Star Trek - Log 5 by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
ISBN: 0345333519
Publisher: Ballantine Books
Published: 1991-09-26T07:00:00+00:00

VII

"Captain, I'm getting a signal from the Huron—by automatic emergency beacon."

Kirk stiffened in his seat. "Are we close enough for direct ship-to-ship contact yet?"

Uhura checked a readout. "Possible, sir—fringe tangency."

"Try it"

"Yes, sir." There was a pause, then, "Nothing, sir. Either we're still too far off or—it's definitely an emergency beacon doing the broadcasting." She didn't have to elaborate.

"Sensor report, Mr. Spock. Have they reached the designated coordinates?" It took Spock several seconds longer than usual to make the check and reply.

"No, sir. Long-range scanners also indicate a course change. They are veering off—and have reduced speed considerably."

"Compute new course to intercept, Mr. Arex. Lieutenant Uhura, keep trying to make contact. Let's find out what's going on—"

It took longer than Kirk expected to make the rendezvous, not because of the course change but because the Huron had not merely cut speed—she had practically stopped.

Visual contact soon revealed the reasons why. The freighter sat there on the main viewscreen, drifting aimlessly in space. All entreaties for acknowledgment were ignored with frightening uniformity.

Spock's attention was on his hooded viewer. "The Huron's power levels are functioning at the bare minimum required to maintain life-support systems, Captain. And sensors are picking up considerable metallic and other inorganic debris."

"Natural cause?"

Spock looked up from the viewer. "No, Captain. Extrapolating from preliminary data I would say without qualification that she was attacked. Indications are . . . indications are . . ." He swayed in his chair, eyelids fluttering.

"Spock!"

For a moment the first officer's eyes opened wide and clear. Then a faint suggestion of uncertainty crossed that stolid visage. "Captain, I . . ."

Kirk started forward—caught the limp form before it struck the floor. Uhura was already on the intercom.

"Bridge to Sick Bay—Emergency!"

Kirk felt no need to ask McCoy for a detailed interpretation of the readings that winked on and off on the screen above Spock's head. Anyone with a minimal knowledge of Vulcan physiology could see that they were appallingly low.

McCoy studied he unconscious Vulcan. "We've got to have that strobolin, Jim. The synthetic is useless now—hell, it's been useless for half a day! He has lapsed into coma." He looked unwaveringly at Kirk.

"If we don't get that drug soon, very soon, hell never come out of it."

"Do what you can, Bones." It sounded pitifully inadequate. "And I'll—I'll do what I can."

Now they had another problem to cope with. What had happened to the Huron? He gave McCoy a hesitant, encouraging pat on the back and left Sick Bay.

McCoy watched him go, his one note of satisfaction in this being Kirk's continued steadiness; then he turned his attention back to his patient. He examined the readouts again. For the moment they were unchanged. Temporary, false pleasure—they could only change for the worse.

"Blasted Vulcan!" he yelled at the motionless form, "Why couldn't you have red blood like any normal man?"

He prayed for a comforting insult.

He got only sibilant breathing—and silence.

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