UHURA SURVEYED THE bridge from her seat in the captain's command chair—her chair, for now. She carefully told herself that she wasn't really nervous and that her symptoms (slight nausea, rapid respiration, a bit of a headache and an acute case of the clammy palm) were simply the result of a slight rise in her adrenaline level. Perfectly natural, of course.
But she felt good, for all that.
Well, I just don't believe it, she said to herself for the fourth time. Here I am in the big chair at last.
Uhura liked the idea of being in that chair. Sometimes it seemed to her that everyone, including the ship's third-class spittoon polisher, had taken the conn for Captain Kirk at one time or another—everyone, that is, except Uhura. The problem was, quite simply, that Uhura didn't have much in the way of rank or seniority, although she was in the line of command, albeit somewhere very near the bottom. The conn usually went to the most senior bridge officer able to take it.
But this time Uhura had won the roll of the dice. Kirk and Spock, along with Sulu, Chekov and several other personnel, were about to head for the surface of Centaurus. Mr. Scott was considered "bridge personnel" and would be remaining aboard, but he'd been busy outfitting the shuttles for the trip to the surface; now he was even busier, working with Chief MacPherson to re-repair the ship's subsystems, further damaged by the close-aboard nuclear blast. Dr. McCoy was neither a bridge officer nor in the line of command. Kirk could have called an off-watch officer to duty and given him or her the conn, but he had given it to Uhura without hesitation.
"I apologize for the circumstances, Uhura," Kirk had told her. "It's a bad time for a first watch, but this is a job I know you can do. I have only one order: If this ship comes under attack, try to intercept the incoming missile—but if you have to, then get my ship the hell out of here! We'll take care of ourselves; you take care of the Enterprise. Your seat, Lieutenant." Kirk had smiled and gestured at his command chair, and Uhura had sat in it.
Now what am I going to do? She pondered that for a moment. Hmm … I could try giving an order or something . . . .
Uhura addressed the relief navigator, a young ensign with the unlikely name of Diana Octavia Siobhan "Dossie" Flores. She was doing double-duty as navigator and helmsman. "Sensor readings, Ensign?"
"All clear, ma'am."
That went well, Uhura thought with satisfaction.
She looked down and consulted the digital chronograph on the arm of the command chair. The captain and Mr. Spock and the others should be leaving about now, Uhura thought. If the captain's plan doesn't work … no, I don't want to think about it. It will work.
Uhura looked around the bridge. The science officer's station was not being manned in Spock's absence. A big, ugly metal box with lights and dials on it had been mounted smack in the middle of the communications station's desktop. With Uhura in command, communications had been taken over by her most able backup, Lieutenant Sergei Dominico. Uhura watched Dominico twiddle switches and frequency scanners in his seemingly ceaseless—and entirely useless—efforts to pick up a subspace signal from Centaurus.
Uhura noticed that Chief MacPherson was still one-handedly manipulating the controls on his engineer's panel; his other beefy hand was holding a communicator open on a direct two-way feed to Scotty, who himself was lurking somewhere in the more mysterious parts of the ship.
What should I do now? Uhura thought. It'll look silly if I ask about the sensors again. What would the captain do? Oh, I know . . . She looked at the controls under her right hand. Well? Where is it? I've seen him do it ten thousand times, but I've never seen just how he does it! Think, you! Oh, dear, this could be embarrassing . . . .
Then Uhura remembered. Oh, yes. Turn this dial here, to cut out incoming pages and calls—even though all the lines are down and I won't be getting any. Then I hit this button right here and just talk . . .
Captain's log, stardate 7514.1. This is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, in temporary command of the—oh, strike that. Uh, this is Lieutenant Nyota Uhura, communications officer, recording:
We are maintaining standard orbit around Centaurus. Mr. Scott and Chief MacPherson continue their repairs of, uh, basic systems aboard the ship. A fresh sensor scan shows nothing threatening us. Er . . . oh, yes. We've had no further word from the Centaurian capital of Mclverton—or anywhere else on Centaurus—since the captain's conversation with President Erikkson and the two ministers at stardate 7514.0. As the captain ordered before he left the bridge, we will be keeping a close watch for incoming missile fire from the planet's defense system.
Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock are to leave momentarily for Centaurus in separate shuttlecraft. Mr. Sulu will accompany the captain as pilot. Mr. Spock will be going with Ensign Chekov as pilot, two computer technicians selected by Mr. Spock to work with him on the repair job at the Defense Center, and Nurse Constance Iziharry. Iziharry was selected by Dr. McCoy because of her expertise in radiation work; Mr. Spock expects her medical skills may be needed. Chekov's skill as a pilot certainly will be.
Mr. Scott and his people have completed installation of three—how can I describe them?—shortwave radio transceiver sets, specs for which Mr. Scott dug out of one of his old books. Fortunately, Mr. Scott has some of the captain's taste for printed literature and is not totally dependent on the ship's computers for research material. A transceiver has been installed at my bridge station; others have been bolted into the two shuttlecraft. Unfortunately, no one had time to adapt the centuries-old design of the transceivers to come up with something portable—the sets are very big and heavy—so hand-held communicators won't be available to our landing parties for ground-to-space traffic. The landing parties will only be able to talk to us from the shuttles. They can talk to each other on their regular hand-held communicators, though, as long as the range isn't very great—a few meters, no more. For the record, tachyonic interference from Centaurus has not abated. No normal wavelength can get through that wall of static—
There was a familiar squeak behind Uhura, and then came a gravelly voice: "Well, Uhura! Glad to see you've finally made the big time."
Uhura put the log on standby and swung the command chair to face the open turbolift doors. In the 'lift stood Dr. McCoy and Lt. Siderakis. Uhura smiled widely. "Welcome to both of you," she said warmly as the two men walked onto the bridge. "Peter, are you feeling better?"
Siderakis nodded. "Reporting for duty, ma'am, if that's all right."
"I guarantee him, Uhura," McCoy affirmed. "In fact, I guarantee the both of us. I think we're both sick of skulking around—me in Sickbay and Peter in his quarters—so we've decided to come out for some fresh, recirculated air."
"Fine, Doctor," Uhura said. "Lieutenant, I think Ensign Flores is more than ready to give up the helm."
Dossie Flores grinned. "I'll say! Welcome back, Peter."
"Hello, Dossie. Thanks," Siderakis said quietly, sliding into his seat. "What's the situation?"
"Holding steady in standard orbit. Defensive posture: Shields up full, emergency overload capability activated. Keep an eye out for incoming fire. Our position is almost directly above McIverton, a city on the west coast of the northern continent—"
"I know where McIverton is," Siderakis said brusquely. His tone reminded Flores that he was a native of Centaurus; it also made McCoy, standing behind Siderakis, look at him with ill-disguised concern.
"Oh," Flores said after an awkward silence. "Sorry, Peter. Well, anyway, that's our position. Uh, I'm unslaving your board from mine in three … two … one … mark."
"Got it, Dossie. And I'm sorry; I shouldn't have been abrupt."
Flores smiled. "Forget about it, Pete." They both set about doing their jobs. Behind them, McCoy relaxed.
Uhura turned to the doctor and spoke to him quietly amid the murmur of the small sounds on the bridge. "How are you, Doctor?"
McCoy gave a small, wan smile; he looked tired. "As well as can be expected. Talking with Pete helped him a lot; I know it helped me. We've both got people in New Athens."
"I know, Doctor," Uhura said. Her eyes were warm and sympathetic.
McCoy sighed. "The worst thing is not knowing about Joanna, Uhura. I wish I'd managed to see Jim and Spock before they went to the hangar deck."
"Don't worry, Doctor. They understand, and I've been up here all the while with the captain. He wants to know about … things … as badly as you do. He'll check himself, or Spock will. I'm sure of it."
McCoy nodded slowly. "I have to get in touch with my sister and her husband, too," he said. "They're probably as worried as I am. When Joanna started med school about a year ago, they retired down south and sold the house. A good thing they did; they used to live about six kilometers from the spaceport, in a park there. It was a pretty place. Jim stayed there once or twice." He looked at the main screen: Yes, it was a pretty planet down there, a brilliant blue. "You can't see New Athens from here, I guess."
"No, sir. It's slightly below the horizon. We're in standard orbit, of course; New Athens will be out of sight as long as we remain above McIverton."
"I guess I prefer it that way," McCoy said.
The shuttlecraft Columbus and Galileo stood on the Enterprise's cavernous hangar deck loaded, fueled, and ready to lift. The seven who would crew them gathered for a final briefing by Captain Kirk. All hands were wearing pressure suits, as ordered. Ve look like actors in wery bad old-time space-fiction motion picture, Chekov thought. He was irritable; his injured eye was still hurting a little.
Kirk was speaking to the others over a communicator built into his suit's helmet. At this close range—less than two meters in this small group—there was no noticeable interference from the Centaurian tachyonic blanket. "A few last words before we depart, ladies and gentlemen. Messrs. Sulu and Chekov know their departure pattern. We will strap in and remain strapped in until I and Mr. Spock give the word to unstrap; maneuvers are likely to be abrupt, and shuttles don't have inertial dampeners. These craft can't take much punishment, and I want no decompression injuries in case of a near-miss by the defense system down there. The suits will keep air coming to you even if your shuttlecraft is hulled. Mr. Spock, since you'll be in New Athens, your group will have to wear the suits on the surface as well. You'll be in the fallout footprint from the spaceport blast."
"Yes, Captain," Spock said. Chekov groaned inwardly, and then checked himself as he realized that spending a few uncomfortable hours in a pressure suit was preferable to spending several evil weeks recovering from radiation sickness … or dying of it more quickly.
"All right," Kirk said. "To continue: I expect we'll have no trouble from the defense system once we're twenty thousand meters or so from the surface. The system's computers have not been attacking Centaurian air traffic, almost all of which operates below that altitude. So we'll get down to that level fast and adopt a standard aircraft flying pattern." Kirk paused and changed the subject. "We'll coordinate via communicator until the subspace interference from below swamps us; then we'll switch to radio. Spock and I will act as communications officers. I believe that's it; any questions?"
There were none. "Very well. Good luck and happy landings. Mr. Sulu? Let's get aboard." Kirk gestured, and the group split up. The captain and Sulu headed for Galileo; Spock and his party were already climbing aboard the nearer Columbus, even as the landing deck's sirens rang out with the compelling signal to board ship.
Seated and strapped in—the newly installed seat belts courtesy of Montgomery Scott—Sulu and Kirk ran a final check of Galileo's instruments. All indicators were green; the little ship was warmed up, ready and eager to fly; Scotty had done his usual thorough job in the pre-check. "Everything all right on your end, Sulu?" Kirk said into his suit communicator.
"Ready to go, Captain. All lights green; cabin pressure normal. Manual launch in one minute … mark."
"Fine." Kirk changed frequencies. "Galileo to Columbus. Mr. Spock, communications check; how do you read?"
"I read you five-by-five, Captain. Fifty seconds and counting. Mr. Chekov reports our board is green and all systems are nominal. We are ready."
"Read you five-by-five. We're go for a launch. Galileo out." Kirk clicked over to a third setting. "Galileo to bridge. Lieutenant Uhura, do you read?"
"Perfectly, Captain. Godspeed, sir."
"Thank you, Uhura. Take care of my ship. Kirk out." Kirk clicked to the farthest-right setting. "Galileo to hangar deck duty officer. Begin launch sequence; it's time we left."
"Aye, aye, Captain. Air pumps working; full vacuum on deck in thirty seconds. Safe trip, sir."
"Thank you. Out."
Kirk clicked back to talk with Sulu. "You read about things like this in the archives, back in pretransporter days."
"Yes," Sulu mused. "In those days the chief helmsman always piloted the captain's shuttle to the surface for first contact. They used up a lot of helmsmen that way."
"Not to mention captains."
Sulu grinned widely enough for Kirk to see it through the helmsman's heavily laminated faceplate. "I think the last such significant first contact was with Vulcan. Everything went well until Captain Harrison tried to shake hands with the head of the Vulcan Council. The Vulcans thought Harrison was attacking him."
"And old Harrison wasn't very good at splitting his fingers in the Salute," Kirk said. He laughed. "We should all be glad Harrison didn't try to kiss the Chief Councillor's wife."
A tinny voice overrode Kirk and Sulu's communicator frequency. "Vacuum on deck complete; doors opening. Departure sequence starts."
"It's show time, Mr. Sulu. Raise ship."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
The whine of Galileo's impulse engines rose as the small, boxy craft lifted a meter off the hangar deck and hovered. Kirk switched his copilot's monitor to give a view to starboard. He saw that Columbus had also lifted and was ready for departure; she was hovering five meters to Galileo's starboard side.
Kirk looked out the forward ports and saw the huge doors of the hangar deck begin to iris open. He could see a wealth of stars in cold black velvet above the blue arc of Centaurus below. It's live, Kirk thought. I usually get to see this in a viewscreen, but it's never quite as good as the real, naked-eye thing. This is magnificent! I made starfaring my career for a lot of reasons; this was a big one. Just to go and see, that's all. That's all I ever really wanted. My brother and I never went more than fifty klicks from home until we were teenagers. Then I joined Starfleet, like Dad, and I never looked back; Sam, rest his soul, chose colonial life and never looked back either. The Kirks have always been wanderers; I think Mom knew that and understood it, just as she understood it when Dad volunteered for duty on Hellspawn . . . and died there.
"Five seconds to departure, Captain."
The hangar deck doors had disappeared, folded into the hull of the Enterprise. The hangar deck was in hard vacuum, and nothing but naked space lay beyond. Kirk felt a stirring of the old exuberant excitement. Let's hurry up and get the hell going!
Kirk switched over to the third frequency. "Hangar deck duty officer, this is Galileo. Requesting permission to depart."
"Permission granted, Captain; go well. Duty officer out."
Kirk clicked his transmit/receive switch twice—a communications officer's shorthand for "thank you"—and clicked over to Sulu. "We're clear, pilot. Take her out."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
Kirk switched over. "Columbus, we are leaving. Stay close, Mr. Chekov."
"Aye, Captain. Ve guarantee ve vill not bump you on the vay down."
Together, slowly, the two shuttlecraft each rose a little higher and moved toward the hangar port.
"Rear view, please, helmsman," Uhura said.
"Aye, aye, ma'am," Siderakis responded as he pushed a button. The familiar forward scene on the bridge's main screen swam for a moment and then steadied into a similar sternward view—the stars resting timelessly above the planet—except that now two small squarish craft were moving closely together into sight. Each presented its keel to the other, and they were not more than three meters apart. "That's Galileo to port, ma'am," Siderakis said. "Good departure pattern."
"Sulu and Chekov are a couple of our best," Uhura said. "Angle the view down, please, helmsman; I want to keep visual track of them for as long as we can." The view changed again; now they were looking downward toward the departing shuttles and fully against the glare of Centaurus; Uhura was forced to squint. "Tickle that down, please, Peter," she said, and the stark brightness of the scene faded to a tolerable level. "Dossie, what do the sensors say?"
"Nothing yet, Lieutenant," the navigator responded. "Everything's clear. I've plotted the five most likely paths of attack between the shuttles and the ground, and there's nothing there yet, either." McCoy, still standing next to the command chair, slipped a hand secretively behind his back and crossed his fingers; Sergei Dominico, sitting at the communications station, saw McCoy do it but pretended not to notice.
* * *
Kirk noticed some interference in Galileo's sensor readouts—some reception modes depended on the frequencies most affected by the tachyonic fallout blanket surrounding Centaurus—but satisfied himself that enough signal was getting through on other wavelengths to allow a safe approach. He could no longer see Columbus on his monitor, because Galileo's outboard camera system did not allow a view directly "down"—that is, in the direction of the keel. "Sky is still clear, Sulu," Kirk told his pilot.
"Hope it stays that way, Captain," Sulu said. "Uh, we're maintaining a distance of two point seven meters from Columbus. Speeds are matched, courses are parallel. Chekov is hanging on out there like he was bolted on. We're right on track."
"Very good." Kirk switched the vidmonitor for a departure angle. It had been quite a while—a year, anyway—since Kirk had eyeballed his ship close-up from the outside; he rarely went on shuttle rides. He saw the stern of the Enterprise, lit brilliantly by the two suns that mattered to Centaurus. From here the starship's long and graceful warp nacelles, starkly white and almost glowing, appeared splayed against the ultimate blackness of space.
Somewhere in the middle of the stern, Kirk could see an even brighter gleam of light, which shrank to nothing even as he watched. That would be the hangar deck, as its giant doors closed again, sealing that most vulnerable part of the ship from the hostile vacuum. The Enterprise herself was rapidly growing smaller and smaller as the shuttles accelerated. Kirk felt a bit lost without his ship around him.
"Distance from Enterprise nearly one hundred kilometers, Captain," Sulu said. "We'll begin descent in tandem with Columbus according to flight plan—now."
Sulu smoothly sent Galileo into a shallow, precise descent while keeping an eye on his proximity readouts with Columbus. Kirk saw them, too, and noted that Chekov and Sulu were maintaining no more than three meters' distance between them. This is one masterpiece of piloting, gentlemen, Kirk thought. If we pull this off, I'll be more than happy to process the commendations . . . .
As Galileo's angle of approach changed, Kirk saw the star-speckled blackness of space supplanted by the glowing blueness of Centaurus; they were headed directly for the surface now, at a speed well within the shuttles' re-entry tolerances. That thought reminded Kirk of another Galileo, the predecessor shuttle to the one he was now in. The first Galileo had been lost in a burnup over Taurus during a mission commanded by Spock; those aboard had been saved at the last moment by what had been some of Scotty's quickest and most deft transporter work ever.
One thing I don't like about pressure suits, Kirk said to himself, is that your breath is too loud in your ears. It's like living in a giant nostril.
His thoughts were interrupted by an indicator light on his copilot's panel. "Sulu, I have a launch indication from the surface," Kirk said calmly. "Data reading in now."
"Damn!" Sulu said. "The defense system's still watching us, after all."
"So now we know." Kirk clicked over to the ship-to-ship communicator frequency; there was now a roar of heavy static, caused by the rising tachyonic interference from below. "Spock, did you get that?"
"Affirmative, Captain. It seems to be a single missile launch from a silo located not far from the Defense Center site itself. Since we are headed generally down toward New Athens, I infer the computer is attempting a quick, direct response to our supposed 'attack,' but it is trying nothing more than a simple interception. I would have expected more … finesse … from an undamaged computer system of this advanced type."
"I understand, Spock; I hope you continue to be as correct as you have been. Chekov, stand by for Operation Razzle-Dazzle."
"Standing by, Captain."
Kirk clicked over to the fourth communicator frequency, but found he could not raise the Enterprise; the tachyonic interference was now overwhelming. He switched on the cobbled-together shortwave transceiver. "Kirk, aboard Galileo, to Enterprise. Come in, Enterprise."
"Uhura here, Captain. We've seen the launch and are tracking. Phasers ready." Uhura's voice was clear and sharp; Scotty and his people had done a superlative job on short notice.
"Very good, Lieutenant. Kirk out." He looked again at his status board and saw that the incoming missile was quickly gaining speed as it rose into the Centaurian sky. Kirk carefully consulted his board; he could see no evidence of a second launch. Good, he thought. The defense system thinks both shuttles are a single spacecraft, because we're flying so close together—and Spock is still right; the defense system's apparently lost its capacity for follow-up attacks. Just as it never hit the ship again, it's not ready to fire on us a second time if this first missile doesn't do the job. There's no backup missile in place, hanging back to 'see' what happens. Advantage, us.
Kirk clicked back to the first frequency setting. "Altitude now fifty kilometers above the surface, Sulu," he reported. "Missile altitude ten point seven kilometers. Steady track."
"Good enough," Sulu said. "Interception time?"
"Assuming the track remains steady, fifty-eight seconds."
"It'll stay steady—I hope," Sulu said.
"I'm pretty much depending on that myself," Kirk returned. "Fifty seconds."
Kirk heard a signal in his ear and switched the radio to the intership frequency setting. "Captain, this is Spock. Mr. Chekov informs me he is ready to commence Operation Razzle-Dazzle whenever he should get the word."
"Very well, Mr. Spock. Good luck."
There was a pause. "All luck to you and Mr. Sulu, Captain. Spock out."
Kirk consulted his board's chronometer. "Twenty seconds to interception, Sulu." Galileo, like Columbus, was flying with her nose pitched down toward the planet below; peering out the forward window, Kirk could see a very small, but very bright, point of light against the swirling white clouds of the planet. Is that the son of a bitch? he wondered, looking at the tiny pinpoint of fire. "Fifteen seconds, Sulu."
Sulu grunted acknowledgment. "Captain, please tell Columbus to stand by; I'm not going to give much notice. This is seat-of-the-pants stuff."
"Right." Kirk radioed the other shuttle. "Columbus, stand by to commence Operation Razzle-Dazzle on my signal. Acknowledge, please."
"Acknowledged," Spock said amid loud static.
"Ten seconds," Kirk told Sulu. He could see the helmsman nod quickly. Kirk counted down to himself: Nine . . . eight . . . seven … six . . .
"Now!" Sulu shouted, and bore down hard on the shuttle's joystick as Kirk shouted "Now, Chekov!" into the radio. The shuttle strained with the abrupt change of velocity; Kirk and Sulu found themselves struggling to retain their seats, even belted in.
Kirk watched Sulu's board; Columbus was pulling away in much the same maneuver at rapid speed, plunging outward and downward. He noted with great satisfaction that both shuttles were now—just barely—out of the circle of destruction of any expectable nuclear explosion taking place at the interception point.
Three … two … one … zero.
Nothing happened. Kirk consulted his board quickly. The missile was still heading up and was now well above its expected detonation point. What the hell is going on—my God, it's changing course! But not toward us . . .
The shortwave unit buzzed for attention; Kirk activated it. "Captain, this is Spock. The missile is now on a direct interception course for the ship. I assume this is a 'smart' missile, and it selected an alternative target upon our 'disappearance' from its sensors. We have apparently provoked the defense system into rediscovering the ship's presence. Estimated interception time is sixty-eight seconds."
Uhura watched the abstract display on the main viewscreen. The two shuttles were small orange dots against the green map of the planet below; the missile was a pulsing red triangle heading directly for the white sphere that represented the Enterprise. A digital chronometer in the lower right corner of the screen was counting down the number of seconds to estimated interception time: 0067 … 0066 … 0065 … 0064 …
"Phasers locked on target," Dossie Flores reported. "We're ready to go, Lieutenant."
"Let's let it get a little closer," Uhura said. "Helm, are you ready?"
Siderakis nodded. "If Dossie misses, I'll pull us out of here so fast we'll leave a hole in the sky. Impulse engines are at forty-two percent capacity."
Dominico, at the communications station, said, "Captain Kirk is standing by on the shortwave."
"Does he want to talk to me?" Uhura asked.
"He says both Galileo and Columbus have reached safe altitude, and each is proceeding to its destination. No further missile launches detected. Other than telling you that, he said not to bother you. He'll stand by."
"Thank him, then, and tell him we're fine." I'm glad he's there, Uhura thought as she watched the chronometer pass 0050. Maybe he knows I need him there.
At 0045 Uhura said, "All right, Dossie. Prepare to fire; this is one that doesn't get through!"
"Yes, ma'am!"
0042 … 0041 …0040.
"Fire phasers!" Uhura ordered, and Dossie Flores crunched a button. The display showed a line of intense blue leaping between the Enterprise and the red triangle that represented the missile …
… and the triangle blinked three times and disappeared.
"Target destroyed, Lieutenant," Flores said. "Not bad for a minor leaguer, eh?" She gripped her hands above her head in a gesture of victory.
Uhura grinned. "Good work, everybody. Sergei, message to Galileo: 'Target destroyed. We are maintaining orbital position and speed. All is well. Uhura out.'"
And Uhura settled back in her command chair with a satisfied sigh.