Star Trek: Deep Space Nine: Young Adult Books #12: Trapped in Time Page 4

  And then Jake opened his eyes.

  The light was not all around him but coming from a bare bulb that hung from the ceiling above.

  Jake’s head felt as if it were splitting, but he was alive.

  “Feeling better?” The voice that greeted him was soft and gentle.

  Slowly, because his head really hurt, Jake twisted his neck. The face he saw next to him—he was lying on a small bed—did not belong to the voice. It was a man, old and weathered, with a stubble beard that was as rough and untended as the man.

  “That’s Uncle Maurice.” The gentle voice whispering in his ear was coming from the other side of the bed. Jake slowly turned in that direction. The voice he had heard belonged to a young woman, perhaps a year younger—or older—than he was. Jake was really bad at determining ages, especially women’s.

  “My name is Brigitte.” She was speaking English but with an obvious French accent. She had long black hair and a pleasant smile, but Jake could sense an underlying strength and determination.

  Jake asked the obvious. “Where am I?”

  “Nous demandons les questions.” The voice came from the other side of the room. He was a stocky middle-aged Frenchman seated in a chair. He was also smiling, but there was something about his voice. Jake had the impression that it would be better to be this man’s friend than his enemy.

  Jake looked to Brigitte for a translation. “That is Monsieur Jean. He says that he will ask the questions.” She leaned closer to Jake and added in a soft voice, “It would be best if you answered.”

  The man named Monsieur Jean was looking at Jake in a way that made him feel as if he were an Orion tree toad about to be bisected. He didn’t like the feeling any more than he thought the toad did.

  “You are American?” Monsieur Jean asked, this time in a halting English that Jake understood.

  Jake hesitated a moment, then nodded. It was a logical reply, and one he hoped the man would accept. He hoped these people were part of the French Resistance, freedom fighters against the Germans. If not, they were back to square one.

  “What are you doing here?”

  Jake hesitated again. This question was more difficult. “My friend and I…” He had no idea where Nog was and could only hope that he was all right. “We became lost.”

  “You certainly did.” Monsieur Jean let out a loud laugh that eased the tension—for a moment. “Your friend. Tell me about him. About the strange one.”

  That was the biggest challenge. Jake couldn’t tell him the truth, and to pretend Nog was French wasn’t going to work here. “He is … he has a disease. It deformed him,” Jake said finally.

  Jake could see Monsieur Jean considering this. It was probably a rational explanation for Nog.

  “But his condition is stable … and not contagious,” Jake added quickly.

  “That is good,” Monsieur Jean said.

  “Where is Nog?” Jake asked.

  “He is safe,” Brigitte whispered to Jake. “In the cellar.”

  “Yes,” Monsieur Jean said. “He is safe. You are both safe—for the moment.”

  Monsieur Jean rose and went to the door. He started to open it, then looked over at Uncle Maurice, who had sat like a statue and remained silent through all of this. “Put him with his friend,” Monsieur Jean said. “Make sure they are guarded, until we decide their fate.”

  Jake didn’t like that “decide their fate” remark. It was apparent that Monsieur Jean did not really accept Jake’s story, but at least he didn’t consider them enemies—not yet.

  Uncle Maurice helped Jake up from the bed. Jake was wobbly and still a bit dizzy. He wondered if his head looked as bad as it felt. He reached up and felt bandages on his forehead and a sharp rush of pain from the pressure of his fingers.

  “The skin was broken. I bandaged it. It will hurt, but you will live,” Brigitte said.

  But for how long? Jake wondered as he was led out of the room. This was not going well at all. He only hoped O’Brien was having better luck, wherever he was.

  Miles O’Brien, chief of operations of the Bajoran space station Deep Space Nine, was not having much luck. He felt things were not going well at all. He found himself sitting alone in a small room with an aching ankle and wondering if he would ever again see that station or his wife and daughter again.

  Once, when he had been framed, captured, and put on trial by the Cardassians, he had harbored similar thoughts. But then, at least, he had the support and help of Captain Sisko and the rest of the station. Now his only hope of rescue lay in the stealth and cunning of two teenage boys who were as lost in this time and place as he was.

  Normally full of self-confidence, O’Brien was a man who had used ingenuity and whatever tools were at hand to return control from chaos while serving as transporter chief on the U.S.S. Enterprise and now chief of operations on Deep Space Nine. But now he found himself in the unsettling position of having run out of innovations and resources.

  O’Brien noticed that his commbadge was missing. He remembered that the war had been going on for a long time, and Germany was desperate for metal to melt down for machines and weapons. Obviously it had been appropriated for that purpose. Which was just as well. In this time period a commbadge from the twenty-fourth century was meaningless, but if it survived a century or two, some bright young engineer might get ideas.

  But there was nothing he could do about that. All he could do was sit in this tiny, windowless room and wait for what would come next.

  He didn’t have long to wait.

  The door opened, and a tall man in the uniform of a German officer entered. There was an armed guard stationed behind him. The officer waved his hand, and the guard closed the door.

  “I am Colonel Kruger. Sorry about the lack of accommodations,” the colonel said in perfect English with a thick German accent. “This building had once been a hotel before we appropriated it for the war effort. This maintenance room is the only holding cell we have.”

  O’Brien remained silent. He looked at the colonel and tried to size him up. The words that came to mind were stiff and stoic. O’Brien had the sense of a career military man who played his cards very close to his chest. He was also sure the Germans would consider him a spy, and he knew what they did to spies. This was war, and there would not even be the pretense of a trial.

  “Your ankle is not broken.” The colonel seemed genuinely interested in O’Brien’s health.

  “Not broken. But it sure hurts.”

  “Sorry that we cannot provide medicine for your pain.” The colonel sat down in a chair across from O’Brien. “But until we determine your status, such luxuries are unavailable.”

  “You mean, if you’re going to shoot me, there’s no sense in wasting medicine.” It was not a question.

  “Something like that.” There was a long moment as the colonel looked at O’Brien. Finally he spoke. “You are going to die, Chief O’Brien. It is a pity, and unnecessary if you had not been so reckless as to follow me.”

  O’Brien blinked. This colonel knew who he was. He must be the Changeling! This was the identity he had assumed.

  “You may be wondering what happened to the real Colonel Kruger. Unfortunately, an accident. Caused not by me but by the French Resistance. His body will not be discovered until several days from now. By then, I will have no further use for this body.”

  “I see you’ve done your homework,” O’Brien said.

  “Quite thoroughly, I assure you.”

  “But you won’t get away with it.”

  Colonel Kruger smiled. “Such a weak response. I expected more. Or, perhaps, you’re trying to trick me into telling you what my plan is.”

  “I think I already know that,” O’Brien said.

  “Yes, I suppose you do. This is a critical time in the history of Earth. Had the war been won by the Germans, the future of your planet would be much more orderly.”

  “You Changelings love order, don’t you?” O’Brien said. “Even at the price o
f individual freedom.”

  “Freedom.” Colonel Kruger repeated the word. “You humans place too much emphasis on its value. When we brought order out of chaos in the Gamma Quadrant through the Dominion, many lost their freedom, but they gained stability and prosperity in return.”

  “Under the yoke of your Jem’Hadar shock troops. The people of Earth aren’t going to submit so easily—to you or the Nazis.” But even as he spoke the words, O’Brien was very much afraid that the future the Changeling envisioned might come to pass.

  CHAPTER 7

  Earth, Occupied France, Normandy, 1944

  Nog sat and brooded in a dark cellar. The shelves had once held food and wine, but now they were empty. Poverty was one of the plagues that came with war. Empty wooden crates served as furniture. A faint light came through a small, narrow window high on the wall.

  Nog heard the turn of a key in the lock, and the door opened. Jake was pushed inside, and then the door slammed shut behind him. The key was turned again, and they were locked in. This might not be a holding cell in Constable Odo’s office on Deep Space Nine, but escape was just as impossible.

  “You’re OK?” Nog asked.

  Jake rubbed his head. That was a bad idea, since it still hurt whenever he did it, but he did it anyway. “Except for needing a new head. What about you?”

  “I’d be a lot better if we could get out of here.”

  “Little chance of that,” Jake said, sitting down on a crate. “These appear to be members of the French Resistance. They’re fighting the Germans.”

  “Then they should help us,” Nog said. His eyes brightened at the possibility of finding allies.

  “I don’t think so,” Jake said. “They probably think we’re spies. In which case, they’ll execute us. Or they may believe we’re innocent victims of the war. But even then, they’ll keep us locked up until the war is over.”

  “And then we’ll be executed,” Nog said.

  Jake looked at his friend. “Why?”

  Nog went over to the wall below the window and looked up at the gray sky. “When this war is over, the Germans will have won,” Nog said.

  Jake started to protest. But Nog turned to Jake and put his reasoning into words.

  “That has to be why the Changeling came to this time period. His people, the Founders, believe in order. If the Germans prevail, they will inflict order all over the planet. Freedom will have become a casualty of the war.”

  “And the future—our future—will be lost.” As Jake spoke the words, they brought home the terrible realization of what was going to happen. “We can’t let that happen, Nog.”

  “How can we stop it?” Nog asked. The situation seemed hopeless. The Ferengi looked around the dark room that might become their coffin. They were trapped, lost, and alone in a past that was about to be altered—and there seemed to be absolutely nothing they could do about it.

  “You’re Starfleet,” Jake said. “Starfleet officers don’t give up. Not even first-year cadets.”

  “I’m not giving up.” Nog was adamant. “But I’m all out of ideas.”

  “We need to get out of here. We need to find Chief O’Brien. And stop the Changeling.”

  “I’ll buy that,” Nog said. “But, I repeat, how?”

  “Well…” Jake looked around the room. It was as bare as his own store of ideas. Maybe their plight was hopeless. Maybe…

  Jake was pondering their situation when he heard the turn of the key in the lock, and the door to the cellar opened. Brigitte entered, carrying a bundle of clothes in her arms. She closed the door behind her.

  “You are wet and need something warm.” She set the clothes down on a crate, then turned to face the wall. “Please change. I promise not to look.”

  While the clothes were not exactly their sizes, they were clean and warm. Jake felt a bit constricted in his outfit, and Nog’s sleeves needed to be rolled up several times so he could use his hands. With an oversize cap, he looked almost human.

  When they had finished dressing, Brigitte turned around and appraised the results. She barely managed to stifle a giggle. “You two look like Abbott and Costello.”

  “Abbott and Costello?” Jake asked. “Who are they?”

  “They are American movie stars,” Brigitte explained. Then she took a closer look at this odd couple and the strange clothing they had discarded.

  “You aren’t American, are you?” she said to Jake.

  Jake paused. How much could he tell this French girl? And if she did believe their story, would that knowledge damage the course of history? The alternative was to remain silent, pretend he and Nog really belonged here—which meant the Changeling would almost certainly succeed in destroying the future he came from.

  He came to a decision. He had to trust someone. It might as well be Brigitte.

  “OK,” Jake said. “I’m going to tell you the truth.”

  “Jake,” Nog interrupted. “We can’t.”

  “We have to, Nog,” Jake explained. “We’re caught in something way beyond our control. We need help.” He looked at Brigitte. “We can’t do this alone. We need a friend.

  “Brigitte, I’m going to tell you a story. It’s a true story. I’m not sure if you’re going to believe me … but, please, don’t interrupt until I finish.”

  And so Jake told her everything that had happened to them during the past twenty-four hours. Nog, reluctant at first, began to fill in details whenever Jake paused. It was a very long shot, but this French girl might be their only real hope.

  Jake didn’t really expect Brigitte to believe him. She would probably consider them crazy. At the worst, their tale might convince her and the others that they were spies. In which case they would be shot by their allies rather than by the enemy.

  When Jake was finished, Brigitte waited a long time before responding.

  “You’re telling me you came from the future,” she said finally. “You’re chasing someone who came back … in time—to here—to make things different?”

  “He’s called a Changeling,” Nog said. “And he has the ability to pose as anyone.”

  “Like a disguise?” she asked.

  Jake thought that explaining Changelings and their ability to morph would be a bit too much, so he simply nodded and said, “Yes.”

  “We don’t know why he’s come here,” Nog said. “But it must have something to do with the war.”

  Brigitte thought about this a moment. Jake could see that she hadn’t totally disregarded their story. If only there were something he could tell her, something that would convince her. If only he knew why the Changeling was there and what he intended to do.

  Jake let his eyes wander around the room. On one wall was a torn and faded map of France. He stepped over and looked closer at the map. Normandy. Where’s Normandy? Suddenly it all became very clear.

  “I know why the Changeling came here. I know what he intends to do.” Jake turned and faced Brigitte. “It’s about the invasion. He’s here to make certain that D-day doesn’t happen … at least not the way it did in our timeline.”

  “Invasion!” Brigitte said sharply. “What do you know about the invasion?”

  “What’s today’s date?” Jake asked eagerly.

  “It is the second day of June.”

  “In four days, the Allies will launch an invasion of Europe.”

  Brigitte looked at Jake. “I’ve heard the invasion is coming soon. But no one knows when it will be, or where.”

  “The invasion is called Operation Overlord. And will happen in Normandy. Right here.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Earth, Occupied France, Normandy, June 2, 1944

  How do you know this?” Brigitte demanded.

  “Because where I came from it has already happened,” Jake answered.

  “What you’re telling me is so difficult to believe … and yet, somehow, I feel you are telling me the truth.”

  Jake looked at the pretty French girl and wondered just what it was he had said
that enabled her to believe such a fantastic story. But the important thing was that she did seem to believe him. “You’ll help us?” he asked.

  Brigitte hesitated. It was apparent that she was not quite ready to make the step from belief to action. But they were running out of time. “Even if you don’t accept all of our story, there is another reason for you to help us.”

  She looked at him, and Jake continued. “The man we followed here knows about Operation Overlord and the invasion. I’m certain that he intends to reveal this to the German authorities. The invasion will fail. And, whether or not you accept that our future will change, you can be certain that your present will.”

  Brigitte understood that. “We have lived for years under the Nazi brutality … but always we have had hope. If the Allies fail, then so does our hope.” She paused for a long moment, then made a decision. “I will help you.”

  “You’ll tell Monsieur Jean,” Jake said, hoping the French Resistance would help them.

  Brigitte shook her head. “No. He would not believe your story. It would only convince him that you really are spies.”

  “Then—” Jake started to say.

  “I will tell Uncle Maurice,” Brigitte interrupted. “He will help us.”

  Brigitte quickly exited the cellar. Jake listened, but she did not lock the door behind her.

  “It’s our chance to escape,” Nog said. He was also aware that the door barring their way out was no longer bolted.

  Jake shook his head. “No. We must trust Brigitte.”

  “Even if she gets her uncle to help us, what good are a teenage girl and an old man going to be?”

  Jake wondered about that, too. The four of them would be little help against even a small contingent of the German army. Still, it was better odds than they had the night before. It’ll work. It has to.

  Jake never did discover exactly what Brigitte had told Uncle Maurice. He knew it was not the story about the Changeling and the time portal. He was certain the old Frenchman would never have understood or believed such a wild tale.

  But whatever she told him, Uncle Maurice was eager to help. Well, not exactly eager, but reluctantly agreeable to do his part in their plan.