Identity theft, p.14
Identity Theft, page 14
“Aye, Captain.” She worked the communications control panel with practiced confidence and efficiency. “Shall I also notify Voyzr that we may be late to the embassy opening?”
“Not just yet. Inform Starfleet of the change in circumstances, but let’s hold off on making our apologies to the regnant and her people. Perhaps we can still make it to Voyzr in time, depending on what we find waiting for us in the Gilgio system.”
Please let it be so, Ryjo thought. In this at least, he and Kirk were on the same page.
“Course set for Gilgio system, at best possible speed.”
Seventeen
“There she goes… again,” Ryjo said. “All the way up into space.”
A tremendous plume of volcanic ash and steam, visible against the blackness of space, blasted up from the moon’s thin, smoky atmosphere as the shuttlecraft approached the obscure satellite, following the trail of the distress signal, which the Enterprise had traced to a particular moon orbiting that immense gas giant in the Giglio system. Wexx, as the moon was listed in Starfleet’s database, was looking less and less inviting by the moment.
“I see it,” Sulu replied from the helm of Copernicus II, its predecessor having been lost on Sha Ka Ree a couple years ago. “Flying into that fireworks show is going to be… interesting.”
“To put it mildly.”
Seated next to Sulu in the copilot’s seat, Ryjo was glad to have Sulu at the helm. The man might be an enemy of his people and a potential threat to Ryjo’s ongoing impersonation of Chekov, but Sulu’s reputation as a pilot preceded him. If Ryjo had to take part in a risky Starfleet search-and-rescue mission, he couldn’t be in safer hands than with Sulu flying the shuttlecraft.
Better him than me, Ryjo thought, for all our sakes.
A clearer picture of their ultimate destination had emerged once the Enterprise arrived at the Giglio system. Working together, Spock and Uhura had narrowed the location of the distress beacon to Wexx, which, much to Ryjo’s private frustration, turned out to be singularly difficult to search in a time-effective manner, precluding any quick and easy resolution to the crisis. The moon’s challenges included low gravity, an unbreathable atmosphere consisting mostly of sulfur dioxide, extreme temperatures, and violent geological activity, which Spock attributed to the moon’s close proximity to the gas giant and its eccentric orbit thereof. At present, Wexx appeared to be going through some major volcanic throes, complicating the Enterprise crew’s ability to determine the precise location of the beacon or even beam safely down to the surface. Dense clouds of smoke, ash, and more exotic materials shrouded the moon, interfering with the ship’s sensors, while the space-high plumes erupting from beneath the global cloud cover made maintaining a standard orbit more hazardous than usual, forcing the ship to tread warily, shields raised. Hence the decision to send in a shuttlecraft instead, to pinpoint the source of the signal, determine the nature of the emergency, and, if necessary, care for and evacuate any survivors.
None of which got Ryjo any closer to Voyzr—and the regnant.
“I don’t envy any poor souls stranded on that hellhole,” Doctor McCoy observed from the passenger cabin behind the cockpit, where rows of seats lined the walls. A triangular hatchway allowed him a clear look at Copernicus’s wide cockpit window if he leaned out as far as his seat belts allowed. “Of all places to be in desperate need of assistance.”
“That’s what we’re here for,” Nurse Tovar said, seated beside McCoy. “I just hope we’re not too late.”
I suppose, Ryjo thought, maybe.
In actuality, a big part of him wanted to discover that they were too late, and that whoever sent the distress signal was long past saving, so that the Enterprise could get back en route to Voyzr. As it was, this rescue operation was becoming ever more complicated and time-consuming, and demanding much more of him personally than he liked or anticipated.
The team aboard Copernicus consisted solely of him, Sulu, McCoy, and Tovar, their numbers kept small to accommodate any injured or endangered individuals who might need to be flown to the Enterprise immediately. Kirk had wanted to lead the mission, naturally, but McCoy had argued strenuously that Kirk’s injured ankle made traipsing around an unstable moon problematic. Not wanting his compromised mobility to hamper the operation, Kirk had grudgingly conceded the point and, with Spock best employed monitoring the moon’s volatile geology from orbit, the captain had startled Ryjo by placing Chekov in charge of the mission.
Not what he had signed on for!
He’d been in no position to protest the assignment, of course. He could even see the logic behind the team selections: Chekov, all the better to track the signal to its source and deal with whatever security issues might arise, due to his status as security chief, along with his substantial background as an auxiliary science officer; Sulu, the ship’s foremost pilot; and both a doctor and nurse to provide immediate assistance to any casualties. There’d been some brief discussion of adding an additional security officer to the party, but it was ultimately determined that Chekov and Sulu were probably sufficient to provide any needed security, especially since both McCoy and Tovar were also trained to deal with hostile circumstances. McCoy’s service record, which Ryjo had studied extensively, documented that the doctor had survived more than his fair share of tough scrapes over the course of his career. Tovar’s history was sketchier in this regard, as she had mostly worked in hospitals, both planetside and orbital, before heading out into deep space aboard the Enterprise, but her Starfleet training records suggested that she knew her way around a phaser as well as a hypospray.
Yes, it all made perfect sense, aside from the fact that he wasn’t actually Chekov.
“Brace yourselves.” Sulu lowered a heat shield over the front window, flying on instrumentation alone. “Entering the atmosphere now.”
Copernicus plunged into Wexx’s dense, smoky canopy, the shuttlecraft’s own modest shields dialed up against any sudden plumes, shock waves, or flying debris. Atmospheric turbulence rocked the shuttle, justifying the safety straps binding the search party to their respective seats. For Ryjo, who had seldom ventured beyond the surface of Tykona, aside from a few stints working at an orbital casino or resort, the experience was far more unsettling than any practice session in a simulator. It was all he could do not to hold on to his seat with white knuckles, but as the real Chekov had doubtless endured many a bumpy flight before, he tried his best not to let his nerves show.
Just another day in Starfleet…
“What’s the story with the signal?” Sulu raised the heat shield as they completed their rapid descent into the atmosphere and leveled out high above Wexx’s surface. “Heading?”
Ryjo forced himself to concentrate on the illuminated display panel before him. He was hardly the science whiz Chekov was reputed to be, but he could operate a basic sensor array and tracking monitor well enough to zero in on an emergency beacon that was intended to be detected from deep space. As expected, the closer they got to the signal’s source, the easier it became to distinguish its exact location.
“Heading ninety-seven mark one hundred.”
Because Wexx rotated in sync with its orbit around the gas giant, known only as Giglio III, one side of the moon was forever facing the much larger world, whose reflected radiance shone through the smoke and ash blanketing the upper atmosphere. He squinted at the sensor bandwidth display on the control panel, which was fluctuating slightly.
“Can you go lower?” he asked. “Safely, I mean.”
“That’s a judgment call.” Sulu divided his attention between the cockpit window and the instrumentation. “The lower our altitude, the greater the risk of a sudden eruption blowing high enough to impact us as we fly over it, but I guess going a little lower isn’t going to skew the odds too much.”
“Too much?” McCoy echoed. “Can’t say I like gambling with life and limb. Don’t forget, we can’t help anybody if we get blasted out of the sky ourselves.”
“There’s an image I didn’t need in my head,” Tovar said. “Would it help if I crossed my fingers?”
Ryjo hoped McCoy’s bedside manner was more reassuring than his unwelcome contributions as a passenger. He wasn’t keen on getting himself killed in Starfleet’s service either but figured that Chekov would not let himself be swayed by the doctor’s habitual grousing. He needed to be decisive, stand by his command decisions, and take calculated risks in the line of duty, like a proper Starfleet officer.
“Just a bit lower,” he instructed Sulu. “To get a better fix on the signal.”
If nothing else, the sooner they located the beacon and dealt with this maddeningly ill-timed rescue, the sooner he could get back to his real mission.
“Works for me,” Sulu said. “Here goes.”
Copernicus dipped lower, then leveled out again at an altitude of roughly ten kilometers. They sped west, following the signal, soon passing over a large equatorial sea, which looked to have been formed by an icy comet strike ages past, before proceeding over solid land again. Ryjo thanked his ancestors that the beacon was not apparently deep underwater, emanating from some sunken vessel lost beneath the waves; that would have added a whole new level of complexity to an already difficult mission.
Topographical scans revealed vast plains broken up by towering peaks and plateaus, some as high as eighteen thousand meters. Deep ravines and hardened lava flows embellished the lifeless terrain, testifying to the moon’s restless vulcanism. A sky-high plume erupted in the distance, hopefully too far away to pose any immediate threat. Swirling ash, ranging in hue from bright yellow to dull orange, obscured their view of their surface, but the signal was coming in stronger and clearer than ever. Ryjo adjusted the controls to filter out any remaining interference while silently thanking whatever Starfleet engineer had designed the apparatus to be so user-friendly.
“Getting warmer,” he reported, deftly employing a human colloquialism. “We’re practically on top of it… there!”
Sulu glanced over at the coordinates on the tracking monitor. “Got it. Heading in for a landing.”
Sensors indicated the signal was emanating from what appeared to be a large, metallic structure—quite possibly a spacecraft—resting on a rocky plain at the base of a smoking volcano. Neither the rugged terrain nor the looming volcano made Ryjo eager to attempt a landing. Why couldn’t they have found a nice, safe spaceport instead?
“We going to be able to touch down there?” he asked Sulu, half hoping they’d have to settle for simply surveying the situation from the air, or would that only prolong their mission? “Looks pretty rough and uneven.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Sulu looked askance at him. “You have met me?”
“Sorry,” Ryjo said. “What I was I thinking?”
“Beats me.” He smiled confidently. “Not to worry. I’ve landed ships and shuttles in worse places than this, as you well know. Remember that glacier on Kendall IV? Or that hungry bog on Bellefontaine?”
Ryjo faked a grin. “I withdraw the question.”
The mottled, ocher surface of the plain came into view. Windblown ash limited visibility, so he couldn’t make out a ship or other structure just yet, but sensors verified artificial alloys and an energy signature nearby… possibly half-buried beneath the surface? Contemplating the barren, inhospitable landscape below, Ryjo couldn’t help wondering the same thing Spock had pondered earlier: Just what would bring anybody to this volcanic wasteland anyway?
An effort to communicate with the unseen structure elicited no answers. “Still no response to our hails,” he said. “Just the same repeating signal.”
“Any life signs?” McCoy asked.
“Checking.” Ryjo recalibrated the sensors, kicking himself for not having already thought of that. Had anyone noticed his lapse, or had it gone unremarked in the urgency of the moment?
A trio of flashing green blips provided a further distraction, while also eliminating any last hope that there was no one left to rescue.
“Three life signs!” he announced, only partially feigning his excitement. Caught up in the task, he couldn’t help feeling a rush of adrenaline, even as he concealed his disappointment that there was no chance of returning to the Enterprise empty-handed now. Life signs meant they were now committed to providing whatever emergency assistance was required.
“Thank heavens,” McCoy blurted. “We’re not too late after all.”
“Nice work, Commander Chekov,” Tovar said. “Good call back there.”
“Thank you, Nurse.”
He welcomed her vote of confidence, which eased his mind somewhat regarding her inclusion in the search party. Had he flinched inside when McCoy suggested bringing Tovar—of all people—along on the mission? Absolutely. But, as with Kirk putting him in charge, he could hardly object to including a qualified nurse in a rescue operation, even if the prospect of sharing close quarters with Tovar had worried him, considering their fraught interactions to date.
Thankfully, however, she had been nothing but cool and collected toward him so far, betraying no lingering distaste or animosity. It seemed she had no intention of letting any personal grudges or bruised feelings get in the way of them working together on this mission.
Let’s hear it for Starfleet professionalism.
He dutifully notified the Enterprise of their status as Sulu brought Copernicus in for a landing. Vapor jetted from the thrusters, cushioning the impact as the shuttlecraft came to a rest on the irregular surface with only a bit of a wobble.
“Nice landing,” Ryjo said, hiding his relief. “As usual.”
Sulu winked at him. “O ye of little faith.”
“Me?” Ryjo placed a hand over his heart. “Perish the thought.”
He took a moment to contemplate the forbidding landscape visible beyond the forward window. Thick layers of fallen ash coated a rocky expanse strewn with boulders, dunes, ridges, and depressions. Blowing ash, along with the overcast sky, continued to limit visibility, although the base of the mountain, looming ominously in the near distance, could still be discerned through the smoggy, swirling, mustard-colored haze. Approximately twenty kilometers away, the churning volcano was still too close for Ryjo’s comfort. He preferred his mountains nonsmoking.
“Not exactly a vacation spot.” Tovar unbuckled her seat belt and came forward to take a closer look at Wexx through the cockpit window. “Makes Vulcan’s Forge look like a resort on Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet.”
Ryjo had to agree. He suddenly felt far from home and very much out of his element. He was just a street kid from Jhopash, trying to make up for his wastrel ways. What was he doing leading a rescue mission in the shadow of an alien volcano?
“Well, let’s not waste time gawking.” McCoy retrieved his medkit from beneath his seat. “I don’t want one of those life signs to go cold before we get to them.”
“Point taken.” He rose from the copilot’s seat, acting as though he knew what he was doing. “Doctor, Nurse, you’re with me. Sulu, watch over Copernicus while we investigate… and be ready to depart in a hurry if necessary.”
“Acknowledged,” Sulu said. “I’ll keep the motor running, figuratively that is.”
Wexx’s hostile conditions necessitated donning environmental suits before exiting the shuttlecraft, which was going to slow them down even further. The suits were kept in storage compartments behind the seats in the passenger cabin. As Copernicus was not equipped with an airlock, the search party needed to be fully suited up, and the hatchway between the cockpit and the passenger area sealed off to protect Sulu, before any of the exit hatches could be opened. The shuttlecraft’s interior would be repressurized upon their return.
Assuming all went well.
The lack of an airlock annoyed Ryjo. What had possessed Starfleet to sacrifice one just to free up more room for crew and cargo? He could only assume that some bigwig behind a desk somewhere had judged that shuttlecrafts were mostly for conveying passengers to and from Class-M worlds, and that transporters could handle any other circumstances.
Maybe not the right call, considering.
Putting on the cumbersome, multipart suit proved trickier than it looked, made harder by the fact that he had never practiced this in a simulator, only scanned the training manuals, because he’d never expected to have to do so on the way to Voyzr. At the time, back on Tykona, familiarizing himself with the bridge controls and operations had seemed a much better use of his time. He fumbled with the helmet, struggling to get it properly affixed to the neckpiece of the suit, which was not nearly as easy as the manual had made it sound. Would anybody find it odd if he reviewed the instructions posted inside the storage compartment?
“Need a hand with that?” Tovar had slipped into her own padded white suit much more gracefully, although she had yet to don her helmet. Heavy-duty gravity boots thudded against the deck as she clomped toward him, looking amused by his fumbling, although not in a vindictive way. More like the way Dise used to find his occasional screw-ups endearing… before the Exiles’ cause came between them.
“If you don’t mind.” He sweated beneath both the EV suit and his uniform, worried as ever that his actual inexperience might draw suspicion. He offered her a feeble smile. “A bit rusty at this, I’m afraid. Guess I need a refresher course.”
“It helps to put your gloves on after you put on your helmet.”
She used her bare hands to help him guide the helmet into position and ensure that the seals were airtight. Filtered air began filling his lungs. A tinted visor impinged on his field of vision. He fought back a momentary attack of claustrophobia.
Just another day in Starfleet.
“There.” She stepped back to admire her work, then put on her own helmet and gloves, in that order.
Ryjo tested the helmet’s built-in comm system, using its heads-up controls to open up a private channel to her helmet. “Thanks for your assistance, Nurse Tovar… or Simone, if you prefer.”
