Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [112]
McCoy’s eyes ran over the espers’ empty features: Bouchard, Petriello, Santos, Fraser, Salah. Five men and women exposed to a horrible mental trauma. He could only hope that this would work.
Chapel came into the ward. “I’ve finished my rounds, Doctor. Everybody’s recovering well. Lieutenant Haines wants me to tell you that she’s fine now. No more pain.”
“I’m glad to hear that,” McCoy said, and he really was. Haines didn’t deserve the torment the espers had caused her.
“Are you ready?”
“Am I ready to be whacked across space like some kind of galactic piñata?” he asked. “Sure. It’s too late to say no, anyway.”
She smiled. “Well, if this works, you’ll have saved the ship.”
McCoy paused for a moment. He hadn’t considered that. He’d saved the lives of the crew time and again—but saved the ship? That would be a new one. To be honest, he felt pleased with himself.
The intraship sounded, and Sulu’s voice reverberated throughout the room. “Attention, all hands. We will begin the operation designed to remove the Enterprise from this zone of spatial instability. We will eject a shuttlecraft into one of the distortions. The resulting blast from the shuttle’s explosion will push us free. It won’t be a smooth ride. Please stay alert and brace yourselves. With a little luck, we will come out of this safely. All sections, report.”
“Lawton here. Crew centralized in safe locations.”
“Harper here. Main systems ready for immediate shutdown.”
“Leslie here. Inertial dampers set for maximum.”
“Padmanabhan here. Distortions plotted and course set.”
McCoy hit the comm button himself. “McCoy here. Sickbay ready.”
“DeSalle here. Shuttlecraft ready for automated launch.”
There was a brief pause, then Sulu spoke again. “You are go for launch, Lieutenant DeSalle.”
“Aye, sir. Shuttlebay doors opening under manual control… open.”
McCoy looked at Chapel, whose face was creased with worry.
“Shuttlecraft launching… now.”
Chapel noticed McCoy looking at her and smiled.
“Shuttlecraft away. ETA to distortion, seven seconds.”
McCoy smiled back.
“Six.”
He grabbed the closest fixed object to prepare for impact: Petriello’s bed.
“Five.”
Chapel did the same with Salah’s.
“Four.”
He thought of how brusque he was to her. He’d have to make it up to her.
“Three.”
He’d have to make it up to the whole medical staff, really.
“Two.”
He wondered how Jocelyn was doing.
“One.”
He tried to remember the last time he’d talked to Joanna. He’d have to contact her.
“Zero.”
McCoy couldn’t hear the explosion, but he could feel it. The impact shook the deck, and despite holding on to the biobed, McCoy had a hard time staying on his feet. He thought he heard the ship itself scream, its metal wrenching and twisting as it hurtled through space. The lights went out and then came back on, dim, when the battery backups kicked in.
As McCoy watched, Petriello opened his mouth. The medical monitor began squealing in alarm. Petriello began to scream.
Moments later, they all did. All five voices slammed into McCoy’s psyche, pushing their way into his mind. He’d never heard anything like it. The screams penetrated his most private defenses, tore down the walls he’d constructed around himself, and slammed into the core of his being, shattering him into a million tiny pieces.
McCoy’s knees gave way and he collapsed onto the deck.
Stardate Unknown
McCoy found himself on a biobed, white, empty space all around him. There was nothing else. From out of nowhere, a voice came: This is your solution? Santos—materialized next to him, as if she had been transported here—looked confused. Subject us to the worst of it?
“I had to,” McCoy said. “It’s the only way.” All five espers were now arrayed around him, peering down like he was a museum exhibit.
It’s worse than ever before, Fraser said, her face lined with pain. The Nothing. It’s all we