Ice Trap

by L. A. Graf

  Howard's shimmering goggles focused on her for a moment, then swung back up toward Chekov's still figure. "He's poisoned?" His left hand moved awkwardly to his belt pouch. "How did he get poisoned?"

  "In a fight. The Kitka must put some kind of paralyzing venom on their weapons." Uhura took the capsule of antitoxin he handed her, then turned to hurry back up the slope. "I gave him one dose, but it took a long time to work. I want to give him another, just to be sure."

  "Shouldn't one dose have been enough?"

  Uhura shook her head, trying not to fumble the antitoxin in her hurry. "I don't know. These are supposed to be broad-base detoxifiersif they can't neutralize the poison, they should keep a victim alive long enough to get him to a sickbay. That's where a real doctor could take blood samples and manufacture some more specific antidote." It frightened her to know they didn't have that option.

  Howard crouched down to watch as she snapped Chekov's breath filter open and gave him a second shot. The security officer was still as pale as the ice around him.

  "He looks bad, sir," said Howard worriedly. "Has he lost a lot of blood?"

  "I don't know." Dull red ice crystals splintered off Chekov's wounded arm as Uhura unsealed the foam of his insulation suit. Beneath the torn body slip a narrow gash in his forearm oozed a crimson glaze of blood. Uhura bit her lip and fumbled in her medikit for the canister of sterilizing bandage. The white spray hissed through the frigid air, forming a film across the wound. Uhura sealed the insulation suit over it, then stripped off her glove so she could touch Chekov's bare cheek. It felt cold as clay against her hand. "He's losing heat."

  "How can he be, with an insulation suit on?" Howard sounded puzzled.

  Uhura shrugged as she pressed Chekov's breath filter closed again. He never stirred. "If his body isn't generating any heat, the insulation suit can't trap it. We need to warm him up from the outside." She put the canister of bandage away, then got to her feet with sudden decision. "The first thing we need to do is set up the tent. Do you think you can carry Lieutenant Chekov down to the gravsled?"

  "Sir?" Howard glanced up at her, clearly startled. "The lieutenant's not that heavy."

  "I know," said Uhura gently. "But you dislocated your shoulder when you hit the crevasse wall."

  "I did?" The security guard rotated his left arm gingerly. "So that's why it feels so sore. I wondered why I was out cold for so long. The last thing I remembered was falling off that ice bridge, and the next thing I know we're in the middle of the ocean."

  "In the middle of the ocean?" Uhura looked around, eyes widening in amazement. In her single-minded struggle to keep Chekov alive, she hadn't even noticed their ice floe moving. Yet now they rocked gently in the midst of a black expanse of water, with the smudged gray cliffs of the ice sheet far behind them. She could barely make out the dim blue shadow of the crevasse they'd floated out from. "Good Lord!"

  "Aye, sir. Looks like we'll be camping here for a while." Howard heaved Chekov up over his good shoulder, then stood up with a grunt. "What do we do after we set up the tent? Put the lieutenant next to the heater?"

  "No." Uhura glanced over at him, smiling. "I've got a better idea than that."

  "We're not going to tell the chief about this, are we?"

  Uhura finished closing Howard and Chekov into the doubled sleeping bag. The dimming arctic sunset lit the interior of the tent faintly, just enough to show her the embarrassed expression on the younger guard's face. She chuckled and patted his shoulder.

  "It's for his own good, Mr. Howard. He'd understand."

  "No, he wouldn't." Howard glanced down at Chekov's dark head, pillowed against his shoulder. Both men wore only their thin white body slips, to let body heat pass between them. "I just hope he gives me time to explain when he wakes up." He glanced up as Uhura rose. "Where are you going, sir?"

  "Out to get some food from the gravsled. We haven't eaten since last night." Uhura pulled on her goggles, then unsealed the edge of the tent. "Give me a yell if the lieutenant wakes up."

  "Don't worry," Howard said wryly. "If I don't, he probably will."

  Uhura smiled and slipped outside, hearing the tent hiss shut behind her. A last gleam of rose-quartz sunset lingered on the far edge of the sky, casting a faint shimmer across the dark water. The reflection continued behind them for another hundred meters before it vanished at an indigo wall of ice. Uhura felt fear clutch at her briefly, a hollow feeling under her ribs that had nothing to do with her empty stomach. Their floe seemed to be drifting parallel to the icy shore, carried along by some current in the water. What if it never got any closer?

  " Commander "

  The faint rasp of voice spun Uhura back to the tent before she realized it hadn't sounded like Howard and it hadn't come through her outside mike. She gasped and dialed up the volume on her insulation suit communicator. As she did, she noticed that the usual howl of auroral interference had faded to a distant whistle.

  " Jimenez calling " Static sizzled through the words, the unavoidable static of long-distance contact. Uhura tuned on the scrap of signal with frantic haste, catching it just as it began to fade. "Jimenez calling Lieutenant Commander Uhura. Jimenez calling"

  "This is Uhura." She dialed her transmitter up to maximum output, praying it would carry. Insulation-suit communicators weren't designed for planetary distances. "Can you hear me?"

  "I hear you, sir!" Jimenez's hoarse voice cracked with relief. "Thank God you're still alivewait a minute "

  Uhura opened her mouth to ask what she was waiting for, but Spock's calm voice in her ear answered the question before she could ask it. "Update your status, Lieutenant Commander."

  "Aye, sir." As usual, the Vulcan first officer wasted no time on useless questions. Uhura took a deep breath, marshaling the events of the past day into some sort of order. "We're out of danger from hostile natives, but are now stranded on an iceberg, drifting in a stretch of open sea. Ensign Howard has a bruised shoulder and Lieutenant Chekov collapsed after being wounded by a Kitka knife. We've treated him with universal antitoxin, but he's still unconscious. Ensign Publicker" Her voice shook, but she steadied it again. "Ensign Publicker drowned when the ice collapsed beneath us during a Kitka attack."

  "A regrettable loss," Spock said. "Have you lost much of your equipment?"

  "No, sir. We still have the gravsled and the survival gear. I think we also have enough food for several days."

  "Excellent. I hope to be able to send a rescue party down to the planet sooner than that, but I cannot promise it. Commander Scott has not yet managed to completely shield the shuttle stabilizers from Nordstral's magnetic fields. He estimates at least another day of work will be required." A distant wail of interference from the auroras nibbled at the edge of Spock's transmission. "I have managed to triangulate your current position from your communicator signal. Can you estimate the direction and rate of drift of your iceberg?"

  Uhura glanced at the faint smolder of sunset on the horizon and did a quick mental calculation. "Approximately sixty degrees west of north, sir. We appear to be moving at a rate of several meters per minute."

  "Acknowledged. If we fail to make contact again, I shall attempt to extrapolate your future location from that data." Spock paused as a second wail shivered through their fragile contact. "I must warn you, Lieutenant Commander, that our ship's sensors indicate significant changes occurring in Nordstral's magnetic field. It appears that the planet's secondary magnetic components, which previously kept the main dipole field from destabilizing, have begun to erode. The recent reversal of the magnetic poles"

  "What?" Uhura hadn't meant to interrupt, but the concept left her dazed. "The entire magnetic field reversed itself?"

  "Yes, and it may continue to do so as destabilization increases. Auroral intensity has increased at all latitudes, with violent magnetic storms raging in the upper " His voice faded under a snarl of louder interference. " magnetic reversal is likely to be accompanied by further tectonic disturbances " Another, lo
nger wail drowned him out again. " take appropriate precautions "

  A final shriek of auroral static broke their contact and left Uhura's ears ringing. She winced and tapped down the volume on her insulation suit comm unit, then glanced up at the night sky.

  Auroras rippled across the velvet darkness, dropping long curtains of cold white fire down to the sea. The colors shifted as she watched, shimmering from icy blue to violet to a fiery cascade of deep midnightred. It seemed to Uhura as if Nordstral, locked in the endless gray-white of glacial ice, had been forced to concentrate all its colors in its glowing night sky. Her sigh misted the air around her as she looked away. It was hard to believe something so beautiful could also be so potentially deadly.

  She turned back toward the gravsled, picking her way through the tangle of pitons and ropes that still lashed it to the ice. Their equipment lay scattered around it, half unpacked in their frantic rush to put up the tent. Uhura rummaged in one of the unpacked boxes for a flashlight, then started looking through the marked cartons of food. Maybe they could get Chekov to swallow some nutrient broth

  A sound brought her upright suddenly. Somewhere, far out in the immense darkness of the polar sea, someoneor somethinghad just taken a deep whuffling breath. It didn't seem possible that anything could be alive in that freezing cold water, but now that Uhura was listening, she could hear a whalelike whistle fluttering at the edges of her mike's sound range. It seemed to be coming from the same direction as the breathing noise. Uhura turned and gasped.

  Several meters beyond the edge of the ice floe, something glowed under the water. The glow grew brighter as Uhura watched, coalescing into two indistinct spots. Then, with a sudden rush of splashing water, the glow surfaced and became two huge phosphorescent eyes, staring down at Uhura from a massive shadow-pale head. Breath whooshed out in a storm cloud of frost from two neck openings, making an odd clattering sound as it did. For some reason the noise reminded Uhura of Alion.

  "Oh, no." She took a step backward as the beast blinked its eyes and lowered its dripping head toward her. After the accumulated terrors of the past daywaking up to an icequake, being chased by Kitka, and then falling off the edge of the icean encounter with a sea monster was more than Uhura could bear. She tilted her head back to meet its shimmering eyes, unable to focus on anything except that phosphorescent gaze

  And then remembered what her own gaze must look like to it. With a curse, Uhura reached up to slide her goggles off, blinking involuntarily as the cold night air slapped her face. By the time she managed to slit her eyes open past a rim of icy tears, the glow in the night had vanished. Only a gurgle of parted water marked the kraken's quiet passage.

  Uhura didn't wait to see where it was going. She grabbed the nearest box of food and dove for the tent.

  McCoy floundered in the cold water for a moment, panic catching sharply under his skin like barbs on a hook, then felt the warm security of Nuie's strong arm around him.

  "Just relax." The Kitka's voice was gentle in the doctor's ear. "Let me do all the work."

  Easier said than done, in McCoy's opinion, but he tried to do as he was bidden. He rolled onto his back at Nuie's urging, although relaxing was out of the question. Nuie secured an arm around him and with two strokes had them both across the room and treading water under the ventilation shaft.

  It appeared the ulu was good for something other than slashing open one's arm; Nuie manipulated the weapon to serve as a screwdriver and release the brackets holding the screen over the shaft. He tucked the curved knife out of sight and snugged an arm around McCoy's waist. "In you go." He hefted him up.

  McCoy clenched frozen fingers on the edge of the shaft and hauled himself upward. Water cascaded off his clothing, running in rivulets back down the shaft. The sight didn't particularly please McCoy as it only lent proof-positive that the ship was listing. "Jim?" His voice echoed oddly in the tiny space, and for an instant he was a precocious child again, scaring himself in the forbidden crawl space under his grandparents' house.

  "Bones! This way! Straight ahead!" A faint flashlight beam shone down the dark tunnel. Like a moth drawn to flame, McCoy forced his numbed limbs to move toward it and tried to ignore the closeness of the walls around him. He heard Nuie lever himself out of the water and start down the shaft.

  Reaching hands grasped McCoy and pulled him clear. He slithered to the ground, legs unable to support his weight, all the heat leached from his body. Someone threw a blanket around his shoulders and hugged him soundly. He looked up into Kirk's eyes and managed a smile. "I haven't been so glad to see you since the last time you hauled my butt out of the fire."

  Kirk grinned with relief and briskly rubbed his friend's arms. "It's good to see you, too, Doctor."

  McCoy gave Kirk the once-over. One eyebrow cocked speculatively at the captain's attire. The pants fit decently enough, but the thick sweater was a size too small. "I like your outfit."

  "Good. You're getting one just like it." Kirk looked up as Nuie pushed free of the air shaft. "Nice to have you in one piece, Nuie."

  The Kitka shed his shirt in one fluid movement and accepted a worn towel from one of his crewmates. He rubbed it hard over his wet hair and across the raised flesh of his arms and chest. "You have Leonard McCoy to thank for that, Captain. Is there dry clothing?"

  "Right here." Another crewman handed them each a bundle, and the next few moments were spent struggling out of wet clothes that adhered like a second skin and into the general-issue wool worn by every seaman aboard.

  McCoy rubbed a towel across his hair and watched two of the crew secure the makeshift hatch over the shaft opening. It didn't strike a chord of confidence in him. "You sure that thing's going to work?"

  "It better," Kirk said gravely, his voice low. Serious hazel eyes flicked over McCoy as he turned and faced Nuie. "This isn't the place or time I'd choose to deliver this information, but I don't have any choice. Captain Mandeville and Dr. Muhanti are dead, killed when we collided with the ice sheet, along with the rest of the bridge crew. I'm sorry."

  Nuie accepted the news without comment, although McCoy thought he detected a flash of sorrow in the stoic Kitka's eyes, and wondered how long he and Captain Mandeville had been crewmates. Had their relationship been like his with Jim? Had Nuie been willing to die for his captain, to follow her into any sort of danger the way he would for Kirk? He supposed at some point he could ask but it wasn't his business to know.

  "You're senior personnel aboard Soroya," Kirk continued. "As such"

  "Begging your pardon, sir," Nuie interjected smoothly. "But you're senior personnel. Federation officers take precedence when they've been called into a Priority situation. I have no doubts about my ability to captain the Soroya," Nuie added. "But I'd appreciate it if you'd take command, sir."

  Kirk studied the older man for a moment, then nodded once. "All right. I accept. You'll remain as first mate. The backup bridge is functional. I want you to take the conn. The others can fill you in on what happened. Start work crews to get us under way and to search out any other leaks we might have. Doctor, you'll come with me."

  "Aye, aye, Captain." Nuie led the crew out of the room at a brisk pace, turning in one direction while Kirk, trailed by McCoy, headed in another.

  "And just where are we going?" queried the doctor, rolling his too-long sleeves as he hurried to catch up.

  "To the oxygen generator." Kirk's eyes speared him. "It's inoperable. If we don't figure out a way to start it working again, getting this ship under way will be a moot point."

  "Wonderful," McCoy remarked sourly. "Any other charming points I should be made aware of?"

  "Not at the moment, but I'll keep you posted."

  "Thank you." McCoy tugged at his sleeve again. "Jim, just what exactly did happen to us?"

  "An icequake and tsunami, the crew tells me." Kirk's expression was grave. "And aftershocks. As near as we can figure, the force of the quake threw us against the ice sheet. Mandeville tried to cut through, but the las
er was inoperable, so she tried to do it manually. She was in the turret when it was sheered off against the ice."

  McCoy felt the color drain out of his face. He had to remind himself to keep moving, to keep following Kirk along the sub's wet passages. "The turret's gone?"

  "All three levels, including the laser and the main drive for the oxygenation system. The bridge began to flood."

  "I remember. That's when you ordered everyone out. Would have been nice if you'd come along."

  "Believe me, Bones, I had every intention of following you, but the door shut and I couldn't get it open." For the first time, McCoy saw in Kirk's face more than moral support for his fear of drowning. Now he saw understanding, and was heartily sorry his friend had gone through it.

  "I don't remember much but the water coming in." Kirk shook his head. "I don't think I'll ever forget that," he mused. "I got onto an oxygen tank before the bridge started coming apart. The rest of the crew just wasn't fast enough for the surge of water."

  "How did you get out?"

  The question made Kirk smile faintly. "Through an escape hatch, believe it or not." His expression grew distant.

  "Jim " McCoy halted him with a hand on his arm, outside the room that housed the remainder of the oxygen generating system. "Is Muhanti dead?"

  Kirk frowned. "The last time I saw him, he went in after Mandeville and disappeared. No one's seen him since. Why?"

  "Well " McCoy pursed his lips, afraid of how he would sound. "Muhanti was a screwball "

  "Is that your professional diagnosis?"

  "It's not funny, Jim. He was being affected by whatever put those people into Curie's psych ward. I'm certain of it. And he seemed to have developed a personal grudge against me. If he's dead then who locked Nuie and me in the lab?"

  "You think some other of the crew are being affected?"

  "We can't discount the possibility, especially since we don't know what's causing the illness. And we've got to watch ourselves as well." He ran a hand over his face. "If I get any more irritated, I'm going to jump out of my skin."