Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

Twenty-three

2270

A bowl of hot chicken soup and a cup of coffee appeared on a tray in the food slot. Shaun sampled the soup, which was just the way he liked it, not too salty. He had to admit that the food service aboard the Enterprise definitely beat the prepackaged NASA cuisine back on his old ship. So far, the starship’s galley had been able to produce almost every form of comfort food he had asked for, from root beer floats to sushi. There even appeared to be some exotic alien dishes on the menu.

Okay, he conceded. I could get used to this.

He started to carry the tray over to a waiting desk, despite the turbulence shaking the ship. It felt as if the Enterprise was in the middle of an outer-space hurricane — or a battle? A red alert light flashed above the locked doorway, and Shaun wished he knew what was going on. He gathered from what he had overheard before that the ship had been taking on refugees. But refugees from what?

The unsteady floor made it hard to keep his balance. Hot soup sloshed over the lip of the bowl, scalding his fingers. “Crap!” Shaun swore.

Maybe I should have ordered pizza instead.

A warning siren blared, and he almost jumped out of his (Kirk’s) skin. An urgent voice came over the intercom system.

“All hands and passengers! Brace for impact!”

Although well intentioned, the warning came too late. A deafening jolt flipped the ship over on its axis, too fast for its internal gyros or whatever to compensate. Shaun was thrown across the room into the ceiling. The food tray flew from his fingers. The cup, bowl, and cutlery clattered loudly. Soup and coffee splashed against the walls and ceiling.

“What the—?”

The ship completed a full rotation, righting itself. Shaun landed hard on the floor, only a yard away from his bed. Stunned, he scrambled to his feet and glanced around. Years of NASA training kicked in as he hurriedly attempted to assess the situation.

Whatever had just hit the Enterprise had done a real number on the ship. The overhead lights flickered and went out, momentarily stranding him in darkness, before the emergency lights came on. Klaxons blared outside sickbay. Sparks erupted from the diagnostic screen above the bed, forcing him to throw up his arm to protect his eyes. Charred fragments rained onto the bed. The acrid smell of smoke and burning circuitry contaminated the air. Even the artificial gravity wobbled, causing his stomach to turn over queasily. The possibility of a hull breach — every astronaut’s worst nightmare — forced its way into his brain, but there was no evidence of explosive decompression. If a breach had occurred elsewhere on the ship, perhaps it had already been sealed off. He had to assume that the Enterprise had the capacity to isolate any compromised sections of the ship. It would be insane to build any sort of spacecraft that couldn’t.

They surely have their safety procedures, backups, and fail-safes, he reminded himself. I have to assume that they’re prepared to handle any emergency.

But that didn’t make being in the dark any easier.

A wet noodle dropped onto his sleeve. He looked up to see spilled soup and coffee dripping from the ceiling. He stepped out of the way, only to see the drops stop falling. Glistening round globules began to float above his head. His stomach flipped over again. Loose pillows, silverware, notepads, noodles, and bite-sized morsels of chicken floated freely through the room. His feet lost their grip on the floor.

So much for the artificial gravity.

All of a sudden, he felt as if he was back on the Lewis & Clark, but that wasn’t even the most interesting development. The sliding door began to malfunction, too, opening and closing at random. Peering through the gap, he caught periodic glimpses of the rest of sickbay.

And freedom.

His eyes narrowed. A sly smile came over his face. Sure, he remembered Dr. McCoy explaining that he couldn’t see too much of the future, and for a moment, he even considered staying put for the sake of the “timeline.”

Then he shook his head.

Screw that, he thought. He’d been locked up in solitary long enough, and he wasn’t about to float around doing nothing while all hell was apparently breaking loose. He needed to find out what was going on. Besides, who said they were ever really going to put him back where he belonged? They sure hadn’t seemed in any hurry to get him home. Maybe McCoy had been feeding him a line of bull this whole time.

There was only one way to find out.

He studied the door’s spastic openings and closings until he thought he had the timing down. He couldn’t delay too long; McCoy or Chapel or somebody might come checking on him at any moment, although he was hoping they had their hands full elsewhere. Shaun decided that he was ready. Bracing himself against the foot of the bed, he tensed his leg muscles, glad that Kirk had apparently gotten plenty of exercise. He counted down the seconds.

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 whooshed 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 whooshed 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.