Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

Although they stretched above and below the ship for as far as the eye could see, the rings were only about twenty times deeper than the Lewis & Clark was long. The accelerating spaceship swiftly passed through the rings into the open space above Saturn’s southern hemisphere. An immense aurora, produced by charged particles captured by the planet’s powerful magnetic field, shimmered above the south pole. The ship wouldn’t encounter the rings again, Kirk realized, until the ship passed over the pole and headed back up toward the equator on the opposite side of the planet. He decided that he wanted to be back inside before the next barrage.

That had been about as close to a firing squad as he cared to get.

Gliding out from beneath the punctured dish, he spotted numerous nicks and scratches on the hull, along with a few larger dents. A thorough inspection of the ship’s exterior was clearly called for, provided they survived the present mutiny. Ignoring the damage for the time being, he pulled himself along the guide rail, which was now warped and crimped in spots. Pushing against the thick suit and gloves from the inside was strenuous work. By now, his arms ached, and he was breathing hard. He couldn’t slow down, though. Not when time was running out.

He crossed from the vestibule onto the command module. Light shone from the windows, tempting him to scout out the situation before proceeding further. Moving stealthily, he peered through a porthole, which offered only a partial view of the flight deck. His eyes widened as he spotted Fontana bound to the same ladder she had tethered him to only hours ago. She appeared to be unconscious, but it was hard to tell. Hadn’t O’Herlihy said something about giving her something to sleep? He guessed that hadn’t been her idea.

Looking away from the drugged copilot, he searched for O’Herlihy at the helm and the computer terminals but failed to locate him. He hoped that meant that the saboteur was away from the command module at the moment. There was nothing downstairs, after all, but the blackened wreckage from the fire. Perhaps he was still investigating the disturbance at the airlock.

Good, Kirk thought. This is going to be tricky enough.

The docking ring was on the nose of the command module, attached to the mid-deck. Kirk prayed that the fire had not done serious damage to the airlock, or he could well find himself locked out in the cold. Descending past the cockpit windows, he got into position outside the docking hatch. Although procedure dictated that the hatch was to be opened only in conjunction with the onboard flight crew, the airlock had not been built to repel boarders. After all, space piracy was not really grounds for concern in this solar system yet. That was still generations away.

All the better for me, Kirk thought. He mentally patted himself on the back for memorizing the ship’s specs when he’d had the chance. Zoe’s tablet remained clipped to his wrist, having survived the bumpy passage through the rings. He clumsily stabbed the controls with his gloved fingers. Barring any untimely malfunctions, this should work.

He keyed in the final command.

The hatch slid open.

Let’s hear it for twenty-third-century know-how, he thought. I may have a future as a safecracker in this era.

Moving quickly, he entered the airlock and closed the hatch behind him. One more hatch lay between him and the mid-deck. He just needed to repressurize the compartment first, or else the force of the ship’s atmosphere rushing into the airlock would smash him into the outer hatch with bone-crushing force, if not blow out the hatch altogether. Unlike Spock, he could not instantly calculate exactly how many kilograms per square centimeter that would unleash, but he knew it was nothing to be taken lightly. Opening an unpressurized hatch would also set off alarms all over the ship, which he hoped to avoid if at all possible.

No need to alert O’Herlihy if he didn’t have to.

Waiting impatiently for the airlock to fill up with air, he peered through the six-centimeter porthole into the torched mid-deck, on the lookout for O’Herlihy, but all he saw was scorched rubble and the new fire extinguishers they had placed in the module as a precaution. He wished he knew where the treacherous doctor was hiding. For all Kirk knew, O’Herlihy was lying in wait just out of view, waiting to ambush him.

He reached instinctively for a phaser, only to realize his mistake.

Wrong ship, wrong century.

He would have to take his chances the old-fashioned way.

Ready or not, Doctor, here I come.

Twenty-five

2270

“Captain on the bridge!” Yeoman Voss announced.

All eyes turned toward Shaun Christopher, who needed a second to absorb the sight of the Enterprise’s impressively large and colorful control center. Mr. Spock was seated at the center of the circular bridge, facing a wall-sized monitor or window. His crew was arranged around the perimeter, except for two officers manning a large console directly in front of Spock. From its look and position, Shaun guessed that they were doing the actual piloting. Seatbelts and straps had held the crew in place during the short-lived lapse in gravity. A bewildering array of displays, monitors, and instrument panels was enough to induce sensory overload. Shaun focused his gaze on the main screen.

Dozens of smaller spacecraft, of varied design, zipped across the monitor. An icy moon, boasting a full- fledged lunar habitat, was dwarfed by a huge ringed planet looming in the background. Purple bands streaked the planet.

“Oh my God!” Shaun exclaimed. “Is that Saturn?”

There had been no spaceships or moon colonies in the vicinity the last time he’d checked. Of course, that had been two hundred and fifty years ago…

“Klondike VI,” Spock corrected him. Despite his stoic demeanor, it was clear that he was not pleased by Shaun’s unexpected arrival on the bridge. “Captain, you should return to sickbay. You are not well.”

Shaun didn’t feel like playing along. “I’m not the captain, and I’m not crazy,” he declared. “I’m Colonel Shaun Christopher, and you know it!”

A quick glance around the bridge gave him a good idea of who had been let in on the secret and who had not. Several crew members, including the helpful yeoman, were clearly startled and confused by his outrageous claim, but others merely looked worried. The veiled woman, whom he remembered from the transporter room, turned toward him. He noted that she wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform like everyone else.

“Shaun Christopher?” she echoed, sounding intrigued. “Curiouser and curiouser.”

Mr. Spock let out a barely perceptible sigh. “Attention, all hands,” he addressed the bridge crew. “Please be aware that the individual before you is not actually the captain. There is no time to explain the situation fully, but I expect you all to disregard any orders except my own.” He turned toward Shaun. “Colonel Christopher, you can clearly see that we are in the midst of a crisis. I must ask that you leave the bridge immediately.”

“No way, Spock. I’m here in this time now, and I don’t intend to sit on the sidelines.” He shrugged Kirk’s shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe that probe sent me here for a reason.”

“Now, there’s an interesting possibility,” the veiled woman observed. “Mr. Spock, maybe we should find out what our unlikely guest has to offer. He may have insights into the probe — and our present situation — that we have missed.”

“I have already interrogated the colonel,” Spock stated curtly. “But you are free to take custody of him if you wish. At the moment, I have other matters to attend to.”

Shaun got the distinct impression that he was being handed off to a babysitter, but he figured that beat being expelled forcibly from the bridge and possibly thrown into the brig. He joined the veiled woman at one of the auxiliary stations. “Shaun Christopher,” he introduced himself. “At your service.”

“Qat Zaldana,” she identified herself. “And would that be the Colonel Shaun