A/N: I apologize for the unscheduled break. My muse demanded a vacation, and I had no choice but to oblige her. But we're back on track now!
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Seven
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"Captain, you're not going to believe this!" Uhura announced suddenly. Her voice rang loudly over the grim quiet of concentration on the Bridge. "I'm getting a hail from the Legourian vessel. They're asking for help!"
Snap. Snap. Snap. Heads turned in her direction.
"They're—what?" Kirk asked, stunned. "Uhura, are you sure you're reading this right?"
"Yes, sir. They are transmitting a general distress call. Some kind of engine problem... nothing specific."
"I'm detecting them now on long range sensors," Kerr confirmed.
"This can't be right." Kirk sprang out of his chair and crossed to Uhura's station. "They must be aware they're still in Federation space."
"They are, Captain, but why would they care?" Kerr asked, straightening up and facing the others. "They don't know that we know that they have our people aboard their ship. Which, if I may, sir, we still don't know exactly."
"They are aboard," Kirk said with strange conviction. "At least, Spock is."
"Even so, sir," Kerr inclined her head softly. "The Legourians may not yet be aware of their presence themselves."
"Aye, she's got a point," Scott nodded. "That shielding of theirs might work either way. If Mr. Spock has been keeping a low profile—"
"Spock?" Kirk asked him ironically. "I don't think we'd be that lucky, Mr. Scott. If Spock was inclined to stay put, he'd still be in that brig."
"If I may, sir," Kerr interjected. "If Captain Radek is with him, the chances are even less."
"There you go," Kirk pursed his lips grimly. "For the moment, we'll work under the assumption that they are both there and in custody. But I think you're right, Scotty. If the Legourians so much as suspected that we know, they would never transmit a distress signal."
"And if we pretend to be on general patrol..."
"They might even invite us in, for all we know," Kirk concluded. "Uhura, I want you to jam their signal."
She stared at him. "Captain?"
"You heard me. There might be other starships in the area, and I don't want anyone to get to them before we do. I need you to block their signal as best you can. I know it's not exactly by the book, but I need you to do it."
"Aye, sir," she acknowledged succinctly.
"Mr. Chekov," Kirk said, stepping back down to the inner rim. "Plot a course towards the Legourian vessel. Mr. Sulu, I want to be there yesterday."
"Aye, sir."
"Mr. Scott, Lieutenant Kerr, we have a problem," Kirk looked from one to the other pointedly. "Obviously, we won't be able to scan them. And we have to."
"Captain, I've been thinking it over," Kerr said. "And I might have a possible solution. When my former ship had a run-in with the Orions, we used a wave resonator to break through the interference they created to fool our sensors. Given the Legourians' occupation, it stands to reason they'd be using similar technology."
"They must be," Scott said pensively. "The composition of that ship of theirs isn't all that special, one of the most primitive duranium alloys. It couldn't possibly deflect our scans."
Kirk looked skeptical.
"But couldn't it be some kind of cloak?"
"Nah," Scott shook his head. "One thing we do know about cloaks it that power consumption is enormous. Their ship simply doesn't produce that much energy."
"So you're saying..."
"Most likely they've got some kind of sophisticated wave amplifier. They might have found a way to use reverse polarities simultaneously. It's a tricky job, but if done correctly and to several wave bands at once, it'll confuse the hell out of any sensor."
"I agree," Kerr nodded. "It's the most reasonable assumption."
"Yes, it does sound that way, doesn't it?" Kirk mused. "The question is, what do we do about it? That resonator of yours—will it work?"
Scott and Kerr shared a concerned glance.
"Assuming our hypothesis is correct, it should," Kerr said, but she sounded wary.
Kirk couldn't miss it.
"I sense a big 'but' there, Lieutenant."
"Well, sir, it's unlikely they've been able to hide from everyone for so long just by mixing up one frequency band," Scott grimaced slightly. "In order to counteract the effects, we'll have to find and disable all wave bands involved."
"And it could take time, Captain," Kerr said. "Plus, we can't do it from the Enterprise. We'll have to somehow beam the resonator and the operator aboard their vessel."
"This is getting better and better," Kirk grunted, rubbing at his eyes. "All right, let's deal with one thing at a time. Assemble the resonator and be prepared to go. I'll deal with the Legourians when we get there."
"Yes, sir."
"We'll work in Engineering, Captain."
"Hurry."
Slowly, Kirk walked back to his chair and sat down. But almost instantly, he got up again, as if unable to stay still for more than thirty seconds. Involuntarily, he glanced over to the Science station, now deserted, and cursed mutely. Wishing Spock were there wasn't helping his composure.
He was out on a limb here and he knew it. Too many assumptions. Too many suppositions that might prove wrong. No one questioned his judgment, and it was strangely unnerving. His crew was used to his 'leaps of intuition' as Bones had called them. That occasional spark of unexplained brilliance that got them out of so many no-win situations.
But when he pulled one of those, he could always be sure of his reasoning being double-checked by Spock's dispassionate logic. Of course, Kirk had always been the one to make the final decision, but he wasn't completely above rational logic himself and only went with his intuition if Spock's arguments weren't convincing enough to make him reconsider. They had been learning from each other, and Kirk knew that if he really flew off the handle and allowed his emotions to get the better of him, Spock would be there to keep him in check. Spock wouldn't ever allow him to take action that would invariably hurt the ship and crew, his Vulcan loyalty to his commander notwithstanding.
As annoying as it had been at times, it was also reassuring. Spock often acted as his own personal fail-safe device, steadfast and reliable, like a Swiss army knife. It wasn't that they argued often. Spock had obviously observed enough of him to grant him a huge leeway for would-be illogical decisions. Kirk suspected that his desperate 'save our skins' chess strategies had a lot to do with that. He had never known a person who could connect the dots and weave the most contradictory pieces together better than Spock could. Sometimes the connections the Vulcan made looked so inexplicable and so far beyond the reach of a casual observer that they almost appeared intuitive as well.
Which was ironic really. Spock often teased him about his flights of inspiration, convinced that they, too, were the result of logical evaluation, running so deep within that Kirk's conscious mind wouldn't register it, instead labeling his decisions as 'lucky guesses'. They had a lot of fun debating the issue, particularly when McCoy joined them, but the truth was, it didn't really matter who was right. The simple fact about him and Spock was they worked. Every time, without fail.
Kirk sighed quietly. Where the safety of the ship was concerned, he could trust Scotty as much as he trusted Spock. The Engineer was probably even less prone to letting him take any brash action. He never underestimated Scott's expertise and knew that he was more than qualified for the job.
It just didn't feel the same.
Deep down inside, Kirk suspected Scott was just as unhappy with the arrangements as the Captain. Kirk could have sworn there was a spring in Scott's step as he left the Bridge for Engineering. Amusing as it was, Kirk couldn't blame him. He would have given a lot for things to be business as usual.
"Mr. Chekov, what's our ETA?"
"Thirty-two minutes, Keptin," the Navigator answered promptly.
"Man the scanners," Kirk told him.
"Aye, sir."
He watched Chekov changing location and shook his head inwardly. Kirk could see the tension emanating from the Ensign in waves. Chekov seemed so much in place on the main Bridge crew, it was easy to forget sometimes how young he really was. Yet, even though his rigid posture gave away the strain, he appeared composed and focused, and trying hard to keep it that way, concentrating on the job at hand.
Well, Kirk thought with a soft smile. Working long hours with Spock did have that effect on people. The Vulcan was sometimes vindictively meticulous, and those junior officers who dared show their impatience lived to regret it very much indeed. McCoy had once accused Spock of purposefully increasing the level of stress in his department, to which Spock answered that at least his subordinates didn't jump upon hearing a loud noise the way half the nurses in Sick Bay did. It didn't help any that Bones and Spock were periodically at war over qualified research personnel, a war which Spock usually won.
His smile faded, as he stared at the viewscreen again. That major part of him that was the captain urged his ship to go faster, longing for action. There was the other part though, the one that he was trying to appease with light memories and thoughts in order to distract it from slowly going crazy. That part of him was apparently a closet coward, for it wished they would never reach the Legourian vessel and he would never see what they had done to his First Officer. That part was completely inappropriate and illogical, and it had no place on his Bridge. He tried to banish it, to suppress it, wishing he had some of that formidable Vulcan self-control. It was bad enough that this part prevented him from getting any sleep not colored by vivid nightmares. Determinedly, he concentrated and smashed the door closed in its face.
"Lieutenant, how are we doing?" Kirk stopped at Uhura's chair.
"The jamming signal is in place, Captain," she said, frowning. "Whether or not anyone intercepted the call before that, I couldn't say."
"I'll take it," Kirk said. "About the jam, though. If anyone enters the zone, will they be able to tell the source?"
Uhura shrugged, looking decidedly displeased with herself.
"They'll be able to tell it's being created by a Starfleet vessel, but they likely won't be able to tell which one."
"Likely?"
"It's the best I can do, sir."
"I didn't mean to belittle your work," he assured her. "It's quite inventive."
"Yes," she drawled unhappily. "That'll serve me well on my court-martial."
He patted her on the shoulder lightly. "We're not there yet."
"We're entering visual range, Captain," Sulu reported.
"On screen."
The Legourian vessel was there, looking as strangely ill-proportioned as ever. Maybe even more. Kirk remembered faintly McCoy calling it 'a penguin turned inside out'. The Captain was certain he had never seen a more instinctively repulsive design in his life.
Stepping down to his chair, Kirk opened a link to Engineering.
"Status, Mr. Scott?"
"We're ready with the resonator, Captain."
"Good, then I need you on the Bridge."
Was that a sigh?
"Aye, sir."
Kirk felt a wave of anticipation wash over him. So it begins. He finally sat down, steadying himself before the fight. Somehow, he didn't believe in this particular peaceful resolution.
"They are hailing us," Uhura said, just as Scott entered the Bridge.
"Go ahead," Kirk nodded.
In a moment, the view had changed showing what appeared to be the insides of the Legourian ship. One of the aliens, mercifully not the same one who had yelled at Commander Britty, was blinking at them nervously, his crest standing at full height on his head.
"Captain Kirk, USS Enterprise," Kirk said, in a casual, would-be lame tone. "We received your distress signal. How can we be of assistance?"
"Grrtl'klak."
Kirk raised his eyebrows.
"I take it that is your name?"
"W' h've pr'bl'ms w'th 'ne 'f our 'ngin's. R'qu're r'pairs."
"Oh, I'm sorry to hear that," Kirk said, glancing at Scott briefly. "If you transmit your telemetry readings to us so that my Chief Engineer can take a look, I'm sure we'll be able to help you."
The Legourian inclined his head, and then the visual contact broke.
"Receiving telemetry, Captain," Sulu said, peering at his monitor.
Scott was already on the move towards his station. He gave several mumbled grunts as he studied the readings.
"Report," Kirk prompted him softly.
Scott straightened up, looking distinctly smug.
"Very old, Captain. Don't know where they picked it up. Probably their grandmother's dowry."
"Mr. Scott," Kirk's gaze became sterner. "The condition of the engine, if you please?"
Scott shrugged.
"Well, according to this, they have one of their main drives fused and the backup's inhibited."
"How fast can you fix it?"
"Shouldn't take more than twenty minutes."
"And how long will it take for the resonator to find all the repolarized frequencies?"
"About three hours if we're lucky."
"Well then, Mr. Scott. I suggest you update your repairs estimate to three hours."
Scott's jaw dropped. He looked at Kirk as if he was raving.
"But, Captain... How am I supposed to do that?"
Kirk raised his eyebrows, schooling his expression carefully.
"You're the Engineer, Mr. Scott. You'll think of something."
Scott looked devastated. "In three hours I can dismantle the whole engine and put it back together—"
"Then do it."
"—three times!"
"Scotty..."
"Aye," Scott sighed. "But if I am to work this slowly, I'm gonna need help."
"Lieutenant Kerr will join you to operate the resonator. I wouldn't object to you taking someone from Engineering along."
"Aye," Scott nodded grimly. The look on his face stated clearly that he was already thinking of how to solve his current engineering dilemma.
Suppressing a rather untimely bolt of amusement, Kirk turned towards the Science station.
"Mr. Chekov, don't take your eyes off the scanners. The moment you're able to detect life signs, transmit your readings to the Transporter Room. Uhura, alert them, and apprise our Legourian friends Mr. Scott will be coming over... with a party."
"Aye, sir."
"Scotty, keep your eyes open, and call the moment there's any trouble. I will not lose more officers over this. Understood?"
Scott blinked, coming out of his musings.
"Aye, sir." His expression softened mildly as his eyes fixed on the Captain's face. "Don't worry, sir. We'll bring them home."
Kirk pressed his lips together hard and nodded curtly.
"Good luck."
He was about to enter what was probably the longest three hours he had ever experienced to date.
--
Pacing. Pacing, pacing, and more pacing to come after that. Kirk could not remember a time when the wait had been more excruciating. There must have been, he was sure of it.
"Anything, Mr. Chekov?"
"Not yet, sir."
"Carry on."
"Aye, sir."
Chekov, bless him, didn't show his exasperation with the exchange happening for the fourth time. Or were they into round five? Kirk shrugged expressionlessly and continued pacing.
Did this run in the family? Sam once told him that one of his earliest memories was one of their father pacing and wearing a hole in the carpet of the small and ill-equipped hospital on Melosia when his wife went into labor with his second son. Jim. Sam said he had been at it for hours, never staying off his feet, never standing still, just pacing, pacing. Sam had drifted in and out of sleep on a narrow bunk in the waiting area, because Jim's birth had taken hours.
George was scared and didn't hide it, not from his son, not from the nurses, not from himself apparently. It was exactly how it had been two years before with Carolina, the elder sister Jim had never had. Another poorly developed colony, another complicated pregnancy, and now a child that had been conceived without his parents' conscious agreement was struggling to come into the world five weeks too early.
He was always in a hurry, wasn't he? And he had always been a survivor. It was only the wait that he couldn't stand.
"Anything, Lieutenant?"
"No signs of other ships in the vicinity, Captain. But our scanning capacity is limited at the moment."
"Yes, of course. Keep an eye on it, Mr. Sulu. We don't want any unexpected guests."
"Yes, sir."
Pacing, pacing.
No, Kirk thought, perhaps it wasn't so much a family trait, but rather something he and his father shared exclusively. Sam had always been his mother's son; the two of them so calm and cool, and so much more predisposed towards the quiet, contemplative wisdom of the Keebles, than towards the temperamental wear-their-hearts-on-their-sleeves Kirks. Sometimes Kirk asked himself if he had managed to inherit anything at all from his mother. He could definitely use some of her restraint right now.
"How long has it been?"
Uhura looked up at him.
"Two hours forty-six minutes, Captain."
"They're cutting it a bit close, aren't they?"
"I'm sure they're working as fast as they can, sir."
"Yes," he gave her an absent smile. "Yes, of course they are."
More pacing.
'Mom, listen...'
'I already know, Jim.'
'But...'
'Maybe when it's your turn, they'll call me before it hits the newscasts.'
'What? Mom, I didn't know it was already... Look, I couldn't just drop everything. I had a goddamned planet to save!'
'That's what he said, too. But what I wonder is why it's always other people you're saving, but you can't save your own.'
'Mom... I really tried. But I was... too late.'
'You're always too late for your own family, Jimmy. Just like your father.'
Of course, she apologized later. Said she didn't blame him. But she wasn't looking at him when she said it, and he knew what it meant. He was supposed to be his brother's keeper and failed.
Sam was his first childhood hero. His father enthralled him, utterly, but his father was so rarely home. Sam was his shiny star. Sam, who seemed to know everything; who had an answer to any question; who told the most enchanting stories to make him sleep; who invented the most exciting adventures; who challenged him to learn to keep up. Sam, who made him feel so absurdly proud for how smart he was, and kind, and reasonable, and somehow just so much better than Jimmy, as if he were a being from another reality, where all things were better, purer. And at the same time, incredibly, Sam was so undeniably, unmistakably, sincerely related to him.
It was strange, given his competitive nature, but he was never jealous of Sam. It was even stranger, given the vector of their age difference, but the dominant emotion he often felt towards Sam was protectiveness. By the time he was eight, the whole neighborhood knew that if you messed with Sam Kirk, you were gonna get hell from Jimmy. And even at that tender age, his ferociousness was something to be seriously considered before picking a fight.
They rarely fought among themselves. Somehow, Sam was always above all things too down-to-earth. Much like Winona. Both of them used to chide Jimmy for his impulsiveness and both of them secretly adored it. Sometimes Jim did the wildest things just to see their reaction. He used to be reckless in his escapades, but he always felt safe. He was home and he was happy.
It changed the year he turned thirteen. Everything changed. His father's death turned his world upside down. His hurt and anger needed release and his mother and brother's reaction to the news made them a very convenient target. He hadn't quite reconciled with either of them before he left for Tarsus. And after he came back, nothing was the same again.
He and Sam never went back to that innocent era of mutual adoration. There was love, yes. But a lot of hurt, also. A lot of guilt. A lot of estrangement. And when he lost Sam on Deneva, he felt that his mother had every right to blame him.
Pacing, pacing.
Pacing.
He had only survived Deneva because he'd locked his emotions, all his emotions, in a black box within his mind, never to see the day light. If he had allowed himself to feel back then, even for an instant, he would have lost those million lives. He wouldn't have been able to think with an emotional overload like that. Sam, Aurelan, Peter, Spock. Whenever he thought of Sam, he felt guilt, and it had so many layers, so many sides, that analyzing it was like taking a bath in acid. He'd lost one brother. And now he was on the verge of losing someone who was so much more.
He had never before realized that Spock had put him under pretty much the same spell Sam had, all those years ago. Only Jim was an adult now. And Spock wasn't exactly his brother. And that meant... What the hell did that mean?
Kirk closed his eyes and rubbed at his temples, trying to scare away the upcoming headache. It was the wrong time to feel confused. And it wasn't really that complicated, at least not at the moment. Yes, Spock hurt him, intentionally or not, by running away on him like that. But it didn't matter. Spock might not have wanted his help anymore, might not have needed his protection, but it didn't make him feel any less responsible for his life and well-being. It shouldn't have been all that different from what he felt towards any other member of his crew, but it was different. It was personal. Deeply personal. The thought that he might be having the same kind of conversation with Amanda that he had had with his own mother made cold sweat break out on his spine.
Bones would have probably told him that it was all right. That it was normal for him to have the same emotions, as did the other human beings. But he wasn't like the others, was he? He was in command. He couldn't afford those emotions. He didn't want them. They impaired his judgment, undermined his vision, and they hurt, plain and simple. When they managed to live through this crisis, when Starfleet was safe and sound again, if Spock was back at his side, back on the Enterprise and not going anywhere, then Kirk could think about it. Not before. And it would probably be a good idea to keep away from the Vulcan, too.
"Keptin, receiving a message from Lieutenant Kerr," Chekov announced excitedly. "She's transmitting the sensor adjustments."
"Implement immediately, Mr. Chekov."
"Aye, sir... Got them! Three humans in one location—that'd be our away team, another human not so far away... and a Vulcan, he's in another part of the ship."
"Transfer coordinates to the Transporter Room immediately."
"Captain, Mr. Scott is signaling," Uhura said. "They're ready to return."
Kirk punched the button on the armrest of his chair.
"Transporter Room, do you have the lock on them all?"
"Yes, Captain."
"Energize," he looked at the Science station. "Mr. Chekov, I have a feeling I'm going to need you on weapons control right about now."
"Aye, sir!" the young Navigator almost jumped into the inner rim.
"Captain, the Legourian vessel is moving into attack position," Sulu said, watching his monitor intently. "They're charging weapons."
"Transporter Room, do you have them?"
"Not yet, sir. There's some kind of interference—"
"Keptin, they're firing!"
Kirk straightened up, grabbing the armrest for support as the deck lurched from under his feet.
"Evasive action, Mr. Sulu! Mr. Chekov, prepare to return fire."
Another blast shook them thoroughly, causing the lights to blink several times.
"Damage report!" Kirk snapped, picking himself up from the deck and wiping blood off his forehead.
"They're concentrating fire on our port nacelle!" Chekov said, choking as the smoke from the short-circuited panel reached him. "Another blast and we'll lose it! We have to raise shields!"
"Captain, sections twenty-four to twenty-eight on decks eight to eleven are decompressed!" Uhura yelled over her shoulder, trying to sound over the continuing blasts and commotion. "We're losing life support on the entire port section!"
"Emergency bulkheads—"
"Holding, sir. Damage control teams have been dispatched. We—"
"Transporter Room, status!"
"Everyone aboard, sir! Condition—"
Kirk cut him off, whirling towards Chekov.
"Raise shields!"
"Keptin, shields inoperable!"
"Does anything work around here?"
"Phasers, sir—"
"Then fire at will, Mr. Chekov."
"Direct hit!" Sulu exclaimed. "Their shields are holding, but they are retreating!"
"What?"
"Shall I continue firing, Keptin?"
"No," Kirk shook his head, looking up from Sulu's scanner. "I have a feeling we're going to need every ounce of power to survive. Monitor their course for as long as you're able, Sulu."
"Yes, sir."
"Uhura, I need a full damage report as soon as possible."
"Aye, sir."
"Bridge to Transporter Room," Kirk opened the channel again. "Status of the away team?"
"Sir, Mr. Scott has already left for Engineering. The rest of the team requires medical attention. They're on their way to Sick Bay now."
Kirk closed his eyes for a split second. The question was already at the tip of his tongue, and yet he managed to hold it. If he asked now, he'd be good for nothing for who knows how long after that.
"Thank you, Kirk out." That's right. That's the spirit."Mr. Sulu, I'll be in Engineering. You have the conn."
"Aye, sir."
Uhura threw an alarmed gaze at him, but he ignored her.
"Damage report, Lieutenant," he reminded her, as he walked past her station. "And apprise me immediately if there's any more trouble."
"Yes, sir," she said, still watching him with that half-surprised, half-hurt expression.
He disappeared into the turbolift and banished all irrelevant thoughts forcibly out of his mind.
--
Scott, as it turned out, wasn't in Engineering by the time Kirk had gotten there. While chasing his Chief Engineer around the ship, the Captain got a first-hand view of the damage inflicted on his vessel. It was devastating. He had rarely seen his ship sustain this much damage, and the timing couldn't have been worse. Kirk cursed mutely, dodging the wreckage, watching the repair crews scatter around like crocked horses, hardly taking any notice of him. It wasn't the first time that he admired the complexity of the world that was a starship, where everyone and everything had its place and purpose.
He finally caught up with Scott on the catwalk inside the damaged nacelle. Scott looked crestfallen.
"How bad, Mr. Scott?"
"Very bad, Captain," Scott replied miserably.
Kirk could see that. Parts of the outer hull were simply missing, the structural integrity only depending on the thin veils of emergency forcefields. If they had been at warp when that blast hit...
"I cut the power flow," Scott said grimly. "Barely in time, or we'd be floating out there in too many pieces."
"Can you repair the damage?"
Scott glanced at him as if he were mad.
"Captain, I don't even have the slightest idea what's keeping us alive now. This," he gestured at the wrinkled material of the split-open nacelle, "shoulda done us in as fast as a core breach. It can't be repaired in space."
"So what do we do?" Kirk frowned, putting his hands on his hips defiantly. "Float out here until someone tows us to a spacedock or uses us for target practice?"
Scott shook his head.
"Warp speed is out of the question. But I might be able to get us back on impulse."
"How much time do you need?"
"I don't know that yet, either. But no less than twenty to twenty-four hours." Seeing Kirk's grimace, he cringed, his expression hardening. "Captain, we're beat. If ye ask me to conjure up a new nacelle out of thin air, ye'd better give me a magic wand."
Kirk shook his head, placing a hand on a taut shoulder.
"I'm sorry, Scotty. I know you'll do everything you can. I'm just thrown out a little by... everything."
"Aye." Scott's gaze softened immediately as he studied the other man. "Is Mr. Spock any better?"
Kirk winced, stepping away from him. The innocent question had brought up all the unwanted, potentially hindering thoughts he was trying to avoid. It happened so swiftly and so unexpectedly that he couldn't help but feel ambushed.
"I don't know," he said grimly. "I haven't been to Sick Bay yet."
Surprise registered on Scott's face, but only for a moment. He looked away, mercifully refraining from comments or supplying Kirk with more information he so desperately didn't need.
"Captain, I need more people," Scott said instead. "As soon as we restore life support, I need everyone who can tell a power coupling from a jigsaw puzzle in Engineering."
"You got them," Kirk nodded readily. "Take people from Maintenance. I'll send down everyone from Sciences who can be of use. Do you need anything else?"
"A lucky charm," Scott grunted. "I'll let ye know, Captain."
Kirk clapped him on the back, somewhat mechanically.
"We're in your hands, Scotty."
"Captain?" Scott turned after him. "About the Legourian engine?"
"Yes?" Kirk asked cautiously.
"I don't think they'll get very far with it, sir," his Engineer intoned pensively. "It's just an opinion of course."
Kirk pursed his lips.
"Mr. Scott, you didn't sabotage their engines further, by any chance?"
"Captain!" Scott looked properly indignant, though overdoing it slightly. "I'm an engineer, not a saboteur!"
"Yes, of course, Mr. Scott," Kirk drawled repentantly. "My apologies. So. How long do you think they'll be able to stay at warp? In your expert opinion, of course?"
"Five-six hours," Scott replied nonchalantly. "Then, who knows."
Kirk couldn't hold his grin any longer.
"Mr. Scott, the Federation might well be in your debt."
Scott shrugged smartly. "It was a very old engine."
There was no telling where the Legourians would be in five hours, of course, but even so, the chances of locating them again had just picked up several notches.
Kirk was still grinning as he climbed back down, but as his feet touched the deck, his mirth evaporated. His schedule was set for him and there was no more hiding and no more evading the inevitable. He'd get a damage report from Uhura. And then, he'd have nothing left to do but to head for Sick Bay.
Information was there, and he needed that information to make his next move in the Big Game they were playing. Trouble was, Spock was there also, apparently in bad shape. Kirk didn't like the look in Scott's eyes when he asked about him, not one bit. And Scott wasn't an easy man to impress.
Dammit.
He needed to find a way to pull himself through it somehow. After all, he had lost people before. And Spock wasn't—shouldn't be any different. Spock was just another officer. A capable one, but not incredibly special in any way. He should make an effort to remember that.
Or, he'd lose it.