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Title: The Fruits of Diplomacy
Author: Gilshandros
contact: gilshandros@hotmail.com
Series: TOS
Part 2/4
For rating and disclaimer see introductory notes
*********
"Try not to let her get to you," Larssen advised
patiently
for about the 100th time.
"That's easy for you to say, NOTHING gets to you."
"Lots of things get to me.
Professor Ridley just isn't
one of them."
"Well, I don't understand how you can stand the
bitch!"
"Mr Brand, that's not appropriate language." Larssen's
voice was still very mild.
"Firstly, you neither asked for
nor received permission to speak freely, and secondly it
doesn't matter whether Professor Ridley is a civ scientist
or a Starfleet one, she deserves your courtesy."
"She doesn't give me any courtesy! Or you, for that matter
- I mean, this morning, when - "
"That's her prerogative.
Mr Brand, if you're so distressed
by her behaviour, let's not give her the satisfaction of
replicating it, okay?"
Larssen turned and walked away down the corridor, refusing
to have anything further to do with the conversation.
In truth, she was more upset at Professor's Ridley behaviour
than she was happy to admit, even to herself. That morning,
when the Professor had questioned her results on a mass
spectrometer reading and insisted on rerunning the entire
series herself, Larssen had felt a hot wave of humiliation
wash over her, a familiar feeling from her years at the
Academy, when everybody else had been smarter and faster
and more competent than she was, and there had been so
few of the bright young people with time and patience
for the slow moving, slow talking colonist whose body
had outgrown her grace.
She had made some bad mistakes
in those early years, trying to make herself invisible
any way she knew, and then - only her memory of what she
had endured to get there had kept her from giving up.
Since then, though, she had discovered that youthful
precociousness was not all that was valued in Starfleet:
in her postings at various Starbases, her methodical
precision had won her the respect of other, more brilliant,
scientists. Here on the
Enterprise, Spock himself seemed
to trust her judgement and had never once questioned her
work.
Professor Ridley, however, seemed to take Larssen's slowness
as a personal insult.
Today was not the first time she had
criticised it. It was
only the first time she had buttressed
that criticism with other words: 'stupid', as well as
'slow'.
'A great stupid lump,' to be exact. Larssen felt herself
flush again at the recollection, and kept her eyes down
as she walked briskly to her quarters. It was odd how
those she wished to see her as strong and competent viewed
her as small and feeble, and those she wished to admire
her precision and delicacy saw her as a galumphing giant.
Once inside, went to the fresher and stood under the sonic
shower to get rid of the sweaty hot feeling that
seemed to go hand in hand with embarrassment, then pulled
on her pyjamas, and sat down on her bed.
The last thing she wanted to do was examine her feelings
about Professor Ridley, but she had too much innate
honesty to pretend that she didn't know that examining
them was exactly what she should do. Larssen closed her
eyes, slowed her
breathing consciously until she was
calm, and tried to separate
herself from the shame she
felt when Ridley's narrow, beautiful face came to mind.
Why does she get me so upset? she asked herself, trying
to be clinical about it.
She's only one person. When
I feel myself getting upset, I should think of all the
OTHER people who don't act as if I'm a moron and a
bumpkin.
It was sound advice.
Larssen wished she had any
confidence she'd be able to take it. She opened her eyes.
"Well, Coochie?" she said. "Any pearls of wisdom?"
Coochie sat indifferent on the dresser, and Larssen
sighed and stood up.
Taking down her cello, she tuned up and began to play
the sonata she had been practicing. She had learnt it
well, however, and without the need to concentrate on
sight reading it was too easy to begin to add emphasis,
to draw out the inherent tension of the piece and
increase the intensity of the -
She put the bow down.
"Computer," she said, "display
score for Clark String Quartet 26, 2078."
"Working." said the computer, and her terminal showed
a new and complicated piece of music. Larssen raised
her bow again, frowning slightly. Sight-reading this
would be tricky...
******
Kirk looked back on the headache he had felt at the
start of the negotiations nostalgically three days later,
when the regular review of crew efficiency was interrupted
at 1700 hours by Tyssin paging McCoy for a medical
emergency in the Vocheron's quarters.
McCoy was out the door with his kit in his hand in a
blur of movement. Kirk
caught up with him at the turbolift,
noting (not for the first time) that for all his
aw-shucks-I'm-just-an-old-country-doctor act, McCoy could
sprint like a track star and show the endurance of a
marathon runner when a medical crisis demanded it.
"Come on, damn it!" the doctor was saying now, staring
impatiently at the turbolift doors. "Come on, come on,
come on! Jim, you need
to have someone take a look at
these lifts, they're getting slower -"
The doors hissed open and McCoy fairly leapt inside. Kirk
followed, saying "Computer, command override this lift,
straight to D Deck."
"Yes, captain." The computer said, and the lift
started
moving faster than normal, staggering both its passengers
with increased V.
"Although what they expect me to do," McCoy said,
"I have
no idea. It's not as if they've let me get any data to
compare a sick Vocheron with a well one! And without a
tricorder I may as well just try laying on hands."
Neither the laying on of hands, nor the medical tricorder,
were necessary. It was
quite clear from the moment
they entered the Vocheron guest quarters that the time
for medical procedures, and for urgency, was past.
Tyssin's aide, Kythis, lay sprawled on the floor.
His eyes were open and unblinking. That was not the reason
Kirk and McCoy immediately realised he was dead, however.
No, it was the huge charred hole in the Vocheron's chest
that gave them that idea.
"What happened here?" Kirk asked, as McCoy knelt by
the body.
"We donnnn't know, captain." Tyssin said.
"Kirk to Tomlinson." Kirk said into his communicator.
"Ms Tomlinson, security team to the Vocheron's quarters
immediately."
"He's dead, Jim." McCoy said unnecessarily.
"You just found him?"
Kirk asked Tyssin.
"Yesss, we were in the other room, discussing the
negotationss, and then I heard a noise, a falllling,
and cammmme in here. And
therrre he wasss."
Kirk looked at the scorched wound in Kythis' chest,
and thought of the weapons of the Sythenes. "Just a
moment." he said.
"If you gentlebeings would go back
in the other room, and remain there, we would appreciate
it."
"Nnno, we musst remmain with our dead." Tyssin said
firmly.
"All right. Please
remain with him on the other side
of the room and don't touch anything. I'll be back in a moment."
"But, wwwait, Captain.
On the other sside of the
rroom? I don't understand."
"Ambassador, this is clearly not a natural death.
Therefore, it must be investigated. There are many
things that can tell us how Kythis died, and it's
better if nothing is disturbed."
"Investigatted? Howww, captain?"
"Ambassador, we will consult with you before any
actions which affect you or the body of your colleague,
rest assured. Now, if
you will excuse me, I really have
to talk to my crew."
Without waiting for a further protest,
Kirk went out into the hall, and when the doors had
closed behind him, he raised his communicator and spoke.
"Spock, Kirk here.
I need to know exactly who has been
into and gone out of the Vocheron quarters for the past -
better make it 6 hours.
And I need to know where the
Sythenes were that whole time."
"This will take a few minutes," Spock said.
"When it's done, page me, but don't say anything until
I tell you I'm private."
"Understood, captain." Spock said, faintly
disapproving
that Kirk could doubt his discretion. "Spock out."
**********
The office comm. went, and Ridley slapped it.
"What?" she snapped.
"Professor Ridley,
this is Commander Spock. An
emergency
has arisen and I am calling all on-duty science personnel
to assist."
*An emergency*. Ridley
felt her skin go cold. An emergency
on a starship usually involved things exploding, ships
leaking air, people dying.
She took a deep breath, and let
it out as a snarl.
"No you aren't. I've told you,
I won't
have my lab schedule disrupted! Find someone other than
Larssen and Brand!"
"Professor, I have endeavoured to do so. Please send them
to Science Lab 4 immediately."
She shut off the comm. without replying, and went out into
the lab. That great blob
Larssen was running a duedenetic
analysis in her maddeningly slow way. Still, Ridley had
to admit, she rarely made mistakes, and a slow lab
assistant was better than no lab assistant. She paced
back and forth, hugging herself, wondering what the
'emergency' was.
Commander Spock wanted a coffee, no doubt!
No, that wasn't fair. It
would be very un-Vulcan of him
to call all personnel in unless there was a good reason ...
Ridley felt cold and sick again. She strode over to
Larssen and looked over her shoulder. "Good heavens,
woman, you don't need to step it down to point 4 for a
simple pass over readout! What do you think you're doing?"
"I like to be sure, ma'am." Larssen said in that bland
way she had.
"I like to be sure and quick! Step it up to one over five
and run it that way."
"Yes, ma'am." Larssen said, and did so. A whistle from
the comm. made her start and the dial slipped.
"Children of women." she said in Romulan, but it was
inaudible beneath the sound of Commander Spock's harsh
voice saying:
"Larssen and Brand, report to Science Lab 4
immediately.
Larssen and Brand, to Lab 4 immediately."
"Sorry, ma'am." Larssen said, flicking the viewer off
and getting up.
"Where do you think you're going?" Ridley said. Larssen
paused. She stood head
and shoulders above the professor
and shouldn't really be afraid of her, but Ridley's face was
white and set and her fists clenched.
"I have to report to Lab 4, ma'am." Larssen said.
"Brand, on the double."
"No you don't! You work in MY lab now, and I told Spock
I wouldn't have you dragged out for whatever it is."
"Oh." Larssen said.
"I see. Ma'am, I have to
go."
"I just told you," Ridley said, very slowly,
"that you are
*not* to go. Are you
DEAF as well as daft?"
"No, ma'am. He's my
commanding officer, ma'am."
"I'm in charge of this lab!"
"He's given me an order, ma'am."
"I'm giving you an order NOT to go." Ridley said, her
voice
rising.
Larssen blinked, and took a breath. "Ma'am. He's my
commanding officer, and you're a civilian. I'm very sorry
about this. We'll be
back as soon as we can." She took
Brand by one elbow and, dragging him with her, left the
lab, leaving Ann Ridley shaking with rage.
Larssen was shaking as well when she got to the turbolift.
"Can you believe it?" Brand exclaimed. "She really thought - "
"Save it, Mr Brand." Larssen said mildly, and he
stopped.
She concentrated on being calm as the turbolift let them out
at lab 4, and they hurried down the corridor. When they
reached the door, Larssen realised that they were very late:
the room was full, and faces turned to see who was straggling
in tardy and could expect a reprimand. ~Ah, the blood
sport of lower decks,~ Larssen thought. ~Watching
Commander Spock in action when there's a fuck-up in the
offing.~
However, he said nothing, simply gave them both one cool
look and turned back to the display projected over the lab
table.
"The search will begin on D deck and extend from there.
Security is fully
occupied with the area of the incident
itself. Alpha and Beta
teams, take the cross rotation.
Gamma team, the crawlspaces.
Delta and Epsilon teams,
take the counter rotation. Ms Larssen, Mr Brand, since
you have missed the briefing, you will be with me."
"Yes sir." Larssen said as the rest of the crew
started to
move, streaming out into the corridor and collecting themselves
into teams with very little fuss. As Commander Spock picked
up his tricorder and came to the door, she fell in behind
him and said:
"Sir, I'm sorry I'm late."
He did not look up from his tricorder. "I assumed it was not
your intention." he said.
"No sir."
Amazingly, he seemed disinclined to pursue it, which had
to be a first in Larssen's experience. The Science Officer
was known for his dedication to efficiency ratings, and
lateness was not tolerated in his section. When she had
first joined the Enterprise, another crew member had told
her: 'If you're late for Spock, better have a broken leg.
Better yet, have two.'
"- approximately 20 minutes ago." Spock was saying
now.
"Although it is difficult to be precise with the Vocheron
dislike of tricorders. However,
witness testimony indicates
that this is the timeframe with which we have to work."
"Time frame for what, sir?" Larssen asked, figuring
that
between admitting she hadn't been paying attention and
looking incompetent later on because she didn't have the
information, she was between a rock and hard place.
He did look at her then, one eyebrow up. "The murder of
Ambassador Tyssin's aide, Kythis." he said. "Scan for
heat signature residues, biological traces, and out of
place objects."
"Yes, sir." Larssen said, taking out her tricorder and
moving away down the corridor.
She filed the question of
Commander Spock's unusual tolerance for tardiness and
inattention away for consideration later, dismissed
Professor Ridley from her mind and focused on the
tricorder screen.
It was a long, slow job, a sweep of the Enterprise on
this detailed a level, and made worse by the limited
number of crew available to complete it. By the time
Larssen had finished D deck and moved down to E, she
could feel the beginning of a cramp starting in her neck
from peering down at the tricorder screen. By the time
she got to F deck she was pausing every ten feet to
stretch the hand that held the tricorder. By the time
she got the G deck she was just pushing on in the hope
that the various parts of her that hurt would just go
numb soon.
~Starting with my feet,~ she thought, and then jumped a
little as the tricorder beeped. Not much of an anomalous
reading. Just that the
crawlway above her had a little too
much metal in it.
Larssen narrowed the field patiently,
until she had the additional metal pinpointed to a four
inch square about a foot from the nearest access hatch.
That looked awfully suspicious, but she was not going
to call Commander Spock down here to look at a an
engineering tricorder someone had dropped on the last
of Mr Scott's crawlthroughs.
The ceiling was a good four feet above Larssen's head
in that part of the ship.
She slung the tricorder
back on her shoulder and went to look for a ladder.
In a nearby room, she found a chair, which would do.
The access hatch lifted easily back when she pushed it,
and she could get her hands around the frame if she
stretched on tiptoe. She
took a firm grip, jumped and
pulled, and managed to hold herself in the access
long enough for her eyes to adjust to the dimmer lighting.
~A phaser.~
Larssen dropped back down, and looked around for a wall
comm. Not seeing one,
she took out her own.
"Commander Spock?" she said. "Larssen here. I'm
in
corridor 39 on G deck between sections alpha and gamma.
I've found something.
Would you like me to take a
recording and seal it, or would you prefer to see it in
situ?"
"I would prefer to examine it myself, Lieutenant. I will
be there shortly."
Larssen moved the chair from the middle of the corridor and,
since there didn't seem to be any reason not to, sat
down on it. Her
commander at the Academy had
given her one piece of advice: in Starfleet, you
sit down and you sleep every chance you get. If
you can't sit down, squat. If you can't squat, lean.
If you can't sleep, doze.
If you can't doze, at least
close your eyes. Being
over eager and upright won't
get you noticed: it'll just get you tired.
Larssen leaned her head back against the wall and closed
her eyes. When she heard
footsteps coming down the
corridor she got up and stood at ease before Spock came
into sight.
"Lieutenant." Spock said, with a glance at the
chair.
"What have you found?"
"There's a phaser in the overhead duct, sir." she
said.
"There is a ladder in storage at corridor 38, beta
section."
Spock said, aiming his tricorder at the ceiling.
"It will provide more suitable access for recording and
retrieving the object than a chair."
"Yes, sir." Larssen said, lifting the chair and
heading
off in search of the ladder.
When she returned,
Spock was still running tricorder scans on the immediate area.
Silently, she set up the ladder and stepped aside.
"I can find no DNA traces or any other biological
contaminants
in this area except for those left by you and I." Spock
said.
"Please run a subcellular scan of the corridor, beginning
with the duct access and extending from there."
"Yes, sir." Larssen said, beginning to reset her
tricorder.
"Sir, I didn't find anything in the duct either. Except for
me."
"Since we both have an alibi for the period in question,
these
readings do not provide us with a suspect."
"No, sir. But it's
a dog in the night-time situation."
He paused, halfway up the ladder, and gave her the eyebrow.
"I am sure you have an excellent explanation for referring
to
nocturnal canines.
Perhaps you would provide it?"
His voice
was inflexionless, and Larssen swallowed.
"It's a story." she said. "An old earth
story. A detective
solves a mystery because of the behaviour of the dog in
the night-time: the dog didn't bark, which meant..."
she trailed off, tried again.
"It's a short hand way of
saying that what is absent is as significant as what is
present."
"What is absent in this case, Lieutenant?"
"The traces and residue from the maintenance crew who
should
have been through that crawlway four days ago. And the
signs of crew in this corridor.
I know this area is not
high traffic, but there's still traffic."
Spock started up the ladder again. "In future, you might
consider communicating such insights in a more direct
manner. Assuming an
understanding of cultural referents
is rarely justified and interferes with clarity."
"Yes, sir." Larssen said. ~Well,~ she thought, ~I didn't
get chewed out in public for lateness. I guess I should
be grateful to get chewed out in private for something
else.~
She turned the tricorder to a new section of the wall.
Spock, now head and shoulders in the access, verified
Lieutenant Larssen's report with his own tricorder. He
then ran a subcellular scan, a broad band wavelength scan
to check for energy signatures, and when they were both
negative he went through the time-consuming process of checking
each
type of radiation individually, from heat traces to mu
spectrum. On the finest
calibration, his tricorder
picked up a slight spike in the energy range known as
Phillips Lines, after their discoverer.
He moved a step down the ladder, and ducked out of the
access. Larssen was
scanning the floor now. By her
expression of mild astonishment, he judged she had also
found an anomalous reading.
~Alternately,~ Spock thought,
~she has just remembered she has missed dinner, or the
captain has announced a red alert.~ It was well within
Larssen's capacity to react to each of these incidents as
if, on the scale of importance, they were all the same, and at
the low end of the scale at that.
A small upright line appeared between her brows. Spock had
seen that line appear when a test series gave an unexpected
result, or a computer query returned an answer that was
beyond her understanding.
Larssen would say, at such moments,
'Field too large, sir,' rueful at her lack of
comprehension. Spock had
always allowed himself to be
slightly amused by that expression, and had once or
twice set her tasks which he knew would produce it.
"The Phillips Lines, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir," she said.
"Spiking at the 437 point and
again at the gamma half-life."
"The readings within the access are similar. What is
the magnitude of the spike?"
"Point four three
eight nine thirty four."
"Considerably lower than in the access. And the phasar
itself shows a higher reading than the crawlway generally."
"Making it a safe assumption that the phaser was in the
company of the source of radiation for longer, and that the
source of radiation was in the crawlway, but not the
corridor."
"There is," Spock said sternly, "no such thing as
a safe
assumption. It is an
adequate working hypothesis, however.
I will seal the phaser for later lab analysis and follow the
Phillips Line signature through the access."
"Yes, sir."
Larssen said. "I'll continue
the scan."
"I may require your assistance," Spock said.
"Please remain
here until I return."
"Yes sir."
Spock set up the portable stasis generator so the field
included the phaser and then boxed them both for transport.
The Phillips Line traces extended in both directions up the
crawlway, as if whatever had made them had come along the
crawl way, dropped the phaser, and continued onwards. He
considered following the trail as far as it ran away from
the phaser, and then returning and travelling in the other
direction, but dismissed it as time consuming.
Larssen was startled almost out of her wits at the sudden
appearance of Spock leaning out of the access hatch. Being
upside down, his hair was obeying the usual laws of gravity,
but he appeared to find nothing incongruous or ridiculous in
his position and Larssen stifled her laugh.
"Lieutenant, you
will follow the Phillips Line trace
back towards section 21, while I follow it forwards."
"Yes, sir." she said. When she had climbed up the
ladder
and pulled herself into the hatch, Spock was visible
only as a pair of heels moving steadily towards the
forward section. Larssen
manoeuvred herself around
the transport box, set her tricorder at the required
frequency, muttered "Children of promiscuous women"
in Romulan, and began to crawl.
Spock was impervious to the discomfort of the crawlway
as he pulled himself rapidly along. The trail was clear,
and he had no need to hesitate or consider when he came
to branches in the network of access tunnels that
honeycombed the ship.
His mental map of the Enterprise
provided him with the knowledge that he was travelling
away from the parts of the ship devoted to ship's
business, and towards crew quarters. When the trail
stopped short at an access hatch, Spock knew he was
above the junior officer's quarters. He lifted aside
the access hatch, and dropped neatly through.
The crewmember who sat up in bed, wildly startled at
the noise, was unfamiliar to him.
"Please accept my assurances that this intrusion is
necessary," Spock said.
"Have you observed any
persons exiting the access hatch in the past four
hours, or any other unusual occurrences?" Although it
seemed to defy logic that any crewmember would have
failed to report noticing anything outside the limits
of normal ship's business, Spock had long ago learnt
that with non-Vulcans, it could be necessary to state
the obvious.
"No, no, sir," said the man. Spock was able to recall
that this particular cabin was assigned to Lieutenant
(junior grade) Hoffman, of Tactical.
"Why are you not assisting in the search of the ship,
Mr Hoffman?" he asked, and Hoffman blinked at this further
evidence that Vulcans knew *everything*.
"I'm unwell, sir.
Dr McCoy placed me on the sick list
for the next twenty four hours."
"I see." Spock
scanned the room with his tricorder.
The
Phillips Line traces disappeared here. He moved a chair
to the access hatch and scanned the inside of the tunnel
again, confirming that the trail led no further.
"Mr Hoffman, there are unusual energy traces leading
to this room through the crawlway, which disappear at the
access. Please examine
your memories of the last few
hours for any occurrence, however slight, outside the usual,
and report to me."
"Yes, sir." said Hoffman. "I've been asleep, though, sir.
The doctor gave me a sedative."
"Do your best," Spock said, and went out into the
corridor.
It was inconvenient that a potentially valuable witness had
been deep in drugged sleep at the crucial time. It occurred
to him that whatever had left the energy signature might
have realised that Hoffman was unconscious and that therefore,
using his room to leave the crawlway was safe. However,
it did not explain the absence of Phillip's Line traces
here, in the corridor.
The room above Hoffman's was also crew quarters, the
quarters of Pavel Chekov.
It was not beyond the bounds
of possibility that whatever they pursued had been able
to pass through the floor and enter Pavel Chekov's room.
That was the logical place to examine next.
Although, Spock thought as he strode to the turbolift,
if passing through floors was no obstacle, the long
journey along the crawlway was illogical. Still, it was even
less logical to ignore all possible avenues of investigation.
**********
"It's pretty straightforward, Jim." McCoy said, pacing
up
the corridor a little way and then back. "Massive trauma
caused by a phaser set on full, straight to the chest.
The Vocheron seem to have no problem with my using a
medical tricorder on a dead body, but the wound is so severe
I can't tell much about what *used* to be in the chest
cavity.
I can't find any organs elsewhere that would be used for
blood circulation or oxygen processing, though, so I'd say
that the Vocheron equivalent of heart and lungs are located
fairly close to where ours are." He paused. "Just
about
everything else seems to be located where ours are, as
well."
"Can you tell whether it was self-inflicted?" Kirk asked.
"Not really. Given
the high setting, there's no traces
around the edge of the wound to indicate what angle the
phaser was fired from, and any energy signatures could
well have dissipated by now, even if they were present.
And, in case you're wondering, the body temperature
indicates that time of death was around the time the
Ambassador claimed they heard the body falling. The wound
had cooled just far enough to be consistent with that,
as well."
"Spock says that no-one save the Ambassadorial party
entered the Vocheron quarters all day - all week,
actually. And no-one
after they all returned from the
negotiations."
"Well, that's your first argument against suicide."
McCoy
said. "Who hid the phaser?"
As if on cue, Kirk's communicator beeped.
"Kirk here." he said.
"Captain," Spock's calm voice returned, "I have
completed
a preliminary investigation."
"What have you found?"
"The evidence indicates that someone left the Vocheron
quarters by the crawlway, taking the phaser which
inflicted the wound with them.
They continued along the
crawlway some distance, leaving the phasar behind in the
lower decks area, and eventually exiting through the quarters
of Mr Hoffman, who was sleeping at the time."
"I gave him a sedative," McCoy said. "Nasty flu
that boy has."
"Meet us outside the Vocheron quarters." Kirk said.
"Yes, sir. Spock
out."
"So it's murder." McCoy said.
"Or a dammed complicated cover-up for a suicide. Kythis
didn't move that phaser himself."
"The Sythenes?" McCoy asked, and Kirk shook his
head.
"Not one of them left their quarters in the crucial
time.
They were all there when Spock checked the computer, and
there was no entry or exit from the converted bay."
"Even by the access tunnels?" McCoy asked. "I mean, I'm
just an old country doctor from Georgia, but it seems to me
that if you've got one group of people pointing guns at another
group of people, and then one of the second group of people
turns up dead from a gunshot wound, you want to look
pretty hard at the first group."
"I'm sure Spock thought of the access tunnels." Kirk
said.
"You mean, you're sure he computed the exact probability
to nine decimal places."
"To fifteen, actually, doctor." Spock said as he came
up the
corridor.
"Damn Vulcan hearing." muttered McCoy.
"The only evidence of the presence in the access crawlways
was an unusual energy signature." Spock said. "Gamma team
is currently scanning the entire area around the temporary
Sythene quarters for such a trace. They report negative
results. I will verify their findings when I am free to do
so.
In addition, lab nine reports that there are no cellular or
DNA traces on the phaser which was found in the crawlway.
It is of Starfleet manufacture, and security is currently
attempting to determine whether it is an Enterprise phaser
or not. It is definitely
not one of the weapons brought on
board by the Sythenes"
"You tracked the energy reading to the Vocheron
quarters?"
'No, captain. I tracked it to Mr Hoffman's quarters. I assigned
Ms Larssen to follow the traces in the other direction, and
judging from the computer reports of her current location,
I deduce they originate from the Vocheron quarters."
"How can you be so sure?" McCoy said.
"Allow me to demonstrate, doctor." Spock went to the door of
the Vocheron quarters, and then inside. From the middle of
the room, he said in a voice slightly louder than
conversational:
"Lieutenant Larssen."
The result was gratifying, if unexpected. Directly above
them, Larssen started, lost her balance, leaned on the
access hatch trying to recover and dislodged it, plunging
through into the room below.
Slightly flushed, she picked herself up off the floor. "Yes,
sir?"
"Have you determined the origin of the traces?"
"Yes sir. The
access hatch, sir."
"Which access hatch, Lieutenant?" Kirk asked, more to
see
her response than because he was confused as to her meaning.
She gave him a level stare. "The one I just fell through,
sir."
Behind him, Kirk could hear McCoy snort. "Don't tease the
junior officers, Jim." the doctor muttered under his
breath.
Spock looked at Kirk, and raised an eyebrow. Years of
familiarity had given Kirk the ability to tell that this was
a "Is this discussion better continued elsewhere?"
eyebrow,
as opposed to a "I find that comment idiotic, but I am too
polite to say so" eyebrow, or a "I do not believe a
word you're
saying, but you're the captain, Captain." eyebrow. Kirk nodded,
and headed for the door again.
"Lieutenant," Spock said, "Lab Nine has just
completed an
analysis of the phaser you located. Please report there
immediately and prepare a statement of their findings for
the captain. I have
uploaded the relevant parts of my
own investigation to the ship's computer, and Gamma Team
will do the same when they have finished their current
task."
"Yes, sir." Larssen said. She had been on duty for fourteen
hours now, a goodly portion of it spent crawling through
the bowels of the ship, and it was an even bet whether
her feet or her knees hurt more. The amount of work he
had just given her was monstrous. On the other hand,
it was axiomatic with Commander Spock that he would not
assign tasks to more junior officers unless his own time was
taken up elsewhere.
"When that is complete, verify lab nine's findings."
She blinked.
"Yes, sir." she said, and started on her way. ~Blonde children
of promiscuous women,~ she thought to herself as she waited
for the lift. ~Short
blonde children of...~
**********
Kirk leaned his head on his hands. It was a show of
weariness he would not normally have permitted himself,
but with only Spock and McCoy in the briefing room, his
fatigue seemed suddenly too great to hide.
"Run that by me again, Spock." he said. "No, don't.
Summarise it."
"There is no indication that any of the Sythene party left
their quarters during the crucial time frame. In fact,
there is no indication that they left their quarters at
any time other than to participate in the negotiations,
when all members of the party were in plain view. The
negative evidence of no trace at any level of their presence
elsewhere is compounded by the positive evidence of all
members of the party having been seen by Ensign Laeter
when she enquired as to the suitability of their diet at
1645 hours yesterday, and again when she returned with the
equipment to modify the replicators at 1735 hours. The death
of Aide Kythis occurred prior to 1700 hours, but by the
temperature of the body and the wound, not very much prior
to that time. The
Vocheron diplomats testimony indicates
it took place almost exactly at 1700 hours. Even discounting
that testimony, it is physically impossible for any member
of the Sythene party to have reached the Vocheron quarters
between 1645 and 1700 hours, particularly given the presence
of security crews at each door, which limits the method of
ingress and egress to the access hatches to the crawlways."
Kirk raised his head enough to nod.
"Furthermore," Spock went on, "Although it is
impossible
to rule out the Vocheron themselves as perpetrators of this
crime, as they were all in the guest quarters at the time,
each independently confirms the presence of all the others
in the inner briefing room at the time the body was heard
to fall, and all were in the presence of one or another
of the Enterprise crew from 1701 hours until 0423 this
morning. It was during
this time that the phaser was discovered.
I should note here that no other phaser has been located
in the Vocheron quarters or anywhere nearby."
"In simple language, then," McCoy said, "they might
have done
the murder, but they couldn't have hidden the weapon."
"Yes." Spock said.
"Which leaves the conclusion that
either a member of the Vocheron party committed the crime,
and another party assisted hir to conceal the evidence, or
another party is responsible for both acts."
"That would seem to be - *logical*." McCoy said.
"Indeed," Spock said.
"It is unfortunate that it also means that
a member of the Enterprise crew is responsible for part, if not
all, of this grave crime."
"That's ridiculous!" McCoy said. "First of all, there's no
*reason* for any member of the crew to attack the diplomats!
I'd lay odds that no-one on this ship had *heard* of the
Vocheron before three weeks ago. Why kill them?"
"Simply because a motive is undiscovered, does not mean
that it is non-existent." Spock said.
"You cold-blooded son-of-a-" McCoy started. Kirk reached
out and laid one hand on his arm, and the doctor stopped.
"What's your second reason, Bones?" Kirk asked.
"The idea is just plain ridiculous, that's my second
reason."
McCoy said. "A member of Starfleet, of *this* crew,
committing murder?
You've got to be joking! Any
kind of
instability like that would have shown up in psyche scans
LONG ago."
"I find your faith in mechanical devices reassuringly
predictable,
even if it borders on the superstitious." Spock said.
"I find your *lack* of faith in your ship mates disturbing,
bordering on the insulting!" McCoy retorted.
"Bones," Kirk said quietly. "Spock."
There was a moment's silence, and then McCoy sat down
again. "I know
you're doing your job." he said grudgingly.
"Sorry, Spock."
"No offence is given if none is taken," Spock said.
For a little while all three sat without speaking. Kirk leaned
back in his chair and studied his two friends. McCoy was resting
his head on one hand, exhaustion marking his face as the
anger that had carried him this far guttered out. Spock
was as upright as always, his bearing showing none of the
fatigue that shadowed his eyes.
"What time is it?" Kirk asked at last.
"1321 hours, captain." Spock said.
Nearly twenty three hours since Kythis had died, Kirk
thought.
Nearly twenty three hours since the three of them had been
preparing to go off shift, perhaps play a little chess.
He would have gone to Ann Ridley's quarters afterwards,
and perhaps they would have made love and perhaps they would
have argued. With a
start of guilt, he realised he hadn't
even thought to call her and tell her he wouldn't make it
that evening.
"I'll stand down the search parties." Kirk said. "Those
that are still working, that is. Spock, send your people
off as well. "
"I have done so, Captain." Indeed, he had instructed
Lieutenant Larssen to go off duty precisely seventeen
minutes ago, when she had reported concluding her analysis
of the phaser, with the caveat that she was to report to
Lab Seven and make sure that Professor Ridley was aware of
the changed rotation in Science before she retired. It
had not been convenient for Spock to make the call to
Ridley himself, with the briefing about to start. He
was aware, however, that he found that inconvenience ...
convenient. Ridley's
refusal to pass his orders on to
Larssen and Brand had changed the situation in Science
section from an unresolved problem to something close
to an emergency. The
next time he spoke to the Professor,
the matter would have to be resolved. If it could not be,
the captain would have to know.
Spock was aware of how little he wished for that to happen.
"Delta shift can take the bridge early," Kirk said,
startling
Spock from his thoughts, "and then we'll go to short-staff
rotation for sixteen hours.
That should let everybody
catch up." He
reached for the comm., gave the orders, and
stood up. "Bones,
you're off duty as well for 12 hours.
That's an order."
McCoy's expression told Kirk what he could do with his order,
and Kirk smiled.
"I'm going too, Bones, so stop pouting."
"I don't believe that expression should be characterised as
a
'pout', Captain." Spock said seriously. "It would more
properly be called a 'scowl', or perhaps 'glare'."
Kirk smiled, with genuine humour this time and not what Spock
thought of as 'the captain's smile'. He had long since noted
his captain's ability to assume a mantle of good humour and
relaxation for the benefit of the morale of his crew. Spock
had occasionally wondered if doing so placed an added burden
on Kirk. It certainly
did not afford him the relief which
Spock had observed to follow from a genuine expression of
emotion.
"Gentlemen, let's reconvene in six hours." Kirk
said.
"Perhaps the solution will be more apparent when we've
slept
on it."
********
Larssen's hands were shaking.
She rested the slide against
the table, and looked up from the biospecalant unit.
"Ma'am." she said.
"Ma'am, I'm going to make a mistake if
I keep on with this."
She had called in to Lab Seven on Spock's orders, to make
sure that Professor Ridley had heard and understood that
she would have no staff available for the next forty eight
hours until all Science section staff had had enough off-
duty time to recover from the long duty they had pulled
the day before. It had
then been twenty two hours since
Spock's page had pulled every scientist off regular
duties and out of their beds in some cases, to join the
search parties.
Ridley's reaction had been predicable in nature, but of a
degree Larssen had not foreseen. She had barely managed
to dodge the first stool thrown at her by the Professor,
had taken a nasty blow to the shoulder from the second,
and had only managed to calm Ridley by agreeing to stay
in the lab and finish the next urgent set of analysis.
Ridley looked set to argue, but then unexpectedly relented.
"All right." she said. "Take the slides back to cryo before
you go."
"Yes, ma'am." said Larssen, willing to agree to
anything
that might get her out of the lab without a fight. She
packed the samples carefully, taking extra time to compensate
for the tremor in her hands, and picked up the box. "Good
night, ma'am."
"Good night." Ridley said. She watched the Lieutenant as
she left, and felt guilty.
It seemed as if her anger
exploded more and more easily these days, and at targets
unrelated to its cause.
The poor girl had been up all night,
and at no easy task from the grime on her uniform, and had
come here as a courtesy before going for a well deserved
sleep. And at that
courtesy - ~the courtesy Jim couldn't
be bothered to do me~ - Ridley had felt her simmering rage
bubble over, her whole body washed by cleansing fury.
~I never used to throw furniture,~ Ridley thought, and sat
down on one of the stools that had bounced off the wall.
She thought about calling Jim, and finding out what was
going on, and how bad it was, and if he could comfort her ...
~He'll be sleeping,~ she realised. ~He was up all night too.~
She had been as well, working at a furious pace, storing up
the things she'd say to Mr Spock when she had a chance,
and the things she'd say *about* Mr Spock *to* Jim when she
got *that* chance, and getting angrier and angrier as
her staff didn't come back and it seemed clearer and
clearer that something had gone badly wrong with the ship...
She slammed her hands down on the bench, making the
equipment jump slightly.
~Damn them all,~ she wished, ~damn
that lump Larssen with her white face and her tired eyes,
and damn Mr I'm-so-inscrutable Spock who you'd need a
ladder to get a rise out of, and most of all damn James
T Handsome Kirk and his easy smile and his laugh,
without which she'd have been safe in a bed that wasn't
hurtling through space tonight ~
Ridley threw another chair, for good measure, and then
picked up her PADD and began cross-referencing the latest
sequence results with the tables from experiments run
at the Vulcan Institute of Sciences the previous year ...
***************************************************
"Captain to the bridge! Captain to the bridge! Captain
to the bridge!"
Kirk came out a deep sleep to find he was already on his
feet and reaching for his shirt.
"Red Alert! Red Alert! Red Alert!" came the voice of
Commander Iyen, officer with the conn on delta shift.
"What is it?" he snapped at the comm. unit.
"Five unidentified ships emerged out of warp, and refused
to answer hails," Mahase said. "Their shields are up and
their weapons systems active."
"On my way."
Pants on, shoes in hand, Kirk ran for the
turbolift. As he
balanced on one foot in the lift, pulling
his shoes on, the ship rocked under the impact of fire and
then gravity fluctuated as the inertial dampeners took their
silicon attention away from maintaining constant gravity when
confronted with the urgent need to neutralise the effect of
helm's manoeuvres.
When he reached the bridge, Spock was already at the science
station. Vulcans, Kirk
thought (and not for the first time)
have some special sense that allows them to be on time without
having to hurry. He
raked his hand through his hair after
a glance at Spock's impeccably groomed head, and said:
"Captain on the bridge."
Iyen was starting his briefing as he slipped out of the centre
chair. "Sir, still
no response to our hails. One ship
opened
fire as it came in range, but we evaded successfully. No
action since then."
The turbolift door hissed again, and Sulu and Chekov hurried
out,
dislodging their delta shift replacements from helm and
tactical with quick mutters of relieving protocol.
"Captain," Uhura said, and Kirk realised he hadn't
even
noticed her come in, "The Vocheron Ambassador and the
Sythene Ambassador want to speak to you."
"Now?" he said on an amazed breath, and then on second
thoughts "Together?"
"Yes, together, sir."
Uhura said, ignoring the rhetorical
part of the question.
"Put them on." Kirk said. Anything which brought the Vocheron
Ambassador and the Sythene Ambassador to a common cause
must be important.
The viewscreen flickered, and resolved to the image of the
little Sythene ambassador, phaserless now and with his
biohazard suit turned off, at the side of Ambassador Tyssin.
"It is clearrrrrr," Tyssin said without preamble,
"that
Starfffffleet has ssssought to sssabotague peace betwween
ourrrrrr peoples, with one of my aidesss foully ssslain
and only Starlfeet crew to blllame for it. Thereforre,
the Voche and the Sythene make common causse against
ourrr commmmon enemies.
We declare warrr upon you."
Kirk stared, the faint nausea the Vocheron still caused him
driven out by a new and terrible chill. "You *what*?"
he said. "Trygian, do you agree to this?"
Trygian bowed his head, but did not speak.
"The sshipss you see are oursss." Tyssin said. "Wwe are
wwilling to ssacrificce our lives to brrring an end to your
treachery."
"Close the channel." Kirk said abruptly, and as the
ambassador vanished obedient to Uhura's commands, Kirk
tapped his comm..
"This is the captain. Security
Alert.
Security Alert.
Apprehend and restrain Vocheron and Sythene
parties. They have
declared themselves enemies to the
Federation. All hands,
you are authorised in this matter.
Exercise caution. Report
to Security Chief Tomlinson.
Kirk out." He
closed the channel and turned back to
the tactical display.
"Positions?"
"Remaining stable."
"Mr Spock, analysis?"
"The ships are considerably smaller than the Enterprise.
They are more manoeuvrable, but scan shows their warp
cores are not as
powerful. They are, however, well armed
and well shielded."
"Mr Chekov, lay in a course towards the nearest
Starbase."
"Laid in, sir."
"Mr Sulu, take us that way, maximum warp. Let's see if we
can outrun them."
**********
"Red Alert," came the voice over comm, and all over
the ship
the sirens whooped and the lighting changed to a strobing
red.
Larssen, on her way to her quarters from the cryo store,
opened the nearest door and grabbed a takehold, instead.
She hoped Ridley would have the sense to get everything secure
that needed to be dogged down during manoeuvres. Flying
specimens could make a real mess in a biolab, and it was a
safe bet Ridley wouldn't be the one cleaning up.
Footsteps came pelting down the corridor and another person
joined her at the take hold, panting. A tiny woman in
Engineering red, she grinned up at Larssen, although she was
pale beneath her tan.
"Hi," the engineer said. "Duval, Martinique, Yeoman.
Won't
offer to shake hands."
"Under the circumstances, very sensible," Larssen said
mildly.
"Larssen, Cory, Lieutenant. Pleased to meet you." She
leaned her forehead against the takehold, and thought with
passionate longing of her bed.
**********
"They're firing!" Chekov cried, as the Enterprise
shuddered
on the verge of the warp field and dropped back into
normal space.
"Evasive" Kirk snapped and at the same moment Sulu
dropped
them into a ninety degree pitch with a boost from the
starboard jets to take them out of the line of fire.
"Third ship attempting to lock on!" Chekov said.
"Scatter torpedos across their bows, Mr Chekov, slow them
down."
"Aye, sair."
"Scotty, what the hell was that?"
"We hae a problem with the starboard nacelle conduit, sir,
but it seems to be comin' back up. Gie me a minute."
"One minute." Kirk said, not quite an order, not quite
a
request. "Mr Sulu,
get us out on the wing. I don't want
them on each side of us."
"Aye," said Sulu at this statement of the
obvious.
"Mr Chekov, fire main phaser battery as targets present
themselves."
"Aye, sair!" said Checkov with a wolfish grin.
An impact somewhere in the ship, and Sulu frowned, limited
in his manoeuvring by the Enterprise's bulk and by his
necessary care for the fragile bodies within her. A touch to the
jets and the great nose came up, giving Chekov a chance to
rake one of their attackers with phasers and overload the
shields on that side, but before the phasers could strike
home through the opening Sulu was sending the Enterprise
into a long portways role out of the line of fire coming from
a ship to their rear.
Another impact somewhere else, and
Uhura said "Damage to engineering, sir."
"Scotty." said Kirk into the comm..
"Bohev moi." Chekov breathed. All five of the ships had
suddenly come into formation, on the Enterprise's starboard
side, phasars lancing out and the shields going all the
way through the spectrum into coruscating white light.
It was a foolish tactic, and Chekov had photon torpedoes
homing in on those ships on the instant. Two found their
targets and two ships died suddenly, but at the same time -
There was a great sickening lurch, suddenly Kirk could
feel that his ship wasn't moving right. From the look
of Sulu's set shoulders, he was well aware of it, too.
"We have lost power from the starboard nacelle." Spock
said, and over his voice
the computer's automatic warning:
"Hull breach, section 24! Hull breach, section 24!"
**********
"All hands, brace for impact," Kirk said, and Ridley
wondered
how that voice could sound so calm at such a time, could sound
so little different from the way Kirk spoke to her when they
were alone. She clutched
the takehold and closed her eyes,
waiting for it to be over.
That impact was the worst yet.
An access panel blew out
with the force of a power surge and Ridley flinched as
sparks shot out. Gravity
was off, then back, then lurched
sickeningly before settling down - settling down WRONG, for
suddenly it felt like one corner of the room was down, when
the floor should be level.
The inertial dampeners were
failing to handle the stress, or had insufficient power to.
That was bad, Ridley realised, very bad. They might be in
real trouble. She could
hear someone whimpering, and
realised it was herself.
More jolting, she lost her footing this time and clung to
the handhold. That had
sounded close, closer than usual.
~Too close, too close, god...~
This was how it had started.
Failure in the inertial
dampeners, that had been the first sign that the ship
couldn't handle the stress it was under – after all
these years Ridley couldn't remember the name of that
little cruiser. Perhaps she had never known it, perhaps
her parents had never thought it important to tell their
seven year old daughter the name of the ship taking them
on that short two day trip.
Try as she might, Ridley
never remember that name.
And try as she might, she
could never forget the way it felt when the deckplates
rippled under your feet and the delay, just over two
seconds long, between the total failure of the field and
hull breach that followed ...
The panic she had been suppressing broke over her like a
tidal wave, and she staggered away from the take hold,
heading for the door, listing sideways against the distorted
gravity, with no idea of where she was going except to get
out, get away...
**********
"Captain, the port nacelle canna take the drain she's
got!"
Scotty sounded frantic.
"She'll burn out in nae too much
more time!"
"Understood, Mr Scott." Kirk said. "How long
until we have
the starboard nacelle back?"
"I canna get anyone in there with the bulkheads down,
captain!
My people report that -"
Static. Silence.
"Ms Uhura?" Kirk said quietly.
She was already underneath the console. "Checking now,
sir. Trying to reroute
through internal sensors."
"Mr Spock, assist." Kirk said, and turned back to
tactical.
Limping, crippled, and now silent, the Enterprise lumbered
around and sent another shot at her pursuers. Three down.
**********
The corridors were full of smoke and the walls were scorched
where power conduits had blown.
Larssen kept an eye on her
tricorder as she led Duval down the corridor. The hull breach
was only a bulkhead away, and she had no way of knowing if
the environmental seals had worked properly under this kind
of battering. Worse,
they were in Engineering down here and
there were deadly things contained by fragile seals and
tubing.
They came around a corner and nearly ran into three crew in
Engineering red, likewise groping their way through the
smoke.
Larssen saw that they were not a repair crew, but obviously
had been trapped in this section as she and Duval had been.
Yeoman, Yeoman, Ensign, she noted automatically, and took
charge.
"Report." Larssen said.
"The bulkheads have gone down at sections 4, 14, 24 and
34."
Martinique Duval said. "Tricorders show a containment
integrity breach on the other side. Until they get hull
integrity back up, no-one's coming or going. Intraship
communications is haywire, as well."
"The conduit from the starboard nacelle is blown
out."
Mr Kevuthi said.
"Computer indicates port nacelle overloaded,
may blow. Also phaser
banks on this side have shorted in two
places, and first short triggered coolant leak to that section.
Enviro seals have activated."
They were all looking at her with expectation. ~I'm not
an engineer!~ Larssen wanted to snap. ~I'm not even a
proper officer! I'm just a bloody great colonist who
got herself into science section somehow!~
She took a deep breath.
"All right." she said calmly.
"We have to assume that the port nacelle will overload
if this continues much longer.
Repair can't get
in here until the bulkheads go up again, so it's down
to us. How many people
needed to repair the conduit?"
"Two at least." Duval said promptly. "It looks like
there's a double breach, which means both sections
will need to be kept aligned until the connection
restabilises."
"What level of skill is needed?"
"Not much."
Kevuthi said. "Not a tricky
job, just
fiddly."
"Could you talk a non-engineer - me for example -
through it?"
"I could, yes." Duval said confidently. "I've done
similar things in sim training, from outside the hull
structure of course, but I know exactly what's needed."
"Good. I need a volunteer to go with me up the
conduit.
The rest of you had better suit up for the coolant
and get that first phaser problem fixed. If we can
get the first two problems fixed, we'll worry about
the third later."
"I'll come with you up the conduit." Duval said.
"But, Lieutenant, you should know - as soon as they
start drawing power from that nacelle, the whole
inside of that thing will be live with energy pulses."
Larssen nodded. "I
guessed that." she said.
"We'll
just have to get in and out as fast as we can. Mr
Kevuthi, you're in charge down here. Just as soon
as you get that first short fixed, move on to the
second. They'll see the
banks come live up there,
even if we can't tell them.
You're not to hesitate,
hear me?"
"Yes." he said, and through his tentacles rippled
uneasily he did not argue.
"Duval and I will take two of the emergency local
bank comm-units." Larssen said. "Kevuthi, you've
got the third. Patching
our system through to main
comm. is not a high priority, but it's on the wish
list. Duval, pick out
what we'll need. And you -"
she had to search her memory for the name - "Mr Alpse,
get on down to the lockers at 13 and E, bring the
packs back up here."
"Yes, sir." he said, and ran.
Duval had pulled two tool kits out of a locker and
was strapping one around her waist. As Larssen
picked up the other, the diminutive engineer said:
"Lieutenant - you do realise - getting up and down
that conduit is no piece of cake. The chance we'll
be able to get out again before they need to draw
power - it's not really much of a chance at all."
Her words made a little silence in the room. Then
the ship rocked under impact from torpedoes, and
Larssen said, loudly and steadily, "I do realise that.
Everybody here is to understand that Duval and I know
exactly what we're doing.
When I said not to hesitate
before making power available, I meant exactly what I
said. It's an
order. Is that clear?"
No-one spoke, but a few nodded.
Larssen caught
Duval's eye, and saw the smaller woman was looking
at her with admiration and surprise. ~I've just
ordered her death as well as my own,~ Larssen thought
calmly. ~I wonder if she
expected that?~
Duval turned and ducked into the access, still
screwing the local comm. into her ear as she moved.
Larssen finished fastening the tool kit, set her
own comm. to her ID code, gave one stern look to
Kev and followed. ~Here
we go,~ she thought. ~Here's
where I get to be a hero.
How unpredictable life is.~
However, when she tried to follow Duval into the
conduit herself, it became apparent that today was
not her day for heroics.
The narrow, twisting tunnel
was far too small for Larssen.
Even Duval was barely
able to fit herself in, and when Larssen tried to
follow her she nearly got stuck.
"Illegitimate short blonde children of promiscuous
women", she said in Romulan, and then: "Duval,"
hearing her own voice over the comm. "I can't get through."
"Shit." Duval said.
"I thought that might happen.
It gets even worse up ahead."
"Do you think you'll be able to make it through?"
"Yes, I've seen the specs for this."
"All right. Get
moving. I'll get someone smaller
than me up after you."
"Yes sir," said Duval, and started climbing as Larssen
backed out again. She
felt as if she'd betrayed
Duval, and suddenly her order not to hesitate when
the chance came to restore power seemed arbitrary
and ruthless. ~It's easy
to sacrifice yourself,~ she
thought, remembering the captain's words. ~It's the
other people that break your heart.~
Had he said that, exactly? She couldn't remember, and
there wasn't time, now, there wasn't time for anything
except the job at hand.
~We are time-critical, Lieutenant,~
she thought, and shook her head hard to clear the images
from her head.
"Kev," she said, "I'm too big for the
conduit. Can
you send someone up the size of Duval?"
A moment's pause, and then the Sulamid's voice,
tinny in her ear.
"Smallest person here is Mr Alpse."
Larssen understood the hesitation. Alpse was smaller
than she was, but not by much.
She closed her eyes,
visualised him standing next to Duval - "No good.
Keep on with the phasers.
I'll sort something out."
"Will do."
"Duval, can you hear me?"
"Loud and clear," Duval said, and Larssen could hear
the echoing of the conduit over the comm.
"Any chance you can manage that by yourself?"
Duval was silent a long moment, and Larssen fancied she
could imagine the thoughts racing through the tiny ensign's
head. Bad enough to
crawl five hundred yards to probable
death, unbearable to do it without at least one companion.
But when Duval spoke, her voice was steady.
"I don't think so, Lieutenant. Understand - I'd say
yes if I could. But I
reckon the breaks are too far
apart for me to synchronise them myself, even if I could
rely on my coordination to do it."
Larssen bit her lip.
"Keep going." she ordered.
"I'm
going to see if there's anyone sealed in here we haven't
found. There might be
someone narrow enough to make it."
"Okey dokey." Duval said, and Larssen had a sudden
bizarre impulse to ask her where her particular brand
of slang came from.
~Ifni,~ she thought to herself,
wanting to laugh, ~I'm turning into Spock!~
She could not give in to the impulse to laugh, however.
Duval would probably misinterpret it. Instead, she
grabbed a tricorder and started down the corridor,
setting the instrument to scan for life signs.
*****************
The forth ship went in a blaze of light, and Kirk found
himself leaning forward in his chair. There was only
one ship left, and even crippled the Enterprise was
more than a match for her.
"Mr Chekov-" he began, and was about to say *Fire at
will* when the captain of that last ship obviously
calculated the odds as Kirk had. The ship turned,
and began to flee.
"Follow, sir?" Sulu said.
"No. We can't
afford the strain on the engines."
"Sir," Spock said from beside the communications
console, "the history of both Vocheron and Sythene
warfare shows a preference for small preliminary
attacks, followed by the main force once adequate
information has been provided."
"You mean they'll come back with help?"
"The probability is 97%." Spock said.
Kirk turned towards the communications console .
"Uhura ..." he said gently.
"Working on it, sir." she said, and then there was
a sudden eruption of sparks from her console and Kirk
was on his feet with an extinguisher in hand. The
foam extinguished the electrical fire.
"Thank you." Uhura said, still beneath the
console.
"You might want to stand handy with that."
"Will do," Kirk said, and Uhura's foot jerked slightly
in surprise. It hadn't
occurred to her that it would be
the captain there with the fire equipment.
~I always wanted to give the captain orders,~ she thought
wryly. ~Be careful what
you wish for, girl...~
*******************
Larssen opened the hatch cover and blinked in surprise.
Professor Ridley was inside, curled up in a foetal
position with her hands wrapped protectively over her
head.
"Professor?" Larssen asked, quashing the urge to
ask: What in the name of damnation are you DOING here?
"No." Ridley said softly.
"Professor Ridley, what's the matter?"
"No."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
"Professor, you have to come out of there."
"No."
Larssen paused.
"Professor, are you a scientist?"
"No."
~Dammit!~ Larssen frowned down at the tricorder,
hoping it would suddenly and miraculously reveal
more life signs nearby.
Nope, miracles were not
going to be the order of the day. She sighed gently,
slung the tricorder back at her belt, reached into
the storage locker and took Ridley's shoulders.
"You're coming out now, whether you help or not."
she said, and pulled.
Professor Ridley fought for a moment, and then seemed
to surrender to the inevitable.
When Larssen set
her on her feet she stood there, one hand out to the
wall for support.
"We've got a problem," Larssen told her, taking her
wrist and pulling her along the corridor. "The
conduit to the nacelle on this side of the ship has
blown. Martinique Duval
has gone up there to repair
it, but the access is pretty cramped."
"Oh?" Ridley
said distantly. "What does that
mean?"
"It means," Larssen said composedly, "that with
the other nacelle taking all the strain for
shields and phasars we're at risk of an overload
on that side. It may
have already happened. Which
leaves the ship helpless."
"That's bad, then."
"Very bad," Larssen agreed. "We need two people
to repair the conduit.
And everybody except Duval
is too big to fit through the crawlway."
Ridley seemed to track that.
"Then it can't be
fixed!" she said.
'We'll die!"
They arrived at the access to the conduit.
"There's another possibility." Larssen said. "Duval
is about exactly the same size as you. And she's
small enough to get through."
A long pause. "You
mean," Ridley said, her voice
suddenly very quiet, "you want me to go up there and
fix it?"
"That's exactly what I want. Duval can talk
you through it."
"Oh - my - god."
Ridley had gone very pale, and
Larssen grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Don't you dare faint on me, Professor. Don't you
dare. We need you. The
ship needs you, dammit, don't
you faint."
"All right."
Ridley said breathlessly.
"Stop shaking
me. Please."
"Can you do it?"
Ridley took a deep breath, pushed her hair out
of her eyes. Larssen was
not asking about
technical competency, she realised. It was all
strangely dreamlike, as everything had been since
she'd fled the science lab in search of the
smallest darkest place she could hide in. "I don't
know." she
admitted. "I don't want to."
She remembered Larssen from her lab, a great big slow
moving woman who couldn't seem to finish her sentences.
At the time, Ridley had wondered if Spock had been
playing some elaborate joke on her, had kept his lab
stocked with idiots, waiting for the chance to spring
them on her. Now, she
realised that Corrina Larssen
was not as simple as she had thought. The ship was
being blown to pieces around them, they were about to
be helpless in space, and while she had been hiding in
a closet Corrina Larssen had been walking around doing her
job.
"Duval doesn't much want to either." Larssen
said.
"I can't not tell you this, Professor, although if
I felt I could lie I would.
There won't be much
time between the repairs and the power coming on
line, and when the power comes up anyone in that
conduit will be killed."
Deliberately choosing
the hardest word.
"There's very little chance of
getting out again. Do you understand?"
"Yes." Ridley
swallowed hard. "I can see why
Duval didn't want to go."
"She volunteered." Larssen said, and then suddenly
her calmness was no longer serenity but implacable
ruthlessness. "And
if she hadn't, I would have
ordered her."
"You can't order me," Ridley remembered with relief.
"I'm a civilian.
You can't order me."
"You're right. It's
your choice."
"I can't go up there." She had to make Larssen
understand. "I
can't, I'm scared. I can't do it."
She found herself pulled around to face the access
hatch. A tool kit was
put in her hand, a local
comm. in her ear.
"It's your choice."
Larssen said. "I have
things
I have to do, while you're making that choice. But
while you do, think about this.
If that break isn't
repaired, we'll all die, you included. I'd be up
there myself, but I'm too broad across the shoulders.
And if I had the authority, I *would * order you to
do this, but I can't. I
can only ask."
Ridley looked up at
Larssen's face, and realised
that she was telling the truth.
"You're not giving me much of a choice, here." Ridley
said, and her voice had the shake that Larssen
had always feared in the lab, that slight tremor
that preceded an explosive outburst of temper.
"You're not giving me much of a damn choice, here!
How DARE you! How DARE you ask me to go up there and -
and - and fiddle around with the engine! THAT'S
NOT MY JOB, DAMN YOU!"
She saw with distant
satisfaction that Larssen had stepped back.
"This is YOUR problem, YOUR damn Starfleet problem
and I refuse to put MY life at risk because you
can't do your goddamn job!
To hell with it, and
to hell with you, and to HELL with Starfleet if
it's filled with clumsy incompetents like you!
HOW DARE YOU GIVE ME A CHOICE LIKE THIS!"
Larssen stared at her.
How on earth could the woman
find the time for such fury when they were all about
to be blown to vacuum?
Professor Ridley was
incandescent with rage, shaking with it, consumed by
her anger. It was as if
she was so filled with
righteous wrath that there was no room in her mind
for concern about their common fate, for sense, for
comprehension, or for fear.
~Oh, Ann.~ Larssen
thought, realising. ~There are
better ways to deal with fear than this one.~ As if
someone had taken her memories of the past weeks
and shown them to her through a prism, she understood
that it wasn't temper, it had never been temper. It
was fear. All along, Ann
Ridley had been afraid,
afraid of being on the ship, afraid of the deep dark
beyond the hull, afraid of the decision she'd made,
living with a constant gnawing terror that she
couldn't stand. ~ Oh,~
Larssen thought, ~oh Ann, I wish
I had realised, I could have helped you, forgive me
for not understanding...~
Nothing of her thoughts
showed on her face. She
gave the smaller woman a little push towards the
access. "If I
could," she said, "I'd give you no
choice at all. I have to
go now. You're on my
comm., better tell Duval who you are if you go up
there. I have to
go. Do it right, Professor."
Her footsteps faded away, fast but not hurrying. Ridley
couldn't have looked away from the access to watch Corrina
Larssen leave if her life had depended on it. ~I'm not brave,~
she wanted to cry out.
~I'm not brave! I'm not heroic!
What
the hell am I doing here!~
She might have stood there until the ship blew apart
around her if she hadn't become aware of a woman's
voice in her ear.
"Lieutenant," it was saying. "Lieutenant, please
answer. Lieutenant-
"
"She can't hear you," Ridley whispered into the mike.
"What?"
"She can't hear you.
She gave the comm. to me."
"Who's me?"
the voice asked, and Ridley could sympathise
with the exasperation in the it.
"Ann Ridley." she said.
"Why did she give you the comm.?"
Ridley knew suddenly who the voice was. It was Duval,
whoever Duval was, and Duval was currently up in
that conduit fixing whatever it was that needed to
be fixed. Alone.
"Because I'm small." Ridley said abruptly. "You'll
have to tell me what to do.
I'm a civilian."
"Are you in the conduit?"
There was a long silence.
At the other end, Duval
could hear faint sounds like movement. Finally,
Ridley's voice returned, echoing slightly with the
narrow space around her.
"Yes, I am," Ridley said, her voice shaking
wildly.
"Which way do I go?"
"Only way is up, baby." Duval said, and chuckled. Slowly
and carefully, Ridley began to climb.
******************