Identity Theft, page 16
Ryjo didn’t want to find out.
“That’s it. No more discussion. We’re heading back to our shuttlecraft.” He looked at the Yarfites. “Please tell me you have working pressure suits.”
“Yes,” Fressa said, “but—”
“Save it until we’re all safely back on the Enterprise.”
“All right,” she said, the tremor having shaken some of the stubbornness out of her. “Just give us time to salvage all our charts and data.”
“Way ahead of you.” Dipelly produced a microtape from a pocket of her coverall. “It’s not as though I haven’t had time on my hands since we were stranded here.”
Ryjo appreciated her foresight since it meant one less thing to haggle about. Acutely aware that another quake—or worse—could strike at any moment, he hurried things along as the Yarfites suited up and the search party redonned their helmets. The process still took longer than he liked, but they soon left the Whilom behind and started back toward Copernicus. Ryjo led the way at a rapid clip, while Tovar followed at the rear to ensure nobody strayed or got left behind.
“On our way back,” he updated Sulu, whom they’d kept informed of their progress throughout. “Prepare for immediate departure.”
“Make it snappy,” Sulu replied. “I’m picking up some pretty alarming seismic readings. We’re talking swarms of mini-quakes beneath the surface, and rapidly building pressure inside the mountain.”
“Preaching to the converted.” Ryjo glanced back at the volcano. Venting steam had given way to thick, roiling clouds of ash, which began falling like snow. Lightning, caused by static electricity, flashed inside the clouds. Rockslides could be heard in the distance. You didn’t need to be a xenogeologist to guess that the clock was ticking. He opened a line to the entire party, including the Yarfites. “Step on it, people. Time is safety.”
“All right, all right,” McCoy grumbled. “We’re coming.”
“Not fast enough,” Ryjo said. “Pick up the pace, all of you. Let’s get the hell off this moon while we still can.”
“Aye, aye, sir.” Tovar switched over to their private line. “Nicely handled back on there on the ship, by the way. You showed those fractious relic hunters who was boss, without even pulling a phaser.”
“Just doing my duty.”
“Well, consider me impressed.”
Uh-oh. Ryjo hoped things wouldn’t get complicated again if and when they returned to the Enterprise. His cover was probably more secure when she wanted nothing to do with him socially.
None of which mattered if they were all wiped out by an erupting volcano. The ashfall was coming down more heavily now, darkening the sky and making it harder to see even with his helmet’s searchlight turned up to full. Wading through powdery accumulations of ash made a punishing hike ever more arduous. Hustling the party along as fast as he could, without acting too frantic for a seasoned Starfleet officer, he sighed in relief as, through the murky haze, he spied the Copernicus ahead, still waiting for them.
Thank you, Sulu.
He had to give the pilot credit. A lesser person would have already taken off by now, saving themselves rather than sticking around next to a rumbling volcano, but that wasn’t the Starfleet way, it seemed. Ryjo wasn’t sure he’d do the same in Sulu’s place.
Something to think about later, perhaps.
“Almost there!” he encouraged the others. “Just a bit farther—”
The ground bucked beneath him, throwing him off his feet. He crashed to the surface, amidst a blinding cloud of ash and the clamorous gnashing of subterranean plates. The quake tossed him about as though he was a Rigelian jumping pod, making it impossible to scramble to his feet. It was like trying to rise from a bouncing trampoline. Fear and rage jolted him as well. The sheer unfairness of it all, of Wexx ambushing them just as they were on the verge of escaping, was so perfectly cruel that he really should have seen it coming.
Just like the universe to screw him over one last time!
Then the shaking subsided. A gloved hand reached down through the thick yellow haze and helped him to his feet.
“You okay?” McCoy asked.
“I think so.” A hasty inspection revealed that his body and, more crucially, his EV suit had not sustained any critical damage, just some minor scuffs and scratches, possibly due to the heavy ash cushioning his fall. “The others?”
“Just shaken up it looks like. Is it just me or are these damn quakes coming faster and harder?”
“Not just you.” Ryjo brushed off his suit. “Everyone in the shuttle, now!”
He didn’t need to repeat himself. Throwing caution to the whistling winds, the party sprinted toward Copernicus, its aft hatchway already opening to receive them. They dashed up the boarding ramp into the depressurized passenger area; the cockpit remained sealed off to protect Sulu from Wexx’s toxic atmosphere.
“Everyone aboard?” Sulu asked via the comms.
Ryjo did a quick head count, just to be safe. “All accounted for.” The ramp retracted as the hatchway closed. He caught a last glimpse of the smoking volcano before the hatch shut completely. Forget depressurizing the passenger cabin, he decided. They could do that later, after they were safely clear. “Get us out of here!”
“My thoughts exactly. Buckle in! We’re taking off!”
And none too soon; he barely had time to strap himself into a seat, next to Tovar as it happened, before Copernicus’s thrusters ignited and the shuttlecraft lifted off. The sudden acceleration tested the shuttle’s inertial dampeners, jolting Ryjo, who had to resist an urge to grab onto Tovar’s hand for reassurance. Copernicus’s nose turned skyward, away from the moon’s agitated surface.
Had they made it? Were they clear of Wexx at last?
A thunderous blast drowned out everything, including his own thoughts and a gasp. A shock wave slammed into Copernicus, sending it spinning out of control. Heavy objects smashed against the shuttle’s shields, a barrage of flying debris battering the hull despite the deflectors. Images of granite boulders and lava bombs, as large or larger than photon torpedoes, striking the shuttle flashed through Ryjo’s panicked brain with every titanic bang and impact. They hadn’t outrun the volcano in time.
It had blown again—with a vengeance.
Screams and shouts filled his helmet, even as his ears rang from the cataclysmic explosion. He seized Tovar’s gloved hand, who squeezed his right back. Copernicus spun on its axis, making him nauseous, then began to level out again. Had Sulu regained control of the shuttle? Ryjo experienced a fleeting moment of hope before Copernicus tilted downward and plunged back toward the surface, captured by gravity.
“We’re going down!” Sulu announced at high volume. “Brace yourselves! I’m trying for a water landing!”
The equatorial sea, Ryjo realized. The one they’d flown over before, that might have claimed the Stellar Gale centuries ago. Was Copernicus about to meet the same fate—if the shuttlecraft could even make it to the sea before it crashed?
“Hang on!” Sulu said. “Here we go!”
The shuttle dived headfirst toward—what?
Nineteen
“Captain!” Uhura called out. “We’ve lost contact with Copernicus.”
Alarmed, Kirk sprang from his chair. A sharp, stabbing pain forcefully reminded him of his injured ankle, and he sat back down again, no less distressed by the news.
“And the landing party?”
Uhura worked her control panel. “I’m trying to reach their individual communicators, but… no response so far.”
“Damn it,” Kirk said. Last they’d heard, McCoy and the others had successfully located a trio of marooned Yarfites and were escorting them to the shuttlecraft with all deliberate speed. In theory, they should have been on their way back to the Enterprise by now. “I knew I should have gone with them.”
“In which case,” Spock observed from the science station, “we would now be concerned for your safety as well.”
“Flawless logic, Mister Spock, but cold comfort at the moment.” Kirk pivoted the chair toward his first officer. “What about our sensors? Can you get a fix on the shuttle?”
“Not a present,” Spock said gravely. “Wexx’s turbulent atmosphere, blanketing the moon with dense, energetic clouds of particulate matter, continues to pose a challenge for our sensors.” He peered into the science viewer, expertly manipulating the dials at its side. “However, I am detecting a geological event of substantial magnitude dangerously near the site of the rescue operation.”
The volcano, Kirk grasped. Both Spock and Sulu had predicted that an eruption was likely imminent. Had Copernicus managed to take off in time?
“Life signs?”
“Undetected,” Spock said, “which is inconclusive due to the sensor issues already noted, now exacerbated by an excess of atmospheric contamination and activity in the affected area.”
“Keep looking, Spock. Scan the entire moon if you have to, inside and out.” Kirk shifted uneasily in his chair, frustrated and anxious. “I need to know what’s become of our people… and those stranded civilians.”
“Acknowledged,” Spock said. “Diverting more power to primary and secondary sensor arrays.”
Kirk knew he could count on Spock to find out as much as he possibly could with the technology available to them. “And keep your ears open, Uhura, on all frequencies.”
“Absolutely, sir.” Worry showed on her face as she applied herself to the task with her customary focus and expertise. “It’s only been a few minutes. Perhaps they’ll reestablish contact once they’re clear of the atmosphere?”
“From your lips, Commander…”
McCoy, Sulu, Chekov, Tovar, and three endangered strangers to boot. Kirk held on to hope, not about to mourn any of them just yet. Spock was right. This could just be a sensor issue. Copernicus could check in at any moment.
As minutes dragged on, however, with no word from the missing crew members, Kirk was sorely tempted to dispatch another shuttlecraft to search for Copernicus, but would that merely endanger more of his people? He fought the impulse to ask Uhura for another update. She would doubtless inform him the instant she had anything new to report.
Likewise, Spock and the others.
Wanting desperately to do something, Kirk stared grimly at the shrouded, unstable moon on the viewscreen. Immense, umbrella-shaped plumes of ash and smoke and debris kept shooting up from Wexx’s churning yellow atmosphere, blossoming above the moon like the atomic mushroom clouds of yesteryear. The erratic, unpredictable plumes had yet to impact the Enterprise, bursting only before, behind, or below their orbit around Wexx, but the shields were dialed up in case the ship found itself in the wrong place at the wrong moment. Was that what had happened to Copernicus and its passengers? He couldn’t rule out that ghastly possibility. Wexx was a geological minefield that may have already claimed the lives of seven people, including some of his nearest and dearest.
No, Kirk thought. I refuse to accept that, not without proof.
“Captain,” Spock addressed him.
His somber tone alerted Kirk that the news was not good. He knew Spock well enough to register that despite the Vulcan’s stoic demeanor; subtle variations in Spock’s manner, which might be lost on those less acquainted with him, came across clearly to Kirk.
“What is it?” He braced himself for the worst. Had Spock detected wreckage or, worse yet, proof of death? “Have you found Copernicus?”
“Negative, but the most recent comprehensive scans of Wexx, as best we can manage, point to an extremely dire conclusion: The eruption at the rescue site was just the beginning. Similar seismic events are occurring all across the moon, with escalating frequency and severity, connected to a vast underground magma system.”
“Which means?”
“By all indications, pressures within Wexx are rapidly building toward a super-eruption of global proportions, capable of devastating continents and reshaping the entire surface of the moon.”
Gasps and exclamations greeted Spock’s announcement. “Oh, no,” Uhura whispered loud enough for Kirk to hear. Similar sentiments could be heard across the bridge.
Kirk didn’t blame his crew for reacting in dismay. “That bad?”
“Were Wexx not already lifeless, the impending super-eruption would accurately be categorized as an extinction-level event.”
Kirk took a moment to process what Spock was saying. “So even if the landing party is still alive on Wexx, they don’t stand a chance once that super-eruption occurs?”
“Captain,” Spock said gravely, “I cannot guarantee our own survival.”
Twenty
Am I too late?
Heart pounding, head throbbing, feeling sick to your stomach, you hurry up the stairs at the back of your father’s barbershop to the all-too-humble lodgings above the shop. Trath mur Damva and a few other Exiles are waiting at the top of the stairs, muttering darkly amongst themselves. Trath subjects you to a withering look, making no secret of his disdain.
“About time you got here.”
Ordinarily you wouldn’t care a microbe what Trath and his fellow relics think, but this morning is different. This time it stings.
Because you know you deserve their scorn.
“I’m sorry. I only just got the news.” You’ve spent the night in a detention cell, after getting into a brawl at Insomnia while high on stim and cheap Nausicaan happy juice. Bloodshot eyes, rumpled club gear, a busted nose, and a brutal hangover attest to yet another wasted night spent partying and getting into trouble. “Please tell me I’m not too late.”
“Only just.” Trath steps aside to let you pass. “He’s been asking for you.”
You wince, imagining your father calling out in vain for his wayward son. You push past the scowling old stags and, bracing yourself, slip into your father’s bedroom, just off the landing. The modest chamber smells like a medbay, chemical disinfectants overlaying the stink of sweat, waste, and sick. The ratty curtains are drawn, the shutters closed, to grant Kletz mur Zimble some privacy and dignity in his final hours, shielded from the uncaring bustle and racket of the city streets. He’s propped up in his bed, looking older and frailer than ever. You can hear his labored breathing from across the room.
“Ryjo, my boy,” he wheezes. “You’re here…”
“Yes, Dad.” He rushes to his father’s side. “I came as fast as I could, I promise.”
A traditional Voyzr healer, clad in a ceremonial grass robe, is already in attendance. She looks at you and shakes her head dolefully.
“What happened?” you ask.
You knew your father wasn’t well, hadn’t been so for some time, but how had he declined so quickly, practically overnight?
“He took a sudden turn for the worse,” the healer says, not unkindly. “It happens.”
You refuse to accept that. “We need to get him to a hospital.”
“No,” your father protests as forcefully as he can manage, coughing and hacking all the while. “It’s my time. I just wanted to see you once more, despite everything.”
Every breath sounds like it could be his last. You take his hand, afraid to squeeze it too hard for fear of breaking it. It feels hot, feverish, and skeletal: dry, papery skin stretched tight over fragile bones. He seems to be wasting away before your eyes.
“I’m here, Dad. I’m here for as long as you need me.”
You and your father have clashed frequently over the last few years, over politics, your lifestyle, your choices, your friends, his friends, pretty much everything, really, but none of that seems to matter now, not at the end.
“Ah, but look at you, what you’ve become.” Rheumy eyes scrutinize you, taking in your disheveled, disreputable appearance. Tears leak from eyes, streaming past his silvered snout. “Instead of what you should be.”
Shame and guilt hit you harder than any hangover. The smell of spilled happy juice clings to your soiled clothing like the stench of failure. You know what your father sees when he looks at you: a huge, rutting disappointment.
“I’m sorry, Dad. I didn’t mean to let you down.” You choke up, hot tears stinging your own eyes. “Forgive me.”
“No, no!” He grows agitated, struggling to get the words out. “Forgive me, my son. I failed you. We all failed you, years ago. Cost you your homeworld, your rightful place and destiny…”
Coughs rack his feeble frame as you realize, to your horror, your father blames himself for your many shortcomings. That he’s carried this guilt for who knows how long, all the way to his deathbed.
Somehow this is a hundred times worse than any final rebuke…
* * *
“Chekov?”
A hand gently rocked his shoulder, waking him. Dise peered into the upper bunk where he’d been dreaming. She stood beside the bed, dimly visible in the soft blue glow of a nightlight.
“Are you all right?” she asked. “What’s the matter?”
He blinked in confusion, coming back to reality from… Ryjo’s father’s deathbed? The emotional scene, laden with crushing guilt and shame and anguish, clung to him even as he lifted his head, orienting himself. He switched on an overhead reading light, illuminating his bunk and exposing Dise’s worried face, close enough that he could feel her breath, scented by the spiced twigs she was always chewing on. He wasn’t sure why she’d woken him, but he was glad to leave that painful bedside vigil behind.
Their budget cabin aboard the Quintessential made Dise’s compact apartment in Jhopash seem roomy. A foldout bed above the lower bunk had spared them the awkwardness of squeezing into the same sleeping space, with Chekov chivalrously taking the top bunk, which had just enough head room to accommodate his antlers… barely. Standing on the outer edge of her bunk, gripping the molded metal edge of his, she regarded him with concern. An oversized, cheaply fabricated shirt, bearing the logo of a Tykon theme park, served as sleeping attire. Doe eyes reflected the glow of the reading light.
“What is it?” he asked groggily. “Is something wrong?”
