Star Trek: The Rings of Time (12 page)

“Beats me,”
O’Herlihy confessed.
“I can’t make head or tail of these readings. And I’m not sure I ever will. All I know is that the probe directed some sort of incredibly powerful electromagnetic discharge at the planet, and you were nearly caught in the line of fire.”

Shaun remembered the shock wave that had sent him hurtling through space. “What about the ship? Was there any damage?”

“Not that I can determine,”
O’Herlihy
reported. “
There was some momentary turbulence but nothing we couldn’t withstand. You don’t need to worry about us, Shaun. We’re fine.”

“Glad to hear it.”

“We can exchange status reports later,”
Fontana said impatiently.
“You need to get back to the ship, Shaun, pronto. This was a mistake. That thing, whatever it is, is too dangerous.”

The colonel knew she had to be kicking herself for agreeing to this operation in the first place, but how could they have anticipated the probe firing on the planet like that? Satisfied that he was still in one piece, he turned himself around to see what the probe was up to now.

The enigmatic device appeared to have gone dormant again. It had stopped blasting at Saturn and was just hovering above the north pole once more. His eyes widened behind his visor as he gazed at the planet. Was it just his imagination, or was the ailing hexagon looking more like its old self again? All six sides seemed to be spreading outward, as though heading back toward their original positions, while the swirling vortex within the hexagon appeared to be brighter and more energetic than before.

“How—?” he murmured. Had the probe done that?

“Please, Shaun,”
Fontana urged him.
“Turn around and come back. We don’t know what that thing could do next.”

He knew he should listen to her, but he wasn’t ready
to give up on the probe yet. If anything, what he had just witnessed made him even more eager to retrieve the probe if possible. Any technology that could affect storm patterns from space was too valuable to be left behind. He needed at least to get a closer look at it.

“I’m sorry, Fontana,” he said. “I’m going in for another pass.”

“Shaun, wait! Don’t be crazy! It’s not safe!”

The panic in her voice tugged at his heart, but he fired his jets anyway. He knew she might never forgive him, but he didn’t have any choice. This was bigger than any of them. He needed to find out more.

“I’ll be okay.” He hoped that wasn’t just wishful thinking. “I think maybe the worst is over.”

O’Herlihy didn’t try to talk him out of it.
“We don’t know that, Shaun. Be careful.”

“Copy that.”

Ignoring Fontana’s heartfelt protests, Christopher warily returned to the probe. His fingers hovered over the jet controls, ready to execute a hasty retreat if the unpredictable artifact acted up again. Moving slowly, he came within arm’s reach of the probe. The beam from his helmet light fell on the probe’s metallic casing. This close, he was able to make out what appeared to be bizarre hieroglyphics embossed on the hull. The exotic symbols resembled no language, ancient or otherwise, that he was familiar with. Then again, he was no linguist.

“Are you seeing this?” he asked the others. In theory,
the camera in his helmet was transmitting the images back to the ship.

“Yes, Shaun,”
O’Herlihy responded, audibly awed.
“It’s fantastic. This may be our first true glimpse of an alien language.”

Not counting that classified Ferengi hardware back at Area 51,
Shaun thought. He was suddenly very glad that he had not headed back to the ship right away. These images alone were worth the risk he was taking, not to mention their entire voyage. “What about you, Fontana? You getting this, too?”

“It’s amazing,”
she conceded.
“You’re making history.”

The unearthly hieroglyphics called out to him. He couldn’t resist the urge to touch them. His fingers drummed impatiently. He reached out for the probe. A gloved hand made contact with the unknown.

A blinding white flash caught him by surprise.

“Shaun!”
Fontana cried out.

2020

One minute, James Kirk was standing in the trans-porter room aboard the
Enterprise.
The next, he found himself floating in space. An environmental suit, bulkier and more cumbersome than the Starfleet-issue suits he was accustomed to, protected him from the vacuum. Kirk blinked in surprise. His eyes watered from the brilliant white flash that had transported him there, and, without thinking, he reached to wipe them. A gloved hand bumped into the gold-tinted visor of a spacesuit helmet. His own breathing echoed in his ears.

What the devil?

He glanced around, trying to orient himself. The north pole of Klondike VI appeared to be thousands of kilometers below him, if below meant anything in zero g. Or was it Klondike VI? The color wasn’t right, more mustard yellow than violet as before. And the furious hexagonal vortex at the pole looked much as it once had, not shrunken and pallid as in the most recent recordings. If Kirk didn’t know better, he’d swear he was drifting above Saturn instead. But that
was impossible, wasn’t it? Saturn was months away, in a completely different sector.

The only familiar object in view was the probe, but even that seemed to have changed in an instant. The battered relic now looked much newer and less weathered than it had only seconds ago. He could see the alien hieroglyphics more clearly now; the gleaming bronze casing was no longer charred and pitted. The turquoise ring glowed more brightly than before. Additional lights flickered across its circuitry.

Kirk’s fingers tingled beneath his gloves. He recalled touching the probe right before he found himself here, along with the mysterious relic, which was also not on the transporter pad where it belonged. Had the probe transported them both outside the
Enterprise
somehow? It seemed so, but Kirk was still confused. Why had the probe reacted this way? And where had this clumsy spacesuit come from?

He was anxious to get back to his ship and get some answers.
Come on, Scotty,
he thought impatiently.
Beam me back aboard.

But as long moments passed and he remained adrift in the void, Kirk began to fear that something was amiss on his ship. Had the transporters been damaged by the alien energies unleashed by the probe? And what about the rest of the ship? And his crew?

Blast it,
he thought.
Somebody open a frequency and talk to me!

He glared at the probe, knowing that it was somehow responsible
for his predicament. He kept his distance, reluctant to touch it again. The glowing propulsion ring flared up brighter and started spinning faster than ever. Kirk could tell that something was happening.

The probe rotated in space, turning its dish arrays away from the planet. Kirk felt a surge of energy all the way through his spacesuit. All at once, the probe accelerated away from him at incredible speed. He watched in amazement as it left orbit and disappeared into space in a heartbeat. At the rate it was going, Kirk estimated that it would be out of the solar system in a matter of hours, if not minutes.

Heading home?

Kirk didn’t know whether to be relieved or dismayed by the probe’s abrupt departure. Even though the probe had brought nothing but trouble so far, he hoped it hadn’t taken Skagway’s last chance with it. They had never found out what it was doing there—besides transporting him into space.

“Shaun!”
A frantic voice addressed him via the headphones inside his helmet.
“Oh, my God, Shaun! Are you okay?”

Kirk didn’t recognize the woman’s voice. It didn’t sound at all like Uhura, or Qat Zaldana, for that matter. And why was she calling him Shaun? Had she gotten the wrong frequency?

“Kirk here,” he answered. “Who is this?”

“What’s that?”
the voice responded. Static garbled the transmission.
“I’m not reading you.”

Where was the transmission coming from? The
Enterprise
? Skagway? A rescue shuttle? Kirk hoped for the shuttle.

“Who is this?” he repeated. “Identify yourself.”

“Shaun? Can you hear me?”

Kirk tried to look for the
Enterprise,
only to discover that his helmet severely restricted his field of vision. Maneuvering in a vacuum, without anything solid to hold on to, made turning around problematic, but he bent backward at the knees until it looked as if he was competing in some kind of zero-g limbo competition and was able to gaze up and behind him. His jaw dropped.

The
Enterprise
was nowhere to be seen. In its place was an antique spacecraft only a fraction of its size, cruising in orbit several hundred meters away. The relic was composed of four large steel modules linked together in a chain. A pair of rectangular wings, extending from the rear propulsion unit, supported a series of solar panels designed to capture the distant sunlight while the ship was in orbit. Kirk immediately recognized the anachronistic vessel as an old, pre-warp ship of the sort used by human astronauts to explore Earth’s own solar system back in the twenty-first century. A spaceship, not a starship.

He didn’t understand. Ships like this were moth-balled centuries ago, at least on Earth. They were the stuff of history tapes and museum exhibits. But this ship looked brand-new and operational. What was it doing way out there in the Klondike system?

All at once, he thought of the
Ares IV
. That ship, one of the early Mars expeditions, had been lost in space more than two hundred years ago, when it had been swallowed up by an unexplained subspace anomaly. Was it possible that the ship had somehow ended up here, practically on the other side of the quadrant?

Maybe,
he thought. Certainly, Khan’s ship, the
Botany Bay,
had ended up far from home, and that had been an even earlier model of spacecraft, equipped with only crude, atomic-powered engines. The
Ares IV,
or some other twenty-first-century spacecraft, could have conceivably traveled just as far.

But that didn’t explain what had happened to the
Enterprise.

His own ship had vanished just as inexplicably as his spacesuit had appeared. A thought occurred to him, and he tilted his head forward to look down (up?) at himself. Upon closer inspection, his spacesuit was revealed to be as much a museum relic as the ship orbiting nearby. A hard white carapace protected his upper body. Cooling water seemed to course through tubes close to his skin. An old-fashioned microphone was mounted inside the helmet in front of his mouth. Fans and pumps churned within the breathing apparatus. The entire outfit was astonishingly stiff and bulky compared with a modern EVA suit. He would have been only slightly more surprised to find himself wearing a suit of chain mail.

Unwelcome questions pushed themselves into his brain.

Where am I?
When
am I?

“Shaun!”
the voice shouted over the static.
“You’re drifting away! Use your jets!”

Jets?
Kirk couldn’t feel the weight of a thruster pack on his back, but he assumed it was there. He glanced down and spotted a pair of hand-operated controls jutting out on either side of his waist. Fortunately, the controls didn’t appear all that different from those on the more advanced thruster suits he was used to. He guessed he could figure them out. There were really only three basic movements to master: yaw, pitch, and roll. He just needed to learn which toggle did which.

Maybe the one on the right was for basic propulsion?

“Message received.” He hoped the woman could hear him. “Activating thrusters now.”

He pressed the toggle forward slightly.

Nothing happened.

Kirk scowled inside the helmet and tried operating the other controls but with equally futile results. The thrusters refused to fire. Leaning back, he confirmed that he was indeed drifting away from the antique spaceship.

“Shaun!”
the woman repeated. She clearly seemed to be hailing him from the old ship.
“Use your jets!”

“I’m trying! They’re not working!”

“What’s that?”
she shouted.
“You’re breaking up!”

Never mind,
Kirk thought. In desperation, he smacked the controls with his hand, but they remained unresponsive.
He recalled the blinding energy surge that had transported him there in the first place. Had the flash shorted out the thruster controls and perhaps the helmet’s communications equipment, too? That might explain why the woman on the mystery ship couldn’t seem to hear him.

The planet spun slowly beneath him. He seemed to be drifting toward it, although it was hard to tell. The sheer size of the gas giant, relative to himself, dwarfed any minor changes in his perspective. It would be a while before he could perceive it getting larger, but it already seemed intimidating enough. The fierce hexagonal vortex waited for him, even though he knew he would be long dead before he came within thousands of kilometers of it. He was doomed to burn up in its atmosphere, provided his oxygen supply lasted that long, which was doubtful. How much air could this primitive suit carry, anyway? Glancing around, he spotted a head-up display inside his helmet. Judging from an illuminated gauge, he still had about seven hours left.

It didn’t seem like enough.

Why don’t they just beam me aboard?
he wondered briefly, then realized his mistake. If that old-school spaceship was actually what it appeared to be, it was unlikely to be equipped with a transporter. Earth-based vessels had not really started beaming people aboard until the historic voyages of Jonathan Archer, by which time ships like this one were already obsolete. Chances were, it probably didn’t have any shuttles, either.
Where would they put them?