The Sky's the Limit - Marco Palmieri [48]
“Much like Earth’s history,” Riker said. “It took World War III and the Vulcans to get humanity onto a different track.” He glanced down at the monitor, although he could not read the text. “But why weren’t the space stations mentioned in the distress call?”
Data referred back to the monitor, beginning the high-speed scroll again. “Because they failed. It was never within the Narsosians’ capabilities to evacuate the entire population. There was hope that those who remained behind would somehow find a way to save the planet, but ensuring the survival of their species was the priority. The selection process was transparent and equitable, but those left behind were not satisfied. Civil unrest led to civil war. The descent into anarchy doomed any final attempts at solving the environmental problems.” Data paused, his expression changing subtly, and La Forge could see his dismay. “By the time this scramjet left, six hundred and twelve years ago, all the stations were under attack. Some were falling from orbit. The scramjet was forced to take evasive action to avoid debris from the stations. Given their limited maneuvering abilities, they were never able to get back on course.” Data turned off the monitor. “As Commander Riker surmised, they committed suicide instead of suffering slow deaths by asphyxiation. One waited until the last to ensure the others all died peacefully, then released the atmosphere to help preserve the bodies, as was their custom. She made the last entries to this journal after her crewmates were dead.”
“I found her,” La Forge said. “She was sitting by the beacon. Waiting for us.”
After a moment of silence, Riker looked at his away team. “Let’s hope the other scramjets had better luck.” He opened a channel to the ship. “Enterprise, this is Riker. Bring us back home.”
“Warning: oxygen supply is below recommended refill level.” The bland computer recording sounded again inside his EV helmet, but La Forge could do nothing about it. He couldn’t even recall how to disable the alert so he wouldn’t have to listen to it again.
Drifting along peacefully among the clouds at two Earth atmospheres of pressure, the temperature about fifteen below Celsius, La Forge had a beautiful view. The clouds around him were water ice, a hint of blue to them. A kilometer above was the layer of tan ammonium-hydrosulfide clouds, lightning playing back and forth through them. He’d stabilized at an altitude about forty kilometers below where he’d fallen from the lift.
He knew it would be risky to pilot a shuttle through that weather, but not impossible. Of course, this was a big planet, and with long-range sensors almost useless in the ionized atmosphere, Enterprise’s shuttles could miss him even if every last one of them was flying around down here. But he had to try to hold on—literally. Though his shoulders ached and his fingers were numb, he still clutched the carry strap of the inflated shelter with both hands. At this point, he might not have been able to let go if he tried.
Of course, if he did, he would just end up dangling from the safety line like a child’s toy tied to a balloon. That image brought a smirk to his face, which rapidly faded. Whether from exertion or oxygen deprivation, or both, he was getting sleepy. He would have to double his efforts, but he could feel his eyelids drooping behind his VISOR.
“Warning: oxygen supply is below recommended refill level.”
He jerked his head up, having come close to falling asleep. One way or another, this will be decided soon, he thought. It was not reassuring.
“They were wrong about the moons,” said La Forge, shaking his head. He stood by the engineering station at the back of the bridge.
“Only the largest one is tectonically stable enough for colonization,” agreed Data. “And even that one does not have a breathable