Star Trek: The Rings of Time (27 page)

Three . . . two . . . one . . . liftoff!

He pushed off from the bed, launching himself at the stuttering doorway. Gliding through the air, he feared for a moment that he had timed it wrong, but then the door
whoosh
ed open before him, and he flew into the larger sickbay facility beyond, where he nearly collided with a burly security officer in a red uniform.
The man was floating unconscious just outside the door. Shaun guessed that he had been knocked out when the ship rolled over. A fresh bruise marred the man’s forehead.

He moaned groggily. “Not the captain . . . don’t tell . . .”

Shaun gathered that the guard had been let in on the big secret that Kirk wasn’t actually Kirk these days. He wondered how many crew members knew the truth.

“Not the captain . . .”

“Nope,” Shaun agreed. “Not by a long shot.”

A glance around the sickbay confirmed that they had the place to themselves. Shaun guessed that McCoy and his staff were probably dealing with medical emergencies all over the ship, although it probably wouldn’t pay to stick around. Checking on the guard, he determined that the man was just dazed and not seriously injured. Shaun figured he’d be okay where he was.

“Hang on,” he told the guard. “The doctor will be with you shortly.”

An array of beds, similar to the one he had just abandoned, faced what looked like the main exit. The doors opened at his approach, and he ventured cautiously into the corridor outside, where he encountered a scene of frenzied activity and chaos.

Warning lights flashed. Sirens blared. Men and women in bright, primary-colored uniforms scrambled
to deal with the emergency, whatever it was. Tendrils of smoke wafted through the hallways. Vapors gushed from broken conduits. Damage-repair teams fought to bring sparking panels under control, although they were hampered by the lack of gravity, which they were obviously unaccustomed to. Frustrated crewmen bounced awkwardly off the walls and one another. A lost tool, whose function Shaun couldn’t begin to guess at, drifted past his head. He couldn’t help smirking at their clumsy efforts. These Starfleet folks might be more than two centuries ahead of him, but they had clearly been spoiled by their artificial gravity.

Let an old-school astronaut show you how it’s done.

He effortlessly navigated the confusion, only to realize that he had no idea where he was going. Pausing to get his bearings, he had to duck a boot that came spinning toward his head. “Whoa!” he called out. “Easy there!”

The boot was attached to a leggy crew member in a short red dress, who was somersaulting through the air. He grabbed her ankle to halt her uncontrolled tumble. She anchored herself to the ceiling.

“Sorry, Captain.” She was an attractive black woman who looked to be in her early twenties. A beehive hairdo seemed curiously retro. “Guess I need to brush up on my zero-g maneuvers.”

Captain?

He was used to dealing with McCoy, and it took
him a second to remember that everyone saw him as Captain Kirk. Perhaps he could turn that to his advantage.

“No problem,” he said confidently, in his best mission-commander voice. He pretended to grope for her name. “Miss . . ?”

“Voss.” She didn’t seem to find it odd that the captain couldn’t immediately place her. A ship this size probably had a substantial crew. “Yeoman Celeste Voss.”

“Right,” he said, as though it had simply slipped his mind. Thinking ahead, he decided that he wanted to be at the center of the action. “Do you know where I can find Mr. Spock?”

“On the bridge, I assume.” She looked him over uncertainly. “Are you all right, sir? I understood you were injured.”

“Nothing to worry about,” he assured her. “Please accompany me to the bridge, Yeoman.” He gestured chivalrously. “After you.”

She just looked more puzzled. “Er, the bridge is
that
way, sir.”

“Of course it is.” He smacked his forehead in mock dismay. “That rollover must have spun me around a bit. Maybe you’d better lead the way, just in case.”

He spoke lightly, trying to palm it off as a joke. Did Kirk josh around with his crew like this? Shaun hoped so.

“Aye, sir,” she said, a trifle uncomfortably. “This way.”

Pushing off from the ceiling, she led him down the busy hallway to a bright red door that opened to reveal some sort of elevator compartment. They floated into the elevator, which impressed Shaun with its size and convenience. Back on the
Lewis & Clark,
they had gotten by with just ladders and hatches. Then again, there had been a lot less territory to traverse on his old ship. For all he knew, it was quite a hike from here to the bridge.

The door closed behind them. Voss looked expectantly at him, and Shaun wondered what he was supposed to do. After an awkward moment, she took hold of a handle jutting from a rail at waist level. It chirped at her touch.

“Bridge,” she announced.

The elevator surged into motion.
Voice-operated,
he noted.
I’ll have to remember that, assuming I stick around much longer.

The trip was short and smooth. Within minutes, the elevator came to a stop, and the door
whoosh
ed open. “Here we are, sir,” she said, unable to look him in the eye. Shaun hoped he wasn’t hurting the captain’s reputation among his crew too much.

Sorry about that, Kirk. Then again, who knows what you’re doing on my ship right now?

Two hundred fifty years ago, that is.

Before he could exit the elevator, the gravity came back without warning. He dropped deftly onto his feet, avoiding a clumsy fall. Voss stumbled slightly but
managed to land on her feet, too. He grabbed her arm to steady her.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Anytime, Yeoman.” He flashed what he hoped was a winning smile. “Time to put our best foot forward.”

He strode onto the bridge.

2020

“So, is this it?” Zoe asked. “Are we screwed?”

“Not on your life,” Kirk said. He had never believed in no-win scenarios, and he wasn’t about to start now. “We still have five hours to take back the ship.”

“Er, in case you haven’t noticed, we’re locked up in maximum security.”

“Hardly.” He glanced around the compartment. “This is an airlock, not a brig. It wasn’t built to keep people in.” He inspected the hatch leading back into the habitat module, while mentally reviewing the specs he had studied earlier. “In theory, there should be a manual override.”

She shook her head. “You disabled it, remember?”

Not really,
Kirk thought. He assumed that Shaun had done so when the stowaway was first discovered. It made sense. Shaun and Fontana would have made sure that Zoe couldn’t open the airlock on her own.
I would have done the same thing.

But he had more than two centuries of scientific expertise on these early astronauts. Perhaps there was some way to take advantage of that. His gaze fell on Zoe’s
smart tablet, which she had been allowed to keep in her cell. “Give me that device of yours.”

She batted the tablet over to him. “Why? What are you up to?”

“Wait and see.”

A tool chest on one wall contained the equipment that the crew used on their extravehicular activities. Kirk used a zero-g screwdriver to pry loose the casing at the back of the tablet, exposing the crude silicon circuitry. Its wireless capacity had also been disabled, he noted, but he might be able to remedy that. The only question was whether he could do so in time with the primitive tools at his disposal, as well as making the necessary improvements to its programming.

Spock could do this blindfolded with chopsticks,
he thought.
Too bad he’s not here.

Zoe watched over his shoulder as he tinkered with circuits. Needing additional components, he cannibalized the headphones in a spare “Snoopy cap.” He was reluctant to pillage the EVA gear but didn’t see any other option. Everything depended on giving Zoe’s tablet a twenty-third-century upgrade.

“Wow!” she murmured. “Who knew you were MacGyver in disguise?”

He didn’t get the reference but assumed that it was a compliment.

“Hand me those magnifying lenses,” he requested.

“Yes, Doctor.” She passed him the lenses like a nurse in sickbay. “What exactly are you doing?”

“Improvising.”

Sweat beaded on his brow as he struggled with the archaic equipment. The lack of proper tools frustrated him. Time ticked by agonizingly, and he would have traded an entire ringful of dilithium crystals for one good laser solderer. His mind flashed back to that time in the Great Depression when Spock had managed to modify a tricorder using far more obsolete materials than these. He smiled tightly, encouraged by the memory. If Spock could put together a working mnemonic memory circuit out of nothing but “stone knives and bearskins,” then he should be able to hot-wire a twenty-first-century computer tablet using NASA hardware.

Or so he kept telling himself.

“Almost there,” he muttered.

A sudden impact shook the airlock. A metallic bang sounded as if it was coming from right outside the ship. The signal light above the inner hatchway went out.

Uh-oh,
Kirk thought.
That could be trouble.

“Yikes!” Zoe dropped a screwdriver, which drifted slowly toward the floor. “What was that?”

“The rings,” Kirk guessed. It was the only plausible explanation for the impact. “The ship must be passing through the rings. An iceberg slammed into the hull.”

Smaller impacts buffeted the hull, like hail pounding against a tin roof. For a moment, he thought he was back in the Klondike system, with its unstable rings, but Saturn’s rings had their own share
of hazards if you were suicidal enough to brave them, which O’Herlihy clearly was. Praying that none of the collisions would breach the hull, Kirk listened tensely for an alarm. When no siren sounded, he assumed that the ship’s tough titanium skin had withstood the storm for now.

“Sounds like we’re okay,” he told Zoe. “That first bang must not have been big enough to sink us.”

“You sure about that? ’Cause it sounded damn big to me.”

“Yes,” he had to agree. “It did.”

The collision was an unwelcome reminder that they were running out of time. Even if they survived their periodic passages through the churning rings, Saturn’s ferocious atmosphere still waited to crush the fragile spaceship to a pulp. Hurricane winds would whip the shattered fragments around the planet at speeds exceeding a thousand kilometers per hour. And then, of course, there was the danger of burning up in reentry.

Granted, history had recorded no such disaster, but perhaps he had changed history already just by being there. There were too many unknown variables. He couldn’t count on the
Lewis & Clark
surviving as it had under Shaun Christopher’s command.

“Start getting into one of those spacesuits,” he ordered Zoe. “Just in case.”

She hurried over to where the suits hung on the wall. “How come?”

If they lost their atmosphere, he wanted her pre-pared. A spacesuit would buy her precious time.

“Just do it,” he said, “and hurry.”

She didn’t argue with him. “Hey, if you were into cosplay, you just needed to ask.”

The barrage outside abated swiftly. Kirk recalled that the rings, although almost three hundred thousand kilometers across, were often less than a kilometer thick. They would have passed through the rings in no time. They were safe for the moment.

Until their polar orbit carried them through the rings again.

Biting his lip, he hastily finished his modifications to the tablet. Unable to replace the casing he had pried off before, he had to leave its inner workings exposed. He hoped the ship’s sterile atmosphere would not contaminate its circuits too quickly.

“Done,” he pronounced. “I think.”

“Glad to hear it,” Zoe said, climbing into a water-filled cooling garment. “Now, you want to tell me what you have in mind?”

He approached the locked inner hatch. “I believe the colloquial term is ‘hocking.’”

“You mean ‘hacking’?”

“Right,” he confirmed, suitably corrected. “That.”

He pointed the tablet at the sealed doorway. In theory, he should be able to “hack” into the ship’s computerized locking system. The elementary programming had been child’s play compared with,
say, rewriting the parameters of the
Kobayashi Maru
simulation back at the Academy. Twenty-first-century firewalls were still a long way from foolproof.

“Wish me luck,” he said. “Open sesame.”

He keyed the override command.

Nothing happened. The hatchway remained sealed.

“Damn,” he muttered. He tried another command, with equally disappointing results. The hatch refused to budge. The indicator light above the exit flashed neither red nor green.

“What’s the matter?” Zoe asked. “Why isn’t it working?”

“That collision,” he realized, “back in the rings. The impact must have damaged the mechanism. I can’t get it to respond.”

“So, we’re stuck in here after all? While the doc is playing kamikaze with the ship?”

“Maybe not.” He turned away from the inner hatch toward the one leading to the open cargo bay outside. “There’s still another way out.”

She looked where he was looking. Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”

“Wouldn’t be a real NASA mission without a proper spacewalk,” he said, “and I’m not sure we have any workable alternatives.”

She stared at the outer hatch and gulped. “Beats sitting around waiting to crash into Saturn, I guess.”

“My point exactly.” He began removing the second spacesuit from its niche. “Help me get into this suit.”

Under ordinary circumstances, donning the suits would take at least fifteen minutes. Adrenaline and necessity sped them through the elaborate process in ten. They rushed through the various checks and tests, cutting corners wherever possible. By the time they had put each other’s helmet on and pressurized the bulky suits, there was barely enough room in the airlock for both of them. They tested their radio receivers.