A/N: Thanks very much to those of you who reviewed - I really appreciate it!

Here's chapter two for you.


An anomaly.

There had been an anomaly. Everything was displaced, uprooted, like a crack in the fabric of space, pushing and pulling the surrounding elements in a chaotic dance that turned one side into another and broke the bonds between them.

An error.

Spock wrapped his mind carefully around himself, a thick strand of sense, coiled, resilient, awake. He had disciplined himself for years, nurtured a connection with his inner self that enabled him to focus. Something was jarring against his perfect composure. It was unsettling.

He opened his eyes to gaze up at the grey ceiling of his quarters, and carefully bit back a frustrated sigh. His brows contracted, minutely, and he stood up, swiftly, gracefully, straightening his uniform shirt as he moved towards the door. His meditation had been unsatisfactory. It had been a recurring factor since the Enterprise left Starbase 9 two weeks ago. He had attempted to pinpoint the cause, but he believed he already recognized it all too well. He felt tense, his muscles, his system, on edge. He also vaguely registered a feeling of … he didn't believe Vulcans could be stressed, but when completely honest with himself, he couldn't help but admit that stress might very possibly be the sensation he was striving relentlessly not to feel.

The door slid open as he approached, and he stepped out into the hall, face perfectly arranged, expression neutral. His inner upheaval was not for the world to see. Feeling it was shameful enough.

His pace was brisk as he entered the turbolift. Once inside he clasped the lever firmly, turning it decisively as he said, "Bridge". A moment later, the doors opened to reveal the always busy operations center. Spock's eyes were instantly directed towards the command chair. He was unsurprised, albeit faintly disapproving, to see, not Captain Kirk, but Chief Engineer Scott occupying the seat of control. He raised an eyebrow as he stepped forwards.

"Lieutenant Commander," he said. Scott turned in his chair, and immediately sprang up.

"Mr. Spock," he acknowledged, with his customary toothy grin.

"I assume the Captain is –"

"Trainin' Christopher, Sir."

Spock arched an eyebrow and repressed a wave of annoyance as he moved over to the Command Chair which Mr. Scott obligingly vacated for him. Spock sat down and took a moment to look out of the view screen at the vast expanse of empty space.

The education of former captain, now Cadet, Christopher, was a strain on all the officers' schedules, though no one was quite so involved as Captain Kirk. Within a week, the Captain had been noticeably exhausted. Naturally, Jim was not one to admit to fatigue, but Spock knew the Captain well, and the slightly tired line of his shoulders did not go unnoticed by the Vulcan. He had attempted to confront his friend, but Jim had not been responsive to his advice.

"Damn it, Spock!" Jim said fiercely, his eyes blazing with a mixture of determination and guilt. "This was my mistake! I owe him … I …"

The Captain faltered, his shoulders slumped, his neck bent forwards.

"Spock …" he whispered. The Vulcan stepped forwards and placed a gentle hand on Jim's shoulder. Jim looked up and frowned. Spock removed the hand then, feeling an unwelcome sense of shame. He pushed it aside, placed his hands securely behind his back.

"You cannot place all blame upon yourself," Spock said in a voice that was a great deal more calm than he felt.

Something like a snarl escaped the Captain's lips, then he threw up his hands and stalked over to his desk, sitting down behind it and putting his head in his hands. Curious. Spock stood still, waited. Finally, Jim raised his head and spoke again, his voice uncharacteristically small. The sound of it caused Spock another twinge of pain he would later have to deny.

"What part of this wasn't my fault, Spock?" he said, quietly. "I showed him the ship. Why did I do that? I could have sent him away, kept him in the transporter room, anything – anything – but that."

"Captain –" Spock tried, but Jim wasn't listening.

"I sacrificed his entire life, and for what?"

"Jim," Spock said softly.

"Just because I found him … intriguing …"

Jim trailed off, and Spock noticed an intense pressure in his chest, as if part of it had just been filled with lead. Unable to keep his outward focus, he turned his head down and closed his eyes, just for a moment, warding the unpleasant sensation off. It was not easy. Jim did not notice.

He had avoided all mention of Cadet Christopher since that moment, just three days ago. He knew the reaction the name elicited reflected poorly on his Vulcan ancestry.

Jim found him intriguing. Spock found the entire situation unnervingly irritating.

Spock put these thoughts aside. He knew his moment gazing at the stars had already exceeded its proper time limit. With a slightly greater effort than usual, he channeled his mind towards the more useful enterprise of acquiring reports from the different stations regarding their current progress. The confirmation that everything was proceeding as expected brought on an illogical feeling of discontentment, as if his subconscious would have liked some task with which to occupy itself. However, the lull in activity did not subside long.

Spock had been in the seat of command less than half an hour when an indistinct clang sounded from the helm. Spock saw Lieutenant Sulu frown as he gazed at his controls.

"Report, Mr. Sulu," Spock immediately ordered. Mr. Sulu shook his head as he answered.

"Nothing, Sir." His frown became more pronounced as his eyes scanned his equipment. "Everything normal." He turned to look at Spock. "I think it must just have been a slight malfunction."

Spock raised an eyebrow skeptically. After several years aboard Starfleet ships he had learned not to put too much weight on the assumption that mysterious noises were just anything.

"Monitor your controls closely, Lieutenant," Spock said. Mr. Sulu nodded.

Spock rose and moved to the Science Station, where he promptly bent over his scanner, searching for anything that might have caused the unknown disturbance. There was nothing. He straightened up just as the turbolift doors slid open and the Captain, accompanied by Cadet Christopher, entered the Bridge. They seemed to be in the middle of a conversation. Two weeks had seen a great change in Cadet Christopher, who appeared to be taking to his new life with unprecedented enthusiasm. The friendship between him and Jim had evidently grown.

"It's an entirely different situation when you're in the middle of it, I assure you," Jim was saying, with a sideways grin.

"Whatever you say, I still think it sounds like you could use a better surveillance system," the Cadet replied, with a smirk.

Jim sent him another, warm smile, and placed a hand on his shoulder, briefly, before turning to Spock, the smile still on his face, his eyes expressing greeting. Spock felt the urge to smile back, despite himself. He placed his hands firmly behind his back.

"Mr. Spock," the Captain said jauntily.

"Captain," Spock replied, knowing he was not entirely successful at keeping the affection out of his voice. Jim didn't seem to notice. Spock attempted to convince himself that this pleased him.

"Anything to report?"

Jim moved towards him, as was his habit, and Spock made a curt nod.

"Yes, Captain," he said.

He proceeded to relate the incident with the inexplicable noise. Jim frowned. Cadet Christopher, all the while, stood behind the Captain with a look of interest on his face.

"Hm," Jim said as Spock finished. "It sounds like a simple malfunction."

"Yes, Captain," Spock concurred. "However –"

"Given our previous track record with strange, seemingly unexplainable occurrences," Jim interrupted him with a grin, "it might be a good idea to keep an eye open."

Spock gave him a slight smile. "My thoughts exactly," he said.

Jim's eyes lingered on him for a moment, then he turned and moved to the Command chair, sitting down with all his usual authority. Cadet Christopher moved over to him and stood by his side, gazing around the Bridge with all his usual curiosity. He also looked at Jim quite a lot, a fact Spock vainly tried to dismiss. Spock moved over to the Captain's other side, and placed a hand on the back of his chair. Jim immediately turned towards him and flashed him another smile.

It was an ordinary, friendly greeting that Spock should have been able to dismiss as such, but try as he might to control that ever-increasing flux of passion within him, his heart would skip a beat when his captain, and friend, looked at him with that twinkle in his eye.

"How is the training progressing?" he said, in an attempt to distract himself from this entirely human emotional conflict.

Jim turned to Cadet Christopher with a similar smile on his face. Spock found that he liked the expression much less when it was applied in that direction.

"It seems to be going very well," Jim said happily. The Cadet grinned. Jim turned back to Spock. "We've been continuing our exploration of the ship and its functions. Christopher has quite a mind for remembering details. We stopped by Engineering and let Scotty quiz him for a bit, and I believe Christopher has a willing teacher whenever he wants one. I think Scotty wanted to kidnap him."

He cast a fond glance at Christopher, and Spock raised an eyebrow. Christopher laughed – it was a soft, breezy sound.

"I think the Captain is exaggerating, just a little," he said modestly. "But I do feel I am making progress, Commander Spock. I hope I can make the rank of Ensign quickly, so that –"

"I think you'll find that takes years, Cadet," Spock interrupted him, feeling a necessary duty to point this out to him, mindful that Jim, in his obvious desire to see Cadet Christopher make it in this century, might have exaggerated his possibilities.

The Captain turned to him with a frown. "Normally, yes, Mr. Spock," he said, then turned back to the Cadet, "but I think we can make an exception, just this once. I think Christopher will learn better while performing actual duties."

"Yes." The Cadet was quick to agree.

"And," Jim continued, "it's not like he doesn't have any knowledge of aircraft, procedure, the general system."

"As it turns out, a lot of things are very similar," Cadet Christopher shot in.

"And many things are very different," Spock said quietly.

Jim frowned in earnest now, and Spock could see that he had displeased him. However, he believed the Captain to be something less than disinterested in this case, and, as such, it was his unequivocal duty to point out those elements in Jim's plan for Cadet Christopher that were illogical. So he stood with his hands behind his back and a neutral, professional expression on his face.

"We mean to encourage, Mr. Spock, not discourage," the Captain said, his tone stern. Spock was unmoved.

"False encouragement, Captain, can be just as much of an obstacle as dissuasion."

"I do not speak of false encouragement," Jim replied, "but of hope, of something to work towards. Christopher knows this will take time –" he glanced at the Cadet, who nodded "– but he also displays a firm intention of succeeding. Besides, Mr. Spock, training a large group of very young Cadets is one thing, and does, as you say, require years, both to give them, collectively, all the information they need, and to allow them time to mature. Training one, grown man, who, when we teach him, will have all our attention focused on him alone, is another thing altogether. He is getting most of his experience hands-on, and do not forget, he is already as old as I am, with plenty of life experience, and all the maturity he needs."

Spock cast a quick glance at Cadet Christopher, who was smiling slightly, apparently pleased. The Captain had made this speech with obvious dedication, and Spock knew, though his point had been made, that he would not win this argument. So, he inclined his head slightly and said,

"Forgive me, Captain. I only wished to offer my advice."

Jim's expression softened. "You know I always welcome it, Spock," he said quietly.

Spock nodded slightly, and returned to his station with a distinctly pleasant feeling.

An hour elapsed without any significant changes – they flew through space, watching the universe pass by as they moved towards their destination. Cadet Christopher was at the Captain's side, who pointed out to him the different functions and procedures of the command center of the ship. Occasionally they would both move around the Bridge so that the Cadet could study the manifold operations and systems.

Spock kept his attention focused on his scanner, determined that he would discover some explanation for the sound they had heard earlier. He directed his equipment in turn at space outside, at the ship, both inside and outside, took readings of the crew and came up with absolutely nothing. Had he not been a Vulcan, he might have been frustrated.

At the expiration of an hour he straightened up and moved over to the Captain, who was leaning his head in his hand and staring out at the stars as if mesmerized. He did not react as Spock approached him, and only when Spock placed a gentled hand on his arm did he respond, starting and turning his head abruptly and jerkily in Spock's direction.

"Spock!"

Spock raised an eyebrow, and Jim's face rapidly returned to normal. He shook his head and smiled.

"I think I was daydreaming," he said airily.

Spock sidestepped the small glint of curiosity he felt as to what the Captain might have been daydreaming about, and said, "I believe you are exhausted, Jim."

Jim frowned. "I'm fine, Spock."

Spock knew this illogical need to seem invulnerable in his Captain was a trait that would, someday, put him past the brink of collapse. He also recognized this need as something that was, to a certain extent, necessary to maintain a firm captaincy. He had seen the same attribute in Captain Pike, when he had served under him, and he knew it was one shared by many other Starfleet captains. However, he would not let his friend drain himself completely without having a say about it. So he leaned a little closer to keep his words private, and said,

"Jim." The Captain, who had removed his gaze, once more, to the stars, redirected it towards Spock with an expression that betrayed defiance and authority; apparently he knew what Spock was about to say. This would not stop the Vulcan from saying it. "You are wearing yourself thin," he stated firmly. "You cannot spend every available waking moment in training and expect to perform well in your other duties."

The Captain's frown deepened. "Do you have a complaint, Mr. Spock?" he said, his tone dangerous. Spock did not think he would ever fully understand this human quality of taking simple advice as an insult.

"I have no complaint, Captain," Spock assured him. "I am simply concerned for your wellbeing."

"Well, I'm fine, Spock!" Jim said fiercely. Spock was unmoved.

"Forgive me, Captain," he said calmly, "but I have too high a regard for your aptitude to accept that daydreaming in the middle of your shift constitutes anything resembling your normal standards. Therefore, your assertion that you are, as you put it, fine, must be erroneous."

The Captain opened his mouth, and promptly closed it again. He looked at Spock for a long moment, wearing an expression the Vulcan couldn't read.

Just then, the unfamiliar sound once again penetrated the silence. It was like a deep gong which resonated for little more than a second before being abruptly silenced. Just as last time, Mr. Sulu made a quick surveillance of his controls, and then turned to the Captain with a confused expression.

"I can't understand it, Captain," he said. "There's nothing there."

Spock moved over to his own station and, just as last time, bent over his scanner in the hopes of finding some explanation, but, just as last time, he was disappointed.

"The readings are normal," he confirmed. Jim frowned, and stood up.

"It … doesn't make any sense," he said. "Have you checked –"

"Believe me, Captain," Spock interrupted him, "every logical alternative, and every illogical alternative, in short, everything remotely conceivable, has been examined, and re-examined, thoroughly. There is nothing that can account for the disturbance."

"Then what –"

"My best hypothesis is that the disturbance is caused by an outside force, one that our instruments are, for some reason, unable to register."

Jim frowned. "And its purpose?" he demanded.

Spock arched an eyebrow. "That, Captain, would be mere guesswork."

Jim crossed his arms and stepped towards him. "Then why don't you venture a guess, Mr. Spock?" he said, his tone laced with impatience.

Spock felt a small wave of irritation. He did not approve of guesswork, and he did not see what the benefit of his speculation might be. In all likelihood, any conjecture he made at this point, would turn out to be incorrect. So he clasped his hands together behind his back and said,

"I cannot make any remark that will give you any security at the moment, Captain. I can gather the readings and information we have so far, and attempt to ascertain some sort of pattern."

The Captain regarded him silently for a small moment, then he nodded.

"I think that's a good idea, Mr. Spock," he said quietly. "Why don't you go down to the main science lab and see what you can find out."

"Yes, Sir," Spock replied. He moved over to his station, gathered some information disks and moved towards the turbolift doors. Just as the doors slid open, he felt a gentle hand on his arm, and he turned around.

"Take Christopher with you," Jim said, and this was so far from what Spock had expected that it actually took him a few moments to comprehend the request.

"Cadet Christopher?" Spock managed, after several somewhat tense seconds.

"Yes," Jim said casually. "He has yet to get a lesson from you, and I want him exposed to everything."

Spock took great care not to frown. "Are you certain this is the appropriate time?" he said delicately.

The Captain placed his hands on his hips and arranged his face in what Spock understood to be a stern expression.

"Very well," he said resignedly.

The Captain then motioned for the Cadet, who had been making himself acquainted with the helm. He made a quick nod of thanks to Lieutenant Sulu, and hurried over to the turbolift.

"I thought you could accompany Mr. Spock to the science lab," Jim said. Cadet Christopher raised his eyebrows, and looked at Spock. Spock kept his eyes on Jim, who continued. "Spock can show you how the equipment down there works, and how he performs various analyses using the computers."

Cadet Christopher made a small shrug, as if to say that this was acceptable, whereupon Spock turned and moved into the turbolift. The Cadet followed him, and as the turbolift doors closed, Spock kept his eyes on Jim.

Spock felt the obligation to bring the Cadet with him as a serious inconvenience. However, as he was forced to bring him along, he would have to do his utmost to make sure the Cadet received a decent understanding of at least some of the instruments down here. As he approached the computer in the main science lab a few minutes later, he took out his information disks, and showed them to Cadet Christopher, who looked at them with an expression of great skepticism. Spock ignored this.

"There are two main ways of feeding information into the computer," Spock said, and the Cadet moved closer, so that he could see the different components more clearly. "One is by voice transference. The other is by inserting these disks into the machine. The disks can contain a vast amount of information, and are, thanks to their small size, very useful."

Cadet Christopher took a disk from him and surveyed it with a frown. "They look like they're made of plastic," he said critically. "Are you sure these aren't just for decoration?"

Spock looked at the Cadet, one eyebrow raised skeptically. He was unsure whether Cadet Christopher was attempting to be amusing or if he was just disapproving.

"The disks are made of a highly durable and simultaneously light material," he responded seriously, and to his frustration, a corner of the Cadet's mouth turned up in a sly half-smile.

"I was making a joke," he said lightly, and Spock's annoyance increased.

"I think your timing leaves something to be desired," he said, and turned back to the computer. "We insert the disks in the rectangular slots you see here. There are several of these slots so that we are able to maximize the amount of information the computer receives in a given moment."

"Does humor have no effect on you, then, Mr. Spock?" the Cadet said, as if he had not been listening to a word of Spock's speech. He turned back to the Cadet with a frown.

"The Captain asked me to instruct you on the scientific and analytical uses of the computer," Spock replied, his tone hardening. "If you wish to learn about Vulcan customs, I will be happy to instruct you at a later time."

"Geez, when you say the word "happy" I want to kill myself," Cadet Christopher said, elevating his eyebrows in a brief, condescending movement.

Spock felt his irritation intensify. He could not understand this crude man, nor could he begin to fathom why the Captain would find him, of all people, intriguing. Locked behind his back, Spock's hands clenched into fists, though he kept his face void of emotion. The two men glared at each other for a long moment. Then Cadet Christopher's face loosened.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely. "I guess you're just … strange to me. I'm not used to aliens, after all."

Spock raised an eyebrow superciliously. Cadet Christopher hurriedly shook his head.

"Oh, right," he said. "Alien probably isn't the appropriate term, is it?"

"I believe Vulcan satisfies any descriptive needs," Spock offered, his annoyance, though ever-so-slightly placated by the human's apology, by no means gone. "Shall we return to the more useful enterprise of following the Captain's orders?"

Cadet Christopher surveyed him for another moment, and then nodded. Without any further ado, Spock turned back to the computer and inserted one of the disks he had brought with him from the Bridge. Running his fingers swiftly over the console he entered the necessary data, and then inserted the second disk. He pressed a few additional buttons, all the while letting Cadet Christopher know what he was doing.

"Computer," Spock said when the preparations were complete, "compare and contrast the two recordings."

"Working …" came the computer's monotonous reply. They waited a moment, then, "Computed."

The computer proceeded to relate a list of mundane and unnecessary details ranging from their speed to the outer hull's makeup. Spock quickly silenced the machine, and narrowed his search.

"Relate conditions in space for both scenarios," he said evenly.

The computer took another moment to analyze. The answer that followed was as expected: nothing out of the ordinary. Spock spent another half hour feeding the computer every question he could think of, without any other result than an increased sense of fatigue, a sensation which irritated him greatly since his Vulcan physiology and discipline should eliminate such weakness.

Finally he removed both disks and resisted the urge to shatter them against the walls.

"May I?" Cadet Christopher said, holding out his hand for the disks.

Spock wordlessly handed them over, assuming the Cadet wished to inspect them.

"They're very light," he said as he turned them over in his hands.

"Yes," Spock said, unable to keep a trace of impatience out of his tone, "they are –"

"– made of a light and durable material," the Cadet interrupted him, his eyes still fixed on the disks. "You told me."

He handed the disks back unceremoniously.

"We should return to the Bridge," Spock said as he took them, and he moved towards the door. Cadet Christopher wordlessly followed.

They did not speak as they moved down the halls. Spock was thankful for the silence, but he noticed that the Cadet looked uncomfortable. Spock had observed this trait in many humans. The term "uncomfortable silence" was a phenomenon completely alien to him. If there was nothing of importance or interest to say, silence must be a highly equitable alternative.

They entered the Bridge some minutes later, and both men made their way over to the Captain.

Jim turned to face them as they approached. He made an inquiry as to Spock's success with the computer, but with an expression that plainly stated his lack of anticipation. Spock would have reported instantly had he found something of note, and Jim knew this. Jim turned instead to Cadet Christopher, a small smile on his face.

"Did you learn something?" he said. The Cadet rolled his eyes. The reason for this was unknown to Spock, though he suspected the Captain and Cadet Christopher were enjoying what he knew was termed an "inside joke".

"Mr. Spock is a very meticulous teacher," the Cadet answered after a small moment.

Captain Kirk turned his eyes on Spock with a grin. "Of course he is," he said. "Well, I'm glad to say something good came of –"

He broke off mid-sentence as there was another resounding clang. This time, it seemed like the noise was coming from outside the ship. Spock walked briskly over to his scanner, without any real expectations of seeing anything there, but before he was halfway, the ship lurched violently, and he was forced to grab onto the banister to keep himself from falling.

The entire Bridge crew looked at each other, similar, questioning expressions on all of their faces. The ship lurched again, and Captain Kirk instantly ordered the shields up, as well as a Red Alert, and the cacophonous wail of the alarm added to the already stressed atmosphere of the control centre.

As the ship began to vibrate beneath them, Lieutenant Sulu, moving his hands furiously over his controls, called out,

"Course changing, Sir! Now eighty-seven mark four, and moving further out."

The Helmsman had not but said this when a third, and distinctly more powerful lurch pulled them in a new direction entirely. The ship's speed increased, and they were sent plummeting through space, towards and unknown location, pulled by something they could neither define nor see.

Lieutenant Sulu threw himself at the controls, grasping them with all his might, his face screwed up in concentration, little beads of sweat forming near his hairline. The Captain sat rigidly in his chair, hands clutching his armrests, knuckles white, though his face displayed all his habitual authority and security. Spock knew it would take a lot for Jim to actually show fear, but he could tell that the situation had his Captain worried.

"Spock!" he said through gritted teeth, as the ship shook beneath them. "Readings!"

Spock, holding on to his console with both hands to keep himself steady, bent swiftly over his scanner. Nothing. Still, there was nothing. He noticed a trace of frustration building up within him. This was completely unheard of. Something was pulling them, dragging them, off course, something had them under its power, whether it be a natural phenomenon, or something else entirely, and yet the monitors showed nothing, all their equipment came up with nothing.

He turned back to the Captain, who wore an impatient expression. "Still nothing, Captain," Spock said, shaking his head. "I cannot understand it. Our instruments do not show –"

"It can't be nothing, Spock!" Jim growled. "Is there any possibility of a malfunction, something you overlooked?"

Normally, this lack of faith in his scientific skills would have offended him, but as an unnoticed malfunction was, at the moment, the only apparently logical explanation for what was going on, he merely turned back to his station and set to work checking his instruments, yet again. Meanwhile, he heard Jim address Uhura, the urgency becoming gradually more prominent in his voice.

"Lieutenant Uhura!" he said fiercely. "Has there been any attempt made at contact?"

Uhura, looking bewildered, shook her head. "No, Sir, nothing."

"You think someone is out there, Captain?" Ensign Chekov panted, working furiously along with Lieutenant Sulu, trying to return the Enterprise to its original course.

Captain Kirk shook his head. "I don't know," he said edgily. "Uhura, friendship messages. All frequencies."

"Yes, Captain."

"And contact Starfleet. Tell them we're being pulled off course, and that we don't know where, or by what, or whom. Tell them we're doing everything we can to remedy the situation, but that there is a great possibility –" He broke off for a moment, and as Spock turned, briefly, to regard him, he saw that all the eyes of the Bridge crew were fixed on the Captain "– there is a possibility," he repeated, "that we might be unable to free ourselves."

He turned his head forwards. "Sulu, report on the helm!"

"Responding, Sir," Mr. Sulu said, his voice increasingly panicky, "but poorly. I'm hard over, and we're just barely turning."

Jim let out a faint growl and pressed a finger, urgently, to his console. "Scotty!" he said loudly.

"Scotty here, Captain," came the instant reply.

"I want full power to the engines – use everything you've got. Full reverse. I want control of this ship!"

Across the comm., Scotty's voice sounded strained. "I'm already givin' it all the power I think she can stand!" he said. "She's threatenin' overload, Captain. Whatever's pullin' us onwards is powerful. If we give it anymore, we risk implosion!"

Jim slammed a furious fist into his chair. "Damn it!" he exclaimed. He put a hand to his forehead and rubbed it furiously. Spock watched him warily, and saw the resolution form as if he could see into his Captain's mind. He knew James Kirk could not let his ship be taken over by a strange force without giving absolutely everything to stop it.

"Scotty," Jim said after a quick moment, sounding calmer now, though his eyes still betrayed a fierce determination to get them all out of this. "We're going to have to risk it. Give it everything you've got. Full reverse."

"Captain …" Scotty was clearly hesitant.

"I said full reverse," Jim repeated, raising his voice just a notch.

A small pause, then, "Aye, Sir."

"Helmsman," the Captain continued, and Mr. Sulu moved his hands swiftly over his controls. "On my mark."

Scotty's voice came across the comm. "We're ready to give it a go, Captain. But don't say I didn't warn you."

Captain Kirk ignored the warning, his jaw set, his eyes alive with resolve. "Now, Mr. Sulu," he said. "Everyone hold on."

Spock sat down, gripping his chair tightly with one hand, as his other flew across his own console, willing something, anything to appear there, that would give him some small indication of what was happening to them. He saw the rest of the Bridge crew prepare for what promised to be a turbulent withdrawal. Beads of sweat were running down Lieutenant Sulu's face. The helmsman took a deep breath. Then he put the Enterprise in reverse.

The whole ship made a terrible, crunching noise, as if it were being torn apart, and tilted suddenly and violently sideways. Several crewmen were torn out of their seats, falling to the floor with sounds of discomfort. Spock's grip on his chair ensured his own safety, but with horror, he saw Jim fly out of his chair, crash into the banister opposite, and tumble to the ground with a terrible groan of pain.

Only the violent movement of the ship kept Spock from jumping to his feet and running to his friend. Fortunately, Mr. Sulu had also managed to retain his seat, and, face now chalk white with the strain, he hung on to the console with one hand and navigated fiercely with the other, forcing the ship backwards, away from the unfamiliar pull.

And the ship did move, for a moment. Shuddering dangerously, threatening overload with every inch of progress, the Enterprise slid backwards, slowly. Mr. Sulu, however, did not look happy, and Spock could see why. The engines were rapidly overheating. The immense effort of forcing the ship backwards was costing it copious amounts of energy. They could not keep it up for long. As the ship started to show signs of power shortage, the erratic tossing and turning lessened, and Spock was able to spring from his chair, hurrying over to where his Captain lay, unconscious, on the floor, just as the ship shuddered one last time, and then came to a full and sudden stop.

If Spock had not already crouched down beside Jim, he would probably have fallen on top of him. Indeed, many of the crewmen who had managed to pick themselves off the ground, promptly lost their footing again. Spock did not have time to worry about them. One glance at his Captain, told him that Jim was in need of medical care. He was pale, and sported a long cut which stretched from his hairline to just above his left eye. It was bleeding profusely. Spock hurriedly tore off his blue uniform shirt and, ripping off a sizeable piece of it, pressed it down, hard, to Jim's forehead in an attempt to stop the increasing flow of blood. Jim's color would indicate that he had already lost too much.

"Lieutenant Uhura," he said as he did this, his voice sounding uncharacteristically ragged. "Signal Doctor McCoy. Immediately. The Captain is hurt."

His hands throbbed as he felt the distant pulse of Jim's heartbeat, emanating from the wound. "Jim," he said, softly, then, more loudly, "Captain! Captain, can you hear me?"

A faint sound escaped Jim's lips, and he stirred.

"Jim," Spock said once more, feeling so much more than concern as his hands pressed against his friend's skin.

There was a movement of the eyelids. Spock felt his heart pounding painfully, his fear and desire mingling in a furious, highly illogical dance. He realized, suddenly, that with the Captain immobilized, he had a duty to perform. For a moment, he could not believe that he had forgotten it. He frowned. Then he hurriedly signaled one of the crewmen over, a young Yeoman by the name of Waltham. She moved quickly and dropped down next to the Captain, her hands grabbing hold of the makeshift bandage before Spock had so much as opened his mouth to form the request. Thankful for the Yeoman's preparedness, Spock walked swiftly over to the command chair and sat down. He pressed the comm. deftly and spoke into it, his voice still carrying that aberrant, agitated quality.

"Mr. Scott," he said forcefully. "Mr. Scott, this is First Officer Spock, please come in."

There was no sound. Spock gave it a short moment before trying again.

"Bridge to Mr. Scott, please acknowledge."

Another pause. Then a wheezy, worn voice came across the intercom. "Scott here, Sir."

Spock frowned again. "Mr. Scott, you do not sound well. Please report on your status."

"The damage is bad, Mr. Spock," Mr. Scott said. "The dilithium crystals are almost completely burnt out. We have only just enough to maintain life support. There was a violent power surge down here – many of us were badly burnt. But no casualties."

"Is there any chance of regaining power?" Spock asked, knowing the answer would be negative.

"No, Sir," Mr. Scott said wearily. "We need to replace the crystals, and I don't see how we're gonna do that out here."

"Very well, Mr. Scott," Spock said. "Take care of your personnel – get those that need medical attention to Sickbay, and whatever repairs you can manage, commence as soon as possible."

He switched off the comm. and turned to Uhura. "Report, Lieutenant. Are there any casualties?"

Uhura, holding a finger to her earpiece, shook her head. "No casualties, Sir, but several injuries. All sections report life support systems functional."

Spock turned back, feeling a small sense of relief, which was quickly overshadowed by the gravity of their situation. They were stuck, in the middle of space, with no power to move forwards, and no opportunity to go back. It was not without appreciation of the inherent irony that Spock realized their best option was the force from which they had so lately attempted to escape. Whatever it was that had been pulling them forwards might turn out to be sentient life. If it was, this might be their only chance for survival. Out here, without any additional power, life support would eventually fade, and they would all surely die.

At that moment, Doctor McCoy, looking distinctly ruffled, stepped out of the turbolift, followed closely by Cadet Christopher, who, Spock saw, looked no worse for the wear.
Aside from a slightly singed shirt, he seemed to have gotten through the ordeal relatively unscathed. As soon as she saw McCoy, Yeoman Waltham swiftly beckoned him over, and Doctor McCoy hurried to where Jim lay, slowly regaining consciousness. Cadet Christopher, seeing the Captain wounded, joined the doctor with brisk steps, crouching down next to him and wordlessly taking over for the yeoman, holding strong hands to Jim's forehead.

"Jim!" Doctor McCoy said, with urgency. "Jim!"

He administered a hypo to Jim's left arm and motioned to the Cadet.

"Help me get him into a sitting position."

The Cadet, still crouching, lifted the Captain's torso gently and held it up against his own, his arms holding Jim steady. Spock felt an unfamiliar and violent surge of anger as he beheld the Cadet's face, whose expression, whose closeness to the Captain, made his blood boil. Before he even registered what he was doing, he had moved from his seat. As he bent down by the Captain, his brain caught up with his body, and he swiftly turned to the doctor, taking care to rearrange his features into a more appropriate expression.

"Do you require any assistance, Doctor?" he said, his tone calm.

Doctor McCoy turned to him with a disturbingly knowing expression, and smiled slightly.

"It's going to be fine, Spock, don't worry," he said.

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I was merely –" he started, but the doctor cut him off.

"Yeah, yeah," he said, his tone laced with something Spock vaguely registered as smugness. "Jim's coming to. It's just a minor head injury. He'll be fine. We've got it covered."

Spock lingered for another moment, then he got up and moved over to Helmsman Sulu.

"My console is completely dead, Sir," Mr. Sulu said, his voice laced with fatigue and exasperation.

Spock moved over to the science station. His scanners were working, but only barely.

"Lieutenant," he said, turning to Uhura, "attempt to contact Starfleet –"

"I already have, Sir," Uhura interrupted him. "The frequency is completely dead."

"Try all the emergency frequencies, and keep trying."

"Yes, Sir."

Spock turned back to the Captain, who had opened his eyes gingerly, and now put a hand carefully to his forehead. He looked at his hand, and the blood coating his fingers, and groaned. He only then seemed to notice that he was being held. Turning his head a little, he discerned the clearly anxious face of Cadet Christopher. The two men looked at each other for a moment that lasted just long enough for Spock to detect a feeling of annoyance, an emotion he was growing tired of being constantly exposed to, before Jim made an attempt at getting up. Doctor McCoy was on top of him instantly.

"Oh, no you don't, Jim," he said, in his usual manner, shoving the Captain back into the Cadet's arms and causing Spock an additional twinge of impatience.

"The ship," Jim said then, and, looking around, his eyes found Spock, who instantly rose and, hands securely behind his back, walked over to him.

"I am afraid our attempt to escape has all but burned out our Dilithium crystals, Captain," he said immediately. "Life support is still functioning, but with power at a critical low, it seems unlikely that we will be able to maintain even this for long. At the moment, we are at a dead stand-still. We have tried, and failed, to contact Starfleet. It would appear we are on our own."

Jim closed his eyes for a moment, as if he wished to ward off this information, or perhaps he was just in pain – in any case, Spock didn't like it. Doctor McCoy, on the other hand, turned to Spock with a frown on his face and sounded decidedly irritated as he said,

"Please, Spock, don't soften the blow. Give the debilitated captain all the bad news at once."

Spock raised an eyebrow. Indeed he had not "softened the blow". He could only assume the doctor was employing his trademark sarcasm. Jim, meanwhile, seemed more troubled by the allusion to his health.

"I have a bump on the head, Bones," he said testily, finally extracting himself from the Cadet's hold and hoisting himself to his feet, "I'm hardly debilitated."

Doctor McCoy crossed his arms defiantly. "You're debilitated if I say you're debilitated," he said querulously. Jim looked at Spock and rolled his eyes. Spock raised his eyebrows in his version of a shrug.

Jim made his way gingerly over to the Command chair, where he placed one hand on the armrest and breathed heavily.

"Dizzy, Jim?" Doctor McCoy said, sounding less concerned than amused. Spock glared at him.

"I'm fine, Bones," the Captain insisted. Spock walked over and grabbed hold of his arm.

"Jim," he said quietly. Jim looked at him, his expression filled with exasperation and something Spock could not define. "Let Doctor McCoy take care of your wound."

The Captain continued another moment in his stubbornness, then he sighed. "Very well," he said, defeated. He pulled his arm away from Spock's grasp and turned to McCoy. "But I'm sure there are many others that have better use for your medical attention."

McCoy gave him a sideways grin. "It'll only take a minute, Jim," he said reassuringly. "Then you can go back to playing invincible, if you like."

He held out his arm and gestured towards the turbolift. Jim walked before him, grumbling slightly as he left. Spock shook his head, marveling at the tenacity of this man. He did not know whether he found it exasperating or admirable, though his sentiments probably involved a combination.

Sitting down in the Command Chair, he motioned the young yeoman over. She handed him a PADD, and he promptly logged a report of their situation. Having handed it back to her, he turned with the intention of asking Lieutenant Uhura how she fared in her attempts to make contact with Starfleet, but he was met only by her legs, which were sticking out from under her console. Her entire torso was hidden within, and a faint smell of burnt circuits was emanating from the open hatch.

"Lieutenant Uhura?" Spock said, moving over to where she lay. With some difficulty, she extracted herself from the machine, resurfacing with disheveled hair and a soot-stained face.

"It's no wonder nothing works, Mr. Spock," she said. "Almost all the circuits are burnt out."

Spock nodded. He had already concluded as much. "Is the number of healthy circuits sufficient that you might attempt to rewire them and regain some communicative functions?"

"Uncertain, Sir," the Lieutenant replied. "I will try."

"Let me know if you require any assistance," Spock said, and turned back to his own station as Lieutenant Uhura dove back into the machine.

He examined his instruments a second time, making careful note of all that did and did not function. He deduced that the power surge Mr. Scott had spoken of must have overloaded the finer circuits in the machinery, resulting in their present lack of functions. He was just about to commence his own repairs when the turbolift doors slid open, and a very soot-blackened Mr. Scott stepped onto the Bridge, smelling strongly of burnt Engineering Department and looking dejected and exhausted. His normally slick hair stood on end, and his breathing seemed slightly labored as he approached Spock.

"Mr. Spock," he said, "I have routed and rerouted everything I could think of, and I managed to buy us a couple more hours, but even with that, we don't have long out here without any outside help."

"How long, Mr. Scott?" Spock said, unfazed by the bad news he was already acquainted with.

"I give it about twenty-one hours."

"Try to be more precise, Mr. Scott," Spock admonished.

Mr. Scott shook his head in obvious frustration. "I can't, Mr. Spock! The dilithium crystals are dying, and the more power they lose, the more unpredictable they become. It could be more than twenty-one hours, and it could be less. Personally, I'm hoping for more. Or some kind of miracle."

"I am not normally inclined to believe in miracles," Spock said tonelessly, gazing towards the turbolift doors. He turned his eyes back to Mr. Scott. "You look like you could use some medical attention."

Mr. Scott waved a hand impatiently and shook his head. "I'll be alright," he said. "Just a few small burns and a wee bit o' shock from the sudden surge, but I'll be fine."

Spock restrained himself from rolling his eyes. "I fail to understand the human need to seem indestructible," he said. Mr. Scott looked at him with something that might have been described as a sheepish expression. Spock raised an eyebrow and said, "Mr. Scott, you will report to Sickbay and let Doctor McCoy give you an examination. Then continue your work with all possible speed."

For a moment, Mr. Scott wore a querulous expression. Then he sighed, shrugged, and turned, disappearing behind the turbolift doors as they closed. Spock returned to his station, bending down to open the hatch beneath his console just as Cadet Christopher approached him. Spock turned and raised an eyebrow. In truth, he had not noticed that the Cadet had remained on the Bridge.

"Can I do something?" the Cadet said, with feeling.

Spock looked at him. "You do not have the technical skills necessary to –" Spock started rationally, but was interrupted by the Cadet.

"Please, Mr. Spock," he said passionately. "Let me do something. I can't just stand here and watch."

Spock considered for a moment. He looked at his console. Then he looked towards Lieutenant Uhura. "The Lieutenant has trained you in the basics of Communications, has she not?" Spock said. The Cadet hastily nodded. Spock motioned to the Lieutenant. "See if she requires assistance."

Spock watched as Cadet Christopher walked briskly over to the Communications station and bent down next to Lieutenant Uhura. She reemerged from within the machine and swiftly handed him an earpiece. Spock turned back to his own station and opened the hatch beneath the console. He slid easily into the machinery and began rewiring the healthy circuits, prioritizing his scanner and the basic analytical functions.

He had been occupied with this work for about ten minutes when a movement of feet alerted him to the presence of his Captain, who bent down next to him as Spock pulled himself swiftly out of the computer. Spock was pleased to see that Jim looked much better; the color had returned to his face, and his cut was covered by a small, but effective, bandage.

"Any changes?" was the first thing Jim said, the same, worried frown he had been wearing as he left the Bridge still present on his face.

"As to our status, there are none, Sir," Spock said quickly. "We are effecting repairs as best we can. I sent Commander Scott to Sickbay –"

"Yes, I saw him," the Captain said impatiently. "How are the repairs going? Any chance –"

"There is no chance of forward, or backward, or any kind of movement, Captain," Spock interrupted him. "The dilithium crystals are almost completely destroyed. Our best option is to put all remaining power towards life support, which has already been done. Even so, we can only hope to maintain it for approximately twenty-one hours."

It looked as if it took Jim a moment to fully accept this answer. Spock waited. Then Jim sighed. "Damn it," he said quietly. He looked at Spock with tired eyes. "I assume your scanner is down as well?"

Spock nodded. "At the moment, Captain. I'm working on rewiring the circuits. I believe there are enough healthy ones to make the necessary connections."

Jim nodded. "Continue your work then, Mr. Spock," he said, standing up. He moved over to the Communications station, where Cadet Christopher was standing bent over the console, an earpiece in his left ear, one finger pressed to the device as he listened for the appropriate sounds. Lieutenant Uhura was calling out instructions from within the machine as she worked.

"Lieutenant," the Captain said as he approached her. Lieutenant Uhura stopped mid-sentence and pulled herself promptly out of the machine, sitting up and turning her attention to Jim.

"Yes, Sir," she said, sounding slightly worn. Cadet Christopher also turned to face the Captain, and a faint trace of a smile shadowed his lips as he no doubt also noticed Jim's improved appearance.

"Anything?" Jim said by way of a question.

"We're getting static," the Cadet replied, "which is better than nothing."

Jim raised his eyebrows hopefully and looked at Lieutenant Uhura.

"We are working on rewiring the main Communications channel," she said, holding up a few, burnt wires that she then tossed unceremoniously to the floor. "We hope to reach Starfleet on a more low-maintenance frequency. However –"

"– even if we do manage to contact them, there's nothing they can do." Jim finished her sentence, his face falling as the little glint of hope Spock had seen in his eyes died out. "Unless a Starship just happens to be passing." He looked like the idea struck him as something less than likely. Spock privately agreed. "We're too far out – they'll never reach us in time."

Two hours passed. Spock, his rewiring finished, stood bent over his scanner once more, its weakened functions doing little to solve their predicament. Their time was running out much too quickly for comfort, and as Science Officer, it was his duty to come up with something that could get them out of this.

He was not the only one still working. Over at the Communications station, Lieutenant Uhura was still waist-deep in her computer, her uniform stained and burnt, Cadet Christopher by her side, doing anything he could to assist her. Despite his illogical dislike of the Cadet, Spock was pleased to discover he had enough sense left to admire Christopher for his dedication. At the Helm, Lieutenant Sulu was reclining in his chair. He had worked diligently for an entire hour, trying to salvage and repair anything that might have been able to function, but it would appear that the controls had taken the worst hit. It was entirely useless. To repair them would take materials and resources they did not have.

The Captain was in his chair, his stoic gaze fixed outwards, one hand pressed to his forehead, as if he would, by force of sheer willpower, make a solution to their predicament materialize.

Lieutenant Sulu sighed. "It is amazing," he said wearily, "that out of all the starships in the fleet, it somehow always manages to be us that gets all the action."

The Captain snapped out of his reverie and focused on the helmsman. Ensign Checkov turned as well, frowning.

"I have spoken to the helmsmen of at least twenty other ships," Mr. Sulu continued, "and they all speak of relatively quiet flights, you know, a few incidents now and then, but nothing major." He looked around. "I wonder what it is that makes our ship so particularly prone to disaster."

"Animal magnetism?" Checkov said with a slight grin, shrugging.

The Captain smiled and Lieutenant Sulu let out a small laugh just as Spock inwardly started.

"Yes," he said out loud, and all the Bridge crew turned to him, some with frowns of confusion, others with looks of amusement. Jim instantly stood up.

"Yes what, Spock?" he said urgently.

"Magnetism," Spock replied with fervor, his eyes moving to his Captain, his veins throbbing with the knowledge that he had hit on something important. He instantly turned to his scanner, recalibrating it for magnetic energy. Captain Kirk moved up to him with swift steps – Spock heard him come up behind him as he, with another triumphant "Yes" finally found what he was looking for.

"Magnetic residue," he said, turning around. "It is fading, but there."

Jim frowned. "Magnet? We were being pulled by a magnet?"

"In crude terms, yes," Spock replied. "Our own tractor beams transmit the force of gravity through gravitons, as you know. It is my belief that we have been exposed to an entirely different kind of tractor beam."

"But there have been many experiments with magnetic tractor beams," Lieutenant Sulu chimed in. "Magnetic force is notoriously unstable in that kind of function. We have never been successful in finding a good way of using it."

"Which doesn't mean that some other race in the universe might not have been more successful than we were," Jim said, frowning.

Spock nodded. "A magnetic tractor beam would hold far more force than our graviton beams, and would greatly facilitate the towing of a ship, given that its outer hull contain some kind of metal."

"Which explains why we couldn't see the thing that was pulling us," Jim said, his expression revealing that he was catching on to Spock's thought process.

"Indeed, Captain," Spock said. "It was towing us while safely out of sensor range.

Ensign Chekov let out a small "Oh!" of understanding. "This is also why it was so difficult to break free!" he said comprehendingly.

"And the reason for the violent electric surge," Spock added. "Magnetic energy can be very unstable, especially in large quantities. My conjecture is that our captors were not expecting such vehement resistance."

Captain Kirk took a few steps towards Spock, a pensive frown on his face. "Do you think it's possible that the other ship, or whatever it is, was injured by the breakaway as well?"

Spock raised an eyebrow. "I could not say," he said honestly, "though if they are accustomed to using this type of tractor beam, I would also assume they are prepared for eventualities. Therefore, the likelihood that they should have been incapacitated as we were, is small. However, I think it probable that we will soon find out."

For at that moment a small light started blinking on Spock's console. The Captain instantly joined him at his station, and together they bent over the scanner, which, now calibrated to focus solely on magnetic energy, instantly showed them that their unknown captors were returning.

"Orders, Captain," Lieutenant Sulu said quickly. Jim straightened up slowly and turned to the view screen with a hardened expression.

"I don't think there's anything we can do," he said quietly. "The Enterprise will not function without extensive repairs."

Spock felt for Jim. Every eye was on him. As Captain, it was expected of him to solve every problem, get them out of every situation with their lives intact. And here they were, stranded, unable to perform even the smallest task. Jim was right. There was nothing they could do, except wait for what would come.

"Jim," Spock said. "We have done everything we can. As have you."

The Captain looked at him with an expression that seemed torn between gratitude and frustration.

"You are right, Mr. Spock," he said, and, turning, he sat down in his chair, moving his eyes to fix unblinkingly on the view screen, his back straight, his expression determined. "There is nothing we can do now but wait. Gentlemen, prepare yourselves for … something. Whatever it is, we will meet it head-on."


A/N: Reviews are still funky. Next chapter will be up in a week.