The Amazing Stories

by M. Shayne Bell

  And yet she was. There had to be a reason.

  She dressed quickly and left for the bridge. Data had the helm. When the turbolift doors opened, he turned to her, then stood. “Counselor Troi,” he said.

  Deanna thought that even the android looked tired. “Have we changed our ETA at Nunanavik?” she asked.

  “No,” he said. “We will enter orbit around the planet in two hours and thirty-eight minutes, exactly as estimated when we set course.”

  Was she just imagining what the people on Nunanavik were feeling?

  “Is something wrong?” Data asked.

  Deanna explained. “Have we learned anything new?”

  “Very little. Twenty-three words, to be precise.”

  “Words?”

  “Twelve ships leaving Nunanavik have passed within sensor and communication range. The ionized dust garbled their transmissions. The computer is attempting to sort out anything meaningful, but it has been able to decipher only twenty-three words from the static, none of them in context or—”

  “What were those words?”

  “From the first ship: frostbitten, dying, cold; from the second: cold; from the third, a phrase: “Help them,” and again the word cold; from the fourth—”

  “Thank you, Data.” That was it, Deanna thought. She was picking up the feelings of people lucky enough to be aboard ships leaving Nunanavik.

  “Three more ships passing the Enterprise,” an ensign reported.

  “Open all hailing frequencies,” Data said. “Attempt to establish contact.”

  Any information the ships could provide might help them.

  And Deanna sat down, almost overcome by the loss and heartbreak emanating from those crowded ships.

  “All communications garbled as before,” another ensign reported. “Computer attempting to decipher.”

  Data turned back to Deanna. “We will likely pass many more ships. Every available craft will certainly attempt exit before atmosphere collapse. Shall I order you a sedative from sickbay? You still have some time to sleep.”

  “No,” Deanna said. “I don't think even a sedative could make me sleep now. I'm going back to the main shuttlebay. I'm sure the maintenance crews can use two more hands.”

  ATMOSPHERE COLLAPSE:

  5 HOURS, 23 MINUTES, 18 SECONDS

  “Is that the best picture you can display?” Captain Picard asked.

  The main viewer on the bridge showed a world shrouded in dust.

  “No,” Data said. “That is the actual view. I have programmed the computer to remove eighty-eight point seven percent of the dust from the image on screen. If we were to remove one hundred percent, the image would break up into inconsistent—”

  “Put it on screen,” Picard ordered.

  The image before them was replaced with one much brighter. It showed a world blue and white with ice and snow. It was so bright that some people viewing it had to look away. Data shaded the brighter tones, and the light softened. “By now the temperature is cold enough that all the water vapor will have condensed out of the atmosphere,” he said. “The snow and ice on the surface will be quite deep.”

  “How does this compare to images recorded before the dust cloud?” Picard asked.

  Data entered commands into the computer. The main viewer began to display older images, each darker than what they had been seeing, though they all looked icy and cold.

  “It is now summer in Nunanavik's northern hemisphere,” Data said. “As you know, arctic worlds such as this show little seasonal variation. Still, the difference between what was normal and what we are now seeing is striking. Here is the current image again.”

  The room visibly brightened.

  “I calculate that ninety-eight point six percent of the surface is abnormally covered with snow or ice,” Data said.

  “At least the people down there know how to handle cold,” Picard said.

  “Not a temperature that freezes the atmosphere,” Data said.

  “We have audio and visual incoming from Nunanavik,” Commander Riker announced.

  “On screen, Number One,” Picard said.

  The image of a young Inuit woman wrapped in furs appeared before them. She was shivering. “. . . freezing, dying. Population down one third. We've called those left into the following sixteen settlements: Inuvik, Tanana, Anvik, Thule . . .”

  Shortly after she finished sending the names, the message began to break up.

  “Tell her help is on the way,” Picard said. “Data, work that list of settlements into the evacuation plan. Riker, how long before we're ready to launch the shuttles?”

  “Thirty-one minutes.”

  “Data, take the helm. Riker, Worf, Troi, La Forge, Crusher—to the conference lounge.”

  Deanna was finishing the final flight check of the cargo shuttle Fossey's environmental systems when she got the call to the meeting. The air tanks were full, and she marked their status on the flight-check board before hurrying to the turbolift. Worf entered just ahead of her. He held the doors until she had stepped inside. His pleasure at seeing her again lifted her spirits. The lift shot up toward the bridge.

  “Did you get any sleep?” she asked.

  “There is too much work to be done to sleep. I'll sleep afterward.”

  But Deanna wondered if any of them would be able to sleep “afterward.” They all knew they wouldn't be able to save everyone on the planet. The doors opened, and Deanna and Worf hurried toward the conference lounge. Dr. Crusher entered just ahead of them.

  Captain Picard was conferring with those who were already present. “La Forge, status report on the transporters. Can we use them?”

  “No, sir,” replied the chief engineer. “The dust cloud remains consistently thick. If we tried to transport through it, we'd lose matter-stream integrity.”

  He had been expecting that answer; nevertheless, Picard looked resigned. “We're almost finished stripping down the shuttles to make room for more people,” the captain said. “Cargo shuttles can now carry fifty. Personnel shuttles, twelve—but people will have to stand. The Calypso, thirty.”

  They were depressingly low numbers, but it was the best they could do.

  “Flight crew status, Riker,” Picard said. “Everyone ready?”

  “Pilots are flight-ready, but we're short one copilot,” Riker said.

  “Lieutenant Barretto is clinically exhausted,” Dr. Crusher said. “I could not certify him.”

  “We're scrambling for a replacement,” Riker said.

  Deanna spoke up. “I've been studying shuttle-flight piloting in the holodeck, and I passed Level Four when we docked at Earth Station McKinley.”

  Level Four required fifty hours of actual shuttle flight. “More than enough for a copilot,” Picard said.

  “I'd be honored if she were to fly with me,” Worf said.

  “Make it so,” the captain said. Picard, La Forge, and Riker were also on the roster of flight-ready pilots—just in case it became necessary to make immediate command-level decisions down on the planet's surface. Picard was flying the captain's yacht, the Calypso.

  “Anything else?” Picard asked.

  “Sir,” Worf said. “The people on Nunanavik will fight to board shuttles. I advise sending armed guards.”

  Picard paused. Putting guards on the shuttles would mean fewer lives saved—but if the shuttles faced riots on the ground, even more would die. “See if you can assess on-ground security arrangements first,” Picard said finally. “If communication is impossible, send two guards per shuttle.”

  Picard started for the door, then paused again. “Data?” he said.

  “Sir,” came Data's voice over the speakers.

  “How many people are left to evacuate?”

  “An exact figure is impossible to calculate.”

  “An estimate, then,” Picard said, exasperation creeping into his voice.

  “A conservative estimate would be in excess of eighty-two thousand.”

  Picard sighed.
“Do your best, everyone.” Then he left the room.

  Contact with the ground was nearly impossible, and most of what did come through was unintelligible, so Worf made plans to send guards on the first flights down. He left the matter up to pilot discretion after that. If they found conditions secure, they could leave the guards behind on subsequent flights.

  Worf hurried to dress in Federation cold-weather gear, then boarded the cargo shuttle Goodall, the shuttle he would fly. Deanna was already on board downloading their flight-path assignment. She looked up at him and smiled.

  Worf froze for a moment in the doorway. Counselor Deanna Troi was a fellow officer, he told himself. She was his copilot on this mission. But none of that seemed to matter when she smiled at him.

  Deanna had turned back to her work. She had set her coat and hat on the floor next to her seat. The sleeves were too bulky for her to work in comfortably. “We're headed for Anvik,” she said. “A city on the second largest continent, ten degrees from the equator—a once balmy port city, by this world's standards.”

  Worf sat down. “How many people?” he asked.

  “Data's best estimate is five thousand thirty-two.”

  Worf began running the preflight diagnostics, and Deanna performed her part flawlessly. “You have learned well,” he told her.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  Worf forced himself to concentrate. They finished their flight checks. He saw that the two security guards were in their seats. While they waited for liftoff clearance, he contacted Data on the bridge. “How many shuttles from other craft are you sending to Anvik?” he asked.

  “Eight shuttles from the merchant ship Hong Kong will follow you in ten minutes,” Data said. “I will assign others as they become available.”

  “Excellent,” Worf said. “That gives us time to see to security arrangements on the ground before they arrive.”

  They were cleared for liftoff. Worf piloted the shuttle out of the bay and took it on a rapid descent to the surface.

  Deanna did not question the steepness of their trajectory. The instruments showed everything within acceptable limits, if on the outer edge. The shuttle could take what Worf was doing to it.

  She breathed deeply and looked at Worf. He was all work now. He gave piloting his full concentration. She ran her checks and called out the necessary statistics. Worf acknowledged them.

  But one time she caught Worf looking at her—not at the instruments, not at the world rushing up toward them. She was glad they were working together. She knew Worf had genuine confidence in her and her training, but that wasn't the only reason he'd been eager to have her assigned as his copilot.

  She smiled again.

  Data worked with a calm fury to coordinate the evacuation. He and the crew on the bridge transmitted a steady stream of information to ships incoming and to the seventy-three ships already in orbit above Nunanavik. They had to set orbits, assign shuttles flight-path information, send detailed geographical data on Nunanavik that civilian craft might not routinely have, apportion shuttles to the settlements as fairly as possible, coordinate launch times and, shortly, begin tracking the first of the return flights. Flight safety was critical. With so many people to save, they had no room for error.

  “Communication with outgoing shuttles from the Enterprise, the Kolinahr, and the Raj Veda is currently impossible,” an ensign reported.

  “Attempt to reestablish contact,” Data said. “Scanners, track them.”

  Sixty-four percent of their communications were not getting through the ionized dust on the first try. Three crew members worked just to handle requests for retransmission of data. The communication breakdown meant unavoidable delays. Data could calculate how many lives each delay cost, but he did not complete those calculations. No one would have wanted to know. They were all doing the best they could.

  “The Tamilquara reports it is carrying materials for two pressure domes that should withstand the collapse of the atmosphere. They have the crews and just enough time to assemble them.”

  “How many people can those domes hold?”

  “Five thousand each, standing room only, six hours' air supply.”

  “Send them to Inuvik,” Data said.

  Practically everyone in Inuvik could crowd into those domes. Data wondered what else the merchant ships might be carrying that was capable of saving lives. He assigned a team to begin making inquiries.

  “Shuttles from the Hong Kong launched nine point five minutes ahead of schedule, sir!” an ensign reported.

  Data looked up. An early launch was dangerous, given the crowded skies. “Calculate flight paths. Transmit corrections, if necessary.”

  “Those shuttles are coming down hard behind the Calypso and the Enterprise shuttles Hawking and Goodall!”

  “Order them to pull back!” Data said. “Contact the Hong Kong and get them to help, too.”

  The crew rushed to complete those tasks. Data himself transmitted warnings to the Enterprise shuttles. He tried everything to reach them. Nothing worked.

  The bridge grew quiet for a moment.

  None of the shuttles from the Hong Kong was pulling back. The Enterprise shuttles were not beginning evasive maneuvers. None of them had received the warnings.

  Data stood as the scanners tracked the flight paths, which were clearly merging. The eight shuttles from the Hong Kong would come down right on top of the Enterprise shuttles. The ensign at the scanners held onto her console as if bracing for impact.

  Worf eased his shuttle into Nunanavik's freezing atmosphere, then plunged it down toward the surface. He hoped to shave two minutes off their ETA in Anvik, and all indications were that he'd do that and more. There was no turbulence to interfere with their flight. Movement of the air had mostly stopped. The moisture had condensed out of the atmosphere, and there were no clouds. The clear sky was streaked with tiny flashes of red as dust showered down around them and burned.

  It was an eerie sky to fly through.

  All twenty of the Enterprise shuttles and the Calypso flew together to a point above a major plateau, then split off to their destinations. Worf flew due south, in formation with the Hawking and the Calypso. They gained altitude again to cross a jagged coastal mountain range cut with deep canyons and passes and scoured by massive glaciers. The land rushing past below them was a patchwork of white snow and blue ice.

  Suddenly an alarm rang out, and red light filled the shuttle.

  “Eight ships incoming!” Deanna shouted.

  “Attempting evasive maneuvers,” Worf said, and he guided the shuttle down into a deep canyon.

  But the incoming ships were all around them, ahead of them, above them.

  Deanna rushed to transmit correct flight-path information. “Pull back! Pull back!” she shouted, hailing the incoming shuttles. “Correct your courses!”

  The transmissions from the incoming shuttles were a confusion of panicked chatter.

  “This can't be right!”

  “Where did these mountains come from! There weren't supposed to be mountains!”

  “Enterprise shuttles dead ahead!”

  “Pull up!”

  “Dump speed!”

  Something hit the Goodall. Worf and Deanna watched a merchant's shuttle slam against the far canyon wall and explode. Their shuttle began to spin down toward the canyon floor.

  Worf struggled to regain control, but the ice and snow rushed up at frightening speed. The shuttle shook so badly that Deanna thought it would break apart, but gradually the spinning stopped, and slowly the ship began to respond. Deanna started a damage assessment, checked fuel supplies and cabin pressure. She tried to think if there was something she should have done to prevent the crash. She wanted to ask Worf, but this was not the time.

  Their flight leveled out close above the canyon floor. Neither Deanna nor Worf looked back at the snowstorm the shuttle was raising in its wake. Neither spoke. Slowly the shuttle gained altitude. The two guards on board with them cheered when it
cleared the canyon rim—but the shuttle was not gaining altitude fast enough to clear the mountain pass ahead.

  “We will have to abandon ship,” Worf said. He could see that they were going to slam into the mountain. “Guards, put on your paragliders.” By the time he finished issuing the order, the guards were already putting their arms through the shoulder straps on the devices that would enable them to coast down to the planet surface.

  Seconds later, Worf shouted, “Jump!” He hit the button that blew the hatch open. An immediate blast of freezing air made them all choke.

  The guards jumped. The white wings of their paragliders immediately expanded to a span of six meters, stable and graceful.

  “Jump, Deanna!” Worf shouted as he eased the shuttle over a small ridge, buying them a little more time.

  But Deanna was scrambling to grab her coat—which she didn't think about until she was exposed to the frigid atmosphere, and which had slid some distance away from her seat. Worf pulled on another paraglider, grabbed Deanna in his arms, and leaped through the hatch just in time.

  The shuttle exploded against the mountainside. Shrapnel battered Worf and Deanna and their paraglider. Their fall seemed to go on and on, across ridges and down through a deepening valley. They slammed into a snowbank at the base of a glacier.

  When they stopped tumbling, Worf thought two things: I am alive, and I did not let go of Deanna. She was limp in his arms, but he could feel her breathing.

  Picard held Deanna's charred coat and stared at the burning wreckage of the Goodall. He'd ordered the other shuttles to continue on, then circled back to rescue any survivors of the crash, picking up the two security guards. But he found no sign of Worf or Deanna. The Enterprise could not detect them— which could be just dust interference, Picard tried to tell himself. But most of the downed shuttle was still burning. They could not get near it.