always seemed very proud of her.
“Who is, Marcus? Who is threatening her?”
“HEL,” he admitted. “The Human Extinction League. She got mixed up with them in college, and now they’re holding her hostage. They demanded that I sabotage the mission, create a disaster that would ‘teach the world a lesson’ about the folly of spreading humanity to the stars, or they would torture her to death.” He was shaking now, his voice hoarse with emotion. “You have to understand. She’s my only child, my baby. I couldn’t let that happen to her!”
Kirk got the idea. Looking back, he recalled how emotional the doctor had been at times, especially when the subject of his family had come up. Kirk had ascribed that to simple homesickness, but obviously, there had been a lot more going on beneath the man’s cool, avuncular demeanor. Small wonder O’Herlihy had choked up on occasion; Kirk could only imagine the strain he had been under.
None of which made their current situation any less perilous.
“You started the fire,” Kirk realized. “Not Zoe.”
“Yes. I stalled as long as I could, wanting to get as much science accomplished as possible, but HEL was getting impatient. They were sending coded messages to me via my wife’s e-mails, and they wanted results. I had to do something to keep them from hurting Tera.” The revelations poured out of him, as though he felt a need to confess. “I thought that maybe if I died in the fire, that would be enough to satisfy them, but I see now that I was just fooling myself. They won’t be happy unless this entire mission crashes and burns in a way that can’t possibly be covered up. I have to destroy the ship. That’s the only way to make sure that Tera is safe.”
Kirk tried to reason with him. “But you can’t sacrifice four lives for one. There must be another way. Perhaps if we notify the authorities back on Earth?”
“No! I can’t take that chance. I’m sorry, but this is my baby we’re talking about.” He wiped his eyes, trying to regain his composure. His voice had a resigned, fatalistic tone that worried Kirk more than any emotional outbursts. He had clearly made up his mind. “We’re astronauts,” he rationalized. “We always knew we might not come back.” He reached for the comm controls. “Good-bye, Shaun, Zoe.”
“Wait!” Zoe cried out before he could cut off the transmission. “How much time do we have?”
“Approximately five hours,” he said, “depending on how long it takes the planet’s internal pressure to crush us. If it’s any consolation, we’re taking the scenic route to gather as much scientific data as possible before the end, passing through the rings themselves. I intend to keep transmitting our findings back to Earth for as long as possible. No matter what happens to us, we won’t have died in vain. We will have carried out our mission and increased humanity’s knowledge of the universe. Not a bad legacy to leave behind.”
“A noble sentiment, Doctor,” Kirk retorted, “but I would prefer to live, too.”
“Ditto,” Zoe chimed in. “What he said.”
“I’m sorry,” O’Herlihy said sadly. “I’m afraid that’s the only comfort I have to give. Please forgive me.”
He switched off the comm.
2270
A bowl of hot chicken soup and a cup of coffee appeared on a tray in the food slot. Shaun sampled the soup, which was just the way he liked it, not too salty. He had to admit that the food service aboard the Enterprise definitely beat the prepackaged NASA cuisine back on his old ship. So far, the starship’s galley had been able to produce almost every form of comfort food he had asked for, from root beer floats to sushi. There even appeared to be some exotic alien dishes on the menu.
Okay, he conceded. I could get used to this.
He started to carry the tray over to a waiting desk, despite the turbulence shaking the ship. It felt as if the Enterprise was in the middle of an outer-space hurricane — or a battle? A red alert light flashed above the locked doorway, and Shaun wished he knew what was going on. He gathered from what he had overheard before that the ship had been taking on refugees. But refugees from what?
The unsteady floor made it hard to keep his balance. Hot soup sloshed over the lip of the bowl, scalding his fingers. “Crap!” Shaun swore.
Maybe I should have ordered pizza instead.
A warning siren blared, and he almost jumped out of his (Kirk’s) skin. An urgent voice came over the intercom system.
“All hands and passengers! Brace for impact!”
Although well intentioned, the warning came too late. A deafening jolt flipped the ship over on its axis, too fast for its internal gyros or whatever to compensate. Shaun was thrown across the room into the ceiling. The food tray flew from his fingers. The cup, bowl, and cutlery clattered loudly. Soup and coffee splashed against the walls and ceiling.
“What the—?”
The ship completed a full rotation, righting itself. Shaun landed hard on the floor, only a yard away from his bed. Stunned, he scrambled to his feet and glanced around. Years of NASA training kicked in as he hurriedly attempted to assess the situation.
Whatever had just hit the Enterprise had done a real number on the ship. The overhead lights flickered and went out, momentarily stranding him in darkness, before the emergency lights came on. Klaxons blared outside sickbay. Sparks erupted from the diagnostic screen above the bed, forcing him to throw up his arm to protect his eyes. Charred fragments rained onto the bed. The acrid smell of smoke and burning circuitry contaminated the air. Even the artificial gravity wobbled, causing his stomach to turn over queasily. The possibility of a hull breach — every astronaut’s worst nightmare — forced its way into his brain, but there was no evidence of explosive decompression. If a breach had occurred elsewhere on the ship, perhaps it had already been sealed off. He had to assume that the Enterprise had the capacity to isolate any compromised sections of the ship. It would be insane to build any sort of spacecraft that couldn’t.
They surely have their safety procedures, backups, and fail-safes, he reminded himself. I have to assume that they’re prepared to handle any emergency.
But that didn’t make being in the dark any easier.
A wet noodle dropped onto his sleeve. He looked up to see spilled soup and coffee dripping from the ceiling. He stepped out of the way, only to see the drops stop falling. Glistening round globules began to float above his head. His stomach flipped over again. Loose pillows, silverware, notepads, noodles, and bite-sized morsels of chicken floated freely through the room. His feet lost their grip on the floor.
So much for the artificial gravity.
All of a sudden, he felt as if he was back on the Lewis & Clark, but that wasn’t even the most interesting development. The sliding door began to malfunction, too, opening and closing at random. Peering through the gap, he caught periodic glimpses of the rest of sickbay.
And freedom.
His eyes narrowed. A sly smile came over his face. Sure, he remembered Dr. McCoy explaining that he couldn’t see too much of the future, and for a moment, he even considered staying put for the sake of the “timeline.”
Then he shook his head.
Screw that, he thought. He’d been locked up in solitary long enough, and he wasn’t about to float around doing nothing while all hell was apparently breaking loose. He needed to find out what was going on. Besides, who said they were ever really going to put him back where he belonged? They sure hadn’t seemed in any hurry to get him home. Maybe McCoy had been feeding him a line of bull this whole time.
