Star Trek_ A Choice of Catastrophes - Michael Schuster [89]
“Engineering, I need that bubble!” Uhura shouted as she got up, holding on to the chair.
“We’re trying, Lieutenant,” came the voice of DeSalle.
“What happened?” she asked Singh.
The engineer didn’t answer. He was too busy trying to bring the ship back under control. The deck trembled underneath Uhura’s feet, but with both arms gripping the console’s edge tightly, she remained upright.
“The computer system that was keeping the bubble balanced shut down,” Padmanabhan jumped in. “Just for five seconds, but it was enough. Part of the ship was thrust entirely into the other universe before the explosion pushed us away.” He checked a set of readings on his controls. “Still at fifty percent permeation,” said Padmanabhan. “These readings are amazing.”
Uhura wasn’t inclined to agree. The ship was in danger of being ripped apart. “Engineering, what was that explosion?” asked Uhura. “I need a damage report.”
“We don’t know yet.” This voice, Ensign Harper’s, was a little more apologetic. “Lieutenant DeSalle’s still working on getting the bubble reestablished.”
Uhura had to wonder: How did Captain Kirk endure the knowledge that with one mistake, his entire crew could die?
When the alarms started blaring, McCoy tried to bring sickbay’s lights back up to full, anticipating casualties. He couldn’t—main power was out and they were on backup.
“Great,” he groused to Chapel as they waited. Leslie had informed sickbay that his security team was on the way with casualties.
“Why don’t you just give up, then?” Jocelyn demanded. “Run, like you do every time things get too tough.” Had the real Jocelyn ever been so cruel? No, the woman he’d married hadn’t been easy to be with, but at least she wouldn’t rub salt into an open wound. This… hallucination, ghost, or whatever it was seemed intent on getting a rise out of him.
“We can handle it.” Chapel didn’t sound as if she believed it.
Less than a minute later, the door hissed open. Leslie and his squad were carrying two unconscious people on stretchers. McCoy steeled himself: more coma cases? As the security people drew closer, however, McCoy got a better look. Hematomas, evidence of multiple compound fractures. “What the hell happened?”
“Artificial gravity and inertial dampers shut down,” explained Leslie, his voice shaken. “Repeatedly.” Few things were more unnerving to a spacer than the thought of life-support failure. Technology was what allowed you to explore space.
They were computer technicians McCoy only knew by sight. Had they been in that section when—No time for speculation. A simple visual inspection of the two women told him they needed to be operated on at once. He sent Chapel for the drugs and tools they needed. He directed Leslie and his squad to place the technicians on the beds in the examination room.
All the while, his ghosts were following him closely. “I hope you can save them, unlike me,” Luke Hendrick said, sneering. “Don’t dawdle this time.”
“I think you should move on,” said McCoy’s father, “just stop trying and leave everything like you did with me.”
“No way,” said a woman’s voice. He looked to his side to see Crewman Santos standing there, with the four other comatose patients. What was this supposed to be? “He can’t save us, so he’s got to demonstrate he’s capable of saving someone.”
“Leave them all behind!” shouted Joanna. “Isn’t this too much responsibility, just like I was?”
McCoy ran his hands through his hair in frustration. How was he supposed to get anything done?
“What happened to the safeguards to prevent this?” he asked Leslie. With so many voices vying for his attention, McCoy found it hard to focus on the new patients’ bio-readings.
“The bubble collapsed, the port computer bank exploded,” said Leslie. “It breached the hull, and most of the life support in that section went offline.”
McCoy hadn’t considered it before, but there were duotronic circuits in every part of this ship. If they plunged