Moving quickly, he entered the airlock and closed the hatch behind him. One more hatch lay between him and the mid-deck. He just needed to repressurize the compartment first, or else the force of the ship’s atmosphere rushing into the airlock would smash him into the outer hatch with bone-crushing force, if not blow out the hatch altogether. Unlike Spock, he could not instantly calculate exactly how many kilograms per square centimeter that would unleash, but he knew it was nothing to be taken lightly. Opening an unpressurized hatch would also set off alarms all over the ship, which he hoped to avoid if at all possible.
No need to alert O’Herlihy if he didn’t have to.
Waiting impatiently for the airlock to fill up with air, he peered through the six-centimeter porthole into the torched mid-deck, on the lookout for O’Herlihy, but all he saw was scorched rubble and the new fire extinguishers they had placed in the module as a precaution. He wished he knew where the treacherous doctor was hiding. For all Kirk knew, O’Herlihy was lying in wait just out of view, waiting to ambush him.
He reached instinctively for a phaser, only to realize his mistake.
Wrong ship, wrong century.
He would have to take his chances the old-fashioned way.
Ready or not, Doctor, here I come.
Twenty-five
2270
“Captain on the bridge!” Yeoman Voss announced.
All eyes turned toward Shaun Christopher, who needed a second to absorb the sight of the Enterprise’s impressively large and colorful control center. Mr. Spock was seated at the center of the circular bridge, facing a wall-sized monitor or window. His crew was arranged around the perimeter, except for two officers manning a large console directly in front of Spock. From its look and position, Shaun guessed that they were doing the actual piloting. Seatbelts and straps had held the crew in place during the short-lived lapse in gravity. A bewildering array of displays, monitors, and instrument panels was enough to induce sensory overload. Shaun focused his gaze on the main screen.
Dozens of smaller spacecraft, of varied design, zipped across the monitor. An icy moon, boasting a full-fledged lunar habitat, was dwarfed by a huge ringed planet looming in the background. Purple bands streaked the planet.
“Oh my God!” Shaun exclaimed. “Is that Saturn?”
There had been no spaceships or moon colonies in the vicinity the last time he’d checked. Of course, that had been two hundred and fifty years ago…
“Klondike VI,” Spock corrected him. Despite his stoic demeanor, it was clear that he was not pleased by Shaun’s unexpected arrival on the bridge. “Captain, you should return to sickbay. You are not well.”
Shaun didn’t feel like playing along. “I’m not the captain, and I’m not crazy,” he declared. “I’m Colonel Shaun Christopher, and you know it!”
A quick glance around the bridge gave him a good idea of who had been let in on the secret and who had not. Several crew members, including the helpful yeoman, were clearly startled and confused by his outrageous claim, but others merely looked worried. The veiled woman, whom he remembered from the transporter room, turned toward him. He noted that she wasn’t wearing a Starfleet uniform like everyone else.
“Shaun Christopher?” she echoed, sounding intrigued. “Curiouser and curiouser.”
Mr. Spock let out a barely perceptible sigh. “Attention, all hands,” he addressed the bridge crew. “Please be aware that the individual before you is not actually the captain. There is no time to explain the situation fully, but I expect you all to disregard any orders except my own.” He turned toward Shaun. “Colonel Christopher, you can clearly see that we are in the midst of a crisis. I must ask that you leave the bridge immediately.”
“No way, Spock. I’m here in this time now, and I don’t intend to sit on the sidelines.” He shrugged Kirk’s shoulders. “Who knows? Maybe that probe sent me here for a reason.”
“Now, there’s an interesting possibility,” the veiled woman observed. “Mr. Spock, maybe we should find out what our unlikely guest has to offer. He may have insights into the probe — and our present situation — that we have missed.”
“I have already interrogated the colonel,” Spock stated curtly. “But you are free to take custody of him if you wish. At the moment, I have other matters to attend to.”
Shaun got the distinct impression that he was being handed off to a babysitter, but he figured that beat being expelled forcibly from the bridge and possibly thrown into the brig. He joined the veiled woman at one of the auxiliary stations. “Shaun Christopher,” he introduced himself. “At your service.”
“Qat Zaldana,” she identified herself. “And would that be the Colonel Shaun Geoffrey Christopher of space history fame?”
He nodded, both surprised and flattered that she recognized his name. “You’ve heard of me?”
“I’m quite familiar with your illustrious résumé, Colonel,” she said, “although I admit I never expected to make your acquaintance, let alone under such bizarre circumstances.”
She seemed to be taking those circumstances remarkably well, especially considering that he looked like James T. Kirk at the moment. Did this sort of thing happen often in the future? He certainly hadn’t gotten that impression from Dr. McCoy.
“This is a bit out of my comfort zone, too,” he confessed. “NASA never trained me for anything like this.”
On the screen, some of the smaller ships appeared to be retreating to a domed complex on the nearby moon. Chunks of flying space debris endangered the numerous vessels, although the Enterprise was clearly attempting to provide cover for them by blasting the larger missiles apart with powerful blue laser beams. The beams seemed to pack enough firepower to make the Pentagon drool with envy.
“Maintain defensive fire, Mr. Chekov,” Spock instructed. “Target all hazards to ships or colony.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” a young ensign reported. His Russian accent reminded Shaun of the cosmonauts he had trained with at the Star City complex outside Moscow. “Shields restored to usual configuration. Deflectors at thirty-five percent and rising.”
“That’s more like it,” said an Asian crewman sitting to the Russian’s left. “Helm controls responding again.”
“Excellent, Mr. Sulu,” Spock said. “Take us further above the rings to reduce the chance of any future collisions.”
“With pleasure,” Sulu replied. “Altering trajectory relative to the equator. Attempting to stay within firing range of Skagway.”
The image on the wall screen shifted as the Enterprise ascended higher above the plane of the rings. The turbulence shaking the ship began to abate, even as Shaun tried to figure out exactly what was going on. He gathered that the moon colony was in jeopardy, and possibly the starship, too, but the details remained murky. Dr. McCoy hadn’t exactly kept him informed about current events.
Shaun sat down next to Qat Zaldana. “Why don’t you bring me up to speed?” he suggested.
“Since the twenty-first century?” she quipped. “That could take a while.”
He nodded at the screen. “How about just what’s happening out there?”
“That I can manage.” She quickly explained that the planet’s rings were coming apart and that the moon itself was spiraling into the inner rings toward the planet itself. To make matters worse, it seemed that more than a thousand people were still stranded on the moon, and even the Enterprise, as impressive as it was, wasn’t big enough to carry them all to safety.
No wonder Spock looks so grim, Shaun thought. They were looking at a tragedy of catastrophic proportions, like Katrina or Mount Rainier. “And there’s nothing you can do?”