inquisitive mew.

A collar of silvery fabric glittered

around its neck. Its eyes were

brilliant yellow ovals pierced by

thin slits of black

"Yes, Isis, we made it," he

murmured to the cat. Behind him, the

fog faded into nonexistence, leaving

not even a stray wisp to linger in

the office. The empty space beyond

the doorway now looked merely dark

and featureless, like an unlit

closet. The green cube beeped again,

and the heavy steel door began to

close automatically. Wooden panels

slid out from hidden recesses in

front of the doorway, concealing the

gleaming metal door behind three

shelves of cocktail glasses. Within

seconds, all traces of the enigmatic

fog chamber had vanished from sight.

The blond woman was no longer

surprised by the office's

transformation; she'd witnessed the

change too many times before. "About

time," she protested, crossing her

arms as she leaned back against the

sturdy desk. "What kept you?"

"A few last-minute details," he

replied, "but I think I can now

safely guarantee that Col. Armstrong

will take a very remarkable walk

tomorrow."

"Really?" She let out a long sigh

of relief. Her eyes widened as the

full enormity of the man's statement

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

after all I've seen in the past year,

I can still barely believe it."

"Welcome to the Space Age, Miss

Lincoln," said the man who called

himself Gary Seven. He placed the cat

gently onto the carpet. "Trust me,

this Is only the beginning."

Roberta Lincoln, age twenty, walked

across the office and dropped onto

the orange couch. Isis, her furry

black nemesis, hopped onto the couch

as well, and Roberta scooted down to

the other end of the couch, putting

at least one full cushion between

them. "The beginning," she repeated.

"That's what that spaceman from the

future, Kirk, said, too." She sunk

deeper into the couch, her gaze

drifting heavenward as if she could

probe the depths of interstellar

space

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

right through the ceiling of the

office. "Good thing me and you got to

help out a bit."

Isis made an indignant squawk.

"Oh yeah, you, too," Roberta

conceded. Sheesh, now even I'm

talking to the cat! Bad enough that

the boss keeps Kitty better informed

than me....

Seven, also known as Supervisor

194, allowed a bit of a smile to curl

his lips, apparently amused by the

byplay between Roberta and Isis. He

removed his jacket and hung it neatly

over the black metallic chair behind

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

said, loosening his necktie. "The

human race has enormous potential,

but it still needs a little help now

and then."

Some job, Roberta thought. Tearing

her gaze away from the ceiling, she

glanced around Seven's unassuming

office. When she'd first started

working here, for Seven's immediate

predecessors, she'd had no trouble

accepting that "encyclopedia

research" was all that was going on.

Boy, was I in for a surprise. If I

told anyone else half of what goes on

in here, they'd think I was pulling

their leg or that I'd lost my mind.

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

talk, sometimes I think you forget

that you're part of the human race,

too."

The wry smile disappeared from

Seven's face, replaced by a more

pensive expression. "Very percepfive,

Miss Lincoln," he said, a touch of

melancholy deepening his voice. "You

may have a point there. Knowing what

I do, having been where I've been,

there is a bit of a . . . distancing

effect." He gave her a serious look

from across the room. "I'll have to

count on you to keep me in touch with

the rest of my species."

"Uh, sure," Roberta said, uncertain

how to respond. How do you relate to

a guy whose ancestors have been

trained by aliens for six thousand

years? "Say, that 2001 film is still

playing a few blocks away. I haven't

seen it yet." Had Seven (she could

never think of him as Gary) ever gone

to the movies? She

Greg Cox

had no idea. "Maybe we can hit a

matinee sometime?"

Isis hissed and gave Roberta a

dirty look. She scratched her claws

on the arm of the couch.

"Hey, don't blame me," Roberta

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

let cats into the movies." Of course,

Isis wasn't always a cat, but Roberta

tried not to think about that. It was

just too weird. "So, what do you

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

spring for popcorn. Dutch treat."

Seven opened his mouth to respond,

but was interrupted by a piercing,

high-pitched whistle from the cube on

his desk. The glowing cube flashed

urgently, and Seven reacted as if

jolted by a live electrical wire.

Movies and moon landings were

instantly forgotten as Seven snapped

to attention. He was out from behind

the desk in an instant, striding

across the floor toward the

bookshelves. "Computer on," he said

sharply.

"What is it?" Roberta asked,

quickly catching Seven's mood. Isis

sprung from the couch, landing on all

four paws only a few inches away from

the bookshelves. The fur along the

cat's neck lifted itself in alarm.

"Emergency beacon," Seven

explained, his gaze glued to the wall

containing the bookshelves, which now

began to swing outward, rotating a

concealed computer bank into view.

Flashing horizontal and vertical

lines, in various combinations of

colors, formed changing patterns on

the surface of a gleaming, high-tech

computer that was the size of a large

refrigerator. Seven called it a

"Beta-5" computer, although Roberta

had no idea what exactly distin-

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

Beta-6. She only knew that Seven's

computer, based on an ancient alien

technology, was smarter than any

other machine on Earth, circa 1969.

She wondered if the rest of the

world's computers would ever catch up

with the Beta-5. Not in my lifetime,

she thought.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY

A circular viewscreen, smaller than the

average television, occupied one section of the

apparatus. "Computer, identify distress

signal," Seven instructed.

The Beta-5 responded to his vocal command.

"Executing," the machine reported. Its voice,

although identifiably feminine, had a distinctly

inhuman echo. "Signal is fragmented due

to transtemporal interference."

'Transtemporal?" Seven said. Judging from the

tone of his voice, Roberta decided that was not good

news. Transtemporal, she thought, as in time

travel? She hopped off the couch and hurried to pin

Seven and Isis by the computer.

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

source of transmission. Location Romulan Star

Empire, coordinates 83-62-171. Date,

by current Earth chronology 2269 A.d."

Roberta's jaw dropped. 2269? Three

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STARTREKASSIGNMENTETERNITYBYGREGCOXCEC108POCKETBOOKSNewYorkLondonTorontoSydneyTokyoSingaporeThesaleofthisbookwithoutitscoverisunauthorized.Hyoupurchasedthisbookwithoutacover,youshouldbeawarethatitwasreportedtothepublisheras"unsoldanddestroyed."Neithertheauthornorthepublisherhasreceivedpaymentforthes...

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