Baldur III
“Welcome to the bridge of the Thunderbird! Have you ever wondered how your grandparents and great-grandparents first came to Baldur III? Today we’re going to take an amazing journey into history . . .”
What appeared to be an educational vid appeared on the reactivated viewscreen as Scott and Galligan hurried to reconnect ancient circuits and relays in order to get the bridge controls operational for the first time in decades. Galligan switched off the recording.
“Sorry about that,” he said sheepishly. “Up until recently, this place mostly hosted field trips.”
Scott recalled that Thunderbird has been preserved as a historical relic and museum before being pressed back into service as a power plant. At the moment, he was grateful that the colonists’ old ship had been preserved so scrupulously. Aside from the historical plaques and signage now adorning various walls and consoles, the bridge looked much as it must have when the ship first touched down on the planet generations ago. He could only hope that Thunderbird’s vintage impulse engines had been just as carefully maintained.
Otherwise they were as good as dead, along with most of Jackpot City.
“Approximately fifteen minutes to warp core detonation,” the ship’s computer announced in a calm masculine tone that only reminded Scott that he wasn’t on the Enterprise, not that the update would have been any less alarming delivered by a more familiar voice. “Please report to emergency escape pods.”
“Fat lot of good those would do us here on the ground,” Scott muttered.
He assumed that Spears had heard the announcement as well. The young technician was still in the control room, monitoring the feverish warp core, while Scott and Galligan worked on the bridge in their radiation suits. The cumbersome suits did not make a rush job any easier, so Scott was sorely tempted to shed it just for the sake of efficiency. As is, his gloves were tucked into his work belt. He figured he’d put them back on if his skin started burning.
“You really think this will work?” Galligan tossed a bronze plaque onto the floor in order to access a service panel at the bridge’s main engineering station. A speaker in his hood allowed Scotty to hear him.
“It’s our best shot,” Scotty said.
As on the Enterprise, the impulse engines functioned independently of the warp propulsion system, which meant that, with any luck, they had been isolated from the cascade malfunctions that had turned the warp core into a ticking time bomb. The nuclear fusion reactors powering the impulse drive were already fueled and operational; Galligan and his people had prepped the reactors weeks ago, with an eye toward using them as a backup generator in the event the warp core failed. The challenge now had been to redirect the reactors’ potential output from the colony’s EPS grid back to the ship’s long-inactive propulsion system, while bringing the helm and navigational controls back online as well, all the while hoping that Thunderbird could still take wing after her long slumber.
And before it was too late.
“When was the last time this ship flew?” he asked.
“2168? 2169?” Galligan guessed, suggesting that he was a better engineer than historian. “Before I was born, certainly. It’s been grounded for as long as anyone can—” He froze as though suddenly placed in stasis. “Oh, no.”
Scott knew a worried tone when he heard one. “What is it?”
“I just remembered! The landing struts were bolted to the ground decades ago. They’re secured to concrete blocks!” He turned away from the engineering station and started toward the exit at the rear of the bridge. “Perhaps we can cut through the bolts with a laser torch?”
“There’s no time!” Scott said. Cutting through the bolts on all four struts would be an arduous, time-consuming task in itself, never mind dashing back and forth between them in the lower reaches of the ship. “We’re just going to have to tear ourselves loose from them when we launch . . . and hope that it’s only the bolts that snap.”
Galligan swallowed hard. “Are we going to have enough power to do that?”
You tell me, Scott thought. This is your ship.
“If we can muster enough power to achieve escape velocity,” he said instead, “I doubt a few bolts can nail us down.”
Scott spoke more confidently than he felt, for Galligan’s sake. The plant’s manager was a good man, but life-or-death crises were new to him. In fact, Scott saw a bumpy launch ahead, assuming a massive matter-antimatter explosion didn’t vaporize them all first.
“Approximately ten minutes to warp core detonation,” the computer said. “Repeat: approximately ten minutes to warp core detonation.”
“I heard ye the first time,” Scott grumbled.
It was that “approximately” that preyed on his nerves. A few minutes plus or minus could mean the difference between disaster and deliverance, which meant they couldn’t waste a single second. Finishing up with the helm controls, he skipped rebooting the astrogator and other navigational aids. One way or another, this wasn’t going to be a long voyage; they didn’t need to plot a course across the sector, just off the planet.
As fast as humanly possible.
“Spears,” he ordered via the ship’s intercom. “Get yourself to the bridge, on the double. We’re almost ready to take off.”
In theory.
“We’re counting down to launch, Captain, while racing another countdown.”
On the bridge, Kirk listened to Scott’s voice intently. That he was safe aboard the Enterprise while his friend and chief engineer faced imminent peril ate at Kirk; he had never been comfortable delegating danger to others.
“Understood, Mister Scott. Our sensors are locked on Thunderbird. We are monitoring your situation and prepared to offer assistance at any time.”
“Thank ye, Captain, but it’s not just me ye have to worry about, but the city as well. Even if we get the warp core off-planet before it breaches, we’re likely to cause a fair amount of damage blasting off from the middle of town. This isn’t going to be like quietly piloting a ship out of spacedock on impulse. We’re going to have to fire the engines at full blast to tear Thunderbird loose from her moorings and escape the planet’s gravity in a matter of moments. All that superheated exhaust firing from the engines, propelling us into space . . . it’s going to leave a mark, sir. Not as bad as a warp core explosion, to be sure, but tell me you’ve evacuated the area around the park, sir.”
“The evacuation is underway,” Kirk said. He trusted Uhura and the other crew members on the planet to assist in every way possible. “Leave that to us.”
“And the orbits directly above the city, sir? We’re going to be coming up hard and fast, Captain, and I can’t vouch for how well this old bird steers after all this time. Not sure how much helm control we’ll have over this flight.”
“We’re clearing you all the room in space you need,” Kirk said, “and have notified the spaceport to halt all arrivals and departures until further notice.”
On the viewscreen, he saw a few stray vessels still in orbit above Jackpot City. He put Scott on hold and turned toward Lieutenant Palmer, who was still filling in for Uhura at the comm station. “Why haven’t those ships broken orbit yet? Did they receive our emergency directive to clear that space?”
“They received it, sir,” Palmer answered. “They’re just . . . quibbling. They’re asking questions. They want more information. They don’t want to lose their places in line.”
Kirk didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t have time for this. Scotty didn’t have time for this.
“They want more details? Tell them that a self-destructing, radioactive, one-hundred-year-old starship with a melting-down warp core is about to rocket right up their backsides—unless they get the hell out of the way as fast as they can. And you can quote me on that, Lieutenant.”
“Aye, sir,” Palmer replied, with a hint of a smirk. “I’ll do just that.”
Kirk got back online with Scott. “That bottle you mentioned is waiting for you, Scotty. Come and get it.”
“I’ll drink to that, Captain. On our way.”
Spears came rushing onto the bridge in her hazard suit. A door slid shut behind her. “Are we ready for takeoff ?”
“As ready as we’ll ever be,” Scott said. Under ordinary circumstances, he would have insisted on running several more tests and diagnostics before launching an antique spacecraft on short notice, but life in Starfleet was seldom ordinary. “Take the communications station, lass, and strap in tight.”
The captain’s seat was empty, because everyone was needed elsewhere. Galligan was planted at engineering, the better to monitor the newly resurrected impulse engines and the dying warp core, while Scott had the helm, since he knew more about flying a starship than the other two combined. He wondered if either Galligan or Spears had ever been to space before.
Talk about diving into the deep end, he thought.
The viewscreen before him showed a nocturnal view of the park and the buildings beyond. The bright lights of Jackpot City were already flickering out as Thunderbird severed its connections to the colony’s power relays. Backup generators and batteries were not going to be enough to keep the lights on, but that was the least of Scott’s worries at the moment. Better a blackout than a blackened ruin, he judged.
“Approximately five minutes to warp core detonation,” the computer said.
Scott used his communicator to keep Kirk apprised. “Scott to Enterprise. It’s now or never.”
“You are cleared for takeoff, Mister Scott,” Kirk answered. “Launch at will . . . and good luck.”
“I won’t be refusing that, Captain. Scott out.” He put away the communicator and faced the helm controls. It was a shame, he reflected, that Sulu was not at hand; the helmsman would have relished the opportunity to pilot the vintage starship—and was probably better suited to the task. “Brace yourself. This could be a rough ride.”
“Engines powered and ready, Mister Scott,” Galligan reported.
“Crossing my fingers,” Spears added.
“You keep doing that, lass.”
The push-button helm controls were less sophisticated than the Enterprise’s, which was a blessing in this case. No fancy flying was required; they were just going up and out. He vectored the director coils for a forty-five-degree-angle ascent, while thanking his lucky stars that Jackpot City had yet to erect any serious skyscrapers; even without Sulu at the helm, they should be able to clear the tops of the nearest buildings without too much difficulty.
“Approximately four minutes to warp core detonation.”
“I hear ye, I hear ye,” Scott said. “On my count, three, two, one . . . engage!”
Thunderbird’s impulse engines awoke from hibernation. Pure Newtonian physics came into play as the thrust of the engines’ exhaust pushed against the planet’s gravity, not to mention the sturdy steel bolts nailing it to the surface. The battle rattled the bridge even as the rumble of the old engines made Scott feel like an old-time astronaut riding a shuttle into a whole new frontier. For a few rapid heartbeats, the park refused to let go of the historic ship. Scott increased the intensity of the thrusters, hoping to melt or shatter the concrete foundation beneath the former museum. His efforts were rewarded as, with a bone-jarring wrench, Thunderbird broke its bonds and took off into the sky like its mythical namesake. Scott felt a sudden surge and affection for the dying ship.
There’s a fine old gal, he thought. Going out in a blaze of glory.
Spears whooped in exhilaration or fear or some combination thereof. Galligan shuddered and closed his eyes, waiting for it to be over. Pressed back into his seat by the sudden acceleration, Scott held his breath as Thunderbird zoomed out of Baldur’s atmosphere into space. On the viewscreen, thinning wisps of vapor gave way to the comforting familiarity of the empty vacuum Scott had traversed for most of his adult life. He eyed the screen anxiously, primed to take evasive action should another vessel suddenly appear in their path, but it appeared that Captain Kirk had indeed cleared the way for them just as he’d promised. Scott held to his course: out and away from Baldur III.
“One minute to warp core detonation,” the computer nagged, no longer hedging its bets. “Warning: warp core breach imminent.”
Scott breathed a sigh of relief. No matter what happened next, Jackpot City was safe.
“Eject warp core!” he ordered Galligan. “Now!”
The other man did not hesitate. He pounded on the engineering buttons like a concert pianist building to a crescendo. “Ejecting!”
There was a split second of suspense as Scotty half expected the emergency ejection procedure to malfunction as well, but for once the crucial safety measure functioned exactly as it had been designed to do: the bridge vibrated as, several decks away, Thunderbird vomited its combusting entrails into the void. The ejection was not visible on the viewscreen, but Scott could easily visualize the blazing warp core lighting up the dark as it tumbled through space in its final moments of existence.
“Warp core ejected,” the computer confirmed. “Alert canceled.”
“I don’t believe it!” Galligan said. “We did it. I’m going to see my wife and kids again. Just wait until they hear about this!”
“Did my job just get sucked into space?” Spears joked. “ ’Cause if not, I want a raise!”
Scott was too busy to join in the jubilation. He ramped up the engines, wanting to put as much distance as he could between Thunderbird and the disgorged warp core before—
A shock wave struck Thunderbird, sending the ship tumbling end over end.