McCoy stared at her for a moment, not sure of how to respond. She was right, but he wasn’t prepared to admit defeat just yet. With a stab of his finger, the doctor snapped the monitor off, then stood up. “I’m going to go get something to eat. Biopsy Bouchard’s brain and get the sample to Harrison in the lab,” he said. “And when Thomas gets back, consider yourself off duty. Get some rest, Christine. That’s an order.”
She said nothing, giving only a hint of a smile.
They both headed out of his office, Chapel a few steps ahead of McCoy. His destination was the recreation room on this deck, which wasn’t far. McCoy walked slowly, wanting to spend some time alone with his thoughts. With the ship on Red Alert, most of the crew were at action stations, and those who were in the corridors were on urgent errands. Something must have damaged the power conduits in this section, because the lights were dim, giving everything a dusklike feel.
The doctor’s conscience was rearing up: he knew he’d been short with Chapel. Tired and stressed, McCoy was taking it out on her. And she—as usual—accepted it and did her duty.
No surprise—she’s out here because it’s her choice. Not because she feels this need to keep on moving, like you do.
Chapel had initially gone into space to find her missing fiancé, Roger Korby. Enterprise had located Korby two years ago, discovering that he’d been dead for years. And yet Christine had stayed on board, never once expressing to McCoy a desire to move on, or even to return to her career in bioresearch. She seemed settled in a way that he wasn’t.
He resolved to apologize to her once he got back to sickbay. Maybe he’d even bring her a sandwich.
After a few minutes’ slow walk deep in thought, he reached the rec room. It was almost noon. Normally the room would be full of officers and crew talking, eating, playing games, even singing. Today, there were a scant dozen in here, silent as they wolfed down their food. Eat and run.
Run. Ha! The Enterprise couldn’t afford to run. It did little more than crawl at warp one. McCoy hoped that they cleared this spatial distortion soon; at this speed it would take months to get to Mu Arigulon.
As he made his way to the food slots, the doctor passed a lieutenant with a familiar face whose name escaped him. Sitting at a table by himself eating mashed potatoes, the sandy-haired man nodded at McCoy, who nodded back. The man had been assigned to sickbay for a rotation. Connors.
McCoy continued to the slots. With something in his stomach, he might just be able to find the inspiration he needed—
The whole deck rose beneath his feet, vaulting him into the air, and the lights chose that moment to fail again. Before his mind could fully process the absence of gravity, McCoy plummeted back down, accompanied by the sounds of things crashing hard. His training kicked in, and he pulled his legs up to his chest in a tuck as he made contact with the deck once more. A jolt of pain ran through him. Doing his best to ignore it, the doctor rolled backward and then on his side.
He still couldn’t see, but the noises around him were terrible. Crashing, shattering, groaning.
Lots and lots of groaning. People in this room needed his help. No time to moan about his hurting backside; he had to get up and get going.
Spock was intrigued. Having finished their orbital scans, the Hofstadter’s crew had taken the shuttle into the atmosphere, to a large continent in the southern hemisphere. The inhabitants of Mu Arigulon V had vanished. Evidence to date ruled out a violent extinction, either natural or artificial. There were no signs of war or civil unrest, nor was there anything amiss in the environment, aside from a low level of atmospheric toxicity.
The absence of remains of any kind presented a puzzle. A mass exodus, while possible, required a planetary space industry that Mu Arigulon V lacked. There were no stations in orbit, no space elevators, no vast spaceports, nothing with the capacity to process the millions, if not billions, of beings who must have lived on the planet.
With all the knowledge at his disposal, Spock could not devise a theory that made use of all the available facts and explained where the natives had gone. It was a challenge, and he looked forward to discovering what had happened.
Karl Jaeger, a geophysicist specializing in meteorology, was seated behind Lieutenant Kologwe at navigation. Spock turned to face him. “Mister Jaeger,” he said, “do you have an explanation for this planet’s atmospheric toxicity?”
“I do, sir,” Jaeger said, handing Spock his data slate. “If you look at the readings we’ve taken, you’ll see that a major climatic shift took place about two centuries ago, perhaps a little longer, causing the temperature to rise.” Jaeger turned to M’Benga and the others seated behind him. Spock listened while studying the data. “Evidence of this can still be seen everywhere. Levels of heavy metals and atmospheric pollutants, especially polyaromatic hydrocarbons such as compounds of the benzopyrene family, are just below toxicity threshold for most humanoids. Several decades ago, this place must’ve been deadly. Thankfully, the air’s clean now and the planet’s cooled down again. Sir, if you require a detailed breakdown of what happened, I’ll have to analyze precipitation layers at one of the polar ice caps.”
Spock considered this. “Thank you, Mister Jaeger. I’ll add it to our list of objectives.”
“Sir …” Jaeger hesitated for a moment. “There’s one other thing.”
“Yes, Lieutenant?”
“Windspeeds are picking up, and cloud formations are growing across this entire continent. All indications are that we’re in for a storm.”
“I am aware of this, Mister Jaeger.”
“But it doesn’t make any sense. We’re talking about a big storm—one that could cover this part of the southern hemisphere. But when we were in orbit, there was no sign of it: no low-pressure system, no inversion layer. There still isn’t. But now it’s on its way.”
Spock momentarily considered that Jaeger was not accounting for the idiosyncrasies of the weather of a new planet, but he immediately dismissed the idea. The lieutenant had too much experience. “Thank you, Mister Jaeger.” Spock was confident that the shuttle’s shields would minimize the effects of any adverse weather.
He added the weather dilemma to his internal list of conundrums, tasking a small part of his mind to its resolution. “Mister Scott,” he said, rising from his seat, “report on the satellite we recovered.”
The engineer was hunched over the strange mauve-colored device at the back of the shuttle, having unsealed a panel to access its innards. “There are some highly sophisticated electronics in here, Mister Spock.” He pulled his hand out of the device, dislodging several wires. “Plus a fusion reactor only as big as the palm of your hand.”
“Have you determined the device’s purpose yet?”
“Aye. Projecting energy,” he said, picking his tricorder up off the deck, “but I canna tell what kind of energy. It’s been inert for at least a decade. The only bits I can be sure about are its thrusters; it’s got a powerful reaction control system.”
Spock nodded. The satellite could be nearly anything: a weapon, a shield generator, a tractor emitter, even a surveillance sensor. “Would it be possible to activate the device?”
“Aye.” Scott peered back into its innards, his eyes jumping between the device and the readout on his tricorder. “Everything seems intact inside.” His facial expression transformed in a way that Spock knew humans called “lighting up.” “I’d like to take a crack at it if you don’t mind, once we land. Wouldn’t be safe in here.”
“Indeed, Mister Scott. Once our aerial survey comes to an end, you may proceed.”
Scott leaned back to sit on the deck, against the aft wall of the shuttle. “Mister Spock, shouldn’t we be helping find Yüksel?” His face distorted in a portrayal of what could only be termed exasperation. “The poor lad is out there somewhere.”
“The captain has ordered us to continue our survey for now. There is little that a second shuttlecraft could do that the first cannot.”
Scotty nodd
ed and began looking at his tricorder readouts once more. Spock recognized that he was not entirely satisfied, but knew better than to press the issue. He returned to the pilot’s seat to examine the surface beneath the Hofstadter. It was a large expanse of wooded land dotted with mountains that grew larger the farther the shuttle flew. Rivers cut patterns into the terrain, a flood plain of times long past, and they eventually converged into one wide torrent that rushed on toward a high cliff.
A light began bleeping on Kologwe’s controls. “Incoming transmission from the Columbus party, sir.”
“On speakers, please, Lieutenant.”
The voice of Captain Kirk crackled from the speakers. “Spock, do you read me?”
“Perfectly, Captain.”
“Do you know anything about this interference we’re starting to pick up?”
Spock checked his controls. There was indeed static in some of the scan results, though it was not pronounced enough to trip any alerts. “A negligible amount was reported by the initial probe of the planet, but I have only just detected the increase myself, Captain. Is it impeding the function of your tricorders?”
“A little. Could it be related to the distortions that Uhura reported?”
“Unknown, Captain.” Several minutes after Yüksel had sent his distress call, the landing parties had received a transmission from the Enterprise, indicating that it had encountered a spatial distortion, but would be continuing to Mu Arigulon at a slightly slower pace. “The data that the Enterprise sent were not comprehensive.”
“Raise them again.”
“Captain, do you want us to come and help you look for Yüksel?” broke in Scotty.
“Negative, Scotty. Right now I want to know more about this planet. And what happened to its inhabitants.”
“Understood, Captain,” said Spock. “I will contact you if we acquire further information.”
“Good. Be careful.”
Spock raised an eyebrow. It seemed an unnecessary reminder. “Of course, Captain. Hofstadter out.”
He readied a transmission to the Enterprise and sent it, but there was not an immediate response. If the level of subspace interference was higher near the starship’s position, there could be a time delay of up to six minutes. He returned his attention to the Hofstadter’s path.
The shuttle followed the river until it shot over the cliff edge, thundering down in a waterfall so high that when it arrived at the bottom it shattered into an all-enveloping mist. Ignoring the expressions of awe coming from the others, Spock took the shuttle in a slow descent down to the lowland, still following the river. The former inhabitants of Mu Arigulon V appeared to have needed or wanted access to water; they had constructed their population centers near bodies of water. This much the survey probe had established.
“Mister Spock,” Kologwe said, turning to him. Her normally smooth and expressionless features evidenced excitement, indiscernible to any but him. “I’m getting a reading here.”
“What kind of reading, Lieutenant?”
“There’s an energy source dead ahead of us. It’s weak, but definite.”
Spock was surprised to pick up an energy signature, after having spent the better part of half a day first in orbit and then in low-altitude flight with sensors constantly in active mode. “Intriguing. Well done, Lieutenant. We shall investigate.” Spock altered the Hofstadter’s course, simultaneously increasing speed.
Attempting to retrace the route Yüksel would have taken, Kirk and Giotto had followed the readings of freshly broken vegetation, following the trail to a gigantic tree growing in the middle of a structure. Giotto helped Kirk drop through a hole in the floor into the basement, made possible by years of collapse and decay.
Kirk grunted as he stood up. “Careful, sir,” Giotto called down. “I don’t want you disappearing, too.”
The captain smiled. The security chief was perhaps overzealous sometimes, but he got the job done. “Give me your flashlight!” he shouted back up.
Giotto dropped it right into Kirk’s hands. The captain waved it around the room. There were large pieces of machinery, but none of them seemed to be on. The walls were lined with the same large semicircles as they’d seen on the surface. He began walking around the base of the tree, keeping an eye on the walls of the chamber. The dirt crunched beneath his feet.
“Sir?” Giotto called down into the hole. “Do you want me to come down there?”
“Hold on, Comm—” Kirk was interrupted by a glint of bright silver metal near one of the walls. He pointed his beam right at it.
It was a Starfleet-issue flashlight. “I’ve found something!” he called. “Yüksel’s light.” He began picking his way over toward it.
“I’m coming down.” A few moments later, Kirk heard Giotto hit the dirt and walk in his direction.
Kirk squatted on the ground next to his find, the only sign that Yüksel had been here. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, but aside from scuff marks from landing on the gravel floor, there was nothing about it that told him anything. “‘Beneath the surface,’ his message said.” Kirk looked over at the large semicircles on the wall. “Those are doors, right?”
Giotto had his tricorder out. “Yes, sir. There are long tunnels behind each of them.”
Kirk handed Giotto his light back and turned Yüksel’s on, walking over to the semicircle to get a closer look at it. Its surface was black and featureless, completely smooth. “What happened down here, Commander? If he was attacked—what did it?”
“We haven’t even seen any signs of large animal life.” Giotto was slowly turning, shining his light on every corner of the room. “If only Chekov had stayed with him—”
“Then we’d likely be missing two men now instead of one,” interrupted Kirk. He flipped open his communicator. “Kirk to Spock.”
“Spock here, Captain.”
“Any word from the Enterprise yet?” The easiest solution to this problem would be using the starship’s powerful sensors to probe the planet from orbit. If Sulu brought her up to maximum warp, she could be here in just over twelve hours, not two days.
“The only signal I have received is my own, approximately six minutes, thirty seconds after transmission. An unknown phenomenon is reflecting all subspace communications.”
“Dammit, Spock,” hissed Kirk, “I need the Enterprise. What’s Sulu doing to my ship?”
“Unknown at present, sir. We have, however, located a powerful energy source and are en route.”
“What is it?”
“Also unknown, sir.”
“Well, find out.”
“Affirmative. Hofstadter out.”
Kirk turned to Giotto. “I’m not wasting any more time trying to find a way to open those things. Half-power should do it.”
Giotto nodded, and both men drew their phasers from their belts, turning the dials up. Kirk momentarily felt a twinge at the idea of destroying an ancient alien artifact. The captain stepped back from the semicircle he was examining, and Giotto stepped over to join him, training his weapon on it.
“Fire!”
Bright blue beams lanced out from their phasers, striking the center of the door and sending sparks flying. The light burned brightly, but the door remained the same black color.
“Full intensity!” Kirk twisted his dial all the way up, and the pitch of the phaser increased drastically, as did the light it produced. But despite the fact that the noise made him clench his teeth, nothing was happening.
Kirk released his finger from the trigger. “That’s enough. I’m calling Chekov and the others down here—we’re finding a way in.”
THREE
Stardate 4757.5 (1147 hours)
McCoy untucked his legs, reaching tentatively out with his arm. Finding metal, he put his weight on his hands as a prelude to standing up, only to find the metal slipping away. He fell right back to the deck. Another tray.
He waited a couple of moments, and realized that he could make out shapes now. His eyes wer
e adjusting, the emergency lights providing just enough illumination to see. Apparently even they were affected by the damned space distortion’s effects. He’d have to exchange a few words with Scotty about them when he got the chance. Now, he had other problems to worry about. Time for another attempt at getting back on his feet.
Not a good idea. He’d landed pretty hard, and now he was discovering exactly how hard. His eyes widened in reflex at the new pain that momentarily took away his breath. But viewed objectively, he’d been hurt worse.
McCoy looked around, trying to make out who was there, but without much success. A moan rose from nearby, causing him to call out, “Do you need help? It’s Doctor McCoy.”
Somebody answered, but from elsewhere in the room. “I’m fine. But I’m afraid to move…”
“It’ll be all right. Keep talking, I’m coming over.” McCoy advanced tentatively toward the voice, trying not to stumble, and worried that the deck would rumble again at any moment. Were the lights coming back to full power or what?
His left foot came down on something; it snapped. What had he done?
“What was that?” asked the voice.
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” It had been an object, not someone’s body part. He leaned over, and his eyes finally picked up what had been a three-dimensional chessboard.
“What’s the deal with the lights?” demanded a new voice, in a far corner of the room.
The emergency lights shouldn’t be so dim. Something had to be wrong with the backup power systems.
“I need help over here!” called another voice, quivering with pain. “I think my legs are broken.”
This was bad, but more worrying to McCoy were the number of people who weren’t calling out. There had been about twelve other people in the rec room before the distortion had hit.
“Count off!” he called out as he looked around, trying to orient himself. “One!”
“Two!” That was the voice he’d heard earlier, the man who’d said he was fine.
“Three.” Another man.
Star Trek®: A Choice of Catastrophes Page 5