Corona (16 page)

"Dr. McCoy."

The voice interrupted his reverie. He had been contemplating death—more death than he had ever before conceived of, the death perhaps of everything—on the bridge of the
Enterprise.
There had been a moment of disorientation, an unpleasant sensation of travel, and now—

He saw T'Kosa standing before him. "What in the name of—"

"Mason tells us you are the one to speak to."

McCoy glanced around. They stood outside the cold storage cylinder on the station. His amazement would have been comical to a human, but not to the Vulcan female. "About what?"

"Where the sleepers should be transformed."

"I … I don't understand."

"There is not much time. Corona's remaining time here is less than three minutes. The shuttle is destroyed, and the personnel cannot be quickly brought up to the ship by transporter. Only Corona can move them now." T'Kosa watched him closely, obviously interested in his reaction-time and flexibility. And McCoy—whatever the situation—was not about to let her find him inadequate.

"Of course," he said, pulling himself together. "Space has been cleared in the sickbay, battle casualties section. Each hibernaculum has a power hookup, and the … transform will have to be smooth enough so that there's no fluctuation in their temperature."

"Very well," T'Kosa said. "We will accompany them."

"No—wait!"

But it was too late. As far as McCoy was concerned, transforming was far worse than transporting. This time, he was fully aware every step of the way.

Chapel stood at one end of the battle casualty ward, mouth open. The medical slate dropped from her hand as, one by one, thirty hibernacula appeared in their assigned positions. Energy conduits whined at the increased power load. The sickbay lights dimmed briefly, then returned to normal.

In security, Olaus registered an invasion of the
Enterprise'
s hull by an extraordinary amount of mass—at least thirty metric tons.

In engineering, the assistant watch officer made note of an extra power load.

On the bridge, McCoy reappeared in his accustomed position behind the railing. Uhura witnessed his materialization, but was too stunned by the chain of events in the past few minutes to react. Then, beside him, Spock and four other Vulcans materialized, just as Kirk swiveled in the captain's chair.

"Bones—"

"Don't ask," McCoy said. "There isn't time. I have to get down to sickbay." He entered the elevator.

"Spock?"

"I am completely unaware of what has happened, Captain. Where is Mason?"

Kirk gaped. "How the hell should I know? And what in God's name is going on?"

Veblen finished his sensor sweep and turned to Kirk. "Captain, the local continuum has returned to normal. Ship's instruments are functioning properly."

"We're not dead," Sulu said, and that seemed to sum it all up very well.

All eyes were on Kirk when Mason materialized next to his chair. They stared at each other and Mason smiled—almost smugly.

"Corona suggests the
Enterprise
retreat to a distance of at least a billion kilometers," she said crisply. "Corona's presence in this nebula is waning, and it can no longer vouch for the stability of the machines in the research station."

"Helmsman—" Kirk began. "Course laid in," Sulu said. "Executing." The
Enterprise
's impulse engines cut in and vibrated every deck in the saucer with their sudden burst of power. The ship spiraled away from the planetoid, flattening the orbital curve to very nearly a straight line as Kirk ordered maximum acceleration.

Mason continued to stand near the captain's chair, but she was hardly aware of the activity. She was receiving the last of Corona's Ybakra signals.

Deep below the measures of status geometry, the subspace mass anomalies were separating and breaking up on several geodesics impossible for the human mind to visualize. The conditions which had allowed Corona to manifest in the nebula were now ending—perhaps not to be duplicated for billions of years. And Mason knew that even if the conditions did arise again, Corona would not return. Only at the very last—if all else failed, if all their descendants in the new universe of emptiness and free-traveling photons and matter could not halt entropy's triumph—only when there was nothingness and death and no freedom—

Only then would Corona return, to fulfill a promise made at the beginning of time.

One more favor,
she asked.

What might that be?
came the weakening response.

There is still a minor problem …
And she specified the problem.
Can you solve it?

The reply was almost too weak to make out, but she thought it was an affirmative. Then she said, "Good-bye," but no reply came. The contact had already been severed.

Spock stood next to Veblen, watching the sensors as the
Enterprise
sped away. "Captain, the planetoid is breaking up," he said. He switched on computer graphics to interpret what then occurred.

Mason watched the forward screen, feeling Corona's past within her, almost as real as her own. On a small scale, the screen showed what Corona had planned for an incomprehensibly larger region of space-time.

The planetoid slowly and smoothly turned inside out, revealing all of its amorphous interior as if through a distorting lens. Behind it, two elongated darknesses yawned, drawing the planetoid out into an ellipse, then a cylinder, flaring the ends, swallowing them … and stretching what remained into a fine thread, which vanished below the limits of resolution. For a half million kilometers around, the nebula's gases were sucked into the space-time chasm.

At the center of the invisible thread, a tiny and incomplete new universe blossomed. At first it was only a few centimeters in diameter, releasing very little light and appearing dull brown in color. Then, as all the matter within the half-million kilometer slice of the nebula rushed back into normal space, transformed into pure energy, the orb expanded and turned a mottled, brilliant orange. The orange became green, and the green became a blue so intense the sensors shut themselves down. The forward screen went black.

The brilliance faded quickly. The new universe was not stable, and all the potential within it could not compete with the established stresses of status geometry. Its energy was squandered. All that remained was a tiny sun, joining its slightly older companions, a weak and inconstant sibling.

It did not last long. By the time the
Enterprise
had reached its position of safety, the glow had vanished completely, and there was nothing to distinguish the Black Box Nebula from any of the other emission nebulas dotting the spiral arms of the Galaxy.

McCoy wasted no time thinking about what had just happened to him. He walked through the battle casualties section of the sickbay, medical tricorder in hand. The hibernacula were in place and the sleepers had not been damaged any further. Theoretically, their reconstruction could begin at any time. And yet after all that had happened, the medical monitors still blocked the way.

Chapel stood beside him when he was finished. "Mr. Spock is waiting in the computer control center," she said.

"I'm tired," he said abruptly, closing his eyes. "Is this any time to ask me to argue with a bunch of computerized ghosts?"

Chapel tried to appear sympathetic. "Mr. Spock—"

"Yes, yes, I know," McCoy grumbled. "Time's awastin'." He stood for a moment longer, his muscles aching with tension, peering down the two rows of hibernacula. "God knows why
any
of us is still alive."

In the computer control center, Spock waited by the monitors' console. Veblen sat nearby, hands folded tightly in his lap. Only because of Spock's assurances that they were not about to do anything illegal had Veblen given them access. Even so, the unorthodox approach bothered him. Like McCoy, the stress of the past few hours pierced his stomach and muscles like dull leaden needles.

The last thing he wanted was a fight over the monitors. He had come to hate them, both for their inadequacies and for the duties they forced upon him. Still, he would not relent.

McCoy sat down at the console. Spock called up the first of the experience memories within the medical monitors, and arranged for vocal communication. "Whom am I talking to?" McCoy asked him. "And is he or she alive or dead?"

"Dead now, I believe," Spock said. "You will speak to the memories of Commodore of the Medical Corps Elias R. Rostovtzev."

"Hell, Spock, he was my professor at Starfleet Medical Academy!"

"I realize that, Doctor. He is the only one you have had prior acquaintance with."

"He damned near flunked me."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I can call up another experience memory if you wish."

"No, no … he'll do. How much of a personality is left in there, Spock?"

"Only patterns, Doctor. For this function, the monitors provide basic reasoning and question-and-answer abilities. The Commodore is not alive in the system, if that is what you are asking." Still, Spock had his doubts that was a completely accurate assessment. Admiral Harauk had been rather more active in the system than he had expected—active, and independent.

"Okay. I'm ready."

There was nothing for McCoy to look at—only the console display, blanked for vocal communication.

Carrier frequency hiss filled the speakers, and a sensation of someone waiting … a definite and very spooky presence.

"Commodore Rostovtzev?"

"Yes." The voice was tinny but recognizable. "Who's speaking?"

"McCoy, Doctor Rostovtzev. Leonard McCoy."

"Lieutenant JG Leonard McCoy?"

"Lieutenant Commander now, Doctor. Medical officer of the U.S.S.
Enterprise.
"

"Why haven't you made commander, Leonard? Been slacking again?"

McCoy flushed. "No, sir. I'm not quite sure where to begin …"

"At the beginning, Leonard," the voice said patiently.

"There's a decision you'll be called upon to make—" McCoy began. Veblen rose from his seat to protest—this was coming much too close to tampering with the monitors—but Spock stopped him. Veblen sat down reluctantly, poised to interrupt.

"Yes. There are six of us here, Leonard, if I remember correctly. Not that any of us are actually here, you understand."

"It's rather a fine distinction, sir."

"Be that as it may. Continue."

"You're to administer laws regarding the TEREC system aboard the
Enterprise—
"

"Ah, yes," Rostovtze said. "The thirty sleepers subjected to Ybakra. I believe this problem has been presented to us already."

"Yes, sir. I was hoping to discuss the case with you in more detail."

"Why? The monitors have given their go-ahead. We won't stand in the way of reconstruction."

McCoy's and Veblen's jaws dropped simultaneously. "But sir—"

"Get busy, man! I'm—we're—very interested in the procedures. Surely you're anxious to proceed."

"Yes, sir!" He stood, glanced at Veblen and Spock, and shrugged. "I'll get right on it."

Veblen sat at the console as soon as McCoy was out of the room. He checked all program codes and safeguards. None had been tampered with. The monitors were intact. "Mr. Spock, this is impossible …"

"Clearly not, Mr. Veblen. It has happened." Spock left the control center. Veblen ran his checks several more times, without finding any hint of why the ruling had changed.

On his last sweep, however, he played back the laws governing the use of the TEREC. He specifically called up the law regarding resuscitation of inanimate beings, and set his search for embedded definitions of "inanimate."

The definition ran on for several paragraphs of text. As he read through the paragraphs, he sensed a subtle shift in tone, nothing he could quite pin down … until he scanned the last line. His eyes widened. It read:

"There shall not be any attempt to stand in the way of that which could further the cause of life, freedom or the war against entropy, no matter what laws may read, or duty may require." This was followed by an equation which had no place in medical definitions. He puzzled out the equation for several minutes, and then realized what it was.

The equation precisely described certain active states of fraction space radiation—Ybakra, to be precise.

It was a signature.

Veblen began to laugh, and then to cry, and laugh again, burying his head in his arms on the console keyboard.

The
Enterprise
began its return voyage, with two stops scheduled between the Black Box Nebula and Starbase 19.

First, they would return Mason to Yalbo. She was not particularly upset by the thought of becoming a small-planet girl once again. Because of what she now was—what she held within—wherever she spent her time would be an exotic place. Corona had provided her with an unfailing sense of the new and unexpected. The
Enterprise
would then make a long loop to the stellar system of Epsilon Eridani, where they would drop off the Vulcans of Station One on their home world.

Grake and T'Prylla received Spock in their quarters with old-family Vulcan ritual, offering him first a favorite aphorism engraved on an expended dilithium crystal, then a brief session of meditation, followed by a formal Vulcan supper. No apologies were offered for what had happened; obviously, none were necessary. They behaved as if the Black Box incident had been some far-off dramatic performance, fascinating and puzzling, but hardly worthy of recriminations. After the supper utensils had been cleansed by the entire group, Radak and T'Raus performed the honor of wiping their visitor's hands. T'Prylla then spoke. "Spock, there was mention of a change in the Science Academy. What sort of change?"

Spock returned his cleansed hands to the sleeves of his robe. "I believe there is interest in accepting your logical methods as alternative paths to the Way. Perhaps, in the past few days, we have seen the inadequacies of a too-rigid approach to the teachings of Surak. Only through the mind of a human did Corona begin to understand the inadvisability of its actions. How are we to understand this failure on our part?"

"If my alternatives had been of value, surely Corona would have realized error while occupying our minds. My family and colleagues are all well-versed in my methods."

"Then there is room for debate and progress all around." Spock bowed from his seated position as Anauk and T'Kosa entered.

"We have been aiding McCoy with the TEREC," T'Kosa said. "I must revise my estimates of human behavior. He seems to harbor no ill-will toward us."

"Humans, unlike Vulcans, are hardly predictable," Spock said. Among the Vulcans, this truism aroused the equivalent of a humored response; they lifted the last three fingers of their left hands in appreciation.

Mason revealed what she could about her role in the affair before Spock, Kirk and McCoy in a senior officer's closed-door meeting in Kirk's quarters. When Spock questioned her about Corona, she replied, quite truthfully, "I know very little about it … not much more than you left in my mind, Mr. Spock." But she was learning every day. "I do know that the medical monitors have been tampered with. I requested it, and I will take responsibility."

"You … requested it?" Kirk asked.

"Yes. If you military types can't get your act together, then it's up to us civilians to help you out." Kirk was about to protest when he saw the twinkle in her eye—and that now-common touch-of-smugness grin.

She did not reveal any more than she had to about Corona. That was a private thing, and if someday it had to be made public—as she acknowledged it almost certainly would—well, she would be better prepared, more mature. Less bigoted. Corona was her ticket to inner peace.

Spock—who probably knew there was much she wasn't saying—did not press her, and she was grateful.

The next morning, another meeting was held—more formal and more somber—in the main conference room.

"Gentlemen, this inquiry is hereby called to order. Captain James T. Kirk presiding." Kirk banged the ceremonial gavel, feeling slightly grand and very foolish as he always did in such circumstances. "Our duty is to judge the efficacy of the monitors aboard the
Enterprise,
especially in relation to our recent mission. Dr. McCoy, I believe you have an opening comment to make."

McCoy stood and glanced around the table at Kirk, Spock, Scott, Veblen, Olaus and Mason. Mason's replacement recorder floated near her shoulder. "I'm not much of a legal wizard," he admitted. "I don't know how we will overcome further difficulties with the medical monitors." He glanced at Mason, then at Veblen.

Veblen said nothing.

"I'm just grateful we've solved our present problems. The reconstruction is well under way, and in four days we'll have the first two healthy and in need of temporary living quarters. Mr. Veblen, however good an idea the medical monitors were in Federation chambers, out here, they don't work. The
Enterprise
was sent on this mission specifically because we had the new equipment, but our mission came very close to being hamstrung from the beginning. Too close. I dislike relying on miracles."

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy. Mr. Spock, your analysis of the monitors' role in the Corona incident?"

"Captain." Spock stood, looking at nobody in particular. "The command monitors backed up your decisions until the very last moment, when they decided you were not acting quickly enough to stop the threat. On examining the monitors' internal records, Mr. Veblen and I have found that all six of the experience-memories of Starfleet command-rank officers agreed unanimously that you did not act soon enough. Yet the outcome may not have been affected by the monitors' takeover—indicating your judgment may not have been faulty. Further analysis is necessary."

Spock sat down and Kirk nodded at Veblen. The computer officer stood, his eyes meeting Mason's on the other side of the table. "The monitors functioned exactly as intended. In that sense, they are successes. However …" He pulled a datapack from his belt. "I believe the monitors have some severe drawbacks, not the least of them being … they can be tampered with. That is, they can be affected by … quantum instabilities. The medical monitors have clearly been shown to be inadequate. I sympathize with Dr. McCoy's frustration. I believe we will have no difficulty convincing the Federation that certain strictures should be lifted, and certain advancements in medical science be taken into account." He glanced at Mason as if looking for an explanation. She returned his look with a pleasant smile.

"With regard to the command monitors … Personally, I believe Captain Kirk should not have been overridden, that he was conducting himself in the best manner possible, and that his action, or inaction, did not jeapordize the
Enterprise,
the mission or …" He had almost said "the universe," but that sounded comically grandiose. "Or anything else. I will recommend adjustments in the command monitors as well."

There was no further testimony. Kirk adjourned the meeting, and after the room was cleared, walked alone to his quarters. Halfway there, he was hailed by Mason. "May I speak with you, Captain?"

"Certainly."

She walked abreast of him, looking down at the deck. "What do you think of the monitors, Captain? Personally, I mean."

"Finishing your story?"

"I don't know," Mason said. "Perhaps. I don't feel much like a reporter now. I don't know what I am, exactly. I've … become very involved in the story. I'm no longer objective."

They arrived at the door to his quarters. "Personally, I'll tell you. But only off the record."

"All right."

"Off the record," he reiterated, "I think the monitors were correct. I have a hunch that firing at the station gave us a few extra seconds, maybe minutes. I don't know how, but that's what I feel. I hesitated, because I was concerned about Spock, the Vulcans, you … I was too concerned." He opened the door and stepped inside.

"Will you request that the monitors be removed?" Mason asked.

He shrugged. "You know, there's another aspect …"

"Still off the record?"

"Yes. If the monitors hadn't been there—if I hadn't sensed they would take over, and remove the responsibility from my shoulders—would I have fired on the station?"

"Would you have?"

"I don't know. It's a question I'll have to live with."

He shut the door and went to his desk to make an entry in his personal log, but it was several hours before he could bring himself to begin.

Mason joined Veblen in the officer's lounge. "Share a table with me?" Veblen asked. She agreed and they picked up their trays of food from the autochef.

"I suppose you know what the ship's scuttlebutt is," Veblen said. "Word's gotten around about your debriefing."

"I wasn't the only one. I wasn't even the only human. There was Chekov, Spock and the six Vulcans from the station."

"But you were the only one who could testify about Corona's motivation. That's the scuttlebutt, anyway. Is it true?"

She shook her head in dismay. "I'm supposed to be a reporter. I'm not supposed to be the center of a story."

Veblen urged her to continue. When she refused, he reminded her of an earlier conversation. "As one outcast to another," he said. "How do you know about Corona's motivations?"

"You're so very curious," Mason responded. Her grin was thoroughly wicked.

"I have my reasons," Veblen said. "I thought you might be able to clear up some mysteries."

"Why don't you ask Corona yourself? Through me, if you believe that's possible."

"You mean …"

"Eat your lunch. We've all got problems."

In the next sleep period, in Uhura's quarters, she listened to the communications officer singing old African lullabies. There was a song about children harnessing the clouds of a very old mountain, and riding them from sleep to dawn.

Within Mason, there was a reaction not entirely her own … a feeling of the deepest pleasure, and nostalgia.

It did not alarm her. It was, in fact, something of a comfort.

"You know," she said when the song was over, "that Mr. Spock is quite a fellow …"

Uhura laughed and reached out for Mason's hand. "That a girl," she said, squeezing her fingers.

Captain's Log,
Stardate 4997.54.

While I wrestle with some very troubling thoughts, I look back over what's happened … and a sensation of the deepest astonishment overcomes me.

My crew, myself—we're all fallible, capable of many different kinds of failure. The Vulcans are … I was about to say "only human," but I mean in the sense they, too, are limited. Now I look back over Mason's confidential testimony … and though I suspect she has hardly told us everything, I marvel.

What other group of human beings has ever experienced a life as broad, as surprising, as full as the crew of this ship? We have seen things, been places, accomplished missions almost beyond imagining … at least for a staid, romantic fellow like myself.

Sometimes, however, I think I would have been just as content to pilot some system craft between planets. At least then, I wouldn't have to live with this ache, this fear that I am not fitted for my task … that if I had been left to my own devices, perhaps the Galaxy … the universe! Dear God … would no longer exist. Can anyone face such a test, such a judgment?

What an incredibly strange universe this is, that a cry from its very infancy can echo across all eternity … and pose such challenges for me, for us all.