Star Trek: Orders of Magnitude

CHAPTER THREE

The Ten-Forward lounge was normally the most relaxed place on the Enterprise. But now the stench of stale air mingled with the scent of drying blood. The soft moans of the injured filled the space with a tedious, undulating murmur of distress.

Ten-Forward had been transformed into a triage unit for a medical team working without supplies, without any of the advantages the 24th century had to offer.

The room's massive windows provided the medical staff with dim light to work by, the glimmer of a distant sun reflected off Saturn's surface. After several minutes in total darkness, their eyes had adjusted and the soft glow sufficed, allowing them to see without assistance and cut down on the use of candles. In addition to their need to conserve candles for essential uses, open flames consumed precious oxygen, a rapidly dwindling commodity.

A side dining room had been appropriated by the command crew to serve as a temporary conference room.

Beverly Crusher and her medical crew practiced the most basic forms of treatment -- splints and tourniquets, feet propped up on pillows, bandages made from ripped uniforms. The small supply of real alcohol stashed in Ten-Forward's bar served double-duty, cleaning wounds and dulling pain when appropriate.

"We have to get these people to sickbay, Jean-Luc," Crusher said. "We've already had three deaths, all crew members who relied on power-cell breathing devices to live. I'm going to start losing a lot more people soon if I can't get some working equipment. I have a dozen people here in critical condition, people who need help I can’t give under these conditions. And a dozen more who could go either way."

"I know," Picard replied softly. Three deaths already. The news weighed on him, but he could not allow himself the luxury of grief. A thousand more lives remained at stake. "We'll do everything we can, as quickly as we can. Can you come into the conference?"

"I'd rather stay out here," she said, casting a concerned eye over the room. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

There was a small bump in their environment, and Picard felt his feet briefly touch the deck. For a moment, Picard felt a swell of hope that the gravity had restored, but as quickly as it had happened, it was over.

"What was that?" Crusher asked in alarm. "I thought our orbit had stabilized!"

"Turbulence," Picard said. "We're still too close to the planet. It would be wise to tell your people to maintain a firm handhold whenever possible. Have them pass the word to the runners too."

The Enterprise's current orbit was unpowered; dozens of systems kept the ship flying smoothly though lumpy space under normal circumstances. With all those systems offline, and this close to the atmosphere, there was going to be some minor turbulence.

Hopefully, it would remain minor. The Enterprise was sturdy, but that strength was supplemented by its structural integrity field, one of the currently inoperative shipboard systems. The SIF created invisible lines of force that enhanced the ship's physical structure, density and resilience. It also evened out momentum. Among other things, that effect kept the delicate warp nacelles from tearing off the ship during course changes.

The momentary dip was a grim reminder of just how tenuous their situation was. Picard and Crusher locked eyes for a moment. They had been through many dire situations together, but this one was especially unnerving. They had built a fortress for themselves against all the perils of space, but that fortress had been torn away from them, system after system. Now only the metal shell of the Enterprise's hull stood between their fragile bodies and a cold vacuum that waited, with infinite patience and an endless resolve to swallow them whole.

* * *

In the conference room, Saturn's nimbus cast shades of green and yellow over Riker, Troi, LaForge, Barclay and Perrim. Picard took the chair at the head of the table.

"Counselor, are you well enough to be here?" Picard asked.

Troi smiled weakly. "Doctor Crusher says I have a slight concussion. There's nothing she can do for me without the use of sickbay, so I might as well be here. You should know, however, that the injury is interfering with my empathic ability."

"One less tool in our already limited arsenal," Picard said. "Mr. LaForge, what can you do to give us a few new tools?"

"It's a 'good news, bad news' situation, Captain," LaForge said, his fingers pressed to the table. Even with the light from the windows, Geordi was still blinded for as long as his ocular implants remained offline. "I believe there are some working components on the ship. The trick is going to be getting our hands on them."

"We haven't seen one working console yet," Riker said. "What's your thinking?"

"It goes like this," LaForge said. "Captain Picard's artificial heart hasn't been affected by whatever is shutting down the ship's systems. As you know, the captain's heart has twice been disrupted by tetryon radiation. The last time it happened, we decided an ounce of protection was worth a pound of cure, and we added some shielding to the components.

"Captain Picard's heart has been treated with a process called one-degree phase shifting. It's kind of complicated, but here's the short version. Everyone knows that when the Enterprise travels using warp drive, the ship isn't moving in normal space but in subspace, a different space-time continuum. We like to say subspace is located at right-angles to normal space, which is almost literally true.

"It requires immense amounts of power to shift an entire starship 90 degrees into subspace. But the one-degree phase shift tilts atoms just a little way out of normal space. The process can be only be applied to small items made of certain specific materials; it's impractical for larger-scale uses.

"Basically, the captain's heart is a tiny bit out of synch with normal space-time. Because of that, a lot of highly energetic forms of radiation just pass right through it, like it's not even there. And in a way, it's not."

"I'm glad I started this with a headache," Troi said, rubbing her temples, "because I would certainly have one by now if I hadn't."

LaForge smiled. "Sorry, Counselor. The quantum physics lesson is important because it's the key to understanding what's happened to the ship and how we get back on line. If the captain's heart is still beating, that means whatever is affecting us is almost certainly one of those highly energetic forms of radiation, which substantially narrows the range of possible causes."

"Please proceed, Mr. LaForge," Picard said firmly, implicitly discouraging any more tangents.

"Yes, sir. The good news is that our geological survey shuttlecraft has several components that are shielded with the one-degree technique. They're designed for use under adverse planetary conditions. There are a couple of tricorders, a few phasers and a medikit. It's not much..."

"Under the circumstances, Mr. LaForge, it's a hell of a lot," Riker said. "What's the bad news?"

"The bad news is that the shuttlebay is completely sealed off. Because the blackout started at the front of the ship, there was enough time for the emergency systems to kick in. An evacuation alarm sounded and the pressure doors went down. Good thing too, or we'd have lost even more good air when the atmospheric forcefields lost power. The only way we can access the shuttlebay is from the outside."

"There aren't any species among the ship's crew who can live or function in vacuum for much longer than a human can," Riker said. "Certainly not long enough to reach and open an airlock. Data is the only one who could do it, and he's still dead to the world."

Picard folded his hands in front of him on the table. "Mr. LaForge, is there any way that you can use the components in my artificial heart to restore Mr. Data to functionality?"

"Absolutely not!" Riker exclaimed, a sentiment echoed immediately by Troi.

"Not an option, Captain, even aside from the fact that the attempt would kill you instantly," LaForge said. "I don't see how it could possibly work."

"My heart contains a working power source. If you think of any way that power source can be used to save my ship, Mr. LaForge, anything at all, you will inform me at once." Picard gazed directly at Riker as he spoke. "That is a direct order, and I will entertain no objections. Have I made myself clear?"

"Crystal clear, sir. But I honestly don't see that as a viable option. The power used to run the artificial heart is negligible. If we're going to restore any useful systems on this ship for even a few minutes, we're going to need at least a phaser-sized power cell. The battery in your heart might run a flashlight, but that's not a reasonable tradeoff in anyone's book."

"Agreed," Picard said, leaning back in his chair. "What's our orbital status, Ensign Perrim?"

"From looking out the windows, I'd say we have five hours before we're in danger again," Perim said. "But that's a very shaky guess. I'd need sensors to be more precise, but the odds are that our air will go bad before we need to deal with the orbit again."

"What about using an escape pod to maneuver into the shuttlebay?"

"Calculated risk," Geordi said. "Once it's clear of the ship, the escape pod might regain power, but if it doesn't, it would be suicide for whoever was in the pod.

"The pods detach from the ship with explosive bolts, detonated by smaller versions of the capacitors that we used to fire the thrusters. We could scavenge a few of them, but they aren't directly compatible with most of our systems, and we might need those escape pods before this is over."

"Could you use power from one of those capacitors to bring Mr. Data online?"

"It would be extremely risky, sir. I might be able to do it, but I'd prefer to be sure we've exhausted all our other options before I try. The effort could do substantial damage to his circuits. Furthermore, we still haven't resolved the question of what's causing the blackout."

"Meaning that if some sort of energy dampening field is affecting us, it could still be operating," Riker said. "In which case, we won't be able to get Data online no matter what we do."

"Let's table that for now," Picard said. "What we need at the moment is a sure thing. How can we get someone outside the ship safely?"

"We can get to the environmental suits easily enough," Riker said. "The suit would be airtight even if its systems are powered down. Optimistically, it might hold 10 minutes worth of air with careful controlled breathing."

"It will take two minutes of sustained effort to manually open the shuttle doors, and one minute to manually open the airlock door, which will have to be done twice. So cut that down to six," LaForge said. "Not counting the increased respiration that would go with doing that kind of work. And navigating along the hull on a tether would probably take 15 minutes at best."

"Not enough time to get there, retrieve the equipment and get back," Picard said. "What can we do to improve the margin?"

"You could tether me to the airlock," LaForge said after a moment. "Then, I could kick off hard from the airlock and get a speed advantage compared to normal zero-g maneuvering. We'd measure the tether to go only as far as the shuttlebay. When I get to the shuttlebay, I could tether the line on that end, and someone on the airlock side could release it. Then I'd just reverse the procedure to come back. That would cut the travel time to about one minute, round trip, assuming no complications."

"When did you volunteer?" Riker asked, arching his eyebrows.

"Just thinking aloud, Commander. Besides, I'm smaller than you, so there would be more room in the suit for air. And I know exactly what I'm want and where it is."

"I'm smaller than either of you," Perrim interjected. "And you can't see to aim your jump or grab a handhold at the shuttlebay, Commander LaForge."

"Enough," Picard said. "If and when we decide to take this course, I will determine who goes. In the meantime, if Mr. LaForge wants to speak in the first person for the sake of simplicity, I'll allow it. I believe we have used up four of our ten minutes of air. Can the equipment be located and retrieved, in the dark, in six minutes?"

"It'll be close, sir, but I believe it can be done."

"Close calls seem to be the order of the day," Picard said. "Very well. It's dangerous, but it's a plan. We need that equipment and we need it as soon as possible. Commander Riker..."

"I'll suit up right away, sir," Riker said, standing.

"Just a moment, Will. I want you to check with Doctor Crusher and see if there are any species on board whose respiration requirements can buy us any more time. If not..."

He turned.

"Ensign Perrim, in addition to whatever air you save by virtue of your size, your lower mass will allow better maneuverability in zero-G. Are you still willing to undertake this assignment?"

"Yes, sir!" she said.

"Then suit up. Commander Riker, select an officer to accompany you. After Ensign Perrim casts off, I want the two of you outside the airlock, so that you can monitor her progress and be prepared to assist if necessary. I want all three of you tethered at all times. Dismissed."

"Aye, sir. Looks like you get to have all the fun," Riker said to Perrim, enviously.

"Better luck next time, Commander," she replied with a smirk.

* * *

The airlock door wheeled open, and the expulsion of its pocket of atmosphere tugged at her. Perrim climbed out and looked toward the back of the ship. She could see Saturn's rings, stretching like a rainbow over the Enterprise's hull, the reflected light of the planet giving them a soft glow. There was barely enough light by which to see, and with her air running out, there was no time to appreciate the unique view.

The shuttlebay was several dozen meters aft of her position and one deck down. Older starships had actual hangar doors, but the Enterprise-E was state of the art -- it relied on forcefields to hold the atmosphere inside. A tremendous convenience when the ship was operational, but the cause of their current dilemma. Without those forcefields, the bay, like the mouth of a cave, was completely exposed to space.

If she moved in a fairly straight trajectory, she could pass over the top of the aperture, with the flight deck of the bay spread out directly below her.

Better than anyone on the ship, Perrim knew how fast the Enterprise was moving. That knowledge made the stillness of space feel incongruous. With no comm or environmental systems working in her suit, the silence was exponentially more intense. The only sounds she could hear were uniquely her own, breathing, pulse, the rustle of her uniform as she moved.

Starfleet provided extensive training in zero-g activity. Over and over again, at the Academy, Perrim's instructor had drilled into her the importance of measured action. The slightest shift in body weight could have dramatic results. Slow, deliberate movement was vital. Cause and effect. A seemingly innocuous kick could result in a high-speed impact with a bulkhead.

Double-checking the tether line, Perrim braced her heels against the hatch. Ignoring all of her training, she pushed as hard as she could.

The move was precise, her aim intended to keep her as close to the hull as possible. She shot over the surface of the ship at a dizzying speed, horizontal to the surface that careened by just inches from her faceplate.

I can fly! she thought gleefully.

Then the tether ran out.

Even though the line was slightly elastic, the jarring impact rattled her teeth. Now came the tricky part. When she felt the impact, she had to swing her body around so that it was perpendicular to the ship. With her hand on the tether, she gave a careful snap to the line, as if it were a bullwhip, which slanted her trajectory so that she was carried down past the lip and into the shuttlebay.

The tricky part successfully managed, Perrim proceeded to the painful part -- stopping. She swung her body around the tether as it caught on the lip of the opening, hurtling her into the shuttlebay and swinging her toward the roof.

She extended her legs, bent at the knees, in order to cushion as much of the impact as best she could, but it still hurt like hell. Perrim rebounded off the roof and slammed into the floor, her full body taking the brunt of the impact. By then, much of her momentum had dissipated and she drifted a long, agonizing moment, spending valuable time to catch her breath as her limbs screamed in protest.

Finally, she felt well enough to move. How long had she floated there? A minute? Less? How much air did she have left?

It would have to be enough. She detached the tether line from her suit. The bay was completely dark and she groped around until she found a handhold on the deck. She attached the tether to it and tugged to make sure it was secure.

She had one chance to find the shuttle. She removed the small capacitor from her belt. LaForge and Barclay had scavenged it from one of the escape pods. She would get one shot at this. Carefully, she pressed the contacts to the deck as she held her eyes in the direction of the moored shuttlecraft.

When it hit the deck, it sparked in a short circuit. The flash briefly lit the bay in blue light. It lasted only an instant and provided very little illumination, but it was enough to see the shadowy outlines of the four shuttlecraft on the deck.

The ensign moved carefully toward her target, geological survey shuttlecraft Cassini. Feeling her way, she opened the hatch using the emergency manual access; it was difficult work with her battered limbs, but she managed to get it open in one minute and 32 seconds, according to her mental count, almost 30 seconds better than Geordi's estimate. It would make up for some of the time she lost after hitting the deck.

Inside the shuttle, she had to pry open the storage lockers, but she found the treasure she was after -- the shielded equipment. She picked up a tricorder, flipped it open, and felt a surge of elation when the console lit up. She checked the phasers, and they too indicated full power. The medkit was right where it should be.

The feeling of relief that washed over her was enormous. In its wake, it left an empty feeling. She was so incredibly dependent on technology; they all were. Without it, she felt naked, vulnerable. It was humbling and troubling.

But this wasn't a good time to become snarled in a philosophical knot. She loaded the equipment into a satchel and secured it to her suit. She had to get back to the ship.

Finding everything in the dark had been an excruciatingly slow process. Even the failing atmosphere in the main hull was preferable to the increasingly stale air in her suit. She could smell herself intensely now, the scents of exertion and pain, her breath inhaled and exhaled and breathed again. Perrim felt a little light-headed, though it was hard to sort that out from the general disorientation and vertigo that accompanied zero-g conditions.

Time to go home.

She emerged from the shuttlecraft, and felt her way back to the tether line, which was slack. That meant that Riker and Lieutenant Daniels were at the airlock waiting for her. She reeled in the line efficiently and when the other end came snaking into the bay, she attached it to her suit. She maneuvered back out onto the hull. In the faint ring light, she could see Riker over by the airlock. She waved, then got into position and kicked off. The skin of the ship blurred past her as she flew toward him, toward a fresher supply of oxygen, toward the completion of the mission.

* * *

Riker waved back to Perrim when she emerged from the shuttlebay. He had been trying to keep track of passing time in his head, but it was maddeningly imprecise. He guessed that she was a little ahead of schedule, that she had maybe two minutes of air to spare. The operation was proceeding like clockwork.

Perrim kicked off and shot toward them, like an eagle in flight.

Then the ship lurched.

"Turbulence!" Riker yelled, but no one could hear him.

Basic physics flashed through his mind. When Perrim had kicked off from the hull, she became a free object, her momentum separated from that of the Enterprise. Her position relative to the starship would remain constant, however...

As long as the Enterprise didn't move.

From Riker's perspective, the hull seemed to rise a meter or so, not swiftly, but surely. It appeared to brush against Perrim's flying body, a tap that would have seemed gentle if not for its effect on her motion.

The brief touch of the hull took all her speed and violently redirected it. Perrim was knocked upward, relative to the hull, until the tether stretched out to its full length. She rebounded straight backward, tumbling away from them and the ship, in a wide arc.

Riker turned to Daniels and pointed at the airlock deck in a motion that he hoped conveyed an order: Stay here!

With an act of sheer will, he shut out every thought of danger, made a swift mental calculation, and kicked off from the airlock himself. His line snaked out behind him.

Riker called on every pilot's instinct in his body and mind, instantly and intuitively estimating the variables: Perrim's velocity, the length of her line, the length of his line, his velocity.

The biggest uncertainty of all nagged at him on a subliminal level -- the likely trajectory of the next rebound, when her tether extended to its maximum length in the other direction. He had no time formulate whole thoughts, but it had always Riker's gift to size up a situation in the briefest of moments, to act before articulation.

The possible outcomes flashed through his mind in a kaleidoscope of mental images. Everything depended on where in the shuttlebay she had affixed her line. When it stretched out to its full length, her body would snap back in one of three ways -- slamming into the hull somewhere between his position and hers, smashing into the shuttlebay itself, or hurling back toward him.

Riker had gambled on the third outcome, his body implementing that choice before he consciously knew it in his mind.

It was the right decision. She was coming back toward him now, he could see it. He extended his arms in what he hoped was the right direction, steeling himself for the impact, praying he could get a grip on her before the force of their collision threw them apart again.

Nearer.

Nearer.

Horror gripped him as he saw it, just before it happened.

They were going to miss. By a matter of centimeters.

As she flashed past him, he caught a glimpse of the faceplate on her helmet; it was scarlet, smeared with blood. He stretched out his arms, tried to adjust his trajectory, but it was impossible. She was just beyond his grip.

He felt sick as his tether snapped tight, pulling him backward, flipping his considerable momentum back toward the ship.

This is going to hurt, he thought in resignation.

He was right, but in the wrong way.

As his direction reversed, Perrim reached the end of her line again, and rebounded. For a moment he thought he was going to have another chance to grab her, but they passed too far again.

Riker felt frustration welling up inside him, but it was quickly replaced by shock.

Something jerked him around in a new direction.

What the hell? he thought, and then he realized.

Their tether lines had tangled on the second pass.

Even Riker's gift of decision wasn't swift enough to evaluate the situation before it played out. As their lines caught, both Riker and Perrim were spun rapidly around. Their respective momentums interacting, they spiraled around the spot where their lines had connected several times before finally colliding, as each line drew taut.

They hit hard; Riker's faceplate smashed into the back of Perrim's helmet, snapping his neck back. He felt a sharp pain in his back, but he ignored it, agonizingly shifting her body around in his arms so that he could see her faceplate.

The fleeting glimpse proved itself. The inside of her helmet was opaque with blood.

"Perrim!" he shouted, knowing that she could hear him. He could barely hear himself over the sound of hissing.

Hissing?

Riker relaxed his eyes, his focus coming to rest in front of his nose. A silvery line, jagged and uneven, traced directly in his line of sight. He grasped the situation again in flashes, faster than words could form.

A hairline crack in his faceplate.

The hiss of precious air escaping.