by Greg Cox
“Saturn’s rings and moons are still in place in our time,” Spock stated. “And the hexagonal vortex at its northern pole can be seen to this day. I recall observing it during a scientific conference on Titan.”
Shaun gathered that there were bases or colonies on Titan now.
“Then that’s it,” he said. “The probe must have fixed Saturn back in my day. Maybe it can do the same now and save all those poor souls in that colony.”
Spock did not seem hopeful. “Unfortunately, the probe is no longer functional. Whatever remarkable capabilities it may have possessed in your era have been lost to the ravages of time.”
Oh, right, Shaun thought. He recalled banging into the future version of the probe back in the transporter room, right before Spock knocked him out with that neck pinch. That probe had looked like a wreck compared with the gleaming alien artifact he had encountered out by Saturn. Two centuries of change had clearly taken their toll on the probe, along with everything else he had ever known. The Lewis & Clark had probably rusted to pieces by now, if it wasn’t gathering dust in a museum somewhere. By all rights, I should be nothing but dust.
“It’s true,” Qat Zaldana confirmed. “We’ve examined the probe thoroughly. It’s dead as can be.”
The news crushed Shaun’s hopes. “Then we’re screwed, and so are the poor bastards on that moon.”
“Perhaps not,” Spock said. “You say that the pulses resembled our phaser blasts?”
“I guess, maybe.” Shaun threw up his hands. “I’m hardly an expert on ‘phasers’ or weird alien energy rays, for that matter.”
“Understood,” Spock said. He sounded reluctant to discard whatever theory he was formulating. “But what you observed did appear to be some manner of directed energy bursts?”
“I suppose.” Shaun found Spock’s interest encouraging. McCoy had said that the Vulcan usually knew what he was doing.
Qat Zaldana seemed hopeful, too. “What are you thinking, Mr. Spock?”
Spock left his chair to join them. “We have speculated that the hexagon is a manifestation of some unknown alien apparatus that serves to maintain the rings as we know them. Perhaps by making crucial adjustments to the planet’s mass or gravity.”
“Like the artificial gravity you generate on this ship?”
“Precisely,” Spock said. “But on a much greater scale. And now that apparatus is failing, resulting in the catastrophic results we are now witnessing. What you observed in the past, however, suggests that the probe was once able to reset the mechanism somehow, via a pulsed signal.”
Shaun saw where Spock was going with this. “You think the probe used those bursts to reboot the hexagon on Saturn, which straightened out the rings?”
“Essentially,” Spock stated. “In which case, it is theoretically possible that we might be able to simulate the signal with our own phasers.”
“I don’t know,” Qat Zaldana said. “That sounds like a long shot to me.”
“Agreed,” Spock said. “But it is the only option remaining to us, outside of abandoning Skagway to its doom.” He looked at Shaun, seeing someone else. “And if there is one thing I have learned from serving under Captain Kirk for nearly five years, it is that long shots are often the difference between success and failure. I know that the captain would not hesitate to make one last effort to save the colony, no matter the odds against us.”
Shaun grinned. “Sounds like a man after my own heart, Mr. Spock.”
“You can feel his heart beating in your chest, Colonel. What does it tell you?”
“Go for it, Spock.” Shaun chuckled. “Heck, it doesn’t sound any crazier than everything else on this ship of yours.” He tried not to look at the alien’s pointed ears. “No offense.”
“None taken.” Spock pondered the problem before them; you could practically see his computer-like mind clicking away. “The challenge will be to replicate precisely the signal you observed more than two centuries ago. Do you recall the exact sequence of the energy pulses? It is no doubt essential that we transmit the signal correctly.”
No doubt, Shaun thought uncertainly. “Maybe. I only saw the pulses for a couple of moments, in the middle of a complicated spacewalk, and as you know, a lot’s happened to me since.” He sank into his seat. “I’m not sure.”
The responsibility weighed on him like gravity after a long space mission. His training had been intended to prepare him for almost every eventuality, but this was a new one. His fingers drummed on the flashing console in front of him. His feet tapped restlessly on the floor. This would be easier, he thought irritably, if I didn’t have this damn drumbeat stuck in my head.
The same beat that he had been hearing ever since he touched the probe . . .
Shaun froze, then laughed out loud. “Of course! That’s it. It has to be!”
Spock arched an eyebrow. “Is something amusing, Colonel?”
“Just let me at those phasers,” Shaun said confidently. For the first time since he’d found himself in the future, he thought he knew exactly what he was supposed to do. “Trust me, Spock.” He tapped his head. “I’ve got the correct sequence right here.”
Spock took him at his word. “Mr. Sulu, set a course that brings us over the north pole of Klondike VI.”
“But the colony . . .” the helmsman began.
“Will not long endure unless we pursue a different strategy.”
“Aye, sir,” Sulu acknowledged.
The Enterprise left its current orbit and climbed above the looming gas giant. As before, back at Saturn, Shaun was awestruck by the sheer size and majesty of the ringed planet. The Enterprise was like an aircraft carrier compared with the Lewis & Clark, but both ships were specks next to the gigantic celestial body before them.
“Please accompany me to navigation, Colonel.”
Spock led Christopher over to the two-man station in front of the captain’s chair, where they looked over the shoulder of the young Russian officer. Spock regarded Shaun curiously. “Do you believe you can describe the proper sequence to Ensign Chekov?”
“I’m no band conductor, Mr. Spock. I can feel the rhythm in my blood and bones, but I don’t want to risk it getting garbled in transmission.” He drummed his fingers against the back of Chekov’s chair. “I think it might be better if I operated the controls myself.”
“There is a certain logic to your request,” Spock conceded. He tapped Chekov on the shoulder. “Mr. Chekov, please turn over the conn to Colonel Christopher.”
Chekov gave Shaun a doubtful look that reminded Shaun of a particularly strict aeronautics instructor back at Star City. Wonder if this Chekov is any relation. A distant descendant, perhaps?
Sitting down at the conn, Shaun took a second to marvel at the fact that he was actually seated at the controls of a genuine faster-than-light starship centuries in the future. He felt as if he had suddenly gone from a Model T to a hover car out of an old science-fiction movie.
If only Mission Control could see me now.
“An honor to fly with you, Colonel,” the helmsman said from the seat to the left. He gave Shaun a welcoming smile. “I’ve always been a big fan of you and your fellow astronauts.”
“Thanks.” Shaun was used to signing autographs and greeting space buffs. It was all part of the job. “Lieutenant Sulu, was it?”
“That’s right.” Sulu smoothly worked the helm controls. “Coming up on the north pole.”
The hexagon, or what was left of it, appeared upon the viewer. Shaun was shocked at just how small and pallid it appeared, compared with the enigmatic landmark that Voyager 1 had discovered back on Saturn in 1980. You could barely make it out against the churning purple clouds whipping around the pole. Shaun had to squint to see the honeycomb shape and its bizarrely artificial-looking angles.
“Jesus,” he murmured. “What’s happened to it?”
“That which the probe was intended to avert,” Spock theorized. “And which we now hope to remedy . . . if it is not already too
late.”
Shaun searched his memory, trying to get every detail right. “The probe was pointed straight down at the hexagon.”
“Mr. Sulu,” Spock ordered. “Adjust our orientation appropriately.”
“Aye, sir.”
Shaun experienced a momentary tilting sensation as the Enterprise dipped forward so that it was pointed nose down at the anemic vortex below. He half expected to tumble forward over the console, but then the artificial gravity compensated for the ship’s changed orientation, and he remained flat on his seat. The shriveled white hexagon was dead center on the screen.
Showtime, Shaun thought. I’m on.
He examined the instrument panel in front of him, feeling more than a little intimidated by the multiple lighted switches, buttons, and toggles. Could be worse, he thought. At least, they still used switches in the future and not some weird cybernetic interface or whatever.
“So, where are the firing controls?”
Leaning over Shaun’s shoulder, Chekov pointed out a row of colored switches. “Just press that one . . . carefully!”
“What about targeting?” Shaun asked.
“I can handle that for you,” Sulu volunteered. A pop-up viewer telescoped upward from his console. He peered into the binocular device and made some adjustments on his own instrument panel. “Done. Phasers are locked on target. All you need to do is pull the trigger, figuratively speaking.”
Chekov sighed dolefully. “I just hope we don’t trigger a self-destruct mechanism by mistake!”
You and me both, Shaun thought. He tried not to think about the hundreds of lives depending on him. One good thing, he consoled himself. If I screw this up, nobody back home is going to hear about it for hundreds of years.
He took a deep breath and listened to the persistent percussion in his head. If anything, it seemed to be growing even louder and more insistent every minute, as if it was demanding to be set free. He let the alien rhythm flow down to his fingers. He couldn’t remember being this nervous since his junior-high piano recital, which had not gone terribly well. He swallowed hard.
“Okay. Here goes nothing.”
The firing button was cool to the touch. He pressed it, paused, pressed it again.
There was no recoil, no explosion, but sapphire bolts pulsed across thousands of kilometers of space to strike the hexagon in what he prayed was the right sequence. Memories of the probe blasting down at Saturn flashed across his memory in sync with the rhythm driving his fingers. He kept pressing the button until the beat faded away.
At first, nothing happened. Shaun’s heart sank. Had he gotten the signal wrong, or was their crazy theory mistaken? Maybe this was all a waste of time, and he had just been fooling himself to think that he actually knew what he was doing in this terrifying future world.
I don’t belong here. This is all just some cruel cosmic joke.
“Look!” Qat Zaldana pointed at the screen. “Some-thing’s happening!”
A spark appeared at the center of the hexagon, then flared up until it shone as brightly as the sun. People on the bridge gasped and threw up their hands against the glare, until some sort of computerized filter program dimmed the image on the screen. For a moment or two, the light took the form of a gigantic glowing hexagon that matched the vortex’s original dimensions. Gravitational ripples shook the Enterprise, pushing it farther away from the planet.
Sulu struggled to regain control of the ship. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “It’s like an antigrav wave, radiating out from the planet!”
“Do not fight it,” Spock advised. “Let it carry us to a more distant orbit.”
The shock waves seemed stronger than the one Shaun remembered. He wondered what the hell he had just done.
And then it was over. The light gradually subsided, and the actual vortex could be seen once more. Shaun wasn’t sure, but he thought the hexagon looked larger and more energetic than before, more like the one back on Saturn. Its six sides spread outward, pushing through the surrounding cloud layers, while the vortex within the hexagon spun with renewed vigor. Blue spots, left behind by the glare, danced before his eyes. He wiped the tears away as he stared at the reborn hexagon.
Did I do that?
“Gravitational fluxes stabilizing,” Qat Zaldana reported from her station. Despite her veil, she peered into a pop-up viewer of her own. “By the Faceless, I think we did it!”
“Fascinating,” Spock declared.
Excited murmurs and chatter bounced off the gleaming walls of the bridge. Shaun could practically feel the tension lifting. He half expected someone to break open a bottle of champagne or maybe some of that Saurian brandy McCoy had offered him once.
“Good job.” Sulu congratulated him. He shook Shaun’s hand. “Sure you never attended the Academy?”
Shaun glanced down at his golden tunic and insignia. “Well, I’m wearing the uniform, aren’t I?”
Chekov grinned for the first time. “Captain Kirk would be proud.”
The elevator doors slid open, and Dr. McCoy rushed onto the bridge. His uniform was rumpled, and his face was flushed. He looked as if he was having a bad day. His eyes widened at the sight of Shaun seated at the conn.
“There you are!” he said, aghast. “What the devil are you doing at the controls?”
“Possibly providing a solution to our dilemma,” Spock informed the doctor. “And saving many hundreds of lives.”
McCoy was speechless, but only for a moment. “Come again?”
“I don’t believe it,” Governor Dawson declared. “It’s a miracle.”
“Vulcans do not believe in miracles,” Spock replied. “They are not logical.”
Dawson gazed from the main viewer. “Then what would you call what just happened, Mr. Spock? Our home has been saved. The rings are falling back into their usual orbits. Skagway is not going to spiral into the planet. Nobody else has to die.”
“Merely the timely activation of an alien technology so advanced as to appear miraculous,” he stated. “To be precise.”
The governor didn’t argue the point. “Well, whatever you want to call it, we’re grateful for everything you did for us.”
“We all are,” Qat Zaldana added. She stood behind the governor, having returned to Skagway to assist in the rebuilding. “And may I say it was a pleasure to work with your people.”
“We valued your assistance as well,” Spock stated.
Christopher and his fellow astronauts were assembled on the bridge. Shaun occupied the captain’s chair, feeling like an impostor, while Spock and McCoy flanked him. He was inclined to let them do most of the talking.
“It was a team effort,” Christopher said. “I’m just glad we managed to be of service.”
“We couldn’t have done it without you, Captain,” Qat Zaldana said. She sounded as if she was winking behind her veil. “You definitely had the right stuff.”
He got the joke, even if the governor didn’t. It had been decided that Dawson and the other colonists did not need to know about the captain’s peculiar condition. They had their hands full rebuilding after the disaster and the riots. Shaun understood that the governor had issued a blanket amnesty to the refugees who had fled the moon in panic. That struck him as a shrewd and politically savvy move. The colonists needed to work together now, not waste time pointing fingers at one another. He suspected that most of the moon’s inhabitants were just happy to be reunited with their loved ones.
“Do you require any further medical assistance?” McCoy asked.
“Thank you, Doctor, but the supplies you beamed down earlier should be enough. I think we’ve got things in hand now.” She toyed with a shiny crystalline paperweight on her desk. “In fact, my engineers tell me that we should be able to resume normal mining operations soon.”
“Starfleet will be pleased to hear it,” Spock stated.
“Yes,” Christopher agreed, wishing that he knew more about the colony and its significance. What the heck was “dilithium,” anyway?
The governor smiled at Shaun. “I’m glad to see that you’re back on your feet as well, Captain. Hope you didn’t miss too much of the excitement.”
“Oh, I think I got my share,” Shaun assured her. “Don’t worry about me. All in a day’s work for a Starfleet captain.”
Or so I assume, he thought.
Indistinct voices addressed the governor from off-screen. She sighed wearily.
“Well, as you can imagine, I have about a million urgent matters demanding my attention.” Stacks of reports were piled high on her desk. “Thank you again for your assistance. Give my regards to your superiors back at Starfleet Command.” She stared glumly at her workload. “Dawson out.”
The governor and Qat Zaldana disappeared from the viewer, replaced by a view of the massive repair efforts under way on Skagway. No runaway ring matter pummeled the icy lunar landscape. Shaun took a good, long look at the scene. Extraterrestrial colonies and mining operations were still the stuff of science fiction and NASA white papers back in his time. It did his heart good to know that despite wars and recessions and everything else, humanity had finally made it to the stars and seemed to be actually thriving. It made all his years at NASA and Area 51 worthwhile.
We did it, Alice. We really did it.
If this was the future, he could live with it.
Spock cleared his throat. “The chair, Colonel, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, right.” Christopher jumped up and turned the chair back over to Spock. “Guess I shouldn’t get too comfortable in that seat.”
Lieutenant Uhura, the communications officer, spoke up. “We’ve received word from Starfleet, Mr. Spock. We’re cleared to leave Skagway.”
“About time!” McCoy exclaimed. “Now can we go look for Jim?”
Twenty-six
2020
O’Herlihy flew through the ship, bouncing off the walls as he raced from the command module to check on the brig. His fist clenched a heavy steel wrench, the first weapon he had been able to lay his hands on. With luck, he wouldn’t need to use it—he had never been a violent man until today—but he had no idea what to expect. How had the prisoners managed to depressurize the airlock and open the outer hatch? And why in heaven’s name would they do such a thing?
