Star Trek®: A Choice of Catastrophes

by Michael Schuster

  “Lieutenant, I’m sure you don’t want me to miss vital details.”

  “Nobody wants that, Doctor,” Uhura said.

  He nodded and resumed his study of Harding-Cyzewski’s article. When he reached its conclusion, it had confirmed his suspicions.

  I suppose that’s why space was so perfect for you. If you just kept on moving, you never got to know anyone well enough for it to be a problem. Who’d care if you ignored them if you just left after a year, before you could even become friends?

  McCoy spun his chair around to face Uhura and the rest. “No one quite knows how telepathy works,” he said, “especially human telepathy, which is too rare and too weak to study. But one theory is that it’s a form of quantum entanglement. The theory is that once two particles become linked, they stay linked, no matter the distance between them. Particles in my brain are linked with some in yours, and information can pass between them instantaneously. Some species can access this better than others.”

  “If we’ve hit a universe with no quantum physics,” said Uhura, “then it would affect our telepathic crew.”

  “Yes,” said McCoy grimly.

  “This is amazing,” Padmanabhan muttered, frantically making more notes on his slate.

  Uhura asked, “What can we do about this?”

  “You say the other universe is pushing into ours?” asked McCoy.

  Padmanabhan nodded.

  “Well, when most people get pushed around, they push back.”

  You pushed back at me, all right. Great way to handle a marriage.

  No, that wasn’t how it had been.

  “Push back?” asked Padmanabhan.

  “The warp engines can generate a bubble of subspace.” Uhura was suddenly excited. “But can they generate a bubble of real space?”

  Everyone looked to DeSalle. “It’ll be difficult,” he said, looking thoughtful, “but it should be possible. I might need Ensign Padmanabhan’s help with checking the math.”

  “Hop to it, gentlemen,” Uhura ordered. Padmanabhan joined DeSalle at his console, data slate at the ready. She looked up at McCoy, a smile on that beautiful face of hers. “Thank you, Doctor.”

  The doctor returned the smile. “All in a day’s work. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to get back to my patients.”

  Take that, Jocelyn.

  Captain Kirk and the landing party hung back, watching the Farrezzi moving the cryopods into the block-like structure. Kirk hated to just watch, but he had his reasons. The first, he wanted a better idea of what was going on. The other reason was the Prime Directive.

  If slavery was a normal Farrezzi practice, Kirk had no right to put a stop to it. The Farrezzi were trading with the Orions; perhaps they picked up the practice from them. In that case, Kirk could act, and argue that he was restoring the Farrezzi to their norm.

  Or he could just take action and deal with the consequences later.

  “Captain,” said Giotto, being sure to keep his voice down. Absorbed in their task, the Farrezzi slavers had not yet noticed their hiding place. “I recommend we reunite with Tra and Chekov, get back to the surface, and contact the Hofstadter. We can’t handle this ourselves.”

  “I’m tempted—” began Kirk, but he was interrupted by footsteps from behind. Both of them looked around together to see Y Tra coming up in a hurry. He was alone.

  “Where’s Chekov?” Giotto barked.

  Tra looked uneasy. “The Farrezzi got him. I’m surprised you haven’t seen him yet. He was kicking up quite a—”

  “Captain.” Rawlins pointed at the moving Farrezzi. Three Farrezzi were pushing a cryopod with a human into the blocky structure. Kirk couldn’t quite tell, but the figure could have been Yüksel. A fourth alien was coming up behind them, a human man in a gold uniform shirt squirming in its limbs. Even from this distance, Kirk could tell that it was Ensign Chekov. As he was dragged along, Chekov occasionally yelped in pain.

  “Order: end of resistance, alternative: pain! Long agonizing pain!” the Farrezzi holding Chekov said. It was dragging the ensign up to the Farrezzi who had been issuing orders. “Discovery: biped here.”

  “Confusion, annoyance. Query: biped intrusion imminent?” The Farrezzi did not have to change direction to focus on Chekov. The captain found its radial symmetry disconcerting. “Order: declaration of name, purpose of presence?”

  “Aah! I am… a tourist. I came here… to visit your beautiful planet,” Chekov said, pain evident in his voice. “I heard you had nice beaches, but there was no one there. You can’t go swimming without a lifeguard, so I was looking for someone when I found you. Can you tell me why nobody lives on the surface anymore? And where I can buy sunscreen?”

  “Query: clarification, not-I presence alone?”

  “Of course! I always travel on my own. It’s much more fun that way.”

  “Query: knowledge of previous biped?”

  “I never saw him before in my life! I don’t even like other… bipeds. Why do you think I came to the planet of the octopi?”

  “Order: statement of name!”

  Chekov hesitated for a moment, before finally gasping out, “Cyrano Jones.”

  Kirk had to smile at that.

  “Query: purpose of presence? Order: truth!”

  “As I said, I like nice beaches. Swimming is my favorite pastime, and I—aah!”

  “Feeling of disbelief. Confusion, annoyance. Anger! Order: biped cooperation! Alternative: fatality!” The Farrezzi who was interrogating Chekov motioned to the one holding the ensign. They set off for the enormous structure that dominated the cavern. “Order: task completion high-speed. After merchandise transfer there, start of takeoff procedure now.”

  They were running out of time. If they didn’t act, they’d lose Chekov and Yüksel. What was the first-contact protocol when the first members of a new species encountered were criminals?

  The captain asked Rawlins for his tricorder. “Commander, make sure you keep everybody safe.” There was confusion on Giotto’s face, quickly followed by a sequence of astonishment, shock, then finally determination.

  “Sir, this is crazy! I won’t let you—”

  “You will. Take them back to the shuttle and contact Spock.” Before anybody could try to stop him, Kirk was speeding along the row of cryopods.

  As he ran, the captain considered his dilemma. If they wanted to get Chekov and Yüksel back unharmed, he needed to act. He’d never been able to sit back and watch while others risked their lives. This was how he’d been raised by his parents, how he’d been trained at the Academy, and—most important—how he defined himself.

  The rest of the Farrezzi had disappeared inside. Kirk ran across the open space between the last row of pods and the building. He put his back to the wall and began skirting along toward the door. He reached the open door and peered around the edge. What he saw made him wonder if he should wait until the Enterprise was here. The structure was a hangar, a large one, at least a hundred meters deep. Filling the vast space were either simple aircraft or something more complex.

  Two of the larger craft had big bellies and were in the process of being loaded with pods. The other three were smaller and looked like they’d be nimble in the atmosphere. They all shared a common design. The central fuselage was short and narrow for the three smaller ones, long and wide for the bigger two. Five armlike booms jutted out, connecting to ventral protrusions that Kirk assumed were the engines. From the engines, landing gear extended that supported the craft. As Kirk studied the ships, it struck him that there was a similarity to those of Orion raiders.

  Kirk had to wait for an opportunity to get past the Farrezzi who were loading pods onto the two big ships. There was no trace of his men, no clue as to which of the craft Chekov and Yüksel had been taken on.

  He wasn’t letting them fall into the hands of slavers.

  Today hadn’t been a good day for Salvatore Giotto. He couldn’t just leave without attempting to get the captain and the others back. Orders be damne
d. Only Tra had combat experience. Their chances would improve if he took Tra with him, but Giotto could not leave Seven Deers and Rawlins to fend for themselves.

  “Listen up.” Giotto had trouble keeping his voice even. “Tra, you take Rawlins and Seven Deers back to the Columbus. Move quickly. No matter what happens, get them to safety.”

  “You can’t be serious!” Seven Deers said. “Commander,” she added after a pause. “They’ll catch you, too.”

  “You’ll do as ordered. Once you’re in the shuttle, seal the hatch and take off. Hail Commander Spock, hail the Enterprise, hail whoever you can, just get help.”

  Giotto nodded at Tra and headed off after the captain.

  He rushed toward the big metal structure that the aliens had been dragging the pods into. Giotto peeked through the open door, careful not to show too much of himself. There were various craft and a number of aliens moving pods and other devices. Ceiling-mounted lights bathed everything in an intense orange glow, leaving few shadows to hide in. Taking everything in, Giotto picked a route, staying close to the wall on the left, where a stack of small containers afforded him a spot to assess the situation.

  Where was the captain? He must be in here. Hopefully he hadn’t already been caught.

  It seemed reasonable to assume the captain might be hiding. Giotto performed a quick visual search of the likely spots. Nothing near the two big craft. Nothing on the other side of the hangar, where some shuttle-sized vehicles stood. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a flash of gold in front of the closest craft’s landing legs. Giotto turned his head to get a better look. It was the captain, but Giotto had no idea how to get to him unnoticed.

  The captain was apparently looking for a way into the transport. He was now hiding behind the landing leg, doing his best not to expose himself to the continuous line of aliens moving pods into the ship. However, if Giotto had seen him, it was likely some of the aliens would, too. Giotto breathed deeply, preparing for a sprint across the hangar floor. What he needed was an opportunity, something that drew the aliens’ attention away from his position.

  Three Farrezzi pushed a large cart loaded with pods over to the ramp and into the gaping hole in its belly, only to reappear moments later with an empty cart. They were strange-looking beings, with their gangly legs like elephants’ trunks that constantly rolled up and extended, a motion that made him dizzy. Once they left, Giotto expected more to follow, but none came. This was his opportunity.

  He’d barely crossed half the distance when squeaks and screams assaulted him from all directions. His heart stopped for a moment. Had he been discovered? Momentum carried him to the transport, where his sudden appearance gave the captain a nasty shock.

  “Commander—” Kirk began, but stopped when all hell broke loose on the other side of the hangar. Giotto peeked past the landing leg, which was wide enough to give both of them cover.

  Giotto expected a barrage of weapons fire to hit them. What were the slave traders doing? He couldn’t see much from where they were, but the traders weren’t coming over. They had stopped and now were talking to each other in hurried bursts of high-pitched squeaks, their attention focused on the door.

  Hell, Giotto didn’t like not knowing what was going on. A look at the captain told him Kirk felt the same. “Sir,” Giotto whispered, “we should get out of here. They’ll spot us soon.”

  Kirk shook his head. “I’m not leaving, Commander. And I remember ordering you to leave.”

  “Crew, captain, ship. The crew is safe. My next duty is to you, even if that means disobeying your orders, sir.”

  “I don’t like it, mister.”

  “The situation calls for it.” Giotto had to divide his attention between Kirk and the Farrezzi rushing toward the door. They weren’t coming for them. He faced the captain grimly. “I had to, sir.”

  “This isn’t over.” There was a hardness to Kirk’s voice. “Let’s free our crewmen.”

  “Aye, sir.” Giotto changed the subject. “What do you think got them all riled up?”

  “It better not be anything to do with the rest of the team,” said Kirk.

  On his way back from auxiliary control, McCoy found he was pleased with himself. It was his idea to push back at this other universe.

  One problem solved—well, almost—one still left. His five patients were still in comas, and he hadn’t gotten any closer to finding a solution. Nothing he tried caused more than a blip on the monitor, before every reading resumed its descent. If what was happening to the ship was related to their comas, maybe the engineers’ solution would work.

  Not likely. Between Padmanabhan’s theory about this other universe’s nonquantum nature and the paper by Harding-Cyzewski about telepathy as a form of quantum entanglement, perhaps he himself could find a solution.

  “Deck Five,” McCoy told the turbolift. The turbolift doors swished open to reveal a dark corridor. The lights were dimmed in this section, either because of a malfunction or to conserve power. The corridors were a mess, with chunks of support material pushed to one side. The bulkheads were scorched.

  The doctor made his way to Sulu’s quarters; the acting captain had been discharged there. Recalling what Chapel had said earlier about Specialist Ryerson, McCoy had come to visit. The mind was important to the healing process, after all. McCoy found him at his desk, collecting data slates in front of him. “Feeling better already, Mister Sulu?”

  “I think so.” Of the multitude of injuries the lieutenant had suffered, the most serious was the trauma to his head. Sulu would have to stay off duty for a while and give his body time to heal.

  “I need to get back on duty, Doctor,” the lieutenant said. “We’re still in danger.”

  “The best thing you can do is rest.” McCoy gestured toward Sulu’s bed. “Or you’ll be in danger.” He was determined not to be talked into letting a barely healed man back on duty.

  “I’m useless in here. All I do is think. Second-guess myself. Try to come up with solutions.” Sulu clutched the desk and stood.

  “Your reaction is natural,” said McCoy. “But you need to give yourself time.”

  “But there’s no—”

  “Don’t make me order you. Do yourself a favor and rest.”

  Sulu wasn’t happy, but he got the point.

  The quarters closest to sickbay had been turned into recovery rooms for over twenty patients, whose injuries were no longer life-threatening but still grave enough to require attention. The doors of these quarters all sported adhesive labels with the names of the patients inside. McCoy stopped at the first door he passed: GOLASKI-LAWRENCE, ISBELL and HAINES, JANA. When it opened, the doctor stepped inside. The younger woman was sleeping, but Ensign Haines—a woman in her early forties—was awake.

  “House call,” he said, holding up his medkit. “Everything okay?”

  Haines nodded, then uttered a strained, “Yes.” She was the one who had suffered a collapsed lung and some fractured ribs. Her grimace belied her words.

  “You shouldn’t be in pain,” McCoy said.

  He checked her chart. “This says you’re maxed on painkillers.”

  “I know,” she said, wincing.

  McCoy scanned her. Nothing. “Where’s the pain?”

  “Everywhere. It’s like a dull ache throughout my entire body, but it just keeps on building. I can’t ignore it.”

  “Physically, there’s nothing wrong with you.” He flipped off the tricorder. “I can give you another dose of painkillers.”

  “Maybe I’m just imagining it.” Haines lowered her gaze, as if she was ashamed of herself.

  “Let’s do something about it.” He smiled his best smile. “Have you been sleeping?”

  “No,” she said. “It hurts too much.”

  “I can help you sleep. Would that be good?”

  “I think so.”

  McCoy filled a hypo with a sedative. “You can rest easy now, Ensign. Sleep, and forget your pain.” A hiss, then the hypo had emptied into he
r bloodstream. Within seconds, her eyes closed, and her regular breathing told him she’d fallen asleep.

  “If only you could solve your own problems like that,” he heard a familiar voice say, startling him. “You don’t have a magic cure-all for this one.”

  Raising his head, he spotted somebody standing on the other side of the bed.

  It was Jocelyn, standing right there in front of him, looking just the way he remembered her.

  Another shot caused sparks to fly off the cryopod just ahead of them. Seven Deers thought she felt them on her cheeks. Tra had succeeded in taking them almost to the elevator. Before they could reach it, a host of armed Farrezzi had turned up, chasing after them, firing powerful projective weapons. With his training, Tra was faster than Seven Deers and Rawlins, but he adjusted his pace to theirs. They were sticking close to the pods to reduce the chance of being hit. But the slavers kept on firing, with no regard for the lives of the sleepers.

  There were ten Farrezzi closing in on them. On the elevator platform they’d be sitting ducks until they’d gone through the hole in the ceiling.

  “Watch out,” Tra said, “there’s two of them on the left.” Seven Deers strained to see in the gloom, only briefly improved by phaser fire and bursts from the Farrezzi weapons. Two attackers were trying to sneak up on them.

  “I see ’em,” Seven Deers said. Of her two shots, only one hit its mark, making the leftmost Farrezzi stumble and then collapse. The other continued unaffected—until Tra fired.

  “Got ’im,” Tra barked. The Farrezzi staggered, dropping its weapon.

  “Onto the platform!” Tra shouted.

  Seven Deers wasted no time and raced to the elevator. Rawlins followed right after her. Tra held off the Farrezzi with wide sweeps of phaser fire. Once on the platform, Seven Deers turned to see they were all still approaching.

  Rawlins was close enough to grab the elevator’s metal cage, but then he screamed and let go. He slid down, clutching his right shoulder. Blood seeped out between his fingers. The ensign knelt down and pulled him onto the platform. There was no time to examine his wound. From Rawlins’s contorted expression, it must be pretty bad.