Star Trek®: A Choice of Catastrophes

by Michael Schuster

  The noise made it impossible to be heard. Spock resorted to flashlight signals. The Columbus was hovering half a meter above the ground, moving slowly forward, when a strong gust of wind hit its side and threw it off its course.

  It struck the building wall at a height of four meters with a crash that managed to permeate the howling wind. The considerable force shattered part of the wall, and pieces of various sizes began to fall.

  Broken pieces blocked all their escape routes. Spock and Kologwe had nowhere to go.

  Scotty was watching as Spock guided the Columbus into the warehouse. When the shuttle slammed into the wall, he jumped into action. He grabbed his phaser in one quick flick, set it to a wide spread, and fired.

  The beam disintegrated most of the debris. Spock’s Vulcan reflexes did the rest, pulling himself and Kologwe to safety. The engineer looked up to see that the Columbus was moving forward again. When it had cleared the entrance, Spock immediately closed the door, keeping wind and rain out.

  Scotty rushed over to the Columbus, M’Benga right behind him with his medkit. The others quickly joined them. What had gone wrong?

  When the hatch finally opened the doctor rushed in. Scotty hoped Rawlins and Seven Deers were okay. He knew Seven Deers had a family on Alpha Centauri. Her two children were adults, but they still shouldn’t have to lose a parent.

  Scotty moved off to the aft section of the Columbus to see if there’d been any damage from hitting the side of the warehouse. As he began to examine the shuttle, a loud crack made him jump and drop his phaser. It sounded like thunder mixed with an explosion. Had that been caused by the storm? What was it? Scotty looked around but saw little outside the beam of his flashlight.

  Something small dropped on his head, and he looked up. A cloud of dust engulfed him, and his eyes began to burn. More small bits pelted him, in the face, on the forehead, chest, shoulders. Squinting, he pointed his flashlight at the ceiling above him, just in time to see a large piece of it race down.

  His legs moved of their own accord, but then his world collapsed, causing waves of pain to smother everything. Blackness was the only thing his eyes registered before giving up.

  So far, Giotto hadn’t encountered any hostiles, but he knew his luck wouldn’t hold. Even if the Farrezzi had no sensors to tell them that intruders were aboard, he’d cross paths with them sooner or later. The commander had his doubts that they would ever find Yüksel. The botanist had been gone too long. There was a slim chance they might locate Chekov—a very slim one.

  Sweat covered his brow, caused by the humidity. The air was warm and smelled like the rich soil of a garden. Distracting, but nothing he couldn’t cope with.

  The floor suddenly shuddered. In the distance, Giotto could hear sounds. He sprinted to the nearest alcove and shoved himself in. Judging by the sockets and cables, its purpose was power distribution.

  The sounds in the distance were barely audible. They became fainter, then disappeared altogether. Giotto waited another minute, just to make sure that they’d gone. Was it really possible that neither he nor the captain hadn’t been spotted? If this had been the Enterprise, and intruders had found their way aboard, they wouldn’t have remained undetected for long. It was possible, however, that this ship was not a military one. Giotto’s scan of the exterior had not shown any weapon emplacements.

  So far, he’d found nothing that would help him in his search for two missing crewmen. He’d seen no brig, no holding cells, no torture chamber. He’d inspected every side corridor, every alcove, along the way. Nothing.

  His instincts told him he was going in one big circle. He had good orientation skills, normally not needing a tricorder or a map, but the slaver ship was turning out to be a challenge. It all looked the same, just one big tunnel, like the ones they’d seen below the city.

  Giotto checked his tricorder, which had been automatically mapping the interior. The map told him he was not going in circles, but it was of little help otherwise. He remembered what Chekov had said about the unique physiology of the aliens. No front or back, so it stood to reason that their vehicles wouldn’t have them either. Perhaps it was like the Enterprise’s saucer section, where everything important—bridge, sickbay, life support systems—was at the center. Common sense, right? At least, it was to humanoids. He was about to find out if the same was true for five-limbed squidthings.

  “Now lift them up, slowly,” Spock said.

  The weight of the large block that had fallen from the ceiling and narrowly missed the Columbus was considerable, so he had ordered it cut in two by precisely modulated phaser beams, to minimize the danger to Engineer Scott, who lay trapped beneath it.

  If the Farrezzi pursuing the Columbus had caught up with them, there would have been more than one strike. Could it have been lightning?

  Mister Scott had been the only one hit by the ceiling piece. Spock regretted that his conversation with Tra had distracted him from noticing the ceiling fragment until it was too late. The lower half of Scott’s body was covered by the larger chunk, making for an unsettling sight. It was fortunate that he had been standing close to the port nacelle’s aft end, as it kept the concrete from crushing his legs completely.

  The engineer required immediate attention. Doctor M’Benga had interrupted the treatment of his other two patients, who had been moved to the Hofstadter. Spock had given the order to remove the concrete block. After cutting it in two, Lieutenant Kologwe and Petty Officer Emalra’ehn had attached all the antigrav devices from both shuttles to the pieces and removed them carefully as Spock and the doctor supervised. At a safe distance, they disengaged the antigravs, sending the block of concrete to the floor with a resonating thud.

  “What now, sir?” Lieutenant Jaeger asked, standing beside Spock, wide-eyed. “He needs a sickbay.”

  “I have every confidence in Doctor M’Benga’s abilities.” Spock’s statement was not wholly true. Having Doctor McCoy present would have increased Scott’s odds of survival by four full percentage points.

  “I wish I had your confidence, sir,” Jaeger said. For a moment, he gave the appearance of wanting to say something further but stopped himself. The geophysicist looked up at the ceiling. Through the gaping hole, they could see dark clouds lit by frequent flashes of lightning. “The rain is getting stronger.”

  A steady stream of drops had been pelting Spock’s face, but their intensity and frequency was increasing.

  “Ow!” Jaeger’s hand shot up, covering the top of his head.

  “As is its solidity.” The rain had turned to hail. Spock stepped backward, out of reach.

  “It’s cooled down surprisingly fast,” said Jaeger. “I don’t think this place is going to be safe much longer, the way this storm is going.”

  “I agree,” Spock said. “Tell the doctor we have to move Mister Scott.”

  Jaeger stepped over to the Columbus. Spock knew that with the wind gaining more strength, they would soon be caught in a deadly trap. The structure had been weakened by the ruptured roof and would not be able to withstand the onslaught.

  Spock had to perform a quick reassignment of the shuttle crews. “Lieutenant Kologwe.”

  “Aye, sir?” The security officer stopped and turned, her hair and face covered in a wet sheen.

  “Conditions are expected to deteriorate, so we must be prepared to leave in a hurry. You have the necessary experience; I need you to pilot the Columbus. Be prepared for protracted turbulence once we take to the air.”

  “Aye, sir,” she said somberly. Spock knew very few humans who had such a tight grip on their emotions. He told Kologwe to take Ensign Saloniemi with her. M’Benga had moved Lieutenant Rawlins to the Hofstadter where he could keep an eye on him.

  Spock returned to the Hofstadter, where Saloniemi was gathering his materials. The Vulcan sent out a highly focused signal to the approximate location of the Enterprise. With no contact for nearly twelve hours, it was difficult to say where the ship would be, but he was confident in his selectio
n. However, he received no indication that the signal had arrived at its destination.

  The increasing interference had affected both their sensors and their shields. If there were distortions in subspace impairing the Enterprise’s journey, it was possible that there were similar ones much closer to Mu Arigulon. Mister Scott had isolated the interference pattern to create his countermeasure. Spock ordered the computer to map the interference, noting the levels.

  “Fascinating.”

  “Sir?” asked Saloniemi, leaning over the back of the navigator’s seat, tricorder in his hand.

  “The computer has determined that the subspace distortion is strongest near the ‘projector’ at the hub of the reactor network,” Spock replied. “This explains our inability to obtain precise scans.”

  “Is it creating a warp field?” asked Saloniemi.

  “Possibly. The Farrezzi were clearly in the early stages of warp flight.”

  “But if there’s a distortion reaching into deep space, they must be advanced.” Saloniemi shook his head. “That doesn’t fit.”

  “It is not a matter of advancement so much as sheer power,” said Spock. “There were numerous reactors in the Farrezzi network, the equivalent of five or six times the Enterprise’s power. If we are to end the distortions, the logical conclusion is that we must deactivate the ractors.”

  The rain had returned and was increasing in strength. The shuttle’s sensors told him that the wind had increased. Just then, a sensor blip caught his attention: three moving objects had been detected.

  When they opened fire on the warehouse, it became clear what had caused the earlier explosion.

  Ahead of Kirk, the tunnel took a sharp turn to the right. He slowed down to listen. Nothing. That was a relief. He’d hate to run into—

  Two Farrezzi stood near the next junction, roughly twenty meters ahead. They were large, impressive beings. Kirk stopped as soon as he spotted them, but it was too late. With their five protruding eyes, it was impossible for them not to have seen him.

  They were fast, almost impossibly so, given their legs didn’t contain any bones.

  Instinct took over. Kirk ran, fervently hoping that his memory of the tunnel maze was reliable. When he passed an alcove, he hurled himself into the recess. The impact pushed the air out of his lungs, and his left shoulder hurt like hell after hitting the wall.

  Two blurry shadows sped past him, which was good.

  They stopped almost immediately, which was not.

  In one quick motion, he grabbed his phaser, sped out of the alcove, and fired a rapid sequence of shots at the Farrezzi without waiting to take aim.

  When one of them toppled, Kirk had good reason to fear being squashed, heavy as they were. The Farrezzi he’d hit collapsed on itself, legs giving in like cooked pasta, before its body fell backward and hit the floor with a thump.

  One down, one to go. Before the captain could get off another shot, two of the Farrezzi’s limbs shot out, grabbing Kirk’s arms with their prehensile ends and pinning him to the deck. As the being came closer, two of its other limbs wrapped themselves around his legs, and the fifth made for his throat. His phaser was just a half meter from his right hand. It might as well have been on the other side of the planet.

  Up close, the wrinkly, fur-covered alien torso resembled a large, fleshy bulb that expanded and contracted rhythmically. The legs’ ends—not actually feet—split in two, then again in two smaller ones, to leave the Farrezzi with a total of four thin tentacle-like digits per leg, capable of wrapping themselves tightly around objects.

  The grip on his throat was not that tight, but he was beginning to feel its effects. His vision started to swim, his heart pounding. Kirk summoned all of his energy to buck and thrash wildly beneath the slaver’s heavy body.

  Pinned down like an insect in a specimen collection, he had no chance. The more he resisted, the stronger the grip became. To top it all off, Kirk knew it could get worse. If another Farrezzi came to this one’s aid, he’d be done for.

  What he needed now was a plan—before he passed out.

  TEN

  Fourteen Years Ago

  Nancy Bierce is a couple of years younger than Leonard. She’s attending Emory for an off-world certification. She has a degree in anthropology, but wants to work off-planet for the Federation Ministry of Science and Space Exploration, which requires a semester of training courses, one of them in basic space medicine. Leonard notices Nancy when she joins a study group that meets at Bradley’s Café.

  Leonard likes Nancy almost instantly. She is capable of giving as good as she gets. She understands his complaining is just in fun. In fact, she rarely takes him seriously even when he is serious. Nancy doesn’t know his name at first, but nicknames him Plum after an embarrassing incident with a disgusting smoothie. She knows Leonard hates it, which is why she keeps using it even after she learns his name.

  He loves listening to her talk about space. She wants to immerse herself in alien cultures. Next year, she’ll be a civilian specialist in a Starfleet survey crew to the Baten Kaitos sector. It sounds amazing. Leonard remembers how much he liked his time on Dramia II.

  Things at home are growing worse. Joanna has provided him and Jocelyn with more things to argue about. Jocelyn is jealous of the time he spends at Bradley’s. He’s careful not to mention Nancy, even though he hasn’t and wouldn’t do a thing with her.

  It seems that every night Leonard spends at home degenerates into an argument. He tells Jocelyn that he loves her, he tells himself that he loves her, he wants to stay together for Joanna’s sake. But nothing works. He begins spending nights at his friend Armstrong’s place, just to avoid arguments, but that only makes things worse.

  One night he returns home and finds that the apartment door is locked. Jocelyn’s changed the code. He hits the door chime again and again. “Let me in!”

  After a few minutes of this, he finally hears an answer through the door. “You’re going to wake Joanna.”

  “Then let me in, dammit!”

  “If you’re only going to come home when it suits you, then maybe you should find another place to live.”

  He stomps off in anger and ends up spending that night at Nancy’s, falling asleep almost instantly. The next day he begins researching the possibilities for medical service in Starfleet. It’s the easiest way to get off-planet; he can take the courses he needs while he does his residency with Starfleet. The recruiters are thrilled—he’s a top-notch candidate, with his high grades and high performance evaluations.

  He just wants to go.

  A couple months after Joanna’s first birthday, Leonard reports to Starfleet Headquarters in San Francisco. He wheedles an assignment on the Republic—the same ship Nancy is on.

  She doesn’t have her own quarters, but as a medical officer, he does. Nancy spends the night in his room, Jocelyn nothing but a distant memory.

  Stardate 4758.0 (0058 hours)

  “Doctor! Doctor McCoy! Wake up!”

  McCoy felt his shoulder being jostled back and forth. His eyes snapped open, revealing Ensign Messier leaning over the desk to look in his face. Damn, he felt awful. He hadn’t fallen asleep in a chair since he was a junior medical officer on the Koop.

  “Wake up before someone else dies!” That wasn’t Messier. McCoy swiveled his chair around to see another figure in his office—a man, sitting on the bench in the corner, old and frail. It was his father, looking as he had in the months before he died.

  “What is it, Lieutenant?” McCoy stood up and immediately let off a pained groan.

  “There’s been an accident in one of the science labs,” Messier said. The med tech’s expression was grave. “Energy spike. A device overloaded and injured Specialist Huber. He’s on his way here. Third-degree burns.”

  McCoy’s mind was still fuzzy. The suppressant had done its job too well. It took him longer than normal to wake up. “I’ll be right there. Prep for surgery and get me a nurse to assist.”

  Messier no
dded and sped out. McCoy grabbed a clean surgical uniform. All the while, his father watched him. “I hope you can do more for him than you did for me,” he said. “Just don’t give up on him, and you’ll already be ahead of the game.”

  He didn’t have time for this, not now! Determined not to be drawn into a futile argument with a figment of his overactive imagination, McCoy brushed past his father into the main sickbay. McCoy examined the man, who was only half conscious and moaning loudly.

  “Why hasn’t he been sedated?” McCoy asked.

  “He has been,” Messier said as she approached, pushing a cart with a surgical arch on it. “As soon as I got to him, I gave him a dose. He should be out. I gave him the correct dosage.”

  “I don’t doubt that, Ensign.” This was the second patient who apparently felt immense pain despite sedation. More than a coincidence, but McCoy had no explanation.

  “Take your time,” advised his father, who’d followed him in from the office. “Don’t rush into a decision or a diagnosis. You wouldn’t want to take action prematurely like you did with me.”

  He bristled at his father’s accusation. “You two,” he said, pointing at two shaken-looking blueshirts standing next to the bed—doubtless Huber’s colleagues from astrophysics. “Could you lift him onto the bed?”

  Third-degree burns covered the majority of Huber’s upper torso and forearms. His face was less affected, which told McCoy that he’d shielded it with his arms.

  “Nurse!” he shouted. “I need some help here!” Then, to Messier, he said, “Please get them out of here.”

  Nurse Thomas hurried in. At the same time, the door behind him opened, and Chapel said, “Doctor, I got a call from Messier—”

  “Christine,” he said, interrupting her, “where have you been?” Then, realizing that Thomas was standing there, he nodded at her. “Nurse Thomas, thank you. Please look after the other patients. We’ll call you if we need you.” He trusted that Thomas wouldn’t take this personally. The simple truth was that he and Chapel worked well together.