The Three-Minute Universe

by Barbara Paul

  "Everybody shut up!" Kirk roared, effectively deafening all of them. "We have only so much air. Suffer in silence."

  They suffered, and in near-silence. They were all panting, taking short, shallow breaths in the close, confined area. Packed together like sardines, none of them could even get a hand free long enough to wipe off a sweaty brow. The heat was unbearable. Someone's stomach growled. Time dragged.

  They waited.

  Then: "Kepten, do you think thirty minutes hef passed yet?"

  "No."

  They waited some more.

  Then: "Mr. Spock, is your internal clock a-runnin'? Have we not been in this oven long enough, do y'not think?"

  "Not quite half an hour yet, Mr. Scott."

  They waited still longer.

  Then: "I wish we could hear something," Kirk complained. "It ought to be safe enough by now to take a look, at least. What do you think, Spock?"

  "I would surmise that an adequate amount of time has elapsed to enable the fire fighters to bring the blaze under control. At any rate, I question our ability to survive under these conditions for much longer."

  "Uh-huh, I want out too. Somebody open the lid—my arms are pinned down."

  There were the sounds of two people grunting, and then Uhura said, "It's stuck!"

  "Not 'stuck', Lieutenant," Spock said, "but evidently held in place by some sort of safety catch operable only from the outside."

  "Oh, that's dandy, that is!" Scott exclaimed. "What do we do now?"

  "We yell for help," Kirk answered, and proceeded to do just that. Then they were all yelling and banging on the top and the side of the bin and thoroughly driving one another crazy.

  But their cries for help were heard. The lid opened suddenly, and they all squinted against the sudden glare of light. As their vision adjusted, they looked up to see the face of Dr. Leonard McCoy peering in at them, his left eyebrow arched up almost to his hairline.

  He said, "Do you want me to go away and come back later when you're finished?"

  Kirk erupted from the bin, followed closely by Uhura and Scotty, with Chekov scrambling out right behind them. Spock was the last to emerge, struggling hard to maintain his dignity in such unseemly circumstances. They were all hot, grumbling, sweaty, rumpled, and irritable … and desperately glad to be alive.

  Chapter Thirteen

  THE FIRST THING Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott had done back aboard the Enterprise was head straight to the part of the ship he called home and plant a big, sloppy kiss on the engineering systems monitoring board. Mr. Spock found the gesture melodramatic and said so.

  "Ah, Mr. Spock," Scotty replied, "if ye'd been the one to bide a wee among the beasties instead o' me, ye'd not be so quick to criticize. It's good to be home."

  "And I am extremely gratified to see you returned safely to your post, Mr. Scott," Spock commented, "but we do not have the time for emotional displays at the moment, regardless of how well merited they might be. The installation of the baryon reverter has first claim on our attention."

  "Aye," Scotty said, settling down to business, "and to figurin' out how the little beauty works."

  The first problem was that the Zirgosians had built the reverter for their own use, when and if it was ever needed. Not expecting any other race to have to read the control panels, the Zirgosian inventors had quite naturally labeled all the switches and dials in their own language alone. So the first thing Spock did was ask the language banks in the ship's computer for translations. Once he had them, the problem of puzzling out the baryon reverter began in earnest.

  After a while Spock said, "As well as I can interpret these controls, the baryon reverter does not revert baryons into something else. It seems the Zirgosians found a way to revert leptons into baryons."

  "What?!" Scotty cried, flabbergasted. "That's impossible! Y'canna change leptons into baryons!"

  "Normally I would have agreed with you, Engineer, but evidently the leptons first transform into mesons and then into the heavier baryons. The reverter uses antiparticles instead of particles."

  "Let me see." Scotty studied the control panels and shook his head. "The minute the baryons pass through that barrier separatin' our universe from the one next to us, they'll all decay, Mr. Spock, ever' blessed one o' them."

  "And that, presumably, is why the Zirgosians used antiparticles. When the antiparticles pass through the barrier, they will undergo the same sort of reversal, only in their case it will result in antidecay."

  "And the baryons are reconstituted on the other side, in the other universe?" Scotty mused. "Aye, that might do it—like puttin' a heavy particle patch on the inside o' the rupture. But ye'd need a power source larger than this ship to do it!"

  Spock folded his arms and stared at the baryon reverter. "But this is what we have, Mr. Scott—this one instrument. The only possible way this reverter could work would be by means of some miniaturized internal power generator we do not have in our technology."

  Scotty's face glowed. "When this is all over—if it works, o' course—y'think we might be openin' it up to take a peek inside? A miniaturized power generator!"

  "The same thought had crossed my mind," Spock admitted. "I too would be most interested in examining such a magnificent leap in technology. But we are getting ahead of ourselves. The reverter will need some sort of external start-up power."

  "That's nae problem. There's a port here on the side."

  "And we'll need a way of directing the antiparticle stream. If we cannot control the stream's bearings, our chances of hitting the exact location where the rupture between the two universes took place are minuscule."

  Scotty was walking around the reverter, inspecting for the tenth or eleventh time every visible part of the instrument. "I've been thinkin' about that. There ought to be a way o' directin' the stream through our phaser banks."

  "The phaser banks," Spock repeated slowly. "That is an excellent suggestion, Mr. Scott. To be controlled from the bridge?"

  "Oh, that's the easy part." Scotty hunkered down and removed a small panel near the base of the reverter. "Aha. In-line diverter switches. It'll take some trial and error, it will, but this may be our answer, Mr. Spock."

  Without further ado they got to work.

  Ensign Chekov had laid in a course for that burning section of the galaxy that had once contained the Beta Castelli star system; the Enterprise was headed right back to the place where it had all started. "Estimated time of encounter vith heat front—three hours, tventy-one minutes," the navigator announced.

  He sounds tired, Captain Kirk thought. We're all tired. Kirk was sitting in his own command chair once again, and openly exulting in it. They'd taken the time to shower and change into uniforms and eat, but what they all needed most was a long stretch of worry-free sleep. He could have ordered Chekov and Uhura to get some rest; but he knew they'd want to be here for the moment the baryon reverter was put to the test. After all, it might be the last moment they'd share together. He glanced over at his communications officer; Uhura's back was erect and her head held high. Why didn't she look as tired as the rest of them?

  Kirk slapped a hand on the armrest control panel. "Kirk to Spock."

  "Spock here."

  "Report, Mr. Spock. Have you and Scotty figured out a way to make the reverter work?"

  "We believe so, Captain. We have computer-tested it, and it checks out. Mr. Scott is currently devising an interior shielding to protect the phaser banks from the antiparticle stream that will be passing through them."

  Kirk paused. "We're going to plug up the hole by shooting antiparticles at it?"

  "That is what the baryon reverter is designed to do," Spock said. "A wide-beam steady stream of a minute's duration should accomplish the task admirably."

  Kirk blew air out through his lips. "I hope the Zirgosians knew what they were doing."

  "That is my sincere wish also, Captain."

  "Kirk out."

  Chekov had turned in his seat and was staring at
the captain. "Antiparticles?"

  "Antiparticles."

  The navigator shook his head. "Thet is dangerous stuff."

  "Very dangerous."

  "Ve should be vorried."

  "Yes, we should."

  "But I am too numb to vorry."

  Kirk smiled. "I know the feeling, Mr. Chekov. Too much has happened, and we're all tired. If you wish to be relieved—"

  "No, sir!" Chekov interrupted emphatically. "I vish to be right vhere I am, Kepten! I do not vant to be relieved!"

  "I didn't think so," Kirk murmured. "What about you, Uhura?"

  "I'd also prefer to stay, Captain."

  Kirk nodded. "Yes, we should all be here for this."

  They lapsed into silence. The bridge was unusually still. What speaking was necessary was done quietly, in lowered voices. Even physical movements were soft and noiseless—like a funeral, Kirk thought. Showing respect for the dead. Hushed tones, somber faces, quiet movements. It made Kirk edgy. We're not dead yet!

  The intercom broke the silence; it was Dr. McCoy. "Jim, I've finished the post-morten."

  "I'll be right there." Kirk headed toward the turbolift. "Uhura, you have the conn. Let me know when we get within half an hour of the heat front."

  On his way down to G Deck, Kirk tried not to think what would happen if the baryon reverter didn't work. Then he caught himself: that was exactly what he should be thinking about. Lord knows he'd told Babe often enough that a starship captain has to think ahead. He must be more tired than he thought.

  In sickbay, Dr. McCoy was putting the results of his post-mortem into the medical computer. He broke off when he saw the captain and said, "Have a seat, Jim—you're in for a surprise."

  Kirk sat down. "Did you find out what that sac fluid does?"

  "It keeps them from freezing to death. Dr. Bonesovna—I find it hard to keep a straight face when I say that—anyway, Bonesovna had already told me about the fluid. But I checked it and she was right. It regulates the Vinithi body temperature. It not only keeps the internal organs warm, but it's also their early warning system when temperatures fall to dangerously low levels. Didn't you tell me the older Vinithi died when their sac fluid froze?"

  "Yes, that's what we were told."

  "They never felt it. They had to have died long before the fluid solidified—it would have been the last thing in their bodies to freeze. The kids that survived can take lower temperatures, but even they would be uncomfortable if they had to spend any length of time in a temperature like, say, the one we maintain on the Enterprise."

  "I can believe it. They kept their own ship like an oven—and told us they'd lowered the temperature to accommodate us. But what's this surprise you have for me?"

  "Well, it seems the Vinithi are a long-lived race. Very long-lived. As close as I can pin it down, their period of childhood and adolescence lasts well over a hundred of our years. Since your Commander Babe is the oldest, I'd put her age at about a hundred ten, maybe twenty."

  "What?" Kirk was astounded. "Over a hundred? That means …"

  "It means that those kids you made dog food of are about eighty years older than you are."

  Kirk stared at him. "I'm glad I didn't know that."

  McCoy laughed. "It might have changed your approach?"

  "No question. Whew."

  "But they're still children and adolescents, Jim, no matter what our way of measuring time tells us. They're still going to need adults for a while."

  Kirk was silent for a few moments. "Bones, you've just told me that Babe has lived for more than a century without ever putting foot on a planet."

  "Oh, surely not! They—"

  "The adults never took their offspring with them when they visited different worlds. Remember that incubation dome the kids put up on Holox? That was the first time they'd ever been planetside. The ones that didn't go down, like Babe, have spent their whole lives on board ship. Not on that ship, but on the one the adult Vinithi abandoned when they stole the unfinished Babe in Arms from the Zirgosians."

  "A hundred years … cooped up inside a ship." McCoy shook his head. "It's a wonder they stayed sane."

  Kirk nodded; the same thought had occurred to him. "We are the first 'aliens' they've ever had any sustained contact with. Remember, only the adults ever went planetside—the young ones were always kept on board. After the accident killed all the adults, a few of the kids did talk to the Zirgosian delegation that wanted them to leave Holox. And they had the three Gelchenites on board for a while, long enough to persuade them to do that dirty poisoning job. But we're the only ones they've seen up close for any period of time."

  "So we're just as strange to them as they are to us. Well, maybe not so strange now. But we still have a hell of a lot to learn about these people."

  "It makes me wonder about the other Vinithi youngsters," Kirk remarked, "on those other ships. They've undoubtedly been brainwashed just as thoroughly as our Vinithi kids were. What's going to happen to them?"

  "You can't save everybody, Jim."

  "We were damned lucky, Bones, you know that? What if that ship had been filled with adult Vinithi?"

  They were interrupted by the intercom. "Captain Kirk, Admiral Quinlan is on subspace."

  "Pipe it through to sickbay, Uhura."

  The admiral's face appeared on McCoy's screen. "Captain Kirk—again, congratulations on a job well done. I'm happy to see you back on the Enterprise."

  "Thank you, sir. You don't know how glad I am to be here. But the job isn't done yet."

  "No. Any problems with the baryon reverter?"

  "None that we can see at this point. We won't know whether it works or not until we try it."

  "Of course. Nevertheless, I've ordered the Bellefonte to rendezvous with the Vinithi ship—they're carrying extra crew who'll take over for your people on the Babe in Arms." Admiral Quinlan snorted. "Babe in Arms! What an absurd name for a starship."

  "You think so?" Kirk asked innocently.

  "Anyway, we're taking your recommendation that the young Vinithi be re-educated under consideration. Off the record, Kirk—just how feasible would such an undertaking be? They are killers, you know. In your honest opinion, can they be re-educated?"

  "In my honest opinion—absolutely," Kirk replied with emphasis. "And they are not killers by nature. They're kids, Admiral, a tremendously gifted group of youngsters who've been mercilessly conditioned into thinking they have the right to take by violence what their elders failed to win through peaceful means. The Vinithi did try to establish amicable relations with the Federation, you know. They tried for years."

  "I know. We obviously fell short there. Well, if you think these youngsters are salvageable—"

  "I do, Admiral, without any question. And they're a likable bunch, once you get used to their appearance. And their smell."

  "And you had time to acclimate yourselves?"

  "We were just beginning to." Kirk cleared his throat. "In fact, we were on a first-name basis with a lot of them."

  "Indeed? That bodes well for future Federation-Vinithi relations. Too bad the other Vinithi are not so amenable."

  "Ah, yes … what about those other Vinithi ships?"

  "They've disappeared. Simply vanished. Once they learned we had the baryon reverter, they left their starbase orbits and took off for parts unknown. That's a problem we'll have to deal with in the future. If there is a future."

  Kirk knew that was his cue to say There will be, sir, but he couldn't quite bring himself to say it. He settled for stating the obvious: "We'll know in a couple of hours."

  "Yes, we will." Silence. "Well, good luck, Kirk. Good luck to all of us." Admiral Quinlan's image disappeared.

  "We'll need it," Kirk murmured to the empty screen.

  Dr. McCoy, who'd moved out of the picture when the admiral came on, pulled up a chair near to Kirk. "Jim, doesn't it strike you as ironic? After all we've been through in all these years, our very survival now rests not on ourselves but on a piece of u
ntested equipment that we didn't even develop! Doesn't seem right, going out that way."

  "What a pessimist you are, Bones. We've got a good chance of not 'going out' at all."

  "How good? Can you quote me odds?"

  "I'm not Mr. Spock. But yes, come to think of it, I can quote you odds. Fifty-fifty. It'll either work or it won't."

  McCoy grunted. "Believe it or not, I'd already figured that out for myself. But none of us has any idea whether that thing will work or not. Spock doesn't know, Scotty doesn't know … you don't know. The Zirgosians themselves didn't know it would work."

  "The Zirgosians were sure it would."

  "That's not good enough, dammit! It won't work, I know it!"

  "It will work."

  "How do you know?"

  "Because," Kirk answered simply, "it has to."

  The heat front was only twenty minutes away.

  Kirk glanced over to where Scotty was seated at the weapons station, nervously checking his connections for the umpteenth time. Chief Engineer Montgomery Scott had faced death before, and the death of his shipmates as well. But never before had any of them had to grapple with the idea that the near-simultaneous death of everybody was imminent, every living soul in the universe; and all they had to prevent it was an instrument no one had used before. No wonder Scotty was making sure he hadn't made a mistake.

  Scotty wasn't the only one who was nervous. McCoy was pacing back and forth behind the command chair, muttering to himself. Even the normally stalwart Mr. Spock seemed jumpy—and that made everyone more nervous than they already were. They'd all fallen into the habit of expecting their Vulcan first officer to remain rock-steady no matter how serious the crisis. Seeing him so ill-at-ease like that … everyone was strung-out, wired.

  No, not quite everyone, Kirk thought. Uhura was an oasis of calm in the midst of a bridge crew ready to jump out of their skins if anyone so much as said boo to them.

  Right then Uhura was serenely looking at the main viewscreen, which showed a starfield that was gradually growing lighter the nearer they came to the heat front. She became aware that Captain Kirk was watching her, and looked a question at him.