Star Trek Log Six by Alan Dean Foster

Author:Alan Dean Foster
Language: eng
Format: epub

VII

Another double handful of soil, yet another ... and then the last. Sulu stepped back and took stock of the steep incline they had cut in the pit wall.

"I think that'll do it, Uhura." He smiled expectantly. "Ready?"

She took a deep breath. "I haven't done any serious climbing in years." In her Academy days, she and several daring friends had ascended the Aeolian Pyre on Tsavo II. If they could see the worry she was expressing now, over mounting ten feet of dirt, they would laugh.

Sulu and McCoy formed a double support with interlocked hands. With this boost, and moving carefully so as not to dislodge any more dirt, she was able to scramble over the rim.

The helmsman followed her a moment later. Then it was their turn to aid a less agile McCoy as he, struggling and cursing, fought his way to the top of the incline.

"When I get my hands on the clown who's behind this," he vowed, panting heavily, "I'll put him in Sick Bay for a month!"

Sulu rocked back on his heels and mopped at his sweaty face. "I thought you were supposed to operate the other way around, Dr. McCoy?"

"This is one time," McCoy countered, "where I think I'd enjoy drumming up some of my own business."

He would have added more, but the forest surrounding them chose that moment to flicker into chaos. Before anyone thought to inquire aloud what was happening, the tall, temperate grove with its gentle breeze and scented air had been replaced by a howling wilderness of ice and snow. Gale winds laden with snow and tiny, stinging ice chips lashed at them, while above the bone-chilling wind an admonishing voice cried, "Temper, temper! Perhaps this will cool you off!"

Huddled together for warmth, the three officers tried to take stock of their new environment while shielding their faces with cupped hands. Attempting to ignore the driving cold, Sulu made a slow turn. No matter which way he looked there was nothing to be seen but white ground and whiter sky. "We've got a regular blizzard condition here ... how are we ever going to find the exit?"

McCoy was stamping his feet. The surface shrank from the irregular friction ... it was real snow, all right.

Giggles fell like snowflakes around them as the temperature plunged to arctic levels...

***

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