No Time Like the Past (Star Trek: The Original Series) - Softcover

Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Greg Cox is the New York Times bestselling author of numerous Star Trek novels and short stories. He has also written the official movie novelizations of War for the Planet of the Apes, Godzilla, Man of Steel, The Dark Knight Rises, Daredevil, Ghost Rider, and the first three Underworld movies, as well as books and stories based on such popular series as Alias, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, CSI, Farscape, The 4400, Leverage, The Librarians, Roswell, Terminator, Warehouse 13, Xena: Warrior Princess, and Zorro. He has received three Scribe Awards from the International Association of Media Tie-In Writers, as well as the Faust Award for Life Achievement. He lives in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Visit him at GregCox-Author.com. 

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Star Trek: The Original Series: No Time Like the Past

One

Captain’s Log. Stardate 6122.5.

The Enterprise is taking part in a diplomatic mission to the planet Yusub, which has been providing safe havens for Orion pirates interfering with trade and exploration in this sector of the Alpha Quadrant. My mission is to assist Commissioner Santiago, a veteran Federation diplomat, in persuading the tribal chieftains of Yusub to stop sheltering the pirates in exchange for better relations with the Federation. . . .

They beamed into an oasis.

It was darker than the Enterprise’s transporter room and significantly cooler, too. A brisk night breeze greeted Captain James T. Kirk as his landing party materialized on the surface of the planet. Torchlight flickered at the periphery of his vision while his eyes adjusted to the nocturnal setting, which was a jarring contrast to the well-lit corridors of the starship he had been striding through only minutes ago. He took a second to orient himself.

Top-secret coordinates had landed them in the middle of a desert in a remote corner of Yusub. Endless sand dunes, broken up by monumental rock formations, stretched for kilometers in every direction. It was well after sunset in this hemisphere, and the light of a single crescent moon cast long shadows over the shallow ground of the torchlit oasis, where a grove of verdant palm trees had grown up around a rippling silver pond, defying the barren wastes beyond. A fresh-water spring bubbled at the center of the pond, providing a natural fountain that added to the tranquil beauty of the scene. An outdoor pavilion had been erected in a clearing by the edge of the pond. A feast, redolent of exotic alien spices, was laid out in anticipation of their arrival. Kirk’s mouth watered at the enticing aroma. It was still early in the afternoon by the Enterprise’s reckoning. He was glad that he hadn’t had dinner yet.

Bones is going to be sorry he missed this, he thought. Too bad Santiago insisted on keeping the landing party to a minimum.

The oasis struck Kirk as a congenial setting for tonight’s conference, although he was aware that its isolated location and status as a neutral territory had also contributed to the site’s selection. These negotiations were controversial to say the least; many of the Yusubi profited from their dealings with the Orion pirates and were in no hurry to see those lucrative arrangements sacrificed on the altar of Yusubi-Federation relations. He and Commissioner Santiago had their work cut out for them.

“Let me do the talking,” Santiago said in a low voice. A conservative black suit matched his sober mien and bearing. He was stocky, but in a good shape for man his age. “At least at first.”

“By all means,” Kirk assented. His dress uniform fit the occasion. “I know you’ve come a long way for this.”

The landing party consisted of Kirk, Santiago, the commissioner’s personal aide, and a single Starfleet security officer. Frankly, the captain would have preferred a larger complement of bodyguards, if only for Santiago’s own protection, but the diplomat had wanted to avoid anything that smacked of an excessive show of force. Factions among the Yusubi were already leery of the Federation’s entreaties in this matter, seeing them as impositions on their own sovereignty. Kirk had deferred to his judgment; Santiago was the lead diplomat here. The man had spent many months setting up this meeting, via courier and subspace.

“Welcome, travelers,” a guttural voice greeted them. “Accept the hospitality of our world.”

A few dozen Yusubi were on hand to meet them, while more occupied the temporary tent city that had sprung up around the oasis, where a fleet of sand-schooners and sleds waited to transport the delegates out of the desert after the conference. The Yusubi were primates whose evolution had taken them in a more simian direction, so that they resembled early hominids, complete with sloping brows, long arms, and prognathous jaws. They wore hooded cloaks over loose, flowing robes whose colors reflected the environments of their respective territories: arctic white, sandy brown, jungle green, forest patterns, grassy stripes, and so on. Kirk assumed the tradition had its roots in camouflage.

As agreed, each clan leader was accompanied by a single assistant, along with a bodyguard armed with a primitive high-caliber rifle. The Yusubi had yet to make the transition to energy weapons, but even simple firearms could pack a punch, as Kirk remembered from his experiences on Tyree’s world. In the right hands, gunpowder and bullets could be just as lethal as any phaser blast. More guards were posted on the surrounding dunes and rock formations, on the lookout for any hostile parties who might want to disrupt the conclave. Kirk hoped they would prove unnecessary.

Yusub itself was an oasis of sorts: a Class-M planet conveniently located along various interstellar trade routes. Although the Yusubi had yet to venture into space themselves, they had become familiar with extraterrestrial visitors early in their history. A fiercely independent people, they had stubbornly refused to align themselves with any of the major galactic civilizations.

“The hospitality of the Yusubi is well known,” Santiago replied smoothly. “And justly celebrated.”

The diplomat was at least two decades older than Kirk and had a distinguished career behind him. His thinning hair had turned silver in the service of the Federation’s diplomatic corps, while his careworn features, and the heavy pouches under his eyes, hinted at his personal tragedy. Kirk was well aware that Santiago had a very personal stake in these negotiations; his younger sister and her family had recently been killed in an Orion raid on a Federation science outpost in a neighboring sector.

Kirk sympathized with the man’s loss. The death of his brother and sister-in-law, on Deneva four years ago, still stung.

“But perhaps your Federation finds us too hospitable? At least where the Orions are concerned?”

The speaker was an elderly female Yusubi, whose sandy yellow robe and burnoose matched the color of the deserts. The fine quality of her silken garments, with their ornate trim and embroidery, suggested that she was the leader of her clan. Bristly gray fur betrayed her age, but her silver eyes were as clear and bright as the moonlit surface of the nearby pool.

“That is what we are here to discus,” Santiago conceded. He stepped forward to introduce himself. “I am Commissioner Vincent Santiago. On behalf of the United Federation of Planets, I—”

She brushed past him to address Kirk instead.

“I am RoMusscu Dihana, Chieftain of the Cloudless Lands. By rank and privilege, the host of this conclave.” She eyed Kirk curiously. “You are the master of the vessel above? The U.S.S. Enterprise?”

“I am.” He tried to finesse the situation by directing her attention back to Santiago. “And Commissioner Santiago is one of our most respected diplomats.”

“Diplomats? Respected?” She scoffed at the notion. “My people prefer explorers to bureaucrats, travelers to talkers. Explorers open up new territory and bring us wealth and wonders from the stars. Diplomats speak only of taxes and tariffs and treaties. . . .”

Diplomacy was hardly her own strong suit, Kirk noted. The chieftain was obviously one to speak her...