Star Trek The Original Series From History's Shadow (21 page)

“No,” the man answered. “As for my interest in you, it begins with the fact that you’re a Vulcan.”

Despite a lifetime spent learning and improving upon how to control emotional responses of any sort, Mestral’s reaction to that simple statement betrayed him as he stiffened in his chair, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on his captor. Seeing no logic or gain to be made by lying, he asked, “How do you know that?”

The man pointed to him. “Your ears, of course, but also that blood on your face. I apologize for that, as it was an unfortunate result of you hitting your head on the counter when you fell.”

“After you struck me,” Mestral added.

His captor nodded. “Yes. Again, my apologies, for that and also for your restraints. I hope you’ll understand my need to mitigate unnecessary risks.”

“The fact that you know I am a Vulcan suggests that you have encountered my people before,” Mestral said. “How is that possible? How did you find me?”

“Let’s just say I’m not from around here,” the man replied. Crossing the kitchen to the dining table, he retrieved another of the chairs and pulled it across the floor until it was positioned nearly two meters in front of Mestral. “Which brings me back to one of my original questions: Why are you here? I assume it’s for some sort of cultural observation.”

Endeavoring to hide the fact that he was continuing to test the ropes holding him to the chair, Mestral replied,
“I was a member of a survey vessel. Our planet has been monitoring Earth for some time, studying your technological advances and their effects on the planet’s society. You are just now making your first tentative forays into space, and we are interested in tracking your progress. We represent no threat to you.”

The stranger laughed. After a moment, he said, “Sorry, but you’ve made an understandable yet still incorrect assumption. I’m not human. My name is Jaecz, and my world is called Certoss Ajahlan, a planet even more distant from Earth than your own.”

“I am unfamiliar with that planet.”

“That does not surprise me,” Jaecz replied. “From what I know, humans are not yet aware of Vulcans at this time. Indeed, they have no real knowledge of any extraterrestrial species save for a handful of scattered encounters, the details of which largely are kept secret from the rest of the public. You being here, among them, presents a tremendous risk of discovery.”

“Our ship crashed,” Mestral said. “Our captain was killed, and the three of us who survived were forced to approach this settlement in order to find food and shelter. For a time, we were unsure if our distress signal had even been received. It had, but rescue did not arrive until after we already had been living here in secret for more than three months.”

Frowning, Jaecz leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms atop his thighs as he clasped his hands. “Three months? I detected a ship in this area just three days ago. That was the rescue ship?”

“Yes,” Mestral replied. “How were you able to detect it?” He felt the rope around his left wrist slacken. It was not much, but it was a start.

“Never mind that,” Jaecz said, rising from the chair. “Where is this ship now?”

“On its way back to Vulcan, I presume.” The rope securing his right arm also had loosened. Though he was able to disguise these movements by appearing to adjust his position on the chair in search of greater comfort, he could do nothing to test the restraints around his ankles.

Jaecz frowned, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t go with your friends?”

“No,” Mestral said. “I wished to remain here in order to continue my study of human culture.”

“The humans will throw you in a cage if they find you,” the Certoss countered. “They’re not too keen on visitors from other worlds lurking among them. Trust me on this.” He paused, studying his captive. “Do you have means of communicating with that ship of yours?”

Mestral shook his head. “I do not. My companions took our communications equipment with them, to ensure it was not discovered by the humans, just as the rescue team disposed of the remains of our own vessel.”

“Are you expecting me to believe that you have no means of contacting that ship, or your home planet?”

“If you know my people as you claim to,” Mestral replied, “then you know that we do not engage in deceit.”

For the first time, the Certoss laughed. “Spare me that old myth. Your people are more than capable of lying when it suits you. It’s probably a consequence of your exposure to humans, who lie without effort about even the most inane things. You certainly had no problem engaging in subterfuge with the Andorians, or even my people.”

“As I told you,” Mestral said, “I am unfamiliar with your civilization.” He almost was able to free his right hand.

Jaecz now was pacing back and forth across Mestral’s field of vision. “Yes, yes. I know.” He released a small laugh, though his attention seemed more on the floor in front of him than on his prisoner. “The funny thing is that you’re telling the truth, and yet you’re still so completely wrong. Vulcans and humans are staunch allies, something they’ll demonstrate all too well when they come after my people.”

What did he mean?
To Mestral, it seemed as though the Certoss was giving voice to delusion. “Vulcans are a peaceful society. We do not attack others, and we use violence and arms as last measures of defense.”

“Again, so very wrong,” Jaecz said, before stopping his pacing in abrupt fashion and crossing the floor toward Mestral. “I’ve grown tired of these useless pleasantries, Vulcan, just as I long ago grew weary of living on this worthless hunk of rock and tolerating the parasitic, primitive vermin who call it home. I want to leave this place, and you seem to be my best hope of doing that. Tell me how to contact your ship, or I
will
kill you.”

Hoping to delay any such action against him for a few more seconds, Mestral looked up at his captor while keeping his expression passive. “If you kill me, you will only hamper your own efforts.”

“So you can communicate off-world,” Jaecz snapped, reaching forward to grasp Mestral’s jaw in his left hand. “Tell me.”

Jerking his right arm upward, Mestral felt the cloth rope give way and he followed through with the motion, throwing as much strength as possible into striking his captor’s arm and breaking the grip on his jaw. Jaecz’s eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected move and he stumbled back. Reaching across his body, Mestral freed his left hand just as the Certoss stepped forward. He grasped his opponent’s arm
as it came at him and pulled Jaecz off balance, sending him crashing to the floor behind and to Mestral’s right. Already hearing his captor lumbering to his feet, the Vulcan pulled at the rope holding his ankles to the chair, managing to free only the left leg before footsteps behind him made him abandon the effort. Then Jaecz was swinging down at him and Mestral threw his body left, sending him and the chair tilting toward the floor.

He fell heavily, his left ankle caught beneath the chair as it struck the floorboards, and he winced in momentary pain from the shock. The rope on his right leg was loosening, but it was not enough to pull himself free. Instead, he rolled toward the kitchen before turning onto his stomach and used his hands to push himself from the floor. He just managed to get himself to an awkward standing position as Jaecz approached, the chair lying to one side while still tied to his right leg and pain shooting through his left ankle. With no other weapon available and hobbled by the chair, Mestral did the only thing allowed by his current predicament and kicked out with his right leg.

The chair jerked upward, its back catching Jaecz under his chin and snapping back his head. Spinning as he fell, the Certoss dropped face-first with a heavy thud to the wooden floor. He lay unmoving as Mestral freed his leg, but it only was when he redirected his full attention to the downed Certoss that he realized his assailant’s appearance had changed.

Instead of the dark-haired human who had confronted him, Mestral now saw a humanoid alien wearing a black, form-fitting jumpsuit. All that remained of its human appearance was the canvas satchel. Its skin was a shade of copper rather than an ordinary human’s pale complexion, and there was no visible hair on its head. Instead of ears, two small
openings on either side of the alien’s head suggested auditory canals. Mestral stepped closer and, after determining that the Certoss was not faking unconsciousness, rolled the alien onto its back. Its eyes were closed, and Mestral saw the pair of small holes in the center of its face, just above its slack, open mouth.

“Intriguing,” Mestral said, to no one. He noted the strange harness the alien wore across its chest, and the sets of controls embedded into it. Was it this device that allowed the Certoss to assume human form? It seemed to Mestral a logical deduction. Jaecz had fallen forward during the brief struggle, so had his impact with the floor triggered whatever control oversaw the device’s activation? There was no time to answer any of the numerous questions presented by this mysterious alien.

There is one way,
he reminded himself.

How long had it been since his last mind meld? Since well before setting out on the expedition that had brought him to Earth. Even on Vulcan, such opportunities were rare. After discovering his natural telepathic aptitude at a young age, Mestral’s mother had instructed him how to utilize the technique in order to avoid harming another meld participant. She also taught him the necessity of keeping private his abilities, owing to Vulcan societal mores with respect toward those who chose to merge thoughts. While his mother and others with whom Mestral had interacted from an early age had shown him the ritual was something to be respected rather than shunned, it was viewed as aberrant behavior by the majority of Vulcans. Mestral always had found such attitudes illogical, but no more so than after his time spent on Earth. Humans possessed their own variety of irrational prejudices and hatreds, to be sure, often stemming from a
fear of things not yet understood, or otherwise perceived as some threat to their well-being. At least here, such behavior could be explained if not justified, owing to an emotional and cultural immaturity that Mestral believed would correct itself over time. His own people, given the struggles their ancestors had overcome and the measures they had taken to rescue themselves from oblivion, had no such defense.

It was because of his mother’s teachings and his own experiences that Mestral now found himself conflicted as he considered the unconscious Certoss before him. The prospect of a nonconsensual mind meld might be an expedient method of obtaining at least some information, but it went against everything he had learned and come to respect.

Given the current circumstances, I see no other choice
.

Kneeling next to Jaecz, he ignored his reluctance and personal distaste and placed his fingers in as close to the proper position as he was able, given Certoss physiology. After a moment, he sensed the first tendrils of connection as he made mental contact with the unconscious alien.

“My mind to your mind,” he whispered. “My thoughts to your thoughts.” He did not yet know if the Certoss possessed telepathic capabilities, or, if so, whether such abilities were superior to his own. It therefore was a delicate balance of melding with Jaecz while at the same time maintaining his own mental shields against possible assault. Then, full contact was made, and Mestral braced himself as a torrent of thoughts, memories, and emotions rushed at him.

Mission . . . Earth . . . humans . . . war. Gejalik . . . Adlar. History . . . Na’khul. Etlun dead. Humans know. Mission . . . hide . . . escape. Time . . . future . . . war. Ship . . . Pennsylvania. Contact . . . mission . . . need information . . . call for assistance. Destroy. Mission. War. Earth. Destroy. Mission.

Jaecz’s eyes opened.

The jolt of his abrupt awakening was such that Mestral yanked back his hand, severing the mental connection just as the Certoss pushed himself from the floor. His clumsy movements were enough to demonstrate that he still was hampered by the previous skirmish, but that did not stop him from regaining his feet. He blinked several times in rapid succession as he moved away from Mestral, raising his hands as though wary of attack. He stumbled several steps before bumping into the dining table, almost losing his balance, all the while never taking his eyes from Mestral. It was obvious that being struck by the chair had hurt him, his apparent disorientation perhaps explained by a head injury. Would that make him easier to confront, or more dangerous? The question was answered when Jaecz charged forward.

Mestral readied himself for the attack as the Certoss crossed the floor between them, but his own unsteadiness was his undoing as he tripped, stumbling forward and crumpling back down to the floor. Jaecz struggled to push himself up one last time but finally succumbed, collapsing once more into unconsciousness.

Mestral, fearing he may have killed the alien, verified that Jaecz still was alive. After retrieving his small medical scanner from his suitcase, he was able to calibrate the instrument in a manner to determine the Certoss’s condition was not life threatening, but that he likely would not wake again for several hours. Mestral administered a general-purpose pain medication that his scanner confirmed was compatible with Certoss physiology, then left the intruder alone.

It is time to leave,
he had decided, spending the next several moments securing the rest of his belongings—including the particle weapon from its hiding place—in his suitcase.
Those articles were joined by new items: the contents of Jaecz’s satchel. The devices were of unknown construction and purpose, but he would have time later to examine them. He wanted to be well away from here when Jaecz came around, as another confrontation would in all certainty require him to kill the Certoss in self-defense. Ending the alien’s life now was out of the question, though it was with no small amount of shame that Mestral had considered the idea.

No,
he rebuked himself. There could be no justification for such a heinous act. Besides, leaving Jaecz alive might be helpful in locating his companions. That was the logical course of action, he knew, already refocusing his thoughts on the future as it lay before him now that he possessed knowledge of the alien’s purpose here on Earth. His own priorities had changed, and while he could not stand by and allow Jaecz and his fellow Certoss agents to carry out their mission, there was precious little Mestral could do on his own.