Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

“No,” Qat Zaldana agreed. “This is panic. Blind desperation.”

“Mr. Spock!” Uhura said. “A priority transmission from the governor.”

He had expected something of the sort. “Put her through. Visual at fifty percent.”

“Aye, sir.”

The image on the viewer was split down the middle. Governor Dawson appeared on the left side of the screen, while a view of the frantic exodus occupied the right. She looked distraught and disheveled, her silver hair hanging loose across her face. An untreated bruise on her cheek was evidence of a recent accident or struggle. The lights flickered in her office. Spock heard shouting, sirens, explosions, and phaser fire in the background.

“Enterprise!” she addressed them. “We’ve lost control down here. My people are panicking. They don’t want to be left behind.” A loud crash off- screen caused her to flinch and look to one side before resuming her alert. “A mob stormed the spaceport, trampled over my security people. We believe they’re heading your way.”

“We are aware of the situation,” Spock reported tersely. “But surely you realize that we cannot accommodate all of these extra refugees. Our life-support systems have their limits.”

“I told them that, Mr. Spock,” she said. “All they know is that you’re their only hope.” She sagged in her seat, looking utterly defeated. “I’m so sorry. We tried to reason with them, but they wouldn’t listen. They broke into the armory and pushed past our lines. Many of our security people refused to fire on their own friends and family. People are terrified. They don’t want to die.”

Spock was forced to reassess his view of humanity. Vulcans would not have succumbed to panic and hysteria like this. It was not logical.

Or was it? It occurred to him that even a remote chance of survival was mathematically superior to no chance at all. Even if only a handful of the rioters made it to safety, there was at least the possibility that you or your loved ones might be among them. Seen from that perspective, a desperate attempt to force one’s way onto the Enterprise was a perfectly logical choice, if not a very commendable one.

None of which made this particular complication any less vexing.

“I understand, Governor. I am confident that you and your people did your best.” He contemplated the chaotic exodus on the other half of the screen. “It appears that this is our problem now.”

“Don’t judge them too harshly,” Dawson said, apologizing for her people. “They’re not Starfleet, only ordinary miners and their families. They just want to live.”

“That may not be possible,” he said. “Spock out.”

Dawson’s image disappeared. A full view of the latest crisis filled the screen. A disorganized, ragtag flotilla braved the storm to close on the Enterprise. They buzzed around the much larger starship like a swarm of Lakodonian gnats. Scanning the chaos, Spock spotted Columbus trying to weave its way through the congestion to get back to the Enterprise. Random vessels crowded the shuttle, no doubt hoping to squeeze past it into the shuttlecraft bay. Columbus executed evasive maneuvers, trying to shake its unwanted escorts, but the other craft stuck to it as though caught in its wake. They bounced and scraped against one another as they jockeyed for position. An older-model ferry, which looked as though it had been salvaged from a junkyard, lost power and fell behind.

“Mr. Spock! We’re receiving dozens of hails,” Uhura reported. She feverishly worked the communications console, looking almost, but not quite, overwhelmed by the flood of transmissions. Anguish showed on her features. “They’re pleading to be allowed to board the Enterprise. Begging for their lives!”

Spock did not envy Uhura. “Issue a general announcement on all frequencies,” he instructed. “Tell them to turn back to Skagway.”

She complied with his orders, but her board continued to light up with incoming transmissions. “I’m trying, Mr. Spock. They’re not listening!”

He chided himself for not fully anticipating the colonists’ reckless behavior. It was not as though there were not historical precedents. The unfortunate images on the screen reminded him of the interplanetary “boat people” of ancient Blinogu, who had fled the imminent destruction of their planet in a fleet of flimsy solar-sailing vessels. Their desperate voyage, alas, had not ended happily. The Bline were now extinct.

“Columbus is hailing us,” Uhura announced. “They’re requesting new instructions.”

On the viewer, the shuttle could be seen trying to make it through the debris and the refugee ships to get to the Enterprise. The other vessels hemmed Columbus in, often blocking Spock’s view of the shuttle. He recalled that it was currently carrying eighteen authorized evacuees, plus a Starfleet pilot and a security officer. The shuttle crews had been kept small to make room for the evacuees.

“We can’t open the space doors to the bay,” Chekov realized aloud. “It would be a free-for-all. We’d be overrun!”

Spock had to agree. The situation immediately outside the ship was already untenable. Without any manner of space traffic control in effect, the various craft zipped past one another in a random fashion. A speeding prospector ship cut off a minishuttle in its haste to get ahead of the other refugees, nearly causing a collision. Two jostling scout ships grazed each other. The smaller ship’s starboard thruster went flying off, sending the scout spinning out of control. Sulu gasped as the disabled ship tumbled past the Enterprise, barely missing its saucer section. Undaunted, the other scout joined the mob crowding Columbus.

“Madness,” Qat Zaldana whispered, so low that possibly only Spock’s ears could hear. “Sheer madness.”

Spock considered his options. If necessary, he could order the Enterprise to warp away from Klondike VI, but that would wreak havoc on the many small vessels surrounding the ship and would also mean abandoning Columbus and its passengers. He was not yet ready to employ such drastic measures.

“Keep hailing them,” Spock instructed Uhura. “Remind them that they are endangering the children already aboard.”

“It’s no good,” she said, shaking her head. “Nobody is listening. They’re all shouting, screaming, begging over one another.” Wincing at the tumult, she fiddled with her earpiece to reduce the volume. “They’re demanding that we let them board. They say they’re not going to let us leave without them.” She grimaced. “It’s getting pretty ugly, Mr. Spock, and heartbreaking at the same time.”

He was inclined to take her word for it. “Please disregard them, Lieutenant. Maintain an open frequency to Columbus instead.” He recalled that Lieutenant Schneider was piloting the shuttle; she was an able pilot who had logged many hours in flight drills. “Tell them to stand by and be prepared for an immediate landing or beam-out.”

He considered the probability that they could lower the Enterprise’s shields long enough to beam the shuttle’s crew and passengers aboard. Was it worth exposing the entire ship to danger to rescue one last party of refugees? He did not dare dispatch Galileo to Skagway for another run. That would be foolhardy in the extreme.

“My apologies,” he said to Qat Zaldana. “It appears that we will not be able to return you to the colony as you requested. Circumstances have changed.”

“I could pilot my own shuttle,” she reminded him.

“But we cannot risk opening the space doors to let you leave.” Spock wondered if a human would see Qat Zaldana’s inability to sacrifice herself as a “silver lining.” Dr. McCoy might think so, as would Captain Kirk, were he not lost in time. “In any event, the fact that we can no longer dispatch Galileo to retrieve more evacuees means that your presence will not cost anyone else a place aboard the Enterprise. You might as well survive.”

She tilted her head. “Was that a joke, Mr. Spock?”

“Merely an observation,” he replied. “The matter is out of our hands.”

“We’ll see,” she said cryptically.

Before he could inquire what she meant, a more urgent dilemma presented itself.

“Hold on, everyone,” Sulu warned. “We’ve got some bumpy weather coming up.”