by KATHY OLTION
“Let’s check for energy usage and communications,” Scotty said, setting to work at the sensors.
“Right. I’ll take communications.” McCoy put the universal translator’s earpiece in his left ear and bent over his console, slowly tuning through the electromagnetic spectrum. Scotty brought the long-range scanners on line and began sifting for power sources. There were thousands of them on the ground, and quite a few in orbit as well. It looked like the locals were technologically advanced enough to have a network of communication satellites. A quick survey of the companion moons showed outposts there as well, so they were also advanced enough to have gained at least some space travel capabilities.
“So what else does that quantum shift thing?” McCoy asked.
Scotty looked up. “What?”
“Electrons. Cats. What else changes energy states like that?”
Doctors, Scotty thought, but he held his tongue. A bead of sweat rolled down his forehead, reminding him of the stubborn Maxwell filter, so he said, “Ions.” The heat sent his thoughts back to the Brandons’ heirloom toaster. He winced, remembering that it still sat unusable in a cabinet back on the Enterprise. At least it wasn’t in the blacksmith shop with old Thorpe tempted to try his hand at fixing it.
He turned back to his scanners, but he kept thinking about McCoy’s question. What other name would capture the spirit of their little stowaway? Heating element? And the doctor’d thought Electron was a mouthful! Toaster? Not bloody likely. . . .
“It’d be nice if we could find something . . . celestial,” McCoy said. “You know, since we found her while we were in space.”
“We could call her ‘Quasar.’ ”
“Nope.”
“Wormhole.”
“No!”
“Pulsar.”
“Uh-uh. How about ‘Supernova’? No, wait, just ‘Nova.’ ”
Anything if it lets us get back to work, Scotty thought, but he had to admit that “Nova” was better than anything they’d come up with so far. And by the twinkle in McCoy’s eye, Scotty knew that the doctor was pretty pleased with the name, and with himself for thinking of it.
“Nova,” he said. “Hmmm. Well it surely passes the ‘here Nova, Nova, Nova’ test.” The more Scotty rolled the name off his tongue, the better he liked it. And naming her after a flaring star worked, too. “Sure. Nova it is.”
He looked back into the crew quarters, but she was nowhere in sight.
They set back to work at the sensors, and a few minutes later Scotty had at least an idea of what kind of place they had found. BTS 453 was approximately half land, half water, with roughly two-thirds of the land mass occupying the southern hemisphere. There were rudimentary ice caps at the poles, and the atmosphere’s content was similar to Earth’s. Weatherwise it was also similar to Earth, with cyclonic disturbances and evidence of jetstreams and areas of high and low air pressure. There was also a bit of an industrial pollution problem, from the looks of things.
The heaviest population densities appeared to be located not along the coasts, as it was on most inhabited planets, but near the center of each continent. Upon closer inspection, he found why that was. Most of the continents had a central network of large lakes connected by rivers.
He detected a lot of life in the oceans as well, but not of the type he found in the obviously urban areas of the planet. The oceanic life-forms were either much larger or much smaller than those he suspected were the technologically adept life-forms on the ground.
Scotty then turned his attention to the three moons. The closest was small, about three hundred kilometers in diameter. His sensors picked up two manned stations, one in either hemisphere. The second moon sat farther out and had one manned outpost. The distance to the third and largest moon was an order of magnitude farther than that of the inner ones, and he didn’t detect any signs of life there at all.
He set the sensors for a subspace scan, already knowing he would find nothing there, and leaned back in his chair.
“Any luck, Doctor?”
“Terrific, if you call cataloging 417 channels of apparent entertainment and 123 supposed news broadcasts lucky. The lower end of the spectrum seems to be reserved for transportation comms. Airplane controls and taxi service and the like.” McCoy took the translator earpiece out and gave his ear a good rubbing, then took a drink from his mug, draining it. “The highlights I garnered from the news centered mostly around land boundary conflicts, ecological disasters, and political elections. Not a word about Kauld or Blood or olivium.”
“Anything about interplanetary relations?”
“Only that one of the stations on the closest moon, the one they call ‘Ulu,’ is due for a change of personnel. Apparently it’s a science station and there are no permanent residents, no one’s trying to colonize it. Oh, and by the way, the natives call their planet ‘Casail.’ Let’s be sure to tell Spock.”
Scotty sighed. “It sounds like we’ve found a prewarp society here.”
“I’d agree to that. What did you discover?”
Scotty related the information he had gathered, then when he saw McCoy’s glazed expression he said, “My God, man. That sounded just like an encyclopedia entry, didn’t it?”
McCoy laughed. “Yes, but you left out the gross national product.”
“No, no. I have that, too. Just didn’t think ye’d be interested.”
“Well, if it’ll make you feel any better, I’m sure this information probably will be included in the next encyclopedia.”
Scotty shook his head. “I’m so glad I’ve been assigned to an exploration ship rather than to a survey team.” He got up and stretched his legs. “I mean, reading sensors all the time, just cataloging data, not getting to really see what you’ve found. That’s not the life for me.”
McCoy chuckled. “I think I know what you’re saying. But there is a certain appeal to the other side of exploration. It’d give a man a chance to think, to ponder his place in the universe. To reflect on his own choices in life.”
“My, aren’t we getting a wee bit philosophical so early in the morning?”
“It’s hardly morning any more. It’s time for some lunch.” McCoy got up and squeezed past Scotty to the store of rations. Over his shoulder he said, “I think it’s obvious that we’re not going to find help or allies here.”
Scotty joined him, both men sorting through the stack of rectangular self-heating food containers, looking at the labels.
“Interesting that they’ve escaped notice by the Kauld,” McCoy said. “Chicken à la king. That’ll do.”
“This place isn’t exactly on the way to anywhere,” Scotty reminded him, “and they’re technologically far enough behind the Kauld or even the Blood that neither o’ them scoundrels would bother with them. Yet.”
“You’re not going to eat another packet of that stuff, are you?” McCoy asked.
“What’s wrong with Vulcan latica? It reminds me of haggis.”
“I rest my case.”
“Ha. Well then, it just means more for me.”
Within seconds of opening the containers, the cat appeared, sniffing the air, leaning on their legs and reaching high with her front paws.
“Not if she has anything to do with it,” McCoy laughed. He was already fishing out bits of chicken from his meal and putting them on a small access panel that they used for feeding her.
“Dinna ye mother teach ye better than to beg?” Scotty asked the cat as he held a chunk of latica out for her. “By the way, we’ve named you ‘Nova.’ ”
If the cat cared, she didn’t show it.
“I’m assuming our job here is done,” McCoy said. “Where do we go next?”
Scotty wiped the corner of his mouth and said, “The next likely planet is two light-years away, according to the data that Mr. Spock supplied us with.”
“How many more ‘likely planets’ does he have listed?”
“Let me check.” Scotty moved back to the control panel. “He gave us thirty-seven.”
/> “Thirty-seven! By the time we get through all those, Belle Terre will be a thriving crossroads. There’s got to be a better way to get the information we need.”
Scotty agreed. He pulled up more of the data that Spock had supplied them with and studied the maps. There were several isolated places listed, but he figured that the isolation would increase the chances of those worlds being like Casail: populated with people just taking their first few steps out of the cradle. McCoy came up behind him and looked over the information, too.
Scotty said, “I think we’ll have better luck if we keep to these areas here. In fact,” he said, pausing to take a closer look at a section where a lot of space travel was likely, “I think we should set our heading for right here.” He pointed out the coordinates to McCoy.
“Why?” McCoy asked, one eyebrow rising to punctuate the question.
“To an old space-dog like me, Doctor, that looks like an oasis. It’s central to several active planets, but it isn’t a planet itself. I’ll bet it’s some sort of outpost. That’s where we’ll find what we need. We can sit tight and let the warp-capable civilizations come to us.”
“Sounds fine by me.”
Scotty programmed the coordinates into the ship’s navigational computer and set it on a fast pace toward their next destination. “Now, if you’ll excuse me,” he said after the warp field had settled down and subspace was streaking past outside, “I’m going to take myself a wee bit of a nap.”
“Hey!” McCoy said. “What about the heat in here? It’s stifling.”
“Aye, you’re right.” Scotty picked up the Maxwell exchange filter and handed it to McCoy. “All ye need to do is find out why this isn’t working, then just plug it in.” He pointed to the ceiling panel above the pilot’s chair, then turned away toward the crew quarters.
Chapter Seventeen
THE SHUTTLE had been badly damaged. Deloric and Terwolan floated in their spacesuits beside it, making a visual inspection to see just how bad it was. All around them the stars were tiny points of silvery light, but in their soft glow the shuttle showed what too much light could do. Every surface that had been exposed to the laser’s fury had either melted or charred. Access hatches had welded themselves to the hull; thruster ports were clogged, and most of the sensors were unrecognizable lumps.
Deloric and Terwolan weren’t in much better shape themselves. They had both been burned on their faces and arms so badly that the skin was blistering. Their hair was coming off in crisp chunks. They could see again, but every time he blinked, Deloric could still see the laser beam slicing across his field of vision. It had been torture putting on his spacesuit, but they needed to know how badly the shuttle had been damaged.
Their blind jump had taken them a few light-hours away. They were still on the edge of the same star system they had been in, but they had gone far enough to be outside the Blind. Deloric was glad of that. The Blind was theoretically not dangerous to a properly protected person, but he had taken about all the radiation damage he was willing to endure for a while.
“You know anything about warp engines?” Terwolan asked him, pointing at the partially melted bulge on the shuttle’s underside.
“No,” he said, “but I know it’s working or we wouldn’t be here.”
“The control panel doesn’t even acknowledge its existence,” she pointed out.
“It’s got to be just a sensor glitch. We know it’s getting commands.”
“It’s going to be mighty hard piloting this thing without feedback.”
“Yeah.” He looked at the reaction engines at the back. The bell-shaped nozzles were okay—after all, they were designed to withstand far more heat than they had received today—but the fuel lines leading to them were partially melted. “It’s going to be hard doing it without normal-space engines, too, but I think we’d better try. If those fuel lines rupture, we’re dead.”
Terwolan pulled herself around back for a closer look. “It’s just the left engine. The right side is okay.”
“So we can go in spirals. That’s good news.”
“We can shift the center of gravity to the right as much as possible by moving things around inside. And the forward steering jets are still good, so I can compensate with those, too. It’ll be enough to get us into port somewhere.”
So long as they didn’t try to land on a planet, but that went without saying.
“We’re not going to get much in trade for it when we get wherever we’re going,” he said.
“Trade?” She looked over at him, her head tilted to the side inside her helmet.
“I don’t know about you, but I’m not exactly rich at the moment, and we’re not going to be able to access our payroll unless we want to trip every security alert in the sector. We’ll have to sell the shuttle for room and board until we can find work and set up new lives. And anyone we could sell it to will know it’s stolen, so they won’t be generous.”
She was silent for a moment, then she let out a long sigh. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead, but you’re right. We’re criminals now. We’ll have to start over from the beginning with new identities, new friends, the whole works. I won’t be able to see my family again.”
“It may not be that bad,” he said, trying to reassure her, “but we do have to be careful.”
They moved forward again, pulling themselves along using the partially melted handholds set in the hull. Deloric inspected the frames around the front windows and decided they would probably hold against air pressure from inside for as long as they needed to, and Terwolan checked the landing skids to make sure they wouldn’t buckle under the shuttle’s weight in a gravity field.
After they had seen all they needed to, they went back inside. The airlock door lurched closed behind them, sticking twice before sealing tight enough to allow the lock to be pressurized. When they stepped through into the shuttle, Deloric closed the inner door behind them as well, just as a safety precaution.
Removing their suits was agonizing. When Deloric bumped his burned nose on his helmet’s neck ring, he thought he would pass out from the pain. He gritted his teeth and peeled off the rest of his suit, then went to the medical locker and found a burn ointment with a topical anesthetic in it. He and Terwolan slathered it over their hands, forearms, and faces, then sat down at the control panel and went over their options.
Deloric called up the list of preprogrammed destinations. Whether or not the autopilot could fly the ship without feedback from the engines was anybody’s guess, but it would certainly help to know the course to follow even if the ship couldn’t do it on its own. Most of the choices were military bases and supply depots, but there were a few neutral worlds and commercial ports of call. He looked for something nearby; nearby and busy. If they had to blend in with the crowd, it would help to have a crowd to blend in with.
Terwolan was looking over her shoulder. “How about Hingal IV?” she asked. “It’s a major commercial center.”
He had been there once, and still remembered the customs procedure. They had inventoried everything— including his teeth!—to make sure he wasn’t trying to smuggle anything in or out. “Too much security,” he said. “How about the Fenorik Ring? It’s a moon-sized space station. People come and go there all the time.”
“It’s also the home base for the Arecta syndicate. I may be a criminal, but I don’t want to deal with them.”
“Good point.” They scrolled on through the list. There were hundreds of possible worlds and space stations to choose from, but it was alarming how quickly most of them could be eliminated. The end of the list was scrolling onto the screen when he finally saw it.
“Naresidan Cluster,” he said, just as Terwolan pointed at the same entry and said, “There!”
It was perfect. The original Naresidan was an old slowboat, a cylindrical canister a dozen rho across that had carried a thousand Naresi colonists across ten lightyears of space over the course of generations. It was so primitive it actually rotated for gravity,
but it was built to last, and it was so much a home to the colonists by the time they arrived at their prospective colony world that only thirty of them even attempted to live on the planet. The fifteen survivors returned to the ship within a year, and the Naresi had lived in orbit ever since. They added to their living space from time to time, at first mining the asteroids for more raw materials but later buying old cargo ships from neighboring star systems after they had been discovered by dynadrive-propelled travellers. The resulting conglomeration of habitat modules and ships looked more like an industrial accident than a space station, but it was a free port, and its owners accepted anybody who wanted to join them, no questions asked.
The shuttle wouldn’t even exist a day after they got there. Anything salvageable would be sold to pay for their cubic, and the rest would be melted down and used to build more living space.
“Let’s do it,” Deloric said.
Terwolan reached for the controls.
Chapter Eighteen
WHAT THEY FOUND in the pantry turned into a gourmet meal, as far as Kirk was concerned. With a generous serving from her stash of semolina flour and a few eggs from the neighbor’s hens, Lilian made fresh pasta, then sent Kirk out to the garden with a reed basket to collect whatever vegetables looked ready to pick. He found a double handful of cherry tomatoes, a green pepper, something akin to a head of broccoli, and some peas practically bursting from their pods.
Lilian joined him and began picking leaves of lettuce and endive. “It’s odd,” she said, pushing foliage aside in search of a ripe salad tomato, “how the mineral content in soil will affect the way a vegetable will grow.”
“How do you mean?” Kirk asked. He laid the greens on top of the other vegetables he’d put in the basket.
She plucked a good-size tomato from the vine and handed it to him. It was smooth and solid in his hand. A strong, pungent smell wafted from the tomato’s leaves.
“Take a look at the bottom,” she said.
“Looks good to me.”
“That’s not an accident. The first tomatoes I grew here were all misshapen. The plants were spindly and the fruit would rot from the bottom up. When I talked to our botanist, she said the Burn left the soil too acidic. All the ash, I guess.”