Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

ship of yours was bigger. I’m not looking forward to deciding who lives and who dies… like Kodos the Executioner.”

Kirk winced inside. Governor Dawson probably didn’t know it, but he had been on Tarsus IV when Kodos had condemned half the population to death during a planetwide famine. Kirk had only been thirteen years old at the time, but he still remembered the panic and heartbreak of those harrowing days, as Kodos had mercilessly culled the old, the infirm, and the “expendable.” The nightmare had not ended until Starfleet arrived to halt the purge.

At least justice caught up with him, Kirk thought. Eventually.

“I met Kodos,” he said, “and I’m certain you’re nothing like him.”

Dawson didn’t ask for details. She clearly had other things on her mind. “Let’s be clear about one thing, Captain. If it comes down to it, I am not leaving this colony before any of my people. I’m going down with the ship if necessary. End of story.”

Kirk understood. The Skagway colony wasn’t technically a ship, but the principle was the same. He could tell that her mind was made up. Photon torpedoes would not be enough to stop her from staying behind with the last of her people.

“That’s not going to happen,” he vowed. “We’re going to find a way to save the entire colony.”

Five

2020

“Objection!” Zoe Querez gasped. “This is cruel and unusual punishment!”

Ignoring her protests, Colonel Christopher checked the timer instead. “Ten more minutes.”

The stowaway was fifty minutes into her mandatory one-hour workout on the treadmill. Given the pernicious effects of zero gravity on the human body, it would have been grossly inhumane not to let her get some exercise at least twice a day. A harness kept her strapped down to the treadmill and gave her resistance to strain against; otherwise, she could have run in place for hours and not gotten much benefit at all. Attached to force plates on either side of the treadmill, the harness simulated gravity by pulling down on her shoulders and hips with more than a hundred pounds of pressure. Globules of perspiration clung to her face and skin. Her shorts and tank top were soaked with sweat. Shaun knew from experience just how hard she was working. Those straps got very uncomfortable, very fast.

“Sadist! It would have been kinder to chuck me out the airlock.”

He chuckled. “Don’t let Fontana hear you say that.”

Thirty-plus days into the mission, Zoe had been a model prisoner so far. Talking Mission Control into continuing the mission, despite their unplanned passenger, had been a challenge, but Shaun and his fellow astronauts had ultimately prevailed. It had helped, of course, that the folks on the ground had been equally aware of the dire consequences of aborting the mission at the very moment public and political enthusiasm for the space program had reached record lows. Shaun knew that this decision was ultimately on him, though. He was still hoping that he hadn’t made a monumental mistake.

NASA had also chosen to keep the stowaway’s existence a secret for the time being, for fear of courting bad press. That was fine with Shaun. Let the PR flacks handle the spin control. He had a mission to complete.

A beep demanded his attention. He hit a button on his computer, and Fontana’s face appeared on the monitor. “You called?”

“Hate to interrupt your babysitting session,” she said drily, “but I thought you’d want to know that as of sixty seconds ago, we officially entered the asteroid belt.” She smirked. “No evasive action required yet.”

Shaun glanced out the nearest porthole. All he saw was the usual darkness and distant stars. No drifting boulders threatened the habitat module.

“We’ll have to break out a bottle of the good stuff for dinner tonight,” he said. Officially, NASA frowned on alcohol in space, but their Russian partners were more inclined to look the other way where liquid refreshment was concerned. As it happened, some generous cosmonauts had smuggled a couple of bottles into one of the Soyuz capsules that had carried supplies up to the Lewis & Clark while it was in orbit. “I think this calls for a celebration, kind of like crossing the international date line back in the old days.”

“Just as long as I don’t have to be the designated driver,” Fontana quipped. “I’m not sipping Tang while you hit the booze. Red wine is supposed to be good for combating weightlessness, you know.”

“So I hear,” he said. Studies had shown that a component of red wine, resveratrol, could help prevent bone- density loss and muscle atrophy, two common effects of life in space. NASA had prescribed resveratrol supplements for the whole crew, although the tablets lacked certain other benefits associated with a nice bottle of wine. “I suspect the doc will abstain. He’s not much of a drinker.” Shaun had never known O’Herlihy to indulge. “In the meantime, keep your eyes peeled for rolling rocks.”

He was kidding, mostly. Although the asteroid belt contained thousands of microplanets, the matter was spread so thinly that the odds were a billion to one against the ship colliding with anything; over the last half- century, numerous unmanned probes had passed through the belt unscathed, and Shaun had every reason to assume that the Lewis & Clark would do the same. Still, the ship’s LIDAR was on full alert for any potential hazards, and he and Fontana had agreed not to leave the cockpit unmanned until the ship was clear of the belt. They would be taking turns sleeping there for the next few weeks.

“Roger that,” she said. “You keep an eye on you-know- who.”

“Hi, Fontana!” Zoe shouted from the treadmill. “How you doing, girlfriend?”

Grimacing, the other woman cut off the trans-mission.

“You know, you really shouldn’t bait her like that,” Shaun said.

“Everybody needs a hobby.” She adjusted the straps digging into her shoulders in a vain attempt to relieve the pressure. Despite being short of breath, she kept on talking. “So, am I included in this crossing celebration? I gotta admit, I could use a drink, especially after fighting this torture device.”

“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “Why not? Provided you don’t try to blow up the ship between now and dinnertime.”

He wasn’t really worried about that anymore. NASA had checked out her story, and she appeared to be just what she claimed to be: an unusually nervy journalist out to make a name for herself. Over the last few weeks, he had been gradually letting her out of their improvised brig more often, for the sake of her health and sanity. He wasn’t about to grant her free run of the ship anytime soon, but as long as she behaved herself, there was probably no need to keep her locked up all the time. She actually wasn’t bad company, although he suspected that his copilot felt otherwise.

“Fontana won’t object?”

“Undoubtedly,” Shaun predicted. Fontana had not yet warmed to Zoe; she still regarded the stowaway as an intruder. “But I’ll see what I can do.”

“Rank has its privileges, huh?”

“And seniority,” Shaun said. “These gray hairs must count for something.”

“Yeah, you’ve been at this game for some time now, haven’t you? I did my homework on all of you before I boarded this cruise, as it were. You’ve got quite an interesting resume, Colonel Christopher.” She kept up a steady pace on the treadmill. Shaun could smell the rubber soles of her sneakers heating up from the friction. “Say, Skipper, at the risk of pushing my luck, do you mind if I ask you some questions about your illustrious career — including your stint at Area 51?”

Oh, boy, he thought, going on alert. Here it comes. He’d been expecting this; it was a wonder that she had waited so long to bring it up. Probably wanted to ingratiate herself first.

“That’s classified, and you know it.”