STAR TREK ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
BY
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
Copyright tilde 1998 by Paramount
Pictures. All Rights Reserved.
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.
All rights reserved, including the right
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
Greg Cox
unnoticed. All eyes were on Kirk and
Azetbur. Good, Commander Dellas thought, savoring
her apparent anonymity. It was just as she'd
planned.
"Your father called the future 'the undiscovered
country,"" Kirk continued. "Some people can be very
frightened of change."
Only a few meters away from Kirk, Commander
Spock stood guard over his prisoner, the disgraced
Starfleet officer Valeris. Slowly,
cautiously, Dellas began to work her way through the
crowd towards the elevated stage where Spock and his
comrades-in-arms now stood. Her eyes zeroed in
on the unsuspecting Vulcan.
Azetbur weighed Kirk's words, then nodded
somberly. "You've restored my father's faith," she
said.
High above the heads of the delegates, a shattered
glass skylight testified to the location of the failed
sniper's former perch. A difficult shot,
Dellas decided, coolly evaluating the
traitor's attempt to shoot the Federation
President. I will not make the same mistake.
Easing and elbowing her way through the throng of
spectators, keeping to the left to avoid the sizable
Ningon delegation, she drew ever nearer to Spock and
his crewmates. The Vulcan remained unaware of
her approach, intent on the historic drama
unfolding before him.
"And you've restored my son's," Kirk
replied to Azetbur. Throughout the assembly hall,
ministers and ambassadors from many different worlds
rose to applaud Kirk and his companions.
Dellas clapped as well, the better to blend with the
crowd. She quickened her step, a determined
look upon her face, until only a single row of
applauding delegates stood between her and the platform
occupied by honored StarGeet heroes.
Ironically, she found herself
standing directly behind Sarek of
Vulcan, her target's legendary
father, and a young Romulan delegate.
Pardek, Dellas thought grimly,
recogn tilde zmg his face from her
preliminary research for this
mission. Was it just her imagination,

tilde IT
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
or was the future senator already eyeing Spock
with a thoughtful, scheming expression on his face?
She glanced about quickly to see if anyone was
watching her, but all eyes remained on Kirk and
Spock and the others as they accepted the gratitude
of the entire assembly. Excellent, she thought.
There would never be a better opportunity. Ceasing
to clap, she slipped her hand beneath her grey
civilian robes and drew out a compact,
palm-sized disrupter. The metallic weapon felt
cool in her hand.
Spock stood less than seven meters away from
Dellas, a few steps to the left of his captain.
His calm, impassive face offered no clue
to his feelings at this moment. Dellas considered his
poise and dignity. Just like my father's. She
experienced a twinge of regret at what she had come
to do.
Then she raised her weapon, took aim, and
fired. tilde A coruscating beam of hot, blue
energy flashed "I
through the gap between Sarek's and Pardek's heads.
Kirk gasped in horror as the beam zipped past
him to strike Spock. The Vulcan's stoic
expression betrayed only momentary surprise before
the disrupter beam dissolved his molecular cohesion.
The destructive energies suffused his body,
consuming it entirely. For an instant, there was a
glowing blue silhouette where Spock had stood,
then nothingness. "No!" Kirk cried out as he
watched his friend disintegrate before his eyes.
The assembly erupted into pandemonium. Dozens
of delegates, humanoid and otherwise, shouted and
cried out as they fought each other to reach the exits.
Dellas heard Spock's father emit a single,
strangled sob before letting the crowd's
desperate flight carry her away. She deftly
slipped her weapon back into her robes. Done,
she thought. She felt calm, relaxed, almost
Vulcan in her serenity. It doesn't matter if
they catch me or not. I've done what I had to da
Spock was dead, and the future had been changed
forever.
a,
Chapter One
811 East 68th Street, Apt. 1 2-B
New York City, United States of
America
Planet Earth
A.d. 19 July 1969
As UsUA-RATHER, she felt lost in the fog.
The glowing azure mist, swirling and
luminescent, enveloped her com-
pletely. She could see nothing but
blue all around her, hear nothing but
her own rapid heartbeat. No matter
that she had entered this unnatural
fog dozens of
times before and emerged safely each
time; part of her always worried that
this time she would disappear into
the mist forever.
Don't be ridiculous, she told
herself. You use eleva
tors, don't you? You don't worry
about crashing down twent tilde f tilde ve
floors
every time you step into an elevator,
Yeah, another part of her psyche
replied, but elevators are normal.
Traveling by radioactive smoke is
just too freaking out-of-this-world!
She stepped forward, deeper into
the mist, which did not feel cold or
moist like real fog; it was a
seething cloud of energy that tingled
like static electricity and seemed to
pass beneath her skin and between
each individual molecule of her body.
For a

Greg Cox
heart-stopping second, she felt as if she was
dissolving into the fog, as if there was no longer any
difference between her and the swirling mist, and she hastily
frisked herself to make sure she was all still
there. She ran her fingers over the rough denim of her
jeans, her soft, cotton, tie-dyed T-shirt,
the bangs of tinted, honey-blond hair just above her
eyes. Still solid. Still intact. Thank God.
Was this trip taking longer than usual? Although she
had only entered the fog moments ago, it felt like
centuries. "Hello?" she called out. "Are we
there yet?"
As if in response, the fog grew thinner before
her eyes. Through the churning blue haze, she
glimpsed a darkness beyond and a blinking green light
somewhat further on. She rushed forward and suddenly the
fog was gone. She stumbled onto a carpeted
floor, tripping slightly as if she had encountered
an unexpected step, but managing to keep her
balance. She shook her head, torn between exasperation
and relief. After the fog, coming back to reality any
reality was always a bit of a jolt.
At first, all she could see was a translucent
green cube, about three inches wide, floating in the
darkness a few feet away. A chartreuse glow
lit the cube from within, flashing even more brightly for an
instant just
as the cube emitted a curiously feminine
"beep." tilde Then, as if summoned by the
beep, the overhead 0- lights came on, revealing
a neat and tidy office deco- i
rated with contemporary furniture. The green
cube sat atop a large black desk, next to a
silver pen and pencil set. The carpet turned out
to be a pale orange color, matching a couch and
plush chair across the room from the desk. Framed
paintings, landscapes mostly, hung on the walls,
except where cedar bookshelves occupied one entire
wall of the office. Encyclopedias, atlases, and
other hardcover reference books
filled the bookshelves.
The room's ordinary-looking furnishings were
reas6
I
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
luringly familiar. "Home sweet home,"
she murmured, then turned around to
look back the way she'd came.
What she beheld provided a jarring
contrast to the mundane appearance of
the rest of the office. A shining
steel door, more suitable to an
airlock or a bank vault, stood wide
open, exposing a darkened chamber in
which the luminescent fog continued
to swirl and billow, seeming to come
from nowhere yet never spreading
beyond the rectangular boundaries of
the doorway. No matter how hard she
strained her eyes, she could not see
beyond the fog; for all she could
tell, the shadowy tunnel behind the
fog could have stretched to
infinity and probably did. I am never
going to get used to this, she
thought.
Her sneakers, a new pair of P.f.
Flyers, tapped impatiently against
the carpet as she peered into the
fog. "C'mon," she muttered. "What's
taking you so long?"
The mist refused to answer her. She
glanced over at the flashing green
cube on the desk, v ordering if she
should risk interrupting the process
by consulting the cube. "I'll give
them five more seconds," she decided.
Four, three, two. . .
Just as she was about to give up, a
f gure appeared in the mist, hazily
at first, but quickly gaining form
and definition. Unlike her, he
emerged from the fog with the calm
and confidence of one completely at
ease with the procedure. He was a
tall, slender man dressed in a
conservative gray suit. His neatly
trimmed brown hair was edged with
gray at the temples, while his light
brown eyebrows faded, almost to
invisibility, against his craggy
features. The man's face wore a grim,
sober expression, lightened somewhat
by a hint of ironic amusement. His
right hand gently stroked the head of
a sleek, black cat he held securely
against his chest.
Always the cat, she thought. So how
come kitty can't come through on her
own7 I did

Greg Cox
The cat let out an inquisitive mew.
A collar of silvery fabric glittered
around its neck. Its eyes were
brilliant yellow ovals pierced by
thin slits of black
"Yes, Isis, we made it," he
murmured to the cat. Behind him, the
fog faded into nonexistence, leaving
not even a stray wisp to linger in
the office. The empty space beyond
the doorway now looked merely dark
and featureless, like an unlit
closet. The green cube beeped again,
and the heavy steel door began to
close automatically. Wooden panels
slid out from hidden recesses in
front of the doorway, concealing the
gleaming metal door behind three
shelves of cocktail glasses. Within
seconds, all traces of the enigmatic
fog chamber had vanished from sight.
The blond woman was no longer
surprised by the office's
transformation; she'd witnessed the
change too many times before. "About
time," she protested, crossing her
arms as she leaned back against the
sturdy desk. "What kept you?"
"A few last-minute details," he
replied, "but I think I can now
safely guarantee that Col. Armstrong
will take a very remarkable walk
tomorrow."
"Really?" She let out a long sigh
of relief. Her eyes widened as the
full enormity of the man's statement
sunk in. "Wow. Man on the moon. Even
after all I've seen in the past year,
I can still barely believe it."
"Welcome to the Space Age, Miss
Lincoln," said the man who called
himself Gary Seven. He placed the cat
gently onto the carpet. "Trust me,
this Is only the beginning."
Roberta Lincoln, age twenty, walked
across the office and dropped onto
the orange couch. Isis, her furry
black nemesis, hopped onto the couch
as well, and Roberta scooted down to
the other end of the couch, putting
at least one full cushion between
them. "The beginning," she repeated.
"That's what that spaceman from the
future, Kirk, said, too." She sunk
deeper into the couch, her gaze
drifting heavenward as if she could
probe the depths of interstellar
space

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
right through the ceiling of the
office. "Good thing me and you got to
help out a bit."
Isis made an indignant squawk.
"Oh yeah, you, too," Roberta
conceded. Sheesh, now even I'm
talking to the cat! Bad enough that
the boss keeps Kitty better informed
than me....
Seven, also known as Supervisor
194, allowed a bit of a smile to curl
his lips, apparently amused by the
byplay between Roberta and Isis. He
removed his jacket and hung it neatly
over the black metallic chair behind
his desk. "All part of the job," he
said, loosening his necktie. "The
human race has enormous potential,
but it still needs a little help now
and then."
Some job, Roberta thought. Tearing
her gaze away from the ceiling, she
glanced around Seven's unassuming
office. When she'd first started
working here, for Seven's immediate
predecessors, she'd had no trouble
accepting that "encyclopedia
research" was all that was going on.
Boy, was I in for a surprise. If I
told anyone else half of what goes on
in here, they'd think I was pulling
their leg or that I'd lost my mind.
"You know," she said, "the way you
talk, sometimes I think you forget
that you're part of the human race,
too."
The wry smile disappeared from
Seven's face, replaced by a more
pensive expression. "Very percepfive,
Miss Lincoln," he said, a touch of
melancholy deepening his voice. "You
may have a point there. Knowing what
I do, having been where I've been,
there is a bit of a . . . distancing
effect." He gave her a serious look
from across the room. "I'll have to
count on you to keep me in touch with
the rest of my species."
"Uh, sure," Roberta said, uncertain
how to respond. How do you relate to
a guy whose ancestors have been
trained by aliens for six thousand
years? "Say, that 2001 film is still
playing a few blocks away. I haven't
seen it yet." Had Seven (she could
never think of him as Gary) ever gone
to the movies? She

,
Greg Cox
had no idea. "Maybe we can hit a
matinee sometime?"
Isis hissed and gave Roberta a
dirty look. She scratched her claws
on the arm of the couch.
"Hey, don't blame me," Roberta
said. "It's not my fault they don't
let cats into the movies." Of course,
Isis wasn't always a cat, but Roberta
tried not to think about that. It was
just too weird. "So, what do you
say?" she asked Seven. "I'll even
spring for popcorn. Dutch treat."
Seven opened his mouth to respond,
but was interrupted by a piercing,
high-pitched whistle from the cube on
his desk. The glowing cube flashed
urgently, and Seven reacted as if
jolted by a live electrical wire.
Movies and moon landings were
instantly forgotten as Seven snapped
to attention. He was out from behind
the desk in an instant, striding
across the floor toward the
bookshelves. "Computer on," he said
sharply.
"What is it?" Roberta asked,
quickly catching Seven's mood. Isis
sprung from the couch, landing on all
four paws only a few inches away from
the bookshelves. The fur along the
cat's neck lifted itself in alarm.
"Emergency beacon," Seven
explained, his gaze glued to the wall
containing the bookshelves, which now
began to swing outward, rotating a
concealed computer bank into view.
Flashing horizontal and vertical
lines, in various combinations of
colors, formed changing patterns on
the surface of a gleaming, high-tech
computer that was the size of a large
refrigerator. Seven called it a
"Beta-5" computer, although Roberta
had no idea what exactly distin-
guished it from, say, a Beta-4 or a
Beta-6. She only knew that Seven's
computer, based on an ancient alien
technology, was smarter than any
other machine on Earth, circa 1969.
She wondered if the rest of the
world's computers would ever catch up
with the Beta-5. Not in my lifetime,
she thought.

if
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
A circular viewscreen, smaller than the
average television, occupied one section of the
apparatus. "Computer, identify distress
signal," Seven instructed.
The Beta-5 responded to his vocal command.
"Executing," the machine reported. Its voice,
although identifiably feminine, had a distinctly
inhuman echo. "Signal is fragmented due
to transtemporal interference."
'Transtemporal?" Seven said. Judging from the
tone of his voice, Roberta decided that was not good
news. Transtemporal, she thought, as in time
travel? She hopped off the couch and hurried to pin
Seven and Isis by the computer.
"Confirmed," the Beta-5 stated. "Tracking
source of transmission. Location Romulan Star
Empire, coordinates 83-62-171. Date,
by current Earth chronology 2269 A.d."
Roberta's jaw dropped. 2269? Three
hundred years from now?
Seven merely nodded grimly in response to the
computer's startling revelation. "Can you reconstruct
the content of the transmission?"
Illuminated lines flashed in sequence.
"Attempting to integrate signal."
Visual static appeared on the view screen.
Roberta looked over Seven's shoulder, trying
to discern some sort of recognizable image from
blurry electronic snow. She wished she knew
what she was looking for.
A pattern began to take shape upon the screen.
Soon she could make out a scratchy picture of a
man's face, accompanied by snatches of a
desperate voice interrupted by bursts of static
"146 to 194 . . . exposed . . . capture
imminent. . . technology beyond . . . at risk.
. . future history. . . recommend . . .
urgent. . . self-destruct. . . emergency . .
. no escape . . ."
Roberta thought she heard a harsh, sizzling
noise in the background, followed by a loud,
metallic crash.

14 tilde
Greg Cox
Then the static cleared for an
instant and she got a better look at
the speaker. To her surprise, she saw
that he had the same sort of strange,
pointed ears as that Martian guy, Mr.
Spock. He looked in bad shape, like
he'd been in a fight. His lip was
swollen and a trickle of green fluid
ran down the man's face from a
nasty-looking gash on his forehead.
Green" blood? she thought. This was
too weird.
The sizzling noise grew louder. The
face on the screen screamed once, a
ghastly sound that tore at Roberta's
heart, and the screen went blank.
"146," Seven barked, "please respond.
This is 194. Repeat respond
immediately!"
The screen remained blank.
"Transmission halted at origin," the
Beta-5 announced. Seven's head
drooped below his shoulders. He
clenched his fists in frustration.
For a second, he looked incredibly
tired.
"Mr. Seven?" Roberta asked
hesitantly. "Are you okay?"
He lifted his head and stepped away
from the computer. He took a deep
breath. "I'm fine,"? he answered,
"but I'm afraid the future is not."
"The future?" Roberta echoed.
"Precisely, Miss Lincoln, but which
future? That's the real question."
All business now, he addressed the
Beta"5. "Computer, analyze future
history for divergence from standard
time line." -
Lights blinked upon the face of the
futuristic apparates. A loud hum
emerged from the machine as it
processed Seven's request for at
least five minutes. Roberta was taken
aback by the delay. She had never
known the Beta-5 to take more than
ten seconds to answer any query, no
matter how complicated. "Is something
wrong?" she asked.
Isis seconded Roberta with an
inquisitive meow. Seven shushed them
both as the Beta-5 spoke at last.
"Alternate time line established. New
future deviates significantly from
established parameters."
"Point of divergence?" Seven
demanded.

l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"2293 A.d. Khitomer Peace Conference.
Assassination of Spockof Vulcan by anomalous
temporal element prior to initial meeting with
Pardek of Romulus. Result elimination of
Vulcan-Romulan reunificalion efforts in
latter half of the twenty-fourth century."
The twenty-fourth century? Roberta wondered,
struggling to keep up with the computer's revelations.
i
When did we get on to the twenty-fourth
century? What happened to 2269?
"I see," Seven said thoughtfully. "Source of
anomaly?"
"2269 A.d. Romulan Star Empire.
Coordinates 8362-aga."
Okay, Roberta thought. That's more like it. She still
had no idea what was going on, except that someone was
going to kill Mr. Spock who hadn't even been
born yet! Never mind the Age of Aquarius, her
mind wasn't expanding fast enough to keep up with
all these bizarre concepts. She still had trouble
believing that she had actually met an intelligent
being from outer space; now she had to worry about his
assassination, almost a hundred and twenty-five
years from today? Help, she thought. I need an
Excedrin.
On the rug, Isis meowed and rubbed her head
against Seven's trousers until he picked her up.
RID berta wondered grumpily if the cat had
figured out any more than she had.
Seven walked briskly across the office and
retrieved his jacket from the back of his chair.
"I'm afraid I have to postpone any movie
plans," he stated. "We have to leave again,
immediately."
"For 2269 or 2293?" Roberta asked,
hoping that it was a blatantly ridiculous question.
Please tell me he's not saying what I think
he's saying
Seven answered quite matter-of-factly. "2269.
That's the root of the trouble." He placed Isis on
the top of the desk and put on his jacket, then pushed
down the pen attached to his pen and pencil set.

'1 tilde
Greg Cox
Roberta heard a familiar clicking
sound, and watched as, across from
the desk, the shelves of decorative
glassware receded into their hidden
crevices, exposing the massive steel
door guarding the fog chamber. A
circular handle on the door spun
automatically, and the doorway swung
open once more. Roberta gulped as
Seven hurriedly manipulated a control
panel on the inner face of the door.
She didn't like the looks of this.
"Time travel?" she asked. "You're
not joking, are you?"
"As you may have noted, Miss
Lincoln," Seven replied, "I seldom
joke."
Isis sprung off the desktop and
padded over to Seven's side. To her
dismay, Roberta saw an unnatural blue
fog began to form inside the interior
of the hidden chamber. "Why the big
hurry?" she objected. Things were
moving far too fast for her. "The
future's not going anywhere, is it?"
"The longer we delay, the further
it may go offtrack," Seven explained
curtly. Seeing the bewildered look on
Roberta's face, he paused to
elaborate. "Future events can
sometimes threaten the past, Miss
Lincoln. Indeed, our own continuing
knowledge that the future has been
changed may have the effect of
ensuring that change unless we take
action to reverse it; even the
primitive quantum theory of this era
concedes that the act of observing
reality can actually change the
reality being observed."
Roberta's head was inclined to take
Seven's word for it. "This is one of
those step-on-a-butterfly,
change-the-whole-world kind of
things, right?"
"Basically," Seven confirmed, "but
in reverse. It's not common, and it's
certainly not reasonable, but it is
possible, take my word for it. We
have to act now, before any temporal
backwash robs us of the opportunity."
"Oh," Roberta said, trying to come
to terms with the concept. "Do I need
to pack?"
Seven cracked a smile. "You'll find
the twenty-third

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
century extraordinarily
well-stocked." He checked his suit's
inside pocket, drawing out a slim
silver device the size and shape of
a fountain pen, then replacing the
device in his pocket. "I believe I
have everything we need. Except was A
new thought seemed to occur to him.
He rushed back to the desk and picked
up the green cube. "Here," he said,
tossing the cube toward Roberta.
"Take this."
The cube chirped when she caught
it. She snatched a psychedelic
handbag off the plush orange chair by
the couch, and stuck the cube into
the bag.
The luminescent fog swirled within
the confines of the chamber. It
looked to Roberta like a glowing blue
whirlpool, a vaporous vortex from
which she might never return. Gary
Seven stood to one side of the
doorway, holding Isis against his
chest. "After you," he said.
Roberta swallowed hard. 2269. How
long would it take to travel forward
three hundred years? What would the
world possibly be like then? She
glanced back over her shoulder at the
wooden doorframe on the other side of
the office. Beyond that door, she
thought, lay her world as she knew
it Manhattan, movies, and moon
landings. "Here goes nothing," she
whispered.
Taking one last look at the
twentieth century, she stepped back
into the fog.

Chapter Two
Captain's log, stardate6021.4.
The Enterprise is on an emergency mission to the
planet Duwamish. Massive flooding has
endangered the Federation colony there, and Starfleet
has directed us to deliver desperately needed
food and medical supplies, as well as to assist
any necessary evacuation efforts. As the Enterprise is
the only Starfleet vessel in this sector, I can
only pray that we get to Duwamish before too many
lives are lost.
"You SHOULD GET some sleep, Jim," Dr.
Leonard McCoy groused. "You look
like hell."
Captain James T. Kirk sat up in his
chair upon the bridge of the
Enterprise, strenuously resisting an
urge to yawn. The ship's chief
medical officer hovered beside him
like an anxious mother hen. "That's
a harsh diagnosis, Bones," he
protested. "Whatever happened to
your bedside manner?"
"ltm a doctor, not a diplomat,"
McCoy said. "I'm serious, Jim. It's
been less than a week since that
nasty

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
business with Dr. Lester, and here you are, pushing
yourself as if nothing at all had happened to you. For
heaven's sake, Jim, your entire mind was
transferred out of your body and back again. That's not
exactly like getting over the flu."
Thanks for reminding me, Kirk thought. It
wasn't one of his happier memories, although the
experience of living within a woman's body had
been... educational, to say the least. He was glad
to be back in his own flesh and bones, though. For a
while there, it had looked like his five-year
exploratory mission was going to come to an abrupt and
singularly frustrating halt. "You said there were no
side effects," he reminded the doctor.
"I said I couldn't find any side effects,"
McCoy said. He shrugged his shoulders beneath his blue
medical uniform. "I also prescribed plenty of
rest, just to be safe."
I don't need rest, Kirk thought defiantly,
I need action and a chance to get back to work. The last
thing he wanted was to spend more wasted hours in his
quarters, "recuperating." Emergency
quarters had to be prepared for refugees from
Duwamish. Food rations and medical supplies
had to be cata- logued and prepped for immediate usage.
Emotional counseling would need to be provided for those
who had lost their loved ones and their homes. Kirk
made a mental note to himself to make sure all the
ship's transporters were capable of functioning at
maximum capacity, just in case they'd need
to relocate large quantities of settlers in a
hurry. He reached for the command intercom panel on the
port console. Better check with Scotty, he
thought. Get an update on the status of the primary
energizing coils and pattern buffers. . .
"I'm serious, Jim," McCoy persisted,
placing a restraining hand on Kirk's arm. "You have
a good crew. Trust them to do their jobs without you for a
few hours."

be
Greg Cox tilde j
"Spock, help me out here," Kirk said,
attempting a light, breezy tone. "Dr.
McCoy is trying to drive me from the bridge."
Spock stepped away from the bridge's science
station, where myriad lighted panels and
controls glowed against the polished black surface
of the science console. He descended into the sunken
command module to stand near Dr. McCoy. "As
unusual as it may seem," he said, "I must
concur with the doctor in this instance."
"What?" Kirk exclaimed. "Spock, not you,
too?"
The Vulcan first officer displayed no reaction
to his captain's look of betrayal. "Even at
maximum speed," he explained, "we will not reach the
Duwamish system for 9.4 hours. It is only
logical to conserve your strength until it is
needed."
"Hah!" A broad grin broke out on
McCoy's weathered face. "I never thought I'd have
to fall back on Vulcan logic, but our
pointy-eared friend here has the right idea. Save your
pigheaded stubbornness for some time when it might
actually do some good."
"I guess I'm outnumbered," Kirk said,
deciding to concede defeat gracefully. He scanned
the bridge, reassuring himself that all was in order.
Sulu was at the helm, while Chekov and Uhura
held down their usual posts at the navigation
console and the communications station,
respectively. On the main viewer at the front
of the bridge, the stars zipped by at warp speed. One
of the astronomical prints mounted above the duty
stations caught his eye a full-color
reproduction of a swirling nebula, now forever
frozen in space and time. The bridge of the
Enterprise struck him at this moment as just as durable
and unchanging as that two-dimensional nebula.
Maybe Bones is on target after all, he thought,
and the ship can get by without me for a few hours. He
rose from his chair and stretched, no longer bothering
to suppress a weary yawn. A nap was sounding
better and better. "Mr. Spock," he
announced, "you have the bridge."

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
He was just turning toward the
bright red doors of the lift entrance
when, without any warning, a tre-
mendous vibration shook the bridge.
The floor beneath his feet rocked
from one side to another. Kirk seized
the armrest of his chair to keep from
being thrown to the floor. On the
opposite side of the chair, McCoy was
not so fortunate. The ship's doctor
staggered back and forth, then began
to pitch forward. He fell toward the
hard duranium floor, only to be
rescued at the last second by Spock,
who somehow managed to take hold of
McCoy's arm while simultaneously
maintaining his own balance. Good
work Kirk thought as he struggled to
keep standing. "Red alert!" he called
out to his crew. Uhura, holding
tightly onto the communications
console, responded at once to his
command. Red warning lights began
flashing all around the bridge,
accompanied by a highpitched siren
that drowned out the gasps of the
other crewmen.
The vibration lasted several
seconds, during which he could feel
the throbbing of the floor through
the soles of his boots. Then the
shaking began to subside, and the
bridge gradually righted itself as
the Enterprise stabilized its course.
Kirk dropped back into his chair, all
thought of rest forgotten. "All
stations report, what the devil was
that?"
"Captain," Ensign Chekov called
out. "Sensors report a transporter
beam of astounding power, a hundred
times stronger than anything we've
got!"
A transporter? Kirk thought. He had
never felt a transporter beam like
that before, except for his brain
resisted the notion that occurred to
him but that was three centuries ago!
Spock's mind seemed to be racing
down the same channels. "As I recall,
Captain," he said, releasing his grip
on McCoy, who had regained his
balance, "we have experienced this
phenomenon before...."
"Captain, look!" Chekov interrupted
as two blurry blue outlines suddenly
materialized at the front of the

Hi
Greg Cox
bridge, only a couple of meters away
from Sulu's station at the helm. The
figures were blurry at first,
seemingly composed of a swirling blue
energy, then quickly defined
themselves. Alerted by his memory,
Kirk recognized the intruders even
before they fully solidified.
It was Gary Seven and his
attractive young sidekick from the
twentieth century. What was her name
again? Kirk quickly retrieved the
data from year-old memories. Roberta
Lincoln, that was it.
But what were they doing aboard the
Enterprise in this day and age? Kirk
had never expected to encounter the
pair again, let alone in his own time
and on his own ship. Even their
clothing, he noted, belonged on Earth
a few centuries ago. Seven wore an
antiquated suit and tie, while his
female companion had dressed more
casually in a loose-fitting,
multicolored shirt and a pair of
faded denim pants. They both looked
like they had stepped out of some
sort of historical costume drama.
Chekov leaped from his seat and
drew his phaser. Sulu looked ready to
do the same. Even McCoy instinctively
placed his hand on the medical
tricorder hanging from a strap over
his shoulder. "Don't move," Chekov
ordered the newcomers, "or I will
fire."
Seven ignored both the young
ensign's weapon and the blaring
alarms. "Hello again, Captain Kirk,
Mr. Spock," he said calmly. As usual,
Kirk noticed, Seven had his cat with
him. The sleek black animal nestled
against Seven's chest, seemingly
unruffled and undisturbed by its
journey through time and space. By
contrast, Roberta Lincoln looked
around with wideeyed astonishment;
Kirk guessed she'd never seen the
interior of a starship before.
"Forgive the intrusion," Seven
stated, "but I need your assistance."
"Captain?" Chekov asked, sounding
confused. He kept his phaser aimed at
the intruders. "Do you know these
people?"

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"You can stand down, Ensign," Kirk
replied, rising from his own chair.
Flicking a switch on the command
functions panel on the starboard
armrest of the chair, he deactivated
the siren and blinking red lights.
"Cancel red alert status." It
occurred to him that few of the crew
had actually met either Seven or
Roberta; only he and Spock had
actually beamed down to Earth during
that mission. "I don't think you'll
need that phaser, at least I hope
not. Meet Gary Seven and Roberta
Lincoln. They're time travellers
from twentieth century Earth, or so
I assume."
Cradled in Seven's arms, the cat
squawked noisily, as if angry at
being overlooked. Kirk didn't even
try to remember what Seven's pet was
named, although he found it slightly
odd that Seven never seemed to go
anywhere without the cat. At least
it's not a triable, he thought. -
"Good Lord," McCoy said, staring in
amazement at the strangers on the
bridge. Kirk wondered if the doctor
was remembering his own harrowing
trip to Earth's Depression era,
McCoy's only firsthand encounter
with the twentieth century. "Kind of
a long way from home, aren't they?"
the doctor said. "In time and
space."
That was certainly true, Kirk
thought. Earth was hundreds of
light-years away from their present
localion, not to mention a century
or three removed from Seven's own
time. This must be serious, he
thought. Seven wouldn't have come
all this way without a strong
reason.
"Excuse me, Captain," Lieutenant
Uhura spoke up from her post at the
communications station. She pressed
a compact silver receiver firmly
against her ear. "Chief Engineer
Scott is hailing you from engi-
neering. He wants to know what's
happening."
"Tell Scatty the situation is under
control," Kirk instructed.
"I'm glad you think so," McCoy
grumbled. The doctor gave his
captain a dubious look.

Greg Cox
Kirk shrugged, then turned his
attention to their unexpected guests.
"All right, Seven, what's so impor-
tant that you had to shake up my ship
to get here?" His fists clenched at
his sides. That damn beam almost
shook my ship apart, he thought. Last
time around, the Enterprise had
intercepted Seven's transporter beam
by accident. Don't tell me that this
was just another coincidence. I won't
buy it.
"I'm here on an urgent mission,
Captain, the nature of which I can't
fully disclose. Unfortunately, in
this century, I don't have access to
all the resources I had in your past,
so I need the Enterprise to help me
complete my mission."
"You'll have to tell me more than
that," Kirk challenged Seven. He
walked across the bridge, stepping up
from the command module and circling
around the navigation console until
he was less than a meter away from
Seven and his companions. "I suppose
you are still working on behalf of
some mysterious alien benefactors his
Seven nodded.
was whose nature and location you're
still unwilling to divulge?"
"Exactly," Seven confirmed. "I
trust you appreciate the delicacy of
my position, Captain. As a visitor to
your era, I don't wish to disturb
f uture history any more than
absolutely necessary. At present,
your Federation remains unaware of my
sponsors, thus it is imperative that
I do nothing to change that situa-
tion."
Kirk shook his head, scowling.
"That may have been good enough back
in the twentieth century, but not
anymore. Your activities in the past
are a matter of history; there's
nothing I can do about them. But this
is my era now my present and you're
the one who doesn't belong here. And
I don't like the idea of you, or the
aliens you represent, meddling with
our affairs. Humanity's grown a lot
since the twentieth

l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
century. We don't need any cosmic
baby-sitters these days."
"Actually, Captain," Seven replied,
"that's exactly why I need your help.
In this century, the human race has
indeed graduated to a higher level of
civilization, and no longer requires
the intervention of my superiors."
"Well, bravo for us," McCoy said.
He had remained within the circular
command module, keeping one hand on
the red guardrail just in case the
ship lurched again. "Hear that,
Spock? Modern-day home sapiens isn't
nearly as primitive as you think."
"No matter what level of
advancement, Doctor," Spock answered,
not far from McCoy's side, "there is
always room for improvement.
Especially with regard to humanity's
frequently unrestrained emotions."
"What's wrong with emotions?"
Roberta blurted out. Her gaze, Kirk
noted, kept drifting back to the
points of Spock's ears. Just wait
till she sees an Andorian, he
thought. Blue skin and antennae are
even more eye-catching
"Please, gentlemen," Kirk asked
Spock and McCoy. "Not now." He turned
back to face Seven. "What are you
saying? That the Federation is
outside your jurisdiction now?"
"More or less," Seven said in a
noncommittal manner. "That's why
there is no organization or
infrastructure in place to assist me
in this era. My superiors, and my
successors, are occupied elsewhere in
the galaxy, safeguarding the
development of sentient races that
your civilization will not encounter
for generations to come." Seven
calmly stroked his cat's head as he
spoke. "Given time, I could certainly
acquire a starship of my own, and
whatever equips ment and personnel
may be required to complete my
mission, but time is exactly what is
at stake."
"Meaning what?" Kirk demanded,
growing annoyed by Seven's cryptic
remarks. He was exhausted, 23
1 tilde
Greg Cox
the ship was facing a difficult rescue
mission, and the last thing he needed now was a
meddlesome time traveler with a
secret agenda. True, Seven had proved
trustworthy the last time they met him,
but that
didn't mean Kirk was ready to turn over
the Enter- caret
prise just at Seven's insistence. I need
more than that,
he thought. A lot more. . His
Seven paused, weighing his words
carefully. "I can tell you that I'm here
to untangle a temporal paradox that
threatens both our futures."
Kirk didn't like the sound of that. He
knew, from painful experience, just how
fragile the time line could be. Memories
of Edith Keeler came unbidden to his mind.
"What sort of paradox?" he demanded. "Is
something going to happen to change the
past?"
"No," Seven said. "But your own future
could be changed has been changed unless
action is taken immediately. I have reason to believe
that an event damaging the
proper procession of history will origi-
nate several hours from now, at a specific
location within this quadrant. Trust me,
that's all you need to know, except for
the coordinates of our destination."
"I need to know a good deal more than
that," Kirk protested. "This ship is not
going anywhere, except on its current
course, unless I hear something better
than a couple of ominous hints and
warnings."
Seven refused to give in. "Think about
it, Captain Kirk. Do you really want to
know your own future?"
Now there's a question to give one
pause, Kirk thought. There was a reason
that time travel into the future, although theoretically
possible, was expressly
forbidden by every responsible scientific and civil
authority. Not even a Klingon
really wanted to know the day of his own
death. Certainly, he thought, Edith Keeler had
been better off not knowing her
ultimate destiny. Kirk glanced at McCoy
and wondered if the doctor was thinking of Edith,
too. It had been nearly three years since they'd
both watched her die, but the 24
hi
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
very thought of time travel still
brought up too many painful memories.
"As far as I'm concerned," Kirk
answered finally, "the future is not
set in stone. I'm planning to get
there the old-fashioned way, one day
at a time."
"Unfortunately," Seven said, "your
enemies may not share your patience.
It may interest you to know that the
source of the temporal anomaly lies
within the current boundaries of the
Romulan Empire."
"Good Lord," McCoy exclaimed.
"Fascinating," Spock commented.
"The Romulans?" Kirk said,
momentarily surprised that Seven had
even heard of them. Seven obviously
knew a lot more about the universe
than the average twentieth century
human, but just how familiar was he
with present interstellar politics?
Are the Romahns really up to
something, Kirk wondered, or is Seven
just playing on my justifiable
paranoia where the Romulan Empire is
concerned? He frowned; it had been
less than one standard year since the
Romulans had formed an alliance with
the Klingon Empire, and the situation
remained tense. The Enterprise had
nearly been captured by Romulan
forces the last time Kirk crossed the
Neutral Zone.
"Please, Captain," Roberta spoke
up. "I don't know who or what a
Romulan is, but I know you can trust
Mr. Seven. I've been working with him
for months now, and he's definitely
one of the good guys."
"It's not necessarily a matter of
trust, Miss Lincoln," Kirk
replied,
deciding to direct his attention to
Seven's youthful secretary. Perhaps
she would be more forthcoming than
her tight-lipped employer. "This is
a Starfleet vessel. I'm responsible
for the safety of my crew and the
security of the United Federation of
Planets, including the planet Earth.
I can't just take off on some sort of
wild-goose chase because of something
that might happen in the fu25
,1
Greg Cox
sure." He gave Roberta his most
charming smile. "I don't suppose you
know what this is all about, do
you?"
The cat in Seven's arms hissed
angrily. Roberta Pinched, then gave
the feline a dirty look "I wasn't
going to say anything!"
Seven stepped between Kirk and
Roberta. "If you have any more
questions, Captain, you can direct
them to me. Although I can't promise
you all the answers you'd like."
"This is my ship, Mr. Seven, and
I'll interrogate anyone I have to,"
Kirk said. He looked Seven squarely
in the eye as he quite deliberately
stepped around the other man to
speak to Roberta again. "We may have
been born in different centuries,
Miss Lincoln, but we're both from
Earth. I'm from Iowa, actually. I
know we both have Earth's best
interests at heart, but, to be
honest, I'm not entirely sure where
Mr. Seven's true loyalties lie. What
do you know about these mysterious
aliens he works fort"
The cat hissed once more, but
Roberta ignored the animal's
warning. She cast a quick glance at
Spock, then looked away nervously.
"Er, well," she hesitated, clutching
a brightly colored handbag to her
chest. "I'd like to help you,
Captain. I really would. But Mr.
Seven . . . he works on a strictly
need-to-know basis, you know?
James-Bond style. For your eyes
only, and all that. This tape will
self-destruct in five seconds...."
She shrugged her shoulders. "I'm
just along for the ride."
James who? Kirk wondered. He didn't
buy Roberta's dumb act for a minute.
He knew she knew more than she was
letting on. With a little more time,
he thought, it might be possible to
win her trust, maybe coax more of
the truth out of her.
"Captain," Seven said, "I can
assure you that I am not working on
behalf of the Romulans, the
Klingons, the Tholians, the Gorn, or
any of your present antago26
.,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
nists. My sponsors are far beyond the
petty power struggles of this era.
But time is of the essence. We must
embark for Romulan space
immediately."
At the helm, Sulu looked back at
Kirk, ready to make the course
correction if necessary. "Sir?"
"The Romulan Empire," Kirk said to
Seven, "in case you've forgotten, is
off-limits to all Starfleet vessels.
Crossing the Neutral Zone could be
seen as an act of war. I'm going to
have to think long and hard about
your request," Kirk said honestly. He
strode past Seven, back to the
captain's chair. Taking his seat, he
gestured towards the main viewer. "In
any event, there's nothing I can do
for you right away. As it happens,
the Enterprise is already on a vital
mission that cannot possibly be
delayed."
Seven glanced at the stars
streaking past on the viewer. He
seemed unimpressed. "I'm sure your
mist sion is very important, Captain,
but the danger I've detected has to
take pAority. All of future
history
is at stake."
"Listen, Seven," Kirk said, anger
coloring his voice. "I've- had quite
enough of your high-and-mighty, all-
knowing pronouncements. I'll give
your warning serious consideration;
you've earned that much for your
benevolent efforts in th e past. But
right now there are thousands of
lives at risk on a planet several
lightyears away. Real flesh-and-blood
lives, not vague, unspecified time
paradoxes, and the Enterprise is the
only hope those people have."
"Amen," McCoy muttered, his hand on
the back of the captain's chair.
"We're on a mission of mercy,
damnit."
"Spock," Kirk asked, "how far are
we from the Duwamish system?"
The Vulcan did not need to consult
any monitors to provide an answer.
"Approximately 8.23 hours, Cam fain,
assuming no further interruptions."
"Thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk said. He
looked

Greg Cox
across the bridge at Gary Seven.
"There you have it, Mr. Seven. In a
little over eight hours, we will
arrive at our current destination and
commence relief operations. By then,
hopefully, you'll have decided to
share a little more of your
information with me, so I can make an
intelligent decision regarding your
proposal.
The furrows on Seven's brow
deepened, and, for a moment or two,
Kirk was convinced that Seven was
going to argue the matter further.
Instead, Seven sighed deeply and
stroked his cat's head. "Very well,
Captain, if that's your decision. I
only hope the future will survive
your doubts."
"That's a risk I'll just have to
take," Kirk said. "In the meantime,
consider yourselves guests aboard the
Enterprise. Mr. Chekov, escort Mr.
Seven, Miss Lincoln, and, er, their
pet to the visitor's quarters on
Level Three."
"Aye, sir," Chekov responded
briskly. He kept one hand poised
above his phaser, just in case.
Seated at the helm, a few centimeters
away, Sulu studiously examined the
images on the main viewer. He looked
relieved that Kirk's confrontation
with Seven-had been defused so
easily. -
"Actually, Captain," McCoy spoke
up. He tilde walked over to join Chekov and
his charges. "I- wouldn't mind giving
our guests a quick once-over in
sickbay. Twentieth-century Earth was
a cauldron of virulent and contagious
diseases; I want to make sure no
nasty bugs travelled through time
with them."
"That's not necessary, Doctor,"
Seven said. Kirk wondered if Seven
had merely guessed McCoy's pro-
cession, which wouldn't be too
difficult given the doctor's
reference to sickbay, or if he could
actually spot a Starfleet medical
officer by his uniform. Just how much
did Seven know anyway? "The
transporter mechanism screens for
viruses and bacteria."
"Indulge me," McCoy said with a grin.
"When was 28

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
the last time I got to observe real-life
products of ancient medicine close-up." He
peered at Roberta's own friendly smile. "Good
God, are those actual metal fillings in your
teeth? You poor child!"
The cat in Seven's arms flashed her own ivory
fangs at the doctor.

. tilde
tilde 1 tilde i.
Chapter Three
So THIS is the future, Roberta thought
as their two escorts guided she and
Seven through the corridors of the
Enterprise. So far she liked what she
saw. A bit sterile and antiseptic,
perhaps, but remarkably clean and
civilized-lookin tilde If she hadn't known
better, she would have never guessed
that she was actually aboard a
spaceship. Compared to the cramped
cam sules that the Apollo astronauts
had been squeezed into, these roomy
hallways were positively spacious.
Her brain automatically compared her
present surroundings to the NASA
space footage she'd seen on
television. "Hey," she asked as an
idea occurred to her, "how come we're
not all floating around weight-
lessly?"
"Artificial gravity," the younger
crewman said with a unmistakably
Russian accent. His name was Chekov,
Roberta recalled, thinking that he
reminded her of one of the Beatles.
Paul maybe, or George. "It's
revolutionized space travel, ever
since it was invented

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
by some very brilliant scientists at
the University of Moscow."
The older man Dr. McCoy, Roberta
remembered snorted at Chekov's
remarks. "I think the Vulcan Science
Academy might have a bone to pick
with you."
"The first Terran prototypes were
tested in Moscow," Chekov insisted
patriotically. Roberta just shook her
head in amazement; she was still
flabbergasted to see Russians and
Americans working together in space.
What had happened to the space race,
not to mention the Cold War? She was
old enough to have vivid memories of
the Cuban Missile Crisis. The
situation aboard the Enterprise
seemed so far away from those
nerve-wracking days of fear and
suspicion that it was almost
impossible to believe that they were
merely three hundred years in the
future.
And that wasn't the half of it.
Just looking around the bridge where
they'd first arrived, Roberta had
seen a black woman, a Japanese man,
a couple of Americans, a Russian and
an honest-to-goodness alien, for
pete's sake all cooperating together
peacefully. Compared to 1969, it was
like some sort of wild, utopian
fantasy. Wow, Roberta thought,
feeling deeply moved all of sudden.
It seemed like the late Martin Luther
King's dream had actually come true
after all a world where no one was
judged by their race or nationality.
"This is fantastic," she said.
"This old place?" the doctor said
with a grin. Roberta caught a trace
of a southern accent. "It's nice of
you to say so, but you should see
Earth these days."
"I'd like to," Roberta replied. Her
eyes widened as a Chinese woman in a
bright red uniform hurried past them
in the hall. "Gee,"-she exclaimed,
"who would have ever guessed that
miniskirts and go-go 31
Greg Cox
boots would still be popular in the twenty-third
century?"
"Excuse me?" asked the mop-topped young
Russian. "What do you mean?" On second thought
Roberta mused, maybe he reminds me more of one
of the Monkees.
"Everything old is new again," Seven commented
dryly. Isis purred in agreement. Seven bent
over and carefully placed the cat on the floor.
"Unfortunately, we're not here for sight-seeing."
Party popper, Roberta thought. Her annoyance
turned to alarm, however, as she saw Seven casually
remove his servo from the inside pocket of his
jacket. The slim silver device looked
deceptively harmless, but Roberta knew just what
Seven's weapon was capable of. Oh-oh, she thought,
experiencing a twinge of guilt. Here we go again.
"What's that?" McCoy asked, glancing at
Seven. "Some sort of was Before he could even
finish his question, Seven pointed the tip of the servo at
the doctor. There was a brief hum, then
McCoy's entire body began to sag slowly
toward the floor. A dreamy smile broke out on
his face.
"Wait! What are you doing?" Chekov said,
reaching for the weapon attached to his belt. Some sort
of ray gun, Roberta guessed. Seven was too
fast for him, though. The servo hummed again, and
Chekov's arms dropped limply to his sides.
"That's all right," Seven said soothingly as he
gently guided Chekov's drooping body onto the
floor next to the slumping form of Dr. McCoy.
He removed Chekov's weapon and handed it over
to Roberta, who looked at it warily. The
Russian crewman offered no resistance; the
servo's tranquilizing beam, she knew, left its
victims quite suggestible. "Pleasant dreams,
gentlemen."
"Did you have to do that?" she asked. The two
future-men had been very pleasant and hospitable; it
seemed a shame to ambush them like that.


ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Isis mewed sarcastically, perhaps
anticipating Seven's response. "We
cannot afford to wait for the
captain's cooperation," he
announced. Stepping away from the
fallen crewmen, he placed his ear
against a sealed doorway built into
the corridor wall. "Sounds empty,"
he said. "Excellent." Roberta
scowled, unsure if he was talking to
her or the cat. Sometimes it was
hard to tell.
He adjusted the setting on his
servo, then directed it at the
closed door. Roberta heard something
sizzle inside the door just before
it slid open. Peering into the
shadowy chamber beyond the door, she
saw what looked like ordinary living
quarters. Unoccupied, thankfully.
"Over here," Seven instructed.
Placing his arms under Chekov's
shoulders, he dragged the sleeping
Russian into the empty room. "Help
me with the other one."
Roberta stuck the stolen ray gun
into her belt, then grabbed hold of
McCoy and pulled him toward the
now-open doorway. Adding insult to
exertion, Isis paced along beside
her, meowing emphatically. "I don't
require any supervision, thank you
very much," Roberta grunted,
straining to get the doctor's body
out of the corridor as quickly as
possible. What if someone came along
and caught them in the act? She
could just imagine explaining this
to Cam lain Kirk.
"I don't get it," she said as the
doctor's heels disappeared into the
chamber. "Why didn't we just wait
until we got where we were going
before you zapped them? Why pull
this stunt in the hall?"
Straightening from a crouched
position, Seven returned the servo
to his pocket. "To be honest, I
wasn't entirely sure how large a
staff served the ship's medical
facilities. I didn't want to have to
deal with any possible nurses or
interns." Isis padded across the
Boor and jumped back into Seven's
arms. "An excel


Greg Cox
lent question, though, Miss Lincoln.
Your strategic instincts are
improving."
Yeah, that's me, Roberta thought.
The Girl from U.n. C.l.e. She cast a
guilty look back at the snoozing
crewmen, easing her conscience by
remembering that the tranquilizer
effect was quite harmles s, not to
mention distinctly pleasant. Sleep
tight, guys, she thought. Sorry we
had to knock you out.
At the doorway, Seven peeked
cautiously around the edge of the
door, then withdrew his head back
into the chamber, looking around
speculatively. "There must be a
manual control," he murmured, either
to himself or to Isis. "Ah, here it
is." He slid the smooth metal door
back into place.
Roberta quickly assessed their
surroundings. The stateroom consisted
of a bedroom, a work area, and a
private bathroom with a weird-looking
shower. Pretty cozy, she decided;
frankly, it was bigger and cleaner
than her apartment in the East
Village. And I bet they don't get
cockroaches, too. Was this strictly
the VIP geauarters, or did everyone
aboard get one of these nifty little
compartments? If so, she thought,
where do I sign up?
Seven dropped Isis onto the bed,
then removed his jacket. "I'm going
to borrow the ensign's uniform," he
said. He gestured towards what looked
like some sort of futuristic closet.
"See if you can find an appropriate
disguise for yourself."
"What are the odds of that?" she
asked out loud, turning her back
while Seven changed. "Just how
sexually integrated is the future
anyway?"
"You may be surprised," Seven
commented from somewhere behind her.
"I estimate there must be over a
hundred humanoid women serving aboard
the Enterprise. It shouldn't be too
hard to find a uniform for you. If
not in this cabin, then perhaps one
nearby."
"A couple hundred?" she blurted.
This was one big ship. To her relief,
though, Roberta discovered that 34
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
the current occupant of the stateroom
apparently wore dresses. Retrieving
a bright red outfit like the ones
she'd seen on some of the female
spacetravellers, she disappeared into
the bathroom while Seven contemplated
what looked like a small, portable
television set. "Computer," he
addressed the machine, "display
interior schematics of U.s.s. En-
terprise, highlighting the most
efficient route from this location to
main engineering."
"Working," the machine replied in a
feminine voice that Roberta thought
sounded rather warmer and more human
than the Beta-5's artificial voice.
Maybe because it was actually
programmed by humans?
"That little thing is a computer?"
she asked a few minutes Later,
emerging from the bathroom. The red
uniform was snug in a few places, but
it seemed to fit enough to pass
casual inspection, or so she hoped.
The boots squeezed her toes as she
walked, making Roberta pine for her
comfy sneakers. She sighed. Nobody
said being a time-travelling secret
agent was going to be easy.
Seven did not look up from the
illuminated screen, which cast a
bluish glow upon his face. Although
Chekov's golden shirt and black
trousers barely fit him, he looked
very much at home in this era. "A
computer terminal, to be precise," he
explained, "but it's told me
everything I need to know. The ship's
engineering section is Just a
turbolift away."
Isis was curled atop Seven's neatly
folded pile of twentieth century
garments. "Let's go," he said, and
the cat leaped from its newfound bed
to rendezvous with Seven in front of
the door. "Are you ready, Miss
Lincoln?"
"I guess so," she replied. Ready
for what, exactly? She often wished
Seven wasn't so secretive by nature.
"What should I do about the purse? It
doesn't really match the uniform."
Seven squinted at the brightly colored
Peter Max 35
Hi
Greg Cox
design on Roberta's handbag. "I see what
you mean." He scanned the compartment until his
gaze landed upon a black leather bag resting on a
shelf above the computer station. "What about that?" he
suggested, pointing at the bag.
She hurried over as fast as her ill-fitting
boots permitted and lifted the bag from its shelf.
There was a shoulder-length black strap attached to the
bag and a folded-over flap held closed by a
snap. She unfastened the flap and peeked inside,
spotting a piece of metal hardware about the size
of a small record player. "What's this?" she
asked, lifting the device from the bag. It was
surprisingly lightweight.
"A tricorder," Seven declared. Observing the
puzzled expression on her face, he added,
"Don't worry about it. I'll explain later.
For now, just transfer the multipurpose controller
to the black bag."
Roberta nodded. She knew he meant the green
cube that had sunk to the bottom of her handbag; she
didn't think he'd want her to leave it behind. She
dug through the scattered contents of her bag,
overturning pieces of wadded-up kleenex, a spare
set of keys, a pack of spearmint gum, loose
change and subway tokens, tickets to an upcoming
Bob Dylan concert, nail clippers, and a
paperback copy of Stranger in a Strange Land
before she finally located the polished crystal cube.
Pacing back and forth in front of the sealed doorway,
Isis hissed impatiently.
"I'm coming, I'm coming!" Roberta said, dropping
the cube, into the tricorder bag, then slinging the bag
over her shoulder. "Keep your fur on, okay?"
Operating the manual controls, Seven slid the
door open. He stepped furtively into the
hallway, then beckoned for Roberta and Isis
to join him. His servo was tightly gripped in his other
hand, she noted. Once Roberta and the cat were in the
corridor, Seven carefully closed the door behind
them, concealing the dormant bodies of McCoy and
Chekov from any stray 36
i i
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
passersby. "This way," he said. Isis jumped
into his arms.
They had almost reached the nearest elevator
turbolift, Roberta corrected herself when a
pair of crewmen, one tall, one short, came
around a corners walking directly toward them.
Roberta gulped. Would their borrowed uniforms fool
these two? It was hard to imagine that the
Enterprise was so big that a couple of unfamiliar
faces could go unnoticed, but maybe it
was. tilde should probably think in terms of the
Queen be Mary, she thought, and not an old-fashioned
Saturn rocket. Her heart pounding, she glanced
over at Sev- en, but he kept his gaze fixed
straight ahead of him. His face betrayed no sign
of anxiety.
Chatting casually, the two men drew nearer
to Seven and Roberta. They seemed to be paying no
attention to either she or Seven, and, for a second,
Roberta experienced a surge of relief. They were
going to get away with it! Then the tall man halted
in his path and stared at Seven. "Hey," he said, and
Roberta felt her mouth go dry, "where'd you get that
cat?"
Figures, Roberta thought. I always knew that
damn cat was going to get us in trouble someday. The
man came closer, peering at the sleek black
animal in Seven's arms. "I used to have a cat just
like , that, named Midnight, but I left her with my
sister in the Andromeda system." He leaned his face
in toward tilde the cat's. "Hello, girl. Are
you friendly?" if "That depends," Roberta said. Just
our luck. We have to run into a cat-lover.
The man reached out to pet Isis's head, but the cat
backed away, nestling in against Seven's chest.
"Now, now, Isis," Seven chided her. "Be
good."
The cat snorted, then grudgingly allowed the man
to stroke the top of her head. Maybe we can still blu
tilde our way through this, Roberta thought. i; The
other man wandered over to join his buddy. 37
,1
Greg Cox
Roberta noted that the tall man had
a yellow shirt, while the short man
wore red; she wondered what the
significance was. Some sort of
military ranking, or simply a fashion
statement? There was still too much
she didn't know about this future
society. She felt like she was
flailing around in the dark. Can't
they tell, she fretted, that I don't
belong here?
"I've been tempted to get a new
cat," Isis's admirer said, "but I
heard that the captain isn't too keen
on having pets aboard, especially
after that tribble business."
Dribble? Roberta wondered. What's a
tribble?
"Isis and I have been together a
long time," Seven volunteered. "I
can't imagine going anywhere without
leer. Isn't that right, girl?"
Well me about it, Roberta thought
ruefully. She wasn't sure how much
longer she could fake all this
friendly chitchat. Her smile was
feeling more and more forced with
each passing second. What did they do
to spies in deep space, she wondered.
Toss them out an airlock? "Say,
shouldn't we be checking on that . .
. tricorder?" she improvised.
"Tricorder?" the other crewman
said. He glanced at the bag hanging
from her shoulder. "Looks like you
got one already."
"Er, it's not working right. We're
taking it in for repairs," Roberta
said, kicking herself mentally. Tri-
corders, tribbles . . . how was she
supposed to keep up with all this
kooky future jargon?
"Here, let me take a look at it,"
the short man offered, reaching for
her bag. "I've got a knack with
tricorders."
"He does," his friend confirmed,
still stroking Isis's fur. "I once
saw him recalibrate a medical
tricorder to detect subspace
vibrations and in three minutes, no
less."
"No!" Roberta said, holding on
tightly to the strap of her bag and
trying not to look too alarmed. "I
mean, thanks a lot, but you really
don't need to

l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
bother. It's not an emergency or
anything." Out of the corner of her
eyes, she saw an almost imperceptible
scowl appear on Seven's face. They
were rapidly losing control of the
situation, and losing time as well.
Was anyone expecting them in sickbay?
How long could they remain at large
before the captain realized they were
up to something? Her fre e hand driRed
toward the ray gun stuck in her belt.
Liice I really know how to use it,
she scolded herself
"It's no problem," the overly
helpful crewman insisted. Maybe all
these future people were just a
little too friendly and hospitable,
Roberta decided. Why couldn't they be
more like New Yorkers? He reached
again for the bag. "What sort of
trouble is it giving you?"
"A bad case of tribbles?" she
guessed. Both men looked surprised by
her response. "Subspace vibralions?"
she tried again.
Seven sighed loudly. "Go ahead,
Isis," he murmuted. "Say hello to the
nice man."
Without warning, the cat leaped
from Seven's arms, hissing and
striking out. "Hey!" the cat-lover
cried out, staggering backwards as
Isis sunk her extended claws into the
man's goWen shirt, hanging on to the
man's chest with all four paws. The
man tried to pull the enraged cat
away from his body, but Isis snapped
at his hands, drawing blood. Now
you're seeing that cat's real
personality, Roberta thought. Nasty,
isn't she?
"Hey!" the other crewman shouted.
He lunged for the cat, but Roberta
tripped him by sticking out her leg.
The man stumbled forward, almost
losing his balance. The distraction
gave Seven time to pluck his servo
from inside his boot and zap the
short man with a powerful dose of the
tranquilizer beam. A beatific smile
replaced the anger on the man's face
as he slid peacefully onto the floor.
Seven Instantly turned his
attention to the remaining crewman,
still grappling with Isis. So far,
the cat 39
Greg Cox
had succeeded in leaving five bloody scratches
down the man's cheek. "That's enough, Isis,"
Seven barked, and the cat sprung away from her
opponent, landing on all fours several meters
away. Seven pointed the servo at the other man and
fired. Midnight's proud owner slumped to the
floor beside his friend. "Hurry," Seven said to both
Isis and Roberta. He rushed to the turbolift
entrance and pressed the call-switch.
Roberta ran after him. "Shouldn't we dispose of the
bodies?" Listen to me, she thought. We sound like
Bonnie and Clyde.
"No time," Seven declared. The turbolift
arrived almost immediately. The doors slid open with a
hiss, and Roberta followed Seven inside.
Isis was the last one in; the automatic doors
almost closed on her coiled black tail. While
Roberta looked unsuccessfully for a button
to press, Seven grabbed onto a handhold position
at waist-level. "Main engineering," he re-
quested.
The turbolift started moving without even the tiniest
bump. Compared to some of the creaky, bouncy,
jerky elevators Roberta had ridden in
Manhattan and elsewhere, the turbolift's
progress felt almost motionless. Roberta couldn't
tell if they were travelling horizontally,
vertically, or both. "Pretty neat," she commented.
Isis squawked back, perhaps irked by the close
call with her tail.
They arrived seconds later, coming smoothly to a
halt. "Here we are," Seven announced, turning
to face Roberta. He retrieved Chekov's ray
gun from her belt. "Create a distraction," he
instructed.
Sure, she thought sarcastically. No problem. The
doors slid apart and she stepped out into what she
assumed was the ship's engineering section. Isis
trotted between her legs.
Roberta's eyes widened in amazement.
Engineering was more impressive than anything she had
seen on the ship so far. It was at least two
stories high and as 40
." tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
large as an airplane hanger. Computer
banks adorned with all sorts of
flashing lights and monitors lined
the walls, except at the far end of
the chamber where a huge pane of
tinted glass or plastic offered a
breathtaking view of several huge
turbinelike structures. Those have to
be the ship's engines, she thought.
She hadn't seen anything like them
since she'd toured the gigantic
hydroelectric generators at Grand
Coulee Dam as a child.
A least a half-dozen men, most of
them clad in red or brown jumpsuits,
scurried back and forth, attending to
the vast machines. They seemed too
busy to notice her at first, then a
stocky, dark-haired man wearing a red
shirt and black trousers noticed her
standing in front of the turbolift
entrance. "Hello there, lassie," he
called out with a thick Scottish
brogue. "What can I do for you?"
A distraction, Roberta recalled.
What in the world whatever world did
Seven have in mind? Surely he
couldn't zap all these people before
somebody sounded an alarm. "Uh, hi,"
she said. "I was trying to find
sickbay, but I think I got lost." At
her feet, Isis added a chorus of
meows. That's right, she thought,
giving the cat a hostile glare,
upstage me, why don't you?
"Looks to me like you need a vet
more than a doctor," the Scottish man
said. He walked toward her. "If you
don't mind, lassie, I like to keep
wee animals away from my engines." He
gestured at the turbolift just as
Gary Seven stepped out from behind
the curved walls of the turbolift. He
seized Roberta by the waist and held
Chekov's stolen ray gun to her
temple.
"This phaser is set on kill," Seven
said grimly. His tone was so icy that
Roberta actually felt a bit nervous
for a second. "Don't move a muscle,
or I'll fire.
"You!" the engineer exclaimed. He
obviously recognized Seven from
before, although Roberta didn't 41
to
"1
Greg Cox
remember him. "What the devil are you
doing here?"
"Never mind that," Seven barked.
"Where are the controls for the warp
engines7"
"Just put the phaser down, mister,"
the engineer said. By now, the
apparent hostage drama had attracted
the attention of the entire
engineering section. The other men
stood by helplessly, a few of them
producing phasers of their own and
occasionally glancing at the man in
the red shirt. Roberta couldn't be
sure, but she got the impression that
the Scottish guy was in charge.
"Please, sir," Roberta pleaded,
playing along with the gag. What do
I call him? Officer? Lieutenant?
Sergeant"..."...Don't let him kill me.
Ohmigod, I'm too young to die!"
"Don't overdo it, Miss Lincoln,"
Seven whispered in her ear.
"Remember, you're a Starfleet
officer."
Everyone's a critic, she thought,
half-expecting Isis to put in her two
cents worth, too.
"The warp controls," Seven
repeated. He pressed the muzzle of
the ray gun scratch that, phaser
against her skull. Roberta hoped he
knew what he was doing."...ationow."
The head engineer hesitated,
clearly unsure what to do. "Blast
it," he muttered, "I should have
recognized the bloody kitty." He
stared at Roberta, perhaps trying to
identify her place in the crew. He's
onto us, she thought suddenly,
convinced that the Scottish guy had
seen through their ruse. Without
removing his gaze from Seven and
Roberta, the man addressed his staff.
"Someone hail the captain," he
ordered. "Let him know what's
happening."
Bad idea, Roberta thought. Kirk
would guess who the "tilde hostage" was
instantly.
Seven shook his head. "Don't try
it." Roberta let out what she hoped
was a heartrending moan.
The engineer still Iddooked
suspicious, but apparently he decided
not to call Seven's bluff. "Over
there," he 42

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
said gruffly, a bank of computer
controls on the left. Keeping his
hold on Roberta and his eyes on the
engineering staff, Seven sidled over
to the controls. Isis kept pace with
him, eliciting a puzzled expression
from the Scottish guy, who was
obviously trying to figure out how
the cat fit into all this craziness.
Join the club, Roberta thought.
Isis sprang from the floor to land
atop the control panel. She mewed
happily, as if she'd just discovered
the mother lode of catnip. "Yes,
Isis," Seven said, scanning a row of
sliding knobs. "A very basic system.
It shouldn't be too hard to adapt at
all." He withdrew his hand from
Roberta's waist, although he kept the
phaser aimed at her with his other
hand. He adjusted one of the knobs,
then glanced at a monitor positioned
at eye level. Looking at the same
monitor, Roberta was faintly
distressed to see a thin black arrow
moving into a bright red area of the
display clearly labeled DANGER.
"Good," Seven murmured.
'AII we need to do now is invert the
matterstantimatter ratios, then factor
in a negative compensation . . ."
Isis squawked in response and slunk
toward a large white lever with a
highly visible warning label affixed
to its handle.
"Wait! Stop that!" the Scottish
engineer cried out, clearly horrified
by what he could see of Seven's
actions. Throwing caution to the
wind, he snatched a phaser from the
hand of one of his subordinates and
fired at Seven without hesitation. A
brilliant burst of energy struck
Seven in the baclc, who stiffened
suddenly, then collapsed against the
console. Chekov's phaser dropped from
his fingers, striking the floor with
a harsh metallic clang. "Thank
heaven," the engineer gasped,
thinking the danger past. "Please
step away from those controls, miss,"
he instructed rta.
Isis shoved her body against the
white lever, pushing it all the way
down.
A violent vibration shook the floor
almost immedibledc
Greg Cox
ately, sending Roberta staggering
away from the controts, nearly
tumbling head over heels. Seven's
unconscious body was thrown to the
floor, while Isis's claws scratched
futilely at the polished steel
surface of the control panel as the
cat tried to keep from sliding from
its perch. A shrill siren started
blaring as, al l around the
engineering sections, circuits began
to pop and explode. Tottering
uncertainly, Roberta happened to
observe the head engineer's shocked
expression. To her dismay, she saw
that the man's face looked utterly
white.
"God help us all, lads," he said
softly.

Chapter Four
'GWORMHOLE!," Sulu shouted as the
bridge was suddenly buffeted by a
series of floor-shaking jolts. Kirk
grabbed his armrests with both hands
to keep from being thrown from his
chair. He glanced quickly at Spock
and Uhura, desperate for information
on the status of the ship; despite
the turbulence, both officers had
succeeded in staying seated at their
respective posts. Spock was already
studying his monitom with a look of
intense concentration on his face.
The warning siren went off, for the
second time in as many hours, as the
ship's computer automatically went
to red alert.
"Ship's structural integrity
intact," Spock reported. "Shields
holding."
Yet another shock wave hit the
Enterprise, rattling the ship and
making the overhead lights flicker.
Kirk felt the jarring impact all the
way through to his bones. "On
screen," he ordered, trying to keep
the vibration out of his voice. He
didn't quite succeed.
The main viewer lit up. Instead of
the expected
4's
tilde 1
Greg Cox
starf tilde eld, it showed a swirling
vortex of cosmic forces directly in
front of them. Space-time itself was
being warped by the wormhole, churned
up into overlapping layers of
dimensional reality that disappeared
into the voracious black maw at the
center of the wormhole like muddy,
foam-flecked water disappearing down
a drain. Kirk's eyes widened. He'd
heard about wormholes before, read
about them in his theoretical physics
courses back at the Academy, but he'd
never actually seen one before, nor
been so dangerously close to its
transdimensional boundaries.
"Fascinating," he heard Spock
intone over the rumble of the shock
waves. Kirk was impressed once again
by the Vulcan's ability to remain
dispassionate and analytical even
during the midst of a catastrophe. I
can always count on Spock he thought.
"Change course," he ordered Sulu.
"Keep us out of that thing."
"I'm trying," the helmsman replied,
strain evident in his voice, "but
it's not working. The gravitational
pull is too strong. It's got us
trapped."
"Full reverse," Kirk ordered,
shouting to be heard over both the
siren and the throbbing of ship's
duranium framework. Going from full
warp to reverse would be hard on the
ship, but safer than getting sucked
into the wormhole. Scatty will
neverJorgive me for this, Kirk
thought, if we get out of this alive,
that is.
Sulu manipulated the helm controls,
a line of sweat beading upon his
brow. Their ride was getting bumpier
by the second; it was like the
Enterprise was being carried through
white-water rapids straight towards
the lip of a cascading waterfall. "No
good, sir," Sulu said a few moments
later. "We're still going in."
Damn, Kirk thought. Where the devil
did this thing come from? Why didn't
our sensors detect the wormhole
before we got too close? "Spock?" he
called out. "How did this happen?"
"According to my readings," Spock
reported from

l l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
the science station, "this is not a
natural phenomenon. The wormhole
ahead was artificially generated."
"By whom?" Kirk demanded. were they
under attack by some strange new
weapon?
"By ourselves, Captain," Spock said
evenly. "The wormhole was created by
an imbalance in our own warp
engines."
What? Before Kirk could respond,
the Enterprise was rocked by another
jarring shock. On the main viewer,
the wormhole appeared to be growing
at a geometric rate; it was almost
impossible to see the surrounding
space. The lightless black tunnel
filled the screen. We're getting
closer to the falls, Kirk realized.
There was no way to avoid the
wormhole now. They'd have to ride it
out. "Divert power to the deflector
screens," he ordered. "Maximum
strength!"
"Affirmative," Spock said. His
voice sounded thin and very far away.
As they approached the event horizon
of the wormhole, distortion effects
permeated the bridge, scrambling
Kirk's senses. Everyone appeared to
be moving in slow motion, their
bodies stretched and twisted like
figures in a funhouse mirror. To his
right, Uhura opened her mouth but the
words seemed to hang in the air,
muffled and mangled beyond
comprehension. The wormhole was
warping time, light, and sound, even
before they passed beyond the point
of no return. Kirk saw Spock rise
from his chair and step toward the
auxiliary control station next to
Sulu; the Vulcan's body seemed to
expand, then broke apart into over a
dozen separate images of Spock,
stretching from the science console
to the forward station in a
continuous ribbon of Spocks, each one
thinner than the finest sheet of
paper. were all these Spocks existing
in the same moment, Kirk wondered, or
was he seeing several consecutive mo-
ments at the same time?
On the main viewer, the wormhole
appeared to pulsate, expanding and
contracting like a dilating eye 47
Greg Cox
exposed to rapid changes of light. Sulu
frantically worked the helm controls, sweat running
down his face, his head and upper torso seeming
to stretch light-years away from his hands, tapering
away to a pinpoint beyond Kirk's ability to discern,
but the wormhole only grew nearer. K'rk braced
himself for the impact as the screen went totally black.
Here we go, he thought as the Enterprise plunged
into the abyss.
There was a blinding flash of light, strong enough
to override the safeties on the viewer, and Kirk
felt himself starting to black out. Tremendous
g-forces pressed him into his chair, pulling his
skin tightly over the bones of his face. Kirk
forced his eyes open, just in time to see colors of
unimaginable intensity burst upon the viewer in
prismatic explosions of light. It looked nothing
like ordinary space, like nothing he had ever seen. The
ship started spinning, rotating around its axis faster
and faster until his vision blurred. Nausea
gripped him. He had to bite down on his lip
to keep from vomiting. He tasted blood upon his
tongue. For an instant, his skin felt like it was on
fire, then he was so cold he trembled. The
deflectors, he thought desperately. were the
shields holding up?
Then the light faded. All Kirk's blood
seemed to rush to his head, and he had to close his
eyes for an instant. When he opened them again, the
vivid colors and the brutal g-forces were gone.
He looked around the bridge. The distortion effects
had vanished, too; everything looked back
to normal. On the main viewer, Kirk was
relieved to see ordinary space once more,
the stars zipping past the prow of the Enterprise as they
usually did.
But which stars? Kirk wondered suddenly. Where are
we now?
He checked on his crew. Sulu's head rested
against the helm controls. He appeared to have lost
consciousness for a time, but was beginning to stir. He
lifted his head and looked around. Elsewhere on the
dBut
.
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
bridge, Kirk saw Uhurashake her head
groggily and retrieve her earpiece from the floor.
Only Spock seemed to have avoided passing out
entirely. He was already back at his science station,
observing the readouts on his monitors. They cast a
faint blue glow upon his face.
"Captain," Sulu asked, looking a little
dazed. "What happened?"
"We went over the falls in a barrel," Kirk
declared, "but we seem to have reached the bottom
intact." He turned toward his science officer.
"Mr. Spock? Any conclusions?"
"A unique experience, Captain," the
Vulcan commented. "I regret that the
physiological effects impaired my ability
to observe the phenomenon with complete accuracy. Still,
a review of the sensor lob; should prove most
informative."
"First things first," Kirk reminded him. "Where in
blazes are we?"
"I am attempting to determine that," Spock
said, ?"comparing our present readings against the star charts
contained in the ship's memory banks." He worked with
maximum efflc tilde ency; using one hand to access
the ship's sensors and scanners while the other hand
keyed instructions into the library computer control
panel. Kirk heard the hum of information being
transferred between the two systems. "We appear
to be quite distant from our former location, possibly
outside the Federation entirely."
How distant? Kirk worried. Although their trip
through the wormhole had been brief in duration, they
could have ended up anywhere in the universe. What if
they were lost countless light-years beyond known space?
He didn't like the idea of spending, say,
seventy-five years or so trying to get home.
On the other Hansel, he thought, that could be quite an
adventure....
"Mister Sulu," he asked. "What
is our present speed?"


it tilde
Greg Cox
The helmsman checked his controls.
"Er, full reverse, sir."
Of course, Kirk thought. "Slow to
impulse. Let's not go rushing around
until we know just where we are."
"I believe I can provide that
information now," Spock said. He rose
from his station and addressed Kirk.
Here it comes) the captain thought.
Although Spock's voice offered only
the most minute indications of his
feelings at any given moment,
something about his tone and bearing
told Kirk that this was not going to
be good news. After three years in
space, Kirk thought, I've gotten
pretty good at reading that poker
face of yours.
"According to my cal culations,"
Spock continued, "our present
coordinates are located well within
the boundaries of the Romulan Star
Empire."
Kirk heard an involuntary gasp from
Uhura. He didn't blame her. He was
also shocked to discover that they
were on the wrong side of the Neutral
Zone, deep behind enemy lines right
where Seven wanted them. "That
arrogant bastard," Kirk cursed,
suddenly realizing who had to be
responsible for the wormhole.
"Captain," Uhura announced,
interrupting Kirk's bloody-minded
musings. "It's Chief Engineer Scott
again. He says there's been a
disturbance in engineering. Something
about an intruder."
"Why am I not surprised?" Kirk
said, clenching his fist. The Romulan
Empire, he thought, appalled. Why
couldn't Seven have sent us someplace
safer, like maybe the heart of a
nova! "Lieutenant, contact Security.
I want to see Gary Seven. Now."
There was an empty chair at the
head of the conference table, but
Kirk remained standing. He was too
angry to sit down. "I should lock you
up and throw away the key," Kirk
barked at Seven, who stood at the
opposite end of the table, flanked by
two unsmiling security officers, "or,
better yet, turn you

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
over to the Romulans myself. What
were you thinkingeatossing my ship
into an wormhole?"
"For that matter," Scatty said,
sitting at the table, "I still want
to know how he did it?"
Seven, still clad in a blue
Starfleet uniform, did not look
contrite. His pen-shaped weapon
rested on the tabletop in front of
Kirk and out of Seven's reach. "I
apologize, Captain, but I had no
alternative. As I explained earlier,
my mission is extremely urgent."
"Your mission," Kirk said. "Your
priorities. I'm getting pretty tired
of hearing about your secret agenda.
You've used trickery and violence to
put my ship in a very hazardous
situation. It will be a miracle if
we make it back across the Neutral
Zone without being detected by the
Romulans. For a so-called peacemak-
er, you don't seem to mind bringing
both the Federation and the Romulan
Empire to the brink of war."
Deft vu, he thought. It had been
less than a year since he had been
in Romulan territory on an unusually
dangerous assignment. Even though he
had sum ceeded at his mission of
espionage, it had been a damn close
thing. I never expected to be back
here again so soon.
"You overestimate your importance,
Captain," Seven replied, "in the
overall scheme of things." He
ignored the two guards looming over
him. "Peace is a delicate thing.
Sometimes it requires risk to
preserve
A third security officer stood
watch over Roberta, who looked very
uncomfortable, under the circum-
stances. Seven's black cat rubbed
against the young woman's legs until
she finally bent over and picked the
cat up. "Okay, okay," Roberta
muttered. "This better?"
The cat watched the proceedings
with wide yellow eyes.
Kirk glanced around the table.
McCoy, Chekov, and Scotty had all
testified as to Seven's activities.

Greg Cox
McCoy rubbed his eyes, still looking
a bit groggy, despite a stimulant
administered by Nurse Chapel. Chekov,
wearing a fresh uniform to replace
the one stolen by Seven, glowered at
the unflappable time traveler. Kirk
guessed that the ensign was probably
furious at letting Seven ambush him
so easily. Scatty looked angry as
well, and anxious to get back to his
engines and inspect them for whatever
damage the trip through the wormhole
may have caused.
Yawning loudly, McCoy picked up
Seven's silver device from the table
and inspected it. "I don't know what
he's got in this thing, but it sure
packs a punch."
"I assure you, Doctor," Seven
commented, "that the tranquilizer
beam has no negative side effects."
He turned his attention back to Kirk.
"Captain, you must believe me. My
mission is too important to let your
anger over this incident distract you
from the larger picture. The future
is too important."
"I don't have time to debate
philosophy with you," Kirk told
Seven. "I have a ship in jeopardy and
a mission of my own to complete." He
had left Spock in charge of the
bridge, but he didn't want to stay
away too long. The Romulans could
discover the Enterprise at any
minute. "Mr. Chekov," he said, giving
the ensign an opportunity to regain
some lost face, "see to it that Mr.
Seven is confined to the brig for the
time being." He shot a glance at the
sleek black animal nestled in
Roberta's arms; Scatty had sworn
that, back in the Engineering, the
pet had actually followed Seven's
commands. "Without his cat," Kirk
added.
"Captain." Seven started to step
forwards but was restrained by the
guards. "Since we are here already,
we ought to proceed to the
coordinates I can provide. If I
induced the wormhole correctly, and
I believe I did, it should not be too
far away. I respect your feelings on
the matter, but you should not allow
this opportunity to go to waste."
Kirk ignored Seven. He had made his
decision, and his first priority was
to get the Enterprise back to

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Federation space as quickly as possible. Seven had
proven himself untrustworthy; Kirk wasn't
inclined to listen to the man's self-serving warnings
anymore. "Gentlemen," he said, heading for the
exit, "I will be on the bridge."
"Captain Kirk, wait!" Roberta said.
"What about me?"
Good question, Kirk thought, pausing to contemplate the
young woman in the red yeoman's uniform. She had
kicked her boots off for some reason, and was now
barefoot. To tell the truth, he wasn't quite clear
on her exact relationship to Seven. When he'd first
met them both, either several months ago or three
hundred years ago, depending on how you counted it,
she and Seven had seemed like fairly recent
acquaint- -- ances; indeed, she had appeared
almost as suspicious of Seven as he had been.
Yet, according to Spock's historical research,
conducted shortly after Kirk's first encounter with both
Seven and Roberta, the pair had later enjoyed a
long association, although how far that association may have
developed at the time Seven brought her
forward into the future was not clear. One thing seemed
certain, though; unlike Seven, she had not been
raised by manipulative aliens from an unknown
planet. She was a native-born Earthwoman,
circa the late 1960's.
"Honest, Captain," she insisted, "I had no
idea what he was planning. I was as surprised as-
anyone."
She gave a nervous sideways glance at the
massive i
security guard standing beside her. "I don't even
know what a wormhole is, aside from something you find
in bad apples."
She sounds convincing, Kirk thought. Then again, as
McCoy never failed to remind him, he had a
definite weakness for a pretty face. "The question is,
Miss Lincoln, would you have stopped Seven if you'd
known what he was up to?"
She looked guiltily at Seven, who stared
calmly at a sloping blue wall, seemingly
unconcerned by the

l l
Greg Cox
question. "Well," she hedged, "he Mr.
Seven, that is goes a bit far sometimes, but he
usually knows what he's doing. Most of the time. I
think."
A triangular computer node rested in the center
of the conference table. A yellow light flashed on all
three sides of the node, attracting Kirk's
attention. "What is it?" he asked.
Spock's voice emerged from the lighted terminal.
"Captain, forgive the interruption, but our
long-range scanners have detected several
Romulan ships in this vicinity, although they do not yet
appear to have detected us."
Damn, Kirk thought. "Thank you, Mr.
Spock. I will be with you shortly." He looked
back at Roberta. I Don't have time for this.
"Confine Miss Lincoln to her quarters. I'll
deal with her later."
"Yes, sir," the security guard said. He
took Roberta firmly by the arm. At first, she
looked relieved to have gotten off so lightly, then
she recalled the cat in her arms.
"Oh, no," she gasped. "Wait, Captain,
please. You can't lock me up with . . . her."
She glared balefully at the animal, who looked
back at her with an equally disdainful
expression. "It would be cruel and unusual p
tilde shment.
"You don't like the cab" Kirk asked, amused
despite the ongoing emergency.
"We don't get along," Roberta explained.
She lowered the cat onto the table. "Please, I'd
much rather have solitary confinement."
The cat stared at Kirk with unblinking yellow
eyes. It kind of made his flesh crawl,
especially when he remembered how a similar
black tabby, albeit several times larger, had
nearly had him for lunch on Pyriss VII. That,
he thought, as a certain shape-changing alien witch
came to mind, was enough to turn me of cats
permanently.
Especially black ones.
"Fine," Kirk informed Roberta. "You don't
have to

" tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
keep the cat." He nodded at the
security officers, who escorted both
her and Seven out of the conference
room, leaving the feline in question
resting atop the table.
"Well, I'm not going to take her,"
he declared to all concerned. He
looked at McCoy and Scatty. The
engineer shook his head. Kirk wasn't
surprised; the only pets Scatty
approved of came with circuit boards
and blueprints. "Bones?" he asked.
"Me?" McCoy asked, looking askance
at the feline in dispute. Then a
crafty smile appeared on his face.
"Sure," he said. "I'll take her." He
lifted the cat from the table and
draped it over his shoulder. "I know
just what to do with it put it in
Spock's room."
"Bones . . ." Kirk started.
"Hey, he said he liked it last
time," the docto r said. "I remember.
For a Vulcan, he was practically
cooing at it."
Kirk eyed the cat skeptically. The
last thing he needed was a stray
animal getting into trouble. "I have
a better idea," he declared. "You
have cages in sickbay, Doctor, for
handling biological specimens. Lock
her up."
"Sickbay?" Realizing his joke had
backfired on him, McCoy looked
appalled. "Wait a second, Jim. I'm a
doctor, not a vet!"
But Kirk was already out the door.
He had more important things to
worry about than a cat.
Spock rose from the captain's chair
the minute the turbolift doors
hissed often. "Situation, Mr.
Spock?" Kirk requested as he strode
onto the bridge.
"We have identified the nearby
vessels," Spock stated, returning to
the science station, "as a Romulan
battle cruiser, of Klingon design,
accompanied by two warbirds. There
appear to be no other space craft in
the vicinity, although I must remind
the captain of the Romulans"
cloaking capabilities."
"I'm hardly likely to forget them,"
Kirk said. He 55
1r
Greg Cox
paced in front of his chair, too full
of adrenaline to sit down. "Although
I'm not sure why they'd want to fly
cloaked within their own borders."
"That would seem to be a logical
assumption," Spock agreed. "Barring
any internal conflicts, of course."
Spock had a point there, Kirk
thought. It was possible that the
Romulan government used cloaked ships
to police their own people. He wished
he had more information to work with;
unfortunately, what he didn't know
about the internal workings of the
Romulan Star Empire would fill
several supercomputers. Hell, up
until a few years ago, the Federation
hadn't even known that the Romulans
were an offshoot of the Vulcans.
Since then, Federation intelligence
had learned precious little else,
even if he and Spock had managed to
abscond with some cloaking technology
a while back. "Any sign that they've
recognized us?"
Spock shook his head. "Not yet.
Lieutenant Uhura is monitoring their
communications. So far they have
raised no alarm at our presence."
"Keep your ears open, Lieutenant,"
Kirk said, glancing at Uhura before
returning his attention to Spock. "It
may be that the sheer unlikeliness of
our circumstances may be working in
our favor. The Romulans have no
reason to suspect that any Federation
vessel could get this far beyond
their borders without being detected.
Security is probably tighter closer
to the Neutral Zone than here at his
Kirk paused and looked at Sulu. "Do
we know exactly where we are at the
moment?"
"Yes, sir," Sulu said crisply. "At
maximum warp, we are approximately
twelve hours away from the Romulan
side of the Neutral Zone."
"Twelve hours, seventeen minutes,"
Spock added, "to be precise."
"How far are we from the Romulan
homeworlds?" Kirk asked.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"Two full sectors," Sulu reported,
much to the captain's relief. The
last thing he wanted to do was
present a possible threat to either
Romulus or Remus. That would be
equivalent to thrusting a sharp stick
into a nest of hornets.
"Mr. Sulu," he said, "set a course
for the Neutral Zone. Let's get back
to the Federation as quickly and as
quietly as possible." Easier said
than done, he thought. As he'd
already acknowledged, Romulan
security would invariably grow
tighter the nearer they got to the
border. Sooner or later, an armed
confrontation with one or more
Romulan starships was inevitable.
"Maximum warp?" Sulu asked,
adjusting his helm controls.
"No," Kirk said, finally taking his
seat in the captain's chair and
considering the matter carefully.
"That might attract the attention of
our friends out there. We don't want
to look too guilty or suspicious." He
quickly weighed speed versus stealth
and arrived at what he thought was a
reasonable compromise. "Warp factor
six, Mr. Sulu."
"Aye, aye, Captain," the helmsman
answered, but Kirk barely heard him.
He had too many other concerns on his
mind. Twelve-plus hours, and then
some, was a long time to elude
detection. The Enterprise, he knew,
was living on borrowed time. What
will I do when they catch us? he
brooded. Shoot our way ou"...Activate
the self-destruct system? One way or
another, there was no way he could
let the Romulans get their hands on
a Constitution-class starship.
He didn't even want to think about
the disaster unfolding on Duwamish
right now. Unfortunately, the
endangered colonists were on their
own; it would be a small miracle if
the Enterprise made it back to the
Federation intact, let alone arrived
at Duwamish in time to rescue the
colonists. Damn you, Gary Seven, Kirk
thought. How dare you play games with
people's lives? He wondered if he had
misjudged the


Gregox
man entirely the first time they met;
after all, Kirk reminded himself,
Seven had been willing to detonate
nuclear satellites in Earth's upper
atmosphere just to further his own
political agenda. Was Seven merely a
well-intentioned meddler or a
dangerous fanatic?
"Mr. Spock," Kirk said, "you
conducted some historical research
regarding Gary Seven after our first
encounter with him. Perhaps you can
refresh my memory on the subject
while we're waiting for the Romulans
to wake up." He spoke with a casual
flippancy he hardly felt, the better
to keep up morale on the bridge. It
was part of a captain's job to rally
the spirits of his crew. Why should
Chekov or Uhura have to share his
anxiety?
"In fact, Captain," Spock replied,
"I began preparing a report shortly
after our visitors's arrival."
Kirk's smile was quite genuine;
Spock was nothing if not reliable.
"Give me the highlights."
Spock inspected a computer printout
affixed to a magnetic clipboard. "As
you may recall, Mr. Seven claims to
have been raised by unknown aliens
who abducted his ancestors six
thousand years ago for the purpose of
training human operatives who could
then intervene during crucial points
in Earth's history. He also implied
that these same aliens have sponsored
similar operations throughout the
galaxy, although there is
insufficient evidence to either
confirm or refute this assertion."
A scary idea, Kirk thought. Whoever
these anonymous aliens were, their
activities seemed far removed from
the spirit and wisdom of the Prime
Directive Painful experience,
including mankind's disastrous first
contact with the Klingons, had taught
Starfleet how dangerous it could be
to interfere in the natural
development of an alien culture. Who
were Seven's enigmatic masters to
think that they could disregard such
risks? Granted, Kirk admitted
privately, I've been known to push
the limits of the Prime Directive a
time or two, but I never set out to
do it on purpose.

distilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"Following our initial encounter
with Mr. Seven in the late 1960's,"
Spock continued, "historical evidence
indicates that Gary Seven,
accompanied by Miss Roberta Lincoln,
continued their work for many more
years. Much of this information,
however, is speculative, and possibly
apocryphal, due to the covert nature
of their activities and Mr. Seven's
demonstrated talent for working
behind the scenes of history. Indeed,
many of the instances I have uncov-
ered may have not yet happened to the
individuals who beamed onto the
bridge not long ago. Nevertheless,
Mr. Seven and Miss Lincoln have been
linked to a number of significant
incidents, including the averted
assassination of Chairman Mao
Tse-tung at the Great Wall of China,
the apprehension of the socalled
Watergate burglars in the District of
Columbia, a well-publicized
near-disaster at the Three Mile
Island nuclear facility, the defeat
of the so-called "cybernauts" in
conjunction with a pair of British
intelligence operatives, the
successful elimination of a
top-secret conspiracy to clone world
leaders, the publication of a
best-selling treatise on global
cooperation, the destruction of
fourteen deadly biological weapons,
including one spaceborn virus, the
birth of a future Nobel prize-winning
diplomat, three successful motion
pictures of socially transforming
value, the crash of the Skylab
orbital facility (and subsequent lack
of terrestrial casualties), the
"accidental discovery" of an AIDS
vaccine, the creation of the first
true artificial intelligence . . ."
"I get the drift of it," Kirk said,
a bit impatiently. "It sounds like
Seven may have known what he was
doing in the late twentieth century,
but what's he up to now, in our time
and on my ship? Even he admits that
humanity is not rushing to blow
itself to bits anymore."
"Judging from our present
location," Spock said, "it may be
that Mr. Seven's current mission has
little to do with human history at
all."

Greg Cox i
Was that it? Kirk wondered. Did Seven deem
twenty-third century Romulan civilization in
need of his services? But, if that was the case, why
hadn't his superiors trained a Romulan
operative to work within their society? Wasn't that how
it was supposed to work? There was too much he didn't
know about Seven's shadowy organization.
"What about the young woman?" Kirk asked. "Where
does she fit in?" i
"That is not entirely clear," Spock told
him. "Her background prior to meeting Mr.
Seven is welldocumented, though. She was born and
raised in the United States of America, and is
indeed what she appears to be a typ ical human
female of the late twentieth century."
"Not too typical, I suspect," Kirk
said, remember- tilde ing how close Roberta
had come to accidentally comtilde killing him with
Seven's own weapon back in 1968. i
For someone raised centuries before the dawn of warp
travel, she had adjusted to Vulcan time
travelers and talking computers with remarkable speed.
"That may be so," Spock conceded. "Historical
records confirm her presence on or near the
sites of Seven's few verifiable exploits,
although her precise role in these events remains
open to dispute." Spock raised an eyebrow as he
scanned the data produced by the ship's computer.
"Odd. Some records suggest that Seven had
another female associate, although the
evidence recording this second woman is
ambiguous i
and frequently contradictory."
"I'm not interested in his personal life,"
Kirk said,
frustration tingeing his voice. "I want to know what
His
Seven is not telling us, and I want to know how
much
Miss Lincoln knows about his plans."
He rested his His
chin upon the knuckles of his clasped hands, consid
Bring his options. "Spock," he said finally, "I
know -- it's a lot to ask, but . . . a mind
meld?"
Spock's expression did not change, but Kirk
thought he saw a flicker of something in the Vulcan's

. .
. ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
eyes. Regret, perhaps, or reluctance. "As you
know, Captain, a Vulcan mind meld is a very
personal thing. I would be . . . uneasy . . .
about resorting to such methods in this instance, especially
without the consent of either Mr. Seven or Miss
Lincoln."
"I know that, Spoek," Kirk said. He felt
guilty about pressing his friend on such a touchy
subject, but he couldn't help thinking that the safety
of everyone aboard the Enterprise might depend on
the secrets locked in Gary Seven's skull.
"But you've used your telepathic abilities in
emergency situations before, like that time on Eminiar
VII. This may be one of those instances where we
don't have any choice, not if we want
to survive this mess."
Spock's face remained as fled as granite.
"Your point is well-taken, Captain," he
stated flatly. "If, in your judgment, a mind
meld is necessary to preserve the ship, that is your
decision as captain."
I don't want to order you to do it, Kirk thought.
He knew what it cost Spock to perform a mind
meld. He had personally witnessed the enormous
physical and
emotional toll the Vulcan endured whenever he
low- i
ered the boundaries between his mind and anotheis, seen the
anguish that contorted Spock's face and soul
- when he melded with the Horta on Janus
VI. A mind
meld could be an extraordinarily intimate and
traumatic experience, especially for someone like
Spock, who had spent his entire life carefully
concealing his emotions from the world. How could he command his
friend to undergo such an ordeal simply because of some
vague suspicions regarding Seven?
Besides, Seven was safely stowed away in the
brig.
"Well, we probably haven't reached
that point just yet," Kirk reassured Spock,
looking in vain for any trace of relief on the
Vulcan's features. "I'm merely reviewing
our options, just in case."
"As is only proper," Spock said with a nod.
Kirk felt like he'd been let off the hook, and was
grateful that he apparently hadn't imposed too
much on his 61
.,
Greg Cox
friendship with Spock. Good thing McCoy's back
in sickbay, he thought. He could just imagine the good
doctor's views on Vulcan mind melds as a
means of interrogation.
Kirk's shoulders sagged. Suddenly, all the
fatigue and tension of the last few hours caught up
with him. Over twelve hours to safety, he thought.
It was tempting to close his eyes for a few minutes,
very tempting, but how could he relax while the
Enterprise was still in Romulan territory? He
considered paging a yeoman to fetch a cup of hot
coffee. He generally frowned on food or drinks
being consumed on the bridge, but right now he was inclined
to make an exception. He reached for the
call-button on his portside armrest.
"Captain!" Uhura called out. "I'm
detecting priority transmissions between the
Romulan ships. They've gone to battle alert!"
"Confirmed, Captain," Chekov reported.
"All three vessels have changed course and are
heading
toward us." -- His
Kirk sat up straight in his chair. "This is
it," he said. "They're on to us. Raise
deflector shields. .. now!"
. ,
62 tilde
.
Chapter Five
ROBERTA WAS IMPRESSED by the size of
the guest quarters on the
Enterprise. The roomy suite was
definitely larger than her own pad
back in Manhattan. That apartment
was probably long gone in this era,
she realized, wondering briefly if
there even was a New York City in
the twenty-third century. Maybe the
whole town's been made into an
historical exhibit by now, or maybe
a theme park.
It was encouraging to see firsthand
that there was a future, though,
considering all the turmoil and
unrest back home, including the
ever-present threat of thermonuclear
annihilation. She had seen movies
like "Fail-Safe" and "Dr.
Strangelove" and even "Planet of the
Apes," all of which seemed to accept
as given that humanity would
inevitably destroy itself in a full-
scale nuclear war. Yet here was
Captain Kirk and his crew,
confidently exploring the universe
generations after all the wars and
unrest of her own time. Seven had
told her several times that the two
of them (and, okay, Isis, too) were
working to bring about a better

Greg Cox
future. Was this strange new world
what he had always had in mind?
Granted, she thought as she
explored her surroundings,
discovering her own clothes folded
neatly on the bed, the future seemed
to have its problems, too. She had no
idea who the Romulans were, but from
all Captain Kirk's talk about borders
and Neutral Zones, she gathered they
weren't exactly Earth's best friends.
Kirk talked about Romulans the same
way Americans of her time talked
about the Russians or the Red
Chinese. The more things change, she
thought, et cetera, et cetera.
She remembered the face of the
agent who had appeared on the
viewscreen back on the Beta-5. He'd
looked like he'd been in a fight or
something. Had the Romulans, whomever
they were, caused his injuries? She
wished she'd had more of a chance to
quiz Gary Seven before they'd zoomed
off to the future. How come the guy
on the screen had looked like Mr.
Spock? As nearly as she could figure
out, the same people who had attacked
Agent 146 were planning to do the
same thing to Mr. Spock, but not for
another twenty years or so. She was
kind of surprised Seven hadn't warned
Mr. Spock when he had the chance, but
she guessed that would've been
tampering with history or something.
So how come history always has to
revolve around assassinations and
things like that? It really was just
like the bad, old days back home.
But at least mankind was still
around to deal with the same old
stuff. That was something.
Upon inspection, the suite appeared
largely identical to the
single-occupant stateroom she had
scoped out while "borrowing" her
Starfleet uniform, complete with the
same funky-looking shower. She felt
slightly guilty for securing such
comfy accommodalions while Gary Seven
languished in the brig. She guessed
that Seven's cell was nowhere near as
hospita

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
ble. I suppose it's up to me to get
him out of jail, she thought, but
how?
A computer terminal resembling the
one she saw in the conference room
rested in one corner of the
stateroom, positioned atop a
triangular tabletop that fit neatly
in the juncture between two walls.
Roberta pulled up a hard plastic
chair and inspected the terminal. She
would have been impressed by how
small and compact the device was,
compared to the bulky computers of
her own era, if Seven hadn't taught
her to use even smaller devices. She
patted her purse automatically,
confirming that the crystalline cube
was still safely stored inside. The
young Russian crewman, Chekov, had
searched her bag for weapons, but
hadn't paid much attention to the
cube. Probably thought it was just a
shiny twentieth century knickknack
Roberta guessed. A paperweight from
a more primitive era.
She quickly ran her hands over the
cool metal exterior of the terminal,
seeking unsuccessfully for an onstoff
switch. Having no luck in that
endeavor, she leaned back in the
chair and crossed her arms
thoughtfully. The Beta-5 back home
responded to voice commands, she
recalled. Maybe the computers on the
Enterprise had caught up with Seven's
weird ahen science?
"Er, hello," she addressed the
terminal. "Anybody there?"
The terminal beeped in response.
The Romulan warships were already
within visual range. Kirk stared at
the main viewer, gazing intently at
the image of the Romulan battle
cruiser, flanked by the two smaller
birds-of-prey. The cruiser resembled
the one he and Spock had boarded last
year, green in color, its bulbous
command center was linked with its
rear warp nacelles by a slender,
elongated neck. Kirk knew the cruiser
was roughly the same size as the
Enterprise, while the warbirds, each
painted to resem

Greg Cox
ble a feathered raptor, were only half as large
as either the battle cruiser or the Enterprise.
Kirk reminded himself not to underestimate the two
smaller ships. Another warbird had come
dangerously close to destroying the Enterprise
during his first encounter with the Romulans.
"Phaser banks powered," Chekov reported.
"Photon torpedoes loaded and rea dy to go."
"Deflectors at maximum strength," Spock
added.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Kirk said grimly,
propared to go down fighting if it came to that. Red
alert lights flashed all around the bridge, just as
they did throughout the entire ship, he knew. His
crew were at their posts. They were as ready as they'd
ever be. Kirk just wished the odds weren't so much against
them. Three against one, he thought, and on their
homeground to boot. He carefully excised any
trace of apprehension from his voice as he spoke,
"Lieutenant Uhura, hail the commander of the
battle cruiser." Maybe it was still possible
to talk his way out of this mess, although he wasn't very
hopeful about it.
"Yes, sir," Uhura said crisply, her dark
eyes fixed on her console as she deftly
manipulated the external communications controls.
"Transmitting on all known Romulan
frequencies. . . Captain, I have a
response."
"Put it on the screen," he instructed, glad
that the Romulans hadn't chosen to shoot first and ask
ques
tions later. , The image of the three oncoming
warships was replaced by the head and shoulders of a
Rornulan officer. Kirk was struck by how much the
man resem- i bled Spock, albeit a few
years older; he had the same arched eyebrows, dark
hair, and pointed ears, al- though the lines of his
face were etched deeper, tilde
making the Romulan's stern scowl look even more
I,
severe. Kirk found it impossible
to estimate the
officer's age, especially given the sizable
disparity to 66 tilde
.
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
between the human and Romulan
lifespans; the man on the screen
could have been anywhere from fifty
to a hundred years old. A heavy red
sash was draped over the man's right
shoulder. It seemed to be made from
the same thick, quilted fabric as his
gray military uniform.
"I am Commander Motak of the
Imperial battle cruiser Gladiator.
You have been identified as the
U.s.s. Enterprise, in direct
violation of the Treaty of Algeron.
You are hereby ordered to surrender
immediately and turn your ship over
to my command."
Just once, Kirk thought, I'd like
to run into a Romulan ship when I
wasn't in violation of some treaty.
It made it hard to take the moral
high ground and refute the smug
self-righteousness of the enemy
commander. He knew he couldn't
surrender, though, regardless of the
circumstances. The Federation would
never see the Enterprise again, and
Romulan Intelligence would receive a
bounty of military secrets from the
captured ship.
"This is Captain James T. Kirk," he
said, "in command of the Enterprise.
I apologize for oul'unexpected
arrival within your borders, but I
can assure you it was an accident,
entirely beyond our control. We had
an unfortunate encounter with a
wormhole that knocked us badly off
course." He chose not to mention Gary
Seven's involvement in the creation
of that wormhole; that would just
complicate matters.
"Ah, Captain Kirk." A very
unVulcanlike smirk appeared on
Motak's face. "I was hoping you were
still in command of this ship. As you
may or may not be aware, there is an
outstanding warrant for your arrest
on charges of espionage and crimes
against the Empire. The Praetor
himself has offered a sizable reward
for your capture. I look forward to
collecting
Easier said than done, Kirk
thought. "It's gratifying to know
that I'm so popular these days, but
I don't 67
Greg Cox
intend to do anything except return to Federation
territory as quiclely as possible. You're
welcome to escort us to the Neutral Zone if that
will make you feel more comfortable."
"Your very presence here constitutes an illegal
incursion into our space," Motak declared harshly.
"You will surrender, or you will be destroyed." be
"I told you, we're here by accident," Kirk
protested. "We have no military objectives."
He glimpsed a portion of the Romulan cruiser's
bridge behind Motak. Romulan soldiers wearing
golden helmets manned their posts, ready to fire
upon the Enterprise.
"Captain," Chekov interrupted, keeping his
voice low. "The other ships are spreading out around
us. They have us blocked in three directions."
Let me guess, Kirk thought. All three
ships are positioned between us and the Neutral Zone.
Keeping his hands well below the usual boundaries of the
viewer, he silently pointed to the lower righthand
corner of the screen. Chekov responded to his
signal by projecting a tactical display onto that
corner of the screen while the remainder of the viewer
continued to be dominated by Motak's grim visage.
Sure enough, Kirk noted, the warbirds had
positioned themselves above and below the Enterprise, leaving
the battle cruiser directly in their path. The
only available escape route led even deeper
into Romulan territory, not exactly a direction
he was eager to explore. He could feel the pincers
closing in. "There's no need to fight a battle
over this," he insisted, consciously averting his eyes
from the tactical display so as not to alert Motak.
"We just want to return home without starting a war."
"What you intend, and why you are here, no longer
matters," Motak replied, his smirk giving way
to a look of cool Romulan determination. "The
fact remains that you are here. You have no
choice except to surrender. Let me
demonstrate that I am quite serious." He nodded
to an offscreen subordinate and 68
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Kirk felt a chill run down his spine.
He sensed the time for talking was
running out.
"Captain!" Chekov called out,
confirming Kirk's fears. "The cruiser
is firing its disrupters!"
"Hello? Computer?" Roberta
repeated, encouraged by the way the
screen on terminal had lit up, until
an abrupt shock rocked the entire
room, sending her tumbling out of her
chair onto the floor. It felt like an
earthquake, although she didn't think
you could have earthquakes in outer
space.
Good heavens, she thought, glancing
up at the lighted computer terminal.
Did I do that?
"Deflectors down to seventy-three
percent," Spock announced calmly.
Kirk held on tightly to the armrests
on his chair, anticipating another
jolt. On the screen in front of him,
Motak's head and shoulders had been
replaced by a view of the attacking
battle cruiser. A flash of violet
energy at the prow of the ship
alerted Kirk to another attack.
Strategic options raced through his
brain, none of them very appealing.
Worst-case scenario the combined
efforts of the trio of Romulan
warships reduce the Enterprise to
spacedust. Casualties one hundred
percent.
Best-case scenario beating the
odds, he destroys all three Romulan
vessels, almost certainly sparking an
interstellar war. Casualty peace
throughout the galaxy.
Another disrupter blast shook the
bridge. Bright blue sparks new from
a control panel near Uhura, who
jumped away from her seat to avoid
the energy discharge. "Are you all
right, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked.
"I'm fine, Captain," she replied,
eyeing the console carefully as she
rerouted the communications systems
through the auxiliary circuits. She
listened intently to her earpiece.
"Commander Motak is calling again for
our surrender."

Greg Cox
"I guess he's not joking," Kirk said.
"In my experience," Spock
commented, "Romulans are not known
for their humor."
Violet energy burst once more from
the battle cruiser.
In the brig, confined behind an
invisible wall of repulsive energy,
Gary Seven felt the third blast knock
the ship about and wondered when he
should make his move. His brow
furrowed in thought, he remained
seated on the simple bench provided
by his cell.
Obviously, the Enterprise had
encountered hostilities, just as
Captain Kirk had feared and Seven had
anticipated. He wasted no thoughts on
guilt or selfrecrimination; he had
done what he had to do, and he was
confident in Kirk's ability to defend
the Enterprise for as long as was
necessary to reach their ultimate
destination. So far the mission was
going exactly as planned. The only
question was whether they would
arrive in time to rescue Agent 146.
Time travel, alas, was not an exact
science, even for his superiors.
Seven regretted momentarily that Isis
had not been confined with him; he
would have appreciated her advice.
Isis did not like being caged. The
rectangular carrier was designed for
transporting biological specimens,
not pets or honored guests, and was
far from luxurious. She paced around
and around in the cage, although
there was only barely enough room to
do so, nor could she even extend her
tail fully. And as for her other form
. . . well, that was just impossible
under the circumstances. The floor of
the cage was layered with some sort
of absorbent synthetic pad that
smelled vaguely medicinal. Her ears
bumped into the hard metal lid of the
cage every time she tried to raise
her head. It was cramped for a cat,
let alone anything else.
The cage was frustratingly effective
as well. The


ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
metal lattice that surrounded her on
all four sides was tight enough that
she could not stick more than a single
claw out through the bars, and the
metal had already proven resistant to
both her jaws and her claws. The lid
itself was held down by some sort of
magnetic locking mechanism that was
both out of reach and difficult to
outwit. These humans, alas, were much
more clever than the ones she usually
encountered.
Resigned, for the moment, to her
captivity, Isis comsettled down on the
spongy floor of the cage to inspect
the world outside her prison. T he
carrier had been placed on a shelf
overlooking the sickbay. Empty beds,
equipped with elaborate displays of
monitors, lined the wall opposite her
perch. There were at least three such
beds in view, separated from each
other by one or two cat-lengths, but
very little activity fo watch. The
cross-sounding human who had brought
her here after they'd taken Seven and
the other one away had left the
premises almost as soon as he had
locked Isis into the carrier. The only
human left was a blonde-haired female
who seemed to work here. At the
moment, she appeared to be checking
the inventor ry of a built-in cabinet
at the far end of the room. Isis
meowed experimentally, and the female
turned around to look at the cage.
Intrigued, Isis made another sound
and the human female came closer.
Hmmm, this had possibilities. Isis
wondered if, perhaps, this particular
human might be a cat-lover, and if,
just maybe, she could be persuaded to
undo the lock and let Isis free.
Stranger things had happened....
How many Romulan vessels was Kirk
engaged with, Gary Seven wondered. Not
for the first time, he wished that he
could have beamed directly from his
own base in 1969 to Supervisor 146's
base in the Romulan Empire, instead of
depending on the Enterpr tilde se for
transportation, but that would not
have been wise, not while hostile
forces apparently held domin71
Greg Cox
ion over the transporter controls at
the receiving end of his trip. Under
the circumstances, the last thing he
wanted to do was beam directly into
a trap, or, worse yet, be scattered
to atoms due to interference from
this base.
Now, when the guards posted to the
brig were distracted by the larger
battle beyond these walls, would be
an excellent opportunity to escape
the brig, but, Seven decided, it was
doubtful that he could elude capture
until the Enterprise reached the
proper coordinates. Better to wait
for an occasion when he can put his
freedom to better use. Besides, the
last thing he wanted to do was
distract Captain Kirk at such a
perilous juncture.
He waited patiently in his cell
while yet another jolt buffeted the
ship, shaking the guards outside off
their feet.
"Shields down to sixty-two
percent," Spock reported. Wisps of
smoke from one or two small fires
irritated Kirk's nostrils and added
a slight haze to the atmosphere upon
the bridge. Automatic flame sup-
pression systems snuffed out the
flames before they could consume too
much oxygen, but Kirk knew that the
burning circuitry were merely minor
symptoms of the wholesale battering
the Enterprise was receiving. The
ship couldn't take many more blasts.
He could just imagine what Scatty had
to be going through down in
engineering, trying to keep the warp
engines on-line despite the damage
done by the Romulan disrupter beams.
"Captain?" Chekov asked anxiously.
"Shall I return fire?"
Kirk hesitated for only a
heartbeat. What he was about to say
went against his instincts and
disposition, but, as Spock would
surely say, it was the only logical
alternative.
"Hold your fire," he instructed
Chekov. The Enterprise was precious,
but it wasn't worth starting a war 72
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY -.
for. "Mr. Sulueafull retreat. Head away
from all three ships as fast as we can go."
"Yes, sir," Sulu said, responding immediately.
Kirk felt a slight tug of centrifugal force
as the Enterprise spun around on its axis, then
leaped forward at warp speed, pushing the limits of
its inertial dampers. On the main viewer, the
attacking battle cruiser was replaced by an open
starfield.
Here we go, Kirk thought. Zooming oSf into the
unknown. He hated to turn and run like this, but it was the
only way to avoid a fight with the Romulans without
risking his ship and crew. He couldn't help
wondering if this was all part of Gary Seven's
unknown mission. He felt like a sheep being herded
toward the slaughter. "Rear view on screen," he
commanded, restoring the battle cruiser to the main
viewer. Gladiator fell behind them, still in
pursuit but shrinking as the Enterprise gained a lead
on the other ship. But where were the warbirds?
"Position of the other ships?" he demanded.
"They are pursuing us at impulse speed,"
Chekov stated, "but the big cruiser is still hot on
our tail."
So far, so good, Kirk thought. At least they were
leaving the smaller ships behind, but how long would it be
before Motak called in reinforcements or
set up a blockade in front of them? For all
they knew, they could be heading straight toward a
Romulan armada. As fast as the Enterprise
flew, they couldn't outrace a subspace message
sent ahead of them by Motak. Or could they?
"Lieutenant," Kirk called to Uhura. The
communications specialist had returned to her chair
after bringing the short circuits at her console under
control. "Is there any way we can block
transmissions from Gladiator?"
Uhura gave him a skeptical expression.
"I can try to set up a countermodulation on their
known frequencies, Captain, but it's going to be
difficult to get a proper fix on the Romulan
ship when we're both 73
Greg Cox
travelling at warp speed, plus I'm
down to the backup communications
array anyway." She shook her head.
"I can't guarantee anything."
"Understood," Kirk said. "Do what
you can, Lieutenant." At best, he
knew, Uhura could only buy them
time. Ultimately, they had to get
out of the Romulan Empire or else
find a safe place to hide until the
Romulans stopped looking for them.
What they could really use right
now, Kirk realized, was another
convenient wormhole.
"Chekov," he asked urgently, rising
from his chair, "is the cruiser
gaining on us?"
"No, sir," the young ensign
reported. "We are maintaining a
steady lead, although they remain in
pursuit.
Good enough for now, Kirk thought.
"Mr. Spock, you have the bridge." He
stepped into a waiting turbolift.
"I'm going to have another talk with
Mr. Seven."

Chapter Six
I M SORRY, CAPTAIN, but we cannot
return to the Federation yet. I
still have to complete my mission."
The entrance to the detention cell
appeared open. Only a string of
bright white lights ran along both
sides of the empty doorway. In fact,
a powerful force field confined
Seven to the spartan, simply
furnished cell, which contained only
a simple bench and a Dair of double
bunks built into the wall. Kirk
stood so close to the force field
that he could feel the repulsive
energy of the field tingling his
skin. Seven faced him on the
opposite side of the invisible wall,
looking Kirk in the eye. They were
only centimeters apart, but more
than an energy field divided them.
"Maybe you didn't notice," Kirk
snarled, "but this ship is already
under attack by the Romulans. Per-
haps you thought you could slip in
undetected, take care of your
assignment, then sneak out again
without the Romulans knowing, but
that is no longer an option. There's
a Romulan battle cruiser out there
that would like nothing better than
to blow us all

Greg Cox
apart, and the longer we remain behind enemy lines, the
more dangerous our situation becomes. Pretty soon
we're going to be surrounded by the entire Romulan
fleet. If you know a way to return us to the
Federation, you better show it to me now."
Seven shook his head. "I regret that my
actions have placed you and your crew in jeopardy, but
my mission takes priority."
"Your mission, whatever it is, has obviously
failed," Kirk said. Two security officers
stood at attention at the entrance to the brig, each
with a type2 phaser pistol hanging on their belts.
Seven was the only prisoner they were guarding right now.
The other cells were empty. "Or are you determined
to get me, my crew, and Miss Lincoln
killed?"
"My mission has not failed, Captain,"
Seven replied. "It has barely begun." Seven
walked away from Kirk and sat down on his bench.
"Believe me, the effects of my failure would be
catastrophic to the time line itself."
"So you keep saying," Kirk said, slightly
unnerved by Seven's eerie certainty.
Even Spock seemed more human than Seven at
times, more subject to doubt and human frailty.
Could it be, Kirk permitted himself to wonder, that
Seven actually knew what he was talking about?
Kirk knew from personal experience just how
fragile the time line could be. He had once
sacrificed the life of a woman he loved
to preserve the proper course of history; how
different from that was Seven's apparent willingness
to sacrifice the Enterprise? It was a disturbing
comparison, one that only grew more so t tilde e
tilde iiore he turned it over and over in his
mind. Seven's unrelenting secretiveness tested
Kirk's patience to its utmost. Lien again, he
thought, how much did I explain to Edith? The only
difference seemed to be that Kirk had come from the
future in that instance, whereas Gary Seven had come from
the past, but in a universe subject to the
mind-twisting 76
, I
iT11 tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
paradoxes of time travel, how much of
a difference did that make?
Kirk forcibly expelled such doubts
from his mind. He couldn't afford to
let himself get caught up in all
sorts of speculative abstractions. He
had to focus on his primary
responsibility the safety of his
ship and his crew.
Obviously, Seven wasn't about to
listen to reason, so Kirk switched
tactics. "Listen to me, Seven," he
snarled, letting all his pent-up
frustration and rage out into the
open. "You have effectively taken my
ship hostage, and I am not above
using deadly force to get my people
safely home. Either you reverse your
wormhole stunt and take us back to
the Federation, or I will personally
have you beamed into space." He
smacked his hand against the force
field, letting the crackle of
discharged energy punctuate his
threat. "Do you understand me, Mr.
Seven?"
Seven blinked, caught off guard
momentarily by the sizzling flash of
the force field. Kirk felt encouraged
by Seven's surprise, but his hopes
were dashed by the prisoner's next
words. "I understand you, Captain,"
Seven replied, swiftly regaining his
customary composure, "but I do not
believe you. You are not a barbarian,
Captain. You are not even a
relatively undeveloped human of the
twentieth century. I cannot accept
that a Stardeet officer of this era
would carry out a threat of that
nature, especially against someone
such as myself, who has previously
demonstrated his good intentions
where the future is concerned."
"Maybe you don't know me as well as
you think," Kirk insisted, but with
less vehemence. Damnit, he's called
my bluff He remembered Spock's long
list of Seven's accomplishments in
the twentieth century. How harshly
can I really treat him? Earth may not
have survived without him.
"I've dealt with cold-blooded
killers
before," Seven 77
distilde ,
Greg Cox
said. "Assassins. Executioners. You're not one
of them."
And thank God for that, Kirk thought. Even if it
meant that there were limits to his powers of coercion,
limits that Seven seemed all too aware of.
Too bad this wasn't a fret-contact scenario.
It's always easier to bluff an alien than a
member of your own species.
And if Seven refused to clean up his own mess,
then Kirk would have to do it for him. "All right," he
said to Seven. "I don't have time to argue with you
anymore. If you change your mind about helping us,
tell one of the guards. In the meantime, I'm going
to do my best to keep all of us out of a Romulan
prison camp."
"Good luck, Captain," Seven replied. "I
mean that."
I'll bet you do, Kirk thought, turning his back
on the prisoner. He was only a few steps away
from the exit
when a whistle from the ship's intercom
attracted his i
attention. He approached a speaker mounted in the
adjacent wall and pressed the activation button.
"Kirk here. What is it?"
Spock's voice emerged from the speaker. "I
apologize for disturbing you, Captain, but our
long-range sensors have detected a highly
unusual phenomenon. You might want to return
to the bridge."
On his bench, Seven looked up at Kirk the
moment Spock mentioned locating something odd. He
seemed particularly interested in Spock's
discovery, his entire body seemingly going on
alert. Noting Seven's reaclion, Kirk
wondered if they were getting closer to the temporal
threat Seven kept talking about. "What about the
Romulans?" he asked Spock.
"Gladiator remains in pursuit at warp
factor 5.88. I estimate that we are about
twenty-five-point-six minutes ahead of her at
present."
"Any sign of more Romulan ships?" Kirk
asked.
"Negative," Spock replied. "The sector
we are now 78
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
crossing appears uninhabited. Indeed,
on first inspect lion, it appears
quite desolate and unremarkable."
"Aside from your intriguing
phenomenon, that is," Kirk said,
relieved to hear that the Enterprise
continued to evade her pursuers, at
least so far. He had no idea what
kind of oddity Spock had discovered,
but be knew his first officer would
not have mentioned it unless he
thought it was important. "I'll be
right with you," he said. "Captain
out."
He walked once more toward the
exit, then turned around in the
doorway to look back at Gary Seven in
his cell. "I don't suppose you have
anything you'd like to add to Spock's
report?" Seven stayed as silent as
the Sphinx. "I didn't think so," Kirk
said.
Kirk was surprised to find both
Scatty and McCoy standing by Spock's
science center on the bridge.
Scotty's presence was particularly
unexpected. Kirk would have guessed
that the engineer would have been
hard at work undoing whatever damage
was done by Gladiator's disrupters.
Usually, wild horses couldn't drag
Scatty away from his beloved engines,
especially when there were repairs to
be made.
"I suggested that Mr. Scott join
us," Spock explained as he turned
over the captain's chair to Kirk. "I
have reason to believe that the
phenomenon I mentioned may be
technological in origin, so Mr. Scott
may be able to provide some insights
into this enigma." Spock's gaze
shifted toward the two other men.
"Dr. McCoy invited himself," he added
dryly.
"I figured Chapel could hold down
the fort in sickbay," McCoy said,
"while I found out what sort of fix
we were in this time. We came through
that last fracas without any serious
casualties, but I'm not sure how much
longer our luck can hold out."
Kirk was relieved to hear that his
crew was still intact, but eager to
find out whatever Spock had
discovered. "What sort of enigma?"
Kirk asked his first officer,
glancing at the main viewer. The
screen

distilde 1 tilde
Greg Cox
revealed nothing exceptional, only a
routine if unfamiliar starfield.
Romulan space looked no different
from any other void explored bally the
Enterprise. Makes you realize, he
thought, just how artificial aRather our
borders and claims to territory
really are.
Spock returned to his science
station. "I was scanning for
wormholes, in hopes of reversing the
circumstances that brought us to this
region, when I noted some puzzling
gravitational readings in this
sector. The discrepancies were quite
subtle; if I had not been
specifically searching for
gravimetric distortions, I doubt if
I would have detected them."
Spock pressed an illuminated yellow
button on his science console and the
starscape on the main viewer was
replaced by a two-dimensional diagram
of a solar system. Colored spheres
indicated suns, moons, and planets,
while elliptical lines charted their
respective orbits. Kirk peered at the
diagram, trying and failing to
uncover its significance. He didn't
recognize this particular solar
system, but there didn't appear to be
anything remarkable about it.
"This system," Spock stated, "lies
directly before us, approximately
thirty-three-point-five-six minutes
away at our current speed. Direct
observation indicates the presence of
a single class-L sun surrounded by
six planets, none of them habitable
by life as we know it. Precise
gravitational readings, however, sug-
gest the existence of a seventh
planet, undetectable by most
conventional scanning techniques."
Scotty's eyes widened in disbelief.
"Mr. Spock, you cannot be saying what
I think you're saying."
"Indeed I am, Mr. Scott," Spock
replied. "The only logical conclusion
is that an entire planet has been
concealed by means of a cloaking
device of almost unimaginable power."
"Good Lord!" McCoy exclaimed.
Scatty shook his head vehemently.
"It's impossible to hide a planet!"
A sudden memory dashed through Kirk's
mind.
tilde 0
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"You said the same thing," he
reminded Scotty, "when our friend,
Mr. Seven, claimed to be able to do
just that." According to Seven, Kirk
recalled, his alien sponsors had
used their unearthly technology to
elude discovery even in Kirk's own
time. Could it be, he wondered, that
Seven's superiors'home base resided
in the middle of the Romulan Empire?
That seemed unlikely, but he
couldn't dismiss the possibility.
Then again, it was the Romulans who
had originally developed the
cloaking technology now used by both
them and the Klingons. Maybe this
was some sort of top secret Romulan
project?
"That thought had occurred to me as
well," Spock commented, referring to
Kirk's memories of their first
encounter with Seven. "It is perhaps
significant that the planet's
presumed location is exactly where
one would expect to find a class-M
planet in a solar system of this
nature."
"I find that very significant, Mr.
Spock." Kirk stared at the diagram
on the screen; an empty circle now
indicated the probable location of
the seventh planet, according to
Spock's calculations. Kirk didn't
even want to think about how much
power would be required to cloak a
whole planet, but he couldn't help
wondering what sort of secret the
Romulans or Seven's people could
have gone to so much effort to hide.
If the Romulans were responsible for
the cloaked planet, it was possible
that whatever they were concealing
might constitute a serious threat to
the safety of the Federation. Since
we're stuck here anyway, he thought,
it might not be a bad idea to check
this out.
He brooded for only a minute before
making his decision. "Mr. Sulu," he
instructed the helmsman, "set a
course for this mystery planet. Mr.
Spock can give you the coordinates."
"What?" McCoy blurted. He
hurried
across the bridge from the science
station to Kirk's side. "Jim, you
can't be serious!"

it,
Greg Cox
"What's the matter, Bones?" Kirk
asked, although he was none too
surprised by the doctor's reaction.
"Aren't you at all curious about
what's lurking behind that cloaking
field?"
"Curiosity killed the cat," McCoy
drawled, "and I'm not just talking
about that fuzzy feline Seven brought
aboard. Don't you think we've got
enough problems without sticking our
noses in where we're obviously not
wanted?"
"That's exactly why I want to
investig ate," Kirk said, a determined
expression on his face. "We didn't
ask to be here, but now that we are
I'm not about to turn my back on what
might be some new Romulan
super-weapon."
"You don't know that for sure," McCoy
objected.
"No I don't," Kirk said. "I don't
even know if it's the Romulans or
Gary Seven who are responsible for
this enigma, as Spock calls it. But
someone's obviously gone to a whole
lot of trouble to keep us from
finding out, and that's what worries
me."
"And what about those poor settlers
on Duwamish?" McCoy's concern was
written all over his face. "Never
mind the danger to the crew; we're
needed desperately on Duwamish. Those
people are in trouble now. We don't
have time to mess about with sneaky
Romulan mysteries."
Kirk winced inwardly. He had not
forgotten about the imperiled men and
women he had been sent to protect.
Spock came to his rescue.
"Regrettably, Doctor, time for us
has
already run out. Even at maximum
warp, the Duwamish system is now many
days away. We could not hope to
arrive in time to make a significant
difference. Logically, our needs and
priorities have changed." Spock
pressed a button and the diagram on
the main viewer was replaced by a
deceplively empty-looking starscape.
"Logic!" McCoy's face looked as
though he had just

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
bitten into an unusually sour lemon. "How can you
talk about logic when we're looking at a
catastrophe?"
"Extreme circumstances are often when clear
thinking is most required," Spock responded.
Kirk decided to interrupt the familiar argument
between Spock and McCoy. ""Starfleet has
other ships," he announced. "They may not be as
near to Duwamish as we once were, but they'll have
to do what they can. Spock is right; thanks to our friend
Mr. Seven, we've lost our chance to be
the first on the scene." Kirk peered at the image
on the screen; he could see the system's sun shining
in the distance, but
none of its planets were visible yet. He stared
into the i
approaching darkness as if he could penetrate its
mysteries by sheer will alone. Somewhere ahead, he
knew, was that invisible seventh planet, and who knows
what else. This is the right thing to do, he thought. So
why do I feel like I'm playing into Seven's
tilde 3
Chapter Seven
I THINK I'm starting to get the hang of this,
Roberta thought. She perched on the edge of the plastic
chair,
munching on a slice of pizza while she
experimented i
with the computer. At first, the so-called "food
synthesizer" had professed its ignorance of even the
simplest varieties of pizza, but, after a bit
of trial and error, she had not only managed
to reprogram the synthesizer to produce passable
slices of pizza, but she had also succeeded in teaching
it to provide a wide assortment of toppings.
Bum, she thought, biting into the sweet and
crispy result of her labors. You just can't get
a decent pineapple pizza east of the
Mississippi except on starships, I guess.
The floor was littered with earlier, failed
attempts at pizza, some of them topped with alien
substances that Roberta couldn't even begin
to identify, especially that wiggly orange stuff that
appeared to be, well, alive. Interplanetary
brotherhood was all very well and good, but Roberta
wasn't sure she wanted to meet any being that
considered that orange goo a

I were
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
condiment. Extending a bare foot
warily, she shoved the writhing slice
further away from her. "I'll make you
a deal," she said to the pizza. "I
won't eat you if you won't eat me."
The slice, thankfully, left her toes
alone.
Enough fooling around, she thought.
Time to get down to business. The
green cube rested atop the triangular
computer terminal, flashing
periodically. Establishing a link
between the cube and the computer had
been easier than she expected, at
least once the ship stopped shaking;
she wondered just how similar the
Enterprise's computer was to Seven's
good old Beta-5.
Despite her initial fears, she was
now convinced that the tremendous
jolts that had rocked the Enterprise
had not been caused by her first
experiments with the computer. The
ship must have run into some sort of
turbulence, she guessed, remembering
that one time she'd had to fly a 747
through a thunderstorm after
accidentally knocking out both pilots
with a tranquilizer beam. Boy, had
that been a bumpy flight! HI can
survive that trip, I can survive this
one, she thought, although she
couldn't help wondering exactly what
sort of rough weather you could run
into in space?
"Computer," she said, focussing on
the tiny viewscreen, "identify
location of the jail . . . I mean,
brig."
"The brig is located on Deck
Seven," the terminal answered. Yes,
Roberta decided upon hearing it
again, the voice of the Enterprise's
computer was definitely warmer and
less snooty than the Beta-5's.
"Deck Seven, right," Roberta
muttered. Like she knew where that
was. She took another tack. "Show me
what it looks like."
The terminal emitted a stern beep.
"Access to security monitors is
limited to command personnel."
"Darn," Roberta said. It made sense,
though. 85
Greg Cox
Captain Kirk wouldn't want to give any old
visitor the run of the ship. Hopefully, though, she
had resources nobody had counted on.
She gave the blinking green cube a friendly tap.
"Okay, buddy, it's your turn. Override the
ship's computer."
The flashing emerald light within the cube turned
into a continuous green glow as the cube went to work.
Roberta held her breath while a furious humming
emerged from the interior of the three-sided terminal.
"Unauthorized interface," the computer announced,
its voice sounding almost alarmed. "Unauthorized
interface, unauthor interface, un interface,
interface, interfacing . . ."
The lighted viewscreen went blank for a moment,
then came on again. Roberta gasped as she saw
what appeared to be a row of doorless cells,
observed from the vantage point of what she guessed
was an overhead camera. A string of white lights
outlined the entrances to each cell, all of which appeared
to be unoccupied except for one in the middle, which
held the unmistakable figure of Gary Seven, still
clad in his stolen gold and black uniform. Seated
on a simple, utilitarian bench, he glanced up
at the ceiling outside his cell. Roberta had the
eerie feeling that he was looking directly at her.
"Security protocols overridden," the terminal
announced, its previous voice replaced by the
cold, imperious tones of the Beta-5.
"Groovy," Roberta said, staring into the cryptic
depths of Seven's icy blue eyes.
She swallowed one last gulp of pizza, then
absentmindedly wiped her greasy fingers on her
skirt while she tried to figure out what to do
next. She licked her lips; the tangy pizza
had left her feeling thirsty. "Get me a
Fresca," she said, "with ice."
"Please supply the chemical components of this
foodstuff," the computer replied.
* * *
86 tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"Almost there," Sulu declared a bit
hesitantly. He peered through a
binocular viewing mechanism attached
to the helm console by a telescoping
metal arm. "I think."
Kirk shared the helmsman's
uncertainty. According to Spock's
calculations, they should be within
sight of the seventh planet, yet the
screen before him displayed nothing
but empty space. "Mr. Spock?" he
inquired, rapping his fingers
impatiently upon the armrest of his
chair.
"The planet should be dangerously
close by," the Vulcan confirmed. "I
recommend slowing to impulse speed."
"Do it," Kirk ordered Sulu. He
squinted at the main viewer as the
distant stars appeared to slow to a
stop. "I don't see anything ahead,
Spock."
Spock approached Kirk's chair.
"According to most conventional
scanning techniques, there is nothing
there. Nevertheless, slight
aberrations in the orbits of the
other planets in this system imply
the presence of a celestial body at
these coordinates."
"That's incredible," Kirk murmured,
genuinely amazed by the concept.
Cloaked ships were one thing, but an
entire planet? "How far out do you
think the cloaking field extends?"
"Beyond the outer atmosphere of the
planet at the very least," Spock
surmised. "Otherwise we would be able
to see a thin, gaseous shell around
the location of the planet."
"I still cannot believe it," Scatty
said, scratching his head. The
engineer had remained on the bridge,
manning an auxiliary station behind
Kirk's left shoulder. "The energy
demands alone are inconceivable.
Where do you find that kind of
power?"
"I don't think I want to know,"
McCoy said, holding on tightly to the
handrail surrounding the command
module. "The sooner we get out of
here, the better."
"All in good time, Doctor," Kirk
said. He leaned
87 tilde
were
Greg Cox
forward in his chair. "Mr. Sulu, take us
closer.. .
carefully."
"Aye, sir," Sulu said with a nod. He kept
his gaze glued to the screen in front of him, as did
everyone else on the bridge. You could hear
a pin drop, Kirk thought. He hoped that the
invisible planet didn't have any equally invisible
moons that Spock had somehow overlooked, or they
could be in for an extremely unpleasant collision.
r
"I don't suppose," he said, turning his head
towards Lieutenant Uhura, "that anybody on this
hypothetical planet is trying to get in touch with us
yet?"
"Negative, sir," Uhura reported. "No
hails at all."
Figures, Kirk thought. He wondered if the
inhabitants of the planet, assuming any existed,
had de tected the Enterprise's approach .
We'll find out soon
enough, he decided. He wasn't expecting a
friendly reception, not this deep into Romulan space.
"Go to yellow alert," he announced.
Before anyone could respond to his order, though,
Chekov called out to him. "Captain! The
Romulan vessel is closing on us!"
Damn, Kirk thought, not too surprised.
Commander Motak was not going to give up until the
Enterprise was captured or destroyed; it was just how
Kirk would- have dealt with a Romulan
warship in Federation
territory. "How much time do we have?"
Chekov wiped a trickle of sweat away from his
eyes. "Gladiator will be within firing range in
less than ten minutes."?
Kirk quickly weighed his alternatives. He
might be able to outrace Gladiator again, but only
by leaving the mystery planet behind and heading even deeper
into the heart of the Romulan Empire. Forget it,
he thought. We've come this far, we're not going
to leave until I get some answers.
A provocative question sprung to mind Did
Motak know about the cloaked planet? If this was a
Romulan military experiment, then
Gladiator's commander 88
I i,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
was probably aware of its existence
and location, but if Gary Seven or
his mysterious associates were re-
sponsible for cloaking the world, as
Seven had claimed they could . .
"Mr. Sulu," he ordered. "Take us
into that cloaking field, into the
planet's atmosphere if necessary." If
there was even a chance that Motak
did not know about the cloaking
field, then Kirk had to risk it.
"But, Captain," Sulu said, looking
away from his personal viewing unit,
"I'm not even sure where the planet
is."
"Best guess, Mr. Sulu," Kirk told
him, wishing he could offer the
helmsman better prospects. He had
never crashed the Enterprise into a
planet before, Kirk realized, but
maybe there was a first time for
everything.
"Eight minutes, Captain," Chekov
shouted.
"Mr. Sulu," Spock said calmly,
scanning the readouts on his sensor
control panel, "I have estimated the
mass and diameter of the planet in
question, based on the precise
gravimetric distortions observed. I
am feeding that data into your
navigational sensors."
"Acknowledged," Sulu replied,
glancing down at his control panel.
Kirk saw the helmsman expel a sigh of
relief.
"Just how reliable are these
estimates of yours, Spock?" Kirk
asked, anxious to know the worst.
"Approximately
sixty-eight-point-four percent," the
Vulcan stated. "The key variable is
the planet's density. If the planet's
core is less massive than is
customary for a Class-M planet, then
its diameter may be larger than
estimated."
And we end up like a py on a
windshield, Kirk thought, keeping the
grisly image to himself.
"si minutes," Chekov called out.
"Good Lord," McCoy whispered.
"We're being chased into a brick
wall. Made of invisible bricks, no
less!"
"Take a sedative, Doctor," Kirk
suggested. He felt 89
1
Greg Cox
his heart pounding in his chest, but he kept a
conftdent expression locked firmly on his face.
It took plenty of self-restraint to keep from
springing from his seat and taking the helm controls himself,
even
though he knew Hikaru Sulu was fully up to the
i
challenge, if anyone was. "Mr. Sulu?"
"Coming closer," Sulu reported, intent on his
task. Even at mere impulse speed, the margin
between safety and disaster might be a matter of
seconds.
"Five minutes," Chekov counted down.
Kirk nodded at the nervous young ensign. The big
question now was whether Kirk would destroy the
Enterprise, by ramming it into an invisible planet,
before Commander Motak got a chance. Look out below,
he thought.
For one endless moment, the viewer displayed nothing but
the diamond-speckled blackness of interplanetary
space. Then, as if the Enterprise was passing through
a gauzy curtain, the view on the screen shimmered
briefly before giving way to an entirely different
scene. Kirk suddenly glimpsed
vaporous white mists, billowing clouds,
turquoise seas, and huge continental land masses,
all rushing towards them at frightening speed. "Pull
out!" Kirk-barked.
A collision seemed inevitable, but Sulu was
already way ahead of his captain. The view on the
screen tilted vertiginously and Kirk felt
inertia yank him into his seat as the Enterprise
leveled off its flight path above the planet's
surface. A wave of nausea gripped Kirk,
and he had to clench his teeth together to keep from vomiting.
Caught off guard by the ship's abrupt chance in
course, McCoy gasped and staggered back and forth a
few steps before grabbing onto the securi
ty of the handrail once more. "Fascinating,"
Kirk ,
heard Spock observe.
Kirk's stomach settled back into place as their
flight stabilized. "Everyone in one piece?" he
asked. A chorus of affirmative responses
came from all around the bridge. Kirk nodded and
took a- deep breath

tilde i]
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
before speaking again. "Excellent
work, Mr. Sulueaand you, too, Mr.
Spock."
"I'll send you the bill for my
shattered nerves in the morning,"
McCoy groused, his dour features more
than a little green. "Next time you
want a ride like that, I recommend
you check out the Coney Island
Historical Amusement Center instead."
"Why, Bones," Kirk joked, "I didn't
know you liked roller coasters."
"I don't," the doctor declared, but
Kirk was no longer listening. He
turned toward Chekov. The young
Russian still sat at his post about
a meter to the right of Sulu. Like
the rest of the personnel on the
bridge, he looked shaken but steady.
"What about our pursuer?" Kirk
demanded. This was the moment of
truth Would Motak realize where the
Enterprise had gone? Kirk held his
breath.
"Gladiator has slowed to impulse
and is now scanning the vicinity.
They do not appear to be following
us." Chekov grinned wolfishly at the
captain. "I think we've lost them,
sir."
"Good," Kirk said, breathing a sigh
of relief. He had gambled and won. If
nothing else, this ploy would buy
them some much-needed time. He
wondered what Motak thought when the
Enterprise suddenly disappeared from
his sensors. Was there any chance
that the Romulan commander would
figure out where they were hiding?
Even at impulse speed, a starship
could cover a lot of distance in five
minutes. Kirk didn't want to stick
around long enough to find out.
"Captain," Uhura spoke up.
"Commander Motak is hailmg you on all
channels."
"Let's hear what he has to say,"
Kirk instructed, "but don't respond
unless I say so. Audio only."
Uhura flicked a switch and
Motak's
voice rang out from the bridge's
loudspeakers "Captain Kirk, the
Treaty of Algeron specifically
forbids the use of cloaking
technology on Federation starships.
Despite your earlier protestations of
innocence, you are now in 91
Greg Cox
flagrant violation of the Treaty on several
counts. I demand that you turn yourself and your ship over
to my authority immediately."
"In a pig's eye," McCoy muttered.
Uhura cut off the transmission. "That's all
there is, Captain, although the Commander's message is
being repeated at regular intervals." She removed
her earpiece and put it down on the communications
console. "Do you wish to reply?" she asked, although
she clearly guessed what his answer would be.
"Not just yet, Lieutenant," Kirk said. The
last thing he wanted to do was let Motak get a
fix on his position. He felt encouraged, though,
by the Romulan Commander's mistaken assumption that the
Enterprise itself possessed some manner of cloak;
better that he should hunt for a cloaked ship,
which could be anywhere, than guess at the existence of the
cloaked planet.
Satisfied that Motak had been thwarted for the time
being, Kirk turned his attention to the newly revealed
planet. He contemplated the image on the
screen. So near to the planet's surface, he could
see only part of one hemisphere; it was strange
to see the thinning blue atmosphere hanging over the
planet instead of the open space he was accustomed
to viewing. A heavy layer of clouds, dark with
moisture, partially obscured the topographical
features below. Rivers, lakes, and oceans of
clear blue water divided large stretches of lush
green landscapes. "One Class-M planet,"
Kirk said, exchanging a glance with Spock, "just as
predicted."
The more he thought about it, the more intriguing he found it
that Motak was apparently unaware of the cloaked
planet's presence. Whatever was hidden here had been
kept secret even from the commander of a Romulan
battle cruiser. Now, more than ever, Kirk
wanted to know what was up on the planet below and just how
much Gary Seven knew about it.
"Scan the planet for any signs of recent
habitation 92
i,
i tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
or unusual activity," he ordered. He
peered again at the sunlit sky in front of them, then
addressed Sulu. "How close to the planet are
we, anyway?"
"Close enough," Sulu informed him. "We're
cruising approximately twelve thousand meters
above the planet's surface."
Kirk whistled appreciatively. He'd never
been this close to a planet in anything larger than a
shuttle. "How stable is our orbit?"
Sulu shrugged. "We can maintain this orbit
indefinitely, as long as our power doesn't run
out."
"I hope we're not going to be around here that
long," Kirk said. Just long enough trend out what's
hiding down there, and why it was important enough to hide
a whole world, and for Gary Seven to hijack my ship
and throw it halfway across the known universe. Deep
down inside, he knew that this impossible, invisible
planet had something to do with Seven's mysterious
mission.
I don't know what the connection is, he
thought, but I'll bet I won't like it when Land out.
93 i.
'1
Chapter Eight
ROBERTA GOT uPeople off the floor and
righted her chair, which had tipped
over backwards during the Enter-
prise's last abrupt change in course.
The back of her head still stung
where it had smacked against the
door. She winced and felt beneath her
hair, searching for a bump. Just who
is flying this spaceship anyway. she
thought irritably. Isis?
She pulled the chair back into
place before the computer terminal
and plopped down in front of the
screen, only to discover that the
screen had gone black and that her
green cube had also tumbled to the
Boor. She had to get down on her
hands and knees and crawl under the
desk to retrieve it. The glamorous
life of a time-travelling secret
agent, she thought. I bet Mrs.
Peel
never has to go poking around under
the furniture.
Inspecting the cube, she was
relieved to see that the fall had
left it completely unscratched. I
shouldn't be too surprised, she
thought. After all, Seven's office
back in New York had been blown up
twice and


ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
attacked by killer robots once, and the cube had
come through intact each time. One of these days she'd have
to ask Seven what exactly it was made off.
"Restore image of brig," she said, placing the
cube back atop the computer terminal. The green
cube
flickered momentarily and Roberta found herself i
peeking at the row of detention cells once more.
Like the cube, Gary Seven appeared none the
worse for wear. He stood patiently in front
of the illuminated entrance to his cell. The doorway
appeared open, which made Roberta wonder
why Seven couldn't just walk out of the cell. were
twenty-third century jails based on the honor
system or what? For the brig of a starship, security
seemed to be pretty lax.
As if in answer to her questions, Seven stepped j
closer to the doorway and held out his hand. To her
surprise, Roberta saw coruscating flashes of
white energy appear where Seven's hand intersected the
plane of the doorway. "Oh, my goodness!" she
whispered, realizing she had severely underestimated the
ship's resources. Apparently, there was something
holding Seven in his cell after all.
Grimacing, Seven attempted to push his hand through
the invisible barrier. Judging from his clenched teeth and
contorted expression, Roberta guessed this was far from
easy. For a few tense moments, the tips of his
fingers extended beyond the rectangular doorway and she
actually thought he was going to break free from his cell;
then' with a blinding surge of energy, Seven was thrown
backwards, slamming into the rear wall. Looking
slightly dazed, he slumped down onto his bench,
cradling the hand that had initiated the jolt. Roberta
suspected that he had just received a nasty shock.
This was not good. She knew she had to do something
to help. "Computer, can you turn off that force
field thingie?"
"Affirmative," the cube replied. As she
watched, a guard came into view on the screen.
He was a beefy, 95
l
Greg Cox
blond man wearing a red shirt and
black trousers, and he eyed Seven
suspiciously through the invisible
barrier; Roberta guessed that Seven's
escape attempt had not gone
unnoticed. She was still seeing spots
before her eyes from the incandescent
flash that had repelled Seven.
She waited until the guard had
turned his back on Seven. "Now," she
breathed. "Turn it off now."
"Please specify which detention
cell," the cube prompted her.
Which one? Roberta had no idea how
the cells were numbered, and she
didn't have time to figure it out.
Captain Kirk was bound to figure out
what she was up to eventually. "All
of them," she said. "Hurry." She
held
her breath, waiting anxiously to see
if her plan would work.
Instantly, the lights outlining the
entrance to each cell blinked off.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Roberta
hoped the guard wouldn't notice.
No such luck. The guard pivoted
around quickly, his eyes widening at
the sight of the unlighted doorways.
He reached for the futuristi*looking
weapon on his hip. What was it called
again? she wondered. A laser? No, not
quite, a . . . phaser! That was it.
Seven's reflexes were even faster
than the guard's. He sprang through
the now-open entrance and delivered
a blow to the guard's wrist with the
edge of his hand. The gun spun
through the air, hitting the floor a
couple yards away, then skidding to
a stop inside one of the empty
detention cells. Roberta watched it
land, wishing she were there to grab
it. It was maddening to watch the
conflict unfold on her little
computer screen and not be able to
take part.
The guard shoved Seven away and
backed towards the wall opposite the
cells. His fist slammed a button next
to a circular metal grille mounted in
the wall. The intercom, Roberta
guessed immediately. He was going to
raise an alarm.
ge
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"Computer," she blurted, "kill the
intercom in the brig."
"The internal communications system
is not a living organism." The green
cube flickered again. "Please clarify
meaning of "kill.""
"Jam it, stop it, shut it down!"
Roberta stared at the guard on the
screen, watched him open his mouth to
call for reinforcements. Seven
charged at the guard again, but he
clearly wasn't going to be able to
shut the guard up in time. Roberta
chewed her lip and crossed her
fingers.
"Affirmative," the cube reported.
On the screen, the guard shot the
intercom a confused look. He pressed
the speaker button repeatedly,
getting no response.
"Yes!" Roberta exulted as Seven
barreled into the unlucky guard,
knocking the breath out of him. The
two men grappled next to the
malfunctioning intercom, pitting
Starfleet muscle against Seven's
specialized training, until Seven
managed to seize his opponent by one
arm and flip him onto the floor.
Unfortunately, the guard landed right
outside the nearest detention cell,
only inches away from where his flung
ray gun had come to rest. "Uh-oh,"
Roberta muttered. She saw the danger
immediately, but had Seven managed to
keep track of the weapon as well?
The guard scrambled on all fours
into the cell and reached for the
gun. His fingers wrapped around the
weapon's grip and he spun around
swiftly, sat up, and fired. A beam of
brilliant red energy shot toward
Seven, who ducked out of the way at
the last second.
Roberta's jaw dropped. She knew
that Seven kept himself in peak
physical condition for a human being,
but she'd never realized he could
dodge a laser beam.
want to see that in slow motion,
she thought, wondering how she could
get the screen to show her an instant
replay.
The guard looked even more surprised.
He gulped

I,
tilde 1
Greg Cox
and fired again, but Seven dived
beneath the beam. His hand reached
out and struck a lighted panel next
to the cell entrance. Wait a minute,
Roberta thought. What's he doing now?
Without warning, the lights came on
again around all the doorways into
the cells. This was bad news for the
unfortunate guard, who still had part
of one leg in the entrance when the
invisible barrier returned. Glowing
white sparks erupted all around his
limb, which was forcibly squeezed
back into the cell with the rest of
him while he howled at the sudden
shock. He grabbed onto his injured
leg and glared at Gary Seven through
the invisible prison bars.
Alerted by the sounds of the
struggle, a second security officer
ran into the brig, laser gun in hand.
But Seven was waiting for him just
inside the door. With practiced
efficiency, Seven disarmed the man
and blasted him with his own weapon.
The burst of crimson energy dropped
the second guard to the ground.
Roberta winced in sympathy; she
wasn't sure exactly what those
glowing rays did, but their effect
100ked a lot less humane than the
tranquilizer beam Seven was
accustomed to using.
Seven stepped away from the
detention cell and inspected his
borrowed Starfleet uniform for rips
or tears. Apparently, he judged it in
satisfactory shape, since he
straightened his gold shirt, tucked
the purloined ray gun in his belt,
and headed for the exit to the brig.
Before he disappeared from Roberta's
sight, however, he paused and looked
up directly at the overhead camera
lens. Once again, she had the dis-
tinct impression that her cryptic
employer was making eye contact with
her, an impression confirmed when he
winked at her once, then stepped out
into the corridor beyond the brig.
Roberta sagged back into her chair,
feeling as if she'd just been through
a fight herself which, in a weird
sort of way, she had. Okay, she
thought, now 98
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
what? Seven was on the loose again,
but what was Captain Kirk going to do
when he found out? Or had he caught
on already? Roberta decided she
needed to check on the opposition.
"Computer, show me the bridge."
"Confirmed, Captain," Uhura
reported. "There is definitely an
installation near the planet's
equator."
"What kind of installation?" Kirk
asked. So far, this installation
Uhura had detected was the only sign
of habitation on the cloaked world
below them. He looked over Uhura's
shoulder, anxious to get down to the
planet and find out what was going
on, preferably before that Romulan
battle cruiser figured out where the
Enterprise had disappeared to.
"It's hard to tell, sir," Uhura
said. She adjusted the knobs on the
emissions blanking control, filtering
out the atmospheric background noise.
"I'm picking up some transmissions,
but they're in some sort of Romulan
code."
Kirk peered at the readouts on the
external communications panel, even
though he knew Uhura could read them
better than he could. "Are you sure
they're Romulan?" Motak's apparent
ignorance concerning the cloaked
planet had half-convinced Kirk that
Seven's people, not the Romulans,
were responsible for hiding the
world. So why would they be using a
Romulan code, unless this project is
so top secret that not even a Romulan
starship commander knows about it?
"I think so, sir," she said. "I
studied Romulan cryptography at the
Academy, and these transmissions fit
those algorithms. They're specially
designed to baffle the universal
translator, not to mention the rest
of us."
"I see," Kirk said, stepping away
from the communications console. As
he recalled, Stardeet Intelliacnce
had never succeeded in cracking
Romulan 99
Greg Cox
codes, not even during Earth's first
hardfought war with the Empire in the
twenty-second century. "Do what you
can to decipher them, Lieutenant."
What were the Romulans up to, not to
mention Gary Seven and his
organization? Looks like there's only
one way to get to the bottom of this.
He marched toward the turbolift doors,
his mind made up. "In the meantime,
I'm leading a landing party to check
things out for myself. Mr. Spock, I'm
leaving you in cammend. Sulu, Chekov,
you're with me."
"Captain," Spock said, rising from
his science station. "Now is not a
logical time to embark on a
potentially hazardous mission. Are you
sure that is wise?"
"Maybe not wise," Kirk replied,
"but
necessary." Spack was right; this was
not a decision to make lightly. He
couldn't help thinking, though, that
vital matters were at stake. Why else
would Seven be here, in this day and
age? The last time their paths had
crossed, back in the twentieth
century, Seven had been instrumental
in preventing a nuclear war. Did the
present now face a similar threat? The
terrible tragedy of an old-fashioned
global conflict paled against the
possibility of an all-out war between
the Romulans and the Federation,
especially if the Empire had pushed
their cloaking technology to a whole
new level. This was about more than
just the Enterprise and its crew now.
The entire galaxy might be in danger.
He still had a responsibility to his
crew, however. "One thing more," he
instructed Spock, "if anything happens
to me, if you don't hear from me for
over an hour, I want you to take the
Enterprise and get back to the
Federation as quickly as possible."
"Jim!" McCoy protested. "That's
suicide! You have no idea what's
waiting for you down there."
Kirk ignored the doctor's
objections. "I repeat You are not to
mount any sort of rescue mission on my

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
behalf. Your first and only priority
is to get this ship and its crew
safely home. Understood?"
"Understood, Captain," Spock
answered. If the possibility of
abandoning his friend light-years be-
hind enemy lines disturbed him, he
did not show it. Kirk wasn't sure if
he should be reassured or offended.
Not wanting to beam down into the
middle of a potential firing squad,
Kirk had Scotty transport the landing
party to a site roughly half a
kilometer from the perimeter of the
presumed Romulan installation.
This region of the mystery planet
resembled other tropical jungles that
Kirk had visited. A dense canopy of
leaves, vines, and branches blotted
out the sky while moist ferns and
bracken covered the ground between
abundant tree trunks wrapped in
layers of moss. Thank goodness, he
thought, for the safety scanners
built into the transporter equipment;
otherwise, they could have been
easily beamed inside one of the
gigantic towers of timber all around
them.
A light rain was falling, the tiny
droplets streaming down his face, but
the air remained warm and humid. Kirk
wore only his usual shipboard
uniform, but he felt decidedly
overdressed. He assumed Chekov and
Sulu felt the heat as well. Deep,
bassy croaking came from the
surrounding jungle brush; frogs, Kirk
guessed, or something similar.
Probably harmless, but he kept one
hand on his phaser just in case.
He stepped forward experimentally,
gauging the planet's gravity. It was
a little heavier than he was used to,
more like the gravity on Vulcan, but
not excessively so. I wouldn't want
to run a marathon here, he decided,
but this should be fine for a little
covert reconnaissance. He sniffed the
air plenty of oxygen, along with the
ripe, pungent smell of rotting under-
brush. A real equatorial rain forest,
all right. He wondered what the
Romulans thought of the climate. 101

Greg Cox
If they were as similar to Vulcans as they
looked, they probably liked the gravity and the heat,
although this ungle was considerably damper than most
sites on Vulcan.
He glanced at his companions. Both Sulu and
Chekov appeared to have acclimated themselves to this new
environment. He saw Sulu, the amateur
botanist, bend over to inspect the toadstools
growing near the base of a looming tree
trunk about twelve centimeters in diameter.
"Grocery shopping, Mr. Sulu?" Kirk asked.
"Just collecting samples," Sulu said. He
rose, placing one of the toadstools in a pocket of
his trousers. "There are some interesting specimens here.
Too bad there's not time for a complete botanical
survey."
artless Spock has to leave us behind, Kirk thought.
Then Sulu might end up with more than enough time
to catalog the planet's proliferating flora,
assuming i
they didn't land in a Romulan prison camp,
or worse. His gaze travelled up the length of
one moss covered tree until he stared into the
complex tapestry of vines and branches overhead.
The leafy cover and light precipitation made it
hard to judge the time of day, but, from the failing light,
he guessed that night was approaching. Just as well,
he thought. Spying was easier accomplished under the
cover of darkness than in broad daylight. "Mr.
Chekov, do you have the proper coordinates?"
A tricorder hung on a strap over the young
Rus- j
sian's shoulder. Chekov unslung the instrument
and unsnapped the protective head cover.
Wiping his rain-dampened bangs away from his eyes,
he examined the illuminated video display next
to the sensor controls. "Yes, Captain," he said,
pointing into the underbrush behind Kirk. "According to this, the
Romulan base is that way."
"Very good," Kirk said, contemplating a vigorous
comI
hike through the jungle. With luck, the thick
foliage would conceal their approach from whomever might

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
be guarding the installation. "Mr.
Chekov, you lead the way. Sulu, you
keep an eye out behind us for
snakes, satire-toothed tigers, or
Romulan storm troops ers." Kirk
grinned. "That should just about
cover everything."
"Almost everything, Captain," an
unexpected voice added. Kirk drew
his phaser and twisted his body
toward the source of the voice a
dimly glimpsed figure stepping out
from behind the bole of an enormous
tree. The shade concealed the
figure's features, but Kirk
recognized the voice instantly.
Damn, he thought. Things had just
gotten a lot more complicated.
"Mind if I join you?" asked Gary
Seven.

,tilde .
Chapter Nine
KIRK S COMMUNICATOR beeped before he could
reply. Keeping both eyes and his
phaser on the visitor from the
twentieth century, he lifted the
device to his face with his free hand
and snapped it open. "Kirk here. What
is it?"
Spock's voice emerged from the
communicator. ""You should be aware,
Captain, that Mr. Seven has somehow
escaped from the brig. Two security
officers were immobilized, but
neither has been seriously injured.
A ship-wide search is now in
progress, but his
"Don't bother," Kirk interrupted.
Raindrops ran down his hair, dripping
onto the back of his neck. "I know
just where Mr. Seven is at the
moment. About seven meters in front
of me, in fact."
"Indeed." Kirk couldn't see Spock,
but he could imagine the Vulcan
raising an eyebrow as he spoke.
"I suggest you inspect the
transporter rooms," Kirk suggested.
"You may find one or two more
'immobilized" personnel." Seven
shrugged, looking none too

hi
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
apologetic. "Then I want you to beam Mr.
Seven right back to the brig."
That got a reaction from Seven. "I can't let you
do that, Captain. Not yet." He drew a thin
silver instrumentfrom his pocket. Kirk's eyes
widened.
"Don't move!" he ordered. Chekov and
Sulu followed his lead, aiming their own phasers at
Seven. "Drop it," he told Seven.
"Captain Kirk," Seven began. He
didn't point his weapon at Kirk, but he
didn't let go of it either. "You don't understand...."
"Drop it," Kirk repeated. Seven had
jeopardized his crew for the last time. "I don't
care how good you are. You can't knock out all three
of us, before one of us stuns you with a phaser. You're
outnumbered."
Seven paused, as if mentally evaluating his
chances. Kirk found himself grateful that at least
Roberta Lincoln was apparently not within the
vicinity. "Perhaps you're right," Seven said finally.
The silver device slipped from his fingers, splashing
gently into a rain-filled puddle at Seven's
feet.
"I thought we took that thing away from you," Kirk
commented, lowering his phaser. Sulu and Chekov kept
Seven under guard while Kirk retrieved the
weapon from the puddle. It was just as lightweight as it
looked, even more so than a standard issue phaser.
Starfleet science would probably love to get a
look at this gadget. he thought.
"Servo has a homing device," Seven
explained. "It was easy enough to lock onto it with your
transporter and beam it back to me at the
same time that I transported down to this planet."
"A simple, one-step process, right?" Kirk
asked, impressed despite himself. He doubted that
even Scatty could manage to transport two
objects simultaneously with that much precision.
"Something like that," Seven said. "Captain, I
gave "r
you my tool as a gesture of good faith. I would
much rather work with you than against you. Now that 105
Greg Cox
we're this close to my goal, we can't afford
to keep getting in each other's way."
So Seven's mission does involve this cloaked
planet, Kirk thought. He didn't feel
surprised, just manipulated. "Sorry, Mr.
Seven. Your intentions may be sincere, but your
methods seem to involve assaulting my crew
whenever it strikes you as convenient to do so. I can't
afford to trust you, and you don't deserve it."
"But this isn't about me," Seven said. "It's about
the future." He approached Kirk, his boots
sinking into the muddy earth between them. Chekov rushed,
phaser raised, in front of Seven and forced him
to back up a few steps.
The rain was coming down even harder now,
reminding Kirk of the flood victims back on
Duwamish. Seven had endangered them as well.
Kirk slipped the servo into his pocket, then
brought his communicator up to his lips. "Spook?
Are you still there?"
"Yes, Captain. Static distorted Spock's
voice. Kirk wondered if the turbulent weather was
interfering with the transmission, or if something more ominous
was responsible for the static, maybe some kind of
jamming technology? "Is the situation under con-
trol?"
"For now," Kirk said, "but I'll feel better
when Mr. Seven is back in the brig. Beam him
up."
"You're making a mistake, Captain." Seven
glared at the phaser in Chekov's hand. "Trust
me, you have more to lose than almost anyone else."
Kirk felt a chill run down his spine that had
nothing to do with the weather. What did Seven mean, I
have the most to lose"...He watched as the familiar
sparkle of the transporter effect enveloped
Seven. His angular frame began to dissolve into a
column of golden sparks.
Then something went wrong. Without warning, the
process reversed itself. The smell of
ozone permeated the air and the usual hum of the
transporter turned
106 tilde
l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
into a harsh, screeching noise, like the sound of a
phaser on overload. Raw energy and information was
forcibly crammed back into tight, restrictive
patterns, abruptly displacing a man-sized
volume of wind and rain. Kirk felt a splash of
moisture against his face as the disrupted transporter
beam stirred up the already stormy atmosphere of the
jungle. Golden sparkles dimmed abruptly,
their radiance snuffed out, and, blinking the rain from his
eyes, Kirk saw the outline of a humanoid body
thrashing wildly amidst a disintegrating column of
energy, a scream of agony blending with the grating
screech of the distortion. Through a haze of chaotic
particles and mist, he thought he discerned a pair of
dark eyes, alive with shock and
anguish. Dear God, Kirk thought, can he
feel what's j
happening to him? The once-shimmering, now shadowy
beam of light collapsed into a writhing, radiant
figure composed of billions of
agitated electrons rushing together, reintegrating
into solid matter, into a being called Gary Seven,
who let out a cry of pain before falling forward into the
mud.
Sulu ran over to the prone figure, lifting
Seven's face from the mucky water before he could
suffocate. A sticky layer of mud adhered
to Seven's features, partially masking his
expression. A thin, brown slurry streamed from his
lips and nostrils. Sulu rolled the man over
onto his back and placed his ear against Seven's
chest. The enigmatic time traveller appeared to be
breathing, but it was difficult to tell through the rain.
Did he need a doctor? Did they dare risk
beaming McCoy down after watching Seven implode
like that? "Spock, what happened?" Kirk shouted
into the communicator. "Spock! Spock?"
There was no answer. The transmission had been
cut off. But was his communicator malfunctioning,
Kirk wondered, or had something happened to the
Enterprise? He had to know the answer. "Chekov,
try to contact the ship! Can you get through?"
The young ensign spoke into his communicator,

1,
Greg Cox
then shook his head. "Nyet, Captain,"
he called out. Tossing the worthless
communicator aside, he consulted his
tricorder. "Captain, I don't believe
it." He swung the tricorder in a full
circle around him, his gaze glued to
the readout on the instrument's
display screen. "It's a force field,
many kilometers across, all around
us, cutting us off from the ship. I
don't know where it came from. It
wasn't there a minute ago, I'm sure
of it."
"Understood," Kirk answered. He
understood all too well.
They were trapped on the planet with
no way out.
Roberta watched the monitor in her
room with growing dismay. On the
screen, the woman in the red uniform,
whose name she had learned was Uhura,
tried relentlessly to get hold of the
landing party, but without any
success. Mr. Spock and Dr.
McCoy
looked on grimly while they spoke of
a "force field" that apparently had
them stumped. She didn't need to be
on the bridge physically to sense the
tense mood that had come over the
scene.
Great, she thought bitterly, just
great. Now that the crew of the
Enterprise had lost contact with both
Gary Seven and Captain Kirk; how was
she supposed to keep track of what
was going on? Granted, Mr. Spock had
been prevented from beaming Seven
back onto the Enterprise, but that
was hardly reassuring. All she knew
was that Seven was stuck on the
planet below assuming that he had
even survived that botched
transporter job. Judging from the
tense conversations she had overheard
via the computer, not even Mr. Spock
or Scatty the engineering guy were
quite sure if Seven was still alive
and well on the planet. I have to do
something, she thought, but what?
She contemplated the illuminated
green cube sitting atop the computer
station. So far the device had acted
as an all-purpose skeleton key to
most of the 108
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Enterprise's computerized systems.
How far was she willing to push it?
"Computer," she said. "Show me
Supervisor 194. Code name Gary
Seven."
The cube blinked furiously for less
than ten seconds before responding.
"Subject is not within range of ship
s scanners.
Skhetshcow?ffeaed and tried again. How
about Captain
"Subject is not within range of
ship's scanners."
"Great," she muttered
sarcastically. It made sense, though;
the cube was limited to whatever
resources were available to the
Enterprise. If Mr. Spockand the
others couldn't locate the landing
party, then neither could she. The
cube could only override whatever
technology already existed aboard the
ship; it wasn't Aladdin's lamp.
Leaning back against her chair, she
pushed away from the computer station
and looked over at the closed door to
her temporary quarters. She was
starting to feel a little stir-crazy.
There was only so much she could do
cooped up in this comfy little
interstellar hotel room. Perhaps it
was time to stage another breakout.
She studied the green cube from a few
feet away. Maybe it was no crystal
ball, but it might work as a
get-out-ofjail-free card.
But what could she do once she was
loose? Where should she go? The
planet itself was one possibility.
She could probably figure out the
Enterprise's transporter system if
she had to; how different could it be
from the one she and Gary Seven used
all the time? Granted, there was
still that force field to deal with,
but surely it couldn't be covering
the whole world? With a little bit of
luck and a lot of hiking, she might
be able to hunt down Seven on Planet
Romulan or whatever it was called.
She refused to accept that he had
been permanently disintegrated by the
interrupted transporter beam, not
after all they had both survived back
on Earth.

tilde 1
Greg Cox
Yeah, she thought, that's a plan. Maybe I can
even hook up with Isis before I vacate the ship.
Or not. After all, someone had to stay behind to keep an
eye on the ship, and she nominated the cat.
She hurried to retrieve her old sneakers from the
bedroom, then dropped back into the chair to pull them
on. She was just lacing up the last shoe when she heard
an angry voice come from the computer screen. Something
about the tone of the speaker's voice caught her
attention, and she stared at the screen, which
continued to look in on the ship's bridge. Doctor
McCoy seemed to be having some sort of
confrontation with Mr. Spock, and he didn't look
happy.
"You can't be serious, Spock!" he objected
strenuously. "We have to organize a rescue party,
not plan our escape! What about Jim and the others?"
The alien first officer appeared unmoved by the
doctor's outburst. "We are making every effort
to reestablish contact with the captain, despite the
ongoing problem of the force field. However, if we do
not succeed in reaching him within the agreed-upon time
period, I will have no choice but to set course for the
Federation, just as Captain Kirk instructed."
"Leaving him behind, you mean," McCoy snapped,
"along with Chekov and Sulu and Seven! You
coldblooded, procedure-spouting machine , these are
human lives we're talking about!"
Roberta jumped to her feet, newly energized
by what she had just heard. This changes everything, she
thought. If the Enterprise took off for Earth, as
Mr. Pointy-Ears clearly intended, Seven would
be marooned on an alien planet so far from Earth that
not even NASA could bring him home. Forget it, she
resolved. That wasn't happening as long as
she had something to say about it.
She snatched her control cube off the top of the
computer, relieved that she didn't have to detach any
wires or cables connecting the cube to the computer
tilde 0
disE, tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
station. Let's hear it for trouble-free
technology, she thought. Now that she had established
a link between the cube and the ship's computerized brain,
proximity shouldn't matter. In theory, that is.
No time like the present to check it out, she thought,
approaching the closed door confining her to the guest
quarters. She rapped gently on the metal door,
but nothing happened; the door remained shut.
"Computer," she instructed, "open door."
The cube blinked once, the green light
reflecting off the polished steel surface of the
door. "Doorway to Suite 14-J ordered
shut under security protocols gamma-xy-5," it
announced.
Roberta rolled her eyes. She could have
predicted that. "Override security
protocols."
"Working," the cube reported. Moments
later, the door slid open, revealing the corridor
beyond. So much for house arrest she thought. These future
people shouldn't depend so much on their computers.
Then she noticed the guard posted outside her
door. Oh, she thought, I should have known it wouldn
"t be be that easy.
The guard was an athletic-looking Asian man
wearing a red shirt, black trousers, and a
surprised expression on his face. He
obviously hadn't expected her to find a way out,
although Roberta was relieved to note that he didn't
immediately reach for his gun. "Excuse me," he said.
"I'm afraid I have to ask you to step back into your
room. Captain's orders."
Talk fast, Roberta thought. "But my food
processing whatchamacallit isn't working." She
pointed back at the open doorway. "Maybe you can
take a look at it?"
The guard shook his head. "I can't leave my
post," he explained. He crossed his arms over his
chest. "If you want, I can call for a
technician."
"But I'm starving to death," Roberta lied,
conveniently forgetting her groundbreaking experiments in
pizza processing. "I haven't eaten
since 1969!"

to tilde
Greg Cox
"Well . . ." he said hesitantly, thinking it
over. He gave her a quick once-over and relaxed
his posture somewhat. That's right, she thought, I'm just
a poor, primitive waiffrom the twentieth
century. No threat to anyone, let alone a
highly trained starship trooper. He uncrossed his
arms and stepped toward the door. "Maybe you're just
overlooking something obvious."
Like a transparent escape attempt, maybe?
She moved to one side to let the guard enter her
quarters, then waited until he was all the way
inside. "Hey, what kind of trouble were you having?"
he asked. "There's food all over the floor in
here."
You won't be hungry then, she thought, and darted
into the hall, blurting instructions to the cube even as
she ran. "Seal Suite 14-J immediately!
Security Proto- i
cot er, lincoln-roberta." The cube flashed
rapidly, its flickering green radiance escaping
through the cracks between her fingers.
"Stop!" the guard shouted, rushing after her.
"Wait!" He grabbed for his phaser, but the steel
door came whooshing shut, trapping him half in and
half out of the doorway, like a New York commuter
stuck between closed subway doors. "Come back!
Captain's orders!"
He'll get free in a minute, Roberta
knew, but that may be enough. All I need to do now
is f nd one of those turbolift thingies and take
an express trip straight to the bridge, just in time
to keep Mr. Speck from stranding Gary Seven on the
wrongside of the universe.
You know, maybe the twenty-third century
wasn't so complicated after all....
"C'mon, kitty, what do you want?"
Nurse Christine Chapel offered the caged
animal another piece of nutrient bar. They
didn't actually have much in the way of pet food in
sickbay, but the all-purpose emergency ration
couldn't do the cat any harm. Unfortunately, the
animal wasn't showing any
tilde 2
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
interest in the snack, although she clearly wanted
something.
Just like Zoe, she thought, her old cat back in
her Academy days. Zoe was more tortoise-shell
colored
than midnight black, but she could be just as
finicky. I
And opinionated.
The cat emitted a singularly plaintive yowl and
tried to stick its paws through the steel grating between it
and Nurse Chapel. Golden eyes stared longingly
into the nurse's.
"I know, I know," Chapel said, "you want out of
i
that cage. But Doctor McCoy said that the
captain wanted you locked up." She didn't know
the full story behind the animal; the doctor hadn't
even mentioned the cat's name, just muttered under his
breath, then stormed off to the bridge, saying something
about "keeping an eye on that green-blooded
robot." Chapel winced slightly at the thought.
She didn't exactly share McCoy's acerbic
opinion of the ship's first officer.
The pads of the cat's front feet protruded
through the metal lattice hemming it in. The caged
feline made a sound that sounded heartbreakingly like a
whimper. Chapel glanced at the magnetic
lock on the lid of the carrier. All she needed to do
was key in the right three-character combination, which McCoy had
programmed to be simply C-A-T. She
looked again at the unhappy animal. She always was
a sucker for a sob story. "Well, maybe it
wouldn't do any harm. Just for a few minutes . . .
She reached for the lid and typed in the first two
tilde j
characters. Inside the cage, the cat watched her with
eerie concentration. Then Chapel noticed the yellow
alert lights flashing above her head, just as they had
been flashing since the captain beamed down to the
planet. Maybe this isn't such a Great idea,-
she thought. They were in enemy territory, after all.
What if the Romulans caught up with them again?
Casualties 113
1,
Greg Cox
might come flooding into the sickbay,
and there would be this cat getting
in the way, contaminating the
sterilization fields . . .
"Sorry, kitty." She reset the lock
and stepped back from the cage. "I'm
afraid you're going to have to stay
where you are until things are a
little less crazy."
To her surprise, the cat hissed
angrily and turned its back on her.
Their communicators wouldn't work,
but nothing was stopping the rain
from pouring down. A force field,
Kirk thought, located somewhere in
the stratosphere. That makes sense.
The field must have gone up just in
time to block the transporter beam
from the Enterprise, forcing Seven's
molecules to reintegrate violently.
It had been a close thing; another
second, plus or minus, and Seven
would have been safely aboard ship,
or else too far gone to solidify
again. Seven had nearly become
background radiation, permanently.
Kirk felt a pang of relief. Nobody
deserves that, he thought, not even
Gary Seven. Grudgingly, he recalled
Spock's list of Seven's various
accomplishments in the twentieth
century, then watched as Sulu helped
the stricken man assume a sitting
position next to the puddle of mud.
Apparently, he was still alive after
all Muck trickled from Seven's mouth
as he coughed violently, shaking his
entire body.
Okay, he amended privately,
especially not Seven.
But who was responsible for the
force field? Kirk's mind raced
through the possibilities. Not Seven,
surely; Seven didn't want to be
transported back to the Enterprise,
but Kirk couldn't imagine that Seven
would subject himself to such an
ordeal, risking his very corporeal
existence, just to avoid a detention
cell. Hell, he had seen the shocked
look in Seven's eyes when the beam
jerked him back to the surface. The
man had been just as caught off guard
as the rest of them.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
It had to be the Romulans, then. Not
Commander Motak of Gladiator, but whoever was in
charge of this top secret installation on this
supposedly nonexistent planet. Cloaks and
shields, Kirk thought. Someone really doesn't
want to be found.
And if the shield just went up, that could only mean
two things. Either they had detected the Enterprise in
orbit around the planet, or they had noted the
arrival of the landing party. One way or another, they
know we're here, Kirk thought. For all he knew,
they could be closing in on him and the others at this very
moment and/or attacking the Enterprise. He
didn't like either notion
"Mr. Sulu," Kirk called to the helmsman.
To his surprise, Sulu was already helping Gary
Seven onto his feet; Kirk couldn't believe the
Inan was still conscious after what he'd been through. "Can
he be movedThat"
"I think so, Captain," Seven answered for
himself. His voice sounded a bit shaky, but
determined. He used his sleeve to wipe some of the
mud away from his mouth and eyes. "We have to try."
Kirk nodded. "Let's get going. Sulu, you
help Mr. Seven. Chekov, watch out for
ambushes, but keep us heading toward that
installation." If nothing else, he thought, we have
to shut down that force f eld before Spock can beam us
back
Part of him hoped, however, that Spock would follow
his orders to the letter and Bee with- the Enterprise within
an hour, if not earlier. The sudden appearance of the
force field clearly indicated the presence of
hostile forces responding to their arrival; the smart
thing for Spock to do would be to get the ship out of here and
o ut of Romulan territory as quickly as possible.
Surely, Spock wouldn't risk the Enterprise
JUS-THAT to wait for Kirk and the others or would he?
Despite his professed devotion to logic,
Spock could be remarkably unpredictable at
times, not to mention stubbornly loyal to his friends. Just
tilde 5
i be
Greg Cox i
look at all he had risked for the sake of poor
Chris Pike. Don't do it, Spock Kirk
thought, wishing that the Vulcan's telepathy was strong
enough to hear him even from so far away, don't wait for
me. With any luck at all, the ship was already en
route to the Neutral Zone. Good luck, he thought,
imagining all the obstacles between the ship and the
Federation and recalling the friends he might never see
again Spock, Scatty, McCoy, Uhura . .
. if any crew could give the Romulans the slip
all the way back to the Federation, then they were the crew
who would do it. Godspeed, he thought.
Then he was running after Chekov through the rain and the
mud and the dark. The underbrush was not too thick
to traverse; the leafy canopy overhead kept
sunlight away from the jungle floor, cutting down
on ground-level biomass. Still, stringy vines and
exposed roots tugged on his legs as he jogged behind
Chekov, while thorny brambles snagged onto his
trousers. His boots splashed through puddles, sometime
ankledeep in thick, clingy ooze. The extra
gravity only made the trek harder. The available
light grew even fainter as the rain became a
downpour. Soon he could
barely see Chekov in front of him. The young
ensign ,
was only a vague, gray silhouette, dimly
glimpsed through the pouring sheets of rain and ever-darkening
shadows. Kirk glanced back over his shoulder,
warried about leaving Sulu and Seven behind. He saw
them trailing behind him. Seven still had one arm
draped over Sulu's shoulders and was
limping slightly. Kirk was amazed the man could
move at all, after the ordeal he'd been through.
"Keep your eyes on each other," he ordered
Chekov and Sulu, raising his voice to be heard
over the deluge. "We don't want to lose
anyone."
Muffled acknowledgments came from the two crewmen.
Maybe even from Seven, too; the voices were
difficult to make out. The only good thing about the foul
weather, he thought, was that it would help tilde 6
tilde 1
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
conceal them from any Romulan search
parties. He tried to listen for any
sounds of pursuit, but heard only the
rain cascading in his ears. His
uniform, soaked through, stuck to his
skin as he ran, weighing him down
even more. He wiped trickles of cold
rain water from his eyes and kicked
his way through the clotted jungle
growth.
A roar cut through the night,
followed by a cry of alarm. Kirk spun
around just in time to see a dark
shape drop from the trees onto Sulu
and Seven. He got a quick impression
of four outstretched legs,
green-and-black striped fur, and a
glimpse of something that looked like
ivory, before he yanked his phaser
off his belt, disregarding the sticky
brambles that hindered his arm as he
did so.
The beast had Cocked both men to
the ground and now had one of them
pinned beneath its heavy paws. Kirk
couldn't tell if the creature's prey
was Seven or Sulu; all he could see
was a confusion of flailing human
limbs and emerald fur. Worried about
hitting the downed man by mistake, he
fired a warning shot just above the
creature's head. The incandescent
beam burned through the air between
Kirk and the beast, momentarily
dispelling the shadows so that Kirk
got a brief glimpse of enraged green
eyes, a maw full of gleaming white
fangs, and a glistening ivory horn in
the center of the creature's
forehead.
The beam got the creature's
attention all right, distracting it
from its fallen prey. With a fierce
growl, the predator sprang off the
other man and charged toward Kirk,
who aimed his phaser at the attacking
beast. Before he could fire, though,
something sprayed from the tip of the
creature's single long horn. Half
liquid, half gaseous, the foreign
substance stung like acid. The spray
burned Kirk's hand where it touched
his exposed flesh; caught by surprise
by the sudden pain, he let go of his
phaser, which went flying into the
underbrush. Fumes stung his eyes and
throat. Tears streamed down his face,
mingling with pelting rain tilde 7
tilde ,1
Greg Cox to
drops, as he coughed the noxious vapors away
from his lungs.
A heavy weight slammed into him with the
force of a meteor. Kirk landed on his back in the
mud with the full mass of the creature on top of him.
Ignoring the pain from the creature's venomous
spray, he grabbed onto the animal's throat,
digging his fingers into the thick, corded muscles beneath the
creature's matted coat. The pungent odor of the
creature's fur filled his nose and mouth. Sharp
talons sank into Kirk's chest as he fought to keep
a set of snapping jaws away from his neck. The
beast's jagged fangs were only centimeters away from
his jugular, and getting closer.
"Captain!" Kirk heard Chekov splashing through
the rain-drenched jungle. The alien predator
raised its head long enough to release another dose of
its venom at the Russian. Chekov cried out in
pain and Kirk saw the flash of a phaser beam,
wildly off target, zip by overhead, missing the
creature entirely.
The ensign had distracted the beast for an instant,
though. Kirk took advantage of the animal's
inattention by rolling over onto his side and tossing the
creature's massive body into the surrounding
foliage. The beast's claws left bloody
streaks down the front of Kirk's shirt as he
leaped away from the animal and scrambled
to his feet.
The predator regained its bearings just as
swiftly. Landing on its feet, it turned around and
confronted Kirk once more. Its jaws opened wide
to roar its challenge; Kirk found himself looking
straight down the creature's gullet, past forbidding
rows of pointed teeth. He could smell the
animal's breath, as hot and fetid as the swamp that
sheltered it. The creature's ferocious roar filled
his ears.
"Just'sshwato ormeur! Ki agbo Seven!" a
voice called out. Kirk glanced away from the beast
long enough to see Gary Seven rising from the mud where he
had fallen. His voice, though tremulous at first,
gained 118
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
strength as he called out to the
animal. He staggered through the muck
until he was only centimeters away
from the creature, who turned its
head to watch him quizzically.
"Kiysora sta-riis-noktast"
Kirk expected the monster to tear
Seven apart. Instead it lowered its
head and padded over to Seven's side,
suddenly looking no more ferocious
than a kitten. Seven stroked the
creature's fur tilde overed skull and the
animal closed its eyes. Kirk wasn't
sure, but he thought he heard . . .
purring?
"Lower your weapons, gentlemen,"
Seven said to the Starfleet officers.
"Osiris poses no threat to us."
Kirk approached Seven and the
animal warily. Now that he had a
moment to catch his breath and take
a better look at the creature, Kirk
could see that Seven's friend was
quite definitely feline in nature,
despite the ivory horn that sprung
from its forehead like a mugato's. A
thin trickle of venom leaked from the
tip of the horn. The green and black
stripes upon the animal's pelt,
well-suited to camouflage in this
verdant rain forest, resembled a
Terran tiger's markings, just as the
quivering whiskers beneath the
creature's muzzle bore further
evidence to its similarity to
terrestrial felines. Kirk stared into
the big cat's emerald eyes, looking
for some sense of its intelligence.
Was this beast Seven called Osiris
actually sentient, he pondered, or
was that merely animal cunning
peering back at him? Kirk remembered
the sleek black cat that accompanied
Seven everywhere and wondered, for
the first time, whether Isis might be
more than a mere pet. He wished there
was some way he could warn Spock to
keep a closer eye on the cat.
Osiris emitted a throaty squawk.
"He apologizes for the
misunderstanding," Seven translated,
"but Osiris is suspicious of
strangers, especially these days.
Thankfully, no one was seriously
harmed."
"More or less," Kirk said. His eyes
and throat still burned from the
cat's toxic spray, but the symptoms
119
Greg Cox
seemed to be fading away. He
inspected his right hand. The skin
was red and irritated, as from a
sunburn or minor allergic reaction,
but otherwise undamaged. Osiris's
venom was intended to stun its prey,
he deduced, not finish them off. He
stretched out his hand, letting the
cool rain soothe the reddened skin.
"Chekov," he called out, remembering
that the young ensign had been
sprayed as well, "are you all right?"
"I think so, Captain," Chekov
answered, coughing mildly and rubbing
the tears from his eyes. "It stings
some, but that's all."
"How about you, Sulu?" Kirk asked.
He watched the helmsman slowly lift
himself from the soggy ground. A
thick layer of mud coated the front
of Sulu's uniform, which looked torn
and shredded around his shoulders.
Kirk looked for bite or claw marks,
and was relieved not to spot any.
"I'm fine, sir," Sulu reported. "I
just had the wind knocked out of me."
"Your men got off easy," Seven
commented to KirLike "Osiris can be
quite lethal, under the proper
circumstances."
"Such as?" Kirk prompted. His mind
raced ahead furiously, as he dug
through the underbrush, searching for
his phaser. Seven's familiarity with
this animal, so reminiscent of Isis
the cat, only confirmed Kirk's
suspicions that Seven and his
mysterious alien supervisors were
intimately connected to this entire
cloaked planet. But where did the
Romulans fit in? Kirk still couldn't
figure it out. "Exactly what sort of
circumstances are we dealing with
here? And why would Osiris be, as you
said, unusually jumpy these days?
What's going on?"
Seven sighed wearily. A growl
rumbled in the big cat's throat. "I
know, I know," he murmured
to Osiris.
"I suppose there isn't any choice."
He fixed his gray eyes on Kirk and
took another deep breath 120
Hi
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
before speaking again. "Now that
we've come this far, you need to
know something of the facts."
Finally, Kirk thought. He
retrieved his phaser from beneath a
leafy fern. It was a bit muddy, but
looked still in working order.
"It all started," Seven began,
"back in l 969...."


Chapter Ten
"DAMNIT, SPOCK, YOU can't just
abandon Jim!
Dr. McCoy's face reddened as he
spoke; Spock found it singularly
unflattering, even for a human. He
was quite accustomed to the doctor's
volatile nature, however. At times
he
even found it amusing, on an
intellectual level. This was not one
of those times.
""The captain's orders were quite
clear," he observed. He kept his gaze
flied on the viewscreen, where the
unnamed planet slowly rotated before
his eyes. It looked deceptively
innocuous and ordinary. "Should
anything happen to him, I was to use
my best efforts to return the
Enterprise to Federation space." It
was not by his choice that Spock now
occupied the captain's chair on the
bridge. Indeed, he would have
preferred otherwise, but with the
captain missing there was no other
alternative. His duty was clear.
I am sorry, Jim, Spock thought,
permitting himself a rare moment of
regret. You will be missed. He was
aware of a greater sorrow, caged
behind the wall of his intellect, yet
he was cautious not to let it demand
too

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY I
much expression, lest it break free and overpower
his logic just when his duty most required a clear and
unencumbered mind.
"Lieutenant Rodriguez," he said,
addressing the crewman who had taken Sulu's
place at the helm, "prepare to depart orbit."
"But we lost contact with Jim and the others only
an hour ago!" McCoy said, his tone growing even
more vehement. He grabbed the armrest of the captain's
chair and spun Spock around to face him. "You have
to give him a chance to turn things around. God knows
Jim's gotten out of stickier situations than this."
There was some validity to the doctor's argument,
Spock conceded. In the past, Captain Kirk had
demonstrated a consistent ability to extricate
himself from seemingly hopeless circumstances. Indeed,
Spock could immediately recall numerous instances where the
captain had defied odds that Spock had
calculated at ninety percent or higher, including
his triumphant encounters with the Gorn, the Horta,
and the so-called Squire of Gothos. The odds were
against him doing so again, but the captain had
always managed to defy the odds before. To believe
otherwise, in the face of the documented evidence of
past events, would be illogical.
"Lieutenant Uhura," he asked, "have you been
able to reestablish contact with the landing party?"
"I'm trying," she insisted, making minute
adjustments to her instrumentation even as she spoke, "but
I can't get past the force field, no matter what
frequency I use."
"Acknowledged," Spock said. "Continue your
efforts for as long as we remain within communications
range of the planet." He intended to give the
captain every chance to contact the ship in the time remaining,
but he could not delay their departure indefinitely.
By his own estimation, it was extremely unlikely
that the captain would be able to elude 123
,
Greg Cox
capture by those responsible for the
sudden appearance of the force field,
although the involvement of Mr.
Seven, an unknown factor of a
distinctly unpredictable nature, made
it impossible to calculate the odds
precisely.
The Romulans, on the other hand,
were quite predictable. They would
show the captain no mercy if they
apprehended him. On some level, Spock
privately admitted to himself, he
always found it... unsettling . . .
to deal with Romulans, more so than
during comparable interactions with
such adversaries as the Klingons or
the Tholians. In many ways they were
more similar to him than any human,
yet their aggressive militarism and
negative emotions made them each a
living repudiation of the Vulcan
ideals to which Spock had devoted his
life. If even the Romulans, who are
genetically indistinguishable from
Vulcans, cannot live according to the
teachings of Surak what hope does a
half-breed such as myse j have to
attain a state of perfect logic? The
Romulans were a mirror that offered
him only the most disturbing
reflections.
Nor had his last encounter with the
Romulans left his mind untroubled;
although tilde his duty to Starfleet had
been clear, he regretted the
deception he had been forced to
practice upon the Romulan commander,
whose trust-he had both won and
betrayed. It had felt much like
deceiving another Vulcan. The
incident, although undeniably
necessary, still plagued his con-
science.
tilde must be careful, he thought, not
to let such concerns cloud my
reasoning in this instance. "Mr.
Rodriguez, plot an evasive course
that will put as much distance as
possible between Gladiator and
ourselves."
"Aye, sir," Rodriguez answered. The
crewman was new to bridge duty and
looked verifiably nervous. Next to
him, on the other side of the
astrogator, Ensign Sheryl Gates
filled in for Chekov at the 124
,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
navigation console. She, too, looked
concerned and anxious. Spock found
such naked emotional distress
unseemly and vaguely embarrassing; he
wondered if humans realized how
obvious their emotions were, or if
they even worried about that.
Dr. McCoy, certainly, was not one
to hide his feelings. "Spock," he
whispered hoarsely, "Jim will find a
way to get back to us. You know he
will."
"I wish I could share your
certainty, Doctor, but that would not
be logical." It would be unwise to
make such a decision without
considering all available data, but
no new information appeared to be
forthcoming. "Lieutenant Uhura?"
She shook her head. "Still nothing,
sir."
"Acknowledged," Spock said. His
mind weighed the probabilities
concerning the captain's possible
survival, trying to establish logical
criteria by which he could judge how
long a delay might be too long. It
was difficult, he admitted, to
balance the equations; Captain Kirk's
resourcefulness what he called his
"luck" was a variable that was
difficult to quantify. The safety of
the entire crew outweighed that of
any single individual, but what about
when that individual was Jim? He
turned his head away from McCoy and
contemplated the screen ahead of him.
"Is our course plotted, Mr.
Rodriguez?"
"Yes, sir." The crewman looked back
over his shoulder at Spock. "Shall I
engage the engines?"')
Spock hesitated. still cannot decide
Jim's fate with so many variables
undetermined. More data is required,
but where can it be found? What would
Jim himself do under these
circumstances' He doubted that the
captain, whose actions were often
more admirable than logical, would
ever leave any member of his crew
behind, least of all Spock.
comThe captain's orders were clear,
but Spock had disobeyed orders
before, had once even risked a
court-martial and the death penalty
for the sake of another captain.
Logic and loyalty, he had learned,

ll
Greg Cox
sometimes took precedence above the chain of command, but
what was he to do when logic and loyalty pointed him
in opposite directions7
"Captain7" Rodriguez asked again, reminding
Spock that more than Kirk's life was at stake
here. The lives of everyone aboard the Enterprise
depended on Spock's decision. There seemed
only one logical decision he could make,- no
matter how hard he searched for a plausible
alternative. Deep within his soul, he felt a
terrible sorrow struggling to break free.
"The captain must be abandoned," he announced, his
voice holding only the icy coolness of his
irrefuta- i ble logic. "Set course for the
Neutral his
"Whoa there!" a female voice called out.
"Wait just one minute." Spock turned around
to see Roberta Lincoln emerge from the turbolift
at the back of the bridge. She hurried toward him,
clutching a translucent crystal cube in one hand.
The cube, Spock
observed, emitted a faint green glow. ,
"Nobody going anywhere just yet!" she declared.
"A base of operations?" comKirk said.
Seven nodded. "For the entire Romulan Star
Empire and beyond. My Romulan counterpart
initiates all his activities from here."
They crouched behind a sprawl of bushes, peeking
through the branches at a building that occupied the center
of a circular clearing about a kilometer in
diameter. The structure was not much to look at a
squat, Angular bunker seemingly constructed from
large blocks of some granitelike material.
Kirk had ,
never visited Romulus, nor did he know of
any human who ever had, but the look of the builds
reminded him of the massive stone buildings he had
seen in covertly obtained spy photos
of the Romulan capital. A mural worked its way
around the two wouldls Kirk could see from his vantage
point. Painted, two" dimensional cats of many
sizes and colors stalled 126
d'1' tilde

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
across the mural. What is it with these people and cats?
Kirk thought, although the mural added credence
to Seven's claim that his own organization had built
this installation.
Green-tinted searchlights, inactive now, were
mounted on each corner of the building's roof.
Additionai lamps, sitting atop elevated posts,
were situated at regular intervals around the clearing.
Obviously, there was no point in waiting for the sun
to go down; the bunker and the surrounding area would be thor-
oughly illuminated at night.
Romulan soldiers, armed with disrupter
patrolled the perimeter of the bunker. Their golden
helmets were streaked by raindrops, but the guards
appeared oblivious to the weather. Their thick, padded
uniforms seemed ill-suited to the tropical
climate until Kirk remembered that
Romulans, if they were as much like
Vulcans as they looked, probably preferred
hot environments Besides, he thought, those uniJorms
probably keep out all the rain. He ducked lower
behind the bushes as a guard marched past them, about four
or five meters from their hiding place. So far,
Kirk had counted at least four guards.
"As I recall," Kirk whispered to Seven after
the guard had passed, "all you needed was an apartment
in New York City. Why cloak this entire
planet?"
"The Romulan Empire is essentially a
police state," Seven explained, "and one
equipped with far more advanced surveillance
techniques than I ever had to worry about. There's
no way Agent 146 could conceal this base in the
midst of a Romulan population center."
That had the ring of truth to it, Kirk thought.
Certainly modern-day Romulans were harder to spy
on than ancient humans; Starfleet
Intelligence would attest to that. "But I thought your people
were leaving us alone in this century?"
"The internal affairs of the Federation no longer

.
tilde 1
Greg Cox
concern us," Seven clarified,
"but-the Romalan Empire will remain
a threat to galactic peace for at
least a generation beyond your own
time."
There's discouraging news, Kirk
thought. He would have liked to have
seen peace in his lifetime, as
unlikely as it seemed where the
Romulans or the Klingons were
concerned. "Even still, a whole
planet?"
"There were other considerations,"
Seven admitted. "We hoped to preserve
this world's natural treasures, its
abundant forests and wildlife, for
future generations. The Romulans of
this time would not hesitate to
despoil this planet to further their
military agendas."
"I didn't realize your people went
in for that sort of environmental
campaign," Kirk said, glancing at the
green-striped tiger lurking beside
them in the underbrush He noticed
that both Sulu and Chekov were
keeping a safe distance from Osiris,
a reasonable enough strategy given
the big cat's formidable-looking
fangs and claws.
Seven gave Kirk a wry smile. "There
are other ways of protecting the
future besides sabotaging nuclear
satellites." His smile vanished as he
contemplated the guards stationed
around the bunker. "In any event, it
appears that even the cloaking field
was not sufficient to hide this base
from the Romulans forever. 146 must
have made a crucial mistake, alerting
the Romulans to his activities.
Captain, we cannot allow the Romulan
Empire to retain control of the
technology employed in this comnlex.
That would . . . severely alter . .
. the balance o power throughout this
quadrant."
Is that all? Kirk thought. He
suspected that, as usual, Seven
wasn't telling him the whole truth.
He was tempted to ask Seven exactly
what technology he had in mind, but
comhe doubted that Seven would give him
a straight answer anyway, so all he
could do was speculate and worry.
What coilld the Romulans do 128
I
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
with Seven's super-advanced equipment?
Remember- ing Seven's ship-shaking,
galaxy-hopping transporter beams, Kirk could
all too easily imagine worse-case scenarios
that ended with the total conquest of the Federation. "All right
then," he asked, "what are our options?"
"Most of the complex is located underground,"
Seven said. "The nerve center is located on the
lowest level, about four stories beneath the surface.
If we can get there, I can activate the
self-destruct system. After it detonates, there
won't be any equipment left for the Romulans
to analyze."
"What about the force field controls?" Kirk
asked. As long as the field was in place, there was
no way Spock could beam them back to the
Enterprise, as- suming the Enterprise was even in
transporter range. In the best of all possible
worlds, the ship was halfway through the Neutral Zone
by now. Maybe we can hijacEa Romulan
vessel to escape in, Kirk thought, or use one
of Seven's super-transporter beams to get
home. There had to be some way to come out ahead in the
end; he didn't believe in no-win scenarios.
"I should be able to disable the force field as well,"
Seven answered, then turned his head to address
Kirk face to face. "Captain, I want
to make my intentions perfectly clear. Destroying
this complex is my pri- mary responsibilit,.
If I can ensure a safe escape for all of us,
I will be appy to do so, but not if it means endangering
my m ssion. If I have to destroy us along with the
complex, then I am willing to make that
sacrifice."
Kirk shook his head. "You're not in charge of this
mission, Seven. If it comes to that, I'll make the
5 decision, not you." He wasn't afraid to die.
He'd accepted that possibility the instant he'd
decided to beam down to an uncharted planet behind
enemy lines, but he'd be damned if he'd let
Seven turn this into some sort of kamikaze
run without his permis- sign. I'm going to beat the
odds and get us all back to 129

Greg Cox
safety, whether Seven likes it or
not. He owed that much to Chekov and
Sulu at least; he owed them a captain
who refused to give up.
Still, he prayed that his earlier
decision had not doomed his two
crewmen. If I'd known I would have
Seven and Osiris on my side down
here, he thought, maybe1 wouldn't
have brought along Sulu and Chekov
for backup.
But it was too late for second
thoughts now.
"I assure you, Captain," Seven
declared, "I don't have a death wish,
but there might not be any other
choice."
I wonder if that's why he left
Roberta and the cat behind? Kirk
thought. Was this what he was
planning all along' "We'll blow up
that bridge when we come to it," Kirk
said, preferring to focus on the task
at hand. "So how do we get past the
guards?"
Seven patted the green cat's
massive skull. "I think Osiris has
some ideas concerning that."
"Mr. Spock," Lt. Uhura stated
dryly, with more than a trace of
humor in her voice, "Ensign Cho
reports that Miss Lincoln has escaped
from her quarters."
"That fact is self-evident,
Lieutenant." Spock rose from the
captain's chair to face the young
human who had just dashed out of a
turbolift. She was panting slightly,
as though she had just sprinted a
short distance. "Miss Lincoln, I must
ask you to leave the bridge."
"No way, Mister Martian." Hopping
down into the command module, she
walked around him and quite
confidently planted herself in the
seat Spock had just vacated. She
leaned against the padded black vinyl
back of the chair, holding the
glowing crystal cube in the palm of
her hand. Spock noted that she had
exchanged her Star tilde eet-issue boots
for a pair of antique tennis shoes.
"Like I said, no one is going
anywhere until I hear from Mr.
Seven." She glared at 130
1 tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Lt. Rodriguez at the helm controls. "And
that means you, buster!"
Had he been human, Spock would have been
surprised by her audaciousness. As it was, he was
slightly taken aback by her unexpected
behavior. Dr. McCoy, standing on the other side
of the captain's chair, looked positively
dumbfounded and maybe a bit amused.
"Mr. Spock?" Rodriguez asked, glancing
from Roberta to Spock and back again.
"Remain at your post, Lieutenant. You will have
your orders shortly." Spock approached
Roberta Although he would never admit it, he
experienced what a human might term a
distinct sense of relief Roberta's intervention had
provided a temporary reprieve from his dilemma
concerning the captain's fate. Indeed, it occurred
to him, the young woman might possess information
regarding Seven's mission that would help Spock
evaluate their situation. He recalled the
captain's suggestion of a mind meld....
Before he could address her, however, Roberta
raised the cube in her hand until it was level with
her face. "Computer," she said decisively.
"Maintain orbit."
The cube blinked in response. "Warp engines
at ready. Cancel previous command?"
"If that's what it takes," Roberta answered.
"Do it."
"Commander Spock," Rodriguez called out.
He stared with alarm at the systems status board at
his station. "I've lost control of the helm. The warp
engines are powering down!"
"Wow," Roberta breathed. "I wasn't sure
that was going to work." A grin broke out on her face.
"Cool."
Spock gave the cube a closer inspection.
Searching his memory, he recalled seeing the same
object, or its exact duplicate, in
Gary Seven's offices in twentieth century
Manhattan. At that time it had seemed of little
significance, but obviously that judgment had

to 1 tilde
Greg Cox
been mistaken. The voice emerging from the cube
he identified as identical to that of the highly
advanced computer Seven had employed to take
control of an orbital nuclear weapons platform.
Fascinating, he thought, despite their dire
circumstances. Either the cube provided a remote
link to Seven's central compute r, he theorized,
functioning across the gulf of time, or else it served
as a piece of advanced cybernetic hardware in its
own right. Either way, the cube was apparently capable
of overriding the command functions of the Enterprise's
own computer systems.
This constitutes a serious threat to the security of the
ship, he concluded. The prospect of placing the
Enterprise under the command of a primitive human from
three centuries ago, especially under the present
hasardous circumstances, is not one that should be
encouraged.
"Miss Lincoln," he said sternly.
"You have no authority to command this vessel. Please
return control of the computer systems to the ship's
personnel."
Roberta's face betrayed a twinge of guilt,
but she didn't budge from the captain's chair.
"Listen, Dr. Spock his
"Mr. Spock," he corrected.
"Sorry. Mr. Spock, I mean." She
leaned forward earnestly. "I've been playing J.
Edgar Hoover for the last hour or so, listening in on
you from my quarters back in the guest wing. I know
what you're planning to do, namely head back home and
leave Mr. Seven and Captain Kirk and the rest of
your buddies stranded on that planet down there. I
can't let you do that, not until I hear from Seven and
find out what he wants me to do next."
Regrettably, Spock thought, a nerve pinch was
not an option. He could not risk immobilizing
Roberta while she remained in control of the ship.
Even if he took the cube from her, he doubted if
the device would respond to his own verbal
instructions. A mind 132
it tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
meld, he thought, may well be the
only way to resolve this conflict.
Years of training, however, had
taught him that a mind meld,
especially with a nonv-ulcan, was
something to be undertaken only in
the most dire of circumstances.
Reason and discourse must always be
the first resort.
"I am no more eager to leave my
fellow officers behind than you are
to abandon Mr. Seven, but the facts
remain. A force barrier has cut off
all communications with the landing
party, including Gary Seven. It is
very possible that there will be no
further instructions for you from Mr.
Seven." Spock saw Roberta flinch at
the thought. "But while we delay, the
Enterprise and everyone aboard
remains in extreme danger. The longer
we wait, the more we risk detection
by either hostile warships or by the
unknown parties responsible for the
force field." Did Roberta understand
what a force field was, he wondered.
Clearly, she was more technologically
adept than she had first appeared.
"Miss Lincoln, you must let us take
whatever actions are necessary to
preserve the ship. Any other course
would be unwise in the extreme."
Roberta's face betrayed her
distress. "Look, you don't need to
lay a guilt trip on me. I know I'm
putting you folks in hot water, but
there isn't anything else I can do."
She looked at Spock beseechingly. He
saw both anguish and intelligence in
her eyes. "I don't pretend that I
know exactly what's going on here
Jeez, I'm just a hippie chick from
the Village who'd never even heard of
a Romulan before today. But I do know
that Mr. Seven wouldn't have come all
this way unless his mission was
massively important to the history of
the world, maybe even to the whole
freakin' universe, and he's counting
on me to cover his tilde back and bail him
out if he gets in too deep."
"Miss Lincoln, self-deprecating remarks
aside, you 133
I,
Greg Cox
and I both know that you are far more than merely a
"hippy chick." Nevertheless, there may be nothing you
can do in this instance." He felt, curiously, as though
he was arguing with himself. Could his own doubts so
closely resemble this eccentric young human's?
Fascieating, he thought.
"Yeah," Roberta answered, "but I don't know
that for sure. Besides, I've seen Seven get out of
tighter fixes than this. There was this one time, when he
had to slip over the Berlin Wall and back without
using his transporter, that I thought I was never going
to see him again. But you know what? He came back."
"Listen to that, Spock," McCoy spoke up.
"Sound like anyone we know?"
It occurred to Spock that2 like himself, the
doctor undoubtedly had mixed feelings about
Roberta's activities. If nothing else, she
had succeeded in postponing the Enterprise's
departure, just as McCoy had hoped.
"Miraculous escapes, by their very defini- tion,"
he observed, "cannot be anticipated or
relied upon."
"Yeah, but there was this other times while we were teamed
up with this wise guy reporter from Chicago, when
Seven actually sneaked in and out of the Pentagon with the
top secret plans for a new type of robot
soldier. The Quasar Tapes, or something like that.
Maybe that's not quite the same thing as some weirdo
planet light-years from who-knows-where, but if Seven
can pull that one off, maybe he could do the same here.
I mean, it's not like your own force fields did such
a great job of locking him up."
"She's got you there, Spock," McCoy
chortled, clearly enjoying himself far more than Spock
judged appropriate.
"Your remarks are not entirely helpful,
Doctor," Spock stated, "nor are they
convincing." He attempted once more to persuade
Roberta. "Your confidence in Mr. Seven's
abilities is commendable, but it 134
.. ..
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY tilde - is not
sufficient to justify retaining control of this ship.
You are not a Starfleet captain. You are a
stranger to this era and this sector of space. Logic
dictates that you return command of the ship
to those more qualified to perform that task."
Roberta turned the cube over and over in her
hands. "Logic never was my strong point, I
guess, and I've been accused of having a problem
with authority figures." She gave Spock a
defiant look, and leaned back into the captain's
chair.
"In my day, we call this a sit-in."

al
Chapter Eleven
NOCTURNAL BIRDS trilled in the
treetops overhead. Now that the cooling rain had
faded to a gentle drizzle, Kirk grew ever more
aware of the sweltering heat of the jungle. Even though
the sun had almost set, leaving the tropical forest at
the end of twilight, the air felt as hot as a
Miami afternoon. No doubt the Romulans love this
heat, he guessed, scowling, unhappy at having
to grant his foes yet another advantage in this
situation.
They were circling the clearing, keeping safely behind
the green curtain of the jungle brush. Branches
flicked against Kirk's face and stringy vines tugged
on his legs as he worked his way through the
dense foliage. Osiris led the way, gliding
effortlessly between the trees and bushes. Gary Seven
followed behind the big cat, only a few paces
ahead of Kirk, while Chekov and Sulu kept
up the rear. "So far, so good," Seven
whispered to Kirk. "Now might be a good time to j
return my servo to me."
Kirk shook his head. "You're here as a guide
and

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
observer, not a combatant. I'm in
command of this mission, and I'm not
satisfied that you wouldn't turn your
weapon on me and my crew if it suited
your purposes." Seven could not be
trusted with his handy little
slee tilde inducer, he thought. Just ask
Chekov and McCoy.
Seven apparently knew better than
to argue the point. With a resigned
expression on his face, he silently
followed Osiris until the cat came to
a halt several meters later. Kirk
glanced around; he had to admit that
this swatch of jungle seemed
indistinguishable from any other. For
all he could tell, Osiris could have
led them in a complete circle.
A throaty rumble came from the cat.
Seven nodded and turned toward Kirk.
"Osiris says this is as close as we
can get to the entrance without being
detected."
Kirk furtively crept to the edge of
the underbrush and peered through the
branches. He received a headon view
of one face of the bunker, and
glimpsed a darkened indentation that
could have been a doorway. Two
Romulan guards stood at either side
of the entrance, their disrupter
rifles at the ready. Kirk grimly
contemplated the guards, and the
expanse of open clearing between him
and the entrance. Nothing but a wide
carpet of grass, no more than a few
centimeters high, stretched in front
of him. There was no way to approach
the bunker without being spotted by
the Romulans.
"We need a distraction," Kirk
concluded. "Sulu, Chekov, I want you
to circle back and attack the bunker
from over there." He pointed to a
location many meters away. "Do
whatever's necessary to attract the
guards, then let them chase you into
the jungle. Keep them busy for as
long as you can, but don't let them
capture you. Understood?"
"Yes, Captain. Are you sure you
will be all right on your own?"
Chekov asked, giving Seven and Osiris
a suspicious look. He clearly didn't
like the idea of leaving Kirk alone
with such uncertain allies. 1 don't

. 1 tilde
Greg Cox
blame him, Kirk thought. Frankly, I'd rather
have Spock at my side.
"Your concern is noted," he said, "but I can
take care of myself." He checked to make sure he
still had his communicator. "Maintain
communications silence until I contact you. With any
luck, I'll be in touch after I've completed our
mission."
Sulu nodded. "You can count on us, sir." He
looked at Chekov and cocked his head in the
direction Kirk had indicated. "Let's go."
Keeping their heads down, the two men scurried
away into the surrounding jungle. Within seconds
Kirk had lost sight of them. Good luck, he
thought. As always, he regretted putting any of his
crew into the line of danger, but, he considered, in the
long run, getting chased through the jungle was
probably safer than infiltrating the bunker itself.
He and Seven faced the hardest part getting into the
Romulan tilde ontrolled base and destroying it
without getting themselves killed or captured in the
process. Not exactly the Kobayashi Maru,
Kirk thought, but no piece of cake.
Seven stroked Osiris's head as he watched
Chekov and Sulu disappear. "Now what?" he
asked Kirk.
"Now we wait," Kirk responded.
He called himself Septos, but his colleagues
knew him as Supervisor 146. While he
resembled a Vulcan or a Romulan in
appearance, he subscribed to neither the teachings of
Surak nor to the warrior ethic of the Empire. His
true loyalty was to the alien aegis who had trained
and sponsored his family for countless generations, indeed
since before the early Romulans broke away from their
Vulcan roots. Throughout his career, he had always
taken his duties very seriously which made his
ultimate failure all the more painful.
The fierce glare of a harsh white light added
to his torment. He tried to dose both his mner and
outer eyelids against the illumination, block out what

i C,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
happening to him,- but a sharp slap against his face
brought him back to the cruel reality of his
captivity. Staring past the blinding glare, he could
barely glimpse the outline of his assailant, but
he knew all too well who she was Commander
Dellas of the Tal Shiar, the dreaded Romulan
secret police.
"No, no, my friend," Dellas said. She was an
imposing Romulan woman, a mere sixty years
old, with short black hair cut well above the
points of her ears. A thin white scar
ran across her brow, intersecting both of her angular
eyebrows. "You cannot escape my questions that easily.
I demand your full attention." She raised her
hand, prepared to strike him again. A faint-olive
bruise marked his cheek where tilde she had slapped
him.
Septos knew his tormentor well, having
frequently perused her file in better days. The
youngest daughter of a disgraced Proconsul, she
alone had survived the purge that had erased the rest
of her family from existence. Raised from childhood
in the harsh environment of a government detention camp
on Barbaros IV, she had impressed her
captors with her cunning and ruthlessness, rising
swiftly from Agile to centurion to commander of her own
elite tasletter force, charged with investigating any and
all threats to the internal security of the Empire.
It was said, in some circles, that even the Praetor
feared her zeal and ambition.
"That's better," she said, meeting Septos's
gaze The small chamber with its bare, water-stained
gray walls had once served as his private
meditation room; Dellas had converted it to an
interrogation celLike
Septos sat on a hard metal stool
with one of D"eLlas's i
men standing behind him, holding his shoulders down while
Dellas paced back and forth in front of him. An
older Romulan, paunchy and balding, stood to one
side, using a tricorder to record the
interrogalion. This, Septos had learned, was
Vithrok, Dellas's chief scientific
advisor. Unlike most Romulan males,

il
Greg Cox
Vithrok affected a beard, perhaps to
compensate for his thinning hair. He
wore a white lab coat over his
military uniform, and looked mild
enough, yet, in his own way, the
scientist was quite as dangerous as
his cold-blooded superior; it was he
who had already deciphered too many
of Septos's technological secrets.
So far he had not gathered any new
information this session, a testament
to Septos's continued resistance.
Photon torches had been set up in a
triangle around the prisoner. Their
glare hurt his eyes and seared his
skin. You would think I would be used
to it by now, Septos thought. This
was not the first time Dellas had
subjected him to such an inquisition.
He feared it would not be the last.
Stubble dotted his jawline. His
eyes were bloodshot and streaked with
green. A swollen lip concealed the
gaps where several teeth had gone
missing. I must endure for as long as
I can, he thought. I must survive to
summon assistance, alert the others
to what has befallen here. The sheer
enormity of the catastrophe nearly
overwhelmed him. How could he have
let the Tal Shiar come into
possession of this base? How could he
have been so careless?
It was Dellas who had discovered
him. She must have been observing him
for months before making her move. He
had just returned from what had
seemed like a routine assignment,
helping key Ramulan dissidents
defect
to Vulcan, when Dellas surprised him
in his own headquarters. Her troops
had seized him and taken control of
the compound before he even had a
chance to react. Only Osiris had
managed to escape into the jungle,
although Septos knew that there was
little the cat could do without
access to the equipment within the
base. It was up to him to turn the
tables on the Romulans somehow, if
only long enough to sound an alert.
If only I'm not too late, he thought.
They've already learned so much!
"Your mental discipline is
admirable," Dellas cam

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
mented. A thick ebony cloak, indicating her
rank in the Romulan intelligence service, was
draped over the right shoulder of her uniform. "So far
you have resisted many of our most dependable drugs-.
You have even defied a Klingon mind-sifter set at
force three, which, you may be interested to know,
is the highest level that does not yet inflict
permanent brain damage on its subjects. But
your suffering is pointless. You know I will learn
everything I want, eventually. Even without your
cooperation, my scientists have already mastered much of your
technology, including your very impressive
transporter device."" Septos heard
malevolent triumph in her voice. "I have
plans for your time-travel equipment. Quite
ambitious plans, although I suspect you would find
them more than a little horrifying."
Time travel! Septos struggled not to let his
shock
show on his face. It was even worse than he
thought. tilde - He tried to imagine all the
damage a person like Dellas could do to history as
he knew it, and was frightened by all the
possibilities that came to mind. I need to slow
her down if I can, stall her for as long as I'm
able.
"What do you need from me then?" he asked
hoarsely. His throat was parched and dry. His
rumpled garments, the tan robes of an ordinary
Romulan merchant, reeked of old sweat and
spilled blood. His bare feet scraped
the cold tile floor. It was hard to even string the
words together. He had not slept in days.
Dellas shrugged. Septos glimpsed the emblem
of the Tal Shiar on her collar, some said that it was
Dellas who had actually founded that infamous
organization, although Septos had been unable
to confirm that rumor. "Maybe nothing. Maybe
everything. Information is the life's blood of the Tat
Shiar, and I want every scrap of data that may be
hiding in that traitor's skull of yours." She
laughed coldly. "One of the great advantages of
time travel is that I can depart
'41
Greg Cox
on my mission whenever I choose and
still arrive at the ideal moment.
That being the case, I prefer to know
every variable, every possible snag,
before I take action, including the
names and locations of all your
confederates and superiors." All
humor disappeared from her voice as
she leaned toward Septos until her
face was only a few centimeters away
from his. Her dark brown eyes held
no
trace of mercy. "Tell me now. Who do
you work for? Who sent you here? Tell
me!"
Septos met Dellas's stare and kept
his jaws tightly shut. Bad enough
that he had, through carelessness,
betrayed himself. Nothing would force
him to expose the others. He tried to
stand up, but strong, unforgiving
hands pressed him back down onto the
stool. I won't talk he vowed. I will
die first.
Dellas did not take his silence
well. "Don't be an idiot," she
snapped. "Give in while there's still
something left of you worth
preserving." She grabbed hold of the
duranium rod supporting one of the
photon torches and tipped it toward
Septos's face. The heat from the lamp
felt dangerously close to his flesh.
Vithrok winced and looked away;
clearly, he did not share his
commander's enthusiasm for threats
and intimidation.
"There is no one else!" Septos
protested. "I work alone!"
A cruel smile lifted the corners of
her mouth. "You're a better martyour
than a liar, Citizen Septos. In my
experience, espionage is a social
disease; no one ever contracts it
alone."
"I'm not a sw," Septos insisted for
the hundredth time. The heat from the
torch was scorching. His face felt
like it was sizzling. "I consider
myself an anonymous philanthropist,
nothing more. There is no one else."
"Perhaps he is telling the truths'
Vithrok sugBested. He nervously
stroked his whiskers.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"Silence," Dellas commanded. "This
is my field of expertise, not yours."
She returned her attention to her
prisoner, glaring accusingly at
Septos. "You are an enemy of the
Empire and a liar." Dellas stepped
away from her captive, returning the
lamp to its original position. "I
dislike mind-sifters. They're crude,
brutal things. Typically Klingon. At
their highest settings, they tend to
destroy as much of a brain as they
expose. I've seen them reduce a
brilliant scholar or poet to a
babbling imbecile." She paused to let
her words sink in. "Nonetheless, I am
not above using them when other forms
of persuasion fail to bring me the
information I desire. You should keep
that in mind. My patience is not
unlimited."
Septospermitted himself a bitter
chuckle. His flesh and bones still
ached from Dellas's previous displays
of "patience." How much more can I
endure' he wondered, close to
despair. Although he didn't want to
admit it, the thought of facing the
mindffifter again terrified him. It
had taken all his training and mental
discipline to resist the machine's
intrusions before, and his strength
had only diminished since then.
Unable to lie to himself, he knew
just how close he was to total
collapse. He could only pray that
Dellas did not realize this as well.
"Let's try this one more time," she
began, sounding slightly bored but
willing to stick with her task even
if it took her all day. "Where did
you get this technology?"
Vithrok averted his eyes once more.
Sulu caught the first guard by
surprise. Bounding out of the jungle
into the clearing, he fired his
phaser at one of the Romulan soldiers
guarding the entrance to the bunker.
Crouching down amidst the underbrush
several meters away, Kirk saw the
incandescent red beam stun the guard,
dropping him to the grass before the
shocked eyes of his fellow guard. The
other
143
Greg Cox
Romulan raised his disrupter rifle,
eager to return fire, but had to duck
for cover when Chekov emerged from
behind a tree and added his phaser
fire to Sulu's. In the light of the
energy beams, their Starfieet
uniforms were clearly visible. The
guard darted into the shadowy alcove
that held the entrance to the bunker,
then leaned out of the indentation
just enough to unleash a volley of
disrupter beams.
That's no good, Kirk thought. He
needed to get that guard away from
the doorway, not hiding behind it.
Plus, where were the other two
guards? He was sure he had counted
four soldiers earlier. He raised a
hand to signal Seven and Osiris, who
were hiding further back in the
greenery, to wait a little longer.
Come on, he silently urged Chekov and
Sulu. Lure them out into the open.
Certainly they were making enough
noise to rouse the entire Romulan
Star Empire. Besides the hiss of
their phaser beams, Sulu let out a
series of bloodcurdling whoops worthy
of any ancient samurai, while Chekov
yelled obscenities and invective in
his native Russian. At least Kirk
assumed they were insults; he
couldn't make out a word of it
himself. I just hope the Romulans
have cot their universal translators
working. It would be a shame if they
missed the full effect.
Their strenuous efforts produced
the desired effect. Two more Romulan
guards came running around the corner
of the bunker, nearly trampling over
their fallen comrade. They fired
their disrupters as they ran, forcing
the two men from the Enterprise to
retreat behind the bole of an
enormous tree whose mossy trunk
stretched toward the cloudy night
sky. The wooden giant was wide enough
to conceal both humans as they took
turns firing from either side of the
tree. Kirk knew their phasers were
set on stun. He doubted if the
Romulans were returning the favor.
Now that they had the Federation
officers outnumbered, the third guard
crept out of the shelter of the
entrance to join the other two
soldiers as they rushed

l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
toward Chekov and Sulu, disrupters blazing.
"Yes!" Kirk whispered to himself. He beckoned
Seven and Osiris closer. "Get ready," he
warned them. Osiris growled in anticipation.
Chekov scored a lucky shot, dropping another
Romulan onto the floor of the clearing The other
two kept on coming, though. Chips of wood and bark
flew where their beams struck the mighty tree.
Sulu and Chekov fired back wildly, too
busy dodging the din ruptor blasts to bother aiming
their phasers. Kirk knew they would have to retreat
soon. The Romulans were getting too close.
"Paushol y'chorte," Chekov
hollered in Russian, getting one last dig in before
abandoning his position and heading deeper into the brush,
Sulu right behind him. The Romulans got the
message all right, shouting angrily as they took
off in pursuit of the two humans, crashing through the
matted twigs and vines like rhinos on a rampage.
Kirk waited until they were entirely out of view,
then counted to five, just in case one of them turned
back.
Nobody did.
"Now!" he barked, jumping to his feet and racing
greater-than
out into the clearing. Seven and Osiris leaped forward
as well, the big cat's powerful legs propelling
him above and ahead of Kirk. As they approached the
entrance to the bunker, Osiris veered toward the prone
body of the stunned Romulan guard, still splayed out
amidst the grass. Ivory fangs dashed before
Kirk's eyes.
"Not now," Seven called out to his feline
ally. "Maybe later."
Despite Seven's admonition, Osiris
couldn't resist taking a single swat at the fallen
guard with one of his massive paws before rejoining
Kirk and Seven in front of the bunker.
On closer inspection, Kirk observed that the
humanoid-sized recess he had spotted before formed
a narrow arch in front of a gleaming metal door.
He rapped his knuckles experimentally on the 45
tilde .
Greg Cox
door; it felt like solid duranium. There was
no way his phaser could disintegrate the barrier before the
guards returned. He glanced at Seven. "Your
move."
Seven nodded. His hand resting atop Osiris's
furry skull, he addressed the door. "This is
Supervisor 194. Emergency access code
delta-sine-delta."
With a hiss of released air, the steel door
slid upwards, revealing a well-lit vestibule
beyond. Open sesame, Kirk thought, impressed by the
ease with which Seven had eliminated the obstacle.
"Maybe you belong on this mission after all, Mr.
Seven," he said as he entered the bunker with his
phaser drawn.
The entrance chamber was large enough to hold all three
of them, with marble tiled floors and stone walls that
sloped upward at an angle. A decorative
sculpture composed of parallel silver
rods hung on one wall. A porcelain vase
holding a few withered pink blooms sat atop a
marble column. Looks hospitable enough, Kirk
thought; clearly it hadn't been designed by the
Romulan military. Dried flower petals
littered the floor around the vase. Kirk guessed
that no one had watered or replaced the flowers since
the soldiers captured the base.
Seven tapped a control panel on the wall
nearby the open entrance and the metal door slid
back down into place, sealing them in. Kirk
looked around quickly. He didn't see any more
guards, but he knew they couldn't expect their
intrusion to go undetected for long.
The vestibule opened onto three corridors,
to the right, to the left, and directly ahead. "Which
way?" Kirk asked.
Osiris answered by taking off down the left-hand
i
corridor, his ivory horn pointing the way.
"After you," Seven said, gesturing toward the hall the
emerald cat had chosen.
Kirk shook his head. "You first." He trusted
Seven to a degree, but why take unnecessary chances?
He'd rather have Seven in front of him, where
he could 146
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
keep an eye on the unpredictable time
traveller. Osiris disappeared around
a corner, his tail trailing behind.
"Better hurry. Our guide is getting
ahead of us."
Seven conceded to Kirk's directive,
pursuing Osiris down the empty hall.
Glancing over his shoulder to make
sure they hadn't been spotted yet,
Kirk rushed after them. Despite the
obvious danger and urgency of his
mission, he couldn't help feeling a
trace of amusement at the sheer
unlikeliness of his situation How in
blazes did f end up chasing a
lime-colored pussycat through an
alien outpost on the wrong side of
the Neutral Zone?
He could just imagine what McCoy
would say.
"How many agents do you have in the
Empire?" Dellas demanded. "What are
their names?"
Septos tried to swallow, but his
mouth was too dry. He stared at the
floor, seeing dried streaks of his
own blood upon the tiles. "No one,"
he whispered. "I told you before."
This was not entirely true. Over
the years, he had inevitably
established contacts throughout all
levels of Romulan society, from the
imperial senate to household servants
and disaffected students. Aside from
Osiris, though, few had ever
suspected the full scope of his
operations, nor guessed at the
supremely advanced nature of his
sponsors.
Until Dellas.
She frowned in frustration. "I grow
tired of your lies. Perhaps your
remaining secrets are not worth my
efforts at gentle persuasion." She
grabbed his hair and yanked his head
back, forcing him to look up at her.
"This is your last chance. Cooperate
and you will be rewarded with your
own disgraceful existence. Defy me
and I will make you wish you had
never heard of the Tat Shiar."
His heart sank. There was no
question of his response. He was
prepared to die to protect the aegis
and its agents, but he dreaded
leaving Dellas in 147
Greg Cox
control of this base. The more time
she wasted interrogating him, the
less opportunity she had to turn his
technology against the safety of the
galaxy. If she had truly exhausted
her patience with him, what new
horrors might she turn to? He had not
forgotten her vague but chilling
reference to plans involving time
travel.
"I don't know," he stalled. "I
can't think. Maybe if I had some
water? Or a chance to sleep . . . ?"
He coughed pathetically, spitting up
globules of emerald blood. "Please,
I need to rest."
Dellas did not appear sympathetic
to his pleas. Could she see through
his desperate attempt to buy more
time? The Romulan commander stared at
him silently, her eyes narrowing in
suspicion as she tapped the toe of
he r boot impatiently against the hard
stone floor. Finally, after a
seemingly endless interval, she
turned to the aging scientist at her
side, recording the session on his
tricorder. "Very well, Vithrok.
Prepare the mind-sifter."
"No!" Septos cried out as loudly-as
his ravaged body allowed. He did not
need to feign his alarm. "You cannot.
I need only a little time to thirilLike"
"Your time is up,- Citizen
Septoseai' Dellas stated coldly. "I
warned you and, unlike yourself, I
mean what I say." She turned her back
on him and took the tricorder from
Vithrok, casually perusing its
display. "Make sure any new data is
triply encrypted," she instructed
him. As befitted a high-ranking
member of the secret police, the
commander was paranoid about secrecy;
even the lone guard wore ear plugs
beneath his helmet to keep him from
hearing any details of the
interrogation.
Vithrok removed the mind-sifter
from a pocket of his lab coat.
Although of Klingon design, the
device did not look intimidating,
consisting of a collapsible metal
ring affixed to a folded leather
hood. The ring, Septos knew from
painful experience, fitted over the

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
dome of the subject's skull while the hood
provided a degree of sensory deprivation that
heightened the effects of the mind-sifter, which operated
by passing modulated baryon waves through the cerebral
cortex of its victims. The waves interacted with the
brain's electrical impulses to produce
interference patterns that could be recorded and
translated into a crude approximation of the
subject's personal synaptic pathways. The
technology was not unlike that employed by the
mnemonic teaching machines of the ancient Eymorgs
of Sigma Draconis VI, but infinitely less
subtle. When the device was set at its highest
levels, the baryon waves provoked synaptic
overloads that could lead to seizures, brain
damage, and even death. Septos had already
experienced the headaches and nausea, the blackouts
and memory loss, caused by the mind-sifter at its
lowest settings; he dreaded what was yet to come.
Delicate silver circuitry glittered around
the metal ring. Miniature display lights
flickered to life as Vithrok powered up the
device, adjusting the energy levels by tapping
gently on a touch-sensitive pad alon
the edge of the ring. If not for the ominous darkbrown
hood hanging down from the metal band, the
electronic interrogation device might have easily
been mistaken for a decorative tiara or crown.
"We'll start at Force Four," he suggested.
"No," Deltas instructed. She regarded
Septos tilde coldly. "Force Six." i
Six! Septos lurched forward, reaching out to stop
Vithrok from placing the ring upon his head, but
the Romulan soldier standing guard behind him shoved him
roughly back onto the stool, then smacked
Septos against the head with the back of his hand, stunning
the already battered and despairing prisoner. His chin
sagged upon his chest. His arms drooped loosely
toward the floor. The hood descended over his head,
casting him into darkness as the metal ring was put in

1,, tilde
Greg Cox
place above his ears, tightening automatically
around his skull. The inside of the hood smelled like
fear. His fear.
Forgive me, Osiris, my friend, he thought. I
did my best, out I have run out of strategies.
All is lost.
"Nolan true, was he whispered, invoking the
traditional Romulan farewell. "Golan
true. his
Then, without warning, the communicator on
Dellas's belt emitted a loud buzz.
Septos heard her snatch up the device and hold
it to her lips. "Dellas here. What is it?"
Septos leaned forward, straining his ears to listen
to the voice coming from the communicator
"Commander, the installation has been attacked
by Starfleet personnel."
Starfleet! Hope surged within Septos. He
had no idea what StarDeet officers were doing here,
but it could not be good news for Dellas and her forces.
What was going on? Had Osiris somehow managed
to alert the Federation to Dellas's no doubt
catastrophic plans? Septos summoned up his
last reserves of energy and concentration. If nothing
else, Starfleet's unex
pected arrival may be the distraction I need.
tilde Disturbingly, Dellas sounded neither
surprised nor "
alarmed by the news she had just received. "I see,"
she said, sharing a knowing look with Vithrok. "From the
Enterprise, no doubt. I've been expecting
something like this ever since we identified the ship on our
sensors."
The Enterprise, Septos thought. That was James
T. Kirk's ship, he knew, but what was it doing
on this side of the Neutral Zone again? He
didn't understand. If only he could see what was
happening . . . to
"But the force field?" Vithrok said.
tilde Dellas's voice betrayed no
anxiety. "Clearly it was not sufficient to curb the
infamous Captain Kirk." She spoke again into her
communicator. "What is the status of the attack?"
"The perimeter guards repelled the initial
assault," 150
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
the voice reported. ""They are now in
pursuit of the humans."
"Acknowledged," Dellas said, handing the
tricorder back to Vithrok. "Meet me at the
entrance to Level One. I will be there at once."
She snapped the communicator shut and headed toward
the exit. Then her footsteps paused long enough for her
to look back at her prisoner. "Golan true,
citizen. It seems you will have the time you requested.
I suggest you do not waste it."
conI don't intend to, he thought, being careful not
to let his defiance show in his posture. Vithrok
deftly rolled up the sides of the hood until
Septos could see again, but he kept his gaze fixed
hopelessly upon the floor even as the Romulan
scientist lifted the mind-sifter off his head.
Vithrok-spoke not a word to Septos, nor did
he look him in the face; no doubt, Septos
guessed, the commander's scientific
advisor preferred to think of their prisoner as
merely another test animal. Septos waited
until Vithrok hurried off to catch up with
Dellas, taking the mind-sifter with him and leaving
Septos alone with just the single guard. His mind worked
furiously, trying to figure out how to best take
advantage of this opportunity.
The first thing to do was immobilize the guard.
Ordinarily, this would not be a problem; his ancestors
had been bred for centuries to provide him with a
Romulan body with the maximum possible genetic
potential, potential he had been trained from
childhood to realize. But weeks of captivity and
physical abuse had sapped much of his strength.
Even with his advanced fighting techniques, he was
by no means certain that he was in shape to overcome a
determined Romulan soldier. Stealth and
surprise were what was needed here....
A low moan escaped his lips, followed by a
series of
horrible, hacking coughs that shook his entire
body. j
Suddenly he let out a ghastly cry of pain and
toppled forward off the stool, crashing onto the
floor with 45,
Greg Cox
much noise and impact. He felt a
sharp pain where his brow connected
with the unforgiving stone floor His
body lay crumpled upon the tiles,
twitching spasmodically and bleeding
profusely from a gash in his
forehead.
"Get up," the guard commanded.
Reaching beneath his helmet, he
popped the plugs from his ears and
shoved them into a pocket in his
uniform. His accent betrayed his
origins in the outer colonies. "Get
up, you traitor!"
Aside from the twitching of his
limbs, Septos did not move from where
he had collapsed, his head turned
sideways on the floor. Greenish
saliva bubbled at the corner of his
mouth. His eyes rolled upward until
only the bloodshot whites could be
seen. His fingers and toes jerked
repeatedly, scraping against the
marble tiles, as though he was being
subjected to a sequence of electrical
shocks. A puddle of blood formed
around his head, streaming from the
wound on his brow.
"You! Can you hear me?" the guarded
demanded, sounding more uncertain
now. "What's the matter with you?"
The twitching subsided, leaving the
unresponsive body limp and
motionless. No sound escaped Septos's
lips, only a thin trail of chartreuse
drool that slid onto the floor,
merging with the darker green blood
from his head wound. It was
impossible to tell if he was alive or
dead.
Swearing under his breath, the
guard shoved the stool out of the way
and stepped closer to the figure on
the floor. He nudged Septos with the
toe of his boot, then kicked him
cruelly in the ribs. The body re-
mained inert. The guard drew his
disrupter pistol from his belt and
knelt cautiously next to the body.
He
shook the body by the shoulder,
causing Septos's head to wag back and
forth. Empty white eyes stared
lifelessly across the floor.
The pool of blood spread beneath the
guard's knee, 152
i!
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
soaking the bottom half of one leg of
his trousers. "Peafarr," the soldier
swore again, momentarily distracted
by the mess.
That moment was all Septos needed.
He snapped into action, his palms
bracing himself against the floor,
his spine arching backwards as his
legs curled up and wrapped themselves
around the his enemy's neck. Then
Septos straightened his entire body,
throwing the guard backwards. Now, he
thought, quickly, while I still have
the advantage of surprise. He
disengaged his legs from around the
guard and jumped to his feet. He
wanted to attack at once, but the
sudden movement proved too much for
him, and a wave of dizziness caught
him off guard. He tottered unsteadily
while his opponent, now flat on his
back on the floor, raised his
disrupter. Septos's eyes widened in
alarm; panic gave him the st rength he
needed and he kicked the weapon out
of the guard's hand just as he fired.
The disrupter went flying and, for an
instant, white-hot energy spun like
a pinwheel from the weapon,
threatening both Septos and the
guard. Septos felt the heat of the
beam pass within a centimeter from
his scalp. Then a deadman's switch
shut off the beam, and it dropped
harmlessly to the floor.
The guard dove towards his weapon.
Septos dove for the guard.
Septos got there first, reaching
underneath the golden helmet to grab
the guard's neck between his fingers
and squeeze down hard on a certain
vital nerve duster. The guard
stiffened, his eyes wide with shock,
then dropped face first onto the
floor. Exhausted by his exertions,
Septos almost collapsed on top of
him.
Slowly pulling his hand away from
his foe, Septos clambered to his
feet, breathing heavily. His ribs
still ached where the soldier had
kicked them. Using the hem of his
merchant's robe, he wiped the blood
from his eyes, then employed his
fingers to probe the gash on his
forehead. To his relief, it felt
fairly shallow, 153
Pi"
Greg Cox
although it bled profusely, in the
manner of many minor head wounds. No
time to worry about that now, he
thought. Dellas or her subordinates
could return at any moment. I have to
get to the command center, alert the
others.
Salvaging the disrupter from the
comatose body of the guard, he limped
over to the doorway. As expected,
Dellas had sealed and locked the exit
when she departed. No matter, he
thought. He wobbled uncertainly upon
his feet, feeling slightly light-
headed. Why does the floor feel so
cold? I must be in shock. He could
not grant himself time to recover,
though, not with all that was at
stake. Fortunately, he knew another
way out of the cell, one whose
existence Dellas had never even
guessed at.
Shivering uncontrollably within his
robes, Septos approached the far end
of the cell. The wall opposite was
bare and unadorned, so as to be
conducive to the meditation that had
once taken place here, but its
appearance, he knew, was deceptive.
Certainly neither Dellas or Vithrok
had ever guessed at the true nature
of this particular room. And why
should they have? This quadrant was
still a century away from developing
genuine haloform technology. was -- ose
control panel," he croaked, his
throat still sore and dry from his
captivity.
Concealed holographic projectors
complied immediately. The stark white
veneer of the wall disappeared,
revealing a set of manual controls.
Had he chosen, Septos could have
converted the walls of the holocell
to resemble cloud drifts, waterfalls,
flickering firelight, or sparkling
meteor showed. Osiris had
particularly enjoyed a holographic
hunting program that Septos had
installed. Septos ignored those op-
tions. Instead he activated the
emergency transporter system. Did
Dellas really think, he thought, that
I would seal myself in here with no
way out in the event of a f re or
earthquake? We value life too much to
be that careless.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
The emergency transporter was
designed to funclion independently
of the rest of the compound's
systems. In theory, it would
continue functioning even if all
other power supplies were shut
down or if, for instance, the base
fell under the control of the
Romulan secret police. The emergency
system didn't have the
interplanetary range of the primary
transporters, but it was sufficient
to get one safely to the surface or
elsewhere within the complex. That
is all I require, he resolved. That
and a few minutes at the
communications console.
He keyed in the proper coordinates
on the manual control panel, then
stepped back as the entire wall
faded away, consumed by a swirling
cloud of incandescent blue vapors.
The billowing azure patterns were
strangely hypnotic, especially in
his dazed and weakened state. He had
to shake his head violently to
regain his focus. Taking a deep
breath, he raised the stolen
disrupter and stepped into the fog.
Just give me a chance, he prayed.
Just a minute or two.

l
Chapter Twelve
THE TEMPERATURE inside the
installation was almost as hot as
the jungle outdoors, although
considerably less humid. Set for
Romulan standards of comfort, not
human. The air was as hot and dry as
a Vulcan desert and smelled faintly
of orchids. Must be near the
hydroponics lab, Gary Seven guessed.
He recalled that 146 was an avid
gardener in his spare time. Too bad
his fellow Romulans had invaded his
sanctuary.
Once more into the breach, Gary
Seven thought as he followed Osiris
through the corridors of Deployment
Base Alpha. All this covert
infiltration reminded him of that
time he and Isis had attempted to
liberate a former British
intelligence agent from the
artificial village where he was
being held captive as part of an
elaborate psychological conditioning
experintent. That mission had ended
badly, he remembered, primarily
because he had underestimated the
forces arrayed against them. He
hoped he wasn't making the same
mistake here.
Twenty-third century Romulans were
certainly

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
more dangerous adversaries than most
of the threats he'd dealt with in his
own time. Clearly, they had taken 146
by surprise; according to Osiris,
neither he nor 146 had known their
cover was exposed until they found
themselves at the wrong end of
several disruptor rifles. Osiris had
managed to escape, mauling a few
Romulan soldiers in the process, but,
unfortunately, the cat had no idea
what had occurred within the complex
since the Romulans took control. He
had not seen 146 since, and feared
for the agent's life.
Seven had done his best to reassure
the cat. He knew for certain that 146
had survived long enough to send an
SOS back across the centuries to
Seven's headquarters in Manhattan.
Assuming I've timed this correctly,
he thought, Septos should be still
alive. Here and there, though, Seven
spotted scorch marks and disrupter
burns on the solid granite walls of
the base, evidence that the Romulan
takeover had not been accomplished
without some fighting. He just prayed
they were in time to rescue his
Romulan counterpart and stop his
captors from assassinating Spock in
the future.
Part of him wished he could explain
to Captain Kirk the full nature of
his mission; surely Kirk would be
more cooperative if he knew his
friend's life was at stake. But then
he'd have to explain about Khitomer
and Pardek, the Klingon peace
initiative, and its longterm impact
on Romulan-Vulcan relations, and that
was more of the future than Kirk
could ever be allowed to know. It was
bad enough that the Romulans who had
captured the base had apparently
learned enough about the future to
want to change it. A little knowledge
can indeed be a dangerous thing, he
thought, especially in the hands of
a Romulan.
The sound of rushing bootsteps,
echoing throughout the sturdy stone
edifice, interrupted his musings.
Osiris's ears perked up and he
growled a low warning before turning
around and retreating back towards

Greg Cox
the last corner they had rounded.
Seven followed the cat's lead,
signalling Kirk with his hand.
Back behind the corner, he
flattened himself against the wall so
tightly that he could feel the grain
of the stone against his cheek, then
leaned his head out just enough that
he could peer down the corridor they
had abandoned. As expected, he saw
several Romulan soldiers in full
uniform tromping through the inter-
section at the opposite end of the
hall. Joining the hunt for Sulu and
Chekov?
Keep going, he urged them mentally.
Don't turn down this way. He glanced
back at Kirk and held up his hand
again to indicate that they needed to
wait a bit longer. Kirk nodded, his
phaser gripped tightly in his hand.
Seven admired Kirk's persistence and
determination. Too bad I can't warn
him about Soran, either.
The rhythm of the bootsteps soon
died away. Osiris started to hurry
forward, but Seven restrained him for
a few more seconds. The last thing he
wanted to do now was run headfirst
into one or more stragglers, not
while Kirk was still hanging on to
his servo. He counted to
ten slowly before tapping the big cat
on the shoulder. Osiris padded around
the corner and was halfway down the
next hall when his ears perked up
again.
This time the cat and Seven and
Kirk barely had time to duck back
behind the corner before more guards
passed through the intersection ahead
of them. This isn't going to work,
Seven realized. There's too much
activity in this part of the bunker.
He knelt down and whispered into
Osiris's ears. "We need to take a
detour. Is there an alternative
route
to the command center?"
The cat growled in reply.
"I don't care if it's the long way
around," Seven answered. "We have to
take it."
Osiris assented silently, turning
around to lead them back the way
they'd come. Seven watched the 158
of,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
cat's tail click irritably as he
retraced their steps. He couldn't blame the cat for
his impatience. He was anxious to get to Septos as
well. This is taking too long, he thought. Time was
running out.
"You seem to have a remarkable rapport with cats,
Mr. Seven," Kirk commented, coming up alongside
Seven. "I don't suppose you'd care to explain
it."
"It's . . . complicated, Captain. Now is
not the j
time."
Kirk sighed theatrically. "Just as well, I
suppose. I was always more of a dog person
myself."
The guards were not expecting the fog or the
individual inside it. Then again, they never
expected that anyone else would obtain access to the
transporter controls. Septos fired his disrupter
as soon as he was fully materialized, stunning one
of the two soldiers Dellas had left standing guard
in the command center. The Romulan crashed to the
floor, his golden helmet clanging against the stone
tiles. The other
guard had faster reflexes; he drew his own
weapon and j
fired even as Septos turned his disrupter on
him. Septos felt a blast of searing heat and
agony strike him above his left hip. Biting down
on his lip against the pain, fighting not to let go of his
weapon, he clutched this latest injury with his free
hand, feeling the cauterized flesh through a newly
burned hole in his robes. The exposed skin was still
so hot it burned his palm, forcing him to yank his hand
away after less than a second. Ignore it, he
ordered his traumatized nervous system, even though
the heat had felt like a hundred onkians or more.
Just keep megoingfor a few more minutes.
The blue haze disappeared entirely.
Despite the pain, he felt a surge of
satisfaction as the remaining guard crashed down on
top of his companion. He scanned the chamber
rapidly, assuring himself that there was no one else.
Good, he thought. He was in no shape to take on
another soldier. To be honest, he 159
11 tilde
Greg Cox
admitted to himself, even a mere
technician could disarm me at this
point
The command center occupied the
entire bottom level of the base. It
was a diamond-shaped chamber
dominated by a massive Beta-7
computer terminal built into the
northeast wall, its generous display
screen stretching all the way to the
ceiling. A gliding steel chair rested
in front of the terminal, while a
tiger-sized couch was shoved up
against the southwest wall, beneath
the velvety black folds of a hanging
tapestry. He saw Romulan tricorders
and data padds spread out atop the
couch and felt a surprisingly strong
sense of violation. How dare these
invaders clutter up his office with
evidence of their prying? Osiris
belonged on that couch, lounging
contentedly as he had in the past,
not these invasive instruments.
Osiris, he thought. Where are you
now? What are you doing? He prayed
that the cat would not try anything
too reckless. Be careful, old friend.
Don't waste your lifefor me. The pain
in his side burned like a supernova.
There's not enough of me left to
worry about....
He stepped off the transporter pad,
located at the southern tip of the
diamond, and staggered towards the
computer. It was less than a dozen
paces away, but the distance
stretched before him like a
continent. The two stunned guards lay
like mountains between him and the
computer. He took a long step over
them and dizziness nearly overwhelmed
him. His vision blurred. He felt
foggy, light-headed. The disrupter
almost slipped from his grip, but he
locked his fingers tightly around its
handle. loo, he thought desperately,
blinking his eyes and clutching again
at his side, I can't pass out now! He
stumbled forward on legs that felt
far too limp and rubbery. He kept his
eyes on the computer. Everything
seemed to be growing dimmer, but he
could still see the Beta-7 at the end
of what looked like a long, dark
tunnel. I have to hurry, he

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
thought. Dellas win discover my absence soon.
She "lit come lookingior me.
He stumbled and fell, his knee smashing against the
reinforced steel floor. His weapon escaped his
fingers, sliding across the floor away from him. The
new pain was almost a relief, distracting him
momentarily from the disrupter burn over his hip.
Grimacing, he lifted himself up and lurched forward
until he was able to grab onto the back of
his chair for support. Hovering above the floor on
a few microns of compressed air,
the chair started to glide out from beneath him; but i he
locked it in place by pressing the brake controls
on i
the right armrest. He leaned against the back of the
chair, letting it support his entire weight for a
few moments. I made it, he thought, his lungs
laboring painfully, his head sagging. I made it.
The darkness threatened to overcome him. His eyes
dosed and, for a heartbeat or two, he was tempted
to retreat into the beckoning void. I can't
possibly survive this, he thought. I hurt too
much to live. He wanted to shut down his mind and
sleep forever.
But he wasn't done yet. He still had to send a
warning, stop Dellas. He willed his eyes open
and lifted his head up. He stared at the lighted
display screen above the computer control panel,
trying to make sense of the image on the monitor
some sort of ceremony taking place in a
spacious, well-lighted chamber. There were Klingons
there, and Vulcans and humans. Septos stared at
the frozen image, focus ing all his remaining
powers of concentration on the task of
deciphering the meaning of the scene. It must be
important to Dellas if she keeps it preserved
here. What was she up to? What was this all about?
Although the image was crowded with people, one face
dominated the foreground of the image a dignified
Vulcan who looked to be of early middle age.
One eyebrow was raised slightly higher than the
other in what appeared to be an expression of
ironic amuse- 161

Greg Cox
meet. The face and the expression seemed
familiar to Septos, but also strangely wrong.
I've seen that face before, he thought. Who is it?
Think!
It was getting harder and harder to focus. Loss of
blood, lack of sleep, shock, physical
trauma... Septos could diagnose his condition
better than he could endure it. He was breathing
hard. He felt sick and nauseous. His arms
trembled as he clung to the chair. The pain in his
side seemed to be screaming at him, sending jolts
of agony through him so that every other thought was of the pain.
Ignore it, his brain screamed back. The gash
above his eyes had started bleeding again, sending
a trickle of green blood down his face. Forget
it, he told himself. The face. Focus on the
face.
The face towered above him, magnified ten times
i
larger than life. That ironic eyebrow arched
across the screen like a blackened lightning bolt
frozen in time. I know you, Septos thought. Where have
I seen you before, Why don't I recognize you?
Suddenly, as though a box had suddenly sprung
open in the pain-ravaged confines of his mind, the name
came to him. Spock. Septosis eyes widened in
recognition. It was Spock, the Vulcan first
officer on the Enterprise, but looking much older
than he had in the last intelligence update
Septos had seen. Time travel, he remembered.
Dellas had mentioned time travel Was that why the
Enterprise was in orbit at this very moment? Had
Kirk and Spock travelled backwards in time for
some reason?
Using Spock as the key, he swiftly
identified the j
other faces in the scene Kirk, Sulu,
Sarek, Azetbur . . . Azetbur? A chill
ran through him as his mind pieced the puzzle
comtgr. The trick was remembering what was supposed
to happen. "By the aegis," he whispered in the empty
room, "Khitomer!"
The truth sunk in, dulling even the fierce
burning in his side. Somehow Dellas had used the
Beta-7 to discover what was going to happen at
Khitomer over "62
,tilde .
1, tilde 1
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
twenty years from now. He had to stop
her, even if he was too weak to do so
on his own.
Call for help. That was the only
answer. It seemed probable that the
Enterprise was here to stop Dellas as
well, but they might just make a bad
situation even worse. Time travel was
too dangerous for twenty-third
century humans to meddle with,
especially humans with a personal
stake in the future. He needed some-
one he could truly count on.
If I have to, he decided, I can
activate the selfdestruct
mechanism,
and destroy the entire base. But
someone else had to be informed of
the danger, just in case Dellas
stopped him before he could
accomplish anything else.
He took a deep breath, then
unlocked the chair and pulled it away
from the computer so that he could
drop his weary body onto it. Once
more he had to fight the urge to sink
back against the support of the chair
and let his consciousness slide away.
Shaking his head and grimacing, he
reached for the control panel,
clearing the screen and activating
the transwarp transmitter. Supervisor
194, he thought. Code name Gary
Seven. He was the nearest active
agent, spatially and chronologically.
Seven is my best and only hope.
The transmitter needed a few
seconds to warm up. He set the power
flow at seven-point-five kolems and
waited for the verification prompt.
He tried to calculate how long it
would take the message to reach
primitive Earth, but adjusting for
the time warp made his head spin. His
eyelids began to droop once more. He
couldn't stop shaking he felt so
cold.
Dellas at Kh tilde tomer! The very
thought enough to freeze his blood.
The ventilation shaft was a tight
squeeze, but Gary Seven managed to
advance through the narrow tunnd,
using his knees and elbows to worm
forward. Despite the dark, his eyes
could-still make out the vague
outline of a sinuous green tail
bobbing in front 163
Greg Cox
of him, only centimeters away from
his nose. In the cramped confines of
the tubular shaft, Seven could smell
the musky odor of Osiris's glossy
coat. His own breath seemed to echo
off the s eamless, smooth metal walls
of the tunnel. A cool,
air-conditioned breeze blew past
him, emanating from the lower levels
of the base. "How are you doing,
Captain?" he asked in low tones. The
shaft was probably soundproofed, but
he didn't want to take that chance.
Kirk's voice came from somewhere
behind him. "I think I prefer
turbolifts," he answered, "but I'm
keeping up. Don't worry about me."
Actually, Captain, Seven thought, I
have plenty of other things to worry
about namely, the present
whereabouts and safety of Supervisor
146, and the urgency of destroying
the base's transporter capabilities
before these mysterious Romulans
could successfully alter the future.
1rf they haven "t already done so,
he thought grimly. How long have the
Romulans controlled this base"...Once
again, he wished that it had been
possible to beam directly from his
own base on Earth to this location,
but so far 1 46's transporter pad
remained in enemy hands. Hence, here
he was, taking the long way around
through a maze of interconnecting
horizontal and vertical tunnels.
Fortunately, Osiris seemed to know
the route, leading them onward
without hesitation. Running into the
cat in the jungle had been a stroke
of good fortune, he reflected; he
just hoped they still had a little
luck left to spare.
Humanoid voices came from up ahead.
Osiris issued a warning rumble as
they approached a stretch of black
metal grillework in the floor of the
tunnel. Snatches of conversation
drifted up into the shaft through
crisscrossing apertures, each one
only a sliver wide. Light from below
streaked the roof of the tunnel
until Osiris passed over the steel
lattice quickly, moving remarkably
quietly for such a massive animal.
Following behind the cat, Seven
paused momen

l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
tartly to peer through the slits
beneath him, spying the tops of
gleaming golden helmets and the toes
of polished military boots.
There were at least two Romulan
soldiers below. One of them shifted
his position and Seven spotted the
muzzle of a disrupter rifle. He
strained his ears to make out what
they were saying. After over a year
on Earth, his Romulan was pretty
rusty, but he caught a few words and
phrases
"Federation scum!"
"dis . . doing here?"
"catch them soon . . ."
I certainly hope they're talking
about Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant
Sulu, he thought. He did not want to
think that the Romulans were aware of
any intruders on the premises just
yet. Holding his breath, his
cautiously made his way over the
grille, feeling fairly safe in
assuming that Captain Kirk would be
equally stealthy in his movements.
Starfleet trains its officers well,
he recalled.
The soldier's voices faded away as
Seven and his allies gradually left
the lattice behind. They continued to
snake through the shadow-dark
channel, the wind blowing in their
faces. Although Seven prided himself
on his peak physical condition,
wriggling forward on one's elbows and
knees was tiring work. Exertion left
a thin layer of sweat between his
skin and his borrowed Starlet
uniform. His knees and spine felt
cramped and sore; unlike Osiris, he
was not accustomed to going about on
all fours. Thankgdness, he thought,
that claustrophobia was bred out of
my ancestors generations ago.
By Seven's count, they had already
descended three levels from the
surface. The command center could not
be much farther away. Almost there,
he thought. At last.
The tunnel eventually connected
with a vertical, tube-shaped shaft
similar in diameter to the channel

Greg Cox
they had just traversed. Warm air
blew up from somewhere below. Osiris
stopped at the brink of the gap and
growled.
Seven listened carefully to the
horned cat's descriplion of what was
ahead. "This is it?" he asked.
Osiris rumbled his assent. Keeping
his voice low, Seven passed the
information onto Captain Kirk.
"There's a ladder ahead that leads
downward to another horizontal shaft
that runs above the ceiling of the
command center and intersects with
the bottom of a turbolift shaft.
Assuming there is no turbolift in
place, we should be able to open the
doors to the command center from
within the shaft." Seven watched as
Osiris dropped headfirst down the
vertical tube in front of them.
"Captain, if you will still not
return my servo to me, I suggest you
have your phaser at hand."
"I'm ready when you are, Mr.
Seven," Kirk replied. "Let's get on
with it."
My feelings exactly, Seven thought.
Despite their differences, he
suspected he and tilde Kirk had more in
common than might seem obvious. An
equal devolion to duty, perhaps, no
matter how differently they defined
it, and a similar preference for
dealing with problems in a hands-on
manner. Although he had learned to
rely on Isis and Roberta, Seven had
never been good at delegating the
most dangerous jobs to others. Kirk
must feel much the same way. Why
else, with a starship full of trained
personnel to command, had he beamed
down to this planet himself"
Thinking of the ship reminded him
of Isis and Roberta, back aboard the
Enterprise. He hoped they were still
alive and well, despite the ongoing
threat of Romulan patrols in this
sector of space. If nothing else, he
was going to need their help when and
if he ever completed this mission.
They can take care of themselves, he
reminded himself. Certainly, this
wasn't theffrst time he had left
Roberta in a tights, 166

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
with or without Isis to keep an eye
on her. Like the time she had
outwitted that power-hungry megaloma-
niac with the white Persian kitten .
. .
Now was not the time to reminisce,
though. Seven crawled over the
circular hole in front of him, then
backed into the opening so that he
could descend feetfirst. Sturdy steel
handholds, positioned to accommodate
humanoids of conventional height,
made the downward climb easier. He
heard Kirk scrambling in the tunnel
above him, then Kirk's steps on the
rungs over his head.
His knees ached in protest when he
reached the bottom and crawled into
the horizontal tube. Not much longer,
he promised them. According to
Osiris, the opening to the turbolift
shift was just ahead and the command
center directly beneath him.
Another ventilation grille, no more
than six square centimeters in size,
waited a few meters ahead. Light from
the control room below cast a
checkerboard design on the ceiling of
the tunnel. Seven listened carefully
as he approached the grille. What was
going on underneath him? How many
Romulan guards had been stationed in
the command center? He needed to
assess the situation before they
barged in.
To his alarm, he suddenly heard the
sizzle of disrupter weapon firings,
accompanied by the sounds of bodies
hitting the floor and/or groaning in
pain. He counted at least three
distinct blasts, and smelt the
stomach-turning odor of burnt flesh.
"Seven!" Kirk whispered urgently from
behind him. Clearly, he, too, heard
the sounds of warfare. Osiris's tail
twitched nervously.
What is happening down there? Who
is shooting whom? Seven scurried
forward on his elbows and knees until
he could see through the slits in the
grille. The view was a frustrating
one, showing him little of the room
below. All he could see was empty
floor; a corner of a couch,
upholstered in black fabric; and one
arm of a Romulan soldier stretched
out upon the 167
tilde 1
Greg Cox
floor. The arm did not stir. Seven
could not tell if its owner was dead or simply
stunned.
He heard more groans and ragged breathing. Someone
stumbled in the chamber below, smacking into
something hard and resistant, then treading with tilde
agonizing slowness across the room. He's limping,
i
Seven surmised, whoever he is. The image of
Septos's face, as it had appeared on the
Beta-S's monitor back in Manhattan,
rushed back into his mind. 146 had been bleeding,
he recalled, and obviously injured....
"No," he gasped out loud as the truth sunk
in. "Osiris" Kirk! We have to hurry!" It
isn't fair, he agonized. I came so close!
The ventilation tunnel opened up onto a
vertical turbolift shaft, several sizes larger
than the cramped tubes they had crawled through so far.
Osiris growled a report and Seven was relieved
to hear that the shaft was currently empty, with no
turbolift compartments approaching. The emerald cat
pounced onto the floor of the shaft and was quickly joined
by both Seven and Kirk. The empty shaft stretched
above them for at least four stories, its opposite
end lost in murky shadows. It felt good
to stand up straight again, but Seven had no time
to savor the sensation. Taking no chances, he
directed Kirk to use his phaser to fuse the
turbolift tracks above their heads, so that no
fast- arriving compartment could arrive to squash them flat
before they could exit the shaft. The scarlet glow of the
phaser beam lit up the interior of the shaft, casting
its ruddy radiance over Kirk's face and turning
Osiris's green fur the color of mud. The
cat's gleaming horn reflected the light as well,
shining red as freshspilled blood.
Seven approached the sealed door to the command
center. Although he listened carefully, he did not
hear any more alarming sounds from the other side of the
door. Was the struggle already over? Had he arrived
too late? Hang on, 146, he thought. Help
is or' the way. Aided by the light from Kirk's
phaser, he located the


ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
manual controls to the turbolift
doors. "Get ready!" he whispered to
Kirk and Osiris, who stationed
themselves in front of the sliding
double doors, fully prepared to
confront whatever might be waiting
for them on the other side. Kirk
aimed his phaser at the door and
nodded at Seven. With any luck he
thought, we still have the element of
surprise on our side. Seven pulled
down the emergency handle, every
muscle in his body tensed to spring
into action, only nothing happened.
The doors stayed shut.
"What in the . . . ?" he gasped,
caught by surprise. He tried once
more, but the manual controls did not
respond. A chance malfunction, he
wondered, or deliberate sabotage? He
might never know. All that mattered
was that time was slipping away.
Frustration and impatience raged
inside him, but he struggled to
remain in control of his feelings.
"Kirk!" he barked. "Use your phaser.
We have to burn our way in!"
Kirk did not wait for an
explanation. Adjusting the setting on
his phaser, he directed a
high-intensity beam against the
sturdy metal doors. Sparks flew and
burning steel sizzled as Kirk cut a
man-sized rectangle along the outline
of one door. So much, Seven thought,
for the element of surprise....
Someone was burning their way in!
Glancing back over his shoulder,
Septos saw sparks flying, glowing
blue and red, from the closed door to
the turbolift entrance. It must be
Dellas and her soldiers, he guessed,
coming to get me. He had used the
Beta-7 to block turbolift passage to
this level, and even ordered a
complete lockout on the manual
controls to the entrance, but
obviously that had not been enough to
stop Dellas.
He could smell the odor of burning
metal, hear the hiss of the energy
beams. Already he could see the
charred, black outline of the entry
the soldiers were cutting into the
steel of the door, marring the
geometric designs that decorated the
door's face.

Greg Cox
He was running out of time. His
enemies would be through in a matter
of seconds. He looked around for his
own disrupter and saw it lying on the
floor a few meters away. Leaning out
of his chair, he reached for the
weapon, but it was not close enough
to grab onto. He stretched his
fingers out as far as he could, but
all he could grasp was empty air. The
disrupter pistol remained a
centimeter or two out of reach,
taunting him with its deceptive
nearness and accessibility. He tried
to lean further, but the effort made
his head spin. The pain in his side,
where the guard had shot him, was an
inferno. He felt close to blacking
out.
Never mind, he thought, abandoning
the weapon. He was in no shape for a
firelight.. His thoughts were getting
fuzzier with every heartbeat. His
limbs trembled. He'd lost too much
blood. It was all he could do to stay
conscious. Even with the phaser, he
couldn't hold them off forever. His
only hope now was to alert Supervisor
l 94 before Dellas and her henchmen
burst through the door. There was
nothing he could do to stop them, or
to prevent them from realizing their
foolhardy and wildly destructive
plans.
My duty is almost over, he thought,
experiencing a singularly Vulcan
sense of calm. A line from an ancient
human playwright sprung to mind "The
readiness is all. was Humans were a
peculiar species, but some sentiments
were universal. Septos was ready to
face death as well. It would be up to
Gary Seven to stop Dellas now if only
the message got through.
An image gradually formed on the
screen of the Beta-7 computer, an
image from decades in the past and
light-years away the head and
shoulders of a human male on an Earth
that had not yet even heard of the
Romulan Star Empire. "Yes!" Septos
breathed, staring at the screen.
Behind him, he could hear the metal
door sizzling loudly. They weren't
through yet! Maybe he still had a
chance to warn the past of the danger
Dellas posed to the future. All I
need is a few more seconds.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Intent on transmitting his warning, he didn't
notice the blue haze forming on the transporter
pad behind him. The luminescent fog grew thicker and
more turbulent. A figure formed inside the haze,
gaining shape and solidity....
Kirk switched off his phaser, but kept it aimed
in front of him. Lifting his boot, he gave the
metal door a heavy kick and a large
rectangular sheet of steel fell forward, clanging
against the stone floor of the chamber beyond.
"Watch the edges," he warned, darting to one side
to avoid any possible enemy fire. "They might still
be hot."
Light from the command center flooded the shaft,
momentarily blinding Seven, whose eyes had grown
accustomed to the gloom of the ventilation tubes.
Blinking rapidly, he peered through Kirk's
improvised doorway into the chamber beyond, half-
expecting to see a battalion of Romulan
centurions.
Instead, the first thing he saw was his own head and
shoulders, projected three times larger than life
on a viewscreen that was mounted on the wall across from
the turbolift entrance. For a second he feared that
his arrival had been detected by some security
monitor, then he realized that the Gary Seven upon
the screen still wore the conservative white shirt and
tie of a professional American male of 1969,
the same clothing that he had worn when he first received
Supervisor 146's urgent plea for assistance.
That's happening right now, he realized, just as I
feared. Even though he had anticipated this very
paradox, a thrill of dead vu ran through him as he
listened to the solitary figure, seated less than
five
meters away in front of a blinking computer
bank, i
gasp out words that, at least in part, Seven had
heard before
"146 to 194. Cover exposed by Romulan
Intelligence. Capture imminent. Hostiles have
seized tech nology beyond their current capacity,
placing all at

Greg Cox
risk, including the future history of
this quadrant. Recommend immediate
action. Situation urgent. Must
activate emergency self-destruct
procedure. Repeat emergency. IJ-EAR
there is no escape for me.... his
"Acknowledged," Seven whispered to
himself. "194 responding." He stepped
forward to assure 146 that help had
indeed arrived. Thin tendrils of
smoke still rose from the edges of
the entrance the phaser had carved.
Intent on his mission, the figure
at the computer ignored the sound of
the door crashing to the floor. Even
from behind, though, Seven recognized
Supervisor 146 immediately. His gaze
was drawn to a trail of fresh green
blood that stretched across the room
to where Septos was sitting. Seven
wondered how badly his Romulan
counterpart had been hurt.
"Watch out!" Kirk cried out from
behind him. His arm thrust past
Seven's head, his upper finger ex-
tended. "Over there!"
Tearing his gaze away from the
injured Septos and his own face upon
the computer screen, Seven looked
where Kirk was pointing and spotted
an unidentified Romulan woman
emerging from the swirling blue
energies of an active transporter
platform. The woman wore a Romulan
military uniform, circa the
twenty-third century or so, and
carried a menacinglooking disrupter
rifle. Her dark eyes fixed on Septos,
who seemed oblivious to her arrival.
Utter malice filled her expression.
"No!" Seven cried out, realizing at
once what was about to happen. He
charged toward the woman, but not
fast enough. She raised her rifle
with the speed and efficiency of a
trained professional and fired a
single bright green disrupter bolt at
the unsuspecting Septos. The beam
burned through the back of the chair
and emerged from his chest, right
where his heart had been. It was a
perfect shot and a killing one.
Septos only had time for a single
scream before collapsing onto the
door in front of his chair. The 372
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
beam continued on to strike the control
panel of the computer. Sparks flew from
the panel and the oversized image of
Seven's face disappeared as the view-
screen went blank.
It's not fair, Seven raged inside,
knowing better than most that the
universe was seldom fair. He had arrived
almost exactly on time, to the very
minute, and he had still been too late.
Too late for Supervisor 146, and
perhaps for them all.

, ,
Chapter Thirteen
ROBERTA FELT LIKE a hijacker, but she
didn't know what else to do. The Enterprise did
not belong to her, yet she couldn't let Doc no,
Mr. Spock take the spaceship back to Earth,
not before she could contact Gary Seven and find out what
he was planning next. Mr. Spock was right, of
course; it was always possible that Seven had finally
run out of luck, but if she started thinking that way,
what was the point in taking off on ridiculous
adventures to the future anyway?
Yes. . . but. . . maybe. . . if. . .
All her thoughts and arguments seemed to circle around
and bite each other, like a serpent devouring its
tail. She felt impossibly conflicted. She
wondered if there was any way a space alien like
Mr. Spock could possibly understand or
sympathize with what she was going through.
Even now, sitting somewhat uncomfortably in
Captain Kirk's chair on the bridge
of the Enterprise, part of her still found it hard to accept
that she was actually dealing with a genuine
extraterrestrial life


ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
form. Granted, Mr. Spock looked a lot
more human than most of the space
creatures you saw in the movies, but
it was still a trip to be talking to
a genuine, living, breathing alien.
Okay, so Gary Seven theoretically
worked for aliens, and she wasn't
quite sure what exactly Isis was
(although "demon from hell" was
Roberta's best guess), but it was one
thing to hold the idea in your head
hypothetically, and something else
altogether to look a pointy-eared
alien in the face while staging a
one-woman mutiny on a space ship
umpteen-hundred light-years from
Earth. Heck I'm a New Yorker. I
don't
even have a driver's license!
"So, don't you see?" she tried
explaining to Mr. Spock once more. "I
don't have any choice."
"Sentient beings always have
choices, Miss Lincoln. Some are
simply more difficult than others."
The alien first officer stood calmly
a few steps away from her, his hands
folded behind his back in a
reassuringly unthreatening manner.
His stiff and formal posture reminded
Roberta of the guards outside
Buckingham Palace; boy, had they
looked surprised when she and Seven
had transported in right behind them!
At least Mr. Spock hadn't tried to
have her thrown in the brig or zapped
her with his ray gun or anything Then
again, she thought, he can hardly do
that while me and my glowing green
little friend are in control of the
ship. She turned the crystal cube
over and over in her hands, wondering
what to do next. She was so stumped
she was almost tempted to ask the
darn cat for advice. Almost.
Unable to meet Mr. Spock's eyes,
she looked around the bridge. She got
a good vibe from Dr. McCoy; he was a
grouchy old guy, but he seemed to be
on her side, although she wasn't at
all sure why that should be so,
especially after Seven zapped him and
the cute Russian guy earlier. The
rest of the bridge crew was harder to
read, although Uhura seemed to be
trying very hard to reach Captain
Kirk down on

Greg Cox
the planet. I wish there was some way
I could help her, Roberta thought,
but I wouldn't know how to begin.
"Miss Lincoln, if I can have your
full attention."
"Sorry," she said, looking back at
Mr. Spock. Forget the palace guards;
suddenly he reminded her of her old
high school principal. "You were
saying something about difficult
choices?"
"Indeed," he confirmed. "I have
reached just such a decision myself,
which may help us to resolve this
impasse, but I shall require your
cooperation, as well as a
considerable degree of trust."
Something about his tone, which
struck her as, if anything, even more
somber and serious than usual, made
her sit up straight. "What kind of
trust?" she asked, not bothering to
conceal her apprehension.
"There is a procedure known as the
Vulcan mind meld," he began.
Isis fumed within her cage. For a
few moments there, it had looked like
the human female had been about to
open the carrier, but then the
infuriating creature had changed her
mind. She extended her claws in anger
and hissed through the bars of the
cage.
She had been separated from Gary
Seven for too long; she was starting
to get pretty. She knew that Seven
could take care of himself, wherever
he was, but it was that other one who
worried her. The female. Isis was
still not convinced that keeping her
around was a good Idea.
Who knew what kind of trouble she
could be getting into now?
"Let me get this straight," she
said. "You want me to say yes to some
sort of Martian ESP thing?" Images
from dozens of old Sci-Fi Theater
horror flicks raced through Roberta's
memory body snatchers and brain
transplants and psychic,
mind-controlled zombies. You know,
the alien in The Brain Eaters even
looked a bit like Mr. Spock....

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
"I do not ask this lightly," he
said, "yet it seems to me that much
of our conflict is based, as in our
previous encounter, on mutual
misunderstanding and suspicion. We
are each seeing different aspects of
the same puzzle and are uncertain as
to the other's motives. A mind meld
might allow us to overcome the
differences that are currently
dividing us."
The green cube spun rapidly in her
hands as she mulled over Mr. Spock's
proposal. He certainly had a point
when he talked about the differences
between them; they came from
different planets and centuries. Talk
about a generation gap! And
overcoming differences was supposed
to be a good thing; that was a lot of
what the whole youth movement of her
own time was all about. Still, this
was her own brain they were talking
about now, and a mind was a terrible
thing to waste....
"How do I know you won't use your
telepathic powers to, well, brainwash
me or something?" she asked.
Mr. Spock did not look offended by
her question. "I assure you, Miss
Lincoln, that is not my intent. I am
proposing a simple exchange of
information, conducted on a level so
intimate that any deception or
miscommunication will be impossible."
"I don't know," she said. "I'm not
sure." A mind meld? Simply getting
blasted by a laser beam was starting
to sound a whole lot better. Ever
since she'd hooked up with Gary
Seven, she had taken to reading a lot
of science fiction, so she thought
she had some vague idea of what Mr.
Spock was suggesting. Lord knows
she'd read enough about strange alien
beings with advanced mental
abilities. The only problem was, she
didn't know what book Seven had
dropped her into here. Was this
Stranger in a Strange Land or The
Puppet Masters?
Maybe she needed a second opinion,
one from another human being. She
looked over at Dr. McCoy. The medical
officer stood just outside and above
the

Also
Greg Cox
command module, resting his bony
elbows on the handrail. "What do you
think about all this, Doctor?" she
asked. Of all the future people on
this spaceship, he seemed the most
down-to-earth.
"Personally," he said, "I wouldn't
want that greenblooded walking
computer within spitting distance of
my gray cells, but that's just me."
He paused to give the matter further
thought. "If you want my professional
opinion, though, I have to admit that
the Vulcan mind meld is just what he
says it is. I've seen Spock meld with
people before without inflicting any
long-term psychological harm on the
other person. To be honest, it
usually seems hardest on Spock
himself."
"That is supposition, Doctor, and
irrelevant," Mr. Spock said curtly.
Although the fixed expression on his
face did not even flicker, Roberta
thought she heard a trace of
annoyance in his voice, as though he
did not like the doctor's implication
of weakness or vulnerability. For the
first time, it occurred to her that
Mr. Spock might be experiencing some
sort of anxiety over this proposed
mind meld. Hadn't he said something
about a "difficult choice" before? I
must seem just as alien to him as he
is to me, she thought. Maybe even
more so. How would If eel about
sharing my brain with a prehistoric
caveman? What sort of sacrifice was
Mr. Spock willing to make in order to
get through to her?
If he can put his innermost
thoughts on the line, can I do any
less? "Okay," she said firmly, her
decision made. "Let's grok."
Mr. Spock nodded solemnly. He
stepped forward and gestured for her
to stand up. What? Right here? Cowl
Roberta gulped nervously. Apparently
Mr. Spock was not inclined to waste
any time. Probably afraid I'll have
second thoughts if we wait any
longer, she thought. He's probably
right. She rose slowly, relinquishing
the captain's chair, then placed the
crystal cube gently down on the seat
behind her. It 178
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
should be safe enough there. After an I'm not going
anywhere. . . I thing -- "Er, what do we do
now?" she asked.
"It is not a complicated procedure," he said.
He stepped closer so that his face was only inches
away from hers. She could see a faint green outline
around the whites of his eyes. What had the doctor
said before about green blood? The man on the computer
screen back home had bled green.... "Simply
stand where you are," he spoke softly, "and listen to my
words."
Mr. Spock raised his hands, his fingers splayed
apart, and gently placed them upon her temples.
Despite her best intentions, she couldn't
help flinching a little when he touched her. She
half-expected miniature stingers to emerge from his
fingertips and burrow their way into her brain. Instead
his touch was surprisingly warm, so much so that she
wondered what the body temperature of a Vulcan
was supposed to be. Warm hands, cold heart, I
guess. "Your mind to mine," he intoned. "My
thoughts to yours."
So far this was sounding more like a hypnotist's spiel
than she liked. Roberta wondered if it was too
late to back out, change her mind. What if she
had made a terrible mistake? Gary Seven would be
lost forever and it would be all her fault, just because she
had been naive and trusting and fallen for the oldest
alien trick in the book. A harmless mind-merger?
Yeah, right!
Then her fears dissolved, along with her
identity....
"Your mind to mine." Spock experienced a minor
tremor in his resolve as he felt the barriers between
their minds beginning to blur. He acknowledged his
qualms, analyzed them as he had been trained to do
by his father, then placed them aside. Although he was
glad to have avoided such an admission, he con-
179
,111
Greg Cox
ceded that it was wise to have Dr.
McCoy on hand to observe his contact
with Miss Lincoln. Like any instance
of delicate surgery, every mind meld
contained an element of risk; it was
only logical to have a trained
medical practi tioner watching over
both participants in the meld.
Not that he truly feared any
neurobiological complications; it was
the exposure of his own deeply
guarded emotions that always daunted
him whenever he initiated a mind
meld. Unfortunately, such expm sure
was unavoidable, given the intimate
nature of the meld itself. Let it be
so, he thought. There was too much at
risk to let his private apprehensions
deter him from a logical course of
action.
"My thoughts to yours." Her
turbulent feelings lapped over the
borders of his own mind like waves
upon a beach. He sensed her
agitation, her fears and doubts and
inner strength. He closed his eyes
and saw himself through her
perceptions strange, alien, intim-
idating. He saw his own face
superimposed upon another's. A male,
of Vulcan or Romulan descent, blood
streaming from a wound in his head.
This image was prominent in her
thoughts, but he did not understand
it yet. He had to press further,
deepen their connection, become truly
one mind, one spirit, one katra
"My mind to yours."
McCoy watched the meld proceed.
Nothing appeared to be happening,
just two people standing
face-to-face, neither moving a
centimeter, but he couldn't take his
eyes away. No matter how many times
I see Spock do this, he thought, it
always makes my skin crawl. He
couldn't help remembering the time
another Spock, in a parallel
dimension that creepily echoed their
own, had ruthlessly raided McCoy's
thoughts to learn what the real Jim
Kirk was up to. It had been a
shocking and humiliating experience
that was enough to turn one off
Vulcans forever. 180
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
And yet, ironically, the genuine Spock
seldom looked more human than when he was linked
to another, more emotional being. McCoy would never
forget the look upon Vulcan's face when he merged
with Kollos, the Medusan ambassador;
Spock's familiar features had been
positively transformed by the other's heartfelt
sorrow and pity. It was like seeing an entirely
different side of Spock. Maybe that's what
makes this mind meld business so creepy and so
compelling
He didn't need to glance around the bridge to know
that everyone else was riveted by the same spectacle.
Even Uhura seemed to have stopped trying to open
hailing frequencies; he heard only a hushed
silence behind him.
I hope this works, he thought. Was it
possible that this slip of a girl held the key
to Jim's fate? It seemed unlikely, but she was
their last hope. She's certainly been full of
surprises so far.
Spock and Roberta appeared cut off from the rest
of them, isolated in their own private universe.
They seemed connected by only the lightest of touches,
yet he could sense the energy, the psychic current,
flowing between them. Pulling them apart now would be like
splitting an atom. There was a vibration, a power,
uniting them that took McCoy's breath away. With a
momentary start, he suddenly remembered the medicat
tricorder hanging from his shoulder. He removed the
instrument from its case and directed it first at
Spock, then Roberta. Their lifesigns looked
stable enough, though the tricorder detected a shocking
amount of chemical pollutants in Roberta's
blood and tissues, even traces of asbestos and
nicotine. That's what living in the past will do to you,
he groused silently. It was barbaric what people used
to put up with.
Their brain activity seemed to be within their
respective safety ranges. Roberta had
attained a mental state approximating REM
sleep, while Spock's
,81
tilde ..
Greg Cox
hyper-alert mind seemed to have
slowed to a merely human level. The
only problem was trying to distin-
guish her brainwaves from his. The
more he monitored the phenomena, the
harder it became to tell where Spock
ended and Roberta began.
As he looked on, their faces
gradually switched expressions.
Spock's stern features relaxed
conspicuously, losing their
rigorously inflexible lines. He
looked open and unguarded, almost
innocent. Angelic even. "Well, I'll
be," McCoy muttered. In contrast, a
spooky sort of calm came over
Roberta's face. She looked as cold
and impervious as the sculpted face
on an Egyptian sarcophagus. Like
Spock, in other words.
"Brrrr," McCoy whispered to
himself. The temperature on the
bridge was kept at a level
comfortable to most humanoids.
Nevertheless, a shudder ran through
the doctor as he stared wide-eyed at
the union of human and Vulcan.
He's never going to do that to me
again, he vowed. Never in a million
years.
Her mind reeled beneath a flood of
memories and sensations The fierce
glare of the Vulcan afternoon, the
heat currents rising from the
sun-baked desert floor. The rough,
scratchy tongue of I-Chaya, her
beloved sehlat, licking her face.
Cold nights atop Mount Seleya, the
light from nearby planets shining
like moons in the sky, the wind
keening through the rocky peaks. The
spicy taste of fresh plomeek soup,
hot from the nutrient processor.
Salty, all-too-human tears drying on
her cheeks as she ran home from
school, unable to face the icy
disdain of the real Vulcan children.
A hug from her mother, irrational but
reassuring . . .
His mind absorbed data faster than
he could assimirate it, trying with
only partial success to separate the
information and impressions from
their emotional content Squatting on
a blue shag carpet, watching
black-and-white images on TV, Rod
Serling intoning

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
dourly against a background of flickering stars,
Zorro on horseback, silhouetted against the
night sky. More memories flashed across his mind
Swimming in the
cool, refreshing waters off Puget Sound,
digging for j clams on the beach, white foam washing
over his toes. i
Marshmallows toasted over a campfire, sticky
and sweet with a slight taste of charcoal. Standing in the
rain, damp and cold, waiting for the school bus.
All the other kids are bigger than him; why'd he
have to skip two grades anyway? Running after his
older brothers and sisters, trying to keep
up. Looking up "precocious" in the dictionary at
Mirror Lake Elementary . . .
Her father looks on in stony silence as she
leaves for Starfleet Academy. His mother fights
back tears; how can he drop out of high school?
She feels her bond with T'Pring, stretching across
the light-years between San Francisco and
Vulcan. The pained look in Kevin's eyes when
he gives him back his ring hurts almost too much
to bear. The sudden acceleration of the shuttle, pressing
her back into her seat, as it overcomes Earth's
gravity. Staring out the window of a Greyhound bus,
watching the empty plains roll by on the way to New
York. Her first glimpse of the Enterprise in
spacedock. A want ad in the Village
Voice, something about "encyclopedia research" . .
. his
Searing pain scorches every inch of her body as the
Denevan neural parasites attack her nervous
system. He hangs by his fingertips from a window
ledge outside the Flatiron Building, dangling
fourteen stories above Broadway; how in the world
did Seven talk him into this, anyway? She feels
her newfound happi- ness slipping away as the
spores disappear from her bloodstream;
cold logic reasserts itself. Isis stares at him
with baleful yellow eyes, smug and superior as
always. The Organians reveal their true form, and
she must avert her eyes from the blinding light. He
slides down a secret tunnel under the White
House, hoping desperately that there's still time to stop
Professor 183
distilde
Greg Cox
Tepesch from brainwashing JFK and
Jackie. Making love to Zarabeth in
an ice cave. Sharing a joint with
Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock.
Now The captain is missing. Seven
is gone. What should they do? We are
in the wrong sector. We are in the
wrong time. McCoy wants to wait for
Jim. Whatever happened to Isis? The
doctor always disagrees with us.
Where is that cat anyway? We have to
do something. Why are we here? We
came through a wormhole. We got a
message in the past. Jim wanted to
investigate the cloaked planet.
Seven said we had to go into the
future. The Romulans are up to some-
thing. They want to change history.
The Romulans are dangerous. Romulans
and Vulcans look the same. Vulcans
and Romulans are not the same. He
tried to warn us. They want to kill
someone. They're going to kill.
Spock.
U.
I.

l
Chapter Fourteen
THE BODY OF THE Romulan lay upon the
floor of the command center, smoke
rising from the gaping hole in his
back. Supervisor 146, I presume,
Kirk thought. Gary Seven appeared
transfixed by the sight, frozen in
place in the center of the room,
between Kirk and the Romulan female
who had just shot 146. Kirk still
suspected that there was a lot more
going on than Seven had admitted to,
but he knew when a mission was going
badly, and this one seemed to be
heading straight to hell.
He was swinging his phaser toward
the woman when several hundred
kilograms of enraged feline barreled
past him, knocking him to one side.
Roaring like a thunderstorm, Osiris
lunged at the woman who had just
killed his master? companion?
partner? before his eyes. The
Romulan's own eyes widened in alarm
as she saw the emerald beast hurling
at her, its vicious claws extended,
its ivory horn spewing venam. Unable
to fire her own weapon in time, she
dived off the transporter platform
toward the couch to her

tilde 1
Greg Cox
left, shoving the heavy piece of furniture
away from the wall.
Osiris crashed into the platform, his claws gouging
scratches in the floor where the woman h ad been standing
only heartbeats before. Furious at the
escape of his prey, he reared up on his hind
legs, standing almost eight meters high, the tip of his
mighty horn brushing against the ceiling, and roared at
the top of his lungs, his jaws opened wide
to expose rows of ivory fangs. His roar
reverberated against the walls of the chamber, deafening
Kirk and jolting even Gary Seven from his agonized
contemplation of the dead Romulan's corpse. His
mournful eyes turned toward the towering figure of
Osiris.
It was an awe-inspiring display, but tragically
shortlived. Recovering from her shock, crouched down
between the couch and the wall, with one knee resting on the
floor and the heavy tapestry rustling above her, the
woman swung up her rifle and fired again. Kirk
couldn't hear the sound of the discharged weapon over
Osiris's mighty roar, but he saw the energy beam
shoot across the room to strike the great cat just below his
chin.
She must have adjusted the disruptor's settings, because
this bolt did more than simply burn its way through the
cat's furry hide. Instead, a burst of deadly
radiation, even brighter and more green than Osiris's
own coat, suffused the cat from head to toe. For an
instant, the glow surrounded Osiris like a
halo, and, blinking his eyes, Kirk thought he saw
the outline of a humanoid body briefly, almost
subliminally, super
imposed over the shape of the great cat, then the i
radiance faded away, taking Osiris with it.
Within seconds, the fearsome creature had been
completely disintegrated. Kirk felt an
enormous sense of loss, surprised at the depth
of the feeling; although he had known Osiris for barely
more than an hour, he knew that a rare and noble
creature had just been extin186 distilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
guished.he hoped that there were more
of Osiris's breed elsewhere in the
galaxy, perhaps on this very planet.
In the meantime, there was still
the murderer to be dealt with. "Drop
your weapon!" Kirk shouted, aiming
once more at the woman, but she
ducked down behind the back of the
couch. Damn, Kirk thought. He was
severely tempted to set his phaser on
kill and burn right through the couch
and the woman behind it, but his
Starfleet oath stayed his hand. Only
as a last resort, he vowed, risking
a glance at Seven, who was now
kneeling beside the dead Romulan,
confirming the awful truth. "Are you
all right, Mr. Seven?" he called out.
"No," Seven answered brusquely,
"but I am still functioning, if
that's what you mean." Rising from
the side of his murdered colleague,
he inspected the damaged control
panel. Occasional sparks still flick-
ered across the surface of the panel.
"You keep the commander busy, and
I'll see if I can activate the self-
destruct mechanism."
Easier said than done, Kirk
thought, although he found himself
reassured that Seven remained coolly
intent on his mission, despite the
deaths, within minutes of each other,
of two of his allies. At least he
didn't have to worry about Seven
falling apart on him, just keeping
one step ahead of a well-armed
Romulan warrior. No problem, he
thought, circling cautiously towards
the plush black couch.
A disrupter blast tore through the
back of the couch, missing Kirk by
mere centimeters. That was too close
for comfort, he thought, backing away
from the couch as quietly as he could
so as to not alert the woman to his
location. The near miss left his
heart pounding, but his mind fell
back on his Academy training,
carefully assessing his strategic
situation one armed foe out of my
line of sight, with potential
reinforcements due at any minute. Not
good.

il
Greg Cox
He glanced quickly at the transporter pad the
woman had apparently used to enter the command center.
He considered destroying it, but decided against it.
He and Seven might need the transporter
to escape once Seven engaged the self-destruct
system. Better to just keep an eye on the
pad, as well as on the turbolift entrance and on
the woman behind the couch. Too bad I'm not a
Triclopian, he thought wryly. I could use
three eyes right now.
Another blast blazed through the couch, this one hissing
past him about a meter above his right shoulder. Every time
she f res, Kirk thought, she's destroying a
piece of her shelter. Unfortunately, she still had
the edge as long as her disrupter was set on kill and
his could only stun. He wasn't sure what
exactly that couch was made of, but it might be dense
enough to blunt a phaser set on stun. I'm
outnumbered and outgunned, he mused, his finger brushing
the setting controls on his phaser. There may be no
way out of this place except through deadly force. He
was hoping it wouldn't come to that, though, especially
since, technically, he was the invader on this side
of the Neutral Zone. "Seven!" he shouted, then
swiftly
moved to one side. Sure enough, another disrupter
i
beam shot through the space he had just occupied. The
black couch was starting to look like a piece of
Swiss cheese, but there was still enough of it to hide
his opponent from sight. "How are we
doing over i
there?"
"Patience, Captain," Seven replied. "The
cam
mender's disrupter bolt damaged many crucial
com- "I portents. I believe I can
compensate by reconfiguring tilde the circuitry,
but it may take a few minutes." i "With all
deliberate speed, Mr. Seven," Kirk urged,
i
then dropped to his knees as a brilliant
green beam incinerated the air above his head. He
wondered why the Romulan had not fired at Seven
yet. Could it be that she was reluctant to damage the
control room
1 88 it
disj
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
equipment any further? According to
Seven, this was all about technology,
advanced alien technology that Seven
wanted to keep out of the hands of
the Romulans. Sounds like a plan to
me, Kirk thought, if I can just stay
alive long enough to give Seven the
time he needs. He felt like he was
playing a game of Romulan Roulette;
one of these times, the disrupter
beam was going to strike home.
For an instant, he thought he
glimpsed a piece of gray fabric, the
same color as a Romulan uniform,
through one of the holes in the
couch. He fired his phaser at that
tantalizing glimpse of gray, but
failed to hear the hoped-for sound of
a stunned body hitting the floor.
Tough luck, he thought, watching
carefully for another chance at his
foe. We're both shooting blind, and
neither of us is making any lucky
shots.
"Seven?" he called again. Yet
another beam sizzled overhead,
leaving a meter-long scorch mark
across the ceiling.
"Not quite, Captain," Seven
answered. "This task is proving more
difficult than it first appeared."
Great, Kirk thought. He took a
moment to wonder how the Enterprise
was faring. He hoped that Spock and
the others were in a better position
than he was at this point.
The tapestry hanging above and
behind the disruptor-scarred couch
rustled again, indicating movement
beneath it. Kirk gave the tapestry a
closer look. Gold and silver
needlework traced designs like cat's
eyes upon the black fabric. An idea
occurred to him.... Adjusting his
phaser to generate heat rather than
force, he fired at the tapestry. The
velvety fabric burst into flames,
then burned free from its hangers,
falling down onto his opponent's
place of concealment.
An angry scream came from behind
the couch, and the woman threw
herself into the open as if propelled
by an atom-smasher. Smoke rose from
her uniform 189
Greg Cox
where it had caught fire at over a
dozen different locations. She batted
at the darting orange and yellow
flames with her bare hands, snuffing
them out as quickly as she could.
Fury contorted her features; beneath
the ugly scar on her forehead, her
eyes blazed with hatred.
tilde think I've made an enemy, Kirk
thought. The rage on the woman's face
looked almost Klingon in its
intensity. He prided himself on being
a quick judge of character a vital
skill for a ship's captain and he
didn't like what he saw in this
particular Romulan's eyes. There was
something almost pathological about
the fury on display here, he thought,
as he watched the Romulan woman
battle the flames licking at her
clothing.
For better or for worse, her
uniform appeared to be at least
partially flame-resistant. She
quickly extinguished the fires upon
her person and seemed more or less
unscathed, although Kirk detected the
smell of burning hair in the air.
"Don't try anything," Kirk said,
aiming his phaser directly at the
woman. "Let me see your hands."
The Romulan assassin glowered at
him, but did as he instructed,
raising her empty hands palms up. Her
disrupter was nowhere in sight. Kirk
glanced quickly at the couch.
Fortunately, the burning tapestry had
not ignited the adjacent furniture
and the blaze already appeared to be
dying down. Good thing the Romulans
are so fond of stonework, he thought.
Less chance of setting this place on
fire.
"You're as resourceful as they say,
Captain Kirk," the woman said. Her
words were complimentary, but her
gaze was anything but. Despite her
vulnerable position, she stared at
Kirk with undisguised scorn.
"You recognize me?" Kirk kept his
phaser on her, discreetly switching
it back to stun. "I'm flattered."
"You're historically significant,
Kirk." A smirk appeared on her face.
"More so than you know."
What does she mean by that? "Nice to
hear it," he 190
lo
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
replied. "I suppose you intend to make your
mark as well?"
For someone faci ng the wrong end of a phaser, she
seemed remarkably confident. "Oh, I'm going
to do more than make history, Captain. I'm going
to change that."
Gary Seven looked up from his efforts at the
control panel, visibly disturbed by the woman's
words. How much does he know about her plans?
Kirk wondered. What isn't he telling me?
He risked a glance at the turbolift entrance.
There was still no sign of reinforcements, but he couldn't
help feeling that they were pushing their luck. The
woman's apparent confidence worried him. "If I
were you, I'd hurry," he instructed Seven. "For
all we know, I may have set off a silent
alarm."
"You did," Seven responded coolly. "I
shut it oh"
Now he tells me, Kirk thought. He was
getting damn tired of being in the dark all the time.
He waved the phaser in front of the woman. "Why
don't you tell me who you are and what this is all
about?"
Seven gave the woman an anxious glance. He
seemed more worried about the Romulan revealing her
secrets than she was. There's definitely something
he doesn't want me to know, Kirk deduced.
Maybe i
several somethings.
The woman sneered at him. "My name is Commander
Dellas of the Romulan Star Empire, and you,
Captain James Tiberius Kirk of the Federation
Starship Enterprise, are far from home, badly
outnumbered, and hopelessly out of your depth. You may
have had some small success outwitting thick-skulled
Klingons over the years, but you cannot begin to grasp the
full subtlety of the Romulan mind."
"I haven't done so badly so far," Kirk
quipped. "And I've figured out enough to realize that this
entire operation is very hush-hush and very important,
which makes me extremely curious about
what you're planning here. And my associate over
there," he

Greg Cox
cocked his head towards Seven, "has his own
stake in stopping whatever you're up to."
Her open hands still poised in the air, Commander
Dellas inspected Gary Seven for the first time. The
scar above her eyes wrinkled in puzzlement as she
examined the stranger at the control panel. Kirk
didn't know whether to be pleased or annoyed that
Dellas, who obviously knew Kirk's
background by heart, clearly did not recognize the
time traveller from the twentieth century. At least
that gives us an edge, he thought, one we're
probably going to need.
His free hand fingered the slim, metallic servo
in his pocket. He wondered if Seven's
repairs would go any faster if he gave Seven
back his device. Maybe now was the time to trust the
man with his weapon again. "Seven," he began, "what
if his
"Captain Kirk," Dellas interrupted
loudly. "Under the terms of the Treaty of Algeron,
I demand that you surrender to the local
authorities, namely myself. Furthermore, we will
demand restitution for all damage inflicted upon this
installation and its personnel,
not to mention your complete cooperation in appre- i
bending any and all Federation nationals currently
at large in this sector, which you have illegally and
inexcusably invaded will full premeditation and host
tile intent...."
Her voice rose as she continued her litany of
legalistic objections, seemingly oblivious to the
phaser that was even now threatening her at point-blank
range. For a second, Kirk wondered if the
commander had snapped there was a slightly crazy sheen
in her eyes then the truth hit him. She's stalling,
he realized, but what for" Listening carefully, he
became aware of a faint ringing in his ears, an almost
inaudible hum that was nearly drowned out by Dellas's
breathless rant. It was growing louder, though, gain-
ing strength and urgency not unlike the comparison
occurred to him instantly a phaser set to overload.
"No!" Kirk gasped. He glanced again at the
smol192
1,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
dering couch. Her disrupter!
"Seven!" he shouted. "Watch out!
It's going to blow!"
He never knew if Seven heard his
warning. The hum turned into an
ear-splitting screech and there was
a sudden, overwhelming flash of
light and force that picked him up
and threw him across the room.
He was unconscious even before he
hit the wall.

disful
Chapter Fifteen
"I . . . I," SPOCK MURMURED,
obviously shaken. "I, Spock." His hands
pulled away from Roberta and explored his own
features. His face was pale, without its usual
greenish tint. His limbs trembled. He staggered
beside the captain's chair, and McCoy rushed forward
to assist him. The doctor pulled Spock's arm
over his shoulder and wrapped his own arm around the
Vulcan's chest, holding him up as best he could.
"Good God, man!" McCoy blurted. "You
look like you're in shock! What happened? Are you
all right?"
"I . . . am well, Doctor," Spock
replied, regaining his composure through sheer force of will.
He planted his feet squarely upon the floor of the
bridge and let the trembling subside. He
regulated his breathing to attain a more focused state
of mind. "The experience was more . . . disturbing. . .
than I had anticipates
but I believe I will recover."
In fact, the shock of Roberta's revelation that
he

tilde r
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
was to be assassinated at some point
in the future had jolted him out of
the meld far more abruptly than was
advisable. Concerned for Roberta's
wetfare, he looked for the young
woman. She stood a few meters away,
blinking rapidly, her face flushed
and startled-looking. Her wide eyes
locked on Spock's and she gasped out
loud, her hands springing to her
cheeks.
"Ohmigod, Spock. I should have
realized . . . I never thought. . .
to was Clearly, Spock deduced, she had
underestimated the full extent of a
mind meld, as well as the impact of
her own memories concerning himself.
She stumbled toward him, tripping
slightly on the step in front of the
captain's chair. "They're going to
kill us! I mean, you!"
"What?" McCoy said, confusion
written on his face. "Who's going to
kill you? What is she talking about?"
"It is a long story, Doctor," Spock
stated. With as much dignity as he
could muster, he extricated himself
from McCoy's grasp and stepped aside.
"I require a few moments to process
the data myself. Perhaps if you tend
to Roberta . . . that is, Miss
Lincoln?"
"What?" McCoy said, disoriented.
Events appeered to be moving too fast
for him, a not uncommon state of
affairs, Spock reflected. The
doctor's penchant for reacting
emotionally to each new event clearly
interfered with his ability to
immediately comprehend those events.
"Yes, of course." McCoy retrieved his
tricorder and quickly scanned
Roberta's vital signs.
He could not, however, criticize
Dr. McCoy too freely in this
instance, Spock conceded. He too felt
a need to adequately respond to what
he had just learned before moving on.
It was not purely logical, but it was
necessary. His proper functioning
required the assimilation of all that
the mind meld had revealed.


in
Greg Cox
The Romulans intend to assassinate
me several years from now, thereby
changing future history Flatly stated
thus, the information lost some of
its power to disturb his thought
processes. It was fortunate, perhaps,
that Roberta knew little more about
the incident, except that the
assassination was to occur in the
year 2293, approximately twenty-four
years from the present. This fact was
not preordained, though. As temporal
theory and his own experience
testified, the flow of history could
be extremely malleable under the
right conditions. Indeed, it was
apparently the intent of unknown
forces to effect precisely such a
change to his own destiny, just as
Gary Seven intended to prevent that
change.
We are faced then, Spock concluded,
with at least three possi6uture
timelines. One, thefuture as it will
proceed without the interference of
either Gary Seven or his antagonists.
Two, the future as it will be if
hostile forces intervene. And, three,
the future that may result if Gary
Seven attempts to correct or
compensate for whatever changes his
enemies succeed in bringing about.
Three possible futures. From a
strictly philosophical perspective,
that seemed like more than enough for
any mortal being to ask for.
Furthermore, it was only logical to
assume that all timelines must
inevitably lead to his death, the
only variable being whether that
event would occur sooner or later,
therefore it would be irrational to
let the revelation of one possible
demise interfere with his mission or
his reasoning. He admitted to some
curiosity about what future action he
might take that would be so
significant that anyone living today
would go to such lengths to avert it,
but he could see why Gary Seven would
wish to conceal that information.
Time travel had its own prime
directives, as the Guardian of
Forever had once taught them.
"Spock?"
196
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
It was McCoy again. Evidently he
had assured himself that Roberta had
survived the meld in good health, and
now wished to do the same for Spock.
Without asking for the Vulcan's
consent, the doctor scanned Spock
with his medical tricorder, his gaze
intent on the readout as he swept the
device up and down, parallel to the
length of Spock's body. "Hmmm," he
muttered, mostly to himself,
"slightly elevated levels of
neurotransmitters, at least by Vulcan
standards; heartbeat and blood
pressure disgustingly regular; no
evidence of biochemical side effects
. . ." He lowered the tricorder, then
snapped its lid shut, apparently
convinced that Spock was not likely
to expire momentarily. His weathered
face took on a suspicious cast.
"Okay, Spock, what's up?"
Spock saw no need to conceal the
truth from the doctor. "Apparently,
Mr. Seven does indeed have strong
reason to believe that unknown
parties are attempting to alter the
future, a future that somehow
requires my death in the year 2293."
He explained to McCoy about the
message Seven and Roberta had
received in the twentieth century.
"And you think the message came
from that planet down there, where
Jim is?" McCoy asked. Spock noted
that Lieutenant Uhura and the rest of
the bridge crew were listening
intently to their conversation. This
was as it should be, he decided; it
was good for the crew to be
well-informed regarding their
situation, although he resolved to
say nothing that might serve to lower
their morale. He had learned from
hard experience, especially during
his ill-fated expedition to Taurus
II, that it was necessary
regrettable, but nonetheless
necessary to take into account the
emotional responses of human beings
when occupying a command position
over them. Fortunately, Starfleet
officers seldom let their emotions
get the better of their training.
Except, perhaps, for Dr. Leonard
McCoy.

Greg Cox
"Apparently Gary Seven believes
this planet to be the source of the
transmission," Spock stated, "and we
have no reason to doubt him."
"Of course not!" Roberta exclaimed.
Her voice was hoarse with emotion.
Her eyes were embarrassingly moist.
"How could you possibly doubt any of
us, after what you and I just went
through?" She grasped Spock's hand
and squeezed it. "That was
incredible. I rived your life, I
really did. What a trip! I mean, at
first I thought you were just this
strange, spooky alien, but now . . .
to You know, we actually have a lot in
common. My dad didn't really
understand me either, especially when
I dropped out of school and hit the
road. It was just like you with
Sarek. We were both so scared his
"Thank you, Miss Lincoln," Spock
interrupted, gradually extricating
his hand from her grip. Roberta's
highly emotive response to the
aftermath of the meld was becoming
uncomfortably personal, particularly
in front of McCoy and the others. "I
am grateful that you found the
experience illuminating. Perhaps now,
however, we should concentrate on the
matter at hand."
"What?" she said, still slightly
disoriented. "Oh yeah." She plopped
back down into the captain's chair,
then jumped back up again, having
forgotten that the crystal cube was
still resting where she had just sat.
"Oops!" She picked up the cube and
raised it in front of her face. The
green glow gave her features a
curiously Vulcan tint. "Computer,
return control of the ship to, um,
First Officer Spock."
"And other authorized personnel,"
Spock suggested.
"Right. And other authorized
personnel," she repeated and the cube
beeped in response. Stepping away
from the captain's chair, she
gestured toward the now-empty seat.
"All yours."
"Thank you, Miss Lincoln," Spock
replied. He

Hi.
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
assumed command once more, resting
his back against the padding of the
chair. Bits and pieces of Roberta's
memories continued to spiral across
his consciousness, like stray leaves
blown about by the wind. Chocolate
mint ice cream. Fireworks on the
Fourth of July. A torchlight parade
through the streets of Seattle.
Central Park in winter. The flare of
a machine gun. A yellow submarine .
. . Spock blinked his eyes once,
clearing his mind of such psychic
residue. There was too much at stake.
He could not afford to be distracted
by the memorabilia of anoth er's
mind, no matter how intriguing.
"Lieutenant Rodriguez, what is our
status?"
"The helm is responding, sir,"
Rodriguez said. "I'm awaiting your
command."
"So, where were we anyway?" McCoy
said sarcastically, placing a hand on
the back of Spock's chair. "Oh yes,
that's right. You were just about to
leave Jim and the others high and
dry."
Roberta looked stricken and about
to protest, but Spock spoke first.
"No longer, Doctor. Our priorities
have changed. I have decided, on the
basis of the information I received
from Miss Lincoln, that the threat to
future history is something worth
risking the Enterprise for. We will
remain in this orbit to render
whatever assistance Captain Kirk or
Gary Seven may require to complete
their mission."
A misty-eyed Roberta grinned widely
and looked like she wanted to hug
Spock. To his relief, she refrained
from doing so. "I knew it!" she said.
"I knew you couldn't go through with
it."
McCoy was rendered speechless, if
only for a moment. "You mean it?
We're not leaving?" Astonishment
showed in his baggy eyes. "What the
devil changed your mind? Not that I'm
complaining, mind you."
"Granted," Spock explained, "the
facts of the matter, as relayed to us
by Gary Seven, have not

1 tilde

Greg Cox
changed essentially. But, through my exchange with
Miss Lincoln, I have gained a substantially
greater faith in Mr. Seven's judgment and
reliability. Based on his conduct in other
situations, as shared with me by Miss Lincoln, I can
only conclude that Gary Seven would not have acted as
he has done unless it was absolutely vital to the
natural progression of history."
"You're not just saying that," McCoy asked
skeptically, "because now you know your own future is
on the line?"
Spock felt stung by the suggestion, although he
suppressed the response so swiftly that it could
hardly have been said to have existed at all. "That would be
reasoning unworthy of a Starfleet officer," he re
sponded. "Furthermore, from a standpoint of
strict i
self-interest, it would be highly illogical
to risk my existence today to preserve my life some
twenty-four years hence."
"If you say so," McCoy said. He looked
unconvinced, but Spock perceived no need to further
justify his decision to the doctor. There were better
uses for his time.
"Mr. Spock," Lt. Uhura
spoke up. "Should I call for Secur ty?" she
asked, looking pointedly at Roberta. There was,
after all, the not-insignificant matter of her
illegal takeover of the Enterprise.
"That will not be necessary, Lieutenant," Spock
declared, seeing no advantage to confining Roberta to the
brig. "Miss Lincoln's insights may prove
valuable as this mission proceeds." He pointed
towards the science station he usually manned. "Miss
Lincoln, perhaps you would care to occupy that
"Got it," she assented. Cube in hand, she
scurried across the bridge to take a place at the
science station. Her eyes widened as she inspected
an impressive array of displays, switches, and
knobs. "Wow, I know what all this stuff is now!
This is the 200

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
command functions slave panel, that's
the computer audio output control, those
are the sensor display input logs . . ."
Spock was faintly alarmed at the speed
with which Roberta had assimilated his
technical knowledge. Uhura merely looked
bemused, until she suddenly stiffened in
her chair and held her earpiece closer
to her head. "Mr. Spock! It's
Gladiator.
She's coming around again, and heading
straight for the
"Confirmed," Ensign Gates reported from her
station at navigation. "Sensors
indicate that Gladiator is approaching
us at one-quarter impulse."
Spock was not surprised to hear that
the Romulan battle cruiser was still in
pursuit of the Enterprise. He doubted
that Commander Motak would give up eas-
ily. "Is there any indication," he
asked, "that they are aware of our
location?"
- "Negative," Uhura stated, shaking
her head.
"They're still searching for some sign
of us, and
demanding our surrender at regular
intervals."
"Romulans are known for their
punctuality," Spock observed, "as well
as their persistence." He considered
going to red alert, but decided he
needed more data first. "What is their
weapons status?" he asked
automatically and was surprised to hear
Roberta answer him.
"Er, their shields are up," she
announced, staring at the long-range
sensor display. She fiddled with the
controls to the high-resolution EM
scanner. "Their disrupters are fully
charged, but not targeted." She shrugged
her shoulders. "At least that's what
these doohickeys say."
"Lord help us all," McCoy exclaimed,
openly dumbfounded by Roberta's
performance. "Now I've seen everything.
Next we'll be putting the blasted cat at
the helm . . . to was
The cat, Spock thought. There was
something in Roberta's memories, an
oddness regarding the cat,

Greg Cox
that he had not fully addressed just yet. What was
Isis indeed? Merely a pet or something
far more signifi- cant? The mystery nagged at the
back of his mind, as tilde though it ought to be more
important than it seemed, j but there was no time
to think about the cat now, nor to share Dr.
McCoy's fascination with Roberta's newfound
proficiency with starship technology. Glad-
iator posed the immediate threat. All other concerns were
secondary.
He had to assume that Commander Motak had not yet
detected the presence of the cloaked world. It
appeared, though, as if he was about to do so, at which
point he would also pose a threat to Captain tilde
r Kirk, Gary Seven, and the rest of the landing party,
not to mention their chances of completing their mission
successfully and preventing any alteration to future
history. That was an outcome even less desir-
able than the total destruction of the Enterprise and
all aboard her. We are expendable, he thought.
Gary Seven is not.
ynothing else, no one will be able to assa ssinate
me in the future if I die in battle today. I
can only hope that Seven will be able to repair any
damage to the timeline caused by my premature
demise.
"They're getting closer," Ensign
Gates announced. Under stress, her voice
betrayed a slight Brooklyn accent.
"Gladiator is only minutes away from inter-
cepting the perimeter of the cloaking field."
Spock briefly wondered if it would be possible
to lure Motak into crashing Gladiator into the
planet itself, but quickly rejected the notion. The
oblitera- tion of an entire battle cruiser
would result in a
tremendous and inexcusable loss of life among
the,
Romulans. He reminded himself that Motak was
merely defending his home against a suspicious
intrader. It would be dishonorable to condemn his entire
crew to death simply for performing their duty. However
innocent of hostile intent, the Enterprise 202
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
was the ship on the wrong side of the
Neutral Zone, and a legitimate target
for the Romulans.
Furthermore, it occurred to him,
the crash of a battle cruiser into a
thriving, class-M planet would be
comparable to the catastrophic impact
of the asteroid that destroyed
Earth's prehistoric dinosaurs. The
potential for massive ecological
damage, including mass extinctions,
was too grievous to even consider
inflicting on a living world.
We must protect the planet from
Gladiator and Gladiator from the
planet, all without endangering
Captain Kirk as well. He saw only one
way to achieve that aim. "Lieutenant
Rodriguez, take us out of the
cloaking field."
"What?" McCoy blurted. "Spock, what
are you doing?"
"We must lure Gladiator away from
the planet," he explained. "The best
way to do so is by giving it
something to chase."
"Like us, for instance?"
"Precisely."
"Here we go," Rodriguez said,
directing the impulse engines by
means of the control panel at his
fingertips. The Enterprise shot out
from its orbit around the cloaked
world, leaving both the planet's
atmosphere and its protective shield
of invisibility behind. On the main
viewer, an image of the planet's
upper hemisphere dropped out of
sight, giving way to the starry
backdrop of outer space. Distant suns
glittered like diamonds against the
endless blackness, and a Romulan
battle cruiser, its warp nacelles
gleaming on opposite sides of the
kilometers-long, daggerlike structure
that connected its engines to its
prow, came rushing towards them,
undaunted and seemingly unavoidable.
"So, Spock," McCoy drawled, as the
enemy ship grew ever larger on the
screen before them, "I suppose that,
now that you know how crucial you are
to the 203
tilde 1 tilde
Greg Cox
future of the galaxy, you're going
to be even more impossible to live
with?"
"Possibly," Spock replied, "but
unless we can devise a means of
outwitting Commander Motak in the
next few moments, you will not have
to worry about that very much
longer."

, .
Chapter Sixteen
THE LAST THING Kirk remembered was a flash
like a supernova. Emerging from a dreamless sleep,
he awoke to find himself surrounded by over a
halfdozen Romulan soldiers. I suppose
it's too much to hope that this is just a bad dream, he
thought, like that one where I keep finding back at
Starfleet Academy with Finnegan....
He glanced around, swiftly taking in the
situation, which looked far from advantageous. The command
center was filled with Romulans, all in full
military uniforms and bearing weapons, except for
an olderlooking Romulan wearing a white lab
coat and apparently preoccupied with repairing the
damage to the control panel caused by the Romulan
Commander's disrupter beam. Kirk prayed that damage
was beyond
the balding scientist's ability to undo, although he
I
could hardly count on such a convenient solution to the
crisis. That would be too easy, he thought.
"Are you well, Captain?" Gary Seven
asked. He occupied a sitting position on the
floor a few meters

Greg Cox i
away, and looked as though he had regained
consciousness only a few minutes before. His face
had been reddened by the heat of the blast, inspiring
Kirk to raise a hand to his own face. The skin
felt dry and itchy, like a bad case of sunburn.
Could be worse, Kirk decided; at least he had
retained his vision. Blind and surrounded, now that would have
been a tightest!
"Well enough," he answered before the nearest guard
jabbed the muzzle of a disrupter between Kirk's eyes,
ordering him to silence and prodding Kirk hard enough
to make his eyes water. Kirk had to fight the
temptation to jump up and feed the Romulan his own
disrupter, but that, he realized, was probably not the
best long-range strategy, no matter how
satisfying it might be in the short term.
Instead he looked around for his phaser, only to see
it resting in the grip of another Romulan soldier
who was examining the foreign weapon with great interest.
Kirk guessed that he was not likely to get the
phaser back anytime soon. Checking his pocket,
he was not surprised to find Seven's servo missing
too.
A groan caught his attention and he turned
to observe the Romulan Commander Dellas, he
recalled being helped to her feet by two of her
underlings. Kirk assumed that she had taken the brunt
of the blast since she had been the closest to her
discarded disrupter when it overloaded, a sacrifice
she had evidently been willing to make in order
to render Kirk and Seven defenseless as well. A
bold but elective ploy, he conceded
reluctantly, resolving never to underestimate this
particular foe.
He inspected Commander Dellas more closely.
The disrupter burst had darkened her face and seared
away her eyebrows, which looked even odder on a
Romulan than it would on human. Her uniform was
torn and burnt in numerous places, confirming
Kirk's suspicions that not too much time had
passed since the overload knocked out
everyone in the room. He didn't recognize the
ebony cloak over her right shoul206
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
der nor the insignia upon her collar; then again,
there was a lot Stardeet still didn't know about the
Romulan military.
The commander's personality asserted itself quickly.
Shrugging off the aftereffects of the blast, she
angrily yanked her arms free from the grip of the
solicitous guards, preferring to stand on her own.
"Enough," she barked. "You should be watching over our
prisoners, not me." The soldiers backed away,
exchanging glances nervously and looking more than a little
bit frightened of their own commander.
Everything he saw just confirmed Kirk's original
assessment of Dellas. He may not have known much
about Romulans, but he knew a killer when he
saw one. There was a homicidal gleam in this
woman's eyes that went beyond the usual Romulan
suspicion of outsiders. The Romulan commanders
he had encoun- tered in the past, including Motak,
had displayed no excessive malice; they had been
honorable antago
nists, simply doing their duty as they saw it.
But this j
woman was different, he could tell just by looking in
her eyes. She reminded him less of the dignified
Romulan starship commander he had defeated in the
Neutral Zone two years ago and more like such
unscrupulous sociopaths as the late Colonel
Green, the pseudo-Nazis of Ekos, or even his
own crew's machiavellian counterparts in the
Mirror Universe. No wonder Gary Seven
doesn't want her using his technology, Kirk
thought. Looks like he was telling the truth so Jar.
"Doctor Vithrok," she demanded briskly,
glancing over at the older Romulan scientist.
"What is the status of the transporter controls?"
Gary Seven eyed Vithrok intently. He
appeared even more keen to hear the scientist's
response than Dellas herself. Of course,
Kirk realized, the transporter is the time
machine. That's how she's planning to change the
future but change it how? He couldn't begin
to guess when and where she intended to tinker

Greg Cox
with history, but it seemed safe to assume that what
was good for Commander Dellas and the Romulan Star
Empire would be bad for the rest of the
galaxy.
Watching the scientist and assessing his potential
as an adversary, Kirk spotted the tip of
Seven's servo emerging from a pocket on
Vithrok's lab jacket. So that's where it went,
he thought. He guessed that Seven had spied his
weapon as well. Too bad neither of them was in
apposition to reclaim it.
"I think it's fixed," Vithrok announced,
stepping away from the control panel. "The damage was
fairly serious, but it appears as if someone else
had already repaired the major components." He
contemplated Dellas with a quizzical expression
on his face. "Com- mender, I don't suppose
that . . . that is, can I ask whether you made any
changes to his
Kirk wondered if Dellas would admit
to accidentally blasting the panel herself while
liquidating the unfortunate Supervisor 146.
Probably not, he guessed; he doubted that one
rose far in the Romulan command without shrewder
political instincts than that.
'The equipment was injured during my apprehension
of these intruders," she said obliquely. "This one"
she nodded toward Seven "was attempting
to repair the transporter for his own corrupt
purposes when I set my disrupter to explode."
Kirk briefly considered dispelling Dellas's
evasions
with the truth, but he couldn't see any obvious
tilde - advantage to it. Dellas seemed to have
her subordinates too cowed to contradict her,
regardless of the facts. Instead he decided to try
to coax out whatever information he could from his captors.
"On behalf of the United Federation of Planets,
I protest our treatment here and demand to be put in
touch with the
proper diplomatic authorities."
Dellas laughed out loud. "This must be that
celebrated human sense of humor you seem so
proud of. As you must be aware, you can hardly demand

tilde 1 tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY Of anything, legally or
otherwise. You were captured in a blatant
attempt to infiltrate and sabotage this installs-
of tion."
"But this isn't a Romulan military
installation, is it?" Kirk challenged.
"It is now," she replied, "although you
are right that it does not appear anywhere in our
computers. Not even the Praetor knows this planet
exists, nor f about this operation." She smiled
coldly. "I am the highest authority here, and
well within my rights to have you executed on the spot."
"Oh, I doubt that you're likely to do that,"
Kirk said. "A Starfleet captain, especially
one who has eluded the Empire twice before, is
too valuable a prize to consign to an unmarked
grave on a nonexistent world. That's true no
matter how well-connected you think you are."
Dellas regarded him thoughtfully, a scowl upon
her
radiation-baked, hairless face, and Kirk
wondered for Of a moment if he'd pushed his luck
too far. Better too f far than not enough, he
thought, and hoped that he If hadn't just devised his own
ideal epitaph. "Perhaps," she said finally, then
turned to face a centurion standing to one side.
"Is the Enterprise still in orbit above us?" f
""Yes, Commander," the soldier replied. He
had removed his helmet, which he held against his chest.
be "They have repeatedly attempted to hail their cap"
f fain, but we continue to jam their transmissions."
"Good," she said tersely. "And the force
field?" Of "Still at full strength," he
reported. "They have fired none of their weapons against
it." f Kirk was stunned to hear that the Enterprise
was tilde - still orbiting the planet, but he was
careful not to let his surprise show upon his face.
What are you waiting for, Speck? Me? He would have
preferred to hear that Of his ship was safely away from
here, although, from a more selfish point of view, it was
good to know that the landing party still had a way off this
planet, m f
fill
Greg Cox
assuming he could just find a way to disable that force
field. Judging from what he had heard so far, it
sounded like Chekov and Sulu had successfully
eluded the Romulan patrols. They must be hiding
out in the jungle, waiting for further word from their
captain. He didn't intend to let them down.
Wetre not dead yet, he thought. All I need is
a chance.
"I see," Dellas said, appropriating a
fresh disrupter
from the centurion. She casually set it on
kill. "Very j well. You and your men may leave us
now. Continue i
to monitor the Federation vessel and alert me if
there is any change."
"Are you sure, Commander?" The centurion gave
Vithrok a scornful look; clearly he did not
consider the scientist adequate protection for
Dellas. "Perhaps I should stay."
"This is not for your ears, centurion, nor for any
of your men's." She raised the disrupter confidently.
"I can defend myself if necessary." She took
Kirk's phaser from another soldier and placed it
on a counter next to the computer controls. "Now,
go."
Dellas waited until all of the soldiers had
left the control room, leaving her alone with
Vithrok and the two prisoners, before giving Kirk
further consideration. She eyed him suspiciously as
she paced slowly around him and Seven. "What I
most want to know," she stated, "is why are you here?
How much do you know about our purpose here?" An
ugly sneer appeared on her burnt face. "I
refuse to accept that your presence on this world is a
mere coincidence."
"Er, Commander," Vithrok interrupted. "Now that
the soldiers have departed, I want to show you this." He
lifted the servo from his pocket, rolling the
silver cylinder nervously between his fingers. "The
centurion found it on Captain Kirk, but it's not
Starfleet issue. Citizen Septos had something
similar before we confiscated it, as I'm sure you
must recall," he appended swiftly.
"I do indeed," she stated, taking the serve from 2
tilde 0
At,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Vithrok. "An admirably compact and
lethal device, at least when
employed effectively." She dangled
the servo before Kirk's eyes, the
light from the overhead lamps
glinting off the argentinesheen of
Seven's weapon. "Now why would a
Starheet captain be carrying a piece
of alien technology identical to one
we captured from the former occupant
of this base? Curiouser and
curiouser, as I believe one of your
native fairy tales goes."
You're talking to the wrong person,
Kirk thought, sneaking a sideways
glance at Seven. The enigmatic time
traveller remained silent, paying
close attention to Vithrok's
activities at the computer station.
So far, Commander Deltas had not
paid much attention to Seven,
perhaps misled by his borrowed
Starfleet uniform. She doesn't
realize Seven is the one who made
all the travel arrangements for this
little jaunt. He didn't see any
reason to fill her in on the real
story.
"Why don't you tell me what you're
up to instead," Kirk said defiantly.
"We both know that you don't belong
here."
Dellas laughed, a sound that was
anything but infectious. She tucked
the servo into one of her boots. "I
suppose such displays of bravado
impress Klingons, but a Romulan
commander is less easily swayed."
Swinging the muzzle of her disrupter
back and forth between Kirk and
Seven, she faced the Starfleet
captain. "I'm very familiar with
your record, Kirk, and not just your
past. I know you have a long history
with the Klingons. Tell me, have you
ever experienced their mind-sifter?"
"You know, I don't like the looks
of this," Dr. McCoy said, shocking
no one with this revelation, least
of all Spock. To his mind, the
nature of the threat hardly required
explication.
Gladiator hung in the blackness, a
emerald dagger poised to stab at the
heart of the Enterprise as soon as
it came within firing range, which
Spock estimated

Greg Cox
would occur within approximately 2.5
seconds. "Lieutenant Rodriguez,
prepare to execute evasive
maneuvers," he instructed. "Take us
out of this solar system." A moment
later, the first disrupter blast
shook the Enterprise. Spock felt the
vibration all the way through to his
bones. He clenched his jaws to avoid
biting down on his tongue by
accident. All around the bridge, red
alert lights dimmed momentartly
before coming back on again.
"Boy," Roberta Lincoln exclaimed
from her perch at the science station
once the shaking stopped. She brushed
her disheveled blonde bangs away from
her eyes. "Those Romulan guys aren't
kidding!"
"Apparently not," Spock agreed,
briefly wondering why humans always
seemed to require assurance that a
situation is not intended as
humorous. were practical jokes that
pervasive an aspect of their culture?
"Evidently Commander Motak does not
intend to waste his time with further
rhetoric or threats." He established
an intercom link with engineering.
"Mr. Scott, what is the status of our
defenses?"
"After the pounding we got before,"
Scotty replied, "it's a miracle that
we have any screens at all." Spoek
heard the sounds of vigorous activity
in the background of Scotty's
transmission; it seemed that exten-
sive work was being performed even as
he conversed with the chief engineer.
"We're doing what we can down here,
but the screens aren't going to hold
out for long, I can promise you
that!"
"Deflectors down to forty-one
percent," Roberta confirmed, "which
sounds like pretty bad news to me."
"Less commentary, please, Miss
Lincoln," Spock requested as, despite
the helmsman's best efforts, another
salvo jolted the bridge, provoking a
flurry of profanity from Dr. McCoy
and a startled gasp from Lt. Uhura.
The red alert signals went out
entirely this time, and did not light
up again. Scanning the ring of 212
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
duty stations that circled the
bridge, Spock saw warning lights and
damage alerts blinking on at almost
every station, from environmental to
engineering. As unnecessary as
Roberta's remarks seemed, he could
not fault her evaluation of their
situation; the Enterprise was growing
increasing vulnerable, while Gladi-
ator had yet to receive any damage.
Their only chance was to attempt to
balance the equation. "Return fire,
Ensign Gates."
"Yes, sir," Ensign Gates
acknowledged, her hands manipulating
the phaser controls. A beam of
scarlet energy flashed across the
void to strike against the Romulan
warship's deflector shields. Spock
spotted the distinctive blue Dash of
discharged Cerenkov radiation as the
shields absorbed the phaser burst,
dissipating the destructive energies
back into the vacuum of space. Gates
fired again and shimmering fire
outlined the portside nacelle of the
battle cruiser.
Gladiator flickered like a mirage,
then disappeared entirely. "Yikes,
you disintegrated it!" Roberta ex-
claimed, sounding both relieved and
appalled. "Just like that!"
"I wish," McCoy muttered darkly. He
held on tightly to the painted red
handrail around the command module,
standing directly behind the
captain's chair.
"That is far from the case," Spock
stated, fully aware that Motak's ship
had simply activated their cloaking
device, rendering Gladiator invisible
to all their sensors. The only
consolation, he knew, was that the
battle cruiser could employ neither
its weapons nor its shields while
cloaked, guaranteeing the Enterprise
at least a momentary respite. He
doubted it would endure for long.
"Shall I keep firing, sirThat" Gates
asked. Caught up in the heat of the
battle, she seemed eager to strike
back at the Romulan cruiser.
"Fire where, Ensign?" Spock said,
contemplating 213
Greg Cox
the empty starscape on the viewer. The battle
cruiser was nowhere in evidence. "We cannot afford
to waste our remaining energy shooting blindly."
"I hope you have a better idea," McCoy
commented, lowering his voice so that only Spock could
hear him.
The doctor was free to hope, Spock thought, not
that it was likely to do much good. Strategically,
Motak had the advantage. Not only did the
cammender have fresh shields and a cloaking device
to hide behind, but he could count on reinforcements
eventually. Even if both vessels were
ultimately incapacitated, left drifting
helplessly in space, it was only a matter of time
before the Romulans sent more warships to apprehend the
Enterprise. A temporary stalemate would
eventually provide Commander Motak with final
victory.
"Uh-oh," Roberta blurted, working the ship's
sensor array. "They're back . . . behind us!"
Seconds later, a violent shudder
rattled the floor beneath their feet, dramatically
confirming Roberta's report. The image on the
main viewer shifted as the rear sensors
automatically switched the perspective, but
Spock caught only a fleeting glimpse of
Gladiator before it faded from sight once more.
Gates released another phaser blast in
retaliation. The beam pierced the darkness, continuing on
in a straight line that apparently encountered no
resistance. "Missed him!" Gates cried out,
smacking her fist against her knee in frustration.
Sparks flew from the ceiling as a wounded Enter-
i
prise suffered the effects of this latest blow. A
burning ember landed on the back of Spock's hand.
He brushed it away methodically, his mind examining
the battle just as he would approach a game of
tridimensional chess. The cloaking device was the
key, he realized. If he could eliminate that
advantage,
the Enterprise's own firepower could be brought to
tilde bear. Regrettably, however, Starfleet
military research comr

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
had yet to discover an effective
counteragent to the cloaking device
he and Captain Kirk had removed from
the Romulans on an earlier mission.
Spock himself had not previously
applied himself to the problem, but
it was unrealistic to assume that he
could provide a technological
breakthrough in the midst of battle.
Or was it? His gaze fell upon the
green crystal cube Roberta had used
to usurp control of the Enterprise.
"Miss Lincoln," he called out, "is it
possible that your computer interface
device might be of use in this
situation?"
"My what?" Roberta asked. "Oh, you
mean this thingie." She held the cube
out at roughly eye level. "What the
heck do you have in mind?"
Spock recalled that Seven claimed a
thorough mastery of cloaking
technology on the part of his anony-
mous sponsors. "If given access to
the Enterprise's sensor array, might
not your computer be able to
penetrate our adversary's cloaking
field?"
"Huh?" McCoy said. His confusion
was evident. "andBut you can't detect
a cloaked ship, Spock. That's the
whole point.?"'
Spock would not be deterred by the
doctor's dour attitude. "Just because
we lack the knowledge to do
something, that does not mean it
cannot be done, perhaps even with the
tools at hand." He braced himself as
Gladiator materialized once more out
of the ether. "Miss Lincoln,
establish the link immediately.
Ensign Gates, arm photon torpedoes,
but hold your fire until our foe
resumes a cloaked state."
In a simple shooting match, Spock
knew, Gladiafor's shields would
outlast the Enterprise. Logically,
their only hope was to accomplish the
impossible, striking against the
battle cruiser while its
deflectors
were rendered inoperative by the
cloaking effect. The only variable
was, would the Enterprise hold
together long enough to give Roberta
a chance to apply Gary Seven's alien
technology to the task of locating a

tilde 1
Greg Cox
cloaked ship? Spock started to calculate the
odds of their survival, then, on an impulse,
abandoned the effort.
As Captain Kirk had repeatedly
demonstrated, the odds weren't everything.
The casualties had begun streaming into sickbay,
just as Christine Chapel had feared. Three already,
one from Deck Sixteen and two from the shuttle "
,
landing bay. They came in carried and/or assisted
by their fellow crew members, whom she immediately set
to work loading hyposprays and sterilizing wounds.
Fortunately, none of the injuries were life threatening
yet just fractures and second-degree I
burns but the battle appeared far from
over. The yellow alert lights had been replaced
by flashing red warnings. Doctor McCoy must be on
his way, she assumed, unless he had encountered
another medical emergency en route or worse.
That was the worst part of holding down the fort like this; she
never knew when the doctor himself might be carried
into sickbay, wounded or dying, leaving her on her own
to
cope with the inevitable victims of war.
The floor suddenly dropped out from beneath her feet
as a devastating force slammed into the ship. The
entire sickbay lurched downward and Chapel
slumbled forward, smacking sideways into one of the
biobeds. One of her conscripted "orderlies" lost
hold of a tray full of medical instruments, which
crashed to the floor with a ringing metallic clang.
Surgical scalpels, heartbeat readers, med
scanners, and anabolic protoplasers rolled
across the floor as desperate crew members
scurried after them.
Out of the corner of her eye, Chapel saw a
specimen cage slide off its shelf and smash
onto the floor. Oh, no, she thought, the poor
cat! But there was nothing she could do about that now.
"Strap the wounded to the beds!" she ordered,
to protect them from any future jolts. "And watch
out for yourselves." Part of 216
were
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
her wished she knew how the battle was faring, i
whether the Enterprise was giving as good as she was
getting, but, in a way, that had nothing to do with her.
Let Mr. Spock and the others fight for the ship.
Her job was to care for the injured for as long as she was
able.
The door to the corridor whished open and two more
casualties staggered in. Radiations burns and a
head wound, she diagnosed on the run. Performing
triage automatically, she handed off the burn
victim to an ensign for first aid while she scanned
the head
injury with her medical tricorder, looking for
signs of i
serious cerebral trauma and praying she wouldn't
find any.
She didn't even notice a sleek black
shape slip out
through the open door. His

Chapter Seventeen tilde
DISRUP-RORS BLAZED amidst the silence of
space. Spock saw an incandescent flash an
instant before he felt the impact. McCoy gasped
behind him, thrown against the very handrail he had depended
on to keep himself upright. For a second it felt like the
Enterprise was going to flip end over end, but the
ship's artificial gravity kept everyone more or
less in place. Electrical fires sparked
all around the bridge, suffusing the room with smoke.
When the automatic fire suppression system
failed to activate, Uhura sprung to action
immediately, retrieving an emergency fire extinguish
er from a shelf beneath the communications console and dashing
around the bridge, putting out the blazes wherever they
flared up. "Don't worry, Mr. Spock," she
called out, coughing loudly and waving away the haze with
her free hand, "I think I have things under control."
Spock took her at her word. Uhura was a
logical choice to assume this duty; Commander
Motak seemed to have no interest in sending
transmissions

., tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
to the Enterprise. Spock peered at
Roberta through the white trails of smoke. Her
translucent cube blinked rapidly atop the ship
sensor controls. "Are you making any progress,
Miss Lincoln?" he asked.
"I think so," she shouted over the crackling
fires
and minor explosions that broke out almost as fast as
. Lt. Uhura could contain them. "It thinks your
sensor i
gadgets are awfully primitive, but it might
be able to work with them."
"Let us hope so," Spock answered, finding it
intriguing and more than a little remarkable that the fate of the
Enterprise and perhaps that of future history depended
on the unlikely abilities of a twentieth
century Earth woman and a mechanism of unknown
origin. Captain Kirk was prone to "gam- bring
on long shots," as he called it. Spock could not
help wondering what the captain would think of this
particular gamble.
"Here they come again!" Ensign Gates warned as
another flash of energy lit up the forward viewer and the
subsequent shock wave tilted the entire bridge
starboard, sending them all lurching to one side.
Knocked from its setting, the bronze
plaque mounted to the left of the turbolift doors
crashed to the floor, producing a ringing metallic
clang. The hull remained intact, though, Spock
noted; the shields were still holding, if just barely. The
intercom whistled at his side and he heard Chief
Engineer Scott reading off damage reports through
a cacophony of static and electronic distortion.
He did not need to identify every word to understand that
circumstances were dire in the extreme. We do not have
much more time, he concluded.
Suddenly, the floor buckled only a few
meters away, spraying Rodriguez with shards of
metal and released plasma. The helmsman let out
a single frantic scream
before being flung from his seat, landing hard at the i
base of the main viewscreen. "Good Lord,"
McCoy whispered hoarsely and hurried forward.
He had his 219
tilde I
Greg Cox
medical scanner out an d ready even before he reached
the injured man's side. "Talk to me, Arturo,"
he urged his patient, using a spray applicator
to treat Rodriguez's visible burns and
lacerations. "Don't die on me, man!"
Throwing an empty fire extinguisher onto the
floor, Uhura rushed back to the communications station
and hurriedly inserted her receiver into her ear.
"Uhura to sickbay. Dr. McCoy requires
assistance on the bridge . . . well, send
whomever you can!" She turned toward Spock.
"Nurse Chapel reports more casualties coming
into sickbay. No fatalities yet, but they're
running out of room for the wounded."
Ensign Gates rose to assist the doctor, but
Spock restrained him with a sharp command. "Maintain
your post, Ms. Gates." Although Rodriguez's
injuries were apparently severe, he could not concern
himself with the fate of a single crewman; that was in Dr.
McCoy's able hands now. Tapping the vital
functions override panel on his port console,
he transferred helm control to the navigation station,
knowing all the while that simply maintaining their
present course was not enough. They had to go on the
offensive, force Gladiator to go to cloaked mode
at least one more time before Commander Motak came in for the
kill. "Hold the torpedoes, but fire phasers
at will."
Gates stared at her wounded comrade for one more
heartbeat, then dropped back into her seat
and depressed the firing controls with a vengeance. A
volley of phaser beams, one after another,
detonated against Gladiator's shields, sending
cascades of rip
pling blue energy around the outline of the warship. j
Spock watched the enemy vessel with keen
interest. Would Motak respond in kind or take
the better part of valor, going to cloak before
attacking the Enterprise again? Much depended on
what next transpired.

Hi
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Spock's eyes widened almost imperceptibly as
the image of the battle cruiser rippled like a
reflection upon the water before vanishing entirely.
Now is the time, he thought. We will not have a better
opportunity. "Miss Lincoln, can you identify
the location of the hostile vessel?"
"Almost . . . sort of . . . Got it!" she
rejoiced, staring at the sensor displays. Looking across
the bridge, Spock did not recognize any of the
patterns he could discern. The cube atop the
instruments maintained a steady chartreuse glow.
"He's standing out like a sore thumb!"
What a curious simile, Spock thought.
"Transfer the coordinates to the targeting
mechanisms at once," he said, hoping that
Roberta had absorbed enough of his technical skills
to accomplish this rather elementary task. If not,
precious seconds could be lost.
"No problem," she replied, a grim
expression on her face. Ensign Gates's jaw
dropped as the necessary data was instantaneously fed
into the weapons controts. "Sock it to them!"
"Sir?" Gates asked, looking back over her
shoulder. She looked more apprehensive than
hopeful.
"You heard Miss Lincoln," Spock said.
"Fire torpedoes."
Each wrapped in a polished metallic casing,
five gleaming projectiles hurled across the
vacuum in search of the concealed battle cruiser.
Concentrating intently on the scene upon the viewer,
Spock waited for the inevitable explosions that would
occur when the photon torpedoes found their target.
He hoped that Gladiator was not so close to the
Enterprise that their ship would incur further damage
from the
resulting shock waves, although, in the
ship's present comI
state, that was hardly the greatest of their concerns.
As expected, the torpedoes converged on a single
location. The sheen of their dark surfaces captured
the far-off starlight an instant before all five
projec
tiles were consumed in a savage
matter-antimatter i

Greg Cox
reaction, yielding a blinding white light that
lasted for only a fraction of a nanosecond.
Spock's inner eyelids dropped briefly
into place to protect him from the brilliant flash;
even still, the explosion left faint blue spots in
his vision that lingered for several seconds. He noted
automatically that Gates, Roberta, and Uhura
were blinking, too. Only McCoy, engrossed in his
efforts to preserve Lt. Rodriguez's life,
seemed oblivious to the torpedoes's highly visible
demise. As the rest of the bridge crew held their
breaths, Spock heard the hiss of the doctor's
hypospray at work.
Behind Spock, the turbolift doors slid open
and two medical personnel ran onto the
bridge. They appeared taken aback by the smoke and
debris, but only for a moment, quickly joining
McCoy at the unconscious Rodriguez's
side. The doctor barked orders at both medics
while continuing to treat the helmsman's burns.
"We need to stabilize him now," he instructed
them, "before we get him to sickbay. You,
Greenburg, administer aught-pointsix-five
cc's of cordrazine, stat. Clark, apply the
EMR neutralizer. We have to deGauss those
metal fragmeets. . . to was
Confident that the medical situation was under control,
Spock scrutinized the screen in front of him for
some evidence of Gladiator's status. He hoped
that the massive battle cruiser had not been
completely destroyed by the devastating impact of the
torpedoes, but was merely incapacitated. To his
surprise, however, the starlit void upon the screen
held neither a wrecked Romulan vessel nor
any visible traces of debris. Surely, he
reasoned, without shields, the cruiser's cloaking
machinery could not have survived an attack of such
severity and remained in
working order? i
The obvious conclusion was inescapable The
pho
ton torpedoes had merely destroyed each other,
not ,f


ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Gladiator. "We appear to have missed
our target," he announced.
Gates and Uhura both turned their
eyes toward Roberta, who looked both
indignant and embarrassed. She draped
one hand protectively over the
luminescent cube. "That's
impossible!" she insisted. "I know I
had that sucker in my sights."
Spock considered all the
possibilities before replying. "The
time delay," he deduced within
seconds. "Despite the speed with
which we proceeded, there was
nevertheless too great an interval
between the time Miss Lincoln
identified the exact location of the
cloaked vessel and the moment when
the torpedoes arrived at their
preprogrammed destination. During
that interval, however brief,
Gladiator had sufficient time to vary
its speed and/or its trajectory, thus
evading our torpedoes."
"Oh." Roberta gave her cube a
dubious look. Spock believed she
grasped his explanation. "So what do
we do now?"
He had already anticipated her
query. "The most effective solution
would be to use your technology to
enhance the onboard sensors of the
torpedoes themselves." He inspected
Roberta's face carefully, making
certain that she understood
completely what he was proposing.
"That would necessitate placing your
device within the scanning mechanism
of an individual torpedo."
Her voice quavered slightly as she
replied. "But, umm, wouldn't that
mean blowing it up when the bomb goes
off?"
He was relieved that she fully
comprehended his intention. "That is
precisely the sacrifice I am asking
of you, Miss Lincoln. It may be our
only chance to escape defeat"
Roberta winced at the very thought,
squinching her features together
tightly. She lifted the cube from its
resting place atop the scanner
controls and held it

Greg Cox
close against her chest. Spock realized that he
had asked her to give up what might well be her
only link to Gary Seven. "Miss Lincoln . .
. Roberta, we do not have much time." 4 "Ohhh,
okay!" she said decisively. She held out the
cube to Spock. "Where does it have to go?" "I can
run it down to the forward torpedo bay, Mr.
Spock," Uhura volunteered. Spock
swiftly surveyed the bridge; everyone else was
injured or occupied, except Roberta, who could
hardly be expected to know the shortest route to the
torpedo launchers. "Very well," he addressed
Uhura. "Refrain from using the turbolifts. They
may have been damaged by the hostilities."
"I can manage," she assured him with a confident
i
grin. "Didn't you know I won the Jovian
Triathalon
back in '59? I'll be back before the
Romulans have a chance to sneeze."
Roberta reluctantly handed over the cube to the
other woman. "Be good," she whispered to the gently
glowing crystal. "Do as you're told." Spock
found her willingness to anthropomorphize an
advanced cybernetic instrument animistic and rather
shockingly primitive; then again, he reminded himself,
she was from the twentieth century, and a human at that.
Uhura snatched the cube from her hands and raced for the
emergency exit to the left of the main viewer.
Spock heard her steps ring on the gangway to the
lower levels of the Enterprise. He estimated it
would take her approximately 6.3 minutes
to arrive at the forward torpedo bays, six decks
below, and another 0.8 minutes to explain to the
weapons engineers what had to be done. It was
probably just as well that Chief Engineer Scott
was presently at work in the Engine Rooms; he
imagined that the proud and outspoken human engineer would
not approve of placing the safety of the ship
on an unknown and untested piece of alien
technology.

to ,"
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
But would Gladiator give them time
to implement their plan? "Monitor the
surrounding space carefully," he
directed Roberta, one small portion
of his consciousness continually
intrigued at the ease with which
their anachronistic visitor had
adapted to the rhythms of the bridge.
"I wish to know the minute the enemy
vessel uncloaks."
"Aye, aye, Mr. Spock," she agreed,
recovering from the loss of her cube
with admirable haste. "I'll keep my
eyes peeled."
U nder Dr. McCoy's direction, the
two medics cautiously lifted
Lieutenant Rodriguez's supine body
from the floor. A portable stasis
field generator kept their patient
rigid and immobile, forestalling
further injuries. "He'll recover,"
McCoy informed Spock, following
behind Clarke and Greenburg, "if he
gets half a chance. God only knows
what's waiting for me in sickbay . .
. i"
"I shall endeavor to ensure that
you arrive there safely, Doctor,"
Spock said as McCoy passed by him on
the way to the turbolift entrance.
The medical team apparently wanted to
at least give the turbolift a try
before taking the long way around.
"See that you do," the doctor
drawled, then looked back at him with
concerned, compassionate eyes, "and,
Spock, good luck."
Luck was not what he required, the
Vulcan thought, only time. Why had
Gladiator not yet attacked once more?
Perhaps, he speculated, Commander
Motak remained puzzled by the
Enterprise's near miss with the
photon torpedoes. It seemed logical
to assume that, given that unexpected
development, Motak might- be
maintaining a wary distance from the
Starfleet vessel while he attempted
to discern to what extent his battle
cruiser's cloaking effect had been
compromised. In that case, Spock
reasoned, I must give the commander
more to think about.
"Ensign Gates," he ordered. "Fire
phasers at maxi

right-brace
Greg Cox
mum possible dispersion. A full 360
degree sweep from every angle of
orientation."
"But, sir," Gates protested, "we
haven't got much phaser power left to
begin with. If we spread the beam
that thin, it won't have any punch at
all."
"I am aware of that, Ensign," Spock
replied. "Knowing that, do you find
my command puzzling?"
"A bit, sir," she admitted.
"Excellent. That is exactly the
effect I intend." He leaned back
against his chair. "Fire as
instructed."
Shrugging her shoulders, as if
resigned to the fact that the ship's
commanding officer had gone insane,
Gates pressed down on the firing
controls. At once a wave of crimson
energy spread out from the Enterprise
on all sides, briefly encasing the
Federation starship at the center of
an expanding sphere of phaser light
that grew to four times the volume of
the ship itself before fading away
into the surrounding blackness.
Aboard the bridge, the starfield on
the forward viewer took on a pinkish
tint for only a heartbeat, then
reverted to ebony and silver. Once
again, Spock detected no sign of a
wounded Gladiator, but this time he
had not expected to. Although
visually impressive, the phaser burst
had been so diffuse that it was
scarcely more dangerous than ordinary
background radiation. Even an
unshielded vessel, such as the
cloaked battle cruiser, could have
withstood the discharge; its duranium
hull alone would have protected the
ship from any phaser damage.
But Spock had never intended to
inflict significant harm on Gladiator
with the showy-but-ineffectual blast.
His only target had been Commander
Motak's peace of mind. If all went as
planned, Motak would waste precious
moments attempting to decipher his
adversary's seemingly senseless
tactic, especially in the context of
Gladiator's close call with the
photon torpedoes only minutes before.
It struck Spock that a 226
i i
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
short period of contemplation and reevaluation would be
a plausible response for Motak to take under the
circumstances; unfortunately, he remembered,
Romulans did not always behave as
logically or as predictably as their Vulcan
cousins.
"Mr. Spock!" Roberta called out. She
jerked to attention at the science station. "They're
back behind us!"
"Onscreen," he ordered. "Fire rear
torpedoes."
"Yes, sir!" Gates said with enthusiasm.
Spock was grateful that his command could not interfere with
whatever operations Uhura was now supervising in the
forward torpedo bay. He consulted the chronometer
located behind the astrogator. By his calculations,
the lieutenant should have almost completed her task.
The image on the viewer flipped to show
Gladiator i
bearing down on them from behind, swooping through space like
one of the birds of prey the Romulans both
admired and emulated, its disrupter beam outpacing the
cruiser to strike like lightning against the lower hull of the
Enterprise, whose weakened shields flickered like
fireflies beneath the onslaught. Spock felt the
force of the attack all the way up in the forward
saucer section. Warning lights blinked and sirens
screamed. Above the science station, a decorative
illustration of the Milky Way galaxy
melted and bubbled away. "We've lost the
shuttlecraft hanger doors," Roberta
reported, then wrinkled her brow. "What exactly
is a shuttlecraft anyway?"
Apparently the mind meld was not one hundred
percent effective, Spock noted. He
experienced a His
distinct sensation of relief.
Two black photon torpedoes rocketed
away from the Enterprise to intercept the flight path
of Gladiator. They exploded upon contact with the
Romulan vessel's deflectors, flooding the
prow of the cruiser

I I
Greg Cox
with light but failing to even
scratch its shining green hull.
Uncloaked, Gladiator's shields
appeared formidable.
The intercom whistled loudly. Spock
pressed a switch on his armrest.
"Spock here," he said.
Uhura's voice emerged from the
speaker. "The cube has been installed
in a torpedo, sir. We're ready when
you are."
"Good work, Lieutenant," Spock
answered. "Hold until my command."
There was no point in firing the
augmented torpedo until their enemy
was once more cloaked and unshielded.
He had to put Commander Motak back on
the defensive. "Return fire, Ensign
Gates. Rear torpedoes only."
Motak's disrupters struck before
Gates could carry out Spock's orders.
The entire bridge rattled and dipped
sharply to starboard. Spock heard
Roberta use a colorful metaphor of a
scatological nature, then Ensign
Gates was thrown from her seat,
tumbling over the astrogator and
landing flat on her back near the
torn and twisted remains of the helm
controls. Electrical sparks sputtered
perilously close to her hair and
limbs. Gates rolled over, away from
the exposed circuitry and tried to
drag her way back to the navigation
station, but she could barely manage
more than a few centimeters at a
time. Gladiator would cut the
Enterprise to pieces, Spock realized,
before the battered crewman made it
back to her post.
He shot out of the captain's chair,
lunging for the weapons controls only
a few meters away. His right shoulder
collided with Roberta, who must have
had the same idea. "Sorry "bout
that," she blurted, backing away.
"After you." Spock fired the rear
torpedoes.
Gladiator dropped out of sight.
Now was the moment he had been
waiting for. He dropped back in the
captain's chair. "Lieutenant 228
l l
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Uhura," he shouted into the intercom, "release the
torpedo."
The first two torpedoes, fired automatically from
the rear torpedo launchers, zeroed in on
Gladiator's former location, then
exploded uselessly against each other. Operating the
command functions panel, Spock instructed the
viewer to track the third torpedo, the one Uhura
and the weapons engineers had fired manually from the forward
torpedo bay, the one containing an inexplicable bit
of crystalline technology that surpassed even the
considerable scientific resources of the United
Federation of Planets, the one that held their last,
best chance at survival.
"C'mon!" Roberta urged the screen as the
gleaming projectile accelerated against the backdrop
of
apparently empty space. "You can do it! Show-
j
'em what a good, old-fashioned Beta-5 can
do!"
Less vocally, but with equal concentration, Spock
focused on the torpedo's path. At first it seemed
completely random, then it reversed course and jetted
towards a completely different patch of vacant
space. A moment later, the glare of a
matterstantimatter reaction exposed nothing less
than the sight of a Romulan battle cruiser
spinning out of control. Ensign Gates expelled a
very human sigh of relief.
Spock preferred to take no chances. "Direct
our remaining phaser power against Gladiator.
Target warp nacelles only."
Gates nodded and took aim at the floundering
spacecraft. With seconds, a crimson beam of
energized light struck with surgical precision at
first one, then the other nacelle at the stern of the
battle cruiser. The beam sliced away at the
warp engines without encountering even a single blue
spark of resistance. Gladiator's shields were
down campletely. "Miss Lincoln," Spock
asked after the phasers had done their work, "what is the
status of their warp capacity?"

,,
Greg Cox
She inspected the impressive
assortment of gauges and displays at
her disposal, tweaked a knob or two,
then looked over at Spock with a wide
grin upon her face. "As nearly as I
can tell, they're dead in the water!"
"That is quite satisfactory." With
Uhura away from the bridge, Spock
activated the communications system
himself from the vital function
override panel at the captain's
chair. He hailed the disabled vessel
on the screen. "Commander Motak, this
is First Officer Spock of the U.s.s.
Enterprise. We are prepared to accept
your surrender. Do you require
assistance?"
In the past, the commanders of
Romulan warships had been known to
destroy their own vessels to avoid
capture. Spock sincerely hoped that
Commander Motak would not feel
compelled to do so within the safety
of his own borders. That would be a
tremendous waste of life and
materials.
His misgivings grew as Glaa'iator
failed to respond. Was Motak
determined to commit suicide or had
their communications equipment simply
been rendered inoperative by the
destructive effects of the photon
torpedo? "Repeat This is the
Enterprise. Do you surrender?"
Scanning various known frequencies,
including those employed by Gladiator
earlier, he detected a return signal
containing both visual and audio com-
ponents. He immediately transferred
the reply to the primary viewscreen.
Commander Motak glared at Spock
from the bridge of his crippled
warship. His dark hair was in wild
disarray and there was an ugly olive
bruise upon his forehead. A trickle
of watery green blood leaked from the
corner of his mouth. Behind his head
and shoulders, wisps of smoke and
bits of broken machinery drifted
through what was left of the cabin.
Although the life-support systems
appeared to function at an acceptable
level, it was obvious that the

."
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
ship's artificial gravity had been
knocked out of commission by the
Enterprise's attacks. As Spock
looked
on, part of a melted circuit board
floated between Motak and the source
of the transmission. The Romulan
commander batted it away with an
angry swipe of his hand.
"Where is Kirk?" he demanded,
looking less like a serene,
unemotional Vulcan and more like an
enraged Klingon warrior. "Does he
consider me no longer worthy to speak
with him directly?"
"No offense is intended," Spock
stated calmly. "The captain is
otherwise occupied."
"I hope that means he is dead,"
Motak snarled, spitting out a piece
of a broken tooth. Spock did not
correct him. If Motak preferred to
think that Captain Kirk was dead,
rather than isolated and vulnerable
on a nearby world, then Spock was
certainly not inclined to dissuade
him.
"The captain is unavailable," he
repeated. "Do you surrender?"
"Hah!" Motak laughed. "Do you think
you've won just because you've
defeated me? You're hundreds of
light-years from the Federation,
First Officer Spock. I have already
transmitted a report of your presence
here to the Imperial High Command.
More warships are warping toward this
sector at this very moment. A
veritable fleet of some of the finest
ships and commanders in the Empire."
He wiped a dab of blood from his
chin. Spock noted that Motak's hand
was wrapped in fresh white bandages.
A burn, most likely, he speculated,
or perhaps a deep cut. The pain could
not be helping to improve the
commander's disposition.
"I don't know what ingenious Vulcan
trick you played to see past my
cloaking field," he continued, "but
it won't be enough to save you from
the full wrath of the Romulan Empire.
You might as well face the truth,
First Officer Spock, neither you nor
your ship will ever see the
Federation again."

Greg Cox
"In that case," Spock replied, "I
trust you will remember the mercy we
have shown your own vessel and crew.
Enterprise out." He flicked a switch
and Motak's vengeful face disappeared
from the viewer, replaced by the
sight of Gladiator still tumbling
through space, now a victim of its
own unregulated momentum. "Miss
Lincoln, what is the status of the
Romulan vessel's life-support
mechanisms?"
"Good idea!" Roberta carefully
examined the sensor displays. "Um,
lifesigns appear to be stable. No
indications of environmental
degradation aboard the ship."
Spock judged that Gladiator was in
no immediate danger. Now that they
had lured the Romulan vessel away
from the solar system containing the
cloaked world, the nearest sun or
planetary body was hundreds of
millions of kilometers away. The ship
could afford to drift helplessly
through the vast emptiness of
interstellar space. He had learned
what he needed to know Motak's
battle cruiser had been removed as a
threat for the time being.
Spock canceled the red alert
throughout the ship, reducing their
emergency status to yellow alert. He
had no doubt that the commander had
been telling the truth when he warned
that additional Romulan warships had
already set course to intercept the
Enterprise. That was only logical.
Fortunately, the utter immensity of
the universe would grant him some
time before this further threat
required immediate action. Even at
warp speed, the Romulan military
could not instantly traverse the
immense distances that all space
travel entailed; Spock recalled the
many occasions within the Federation
when the Enterprise had been the only
starship within range of a developing
crisis. He did not expect that the
Romulans could provide reinforcements
any faster than Starfleet could.
"More foes may be en route," he said
aloud, for the benefit of Roberta and
Ensign Gates, "but they are not here
yet. Our first

.11
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
priority must be to see to the safety of Captain
Kirk and the remainder of the landing party." He cocked
his head toward Roberta. "I suspect Mr.
Seven is expecting you as well."
The turbolift doors whisked open behind him and
Lt. Uhura hurried back onto the bridge,
accompanied by a repair team and a few more
replacement crew members who fanned out to take
their positions around the cabin. Assistant Engineer
Schultz, recently transferred from Deep
Space Five, set to work repair
ing the sundered helm controls. It looked like it
might i
take him a considerable period of time.
Regrettably, they could not wait until all
repairs were completed before returning to seek out
Captain Kirk. "Ensign Gates, set course
for our previous coordinates. Maximum speed."
Chief Engineer Scott would not be pleased, but that
could not be helped.

Chapter Eighteen
IN FACT, Kirk had always managed to
avoid any Klingon mind-sifters up to
now, although Spock had been forced
to endure the device's invasive
effects on their mission to Organia
two years ago. His first officer had
been typically discreet and
unemotional when describing the
experience, but Kirk had some idea
of the kind of ordeal Spock had
suffered. He wasn't looking forward
to trying it out for himself.
He didn't see anything resembling
a mind-sifter at hand in the control
room, but he doubted that Commender
Dellas was just blowing hot air when
she threatened to use one on him. At
the moment, unfortunately, Dellas
held all the cards; she had no
reason to bluff.
"Well?" she demanded. "Are you
going to tell me what I want to
hear?" She kept her disrupter pistol
raised and ready. "Why are you here?
How much do you know?"'?
I wish I knew, Kirk realized.
Dellas would probably be relieved to
learn how little Gary Seven had told


ASSIGNMENT ETERNI-LALLY him about the
Romulan commander's ultimate ambi- tions, but
there was no reason to let her on that little detail.
"I know you're planning to change the future," he
said, hoping to rattle her.
He succeeded, to a degree. He thought he
spotted a flicker of doubt and trepidation in her
crazed, socio- pathic eyes. She
definitelyally scowled at him, visibly
displeased by his words. tilde hit a nerve, he
thought. His mind raced, searching for a way to take
advantage of this minor victory. She didn't
even want her own soldiers to hear this interrogation,
he recalled. There had to be some way to exploit
her apparent mania for secrecy.
"How did you learn that?" she barked. "Who is the
source of your information?"'"
Kirk took care not to even glance in Seven's
direc- tion. Let her think that Seven, in the
uniform he stole from Chekov, was just another
Starfleet ensign. "There's an old Earth
expression you may have heard of," he said. "That's for
me to know and for you to find out."
"Oh, I will," Dellas vowed, every syllable
infused with sadistic promise, "you can be sure of
that." She stepped away from the prisoners and called
out to the aged scientist working upon the control panel to the
late Supervisor 146's computer. "Vithrok,
how are your repairs proceeding? I may want
to speed up our timetable. We appear to have a
security problem."
Vithrok turned away from the machinery. His face
was flushed and he was slightly out of breath. Kirk
didn't recognize the instruments in his
hands; some sort of high-precision Romulan
tools, he guessed, tilde suitable for working
on delicate circuitry. "I think it's fixed,
Commander," he reported, huffing between each word. "I
can't promise every function has been restored, but
I believe that the transporter controls are now
operational."
Damn, Kirk thought. That's the last thing
Dellas less-than 235 tilde
tilde 1
Greg Cox
needs to have up and running- again, not if the
transporter could still do double duty as a time machine.
Too bad she couldn't have done a better job of
blasting it earlier.
"Excellent work, Doctor," she said.
"Program the proper coordinates into the computer.
There is too much at stake to take chances now. If
the Enterprise
stages another assault, I want to be able
to leave on my j
mission immediately."
This is sounding worse and worse, Kirk mused.
A horrible thought occurred to him what if,
by attempting to stop Dellas and failing,
he and Seven had only provoked her into setting her
mysterious plan in motion even earlier than she had
previously intended. They might well have initiated
the very disaster whatever it was that Seven had travelled so
far to prevent! He peered at his fellow prisoner,
wondering if the same ghastly reasoning was going through
Seven's head. It was impossible to tell from
Seven's stoic expression, but he certainly
looked grim and intense enough. If you're planning
to do something, Mr. Seven, Kirk thought silently,
you better do it soon.
"Actually," Vithrok replied somewhat
sheepishly, stroking his beard with his free hand, "I
can't claim all the credit. This other human," he
said, gesturing toward Gary Seven, "did a
remarkable job before I got here." The Romulan
scientist shuffled away from
his work and approached Seven, a look of genuine
,j
curiosity on his face. "Where did you learn to do
all that? Some of your . . . improvisations . . .
were quite original. Revolutionary, even."
"Is that so?" Dellas said. She no longer had
eyebrows to raise but Kirk knew that she was
intrigued. I have to distract her from Seven,
he thought. She had already learned too much from 146;
he dreaded to imagine what sort of information she could
extract from Gary Seven.


ASSIGNMENT ETERN-LLALLY
"I'm shocked at your lack of expertise," he
announced loudly. "Ensign Lincoln is just an
ordinary technician. Is Romulan science that
far behind Starfleet?"
"There was nothing ordinary about what this man did!"
Vithrok protested, obviously offended. It
looked odd to see such an unmistakable and petty
display of emotion on a Vulcanlikeface, even
though Kirk knew intellectually that Romulans were
unlike Vulcans in very many respects. "This
technology is centuries ahead of both Federation
and Romulan science. It's taken me months just
to learn the basics, and I have been honored by the
Praetor himself for my scientific accomplishments.
Twice."
"Enough, Doctor," DeIlas instructed him.
To his distress, Kirk saw that she had not been
fooled by his ruse. "You should not let the captain
bait you so easily." She scrutinized
Gary Seven carefully. "It seems I
underestimated you, Ensign Lincoln, if that's really
your name. I'd thought you merely another Starfleet
foot soldier, a minor pawn in this game, but
apparently I was mistaken." She crouched in
front of
him and thrust the muzzle of her disrupter beneath j
his chin. "Tell me who you are and what you know about
this technology."
At first, Seven said nothing. He simply gazed
back at the Romulan commander with an even
expression, showing no sign of fear. Kirk was
impressed; Seven had almost as good a poker face
as Spock.
"Tell me!" Dellas ordered, pushing
Seven's chin up with her disrupter
Seven emitted a sigh of resignation, looking
at Dellas in a distinctly condescending manner.
"All I can say is that you are poised to make a
terrible mistake. You are tampering with historical
forces you cannot begin to comprehend."
"I understand enough," Dellas replied.
"History- is determined by those with the will and the strength
to
237
Greg Cox
shape it to their own design." She
grinned smugly. "All I needed was
knowledge of the future and the
ability to go there."
Seven shook his head, acting more
like a weary teacher than a prisoner
of war. "You have not looked far
enough ahead. In the long run,
reunification is in the best
interests of both the Vulcan and the
Romutans, not to mention this entire
quadrant of the galaxy."
Reunification, Kirk thought. Was
that what this was all about? It was
hard to even imagine such an event,
Romulan and Vulcan culture had
diverged so much over the course of
the last millennia. Was it even
possible? He would have to ask Spock
what he thought, assuming they both
got back to the Federation in one
piece.
Dellas sneered at Seven. "You are
human," she said. "It is you who
cannot begin to understand. The
Vulcans have learned some interesting
things over the years, tricks of the
mind and such, but they lack the
passion and the courage that makes
any race great. the only way Vulcan
will ever join the Empire will be as
one of our conquests."
"Conquest. What a ridiculous
concept," Seven said. "I wish I could
have left that behind in the
twentieth century." His voice and
manner grew more intense and urgent.
"Is there any way I can convince you
that you're making a mistake? You
weren't meant to have this technology
yet. You're like a child playing with
fireworks."
Kirk found Seven's analogy a bit
insulting, not to mention
depressingly familiar. Does every
more adyanced civilization have to
compare us to children? he thought.
Bad enough to hear it from the
Organians or the Metrons, but from
Gary Seven, too?
Commander Dellas evidently took
offense as well. "And I thought the
captain was insolent," she remarked
acidly, her blast-darkened face
growing even darker. She pressed her
weapon much harder against 238
tilde 1
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY l
Seven's throat, sinking the muzzle of her
weapon into his flesh. "Perhaps I should remind you who
is holding the gun."
Kirk wondered for a second if Seven had
deliberately provoked Dellas, perhaps to trick
her into rendering him dead or unconscious or
otherwise incapable of being interrogated. Then Seven
surprised him by moving baster Kirk's eyes could
follow, grabbing the commander by the wrist and yanking the
point of the weapon away from his throat. "What?"
Dellas snarled as they grappled for control of the
disrupter, dragging each other up onto their feet
only a few meters away from Kirk.
He saw his opportunity and seized it, springing
to his feet and racing for the phaser resting near the
control panel. Vithrok, surprised and
flustered by the sudden violence, made a feeble try
to block Kirk, but the Starfleet officer easily
shoved the old scientist aside. Vithrok staggered
backwards, almost falling through the hole Kirk had
cut in the turbolift doors. "Commander!" he
shouted frantically, grabbing onto the seared edges
of the doors with both hands to keep from landing flat on his
back. "Commander! You have to stop him!"
Now only the hover-chair stood between Kirk and his
phaser. He grabbed onto the back of the chair and
moved to push it out of the way, but the damn thing refused
to budge. Someone left the braces on, he
realized. He didn't waste any time fumbling with the
controls; instead he darted around the chair and reached out
for the phaser which was only a few centimeters away.
Got it, he thought.
A beam of red-hot energy struck the phaser first,
melting it to slag before his eyes. Yanking his fingers
away just in time, Kirk spun around to see Commander
Dellas aiming her disrupter with one hand. Her other
hand was squeezing Seven at the juncture of his
neck and his shoulder in an all too familiar
gesture. A nerve pinch, Kirk recognized
instantly. Seven's eyes
239
i l
Greg Cox
rolled upwards until only the whites could be
seen.
She released her grip and he dropped onto the
floor tilde like a marionette whose strings had been
cut. "Please j
step away from the transporter controls,
Captain,"
Dellas insisted, turning her weapon toward him.
"We to
do not want to undo all of Doctor Vithrok's
hard work." She nudged Seven's prone body with the
toe of her boot. The visitor from old Earth did
not react at all, not even with a groan. Kirk
stared helplessly at Gary Seven's insensate form.
The whole thing had only taken a few moments.
"Perhaps your associate had a point after all,"
Dellas commented, flexing the fingers of her free hand.
"There is a thing or two we can learn from our
Vulcan kinsmen." She smiled, gazing
triumphantly at the transporter pad. "Now
let us see what we can teach them...."
Gary Seven lay sprawled upon the floor of the
control room, seemingly dead to the world. I
can't believe it, Kirk mused again. I don't
believe it. He distinctly recalled what had
happened, back in the twentieth century, when
Spock applied his signa- ture nerve pinch
to Gary Seven absolutely nothing. He wasn't
sure who was most surprised, he or Spock, but
Seven had proven completely immune to an
attack that had immobilized just about every hu- manoid
specimen Spock had ever had occasion to try it out
on. Kirk still couldn't figure out why this should be so,
especially after McCoy pronounced Seven
thoroughly human in all respects, but he had
seen with his own eyes Seven shake off the effect of the
nerve pinch as though it did nothing more than , tickle
him. It wasn't something he was ever likely to forget
Ne'sfaking it, Kirk concluded. He has
to be. Kirk refused to accept that Commander
Dellas, who tt wasn't even a true
Vulcan, could deliver a more i effective pinch
than Spock, not that he intended to i 240 tilde
tilde 1
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
share that opinion with her anytime soon. "That man
is a Federation citizen," he lied, finding it easy
to summon up the appropriate indignation.
"If you've killed him, your whole damn Empire
is going to pay!"
Dellas acted unworried by his posturings.
"He's not dead yet," she stated, keeping her
disrupter pistol aimed squarely at Kirk. He
backed away from the control panel with his hands above his
head. "No one ever dies before I have learned all
their secrets, as I trust you will discover in time."
She walked around Seven's apparently
unconscious body and took Kirk's place by the
controls. "unfortunately, that will have to wait until
I have completed my current project. A matter
of priorities, you understand."
With her free hand she pressed a button on the
control panel and a slot opened on the adjacent
wall, revealing a small storage compartment. Reaching
inside, she drew out a bundle of folded gray
fabric. "Doctor Vithrok, are the
coordinates for the time travel set?"
"Yes, Commander," the scientist replied, more
confidently than Kirk would have liked. He
scurried around Kirk to join Dellas at the
controls. everything is happening too past, Kir k
thought. Whatever Dellas was intending, whatever Seven
had journeyed so far to prevent, appeared
on the verge of happening. Kirk wished he had a
better idea of just how worried he ought to be.
Worried enough, I bet.
Dellas handed off the disrupter to Vithrok, who,
rather anxiously, kept Kirk in his sights. The
pudgy,
balding scientist swallowed repeatedly and stroked
tilde his beard. He didn't look like much of a
killer, Kirk tilde - thought, but he hardly
needed to be an expert marks- comI
man to fell a human target at such close
range.
Sometimes a nervous finger on a trigger could be l
deadlier than the coolest assassin. "Don't
move," Vithrok said. It sounded more like a plea
than a 241
be
Greg Cox
warning. "There's nothing you can do to stop her . . .
I mean, us. You shouldn't have come here. It was useless
to try...."
His commander ignored Vithrok's babbling. Moving
swiftly and efficiently, she unfolded her
bundle, which turned out to be a full-length gray
robe of a style Kirk was unfamiliar with.
She shook out the
garment, draped it over the back of the chair, then
i
removed her communicator from her belt and placed
it on the counter near the transporter controls. Un
concerned with propriety, she removed the outer layer
'a of her singed and rumpled uniform, then drew the
robe over herself. Some sort of disguise, Kirk
guessed, but what was she pretending to be? Where and when
was her ultimate destination? The robe stretched all
the way to the floor and was pleated heavily from head
to toe. An attached hood hung empty behind her
head. Dellas tugged on the sleeves to make
sure the garment fit, then looked up at Kirk.
"Not very eye-catching, is it?" she remarked.
"Trust me, it will be the height of diplomatic
fashion f several decades from now, at least
among the next generation of Romulans." She ran
her fingers lightly over her brow, feeling the faint
remains of her eye- brows. A slight scowl
darkened her expression. "This is a nuisance, but I
suppose it will have to do." She pulled the hood over
her head, shrouding her hairless forehead in shadow.
"Where I'm going, no one is going to be looking at
me until it's too late."
Kirk was getting tired of being the only person in
the room, conscious or otherwise, who didn't know
the full score. Enough cryptic hints, he thought.
Mad be Dellas was more talkative than Gary
Seven. "Per- haps I'd be more impressed," he
said, "if you let me know exactly what you have in
mind. Or are you afraid to tell me?"
She shook her head inside the heavy gray
hood. "I i
acquire secrets. I seldom share them.
Besides, I thought you already knew . . . ?" Bending
over, she 242
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
lifted the hem of her robe to check on the contents
of
one boot. Kirk saw a glint of silver as she
lifted i
Seven's seno from the boot, then replaced it.
"I was intending to use a concealed disrupter
to accomplish my aims, but perhaps it would be more ironic
to use your sleeping friend's intriguing little device.
It's small, discreet, and easily set to kill.
Perfect for my purposes."
"Tell me more," Kirk said, flashing his most
ingratiating smile. "Maybe I can find
the flaw in your plan."
Dellas easily resisted his charm. She
straightened and let the hem of the robe fall over her
boots. "What was that Terran expression you quoted
to me earlier? Oh yes, that's for me to know and for you
to find out." She turned a knob on the control
panel and Kirk heard a hum commence behind him.
Looking back over his shoulder, he saw the
transporter pad at the opposite end of the room
come to life. A faint blue mist began to form above
the pad; it looked distressingly like the haze
Dellas had unexpectedly emerged from to kill
Seven's fellow agent. "Do not deviate from the
plan, Doctor," she informed Vithrok. "After I
have departed, adjust the transporter to return me
to this time from a point sixty minutes after my arrival
in the future. That should be all the time I require
to complete my mission."
"I understand, Commander," the scientist answered.
"I will begin the procedure as soon as the initial
transport is completed." He nodded toward
Kirk. "What shall I do with this one? Perhaps I should
summon a centurion?"
"That won't be necessary," she insisted. "The fewer
who witness this operation, the better."
Dellas obviously wasn't the trusting type,
Kirk noted. "Captain Kirk is not going
anywhere. Let him watch as I transform the
future of the galaxy forever." She smirked beneath her
hood, her eyes hidden within its umbra, and began
walking toward the transporter. "If

i I
Greg Cox
all goes as scheduled, I will be back in this
chamber in a matter of moments."
The original wisps of glowing blue mist had
swollen to a dense column of fog that coiled about
itself atop the transporter platform. Kirk
desperately wanted to know what was waiting on the
other side of that fog, but how could he find out while
Vithrok's disrupter was pointed at him? He
resisted the temptation to
sneak a peek at Gary Seven, still presumedly
playing be
possum on the tile floor. If the man was
waiting for the right moment to intervene, it would have to be
soon.
Over on the counter, Dellas's discarded
communicator emitted a harsh buzz. She
paused in her path, appearing unsure how
to proceed. Her head swung from the communicator to the
glowing mist and back again. Would she ignore the
incoming message and get on with her mysterious
mission, Kirk wondered, or would she be more anxious
to receive news from her subordinates? Given that
Chekov and Sulu were still unaccounted for, he knew
what he'd do if he were Deltas get as much
information as possible.
Kirk pegged it exactly. With an impatient
snarl, Dellas spun around and stalked back to the
control panel. "What is it?" she demanded,
snatching up the communicator and throwing back her
hood. Her short black hair was charred around the
edges. Dis- turbed by the movement of the hood,
bits of burnt hair flaked off and fell upon her
shoulders.
"Commander," a voice emerged from the communicator.
Kirk strained his ears to catch every word.
"The Federation starship has returned. Sensors
con- i
firm it is the Enterprise. And, Commander," the
voice added, "they're hailing us."
Dellas squinted at Kirk as though he held
the key to this new development. In fact,
he was even more surprised than the Romulan commander,
although he endeavored not to show it. What was Spock
doing back here? Kirk had specifically ordered
him to get 244
Deli
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
the Enterprise to safety if he lost contact with the
landing party for over an hour, which surely must have
passed by now. Spock must have a very good reason for
disobeying my orders, he guessed. He usually
does.
"Put them through," she said decisively. "Use
an encrypted mode. I don't want anyone
listening to this, including yourself."
"Acknowledged," the voice reported. An
instant tilde later, Spock's face appeared
on the large screen above i the control panel.
Kirk noted that the image was an tilde unusually
tight close-up, blocking out any view of the i
ship's interior. That has to be deliberate, he
deduced; there must be something on the bridge he
doesn't want the Romulans to see, assuming that
he was even transmitting from the bridge. Kirk
mulled over the possibilities, frustrated by his
lack of clear knowledge of what Spock was up
to. What the devil is happening up on my ship?
Spock's eyes widened slightly at the sight
of Dellas in her robes. "This is the U.s.s.
Enterprise. Can I assume that you are in control
on the installation on the planet's surface?"
"You needn't be so formal, Mr. Spock,"
Deltas replied. "I know your life story even
better than you do, although I confess I am more than
a little curious as to what brings you here at this
particular time and place."
Spock raised a quizzical eyebrow. "Is
this not where and when you intend to launch your attempt to
assassinate me in the year 2293?" tilde
Kirk could not conceal his shock at Spock's words.
tilde 4
Was that what this was all about? A plot to murder
Spock? He threw an anguished look at
Seven's inert form. Why didn't you tell me?
He knew why, of course. The sanctity of the time
line and the inherent dangers in learning one's own ,
destiny, but it still came as a shock. He felt
an icy chill run through his entire body.

Greg Cox
Dellas appeared just as dumbfounded
by Spock's casual revelation. She
leaned toward the screen, her fists
squeezed tightly at her sides. "How.
. . do. . . you. . . kr tilde ow. . .
that?" she demanded, her voice
quivering with fury. Taken aback by
his superior's wild-eyed intensity,
Vithrok backed a few steps away from
her.
"That is irrelevant," Spock stated.
"The fact remains that StarDeet is
familiar with the particulars of your
scheme and cannot allow you to
succeed."
His implacable manner only served
to enrage Dellas further.
"Irrelevant!" she snapped.
"Everything is irrelevant to you
Vulcan eunuchs. Strength. Passion.
The courage to survive, the will to
conquer." She stepped back from the
screen, her chin held high. "My
father was like you, a devotee to the
heretical teachings of Surak. They
did not shield him from the harsh
realities of the world; they only
made him weaker and unable to protect
himself and his family." She raised
a clenched fist to the screen. "Your
fanatical worship of soulless logic
disgusts me. I will have you killed
a hundred times if that is what is
needed to keep your pallid,
pacifistic ways from contaminating
the Emp tilde re."
"Logic is not a shield," Spock
replied, "but a means of discovering
the truth. Nor does it necessar ily
impair one's potential for
self-defense." He eyed Dellas
dispassionately. "Your father's fate
may have been beyond his control, or
perhaps there were other factors to
consider. Contrary to what you
profess to believe, weakness is not
synonymous with reason."
"We shall see, Vulcan," she
declared. "You cannot threaten me
with your starship. This outpost's
shields are more than enough to
withstand your phasers and
transporter beams." Without asking,
she seized the disrupter pistol from
Vithrok's hand and advanced toward
Kirk. "Can you see your captain, Mr.
Spock? Do you know what I can do with
him?" She grabbed Kirk by the-arm and
dragged him

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
closer to the monitor, then stepped behind him and
pressed the muzzle of the disrupter against his temple.
"I want to know who informed you of my plans and I
want to know now. Tell who your source is, or I
will reduce your captain's brains to ionized
particles."
Roberta, Kirk realized. Gary Seven's young
companion had to have filled Spock in on the true
nature of his mission, not that this answer was likely
to satisfy Commander Dellas, even if Spock
felt inclined to share that information, which Kirk sincerely
doubted. That would only serve to expose and further
endanger Seven. Kirk assumed Seven was listening
to all this as well; no doubt he was equally curious
to find out how much Spock had learned.
By the counter, Vithrok looked on with a distinctly
queasy expression. He was probably more at home
puttering around in a lab, Kirk guessed, than
watching the interrogation and execution of hostages.
It's up to me, he thought. He knew he was only
heartbeats away from dying.
For the moment, though, Dellas was focused on
Spock's unreadable features. Taking
advantage of her distraction, he suddenly,
savagely jabbed his elbow into her midsection, then
threw himself to one
side. He tore away from Dellas's grasp
and felt his tilde - elbow connect with solid flesh
beneath the voluminous robe. Dellas gasped
explosively and fired her
weapon, but the beam missed its target, instead
etching another scar on the turbolift doors. She
did not release the weapon, however, and swung the
disrupter in search of Kirk. Hunched over in order
to make a smaller target, he scrambled toward the
control panel, hoping that Dellas would be
reluctant i
to fire wildly in the direction of Supervisor
146's advanced equipment. Beyond that his plans were
fairly sketchy; he was saving his life
one second at a time. Hi can just figure out how
to bring down the shields. . . to

Greg Cox8
"Captain, look out!" Spock shouted from the
screen.
"Commander, behind you!" Vithrok yelled. He
slammed his palm down on an alarm button and a
blaring siren filled the room. Great, Kirk thought.
We're going to have company.
Dellas froze, but it was too late. Moving
faster than Kirk would have thought possible, Gary
Seven rose to his feet and barrelled into the
Romulan commander from behind. Her disrupter flew from her
hand and skidded across the floor toward the lift
entrance. Vithrok ran for the weapon, but Kirk
tackled him before he got too far. The scientist
hit the ground hard, his flabby bulk cushioning
Kirk's own fall. Vithrok's breath smelled
slightly of Romulan ale. Tsk tsk,
Doctor, Kirk thought. Drinking on the job?
Vith rok attempted to roll over and strike back
at Kirk, yet, even with the benefit of a
Romulan's greater than human strength, the
reputedly brilliant researcher was no
match for a trained Starfleet officer. Kirk
smashed his fist into Vithrok's bearded chin. The
scientist's eyes snapped shut and his head dropped
backwards onto the floor tiles. Kirk
massaged his aching knuckles; he'd forgotten how
hard Romulan skulls could be.
An angry cry drew his attention to the back of the
control room. Kirk looked up to see Dellas
wrestling with Gary Seven in front of the
transporter pad. The luminescent fog continued
to billow above the platform as, with another ferocious
snarl, the would-be assassin shoved Seven away from
her. She glanced quickly at Kirk and Seven, at
the unclaimed disrupter lying on the floor out of reach
and at the defeated lump of her chief scientist.
Then she made her decision, spun around, and leaped
headlong into the mist.
"Stop!" Seven shouted, reaching for her, but his hand
closed on nothing but a bright blue haze. Ribbons
of glowing vapor slipped between his fingers.

it,
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
She was gone.
Seven's shoulders slumped for a moment,
then he took a deep breath and turned around to face
Kirk. "I have to go after her, Captain. It's the
only way."
Kirk nodded and stood up beside Vithrok tilde
s sleeping body. The scientist's white lab
jacket covered him like a morgue blanket.
"Understood," Kirk said. "I don't suppose you
want me to come along."
"It's your future, Captain. Think about it."
I am, Kirk thought solemnly. How could he
not? to
Part of him was acutely interested in knowing what the
galaxy would be like twenty, thirty years from today.
What would become of James T. Kirk in the
decades to come. Another five-year mission? An
admiralty? Marriage and a family? My son
David will be a grown man. What will he think of his
father then? Then again, how did he even know that he was still
going to be alive ten minutes from now, let alone
twenty-some years from now? After all, Dellas had
offered no cryptic hints as to his long-term
fate, only Spock's, and Kirk could all too
easily imagine himself reenacting Ebenezer
Scrooge's ultimate nightmare starmg at a
weathered gravestone with his own name on it.
"Maybe it's better if you go after all," he
told Seven.
Spock's oversized image towered above them on
the viewscreen. "Captain, are you quite all right?"
he tilde asked. I
Kirk looked around. The emergency siren
shrieked on, hurting his ears, but he did not yet
hear the bootsteps of approaching Romulan
guards. Hopefully, the fused tracks in the
turbolift shaft would slow any reinforcements down
for at least a few more minutes. Would that be enough time to do
what had to be done?
Seven crossed over to the control panel and
rapidly manipulated the buttons and switches
beneath the viewer. The blaring alarm ceased immediately, much
to Kirk's relief. "Activate
Self-Destruct Program j

His
Greg Cox
Omega-Prime," he addressed the
computer. He glanced back at the
transporter platform where the
swirling blue fog awaited him. His
brow furrowed in concentration.
"Commence program in twenty standard
minutes."
"Affirmative," the computer
replied. Kirk wondered why the
Romulans had never used voice com-
mands to control 1 46's apparatus.
Perhaps, he speculated, they had
disabled the system's artificial
intelligence to prevent it from
interfering with their unauthorized
takeover of the base. 7iventy
minutes, Kirk thought. That's not a
lot of time to get out of here before
everything blows up.
Seven retrieved the fallen
disrupter from the floor where it had
landed. He set it on stun and tossed
it to Kirk, who caught it easily. He
checked the weapon's weight and
balance. It was slightly heavier than
a type-2 phaser pistol. "You'll have
to hold off any Romulan soldiers
until I get back," Seven informed
him. "We can't permit them to disable
the selfdestruct sequence."
"What about the shields?" Kirk
asked. If they could just lower the
shields protecting the installation,
then Spock could beam one or both of
them to safety at the last minute.
Seven shook his head grimly. "I
can't lower them from here. Those
functions were damaged by Commander
Dellas's initial disrupter blast and
there isn't time to repair them." He
gave Kirk a probing look. "I
understand exactly what I'm asking of
you, Captain."
He wants me to hold down the fort
until the whole place goes up in
flames, Kirk translated. It was a
sobering thought; he had never
expected to go down fighting in the
sub-basement of an alien stronghold
in the middle of the Romulan Empire.
"Spock," he said, addressing the
screen. "Are there any other
options?"

.1 tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY l
"None I can see, Captain," he answered.
"The shields are quite formidable." But not formidable
enough, Kirk thought, to stop Commander Dellas from
beaming to the future. Time travel, apparently,
followed its own rules. "We can send down a
rescue party on a shuttle," Spock suggested.
"No," Kirk said. The base was too
well-guarded. There was no point risking further
lives. He hefted the disrupter in his grip and
looked at Gary Seven. He cocked his head
toward the luminescent fog. "Go," he told
Seven.
"Thank you, Captain." The turbulent azure
mist was beginning to fade. Kirk examined the churning,
energized mass of vapor, struck by how different it
looked from the transporter effect he was familiar
with. Dellas was on the other side of that mist somewhere,
intent on ending the life of a man whom at this very
moment commanded the starship in orbit above this very
planet. Had she already succeeded? There was no way
to know until Spock lived or died over two
decades from now. Would he ever know if Gary Seven
put an end to her murderous ambitions? The human
mind, he felt convinced, was never designed
to cope with the tortured causality of temporal
paradoxes. By contrast, the menace of hostile
Romulan soldiers was reassuringly concrete.
Bring on the troopers, he thought. Let Seven
worry about tomor- row's tms.
Without a backwards glance, Seven launched himself
into the mist. Kirk saw him receding into the fog for a
second, glimpsed the man's back as the glowing
vapors enveloped him. Then the mist dissolved
into nothingness, taking Seven with it. Kirk found himself
alone in the now-silent control room, aside from the
dormant body of Doctor Vithrok. Somewhere
above him, he heard the hiss of disrupters cutting
through solid steel. Dellas's guards were burning
their way to him, summoned by the alarm Seven had
extin

Greg Cox
guished. Kirk positioned himself in
front of the turbolift entrance,
disrupter in hand. Just like the
Alamo, he thought. Too bad Spock had
a front row seat. It had to be hard
on him, standing by helplessly while
Kirk defended a ticking bomb.
"Fifteen minutes to self-destruct,"
the computer announced.

if,
Chapter Nineteen
Camp Khitomer, Khitomer Outpost
United Federation of planets
Stardate 9521.6
A.d. 2293
THE TRATTOR S BLOOD still pooled on the
tile floor.
Gary Seven gave little attention to
the momentous drama unfolding around
the podium where Kirk, Spock, and
the others conferred with Azetbur,
the Klingon chancellor, only minutes
after the attempted assassination of
the president of the Federation.
These incarnations of the Enterprise
crew, so many years older than the
individuals he had just left behind
in 2269, were perfectly capable of
coping with the aftermath of that
near tragedy. He was there to stop
an even greater disaster from
occurring if he could.
The air was cooler here than on the
cloaked planet, the gravity a degree
stronger. After spending a little
over a year in the relatively
provincial environment of twentieth
century Earth, it felt odd to be
surrounded by such a wide variety of
alien races. Edging along the rear
of the crowd, beneath hanging
pennants of various hues and
designs, Seven desperately scanned
the vast assembly hall for any sign
of Dellas in her nonde

disj
pi
Greg Cox
script robe. His own borrowed Starfleet
uniform was a couple decades out of date, he
realized, but there was no time to try to alropriate
something more contemporary. He woulhave to hope that, with
everyone transfixed by the dramatic tableau at the
other end of the hall, no one would notice his fashion
lapse.
A pair of willowy Xela diplomats, their
faces concoaled behind veils of golden webbing,
shifted to the left, obscuring his view of the several
rows of seats. Seven clenched his teeth in
frustration, then began to work his way up one of the
aisles dividing one wing of spectators from
another. His gaze swept back and forth over the
densely populated chamber, hoping to catch a
glimpse of the murderous Romulan from the past.
Intent upon his search, he accidently stepped on the
hoof of a snout-faced Tellarite, who snorted at
him indignantly before returning his attention to Kirk
and his valiant compatriots.
Where was she? Seven's anxiety grew by the
second. Dellas was here, he knew, with his own
stolen weapon, no less. He tried not
to visualize what the servo could do to Spock at its
maximum setting.
Kirk said something up front, and the entire
assembly rose to its feet, making it even harder
to see across the entire hall. Seven arched his feet
to peer over and around the tawny mane of a regal
Klingon delegate. Something about the Klingon's
profile was strangely familiar. Oh, right, he
realized, Colonel Wori The roar of the
applause was deafening, but it was not loud enough to drown out
the insistent question that clamored within Seven's mind.
Where is she?
"You've restored my father's faith," Dellas
heard the Klingon leader say. The ridges on
Azetbur's brow were less pronounced than those of
many of her warriors. Dellas wondered briefly
if the chancellor had a trace of human blood in
her. That would certainly explain her distressing
adherence to her 254
1, tilde dis@.
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
father's doctrine of peace between
the Federation and the Klingons.as if
the Klingons could ever be trusted .
. . to
Wrapped in her all-concealing robe,
the brim of her hood pulled down to
hide the disrupter burns upon her
face, she crept through the packed
assemblage to get a better shot at
Spock. The troublesome Vulcan, his
somber face creased with age and
concern, kept a watchful eye on a
Vulcan woman, much younger than he,
whose expression held only defeat.
Fear not, Kaleris, Dellas thought.
Your failure shall be avenged within
moments.
It was possible, she realized, that
she might never return to her own
time, now that Kirk and his unknown
ally had taken possession of the
control room back in another time and
place. There was always a chance that
her centurion might reclaim that
battlefield, thus providing Vithrok
with an opportunity to call her back
from the future, but she could not
count on that. She stared at the
revered Starfleet captain conversing
with Azetbur, so very different and
yet so very much the same as the
youthful human she had dueled with
only hours before. She had learned
from that experience that Kirk was
nothing if not unpredictable. He
might yet manage to strand her in
this era permanently.
Worse yet, either Kirk or his
enigmatic ally might try to use the
alien time travel apparatus to undo
what she was about to do, in which
case she might- have to travel
through time yet again to kill Spock
once more, and so on ad infinitum. Or
else she would simply have to kill
the accursed Vulcan at some later
point in his life. Certainly, she had
time; Spock would not devote his
efforts to reunification until some
seventy-five years from this date.
One way or another, Spock would die.
It doesn't matter what Kirk tries,
she affirmed. All she could do now
was complete her mission and hope for
the best. Spock would never meet
Pardek. The 255
.
Greg Cox
cause of Romulan-Vulcan reunification would
die in
its cradle, consigned forever to the realm of unre-
to
alized possibilities. She felt the
weight of the intruder's alien weapon lodged
securely against her calf.
"And you've restored my son's," Kirk said
softly. In one of the outer pews, a m tilde
ddle-aged human diplomat wearing a green sash
began to clap slowly. Soon the entire room
emulated his lead, rising up like a surging wave
toloin in a standing ovation for the heroic crews of the
Enterprise and the Excelsior. Even the ranks of the
Klingon soldiers, their scarlet sashes stretched
tightly across their dark leather armor, applauded
Kirk and the others. Dellas shook her head in
amaze
ment; no matter how many times she had witnessed
tilde this scene on Citizen Septos's
monitor, she still lo
couldn't believe it. Klingons cheering for Kirk?
As founding. tilde She refused to let herself be
distracted by the i
spectacle, however. Clapping herself, to avoid
notice, she gently elbowed her way through the mob of
delegates until only a single row of
applauding dignitaries stood between her and the platform
occupied by honored Starfleet heroes.
Ironically, she found herself standing just behind
Sarek of Vulcan, her target's distinguished father,
and a certain young Romulan delegate. Pardek,
Dellas thought with scorn. Was her knowledge of the future
coloring her perceplions, or was the
senator-to-be already contemplating
Spock with a treacherous expression on his face?
to
She glanced to the left and right to see if anyone was
watching her, but, no, all present remained
fixated on Kirk and Spock and their fallows as
they humbly accepted the assembly's display of
respect and affection. Excellent, she thought. There
would never be a better opportunity. Pausing in her
applause, she bent down to slide one hand within her
boot and drew out a slender silver cylinder. The
compact weapon felt cool in her hand.
Spock stood not more than seven meters away from
Dellas, a few steps to the left of his captain.
His calm, 256
tilde 1
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
impassive face offered no clue to his
feelings at this moment. Odd, she thought, she had
never realized before how much the older Spock
resembled her father. To her surprise, she
felt a pang of regret at what she had come to do.
She raised the silver instrument and Pointed it at
Spock. Her thumb caressed the minute firing
mecha- nism set into the device's gleaming
surface. An in- stant's pressure and the deed
would be done. Dow, she thought.
Suddenly a hand fell over her own. A voice
spoke through the hood covering her ears. "We don't
want to disturb any of these important people. They're
making the future."
He gave the silver device a precise twist
just as Dellas pressed down on the button.
The beam fired, but the target evaporated. So
did the entire assembly hall. The blue fog
swallowed them up instantly, and Dellas's
death-ray disappeared into a chaotic void outside
time and space. She let out a cry of frustration.
That was close, Seven thought. Good to know the
servo's automatic recall function was still working.
It had saved him several times in the past, although never
quite in this manner. He struggled to restrain the hooded
figure in his grasp, holding on tightly to both
her wrists. Thanks, too, for that all-concealing
hood; that was how he had spotted her in the end.
Most of the dignitaries at this event,
including all of 4 the Romulans, had not seen it
necessary to cover their heads indoors. Only Dellas,
compelled to conceal the injuries she'd received from the
overloaded disrupter, had hidden beneath the shadow of a
hood. He wrenched the servo from her clutch even as
the blue haze began to thin. Seven reclaimed the
device with more than a little satisfaction; it struck
him as quite appropriate that, in the end, Dellas's
insane scheme was undone by the very technology she had

Greg Cox
twisted to he r own purposes. Poetic
justice, of a sort. He hoped that
Supervisor 146 would have approved.
And the faithful Osiris as welt
Through the fading mist, he
glimpsed the control room he and
Dellas had left behind not long
ago. The sound of disrupter blasts
rang in his ears. Out of the frying
pan into the fire, he thought.
We've saved Spock's fixture. I
only pray I haven't doomed Kirk's
present.
258
l l
Chapter Twenty
Romulan Star Empire
Stardate 6021.6
A.d. 2269
"FIVE MINUTES to self-destruct."
Thanks for the update, Kirk thought wryly.
It wasn't the first time he'd raced a time bomb,
but it looked like he might be around for the final tick
of the clock this time. Outside the control room, an
undetermined number of Romulan soldiers were
crowded into the turbolift shaft, eager to charge into the
chamber and vaporize the upstart human who had
penetrated the nerve center of their new base. So
far, Kirk had managed to keep them back with the
frequent application of some well-placed disrupter
bolts.
Another shining helmet poked cautiously from behind
what was leRather of the turbolift doors. A blast of
corrosive energy from Kirk's disrupter sent the
helmet ducking back into the dimly lit shaft.
Kirk leaned
forward on the edge of the hover-chair's seat and i
waited for the next brave soul to dare the
doorway. At least he didn't have
to worry about pulse grenades; he
could just imagine what Commander Dellas would do i

tilde 1
Greg Cox
to any of her subordinates who even risked
destroying the precious equipment in the control
room. He didn't blame them for being cautious.
"Four minutes to self-destruct."
The base had to be destroyed, he knew. Its
advanced technology, now exposed within Romulan
borders, was a threat to the Federation and the future itself.
If he had to go up in flames with it . . . well,
that was only his duty. At least, Spock is here
to witness my last stand. The Vulcan's face,
looking far more grimmer than normal, watched him from
the monitor. Funny, Kirk mused, I always
thought I'd die alone. He fired another shot at
the entrance just to keep the Romulans on their toes.
"Three minutes to self-destruct."
He sneaked a peek at the transporter
platform. No Romulan sneak attack beaming
in, but no sign of Gary Seven either. "Spock,"
he began, suddenly feeling strangely
tongue-tied. How did you say good-bye
forever to your best friend? "It's beginning to look like
I've finally used up all my nine lives."
On the screen, Spock's arched brows shot
upward like old solid fuel rockets.
"Captain!" he said hoarsely, his voice choked with
uncharacteristic emotion. "The cat!"
Chief Engineer Scott was in the primary
transporter room, waiting anxiously for the
shields on the planet below to falter for just a moment
so he could beam the captain to safety, when Isis
arrived. His eyes widened in confusion as the door
slid open a crack and the cat slipped inside.
"Say there!" he exclaimed. "What the devil are
you doing here?"
His expression grew even more astounded when, before his
very eyes, the black cat vanished and she
materialized instead. "Saints preserve us!" he
gasped.
She was a humanoid female of striking
appearance, clad in a revealing two-piece outfit
that contrasted shimmering black silk against pale,
alabaster flesh 260
I, tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
Equally black was the lustrous dark
hair that fell below her shoulders. Two velvet
hairpieces, shaped like the ears of a cat,
decorated the top of her scalp, while a
strangely familiar silver collar sparkled around
her throat. Golden eyes, dwelling beneath long
black lashes, considered Scotty with a mixture of
amusement and curiosity. She waved a languid
arm toward the transporter controls. "May I?"
she purred.
He staggered backwards, taken aback by the
unexpeeled transformation and profoundly grateful that
there divas nothing wrong with his heart. His eyes,
though . . . now, that was another thing altogether. Keeping his
sights on the seductive figure, and unable to do
otherwise, he reached out and activated the intercom
unit on the wall. "Mr. Spock," he
exclaimed, "you're not going to believe this, but Mr.
Seven's wee kit is here, and she's just changed
into a full-sized lassie!" The exotic
cat-woman stepped forward, rustling the sheer black
fabric of her skirt, and inspected the
transporter controls. "And, Mr. Spock, I
think she wants to use the transporter."
To his surprise, Spock took his startling
news in stride. "Understood, Mr.
Scott. Please allow your visitor to proceed."
Scotty couldn't believe his ears. "Are you quite
certain, Mr. Spock?"
"This individual may be the captain's last
hope," Spock stated emphatically. "And time is
of the essence."
"If you say so, Mr. Spock." Scotty
remained dubious. He could only hope that someone
would explain it all to him eventually. He nodded at
the lady in question. "All right, lassie. It's all
yours."
Costumed more appropriately for a night spot
on Argelius Two than for the primary
transporter room of the starship Enterprise, the
woman confidently took her place behind the podium
containing the transporter controls. Her hands
deftly worked the equipment, adjusting this, realigning
that. Scotty

.11 tilde
Greg Cox
tried to keep track of what she was doing, but she
moved too quickly for his eyes to follow and, besides,
i
what he did see didn't seem
to make sense. "Whoa there," he blurted at one
point. "You can't do that. The Heisenberg compensation
ratio is all wrong. You're going to bollix the
quantum spin regu lators...." to
The woman ignored him. Just like a cat,
Scotty thought. She continued to wreak havoc on the
transporter's carefully maintained settings and
parameters. The chief engineer felt like an expert
driver stuck in the back seat while a lunatic
sat behind the wheel. What was Mr. Spock thinking?
Why put the captain's life in the hands of a
bloody pussycat?
Or whatever this baffling creature was.
"Two minutes to self-destruct."
The Romulans were growing more desperate
to recapture the control room. No doubt they could
hear the countdown as well, Kirk realized,
especially with those keen Vulcanlike ears. He was
impressed by their discipline and determination; lesser
forces would have already evacuated the installation in
anticipation of the devastation to come. They're not going
to stop, he thought, until all of us are dead.
A ferocious hail of disrupter fire came from the
phaser-carved doorway into the turbolift shaft,
form mg him to abandon his comfortable seat to take
a more defensive posture behind the overturned couch.
To avoid an accidental fatality, he had already
shoved Dr. Vithrok's insensate form up against the
wall adjacent to the doorway, out of the line of
fire. Keeping his head low, Kirk shot
directly into the barrage and was rewarded with the sound of a
Ramulan body striking the floor. The assault
barely slackened, though. Beams of destructive
energy zipped
above his head, so close that he could feel the heat
of His
the disrupter rays. He had no illusions that they
were set on stun.

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
His own disrupter was running low on
power, but that hardly mattered. Whatever form of
conflagration destroyed the
compound would end the standoff long
before either side ran out of ammo.
"One minute to self-destruct."
This is it, he thought. I just hope the Enterprise
makes it back home in one
piece.
He released another blast at the gaping
breach in the turbolift doors, then was
jolted by the sound of the transporter
pad humming back to life. His gaze darted
quickly from the control room entrance to the transporter
platform, where he saw
that same incandescent haze taking form
once more. This is bad, he thought. There was no
way he could hold off incursions
from two directions.
Was there any way the Romulans could
halt the countdown at this point? Kirk
vowed not to give them a chance, no
matter what it took.
He did his best to maintain a close
watch over both fronts of the battle.
Lethal energy bolts scorched the bare
stone wall behind him while two humanoid
outlines gradually formed within the
churning blue fog Kirk fired at the door
again, just to keep the Romulan troops
occupied, then swung his weapon around to target the
new arrivals. His finger
tightened on the trigger.
"Don't shoot, Captain;" Gary Seven
called out, and
Kirk pointed the disruptor toward the
ceiling. The
time traveller emerged from the haze,
pushing a
cloaked figure ahead of him. Kirk
recognized Commender Dellas at once. She
glared at him from
beneath her hood with baleful,
unforgiving eyes.
"Fire!" she shouted at her troops. "Kill
him! Kill
them both!" -
Seven used the commander as a human
shield, while Kirk covered Seven and his
prisoner with a blistering cascade of
disrupter beams until they were safely
beside him behind the couch. He cast an
urgent look at Seven. "Spock?"

Greg Cox
"The future is as it should be," Seven assured
him. ,
He kept his servo pointed straight at Commander
Deltas. She started to open her mouth again, but
Seven flicked a switch on the silver
device and she
drooped onto the floor. Even tranquilized,
the look on tilde her face was bitter and angry.
i
"Ten seconds to self-destruct," the computer
anpounced. Seven looked to Kirk for confirmation.
"You called it a bit close," Kirk
acknowledged. He glanced at the transporter pad.
Disruptor fire from the doorway struck home against
the platform, dispelling the luminescent mist and causing
showers of sparks to erupt from the base of the platform.
"Maybe too dose."
"I see," Seven said quiet ly. At the
control panel across the room, blue electric
fire crackled across the array of lighted buttons
and exacting gauges as Supervisor 146's
futuristic computer prepared to consume itself. On the
imposing screen above the controls, Spock's alert
visage flickered, then disappeared as the monitor
went blank. Kirk thought he heard Spock mention
Scotty's name just before he was cut off.
"Five seconds to self-destruct, four,
three, two . . ." tilde Kirk closed his
eyes instinctively and braced for the -- D inferno
to come. Would he feel the shock wave, he
wondered, or simply a single second of
all-consuming D heat and agony? Every nerve ending
of-his body anticipated the searing pain. Instead,
he felt an un- mistakable tingle rush through him from
head to toe. He was being beamed out! But how? he
wondered. The shields . . . his ,
He opened his eyes to find himself crouching on a
"dis tilde less-than
transporter pad aboard the Enterprise.
Dellas and Gary Seven and Doctor Vithrok
had also materia- lized, although both Romulans
lay unconscious upon the floor of the transporter.
With a sigh of relief, followed by a deep breath
of the Enterprise's pressurized atmosphere,
Kirk rose to i, his feet and saw Scatty standing
several meters away 264
D, tilde
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
from the transporter controls. The
chief engineer had one hand on the
intercom and an absolutely flabber-
gasted expression on his face. "Mr.
Scott?"
Apparently quite speechless at the
moment, Scatty nodded at the
transporter controls. Kirk followed
the engineer's gaze until he spotted
the sleek black cat sitting atop the
controls, casually scratching one
ear. Purring loudly, the cat leaped
from the podium to Gary Seven's
waiting arms.
"Good girl, Isis," he cooed at the
animal, tucking her against his
chest and affectionately stroking
her head. "That's a good girl."

I'
Chapter Twenty-one
THE PLANK r DUWAMISH hung in space
upon
the main viewer. Judging from the heavy
amount of cloud cover encircling the
world, Kirk wasn't surprised that they
were having trouble with flooding. He
couldn't even see the southern continent, where most of the
colonists lived, through all the turbulence in the
atmosphere. "Begin transporting
emergency medical .
supplies immediately," he spoke into the
intercom
receiver on his starboard armrest.
"Contact the leaders of each settlement
and determine what their most
pressing needs are."
He inspected the chronometer located
behind the astrogator between Sulu and
Chekov. He shook his head in wonder.
"I still can't believe you got us here," Kirk said
to Gary Seven, "let alone two
hours ahead of our scheduled arrival
time." Seven and Roberta Lincoln stood to the
port side of the command module. Both had changed
back into their garb from the twentieth century, which
Kirk found
distinctly reassuring; he

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
had never tmIy been comfortable with the sight of Gary
Seven in a Starfleet uniform, regardless of the
circumstances. Roberta stared in open amazement at
the vapor-swathed orb upon the screen. The cat,
Isis, whose name Kirk was now never likely
to forget, was cradled, as usual, within Seven's
arms. She looked merely decorative,
and deceptively harmless.
"I don't suppose," Kirk asked, "that you'd
care to explain exactly how that wormhole trick
works, not to mention how your furry little friend there managed
to beam us out through the Romulans' shields?"
Seven gave his cat a gentle pat on the head.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you that, Captain.
Trust me, your culture is not ready for those
technological breakthroughs yet, which is why I
took care to remove all records of the
procedures from your ship's computer banks. Just be
thankful that Isis was able to make do with the equipment
at hand to beam the four of us to safety, as well as the
remaining Romulan soldiers." Seven permitted
himself a faint smile. "I suppose I could
mention, without going into any of the details, that warp
technology and transporter science are not as
unrelated as you might think. Both involve an
artificially induced translocation within the spacetime
matrix itself...."
Seated at the engineering station, Scatty leaned
forward avidly. Isis let out an outraged
squawk. "There, there, girl," Seven murmured
to the ant- mat, smoothing down the miffed fur along
the cat's spine. "I was being careful. I
wasn't going to spill all the beans."
Just our luck, Kirk thought. The cat
subscribes to the Prime Directive.
"I still say it's bloody impossible, all of
it!" Scatty fumed. Once he got over the
shock of the catstwoman's miraculous intervention,
the chief engineer had been acting personally offended that
both Seven and Isis Lffd could make his beloved
Enterprise do things he'd 267
Greg Coxj
never even dreamed of. "There's some manner of
trickery afoot, you can be sure of it."
Seven tactfully changed the subject.
"Captain, if I might ask, what do you intend
to do with our prisoners?"
Commander Dellas and Dr. Vithrok remained
confined in the brig, pending the proper disposition of their
cases. Although Kirk had been content to leave the
other Romulans stranded on the jungle planet
until a rescue ship stumbled onto them, which
probably wouldn't be long now that the planet's
cloaking device had been destroyed, Dellas and
Vithrok presented a trickier problem,
especially with all they knew of what was yet to come.
The ruthless commander, in particular, was too
dangerous to let run around loose.
"I'm not sure," Kirk admitted. "Once
our relief mission here is completed, I expect
I will turn them over to Starfleet Intelligence,
at which point they will undoubtedly end up as a
bargaining chips in our ongoing dealings with the Romulan
Empire. I wouldn't be surprised if one or
both of them were eventually returned to the Romulans
as part of a
prisoner exchange, although not until Starfleet
thinks comI
they've wrung every last piece of valuable info from
her or him."
"I thought as much," Seven stated, all business
once again. "There may be more we can do to avoid a
replay of this near disaster." He turned his head
toward Spock. "Mr. Spock, correct me if
I'm wrong, but I believe that most Vulcans
possess the ability to delete specific
memories from a subject's mind via a
telepathic mind touch?"
Spock's eyes found Kirk, then looked away
quickly. "That is true," he admitted. "I have
done so myself . . . under specie right-brace
circumstances."
Kirk wasn't sure exactly what Spock was
referring to, but he had to concede that Seven's
suggestion had 268
Hi
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY .
some merit. There was something inherently disturbing about
the idea of tampering with anyone's mind like that, but
something had to be done about these Romulans's
frighteningly prophetic knowledge of the future. Certainly
it was a far more humane solution than any the commander
herself would have con- ceived. "Don't worry, Mr.
Seven," he said. "I'll see to it that they can't
try this again. Is that an acceptable option to you, Mr.
Spock?"
"Yes, Captain," the Vulcan said
solemnly. More than anyone else, he had the most
to lose if Commander Dellas or Dr. Vithrok
retained their unnatural understanding of Spock's
possible destiny. He's taken this all even better
than anyone had a right to expect, even from him,
Kirk thought, although, when you think about it, we don't
know a whole lot more than we did before. I always
knew Spock was a singularly unique
individual, with a lot to offer the universe. Commander
Dellas's bizarre assassination scheme
only confirms that.
"Any more loose ends you're worried about, Mr.
Seven?" Kirk asked. He left his chair to join
Seven and Roberta by the railing.
"Not that I can think of, Captain," Seven said
thoughtfully. "I regret the deaths of both Septos
and Osiris, but unfortunately their fates fell
within the natural progression of the time line. They were
apparently meant to die now, in their own time,
unlike the anomalous threat Deltas posed
to Mr. Spock in your own future. I'm afraid
I must content myself with the knowledge that our time travel
technology has been kept out of the hands of the
unready."
"You know," Kirk said, "I could point out that you
seem to have little or no qualms about using your own time
machine."
"That's different, Captain," Seven stated without
a trace of humor. "I know what I'm doing."

l l
Greg Cox
Some things never change, Kirk thought, and Gary
Seven's maddening self-assurance seems to be one
of those things. No wonder he's so fond of
that cat. They both were accustomed to acting superior
to everyone around them.
"Well, Miss Lincoln," he said, "I
hope you enjoyed your trip to the twenty-third
century."
Roberta threw up her hands in the air. "It
hasn't been the most mellow trip I've ever
taken, but, boy, has it been a mind-blowing
experience!" She gazed again at the alien world on the
viewer. "Are there really human-type people living
there?"
"7,323,501," Spock confirmed..
"Give or take a newborn baby or two,"
McCoy added. "Maternity wards seldom take
time off for floods."
Isis meowed loudly and Gary Seven nodded in
agreement. "If you no longer have need of our
assistance, Captain, we should return to our own
era."
"Can't we stay and look around a little longer?"
Roberta asked in a beseeching tone. "I still
haven't figured out what a tribble is."
Isis licked her lips.
"Maybe another time," Seven said simply.
"Captain?"
Kirk shook Seven's hand, then did the same with
Roberta. "Mr. Chekov, if you would please
escort our guests to the nearest transporter
room."
The young Russian eyed the man, woman, and cat
suspiciously. Evidently, h e had not forgotten the
way Seven had waylaid him with a tranquilizer
i
beam earlier. "After you," he said sullenly,
patting the phaser on his hip and gesturing toward the
turbolift.
Kirk watched as the three time travellers,
along with their reluctant chaperone, disappeared within the
turbolift. He strolled back to his chair and
slowly

li ax.
ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY
settled in. There was still much to
do to aid the hardpressed settlers on
Duwamish, and he was anxious to get
to work.
And yet . . .
"I have to admit, gentlemen," he
said to Spock and McCoy, "that I'm a
trifle uneasy about letting a self-
righteous wild card like Gary Seven
run around through history." He
rested his chin on his palm. "Do you
think it was wise just to let him go
like that?"
Spock rose from his science station
and approached the command module.
"I'm afraid we had no choice,
Captain. I have continued to probe
the historical records for evidence
of both Gary Seven's and Roberta
Lincoln's activities in the past.
Aside from the instances I discussed
with you earlier, I have uncovered
yet another episode that provides a
most compelling reason for allowing
our recent guests to fulfill their
destinies."
"Which is?" Kirk asked.
"Yes, cough it up, Spock," McCoy
said impatiently. "Don't leave us
hanging."
If Kirk didn't know better, he
would have sworn that Spock paused
for nothing more than dramatic
effect. How very human, he thought.
"It seems," Spock said finally,
"that, almost three decades after the
time they have just returned to, Mr.
Seven and Miss Lincoln, as well as
their remarkable feline ally, will be
instrumental in the eventual defeat
and overthrow of one Khan Noonien
Singh."
Even McCoy was impressed. "Well,
I'll be," he muttered.
Khan, Kirk thought gravely,
remembering the indomitable warlord
who had tried to extend his conquests
to include the twenty-third century,
and at the height of his power. The
trio had quite a task ahead of them.
Better them than us, I guess. One
clash with Khan was enough for a
lifetime.

l
Greg Cox
"That's a fascinating bit of
historical trivia, Mr. Spock," he said.
Captain Kirk turned his attention back to the
tempestuous atmosphere of the planet upon the
screen. "Now then, I believe we have a flood
to handle...."

tilde 4t
Chapter Twenty-two
811 East 68th Street, Apt. 12-B
New York City, United States of
America
Planet Earth
A.d. 20 July 1969
THEY GOT BACK in time to watch the moon
landing on TV, or rather on the circular monitor of
Gary Seven's Beta-5 computer. Roberta was
surprised at how indistinct and scratchy the
black-and-white images were, especially compared
to all the high-tech scanners on the U.s.s.
Enterprise. She hoped she hadn't been spoiled
forever by the conveniences of the next, next, next
century.
"One small step for man . . . a giant step
for mankind," Neil Armstrong intoned, no doubt
uncomfortably aware of the millions and
millions of ears back on Earth listening in on this
megahistoric moment. Does he have any idea,
she wondered, where that big step is going to lead? She
sure did, and it gave her renewed hope for the
future of that struggling, feuding, comfussing species
known as the human race. A United Federation of
Planets, she marvelled. Imagine!
"Do you ever think we'll run into Spock and
Kirk and that bunch again?" she asked. She was
stretched out on the couch watching the footage from
Apollo 273
1, .
Greg Cox
Eleven. Gary Seven sat behind his
desk, jotting down some notes on
their completed mission; later, she
knew, he would dictate a fuller
report to the automatic typewriter in
the next room. Isis was curled up on
the plush orange jar opposite the
couch. She alone seemed profoundly
disinterested in humanity's first
walk on the moon, preferring to
devote all her attention to cleaning
her paws.
"Who knows?" Seven replied. "I am
certain that the aegis will assign a
new operative to that era eventually,
but the obligation to preserve and
nurture civilization, as you have
surely noted, can lead one down the
most unexpected paths. Certainly, the
crew of the Enterprise, and those
that follow them, will frequently
find themselves at the cutting edge
of history."
"So what happens to them anyway?"
Roberta asked. "Do you know?"
"The same thing that happens to all
of us, Miss Lincoln, if we're lucky.
A mixture of tragedy and triumph that
eventually passes into the realm of
memory." He lowered his pen to the
desktop and loosened his tie. "So,
are you still interested in attending
the motion picture you mentioned
earlier?"
Roberta heard a hissing sound from
the overstuffed orange chair.
Glancing across the office, she was
surprised but not too surprised to
see an exotic, dark-haired woman
looking back at her with an aloof,
almost haughty expression on her
elegant features. Roberta blinked
involuntarily, and when she opened
her eyes again, the woman had
vanished, as usual. Isis the cat
turned her back on Roberta and coiled
up into a ball of shining black fur.
Not again, Roberta thought. She'd
lost track of how many times this had
happened to her over the past twelve
months or so, and never when Seven
was looking! Fine, she decided, big
deal. After jumping three hundred
years in the future, and piloting a

ASSIGNMENT ETERNITY i
starship, it was going to take more than a smug,
sneaky cat-lady to rattle her. "A movie
sounds great," she enthused, giving Isis her best
this'll-show-you look. "But how "bout we hit
Funny Girl instead of 2001? After the trip we
just took, I'm afraid it won't live
up to the real thing!"

,j tilde
Epilogue
Camp Khitomer,
Khitomer Outpost
United Federation of
Planets Stardate
9521.6 A.d. 2293
THE TRAITOR S BLOOD
had been washed away
at last.
Spock considered
the busy assembly
hall. Now that the
stain of death had
been efficiently
disposed of, and
Valeris and her
fellow conspirators
escorted away by the
president's personal
security team, there
was little evidence
of the violence that
had briefly marred
the proceedings,
except for,
paradoxically, a more
recess tive and
convivial atmosphere
among the gathered
ambassadors,
ministers, and
delegates. It seemed
odd to conclude that
attempted murder and
subterfuge could
increase the
probability of peace,
but that appeared to
be precisely the
case. Fascinating, he
thought.
He walked past the
podium and, for a
moment, felt a
peculiar chill along
his spine, almost as
if, to use a
typically colorful
human expression,
someone had "walked
on his grave." Then
the moment passed and
Spock went on his
way, barely missing a
step. A1though it
looked as though the
reception might en-
dure for hours, he
did not intend to
linger Further. 277
i,
Greg Cox
There was much work to be done; among other duties,
he needed to provide Starfleet officials with a
complete report on the events of the past few hours
before returning to the Enterprise.
His father, as grave and imposing as always, stood a
few meters away, conversing with a Vulcanoid
indi- i
vidual whom Spock did not recognize, although
he deduced from the man's attire that he was some
manner of Romulan official, perhaps a
senator or consul. Sarek observed Spock's
approach and beckoned him over with a minute motion of
his hand. The
gesture was so subtle and controlled that it was
unlikely that anyone who was not born of Vulcan
would have even been aware of the summons. Even
Spock thought that, at times such as this, his father
resembled a marble statue more than a living entity;
nevertheless, he dutifully joined Sarek and the other
man in one of the aisles leading to the back of the hall.
"My son," Sarek spoke, "I should like
to introduce you to an individual with whom you may
find much to discuss." The other man, whose prominent
jowls suggested a dignified visage just beginning
to sum cumb to age, appraised Spock with his
eyes. He had an alert and confident manner with just
a hint of calculation; more like a statesman, Spock
judged, than a starship commander. "Let me present
Senator Pardek, of the Krocton Segment of
Romulus."
Spock raised his hand in the traditional
Vulcan greeting. "Live long and prosper,
Pardek of Romulus.
"And you as well," the senator replied. "You would
be surprised at how long I have been
looking forward to this meeting."

It is the Day of Reckoning
It Is the Day of Judgement
Itis...
STAR To
DAY OF HONOR
A Four-Part KiingonlMore Saga
That Spans the Generations
Available
from Pocket Books
POCKET
Book S -- 1244 03
5 tilde dii,"'tilde equals A at
ACE n tilde 6EnER-AND-NOT tilde
THE
CONTINUING
MISSION
A TENTH ANNIVERSARY TRTBU-REvery @.the
definitive commemorative album for one of Star
Trek's most beloved shows. "Featuring more than
750 photos and illustrations.
JUDITH AND GARFIEED REEVES-STEVENS
INTRODUCTION BY RICK BERMAN AFTERWORD
BY ROBERT JUSTMAN Available in
Hardcover From Pocket Books
. -- c; tilde distilde
PooETI tilde
R O O tilde S 1413 tilde 01 t
tilde . . , i
Coming Next Month from Pocket Books
BYE near tilde EnEvery tilde ilTZO"
S tilde ARFLEE, ACADEMY
71'e Best and the Brightest
by
Susan Wright
Please turn the page for an excerpt
from
Starfleet Academy
The Best and file Brightest
JAYMEWAS RIGHT no one paid any attention
to three orange-clad workers opening
the access port in the alleyway.
K ids were running past, women were
hanging clothes out overhead, and
antigrav carts laden with warehouse
goods or fresh produce trundled by
on both sides.
Closing the portal overhead, they
stood in a rounded dirtfloor chamber
similar to the one shown on the
media broadcasts where Data's head
was found. Titus felt a sinking
feeling, wondering if all the
caverns had been reconditioned by
the workforces over the years.
"This way," he ordered, keeping his
worries to himself. At the rear of
the chamber was a long ladder
leading down. Here the walls were
more jagged and the black pit was
too deep to be illuminated by their
hand lights. Titus began to feel a
little better. "Down we go!"
"Wait," Jayme said, unslinging her
pack. "We have to put these on."
She held out the white jet-boots
issued by Starfleet.
Titus took one look and groaned. "We
don't need those!"
"I'm not going without safety
gear," Jayme insisted. "And I'm not
going to let you two go, either.
This is supposed to be fun, not
life-threatening." She glanced down
into the shaft. "And those rungs
look slimy."
Bobbie Ray checked the two pairs
she set out for them. "You brought
my size!"
Jayme slipped her white boots on
and tightened the straps. With a
little puff of dust, she activated
the jets and
tilde 11
lifted a few inches off the ground. "Good for
thirty hours use."
Bobbie Ray buckled his boots on and was soon
lifting himself up to the ceiling. "Maybe we should
skip the ladder and go down this way."
"Maybe you want to give up now and go back to the
Quad!" Titus retorted. "What's the use of
exploring if you might as well be in a
holodeck?"
Both of them hovered silently, staring down at
him. After a few moments, Titus flung up his
hands. "Have it your way, then! But we only use the
boots in an emergency or I'm
quitting right now."
Jayme sank back down to the ground.
"That's why I brought the jet-boots. For
emergencies."
Titus waited until Bobbie Ray also
slowly floated down before jerking on his jet-boots
and tightening them in place. "I think if you can't
manage to hang on to a ladder, then you get what you
deserve."
Bobbie Ray laughed. "Then you go first, fearless
leader."
Titus had the satisfaction of hearing the Rex's
laughter abruptly end as they started down the ladder.
For most humanoids, any sort of vertical
drop offered a test of nerves. Especially when you
couldn't see the bottom.
The light at the opening dwindled as they descended.
He skipped the side tunnel that went in the
direction of the Presidio and Starfleet
Academy, choosing to go as deep as they could. The
fracture widened at the bottom, becoming more rugged
and raw. They went through a steeply inclined crack,
into an underground canyon that stretched as far across as the
Assembly Hall. A stream had eroded the
bottom into a gorge, and they had to edge along the
wall,
brushing their hands against the slippery,
calcified coating on the rocks. Titus could
imagine the tremendous force of earthquakes breaking
open the crust around the San Anareas Fault,
leaving behind a network of caverns and crushed rock.
Titus took them up a high talus mound and
into the next cavern, where flowstone coated the cave
fill, narrowing the volume of the void. This cavern was
filled with fallen ceiling blocks and the stalactites
had been broken off short by earth

tremors. Additional seepage gave them an
unusually fat, short appearance.
They retreated to the shaft. Though the ladder left
off, the shaft continued down. Titus uncoiled the
rope he had brought and hooked them into it. The other
two followed him without a word of complaint.
It wasn't far to the bottom, where another inclined
tunnel led them east again, following the path of the
caverns overhead. Water coated the walls, and after
tramping carefully through the tunnel, Titus
noticed a fissure overhead only because he was
looking for it. Just as he suspected once they had
muscled their way up to the top of the shaft, they were in
another large cavern, in line with the other two they had
passed through.
"It was cut off from the last cavern by the talus
mound," Titus said nonchalantly, pleased that he
had guessed cor- rectly.
They had to go through a jag in the shaft to get into the
cavern, and they were slightly elevated above the
floor. Jumping down, Titus felt the loose
rock shift and slip under his feet. Jayme
actually went down on her hands and knees, unable
to keep her balance, while Bobbie Ray hung on
to the stone lip they had just jumped over, staring up
openmouthed at the dramatic long, hanging ceiling that
dripped continuously, the fat drops sparkling like
rainbow stars under their hand lights.
"Look up here!" Jayme called, halfway
up the gentle slope of the talus incline. "I think
the ceiling fell in back here."
"It looks like the roof sank until it ran into the
ground," Bobbie Ray agreed, swatting at the
elusive, fat drops that bombed them from above.
They climbed the shifting slope to the point where the
ground and ceiling met. Rounded debris constantly
moved under their hands and knees. Titus examined some
of the bits and was surprised to see elongated pieces
as well as the more traditional "pearls."
"Why aren't there any stalactites in this
cavern?" Jayme asked, standing in the last possible
space at the upper end. A dense curtain of
drops speckled the air in front of them.
"If there's too much water, there's no time for the
sediment to form between each drop," Titus explained.
I From] tilde i.
"That's what makes the cave pearls the sediment
forms as they're polished and agitated by the water."
"I think they're beautiful," Jayme said,
gathering a few in tilde her hand. tilde i
Titus squatted down next to her in a
relatively drip-free zone. He aimed his
tricorder at one of the elongated pearls. "This is
bone! Human bone!"
Bobbie Ray immediately dropped his pearls,
absently rubbing his hands on his coveralls as he
looked at the tricorder readings. "You're right.
They're ancient!"
Jayme was also hanging over his arm, trying to see.
"Give me a second," he ordered, keying in the
commands. "Somewhere between twelve and fifteen thousand
years old!"
"That's when humans first moved onto this continent,"
Jayme breathed, gently cupping her pearls in her
palms. "They must have used these caves as
shelter or storage. This is amazing!"
Titus hardly had a chance to savor their find before
Bobbie Ray muttered, "Uh-oh! I think
we've got trouble."
The Rex was staring back at the hole they had
climbed up. Water was welling up and pouring over the
low lip that held back the piles of cave pearls.
It made a rushing sound as it disappeared into the ground.
"What's happening?!" Bobbie Ray cried in
true panic. "How are we going to get out?"
Jayme dipped her fingers in the water and stuck
them in her mouth. "Salty. That's what I was
afraid of. The tide comI must be rising."
They both turned to look at Titus, mutdy
demanding that he do something. He knew he probably
looked as panicked as Bobbie Ray. "The
tide?"
"Yes, the tide's coming in," Jayme repeated,
frantically scrambling through the cave pearls to the
wall, examining it with her hand light. "I don't
see a high-water mark anywhere. Could it . . .
Is it possible . . ."
"You mean this whole cave gets filled with
water?" Bobbie Ray asked in a high voice.
Titus could only shake his head. "I
don't know! We don't have oceans on
Antaranan!"
"What!" Jayme shrieked. "You brought us in here
and be you didn't know what you were doing?" tilde
Hi
"I'm going in," Titus said,
suddenly feeling much calmer, knowing
that he had to take control. He'd
gotten them into this mess.
"You'll drown!" Jaymecried out.
"That tunnel we came down it's lower
than this cave. It must be filled
with water too!"
Titus swallowed, remembering how
long the tunnel was. "We may not have
oceans on Antaranan, but that doesn't
mean we didn't have water. I'm a good
swimmer."
"I'm not!" Bobbie Ray wailed,
trying to shake the water from the
fur on his hands. He was shivering
and wet through.
"Get up to the top," Titus ordered.
"I'll be back with help."
The other two cadets reluctantly
retreated as he flung gear from his
pouch water flask, extra rope leaving
only the necessities with enough room
left to wedge his jet-boots in.
Standing hip deep in the hole,
wincing from the biting cold water,
he glanced back up at the cadets.
"Hang tight!"
They didn't look reassured.
Taking a deep breath, he ducked
under the water. Immediately he knew
it wouldn't work. The surge of water
welling up carried him back to the
surface.
As he broke into the air again, he
was saying, "All right! It's all
right! I've got an idea."
He quickly removed the jet-boots
from his pouch and strapped them on.
Water was nearing his waist now. He
didn't care if it killed him, he
wasn't going to give up this time.
Diving down headfirst, he turned on
the boots. The jets churned the water
and almost drove him into the rock
wall, but he eased off the power and
used his hands to guide him around
the jag in the tunnel. Underwater,
even with the hand light he could
hardly see, so he groped his way
down, feeling the scrape of rocks
against his coveralls as the boots
propelled him through the water.
Everything was getting dark and
hazy, and his chest seemed ready to
burst. Titus wasn't sure he was going
to make it to the vertical shaft.
* **
Jaymefelt sorry for Bobbie Ray, huddled
next to her at the top of the talus slope.
"Maybe it won't reach this far," she offered.
Bobbie Ray was wiping at his fur with the fleshy
palm of one hand, smoothing and smoothing it, pressing
all the water out. Then he would twitch and shake,
making the damp hair stand out again. Then he would pick
another patch and begin the whole process over again.
It seemed more like a nervous reaction than an effort
to dry himself.
"Do you think he drowned yet?" Bobbie Ray
asked, unable to meet her eyes.
"Umm," she murmured. "By now, he either drowned
or got out alive."
"Are you going to try it?" Bobbie Ray asked.
Jayme wasn't aware that her calculating
glances at the hole had been that obvious. "I'll
try it before I drown in here."
Bobbie Ray went back to stroking his fur,
concentrating on every swipe.
"I'll help you," she assured him.
"That won't do any good. I could barely pass the
Starfleet swimming requirements. And you don't
know how hard that was for me."
Jayme silently patted his knee. She
wasn't sure she could make it, but every bit of her
mind and body was focused on that hole, ready
to dive through the water and turn on her jet-boots just
like Titus. Even if it did kill her. Because that
was better than sitting here until the water rose
up around i
her chin.
"I just wish I knew if he made it," she
murmured.
"Wait a few more minutes. Maybe he'll come
back."
They both stared at the hole.
The shaft was full of water too. Titus
desperately revved the boots, aiming straight
up, his hand clenched on the control so tightly that even
if he drowned he knew he would surface.
When he thought he was passing out, he broke
into air. The shower of water that rose with him, and his
surge in speed left him gasping and laughing and, when
he finally
could, crying out in relief. Arrowing up, he
raised both i
id
arms, trying to pick up more speed, thinking about
Jayme and Bobbie Ray back in that death trap.
He was going so fast that the opening approached before
he realized it. Braking, he hit the ceiling and
bounced down, managing to twist in midair in order
to land on the floor of the access entrance.
Still panting and gasping, almost hysterical with his near
miss, he rolled over in the dirt, trying to wipe
the muddy dust that settled on his face and eyes.
When he could finally see, Starsa, Moll Enor and
Nev Reah were several meters away, standing in the
access room staring at him.
"What happened to you!" Moll Enor demanded.
"What are you doing here?" Titus said
at the same time.
Starsa raised one hand slightly, blinking in
amazement at his dramatic appearance. "I listened
outside your door the other night, and I heard you
planning to come down to the caves without me his
"You what!" Titus interrupted, wishing he could
box her ears. "I should report you his
"I saw the hole filling with water," Starsa
retorted, "and my tricorder said you were down there."
"We beamed over because we were afraid you were in
trouble," Moll Enor added.
"We are!" Titus forgot about Starsa's gross
invasion of
privacy just one of many seeing only the heavy
packs i
Nev Reoh was sitting on. "Jayme and
Bobbie Ray are trapped in a cavern down below.
The tide's coming in and it's filling the tunnels!"
l
Look for STAR TREK Fiction from
Pocket Books
Star Treks The Original Series
Star Trek The Motion Picture Gene
Roddenberry Star Trek II The Wrath of
Khan Vonda N. Mclutyre Star
Trek [a The Search for Speck tilde
Vonda N. McIntyre Star Trek IV The
Voyage Home Vonda N. Mclatyre Star
Trek V The Final Frontier J. M.
Dillard Star Trek VI The Undiscovered
Country 1 M. Dillard Star Trek VII
Generations J. M. Dillard Enterprise The
First Adventure tilde Vonda N. McIntyre
Final Frontier tilde Diane Carey
Strangers from the Sky Margaret Wander
Bonanno Spock's World tilde Diane
Duane
The Lost Years 1 M. Dillard
Probe Margaret Wander Bonanno
Prime Directive Judith and Garfield
Reeves-Stevens Best Destiny Diane Carey
Shadows on the Sun Michael Jan Friedman
Sarek. A C Crispin
Federation Judith and Garfield
Reeves-Stevens The Ashes of Eden William
Shatner and Judith and Garfield
Reeves-Stevens
The Return William Shatner and Judith and
Garfield Reeves
Stevens
Star Trek Starfleet Academy tilde
Diane Carey I Star Trek The Motion
Picture Gene Roddenberry 2 The Entropy
Effect Vonda N. McIntyre 3 The
IC-LINGON Gambit Robert E. Vardeman
bled The Covenant of the Crown Howard Weinstein
5 The Prometheus Design Sondra Marshak
and Myrna Culbreath
6 The Abode of Life Lee Correy
7 Star Trek II The Wrath of Khan
Vonda N. McIntyre 8 Black Fire
tilde Sonni Cooper
9 Triangle Sondra Marshak and Myrna
Culbreath 10 Web of the Romulans tilde
M. S. Murdock
11 Yesterday's Son A C Crispin
12 Mutiny on the Enterprise Robert E.
Vardeman 13 The Wounded Sky tilde Diane
Duane
to
14 The Trellisane Confrontation David
Dvorkin 15 Corona Greg Bear
16 The Final Reflection John M Ford
17 Star Trek 111 The Search for Spock
Vonda n McIntyre 18 My
Enemy, My Ally tilde Diane Duane
19 The Tears of the Singers tilde Melinda
Snodgrass 20 The Vulcan Academy
Murders Jean Lorrah 21 Uhura's Song
Janet Kagan
22 Shadow Lord tilde Laurence Yep
23 Ishmael tilde Barbara Hambly
24 Killing Time tilde Della Van
Hise
25 Dwellers in the Crucible tilde
Margaret Wander Bonanno 26 Pawns and
Symbols tilde Majiliss Larson
27 Mindshadow. J. M Dillard
28 Crisis on Centaurus tilde Brad
Ferguson His
*29 Dreadnought! tilde Diane Carey
30 Demons tilde J. M. Dillard
31 Battlestations! tilde Diane Carey
32 Chain of Attack tilde Gene
DeWeese
33 Deep Domain Howard Weinstein
34 Dreams of the Raven Carmen Carter
35 The Romulan Way tilde Diane
Duane tilde Peter Morwood 36 How Much
for Just the Planet? tilde John M.
Ford 37 Bloodthirst J. M. Dillard
38 The IDIC Epidemic tilde Jean
Lorrah
39 Time for Yesterday A C Crispin jar
bledj Timetrap David Dvorkin
bleda The Three-Minute Universe Barbara
Paul bledb Memory Prime tilde Judith and
Garfield Reeves-Stevens *bledc The Final
Nexus Gene DeWeese
bledd Vulcan's Glory D C Fontana
blede Double, Double Michael Jan Friedman
bledf The Cry of the Onlies tilde Judy
Klass
bledg The Kobayashi Maru Julia Ecklar
bledh Rules of Engagement Peter Morwood
bledi The Pandora Principle Carolyn
Clowes 50 Doctor's Orders Diane
Duane
51 Enemy Unseen V E Mitchell
52 Home Is the Hunter tilde Dana
Kramer Rolls 53
Ghost-Walker.barbaraHambly
54 A Flag Full oiStars Brad
Ferguson
55 Renegade tilde Gene
DeWeese
56 Legacy tilde Michael Jan
Friedman
.; i.
57 The Rifl tilde Peter David
58 Face of Fire tilde Michael Jan
Friedman tilde 59 The Disinherited tilde
Peter David j 60 Ice Trap L. A.
Graf
61 Sanctuary tilde John Vornholt
62 Death Count tilde L A. Graf
63 Shell Game tilde Melissa
Crandall
64 The Starship Trap Mel Gilden
65 Windows on a Lost World tilde V
E. Mitchell 66 From the Depths tilde
Victor Milan
67 The Great Starship Race tilde Diane
Carey 68 Firestorm L. A. Graf
69 The Patrian Transgression Simon
Hawke 70 Traitor Winds L. A. Graf
71 Crossroad tilde Barbara Hambly
72 The Better Man Howard Weinstein
73 Recovery J. M. Dillard D 74
The Fearful Summons tilde Denny
Martin Flynn 75 First Frontier tilde
Diane Carey and Dr. James I. Kirkland
76 The Captain's Daughter tilde Peter
David 77 Twilight's End tilde Jerry
Oltion 78 The Rings of Tautee tilde Dean
W. Smith and Kristine K Rusch 79
Invasion 1 First Strike tilde Diane
Carey 80 The Joy Machine tilde James
Gunn 81 Mudd in Your Eye Jerry Oltion
82 Mind Meld tilde John Vornholt
83 Heart of the Sun Pamela Sargent and
George Zebrowski 84 Assignment Eternity
Greg Cox
Star Trek The Next Generation.
Encounter at Farpoint David Gerrold
Unification Jeri Taylor Relics Michael
Jan Friedman Descent Diane Carey All
Good Things Michael Jan Friedman Star
Trek Klingon Dean W. Smith and Kristine
K Rusch Star Trek VII Generations J.
M. Dillard Metamorphosis Jean Lorrah
Vendetta Peter David Reunion tilde
Michael Jan Friedman Imzadi tilde
Peter David The Devil's Heart tilde
Carmen Carter Dark Mirror tilde
Diane Duane Q-Squared tilde Peter
David Crossover tilde Michael Jan
Friedman Kahless tilde Michael Jan
Friedman Star Trek First Contact tilde J.
M. Dillard I Ghost Ship Diane Carey
2 The Peacekeepers Gene DeWeese 3 The
Children of Hamlin Carmen Carter bled Survivors
Jean Lorrah 5 Strike Zone tilde Peter
David 6 Power Hungry Howard Weinstein
7 Masks John Vornholt 8 The
Captains" Honor tilde David and Daniel
Dvorkin 9 A Call to Darkness tilde
Michael Jan Friedman 10 A Rock and a
Hard Place Peter David 11 Gulliver's
Fugitives Keith Sharee 12 Doomsday World
tilde David, Carter, Friedman and Greenberg
13 The Eyes of the Beholders A C
Crispin 14 Exiles tilde Howard Weinstein
15 Fortune's Light Michael Jan
Friedman 16 Contamination John Vornholt
17 Boogeymen Mel Gilden 18
Q-in-Law tilde Peter David 19
Perchance to Dream Howard Weinstein 20
Spartacus tilde T. L. Mancour 21
Chains of Command tilde W. A McCay
and E. L. Flood 22 Imbalance tilde V
E. Mitchell 23 War Drums tilde John
Vornholt ,,
24 Nightshade Laurell right-brace Can
Hamilton 25 Grounded tilde David
Bischo tilde 26 The Romulan Prize
Simon Hawke Of 27 Guises of the Mind
tilde Rebecca Neason 28 Here There Be
Dragons John Peel 29 Sins of Commission
Susan Wright 30 Debtors' Planet W.
R. Thompson 31 Foreign Foes tilde
David Galanter and Greg Brodeur 32
Requiem Michael fan Friedman and Kevin
Ryan 33 Balance of Power Dafydd ab
Hugh 34 Haze of Gloreav tilde Simon
Hawke Of 35 The Romulan Stratagem
Robert Greenberger 36 Into the Nebula Gene
DeWeese Of 37 The Last Stand tilde
Brad FerBuson 38 Dragon's Honor
tilde Kij Johnson tilde Greg Cox
39 Rogue Saucer tilde John V ornholt
bledj Possession J. M. Dillard and Kathleen
O'Malley bleda Invasion 2 The Soldiers
of Fear tilde Dean W. Smith and Kristine
K. Rusch bledb Infiltrator tilde
W. R. Thompson bledc A Fury Scorned
tilde Pam Sargent and George Zebrowski
bledd Death of Princes John Ped blede
Intelliyore tilde Diane Duane bledf
To Storm Heaven Esther Friesner f fi
of
Star Trek Deep Space Nine0 The
Search Diane Carey Warped tilde K. W.
Jeter The Way of the Warrior tilde Diane
Carey Star Tree- Klingon -- Dean W.
Smith and Kristine K Rusch Trials and
Tribble-atfons Diane Carey I Emissary
l M. Dillard 2 The Siege tilde Peter
David 3 Bloodletter K. W. Jeter bled
The BiBut Game tilde Sandy Schofield 5
Fallen Heroes Dafydd ab Hugh 6
Betrayal tilde Lois Tilton 7 Warchild
tilde Esther Friesner 8 Antimatter.
John Vornholt 9 Proud Hellos
Melissa Scott 10 Valhalla Nathan
Archer 11 Devil in the Sky Greg Cox
tilde John Gregory Betancoun 12 The
tilde aertian Gamble tilde Robert
Sheckley 13 Station Rage tilde Diane
Carey 14 The Longffstight tilde
Dean W. Smith tilde Kristine K. Rusch
15 Objective Major John Peel 16
Invasion 3 Time's Enemy L A. Graf
17 The Heart of the Warrior John Gregory
Betancourt 1 X Saratoga Michael Jan
Friedman 19 The Tempest Susan Wright
20 Wrath of the Prophets P. David, M.
J. Friedman, R. Greenberger 21 Trial
by Error Mark Garland
Star Trek Voyagers Flashback tilde
Diane Carey Mosaic Jeri Taylor I
Caretaker tilde L. A. Graf 2 The
Escape tilde Dean W. Smith 45
Kristine K. Rusch 3 Ragnarok tilde
Nathan Archer bled Violations tilde Susan
Wright 5 Incident at Arbuk tilde John
Greggory Betancourt 6 The Murdered Sun
Christie Golden 7 Ghost of a Chance tilde
Mark A. Garland and Charles G. McGraw 8
Cybersong tilde S. N. Lewitt 9
Invasion bled The Final Fury Dafydd ab
Hugh 10 Bless the Beasts Karen Haber 11
The Garden Melissa Scott 12 Chrysalis
tilde David Niall Wilson 13 The
Black Shore.gregCox 14
Marooned tilde Christie Golden 15 Echoes
Dean W. Smith and Kristine K. Rusch
SbZr Trellis Near Frontier 1 House
ofCards.peter David 2 Into the Void tilde
Peter David 3 The Two-Front War
Peter David bled End Game tilde Peter
David StZZ.R Trelc 9 Day of Honor
Book One Ancient Blood tilde Diane
Carey Book Two Armageddon Sky L. A.
Graf Book Three Ner Klingon Soul tilde
Michael Jan Friedman Book Four
Treaty's Law Dean W. Smith and Kristine
K. Rusch