Elusive Salvation (Star Trek: The Original Series)

by Dayton Ward

  “Everyone brace yourselves,” she said, her attention riveted on her controls as she did her best not to stare at the ground that was growing ever closer. “We are landing.”

  This truly was a beautiful planet, Drevina decided.

  She hoped she would live long enough to call it home.

  AFTEREFFECTS

  Two

  Starfleet Early Warning Monitoring Center,

  Jupiter Station

  Earth Year 2283

  Tonia Barrows had no idea what was in her mug. She knew only that it could not be coffee.

  “Commander?”

  The voice of her yeoman, Dominic Schlatter, was tinged with concern, and Barrows looked up to see the younger man’s worried expression.

  “Somebody call medical,” she said, placing the coffee mug on her desk and sliding it out of her reach. “I think I’ve just been poisoned.”

  Stepping toward her desk, Schlatter retrieved the mug. “I heard that maintenance was working on the food slots earlier today.” He eyed the mug and its contents. “Maybe they need to go back and check it again.”

  The bitter taste of the bad coffee still on her tongue, Barrows made an exaggerated face. “Or just notify the weapons division that we’re onto something new here.”

  “I’ll check one of the other processors, Commander,” Schlatter said, turning toward the door.

  Barrows waved away the suggestion as she rose from her seat. “I’ll do it. I need to get out of this box for a bit, anyway.” Her day had begun earlier than normal, as she had hoped to tackle the growing backlog of status reports, logs, and other correspondence sent to her by the station’s various section heads. She also had her own reports to complete before her first meeting with Jupiter Station’s new commanding officer, Captain Kevin Wyatt. Charged with overseeing not just the early warning network but also one of Starfleet’s preeminent medical and scientific research facilities, Wyatt had a reputation for being unforgiving toward inefficiency of any sort had preceded him. With that in mind, Barrows had been putting in extra hours to make sure the Early Warning Monitoring Center and all of her people were squared away ahead of the incoming CO’s first inspection.

  Accomplishing that goal was going to be much more difficult if she could not find some decent coffee. Maybe she would use this opportunity to drop in on Leonard. Looking at her desk chronometer, she figured that he likely would be in his office by now. Leonard McCoy was an early riser, but she had known better than to wake him at what he would have called an “unholy hour” when she opted to start her own workday early. Though he could be grumpy with little or no provocation, having his sleep interrupted for anything less than a full-blown crisis was just asking for trouble. Smiling at the image her thoughts conjured as she stepped around her desk, Barrows straightened her uniform jacket on her way across her office.

  The doors parted at her approach, and she stepped into the EWMC operations center. Though somewhat larger than a starship’s bridge, the circular room was configured in much the same manner. Ten workstations formed a ring around the Op Center’s perimeter, broken only by the doors to her office and the turbolift on the room’s opposite side. Those stations surrounded a smaller hub of four consoles situated in a recessed deck area. Gray railings separated the hub from the upper deck area, broken by four sets of steps leading down into the center well. The bulkheads extended above the perimeter workstations, and set into them were eight large display screens. Between those screens and the smaller displays at each of the individual consoles, the Op Center was a constant hive of information.

  “Greetings, Commander,” offered one of her junior analysts, Lieutenant T’Pril. A tall, even statuesque Vulcan, she stood at one of the hub stations in the middle of the room, and it took Barrows an extra moment to remember that the lieutenant was the day’s watch officer. Indeed, it was her first time taking on the role since her arrival aboard the station earlier in the month.

  “Good morning, T’Pril,” Barrows replied, nodding in greeting. “How was your first night in the hot seat?”

  The Vulcan’s eyes narrowed. “My first duty shift as watch officer proved largely uneventful. Thank you for the opportunity. I look forward to my next scheduled posting.”

  Despite her recent arrival, she had wasted no time acclimating to her duties, and Barrows had been eager to get her into the watch rotation. Overseeing the Op Center and all of its inherent activity was a duty Barrows preferred to rotate among her officers. It gave those in her charge an opportunity to refine their own skills at managing multiple demands on their time as well as the team of subordinates under their temporary command. The latter task often proved the most challenging, as each member of the EWMC team was responsible for myriad responsibilities that required them to operate individually and independently for lengthy periods. Coordinating their efforts, and ensuring that nothing was lost in the soup of information they all worked to interpret and understand, was one of the more taxing and insightful tests of leadership and command presence Barrows had ever seen, short of attacks by enemy vessels. To that end, their performance in these situations was a significant component of the regular personnel reviews and fitness reports she was required to submit for each of the men and women under her command.

  Barrows said, “Uneventful? That’s an interesting way to put it.” She glanced around the room, taking in the various display monitors. “What they didn’t tell you when you got your orders, Lieutenant, is that the days start to blur together after a while.”

  “There was one incident, Commander,” said T’Pril. “Station maintenance did dispatch a message earlier this morning that they were diagnosing an issue with the food processor systems. We were advised to use the food slots with caution, as the system might produce unexpected results.”

  “Yeah, I met one of those already.” Barrows offered an embellished shake of her head. “I don’t recommend it.” She glanced around the room. “But, if that’s the worst problem we had, I won’t complain.”

  T’Pril said, “The only other item of note is that the third wave of software upgrades for the outer boundary stations completed at zero-two-thirty-seven hours. Verification and diagnostics are still in progress, with an expected completion time of zero-nine-hundred. All stations have remained operational throughout the process.”

  Nodding in approval, Barrows said, “Outstanding. Three down, four to go. Glad to hear it didn’t cause any problems in here. I’d hate for our people to be bored.”

  As was the case at any hour of the day, members of the EWMC team occupied all fourteen stations, each of them tasked with reviewing and analyzing the constant streams of incoming information. Data collected by Jupiter Station’s array of long-range sensors as well as the network of automated satellites forming an artificial boundary at the solar system’s outer edge was routed here, where Barrows and her teams—with considerable help from the station’s computers—reviewed and analyzed the continuous influx of information. The computers handled the bulk processing, sifting, and summarizing of data received from the various inputs, and sophisticated software protocols were more than capable of identifying threats or other issues of potential concern. Despite the impressive abilities of such autonomous processes, just about anyone who worked in this field, or even with sensor arrays and their accompanying decision support systems, agreed that such tools could not replace the eyes, reasoning, and intuition of a well-trained analyst. Tonia Barrows was one of those believers, and so was everyone under her command.

  “Once the upgrades are done, let’s run a full diagnostic on our own systems, just to make sure there aren’t any sneaky problems with the interface between us, the main computer, and the boundary network.” Barrows paused, considering the task she was about to have her people undertake. Looking at the people currently operating the different workstations, she knew that most of them had reported several hours early for the start of their shifts i
n order to support the upgrade processes under way at the time. They could use a break, she decided. “The diagnostic should probably eat up the bulk of the day, so let’s get beta shift in here early this afternoon and be ready to hand off to them by thirteen hundred hours.”

  T’Pril nodded. “Understood.”

  “Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Lieutenant, somewhere on this station is a food slot with a cup of coffee, and I want it.”

  Barrows had moved to within a few steps of the Op Center’s turbolift when she heard an alert tone from one of the consoles behind her.

  “What’s that?” she asked, turning toward the sound even as similar indicators began sounding around the room. She noted how everyone had refocused their attention on their respective workstations, hunching over sensor viewers or computer interfaces. For a moment, Barrows imagined she could sense the tension level rising in the very air around her.

  Easy does it, Commander. Let’s not jump the gun here.

  Stepping down into the hub, Barrows moved toward T’Pril, who was already back at her station and had elected to remain standing before her console. The Vulcan’s long fingers moved across the rows of controls arrayed before her, and her gaze was focused on the station’s array of eight display monitors. On each screen was a litany of data streaming almost too fast for Barrows to follow.

  “Observation Station A47 has detected an anomaly,” T’Pril reported. “It appears to be an intermittent energy distortion. Long-range sensors first detected it when it came within twenty million kilometers of the system’s outer boundary.”

  Barrows frowned. “First detected? Where is it now?”

  “It was last detected at a range of approximately four million, six hundred thousand kilometers, and appears to be traveling at warp speed, but the method of propulsion is unknown. The readings to this point have been erratic, which is why the computer did not alert us before now.” T’Pril tapped a short sequence of controls. “At first, it was attempting to ascertain whether it had acquired a faulty reading. Only after the subsequent contacts did the protocols ascertain that it was not an irregularity in our systems.”

  “Are you saying we can’t track it?” asked Barrows, already dreading the answer she knew was coming.

  T’Pril shook her head. “Not with any consistency, Commander. Whatever it is, it appears capable of eluding our sensors, at least enough to mask its movements. As such, we are unable to pinpoint its course or probable destination.”

  “Sound yellow alert.” Moving past the Vulcan, Barrows tapped a control to activate the intercom system. “Early warning center to Captain Wyatt.”

  A moment later, the gruff, stern voice of Kevin Wyatt came through the workstation’s communications panel. “Wyatt here. Commander Barrows, is that you?”

  “Affirmative, sir. We’ve got what looks to be a situation brewing up here.” After using as few words as possible to describe what the long-range sensors seemed to be tracking and the difficulties being experienced, Barrows added, “We’re issuing a stationwide alert, but I think you’ll want to apprise Starfleet Command, sir.”

  The Jupiter Station’s commanding officer said, “Agreed. Continue your scanning efforts and keep me updated. I’m on my way up to you.”

  “Acknowledged. Barrows out.” Severing the connection, she was aware that the rest of her team was dividing their attention between their respective stations and her. Looking to T’Pril, she asked, “Anything new?”

  “Negative, Commander. The energy reading remains sporadic and elusive.”

  “Let’s get Masilamani on this,” said Barrows, gesturing toward one of the perimeter stations near the Op Center’s turbolift. “I want him sifting through whatever mess of data the computer pulled this from.”

  “I have already assigned him that task and routed the necessary data clusters for his review, Commander.”

  Upon hearing his name, Lieutenant Senthil Masilamani turned from his station, rising from his seat before moving to the railing encircling the hub well. A young man of Indian descent, the sensor officer’s features were such that even when his expression was composed, he seemed to still be smiling. “I’ve only just started my analysis, Commander. Whatever that thing is, it’s not like anything I’ve ever seen.”

  “I think we can safely assume it’s not a naturally occurring phenomenon,” said Barrows. “Not if it’s traveling at warp. I’m also not too happy that our warning systems didn’t detect this thing earlier than they did, and the fact that we can’t seem to keep a decent track of it makes me wonder if it’s alone out there.” If what they were seeing was a ship, had the sensors and early warning stations failed to detect the presence of additional vessels? Assuming that was true, where were those other craft now? Despite such troubling thoughts, Barrows’s gut was telling her that the anomaly was a single occurrence, because she could not bring herself to believe that the most advanced sensor array and detection apparatus at Starfleet’s disposal had failed to such an astounding degree.

  Gut, don’t fail me now.

  Barrows noted the display on one of the screens at T’Pril’s workstation. “Despite what at first looks like an erratic course, there’s a more or less straight line cutting across the system’s outer edge.” She entered a string of commands into her console. “If I had to guess, I’d think the thing was heading toward Neptune.”

  T’Pril replied, “A logical deduction, despite the lack of evidence.”

  “For now, I’ll take it,” said Masilamani.

  Continuing to study the computer-generated track of the still-unidentified anomaly, Barrows said, “What if we redirect stations A55 through A61 and attempt to surround it?”

  “Triangulation.” T’Pril punctuated her simple answer with an arching of her right eyebrow. “It is an unorthodox suggestion. We must also consider the risks of leaving unattended the sectors overseen by those remote stations.”

  Masilamani replied, “We can expand the coverage with other stations to close the gap, Commander. We’re only talking about a short time, just enough to get a fix on . . . whatever that is.”

  “If we can lock it down,” said Barrows, “long-range sensors should be able to track it until we can get a ship or two out there to investigate. Let’s do it.”

  “There is another point to consider, Commander,” said T’Pril. “The object may interpret our redeploying of the monitoring satellites as an aggressive action.”

  Barrows nodded. “That’s true, but on the other hand, we can replace those. If this thing is a threat, I’d rather it demonstrate that on automated drones than a starship or something else out here with a crew.”

  A tone sounded on T’Pril’s console, and she touched another control. “Security reports the station is on yellow alert. Defensive shields are online, and weapons are on standby.”

  “So much for your uneventful duty shift, Lieutenant,” said Barrows. “Carry on with our redeployment plan, and while we’re doing that, start prepping a data packet for transmission to Starfleet Command. We definitely need to call this one in.”

  Three

  The Northwest Passage

  May 30, 1851

  If there was any chance of ever being warm again, Thomas Dunning was certain it would require his death and descent into Hell. This, he decided, was looking ever more like an inviting proposition.

  Quit your crying, buddy-boy. You’ve made it this far, and the end is looking to be right there in sight. Don’t be giving up now.

  Such thoughts, and others like them, filled Dunning’s mind as he trudged across the unending field of white. Ice and snow as far as the eye could see, at least in this direction. In the distance ahead of him and to either side were jagged formations where ice had collided on the floe, creating the equivalent of small hills, atop which piled still more ice. The effect was that Dunning felt as though he was wandering through a diminutive mountain
range. Though the sun had been shining during the previous three days, the weather had seen fit to make today, the day he was assigned to the hunting detail, a depressing slate gray that seemed to him the color of death.

  “You doing all right, Tommy?”

  Looking up from where he realized he had been focused on nothing besides putting one foot in front of the other as he made his way across the frozen terrain, Dunning saw his companion, William Holmes, staring back at him. Like Dunning, Holmes was dressed in layers of tattered, heavy clothing that only partially served to keep the brutal cold at bay. Resting on his right shoulder was a Colt carbine rifle that was a match for the one Dunning carried and, like its owner, had seen better days.

  “Yeah, I’m fine. Just cold. And hungry. And tired of looking at all of your ugly faces.” He smiled at that last part. “I’ve spent more nights sleeping with you slobs than with my wife.”

  Holmes released a hoarse laugh. When Holmes grinned, Dunning could see the gaps from the teeth his friend had lost, and it made him run his tongue around the inside of his own mouth. He had lost five teeth to scurvy, the same disease that had ravaged nearly every member of the crews of the Advance and her sister ship, the Rescue, during the ten months the two United States Navy vessels had been trapped in the ice floe. With fresh fruits and vegetables long depleted from the ships’ stores following their departure from New York more than a year earlier, the crews had been subsisting on the cured and salted meat that made up the bulk of their provisions, along with dwindling supplies of dried grains. Their meals were supplemented and the scurvy beaten back on rare occasions with sauerkraut and lime juice, though both of those were also in limited supply and thus were used sparingly. Instead, the Advance’s doctor, Elisha Kane, had prescribed fresh meat to combat the disease’s effects. To that end, regular hunting parties were dispatched from both vessels in search of birds, foxes, seals, the occasional polar bear, and anything else that presented itself as a target of opportunity.