Constellations (10 page)

The instructions said not to move the body, but the rain continued to pour in and Sulu saw that it was starting to collect on the surface. He could leave Lindstrom on the muddy floor and play it safe, or risk further injury and move up off the ground and avoid drowning his patient.

Gritting his teeth against the pain, Sulu hefted Lindstrom in his arms and heard a moan escape the man's lips. Okay, that had to be a good sign, he hoped. Making certain each step was secure, he moved Lindstrom closer to the chair, ignoring the rain that ran across his face, listening carefully for any discharge of power.

The walk probably took him two minutes, but it felt like an eternity given the dead weight, his fatigue, and his injuries. Still, Sulu placed Lindstrom in the oversized seat, tucking his legs under him to be safe, immobilizing him as well as possible.

By the time Sulu was done, he realized the floor was not only soaked but the water was definitely rising, bits of destroyed robot and wall floating. The energy shield that blocked the main entrance kept the water in, hissing and turning some of it to steam, so there was no drain system evident.

With alarm, Sulu heard a sparking sound and a different kind of hiss. Some of the advanced technology he had destroyed might not have been able to follow its programming but was clearly still drawing power. With the exposed energy about to be submerged, possibly electrifying the dirty water, Sulu recognized that he couldn't stay on the ground much longer. He'd need somewhere to wait until the storm stopped or rescue arrived. He cursed himself for not grabbing a handful of wrapped rations when he was at the gear. Now was not the time to go back, he concluded.

He looked around the entire room and realized there was but one place for him to place his own battered body.

Sulu was halfway across the room before he registered that he was now limping, which seemed to urge him to move more quickly despite the wince each step brought. Finally, he was at his destination and stared down, unhappy about his option. Still, survival was essential. He had to survive to help Lindstrom; he couldn't lose a second shipmate.

Once more he carefully moved Manprasad's body to the side of the bench. Then, he struggled to get himself onto the bench and find a position that brought him the least discomfort. He lay on his side, knees bent, back to her corpse. He tried not to think of the pressure against his back, tried to remember that Vinani was gone and wouldn't mind. As his eyes drooped, he felt his teeth begin to chatter in the chill as the rain continued to pour down and the sky grew darker.

 

The next time Sulu woke up, he felt markedly better. Not great, but he was aware that the doctor's ministrations had worked. Nurse Chapel was nearby and noticed him moving. She flashed him a smile and walked over, checking the diagnostic board over the bed.

“You're doing well, Lieutenant,” she said happily.

“Thanks.”

“Can I get you anything?”

“Well, I'm finally hungry,” he began as the sickbay doors swooshed open. He looked past the nurse to see Rand walking in, carrying a tray.

“I have only a few minutes before I'm due on the bridge,” Rand said, placing the tray on his lap. “But I wanted to make certain you had a good meal. Who knows what they'd give you here.”

She took the lid off the plate and Sulu inhaled deeply, noting there was no pain associated with breathing, which was a great sign of improvement. Some form of seared, spiced meat awaited him, along with some purple potato-type side dish and a large slice of chocolate cake.

“That's not on his diet card,” McCoy snapped as he joined them from his office. Sulu wanted to protest, but he spotted a gleam in the doctor's eye. He was beginning to like the CMO.

“You feeling better, Hikaru? You certainly look it.”

“Yeah, I do,” he said, stuffing a forkful of meat into his mouth. He then broke into a happy smile, the first he felt like giving in quite some time. Maybe he'd keep on living.

“Good, but I'm telling you, this is the last coddling you get from me,” Rand said. “Can't spoil you like I have to spoil some other officers on this ship.”

As she sat beside him and he ate, Sulu still brooded about what happened. It was a feeling that wasn't going away anytime soon, no matter how much better he felt physically. “You still think I'm bridge material?”

“Where'd that come from?” Rand asked in surprise.

“I was given a taste of command and botched it entirely. Manprasad lost her life on a routine survey. Who's going to trust me next time?”

“I will,” she said seriously. “No one's perfect, you know that. It's a dangerous galaxy and we're never going to know what lurks on every planet. Look at poor Mitchell. He was just the latest, not the last.”

“No,” he said bitterly, Manprasad's pretty face swimming in his mind.

“I'm also willing to bet you right now that Lindstrom wouldn't hesitate to team with you again. He knows the risks and he knows you helped save his life.”

“I hope you're right, Janice,” Sulu said between forkfuls. He started to talk again, but Kirk and Spock entered sickbay. Sulu grew solemn at their arrival, more so when Rand grabbed his now-empty tray and took it with her, nodding just once in recognition of her superior officers.

“How are you, Mr. Sulu?”

“I'd be lying if I said fine, sir. I'm pretty sore,” he admitted.

“And what about emotionally? This was quite an ordeal. It would have been for anyone down there,” the captain said as kindly as possible.

Sulu thought for a moment and then said, “Ordeal is the right word, I think.”

Before Kirk could reply, Spock interrupted. “I believe you are feeling guilty over the events on the planet's surface,” he began. “Having reviewed the tricorder downloads, I believe you have nothing to feel guilty about, Lieutenant.”

Sulu was nonplussed, uncertain what to say when McCoy piped up, his voice brimming with sarcasm. “He always this charming, Jim?”

“He has his moments,” Kirk said with a sly smile. He turned to his first officer and said, “Now that you've carefully brought up the topic, you want to tell them what you told me?”

“The tricorder analysis has allowed me to determine that the facility had a passive sensor system that was in a form of stand-by mode until the threshold was crossed by sapient life-forms.”

“The landing party,” McCoy interjected.

“A keen observation,” Spock said drily, earning him a dirty look from the doctor. Sulu suppressed a smirk, not wanting to derail the explanation. He had dreaded waiting days until the hearing before getting a sense of his culpability in the mess he had made of the survey.

“If I may,” Spock said, not taking his eyes off the doctor. When McCoy said nothing, he continued. “The artificial intelligence running security for the facility was quite sophisticated. Sulu, Manprasad, and Lindstrom entered the building, triggering the security protocols, which were designed to constantly upgrade themselves in response to how well the threat handled each level of security activated. Regardless of what the landing party did, the computer would compensate and increase the level of defense, up to and including the lethal gas.”

“Manprasad was immobilized. Why would the gas be released under those circumstances?” Sulu asked.

“Ensign Manprasad continued to struggle, testing the device that held her in place. The computer adjusted to render her unconscious, but the gas was designed for the natives, not a far smaller person. Its concentration is what killed her.”

“Shouldn't there have been gas released in the main room?”

“The smaller rooms seemed to work on separate circuits. I may be able to confirm that should the captain permit me to beam down and study the building more thoroughly.”

“But why did it suddenly shut down after it killed Manprasad?” Sulu asked, a hard feeling forming in the pit of his stomach. He wondered if the feeling would fade with time or haunt him for the rest of his career.

“Actually, her death had no effect on the computer's actions,” Spock corrected. “Its advanced age coupled with your phaser counterattack helped short-circuit the system. In that, you are to be commended for not giving up.”

Ignoring the rare compliment, Sulu asked, “How does that explain why the force fields remained in place?”

“Again, I suspect there was a separate circuit for the doorways, just as there was one for the main room and one each for the smaller rooms,” Spock explained. “Just because one was taken off-line did not necessarily mean the others would have followed. Had you tried to use the other rooms, you would most likely have been killed yourself.”

“Any clue who these people were?” Sulu asked, trying to avoid further discussion of his actions.

“From what we learned based on your recordings plus additional surveying from orbit, we can surmise that they were not native. They were trying to colonize this world, but the attempt failed and the facilities on each continent were abandoned.”

“Their work doesn't match anything we have on file?”

“No, but we continue to find new worlds and our catalogue grows, so someday they may be identified,” Spock said, sounding more optimistic than normal.

The captain turned to Sulu, looking him directly in the eye and giving him a warm, comforting smile. “Your actions, from what Spock tells me, did everything possible to protect the team. That's all any commander can ask of his crew. Something you'll learn in the years to come.”

Sulu sat, not returning the smile, but alone with the image of Manprasad's body, which had undergone rigor mortis by the time the security team, led by Commander Giotto, arrived. They were gentle, draping the body in a blanket before taking it off the bench and beaming back to the
Enterprise.
McCoy himself beamed down to examine the other two, and Sulu had directed the doctor to start with Lindstrom. It turned out the lieutenant had a concussion and some bruising but would be fine in a few days. Only then did Sulu allow McCoy to treat him.

He hadn't noticed that Kirk had already turned to Spock, saying over his shoulder, “You'll learn, Spock, that following your gut, your instinct, may sometimes be the difference between life and death.”

“Indeed.”

The single word carried with it much that was unsaid, the flat tone indicating neither agreement nor disapproval. Still, Sulu had logged enough bridge hours to sense that the first officer remained unconvinced of the captain's conclusion but was open to further discussion. And he imagined there would be plenty of that.

He wanted to be there to watch that debate and learn from it. Right then, he knew he didn't want to run away from his failure, hiding back in astrophysics. No, he wanted to be on the bridge, exploring with Kirk and Spock, learning what was among the stars.

“Sulu, we still need to hold the hearing, whenever the good doctor says you're fit. However, from what we just heard, I would think you have nothing to worry about, and the helm will be waiting for you if you still want it.”

All eyes turned to Sulu, who smiled in return, but he wasn't given an opportunity to reply. Instead, McCoy stepped to the bed and started waving his arms at his superior officers as if they were birds on his tree.

“That's enough of that. He still needs rest and some treatment. If he listens to his doctor, I can throw him out of sickbay tomorrow.”

Sulu leaned back, hearing Kirk and Spock leave sickbay. They were returning to the bridge, and he knew in his heart he'd be following them there just as soon as possible.

Howard Weinstein's writing career now spans four decades. Fortunately, he started young (at age 19), with the sale of an episode, “The Pirates of Orion,” of the animated
Star Trek
series in 1974. Since then, his varied credits include six
Star Trek
novels; three
V
novels; sixty issues of the
Star Trek
comics for DC, Marvel, and Wildstorm Comics; and assorted other literary and nonfiction flotsam.

More recently, Howard's short story “Safe Harbors” appeared in the
Tales of the Dominion War
anthology in 2004. Marking
Star Trek
's fortieth anniversary in 2006, Howard is involved in three special projects: an essay in BenBella Books'
Boarding the Enterprise
on the meaning and legacy of
Star Trek;
“Official Record” in this anthology; and “The Blood-Dimmed Tide,” one of the stories in the
Mere Anarchy
e-book series.

Outside of
Star Trek,
his recent books include
Puppy Kisses Are Good for the Soul & Other Important Lessons You & Your Dog Can Teach Each Other,
an account of his fifteen-year relationship with his wonderful Welsh corgi, Mail Order Annie; and another true labor of love for this lifelong baseball fan, a biography of his childhood hero, New York Yankees star Mickey Mantle.

Howard's other main occupation these days is Day-One Dog Training. He calls himself a “doggie social worker” and enjoys using Annie's valuable lessons to help dogs and humans have the best possible life together.

Until a week ago, Ensign Pavel Chekov had been quite certain of his future. That is, until the explosion that was, indisputably, all his fault.

Now he was certain only of his past. And it sure as hell wasn't supposed to lead to
this.

From his first day of school, this only child had displayed an exceptional sense of purpose. While other children tended to skip from one dream to another as casually as they changed play clothes, Pavel had always impressed his teachers—and startled his parents—with an unswerving determination to serve on a starship and explore the cosmos.

Even as he grew up and his world widened, and opportunities and distractions multiplied, his course and confidence never wavered. While friends sweated out their university applications, Pavel never doubted he'd be accepted to Starfleet Academy. Once there, unfazed by homesickness and unbeguiled by San Francisco's myriad old-city charms, he'd led his peers in academic achievement and graduated at the top of his class.

Now, fresh out of the Academy, a baby-faced but uncommonly sober twenty-two, he was the newest and youngest crew member aboard the
U.S.S. Enterprise.
Living his dream…until a week ago.

Until the explosion.

All new crew members were required to serve duty rotations in all departments. There was no better process for rookies to learn their way around a vessel from stem to stern, to test their skills at varied tasks, to see firsthand how a starship and her crew relied upon crucial cooperation and communication for their success and very survival in the unforgiving environment of space. And this system gave commanding officers a chance to evaluate performance prior to making permanent assignments.

That's how Chekov, who already knew he wanted to pursue interests in navigation and science, ended up doing power-conduit and antimatter injector maintenance, on the night shift, in a cramped Jefferies tube, in the bowels of the
Enterprise.
And how he missed one little live circuit during a theoretically routine plasma purge.

Fortunately, Chekov's mistake caused no injury beyond his own mortification. And though the power disruption triggered a minor red-alert panic on three decks (not to mention a barrage of largely indecipherable maledictions from Chief Engineer Scott), the fire-suppression system worked perfectly, no bulkheads ruptured, and auxiliary power kicked in as designed. Yet the reprimand for what amounted to fatigue-induced carelessness still shook Chekov loose from his moorings for the first time in his entire life.

“It's just one black mark,” Sulu told him with a grin. “It had to happen sometime.”

“Why?” Chekov muttered. “Why did it have to happen
any
time? I'm not supposed to make mistakes the dumbest Academy washout would not make.”

Sulu peered over the rim of his steaming mug of tea, then took a deliberate sip. “Did you really expect to be perfect forever?”

“I had hopes, yes,” Chekov said, without a shred of irony or apparent awareness that Sulu was looking at him as if he were crazy.

“Well, in case you hadn't heard this before, nobody's perfect.”

Chekov had no answer beyond yet another in an unending series of soul-searching sighs. Other than his normal duty shifts, this venture to the mess deck with pals Sulu and Uhura was the first time he'd been out of his quarters since the explosion. And after a week of solitary stewing, his entire conversation revolved around increasingly melodramatic pronouncements of self-recrimination:

“It was all my fault.” And:

“It never should have happened.” And:

“I've never done anything so stupid in my entire life. Only an idiot could be so stupid.” And:

“The captain will
never
trust me again.” And:

“How long can I avoid Mr. Scott?” And:

“I've finally found out what I'm good at:
incompetence.
” And:

“The next mistake I make will probably destroy the entire ship.” And:

“This will haunt me for life.” And:

“My career is ruined. I should just quit Starfleet and work with something soft and noncombustible.”

Uhura reached across the table and patted Chekov on the cheek. “Poor kid.” Then she stood and picked up her tray. “Sorry, boys, but I have to go back on duty.”

They watched her leave, and Chekov sighed again. “You should probably go, too. You don't want to be associated with Starfleet's biggest loser. Besides, I have to finish my next groundbreaking assignment from Mr. Spock—preparing a briefing on this planet we're on approach to, Tenkara. Exciting, hnnh? That is why I worked my ass off at Starfleet Academy, so I could go into space and spend the rest of my life in front of a library computer, where I cannot do any damage worse than deleting a database.”

 

Captain Kirk strode into the briefing room. First Officer Spock was already seated at the conference table, while Dr. McCoy extracted a fresh mug of coffee from the food synthesizer slot. “Well, Jim?” the doctor said impatiently. “Did you decide?”

Kirk took his usual seat. “It was a bonehead screwup. I expect better out of kids with his Academy record.”

“Oh, and you never made any mistakes?” McCoy parried as he sat at the end of the table. “I happen to
know
—”

“We're not talking about me, Bones. You still think I was too harsh on him.”

“Nobody's perfect. Nobody got hurt. It could've been worse.”

“Tell that to Scotty.”

“Jim, the point is, this boy's really down on himself. Every time he's on duty, he's as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs. Now, I'm not sayin' you pat him on the head and say, ‘Good dog.'”

“Doctor,” Spock interrupted, “your metaphorical presentation loses cogency when you mix species.”

McCoy paused for a half second as he flashed a withering glance in Spock's direction. “All I'm sayin' is, if you think he's got any future at all in Starfleet, now's the time to get him out of this funk.”

Before Kirk could respond, the briefing room door opened and Chekov entered—and froze. Kirk felt a twinge of sympathy for his young officer, who'd been expecting to deliver his report to Spock for review and referral to the captain. Instead, Chekov found himself facing a roomful of senior officers. Kirk had a pretty good idea what Chekov must have been thinking at that moment:
Not only are my captain and first officer here to judge my competence, but the ship's CMO is here to judge my sanity, too.

And that, in fact, was correct. They were together to evaluate the young man, but there was something else brewing, about which Chekov had not a hint. No matter. Kirk waved him in. Chekov swallowed, and Kirk knew the kid's mouth must be feeling as dry as Vulcan. As Chekov edged into the seat across from Kirk and Spock, McCoy kindly slid a cup of water within his reach. Chekov took a careful sip.

“Ensign,” Spock prompted, “your report, please.”

Chekov slid the data card into the computer, started speaking from memory, and delivered a flawless recitation on Tenkara, complete with graph, chart, and photographic backup on the viewscreen. Tenkara was one of the few planets in its sector with abundant (though not easily extracted) natural resources, including some exceedingly rare and treasured dilithium deposits and a wide variety of minerals and ores needed by other inhabited worlds nearby. When the Tenkaran government initially asked for help developing those resources, the Federation saw an opportunity to build regional stability and block Klingon expansion, and provided civilian technical assistance to get Tenkara's backward mining industry up to modern standards.

After two years, some Tenkarans started to resent the presence of outsiders, and dissident native miners began sabotaging operations. The government begged for a low-profile, short-term Starfleet security presence, just to get things stabilized. Despite its reluctance to get drawn into civil conflicts, the Federation Council decided that Tenkara's strategic importance warranted a measured effort to get things under control—and to send a message to the Klingons.

That small Starfleet detachment had been on Tenkara for the past year, with limited success. But the diplomats and brass still believed the potential strategic benefits outweighed any misgivings and rumblings about corruption within the Tenkaran government. So the Starfleet force remained in place, trying to do the increasingly difficult and unpopular job of maintaining the planet's critical mining and processing operations while training the local military to take over all security tasks as expeditiously as possible.

Tenkara's development status corresponded roughly with that of mid-nineteenth-century Earth. And as with many less-developed planets that had been exposed to interaction with far more advanced civilizations, Tenkaran society was a potentially volatile mix of traditional tribal culture and modern technology—and weapons. In short, the government's uncertain claim to power and pursuit of stability depended on its capacity to project strength and authority sufficient to override age-old clan allegiances and hostilities. As a result, the government's desperate desire to avoid appearing dependent on the Federation led in turn to tight limits on Starfleet's presence there, in both size and scope of operations.

“Ensign,” Spock said, “do you agree with current Federation policy?”

The question plainly caught Chekov off guard. “Well, sir…” He licked his lips. “Benefits rarely come without risks. Given a period of some stability and prosperity, it's quite possible the Tenkarans who now oppose Federation involvement will end up appreciating their planet's enhanced position of importance in the sector, the advantages of economic development, and their eventual ability to run their own affairs. Logically speaking, that is.”

“Good lord,” McCoy snorted, “he hasn't even been on board for three months and he already sounds like Spock.”

“Ensign Chekov is merely making a rational evaluation,” Spock said.

“Is everybody forgetting? Without dilithium in the mix,” McCoy argued, “the Federation wouldn't be here, and neither would we.”

“Doctor,” Spock countered, “you fail to grasp the strategic logic of preventing Klingon incursion into a sector where no planet has the strength to resist them.”

“So
you
think it's logical for us to be galactic policemen!”

“Captain,” Chekov blurted, “the Tenkarans have managed to create a global council to manage interplanetary trade and resource wealth for the good of the entire planet. Such profit-sharing arrangements are rare in mistrustful tribal cultures, and do tend to promote unity.”

Kirk glanced pointedly from Spock to McCoy. “A salient point, Ensign. Thank you. So, it's ‘in for a penny, in for a pound.'”

“Which,” McCoy added, “is a good way to lose the penny
and
the pound.”

“The fact is,” Kirk said, “they do have dilithium…and we have our orders. If this goes well, then we build a region full of allies able to deter Klingon invasion—and they might even appreciate our effort.”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “Fat chance. No good deed goes unpunished.”

“All right, gentlemen,” Kirk said as he stood, “our mission to Tenkara is simple: deliver a shipment of medical supplies to the Starfleet outpost and a Tenkaran clinic in the capital. The government council has requested that we keep our visit as low-key as possible. To meet that request, the
Enterprise
will spend the next two days doing resource surveys of nearby solar systems. We'll be sending Dr. McCoy and these supplies via shuttlecraft. Mr. Chekov, you will be pilot and mission commander.”