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  “Firing.”

  The phasers lanced out, not in a beam, but in a broad fan that blanketed the expanding cloud of gas and caused it to explode violently outward.

  Stevens watched the screen. Faster.

  Then the failure warnings appeared on the phaser systems.

  Corsi had just stepped off the turbolift on deck three when the red alert sounded, She heard the main phasers fire. She halted in her tracks, a few steps from the small bay that held the exercise equipment.

  She stared up into nothingness, as though she could see through the hull and identify the unexpected threat. “What the hell is going on?”

  “Warning,” said the computer, “phaser coolant leak. Manifold rupture imminent. Evacuate deck three immediately.”

  T’Mandra, Makk Vinx, and Andrew Angelopoulos were on duty, and she trusted them to handle the evac.

  Then she realized that the phasers were still firing. Why don’t they cease fire? That manifold is going to blow.

  In theory, the safety systems should have already shut them down, which meant someone had overridden them. Only one person knew phasers well enough to do that during a live firing.

  Fabian! He’d have a damned good reason, and she knew a way to help.

  At the end of the corridor was a manual override panel for the coolant system. If she could vent the coolant into space, it would buy them a few more seconds of phaser fire before thermal shutdown. It might prevent the manifold rupture.

  They’d be days getting the phasers back online, but Fabian had to know that already.

  She opened an emergency panel and pulled a breathing hood over her head, then charged into the corrosive clouds of phaser coolant.

  Stevens studied the sensor readings. “Cloud diameter seven kilometers and expanding. Gas ionization looks good, but I don’t know if the density is high enough.” He shook his head. “This is all guesswork. If the phasers will just hold out a little longer.”

  The coolant burned Corsi’s ungloved hands and made the emergency vent handle slippery. She gritted her teeth, ignoring the pain, and yanked the handle with all her strength.

  There was a shriek as gas began to vent into space. The flow of gas into the corridor stopped momentarily.

  Metal groaned behind the panel. The entire assembly blew off the wall, and slammed Corsi against the far side of the corridor.

  She lay on the deck, stunned. Her thoughts cleared, and she realized the manifold had ruptured. With the manual vent open, pressure rapidly equalized, then reversed.

  Clouds of phaser coolant were sucked out through the damaged manifold into space. Good.

  Her ears popped, and she realized the ship’s atmosphere was being sucked out as well. She struggled to move, her legs rubbery and weak.

  T’Mandra appeared, grabbed her by the arm, and dragged her down the corridor. The Vulcan woman wasn’t wearing a hood, but most of the coolant had been swept away already, along with much of the air.

  She helped all she could, kicking her way along. They passed a corridor brace. T’Mandra pressed a button on the wall panel. An emergency force field sealed the corridor.

  Corsi rolled over and struggled to her knees.

  She tugged off the hood and looked up at T’Mandra. “Thanks for the assist.”

  On the viewscreen, the cloud of gas flared for an instant.

  Gold looked at Stevens. “Was that—?”

  Stevens nodded. “The EMP. We reduced the intensity, but—” He studied the panel and shook his head. “The density wasn’t high enough. We didn’t stop it completely.”

  “Let’s hope it was enough,” said Gold. “It was all we could do.”

  Lense’s gloved hands clenched into fists. Gomez could see the tension in her straining muscles and hear it in her rapid breathing. Clearly, she was losing hope. “There’s nothing else we can—”

  The work lights flickered and all the displays on the console went momentarily haywire. “Damn,” said Lense, “it must be the pulse.”

  Tev stepped up and tapped at the console. “Our equipment is shielded. The biosensors need a moment to reset.” The brain monitor display had gone from a gentle wave to a brief dance of static, then back to flatline. “There,” said Tev, “that should do it.”

  The sensor relays clicked over, and the monitor came back to life. Not with noise or the simple beat of the timing pulses, but with a clearly ordered pattern of activity.

  Soloman pressed a control and a series of lights on the panel went dark. “I’m discontinuing the external timing pulses.”

  “We’ve got a steady rhythm! Respiration has started! Body temperature is stabilizing!” Lense’s voice shook with relief.

  “Timing pulses are being passed to the other Strata,” said Soloman. “They’re all coming back.”

  They all jumped, as a leg on the nearest Strata kicked, the torso’s thick limb hammering against the deck. It was just as well helium didn’t transmit sound well, or they’d all be deaf.

  The six lidless eyes were already open, but the light-colored patches above each eye began to glow brightly, casting beams around the room.

  “Strata,” said Gomez, “have built-in spotlights.”

  The other legs began to move. The sound was like a slow motion rock slide as the Strata pulled its legs under its body and scrambled to its feet, its belly abruptly rising two meters off the deck.

  The huge creature loomed over them for a moment, then began to spin in place. The motion yanked free all the cables and devices attached to its body.

  It stopped, all six eyes suddenly intent, studying them.

  They could hear more noise in the distance. The deck vibrated like an approaching stampede, which it might well be. The nearer Strata scuttled toward them and stopped just a few meters away.

  “Elizabeth,” said Gomez, her heart racing, “what was your plan for dealing with forty-one multiton, radioactive rock creatures when they woke up, possibly disoriented, possibly pissed off?”

  “I was going to beam us out until they had a chance to calm down and we could try to communicate.”

  More Strata appeared from both directions, rumbling up until the four crewpeople were surrounded by a looming wall of rock creatures.

  “What,” said Gomez, “was your backup plan?”

  Chapter

  8

  The damage control party, dressed in full protective clothing, stepped through the force fields to repair the leak. One—Corsi recognized the chief engineer, Lieutenant Nancy Conlon, through the faceplate of her protective suit—stopped to assist the injured.

  Corsi’s hands were red and raw, and though her uniform had provided some protection, her whole body itched. She had a lump on the back of her head, and every muscle in her body ached, but nothing critical was damaged.

  Dantas Falcão, the medical technician, approached with a tricorder, and Corsi tried to wave her away. All she wanted right now was to get back to her quarters and scrub every square inch of her skin.

  Thanks to T’Mandra, today wasn’t the last day of her life. But it could have been. What regrets would she have had, in the few minutes she had left? And what should she do about it?

  Fabian’s quick kiss outside the security office lingered in her memory. It was something she would have to think about.

  Gomez flinched as one of the Strata trotted past her at their usual breakneck speed. It took some getting used to, but the huge beings were amazingly coordinated, and completely aware of their surroundings. They never ran into each other, never bumped a wall or a console, and they hadn’t trampled any Starfleet personnel.

  Yet.

  Tev glanced over from the Starfleet console that still stood incongruously in the middle of the spinship’s control room. “I can’t believe what they’ve done in six hours. The ship is fully operational, they plotted a new course, learned my language, three human languages, and Bynar code. They are the most brilliant species I’ve ever encountered.”

  Gomez shook her head in a
mazement, as much at Tev’s admission that someone other than himself was brilliant, as at the Strata’s accomplishments. “Millennia of art, poetry, music, forms we can’t even begin to understand. But no technology until the Lokra machines arrived, and they were forced to invent it.”

  One of the Strata charged straight at Gomez, stopping just a meter or so short of her.

  “I’m sorry,” Gomez said. “I haven’t learned to tell individual Strata apart yet.”

  “I am Shipmaster Silverstreak, Commander Gomez. Our ship is now on course to fly around the Lokra sun and back into space. We have come far, but all we want is to go home.”

  “We could assist you, get you there more quickly. The Federation has technology…”

  “During our long voyage, we came to understand, through thought and meditation, the mathematics of warp drive. We believe we could construct our own. But it is not necessary. Our lives are long. We do not experience time as you do. The trip back to our world will take as long as it will take.” He was silent for a moment, feet moving just slightly, in a way that made the floor vibrate. “We are concerned, however. What will we find there?”

  “We will remove the Lokra mining machines. But I’m afraid everything you left there is gone. Your towns and roads are destroyed, and we find no signs of other living Strata. I’m very sorry.”

  “They may be hidden deep underground,” he said. “If not, we carry in our minds all that is needed to rebuild the Strata. We will gladly begin again. We need only our planet back.”

  “You seem very calm about it all, Shipmaster.”

  “I have talked with your Captain Gold. He was concerned we would be filled with an emotion you call anger. It is alien to us. He is concerned about a concept called revenge as well, but that too is alien to us. What is, is. The Strata will go on. It is our wish that the Lokra go on as well. They did not know what they were doing.” He turned and shuffled away.

  Tev stepped up next to Gomez. “Perhaps they didn’t know in the beginning,” said Tev, “but when they figured it out, they didn’t correct the problem. And they tried to cover up their mistakes with murder. Twice. I would not be so forgiving.”

  “The Strata are good people, Tev.”

  He frowned at her. “And I’m not?”

  The conference room aboard the da Vinci was empty of everyone but Gold and Goveia. Gold had summoned the ambassador to the ship, where they could speak privately.

  Goveia was doing everything but making eye contact with Captain Gold. “Thank you for inviting me here to discuss our situation.” He sat on the edge of his chair, as though ready to flee at any moment.

  Gold waited. It hadn’t been an invitation, but he would let that pass. For now.

  “I’m deeply sorry, Captain. I wanted so badly to prepare the Lokra for Federation membership, I instilled all my hopes for the future in them. It clouded my judgment. Now it seems it will be a very long time before we’re ready to consider them, if ever.”

  There was no arrogance in Goveia’s manner, and he appeared truly contrite. Gold nodded his understanding. “You only saw the good in them, Ambassador, and I’m sure there is good. Humans have a lot to atone for in our history too. Slavery, genocide, war, conquest. It wasn’t the mistakes in their past, it was their failure to admit their mistakes and try to correct them. Instead, they compounded the errors by trying to cover them up.”

  Goveia shook his head. “All for nothing. The Strata just came to talk, just wanted peace and their world back. Such a waste.”

  “Some good may yet come of this, “said Gold. “The Lokra may not be ready for Federation membership, but what about the Strata?”

  Goveia made eye contact for the first time, and smiled sadly. “I have no doubt at this point that their application to join the Federation would be accepted. But from what you’ve told me, the greater question is, would they have us? The good news is, we’ll have the chance to ask. The Diplomatic Corps has transferred me from Lokra, effective immediately, and assigned me to talk to the Strata. And nobody’s scheduled to take my place here.”

  Gomez shuffled into her quarters, aching from days in an inertia suit, bone-tired. She wanted nothing more than to climb into her bunk and sleep for a week. “You have one recorded message waiting,” said the computer.

  She groaned, made a right angle away from her bunk, and slumped into her desk chair. “Play message.”

  Wayne Omthon’s face appeared on the viewer, but he didn’t look happy. “Look, Sonya, you don’t have to answer this. I knew you’d be busy. Maybe that’s why I called, knowing I could get away with a recording.” He smiled slightly. “I’m a terrible coward about rejection.” He glanced down and paused for a moment, apparently searching for words. “I just wanted to apologize. I’ve been coming across like some kind of space stalker, and I’ve put pressure on you. That was rude.” He looked back up, his pistachio-green face pale. “You’ll do things at your own pace, and I’ve got no right to have any expectations. But let me explain, and then I’ll give this up and move on.

  “Humans have this thing when somebody they love passes away. It creates issues. People talk about ‘getting over them,’ about ‘letting go.’ A new partner may resent the former relationship, even be jealous, while the survivor feels guilt for seeking a new relationship. These are aspects of my human heritage I don’t much care for. Green Orions have a philosophy I like better. They feel that true love, whether between friends or partners or life-mates—that’s forever. It doesn’t end because one partner dies. It doesn’t end because another partner comes along. It’s something to be respected and honored. And when a friend loves someone, and they die—to carry on those feelings, as lovers, or life-mates, or just as friends, is to honor their memory. You’re my friend, Sonya. Kieran was my friend, too. I want you to know that my feelings are honest, and everything I’ve done was with the greatest respect for both of you, and what you will always share.” He shrugged. “That’s all. I won’t expect a reply, and I won’t intrude again. But I hope that sometime, when you’re ready, you’ll give an old friend a call.”

  She stared at the blank viewer for a while. Suddenly she wasn’t sleepy anymore. Almost of their own volition, her fingers called up a subspace link.

  Wayne’s face appeared on the screen, genuinely surprised. She smiled. It wasn’t often she had him at a disadvantage.

  “Hey, green guy,” she said. “We’ve been busy saving the galaxy, and I’ve got some sleep to catch up on. But I just wanted you to know.” She smiled. “You, me, someplace in the galaxy, real soon.”

  About the Authors

  J. STEVEN YORK & CHRISTINA F. YORK had nearly two decades of married life together before they dared to collaborate. When they—and the marriage—survived the experience, they decided it might be fun to do it again. Besides Spin, they have appeared together in Mage Knight Collector’s Guide #1 and the previous S.C.E. eBook Enigma Ship.

  On his own, Steve has published multiple novels (most recently, MechWarrior: Fortress of Lies, Roc, 2004), novellas, short stories, and eBooks. He’s written fiction for computer games and scripts for radio. He views his one nonfiction book as an aberration, as he considers himself first and foremost a storyteller, regardless of what form those stories take. He’d be happy scripting amusement park rides, as long as they had character and plot. He’s also done collaborations with his friend Dean Wesley Smith.

  Chris has published stories in three Trek anthologies (Strange New Worlds, Strange New Worlds II, and New Frontier: No Limits), and assorted other venues. Her second solo novel, Dream House, will be a hard-back release from Five Star in late 2004.

  Chris has always lived on the West Coast, and Steve has lived most everywhere. The two met in Seattle, and eventually settled in a remote Federation outpost known as coastal Oregon. There they maintain their home and offices, under the supervision of two feline captains.

  Coming Next Month:

  Star Trek™: S.C.E. #47

  Creative Couplings
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  Book 1

  by Glenn Hauman

  & Aaron Rosenberg

  Fabian Stevens thought he was doing an old friend a favor by helping her and some eager young Starfleet Academy cadets test a new prototype vessel. Unfortunately, there’s a practical joker among the cadets, but Stevens figures that will just keep everyone on their toes….

  Meanwhile, Captain David Gold faces one of the greatest challenges of his career: marrying off his daughter to a Klingon ambassador’s son. But the ambassador has very particular ideas about the ceremony….

  COMING IN DECEMBER 2004

  FROM POCKET BOOKS!