Star Trek: Starfleet Academy #2: Aftershock

by John Vornholt

  McCoy took off his jacket and lay down on the cot for a moment, just to make sure he could sleep on it. He never got a chance to decide, because he fell asleep instantly.

  In McCoy’s dream, a lovely young lady was leaning over him, about to kiss him. A wisp of her hair touched his cheek, and she gently woke him … by tossing his jacket over his head. McCoy flailed at the jacket with his arms and sat up to see Lisa Donald smiling at him.

  “Come on, you two,” she scolded them, “you’ll miss dinner. Didn’t you hear the announcement?”

  “No,” answered McCoy. Spock was hunched over the computer and didn’t appear to hear Lisa even now.

  “Spock!” she called.

  The Vulcan sat back in his chair and stared at his screen. “Fascinating.”

  “What is?” asked Lisa.

  “The history of Playamar. It was originally settled as a colony for retired miners from all over the Federation. Now it has a diverse population of twelve million. All the precolonization studies showed that the geology of the planet was stable. They should not be having earthquakes.”

  “But they are,” said McCoy. “Sometimes logic doesn’t always work.”

  Spock nodded. “Logic can be false if you are missing information. Playamar was originally claimed by the Danai, who opposed Federation colonization. Eventually the Danai were admitted to the Federation and given another planet to colonize. They dropped their claims to Playamar. I wonder if the Danai have more information than we do.”

  McCoy shook his head. “None of this makes any difference, Spock, and we’re missing dinner.”

  Spock turned back to his computer. “Then I suggest you go.”

  “Fine. Come on, Lisa.” McCoy stalked out of the room, and Lisa trailed after him.

  Halfway down the corridor, Lisa said, “Go easy on Spock. I think you hurt his feelings.”

  “That’s not even possible,” grumbled McCoy. “That green-blooded robot doesn’t have any feelings.”

  “I don’t know about that. He is half human.”

  McCoy stopped dead in his tracks. “Are you telling me that Spock is half human? I don’t believe it.”

  “His mother is human,” answered Lisa. “She visited the academy not too long ago, and I know people who have met her. But Spock was raised Vulcan.”

  McCoy scowled. “Still there’s no reason why he couldn’t show a speck of humanity every now and then.”

  They entered a giant turbolift and were whisked to the cafeteria. Like the rest of the hospital ship, it was clean, white, and brightly lit. They got into line and were quickly served plenty of steaming, hearty food.

  McCoy held his tray under his nose and took a whiff. “I’m liking this better and better.”

  “The Nightingale is famous for her food,” said Lisa. “We’re lucky. Of course, breakfast tomorrow may be our last meal here. We’ll be down on the planet.”

  “That’s right,” said McCoy. “I may go back for seconds.”

  As they set their trays on a table and settled down to eat, Captain Raelius took the podium at the front of the room. She looked unusually stern and businesslike, but she was wearing her club jacket. All talk died to a hush.

  “I hate to spoil your appetite,” she began. “With so many of you here, I thought we should show this to you now. We received this vidlog a few minutes ago, and it will show you the conditions on Playamar.”

  McCoy started shoveling food into his mouth. If they were going to gross him out, he wanted to eat as much as he could first.

  But the images that appeared on the overhead viewscreens were not gross. They were amazing! Stately buildings and homes stood sunk in mud and bizarrely tilted. Walls had fallen down, making people’s homes look like dollhouses. Wherever there was water the damage was worse, because the land had actually liquefied.

  From the air, one could see farmland that had been shredded into deep grooves that ran all the way to the ocean. Great rivers had changed course by hundreds of kilometers. The bluffs overlooking Playamar’s famous beaches had collapsed, turning homes into driftwood. It was disaster on a huge scale.

  Then the scene shifted to the human misery. Diggers were extracting people from tilted and crushed buildings. Some people were trapped in what appeared to be quicksand. Hospitals were set up in fields, and some victims were lying in the open air.

  McCoy set down his fork. He didn’t feel like eating anymore.

  A middle-aged man appeared on the screen. His uniform was so caked with mud that it was impossible to tell his rank.

  “Lieutenant Commander Wynorski to Starfleet Command,” he began. “I’ve been asked to evaluate the conditions on Playamar, and they’re desperate. The scenes we’ve shown are only a taste of what is happening. The original temblor was bad enough, but the aftershocks have been just as bad. It has made rescue work very difficult.”

  He took a deep breath. “With so many aftershocks, the soil never has a chance to harden. Much of it is still like mud or quicksand. Buildings are unsafe; fissures and mudslides can appear anytime, anywhere. Ion storms and serious injuries make it dangerous to use the transporters.

  “The rescue teams are very spread out. Some cities haven’t even seen a rescue team yet. We need your help, but we insist that you use extreme caution. We don’t need any more casualties. This is Lieutenant Commander Wynorski from Playamar. End transmission.”

  There was no sound in the cafeteria, except for somebody dropping his spoon. McCoy looked around and saw Spock standing in the doorway. The Vulcan crossed his arms and looked back at him.

  For once, figured McCoy, he probably looked as gloomy as Spock.

  Chapter 6

  The next day, everybody in the shuttlebay of the Nightingale looked grim, except McCoy. He had to hide a smile. Owing to ion storms on Playamar, it was decided not to use transporters except in life-or-death emergencies. That meant taking a shuttlecraft down to the surface, which was fine with McCoy.

  Lisa stood in front of him and Spock behind him in the waiting room. Through the lone window, they could see the crew loading medical supplies, survival gear, and food into three shuttlecrafts. Gamma team—McCoy, Lisa, and Spock—were scheduled for departure on one of the tiny vessels.

  “I’m a little scared,” whispered Lisa.

  “You wouldn’t be normal if you weren’t,” answered McCoy. He glanced back at Spock.

  “Under the circumstances,” said Spock, “caution is advisable.”

  Captain Raelius burst into the waiting room and motioned to them. “Gamma team, you’re next. I’d like a word with you first. Despite the talent you three have, you’re the only team of all new members. So be careful down there. Don’t he heroes, just do your job.”

  They answered at once, “Yes, sir.”

  Captain Raelius gave them an encouraging smile. “You may be the first team to reach Sunshine Hamlet, but tell them that more will be along. Remember, first you distribute supplies and evacuate as many injured as you can. After that, you check out reports of people trapped.”

  “Yes, sir,” answered McCoy.

  “If your relief doesn’t come in twenty-four hours, check with me. In an emergency, Command Post Thirty-nine is the closest backup to you.”

  She pressed a panel to open the door. “Shuttlecraft Mead is waiting. Happy hunting.”

  McCoy led his team out, and they crossed the grooved landing surface to the Mead. When McCoy ducked through the hatch, he saw that it was a personal craft with seating for eight, normally. For this trip, every spare centimeter was piled with boxes, gear, and supplies. They could barely squeeze into their three seats.

  The pilot and copilot looked back at them. One was a lizardlike Saurian with a purple beak; the other was a huge Andorian with blue skin and long antennae.

  “Welcome aboard,” said the Saurian. “I’ve got the coordinates for Sunshine Hamlet. Does that sound like the right destination?”

  McCoy fastened his safety belt. “That’s what we were told.” />
  “It’s on the main continent.” said the pilot. “where most of the trouble is. Hold on, we’re getting clearance. Bay doors are opening. Prepare for launch.”

  A few seconds later. they streaked out of the shuttlebay so fast that McCoy was pinned back in his seat. After they gained some distance. he looked out the window to see the Nightingale for the first time. For a hospital ship. she was surprisingly sleek—with a single broad hull and twin nacelles. Miranda class, if he remembered correctly.

  Then he turned his attention in the other direction to see a purple horizon fill the pilot’s window. Playamar looked a bit like Earth, only everything was darker and lusher. The deserts were reddish clay, and they were ringed by olive green forests. There weren’t many mountains and only two continents, surrounded by vast purple oceans.

  Playamar looked like paradise. It had been, until recently. Most of the population lived near the oceans or the rivers, but that was the wrong place to live when there was liquefaction. With a name like Sunshine Hamlet, thought McCoy, the town was probably right on the beach.

  The ride got bumpy when they hit the atmosphere, and flames streaked across the windows. He knew they had nothing to fear from reentry heat, because of their shielding, but it was still a spectacular sight. Lisa, who braved jetpacks and transporters with ease, curled up in her seat.

  “Almost there,” McCoy assured her.

  She gave him a bemused smile. “You were a basket case in training, and now you’re calm. What’s your secret?”

  “Now it’s too late to worry,” he said cheerfully.

  They finally made it through reentry, and they could look out the windows again. As they zoomed closer to the land, they could see the ripe red soil and the verdant forests. They didn’t see any settlements until they got closer to a large river. Then the land changed dramatically.

  Vast stretches of farmland lay clawed and scratched as if attacked by a planet-size monster. Black crevices sliced hundreds of meters into the crust of the planet. In some places, it looked as if the land had melted and hardened, only to melt again.

  The river had left its banks and split into wild washes and finger lakes. There was a path of devastation dozens of kilometers wide. A town on the old banks had been cut in pieces; its houses looked like toothpicks stuck in the mud.

  “My gosh,” said McCoy. “Is that it?”

  “No,” said the Saurian pilot. “That’s Kieman. Sunshine Hamlet must be where the river meets the sea.”

  “That is unfortunate,” said Spock. “We can expect damage to be severe in a delta region.”

  Spock wasn’t exaggerating. As they neared Sunshine Hamlet, it was impossible not to stare at the bizarre wreckage. It didn’t even look real. One side of a street might be perfectly fine, and the other side was buried in a ditch a hundred meters deep.

  Elegant office buildings and tiny cottages listed at odd angles. Mudslides had piled several houses together at the bottom of a canyon. The marina was destroyed, with a beautiful pier sunk in the harbor.

  Bobbing on the ocean was a flotilla of sailboats, canoes, rowboats, anything that would float. Apparently many of the survivors had wisely chosen to escape to the sea. When the land was shaking, why not?

  Their pilot steered the shuttlecraft toward a section of gnomelike cottages on the outskirts of town. It was about the only neighborhood still standing, and McCoy could see a large crowd of people down there. When they spotted the shuttlecraft, they surged toward it like a swarm of ants.

  “Plenty of people here,” said the Saurian. “Want to set down?”

  McCoy found himself glancing at Spock.

  “This section of town would appear to be bedrock,” the Vulcan pointed out. “If it was not the safest place, they would not be gathered here.”

  “Can you set us down?” McCoy asked. He took a deep breath, remembering that on this mission, he was the person in charge.

  “You could land in that wide street,” said the Andorian. “But there’s a crack down the middle of it.”

  “I’ll only need half of it.” Without hesitation, the little Saurian banked the shuttlecraft toward a boulevard that was sliced in half by a black fissure. McCoy closed his eyes, certain they would crash.

  After a few bumps, the shuttlecraft came to a stop. McCoy looked out the starboard window and saw a yawning chasm that seemed to have no bottom. Then he turned to port and saw a mass of humanity surging toward them. It was hard to say which was more frightening!

  He pointed at his comrades. “Spock and Lisa, start unloading. I’ll try to talk to them.” The cadets nodded in accord.

  The Saurian popped the hatch, and McCoy pushed his way past everyone to get out first.

  When he saw a stampede of angry survivors headed

  his way, McCoy nearly ducked back into the craft. Most of them looked human, but it was hard to tell, they were so covered with grime. He zipped up his jacket and waved his hands to stop them.

  “Stop!” he called. “We have supplies! We have food! We are here to evacuate the injured!”

  The surly crowd stopped and stared at him with frightened eyes. “Who are you?” asked a dazed survivor. “You’re just a kid!”

  McCoy pointed to the patch on his jacket. “I’m part of the relief team from Starfleet, and I’m a medic. More importantly, I’m here to help you. Now move back, form an orderly line, and let these people unload your supplies.”

  The people of Sunshine Hamlet gulped sheepishly and stepped back. Spock, Lisa, and the shuttlecraft crew were unloading boxes as quickly as they could. They would be unloaded in minutes, thought McCoy, but handing out the food and supplies was going to take longer.

  He turned to the nearest local. “Where are the injured people? We can evacuate some of them. If it’s life or death, we can transport them.”

  “Take us all!” begged the man, gripping McCoy’s collar. Others wailed the same plea and pressed forward. Soon the panicked crowd was pushing McCoy toward the shuttlecraft, and he was worried that they would push the vessel into the chasm.

  “Stop unloading!” he shouted. “Take off! Take off!”

  That stopped the crowd, and so did Lisa’s sharp voice.

  “You’re right!” she shouted. “Let’s take our supplies somewhere they deserve it!”

  “We only want some help!” wailed an older woman.

  “And we’re here to give it to you,” answered McCoy. “But you’ve got to be patient. The sooner you let the shuttlecraft leave, the sooner it can come back with more supplies. We’re only the first relief team—there will be more.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow!” He had no idea if that was true, but Captain Raelius had promised relief in twenty-four hours. By the looks of this mob, they were going to need it. And these people were the ones in good condition.

  The survivors backed up and began milling around. A small man with a beard came forward. He had dried blood all over his clothes, but he didn’t appear to be injured.

  “Did you ask about the wounded?” he said hoarsely.

  “Yes,” said McCoy. “Are you a doctor?”

  The man nodded. “Dr. Whelan. It’s too late for some, but we do have many who could be saved.”

  “Is your water supply safe?” asked McCoy.

  He nodded. “For the moment, the wells around here are working. We are boiling the water, and we have some chemicals to add.”

  “All right.” McCoy glanced around and saw his comrades dispensing food and supplies to the waiting throng. Everything was as under control as it was going to be.

  “Lead on.” McCoy followed the little man to the largest house that was still standing. Like the smaller cottages, it had picturesque gables and a shingled roof that seemed to be out of a fairy tale. The architecture of Sunshine Hamlet was definitely whimsical. They were lucky they had built at least a few houses on bedrock.

  “Did you ever have earthquakes before?” he asked Dr. Whelan.

  The little man shook his h
ead. “Never before. They told us it wasn’t likely. There were no serious fault lines.”

  Just as Spock had said, thought McCoy. With a worried glance at the cracked doorway, he stepped into the house. Injured people were lying everywhere—in cots, on couches, scrunched up in corners. A handful of medical workers were doing the best they could with make-shift supplies and equipment.

  McCoy swallowed hard and took a stack of locator badges out of his pocket. He turned to the doctor. “You must know which ones are critical. I mean, the ones who won’t make it without immediate attention.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  McCoy handed him a stack of locator badges. “We don’t want to use the transporters for everyone because of the ion storms, but we can transport the ones who are desperate. Just put a badge on them and mark down the numbers you use.”

  “Yes, I will!” said the doctor gratefully.

  He hurried off, leaving McCoy to stroll through the rooms of the field hospital. The medic was looking for walking wounded, eight casualties who could follow him back to the shuttlecraft. He finally settled on four children and four adults with a variety of broken bones and head injuries.

  By the time McCoy had organized his small group, the doctor had finished tagging the critical cases. He handed McCoy a list of the badges.

  “There are twenty-two,” he said sheepishly. “Is that too many?”

  “No, it’s fine,” said McCoy. He opened his communicator. “Gamma team to Nightingale. We have twenty-two, critical condition, to transport immediately.”

  “Acknowledged,” came the reply. “It’s looking safe at the moment, but we have to stop at the first sign of an ion storm.”

  “Understood.” McCoy gave the transporter chief the badge numbers. “Transport when ready.”

  All around the makeshift hospital, unconscious victims started to disappear in clouds of glimmering light. The other injured people seemed to enjoy the spectacle, and there was laughter and the sound of hope in the room.

  McCoy looked at his eight patients, then turned to the doctor. “I’m going to take these people to the shuttlecraft. You should send some able-bodied people to our landing site, to bring back medical supplies.”