by Greg Cox
“Data received,” she replied, loading the information into the shuttle’s automatic pilot. “Initiating countdown.”
A computerized voice issued from the control panel before her:
“Ten minutes to interception.”
A sensor display indicated the Pavakian shuttle directly ahead. Peering through the forward port, Lenore thought she glimpsed the lethal craft crossing the buffer zone like a shooting star. A shudder ran through her as she contemplated the apocalyptic weapon the vessel was carrying toward Oyolo and its people. If she failed, the death toll would make even her father’s body count seem trivial by comparison. Millions would perish instead of thousands.
“Eight minutes to interception.”
There was no time to lose. Scrambling, she lowered the shuttle’s shields and placed its warp nacelles in warm-up mode before abandoning the cockpit. She hastily donned an emergency space suit from a supply closet. A rigid shell protected the wearer’s torso while the arms and legs were constructed of a more flexible material that allowed greater freedom of movement. The cumbersome suit challenged her quick-change skills, but she managed to climb into it while the computer counted down. A detachable helmet and matching jet pack waited to be donned.
“Four minutes to interception.”
Was it even worth racing the clock? For a moment, she gave serious thought to remaining aboard the shuttle and paying for her many crimes once and for all. It would be easy; she wouldn’t even have to lift a finger to bring down the curtain on her sorry drama. She could exit the stage happily, knowing that her sacrifice had saved the lives of millions. It would be a fitting final act, worthy of the immortal Bard. She might even see her father once more . . .
“And by a sleep to say we end the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks that flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation devoutly to be wished.”
It was tempting; she had always wanted to play Hamlet, as opposed to Ophelia. A tragic end was probably the best she could hope for. And yet she had worked so hard, for so many years, to earn a second chance. There was much good she could conceivably do, if only she survived. Was it possible her story could yet have a happy ending?
If people like Jim Kirk still believe in me, perhaps I should, too.
Shaking off her morbid impulse, she fastened her helmet and activated the suit’s life-support system. The jet pack fit over the oxygen tank on her back, the heavy burden making her long for the weightlessness of space. Sturdy boots thumped across the floor of the shuttle as she hurried to the aft hatchway. Signage warned that the hatch was not to be opened while the Copernicus was in flight, let alone in space with the shields down, but she overrode the safeguards and activated the emergency release. The hatch dropped open before her.
“One minute to interception.”
Explosive decompression, along with the shuttle’s forward momentum, sent her hurtling out the back of the cabin into the weightless void. She experienced a moment of sheer vertiginous panic as she found herself falling through space for the first time in her life. There was no up, no down, only a vast sea of emptiness in which she feared she might drown. Frightened eyes peered out through the helmet’s wide visor at the merciless immensity of the cosmos. Her breath caught in her throat.
The jet pack, she remembered. Use the jet pack.
Her gloved hands found the thruster controls at her sides. Hesitantly at first, she worked them to bring her headlong motion slightly under control. Rotating in space, she spied Copernicus streaking away toward the distant doomsday shuttle, crossing unimaginable distances in a heartbeat.
“Lenore! This is Enterprise. Can you read me?”
Kirk’s voice came over her helmet’s comm system. She assumed that the ever-resourceful Lieutenant Uhura had managed to establish the link. The voice was a comforting reminder that she was not alone in this interplanetary abyss. Swallowing hard, she found her own voice.
“I hear you, Jim. I’m here.”
“Did you make it? Did you bail from Copernicus?”
“Yes,” she assured him, not mentioning her near change of heart. “I did it. I’m off the—”
A blinding flash, like a star birthing or dying, lit up the buffer zone as Copernicus collided with the Pavakian shuttle bearing the warhead. The soundless explosion was awesome and terrifying to behold, rendering Lenore mute and aghast. A blazing ball of white-hot light billowed out in all directions, blowing apart both shuttlecrafts. Hundreds of kilometers away, the hellish conflagration still struck her as far too close for comfort. Static crackled in her ears, no doubt caused by the violent release of who knew what electromagnetic energies. A shock wave, propagating through the interplanetary medium, slammed into her, sending her tumbling head over heels away from the infernal spectacle she had helped to kindle. Jagged shards of metal flew like shrapnel through the void, buffeting her.
“Lenore!” Kirk shouted over the static. “LENORE!”
Breathless, unable to speak, she hurled across space like an ill omen. “When beggars die, there are no comets seen,” she thought. “The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes . . .”
Was she the harbinger of her own demise?
“Lenore! Answer me!”
Kirk’s voice grounded her, as surely as a bracing dose of zetaproprion. She groped for the thruster controls, only to find them unresponsive. Damage lights flashed inside the helmet and an automated female voice spoke in her ear:
“Life-support compromised. Twenty-three minutes of available air remaining.”
Had the shockwave or some flying piece of debris damaged the suit? Lenore had no idea; what was obvious was that her life had been reduced to another all-too-brief countdown. With the Enterprise becalmed in space, there was little hope of rescue before her time expired.
“Lenore? Are you there?” Kirk asked. “We’re reading distress signals from your suit.”
She was grateful that she didn’t have to waste any of her dwindling air explaining her dire predicament. Life was too short—literally—to dwell on the mechanics of the situation. A peculiar peace came over her.
“It’s all right, Jim. It appears I won’t be getting a second chance after all, but I’m content. At least I can depart this mortal coil in peace. All my sins have been washed away at last. . . .”
“Don’t say that. Don’t give up hope. I’m not going to let you die out there.”
“It’s kind of you to say so, Jim, but we both know there’s nothing you can do. This is my final curtain call. There will be no more encores.”
Was it just her imagination or could she already feel the cold of space seeping into her weary bones? Was that the hiss of escaping air in her ears?
An undiscovered country called out to her. . . .
• • •
“Hold on, Lenore,” Kirk urged her. “We’ll find a way to save you, I promise!”
He signaled Uhura to mute his audio. As much as he hated to leave Lenore hanging, he wanted to be able to confer frankly with his crew without her overhearing any more bad news. He knew all too well just how limited their options and resources were at the moment.
“Keep talking to her, Uhura. Don’t left her drift in silence.”
Uhura nodded at her station. “Understood, sir. I’ll try to keep her hopes up.”
Kirk appreciated it. He couldn’t think of a better, more compassionate soul to have on the other end of the line at a time like this. He looked anxiously at Engineering. “Propulsion?”
“Not yet, sir,” Magee responded, shaking her head. “Impulse and warp both still under repair. I honestly can’t say when they’ll be up and running again, but . . . not soon enough.”
Damn, Kirk thought. “It’s not fair. She just saved millions of lives on Oyolo. She doesn’t deserve to die in space.”
“I agree,” Riley said, surprising Kirk. “I was wrong about her, a
bout who she is now. Too bad it’s too late to do any good.”
Kirk refused to accept that. “No. There must be something we can do.”
“But what?” Sulu asked aloud. “We’re dead in the water.”
“I’m well aware of that, Mister Sulu,” Kirk said, rather more sharply than necessary. “But we need options.”
“Captain?” Uhura interrupted. “I did my best, but . . . she’s asking for you.”
He hesitated only briefly. If there truly was no hope, maybe this was the best he could do for Lenore right now. After all they’d been through, he wasn’t about to let her face death in space without even his voice to keep her company.
“Put her through,” he instructed. “Lenore? Can you read me?”
“For the time being,” she said. Her disembodied voice haunted the bridge.
“Don’t worry. We’re working on a solution now.”
A wry chuckle came over the comms. “You’re an excellent liar, Captain. You always have been. You would’ve made an excellent leading man. I can see you as Caesar. . . .”
He worried that the air was already getting thin in her helmet. It occurred to him that she might want to speak less to conserve her oxygen supply, but if talking kept her calm, he wasn’t going to deny her some human contact and communication in what might be her final moments. A few extra breaths probably weren’t going to make any difference.
“Stay with me. Don’t give up.” His throat tightened. “We’ll think of something.”
“I’m luckier than my father, you know. He never got a chance to atone for his crimes. He died in guilt and despair, but whatever dreams may come, mine will be far more restful, I think . . .”
“Don’t talk like that. You’ve suffered enough. You don’t need to pay for your past mistakes anymore.”
“That’s right.” Riley raised his voice to be heard over the comlink. “This is Kevin Riley. I misjudged you . . . and I forgive you. Nobody wants you to die.”
“That’s good to know, but perhaps all the more reason to make a graceful exit. Always leave the audience wanting more, you know? ‘If it be now, ’tis not to come. If it be not to come, it will be now. The readiness is all.’ ” She sighed wistfully. “I’ve always wanted to play Hamlet, did you know that? A shame I’ll never have the opportunity. . . .”
“You’ll get your chance,” Kirk said. “To play other roles. You have your whole life in front of you.”
“I wish I could believe that, but I was born under an ill star and have never had much luck with happy endings. Tragedy was always my forte.” Her voice quavered. “Jim, I’m getting very cold, and sleepy. . . .”
“Hang in there! Don’t slip away!”
“Keep talking to me, please. Don’t leave me alone. . . .”
“I’m not going anywhere . . . and neither are you.”
He could hear her drifting away, both literally and figuratively. Her voice began to slur as she sounded more and more out of it.
“ ‘Now my charms are all o’erthrown, and what strength I have’s mine own, which is most faint. . . .’ ”
“No! Stay with us!”
We’re losing her, he realized, and there’s nothing I can do!
“Captain!” Chekov called out. “There’s another vessel approaching her location at great speed.” A grin broke out across his face as he stared at his tactical displays. “It’s Galileo!”
Twenty-Eight
“Attention, Enterprise, Karidian. This is Galileo. We have been monitoring your situation and are prepared to render assistance.”
Spock manned the helm of the shuttlecraft while Mister Scott monitored the engines’ display panels with his customary degree of agitation. The worried engineer wiped droplets of perspiration from his brow as he eyed various indicators with increasing concern.
“I don’t like it, Spock. This boat wasn’t built to maintain this kind of acceleration!”
“I am aware of that, Mister Scott, but there was little alternative under the circumstances.”
Racing time, they had crossed the solar system from Sumno at warp speed, leaving Brigadier-General Pogg to transport Takk and his confederates back to Pavak aboard Outward Six. The odds that they would be able to intercept the Pavakian shuttle in time to prevent the attack on Oyolo had been slim, but a slim chance, as Captain Kirk had demonstrated on more than one occasion, was better than none. Spock had judged the endeavor worth the risk, despite the considerable strain placed on Galileo’s engines and warp nacelles, which had required the best efforts of both himself and Scott to operate at such levels without burning out. Spock had been particularly impressed by Scott’s ability to coax more speed out of the shuttlecraft than was theoretically possible. As a Vulcan, Spock did not believe in miracles, but, in this instance, Scott had more than lived up to his reputation as a worker of same.
“Indeed,” Spock added, “I regret that I must increase our rate of acceleration if we are to reach Miss Karidian in time to preserve her life.”
Scott gulped. “But the indicators are already pushing into the red zone. We’re exceeding every safety level.”
“Would you prefer to let her perish because we arrived a few moments too late?”
“No,” Scotty said, sighing heavily. “We need to do what we can to save the brave lass. It’s the least we can do after she took out that bloody warhead for us.”
That the Copernicus, piloted by Lenore Karidian, had succeeded in preventing the Pavakian shuttle from delivering its lethal payload to Oyolo had come as a relief to both men. The Galileo had arrived in the buffer zone too late to make a difference in that respect, but perhaps they could still be of use where the endangered actress was concerned, provided they made sufficient speed.
Success was by no means guaranteed, however. By Spock’s calculations, Lenore had only approximately eight minutes of life left to her. Retrieving her from space under such time constraints was no simple matter. Both men had already donned environmental suits in anticipation of any possible emergencies, but even still the challenge was daunting. Weightlessness was hardly conducive to haste.
Scott appeared to arrive at the same assessment. “I’m not as spry as I used to be,” he confessed. “Perhaps I should take the helm while you go fetch the lassie.”
“That will not be necessary, Mister Scott. Time does not allow for an extravehicular rescue.”
A puzzled expression betrayed Scott’s confusion. “Then what are you suggesting?”
“To quote an old Vulcan expression, it appears we must bring the mountain to Muhammad.”
“What do you mean by—?” Scott’s jaw dropped as he grasped Spock’s intent. “No, you must be joking.”
“This is hardly an occasion for levity, Mister Scott. Please verify that you are securely strapped into your seat.”
“Aye, Mister Spock.” He swallowed hard. “I’ll be doin’ that all right.”
Lenore’s tumbling form registered on the shuttle’s sensors. An onboard computer reported her speed, momentum, direction, and rate of acceleration, but Spock performed the necessary calculations in his own head as well. A woman’s life was at stake; there was little margin for error.
He plotted an intercept course for her. Within precisely 6.041 minutes, he made visual contact with their target. Through Copernicus’s front port, he saw her tumbling toward them. Spock scaled the shields down to their lowest operational setting, then he executed a combined loop and barrel roll so that the rear of the shuttle now faced the oncoming woman. His face was fixed in concentration. Despite his calculations, this was going to be a delicate maneuver, requiring split-second timing. He needed to precisely match Lenore’s speed and direction if they were to accomplish their goal.
“Here she comes!” Scott said, peering back over his shoulder at the shuttle’s aft viewport. “Ready as she goes!”
�
��Affirmative.”
Spock swiftly reviewed his calculations one last time and pressed an icon on the control panel. The aft hatchway sprang open and Lenore hurled bodily into the cabin, her mass and momentum penetrating the minimized force field keeping the shuttle pressurized. She traveled the length of the cabin before the shuttle’s artificial gravity sent her skidding across the floor. She slammed into the rear of the cockpit with what Spock estimated was insufficient force to cause serious injury. He had matched the shuttle’s acceleration to hers in hopes of minimizing the impact, while, in theory, her insulated evacuation suit and helmet would provide a degree of protection as well.
Nevertheless, he would breathe easier once he knew she was unharmed.
“You did it, Mister Spock!” Scotty said. “You caught her!”
“Obviously.” He closed the aft hatchway and reduced the shuttle’s speed for the sake of the overstressed engines. Now that they had secured Karidian, they could afford to make their way back to the Enterprise at a more prudent pace. “Please check on our guest if you will, Mister Scott.”
“Aye. That I will, Mister Spock!”
Scrambling out of his seat, Scott rushed to assist Lenore, who was sprawled in a heap upon the floor. He hastily detached her helmet as Spock watched intently from the helm. Gasping, she sucked in mouthfuls of fresh air. Her face was pale and her lips blue, but she was clearly still alive, although probably in need of immediate treatment for hypoxia. Spock dialed up the heat in the passenger cabin before activating the shuttle’s automatic pilot and joining Scott at Lenore’s side. Scott draped a thermal blanket over her trembling shoulders as Lenore managed to sit up.
“Are ye all right, lass?”
“I . . . I think so,” she said, shivering within her damaged space suit. Her eyes widened as she recognized her rescuers. She glanced back and forth between them. “Mister Scott. Mister Spock . . . it’s been a long time.”