by L. A. Graf
"According to my projections, approximately three hundred Nordstral years."
McCoy snorted. "Fat lot of help that does us. We need that plankton in the sea now, not three centuries from now!"
"Can't we clone enough to replace what the harvesters have taken?" Kirk asked. "Kane said they had cloning facilities on their orbital platform."
"The Curie would not be able to clone the trillions of metric tons required, Captain."
"But the Enterprise should be able to," McCoy pointed out triumphantly. It wasn't often he was able to think of something before Spock. "Our botany lab can churn it out and you can fill the cargo holds with seawater and turn it lose in there to breed."
McCoy was delighted with Spock's overlong pause. "If we use the magnatomic decelerators to provide a source of magnetic energy, that proposal might actually have some merit," the science officer agreed at last. "We would, of course, have to physically deliver the biota to the planet's surface, since the transporters"
Kirk's attention was drawn by movement on the viewscreen. The wounded kraken was slowly turning away from them, laboriously plying her winglike flippers in slow, obviously painful, sweeps. Blood trailed behind her, clouding the image. "Where's she going?"
"Captain?" Spock sounded as close to confused as he ever came.
"To ground," Nuie replied, voice tight with emotion. "The god is dying and giving herself to the people, even as we go to her in death."
"You mean she beaches herself?" Kirk's head snapped around. "Pilot, we need all the power you can coax out of this hulk. Get us moving!"
"Aye-aye!" She began snapping orders at the rest of the crew and they fell to work with a willingness gratifying to behold, given their exhausted state.
"I beg your pardon, Captain?"
"Sorry, Spock. There's a wounded animal here that beaches itself when it's going to die. We're going to follow it to open water. Continue to monitor this channel for as long as you can. We'll let you know as soon as we reach surface. Meanwhile, get plankton samples from Curie and start cloning." He turned to the pilot and slapped the back of her chair. "All right, Mr. Windischfollow that kraken!"
The harpoon shaft stung Chekov's palms when he flung his hands up to intercept Alion's swing. Uhura stumbled back, out of Chekov's sight, and he hauled back on the harpoon with all his strength in the hopes of throwing Alion off balance. Frost prickled his cheeks where the shimmering goggles ended, knifing down his throat to seize his lungs in icy claws.
The shaman countered by rocking his own weight forward and stumbling the lieutenant back several steps. Chekov clenched his teeth against a cough, but didn't loosen his grip on the harpoon.
"It's pointless," Alion told him. Kitka breath swarmed in curling billows around the edges of his mask. "I only need to scratch youyou and her bothand you're dead!"
Chekov opted not to risk his breath by answering.
Uhura arrowed into his line of sight again, a chunk of milky ice gripped in both hands. Blood singing with panic, Chekov jerked at Alion's weapon again, desperate to disarm him. He took a breath to shout at Uhura, and every muscle in his chest seized around a convulsive cough he couldn't choke away.
Alion needed only that break in Chekov's attention. With a powerful torque of shoulders and arms, the shaman whipped the harpoon shaft in a tight circle and snapped it from Chekov's hands. Chekov tried to jerk back, but only slid on the ice beneath him. The impact of the harpoon shaft against his face knocked him to the ground, facedown in the snow, with nausea and unconsciousness washing over him in alternating waves.
"See?" Alion's voice rose, high and triumphant, from somewhere impossibly distant above him. "This kind of power keeps us all from being equal. You should understand that now." Chekov felt the harpoon head dig against the neck of his parka and remembered, very vaguely, that he ought to be afraid. "Be in awe, Lieutenantthis is where you meet a god."
Waves, crashing and roaring anew, drowned Alion's voice in a frenzy of breaking ice and hissing snow. Still coughing, blood stinging the inside of his mouth with the taste of copper, Chekov steeled himself for the prick that meant Alion had delivered the last wound he was ever likely to feel. He curled his fingers into the frozen snow and closed his eyes.
The pressure at the nape of his neck lifted, then a harpoon clattered to the ice beside him, bloodless. He resisted an urge to look behind him, even when someone's labored breathing blew hot salt smell over him and someone else nudged him heavily with one foot.
"Chekov " Uhura's voice tickled his ear over the inside channel, so faint as to be thought more than spoken. "Oh, God, Chekov, don't movedon't even breathe!"
Fear crept over him again, leaching into his bones like the cold from the ice sheet beneath him. The rough handling moved erratically up his legs, across his back, onto the hood of his parka. He could see a shadow thenlong, thick, and decidedly nonhumanoid. When a cool, white nostril as broad across as his hand brushed his cheek in its snuffing, he looked without meaning to, pushing up on one elbow and turning such that their faces almost touched for that instant.
The kraken reared back in surprise, blowing a startled cloud of steam out either side of its sinuous neck. Jaw feathers clattering, ivory chest speckled with a mixture of Kitka blood and tattered parka, the Kitka's enigmatic god blinked orbs as wide and shimmering as reflective polar goggles, then pulled back into the ocean and sank silently away.
Chapter Fifteen
THE EMERGENCY HATCH clanged back, and a crisp, cold gust of wind whistled down into the Soroya. McCoy breathed deeply, relishing the fresh air against his face. He elbowed Kirk aside, only half-kiddingly. "Let me at the oxygen first."
"By all means, Doctor," Kirk said with an obliging grin. "After you."
McCoy navigated the short corridor in something just a little under light-speed, and emerged into Nordstral's blinding sunlight. Wincing, he slapped a hand over his eyes and reached back with the other, fingers waggling. "Give me the damned visor!" Someone tucked it into his hand, and he bent his head to snap it into place. He looked up, eyes protected behind the polarized material, and gaped at his surroundings.
The ice ran in an unbroken sheet to the horizon. Distance gave it the impression of absolute flatness and utter uniformity. It was only up close to the ship that he could detect the fine whorls and hollows created by the ever-present wind. Several meters to their left lay the injured kraken. McCoy couldn't tell whether or not she was still alive. A large group of people he guessed were Kitka stood not far from her, strung in a tight semicircle and watching her in a very grave manner. Beyond them was a familiar white and red Enterprise shuttle, and lounging in the doorway
Someone poked him from below. "Move it, Bones," Kirk griped good-naturedly. "No one wants to stay in here any longer than they have to."
McCoy's cheeks flushed. He hadn't meant to sightsee. He swung himself out of the hatch and stumbled upright onto the ice. In a moment, Kirk landed gracefully beside him. Nuie was right behind him, and the Kitka's appearance was greeted by a cacophony of whistles and trills from the assembled natives. He tugged up his hood and answered them in kind.
"What are they saying?" Kirk asked.
"They want to know if we killed the god. I told them no."
"How did they get here so fast? Is there a village nearby?"
"Probably. I'm not sure where we are." Nuie grinned broadly at the look Kirk gave him. "They've been expecting us, though."
"What?"
He shrugged his broad shoulders. "Well, not us, but the kraken." He whistled a few lines and waited for a reply. "One of the old women had a dream the god would beach itself here." He shoved his hands in his pockets and strolled toward the assembled Kitka.
Kirk lifted his eyebrows in interest, but turned away, only then recognizing who approached from the shuttle. "Mr. Scott! Welcome to Nordstral. It's good to see someone besides McCoy for a change."
"Aye, and it's good to see you, too, Captain." The Scotsman's eyes twinkled, and McCoy c
ould just imagine what a spectacle they must be in their borrowed clothing and battered condition. "You didn't think I'd be letting Sulu fly one of my shuttles all on his own, now, did you?"
"Of course not, Scotty." Kirk clapped him on the shoulder. "Not and pass up a chance to see what's been going on down here."
Scott grinned broadly. "It's also a chance to get away from all that work Spock's had me doing." He glanced over at McCoy. "You'll be glad to hear that every nook and cranny on the Enterprise's cargo bays is now filled with wee magnetic beasties. Mr. Spock's almost ready to start shooting the first batch into the oceans."
McCoy scowled. "Is he taking precautions to keep the plankton heavily shielded? The last thing we need is for the Enterprise to have an outbreak of Nordstral's magnetic insanity."
"Oh, aye. He had my engineers clad all the holds with demagnetized plating"
"Can we debate the details of this plan later?" Kirk asked plaintively. "Right now, all I want is to get back to the Enterprise."
McCoy smiled at the note of longing in the captain's voice. Too long away from his lady made him anxious. He was as bad as Scotty in that respect. "I'll be there in a minute, Jim." He glanced toward the assembled Kitka.
Kirk followed his gaze and nodded. "Scotty, power up. We'll be with you in a moment."
"Aye, sir." The burly engineer disappeared back inside the shuttle's open hatch.
Together, Kirk and McCoy walked toward the water. The Kitka parted to let them through, and they found themselves close beside the injured kraken. She sprawled across the bloodstained ice, her tail limp and trailing like weeds in the water, her neck outstretched to its full length, hard white feathers frozen to the ground. McCoy watched closely, but couldn't see any signs of respiration.
He marveled at the great creature, yet was struck by a sense of wonder lost, as though here, out of her element, she'd somehow been reduced to the ordinary. Her mottled shadings were gray and dull without the water, and her wide eyes, staring ahead of her at nothing, were no longer iridescent.
"She's dead," Nuie's sad voice confirmed behind them. McCoy looked around and back at him, but could find nothing to say by way of comfort.
Kirk, rightfully, didn't even attempt it. He held out his hand. "Thank you for everything, Nuie. You'll make the Soroya a fine captain."
"Thank you, Captain."
Kirk nodded and shook the man's hand a final time. "Bones, whenever you're ready." He turned and walked toward the shuttle.
McCoy watched him enter the ship, then turned and extended his own hand. "Well, I can't exactly say it's been a pleasure "
The Kitka surprised him by laughing. "No, I guess you can't. Here." He dipped into one pocket and brought out the ulu. "Take this. Let it remind you of our adventure "
"As though I could forget!"
" and your brother on Nordstral."
Emotion clogged McCoy's throat. He took the ceremonial knife and cradled it in his hand for several moments before he could trust himself to look at Nuie. "Thank you."
"You're welcome. Now, go back to your people. We'll take care of the kraken." Nuie squeezed his shoulder once, then turned away and led the other Kitka closer to the kraken. Several already had their knives out.
McCoy looked away, staring at the Soroya instead. He was amazed at how low she rode in the water, and how awful she looked with the gaping wounds in her sides. It was a miracle any of them had survived.
He looked across the expanse of black water, then at the surrounding ice field, dazzlingly brilliant in the sunshine. It was alien to him. It always would be. He ran the ball of his thumb gently along the ulu blade and was astounded to see a tiny line of red appear. "Damn." He pocketed the weapon and sucked momentarily at his thumb. It was time to go home.
Uhura watched in astonishment as the kraken's glowing eyes made descending bright streaks in the water, then vanished entirely. After seeing it devour the Kitka shaman with one snap of its sharp-toothed jaws, she still couldn't believe it had left Chekov untouched. She hobbled over to the security officer's sprawled body, forcing herself to ignore the pain in her left knee.
"Chekov, are you all right? Did Alion hit you?"
Chekov made a choking noise that froze Uhura's breath with fear until she realized it was breathless laughter. "He hit me several times. You didn't notice?"
Uhura gave him a gentle swat on the top of his headthe only place she could be sure he wasn't injured. "I meant with the harpoon tip," she said severely, but a smile of sheer relief tugged at her lips beneath the breath filter. If Chekov had been poisoned, he would have been showing the signs of it by now. She reached out and helped him struggle to his feet. "That kraken got here just in time."
"Yes." The brief spurt of laughter faded from Chekov's voice and left it grim. "I don't think that was a coincidence."
"But what ?" Uhura's eyes widened as she suddenly realized what he meant. A wash of horror swept through her. "Oh, no! You don't think Ghyl"
"I don't know." Chekov's mouth tightened below the shimmer of his goggles, and they came to a halt at the rock cliff rimming the ledge. He raised his voice, tapping on his insulation suit's comm. "Mr. Howard? Are you up there?"
Footsteps crunched on ice and a tall figure appeared at the edge of the icy platform. "I tried to stop her, sir," Howard said, his voice breaking slightly. "But I had that Kitka to tie up, and she did it so fast " He held out one hand to show them the scrap of bloody fur. "I almost caught her when she threw herself in the ocean. This was all I got."
Uhura swallowed tears, unable to reply. She turned her face into the ice-crusted fur of Chekov's parka, and felt his hand come up to clasp her shoulder gently. His voice was gruff.
"It's not your fault, Mr. Howard. There wasn't anything you could have done." He cleared his voice, speaking more to Uhura than to the security guard. "Ghyl knew what she was doing. She wanted her god to make things right, and she succeeded."
"I know." Uhura gave a last sniff and lifted her face from the musty-smelling fur. "If she hadn't called the kraken to come here, you and I would both be dead."
"And Alion would be alive and armed with a poisoned harpoon to use against Howard. She saved all of us." Chekov bent before Uhura knew what he was doing and made a stirrup of his hands. "Come on. We need to get back to the shelter."
"I'm not going to let you lift me! Chekov, you're hurt worse than I am." She stepped back and tugged him to his feet. "I'll kneel down, and you can step on my shoulder"
"I'm too heavy to"
"Sir, if you would just"
Their tangled voices broke off abruptly when a familiar hailing signal sang in their insulation suit comms. "Enterprise shuttle calling landing party," Sulu's crisp voice reported through the wail of auroral static. "Do you read me?"
"Loud and clear!" Uhura replied. The strength of the shuttle's signal meant it had to be approaching. "Have you got a fix on the native rock shelter?"
"Right where Mr. Spock said it would be." A low drone rolled over the horizon and grew louder. The helmsman's voice grew clearer through the static. "I can even see you guys now. Hey, what are you doing down on the beach? It's too cold to get a suntan today."
Chekov's laugh made a cloud of ice-white mist around his face. "Finally, these damn black insulation suits are good for something. Sulu, there's a wide rock ledge down hereit's probably the best place to land the shuttle."
"Acknowledged." The silver shine of the planetary craft caught the pale pink glow of arctic sunset as it circled the platform they stood on, then settled to a landing. "Hope you guys are ready to start talking. Captain Kirk wants to know why there's a Kitka tied up down the ledge from us."
"Oh, no." Uhura took a deep breath and saw Chekov doing the same thing. "He wants us to report right now?"
"We have a long ride back up to the orbital platform, gentlemen," said Kirk's unmistakably cheerful voice. "We might as well make good use of it."
"Yes, sir." Uhura looked over at Chekov and laughed. "Welcome ba
ck to Starfleet."
Chapter Sixteen
CHEKOV CAUGHT the turbolift door with one hand and stepped partway into the corridor. Balancing a covered food tray on his hip, he watched and listened carefully for signs of passing foot traffic while ignoring two polite, "Please do not block turbolift access," prompts from the computer. He wasn't blocking it, he reasonedhe was holding it to secure an escape route. Good security procedures. He didn't see or hear anyone, though, so stepped bravely into the corridor and let the lift hiss shut with a singsong, "Thank you."
He hadn't really expected to run into anyone on his way to Uhura's quarters. It was just late enough that the duty shift had changed, so the press of people coming and going through the corridors had eased. Anyone who wasn't at their duty stations was busy unwinding before heading off to bed. People tended to do such unwinding in their quarters or in the rec room, not in the open corridors. Waiting until shift change ended had been worth it, then, even if it had meant additional obstacleslike fresh personnelto his getting out of sickbay.
Yesterday, when the shuttle came for them at the Kitka shelter, he'd thought he would sleep for at least a solid week. He'd stood outside the shuttle to make a verbal report to Kirklimiting himself to bare bones for the sake of avoiding awkward explanationshelped Howard stow and log whatever remained of their gravsled and gear, then removed himself to the rear of the shuttle, where he could be alone on the trip back to the ship.
Threading his way between the narrow shuttle seats, Chekov had stripped off the hood of his insulation suit, aching from his teeth to his bones, and unsealed the front panel of his suit as he flopped into one of the empty seats. Just sitting in a warm, safe environment had felt like a delicious luxury; he almost tumbled into sleep the moment his head hit the back of the seat.
He had letters to draft, though, decisions to make. Tenzing's family would want to understand everything their daughter had been and done while she was away on board the Enterprise; Publicker's family would want his belongings shipped home, and they'd be disappointed to have no body. These were the duties Chekov hated most about his job, the ones he most wished he could delegate to some other officer. At the core of it, though, the people who worked under him were his responsibility. It was his responsibility, as well, to admit when he failed to take care of them.