"Of course, Captain," Erikkson answered. "Standing by."
Kirk whipped out his communicator and flipped it open. "Kirk to Engineering. Come in, Scotty." There was a brief wait, and then the burr of the chief engineer's voice came tinnily from the communicator's small speaker. "Aye, Cap'n. Scott here."
"Scotty, do we have enough oomph left to beam Mr. Spock and a team of, er, two technologists down to the surface?"
"Cap'n, after our original problems, I'd routed every transporter circuit through any spare pathway I could find, but thot was all undone by th' nuclear blast. Th' pathways have been randomized, and I canna reconstruct 'em. Th' compensators are out, too; I could perhaps disassemble a landing party, but I nae could put it back together."
Spock spoke up. "I'm quite willing to take the risk alone, Captain."
The chief engineer broke in. "Pardon me, Mr. Spock, but it's nae risk; it's guaranteed disaster. Take a look at yer readouts and figure it out; ye know th' equations as well as I do." To this, Spock nodded slowly. He'd already seen the transporter data readouts; the mathematics were unassailable.
"Captain?" Spock said. "I might suggest going down to the surface in a shuttlecraft."
Kirk gestured an emphatic negative. "No. Even if this ship is now safe from attack—and that's not guaranteed—the defense system is still tracking and attacking anything that approaches the atmosphere. From what Erikkson said, that includes shuttle-sized targets."
Spock nodded. "However, Captain, there are three possibilities here. One is that we have been marked 'destroyed,' and are being ignored. Similarly, a shuttle departing from this ship will be ignored, perhaps as detached debris. The defense system will not respond to anything we do. To it, we do not exist."
The Vulcan paused. "The second possibility is more risky. The defense system will see the shuttle depart from this ship, judge the situation as a new enemy attack, and fire on the shuttle. I must point out, though, that we were hit upon our arrival only because the system detected our approach and had enough time to launch a missile on an intercept course for us; a shuttle departure will take it by surprise. It will have to intercept the shuttlecraft in the atmosphere; the Enterprise herself would be safe. And the shuttle can fly a zig-zag pattern to avoid the intercepting missile."
"And the third possibility?" Kirk asked.
"That the defense system will see the shuttle leave, decide that the Enterprise is not destroyed, and launch a new attack on her as well as on the shuttle."
Kirk shook his head. "And what are the odds against avoiding another attack on this ship, Spock?"
The science officer looked as unconcerned as ever. "Unknown, Captain; I have no data. But it is necessary for me to go to the Defense Center site, and going there in a shuttle offers some hope of success."
Kirk was about to disapprove Spock's plan because of the risk to the Enterprise when he caught himself and paused.
"All right, Spock," he said at last. "You can go. But I'm going, too."
Chapter Nine:
Above Centaurus
UHURA SURVEYED THE bridge from her seat in the captain's command chair—her chair, for now. She carefully told herself that she wasn't really nervous and that her symptoms (slight nausea, rapid respiration, a bit of a headache and an acute case of the clammy palm) were simply the result of a slight rise in her adrenaline level. Perfectly natural, of course.
But she felt good, for all that.
Well, I just don't believe it, she said to herself for the fourth time. Here I am in the big chair at last.
Uhura liked the idea of being in that chair. Sometimes it seemed to her that everyone, including the ship's third-class spittoon polisher, had taken the conn for Captain Kirk at one time or another—everyone, that is, except Uhura. The problem was, quite simply, that Uhura didn't have much in the way of rank or seniority, although she was in the line of command, albeit somewhere very near the bottom. The conn usually went to the most senior bridge officer able to take it.
But this time Uhura had won the roll of the dice. Kirk and Spock, along with Sulu, Chekov and several other personnel, were about to head for the surface of Centaurus. Mr. Scott was considered "bridge personnel" and would be remaining aboard, but he'd been busy outfitting the shuttles for the trip to the surface; now he was even busier, working with Chief MacPherson to re-repair the ship's subsystems, further damaged by the close-aboard nuclear blast. Dr. McCoy was neither a bridge officer nor in the line of command. Kirk could have called an off-watch officer to duty and given him or her the conn, but he had given it to Uhura without hesitation.
"I apologize for the circumstances, Uhura," Kirk had told her. "It's a bad time for a first watch, but this is a job I know you can do. I have only one order: If this ship comes under attack, try to intercept the incoming missile—but if you have to, then get my ship the hell out of here! We'll take care of ourselves; you take care of the Enterprise. Your seat, Lieutenant." Kirk had smiled and gestured at his command chair, and Uhura had sat in it.
Now what am I going to do? She pondered that for a moment. Hmm … I could try giving an order or something . . . .
Uhura addressed the relief navigator, a young ensign with the unlikely name of Diana Octavia Siobhan "Dossie" Flores. She was doing double-duty as navigator and helmsman. "Sensor readings, Ensign?"
"All clear, ma'am."
That went well, Uhura thought with satisfaction.
She looked down and consulted the digital chronograph on the arm of the command chair. The captain and Mr. Spock and the others should be leaving about now, Uhura thought. If the captain's plan doesn't work … no, I don't want to think about it. It will work.
Uhura looked around the bridge. The science officer's station was not being manned in Spock's absence. A big, ugly metal box with lights and dials on it had been mounted smack in the middle of the communications station's desktop. With Uhura in command, communications had been taken over by her most able backup, Lieutenant Sergei Dominico. Uhura watched Dominico twiddle switches and frequency scanners in his seemingly ceaseless—and entirely useless—efforts to pick up a subspace signal from Centaurus.
Uhura noticed that Chief MacPherson was still one-handedly manipulating the controls on his engineer's panel; his other beefy hand was holding a communicator open on a direct two-way feed to Scotty, who himself was lurking somewhere in the more mysterious parts of the ship.
What should I do now? Uhura thought. It'll look silly if I ask about the sensors again. What would the captain do? Oh, I know . . . She looked at the controls under her right hand. Well? Where is it? I've seen him do it ten thousand times, but I've never seen just how he does it! Think, you! Oh, dear, this could be embarrassing . . . .
Then Uhura remembered. Oh, yes. Turn this dial here, to cut out incoming pages and calls—even though all the lines are down and I won't be getting any. Then I hit this button right here and just talk . . .
Captain's log, stardate 7514.1. This is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, in temporary command of the—oh, strike that. Uh, this is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, communications officer, recording:
We are maintaining standard orbit around Centaurus. Mr. Scott and Chief MacPherson continue their repairs of, uh, basic systems aboard the ship. A fresh sensor scan shows nothing threatening us. Er . . . oh, yes. We've had no further word from the Centaurian capital of Mclverton—or anywhere else on Centaurus—since the captain's conversation with President Erikkson and the two ministers at stardate 7514.0. As the captain ordered before he left the bridge, we will be keeping a close watch for incoming missile fire from the planet's defense system.
Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock are to leave momentarily for Centaurus in separate shuttlecraft. Mr. Sulu will accompany the captain as pilot. Mr. Spock will be going with Ensign Chekov as pilot, two computer technicians selected by Mr. Spock to work with him on the repair job at the Defense Center, and Nurse Constance Iziharry. Iziharry was selected by Dr. McCoy because of her expertise in radiation work; Mr. Spock expect
s her medical skills may be needed. Chekov's skill as a pilot certainly will be.
Mr. Scott and his people have completed installation of three—how can I describe them?—shortwave radio transceiver sets, specs for which Mr. Scott dug out of one of his old books. Fortunately, Mr. Scott has some of the captain's taste for printed literature and is not totally dependent on the ship's computers for research material. A transceiver has been installed at my bridge station; others have been bolted into the two shuttlecraft. Unfortunately, no one had time to adapt the centuries-old design of the transceivers to come up with something portable—the sets are very big and heavy—so hand-held communicators won't be available to our landing parties for ground-to-space traffic. The landing parties will only be able to talk to us from the shuttles. They can talk to each other on their regular hand-held communicators, though, as long as the range isn't very great—a few meters, no more. For the record, tachyonic interference from Centaurus has not abated. No normal wavelength can get through that wall of static—
There was a familiar squeak behind Uhura, and then came a gravelly voice: "Well, Uhura! Glad to see you've finally made the big time."
Uhura put the log on standby and swung the command chair to face the open turbolift doors. In the 'lift stood Dr. McCoy and Lt. Siderakis. Uhura smiled widely. "Welcome to both of you," she said warmly as the two men walked onto the bridge. "Peter, are you feeling better?"
Siderakis nodded. "Reporting for duty, ma'am, if that's all right."
"I guarantee him, Uhura," McCoy affirmed. "In fact, I guarantee the both of us. I think we're both sick of skulking around—me in Sickbay and Peter in his quarters—so we've decided to come out for some fresh, recirculated air."
"Fine, Doctor," Uhura said. "Lieutenant, I think Ensign Flores is more than ready to give up the helm."
Dossie Flores grinned. "I'll say! Welcome back, Peter."
"Hello, Dossie. Thanks," Siderakis said quietly, sliding into his seat. "What's the situation?"
"Holding steady in standard orbit. Defensive posture: Shields up full, emergency overload capability activated. Keep an eye out for incoming fire. Our position is almost directly above McIverton, a city on the west coast of the northern continent—"
"I know where McIverton is," Siderakis said brusquely. His tone reminded Flores that he was a native of Centaurus; it also made McCoy, standing behind Siderakis, look at him with ill-disguised concern.
"Oh," Flores said after an awkward silence. "Sorry, Peter. Well, anyway, that's our position. Uh, I'm unslaving your board from mine in three … two … one … mark."
"Got it, Dossie. And I'm sorry; I shouldn't have been abrupt."
Flores smiled. "Forget about it, Pete." They both set about doing their jobs. Behind them, McCoy relaxed.
Uhura turned to the doctor and spoke to him quietly amid the murmur of the small sounds on the bridge. "How are you, Doctor?"
McCoy gave a small, wan smile; he looked tired. "As well as can be expected. Talking with Pete helped him a lot; I know it helped me. We've both got people in New Athens."
"I know, Doctor," Uhura said. Her eyes were warm and sympathetic.
McCoy sighed. "The worst thing is not knowing about Joanna, Uhura. I wish I'd managed to see Jim and Spock before they went to the hangar deck."
"Don't worry, Doctor. They understand, and I've been up here all the while with the captain. He wants to know about … things … as badly as you do. He'll check himself, or Spock will. I'm sure of it."
McCoy nodded slowly. "I have to get in touch with my sister and her husband, too," he said. "They're probably as worried as I am. When Joanna started med school about a year ago, they retired down south and sold the house. A good thing they did; they used to live about six kilometers from the spaceport, in a park there. It was a pretty place. Jim stayed there once or twice." He looked at the main screen: Yes, it was a pretty planet down there, a brilliant blue. "You can't see New Athens from here, I guess."
"No, sir. It's slightly below the horizon. We're in standard orbit, of course; New Athens will be out of sight as long as we remain above McIverton."
"I guess I prefer it that way," McCoy said.
The shuttlecraft Columbus and Galileo stood on the Enterprise's cavernous hangar deck loaded, fueled, and ready to lift. The seven who would crew them gathered for a final briefing by Captain Kirk. All hands were wearing pressure suits, as ordered. Ve look like actors in wery bad old-time space-fiction motion picture, Chekov thought. He was irritable; his injured eye was still hurting a little.
Kirk was speaking to the others over a communicator built into his suit's helmet. At this close range—less than two meters in this small group—there was no noticeable interference from the Centaurian tachyonic blanket. "A few last words before we depart, ladies and gentlemen. Messrs. Sulu and Chekov know their departure pattern. We will strap in and remain strapped in until I and Mr. Spock give the word to unstrap; maneuvers are likely to be abrupt, and shuttles don't have inertial dampeners. These craft can't take much punishment, and I want no decompression injuries in case of a near-miss by the defense system down there. The suits will keep air coming to you even if your shuttlecraft is hulled. Mr. Spock, since you'll be in New Athens, your group will have to wear the suits on the surface as well. You'll be in the fallout footprint from the spaceport blast."
"Yes, Captain," Spock said. Chekov groaned inwardly, and then checked himself as he realized that spending a few uncomfortable hours in a pressure suit was preferable to spending several evil weeks recovering from radiation sickness … or dying of it more quickly.
"All right," Kirk said. "To continue: I expect we'll have no trouble from the defense system once we're twenty thousand meters or so from the surface. The system's computers have not been attacking Centaurian air traffic, almost all of which operates below that altitude. So we'll get down to that level fast and adopt a standard aircraft flying pattern." Kirk paused and changed the subject. "We'll coordinate via communicator until the subspace interference from below swamps us; then we'll switch to radio. Spock and I will act as communications officers. I believe that's it; any questions?"
There were none. "Very well. Good luck and happy landings. Mr. Sulu? Let's get aboard." Kirk gestured, and the group split up. The captain and Sulu headed for Galileo; Spock and his party were already climbing aboard the nearer Columbus, even as the landing deck's sirens rang out with the compelling signal to board ship.
Seated and strapped in—the newly installed seat belts courtesy of Montgomery Scott—Sulu and Kirk ran a final check of Galileo's instruments. All indicators were green; the little ship was warmed up, ready and eager to fly; Scotty had done his usual thorough job in the pre-check. "Everything all right on your end, Sulu?" Kirk said into his suit communicator.
"Ready to go, Captain. All lights green; cabin pressure normal. Manual launch in one minute … mark."
"Fine." Kirk changed frequencies. "Galileo to Columbus. Mr. Spock, communications check; how do you read?"
"I read you five-by-five, Captain. Fifty seconds and counting. Mr. Chekov reports our board is green and all systems are nominal. We are ready."
"Read you five-by-five. We're go for a launch. Galileo out." Kirk clicked over to a third setting. "Galileo to bridge. Lieutenant Uhura, do you read?"
"Perfectly, Captain. Godspeed, sir."
"Thank you, Uhura. Take care of my ship. Kirk out." Kirk clicked to the farthest-right setting. "Galileo to hangar deck duty officer. Begin launch sequence; it's time we left."
"Aye, aye, Captain. Air pumps working; full vacuum on deck in thirty seconds. Safe trip, sir."
"Thank you. Out."
Kirk clicked back to talk with Sulu. "You read about things like this in the archives, back in pretransporter days."
"Yes," Sulu mused. "In those days the chief helmsman always piloted the captain's shuttle to the surface for first contact. They used up a lot of helmsmen that way."
"Not to mention captains."
&n
bsp; Sulu grinned widely enough for Kirk to see it through the helmsman's heavily laminated faceplate. "I think the last such significant first contact was with Vulcan. Everything went well until Captain Harrison tried to shake hands with the head of the Vulcan Council. The Vulcans thought Harrison was attacking him."
"And old Harrison wasn't very good at splitting his fingers in the Salute," Kirk said. He laughed. "We should all be glad Harrison didn't try to kiss the Chief Councillor's wife."
A tinny voice overrode Kirk and Sulu's communicator frequency. "Vacuum on deck complete; doors opening. Departure sequence starts."
"It's show time, Mr. Sulu. Raise ship."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
The whine of Galileo's impulse engines rose as the small, boxy craft lifted a meter off the hangar deck and hovered. Kirk switched his copilot's monitor to give a view to starboard. He saw that Columbus had also lifted and was ready for departure; she was hovering five meters to Galileo's starboard side.
Kirk looked out the forward ports and saw the huge doors of the hangar deck begin to iris open. He could see a wealth of stars in cold black velvet above the blue arc of Centaurus below. It's live, Kirk thought. I usually get to see this in a viewscreen, but it's never quite as good as the real, naked-eye thing. This is magnificent! I made starfaring my career for a lot of reasons; this was a big one. Just to go and see, that's all. That's all I ever really wanted. My brother and I never went more than fifty klicks from home until we were teenagers. Then I joined Starfleet, like Dad, and I never looked back; Sam, rest his soul, chose colonial life and never looked back either. The Kirks have always been wanderers; I think Mom knew that and understood it, just as she understood it when Dad volunteered for duty on Hellspawn . . . and died there.
"Five seconds to departure, Captain."
The hangar deck doors had disappeared, folded into the hull of the Enterprise. The hangar deck was in hard vacuum, and nothing but naked space lay beyond. Kirk felt a stirring of the old exuberant excitement. Let's hurry up and get the hell going!
Crisis On Centaurus Page 8
