Deep Space Station S-8
“Here she is, Lieutenant! The saboteur!”
Sulu hurried across the station’s main shuttlebay, which was located at the “bottom” of the station’s core, relative to its artificial gravity. Two security officers, Knox and Johann, accompanied him. He had responded quickly to a report of attempted sabotage to one of the shuttles parked in the hangar, but was careful to manage his expectations when it came to solving the mystery of the ongoing accidents and malfunctions. A certain degree of paranoia was running rampant on the station, resulting in an uptick of false alarms and red herrings that had taxed the already overworked security teams. Sulu wanted to think that an actual saboteur had been nabbed at last, but he knew better than to get his hopes up.
“Lieutenant Sulu?” a male Vernalian addressed him. A thick exoskeleton supported his invertebrate anatomy. “I’m Pilot First-Class Uco. I caught this individual snooping around my ship!”
His upper pincers had a tight grip on the arm of . . .
Helena?
“Let go of me!” she fumed as additional members of the Vernalian crew stood by, glowering at her. She fought to extricate her arm from the pilot’s pincers. “For Athena’s sake, I keep telling you, I was just looking to barter a spare transfer coil for a subspace radio control circuit. I was only eyeballing your ship because it looked like its basic components were compatible with the Lucky Strike.”
Sulu glanced around, but didn’t see Helena’s ship in the hangar. As far as he knew, it was currently docked at one of the station’s outer arms. He sighed wearily.
Another false alarm, he realized, and Helena in the middle of it.
“Everybody calm down,” he said. “Sounds to me like this is just a simple misunderstanding.”
“Yes! Thank you, Hikaru. That’s what I keep saying.”
Sulu wished she hadn’t addressed him by his first name. He wanted to avoid even the appearance of favoritism.
“But she was carrying this,” Uco insisted, holding up a well-equipped tool belt, which he had apparently taken off her. “And lurking suspiciously!”
“I wasn’t lurking,” she said. “I was window-shopping. So naturally I had my tools with me, in case I needed to inspect the merchandise.”
“Sounds plausible to me.” Sulu looked over the ship, which appeared undamaged. “Did either you or your crew find any evidence of sabotage or tinkering?”
“Well, no,” Uco conceded. “Probably because we caught her just in time!”
“That’s not enough to hold her on.” Sulu stepped forward and released her from the pincers; to his relief, Uco did not resist. “But thank you for being on the alert for any possibly suspicious activity. Rest assured, we’ll keep a close eye on her from now on.”
“Keep a close eye on—” Her jaw dropped. “Seriously?”
He gave her a pointed look. Just go with it, okay?
“If you’ll please come with me, ma’am.”
She hesitated, then came around. “Fine. Whatever. I’m clearly not getting that circuit from these clowns.” She snatched her tool belt back and glared at the Vernalians. “Hope you don’t need an extra transfer coil at some point.”
She took Sulu’s arm as he guided her away from the ship, glad to have defused the situation without too much conflict. His security escort tagged along, looking relieved as well. They were heading for the nearest turbolift, when a sudden explosion blew out a small section of the ceiling high above their heads. Dust and debris rained down on the hangar floor as well as on the ships parked there. An emergency klaxon blared.
“Hikaru?” Helena said. “What is it? What’s happening?”
“Damned if I know.” He could practically feel the adrenaline flooding his system as he went into full alert mode. “Heads up!” he barked to his ensigns before shouting loudly to whoever could hear him. “Is anybody hurt? In need of assistance?”
He heard plenty of shouting and panic, but no immediate cries for help. Peering up at the ruptured ceiling, he assessed the damage; it didn’t look as though any life-threateningly large chunks had fallen, nor did he see much in the way of flames. For a second, he allowed himself to hope that they had gotten lucky and there had been no serious casualties.
Then thick purple vapors started gushing from the rupture, hissing like a Regulan eel-bird. Sulu’s eyes widened in alarm as he identified the toxic fumes.
“Plasma coolant!”
He knew how dangerous the gas leak was. Plasma coolant could suffocate most humanoid life-forms if they inhaled too much of it. The capacious volume of the shuttlebay bought them all a bit of time, as it would take a few minutes for the fumes to fill the hangar completely, but he could already hear people coughing and gasping in distress. He made a point to breathe through his nose even as the acrid odor of the coolant irritated his nostrils. He felt an itch at the back of his throat. His eyes began to water.
“Why aren’t the emergency fans and filters clearing out the fumes?” Knox asked.
“I don’t know, Ensign,” Sulu replied. More malfunctions? Sabotage?
“Should we attempt to evacuate, sir?” Ensign Johann asked him.
“Not going to be that easy,” Sulu feared. People were already streaming toward the turbolifts and emergency stairwells, only to find that they’d been automatically sealed off to contain the spread of the gas. It was possible that he could override them somehow, but first he had to keep himself and his team—and Helena—from asphyxiating before they could help anyone else. “Breathing masks. We need breathing masks, pronto.”
“Over there.” Helena pointed across the hangar while holding her other hand in front of her mouth, muffling her voice somewhat. “I spotted it while I was ‘lurking’ earlier.”
Sure enough, an emergency supply closet, clearly labeled, was located against a bulkhead a few meters away. Sulu pried it open, triggering another alarm, and found maybe a dozen unused breathing masks at his disposal. More than enough, he assumed, for the shuttlebay back before the “gold rush,” but not nearly sufficient now. He placed a mask over his nose and mouth, receiving immediate relief, before dealing them out to Helena and the two ensigns. The mask did a good job of filtering out the coolant while providing a limited amount of oxygen, which was generated by a chemical reaction that triggered as needed. Sulu took a deep breath, appreciating the fresher air, even though his eyes were still watering. He wiped the tears away to assess the situation.
It wasn’t good.
Panicked people began collapsing onto the floor, while others were running around in distress. He suspected that some species had less lung capacity than others or might be more susceptible to the fumes. The purple vapor was spreading like a fog, filling up the hangar, making it difficult to see what was going on. The space door was in place, sealing the vapor in, and they couldn’t open the door to vent the coolant into space without flushing everyone out into the vacuum as well.
Unless . . .
“We need to get everyone into the shuttles,” Sulu ordered. The shuttles were airtight and equipped with their own life-support systems; they were the perfect shelters during this crisis even if they couldn’t go anywhere yet. “Spread out! Hurry!”
“Aye, sir!” Knox said.
“We’re on it!” Helena said, pitching in.
Sulu prayed that would be enough as he rushed toward a fallen humanoid who was gasping for breath like a fish out of water. He placed one of the extra breathing masks over the man’s face, then helped him to his feet. Looking around, he saw that the nearest shelter was the Vernalian shuttle Helena had been accused of spying on earlier.
Here’s hoping they’re not still holding a grudge, he thought.
His arm around the other man, he half dragged, half carried the stricken traveler toward the shuttle’s main airlock, which was already sealed against the fumes. Sulu couldn’t blame the Vernalians for slamming the door shut, but he was sure they had room for more. He pounded on the solid duranium door with his fist.
“Open!” he shouted. “This is Lieutenant Sulu! I have a casualty!”
He could try to hail the shuttle via his communicator, but first he’d have to find the proper channel. Shouting was probably more efficient, as long as the Vernalians didn’t choose to ignore him. He strained to keep his humanoid burden up on his feet. The man was still coughing hoarsely, despite his mask. He was clearly in need of medical attention.
“We have dying people out here! Open up!”
He briefly feared that the Vernalians were only concerned with their own safety, but the airlock hissed and the door slid open, revealing Uco wearing a different-model breathing mask, which Sulu assumed came from the shuttle’s private stores. The mask was crafted to fit the insectoid contours of the pilot’s features.
“Thanks!” Sulu thrust the shaky victim into Uco’s arms. “I’m going back for more. Be ready for me!”
The airlock door whooshed shut behind him as he rushed back out onto the foggy hangar floor, drawn by the sound of coughing and labored breathing. He squinted desperately at the ceiling and saw that an engineering team had somehow managed to shut off the coolant leak, so that no more of the vapor was hissing from the rupture.
About time, he thought.
He fanned at the remaining fumes to see through them and spied several more figures sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath. People were succumbing to the fumes faster than Sulu and his allies could rescue them; even with Helena and the pair of officers backing him up, there was little chance that they could get all the imperiled victims into the shuttles before people started dying, if they hadn’t expired already.
I’ll just have to keep going and save as many as I can, he resolved. And hope that Tilton and the others can get the vents and filters working again.
He plunged into the toxic fog, practically stepping on another choking victim, who had already passed out from the fumes. Hefting her in a fireman’s carry, he staggered back toward the Vernalian shuttle, while passing yet another casualty. He needed a lot more backup, but they were cut off from the rest of the station until the hangar could be vented. Sulu wondered if there was any time or point to applying triage to the victims when everyone outside the shuttles was in danger of asphyxiation.
How did he choose whom to save?
The responsibility weighed him down as heavily as the unconscious victim he was toting. His communicator chirped for his attention, but he wasn’t about to put the woman down to answer it. He staggered toward the waiting shuttle, breathing hard, when he suddenly heard footsteps pounding the floor around him. Peering through the choking mist, he saw a slew of civilians, equipped with a variety of breathing masks and environmental suits, pour out of their respective shuttles to assist in the rescue operation, picking up the fallen off the floor and hustling them back into the nearest shuttles, which were all being drafted into service as emergency shelters.
Yes! Sulu rejoiced, overjoyed by the number of volunteers. It did his heart good to know that the headlong rush for pergium hadn’t completely squashed people’s better instincts. His throat tightened, and not from the fumes. This is more like it!
With many more hands to assist in the effort, the casualties were brought aboard the shuttles. Airlocks sealed, protecting them all from the leaking coolant. Sulu peeled off his sweaty breathing mask as he joined Helena and Uco in the cockpit of his shuttle, their previous enmity forgotten in the face of the greater emergency. Behind him, on the floor of the passenger compartment, a Denobulan medic was applying field treatment to the most severely affected casualties. His medical tricorder hummed repeatedly. A hypospray hissed.
Sulu trusted the medic to do his work, addressing Uco instead. “Are your short-range sensors operational?”
“No reason they shouldn’t be,” the pilot said. “Why?”
“Scan the hangar for life-forms.” Sulu believed they’d managed to get everyone aboard a shuttle, but he wanted to verify that, especially with the swirling fumes impeding visibility. “I want to make sure we didn’t leave anyone out there.”
“Good thought.” Helena sat down in the copilot’s seat. Her voice was slightly hoarse from her brief exposure to the fumes. “If you don’t mind, Pilot. At the risk of patting myself on the back, I have a knack for this kind of thing.”
“Go ahead.” Uco got up and headed back toward the passenger compartment. “I need to check on my people anyway.”
Sulu plopped down into the vacated seat. He was feeling slightly short of breath himself, not to mention fatigued. His lungs and eyes burned. He made a mental note to have M’Benga check him out in the infirmary once the more injured patients were seen to. He watched tensely as Helena activated the sensor controls. The sooner they got those patients to the infirmary, the better.
“Well?” he asked.
“Just give me a moment.” She deftly adjusted the control panels, then examined the readings. “I’m not picking up any life-signs outside the shuttles. Of course, that could mean—”
“In which case, there’s nothing to be done for them,” he said grimly. He plucked his communicator from his belt and flipped it open. “Sulu to Station Manager. Repeat: Sulu to Station Manager. Please respond.”
Tilton replied almost immediately. Sulu assumed the man was in his office, attending to the crisis. His voice sounded more exhausted than agitated, as though he was nearing the end of his rope.
“Sulu? We tracked your communicator to the shuttlebay. Are you all right?”
“The situation is under control for the moment, but we have casualties in need of immediate medical attention. I need you to open the space doors so we can vent the gaseous coolant out into space.”
“But the people in the hangar—?”
“Are secure within their vessels, Mr. Tilton. They’ll be fine.”
“Understood, Lieutenant. Stand by.”
The massive space door retracted, separating into two halves as it opened up. Ordinarily, this would reveal the empty space outside the station, but the dense purple fog obscured the view. Only a force field remained between the hangar and the vacuum beyond. It crackled through the mist, as though fighting the increased air pressure.
“Lowering space door shields,” Tilton reported.
The force field dissolved, opening the hangar up to the void. The shuttles themselves remained magnetically fixed to the floor, but the sudden decompression sucked the contaminated atmosphere out into space, along with miscellaneous objects discarded during the panic. Sulu flinched as a random data slate flew past the cockpit, followed by pieces of charred debris from the ceiling. He worried that vital evidence was being lost, but venting the coolant took priority. Investigating the explosion, and trying to determine its cause, would have to wait until later. The view from the cockpit cleared as the thick fog exited the hangar. A paper coffee cup joined the other refuse tumbling out into the vacuum.
No bodies, that he could see.
“Nice work, Hikaru,” Helena said. “I hope you’re not going to blame this on Mirsa too.”
He couldn’t tell if she was teasing him or if she was still irked that he had discreetly questioned her about her captain earlier. Maybe a little bit of both?
“That depends.” He tried to maintain a light tone. “Just how expendable does your Captain Dajo think you are?”
“Ha-ha,” she replied. “Very funny. And the answer, by the way, is not one bit.”
“Smart man.” Sulu was encouraged by their easy banter. “Seriously, however, I have absolutely no reason to suspect Dajo more than any other visitor to the station. Still, I can’t believe this was just another accident. A freak explosion and the emergency systems malfunctioning?” He shook his head. “There have been too many accidents and systemic failures. People are getting hurt. Lives are in danger.”
And no ship is safe, he thought.
He made a snap decision. “Can you patch my communicator into the station-wide public-address system?”
“Can a Horta burrow through solid stone?” She scoffed at his inquiry. “I’m a communications specialist, remember?”
“Absolutely,” he said. “Do it.”
“Aye, aye, Lieutenant.” She gave him a mock salute and plucked what looked to be a customized earpiece from her poncho. She brushed back her hair and affixed it to her ear. It chirped as she activated it and sparkled like a piece of jewelry. Her fingers fiddled expertly with the cockpit’s comm controls until his own communicator chirped in response. She nodded at him. “You’re on.”
He coughed and cleared his throat before raising the communicator to his lips. A glass of water would have eased his irritated throat and lungs, but there was no time for that. For all he knew, another ship could be preparing to disembark from the station at any moment. He was aware of several planned departures on the schedule.
“This is Lieutenant Sulu, acting commander of the Starfleet personnel assisting in the management of this station. On my authority, I’m instituting a temporary lockdown until certain security issues are resolved. No vessels are allowed to arrive or depart for the time being. We ask for your patience and cooperation. Sulu out.”
He cut off the transmission and closed his communicator. Helena gaped at him.
“Hoo boy.” She whistled in appreciation. “That’s not going to make you any friends.”
“I don’t expect it to.”
He regretted taking unilateral action without consulting Tilton and Grandle, but, in his judgment, every moment had counted. They could debate his decision later. In the meantime, he wasn’t willing to risk another ship venturing out into space or arriving at the station, not with a saboteur on the loose. Any vessel could become a death trap.
“I don’t imagine your captain is going to be too pleased,” Sulu said.
“Oh, he’s going to be hopping mad,” she said confidently. “The Lucky Strike is all booked up, at premium prices, and almost ready to take off for Baldur III.”
Sulu suspected that Dajo wouldn’t be the only one upset by the lockdown.
“What about you?” he asked Helena. “Do you think I made the right call?”
She paused before answering.
“Honestly . . . I’m not sure.”