FUTURE PERFECT PAST IMPERFECT SERIES – BOOK III FLETCHER DELANCEY Copyright © 2005 by Fletcher DeLancey CONTENTS Author’s note v Other books by Fletcher DeLancey vii Prologue 1 Chapter 1 7 Chapter 2 22 Chapter 3 40 Chapter 4 45 Chapter 5 57 Chapter 6 79 Chapter 7 86 Chapter 8 107 Chapter 9 131 Chapter 10 139 Chapter 11 147 Chapter 12 166 Chapter 13 177 Chapter 14 204 Chapter 15 210 Chapter 16 217 EARTH INTERLUDE 226 Chapter 17 231 Chapter 18 243 Chapter 19 256 Chapter 20 276 Chapter 21 293 Chapter 22 298 Chapter 23 325 Chapter 24 328 Chapter 25 352 Chapter 26 361 Chapter 27 368 Chapter 28 381 Chapter 29 392 Chapter 30 410 Chapter 31 422 Chapter 32 428 Chapter 33 443 Chapter 34 473 Chapter 35 483 Further adventures 491 AUTHOR’S NOTE This is the third book in the Past Imperfect series. For more in the series, go to fletcherdelancey.com. The author can be reached via email at fl[email protected] OTHER BOOKS BY FLETCHER DELANCEY Past Imperfect Series Past Imperfect Present Tension Future Perfect No Return Forward Motion Chronicles of Alsea The Caphenon Without A Front: The Producer’s Challenge Without A Front: The Warrior’s Challenge Catalyst Vellmar the Blade (novella) Outcaste To learn about the world of Alsea, immerse yourself in the Chronicles of Alsea site: alseaworld.com For Maria, who taught me that real love need not be limited to fiction. PROLOGUE Alison Necheyev let out a slow breath, resting her head on the back of her seat. Her personal hovercraft sped away from the Denver skyline, heading for her home near Boulder. She planned to go home, program in a security lockout, and allow no access for the entire weekend. She’d purposely planned the press conference for Friday afternoon in order to give her two days of peace before all hell broke loose over her head. The conference had gone about as well as she’d expected. After an initial shocked silence following her announcement, she’d been bombarded with questions, most of which she’d deflected. Sworn to secrecy, there wasn’t much she could say to explain the Hamilton Founda- tion’s sudden shift in mission. And yet, as nasty as the press conference had been, she knew it was nothing compared to the storm that was coming. Today’s announcement would literally rock the Federation, and had repercussions that could well ripple across the entire quadrant. For hundreds of years, Earth’s government, and later the Federation, had been in the unique position of not having to fully budget for the space program. With the Hamilton Foundation footing the bill for most of the space exploration budget, including propulsion theory and development, the Federation was able to divert an enormous amount of funds to defense, social programs, and environmental reclamation and conserva- 1 FLETCHER DELANCEY tion. No other government in the known quadrant had such a sweet deal, and it gave the Federation a distinct advantage over its rivals and enemies. Unfortunately, Starfleet and the Federation had long since become dependent on this happy situation. It had never occurred to anyone that the arrangement would not continue indefinitely. But with today’s announcement, Alison had ended the Hamilton Foundation’s support of any space exploration project except those related to faster-than-warp travel. She had essentially pulled the financial rug out from under her government. And all she wanted to do now was hide before her life turned to complete shit in exactly two days. “Autopilot disengaging in five minutes,” her hovercraft informed her calmly. She sat up and prepared to take over the controls. The scenery had changed while she was resting, and a welcome calm settled over her as the hovercraft soared above the heavily wooded lands surrounding her private holdings. Soon she took the controls and guided the sleek craft to a landing in front of her house, a contemporary three-story structure built on clean, open lines. She’d used an architect known for his ability to blend a building into its surroundings, and to maximize light and space. The result, though not cheap, was a home that always welcomed her with its airy warmth. She walked in the front door and immediately turned to her security panel, arming both the house and the property’s perimeter. There would be no visitors this weekend, though she knew the press would make every attempt to get in. Well, they could try. The system was as impregnable as any such system could get. It had been designed by a brilliant, if odd, Starfleet engineer recommended by her friend Deanna Troi. The enormous kitchen opened directly off the entry. She’d specified that design, since the kitchen was nearly always the first place she stopped upon coming home. She dropped her briefcase on the table in the breakfast nook, opened the door of her small refrigerator and took out a jug of freshly squeezed orange juice, a luxury item for which she cheer- fully paid exorbitant amounts of money. With a happy sigh she poured a glass, drank it in one long gulp, and refilled it. Turning around, she scowled at the kitchen terminal, which was currently displaying a list of twenty-six messages. Considering that her home system was programmed not to accept transmissions from anyone 2 Future Perfect but family and a few close friends, that meant that practically everyone on her “accept” list had called. Even as she read the list of calls, a beep alerted her to yet another incoming transmission. She automatically straightened up as the name appeared on screen. This one she would have to take sooner or later; might as well get it over with now. She keyed the terminal. “Hello, Aunt Alynna,” she said. The thin, Slavic face regarding her looked disapproving. Then again, Aunt Alynna usually looked that way. “Alison,” said Admiral Necheyev by way of greeting. “What in the name of hell is going on? I just returned from the Nantara Sector twenty minutes ago and walked into chaos. A chaos created, apparently, by my own niece.” Alison sighed. “I’m sorry, Aunt Alynna, I can’t tell you. Everything I’m free to say has already been said.” “Which was just enough to turn Starfleet completely on its ear. Not good enough. I want to know why.” The Admiral’s complete disregard of her prior statement didn’t surprise Alison, but she had long since grown past the point where she could be intimidated. “I said, I can’t tell you. I meant what I said.” “You always do. And so do I. This is more important than company policy, Alison. You know damn good and well what the repercussions could be. You owe it to me to give me a little more. I’m going to be fighting hell’s own battle down here, and I need information.” “Well, I’m sorry, but you’re going to have to fight that battle with the same information everyone else has. This isn’t just company policy, it’s my word of honor, my reputation and my job. I can’t tell you any more. Not until I’m given permission to do so.” The Admiral narrowed her eyes. “Given permission, I see. So you have been given orders. Which means this comes from the Board.” “Well, of course it comes from the Board. Who else would have the power to change Foundation policy and the mission? Stop trying to read things into what I’m saying. And if that’s your only reason for calling, then I’m afraid I must go. I’ve got a busy weekend ahead”—doing nothing at all, she thought—“and it starts right now.” 3 FLETCHER DELANCEY “Don’t be rude. Has it occurred to you that I might want to know how you’re doing? This has got to be a strain for you.” Alison looked at her aunt suspiciously. That narrow face rarely gave away any emotion, and she could never tell when the Admiral was playing her or not. It was generally safe to assume that, in the absence of evidence to the contrary, she was indeed being played. Still, she had been raised properly and could not behave rudely to her elder. “I don’t mean to be rude,” she said carefully. “And yes, it is a strain. It will be much more of a strain on Monday, so I plan to spend this weekend enjoying the last two days of peace that I will probably get in my life. So please, Aunt Alynna, let me enjoy them.” For just a fraction of a second, she thought she saw sympathy in her aunt’s eyes. But it might have been the light. “All right, I’ll let you go. Just answer one question for me.” “What?” said Alison warily. “When were you ordered to make this policy change?” She examined her aunt’s face for any clue as to why she wanted to know the date. As usual, the Admiral was impassive. She considered the question, and couldn’t see why that bit of information would make a difference. And if it would get the Admiral off her back, all the better. “Tuesday,” she said. “I see. Well, I’ll let you enjoy your weekend. The rest of us here at Starfleet won’t be so fortunate. Goodbye.” The transmission ended before Alison could respond. She shook her head, drank her orange juice, and headed upstairs. Not ten minutes later, as she was pulling her comfortable old sweater over her head, the terminal in her bedroom beeped at her.