by Jean Lorrah
T’Pina tried to sit up, but dizziness swept over her. “Lie still!” Deaver ordered. “Come on, you can bloody well disconnect her faster’n that! ‘Ere!” he gasped as bright green blood flowed when the tube was disconnected from the needle in T’Pina’s arm. “You gonna let ‘er bleed t’ death?!”
“The blood stimulant is still in her system,” the technician replied. “She is producing blood at a very rapid rate.” Swiftly, he connected another tube, leading to a container on the gurney, to the needle left in T’Pina’s arm.
He then changed the container of fluid leading to her other arm, saying, “This is just hydrating solution, no more drug in it. But T’Pina will become dehydrated if her fluid loss is not replaced.”
Deaver moved into position as the Rigellian prepared to move T’Pina to the gurney, and she recognized that he had done this before. So did the technician; he stopped protesting and accepted the help in transferring her.
Being wheeled through the halls was dizzying. Then they were in a lift, and then more corridors. Finally they reached the emergency-room doors to the outside, where other patients on gurneys and in wheel-chairs waited for ambulances.
Two ground vehicles departed with their loads, and a hoverer landed on the nearby pad. It was loaded quickly and took off, and T’Pina was moved forward in the line. More patients were being brought out behind her. T’Pina could hear an argument going on about the hopelessness of trying to segregate contagious plague victims from the other patients, but she couldn’t see who was talking.
Another hoverer carried off two more patients, but then a ground vehicle pulled up and T’Pina was taken to it, along with a Vulcan male who appeared to be unconscious.
The attendants were two Human males, one tall and blond, the other short with curly black hair and eyes almost as blue as Beau Deaver’s.
What a strange thought, T’Pina recognized. The tall one checked the ID bracelet on her wrist and said, “Gotta be extra careful with this one on board, Dave: she’s the one whose blood can stop the plague.”
“I’m always careful,” replied the other man. “Why’re you always criticizin’ my driving?”
“ ‘Cause it’s nice to get the patients there in one piece!” his colleague replied as they lifted the Vulcan male into the ambulance and fastened him safely. He studied the patient and said seriously, “This one’s supposed to be recovering, but he doesn’t look good to me.”
“Let’s just get them to the medcamp and let the healers take him over,” said the one called Dave.
They turned to lift T’Pina and found Beau Deaver ready to help. “Sorry, sir,” said Dave, “these vehicles are for nonambulatory patients only. If you’ll go around to the front of the hospital, there are buses—”
“I’ve got medic training,” said Deaver. “Done ambulance duty before.” He turned to the Rigellian technician. “I c’n take care of her.”
There was only a moment’s hesitation. Then the man said, “Switch blood containers as they fill and fluid containers as they empty. In about five hours her blood production will start tapering off, but maybe by then we’ll have everyone back in the hospital.” He smiled. “Thanks—there are other patients who really need me more, but you all know how important this one is.” His glance included the attendants.
With everyone aboard and the doors shut, the ambulance started off, Dave driving, his blond colleague turned in his seat to watch the two patients. Deaver sat on a pull-out seat between them. He watched T’Pina until the ambulance surged sharply around a corner, fishtailing wildly.
“What the bleedin’—?” Deaver began furiously, but the moment he looked forward he paled. “Oh, my God!”
The ambulance lurched and turned, changing direction.
“It’s coming down this street too!” exclaimed Dave, spinning and skidding the ambulance as if it were a racing vehicle. The siren began to wail.
“The dam’s burst!” said the other attendant. “We can’t outrun it! Hope we all know how to swim!”
Deaver turned and shook the Vulcan. “Wake up, dammit!” The man remained unconscious.
T’Pina eased up on her elbows as the ambulance sped back toward the hospital. She could just see out the back window.
A wall of water higher than she could see pursued them!
It was overtaking them!
The ambulance was lifted like a toy, spun and swirled, tossed high—
Deaver hung on, one hand on either gurney.
They were smashed against a wall.
The opposite side of the ambulance caved in toward T’Pina. The other patient was thrust against Deaver and the two men toppled onto her.
Water poured in through the burst roof.
They were sinking!
“I can’t get loose!” T’Pina heard the blond ambulance attendant exclaim.
“Hold still!” Dave responded. “I’ll cut through the belt!”
Then both attendants were trying to squirm into the crowded back of the ambulance.
The water was up to the level of T’Pina’s bed and pouring over them as they fought to escape. She tugged at the fastenings holding her in place.
Trapped under the still-unconscious Vulcan, whonow hung from his safety straps, Beau Deaver tried to turn to her, but there was not enough room for his wide shoulders. “Wait!” he said, and began working the Vulcan man’s straps loose. “Can you blokes take him?” he asked.
“If we can get out,” the blond attendant replied. “Watch yourselves! It’s jagged metal.”
He took a deep breath of what little air was left, and struggled over them, leaning back in to grasp the Vulcan under the arms as Dave maneuvered him upright. The lurch as the ambulance hit bottom thrust the Vulcan and the two attendants out and away.
Deaver reached for T’Pina. He took a scalpel from the equipment on board and slashed through the straps holding her.
By this time the water had covered her. She broke free, gasping, and hung for a moment in the last bubble of air trapped under the roof.
“Can you swim?” Deaver asked.
“Yes,” she replied.
“Then hang on to me, and kick—don’t try to go on your own,” said Deaver. “Take a deep breath—”
T’Pina drew air into her lungs. Deaver went first, pulling her out after him. She felt the needles pull from her arms. That did not bother her as much as the thought of losing hold of Deaver’s hand as she emerged into swirling black water.
She couldn’t see. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t tell up from down.
The only reality was the freezing water, tumbling her at will.
Remembering Deaver’s instruction, she kicked, wondering if they were floating upward or caught in some current carrying them into an airless trap. It was cold—so cold.
Why was it so black?
Her limbs were numb. Something hit them—tree branches trying to drive them apart.
She tightened her grip, letting a little air out of her bursting lungs, fighting the urge to draw in when there was nothing but water all around her.
Suddenly she was caught in a whirlpool!
She was tossed to and fro. Not even her Vulcan strength could hold on to Deaver. They were hitting other objects now; she felt him lurch away.
Merciless current took her.
She couldn’t see him, couldn’t feel him, knew only burning lungs and numbing cold, endless water—
And then nothing.
Chapter Thirty-six
Only minutes after the ice dam burst, Spock stood on the flat roof of the Nisus Trade Center, the tallest building in the city. The Enterprise was using it as a beamdown point. Directing the rescue effort, Spock watched the evacuation of the city below and saw that the facilities of the Enterprise could not possibly make a dent in evacuating those thousands of people. Nonetheless, they had to try.
By foot, on the slidewalks, and in every kind of vehicle, people were moving out of the city toward the nearest hills. But above them, the wall o
f water moved relentlessly down the mountain, roaring toward the swollen reservoir before any but those on the outskirts of town could reach safety.
No one knew how high the water would reach when it hit. Spock reported the oncoming tide, and emergency workers started directing people into the Trade Center and other tall buildings as it became obvious they could not make it out of town.
On the Trade Center roof, groups of people alternated with equipment in the transporter beam. Some were regular landing parties, accustomed to working together, like the medical crew setting up an emergency unit in one corner.
Spock watched Landing Party Seven arrive, six people drawn from engineering, computer sciences, medicine, economics, security, and ship’s stores. Kirk sometimes referred to this team as “the IDIC party,” because their talents were so diversified, but the designation was actually one of the captain’s jokes, for to hear them squabble you would think they could not agree on so much as who would stand on which transporter pad.
Despite their disagreements, though, they were as efficient as any other team. They were directed by the engineer, Rogers, a portly man with curly brown hair. Running to the marine vehicle that landed just after them, they began to assemble it, the giant security officer holding the pieces together by sheer strength while the two women in the party bolted them into place.
Meanwhile, the third man assembled the onboard computer, working with almost Vulcan concentration, while the last member of the party, a small, nondescript sort of man, always had the right tools ready to hand to those who needed them.
Four separate arguments broke out in the process of assembly—and yet the vehicle was together and ready to go before the next landing party and set of equipment had coalesced on the beamdown point.
“Humans,” a calm voice observed from behind Spock. “I sometimes wonder how they ever learned to cooperate well enough to achieve civilization.”
Spock turned. “Father. What are you doing here?”
Sarek was not only present; he was dressed in a borrowed Starfleet uniform, ready for action.
“I understand that every available able-bodied person is needed,” replied Spock’s father. “When I pointed out to your captain that I am able-bodied and available, he succumbed to the logic of the situation.”
“Logic? To send a Vulcan into a flood? Can you swim, Father?” Spock asked, looking for an excuse to send Sarek back aboard.
“Of course I can swim,” Sarek replied. “Your mother taught me when we first met on Earth.”
Oh. Of course she would have. He wondered whether Amanda would appear with the next landing party.
As if reading his thought, Sarek said, “Amanda is with the staff waiting to care for flood victims beamed aboard the Enterprise.”
Spock was looking at Sarek, so he saw the sudden tightening of the jaw, the forced control as he looked out over the city. Spock turned. The wall of water had hit the reservoir and was traveling across it, at least thirty meters higher than the surface.
The water sailed straight over the top of the dam and crashed over it into the narrow valley, engulfing the buildings below. If everyone had obeyed instructions as it appeared, there were no people within a kilometer of the dam. But the water was not going to stay in that vicinity.
“All available air vehicles launch!” Spock instructed into his communicator. “Marine vehicle crews stand by!”
Helplessly, Spock and Sarek watched as the flood waters pooled and swirled for long moments at the foot of the dam, but as water poured across the top into the valley, the wall of water rebuilt itself and rushed inexorably toward the central city. As it roared into the populated areas, taller buildings created channels, speeding the rushing water and at the same time driving it to new heights in the narrow streets.
Hoverers and shuttles swooped down, snatching people out of harm’s way—but there were simply not enough such vehicles! Spock and Sarek were too far away to see individual people, but they saw air vehicles dart away from the oncoming wave, saw it engulf the streets below. A hoverer remained down too long, trying to pick someone up. It was caught by the wall of water and smashed like a fragile insect.
Sarek turned and strode toward where the landing party he had beamed down with were assembling a small air car. Deftly, he began installing the communication and navigation computers. It was a two-man vehicle, fitted with two outside pods for evacuees. Two crewmembers sprang aboard and took off.
Sarek turned to pace the edge of the roof, scanning the rising waters for signs of survivors. Spock joined him.
Sarek turned. “Is there a way to tell people trapped in buildings that if they have air, they should stay where they are?” he asked.
“I’ll have the Enterprise broadcast on all channels, although most intercoms are probably flooded out.”
Spock sent the order, and Uhura acknowledged it.
Sarek watched his son, then looked back over the flooded city. All around them, Enterprise crew and Nisus citizens were taking people out of the water, off rooftops, and from upper windows. On a rooftop below, a Tellarite and an Andorian helped a Human woman out of the stairwell, then turned to bring out a Hemanite. A Lemnorian, who had obviously been lifting people from below, climbed out after them. Another Enterprise marine vehicle, in which Spock recognized Chekov and Sulu, took them all from the roof and headed off.
“IDIC in action,” Sarek said, almost too softly for Spock to hear above all the other noise. But he caught his son’s eyes on him and knew he had heard, for he continued, “It should never have surprised me that you chose Starfleet, Spock. It is the product of diversity as much as you are. You could equally have chosen Nisus.”
“Or the Vulcan Academy,” Spock admitted. “There is a Human saying: true happiness lies—”
“—in your own back garden,” Sarek completed it. “I do not comprehend ‘happiness,’ Spock, but I am aware of the Human propensity for seeking it far from home, usually unsuccessfully. What I tend to forget is that you are half Human, and have the right to exercise that part of your heritage as much as your Vulcan half.”
“You also forget,” Spock reminded him, “that all my life I have had before me the example of my mother. Remember, Father, she truly has found happiness light-years from the world where she was born.”
The slightest of smiles curved Sarek’s lips. “And I found her light-years from my home. You are the son of both of us, Spock. I hope you never again hesitate to come home.”
“I shall return to Vulcan, Father, when my time in Starfleet is over.” Spock could not say when he had made that decision; he only knew that it was true.
“That will please your mother greatly,” was all Sarek said, but Spock saw in his father’s eyes that Sarek was pleased as well. Logic was irrelevant at that moment; the reunion that had begun on the perilous journey to Babel and continued when they had melded on Vulcan to save Amanda’s life only a few weeks ago, was finally complete.
Father and son looked out together over the flooded city.
Chapter Thirty-seven
When she came to, T’Pina saw Beau Deaver leaning over her. She was wet and very, very cold.
“Where are we?” she asked, turning her head. She lay on freezing metal, only a few centimeters from the surface of black water.
“We’re in an air pocket. The current carried us into a building,” Deaver said slowly. “Water pressure must’ve smashed the windows. I don’t know which building, or how high the water is above us. But we’re safe here for a while, till we run out of air.”
T’Pina recognized that the dim lighting came from the building’s battery-operated emergency system. She and Deaver lay on top of tall cabinets. The ceiling was less than a meter above them; there was not even enough space to sit up in, but it had trapped a layer of air and saved their lives.
“What should we do?” she asked.
“Depends,” said Deaver. “The water should subside pretty rapidly. We might do best just to stay here—unless we’r
e near ground level,” he added. “The sewer system’s probably already taken all it can. The rest of the water will have to run off over the ground, which could take a day or two. Don’t know how long the lights will stay on, either. Let’s just rest awhile and then see if we can find a stairwell. Even if it’s filled with water, we could swim to the top.”
At the thought of going back into the icy water, T’Pina shivered. “You’re freezing!” said Deaver. On their tiny island of safety, he ensconced T’Pina in a cocoon of warmth, wrapping his arms about her. It helped, for a while. But soon she began shivering again, and a strange prickling sensation broke out on her skin.
“T’Pina? What’s wrong?” asked Deaver.
“I … don’t know,” she replied. “I feel very strange. I’m so thirsty, but—”
“Don’t drink the flood water!” Deaver said quickly. Then he added, “Well, I don’t suppose it makes a difference if you do now; we both certainly swallowed some trying to swim.”
“I’m thirsty,” T’Pina repeated, “and yet I feel bloated, as if—”
Deaver grasped her left arm. The blood flow had stopped. The medtech had told him to keep letting the blood flow out, but also to put fluid back in her veins. He wished the Rigellian were here now.
“We have two choices,” he said. “Do nothing, and hope the pressure doesn’t build up to a stroke or other vascular damage, or let some of your blood out, and hope it doesn’t weaken you too much.”
T’Pina did not know any more than he did what to do. She only knew, “If you bleed me, that blood’s wasted. It can’t be used to make serum against the plague.”
“But if you die, or become so ill you can’t use the stimulant,” said Deaver, “then there won’t be any more serum, either.”
T’Pina was feeling stranger by the minute. The stray thought crossed her mind that Deaver’s grammar and enunciation improved dramatically when the situation was serious. “Perhaps you really could have taught at the Vulcan Academy,” she whispered.
She felt his sharp intake of breath. “We must do something!”
