Baldur III
Thunderbird exploded in the vacuum of space.
“Target destroyed,” Ensign Vance said. The navigator had fired the photon torpedo that had obliterated the derelict vessel now that Scotty and his associates had been beamed off it. Kirk watched as the spectacular explosion briefly lit up the void, sending sparks and ashes flying in all directions before dissipating completely.
“Never thought I’d be sorry to see that old deathtrap go,” Scott said, “but she did us proud in the end.”
The engineer stood beside Kirk’s chair, still wearing the hazard suit he’d donned during the crisis, minus the hood and gloves. Kirk had suggested that Scott get checked out by sickbay before reporting to the bridge, but Scott wouldn’t hear of it. In the meantime, his companions from the Thunderbird had joined the many other refugees flooding the ship both before and after the power plant’s devastating lift-off from the planet.
“Had to be done, Scotty,” Kirk observed.
The decrepit, irradiated vessel had barely survived the shock wave from the ejected warp core. Irreparably damaged, it had posed a significant hazard to navigation, given the amount of traffic headed toward Baldur III. Kirk had judged it best to consign Thunderbird to history, particularly since they had any number of more pressing issues to cope with.
“Oh, I know, sir,” Scott said. “And don’t think I’m not glad to be back where I belong.”
“The feeling is mutual,” Kirk assured him. “The Enterprise hasn’t been the same without you.”
Unfortunately, there was no time to toast Scott’s return. As feared, Thunderbird’s volcanic departure had not left Jackpot City unscathed. There were major fires to be put out, both figuratively and literally.
“Mayor Poho for you, Captain,” Palmer said.
Kirk had been expecting her call. “Onscreen, Lieutenant.”
“Yes, sir.”
Mayor Poho appeared on the viewscreen, looking understandably stressed. Kirk didn’t recognize the furnishings in the background; as he understood it, the mayor and her staff had abandoned Town Hall for a more secure location outside the city. He glimpsed tense faces and bodies going back and forth behind her. The susurrus of many terse conversations accompanied the image.
“Hello, Kirk,” the mayor said. “Have the brave souls aboard Thunderbird been recovered?”
“Mister Scott is standing beside me as we speak and his associates are safe as well,” Kirk answered. “What’s the word from where you’re sitting?”
The mayor sighed. “The good news is that Jackpot City is still there, thanks to Mister Scott’s inspired idea to return Thunderbird to the stars. The bad news is that the launch left some serious collateral damage behind. Take a look at this.”
She reached for an off-screen switch or button and her image was promptly replaced by an aerial view of the disaster. An enormous crater belching fire and smoke occupied the site of the former power plant. The flames had spread to engulf the surrounding park, consuming acres of trees and foliage, then leapt across tree-lined streets to attack buildings of wood and brick and glass and steel; the timber constructions ignited first, but the tremendous heat was also causing bricks and mortar to crack and crumble. No lights shone in the endangered buildings, since Thunderbird’s sudden absence had triggered a citywide blackout. Billowing fumes obscured the video, which caused Scott to flinch noticeably. The roar and crackle of the blaze threw a hush across the bridge until Poho returned to the screen, replacing the distressing sounds and images.
“As you can see, Captain, we have a full-scale inferno on our hands, in the heart of the city,” she said. “Making matters worse, our ability to combat the fire has been severely compromised by the blackout. Automated pumps and sensors and fire-suppression fields are down, along with many other crucial systems. We’re also getting reports of broken pipes and electrical fires, but these are difficult to confirm or locate without certain monitors up and running. And as for manpower . . . most of what was left of our volunteer fire company evacuated with their families, so we’re even more shorthanded than before.”
Kirk grasped the extent of the challenge. He almost regretted evacuating so much of the city’s population in anticipation of an even larger catastrophe, but if the warp core had breached on the surface, instead of in space, they’d be looking at colossal loss of life now.
“Fatalities?” he asked grimly.
“None that we know of so far,” Poho said. “Thank goodness.”
Kirk was glad to hear it, but he was not about to let that lull him into a sense of false security. With the fire still spreading, it was far too early to congratulate themselves on saving the city.
“I don’t need to tell you that the Enterprise is using every resource we have to cope with this crisis. People, equipment, supplies, and shuttles are already being deployed, with more on the way.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Remorse bled through Poho’s somber expression. “I owe you and Mister Scott an apology. I should have listened to you when you told me to shut down that reactor.”
“You did what you thought was best for your community.” Kirk wasn’t interested in assigning blame. He preferred to deal with the problem at hand. “Now it’s up to all of us to fix things before they get any worse.”
“Amen to that,” Scott said.
Kirk recalled the aerial coverage Poho had just shared with them. He had no intention of saving Jackpot City just to let it burn to the ground.
“Oh, wow,” Flossi said. “We’re really on the Enterprise?”
“The one and only,” Uhura said.
The teenager gaped at the transporter room, having been in the Pergium Palace only heartbeats before. Levity and a few others from the club shared the transporter platform with her and Uhura. The Palace was still intact, as of moments ago, but the flames had been getting closer so Uhura had made the executive decision to pull out of the ad hoc command center and transport her new friends and allies to the Enterprise. Not all of the club’s regulars were present, however; the last she had heard, Thackery and Rixon were ferrying one last load of evacuees to his property outside the city limits. She hoped they and their passengers were safely clear of the conflagration.
“Please exit the transporter platform quickly,” Lieutenant Kyle instructed the group. “We have many more parties to beam up.”
Uhura could believe it. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen the Enterprise’s main transporter room so busy. Kyle had at least two other technicians assisting him with operations, while additional crew members were on hand to escort new arrivals to where they needed to be. Uhura hustled her own party out of the transporter room into the corridor beyond, which was possibly even more hectic, with a slew of on-duty Starfleet personnel rushing about their business. She did her best to keep Flossi and the rest out of the way. Ensign Henri Camus appeared to take custody of the visitors.
“This officer will take care of you,” Uhura promised. “Just stick close to him and he’ll make sure you’re looked after.”
“Wait,” Flossi said. “I don’t need a babysitter. I can still help you with whatever comes next.”
“You’ve already done your share and more,” Uhura said sincerely, while trying to pass her off to Camus without hurting her feelings. Flossi meant well, but Uhura needed to get to the bridge, and the captain didn’t need any helpful teenagers tagging along with her at a time like this. “I’d appreciate the help and the company, really, but the bridge is likely to be off-limits to civilians for the duration. Nothing personal.”
The girl looked disappointed. “Are you sure?”
“Captain Kirk runs a tight ship, I’m afraid.” Uhura flashed an encouraging smile. “The best thing you can do for me now is keep an eye on your friends, listen to Ensign Camus here, and let the crew do their jobs. Can you do that for me?”
Flossi nodded. “Okay, I guess.”
“Thanks for understanding,” Uhura said. “I’ll see you later.”
Meanwhile, Levity had her own concerns. “I’m looking for my great-grandmother, Fenella Dandridge. She was supposed to be beamed up here a while ago. I need to find her.”
Camus consulted a data slate. “We’re processing a lot of people, ma’am, but let me see what I can do. What’s your name again?”
Uhura left them in the ensign’s capable hands. A data slate of her own was tucked under her arm as she hurried toward a turbolift while simultaneously registering the buzz of activity in the corridors. Concerned crew members escorted patients in wheelchairs and zero-g stretchers, presumably beamed up from evacuated medical facilities on the planet. Snatches of urgent conversations reached her ears:
“Sickbay is full up with folks from the city hospital. Put all but the most critical cases in the temporary wards in the rec rooms for now. More beds are being set up on deck nine, or so I’m told . . .”
“We need to get those portable generators down to the fire stations immediately. No, use the cargo transporters instead. The primary transporters are for receiving evacuees only . . .”
“That’s right. We need blankets, fresh water, emergency rations, whatever you can spare. We can always replace them later . . .”
“Shuttle departing in five minutes for that Rigelian freighter. We still have room for eight more evacuees, maybe more if they have small children . . .”
All hands on deck, Uhura noted. She made it to the bridge, where she saw Captain Kirk conferring with Mister Scott, while Yeoman Landon stood by, taking notes. She couldn’t help noticing that Spock and Chekov had not yet returned from the mission to Yurnos. Their presence was no doubt sorely missed in this crisis. Sulu’s, too.
“Welcome back, Lieutenant,” Kirk said, acknowledging her return. He was clearly busy, but she appreciated the gesture even if he quickly returned to managing the emergency. She saw that the main viewscreen was occupied by a map of Jackpot City, with the raging fire indicated by a red zone that expanded as the Enterprise’s long-range sensors tracked the spreading blaze. Yeoman Landon handed him a microtape disk, which he loaded into the reader in his chair. He scowled at the new data as though he found it unsatisfactory. “This isn’t good enough. I need to know for certain which areas around the fire have been completely evacuated.”
“I may be able to help you with that, sir.” Uhura beckoned to Landon, who took her data slate from her. She had transferred the information from her own maps onto the slate before abandoning the Pergium Palace. “I charted the areas my volunteers cleared up until we pulled out of the area.”
Landon passed the slate to Kirk, who quickly reviewed its contents.
“Thank you, Uhura. This is just what I needed.”
She knew the captain well enough to know he was working on a plan. She was curious to know what it was, feeling somewhat as though she had walked into the middle of a play having missed the first act, but figured she’d catch up soon enough. Crossing the bridge, she relieved Palmer, who relocated to an auxiliary comm station over by the environmental and shipboard subsystems rather than taking a break. Uhura sat down at her accustomed post and reclaimed her earpiece for the first time in what felt like forever.
Home sweet home, she thought.
She took a moment to survey the standard frequencies, where she found various ongoing in-ship, ship-to-ship, and ship-to-surface communications underway. She sorted through them, efficiently assessing and prioritizing them as she’d been trained to do, before noticing something odd: a faint subspace signal of some sort coming from outside the solar system. The signal was weak and spotty; in the crush of transmissions flying back and forth regarding the crisis on Baldur III, the barely imperceptible signal would have been all too easy to miss if she hadn’t paused to take an overview of the incoming and outgoing messages.
What have we here?
Subspace static rendered the fragmented signal difficult to decipher. Uhura had to run it through several advanced filters and restoration algorithms to clean it up enough to realize that it was in fact a distress signal . . . coming from inside the Antares Maelstrom?
Looks like I got back to the Enterprise just in time.
“Do you think it will work, Scotty?”
“It’s our best option,” the engineer replied to Kirk. “Sorry I made such a mess down on the planet, Captain.”
“You already saved the city once,” Kirk replied. “Now we just have to save it from the aftermath of that miracle.”
Kirk studied the map on the viewscreen. His own proposed solution was also going to leave a mark on Jackpot City, but playing it safe was no answer at all. He could only hope Mayor Poho felt the same way.
“Lieutenant Uhura, get me the mayor—”
“Excuse me, Captain,” she interrupted. “I’ve received a distress signal from Lieutenant Sulu. He’s aboard a commercial vessel, the Lucky Strike, that’s lost in the Antares Maelstrom. They’re in extreme jeopardy.”
The announcement caught Kirk off guard. “What? How did Sulu end up in the Maelstrom?”
“Apparently it’s a long story, Captain. But the ship, the crew, and its passengers are in danger and requesting our immediate assistance.”
Kirk didn’t know what to do. His first instinct was to go to the Lucky Strike’s rescue, but Jackpot City was still burning on the screen before him. He was torn between wanting to save Sulu and the other lives at risk in the Maelstrom and his duty to protect the city below. He was also all too aware that the Enterprise was currently crammed with evacuees, and taking on more, all of whom would be in danger if he took the ship into the Maelstrom to answer Sulu’s distress call. Could he in good conscience risk their lives in order to save others?
“Captain?” Uhura prodded gently. “How shall I respond?”
Spock would surely point out that there was only one logical choice. Kirk saw that, too, but that didn’t make it any less agonizing.
“Inform Lucky Strike that the Enterprise is currently engaged with an urgent situation on Baldur III.” Kirk’s stony face and tone strove to conceal what his words cost him. “Tell them . . . we’ll respond when we’re able.”
“Aye, sir,” Uhura said. “I understand.”
No one challenged his decision. He was grateful for that, although part of him almost wished for a compelling reason to choose the Lucky Strike over Jackpot City.
“Sulu is on his own, then, sir?” Scott asked. “For the time being?”
“I’m afraid so, Mister Scott.”