The Rings of Tautee (8 page)

Fortunately he had found no internal injuries yet. And even more fortunately, Scotty's golf contraption was disassembled. Instead of fake green grass and mist off the sea, the deck had been 82 THE RINGS OF TAUTEE transformed into a makeshift hospital and refugee area full of beds, blankets, and wounded.

Tauteeans leaned against walls, and lay, eyes closed, on beds. A few sat on chairs, their short legs unable to reach the ground. They didn't look like children, though. They looked like shrunken humans.

But they weren't human.

Tauteeans were a thin-boned, almost birdlike people.

He doubted that the heaviest of them weighed more than a normal ten-year-old child. The men were no more than five feet tall, and the women were shorter than that. But they had a compelling attractiveness that had something to do with their frailty, and with their delicate bodies. Something that made McCoy want to protect them.

Maybe it was the sense of despair around them.

McCoy had been on rescue missions before, and the survivors always celebrated when they were lifted away from certain death. Then, days[*thorn] sometimes months[*thorngg'later, they felt survivors' guilt. But these people seemed to be feeling it already. Even the ones who weren't seriously wounded closed their eyes and didn't speak much to those around them.

The silence in the bays was unnerving. His voice, blended with that of his current patient, would bounce against the high ceiling, sending mocking echoes throughout.

No one looked, no one watched, not even to see if a colleague was all right. Not even after a 83 Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch subspace wave hit, and they all clutched the nearest post, the nearest wall, for balance.

McCoy would have to monitor all of his patients carefully. Despair this deep made a shallow cut deadly; he had learned long ago that people who wished to die often could force their bodies to cease functioning properly.

In fact, he was more worried about their mental conditions than their physical ones. The loss of a house, a dwelling, a plot of land, was bad enough.

The loss of a country was devastating. The loss of a planet, and the destruction of a solar system, was beyond his comprehension.

Not only was the beloved dwelling gone, but so were the land that it rested on and the air that surrounded it. He hadn't returned to his family home, his Earth, in a long time, but if he received news that Earth and her sister planets were gone[*thorn] well, the thought made his breath catch in his throat.

McCoy was working on a man who had cuts all over his hands and arms. One long gash ran down the side of his cheek, and bumps rose from his forehead as if he had been hit with a dozen rocks. The cuts were dirty but not yet infected. McCoy shot the man full of antibiotics and gingerly picked up the man's left hand. McCoy was leery of these fine bones. If he gripped them too hard, he felt he would shatter them with his simple touch.

The man had moaned once, when McCoy touched a particularly deep slash in the upper arm, and then had said nothing else. His breathing sounded loud in the cargo bay's stillness.

THE RINGS OF TAUTEE Then McCoy heard a chair clang. He glanced to his left, past the rows of barrels that Scotty kept for some unknown purpose, and watched a slender dark-haired woman move from person to person. She touched each Tauteean she passed, and spoke softly. They smiled in response. Sad smiles, but smiles nonetheless.

The woman moved with both leadership and apology, as if she were accepting responsibility for everything.

McCoy had seen Jim Kirk do the same in difficult situations. The leadership seemed to give the others strength, and the apology was an acknowledgment of their pain.

McCoy smiled to himself and went back to his work.

Her low voice soothed even him. Her touch with these people would probably help them more than McCoy could.

He had finished with the man's arms and had just reached for the long gash when he felt a presence beside him.

McCoy looked down. The woman was running her fingers over the man's healed skin.

"Be careful," McCoy said. "It'll still be a bit tender."

She looked up at him, her dark eyes intense and shadowed at the same time. "It looks healed," she said. Her voice was rich, deep, and musical.

"It is," McCoy said. "But the memory of the pain remains for about an hour."

A man came up behind her. He was as tall as she was. He put a hand possessively on her shoulder. She didn't shrug him off, but she didn't acknowledge him either. The man didn't seem to mind.

Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch She watched for another minute, then seemed to gather herself. She obviously hadn't come to talk about the wounded. She had come for something else.

McCoy finished cleaning the gash, then pinched its edges together and mended the skin. The other man gasped[*thorngg'obviously this technology was beyond them[*thorngg'b the woman didn't. She waited until McCoy was finished.

He glanced down at her, and she lifted her chin, clearly ready to ask her question.

"I would like to speak to your . . ." The woman hesitated for a moment before finding the right word. "dis . . captain. Is there some way you can help me do this?"

Suddenly the ship rocked and shuddered as another subspace wave crashed into it. The room seemed to rumble, and people fought to keep their feet. McCoy spread his feet and managed to remain standing over his patient out of almost sheer will. The woman in front of him also remained standing, while the man following her was knocked to the deck. Screams and cries resounded against the walls as wounds were reopened, and people fell.

McCoy also sensed an undercurrent of deep fear. These people were afraid the subspace waves would kill them. They had a right to be afraid.

And all reacted accordingly. All except this alien woman beside him. She withstood the shuddering and shaking of the deck as if it were only a passing annoyance and not important in the scheme of things.

Almost as quickly as it hit, the shuddering 86 THE RINGS OF TAUTEE passed. The cries stopped, and the silence returned. The woman was still looking at him as if they hadn't been interrupted.

McCoy cleared his throat. "The captain is pretty busy at the moment, as you might guess.

I can take you to him later when things are calmer."

"I think your captain will want to see me," the woman said. "I am the leader of these people. I also have information that might be helpful about the shock waves."

McCoy nodded and glanced around. This room was under control. The survivors in the other cargo bay weren't as badly injured as the folks here. He needed to go to sickbay, to mend the broken bones and work on the serious infections, but he could take a detour to the bridge. It wouldn't take long, and it might turn out interesting.

"All right," he said. "I'm sure the captain would appreciate the help. I'll take you to him."

He put out his hand. "I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy."

The woman hesitated for a moment, then put her surprisingly small hand in his, like a queen at a Regency ball. "Prescott," she said, and, indicating the man behind her, added, "This is Folle."

McCoy nodded at her companion, and resisted the urge to bow over her hand like a courtly gentleman. Her strength attracted him, but her fragility and sense of loss made him protective. The man watched him warily.

McCoy reluctantly released her hand.

She was studying his face with puzzlement.

"Have I done something to offend you?" he asked, suddenly worried that touching hands might 87 Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch have a different significance in her culture than it did in his.

She shook her head. "Dr. Leonard McCoy, why do you have three names?"

McCoy opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. Why did he have three names? He suddenly couldn't think of a good answer.

She watched him with a seriousness that made him feel as if his life depended on his answer.

Finally he just laughed and said, "My people have never been known for doing anything the easy way."

Her puzzled frown kept him chuckling to himself all the way to the turbolift.

Chapter Thirteen THE BR-RDGE OF nrEvery Enterprise was as silent as a tomb.

It felt as if time had stopped.

Uhura held a hand over her communications console.

Sulu was still watching the screen, but his head was tilted oddly as if he were trying to see the captain out of the corner of his eye.

Chekov was watching him, eyes wide.

The three other ensigns on the bridge had swiveled their chairs so that they could see the captain.

And Spock was studying him as if he were a particularly interesting[*thorngg'and possibly dangerous [*thorngg'extraterrestrial bug.

Kirk was used to the scrutiny, and he appreci-ated the silence. He had to decide whether or not

Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch rescue the remaining survivors of the Tautee disaster[*thorngg'and how.

Spock said there might be thousands.

Thousands were more than the Enterprise and Farragut could handle. And with that many survivors of a pre-warp culture, a rescue attempt would be violating the Prime Directive, and the Federation would no doubt order him to back off if he asked for more help.

But there had to be a way around the rules. He had beaten the Kobayashi Maru and he could beat this.

On the main screen in front of him the four Klingon cruisers hung. They seemed to be just waiting also. But why and for what, Kirk had no dea.

Maybe the Klingons were the key to solving the survivors' problem. Kirk swiveled around to face his science officer. "Spock, any theory as to what caused this destruction?"

Spock raised an eyebrow as if that were not what he expected the captain to ask. "I have no concrete theory yet, Captain. I do not know what caused the destruction. It may have been caused by the Tauteeans. It may have been a natural disaster of a type we have not seen before. I just do not know, and at this moment I am unwilling to speculate."

"You could have just said no," Kirk muttered.

Spock swiveled, and glanced into his scope.

Kirk steepled his fingers. Thousands of lives rested on this next decision.

Of course, his old colleague and nemesis, Admir90 THE RINGS OF TAUTEE al William Banning, would have said that Kirk did not trust the process well enough. The Federation's guidelines were simple A pre-warp culture had to develop naturally. If a natural disaster wiped it out, then that was part of "naturally." If a natural disaster hit, and only a few survived, they needed the opportunity to save themselves without help.

But Kirk wasn't convinced this disaster was natural. And the Federation had no real guidelines for what to do with the pre-warp survivors of an attack by a more advanced race.

"Captain," Spock said, his voice calm as always. "Another subspace wave shall hit us in ten seconds."

"Could a Klingon superweapon have caused all this?" Kirk asked.

Spock glanced over his shoulder at the captain. Uhura took a deep, sudden breath and held it.

Out of the corner of his eye Kirk could see Sulu turn to look at him.

"At this point, Captain," Spock said carefully, "I am not willing to speculate."

The entire ship shook and moaned as the internal stabilisers fought to keep the ship level against the huge forces shaking it. Kirk held on to the arms of his chair and rode it out. The chair bumped against his spine and legs, the thin cushion no protection against each impact.

Sulu clung to the helm.

Chekov tried to swivel his chair back and nearly fell again.

Dean Wesley Smith and Kristine Kathryn Rusch And Uhura maintained her balance with the grace of a ballerina.

They were getting used to these waves, although this one felt as if it was bumping harder than the last.

Spock frowned and even before the shaking had stopped turned back to his scope. Kirk jumped to his feet, relieved to be off that chair, and moved up to the rail near the science station.

"Was that more intense?" he asked. He already knew the answer. It was clearly a stronger wave, but he needed Spock to confirm his senses.

After a moment Spock looked up. "Since our arrival into this system, the intensity of the subspace wave has increased by almost ten percent. The rate of increase appears to be constant."

"Constant?" Kirk said. He had not expected that. He had thought that all the waves had been similar until this one. "Can you speculate on this increase, Spock?"

"Unfortunately, yes, Captain," Spock said. "If this rate of increase continues, the Tautee sun will be torn apart in approximately twenty-seven-pointthree days."

"Torn completely apart?" Kirk asked. He couldn't wrap his mind around that level of destruction any more than he could around fifteen planets destroyed.

Spock nodded. "Yes, sir. In sixty-two days the closest planetary system will be destroyed."

Kirk could feel his stomach starting to flutter, and he took a deep breath. It didn't seem to

THE RINGS OF TAUTEE help. There were four billion more lives in the Wheaten system. "It will spread that far?"

Kirk asked, his voice low, hoping he had heard wrong.

Spock kept one hand on the science console, as if he were still bracing himself against the subspace wave.

"If the rate of increase continues, and I see no logical reason why it should not, the waves emanating from this rift in space will be strong enough to destroy the planet Vulcan in approximately four hundred and eight days. And the planet Earth twenty-six days later."

"Four hundre d and eight days?"

Kirk leaned against the rail. Its support felt good against his back. Klingons, survivors, the Prime Directive, and now this. They would have to close that rift somehow, stop the waves. One year and the Federation would cease to exist if he didn't act. He had to stop those waves.

And he would wager the only way to stop the waves was to know what caused them.

Kirk turned again to face Spock. "If these waves are growing in intensity, Mr. Spock, how long until we have to move the Enterprise?"