Star Trek: Duty, Honor, Redemption Read Online Free PDF Page B

“You mean maybe we think we’re headed for a ball of rock, and we’ll find a garden spot instead?”
    “Bozhemoi!” Chekov said. “My God, I hope not. No, sir, our new scans confirm the originals on the planet itself. Rock, sand, corrosive atmosphere.”
    “Three cheers for the corrosive atmosphere,” Mister Beach said, and everybody on the bridge laughed.
    “I agree one hundred percent, Mister Beach,” Terrell said. “Take us in.”
     
    Several hours later, on orbital approach, Chekov watched the viewscreen intently, willing the ugly little planet to be the one they were looking for. He had had enough of this trip. There was too little work and too much time with nothing to do. It encouraged paranoia and depression, which he had been feeling with distressing intensity on this leg of their voyage. On occasion, he even wondered if his being assigned here was due to something worse than bad luck. Could it be punishment for some inadvertent mistake, or the unspoken dislike of some superior officer—?
    He kept telling himself the idea was foolish and, worse, one that could become self-fulfilling if he let it take him over and sour him.
    Besides, if he was being punished it only made sense to assume others in the crew were, too. Yet a crew of troublemakers produced disaffection and disillusion: the ship was free of such problems. Or anyway it had been until they pulled this intolerable assignment.
    Besides, Captain Terrell had an excellent reputation: he was not the sort of officer generally condemned to command a bunch of dead-enders. He was soft-spoken and easygoing; if the days stretching into weeks stretching into months of fruitless search troubled him, he did not show the stress. He was no James Kirk, but…
    Maybe that’s what’s wrong, Chekov thought. I’ve been thinking about the old days on the Enterprise too much lately and comparing them to what I’m doing now. And what I’m doing now simply does not compare.
    But, then—what would?
    “Standard orbit, Mister Beach,” Captain Terrell said.
    “Standard orbit, sir,” the helm officer replied.
    “What do we have on the surface scan?”
    “No change, Captain.”
    Chekov got a signal on his screen that he wished he could pretend he had not noticed.
    “Except…”
    “Oh, no,” somebody groaned.
    Every crew member on the bridge turned to stare at Chekov with one degree or another of disbelief, irritation, or animosity. On the other side of the upper bridge, the communications officer muttered a horrible curse.
    Chekov glanced down at Terrell. The captain hunched his shoulders, then forced himself to relax. “Don’t tell me you’ve got something,” he said. He rose and came up the stairs to look at Chekov’s data.
    It is getting to him, Chekov thought. Even him.
    “It’s only a minor energy flux,” Chekov said, trying to blunt the impact of his finding. “It doesn’t necessarily mean there’s biological activity down there.”
    “I’ve heard that line before,” Terrell said. “What are the chances that the scanner’s out of adjustment?”
    “I just checked it out, sir,” Chekov said. “Twice.” He immediately wished he had not added the last.
    “Maybe it’s pre-biotic,” Beach said.
    Terrell chuckled. “Come on, Stoney. That’s something we’ve been through before, too. Of all the things Marcus won’t go for, tampering with pre-biotics is probably top of the list.”
    “Maybe it’s pre- pre-biotic,” Beach said wryly.
    This time nobody laughed.
    “All right, get Doctor Marcus on the horn. At least we can suggest transplantation. Again.”
    Chekov shook his head. “You know what she’ll say.”
     
    On the Regulus I Laboratory Space Station, Doctor Carol Marcus listened, frowning, as Captain Terrell relayed the information Reliant had collected so far.
    “You know my feelings about disturbing a pre-biotic system,” she said. “I won’t be a party to it. The long range—”
    “Doctor Marcus, the long range