Chapter 4: The Lower Imperial Archives
"I was afraid you'd not make it, Doctor," Spock said, greeting him as McCoy entered the main foyer of the Lower Imperial Archives. It was a puzzlement to McCoy that they would name the Archives as the Lower Archives, since they were clearly higher in the city elevation-wise than that of the Upper Archives, which was down near the outskirts of Bedjabor, the name of the capitol city, which rested by the currently winter dry bed of the River Imperia.
Third Major Gelba'Dosh had halted at the front of the Archives, informing McCoy that only diplomats, governmental officials and scientists were allowed into the Lower Imperial Archives. When questioned, the man had shrugged and replied with a wishy-washy reason. In other words, he didn't know why he wasn't allowed there. He just knew he wasn't. And when questioned on why aliens were allowed into the Archives, he had looked bewildered and confused.
But, McCoy was once again astounded by the sheer magnificence of the archives. The main foyer, which connected to the rotunda, was laid out in a stone that while not glass, still reflected perfectly a person all around, making him see three of him. Well, four if he counted the reflection on the floor aside the woven rug.
He didn't see the security cameras that were watching him as he stepped up to Spock. But, he wouldn't have been overly surprised. This was still an Empire. And would be even after it entered the Federation. Oh yes, they'd be forced to change to meet the demands of the Federation. But, in the end, entering the Federation was not a complete purging of lifestyles and governments. Even United Earth still had Nation States, even if they weren't any longer divided by racial and political boundaries.
"Oh," McCoy said, glancing at the reflections of Spock, "I wouldn't miss this. Although I was surprised you left me like that in the streets."
"And for that I do apologize, McCoy," Spock said, holding his hand out, "My haste to get here failed to take into account your leg measurements and natural speed."
"And what is that supposed to me?" McCoy shot back, wondering if he had just been insulted. But, Spock was already turned around and heading towards the Rotunda.
McCoy cursed as he followed him out, and into an even more amazing room. The Rotunda was filled with statues evenly placed that were spread around in a circle. The carving in the marble eyes made the statues eyes seem to follow people as they walked in. Each was a life-sized statue of an Emperor, and higher up, in small nooks cut from the walls, were other statues. Each was a famous general or diplomat. The walls were paneled with paintings that moved, reenacting some scene of history or mythology. They were not so flexible or all encompassing as ancient television sets showed them, but there was more of a woodcarving element to the scenes.
One in particular caught his eye, and as he focused, he thought the image suddenly became clearer in his focus, drawn in by the image of ancient ships, dragging a massive beast like a whale with manlike arms as it tore at an island. He wondered if it was some part of their mythos. Nothing did he know of the story of the Gamalen, a great beast that lived on both land and sea, that had taken up residence on the ancient Island Kingdom of Gorgos. The kindly beast had been hauled back out by one of the legendary heroes, Kain'men the Shipwight. Thus was the wrath of the God of Illness thwarted, who used the island as a personal sanctuary and appeared not as a god, but as a dog-like creature that had five legs instead of four.
"Welcome," a voice said, and a very skinny and particularly tall G'neld said, bowing as he stepped up from behind his desk, "Welcome to the Lower Imperial Archives. I am Nel'vork, proprietor and custodian of the Archives. Here we have the most complete texts of mythology and some of the rarest historical documents of the G'neld Empire and indeed the entire history of Sextus Dominar. How may I be of service?"
"I am looking for a device that has been references as the Time Portal," Spock informed him, annoyance settling in as McCoy wandered around, taking in each visual depiction with delight, even if he knew nothing about the context.
"Hmmmm," the G'neld tapped his lips with his three fingers on his left hand, "I am not familiar with that particular artifact. Follow me and we shall look on the terminal to see if anything matches the description of whatever it is. You do have a description, I trust?"
"Indeed," Spock said, grabbing McCoy by the shoulder and guiding him along with him to the G'neld's desk as Nel'vork settled into the chair behind and began typing on a keyboard.
Fascinating, Spock thought to himself, For all their technology, they still rely upon keyboard and not speech to use their computers.
Piles, no, one could call the mountains of manuals surrounded him as Montgomery Scott looked up from the computer console to see Kirk walking into the office. For the past two days he literally hadn't taken a break, not even to sleep. Probably should, but he was too excited helping the G'neld out to have realized the passage of time. These people had a ton to look forward too.
"Why hello, Captain lad," he said, waving to him as the Captain tried getting past the piles of technical manuals and sketches and Governmental workers all over the place.
"Scotty," Kirk said, nearly tripping over a foot of a G'neld who kneeled down and place his leg in his path just as Kirk was walking, "Have you seen Spock or McCoy?"
"No, sir," he shook his head, the designs and schematics of new weather predication modules on the small screen tempting him to look away, "Frankly haven't seen anyone since I've been down here. Unless of course you count the G'neld."
"I know," Kirk said, rubbing his forehead, a G'neld elbowing him as he moved past, "I thought Spock was supposed to be with the one minister...what's his name...Jelefar or some other nonsense like," he paused to take a deep breath to calm himself after another G'neld, walking close by, basically shoved him aside without so much as an apology, "...I was hoping I could find Spock. But Jelefart says he hasn't seen him today."
"Sorry, Jim," Scotty shook his head, suddenly a wave of tiredness hitting him, "Wow. How long have I been here?"
"Seventy-five hours," the G'neld sitting at the console he had been leaning over said, his chin resting boringly in his up held hand, "I'm not sure how that translates to your time measurements."
Scotty blinked as suddenly his eyes began feeling very tired. He shook his head to shake it off, but it didn't work. In fact, it had the opposite effect. Suddenly looking away and resting his eyes was allowing the lack of sleep to really begin to tell on him.
"Permission to return to the ship and get some rest, sir," Scott asked, his whole body suddenly feeling very tired.
Kirk nodded his head. "Yes, yes of course," he said, grunting as a G'neld tossed a manual to another G'neld who asked for it, "Maybe I can find out what happened to Spock and McCoy."
Scott nodded in sympathy. It was going to be hard to find anything around here. But then again, he hadn't left the office since he had gotten here. But, they already had a land reclamation well underway. When he got back, he anticipated there would be almost nothing left to do.
"Alright," he said, "Nighty night sir." He pulled out his communicator and flipping open the lid with a swish of his hand brought it close to his face.
"Scott to Enterprise," he spoke into the communicator.
"Enterprise here," Uhuru soft voice replied.
"Beam me up," he ordered, "I'm coming aboard."
"Right away, Mr. Scott."
"Ah, yes," Nel'vork lead them down the long staircase into the bottom level of the Archives, "Of course I would not remember it. I rarely go down to Level E. Most of my time is spent on Level A, or you might call it the Ground Level. That and Levels 1 and 2. That's where we keep most of the records we have here. Over seven million different texts and resources crammed up there. It is a trial at times to keep up with so many, but we are always getting new works to put in here."
"Why not get more staff?" Spock asked, "If it is clear you are getting over burdened by the amount of the task at hand."
"Oh, no no no," Nel'vork said, his eyes wide in terror, "The Proprietor of these Archives has a sacred responsibility. We are to safe guard the most cherished and beloved of written work for hundreds of years. We simply cannot add more people. There are too many people who do not cherish such relics. Like for example those of that most fanatical religious Order of Zel^doom. They would stop at nothing to burn every religious text in here, indeed, every work in here that does not conform to their doctrines and beliefs. Not to mention those people who simply cannot understand the significance of these great work."
Nel'vork stepped off the last step of the winding staircase and onto the floor of a level lit by low lights. Enough to see comfortably, but not enough to be without hazard to those not watching their step. He continued his verbal tirade and Spock could sense the discomfort of his human companion. McCoy had once told him that nothing good every happens in basements or in attics. For that is where murders happen. Spock, of course, had stated that it was illogical to assume such.
But Doctor McCoy will do and think as he pleases, he thought to himself.
They continued further down the passageway and they passed several doors. Each door had a plaque with the G'neld language written on each. Presumable these words named what the rooms housed and stored from prying eyes. But, they continued onwards until they reached the end of the hallway, which branched off in two directions. Nel'vork didn't hesitate as he turned right and headed down a few more meters before arriving at a door with three plaques. It would have been unusual to Spock had he not spotted two other doors down this hallway with them as well.
Nel'vork pulled out a set of keys, massive to the Human and Vulcan perspective. In fact, each key was roughly the size of a Vulcan hand. Each key had two round loops on the bottom and stretched out in long metal rods.
"Compensating for something?" McCoy snorted crudely.
"What was that?" Nel'vork asked, turning with a questioning glance back to McCoy, clueless to what he was saying.
McCoy waved his hand dismissively. He wasn't going to expound upon his off-colored joke. Nel'vork shrugged and turned back to the door, fitting a key in and turning. The door lock clicked and with a tug on the handle halfway down the door frame, the Archivist opened the door.
"Summon me if you need anything through this intercom," Nel'vork led them inside the room, "And please do be careful. These are relics in here, and are priceless."
Spock stepped inside and looked at the massive mirror that was behind a few boxes. It was the size of a G'neld male when it would stand up. That's what he was after.
"Thank you for your assistance," he said.
"Anything for the Vulcan Master and his friend," Nel'vork bowed low.
McCoy chuckled, "He ain't no...oh well." He finished lamely as the G'neld was already standing and leaving. "Well, Mr. Spock," he muttered, stepping up to him, "I suppose you have a brilliant idea."
"Of course, Doctor," Spock acknowledged, already working his way around the table which had various technological artifacts on there, "It would be prudent to remove the boxes that are blocking the Portal."
"And then what?" McCoy asked, by no means as quickly following him, "Are we simply to step in?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Doctor McCoy," Spock retorted, "First we need to ascertain whether the device even works or not."
"And then what?" McCoy asked, stopping to glance at a very simple hand held device. It had red and yellow buttons on either side of a small screen. He wondered what the purpose of it was. But, he shook his head and focused instead on catching up to Spock, who was already lifting one of the boxes with extreme ease.
"Then we shall need to make a shorter and less important steps backwards in time," Spock said, moving the box with undue haste to the side and dropping it heavily on the ground. He didn't even take note of what sounded like the shattering of glass.
"And what would be less important than seeing a woman in your case?" McCoy said, reaching down to grab a box.
"You shall make the selection," the Vulcan replied, lifting another box.
McCoy strained to lift up his box. It was quiet heavy, and only with difficulty did he lift it. He made two steps and dropped it, not having fully been able to stand with the box. He turned around, saw seven other boxes and let a sigh out.
"I guess what I decide is less important," he grumbled.
Kirk closed the communicator and shaded his eyes to the binary sun's rays as they touched the surface of Sextus Dominar. He had tried communicating with Spock and McCoy but neither of them were answering their communicators. Frowning he turned to look back at the Palace. No one had seen either of them since they first landed, and what they one person who had seen them said they had ventured out into the city.
McCoy wasn't accustomed to disobeying orders. Nor was Spock for that matter of fact. As a warm wind blew through the city from the east, down from the Shila'berg Mountains nearly thirty kilometers away, he began to wonder if indeed they had decided to go ahead without his permission. Spock had done so once before blatantly disobeyed his orders. But that was back with Captain Pike, his first commanding officer if he was correct.
So, logically there would have to be an intense feeling of loyalty towards whatever was going on. He trusted Spock's logic, but knew his human-half (despite all Spock's protestations) really did have a pull on him and influenced many of his decisions. Especially when it came to half-truths or lying under orders.
"D-n you, Vulcan," Kirk growled to himself. The Minister Bok'rat was waiting for him at the entrance to the Palace, and he rubbed his forehead. He really didn't want to talk to him again. But, he would have to excuse himself.
So, he rounded his shoulders and walked up to the G'neld and looked up at him. He wondered how this man would take his request. The man was a politician, and they had a way of not liking anything not exactly as they had planned. But, as his great-grandfather would have said, 'You can go suck an egg'.
"Forgive me, Minister," he said, hoping not to offend, "It seems two of my senior staff has disappeared on me. I need to return to the Enterprise and find out what happened to them."
Bok'rat stared at him, the look on the border of glaring. A few uncomfortable seconds passed as they glared at each other under the gateway of the Palace. It really wasn't exactly the best rapport he had ever had with anyone, but Kirk wasn't one to care too overly much about such things.
"Fine," the Minister huffed, "I don't really care."
Kirk inwardly breathed a sigh of relief, but didn't let it show. He had a job to do, and he needed to maintain his diplomatic air to do so. But, first thing he'd need to do once back on the Enterprise and go to Spock's quarters and see if he left anything that was a clue to his great emergency.
The Doctor dusted himself off as he and the Vulcan came through the time portal and into the room of the Lower Imperial Archive. The smell of gunpowder was still heavy in his nostrils, and as he looked at his clothes, saw that they were singed a bit. As he looked at the blacked face that was Spock, he couldn't help but laugh at the absurd notion of the impeccably groomed Vulcan being anything less than perfect.
"I see nothing funny about that, Doctor," he muttered annoyingly, wiping the grim off his face, "You deliberately put us in middle of a war zone. I was nearly shot in the face by an antiquated black powder driven projectile based weapon. Twelve to be precise."
"Did you catch who fired the first shot?" McCoy asked, deciding that he wouldn't pursue the issue.
"I did not see any shots fired from the British Infantrymen at the scene," Spock replied, "But I still would prefer you to refrain from putting us in a warzone next time."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Alright, Mister Spock!" he snapped, "I am sorry that I nearly got us killed. If it's any consolation though, I nearly got shot by those Minutemen on the other side."
"Did you see who fired the first shot?" Spock asked.
"No one on the Colonists side," McCoy said.
Spock frowned, his slanted tilted eyebrows tilting even further. McCoy had long ago lost the fascination of that particular motion of the Vulcan. No, he had gotten quiet past the need to feel inspired by such a show.
"Curious," he muttered, "No British troops fired the shot. But neither did the rebels. Do you see what I see?"
"No," he shook his head, "I don't know what you are talking about. Or are you saying that no one fired the shot?"
"Someone did, Doctor," Spock said, folding his arms, "But no one we could see. Thus implying that someone other than the troops on hand fired the shot."
Understanding dawned on the Doctor and his eyebrow raised. "An innocent civilian started the American Revolutionary War?" he asked, "Wow, that is interesting."
"We must go now," Spock said, turning towards the Portal.
"Now wait a second," McCoy called out, trying to grab him to restrain his stepping back into the Portal, "We need to check the timeline! Make sure it hasn't been altered in any way by our being there."
But Spock did not wait. He stepped through, speaking the location and time he wished to go as he stepped through. McCoy watched angrily as the Vulcan stepped through and his hand clutched at thin air, missing him by a second. As Spock stepped through, the entire black surface turned into a wavy vortex or red and brown and orange swirls of light. These swirls headed away from the edges and off into some unknown and unseen distance.
"D-n you, Mister Spock!" he snapped, leaning over and jumping through after his tall companion.
As he jumped through, he heard words whispered in his mind. From a hundred directions, he heard snatches of a hundred speeches, the sounds of war and other tumults all lapping together. He didn't seem to move, so much as everything passed around him at various speeds. So many sounds and voices coming together. Ghostly images appeared him as he was hurtled towards his destination.
Seconds only passed. But his mind was filled with the images and sounds of times to be, times that were and times that would be. It made so much sense to him. But, at the same time, he was left in a state of confusion. Disorienting to say the least.
But, just as soon as it begun, it stopped. The dark vortex, all the voices. They all vanished. Replaced by a howling wind, that with his first senses recovering threw him against a rocky wall face. Snow blew in his face, the cold biting every inch of him, seeping quickly through his clothes. His eyes and ears stung as snowflakes were thrown hard at his face and he held up his hand to ward off the wintery assault.
A hard hand gripped his bicep hard and pulled him along, seeming to him to peel him from the rock face. He followed blindly as the hand dragged him along. Where he was going he didn't know, all he knew was it was further into the Arctic wasteland of Sarpeidons' Ice Age.
