Breaking Ground, continued

Chapter 7

	The runabout cruised along the valley floor, hugging the
undulating terrain.  Tom sat and gloated in silence as he counted off
the seconds remaining before they reached the landing site, at ease with
his success in showing up Ensign Fuller.  'Distracted' indeed: if
anything, that lapse of concentration in the asteroid field only helped
focus his attention for the flight through the mountains.
	Flying through the mountains proved to be a great challenge.  It
made him appreciate those extra hours of holodeck time he spent
practising non-computer aided flying.  His academy classmates laughed at
him for wasting time better spent on studying astrophysics, as the
practical application of dead reckoning was relatively minute.  Today,
though, he would get the last laugh.  With the high levels of
interference the sensors' range was minimal; even this close to the
planet's surface they were only marginally effective past fifty metres.
With the runabout traversing over eighty-three metres a second, he may
as well have been flying blind.
	Tom glanced briefly at Ensign Fuller's map and their current
position.  "Landing co-ordinates 750 metres and closing," Tom reported,
preparing for final approach.  His eyes then darted over to the
navigation controls as his fingers danced across the interface.  He
didn't even have time to look up when the telemetry grid went hot.
	It took no time at all, but to Tom it seemed like hours.  There in
front of the ship stood a ragged sheet of rock.  It discordantly pierced
the smooth ground, an unsightly aberration disrupting the calm waves of
the terrain.  Its presence took Tom completely by surprise.  The
outcropping seemed to have appeared from out of nowhere, cleverly
shrouded by surrounding plateaux and cliffs like a sniper manning a
deadly vigil.
	Instinctively Tom slammed his hand down on the attitude controls
in an effort to pull the craft up, as if the computer could translate
the urgency of the blow into a faster response.  Unfortunately, the
LCARS interface was not designed for that type of input.
	The *Fraser* did start to lift.  The nose of the craft only just
cleared the obstacle, but the starboard nacelle did not have sufficient
clearance to avoid one of the stone's rough edges.  The rock cut a
groove into the nacelle housing at the point of contact, then punctured
its way through as it reached the structurally weakened area.  The
casing breached, the rock continued to tear a hole in the duranium alloy
for another thirty-six millimetres.  At that point the inertial stress
ripped the rest of the housing from the nacelle.
	Inside the cabin, Tom clutched desperately at the panel in front
of him as the turbulence threatened to throw him from his seat.  Caught
unawares, Marnie screamed as she crashed to the floor.  She landed
roughly, hitting her head and her elbow on the deck plate.  "Shit!" Tom
yelled, stabbing frantically at the controls in an effort to keep the
runabout aloft.  The controls, however, did not co-operate.  The ship
banked left from the impact and dove for the ground.  The port side
bounced hard off the rock, tilting the craft back to starboard where the
exposed nacelle lay.  The speed and force of the impact demolished the
components made vulnerable by the bare portion of the nacelle.  Even
worse, one of the plasma conduits, rather than being shredded open by
the contact with the surface, was pinched off.  The plasma, with nowhere
to go, backed up the conduit until the pressure forced a rupture.  It
couldn't have ruptured in a worse place.

	Mek slumped in his seat at the conference table, unhappy with the
course of events that had befallen their mission thus far.  Already they
were over half an hour behind schedule, and now they were at the whims
of a temperamental pilot.  He imagined the lieutenant would somehow
manage to screw up their survey as well, that's how smoothly things were
going.
	He disliked Tom Paris, simple as that.  Ever since that first
stunt in the asteroid field, he knew the pilot would be trouble.  Tom
both commanded and demanded attention.  The lieutenant knew the people
in his company regarded him as a virtuoso, and he wouldn't be satisfied
until everyone else acknowledged him for it as well.  That made him
dangerous, unbelievably talented or not.
	"Mek, lighten up," scolded Ianna.  "Lieutenant Paris knows what
he's doing."
	"Are you sure of that?" he shot back.  "Didn't you notice how the
runabout was rocking like a see-saw just a few minutes ago?  If you ask
me, I think he's slipped a screw or something."
	Ensign Pulito frowned.  "I'm sure there's a completely rational
explanation for that.  Really, Mek; you worry too much.  He'll make sure
we land safely: that's his job."
	The Bolian started a reply but was cut off by the sound of an
explosion, accompanied by what felt like a sudden earthquake.  Pulito
fell to her knees.  "Shit!" Mek cried as he pitched backward with his
chair.  Then the tremors subsided.
	Mek managed to roll to his knees.  "What the -" he started before
the runabout lurched again.  Something was terribly wrong: he could hear
the shrieking of metal, feel the deck plates buckling underneath him.
*I knew he'd find a way to screw up this mission.*  It was Mek's last
thought before the wall panel in front of him burst open with a shower
of blue-white flame.

	*We're all going to die,* Tom thought the moment he heard the
plasma conduit in the aft chamber explode.  *I've killed us.  God, what
a stupid thing to do.*  The helm grew increasingly unresponsive as
systems failed.  Tom desperately tried shutting down the antimatter
reactor and re-routing controls through backups, anything that would
keep the ship from blowing up.  He also worked on re-obtaining command
of thrusters.  The last thing he wanted was to hit the ground nose
first: if the runabout flipped over now there wouldn't be anything left
of them for identification.
	Somehow, miraculously, he kept the *Fraser* from somersaulting on
the next touchdown.  The runabout bounced again, this time more level
and not as damaging, but the impact still threatened to shake Tom's
bones apart.  He ground his teeth and wondered how Marnie was faring
through this.  All he'd heard was her scream and the thud of a body
hitting the floor ever since they struck the outcropping.  However, he
couldn't take his eyes off his panel to check.  "Marnie, you all
right?" he shouted, looking for confirmation of her condition.  He heard
no reply over the din of the emergency klaxons and grinding metal.  Tom
surmised she fared no better than he.
	Indeed, Ensign Fuller fared worse.  Semi-conscious from the blow
to her head, Marnie couldn't protect herself from the severe jostling of
the cabin.  Each bump took its toll on her prone form, tossing it
against the bulkheads, the deck plates, back and forth.  The buffeting
resulted in numerous broken bones and severe contusions.  She might have
survived to live a tortured existence, had it not been for the final
collision.
	This time he saw it coming: with failing emergency power and a
dead console before him, Tom had no other option but to sit and stare
out the viewport.  Approaching rapidly, an embankment lay before them. 
Friction slowed the *Fraser*'s velocity as it threshed and skated along
the hard surface.  Even so, the deceleration of the stop would be quite
abrupt.  Tom assumed the standard crash position and closed his eyes.
It would be a miracle if he lived through this.  *Sorry I didn't give
you the chance to present me those captain's pips like we planned, Dad.
Looks like I really messed up my career.*  Then everything went black.

	Tom stopped momentarily and tried forcing a large breath of air
into his lungs.  His chest felt tight, aching in response to the intake
of oxygen, and his eyes began tearing up reflexively.  He stemmed the
impulse to blink hard and proceeded.  "The *Fraser* slammed into the
embankment at twelve metres per second.  The nose seemed to retract into
itself, crushing everything inside for a full three metres.  The rear of
the craft vaulted upward, almost flipping over completely.  I lurched
forward from the momentum, and despite my precautions I struck my head
against the navigation panel.  Tragically, the momentum also picked up
Ensign Fuller and hurled her against the forward viewport."  Gradually
Tom's voice warbled and his face contorted as he forced out the next few
words.  "She, uh...her head was pulverized against the transparent
aluminum.  She...never had a chance."
	"My god," Harry murmured, his face ashen from hearing the grisly
description.  B'Elanna sat there in shock.  Now didn't seem like the
right time to ask how a piece of rock could have inflicted that much
damage to a duranium hull.
	Leena felt more courageous, however.  While Tom painted an
emotionally evocative picture, it shocked and appalled her that he had
managed to perjure the entire incident.  She trembled, partly in grief
for the deceased officers but mostly in fury.  She felt the sting of
emotion tickling the back of her throat.  She swallowed it, though,
determined to present an invulnerable figure to her nemesis.
"Lieutenant, forgive my bluntness here, but what on *earth* possessed
you to *lie* about this?  Frankly, I'm surprised you even got away with
it.  Didn't the investigators recover the sensor logs?"
	Tom cleared his throat.  "They tried.  Most of the data banks were
wiped out, either crushed by the collision or fried by power surges.
They couldn't find anything incriminating enough to justify a court
martial."
	"That still doesn't explain why you committed perjury," she
challenged.
	"Well, that can be explained, Leena, if not excused," he defended.
"I suffered a concussion when my head hit the control panel.  I wasn't
thinking at all clearly when I regained consciousness.  All I could
remember was throwing away my career."

	The world slowly came back into focus.  Tom clutched his temple
and grimaced; this was the worst hangover he'd ever experienced in his
life.  His head ached and spun, creating a sense of vertigo that made
him both sick and dizzy.  His mouth felt dry and his tongue felt like it
had swelled to twice its size.  He didn't know where he was or how long
he had been passed out.  Then he noticed he was touching something
sticky on his temple.  He lowered his hand to take a look.  Blood.
Definitely not a hangover.  The pounding in his head must be a
concussion then.
	Details of what happened languidly returned to him as his
dizziness receded: Caldek Three, the survey mission, the runabout
*Fraser*, the rock, the crash.  He survived the crash.  His father would
be proud.  He looked up, squinting with pain, to the viewport.
Something had hit it hard; cracks radiated from an impact point.  It
also left a wet mess behind it, streaking down the pane.  Tom followed
it to where Ensign Fuller's broken body lay slumped over the console.
He felt the gorge rise in his throat: he didn't need to check for a
pulse to realize that she was dead.  *Oh.  That won't look good on my
record, will it?*  He swallowed uncomfortably to force the sick back
into his stomach.
	Tom stewed there for a minute, wondering how he could fix this.
The circumstances of the accident were becoming clearer, and they
increasingly threatened to curtail his Starfleet career.  His dad would
not be happy.  Then he remembered Ensigns Mek and Pulito.  Fear gripped
him: if either one of them had also survived his career would be
finished!  He pulled himself up and hobbled his way to the aft section.
	His spirits lifted when he found the two ensigns in the conference
room, charred and blistered.  He wouldn't have to worry about their
incriminating disclosures.  Their deaths would have been quick, if not
painless.  Looking at the blast hole in the wall, Tom remembered the
explosion he'd heard and inspected the damage more thoroughly.  The
ruptured plasma conduit gave him an idea, one that could probably
exonerate him of any misdeed, but he would have to check the state of
the computer banks.  Hopefully they would be irretrievable.
	Going back to the cockpit, Tom scuffled about the floor removing
access panels.  The signs were encouraging.  Those he found were now
nothing more than scrap material, a smoking mass of twisted metal and
melted polymers.  He should have no trouble convincing his rescuers of a
mechanical failure, and the thought eased his sense of nausea.  He
climbed back into the pilot's seat and decided to take a nap.
	His nap didn't last too long.  Before he knew it people were
clambering into the cockpit.  A medic stopped at his side and began
looking for a pulse, but stopped when Tom groaned.  "Sir, he's
conscious," he reported to someone behind him, and a shadow appeared
over Tom.  He turned to look at its owner, Dr. Ellis.
	"My god, what happened here?" he asked.
	"I'm not sure," Tom replied, his voice fuzzy.  "All I recall is
assuming a vectored approach to our landing site, then an explosion.
After that the controls started failing, and we flew into a rock.  I
couldn't turn out of the way.  It felt like it hit the starboard side.
We bounced around for a bit, then slid into an embankment.  I don't
remember anything after that."  His brow creased.  "The others, are they
all right?"
	Dr. Ellis looked at him sadly.  "I'm sorry, Lieutenant.  You
appear to be the only survivor."
	"Sir," the medic interrupted.  "The lieutenant appears to have
sustained a concussion and a couple of cracked ribs.  He'll need to be
transported to the medical facility back on Caldek Prime."
	"Considering what happened here, he's lucky that's all he's got.
At least we've got a lead to investigate here."  The doctor then
addressed Tom.  "I look forward to reading your report, Lieutenant.  I
want every detail of your flight from Caldek Prime."  He turned to look
at what used to be Ensign Fuller, sorrow glistening in his eyes.
	"Yes, sir," he answered as he was escorted from the cockpit to the
runabout *Kolyma*, though it was doubtful Dr. Ellis had heard him.
	"Here," stated the medic, pressing a hypospray into the side of
his neck.  "This should relieve the headaches while we take off.  You
might get a little sleepy, but that's normal."
	The throbbing in his head dissipated, and Tom felt like he could
think clearly again.  "Thanks, doc.  I feel human again."  As they
settled in for take-off, Tom acquired a data padd and began writing up a
phony report of the accident.