Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [36]
The yeoman on the bridge was Tina Lawton. McCoy didn’t know her well, but this had to be her first time in a crisis. She was handling it with aplomb. The incident had left her with a small gash on her forehead that was easily healed. As so often happened when he talked to young women, McCoy found his Georgia accent becoming a little bit more prominent. She seemed flattered by his attentions, and McCoy enjoyed it.
You would like it, wouldn’t you? Keep your mind on the job.
Rahda and Farrell at helm and navigation were taking readings. The Enterprise hadn’t advanced since hitting the last distortion. McCoy looked at the spatial plot between their consoles, but other than the fact that it was covered in squiggles, which must represent spatial distortion, he didn’t know what to make of it. The unsettling thing was that there were just as many squiggles in front of the Enterprise as there were behind it.
Ensign Harper’s red shirt was soaked with sweat, and McCoy injected him with an antiperspirant, telling him it was a stimulant. No sense embarrassing the man. Harper seemed to have his hands full running the damage control teams, their biggest problem being the power losses that had affected the ship with every distortion. There was no evident cause; none of the Enterprise’s energy systems had taken any damage.
McCoy had set up his journey so that he’d end with Uhura. Sulu was having an animated discussion with Rodriguez and Farrell about what route they should take. The doctor used the opportunity to get information. “Any word from the shuttles?” he asked quietly.
Uhura shook her head. “Every subspace signal we send into the zone of distortion comes right back to us about five minutes later. It’s like something is absorbing them and retransmitting them.”
“We were in contact with the landing party before, though.” McCoy frowned. “What changed?”
“The farther we’ve moved into the zone, the worse the distortions have become. Not just ahead of us, but behind us. We can pick up some really rough ones behind us, but if we’d hit them we wouldn’t be here.”
“So going backward isn’t an option?” McCoy asked.
Uhura took her earpiece out. “No more than going forward.”
“We’re going to continue forward,” said a deep voice close to him. McCoy looked up and realized that Sulu was now standing with the two of them.
McCoy glanced around the bridge, taking in the crew’s frantic discussions and the chirp of instruments. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”
“We can’t stay still,” Sulu said. “We have no way of getting a signal out. It could be weeks before another starship gets out here to look for us.” Only the very fringes of this sector were charted; there was no Federation presence beyond Deep Space Station C-15.
“We could send out a probe,” said Uhura, “but I’m not convinced it would survive long in the distortions.”
Sulu nodded. McCoy was struck by how calm he looked despite the giant purple bruise across his forehead. “That’s what I thought.”
It became clear that the young officer was looking for validation. He wanted someone to confirm that he was making the right decision. “Well, moving forward seems like our best bet to me,” McCoy said. “I’ll tell sickbay to brace for more casualties.”
Sulu’s spine seemed to straighten up at that, and he looked slightly more authoritative than a moment ago. “We shouldn’t hit any more distortions,” he said. “They’re only in subspace, so as long as we stay out of warp, they can’t affect us.” He glanced over at Rodriguez, who was listening to their conversation. “Correct?”
Rodriguez moved slightly closer to their impromptu conference around the communications console. “Yes, sir. More importantly, we won’t be able to affect the phenomenon.