Space | Saturday FT
With the aid of shuttlebay technicians, Jim, Sulu, and Olson struggled into the semiflexible dropsuits.
Lightweight and fashioned of special composites nearly impervious to heat, the suits would keep them from turning into slender human-shaped cinders as they made the plunge into Vulcan's atmosphere.
At least, Jim told himself as he waited for a tech to hand him his helmet, that was how it worked in Academy simulations.
Where a suitable planetary surface was available and shuttle or transporter was not, space drop was designed to provide a final opportunity to escape a fatally crippled ship. It was strictly a last-gasp maneuver, akin to jumping off a sinking watercraft with nothing more than an antique life preserver. Everything they would need to survive the drop was integrated into the suits. A gleeful Olson took responsibility for the powerful charges that would be used to destroy the drill housing once they landed on it.
Jim found the engineer's excitement incomprehensible. He himself could be jaunty on occasion, but not when embarking on an outing where there was a very good chance they were all going to die. He did not voice his concerns, however.
He couldn't help but wonder: if they were successful, would he be allowed to continue to serve on the Enterprise?
Survive first, he told himself. Worry about commendations later.
The techs worked fast. Final checkout was hasty but thorough. Coolant control-on. Intersuit communications activated-check. Chute deployment and adjustment systems-they would find out real soon. Carrying their helmets, they hurried to board the waiting shuttle.
As they took their seats, Jim could see that Olson was grinning as if he was going on a ski trip.
"This is great!" the engineer declared ecstatically. "Isn't this great?"
"Yes-great." Sulu did not smile as he leaned back into the padding of his launch seat. His expression was in complete denial of his words.
"I am pumped," Olson continued, "to kick some Romulan ass!"
Jim did manage a smile. It was just as well the engineer, chief or not, was unable to see what he was thinking. Turning away from the engineer, Jim turned to his other companion.
"So, what kind of advanced combat training do you have?"
"Fencing," Sulu informed him proudly.
Jim nodded slowly to himself. "Uh-huh, right-fencing. That's...great."
"Hold on. Preparing for departure." Pike's hands worked the instruments. It had been a long time since he had flown a shuttle. Usually one was provided for him, together with an escort and a pilot. As the small craft rose from the deck and atmosphere was exhausted from the bay, Pike was pleased at how quickly the necessary command and maneuvering instructions came back to him. Being a starship captain was all very well and good, but you never really got to "fly" a ship.
The helmsman did that, and the science officer, and the ship's computer and advanced instrumentation.
The shuttlebay doors opened in front of him. He leaned on the appropriate instruments and the little vessel darted obediently forward. It was good to be in control of flight again.
Even if the circumstances that had provided the opportunity were less than promising.
Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible in the course he had chosen, Pike sent the shuttle speeding toward the enormous alien vessel in as wide an arc as he dared. Minutes ticked away without any response or comment from the Narada. If he was not challenged he would be able to strike the bottom of an arc above the optimum drop point. The men undertaking the incredibly tricky mission would have one chance and one only to hit the drop precisely. Once clear of the shuttle their commitment would be irrevocable.
Ahead he could see multiple metallic threads twining into one. An enormous spiny cable descended from the belly of the alien craft toward the yellow-brown world below. Far below he could just make out the white-hot whirlwind of plasma being emitted by the drill platform. The captain had set out on as inconspicuous a parabolic course as possible and thus far the Romulans had not reacted negatively. Would the arc he had plotted be deep enough? He made minute adjustments to course and speed, trying to slow as much as possible without attracting undue attention. Delicately he trimmed attitude to rotate the shuttle so that its fuselage would be aligned between the Narada and the preselected drop angle.
Within the aft bay a Klaxon sounded. Helmets were donned and twisted into place, each man checking his neighbor's seal. As soon as they were locked each suit automatically pressurized.
Internal instrumentation would preserve proper atmosphere, humidity, and pressure as long as suit integrity remained intact. If any one of those critical life-support components failed, Jim knew, it probably wouldn't matter because the suit's occupant would be dead before he realized it.
As they rose from their seats, they checked each other's joints for leaks or unsecured gear. In front of them a port revealed the panorama outside. Beyond lay star field and, below, the surface of Vulcan. Jim found himself wishing for the brilliant blue and white gleam of Earth. He could see at a glance how such a stark landscape could give rise to a personality as cold as that of the ship's overbearing science officer. A moment later there was no more time for sightseeing.
"Disabling gravity on one," announced the captain perfunctorily. Along with his companions Jim reached for the nearest handhold. "Three, two, one."
All three men rose slightly from the floor. Having undergone countless pertinent training exercises, they had no difficulty coping with the rapid loss of gravity, though Jim felt slightly sick to his stomach at the sudden absence of weight. Or perhaps the nausea was due to something else.
"Good luck, men." Pike hit another control.
Below the trio the shuttle's doors snapped open. Instant compartment depressurization kicked them out as forcefully as if they had been shot from a catapult. Beneath and between them and the planetary surface lay thousands of kilometers of mostly nothing. Using their suits' tiny individual, mechanical thrusters, they adjusted their descent attitude until they were rocketing along head-downward and in parallel.
It was the silence that struck Jim. Free-falling in emptiness, he noticed there was no sound except the familiar pounding of his own heart and the bellows that were his lungs. Vulcan was rushing toward them at incredible speed, its desert surface threatening to rise up and smash them flat. Falling back on the special breathing exercises he had learned at the Academy, he fought to regulate his respiration and heart rate. Despite his best efforts they remained high. Had he been on board, with McCoy in attendance and privy to the relevant readings, the doctor would probably have rushed him to emergency without a second's thought.
There was no emergency bay to go to here, he told himself. He glanced over at his plummeting companions.
They were the emergency.
Seconds after drop release they found themselves shooting groundward alongside the mammoth tether that connected the plasma drill to the Romulan vessel. Though they were plummeting toward the surface far too fast to make out many details, Jim saw enough to convince him that the drill and its tether constituted yet another example of Romulan technology that represented a considerable leap over what was available to the Federation. How had so many scientific and military developments gone unnoticed and unreported upon? Didn't the Federation have reliable contacts within the Romulan Empire?
He had other things to worry about. Descending at numbing velocity toward the planet below, he knew that just as they'd had one chance to hit the drop point, they would have one chance to land on the drill platform. Assuming their suits functioned flawlessly. Powerless, they could not reverse course. Shoot past, and the next stop would be one of Vulcan's extensive desert plains.
At the appropriate instant, and guided by his suit's instrumentation, Sulu deployed his chute.
Fashioned of a superthin and super-strong nanocarbonweave variant even more remarkable than the one that comprised the outer shell of their dropsuits, it began to slow his descent immediately. Jim opened his own chute at almost exactly the same instant.
A gleaming red blur shot past him, heading directly for the looming drill platform. Heedless of the fact that by saying anything he was upbraiding the actions of a superior officer, Jim barely had time to shout a warning into his helmet pickup.
"Olson, pull now, now!"
Utterly lost in the moment, the chief engineer continued to hold back. He intended to show the two junior officers how it should be done. He was going to land on the platform ahead of them and commence its destruction even before they touched down. The drop had been exhilarating and had gone entirely according to plan. He almost laughed at the anguish in the younger man's voice that was screaming in his ears.
"No problem, Cadet. Another second, another two, three…" The chief engineer finally deployed his chute. "See? Slow, slowing…"
Not slow enough.
Olson hit the platform hard but intact. The impact knocked the wind out of him and sent him slewing sideways across the curved metal shell. Stunned, he scrambled for a handhold on the slightly sloping surface as he slid toward the edge. Still deployed, his chute had caught air and was dragging him backward. Reaching out, he hit the control to retract the fabric. As he did so, he lost what grip he had and tumbled off the edge.
Fingers fumbled for the appropriate contact. He had failed in his attempt to land on the drill platform. Frustrated and angry at himself, all he could do now was redeploy the chute to descend safely to the surface below and…
His angle of descent sent him spinning toward the tornadic column of downward-driving plasma. Before he could reopen his chute, he made the slightest contact with its white-hot periphery.
Incineration was instantaneous.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the Star Trek novelization. More to come later.]
Lightweight and fashioned of special composites nearly impervious to heat, the suits would keep them from turning into slender human-shaped cinders as they made the plunge into Vulcan's atmosphere.
At least, Jim told himself as he waited for a tech to hand him his helmet, that was how it worked in Academy simulations.
Where a suitable planetary surface was available and shuttle or transporter was not, space drop was designed to provide a final opportunity to escape a fatally crippled ship. It was strictly a last-gasp maneuver, akin to jumping off a sinking watercraft with nothing more than an antique life preserver. Everything they would need to survive the drop was integrated into the suits. A gleeful Olson took responsibility for the powerful charges that would be used to destroy the drill housing once they landed on it.
Jim found the engineer's excitement incomprehensible. He himself could be jaunty on occasion, but not when embarking on an outing where there was a very good chance they were all going to die. He did not voice his concerns, however.
He couldn't help but wonder: if they were successful, would he be allowed to continue to serve on the Enterprise?
Survive first, he told himself. Worry about commendations later.
The techs worked fast. Final checkout was hasty but thorough. Coolant control-on. Intersuit communications activated-check. Chute deployment and adjustment systems-they would find out real soon. Carrying their helmets, they hurried to board the waiting shuttle.
As they took their seats, Jim could see that Olson was grinning as if he was going on a ski trip.
"This is great!" the engineer declared ecstatically. "Isn't this great?"
"Yes-great." Sulu did not smile as he leaned back into the padding of his launch seat. His expression was in complete denial of his words.
"I am pumped," Olson continued, "to kick some Romulan ass!"
Jim did manage a smile. It was just as well the engineer, chief or not, was unable to see what he was thinking. Turning away from the engineer, Jim turned to his other companion.
"So, what kind of advanced combat training do you have?"
"Fencing," Sulu informed him proudly.
Jim nodded slowly to himself. "Uh-huh, right-fencing. That's...great."
"Hold on. Preparing for departure." Pike's hands worked the instruments. It had been a long time since he had flown a shuttle. Usually one was provided for him, together with an escort and a pilot. As the small craft rose from the deck and atmosphere was exhausted from the bay, Pike was pleased at how quickly the necessary command and maneuvering instructions came back to him. Being a starship captain was all very well and good, but you never really got to "fly" a ship.
The helmsman did that, and the science officer, and the ship's computer and advanced instrumentation.
The shuttlebay doors opened in front of him. He leaned on the appropriate instruments and the little vessel darted obediently forward. It was good to be in control of flight again.
Even if the circumstances that had provided the opportunity were less than promising.
Trying to be as unobtrusive as possible in the course he had chosen, Pike sent the shuttle speeding toward the enormous alien vessel in as wide an arc as he dared. Minutes ticked away without any response or comment from the Narada. If he was not challenged he would be able to strike the bottom of an arc above the optimum drop point. The men undertaking the incredibly tricky mission would have one chance and one only to hit the drop precisely. Once clear of the shuttle their commitment would be irrevocable.
Ahead he could see multiple metallic threads twining into one. An enormous spiny cable descended from the belly of the alien craft toward the yellow-brown world below. Far below he could just make out the white-hot whirlwind of plasma being emitted by the drill platform. The captain had set out on as inconspicuous a parabolic course as possible and thus far the Romulans had not reacted negatively. Would the arc he had plotted be deep enough? He made minute adjustments to course and speed, trying to slow as much as possible without attracting undue attention. Delicately he trimmed attitude to rotate the shuttle so that its fuselage would be aligned between the Narada and the preselected drop angle.
Within the aft bay a Klaxon sounded. Helmets were donned and twisted into place, each man checking his neighbor's seal. As soon as they were locked each suit automatically pressurized.
Internal instrumentation would preserve proper atmosphere, humidity, and pressure as long as suit integrity remained intact. If any one of those critical life-support components failed, Jim knew, it probably wouldn't matter because the suit's occupant would be dead before he realized it.
As they rose from their seats, they checked each other's joints for leaks or unsecured gear. In front of them a port revealed the panorama outside. Beyond lay star field and, below, the surface of Vulcan. Jim found himself wishing for the brilliant blue and white gleam of Earth. He could see at a glance how such a stark landscape could give rise to a personality as cold as that of the ship's overbearing science officer. A moment later there was no more time for sightseeing.
"Disabling gravity on one," announced the captain perfunctorily. Along with his companions Jim reached for the nearest handhold. "Three, two, one."
All three men rose slightly from the floor. Having undergone countless pertinent training exercises, they had no difficulty coping with the rapid loss of gravity, though Jim felt slightly sick to his stomach at the sudden absence of weight. Or perhaps the nausea was due to something else.
"Good luck, men." Pike hit another control.
Below the trio the shuttle's doors snapped open. Instant compartment depressurization kicked them out as forcefully as if they had been shot from a catapult. Beneath and between them and the planetary surface lay thousands of kilometers of mostly nothing. Using their suits' tiny individual, mechanical thrusters, they adjusted their descent attitude until they were rocketing along head-downward and in parallel.
It was the silence that struck Jim. Free-falling in emptiness, he noticed there was no sound except the familiar pounding of his own heart and the bellows that were his lungs. Vulcan was rushing toward them at incredible speed, its desert surface threatening to rise up and smash them flat. Falling back on the special breathing exercises he had learned at the Academy, he fought to regulate his respiration and heart rate. Despite his best efforts they remained high. Had he been on board, with McCoy in attendance and privy to the relevant readings, the doctor would probably have rushed him to emergency without a second's thought.
There was no emergency bay to go to here, he told himself. He glanced over at his plummeting companions.
They were the emergency.
Seconds after drop release they found themselves shooting groundward alongside the mammoth tether that connected the plasma drill to the Romulan vessel. Though they were plummeting toward the surface far too fast to make out many details, Jim saw enough to convince him that the drill and its tether constituted yet another example of Romulan technology that represented a considerable leap over what was available to the Federation. How had so many scientific and military developments gone unnoticed and unreported upon? Didn't the Federation have reliable contacts within the Romulan Empire?
He had other things to worry about. Descending at numbing velocity toward the planet below, he knew that just as they'd had one chance to hit the drop point, they would have one chance to land on the drill platform. Assuming their suits functioned flawlessly. Powerless, they could not reverse course. Shoot past, and the next stop would be one of Vulcan's extensive desert plains.
At the appropriate instant, and guided by his suit's instrumentation, Sulu deployed his chute.
Fashioned of a superthin and super-strong nanocarbonweave variant even more remarkable than the one that comprised the outer shell of their dropsuits, it began to slow his descent immediately. Jim opened his own chute at almost exactly the same instant.
A gleaming red blur shot past him, heading directly for the looming drill platform. Heedless of the fact that by saying anything he was upbraiding the actions of a superior officer, Jim barely had time to shout a warning into his helmet pickup.
"Olson, pull now, now!"
Utterly lost in the moment, the chief engineer continued to hold back. He intended to show the two junior officers how it should be done. He was going to land on the platform ahead of them and commence its destruction even before they touched down. The drop had been exhilarating and had gone entirely according to plan. He almost laughed at the anguish in the younger man's voice that was screaming in his ears.
"No problem, Cadet. Another second, another two, three…" The chief engineer finally deployed his chute. "See? Slow, slowing…"
Not slow enough.
Olson hit the platform hard but intact. The impact knocked the wind out of him and sent him slewing sideways across the curved metal shell. Stunned, he scrambled for a handhold on the slightly sloping surface as he slid toward the edge. Still deployed, his chute had caught air and was dragging him backward. Reaching out, he hit the control to retract the fabric. As he did so, he lost what grip he had and tumbled off the edge.
Fingers fumbled for the appropriate contact. He had failed in his attempt to land on the drill platform. Frustrated and angry at himself, all he could do now was redeploy the chute to descend safely to the surface below and…
His angle of descent sent him spinning toward the tornadic column of downward-driving plasma. Before he could reopen his chute, he made the slightest contact with its white-hot periphery.
Incineration was instantaneous.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the Star Trek novelization. More to come later.]