A Catspaw Dynamics book

Original script and images © CBS Studios Inc.

Adaptation © Scott Dutton, 1998

Assignment: Earth, Gary Seven, Roberta Lincoln, Isis, Star Trek, and
all prominent characters and settings are trademarks of CBS Studios
Inc.

Visit AssignmentEarth.ca for the story behind the story.

First printing 1.02

ebooks.catspawdynamics.com
For Robert Lansing
INTRODUCTION

“ASSIGNMENT: EARTH” AIRED IN THE SPRING OF

as the last episode of the second season of the original Star Trek. It began,
however, as a completely separate pilot script by Gene Roddenberry almost
two years earlier.
By the time it became a pilot within a series, Art Wallace had added his
own ideas to the original concept, and created a series bible and the nal
script with Roddenberry.
As a result of being shoehorned into the Trek universe as a way of
getting it on the air, Æ never got the chance to establish itself on its own.
The irony of course is that we would never have seen it otherwise.
Unfortunately, the series never materialised.
Since then, Æ has been well treated as a specialty within Trek with
books by Greg Cox, and comics by Howard Weinstein and John Byrne. But
regardless of the form, it still involved relating to the Trek universe rst.
Where Trek talked about the Sixties using metaphor and symbolism as a
way to get social issues around the restrictions of the time, Æ had the
potential to speak more directly to the audience.
I think it still can. While Trek has our current time period as leading up
to the Third World War and projects its idea of utopia into the remote 23rd
century, we live in the world that descends from the real 1960s, and it’s still
pretty messy here. The idea of an agent of another culture that wishes to
help us while we struggle to work it all out is a very interesting concept.
In writing this adaptation of Æ, I removed the scenes that did not
involve the core Æ cast, bridged where there had been cutaways to Trek,
and added to the material with a larger back story for Seven. As much as I
love Star Trek, Assignment: Earth is strong enough to stand on its own.
– Scott Dutton
PROLOGUE

IF YOU HAD BEEN IN A SHIP

TRAVELLING THROUG
part of space, you would see an orange sun and its six lifeless
planets. So unremarkable a system, your commander would
probably continue on, making only a brief entry in his logbook.
However, if your ship decided to explore this group, say for
possible useful minerals and compounds, you might discover that
the motions of the planets indicated that there should be another
body orbiting the orange star.
Your ship’s scanning devices, no matter how sensitive, would not
nd any evidence of such a body, though. Perhaps your commander
was a bit more daring and chose to take his ship in for a closer look.
If your ship’s exterior viewing systems were anything other than
portholes you would not see anything.
But if you were lucky, or unlucky, enough to follow along the
orbit of the phantom celestial object and had a window to look out
of, you might be horri ed to have a clear view of the stars replaced
with a shimmer and then the features of a dark red planet, your ship
entering in the upper reaches of its atmosphere. Electromagnetic
scanners dead a moment before would come alive suddenly, your
ship caught in the planet’s gravity well.
Then, even if your ship had the ability to extricate itself from
such a situation you would not escape. Beams of energy would re
up from the surface and gently drag the ship down to the planet.
Friendly, highly evolved people would greet you. Perhaps some
of your own kind would be with them. They would apologise for the
inconvenience. You would ask why you had been brought to the
surface. They would gently avoid answering. They would give you
accommodations and show you their world. You would ask when
you might leave, and they would gently shift the conversation. You
might make friends, they had such a good life here, and you might
express that you miss your home.
 Knowing they could avoid it no longer, they would tell you that
they were the Aegis and their mission was to help the galaxy evolve
peacefully, and to do that they had to keep their existence utterly
secret. And then you realise you will never see your homeworld
again, but you will have a glorious life.
Welcome to Aegea.
ONE

OSAI CITY WAS WARM UNDER THE ORANG

Spread over kilometres, architecture and landform blended easily. As
nowhere else in the galaxy, dozens of species co-habitated with the
native Aegis. Vibrant and alive, each individual knew its place in
society, every being knew its purpose. They all knew what was at
stake and believed in the Aegis’ mission. For millennia, they had
been trained to help their native cultures evolve and avoid
destroying themselves.
In the heart of the city stood the Temporal Agency Cooperative,
the nerve centre of the Aegis’ operations. From here, they dispatched
their agents across the galaxy without the use of the clumsy and
inef cient spaceship. The large building dominated the plaza that
surrounded it. Whereas much of the city’s architecture did its best to
harmonise with the landscape, constructed of local stone and natural
materials and standing at most three storeys, the Temporal Agency
building stood out. Constructed like Buckminster-Fuller’s geodesic
domes, it stood over 20 storeys tall at its apex and was made of a
dark complex compound that embodied the properties of both
plastic and metal.
As he passed through one of its many entrances ringing the base,
he felt a static charge that tickled across his skin. Gary Seven crossed
the large polished stone oor acknowledging many of the personnel
who greeted him, adjusting his new suit, feeling uncomfortable in
the restrictive clothing. He would have preferred his jumpsuit and
cloth shoes. Above him the levels ringed the dome, their centres
open to main oor below. He looked up and a friend waved down to
him. He returned the gesture.
In the very centre of the oor, a circle 20 metres across was
marked with different coloured stone tiles. Seven came up to the
control desk that stood outside the circle and brought the system
online. A small sphere of blue mist appeared. While Seven set his
destination coordinates, he watched it grow and thicken until it lled
the entire circle.
Annoyed, he looked around the huge, open area. Where is she?, he
thought.
At a run, the black cat nimbly picked its way through the crowd
of feet and other appendages on the oor. Seven sighed. While he
and Isis had worked together for years, he felt that the shapeshifter
had too much feline in her. She wasn’t much on being punctual.
Isis rubbed herself against his leg and meowed.
“I don’t care what happened, Isis. I asked you to meet me half an
hour ago. You know I don’t like excuses, or lateness.”
She made a pitiful mew, and hopped up into his arms.
“Being cute doesn’t make up for it. And why do I have to carry
you? Would it be too much trouble to walk around on two legs once
in a while?”
Isis purred and rubbed her head on his hand which stroked her
head automatically. He sighed again, knowing that it was useless.
She knew where his buttons were.
He looked down at the transporter controls for one last check and
reluctantly stepped up to the blue sphere of mist. He took a look
back at headquarters, waved to some friends, and began walking
into the swirling blue haze. His casual pace belied the power of the
Aegis’ technology. Around the edges of his vision Seven was aware
of light and space being warped as he headed towards Earth, some
5,000 light years away. It would take him only minutes to ‘walk’
there. He looked down at his wrist chronometer, what humans called
a watch. He checked the servo in his pocket. Its readout was
synchronised to the transporter’s.
Seven was not a happy man. It had been over 20 years since he
had been on Earth, and he did not relish the idea of returning. While
his ancestors had been taken from there over 6,000 years ago, Seven
felt no love for the barbaric culture of this backward and isolated
planet. Participating behind the scenes in their world war had been a
sickening experience. Isis, you have no idea what you’re getting into.
It was also troubling that, while he was now a supervisor, he had
to assume the mission of a eld agent. There was nothing he could
do about it, though. The situation on Earth was critical, contact had
been lost with eld agents, and he had been given this assignment as
an emergency measure.
As usual, he felt no ill effects from the transporter. He recognised
the objects that appeared off in the distance. Earth’s system would be
appearing momentarily. Isis murmured, her voice sounding far off.
“Yes, Isis, we’re almost there,” he said, his own voice sounding
equally detached. He saw Earth appear as a point of light in the mist,
felt himself slow within the stream and prepared to emerge at his
agents’ of ce in New York City, along the Americas’ east coast.
Suddenly he lurched, nearly losing his hold on Isis, who howled in
confusion. His body distorted along the matter stream like some
funhouse mirror illusion. But this was no trick of light. Something
was causing interference in the transporter’s path. Momentarily, he
made a connection that his agents had been waylaid by the
Omegans, and that he was to share their fate. Just as quickly, he
chastised himself for his paranoia. It was not good to have negative
emotions assert themselves now, not when he needed a clear head.
He was about to reach for his servo to take manual control of the
matter stream when his vision was lled with a sparkling shimmer,
dissipating the blue mist of his transporter. Whatever it was it had
him, and he could do nothing about it.
Shapes began to coalesce around him, rst some sort of room,
and then the unmistakable forms of sentients. He felt his body
solidify in a way that was alien to his experience, and he found
himself face-to-face with what appeared to be three humanoids,
though they were dressed in a manner that was unknown to him.
Something about them was familiar, though. Calmly he stood there
and stroked Isis’ head. He did nothing to provoke them, but Isis
yowled. He slowly stepped off the transporter pad and descended
the steps to the oor.
“Why have you intercepted me?” he asked the man closest to
him.
The man in the gold shirt was younger than Seven, but was just
as calm. “Security,” he said to his red-shirted companion.
The wary man ipped a switch on the console, and a voice
through a speaker said, “Security.”
 “Transporter room, on the double.” The words came out as an
order.
The quick reply of, “On our way, sir,” left no doubt in Seven’s
mind this man was their leader. He did not let his gaze waver from
him for an instant. He was still having trouble placing who these
people were. The man in the gold shirt stepped closer.
“Please identify yourselves,” Seven said, this time not phrasing it
as a question.
The shorter man sized him up, as if deciding what to tell him.
“This is the United Spaceship Enterprise. I’m Captain Kirk,
commanding.”
Isis dgeted in his arms, muttering to herself. “Yes, I heard him,
Isis. We’re on board a space vessel,” then to Kirk, quickly, “From
what planet?” He casually let Isis slip out of his arms to the oor. It
was an old tactic, one that they had used on many unsuspecting
beings before.
Kirk looked at him quizzically and replied, “Earth,” as if there
were no other possible answer.
“That’s impossible, in this time period there weren’t–” and as
Seven said it his eyes tracked back to Kirk’s companions, speci cally
the tall, lean one in the blue shirt, and his gaze was drawn to the
man’s ears. Curse me for a fool, he thought, it’s been too long since I’ve
been in the eld. I should have noticed that right away. His conclusion
was shocking. “Humans with a Vulcan, you–” he said almost to
himself, “You’re from the future, Captain!” He felt like an idiot
stating the obvious, and even then it was only half the truth. The
situation was too complex. He needed to act from a position of
power, and it certainly wasn’t here. He stepped towards their
transporter’s controls purposefully. Perhaps he could bluster his way
through this. “You’re going to have to beam me down to Earth
immediately.”
But as the words left his lips, the doors to the room slid open and
two more red-shirted men entered.
“Phasers on stun,” Kirk said quickly, and his men drew their
weapons off their hips, aiming them at Seven. They were calm and
cool, and Seven knew that bluster wasn’t going to get past them.
How could men from a future of Earth be here now? He became aware of
Isis’ growling. He did not like what she was saying.
“Careful, Isis,” he said, trying to avoid escalating the situation
further. While far from liking the order, Isis backed off and sat down.
Kirk looked down at the feline, clearly at a loss to explain how the
cat understood Seven.
“All right,” Seven muttered, expelling air, “Captain Kirk, my
name is Gary Seven. I am a human being from the 20th century. I
was on my way–”
“Humans, of the 20th century, do not go beaming around the
galaxy, Mr. Seven,” Kirk snapped sarcastically, cutting him off.
“I have been living on another planet far more advanced. I was
beaming to Earth when you intercepted me.”
“The location of that planet?” Kirk replied in a tone that
indicated to Seven he was being humoured.
“They wish their existence kept secret. Even in your time it will
remain unknown.” By their actions and the way they spoke, Seven
understood that he was not dealing with humans as he knew them.
He felt sure that they were what he said they were: men of the
future. And that meant they would not be bluffed, and would not be
satis ed with half-answers.
The transporter operator said with a Scottish accent, “It’s
impossible to hide a whole planet.”
Acknowledging the man, he replied, “It’s impossible for you and
not for them.” He needed to get out here. Now. “Captain Kirk,” he
said, raising his voice, “I am of this time period, you are not! You
interfere with me, with what I have to do down there…” he took a
breath to regain control of himself, “and you’ll change history. You’ll
destroy the Earth, and probably yourselves, too.” It was mostly the
truth. It was a truth that they needed to comprehend. They had the
ability to travel through time, they had to know about changing
timelines. The Vulcan con rmed Seven’s assumptions.
“If what he says is true, Captain,” he said emotionlessly, “every
second we delay him could be dangerous.”
Kirk’s eyes never wavered from Seven’s. “And, if he’s lying…”
The captain was a hard customer. He had to be in his work, and
Seven did not resent him for it. He was only frustrated by his current
circumstances.
“This is the most critical period in Earth’s history, and the planet
I’m from wants to help Earth survive.”
“What if it turns out you’re an invading alien from the future?”
Kirk shot back. Seven jumped inside. Did they know of the
Omegans? For a moment, Seven debated within, wondering whether
or not he should divulge that part of his story.
Behind him, the Vulcan said, “A most… dif cult decision,
Captain.”
Kirk wavered. “I… can’t beam you down, without further proof,
one way or the other.” The captain was just as frustrated as Seven
was. He had a critical decision to make, and it could not be made on
pure facts. Seven could not violate his oath to the Aegis. It was out of
the question. He let his gaze drop, wishing there were another way
to resolve this matter.
“Security con nement,” Kirk said atly.
“This way, please,” one of the security guards said curtly to
Seven.
Seemingly subdued, Seven walked between the two guards.
Professionals, they had their weapons held at their hips, aimed at
Seven’s torso, but if they thought they were dealing with an average
human they were mistaken. Seven’s hands ashed out and he sent
one man into the wall behind, stunning him, and the other sprawled
out on his back on the transporter pad. Isis screeched and leapt onto
the latter man, claws extended, attempting to scratch his face.
The Vulcan, almost as quick as Seven, secured his grip on the
agent’s shoulder. Seven felt it pinch. It hurt, but Seven’s nervous
system did not react as the Vulcan expected it to. With ease, Seven
broke the man’s grip and spun, countering the Vulcan’s attack with a
chop to the side of his neck, felling him. The Scottish man, seeing an
opening, tried his own attack, but Seven merely repelled him into
the recovering guard.
“Jim. Jim! What’s going on there?!” came a voice over the intercom.
Kirk had been the calmest of them all. Rather than directly attack
Seven, he stepped over to the transporter pad and retrieved the
guard’s phaser. The guard was otherwise occupied, trying to
dislodge the enraged cat. As Seven dashed to the transporter
controls, Kirk stepped up behind him and coldly pulled the trigger.
Seven glowed for a moment. He stiffened, almost managing to stay
conscious by sheer will, but even his enhanced body could not
withstand the stunning energy and his vision collapsed into a black
tunnel, a point of light, and nothingness. The violent episode was
over almost as soon as it had begun.
Even passionate Isis knew when a battle was lost. She
momentarily debated whether or not to shift form, but after seeing
her supervisor brought down by their energy weapons, she doubted
if she could do anything to help him. As quickly as her fury had
come, she let it go. Isis broke away from the bloodied security guard,
much to the man’s relief. She sat down for a moment and cleaned
herself off. That Vulcan was certainly interesting looking.
“Sickbay to transporter room! Jim, what’s going on down there?” the
voice over the intercom said crankily.
“Bones,” Kirk replied, “check the prisoner you’ll nd in security
con nement. I want a medical analysis fast. Is he, or isn’t he,
human?”
Isis trotted over to the Vulcan and wound herself around his
ankles. Looking up at him, she saw one of his eyebrows arch as he
took notice of her. He couldn’t resist, and he reached down to pick
her up. The battered security guard warned him, but he needn’t
have. Isis curled up in the man’s arms and began to purr.
“It seems, Mr. Hanson,” he said sardonically, “that I do not
offend her.”
“Spock,” Kirk said lightly, “I don’t know how you do it.” They
left the transporter room and headed down the corridor, unaware
that they carried a very capable agent in the guise of a lounging cat.
They entered a meeting room and sat down at the table. The Vulcan
casually rubbed Isis’ head while Kirk dictated a report to the
computer built into the table.
“Captain’s log: supplemental. A man in a 20th century business
suit. What is he? Not even Spock’s Vulcan neck pinch could stop
him. Without our phasers, he would have overpowered all ve of us.
I nd it dif cult to believe, the mysterious Mr. Seven, can be human.
And yet, suppose he is?”
 Isis was in heaven. Spock was hitting that perfect spot behind her
ears. Still, she made sure to listen to every word said. Anything at all
might prove useful to her and Seven. Even if they were a bit
backward, they had still been able to disable her supervisor, a rare
event indeed. Backward, yes, but more capable and civilised than
their 20th century counterparts. She wished she could be there when
Seven woke up. Cat laughing always made him incredibly angry.
Purrrrrrrr…
“What do you make of the cat, Mr. Spock?” Kirk asked.
“Quite a lovely animal, Captain. I nd myself strangely drawn to
it.”
What a sweet talker, Isis thought.
Kirk ipped a switch on the console. “This is the captain,” his
voice echoed throughout the ship, “all science, engineering, and
supervisory personnel, lock into the brie ng room. Our next decision
can be of enormous consequence, not only to us, but to Earth’s entire
future. You’ve already been given as much, information, as we have.
Please break in at any time with analysis of that information.”
Gary Seven crawled out of the depths of unconsciousness. That
captain’s voice was very loud, echoing throughout the ship, and
most annoyingly, his head. Wow, that energy weapon sure packed a
punch, he thought. How barbaric! He struggled to sit upright, and that
was all he could manage for the moment. He assumed he was in a
holding cell. The lack of furniture and decoration, and the energy
eld around the open doorway con rmed it. He rubbed the back of
his neck and was glad Isis was not sitting beside him on the
unpadded bench. He didn’t think he could take her taunting right
then.

Isis washed her paws while Kirk conducted the conference.

“Navigation report,” he said. The computer’s screen turned on,
showing a young man at a control console.
“We have analysed the direction of his beams, sir. Our starmaps show
no habitable planets in that area of the galaxy.”
The screen blanked as Spock said, “He did say his planet was
hidden, Captain.”
 “Engineering,” Kirk said, and Isis recognised the man in the red
shirt from the transporter room.
“Still unable to analyse it, sir. It was so powerful it fused most of our
recording circuits. Could have brought him back through great distances,
could have brought him back through time. There’s no way for us to know.”
Oh, and they were so close, Isis thought mockingly.
Kirk’s mouth set itself grimly and he ipped off the monitor. “Mr.
Spock, historical report?”
“Current Earth crises would ll a tapebank, Captain. He could be
interfering for, or against, Earth in areas of over-population, bush
wars, revolutions, critically dangerous bacteriological experiments,
hate movements springing up–”
“Speci c events today?” Kirk said, to the point.
“There will be an important assassination today, an equally
dangerous government coup in Asia, and, this could be highly
critical, the launching of an orbital nuclear warhead platform by the
United States, countering a similar launch by other powers.”
Isis forgot herself and meowed out loud in shock. This Vulcan
was just a bit too clever for comfort.
“Weren’t orbital nuclear devices, one of this era’s greatest
problems?”
“Most de nitely,” Spock con rmed, “once the sky was full of
orbiting h-bombs, the slightest mistake could have brought one
down by accident, setting off a nuclear holocaust.”
Just perfect, Isis thought, the last thing Seven and I need are amateurs
meddling in our affairs. It was time to think about getting out of here,
even if she did feel wonderfully lazy in Spock’s arms. Maybe in a
minute or two.
Kirk wiped his face with his hand. “Dammit, Spock,” he said
almost to himself, “we’re supposed to be back here to observe, not to
jump in the middle of it.” Irritated, he said, “and where is Bones’
report?” He stabbed the intercom button.
“McCoy here,” came the voice over the speaker.
“Bones hurry up with that report. Join me in the brie ng room
with your analysis,” Kirk said, forcing his voice to be calm.
“Acknowledged.”
Seven was feeling a bit better, and stood up. Things didn’t spin too
badly. Let’s see if I can check this out quietly, he thought, stepping
towards the humming energy eld. The hard sole of his shoe scraped
on the oor. Seven frowned at his uncharacteristic clumsiness. So
much for that. The young security guard turned quickly and observed
his prisoner. Okay, I’ve blown it, might as well check it out while I’m here.
Seven lifted his hands and carefully pressed his ngertips into the
force eld. It zapped him unpleasantly. Wonderful. Crude and
wasteful in its energy usage but nonetheless effective. He put his
hands on his hips and sighed, trying to look defeated in front of the
guard. The man, con dent now that the prisoner had tested his
prison and found it secure, turned his back on Seven. It was best to
not engage your prisoners for too long.
Seven casually took a step back. He could not believe the mistake
his captors had made. He could feel his servo’s weight inside his
coat’s interior pocket. Well, it did look like a common pen. Seven
pulled it from the pocket and rotated the barrel back and forth,
entering the coded sequence. It freed the shield and he slid it down,
extending the antennae.
This had to be done quickly. He glanced over at the guard before
aiming the servo at the door frame. Responding to the pressure on
the barrel, the servo shot an electromagnetic beam that cancelled the
force eld. The guard, having good re exes, turned, and was shocked
to see the cell deactivated. Seven’s deft ngers quickly switched
frequencies along the barrel and he zapped the young man before he
could re his weapon.
That was a little tight, he thought, but he was happy he hadn’t
been stunned again. Seven’s servo had quite a different way of
subduing a foe. The security guard stiffened and then relaxed, a
dreamy expression lighting his face with a smile. He slumped
against the wall and Seven walked right past, checking the corridor
for others who might try to stop him. “You’re tired,” he said, “go to
sleep.” At which the man slid down the wall and lapsed into
unconsciousness. Seven’s headache was gone and he was fully
recovered from the phaser’s effects. All except for his pride.
McCoy entered the brie ng room and lost no time in giving his
report. “Well, I must admit the sensor readings seem too good.
Human readings, yes, but not a single physical aw. Totally perfect
body.”
Isis began squirming in Spock’s arms. She had seriously
underestimated these humans. It took them a while, but they did
seem to have the ability to get to the bottom of things. More
importantly, her collar was vibrating a message as well. Seven was
free!
“If an alien needed a body–” Kirk supposed. Isis dashed across
the tabletop.
“–he might be inclined to prepare a perfect one, Captain,” Spock
added, completing the thought. “But then again, he may be telling
the truth.” She hit the oor nimbly on all four paws.
“Gentlemen!” Kirk said exasperatedly, “I need proof! All you’re
telling me is that on the one hand he may be lying, and the other–”
And out the automatic doors she went to rendezvous with Seven.
Please, just ignore me, she thought. I’m just a cat! Really!
She ran full tilt down the curving corridor, past people who tried
to stop her. She leapt over a smiling, crouching woman going, “Here
kitty kitty kitty,” just as a voice boomed over the speakers, “Security
alert! All decks alert! Prisoner has escaped! All decks alert! Prisoner has
escaped!”
Seven was through reasoning with these people. So when he
entered the transporter room, it was with servo drawn. Two zaps
and the two personnel slid down the walls in happy stupor. It took
only a moment for him to gure out the primitive controls. There
was no way around the security protocols, and he knew he had only
moments before he had more company. Come on Isis, where are you?
This is no time for dawdling! He located his own transporter’s carrier
beam and locked into it.
The transporter hummed to life and he started the auto-engage
sequence. The doors slid back partially and an exhausted Isis
staggered in, meowing plaintively. She had tried three rooms before
getting it right. Klaxxons started to wail.
Seven reached down and scooped her up. “I know, Isis,” he said
comfortingly, “but we’ll be gone before they get here.” He hopped
onto the pad and the room began to shimmer. As the room faded
from his sight he saw Captain Kirk and his men enter the room too
late to stop him.
TWO

THE FAMILIAR BLUE TUNNEL APPEARED AND

more comfortable. Isis was panting in his arms and he did his best to
soothe her. The Earth lled his vision and then it seemed as if he was
ying into white light. As it faded into darkness the details of a room
appeared.
He knew it well, and taking the last few steps forward, he
entered his agents’ of ces. The carpet was plush beneath his feet as
he cleared the vault door. The circuits noted his passage, closing the
heavy steel door automatically, locking the transporter portal.
Finally, two halves of a shelving unit closed in front if it, concealing
the door from view. Seven noticed that his agents had replaced the
books on the shelves with cocktail glasses. He’d have to have a talk
with them about that.
He surveyed the of ce before stepping to the window and
looking out. It was tastefully furnished with modern decoration. The
colours were a bit garish for Seven’s tastes. A large wooden desk
dominated the room. He was on Manhattan in New York, the United
States’ largest city. He looked down to the street from his vantage
point in the high-rise apartment. The people seemed like insects
scurrying down there in the noise. Combustion vehicles polluted the
air with noxious emissions.
Isis murmured.
“You’re right, Isis,” he replied, “it is primitive. It’s incredible that
people can exist like this.” Unbidden, his mind lled with
unpleasant memories. He chuckled softly. “Least we won’t have to.
Not for long.” He said it to bolster himself. He wanted to get the job
done and then get the hell off this planet. Forever. He turned and set
his partner down on the very bright orange chair. Facing the
bookcase, he said, “Computer on.”
If your typical Manhattan apartment did not have a transporter
hidden behind a shelf of cocktail glasses and a bank vault door, it
was also unlikely to have a computer hidden behind a bookcase.
Sliding on noiseless pivots, the bookcase rotated to the left, revealing
an Aegis computer which replied, “Computer on,” in a synthetic
female voice devoid of emotion and in ection. Above the waist-level
control console, a circular viewscreen was blank. To the right of the
screen ashing status lights indicated processor activity.
Seven stood in front of the computer, which was taller than him,
and as wide as the bookcase which hid it. “Specify location of agents
201 and 347,” he ordered.
“Identify self,” the computer asked.
He leaned wearily against the console and rubbed his eyes.
“Simply check my voice pattern. You’ll nd me listed as Supervisor
194. Codename: Gary Seven.”
“Voice pattern matches, but I have no listing of a Gary Seven
assigned this planet.”
“Computer, I am a class one supervisor,” he said testily, “you are
ordered to override previous instructions and answer my questions.”
Isis hoped the computer would be smart and cooperate. If it had
Seven’s records it would know that the supervisor had fried more
than one arti cial intelligence with his servo in the past. She
chittered at Seven to keep his cool.
“I am a Beta 5 computer, capable of analytical decisions. Please
con rm identity as supervisor by describing nature of agents and
mission here.”
Through gritted teeth he snarled, “Computer, I caution you I
have little love for Beta 5 snobbery! Override!”
Oh no! Isis couldn’t bear to watch and sank back into the chair.
But Seven had had enough excitement for one day. Baf ed by the
computer’s reluctance to cooperate, he gave in and said, “All right.
Agents are male and female. Descendants of human ancestors taken
from Earth approximately 6,000 years ago. They are the product of
generations of training for this mission.
“Problem: Earth technology and science has progressed faster
than political and social knowledge.
“Purpose of mission: To prevent Earth’s civilisation from
destroying itself before it can mature into a peaceful society.”
 The computer annoyingly ran the information through its
processors for a moment before replying, “Incomplete.”
Seven glared at the grey and black machine.
“But suf cient. Location of agents unreported for three days.”
“Why didn’t you say so in the rst place?” he muttered. It started
to compute. “No! Don’t answer that. Simply begin search
immediately. Recheck all news broadcasts, decode any government
intercepted mes–”
“I am aware of proper search procedures, 194,” it said
indignantly, cutting him off.
Seven, who had been pacing, stopped dead in his tracks and
thought, what’s the use? I’ll have it reprogrammed when we’re through
this crisis. He opped down in a chair to wait out the search. After a
moment he realised he needed more details about the task at hand.
“Computer, also summarise agents’ current activities. Report when
ready.”
“Acknowledged, 194.”
He watched Isis cleaning herself, one rear leg high in the air. She
meowed at him.
“Well then,” he snapped, “don’t do it right in front of me!”
She chackled back, sounding hurt.
“Sorry, Isis,” he said, sighing, “there’s more going on here than
you know about.” He looked out the window. “Almost 25 years ago
I was an agent here on Earth. If you think it’s primitive now you
should have seen it then, or 50 years before that when my supervisor
was assigned here. They’ve come such a long way in such a short
period.
“I have mixed feelings about it. I am human, but I am of Aegea. I
see their potential and how fraught with danger the road ahead of
them is.” He was quiet then, remembering the war, lost friends and
hated enemies. It was still hard for him to talk about it.
Isis meowed again.
Seven rolled his eyes. “Yes, my dear, we can get something to eat
when we’re done here.” He ran his hand across his brow, chuckling.
The Beta 5 was taking its time, so Seven walked back through the
apartment to nd a change of clothes. He felt rumpled after his time
on the spaceship.
 When he returned, the Beta 5 was still computing, but it wasn’t
long before it presented its ndings.
“In response to nuclear warhead placed in suborbit by other
major power, United States today launching suborbital platform
with multi-warhead capacity.
“Purpose: To maintain balance of power.”
Seven added, “It’s the same kind of nonsense that almost
destroyed planet Omicron IV. Balance of power won’t work. The
other side will still launch more, and they’ll end up with the sky full
of h-bombs waiting for just one mistake.”
“Analysis correct. Earth situation similar.
“Mission of agents 201 and 347: Set malfunction on United States
rocket.”
Seven was pleased. They had chosen the focus point well.
Keeping a timeline stable required picking the right key event that
enabled the ow to continue with the least possibility of a negative
outcome.
“Progress of mission,” he said. “Has the rocket been set to
malfunction?”
The Beta 5 sent a query to its remote sensors. “Negative. No
progress.”
Seven’s blood went cold, and Isis verbalised their fear with a
murmur.
“How much time before launch?” Please, be enough.
“Exactly: one hour 27 minutes 12 seconds.”
He ashed a look at his watch, knowing that he had to act fast.
Isis, of course, stated the obvious and hopped across the coffee table
into his lap.
“Computer, record the following. Unless agents are found
immediately, I must undertake their mission.” It was the last thing
he wanted to do. It had been too many years since he had been in the
eld. After a moment, he knew he had no choice.
“Computer, produce the documents and credentials necessary to
gain me access to the launch site. I’ll also need a map of the base and
instructions on how to make an exceiver from the rocket’s existing
guidance system.”
“Acknowledged.”
On the streets of Manhattan below, Roberta Lincoln was dashing
down the sidewalk. It had looked so nice when she had left her
apartment this morning, but the fall day was cold and she cursed
herself for not wearing a heavier coat over her out t. The skirts were
so short this year. She could feel goosebumps on her goosebumps.
She dodged around a man and raced into the building, nervous that
she was late for work, the third time in the past two weeks.

The replicator tray slid out on the Beta 5. Seven watched as the green
matter eld formed the items he requested. He pulled them from the
tray and it slid shut. They seemed to be in order. Credentials for the
CIA, NSA and the NYPD Homicide Squad would get him past most
security personnel. He unfolded the map of McKinley Rocket Base
and laid it out on the expansive desktop. It was near Cape Kennedy
in Florida and currently handled the U.S. military’s launches.
His study of the map was interrupted by a voice calling “Hello?”
from the outer of ce. He pocketed his ID before heading for the
door.
Roberta entered the reception of ce. “Anybody here?” She poked
her head around. Her mood brightened when she found it quiet.
“Looks like your lucky day, Roberta. They can’t dock you if they
don’t know you’re late.” She smiled as she hung up her jacket in the
closet. As she turned, she was startled to see the inner of ce door
open and a tall, rugged looking man in a very nice suit stepped out,
straightening his tie.
He didn’t smile when he said challengingly, “Where have you
been?”
Roberta seemed oblivious to his mood. “Uh, oh, the subway got
stalled…” she fabricated.
“Where have you been for the past three days?” His eyebrows sat
atly above his cold eyes and he placed his hands on his hips, which
made him look even bigger. She appeared to be 201, tting the
general physical description, all except for the hair and that could be
easily changed. He had never met her personally as she had been
already placed on Earth 10 years ago. He hadn’t been a class one
supervisor at that point, and in his rush to get to Earth, he had not
had time to be as through as he usually preferred to be.
 Her eyes narrowed at him suspiciously. “Now wait a minute.
Why should I tell you? Who are you anyway?”
He walked up to her and crossed his arms authoritatively.
“Where’s 347?”
“With 348?” she said blankly, with an annoyingly vapid smile on
her face.
“201, code responses are not necessary.”
She called what she thought was his bluff. “Listen, friend,” she
said, the smile vanishing, “maybe I’d just better call the police right
now, huh?” Aggressively, she reached beside him for the phone
handset, showing no fear of his dominating presence.
“Oh, sit down,” he said dismissively, blocking her hand from
picking up the phone.
“Who do you think you are?” she said, traces of fear now
beginning to show.
“I said: sit down!”
She saw the determination in his eyes and said, “Okay, I will,”
her voice barely more than a whisper. She sat down at her desk,
afraid to move.
Seven was impressed, amusement lighting his stern features, and
his body language relaxed. He actually smiled! “I’ll say one thing for
you, you play your role well. However, that is no longer necessary. I
am Supervisor 194, codename: Gary Seven. I need a complete
report–”
“Report?” she said disbelievingly.
“Yes, a report. Everything you have done for the past three Earth
days! Launch is imminent. I need a quick report on this mission.”
His annoyance returned. He stabbed a nger, pointing at the
typewriter to emphasise his words. Roberta scuttled her chair over to
the typing desk.
“Oh…” she said, getting the concept. “Everything I’ve done?”
Seven rolled his eyes and snagged a piece of typing paper off the
top of the pile and handed it to her.
“Everything you’ve done.” He looked at her like a teacher does a
particularly slow student. She fed the paper into the typewriter.
“Oh.” She composed herself. “Hunh, well, let’s see…” she raised
her hands to the keys.
 “Not with your ngers.” He slid his ngertip along the servo
touchpad built into the base of the typewriter. It hummed to life.
Now it was her turn to get indignant. “Well, how do you expect
me to type? With my nose?!” The typewriter clicked and clacked and
she was utterly horri ed to see:

How do you expect me to type, with my nose?

on the paper. She looked up at the strange man and said, “Did you
see that? The machine typed everything I–”

Did you see that? The machine typed everything I

---
“It’s typing everything I’m saying! Stop it. Stop it. Stop it!” She
whucked the side of the machine futilely.

It’s typing everything I’m saying! --- stop it -

-- stop it --- STOP IT!
Seven frowned and turned off the typewriter. It was beginning to
dawn on him that things might not be what he thought them to be.
“Okay, that does it! I quit!” she said angrily, pushing her chair back
quickly. She brushed past Seven to get to the closet and her jacket.
“Wait a minute. Wait a minute. You–” he said fumbling.
She waved him off. “I’m quitting right now!” she yanked her coat
off the hanger.
His blood ran cold again. “You’re not acting are you?!”
“Acting?! I’m leaving!” She grabbed her purse off the desk and
strode to the door. “Good-bye!”
This just keeps getting worse and worse, he thought. He reached into
his coat and pulled out his servo. As Roberta grabbed the doorknob
he red a pulse and the door lock set itself.
“Hey,” she said, trying the door. “Hey!” She glared at him, and
then tried to free the lock like a fox caught in a leghold trap.
He touched the remote cube on her desk and said, “Tie into
computer.” The cube lit up, casting a bright green glow.
“Computer on,” it replied.
 “Scan unidenti ed female presence.”
“Roberta Lincoln. Human. Profession: secretary.”
She forgot her efforts to get out. “Hunh?” This day was getting
weirder and weirder. Possessed typewriters, talking green
paperweights. Where was the hookah-smoking caterpillar?
“Employed by 347 and 201.”
By Aegea, what have I done now?, Seven thought. I’m so rusty it will
be lucky if I get out of this one in one piece!
“Description: Age 20. Five feet seven inches. 120 pounds. Hair
light brown presently tinted honey blonde. Although behaviour
appears erratic, possesses high IQ.”
“Hunh,” she said again. Then why were my marks in high school so
bad?
“Birthmarks–”
“Hey!” This was getting a bit personal. She stepped closer to the
strange cube, expecting it to grow arms and legs.
“Small mole on left shoulder. Somewhat larger star-shaped
mole–”
“Hey!” How on Earth did it know about that?
“–on her–”
“Watch it!” she said through her teeth. Roberta slapped her hand
down on the cube and it turned off immediately. “Okay, I’ll bite.
What is it?”
Seven, stunned, sat down on the edge of the desk. He was
mentally kicking himself. Sheepishly, he looked at her and said,
“Miss Lincoln, nggghhmmm…” He didn’t want to hear it. He turned
away and wiped his hand down his face. He hoped he didn’t look as
stupid as he felt just then. “Miss Lincoln, uhm, what kind of work
did your employers say they were doing here?” He had to force out
each word individually.
Roberta was looking at him like he was an idiot. “Research for a
new encyclopædia?” she offered, having the distinct feeling that she
was just as much an idiot as he was. “No?” she said. Flabbergasted,
he didn’t move a muscle. “No,” she said with nality, shaking her
head.
Just get her out of here. “All right, you can go.” He freed the lock
with his servo.
 And then he paused. For a Beta 5 to say that Miss Lincoln was
intelligent was remarkable. Beta 5s were snobs. He hadn’t
exaggerated. And so he said spontaneously to her back–
“Of course, if you do, you won’t be helping your country.” He let
it fall casually, nonchalantly off his lips. It should strike a nerve with
an American. “Unless you don’t care about that.”
She turned back quickly. “Sure, I care. What do you think I am?”
“I don’t know, Miss Lincoln, what you are. Not yet. All I know is
that my incompetence has made you aware of some very secret
devices that are vital to the security of this nation.”
“Oh. Well what are you guys around here anyway?” she asked.
“FBI, or some kind of government agents, huh?”
Isis trotted out of the of ce and meowed to get Seven’s attention.
He pulled one of his IDs from his coat pocket and handed it to
Roberta. It read Central Intelligence Agency, Colonel Gary Seven,
Special Agent.
“Very groovy,” she said, handing it back to him.
Isis meowed again, this time more crabbily.
He turned, “Oh, thank you, Isis, I’ll be–” He caught himself,
getting used to the idea and feeling of kicking himself. “–right in.”
He sighed.
Isis squawked at him before turning and re-entering the inner
of ce.
Seven looked at Miss Lincoln. He didn’t know what he was
going to say until he said it. “It’s a trained cat.” Yes, that was it. “Just
like, uh, guard dogs, that kind of thing.”
“Yeah?” she said hesitantly.
He turned before she used that keen mind of hers to shred his
story. “Oh, don’t let anybody in here. I’ll be busy.”
“Okay,” Roberta replied, wondering when she would feel normal
again. Did the cat fade out leaving only its smile behind?
Seven closed the door and sat down at his desk for a moment,
reviewing his performance thus far. He rubbed his forehead. Isis
cackled at him. “Yes, Isis,” he said wearily, “I know you heard
everything, but if you want that bigger apartment on Aegea, just
remember who approves those requests. And stop laughing at me!”
 Isis merely rolled around on the rug like she had had a
particularly good dose of catnip.
He was about to lose his temper when the computer said,
“Incoming data on location of agents 201 and 347. One moment…”
At last, he thought. Perhaps they found a better target event at
the last moment and had to leave in a hurry. He walked over to the
unit and waited for the data to collate.
“Supervisor 194, agents 201 and 347 have been terminated.”
The Beta 5’s cold voice carried no emotion, only the information,
but Seven was still stunned, perhaps by the matter-of-factness with
which it had told him. “Details,” he managed to force out.
“Occurance: Automobile accident.
“Location: Highway 949. Ten miles north of McKinley Rocket
Base. Agents 347 and 201 were killed instantly.”
“That just doesn’t make sense,” he said, shaken. “For them to…
die in something as useless as a… an automobile accident.” He felt a
wave of grief wash over him. 347 had been his best operative and a
close friend. It took a moment for him to regain control and still Isis
heard the pain in his voice when he snapped, “Are the facts
veri ed?”
“Veri ed. Descriptions of bodies are exact.”
What a waste. He felt himself go dead a little. He shook himself.
No, I can’t afford to withdraw right now. Think of the task at hand.
He heard the doorbell ring in the reception of ce. “Computer
off.” It slid back into its hiding place, the bookcase rotating to t the
wall seamlessly.

Roberta got up from her desk where she had been doing yoga
breathing to calm herself down and opened the door for two men.
The shorter one looked arrogant to her and the taller one was
probably ill. His skin had a green pallor to it and he wore a toque. It
wasn’t that cold out.
They stormed in and the short one demanded, “Where’s Mr.
Seven?”
“Oh, I don’t know what you’re talking about. Listen, you guys
can’t come in here,” she replied hurriedly.
“Where’s Mr. Seven?” he said more angrily.
 “Uh, you can’t come in here!” Roberta said, beginning to panic
again. “Now get out! What do you think you’re doing. This is a
government of ce! You can’t come in here!” she shouted.
Good girl, Seven thought, hearing the ruckus in the other room.
Those men from the future were very resourceful. He didn’t think
they’d be able to track his transporter beam. Thinking of that, it was
time to leave. On the desk was a pen set. He tipped one of the pens
downwards and the case of cocktail glasses slid apart, revealing the
bank vault door. He grabbed up Isis and dashed for the transporter.
Roberta was stalling as best she could, but it wasn’t swaying the
two men at all. “Neither one of you can come in here! This is against
the rules!”
“Where is Mr. Seven?” the man said again rmly, looking about
the room for hiding places.
The tall, ill-looking one was waving a little device about. “In
here, Captain,” he said placidly, standing by the door to the inner
of ce.
“What do you think you’re doing?! You walk into–”
The short one joined the tall one as they examined the readings
on the device.
Roberta was being ignored for the moment. She had a clear path
to the phone and dashed to pick it up. She dialled 0, and the
operator answered immediately. “Send the police! 811 East 68th
Street, apartment 12B!” she managed to spit out before the short one
broke the connection with his hand and tried to wrestle the handset
out of her grip.
“Give me the phone!” he grunted.
“No! Get your hands off of me, you big jerk! Who do you think
you are! Let go!” She was ghting like a banshee.
Seven calmly and quickly turned the combination dial. It beeped
and hummed, and then the vault handle turned on its own and the
door popped open. Seven looked at the of ce door, listening to the
commotion on the other side. He was suitably impressed by
Roberta’s performance. He hoped Captain Kirk was as unhappy as
he sounded.
Roberta struggled as the captain held her from behind, pinning
her arms in a bearhug. She was mad. “What do you think you’re
doing, you big jerk?! What’s the big idea?!”
“Spock,” the captain said to the tall one.
“Mr. Seven isn’t in! Help! Help!” she wailed.
On the inside of the vault door were a number of controls. Seven
inputted the coordinates of McKinley Base, knowing he had only
moments before they burst in.
The captain swung her bodily into the arms of the other one.
“Let go of me! Stop it!” she snarled. Spock was even stronger
than the captain. The shorter man squeezed past the struggling pair
and pulled another device from his overcoat pocket. Roberta kicked
at Spock’s shins but he still wouldn’t let go. “Don’t go in– what’s the
big idea?!” She wormed in his grasp and twisted around. “Get your
hands off of me! I mean it!” Her arms were free and she reached back
hoping to claw his face, but grabbed his toque instead and yarded it
off. Still ghting she twisted around again and stopped dead in his
arms when she saw his ears. They were pointed and his eyebrows
echoed their shape. He looked like he was from another world.
“What are you?” she squeaked out. Behind them the captain
aimed his device and the doorknob blew apart in a bright ash.
Roberta wondered just what she had gotten herself involved in.
The blue mist formed and Seven stepped in knowing he would
not be stopped. He had the feeling he had forgotten something. Why
not, he thought, it’s been a great day for blunders so far.
Roberta watched the captain push in the door, the knob still
smoking. She heard nothing inside and was surprised and relieved
that Seven had hidden himself or gotten away. These men must be
enemy agents working for the Russians. She wondered what they
would do to her. The man called Spock pulled out her chair for her
and sat her down.
When the captain returned he held a document in his hands.
“Where’s Mr. Seven?” he asked her for the thousandth time.
She kept her composure. “I’m warning you. I’ve already called
the police.”
He wasn’t listening. He held up the sheet for Spock to see. “Plans
to McKinley Rocket Base.” Spock’s eyebrow cocked up in an
interesting expression. They heard footsteps and a voice in the
hallway outside. The doorbell rang and then there was a knock.
 “Open up in there! Police!”
“Eeeee!” Roberta managed to scream before Spock’s hand
clamped down over her mouth. She kept screaming and struggled to
get up, but he held her rm once again.
More pounding came from the door. “Open up in there! This is
the police!!”
The captain pulled yet another device from his pocket, and
ipped it open. “Wide scan, Scotty! We’ll be moving!” The cops
sounded like they were going to break in. The captain jerked his
head towards the inner of ce and said, “Spock, in here!” Spock
started to follow him. When Roberta almost broke his grip, he
hesitated. “Spock!” he said more urgently. At the last possible
moment, Spock let Roberta go and dashed into the of ce.
Roberta lost no time in jumping up and opening the door for the
police. “In there,” she pointed wildly. The cops were like
bloodhounds, scurrying into the of ce. Roberta stopped at the
doorframe. New York’s nest confronted the two intruders with
guns drawn.
“Now, Scotty!” the captain shouted.
“What’s going on here?!” the older cop said.
All four men stopped dead, and Roberta blew a fuse when she
saw them start to glow and shimmer, fading from sight.
Moments later, the two police of cers reappeared in exactly the
same spot. Both seemed to be in a state of shock. They looked at one
another and then at the equally dazed Roberta.
“Where did you go?” she said.
“Uh, nowhere, lady,” the younger cop said.
“Listen, you two phonies. I saw what I saw!”
“Uh, why did you want the police, ma’am?” the older one said
innocently.
She lost her temper. “Because people are popping in and out of
here like a magician’s rabbit!”
“Women! A burglar under every bed.”
“C’mon, Charlie. We got work to do. Good day, ma’am.”
“But, wait, uh, you, uh, oh gosh.” The cops hustled out,
slamming the door behind them. She heard them run to the elevator.
 The mist cleared in front of Seven and Isis and they exited the
warehouse. Good, no one saw us drop in, he thought. He stepped out
onto the road and surveyed his surroundings. A few people walked
past and paid him no attention. He would have had to have passed a
dozen security checks just to be on this site.
Isis said she was still hungry, and how handy, there was a food
vendor right over there.
“All right,” he replied, “no sense in working on an empty
stomach, but I’m giving you ve minutes.” As they looked over the
food a klaxxon sounded. Isis said she wanted one of those tubes of
meat.
“A hot dog?” he said, drawing a few unusual stares from the
other patrons. He shivered at the thought of eating animal esh, but
Isis licked her lips. “All right, girl.” To the vendor he said, “A dog
with mustard, please. A bottle of that orange juice, and a pack of
Beeman’s.”
Isis meowled.
“Hmm? Okay, okay. And ketchup on that dog, too,” he sighed.
“You’ll never survive in New York, Isis. They’ll think you’re crazy.”
The voice coming from the loudspeakers spread out all over the
base. “Attention! Stand by for launch area clearance! It is now 60 minutes
to launch! T minus 60, and counting!”
Seven looked back over his shoulder and saw the huge Saturn V
booster looming over the tops of the warehouses. He looked at it
with a mixture of apprehension and purpose. If someone had
noticed him, they wouldn’t have liked the way he did it.
THREE

“HERE'S YER DOG, MISTER,” THE VENDOR SAID.

“Thank you,” Seven said, turning back casually. He reached into
his wallet after putting Isis down and gave the man two crisp, new
dollar bills. The cat meowed incessantly at his feet. “Give me a
break, will you Isis? You’re going to get it!”
The vendor looked at him oddly and gave him his change. Seven
cracked open the orange juice and took a deep draught. He pocketed
the gum and pulled the hot dog off the counter and headed in the
direction of the rocket, meowing cat in tow.
Seeing Von Braun’s dream like this turned his stomach. Hitler
had used Von Braun’s rockets to carry death and chaos to England
during the war. The Americans gave him a home, the goal to
eventually send a man to the moon, but they also wanted their
weapons of destruction. Seven would have rather been a few miles
away at Cape Kennedy enjoying the latest manned space ight, but
he was here watching the same rocket used to deploy a hideous
weapon of mass destruction.
He found a bench in the shade and fed Isis the meat in chunks.
“Try and chew it, will you?” he said annoyedly. He needed a
moment to go over the map one last time and con rm the shortest
route to the rocket was this way. He reached inside and only found
his wallet and IDs. His quick mind remembered that it lay on the
desk back in New York! Well, I guess it’s not so quick after all, he
thought, if I can leave it sitting there when I’m here. He exhaled noisily
and drained the juice bottle, dropping it into the garbage can. He
had the time to do his job, but if the men from the future found the
map, as he was sure they must, he could take no chances.
He tossed the rest of the hot dog in the garbage. Isis protested
loudly. “Not now, Isis! We have to get there, now.” She silenced
herself. He had that tone in his voice. She burped when he picked
her up. “Cat breath,” he muttered.
 Walking quickly, he listened when the loudspeakers spoke again.
“Attention! It is now 50 minutes to launch! T minus 50 and counting! All
systems clear! All systems clear! Standing by for inspection of launch pad!”
He needn’t have worried about the map. His mind had recorded
the details accurately. He turned out of a narrow alley and found
himself outside the Launch Control building. He saw the automobile
outside. Its tag read ‘Launch Director Cromwell.’
His planning was interrupted by a stern voice behind him. “You!
Speak to you a moment!”
Seven turned and faced a security guard with his hand on his
hip-holstered gun. Seven was relieved, happy it wasn’t an energy
discharge weapon.
“Yeah, sure, Sarge,” Seven replied, dropping easily into an
attitude that said he was military and that they were all friends. He
reached into his coat and pulled out his NSA ID, handing it to the
man with a, “There it is.”
“I’ll have to con rm this, Colonel.”
“All right.” Isis mewled from her perch in Seven’s arms. The
guard eyed the animal, thinking it odd for one of these NSA heavies
to have affection for anything, let alone a cat.
“Oh, uh, just put the cat down and keep your hands at your
side.”
“All right,” he said casually again, letting Isis drop down. The
guard was experienced. He wasn’t taken in by Seven’s casualness.
His manner was too sharp for that.
The guard didn’t take his eyes off Seven as he opened the call box
mounted on the building’s wall and picked up the handset. “Give
me Security,” he said momentarily, “Identi cation check.”
“Be careful, Isis,” Seven said, “Don’t get stepped on.”
Isis rolled her eyes as best she could in her cat form and walked
towards the guard’s feet.
“Uh, yeah, Security?” the guard said. Isis bumped into his legs
and then yowled like her tail was caught in a door. The guard
jumped, looking down at what he thought he had stepped on. Isis
jumped back.
That half second was all the draw the Aegis agent needed to get
his servo out and stun the man. The guard stiffened, his face lled
with surprise. Seven grabbed the handset from the guard’s
mannequin-like hand and said, “Uh, Security, this is, uh…” he
mumbled like the guard as best he could, reading the name off the
man’s nametag, “Sergeant Lipton, an’ we got it all straightened out
down here.”
“Okay, glad you’re on the ball,” came the reply.
“All right. Thank you very much. Good-bye.” He hung up the
phone, and put away his servo. “All right, sergeant,” he said softly,
taking his ID from the man’s numb ngers, “now let’s just turn right
around. We’re gonna walk this way.” The guard’s face melted into a
goofy grin as Seven led him across the lot and behind some cars.
“You just sit right down right there and have a little nap.” The man
slumped against the warehouse wall and fell into a peaceful snooze.
“Isis,” Seven said, “you’re an accomplished actress.”
“Attention!” the loudspeakers said, “it is now 45 minutes to launch!
T minus 45 and counting!”
Seven knew the routines associated with launches. If the guards
were all as vigilant as Lipton over there, it would be highly unlikely
he’d make it to the gantry undetected. And there was only one way
to do it.
He stood behind Launch Director Cromwell’s vehicle and pulled
out his servo once again, setting it to act as a powerful
electromagnet.
“All systems clear! All systems clear! Stand by for inspection of launch
pad!” The klaxxon sounded.
Aimed at the trunk lock, the servo clicked the mechanism and the
trunk popped up. Seven looked over at Isis.
“Mrowr?”
“Yes, you, who else?!”
“Mrow, rowr,” she chittered, hopping into the trunk reluctantly.
“Well then, don’t argue with me!” He climbed in and pulled it
closed.
“Attention! First alert! First alert! Begin clearing gantry area! Clear
launch pad! Safety crew clear launch pad!”
Seven felt a door open, and then the automobile jiggled with the
weight of a person getting in. He had to sti e Isis from making a
noise of protest.
 “All systems continue green! Repeat: all systems still green! Standing
by for inspection of launch pad!”
Seven assumed it was Cromwell. The vehicle rumbled to life, and
he tried not to think about the fact that he was separated from the
vehicle’s volatile fuel source by only a few layers of steel. Isis howled
once before regaining control. She muttered an apology.
“It’s all right, Isis, I’m just as afraid as you are,” he said to soothe
her. He spent the ride trying not to have his head bump on the inside
of the trunk lid. He was not entirely successful.
After a number of minutes, the klaxxon sounded again. Over the
rumble of the automobile, Seven strained to hear the loudspeaker.
“Attention! Stand by for launch area clearance! Range safety veri ed!
Launch Director now enroute to rocket gantry to con rm launch pad clear!
Ground stations 3, 4, and 11 stand by for con rmation! Repeat: stand by
for launch area clearance!”
Seven smiled, but it quickly faded as Cromwell jerked the vehicle
to a stop, jamming the agent into the back of the trunk painfully.
“Mmmnnnn,” he groaned almost noiselessly.
Isis mewrled.
“Give him a second to get out rst, Isis,” he whispered, rubbing
his back. They heard another vehicle pull up and Cromwell got out.
“Hi Jack,” he said.
“Mr. Cromwell,” the other man said in reply.
“Launch Director at gantry, beginning nal check,” Cromwell
said. Seven assumed he was talking to Launch Control.
Seven and Isis heard the men walk away, and they waited a
minute to be sure. He popped the trunk a crack and looked out. Isis
squinted at the daylight. Good, it was all clear.
“Attention! It is now 35 minutes to launch! T minus 35 minutes and
counting!”
He let the lid up all the way and Isis hopped out, meowing
indignantly. No, not a graceful way to travel at all, he agreed.
Seven looked around quickly before making his way to the
service elevator.
“Canary Islands con rming! They are go for launch! All ground
stations con rm go!” came the voice of ground control over the
speakers.
 It wasn’t long before Cromwell and his men returned, satis ed
that no one had been left behind. “Lock the elevator at the top,
Lieutenant! Time to get out of here!” Cromwell ordered.
“Attention! Clear launch pad! Repeat: clear launch pad and gantry!”
The elevator began its ascent to the top of the rocket. Seven
stepped out from the back of the car, looking down at the men
getting into their vehicles and driving off. The agent felt only relief
as he was lifted up, away from their world. It was chaos, barely
controlled.
He turned away from his human concerns and faced the rocket.
They were so small below, and yet they could dream like this! Isis
hopped up on his shoulders and he loosened the constricting tie
around his neck. The work he had to do would be delicate and he
wanted to be as comfortable as possible.

Back in New York, Roberta had thought about it. A lot. After the
cops had made a hasty exit, she had been left alone. No one had told
her any more cockamamie stories. No one had done anything weird.
It was silent in the of ce apartment. She was sitting at her desk,
almost afraid to move. She had come to the conclusion she wasn’t
hallucinating. The cops had pretty much con rmed that. Drained,
she rested her chin on her hands.
She looked down at the green paperweight on the desk without
moving her head. “Computer on,” she said, half joking.
Immediately it went “Boing!” and lit up brie y, but did nothing
else.
“Far out,” she whispered.
It boinged again. She picked it up and rolled it around in her
hands, trying to nd a switch, or a way to open it. There wasn’t any
and it appeared to have been carved out of a single piece of green
crystal. Maybe there were some answers in his of ce.
She stood up and walked purposefully into the other room, her
fear and anxiety having passed for the moment. Setting the cube
down on the large desk, she said, “Computer on,” again. But still it
only boinged at her.
“Scan me,” she said, trying a different approach, “where is my
star-shaped mole?”
 “Boing.”
She tried a number of different questions. Who is Mr. Seven
anyways? Who had she been working for these past few weeks?
None of them gave her anything more than a boing.
“All right, don’t answer,” she said angrily, her frustration
returning, “but you can tell him I quit. And you can tell him I
promise not to tell anybody anything. He’s safe.” She was
rationalising, and she knew it. “And you’re safe, my little green
friend.”
“Boing, boing.”
“Same to you.” She plopped down on the edge of the desk, not
convinced if she really should leave. “Oh,” she sighed in defeat,
leaning back on her hands. Her hand knocked the pen set, ipping
down the pen that opened the shelving unit. After the shocks earlier,
this one wasn’t so bad. Expensive to hide a vault like that. She
walked over to it. Examining the combination locks, she thought
they looked odd. Instead of numbers there were strange symbols
around them. Somehow they seemed to make sense to her. If Roberta
gave herself credit for her intelligence she would have realised she
had he ability to see patterns where there didn’t seem to be any, and
she wouldn’t have been as surprised as she was when, after a few
twists and turns of the two dials, the vault door swung open on
smooth hinges. “Oh!” she exclaimed, getting out of its way.
She barely paused to look at the inside of the vault. As soon as
she saw more dials on the inside of the door she couldn’t resist
guring out their puzzle as well.

Seven let the elevator go right to the top. It was where he wanted to
be. He set Isis down.
“Meooo…” she said.
“Yes, I know you’re not afraid of heights, Isis.”
“Me mee mee yurrrr…” she caterwauled.
“No,” he muttered, “I’m not particularly fond of them. It’s not
polite to make fun of your supervisor.” He let his eyebrows lie
heavily over serious eyes. Isis stepped aside. Seven opened the door
and looked out. No, no. Don’t look down, that won’t do you any good. He
loosened his tie a little more and carefully stepped out onto the
platform. Ooh! Okay, a little windy out here. Fine. He gingerly stepped
over the chain barrier and crawled out onto the gantry arm. The
control systems were right in front of him, behind an access panel on
the rocket.
The loudspeakers below startled him. “Attention! 20 minutes to
launch! T minus 20 minutes and counting! All systems continue green!
Repeat: all systems still green!”
The cat chirped.
“Give me a minute, will you.” Memo: don’t bring Isis on next global
crisis. He slid along the arm until he was close enough to work. Isis
crawled up his backside and poked her head under his arm as he
reached for the servo in his pocket.
“Yes, thank you. I know how to open it.” He dialled in the setting
and zapped the panel open. Not content to be quiet, Isis crawled up
on his shoulder to look inside the rocket.
“Mrrrrr errrr…”
“All right, I know there’s not much time.” Seven looked at his
assistant. This was something more than her usual cat calls. His own
gut was unsettled, and he guessed that hers was no better. Neither of
them relished being this close to a nuclear weapon. She crawled back
to sit on his legs.
It took him only moments to gure out the crude circuitry. It was
the guidance system all right. Sliding his hand in carefully, he began
to disconnect wires and change the missile’s programming.
“T minus 15 minutes and counting!” His hand twitched only a
millimetre. Easy Seven, don’t lose that famous cool now. Yellow wire
with white band, cross-connect to yellow wire with black band.
Bypass circuit A803. How primitive and complex! On Aegea, something
like this would be a small chip, easily reprogrammed verbally in
seconds.
“T minus 14 and counting!”
Isis paced the gantry arm. “Meeeooowrrrr!”
“Meee-yowww,” Seven replied mockingly. “You are nervous,
aren’t you doll?”
“Mrrrmmm.”
“All right,” he sighed, “I’m going as fast as I can.” Blue wire with
red stripe, remove. Replace with split red wire with white stripe.
 “T minus 13 minutes and counting! Status board looks good! Stages
look good! All systems go! Status board says go!”
Seven didn’t have time to smile at being undetected. Just a few
minutes to go and he was barely two thirds done! He resisted the
urge to speed up his hand. He was going as fast as he could without
the risk of making an error. There was no room for that. He wiped
the sweat from his eyes.
“T minus 8 minutes and counting! All systems go! Status board go!”
Green wire with yellow stripe rewire to junction C5…
And then the unthinkable happened. It started as a high-pitched
whine, and then he felt it in his body. No! Not now! He quickly sat up
and pulled Isis into his arms. His vision shimmered and he knew
where he was headed. The gantry faded from sight and he felt like
he was in the grip of the Enterprise’s transporter once again, but
then he was in the familiar blue mist. The of ce in New York was
forming. But how?!
He stood up and exitted the matter stream. Roberta stood there
gawking at him.
“What are you doing?” he said angrily. “I wasn’t nished!”
“I’m sorry,” she wailed, “I just touched that button right there,
and then…wow!”
He bit down his anger when he realised what had happened.
“You must have intercepted the Enterprise trying to beam me
onboard.”
There was no time to get back to the rocket now. He walked
across the room, dropping Isis to the oor. “Computer on!” It swung
out immediately.
Well, blow my ever-lovin’ mind, Roberta thought.
“Lock into launch site scan!” Seven barked.
The circular screen lled with an image of the Saturn V booster.
“One minute to launch,” the Beta 5 replied.
“Ohh-migosh!” Roberta quivered.
Seven said nothing. Well, Captain, it looks like I may have created
your future for you after all. Mind you, it’s 30 years early. Shouldn’t
change the timeline too much. He had never felt lower, had never failed
like this.
“Thirty seconds to launch.”
 Roberta looked at him intently. “Look, uh, hey, I mean, like, uh,
not even the CIA could do all this.” Suddenly she was very, very
scared.
“Fifteen seconds to launch.” Seven was like a statue, his eyes
staring atly at the screen.
“Ten seconds. Nine seconds. Eight se–”
“Computer,” Seven spat, “cease verbal countdown.”
In silence, he and the Roberta watched the rocket. The engines
ared and moments later she lifted from the pad, ring ame
Earthward.
FOUR

“ROCKET ACHIEVING
NECESSARY ACCELERATIO
Earth orbit, passing the one mile mark.”
Seven had been unsure whether the missile would get off the
ground or not. His anger was beginning to fade and he took a
moment to consider his options. The Beta 5 marked off the altitude
in ve mile increments. By the time it said, “Rocket passing 20 mile
mark and accelerating,” he had an idea.
“Computer, adjustments at the rocket base were not completed.
Can I still take over the rocket as planned?”
Take over? Roberta thought. Whoa!
A moment later the Beta 5 replied, “Rocket control possible with
exceiver circuits operated manually.”
Thank Aegea for small miracles! “Exceiver on manual,” he said,
hoping for a way to solve this. “Lock into ight telemetry. Visual
off.” Don’t be distracted by images. Think it through.
Roberta backed up while Seven worked at the computer console,
absorbed in his task. She picked up the phone on the desk and
punched the 0. But she didn’t count on Isis. The cat re-entered the
of ce at just the right, or wrong, moment. She screeched a warning
at Seven, and he whipped around ring the servo at the phone’s
cord. It disintegrated into a puff of dust.
Casually, he turned back to the console. “Roberta, please don’t
try to leave. You’ll nd all the doors locked.”
Roberta couldn’t believe the cat! She stared at it, trying to
comprehend how it knew what she had been doing. She swore the
cat was giving her a snotty look, and the way it was meowing at her!
“Are you jealous, Isis?” Seven said smoothly. “Most
unbecoming.” At which, Isis spun around and went back out into
the reception room, tail held high in indignation.
“Rocket altitude now 100 miles,” said the Beta 5. “Standing by to
begin malfunction as planned.”
 “Begin malfunction of third stage,” Seven ordered.
“Exceiver setting now nine zero point zero eight.”
“Nine zero point zero eight,” he con rmed.
“Second stage ready to detach.”
“Visual on.”
“Second stage detaching. Third stage igniting,” the Beta 5
continued. Seven watched the spent section fall away from the
rocket.
“Begin malfunction, take it off course.”
“Malfunction setting correct. Rocket veering from planned
course.”
Roberta was trying to gure this all out. What was happening?
“Arm the warhead,” Seven said.
“Accomplished. Nuclear warhead now armed. Set exceiver nine
one point two one eight.”
“Exceiver nine one point two one eight.”
He paid no attention to Roberta. She was feeling like a fool. This
Mr. Seven was a madman! Her eye spotted a heavy metal cigar box on
the desk.
Seven never saw it coming. He didn’t even feel the blow to the
back of his skull, but he went down for the second time today. He lay
there like a stunned sh. Oddly enough, the viewscreen turned itself
off.
“Look, I’m sorry,” Roberta said apologetically, kneeling down to
make sure she hadn’t hurt him too much, “but, uh, like you asked
me, I do care about my country, and you can’t be CIA.”
“Orbital platform separating,” the Beta 5 reported.
Roberta plucked Seven’s servo from his coat pocket, mimicking
his hand movements by twisting the barrel. It bleeped and blooped
like it had done for him, so she was pretty sure she had a powerful
weapon in her hands. “Hold it!” she said to him forcefully as he
struggled to shake off the blow to the head.
“Computer! Rocket status!” he spat out between clenched teeth.
“Hold it, Mr. Seven! I’m tellin’ you you’re through monkeying
around with my country’s rocket!” It took a superhuman effort for
him to bring himself to his knees. Spots swam before his eyes.
Roberta kept her distance, her aim not wavering from him for a
moment.
“Warhead still armed. Six minutes to impact.”
“Hold– just don’t move! You’ve done enough already!” she
yelled hysterically as he nearly gained his feet. He sat back heavily,
twisting around to face her. He did not have a pleasant expression
on his face. Far from it, Roberta had never seen such naked hostility
in someone before.
“Roberta you’ve got to let me nished what I’ve started! Or in six
minutes World War III begins!”
“Flight path continuing on target,” the computer said
emotionlessly.
Young Miss Lincoln hesitated at that. Clearly, she did not want to
have this responsibility, but she had no other choice. Seven crawled
over to the very bright orange chair and hauled himself up and sat
down, rubbing the back of his neck.
“Roberta, you’re not going to believe this. I am not CIA, I am not
even a citizen of this planet.”
“What’re you talking about?! Y’know, I’ve just about had enough
goofball stories and crazy stuff for one day!”
“I am from another planet, one that wants to help Earth survive.
We are far more advanced than you are and we know what you are
going through.”
“Then explain you, Mr. Seven. Why- why do you look like one of
us if you aren’t, one of us.”
“I am human, Roberta. My ancestors were taken from here
thousands of years ago so that they could learn and be trained to
help the rest of their people. On thousands of worlds out there,
agents like myself help races grow up without destroying
themselves.”
“I’ve seen the Day of the Trif ds… and Invasion of the Body
Snatchers… and War of the Worlds, mister! How do I know you’re not
some invading alien who wants to conquer us?”
“Rocket descending and accelerating. Do you have further
instructions, 194?”
Thankfully he recognised the title of the last one. “Roberta,
you’ve got to believe me,” he pleaded, “Look, a truly advanced
planet wouldn’t use force. They wouldn’t come here in strange alien
forms! The best of all possible methods would be to take human
beings, train them for generations until they’re needed here–”
She cut him off. “Mr. Seven, I want to believe you. I– I do. I mean,
I know this world needs help. That’s why some of my generation
are… kinda crazy and rebels, y’know. We wonder if we’re gonna be
alive when we’re 30.”
“Two minutes to impact,” the Beta 5 reminded. Seven couldn’t
help himself, he stood up and looked over at the console. Roberta
didn’t stop him. Maybe if he explained exactly what he was doing
and why. It was unorthodox, but it was one of those days.
“Hold it right there, Mr. Seven,” said Captain Kirk, as he entered
the room with his Vulcan crewmember. Oh, for the love of Aegea!
“Oh no!” Roberta said. Not them again.
Kirk lost no time in taking control. He had the phaser aimed at
Seven. “Spock, you’re the expert, can you detonate the warhead
from this computer?”
“I can try, Captain.”
“Altitude 550 miles,” the computer said. Seven watched as Spock
tried to comprehend the Beta 5’s controls.
“Captain,” he said, pushing down his panic, “I want that
warhead detonated too. Unless I do it, at least a hundred miles above
ground, just barely in time, frighten them out of this arms race–”
A device beeped from Kirk’s pocket. He retrieved it and ipped
it open. “Captain,” came a voice from it, “monitors show all major
powers on full missile alert. Retaliatory strike ordered on warhead
impact!”
“Altitude 450 miles.”
“Spock,” Kirk said with feeling.
“I can estimate some of this, Captain. But without more time–”
Seven’s temper ared. “Captain, he can only guess! Will you please
let me do my job?!”
“I don’t know what your job is! You may set those controls so we
can’t detonate that warhead!” the man countered.
“Listen you! Get away from him!” Roberta snarled at Seven’s
side, levelling the servo suddenly at the man from the future.
 Seven’s hand was a blur and he had the servo pointing at the
ceiling, holding Roberta’s hand in a viselike grip before anyone
could react. “Roberta, be careful! The servo was set to kill.” He took
it from her hand and passed it to Captain Kirk.
“Altitude 400 miles.” Spock was still having no luck with the
Beta 5.
He felt he had shown his good intentions, and so he tried, “There
are only seconds. I’ll need time to set it.”
“Please,” Roberta added, “he’s telling the truth.”
Kirk, unsure of what to do, backed over to his shipmate.
“Fifty- ve seconds to impact.”
“Spock, if you can’t handle it, I’m going to have to trust him.”
“It is dif cult to know which is best, Captain.”
“Forty seconds to impact.”
Seven wondered how many decisions the captain had had to
make like this. He wondered if he relished them, the knot in the
stomach, the sweat on the brow.
“Without facts, the decision cannot be made logically. You must
rely on your human intuition,” Spock added.
“Altitude 300 miles. Descending and accelerating.”
“Go!” Kirk said suddenly.
“Thirty seconds and accelerating.”
“Computer go to visual!” The two men from the future stepped
back, the decision made. It all rested on a man they knew less than
nothing about. The heart of Eurasia was fast approaching on the
screen. “Count by tens!” Seven said tersely, recalibrating the controls
Spock had tried to work.
“190 miles. 180 miles.”
Furiously he accessed the command paths.
“170 miles. 160 miles.”
Punching keys too fast he missed the sequence by one digit. No!
“150, 140, 130, 120…”
Frantically, he tried to re-key. It was too late! It–
The screen ared brilliantly, causing them to squint their eyes
painfully. No one moved.
“Detonation: 104 miles.”
 Only then did Gary Seven let the weight of the day press upon
him and he sagged heavily on his arms before turning to look at the
others. He managed to force out a small smile. He pushed himself
upright, beginning to notice the considerable bump on the back of
his head. His hand rubbed it gingerly.
“Oh gosh,” Roberta said, embarrassed. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,
Mr. Seven.”
“It’s all right, Miss Lincoln,” he said, feet shuf ing towards the
reception room, “it’s just the kind of day I’ve been having.” He
opened the door and stepped out.
He could not believe his eyes. His stupid cat was curled up in a
ball on the couch, fast asleep!
“Isis!” he yelled. Oh, that was a mistake. His head throbbed and he
saw spots again. He sat down heavily on the couch next to the very
much awake cat, and promptly passed out.
Roberta poked her head out and saw him sprawled there, the cat
curling up once again, and knew that he had had enough for one
day. She closed the door quietly and turned to face the two men in
the bad clothes.
“Look you two, I’m still angry at you for earlier, so don’t you try
anything funny!”
“We wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Lincoln,” Kirk said, smirking.
“I want Mr. Seven’s servo back, please,” she said commandingly,
her palm outstretched.
Kirk passed it to her wordlessly.
“Now, you go and disintegrate, y’know, whatever it is that you
did before. You can come back tomorrow. Mr. Seven needs his rest
now. It’s not every day you save the world,” she said proudly.
“No, Miss Lincoln,” Spock said drily, “it is not. Captain?”
“Why would I argue with such a lovely young lady?” he replied
with a boyish grin.
Roberta merely slitted her eyes and crossed her arms.
Kirk’s smile disintegrated, and after a, “Scotty, two to beam up,”
so did their bodies.
“Hmph,” she muttered, “you’d think that in the future men
would have grown up!”
 Seven had come to an hour later, but Roberta had merely
dragged him through his of ce to the adjoining apartment on the
other side. No amount of protest would dissuade her, so he quit
arguing. He took the shower she told him to take, and he went to
bed right after.
Maybe Earth isn’t as barbaric as it used to be after all, he thought,
his head sinking into the thick pillow. He was out almost
immediately. Isis curled up between his legs.

The next morning Seven awoke, his legs twisted under the sheets.
He never understood why he just couldn’t kick Isis off the bed in his
sleep. His body always accommodated the cat’s peace, and as such
his legs ached from contorting themselves around her furry form.
Well, I’m conscious now.
“Isis! Wake up! Off the bed! I’m all fouled up here. Go on! Get up,
you lazy cat!”
Isis protested, groggily sitting up. “Mrraaawwwww…”
“Don’t give me that.”
“Mrreewwww…”
“Well then, go and have a shower! It’s in there,” he said, pointing
to the door. The cat hopped down off the bed and walked towards
the bathroom. Her body began to shimmer and shift and by the time
she had reached the door, her meow had become a hum.
He didn’t like her good mood. “Y’know, Isis, we’re going to have
a talk later about your performance yesterday!” he called through
the closed door.
Her humming paused. “And what could I have done, Seven? I’m
not up on the Beta 5, and I doubt that I could have in uenced Kirk
and Spock any more than you and that blonde could have.”
“Well, um, yeah, and her name’s Roberta!” Oh, that sounded
authoritative. Isis was humming again. He walked into the kitchen
and ran the cold water tap, splashing some of it on his face before
lling a tumbler and drinking.
“How can you go to sleep when there’s a crisis…” he muttered to
himself as he pulled on a red mock turtleneck and a cream coloured
suit from 347’s closet. He pulled his comb from the other suit and
straightened his hair before leaving the bedroom for the of ce.
 Seven sat down at the desk and said, “Computer on.” It slid out,
lights blinking readiness. For the next hour he read reports, closed
les and attended to the arrangements for 201 and 347. They had
been thorough and professional, but as is unavoidable in their line of
work they had established relationships and Seven would have to
notify those people. Some he could call. Others, friends, he would
have to visit. Then he could recover the bodies and transport them
back to Aegea for cremation and a memorial service. Oh, 201 wanted
to be buried here on Earth. It was not unheard of.
He was about to begin his own assignment report when he heard
the reception door open and close. He glanced at his watch. 8:55. She
was early. He smiled, touching the bump on the back of his head. It
was much reduced with a night’s rest.
“In here, Roberta!” he called through the closed door.
“Oh, hello,” she said brightly, opening the door. “Uh, how are
you today?”
“Much better, Miss Lincoln,” he said easily. He looked puzzled.
“Is that the same dress?” Bright, very bright. He liked the colours in
the Forties much better.
“Hmm? Oh, yeah, uh, well, y’see I went to this party last night
after I left here, and um, well, I haven’t been to bed yet. I, uh, needed
to go out and be crazy after, after yesterday,” she said nervously.
“That’s all right, Roberta,” he said soothingly, “we really put you
to the test yesterday. The question is: can you handle what’s
happened? Do you need some help understanding all of it?”
She thought about, biting her lip. “Mmmm, no… I think I picked
it all up yesterday. Was there something I missed?”
He chuckled. “Roberta, you didn’t miss a thing,” he said, wiping
his brow with his hand. Isis walked in, her coat looking particularly
glossy. “Well, aren’t you looking pretty, doll.”
“Mrrrrrrrrr.”
He scowled at her. Roberta eyed the cat suspiciously. She was
more of a dog person.
The Beta 5 spoke. “Incoming transmission from ship in orbit.
Audiovisual data.”
Seven got up and Roberta joined him in front of the screen. “Go
to visual.” The Scottish man from the transporter room appeared.
 “This is Lieutenant Commander Scott aboard the Enterprise,” he
said with a burr, “the captain and Mr. Spock wish to beam down.”
He eyed Seven with dour doubt.
“Certainly, Commander. At their convenience.”
“Acknowledged.” The screen went blank.
“I don’t think he likes you,” Roberta said.
“Engineering envy.”
A hum grew out of the silence and two gures shimmered and
coalesced. Kirk and Spock were back in uniform. “Good day, Mr.
Seven, Miss Lincoln,” Kirk said kindly. “It’s nice to be here under
more, hospitable circumstances.” He shook both their hands.
“Greetings,” Spock said not offering his hand, but nodding
deferentially.
“We had a close call,” said Roberta.
“I’m just glad it worked out, Captain,” Seven added. “I was
about to dictate my report. I’d appreciate your input.”
“Certainly, Mr. Seven. It would be, our pleasure,” Kirk replied.
They adjourned to the reception room. Seven walked over to the
typewriter and fed in a sheet of paper. He touched the servo switch
and the machine hummed to life. It didn’t take long to tell the
typewriter the story. Kirk and Spock stood while Roberta sat down,
and Isis perched on the black leather couch. The men from the future
added their point of view to Seven’s report, as did Roberta, and the
meowing cat which Seven translated. Roberta kept eying the
hairball.
Wrapping up, Seven said, “And in spite of the accidental
interference with history, by the Earth ship from the future, the
mission was completed.” Isis did not like the blonde much at all and
certainly did not like being stared at by her.
“Correction, Mr. Seven,” Spock said, “it appears we did not
interfere. Rather, the Enterprise was simply part of what was
supposed to happen on this day in 1968.”
Roberta looked over again and was stunned to see a beautiful
woman sitting where the cat had been a moment before! She had
long, silky black hair, and wore a revealing black dress, if you could
call it that. And around her neck she wore a diamond necklace that
looked exactly like the one the cat wore.
 “Yes, our record tapes show, although never generally revealed,
that on this date, a malfunctioning sub-orbital warhead was,
exploded, exactly 104 miles above the Earth,” Kirk added.
“Well, so everything happened exactly the way it was supposed
to.” Seven lifted himself out of the low chair and sat on the edge of
Roberta’s desk.
The three men were not paying attention to what was going on
behind them. Roberta walked over to the couch and took a close look
at the woman. No, it wasn’t an illusion, and she had that same snotty look
in her eyes that the darn cat did! She hummed and nearly purred, not
moving a muscle.
“And you’ll be pleased,” Spock continued. “Our records show
that it resulted in a new and stronger international agreement
against the use of such weapons.”
“Do you mind telling me who that is?” Roberta interrupted,
asking Seven indignantly.
He barely saw Isis shift back to cat, but he still saw it. One of these
days, Isis…
“That, Miss Lincoln, is simply my cat.” Really, I’m innocent.
“Your cat?” she said disbelievingly. All eyes turned to the couch.
The cat sat there going who me? before it scratched its diamond collar
with a determined hind leg.
Change the subject… “What else do your record tapes show?”
Seven said, turning his attention back to the men from the future.
“I’m afraid we can’t reveal, everything, we know, Mr. Seven,”
Kirk said, smiling.
“Captain, we could say that Mr. Seven and Miss Lincoln have
some… interesting experiences in store for them.”
“Yes, I think we, could, say that.” Kirk ipped open his
communication device. “Two to beam up, Scotty.”
“Live long and prosper, Mr. Seven,” Spock said kindly.
“The same to you, Miss Lincoln,” Kirk added. “Energise!”
Seven watched Roberta’s face as she watched the two men
dematerialise. Well, they may have gotten some things wrong, having
crossed realities as well as time to get here, but I think they’re right about
Roberta. He smiled. He needed someone to keep Isis on her toes. The
catwoman had gotten too comfortable in her position as his assistant.
He wondered how Roberta would like life on Aegea.