by Dalton S. Spence
Part VI - History Lesson
Our first meeting with the Starfleet liaison to the committee has left me very disturbed. While he is more than willing to help us present our case to the select committee, he has grave doubts about our ability to convince them to authorize a time travel mission. Meanwhile, Dr. Bennett has notified us that new information has been discovered concerning the tunnel community. She has agreed to meet us at the excavation site to show us these findings."
"You know, at first glance Ah thought this fellow might be Caitian," remarked the Admiral as he examined the portraits on the tunnel wall. "But bone structure is all wrong. And the ears, too low and fixed in position. Notice his claws. More like long human fingernails. Ah doubt they're retractable either. Finally, no tail unless it's stuffed in his pants. Nope, he's not Caitian. What the hell is he?"
"We do not yet have sufficient information to identify his species, sir," replied Data, imperturbably as ever. "Perhaps when Dr. Bennett arrives with her new findings we will be able to make a more precise determination."
The Admiral grumbled, "What in tarnation is taking her so long anyway? Ah thought she'd be waiting for us when we got here. Does she think Ah've got nothing better to do with mah time?"
Data, correctly analysing this as a rhetorical question, refrained from answering as the Admiral returned to his examination of the pictures. He located the Captain in discussion with one of the consulting archaeologists, and was about to approach him when a commotion at the gallery's entrance announced the belated arrival of a dusty and somewhat dishevelled Dr. Bennett, leaning on the arm of one of her assistants.
The three Starfleet officers rushed over. "What happened to you?" asked Picard, concerned that she might have been injured. The Admiral pulled an old style medical pouch from behind his back, but the red haired anthropologist waved him off.
"Sorry I'm late," she said cheerfully, "but I took a wrong turn and fell down a mouse hole." She chuckled as she sat down on upended plastic crate.
Picard, confused at the strange reference, repeated "A mouse hole?"
"THE Mouse hole," she replied, "at least that's what I think it was, if the description in here is accurate." Under her arm was a small book, bound in leather. With the cover cracked and the pages yellow, it looked very old and very valuable. This was obviously what she had come here to talk about.
"Young lady," interjected a clearly irritated Admiral, "Ah am 143 years old, and Ah do not care to play 20 questions to get to the bottom of this. If you please, begin at the beginning. It is, as an old friend of mine would say, the logical way to proceed."
This comment reminded Captain Picard of his manners. "Admiral, this is Dr. Dolores Bennett. Dr. Bennett, Admiral..."
"We've met, Captain," interrupted Dr. Bennett, apparently unruffled by the Admiral's irascible manner. "He gave a most interesting talk at the Academy on the Sociodynamic Structures within Quarantined Populations." She smiled, as the Admiral blushed at the memory.
Although intrigued, Captain Picard decided that questions about that incident should wait for a better time."May I?" he asked, indicating the book the Dr. Bennett held.
She handed to him very carefully, saying "Be careful! This is a Bennett family heirloom, and my mother would have my head if anything happened to it." Picard, no stranger to handling ancient documents, opened it with all due caution. On the fly leaf was written, in a bold yet feminine hand, "Journal of Diana Bennett, 1990." He turned to the first page.
"The events (he read) I am about to relate, although they may sound fantastic, are all true. A year ago, I wouldn't have believed it myself, and yet here I am, a part of it all. It seems so strange. I met these people such a short time ago, and now they seem more of a family to me than my own. When Father asked me to write about what happened, I was flattered, but puzzled. He explained that Below, everybody was too close to what happened to write even a moderately objective chronicle. My training as a police officer should allow me to keep things in perspective. I hope so. It's the least I can do for my godson, Jacob."
Picard closed the book, and looked accusingly at Dr. Bennett. "Why didn't you tell about this us before?"
She looked at him steadily. "I didn't know about the book until last night," she replied, "when my mother gave it to me. You see, it was handed down as a legacy from generation to generation of Bennett women. It was alright to tell stories from it to the children, but the existence of the journal itself was kept a strict secret. Ordinarily I wouldn't have known about until either my mother died or I gave birth, whichever came first. But when I told mom that we had found the Tunnels, and needed to know more about the legends, she decided it was time to break tradition."
"I was up most of the night reading it. I guess that's why I took a wrong turn in the first place. Anyway, I can put names to most of the people in these pictures now." She got up, and walked over to the pictures, the others trailing behind her. She stopped at the picture of the blond man with the lion face. "His name," she said, "was Vincent..."
The four of them sat quietly, each alone with their thoughts. The humans were trying to eat, but most of the food remained untouched on their plates. Data was carefully examining the journal, turning the pages much more slowly than was usual for him in deference to their age. They were in a chamber that was tentatively identified as the communal dining hall for the community. Now it served the same function for the team of researchers as they mapped and catalogued the network of tunnels and chambers. But the atmosphere was different now. Portable food replicators stood where a man named William once cooked with fire. On the holographic map set up at one end of the chamber, the coordinate designators were being replaced by names. Father's Chamber. Mouse's Hole. The Great Hall. Chamber of Winds. Crystal Cavern. Pascal's Pipe Chamber. The Maze. The Abyss.
Picard, strangely enough, felt more relaxed than he had in days. If Deanna was indeed among these remarkable people of the twentieth century, she was probably as safe as she could be in that dangerous time. For people from that period, they had a remarkably advanced outlook. She should have no trouble fitting in at all. His major concern was that her true nature might be discovered by Vincent, who was also an empath. Not that he would hurt her. If only half the stories about him were true, she would be in no danger. At least not physical.
Dolores Bennett was feeling slightly envious of her missing friend, as well as a strong kinship to her distant ancestor. But this was nothing new. Even at the academy, Deanna was always surrounded by an adoring male crowd. Some were there because of her beauty, and others because of rumour that empaths were the best lovers (which might be true, for all Dolores knew). If it hadn't been for the fact that Deanna was a truly nice person, it would have been easy to hate her. Now, she had been given the opportunity to study, and be a part of, one of the most exciting periods of human history. To meet the man whose image had haunted Dolores since she was a child. The paintings and the journal had brought into sharp focus these images from the past. Still, much like her ancestor, she had the feeling of being on the outside looking in.
The Admiral was considering the strange workings of fate. He had visited 20th century New York not once, but twice. He didn't remember too much about the first time,(1) except for one horrifying moment when he thought his friend had lost his mind. But that was long before this community had been established. Its leader would have been just an infant, if he had even been born then. The Admiral would not have been surprised to learn that the seeds of the idea had been planted in that terrible time. The second time,(2) Vincent would have been just a boy. It was probably fortunate they hadn't met. There had been more than enough confusion in that situation as it was. One more wildcard, and the whole thing might have blown up.
Data was learning as much about the people who had lived there by the construction of the book as by it's textual contents (although the text was also quite informative). The pages had been specially treated to reduce their acidity, a process more commonly used for government archival documents. Although not particularly expensive or difficult, it did require skill, time, and patience. The binding was also very interesting. The pages were not only glued to the binding (a good thing, since any glue would have crystallized long ago) but were sewn in by hand. The stitches, while very precise by ordinary standards, had a very slight randomness about them that could not have been produced by a machine. The covers were hand stitched also, and the leather apparently cured by a non-commercial technique. The craftmanship shown was extraordinary. The inside of the front cover showed evidence of a bleaching agent being used. It appeared that someone had tried to erase some writing, perhaps a dedication that was no longer appropriate. Maybe Geordi could make out what had been written there. Obviously someone had expected this record to last a very long time.
In his lab, the Professor scowled at the holographic display. "Computer, confirm the dates on these last two entries."
"Working. Confirmed."
"Display them."
"11-01-93 00:13 - Subject CC890412 abruptly awoke from her coma at approx. 00:02 am. Subject appears to be suffering from near total amnesia, and claims to recall none of her history prior to the attempt on her life. No impairment of motor or sensory functions has been observed. Mental acuity is consistent with recovery from a long term coma. Subject is now resting comfortably after being mildly sedated. Therapy will begin at 10:00 am. See treatment logs on this subject for further details. V.Beeks
12-20-93 22:07 - Subject CC890412 was illegally removed from this facility at 9:47 this evening by person or persons unknown. Video records of this incident have been Classified Top Secret under Bluebook 9 protocol. All further inquiries must be directed to General John Christopher, USAF. File closed."
The Professor paced in front of the terminal. "John Christopher,(3) now where have I heard that name before. Computer, do you have any other references to a John Christopher who was a General in the United States Air Force in 1993? Cross reference links to a project or protocol Bluebook 9."
"Working. 12 references found, 2 connected to Bluebook 9."
"List the 2 linked references."
"Project Orpheus Incident Reports: Subject CC890412"
"Bluebook 9 Archives Authorization List: Omaha AFB"
He stopped, smiling. "I think we're on to something here."
REFERENCES
1. Star Trek: The Original Series, City of the Edge of Forever, SD: 3134.0 (Aired: 4/6/67)
2. ST:TOS, Assignment: Earth, SD: unkown, (Aired: 3/29/68)
3. ST:TOS, Tomorrow is Yesterday, SD:3113.2 (Aired: 1/26/67)