Title: The Fruits of Diplomacy

Author: Gilshandros

contact: gilshandros@hotmail.com

Series: TOS

Part 3/4

For rating and disclaimer see introductory notes

 

 

 

******************

 

 

It was nonsense, Kirk knew, to imagine that he could

feel the ship *listing* as he sat in the Captain's

chair, but somehow the knowledge that they were without

power, without shields or weapons or even the ability

to move, made him imagine that the Enterprise was

slowly sinking.

 

Chekov and Sulu sat at their useless consoles. 

If Scotty couldn't get the power up, the helm and

weapons officers would be able to inform the rest of

the bridge crew that they were under attack, but

not to do anything about it.  Their hapless jobs

would be to count down the seconds until the Enterprise

made a brief, bright flare against the backdrop of stars. 

Nonetheless, neither showed any nervousness, although the

back of Chekov's shirt was dark with sweat.

 

~So is mine,~ Kirk thought ruefully.

 

Uhura was still stretched out below the communications

console, invisible from the waist up.  Something

shorted and fizzed and she swore with verve, and then,

muffled, asked Spock a question.  Spock replied calmly,

having cross-rigged the communications console to

science station to facilitate diagnostic readings.

 

It felt odd to have nothing to do while the ship was

in crisis.  It had happened before, of course, but

rarely, and Kirk realised (as he did every time) that

this must be how the engineers, the scientists, the

security teams and the stores staff and all the rest

of the crew must feel every time the Enterprise went

into combat.  Knowing that everything that mattered

was happening somewhere else.  Knowing that their

continued existence was completely in the hands of

a small group of people who they couldn't see or hear,

whose expertise they couldn't witness. 

 

More than anything, Kirk wanted to give Spock the

conn and go down to Engineering and see if there was

something he could do.   ~Hand Scotty his screwdrivers

or something.~  He had a sudden understanding of why

McCoy so often appeared on the bridge in the middle

of a tense situation: the urge to at least be where

you could *see* what was going on must be overwhelming. 

And at the moment, they couldn't even follow the

progress of the repairs on comm.

 

There was another spark beneath the communications

console and Uhura backed out in a hurry, shaking her

hand.  Spock sprayed the small conflagration with the

extinguisher.  Grimly, Uhura hauled herself back out

of sight. 

 

 

***********

 

 

Larssen came down the corridor at Starfleet

double time, fast as a jog but no appearance of

panic.  The engineers were standing or kneeling

by the double doors to the phaser bank section.

 

"Coolant leak this sector," Kev said, raising his

voice to be heard over the sound of the plasma torch

Alpse was using to cut through a safety seal.  "Have

to cut seal, then suit up and go in."

 

"All right.  Do we have enough suits?"

 

"No, only three."

 

It was impossibly dangerous to go into coolant without

suits and breathers.  The gas would burn anything it

came into contact with - exposed skin, the membranes

of the nose, the throat and lungs if breathed. "Right,"

Larssen said, "You, Quandt, and me." She took the suits

from him, selected the one closest to her size, and began

pulling it on.

 

"Not sensible, Lieutenant." Kav said.  "Need as many

trained as we can.  Me, Quandt and Alpse."

 

Larssen stopped and looked at him.  "Can't you talk me

through it?"

 

"Better, faster, with Alpse." Kev said, and she knew

he was right.  There was suddenly a knot of fury in

her stomach so tight she could barely breathe.  How

many people could she reasonably be expected to send

into danger while staying safely on the sidelines! 

This was absurd!

 

"Illegitimate short blonde children of

promiscuous old women," she murmured in Romulan. 

"You'll need to keep the comm.."   

 

"Yes.  Suggest you try to patch intraship while we work."

 

"All right.  How long will this take?"

 

"Fast as possible," he said with morbid humour,

"or not at all."  One tentacle pushed her towards

a nearby door.  "Comm station there.  Also window

on phasar lock bank.  You can watch and work.  Less

nervous."

 

"Less nervous, right." Larssen said, and turned to go.

 

"Lieutenant," he said, "Duval reports she and Ridley

expect completion in ten minutes."

 

My god, she went up there! Larssen thought.  She felt

a sudden surge of admiration for the Professor.  I was

prepared to go, but I wasn't all that scared.  She's

prepared to go even though she's shaking with terror. 

"Tell them - tell them I congratulate their bravery and

we'll give them as much time as we can."  She turned

and went to the comm. station.

 

 

**************

 

"Can you see the blown unit?"  Duval asked.

 

"What does it look like?" Ridley said.

 

"Blown!" Duval said, and then sighed.  "Sorry. 

It'll have some black stuff on the outside, that

will come off when you touch it."

 

"I've got it." Ridley said.  The fingers that were

now smeared with black residue were trembling.

 

"Pull it out. Just take the edges and yank."

 

"Okay, I have it."  It was possible, Ridley found,

to keep from screaming if she kept from thinking. 

If she held her mind very still, and kept from any

awareness of where she was and what she was doing,

and just followed each of Duval's instructions without

following them to their terrifying conclusion.

 

"Put it in your kit.  Don't drop it, I don't want

any more patching to do."

 

"Okay." 

 

"Now, take the replacement out."

 

There was a small silence.  "What does that look

like?" Ridley asked. 

 

"Like a -" Duval started, and then paused.  "Like

the other one, but without black stuff, and in a

clear whitish case with green markings." she said.

 

"Okay, I got it." 

 

"Don't put it in yet.  We have to co-ordinate this

or the new unit will blow when the circuit's linked."

 

"Okay." said Ridley, pretending she knew what that meant. 

If she thought about it, she might understand.  Right

now, however, thinking what the last thing she could

risk doing.

 

 

************

 

 

"Sir, we're partially patched in to the local comm.

system.  I've got Mr Scott on."  Uhura's voice was

muffled, as she had not stopped work even for a moment. 

 

"Bless you," Kirk said fervently.  "Mr Scott, can

you hear me?"

 

"Aye, Captain."

 

"What's our status?"

 

"We're nae doin' so good, sir.  The port nacelle

overloaded with the power drain and we've nae much

chance of getting' her back up in less that three

hours.  I hae crews tryin' to get access to the

starboard nacelle conduit, we hae a major blow-out

there, it looks like we took a direct hit in that

last pass of theirs.  Section seals are down all

the way through to the access for that section,

though.  I've a few missin' crew that might be in

there, but no way to contact them."

 

"Understood, Scotty.  We've no way of knowing how

much time we have until they come back.  We'll be

waiting to hear from you."

 

"Aye sir. Scott out."

 

"Uhura.  Priority on getting Scotty cross-patched

into whatever local comms are stored in sections

20 through 24."

 

"Yes, sir." she said.  "Mr Spock, can you

piggyback the beta backup system onto the

automated alarms?"

 

"I can try." Spock said calmly.

 

"Don't worry about the circuit interloop on the

override system.  Work from the comm. numbers I'm

sending you outward.  I should be able to bring the

engineering local interface up to a point where you'll

intersect."  She paused.  "Hikaru, if you aren't doing

anything else, get up here and hand me a length of

four ply coline wire and a double set of clips."

 

Sulu looked at Kirk, who nodded.  Chekov shifted position

as the helmsman got up, to keep an eye on both tactical

displays.

 

Something shorted under the communications console

again and Uhura yelped, and then said quickly: "I'm

fine, Captain.  Just surprised."  There was the

tremor of pain in her voice, and Kirk winced at how

close her face and eyes must be to the damaged circuits. 

~Be careful,~ he wanted to say, but that wasn't the

priority.  ~Be quick,~ that was the important thing, and

~ Try to stay alive while you're doing it, if you can. 

But only if it doesn't slow you down.~

 

He stood up, because there was nothing else for him to do.

 

*********

 

Larssen was so keyed to the work of the repair

team that when Alpse slumped to the floor she

swung around on the instant.  The great bizarre

figure in protective gear that was Kevuthi hesitated

a bare instant and went on with his work; Yeoman

Quandt didn't even look around.  Their expressions

were obscured by the helmets they wore, but Larssen

could see in the set of their bodies that they were

in a terrible hurry.  It was clear from the way

they worked, fast and accurate and without time for

thought. 

 

Alpse moved a little, and Larssen could see there was a gap

in his suit just below the armpit.  The coolant must have

leaked in before he realised... she was at the makeshift

environmental seal before she thought of moving, stepping

into the tiny airlock, punching the override as the outer

shut behind her with a hand that didn't shake at all.  As

the light flashed to warn her that the inner door was about

to open she filled her lungs and closed her eyes.

 

The coolant was heavy and oily against her skin and she

groped forward as quickly as she could.  Three steps from

the door, four -

 

~ Five.  Something dark distinguishing itself from the

snow.  She reached one hand forward and touching something

solid: a relay post, hard and smooth and metal. ~

 

Five, and her outstretched hand touched something solid,

 the protective suit slippery beneath her fingers.  She

seized hold and began to back towards the door, for one

horrifying moment thinking she had missed it and her air

was nearly out, her lungs were aching - and the seal bumped

beneath her foot and she had Alpse over the doorsill and

found the controls blind. 

 

Air hissed around them as the coolant was pushed out but

Larssen knew that she didn't dare open the outer door with

coolant still trapped inside Alpse's suit.  She waited until

she could no longer feel ropes of airborne coolant trailing

greasily across her face, her lungs burning, hurting for

air, and then let herself gasp, opening her eyes. 

 

As fast as she could, she tore open Alpse's suit,

and coolant sluggishly drifted out, over her hands,

before being sucked into the emergency pressure

lock's vents.  When she got the helmet off Larssen

thought she might faint, her vision greying, for

beneath the faceplate Alpse's skin was a mass of

burns, his eyes swollen shut.  Blood trickled from

his nose and mouth.  Somehow she got the rest of the

suit off him and the green light for clear went. 

 

~Open the door,~ Larssen thought to herself.  ~Open the

door, take him by the arms, drag him out, that's right,

don't look at his face, find the medkit- ~

 

"Can you hear me?" she asked, her voice warm and

unflustered.  "Can you hear me?  You're out, Alpse. 

I've got you.  I'm here."

 

The medical tricorder suggested treatments and she followed

those suggestions blindly.  RECOMMEND IMMEDIATE EVACUATION

TO SICKBAY, it also suggested, and that Larssen couldn't

do.  She turned Alpse on his side to ease his blood choked

breathing and then went back to the window to check on the

other two.  Both were still upright and working with

intense concentration.  Larssen went back to Alpse. 

 

"We'll get you to sickbay as soon as we can," she

promised.  "Just hang on.  I'm here.  Just hang on."

 

His breathing was laboured, with a strange liquid

sound that made Larssen want to shudder.  They had

to get this task done, and then the relay that had

burnt out had to be replaced, and then, if the n

acelle conduit was fixed, the Enterprise would be

able to run if she needed and fight if she had to. 

She didn't need to look at her chrono to know that

time was slipping away.  Apprehension settled over

her, making her skin feel tight and brittle, blurring

her vision. 

 

~I'm scared,~ she thought.  ~This is not useful.~

 

With an effort, she pushed the fear away until

she could think again, but the feel of it stayed

on her face, as if any expression would tear the skin.

 

**********

 

"Any one who can hear this, reply to me please." 

The familiar Scottish burr filled Ridley with

relief.  Montgommery Scott was a legend even

among civilians, the man who had saved the day

on so many occasions that the term 'miracle worker'

was only half a joke.  ~He'll get us out of this,~

she thought.  ~He'll find a way to get us out of

this without having to finish this ridiculous

repair job halfway up a tube a trained monkey would

have trouble with!~  She relaxed, leaning her head

against the side of the conduit, and allowed herself

to believe she would live through this.

 

"Mr Scott," Duval said. "very good to hear your voice,

sir.  Is intraship back?"

 

'Nay, Uhura is doin' all she can for it, but she's

patched me through to the local system from here."

 

"Mr Scott, you should have power to the starboard

nacelle in two minutes."

 

"And how have ye done that, lassie?"

 

"Professor Ridley and I are in the conduit."  She

did not need to say more.

 

"Ah, lass." A pause.  "When ye finish, get yourselves

down to the top of the fourth linkages.  There's an

access there, a beastly little crawlway that doesn't

go anywhere in particular, but the seal's sound. 

I'll gie ye all the time I can, lass."

 

"Appreciated, sir." Duval said.  "Duval out."

 

 

********

 

 

Yeoman Quandt's expression was easy to read

when she came out of the lock and looked at

Alpse on the floor: horror.  Kevuthi was more

difficult, Sulamids lacking most of what humanoids

called "a face", but his tentacles shifted and

twined with unease.

 

"Suit caught on power coupling," he said.  "Not

time to warn."

 

"We've got to get him to sickbay!" Quandt said. 

She went to the nearest terminal and scanned it. 

"Damage reports show that integrity has been

restored to the section beyond ours.  We can

jury rig the doors and force them..."

 

"We have a job to do first," Larssen said, and

Quandt stared at her.

 

"But he - "

 

"I know." Larssen said.  "There's a power relay

to be replaced first.  The sooner we get that done,

the sooner we can get Alpse to sickbay.  How many do

we need for the replacement?"

 

"Three." said Kevuthi sombrely.

 

Larssen looked at them.  "Then it's a good thing

there's three of us." she said calmly, and after a

moment Quandt nodded, swallowing hard.  "You'll have

to talk me through what's needed, my experience is

mostly with small mechanical and lab equipment."

 

"Not too dissimilar." Kevuthi said.

 

"Good.  Let's go."  She bent quickly to Alpse, "Mr

Alpse, we have to get the phasar relay replaced. 

We'll be back very soon to take you to sickbay. 

Hang on."  She didn't know whether he heard her or

not, and her eyes smarted with the threat of tears

as she stood, her face hurting with the effort to

keep it expressionless.

 

As Kevuthi  led them down the corridor towards the

phasar relay units, he looked back to where Alpse lay,

and following, so did Quandt.  Larssen looked straight

ahead.

 

 

******************

 

 

"We're done." Duval said.  "Let's go.  Down, Ann,

down."

 

Ridley began to lower herself, then stopped.  "I

don't know where I'm going," she said frantically.

"I don't know where I'm going, I don't -"

 

"Hold on. Hold on. Hold still." Duval said, and

after a minute Ridley heard the other woman's

boots on the ladder.  "I'm going to slide past

you here.  Press yourself against the wall."

 

A few terrifying moments as Ridley clung to the

ladder and Duval inched her way past in inadequate

space.  At one point it seemed as if they would get

stuck, and then Duval said "Breathe *out*, Ann." and

suddenly slipped past.

 

"Now just follow me, as fast as you can."

 

As fast as she could was not very fast for

Ridley.  ~I'm not a soldier,~ she said to herself,

trying to be angry.  ~I'm not a soldier, I'm not

trained for this, I shouldn't have to be here.~ 

Duval was well ahead of her now, the vibrations of

her movement down the ladder diminishing.

 

"Ann?" came the voice on the comm.

 

"Yes?"

 

"I'm about fifteen feet below you. I'll wait here."

 

"No," Ridley said.  "Wait at the access.  I'll

just keep going until I hit you."

 

The minute the words were out of her mouth she

regretted them.  Duval was started moving again,

years of practice at clambering around rarely

accessed parts of starships coming to her aid,

and soon there wasn't even the faintest sound or

movement to tell Ridley she was not alone in the

dark of the conduit. 

 

~I hate all of them,~ she thought, all the brave

people.  ~I hate them for making me do this.~

 

But the familiar spark of anger did not come.  She

was only cold, and alone, in the dark, and it was a

long way down.

 

*****

 

 

"Got it," Quandt said.  "Just hold it a moment more,

Lieutenant."

 

"Uh-huh" Larssen gasped.  Her arms and back ached

from holding the heavy coupling flush with its mount,

and she was sweating so hard it felt that her face

and hands were on fire and her vision blurred with

effort.  Quandt matched the connections up and began

to set the fastenings.  Larssen noticed that Kevuthi,

at the other end of the coupling, was holding up hir

burden without apparent effort.

 

"In my next life-" she panted, "-I want - to be - a Sulamid."

 

An eyesheaf turned in her direction.  "Depends."

Kevuthi said.  "Need high karma to skip straight

from human to Sulamid in one re-incarnation.  Perhaps

you should set sights lower."

 

"Thanks." Larssen said.  "Such as?"

 

"How can you *joke*?"  Quandt snapped, not taking

her eyes from her work.  'How *can* you?"

 

"It makes - the coupling lighter."  Larssen said. 

 

"It's not going to make Alspe any better!"

 

"Not make him any worse, either." Kevuthi said.  "Quandt."

 

She set the last fastening, and spun around, but when

she met Larssen's eyes the anger faded from her face

and her shoulders slumped.  "All right." she said. 

"I'm sorry, Lieutenant.  You went in after him, and

there's those who wouldn't have."

 

Larssen nodded, wiping stinging sweat from her face.  

There was a smear of blood on her hand when she took

it away.  The effort of lifting the coupling must have

started a nose bleed.  She sniffed.

 

"Let's go." she said.  "Next stop, sickbay."

 

***************

 

"Captain!"  Chekov cried.  "Ships dropping out of

warp!  Five - six - nine - eleven -"

 

"Get me engineering." Kirk said.

 

"Scott here." the engineer's voice responded as Uhura

unhooked one jury-rigged system to plug in another.

 

"Scotty, I need that power!  We have ships closing!"

 

"How long can ye gie me, captain?"

 

Kirk looked at tactical.

 

"They'll be in range in 45 seconds." he said.  "Scotty..."

 

"Aye, sir."

 

The engineer cut the connection, switched the comm.

channel over and hit the keys for Uhura's ingenious

improvised extension of local comm. capabilities.

 

"Lassies," he said, " I hae ta gie the captain

power! Are ye clear?"

 

"I'm in the crawlway," Duval reported, and before

she could say anything further, Ridley cut in:

 

"And so am I, Mr Scott."  Her voice was choked, and

Scott could hear the slight echo that told him she

was in a very confined space.  More confined than,

say, Crawlway 32. 

 

All he said was "Aye, lass.  Seal the access.  I

need to bring her up."

 

Duval swung the access hatch closed and spun the

lock, and forty feet away up the conduit Ridley

heard the clang and closed her eyes.

 

~Oh, it's not fair,~ she thought, ~not fair, I'm so

scared, it's not fair.  I'm a coward, that's supposed

to keep you safe, I should never have come on this

damn ship with these brave people, I'm so scared and

it's brave people who are the ones who are supposed

to die, it's not fair, oh, it's not fair...~

 

~Oh, Jim.~

 

She had expected pain.  She didn't have enough time

to notice that there wasn't any.

 

**********

 

 

 

"Lieutenant!" Kevuthi shouted, one tentacle wrapped

around the comm..  "Ships dropping out of warp!"

 

They would need their phasers, they would need the

power...  Larssen felt the knowledge in her chest as

if she'd swallowed an ice-cube, and she turned and

ran up the corridor, the others behind her.  No

Starfleet double-time here.  She ran flat out as if

the exit for hell was ahead of her and the doors were

closing. Skidding on the corner, she lunged for the

access hatch.  She could get into the first section

before it narrowed and she filled her lungs and yelled

the names.

 

"Marty!  Marty! Ann!"

 

Of course, they could not hear her.  She ducked back out. 

"Get them on the comm.!"

 

Kevuthi spread his tentacles helplessly.  "Lost." he

said mournfully. Larssen spat a curse in a voice that

didn't sound like her own and turned back to the crawlway. 

 

"Marty!" she screamed into the conduit.  "Marty!"

 

"We have to seal it!"  Quandt had her by the waist and

was wrestling her away from the access.  "We have to seal

it, Lieutenant, or we'll all go!"

 

"Just - let me - give me a minute - give them time -

let - GO, DAMMIT!"

 

"We don't have a minute," Quandt told her, and to

another person Larssen couldn't see, "Seal it, Kev."

 

"Need order to seal."  Kevuthi said

 

The access stood open, the Sulamid waiting beside it,

one handling tentacle on the drop bar.  "Lieutenant,

give the order!" Quandt urged her.  "Give the order!"

 

"Let me go." Larssen said unsteadily.  "Let me go,

that's your order."  The restraining arms fell away.

 

She reached out to the conduit access, put one hand

on the cover and swung it shut, pushing the drop bar

home.

 

"Not your job, Mr Kevuthi."  she told him.  "Not even

with order."

 

Larssen could feel the metal of the hatch begin to

vibrate as the power came up, and then the room

was filled with the roaring of the working nacelle. 

Inside that conduit, Larssen knew, was now a howling

maelstrom of pure power, inimical to mortal flesh. 

Whatever was left of Martinique Duval and Ann Ridley

was in there as well.

 

"Let's go." she said.  "It's up to them upstairs now. 

Let's see if we can get Alpse to sickbay before the ship

blows up again." 

 

They found the missing comm. in the corridor, where

Kev had dropped it in his haste.  Larssen picked it

up, wondering dully if it would have made any

difference, if she could have stood to hear the last

words of the two women.  She screwed it in her ear.

 

"Please respond -" she heard. "Anyone hearing this,

please respond."

 

"Duval!" she cried, and around her heads snapped around. 

 

"Lieutenant."  Duval's voice was dry, but the relief

in it was evident.  "I'm in a spot of bother."

 

You're alive! Larssen wanted to shout.  "You and

Ridley?" she asked instead.

 

A pause. "No." Duval said softly, sadly.  "She didn't

make it.  She told Mr Scott she had - but -"

 

"Understood." Larssen said, and shook her head

for the benefit of the other crew watching.

 

"I'm in the three two crawlway." Duval said. 

"I can't back up with the nacelle on line, and

it's pretty beat up in here.  I'm trying to work

my way up to the exit, but we're missing a lot of

handholds.  Can someone drop a rope or something?"

 

"Hang on," Larssen told her, and to the rest, "Three

two crawlway.  Where do we get in."

 

"Not sure," said Kev, opening his tricorder and

pulling up blueprints.  "Don't remember any access

this section."

 

They looked at the tricorder, and came to same

conclusion.

 

"Duval," Larssen said, "There's no hatch this side

of the bulkheads.  Work up to A deck and we'll get

someone up there to meet you."

 

"We're back on intraship?"

 

Larssen couldn't lie.  "Not yet. But soon."

 

"Okay.  But Lieutenant, if you could hurry, I'd

appreciate it.  If we loose inertials, I'm jam."

 

"Understood. We're on it. Larssen out."

 

She clicked the mike off, turned to Kev.  'I need

intraship, and I need it ten minutes ago.  Work me a

miracle, Mr Kevuthi."

 

"Yes, sir!" he said.

 

***********

 

 

 

Behind him, Spock heard Uhura say, "Understood, Mr

Kevuthi.  Bridge out."  When she did not relay

information to the Captain, Spock understood it was

not urgent enough to disturb those immediately

involved in the combat.  He crossed to the communications

station, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.

 

"The team trapped in down near the staboard nacelle

access managed to restore power," she said softly. 

"Ensign Duval went up the conduit for repairs.  She

got out before the power went on, but she's in the

three two crawlway and in trouble.  The only access

near her location is on this level, but - "  Her

spread hand indicated the urgency of the bridge crew's

current tasks, and at that moment an impact rocked

the ship.

 

Spock steadied himself on the back of her chair.  "I

am not needed here at the moment." he said.  "Reassure

Mr Kevuthi that I will assist Ms Duval." 

 

As she said "Yes, sir," he turned and strode from the bridge.

 

It was fortunate that Ms Duval had managed to

climb to a position close to the access, and was

clinging to the handholds almost directly opposite

the hatch.  Spock had had doubts about the advisability

of attempting to climb any distance down the crawlway

to assist her with the gravity fluctuations that

were currently occurring. He leaned through the

access hatch and stretched towards her.

 

"Take my hand, yeoman." he said, and it was only the

unbelievable, mundane calm of his voice that enabled her

to let go of the ladder with one hand and stretch out over

the shaft to place it in his.  "Well done.  Now, you

must -"

 

Whatever he was going to say was lost in her scream as the

Enterprise snapped into a pitch and yaw manoeuvre that

further stressed the inertial dampeners and her grip on the

rung came loose.  For an instant she hung, supported by

Spock's grip and her toehold on the wall of the shaft,

pawing at the ladder in an effort to take hold again and

then the delicate balance gave and she fell.

 

Spock closed his hand on hers and locked the

other around the edge of the hatch.  Her whole weight plus

the gravity of the manoeuvre pulled at his arm and he hit

the ground hard, head and shoulders over the empty

blackness of the shaft.  The sinews of his arm and shoulder

cracked as he struggled to keep from being pulled over the

lip of the hatch.  Duval's overwhelming terror roared

through him and he sealed his mind to it, focusing only on

the strength of his grip.  Her mind was a blur of images, the

conduit, Larssen sliding into the access behind her, the

whomph of power turned on and horror at the woman still

behind...

 

"Oh, god," she was sobbing, "Oh, god, oh, god..."

 

Spock shut off his sudden realisation that there had been

two crew in the conduit, and only Duval had escaped.  He

did not think about the image of Corrina Larssen climbing

into the crawlway behind Duval.  He thought only of

holding that small, sweaty hand in his and keeping hold

of the edge of the hatch.

 

He realised he could not last much longer if the

ship continued to move.  Already the metal edge of the

hatch had scraped the skin from his palm and his grip was

growing slippery with blood.  His voice only a little

ragged with strain, he said:

 

"See if you can reach the ladder with your foot,

Yeoman." 

 

She strained for it, but could not reach, and the movement

made her hand slip a little in his.  Her panic was

overwhelming.  Spock felt it battering at his shields with

the force of mindlessness, and he knew that if he let it in

he would lose himself in it, would have no thought or

reason but the vast fear of the dark tunnel below. 

 

"You must be calm," he said.  "Be still, Yeoman, do not

struggle."

 

Duval kept trying to find a foothold on the walls of the

tube and each effort made his grip more precarious, placed

more strain on the screaming muscles of his arms and back. 

 

"Yeoman," he said, and her hand slid again in his and he

was holding her only by the most tenuous of grips.  She

screamed in terror and her fear came roaring at him like a star

gone nova.

 

Later he would know that his reaction was the only logical

one, the one he would have chosen had he time to consider

his actions and chose the best option available to him, but

at the time he did not think.  Out of sheer instinctive self-

preservation he reached out his mind, the driving force of

his will and absence of any thought in Duval's mind making

it possible to form for an instant a link.  As his shields began

to crumble under the force of her terror he touched her

consciousness and pinched it out.

 

The sudden inner silence was like deafness.  Duval hung by

his precarious hold on her fingers, head down, completely

limp.

 

The Enterprise seemed to be running steady at the moment,

and Spock took the chance that provided. He let go of the

edge of the hatch and reached down to get hold of Duval's

arm before his grip on her fingers gave.  Her head lolled as

he pulled her up, getting her over the edge of the hatch with

more haste than gentleness and getting the hatch cover safely

sealed as a precaution against further manoeuvres before

he turned to her.

 

She was breathing.  He touched her face and felt the life

within her - unconscious. Not dead. Not damaged.  That was

gratifying. 

 

His right hand was bleeding from the lip of the hatch.  It

would be informative, he thought, to ascertain at a later time

what the inertial force had been during those manoeuvres,

to calculate more precisely the limits of his strength. 

 

Spock went to the comm. and keyed for the bridge.

 

"Sir," Uhura said, "We've outrun them. We're running stable

for the moment."

 

"Yeoman Duval requires medical attention." he said. 

"Unless I am needed on the bridge, I will take her to

sickbay."

 

"Spock," another voice cut in, a familiar one.  "I'm on my

way there myself.  McCoy wants me down there, there's

a coolant case - bad -"  Kirk paused slightly.  "I'm on my

way. I'll hold the lift at two for you."

 

"Understood, Captain. Spock out."

 

Before he bent to lift Duval, he touched another combination

of keys.

 

"Computer, whereabouts of Lieutenant Larssen?"

 

"Unknown."

 

"Computer, local comm. units keyed to ID of Lieutenant

Larssen."

 

"Local comm. 32 engineering."

 

"Computer whereabouts of comm. 32 engineering?"

 

It seemed to take the computer longer than usual to respond,

and when it did the electronic voice seemed slower.  "That

comm. is not operational." the computer said with regret. 

Spock stood still.

 

~Master your emotions, lest they master you,~ his father's

voice said.

 

He wondered if Larssen had appreciated the irony of her

survival of the rigours of ice of Ser Etta Five, only

to die in fire aboard the ship. Had she had time to

consider it? Or had she believed, to the last moment,

that she too would survive?  Spock was not sure which

to hope for. He himself would prefer to have at least

a short time to prepare for death, but Larssen had been

herself, and perhaps she would have wanted to be taken

quickly, unaware.  Spock hoped merely that whichever

she had sought had been the end meted out to her.

 

Spock stooped to raise Yeoman Duval in his arms, his back

protesting.  He ignored it.  The pain was of no significance. 

He had duties to attend to.

 

Kirk looked around the bridge.  Despite the burns and bruises

she had got working under her console to restore intraship

while the ship lurched through Sulu's crazy manoeuvres,

Uhura was working steadily, patching through requests for

help and damage reports and casualty lists.  Sulu sat back in

his seat, his shirt soaked with sweat, while Chekov monitored

the sensors as if not entirely convinced the enemy was gone. 

 

"Mr Chekov, you have the conn." Kirk said, and turned to

Uhura.  "Ms Uhura, can you hold on there until Mr Mahese

gets here?"

 

"Yes, captain." she said.  "This looks worse than it is."

 

Kirk doubted her, but her job was crucial at the moment. 

"I'll send medical up here as soon as they've got time," he

told her, "and you can tell Mr Mahese from me that he's to

hurry."

 

"Thank you." she said, and smiled.

 

When the lift stopped on two, Spock was already waiting. 

He stepped in, impassive, as if an unconscious crewmember

was no more significant than a piece of equipment that

needed to be transported.

 

"Is she - will she be -"

 

"She will recover completely, Captain." Spock said.  "Her

lack of consciousness is not the result of physical trauma." 

And he looked straight ahead at the turbolift wall,

discouraging further questions.

 

At sickbay, Kirk stood back to let Spock enter first. 

Lia Burke met him at the door, directed him to place

Duval on a biobed, listened to something he told her and

nodded. As Kirk stepped through the door Spock was

straightening, turning back to the door to fall in to his

usual place behind his captain's shoulder.  Kirk took

another step, and noticed three things.  He would later

remember noticing them, clearly, precisely, because they

were the last things that happened before - before.. 

 

One.  A crewmember in an engineering uniform on a

diagnostic bed who had obviously been caught in a

coolant leak, so burned it was impossible to tell

what species ze was, let alone make an identification.

 

Two.  Spock hesitating slightly as they went through

the door, so that Kirk felt a slight space opening between

them, just a little more than the usual distance when

Spock was with him.

 

Three.  A tall woman in science blue, lieutenant j-g pips

on the collar, a mass of brown hair coming loose and

bubbling burns on face and hands.  Christine Chapel

spraying something on them.

 

And then -

 

"Sir, we've accounted for all missing except for Ann

Ridley."

 

It was an engineering crew member talking to Scotty,

who sat by the figure on the bed.  Yeoman Darcy, Kirk

though her name was, Yeoman Mary Darcy, and he tried

to remember when she'd come aboard, when he'd last seen

her, because if he concentrated on trying to remember

he wouldn't understand what she'd said, wouldn't

understand the way that Scotty closed his eyes at her

words, wouldn't understand why no-one moved or spoke

or turned to him to explain -

 

Spock was close behind him again now, so close Kirk

could feel the higher body temperature of the Vulcan

like radiant heat against his back.

 

"Try the starboard nacelle conduit." said the woman

with the burned face and hands, and her voice was

steady and calm.  Larssen, Kirk identified, Lieutenant

(junior grade) Corrina Larssen, he knew that voice,

and where had coolant leaked that science personnel

would be in the way of it, where had - the nacelle

conduit -

 

"Jim."

 

Spock had him by the elbow, and for a moment Kirk

thought he would fall despite that inhumanly strong

grip. Then there was a chair behind him, and Bones'

hand on his shoulder, pressing him down.  Kirk sat.

 

"What-" he said, and cleared his throat, "what -"

 

"There was an overload blow out when containment

went on that said." Scotty said.  "I'm aye sorry,

captain.  The wee professor was with Duval gettin'

the power back for us."

 

"What-"  There were so many questions he had to

ask. "What was *she* doing fixing it?"

 

"She was small enough." Larssen said.  "It's narrow

up there.  I sent her and Duval because they were small

enough."

 

"I'm aye sorry, captain." Scotty said again, a

terrible grief in his voice.  "We had tae hae power. 

We *had* to.  She said she was clear but I knew

she wasn't, sir, but we had tae hae the power.  I'm

aye sorry.  I'm aye sorry."

 

Kirk looked at him, and then at Larssen, who held

herself as if waiting for a blow.  I killed her,

captain, she had been saying, and Scotty too.  We

killed her, captain, they said, and waited for the

blame.

 

"I see." Kirk said at last, when he had his voice

under control.  "I know that you wouldn't have - I

know that you both did what you had to."  It was

very hard to say, but he knew that somewhere, on

the other side of this greyness that had engulfed

him, he would know that it was the truth.  He wanted

to blame them, hell, he *did* blame them, but at

the same time he knew that it wasn't fair to do

so.  He did not have the luxury of giving in to

the selfish impulse to hurt them for what they'd done.

 

He was their captain, they were his people.  ~That

sounds so simple,~ he thought wildly, ~and it's so hard.~

 

"I know that you did what was necessary." he said,

and saw across a great distance that Larssen closed

her eyes and lowered her head as if receiving a

benediction.

 

An absolution.

 

Kirk got to his feet and walked to the diagnostic

bed.  His legs held him; his hand was steady when

he laid it on the shoulder of the figure on the bed. 

"Mr Alspe?" he said.  "This is your captain. 

We're out of danger. You did it."  Then, aside to

McCoy, "Can he hear me?"

 

"Hear - c'tain." Alpse responded for himself. 

 

Kirk bent closer to the ruined face.  "Well done,

Mr Alpse." he said.  "The ship owes you her life,

and the lives of all aboard."

 

"Starfleet..." Alpse whispered.  "that's ... job

d'sc'ption."

 

McCoy laid his hand over Kirk's, and Kirk realised

that Alpse wouldn't speak again.

 

He straightened slowly, looked up and saw Larssen

still looking at him.  There was no way to read an

expression on that scorched visage, in those bloodshot

eyes.   ~You killed Ann,~ he couldn't help thinking, but

he could certainly prevent the thought showing.  He

reached out, touched Larssen's arm gently.  "You did

your job." he told her, and smiled.

 

"Thank you, sir." Larssen said.  She watched him

leave, Spock beside him like his shadow, and she

couldn't tell where the pain from her burns ended

and the pain in her heart started.  *That* was the

captain.  *That* was the yardstick. 

 

She would have killed for him then: or died, if

he'd so much as asked. 

 

"Come on." Christine Chapel said to her gently. 

"Come and sit down.  Let's get you looked at."

 

Larssen went with her, allowed herself to be moved

and treated and made to lie down.  Her body felt

distant from her, a strange source of pain and weariness. 

Her vision blurred and greyed as McCoy sprayed something

in her eyes.  The last thing she saw was the doctor's

tired face, his keen eyes sad.  ~Did you see that?~

she wanted to ask him. ~Did you see him? He's the

*captain*.~

 

A hypospray hissed against her neck. 

 

Sleep took her down.

 

 

*********************

 

 

"That was one hell of a lucky shot, to take out the nacelle

conduit like that!" Chekov said as he entered the room.  He

looked tired, and grim, but mostly he looked angry, and the

ragged gash that ran from temple to jaw  and was only recently

sealed with permaskin gave him a dangerous, feral air.  Kirk

remembered when Chekov had first come aboard.  He had

been so young!

 

The man now seating himself at the table was a seasoned

veteran, tried and proven under fire.  And beside him,

Sulu, moving carefully and favouring his left leg, a

contained rage in every inch of his bearing.

 

Kirk turned his head tiredly.  Spock, at the end of the

table near the briefing console,  was just Spock. 

Perhaps he was more Spock-like than usual.  Uhura was

liberally patched with permaskin that was an ugly pink

contrast to her skin, and she was leaning her head on

her hands as if sitting upright was beyond her.   McCoy,

at the other end of the table, was slouched back in his

chair in his usual attitude.  He was uninjured, and

seemed to have taken time for a shower and shave before

the briefing, unlike the others.  His clothes were fresh,

his hair neat, his eyes closed in a attitude of boredom. 

Just above his eyebrow, where the sonic had somehow

missed it, was a dash of blood.

 

Kirk wondered how much he had washed off.

 

McCoy opened his eyes, caught Kirk looking at him,

and looked away.

 

"At that point, fire from all three ships was

focused on the point.  It was enough to overload

the shield - briefly - and the damage was done."  Spock

said.

 

"So they planned it," Kirk said.  "Carefully."  He

passed on hand over his face as if he could wipe away

the past twenty-six hours.

 

"There are anomalies." Spock said.  He said it quietly,

with no special emphasis, as if it were of bare importance. 

He got Kirk's attention as surely as if he had grabbed

the captain by his shoulders and shaken him.

 

"Anomalies?" Kirk said, matching the gentle evenness

of Spock's tone.  Spock did not look up from his PADD.

 

"At this point, we cannot take any detailed readings

of the inside of the conduit.  It is inadvisable to

power down the nacelle at this point."

 

Kirk laughed, a breath only.  "No.  I think we're

unanimous on that one."

 

"However, ship sensors and viewers pick up the

outside of the conduit quite well."

 

"And?"

 

Spock touched a key; the view-screen lit, and showed

an image of the Enterprise from outside.  The angle

seemed to be from low on the disk.  The picture moved

steadily, sweeping back and forth.

 

"This is a direct feed from camera Alpha 27 Rex." Spock

said.  "Computer, halt image.  Enlarge 200%.  Enhance."

 

Suddenly all that was visible on the screen was

the white outer skin of the ship, filling the

view screen, looking a little scorched in places but,

if I say so myself, Montgomery Scott thought, in damn

fine shape for what she's been through the past few

years.

 

"What are we looking at, Mr Spock?" Kirk asked. 

Scotty thought that the captain looked to be out on

his feet, sitting absolutely still with his eyes fixed

on the screen, face with the grey cast of a man who'd

been hurt so desperately he *himself* couldn't tell how

bad it was.

 

"The nacelle conduit." Spock said.

 

"Aye, ye hae the wrong one up there - that's the

*port* conduit, see for yersel' there's nary a blemish -"

 

"This is the starboard nacelle, Mr Scott." Spock said. 

"I mentioned anomalies."

 

"The shields overloaded." Kirk said.  "Just there. 

And the connections blew out when the conduit was

breached and the safeties went on as the containment

field wavered.  Except that conduit was never breached."

 

"No." Spock said.  "It seems we must look elsewhere to

explain the connection failure."

 

"There isna other explanation!" Scotty protested. 

"Even with a containment flicker it's damn bad luck

to have two connections overload at once! There's

nothing else that would cause it!"

 

"Sabotage would." Kirk said.

 

"No, sir!  It'd have to be done while we were power

down, and the last time for that was more than 6

months ago.  We would hae noticed the second we

tried to bring her up for running, leaving dock,

and every time since then. It's nae possible! It

would hae to hae been done in the past few days, and

there's no way any living being could just take a stroll

up there! When we're running it's like hell itself - "

 

"Thank you, Mr Scott." Spock said, and Scotty could

have bitten out his own tongue when he saw that the

captain had turned his face away.  ~Ah, I'm a bluidy

fool,~ he told himself.  ~Talkin' about me bairns and

makin' Himself think so hard on't.  Best hold your

peace, man, and think before you speak.~  And then

Kirk turned back, and looked across the table and smiled, and

Scotty knew he was forgiven.

 

"All right, Kirk said.  "We've got a conundrum.  Mr

Spock, you're in charge of solving it.  Ms Tomlinson,

as this may involve ship's security, you and your

people may be involved."

 

"Captain," Spock said, "Given the earlier unexplained

death of Aide Kythis, and until we eliminate the

possibility that the connection failure was caused

by the deliberate and planned action of some being

aboard or able to gain access to this ship, I recommend

you declare an Intruder Alert."

 

"Doctor?" Kirk said, looking over at McCoy.  "That's

a lot of strain on the crew at the best of times." 

An Intruder Alert would mean doubling up of watches,

changed and more time consuming procedures for just about

everything, and mandatory sharing of sleeping quarters. 

"How badly will it hit them now?"

 

"You know as well as I do they'll rise to any occasion

you give them," McCoy said.  "If you have to do it, you

have to do it.  End it quickly."

 

"What's the latest on casualties?" Kirk asked.

 

"Same as my last report, except Larssen's been

moved from 'serious' to 'stable'."

 

"Will the lassie be alright?"  Scotty asked.

 

"She'll likely live." McCoy said shortly. "It's too

early to tell whether she'll see again, or whether

those burns will be amenable to dermal regeneration. 

Stuff as lethal as coolant has no business within

thirty miles of human beings!   This is the fourth time

I've had to treat coolant burns on this ship alone!"

 

"Write a letter to the Admiralty." Kirk said.  "All

right, people.  We go to intruder alert as soon as I

log it.  Spock, the mystery is in your hands.  The -

funerals - will be at 1800 tomorrow.  Is there anything else?"

 

Murmurs of no, a mute head shake from Uhura.

 

"I recommend you all get some sleep!" McCoy said.

 

"Noted," Kirk said.  "Dismissed."

 

McCoy was the only one not to move.  When the others

had gone, he got to his feet with a great show of

casualness, and said, "That recommendation included you,

Jim."

 

"I know." Kirk said. "I can't, though."

 

"What are you going to do?  Check up on Spock?"

 

"First," Kirk said, pulling himself to his feet,

"I'm going to sound the intruder alert.  Then I'm

going to make sure Yeoman Rand can manage the

roster changes that an intruder alert produces. 

Then I'm going down to Engineering to be shown the

repairs in progress.  After that, I'll probably

go up to Science and then across to Hydroponics. 

Then, probably Stores.  After Stores, I daresay - "

 

"I take the point" McCoy said.  "A little touch of

Jimmy in the night."

 

"More or less," Kirk said.

 

"Cut yourself some slack," McCoy said. "Tomorrow is

going to be a long day too."

 

"Bones," Kirk said as they went together into the

corridor, "I'm the captain.  "'Slack' isn't anywhere

in the job description that I can find."

 

"You're their captain, not their mother."

 

"I'm their captain, and therefore I *am* their

mothers, and their fathers, and their confessor

and their judge and their court of last appeal."  Kirk

stopped dead, and for a moment he looked so desolate

that McCoy reached out to him instinctively.

 

And then Kirk gave a small, shaky sigh, and then

another, and then he was the captain again.  "A lot

of them are only kids." he said. "You know how young

they are."  He put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, turned

him in the direction of the turbolift.  "Go on, Bones. 

I'm all right."

 

"Sure you are," McCoy said.  Kirk stopped him, searching

McCoy's face.

 

"You can't always do anything, Bones." he said softly.

"Sometimes they're just hurt too badly.  You're the best

doctor in Starfleet.  If anyone could have saved Alpse,

you would have.  Let it go."

 

McCoy took a ragged breath. "I *hate* having patients

die on me," he said, and tried to smile. "The Doctor is

God complex, eh?"

 

"The doctor isn't god, " Kirk said softly. "The

doctor is only a doctor.  Get some sleep yourself.

Go on."  He pushed McCoy gently towards the turbolift

again, and McCoy went this time, feeling oddly as if the

weight in chest was not - not *gone*, exactly, but very

slightly lessened.

 

Kirk watched the doors close and then put out a

hand to steady himself on the wall.  ~The doctor isn't

god, Doctor,~ he thought.  ~That's the captain's

job.~

 

He straightened up, and went to sound the alert.

 

****************

 

 

 

 

Captain's Log, Stardate 2045.2

 

We are under way for Starbase 22, at warp 3, this

being the maximum we can attain at the moment.  Mr

Scott's repair crews continue to perform Herculean

efforts, and it seems probable we will have both

nacelles back on line soon, allowing us to reach

Starbase 22 in ten more days.  There has been no

sign of pursuit by either the Sythenes or the Vocheron,

and the representatives of those peoples remain in

custody.  None of them will speak.  Until further

instructions from Starfleet arrive, as to whether

they are to be considered prisoners of war or not,

I have given orders that their wishes be respected

although their freedom of movement is curtailed. 

 

This has had a possibly deleterious effect on Mr

Spock's investigation of the murder of Vocheron

diplomatic aide Kythis, which to date s has revealed

no further clues to indicate who the perpetrator,

and any accomplices, may be.

 

I have filed the following recommendations for

commendations:

 

Yeoman Martinique Duval, for conspicuous bravery in

repairing damage to the ship at risk of her own

life, and conduct befitting an officer, above and

beyond the requirements of duty.

 

Lieutenant (j-g) Corrina Larssen, for bravery in

risking her own life in the attempt to save another,

and conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond

the requirements of duty.

 

Ensign Micaed Alpse, for conduct befitting an officer,

above and beyond the requirements of duty (posthumous).

 

Yeoman Kevuthi, for conduct befitting an officer,

above and beyond the requirements of duty.

 

Yeoman Lucy Quandt, for conduct befitting an officer,

above and beyond the requirements of duty.

 

Lt-Commander Nyota Uhura, for conduct befitting an

officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty.

 

I have also filed a recommendation that Professor

Ann Ridley be recognised with an appropriate civilian

award for her actions in assisting Yeoman Duval to

repair the nacelle conduit, which cost Professor Ridley

her life, and without which the Enterprise may well have

been destroyed.

 

Funeral services for the Enterprise crew killed in

the line of duty in the last engagement will be held

when the ship's status is stable and we have stood

down from intruder alert.  We await information from

Professor Ridley's family as to her wishes for the

disposal of her body.

 

 

End Recording.

 

Kirk turned away from the computer and stood up.  Yeoman

Rand was at the other desk, the one usually covered

with ship's reports and PADDs of information.  Normally,

Janice Rand had her own workspace, but with an intruder

alert active even the captain was not supposed to be alone.

 

"Yeoman." Kirk said.  "I'm going to the bridge."

 

"Yes, sir." she said, gathering her work together. 

She could not, of course, remain here by herself, any

more than he could take the turbolift to the bridge

alone.  All over the ship, crew were adjusting their

work practices to meet the demands of an intruder

alert.  Teams were scanning the ship for traces of

the strange energy Spock had detected after the murder. 

Other teams were eyeballing all essential systems to

make sure that nothing else had been sabotaged.

 

Sulu gave up the conn as Kirk came onto the bridge,

and Kirk took a moment to read over the reports. 

Nothing had been found.  He reached for the comm.

 

"Bones," he said, "have you had a chance to look

over Spock's report?"

 

McCoy's sigh was audible.  "No" he admitted.

 

"I'd like your opinion on it."

 

"I'll get to it when I can, Jim."

 

"Understood."

 

In sickbay, McCoy looked around at the biobeds,

each occupied, and then at the untidy pile of PADDs

on his desk.  "Christine," he said, "Is there a

report on Lieutenant Hoffman's condition?"

 

"No, doctor." she said. "He hasn't been back to

sickbay."

 

"Well, call him, and get him down here."

 

Chapel went to the comm., but came back with a

frown.  "He doesn't want to come down."

 

"He what?"

 

"He doesn't want to come down. He said he doesn't

feel too bad, and he's too upset to leave his

quarters."

 

McCoy snorted.  "I'll give him *upset*."

 

"Len," Chapel said quietly. "He said Yeoman Duval

is a good friend of his.  And she's still not

regained consciousness"

 

McCoy's shoulder's slumped, and he rubbed his face

wearily. "Ah.  Well, he needs a check-up.  Can you

get up there?  I'll hold the fort."

 

Chapel nodded, and picked up her medical tricorder. 

"No problem." she said.

 

However, in less than five minutes she was back. 

"He wouldn't let me in." she said.  "He said he was

too upset to see anybody.  He's done something to

his door, too, the medical override code didn't lift

the privacy lock."

 

"Well, get security to- no, on second thoughts -"

McCoy imagined a security team bursting in on the

grieving officer with the words, Doctor's Orders. 

"No, um... tell him you want to talk about Duval,

and scan him surreptitiously.  How's Larssen doing?"

 

"Scans don't show any improvement in her eyes, but

she's recovering well from the life-threatening aspects

of her injuries."

 

"Well, take her with you.  She can tell Hoffman

that she wants to tell him about Duval, and maybe

he'll open the door."

 

Chapel looked over to where Lieutenant Larssen sat

quietly on her biobed.  The lieutenant's face and

hands had taken the worst of the burns when she had

gone into the coolant leak after Alpse.  Coolant

poisoned flesh as well as burning it, and despite

McCoy's best efforts with the dermal regenerator,

Larssen's burns were still raw, grotesque welts and

blisters on her swollen face.

 

"Len," Chapel said, "don't you think that might be a

shock for Hoffman?"

 

McCoy followed her gaze. "Tell him to keep the light

low." was all he said.

 

And so, shortly later, Chapel let go of Larssen's arm

and stepped back from Hoffman's door.  Larssen pressed

the chime.

 

"Who's there?"  Hoffman's voice was slurred with grief.

 

"Corrina Larssen." Larssen said.  Chapel could see that

it was difficult for her to talk, for her lips had not

escaped the burning.  "I was - near the conduit. I

wanted to talk to you about Marty."

 

There was a pause. "Is anyone with you?"

 

"Nurse Chapel is with me," Larssen said painfully. 

 

"I don't want to talk to Nurse Chapel." Hoffman said.

 

Chapel quickly set her tricorder.  "Just point

it at his voice," she whispered, "and press activate.

It'll turn off when the scan is done." 

 

Larssen nodded. "This button?" she said, fingering

the tricorder.

 

"Yes."  Chapel stepped back, reaching for her comm.

to call security to wait with her.

 

"Hoffman," Larssen said, "Nurse Chapel will wait

for me in the corridor.  May I come in?  Oh, and

keep the lights low."  A part of her mind wondered

what she must look like, for Chapel to have told

her that Hoffman had better do that, but that part

of her mind had been running along those lines

since she had woken up that morning and Chapel

had told her, gently, that the way her face had

felt yesterday had not been emotion but injury. 

~It can just wonder,~ she thought, and said again,

"May I come in?"

 

The doors hissed open. Larssen stepped forward.

 

"I can't see." she said, stopping just inside the doorway.

 

"I know," Hoffman said heavily.  "I heard. There's a

chair to your left."

 

Not wanting to risk banging her injured hand on it,

Larssen moved slowly to her left, groping.  The doors

hissed shut behind her as she found the chair, and

sat down.

 

"How are you?" she asked.

 

"Tired." Hoffman said, and laughed.  "Very tired."

 

"Me too." Larssen told him, waiting for him to

sit down so she could get the tricorder aimed. 

"Yesterday went for about three days, it felt."

 

Hoffman was pacing, and his indistinct words didn't

seem to come from the same place twice.

 

"What happened to Marty?" he asked her.

 

"She - she went up the nacelle conduit." Larssen

said. "I ordered her to, but she volunteered as well -

I'm not sure what happened after that. But she was

very brave."

 

"I heard - I heard we were sabotaged."

 

"Yes, there's an intruder alert." And why, Larssen

wondered, was Hoffman all alone in his quarters

when there was an intruder alert on?  "We thought

it was battle damage at the time, though."

 

"You look terrible." Hoffman said flatly. "What

happened to your face? Were you in the conduit as well?"

 

"No," Larssen said calmly, fighting the instinct to

raise her hand to her face, "this was coolant. We had

a leak around the main starboard phaser targeting array."

 

"That should have done it," Hoffman said, and Larssen

wondered why he sounded regretful.  "Was Marty in the

conduit when it went live?"

 

"No. She made it out to the three two crawlway

but she was still there when the next attack came. 

She almost fell, she was in great danger, but

somehow she got out."

 

"Almosst poetic justicce," Hoffman said.

 

"Not really, no." Larssen said. He wasn't going

to sit down, and she suddenly didn't want to

spend any more time in here with him.  She stood up,

and took three quick steps in the direction his

voice had last come from, bandaged hand outstretched

until she felt his arm. "Hoffman, I have to get a

medical reading," she said, and raised the tricorder. 

 

As she pressed the button and the tricorder bleeped

quietly Hoffman twisted away and slapped the machine

from her hand.  Larssen heard it clatter away and stood still.

 

"Nno."  Hoffman said.  "I donn't want to be sscanned."

 

"You've been sick," Larssen said reasonably, straining

her ears to hear where he was.  "Dr McCoy is concerned."

 

"Telll Dr McCoyy to concentrate on injured crew like

you." Hoffman said, a little to her left.  "Llooks

like you'll nneed all hiss attention."

 

"Hoffman," Larssen said calmly, and then without

thought or calculation she half turned towards him,

took one short step to bring her weight to her left

leg and kicked with her right, aiming forty centimetres

or so below his voice.  She felt it connect, heard

the gasp as Hoffman's breath was driven from him,

and was already following through.  Her left fist,

driven with all the force of her torso uncoiling from

the twisted position the kick had left her in,

connected solidly with Hoffman's face and she felt

a bloom of pain from her injuries and at the same

time registered a sickening sense of wrongness as

her hand drove in to something that felt too soft,

too mobile, to be human lips.  She felt the bandages

on her hand start to unravel, and something

disgustingly moist touched her fingers.  For a second

she flinched away, and then flung herself forward

and locked her arms around Hoffman, shouting "Computer!

Security emergency, Hoffman's quarters!"

 

Something slapped against her face, something wet and

flexible, and she ducked away instinctively, flipped

Hoffman face down and knelt on him. The door opened,

Christine Chapel cried out and her footsteps came closer. 

Stay clear, Larssen wanted to say, but all her

attention was concentrated on keeping Hoffman down

and at the same time trying to stay as far away from

him as possible.  There was a slithering sound,

Chapel screamed and fell, and Larssen felt her grip

on Hoffman loosen.

 

"Security!" she called again, trying to make her

hands close tightly despite the bandages.  Hoffman

made a sound and Larssen heard a blow, heard Chapel

panting.  The three of them were writhing over the

floor. Larssen got her grip on a leg, clung on and

felt a foot rake her hands.

 

"Not me, dammit!" Chapel gasped, and Larssen

realised she had the wrong leg, let go and reached

out for Hoffman, heard the door open and voice yell

"Clear!"

 

She rolled away, rolled and rolled until she came

up against a wall, heard the whine of a phaser,

curses and scuffling and then footsteps retreating. 

Straining her ears, she lay still, and when

footsteps approached her she snatched at them, caught

a body and brought it down beneath her.

 

"It's *me*!" Chapel's voice said. "He's gone."

 

Larssen let her go, scrambled to her feet with her

back to the wall. "What happened?" she asked.

 

"He got past security, into the hall. The phaser

didn't - didn't even slow him."  Chapel climbed to her

feet as well.

 

"His face." Larssen said, and heard the answer to her

unspoken question in Chapel's sudden sound of disgust.

"It felt - wrong. Was it?"

 

"He had those tentacle things, the Vouche have them." Chapel

 said. "It looked - I thought -".  She made the noise again, and

fell silent. 

 

"That's why he let me in," Larssen said calmly. "He must

have heard from someone, that I -" and then, to her own

surprise, she found she couldn't quite say it. 

 

"Yes," said Chapel, and coming closer she put one hand

on Larssen's arm, at the elbow where the burns were

not so bad.  "I guess he miscalculated.  Looks like

you threw him half-way across the room."

 

Larssen laughed softly. "I wish Mr Sulu were here.

 I'll never get him to believe I was even partly

successful in a fight."

 

The alarm sounded, and they heard the captain's voice. 

"All crew are authorised to apprehend and restrain

the alien who has assumed the appearance of Lieutenant

Hoffman of Tactical, last sighted in section 22,

corridor 12.  Act with caution."

 

"C'mon." Chapel said. "Let's go back to sickbay. I

want to give you a manicure."

 

"You want to *what*?" Larssen said, but let herself

be drawn towards the door.

 

********** 

 

 

Tomlinson lowered herself from the access and

dropped to the corridor floor.  "It's his comm,

sir." she said.  "That's all.  Shimona, scan the

area according to Mr Spock's protocol and get it

sealed and down to the labs."

 

"Yes, ma'am." Shimona said, and despite her small

size jumped up to grasp the hatch edges and pulled

herself out of view.

 

Kirk took out his communicator.  "Spock, we've got

Hoffman's comm here.  How's the shipwide scan going?"

 

"I have been able to narrow the field down to show

significant variation in the Phillips Line spectrum. 

So far, we have been unable to isolate any such

variance to sufficiently narrow locations to provide

any useful information to the search teams.  However,

it is definite that Mr Hoffman, or the being appearing

to be Mr Hoffman, is disrupting that range of readings."

 

"Keep me informed." Kirk said.

 

"Of course, Captain." Spock said. "Spock out."

 

Tomlinson sighed.  "I've turned out all available

crew for a hand-and-eye search of the ship," she said,

"but we're running tight as it is and it'll take some

time."

 

"Stay on it." Kirk told her. "Co-ordinate with Mr

Spock. If we can rule out any part of the ship,

however small, that's one less area to scan when

the sensor sweep is running."

 

"Yes sir." she said.

 

Kirk checked his chronometer.  Alpha shift was over,

and his replacement would be on the bridge already. 

Bones would have told him to get some rest, but

there were things - always things - that needed

doing. He opened his communicator again.

 

"Rand." he said.  "This is the captain.  I'll be

in lab seven, boxing Professor Ridley's belongings

for her family, and then I'll be joining the search teams."

 

"Yes, sir." she said. "Sir, I can take care of the

professor's things, if you'd prefer."

 

Kirk hesitated.  He felt as if he owed it to Ann, to

her family, in some strange way, to take on the task

of sorting through her office, separating out the myriad

little personal items that always drifted into people's

workspaces, the holos and the favourite coffee mugs,

the stylus that fit the hand better than any other. 

It was a foolish thought, as if the Ridley family

would care, now, as if they'd even think to ask on

the heels of the news that even now was travelling

towards them - and as if Ann herself would, even if

she had gone to some afterlife where she could see

what went on behind her. 

 

Actually, he thought to himself, she would care. 

Kirk imagined Ridley turning towards him, her hands

going automatically to her hips. You let *who* go

through my things? her ghost would say.

 

Recognising in that momentary wryness the beginning

of healing, Kirk realised that Rand was still waiting

for an answer.  "Thank you, Yeoman." he said.  "I'll

be with the search teams.  Make sure you take somebody

with you."

 

"Yes, sir." Rand said. "Thank you, sir. For a moment

there I was in danger of forgetting intruder alert

procedures. I'm only in charge of implementing them,

after all."  She said the last two sentences to a

comm she'd already turned off, however, and sighed.

 

"Mr Chekov, have you got a moment at the end of

shift?"

 

Chekov, who had to be as dog-tired as anyone else on

board, managed a smile.  "If I say yes, are you going

to ask me to dinner?"

 

Rand grinned back.  "That too.  But I need to go

down to Lab Seven for half an hour and box up

Ridley's stuff.  Can you stand guard over me with

a drawn phaser in case the intruder appears?"

 

"For dinner with a lovely lady, I can do anything."

Chekov said expansively.

 

"If I come too, do I get dinner as well?" Sulu asked

as beta shift arrived.  There was a low mutter of

voices as twelve officers went through the ritual of

requesting and receiving relief, logging the transfer

of stations and reporting status, and then Rand,

Chekov and Sulu got into the turbolift. 

 

"You get dinner as well," Rand confirmed.  "Just

keep me safe from the bogeyman for 30 minutes, and

I'm buying."

 

"Janice," Chekov said very seriously as they

arrived at the labs, "has no-one told you yet

that you do not have to pay for food on board ship?"

 

The bogeyman did not put in an appearance as Rand

sorted through Ridley's desk with the efficiency

born of years experience with the sort of chaos

Jim Kirk could produce given a flat surface and

a handful of paperwork.  There were more personal

belongings than Rand would have expected, given how

short a time Ridley had been aboard and her reputation

as a ferocious taskmaster who was all business when

she was working.  Rand packed away three coffee mugs,

one with 'Ann' on the side in decorative script, one

with a picture of the waterfalls of Beta Narobi and

one that asked, in plain letters 'And your problem

is?'.  There were half-a-dozen holophotos of people

Rand did not recognise, some letters on paper, a

PADD that was not starfleet issue, and...

 

"Hikaru." she said. "What does this look like?"

 

Sulu got up from his seat at the lab bench and

walked over, saying "Pavel, if you even think of

looking at those cards I'll know." He took the

device from Rand and turned it over in his blunt,

capable hands.

 

"Looks like a tricorder, one of the old models. 

You remember - well, you wouldn't.  They phased

these out before you even reached the Academy. 

Someone's made a few modifications, though."

 

Chekov was in the doorway now.  "You still see

them around, they're cheaper than the new models

and they turn up in second hand shops sometimes. 

You know how it is, the replacements are issued

and somebody thinks their old one will make a

neat toy for their kid and then it gets lost, or

stolen, or the baby turns out to be more interested

in hockey."

 

"Why would the professor keep an old model

tricorder?" Rand wondered.

 

"Let me see that for a minute." Sulu said, and

when she gave it to him he held it up and looked

at the panel closely.  "Looks like there's some

kind of lock on here, maybe triggered to erase

the data if anyone tampers."

 

"Curiouser and curiouser." Chekov said.

 

"I didn't know Russians read Alice in Wonderland,"

Rand said, taking the tricorder back,

 

"In the original Russian, of course." Sulu said,

forestalling Chekov.  "Don't frown like that, Janice,

you'll get wrinkles." 

 

"We can't just ship this back." Rand said.  "The professor

was on the ship for months, well, *a* month anyway, and

we can't just send off a tricorder with who knows what

on it."

 

"Turn it on." Chekov suggested.  "If it wipes the

data, then well and good, and if it doesn't we'll

wipe it anyway, if there's something sensitive."

 

"No," Rand said, "there might be personal things

that would mean something to her family. I'd hate

to just erase them."  They could turn it over to

the captain, but she didn't want to admit to him

that she'd taken on something that needed his

intervention anyway.  And Mr Spock - well,

Ridley hadn't made much of a secret of how

little she'd liked the Vulcan.  If she'd been

using this old tricorder to keep her personal

log, heaven knew what she might have entered

about him!  Mr Spock might be a Vulcan, but it

would surely hurt his feelings to have to read a

catalogue of insults from beyond the grave.

 

Rand sat down at the desk.  "This looks like a

Bondyer-Harris lock. Hikaru, pass me that coil

of wire over there, and the clips. Pavel, I'll

need another tricorder if there's one in the lab."

 

"You can pick the lock? Janice, that's a programmed

computer lock-out, not the ignition sequence on

your father's car." said Sulu, handing her the wire anyway.

 

"I'm not going to *pick* it." said Rand, taking

the tricorder Chekov gave her.  She fiddled for

 a moment, and then turned the newer model

tricorder on.  The lights on both tricorders

flashed to green, and Rand leaned over the newer