Stardate 4758.1 (0230 hours)
Spock monitored the Hofstadter’s sensor display. The shuttles needed to elude the two remaining fighters only long enough to engage their warp drives. They then could jump to the other side of the planet, out of the fighters’ detector range, and return safely to the surface. He began performing calculations on the minimum safe distance for engaging warp drive—the deeper a ship was in a gravity well, the greater the danger. The shuttles should be clear for warp drive in four minutes, before the fighters were able to catch up. The Vulcan turned to assess the situation in the shuttle.
On an improvised stretcher, Mister Scott was holding a tricorder and checking on the status of both shuttles. Doctor M’Benga was tending to Lieutenant Rawlins, who had just regained consciousness. “Your patients’ status, Doctor?”
M’Benga didn’t look up as he continued to run a device over Rawlins’s shoulder. “Rawlins will be fine. I’ve repaired the damage.” He paused. “It’s Mister Scott I’m really concerned about, sir.”
“I’m sitting right here, Doc,” interrupted Scott. “I can wait.”
Spock examined the immobile engineer. They needed to get Scott to the Enterprise’s medical facilities. That required deactivating the device on the surface. “Very good, Mister Scott.”
The computer had confirmed his calculations and was now attempting to verify his assessment of local subspace disruptions. Analysis indicated this area of subspace was filled with distortions, rendering it nearly impassable.
Jaeger was reading the report as it came up on the central console. “What does that mean, sir?” asked the geophysicist.
“It means that going to warp is not an option,” replied Spock. “We will have to defeat the fighters before we return to the planetary surface.”
“Commander, I’m in a bit of a situation right now.” Kirk looked at the Farrezzi in front of him, who was trembling as Kirk spoke into his communicator.
“Sooner would be better. There’s a lot of them out there, and I don’t know how long we have before they get some cutting equipment.”
“In that case,” said Kirk, “I’ll need reinforcements. I’ll keep you informed. Kirk out.” He slipped the communicator back onto his belt. What did you say to an alien that didn’t think like you? How could you gain its trust? Start with the basics.
“My name is James Kirk of the Starship Enterprise. What is your name?”
“Acknowledgment. I inclusion thoughtspace now. Name statement: individual family location. Statement: Horr-Sav-Frerin.”
Did it mean that its name was Horr-Sav-Frerin, or that Horr was its name, Sav its family, and Frerin its home? He said, “I am here to help you.”
“Assessment: lie. Demand: explanation truth objective.”
“I’m not lying. We were both shot at. That should be enough proof. You have been kidnapped by some of your own people. I want to free you.”
“Assessment: deception possibility. Goal: revelation of secrets.”
“Is this a Farrezzi ship?”
The Farrezzi looked around. “Design affirmative.”
“Why were you all in stasis? Was it to escape your world’s environmental collapse?”
Horr-Sav-Frerin waggled all of its tentacles at once. “Scenario affirmative. Awakening shipside: plan component negative.”
Progress. “An alien wouldn’t take you aboard a Farrezzi ship—only another Farrezzi would do that. Do you want to look at your attacker?” The captain gestured at the shooter, lying unconscious in the corridor.
Reluctantly, Horr-Sav-Frerin moved toward the slaver, Kirk trailing behind it. Horr’s eyestalks wriggled as they examined it, though it always kept one pointed at Kirk. “Recognition!” it shrieked. “Recognition: affiliation!”
“Who?” asked Kirk.
“Group affiliation. Name: New Planets Cousins!”
“Who are the New Planets Cousins?”
“Function location ethics. Traders in interstellar space… morality dubious! Rumors! Slavers!”
“The New Planets Cousins are rumored to be slave traders?”
“Affirmation! Exclamation of woe! Repetition!”
“Do you know who the Orions are?” asked Kirk.
Horr jerked its tentacles. “Identification role ethics. Aliens traders morality dubious.”
“I think the… New Planets Cousins were planning to sell some of your species to the Orions, taking advantage of the fact that your people were all in suspended animation. They must have set it up so they would wake first.” Kirk gave Horr an expectant look, hoping his deductions made sense.
“Affirmation. New Planets Cousins past status: hibernation-opposition. Rationale: destabilization trading relationships.”
Everything in the room began to tremble, vibrating at an intense rate.
“James-Kirk-Enterprise. Assistance requirement! Phenomenon identification!”
Was it a groundquake? No. Kirk recognized the feeling of a ship’s engines gaining power. “Horr-Sav-Frerin, the ship is about to blast off.”
“Still stable,” Singh reported from the helm.
Uhura’s left hand flicked up to her ear instinctively. Nothing there. It was not very often she sat in the big chair, and each time she felt the weight of being responsible for the Enterprise.
An hour into the distortion, and the deck was still rumbling. However, there were no other problems. Sensors and lights had gone out a few times, but they’d always come back on. It would take the Enterprise approximately three days to clear the distort-zone at this rate, but they would make it. Uhura hoped the landing party was safe on Mu Arigulon; Ensign Padmanabhan had run simulations assessing how these incursions would affect a planet. She hoped he was wrong.
“Ensign Padmanabham, report.”
“We’re getting some amazing stuff on this new universe, Lieutenant,” he said. “Too bad we can’t send a probe through one of the deeper distortions.”
They’d had this discussion earlier. Singh had pointed out that if the distortions reacted to warp fields, dropping a probe into one was probably inadvisable. Padmanabhan had insisted that an automated one had skirted this region before. Ultimately, Uhura had decided not to launch one of their own.
“Flight path, Ensign?”
“Everything looks clear,” Padmanabhan reported. “The other universe is at eight percent permeation ahead of us.”
The lights flickered out, then came back on.
“Nine percent,” Padmanabhan amended, “but still steady.”
The unreliability of the ship’s systems made even the simplest task a challenge. Computer failures had been intermittent. The crew had switched off almost every automated system, relying on human control.
Another low rumble, then the lights flickered off again, along with all of the displays. After a few seconds, the lights came back up—but Singh’s console did not.
“No engine control,” he said.
Uhura pressed the comm button for engineering. “Lieutenant DeSalle, keep the bubble steady—”
She was interrupted by a chorus of alarms from Padmanabhan’s controls. “Total collapse!” he shouted over the racket. “Other universe at seventy-five percent!”
Uhura felt the explosion, then the entire ship shook as though it had been hit by a giant’s fist. The force of the tremors was so immense that she was tossed out of her chair. She landed hard on her knees and hands, her head just missing the base of Singh’s chair.
Singh was quickly back in his seat, apparently unharmed. “Massive explosion, portside,” he read, panting. “Trying to stabilize.” The stars on the viewscreen spun past quickly as the Enterprise careened through space.
“Engineering, I need that bubble!” Uhura shouted as she got up, holding on to the chair.
“We’re trying, Lieutenant,” came the voice of DeSalle.
“What happened?” she asked Singh.
The engineer didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to bring the ship back under control. The
deck trembled underneath Uhura’s feet, but with both arms gripping the console’s edge tightly, she remained upright.
“The computer system that was keeping the bubble balanced shut down,” Padmanabhan jumped in. “Just for five seconds, but it was enough. Part of the ship was thrust entirely into the other universe before the explosion pushed us away.” He checked a set of readings on his controls. “Still at fifty percent permeation,” said Padmanabhan. “These readings are amazing.”
Uhura wasn’t inclined to agree. The ship was in danger of being ripped apart. “Engineering, what was that explosion?” asked Uhura. “I need a damage report.”
“We don’t know yet.” This voice, Ensign Harper’s, was a little more apologetic. “Lieutenant DeSalle’s still working on getting the bubble reestablished.”
Uhura had to wonder: How did Captain Kirk endure the knowledge that with one mistake, his entire crew could die?
When the alarms started blaring, McCoy tried to bring sickbay’s lights back up to full, anticipating casualties. He couldn’t—main power was out and they were on backup.
“Great,” he groused to Chapel as they waited. Leslie had informed sickbay that his security team was on the way with casualties.
“Why don’t you just give up, then?” Jocelyn demanded. “Run, like you do every time things get too tough.” Had the real Jocelyn ever been so cruel? No, the woman he’d married hadn’t been easy to be with, but at least she wouldn’t rub salt into an open wound. This… hallucination, ghost, or whatever it was seemed intent on getting a rise out of him.
“We can handle it.” Chapel didn’t sound as if she believed it.
Less than a minute later, the door hissed open. Leslie and his squad were carrying two unconscious people on stretchers. McCoy steeled himself: more coma cases? As the security people drew closer, however, McCoy got a better look. Hematomas, evidence of multiple compound fractures. “What the hell happened?”
“Artificial gravity and inertial dampers shut down,” explained Leslie, his voice shaken. “Repeatedly.” Few things were more unnerving to a spacer than the thought of life-support failure. Technology was what allowed you to explore space.
They were computer technicians McCoy only knew by sight. Had they been in that section when—No time for speculation. A simple visual inspection of the two women told him they needed to be operated on at once. He sent Chapel for the drugs and tools they needed. He directed Leslie and his squad to place the technicians on the beds in the examination room.
All the while, his ghosts were following him closely. “I hope you can save them, unlike me,” Luke Hendrick said, sneering. “Don’t dawdle this time.”
“I think you should move on,” said McCoy’s father, “just stop trying and leave everything like you did with me.”
“No way,” said a woman’s voice. He looked to his side to see Crewman Santos standing there, with the four other comatose patients. What was this supposed to be? “He can’t save us, so he’s got to demonstrate he’s capable of saving someone.”
“Leave them all behind!” shouted Joanna. “Isn’t this too much responsibility, just like I was?”
McCoy ran his hands through his hair in frustration. How was he supposed to get anything done?
“What happened to the safeguards to prevent this?” he asked Leslie. With so many voices vying for his attention, McCoy found it hard to focus on the new patients’ bio-readings.
“The bubble collapsed, the port computer bank exploded,” said Leslie. “It breached the hull, and most of the life support in that section went offline.”
McCoy hadn’t considered it before, but there were duotronic circuits in every part of this ship. If they plunged fully into one of these distortions, there wouldn’t be an Enterprise left.
“We can’t find three people. Lemli is searching the area, but…”
If they hadn’t been found yet, chances were they’d been sucked into space. What a gruesome way for lives to end….
“Well, at least these deaths aren’t your fault,” said McCoy’s father. “Other people let them die.”
“He’s about to let these die, though,” said a new voice—Petriello. “Just like us.”
McCoy wanted to tell them all to shut up. He couldn’t work like this, with a crowd of imaginary people around him. He tried to focus on the patient in front of him. He turned to the equipment tray Chapel had brought over and grabbed a hypospray. In one quick, well-trained motion, he loaded it with a drug routinely used in percussive injury treatments. He had to admit he’d never seen a case as serious as these two.
“Just leave them,” advised Joanna. “Move on and don’t think about them any longer. Just like you abandoned me. Do you really need all this responsibility weighing on you?”
He bit down on his lip to curb his instinct to reply.
McCoy was reaching for a protoplaser when he realized he wouldn’t be able to do this alone. No, that was wrong, he wasn’t alone. Chapel was here. But they could work on only one patient at a time, while the other might be getting worse. He needed more help.
“You don’t even want to be here,” added Bouchard. “If you had your choice, you’d still be on Earth, practicing medicine like your father.”
“Like me, the quintessential country doctor.” McCoy’s father coughed. “You went and ran away, though.”
“Stop!”
It took McCoy a moment to realize it was Chapel who had spoken, not one of his visitors. His hands held the protoplaser, centimeters away from the first technician’s skin. “What?” he asked, confused.
“You didn’t take any scans,” she said. “How do you know where the fractures are?”
She was right. He took the Feinberger she was holding out to him and moved it over the patient’s head. Any injuries there needed to be dealt with immediately, while the others could wait, at least for a few minutes.
Chapel read off the result, and he modified the protoplaser accordingly. The trauma to the woman’s skull had caused a hematoma that was putting pressure on the brain tissue. McCoy needed to reduce that pressure as quickly as possible.
“You can barely even handle a couple of compound fractures?” asked Jocelyn.
McCoy wanted to rail that it wasn’t his fault, that he’d done everything he could. Why didn’t they just leave him alone?
No, not alone. “Call in Thomas and Brent. We’ll have to do this simultaneously.” Cheryl Thomas was good at treating difficult fractures.
After taking readings on the second patient, McCoy tried to think what to do next. If he kept his mind on the task, the ghosts stopped harassing him. If he answered back, even internally, they replied. But if he didn’t say anything, they grew quiet eventually. At least for a while.
Scotty wasn’t a tactician, but he understood the shuttles’ problem. If the Hofstadter split off from the Columbus, the other shuttle would be an easy target without a functioning weapons system. But by staying together, they were one target for two enemies. They needed a way to even the odds. Scotty tabbed through the displays on his tricorder, examining the readouts of the shuttle’s sensors. Within the ring of satellites, there was a tiny energy blip.
“Mister Spock,” he said, “one of the Farrezzi satellites is still active.” He glanced to the aft of the shuttle, where the one they’d pulled out of orbit still sat. “If we get closer, we could get a good read and figure out what it’s for. If it is something like a weapons platform…”
“We shall alter course,” replied Spock.
The shuttles veered off in a new direction, dipping toward a satellite orbiting above the southern hemisphere. As Scotty watched on his tricorder, the fighters matched course with them, slipping ever closer. At this rate, they’d be in weapons range in fifteen minutes.
Scotty looked over at Emalra’ehn. The Deltan security guard had remained quiet. “How are you doing, lad?” he asked.
Emalra’ehn shrugged. “Passable. I am glad the ship has stopped bouncing so much.” He sh
ook his head. “It was disrupting my concentration.”
“Aye. I dinna like roller coasters.”
“I wish my ground combat skills were of use here,” added Emalra’ehn. “I’ve never cross-trained in shipboard weaponry. This mission makes me think I should have.”
The engineer knew the feeling. The Academy trained Starfleet officers to be in the thick of it at all times. He hated being forced to stand around with his hands in his pockets. Metaphorically speaking. His tricorder beeped. It had a clear read on the active satellite, which was directing a particle field at the planet’s surface. “Is that a weapon?”
“Negative, Mister Scott,” replied Spock. “The particle field is diffused energy—”
“What’s it being directed at?” interrupted Scotty.
Jaeger replied, “The ocean down there. But—” He paused for a moment. “There’s a storm down there—a small one, but it’s definitely there.”
“There are storms everywhere down there,” M’Benga mumbled.
“But before there weren’t,” Jaeger responded. “There was the big storm over the continent. That was it! Mister Spock, can you plot where this satellite was when we made planetfall?”
“It was over the southern continent. I believe your hypothesis is correct,” Spock replied evenly.
“What?” asked Scotty.
“That satellite,” said Jaeger, “caused the storm down there. It’s a weather modification device.”
“Fascinating,” said Spock. “The Farrezzi hid themselves because they were near the point of environmental collapse. They needed to leave an infrastructure capable of returning the planet to its original state. Approximately one thousand weather modification satellites could accomplish the task in one hundred twenty-six years.” He paused. “Plus or minus two-point-seven.”
“We should shoot it down,” said Emalra’ehn. “We don’t need any more weather like that.”
Scotty held up a hand. “Wait,” he said. “I want to know exactly how that thing works.”
Star Trek®: A Choice of Catastrophes Page 21