Shipmates Chapter Nine: No Way Out
Chief Floinn's apartment was small, but well situated in a comparatively desirable area near the old shipyards. While you could not actually view the ocean from it's location, the smell of salt air was strong. When Spock remarked on this, Chief Floinn flashed a smile, something she had not done since she had stepped out of the flitter to retrieve her niece.
"I thank ye kindly sir. I believe tis well worth the small fortune I paid to have it."
"I thought you took out a lease." Pike remarked.
"No sir. I am sick unto death of having to find new quarters whenever me hitch is done. Besides, I will not be with the fleet forever."
Once inside Spock was impressed with the simple, yet elegant furnishings that Chief Floinn had acquired. Running a long hand over the smooth surface of a small wooden table, he asked if it was a family heirloom.
"Ye have a good eye Commander. It was my mother's, as is most of these other things. Glad I am to finally get them out of storage." Then she took her niece by the hand and practically dragged her into another room, closing the door behind them.
There were several other antique furnishings, including a striking sofa that was upholstered in a rich brocade of purple, with silver stitching. On the walls were framed pictures of the half dozen ships that Chief Floinn and served on. The holo of the Valiant was trimmed in black. As Spock stared at it, a sensation of sadness took hold once again for those who had perished. When he finally looked away, Captain Pike was standing nearby, staring at him with an expression the Spock could not decipher.
"Spock…if you need to talk about anything…"
"I appreciate the offer Captain," Spock countered, his Vulcan mask firmly in place once again.
Pike nodded, running a hand through his hair. "Do you want some tea?"
"That would be most welcome sir."
Silence reigned while Pike prepared the beverage. Apparently he had been here before, as he knew were all the accoutrements were kept. While they waited for the water to boil, Spock's curiosity about a statement the Captain had made earlier got the better of him.
"Captain, Provost of the Academy?"
Pike smiled, shaking his head. "Yeah, I know. Difficult to imagine."
"I beg to differ sir. I am confident you will perform admirably. However, I am not certain you will find academia as challenging as you would commanding the Enterprise."
Pike just stared at him for a second, then burst out laughing. "You're damned right about that Spock! Which is why this is a temporary assignment. Admiral Barnett will be the new Commandant, and he specifically requested an active duty officer for Provost. Nogura asked if I would do it, and I agreed, but only with the understanding that I would be free to continue as Captain of the Enterprise."
"Sir, while I have no doubt as to your ability to serve in either position, I cannot see how it would be possible to do justice to both simultaneously."
"It wouldn't be Mr. Spock. However, Nogura also informed me that the launch date for Enterprise is being pushed back nine months."
"Interesting. Would this be related to the difficulties that we uncovered concerning the M-5 program sir?"
"Of course I can't confirm that Spock," Pike replied with a smile, "and I'm sure I don't have to."
"Quite understandable sir," Spock answered, choosing a fragrant herbal from a tray of excellent teas. The water was nearly ready.
"I know it's going to be tough, even with the extra time, but I just couldn't turn Barnett down. He's got some very exciting ideas on how to inject practical elements into the Academy curriculum, without dumbing things down. He also plans to make some changes to the Academy Compact."
"The program sounds intriguing sir. However, I foresee difficulties in getting cadets to secure payment into a program that infringes on what they consider hard won rights."
"Yeah. I'm not sure that Barnett understands what a hornet's nest the Cadet Assembly can be." Shaking his head, Pike took the whistling kettle off the stove, pouring it into the pot. "Still, I think this is just what the Academy needs."
"I do not disagree sir. Although academic instruction is extremely thorough, other aspects of cadet training do not receive adequate attention."
"Exactly. You know Spock, there's no way I would even consider doing this if I didn't have you and the Chief available to deal with the preparations for launching the Enterprise."
And here is was, the moment he had been loath to confront. While it was true that he had indicated his strong desire to serve as First Officer of the Enterprise to Captain Pike, this had been more of an unofficial understanding between two friends. Now Pike was requesting that this bargain be made legitimate, which he could no longer do. Even though he was certain of his decision, Spock did regret that he would not be able to render this service to someone who had done so much for him.
"Something wrong Spock?" Pike asked, his attention fixed on the Vulcan. How very perceptive he was, for a Human.
Before he had formulated a response, Chief Floinn burst out of the room that she and her niece had entered 10 minutes and 39 seconds ago. After the door slammed shut, she stopped and took several deep breaths, then headed straight for the kitchen.
"Excuse me sirs," she barked, walking between them to a cabinet in a far corner of the small kitchen. Opening a door, she took down a bottle and one glass.
"Say Chief, that's not the…"
"…Bushmill 16? No, indeed it is not Captain. As I am very sure that ye are aware, it has already been promise to a certain Doctor. Tis only a bottle of Jameson."
"You wouldn't happen to have an extra glass?" Pike asked, and Spock noted a certain pleading quality to his voice.
"Of course sir," Floinn replied smugly. Two more glasses came down, and she poured three fingers into each, adding ice to one, which she gave to Captain Pike. The other she offered to Spock with a shrug. "Tis for Aileen. She would not offer a word to me about her behavior. Said that she would only discuss the matter with you Commander. Perhaps with this ye might loosen her tongue."
Spock found Ms. Baeill sitting on the floor in the corner of what was the Chief's bedroom. Knees drawn up, and shoulders hunched over, she said nothing to him, only shaking her head when he offered her the drink. Placing the unwanted beverage on a table, he seated himself on the edge of the bed, and considered his options.
Eventually, she would speak. All he need do was wait until that occurred, and he was very good at waiting. However, that course of action did not appealed to Spock at all. While is was always less complicated for him to allow humans to initiate exchanges of an emotional nature, he did not believe that this would be fair to Petty Officer Baeill. This presented something of a conundrum. He was fairly certain of the source of her anguish, since it was his own as well. He also realized that though they both felt guilt, they did not experience that feeling in the same way. It would be illogical to pretend that this was so, even if he had been capable of doing so. As Captain Pike had observed earlier, prevarication was not his strong suit. Fortunately, he had a notion of exactly what he could say that would provoke her to speak.
"I have requested that I be removed from the active duty roster."
He spoke the words in the same manner that he would have described the weather. Nonetheless, it had the desired effect. Her head jerked up, the expression on her face very much like it would have been if he had declared himself to be an Orion slave girl.
"Sir…I don't understand why you would do that."
"I think that you do…Aileen."
"You loved the Valiant," she countered, her voice rising. Realizing what she had said, Baeill looked away, shaking her head in frustration. "Sorry sir…I know that's the wrong word, but I won't take it back."
"Nor would I ask it of you. While it does not precisely describe my feelings on the matter, it is certainly not wholly inaccurate."
"Feelings sir?"
"Yes Aileen, feelings. While I choose not to express my emotions, I do have them."
"I know sir," she whispered. "I still don't understand. You are the best officer I ever served under. You made that ship a better place to be. Why would you give that up?"
"I do not want there to be any misunderstanding between us. Regardless of the anguish we have experienced over our actions that day, it was our duty to act as we did. There were no other options open to us. Nevertheless, I find the possibility that I might again be placed in a similar position at some point in the future to be intolerable."
"Anguish sir? Isn't that another feeling?"
"Indeed."
"I'm not understanding you too good sir. You say that we were doing our duty, and yet you feel bad about it. So bad that you are giving up something that…well something you do very well…"
…and that I have derived considerable satisfaction from," he finished, tilting his head slightly and looking directly at her. "My decision is not based on how I feel, Ms. Baeill. As I just stated, we had an obligation to our shipmates that compelled us to take measures that we would normally find unacceptable. It is only logical for me to take steps to ensure that I never again find myself in such a situation."
"It seems to be sir, that however you fancy up the reasons, your decision is still an emotional one."
"Perhaps so Petty Officer," he granted, after a few seconds of silence. "However you might disagree with my action, I at least have accepted what occurred on the Valiant. Something you have taken extraordinary steps to avoid."
"You have no right!" She retorted, springing up to stand before him, fists firmly planted on her hips.
"Your failure to report as ordered to Hibernia. Your refusal to inform anyone of this decision, most especially your Aunt, whom you have worried for no good reason. The reckless behavior you were exhibiting when I found you. I submit that these actions constitute avoidance."
"They were going to give me a medal," she snarled, and then started to pace back and forth across the small room.
"A medal?" He echoed in confusion.
"That's right! A bleedin award for what happened on the Valiant!"
"I do not understand," he stated, profoundly disturbed by the notion. "Starfleet has not yet released…"
"Twas not the fleet sir, it was my fecking uncle, the Honorable Altan Tallon."
"Your uncle is the Chief Magistrate of Hibernia?"
"Ha! Chief drunk of Hibernia is more the like."
"How did he become aware of your situation?"
"I don't know sir. He sent me a message that caught up to me at Rigel. They were going to have a parade sir! He wanted me to give a damned speech! I just couldn't face it."
"Indeed. Under the circumstances I find that quite understandable."
She stopped her back and forth movements, but would not face him. "I thought about going to Risa, but then I remembered that Alice was stationed on Terra, and I sent her a message. She offered me a place to stay, so I took ship on a small freighter out of Rigel. That's when the horrid dreams started. Most nights I woke to their screams in my head. Got so bad I didn't want to sleep at all."
Spock considered what she had told him. In the light of her uncle's thoughtless attempt to 'honor' something he was certain she wished not to dwell on, he could well understand her desire to flee. Given similar circumstances, he may well have followed a similar course of action. This talk of nightmares was unsettling. From what little he knew of human psychology, it was a strong indicator the trauma of her experience on the Valiant was severely effecting her.
"Ms. Baeill, why have you not approached your aunt concerning this?"
"I just couldn't face her," she groaned. "I know, it's stupid…I know she would understand what we had to do…I guess I'm just afraid…" Her voice broke and her hand went to her face, wiping away her tears.
"I find that I am in an identical sea going vessel. I have avoided explaining what happened on the Valiant to either Chief Floinn or Captain Pike. I am convinced that was an error on my part, one that I intend to remedy now. Moreover, I believe that you should do the same."
She smiled at the first part of his statement, but that quickly changed to a frown when he was finished. "I don't think I could do that sir."
"You misunderstand me Petty Officer. What I am proposing is that we inform them together."
She sat heavily on the bed near him, still looking away. "I suppose that does make sense, seeing that it is our story to tell. Only thing is, I'd very much prefer if you did the talking sir."
"That is acceptable Ms. Baeill."
Then she did look at him, with an expression that he could only characterize as relief. How curious that inwardly he was experiencing the same emotion. Then she stood up and retrieved the drink he had placed on the table. After she had gulped it down, she nodded.
They found The Chief and Captain Pike in the kitchen having a discussion concerning his new appointment as Provost of Starfleet Academy. Perhaps discussion was the wrong word, as only Chief Floinn was talking. Actually, talking was not a completely accurate description. In fact, she appeared to be shouting had him. Apparently, she was displeased with the Captain's new career choice.
"…and if ye think I am going agree to be your secretary so ye can play Yoda to spoiled, immature cadets then ye have truly lost whatever good sense ye had left…sir"
Pike spotted them first, looking relieved at his rescue. "Spock…Petty Officer, what can we do for you?"
"We have something we wish to discuss. However before we begin, I think Ms. Baeill could use another alcoholic beverage, while I would very much like a mug of hot chocolate."
Pike looked dumbfounded, while the Chief shook her head and laughed. Several minutes later found them seated in the Chief's parlor, drinks in hand. Ms. Baeill fidgeted nervously, while the Chief and Captain were quiet, but curious.
"Petty Officer Baeill and I have agreed that as our friends and former shipmates, you deserve to hear of what transpired on the Valiant from us, rather then reading it from a Starfleet report. Christopher…Muirne, I also wish to apologize for not informing you of this earlier."
"Spock…isn't this classified?"
"Technically yes Captain. However, Admiral Nogura has indicated to me that most of what occurred will be made public in the next day or so."
"There is no blame to be had for not wanting to tell us something ye could not talk about sir."
"In point of fact Chief, information about the Valiant was restricted merely as a convenience to the Admiralty."
"Why would they do that sir?"
"To avoid explaining to Federation officials that they do not know how one of their ships was destroyed. Though I recognized that their concerns were purely political, I was content to use them as an excuse to avoid telling you what had occurred."
"Spock…Aileen, you know that we trust you," Pike stated, looking first at him, then at Ms. Baeill. "Whatever you have to tell us, that's not going to change."
"Enough of this evasiveness sir," the Chief spoke up, looking at Spock. "I would very much appreciate that ye would simply trust us and say what ye have to say."
Spock nodded, then finished the rest of his hot chocolate, wishing he had thought to ask for another. Putting the mug aside, he began his account of the last minutes of Valiant in a clear steady monotone. Is was the manner of speech he greatly preferred, even if it was not reflective of his true feelings concerning what had taken place…
…he shouted her name again, but heard no response. It was intolerable that he was trapped and powerless while his shipmates were in mortal peril. The violent movement of the ship abruptly ceased, and Spock listened carefully for any sound. There was another moan, louder this time, which was followed by retching noises and the smell of gastric regurgitation. Petty Officer Baeill was vomiting.
"Ms. Baeill," he shouted once more, alarmed at her distress. There was no answer at first, only an anguished cry followed by the sound of approaching footsteps.
"Sir?! My God Commander," she finally responded, in a thin wavering voice. A moment later felt the touch of her hand upon his knee.
"You're bleeding sir," she croaked, her voice cracking with emotion.
"A fact I am well aware of Petty Officer," he retorted, trying to project a calm that he did not possess. "I am not seriously injured. Call damage control and inform them of our circumstances."
"Sorry sir, we don't have time for that," she interrupted in a less agitated voice. "Besides, it's not bloody likely that they'll be sending us any help. I know what those alarms mean."
"If you are cognizant of an alternative method that would free me now would be…Petty Officer, what are you doing?" Looking down his body, he could see her hands gripping the edge of the cabinet near his right leg.
"I order you to desist Aileen," he demanded, apprehensive of what she was about to attempt. While she was physically stronger then anyone on the ship excepting himself, he was highly doubtful that she could lift the weight that pinned him without suffering injury.
"There isn't time to do anything else sir. Be ready to move. I won't be able to hold it up for long."
Before he could say anything more there was a loud grunt and the pressure on his legs was gone. With agonizing slowness the heavy metal prison moved upward several inches. Spock attempted to wriggle out, but there still wasn't enough clearance.
"Fecking culchie son of a bitch!" She screamed, and the cabinet jerked up, giving him enough space to slide down and hold it up himself. With a groan she let go, then slipped a metal stool under the edge, allowing Spock squirm the rest of the way out.
As he had observed earlier, both of his legs were bleeding, and when he scrambled to a standing position, he experienced intense discomfort in his right leg. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on the offending limb, and determined with a high degree of certainty that it was a hairline fracture of his femur. Petty Officer Baeill's condition appeared to problematic as well. The left side of her head was smeared with blood, which had dripped down to stain her uniform. She was still kneeling, with her forehead pressed against the cool metal of the cabinet, her eyes tightly closed. Wordlessly he extended his hand, brushing against her shoulder and with a nod she took it, and he pulled her up. His normally formidable mental shields were not adequate to the challenge of completely blocking the maelstrom of Ms. Baeill's emotional turmoil.
Faint impressions of confusion and pain seeped through the tenuous link that had formed the moment their hands clasped. There was also a powerful sense of relief that he was not seriously injured. A brief examination of her eyes, which were dilated and unfocused, confirmed what he already suspected. There was a high probability that Petty Officer Baeill had suffered a concussion. Carefully he guided her over to one of the work benches, ignoring the throbbing pain he felt with each step.
When she was seated, he did what little he could to treat her, cleaning the head wound and closing it with a thin strip of dermaplast. Then he sat next to her, rolling up his trousers to examine his own injury. While painful, the bleeding had nearly stopped. He decided to forgo treatment for himself. There was precious little time to deal with extraneous concerns. That ominous drone of the main drive vibrating through the Valiant's damaged hull was escalating in severity. He used the wall mounted intercom to hail Engineering, and received no reply.
For the moment, Spock had no choice but to assume that there was no one available (or alive) who could deal with the situation. He turned his gaze on Petty Officer Baeill. Her condition did not appear to be promising. Her head was lowered nearly to her knees, with eyes tightly shut. Under ordinary circumstances she would be in sick bay, but that was not a viable option. He was in no position to dispense with her assistance. There were too many variables, too many difficulties he could not anticipate. He also knew from past experience that she had the will to continue on regardless of physical infirmity.
"Petty Officer," he asked in a calm voice, "are you able to function?"
Her head jerked up and she nodded. "Yes sir. It's just a bump on my noggin. My head hurts like the devil, but I can make it."
"It is essential that we gain access to Engineering. That sound is a strong indication the warp engines or out of balance. There is very little time available to us."
"Well sir, there isn't a chance in hell that I won't be going with you!" She exclaimed, springing off the bench.
"Excellent. Please gather what equipment you can find Petty Officer."
He took a tricorder from one the lockers and activated it. There were nodes throughout the ship that could be used to establish a link with the main computer. He cycled through them without success. He was however, able to hack into the ship's sensor net, which provided some of the data he needed. One of the magnetic plasma conduits was no longer functional. This failure should have triggered a hard shutdown of the warp core, but that had obviously not occurred. Unless the situation was remedied, the energy build up would eventually lead to an uncontrolled matter/antimatter reaction. Petty Officer Baeill appeared before him with an arm load of equipment, which included two hazardous materials suits. He looked up at her, left eyebrow raised.
"Not really as good as a rad suit, but they might keep us from glowing in the dark sir."
Quite logical under the present conditions. Hazardous levels of radiation on the Engineering deck were a distinct possibility. Working quickly, they donned the protective gear and split the equipment Ms. Baeill had procured. There was a pry bar, several spare power cells, and a phase torch, along with a bundle of cable that she had looped around her shoulder. They would check the Jeffries tube first.
It was only a short walk from the their current position, which to his consternation Spock found difficult to complete. With every step, the sharp pain in his leg increased in intensity. Upon reaching their goal, he scanned the narrow tunnel with his tricorder and found that it was sealed at the other end. Further readings revealed that the deck below had lost all atmospheric pressure. Using the tricorder, he consulted the ships sensor net. While the turbo lifts were inoperable, the shafts could provide a possible means to reach their objective. Shaft number two was the closest. He relayed the information to Petty Officer Baeill and they started for the lift. He managed five steps before his leg buckled. Fortunately, she was close enough to restrain him from falling on his face.
"When were you going to tell me about that leg sir?" She demanded, sliding an arm around his waist despite his protestation that it was not necessary. "Begging your pardon Commander, but if you don't want to be crawling to Engineering, I respectfully suggest that you shut your yap and grab my shoulder." Thanks to her strength and his agility, they were able to make their way to the lift doors with little loss of time. It was there that they found the first body.
Petty Officer Jiang was lying on her back, the left side of her head covered with blood. While he reclined against a wall, Ms. Baeill checked for a pulse, then slowly shook her head. It was regrettable. Ms. Jiang had been nearly as skillful in the teaching of her native language as she had been in maintaining the ships food processors. She had been a exemplary shipmate. Taking up his PADD, he jacked into the lift controls and entered the emergency code. The doors slid slowly open, revealing the dark maw of the turbo shaft. There was a ladder used for maintenance located within a narrow recess just to the right of the door. He started to edge his way toward it, but Petty Officer Baeill grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
"Sir, your leg. I think it would be better if…"
A low rumbling suddenly emanated from above, followed moments later by a loud explosion. The turbo lift doors three decks above were blasted into the shaft, along other metallic debris and the dismembered remains of several crew members. They quickly recoiled from the opening to avoid the grotesque rain of wreckage. The ship shuddered violently, throwing them off balance, with Spock crashing into Baeill, knocking them both off their feet. As they hit the deck the Valiant began to list, tilting in the direction of the open shaft. Before either of them could react the angle became so severe that they found themselves sliding toward the open door. Reaching out with his right hand, he managed to hook his fingers around the beveled lip of the open doorway, while he kicked out with his legs, trying to block her from slipping past him and over edge. The resulting collision nearly caused him to lose his grip, and then she was rolling over his leg, grasping at anything she could lay hold of to keep from going down that dark hole. Just as she pushed his lower body over the edge, he snapped his legs together, trapping her between them, while twisting himself around, left arm grasping for the edge of the door. His body snapped taut, muscles rigid, the fingers of both hands bearing their combined weight, briefly stunned by the agony of his injured leg. For a long moment they hung in space, and then the tilt of the ship reversed itself slowly, rolling back to an even keel.
"Climb over me!" Spock shouted into his mike.
A hand came up, grasping his hip, and with a loud grunt she pulled herself up, easing the pressure on his legs. Then it was up to his shoulder, followed quickly by a tight grip on his arm and she was over him, pulling him back to safety after her. Another explosion rocked the ship, this time from below. Glancing down the shaft, Spock could see flames dancing along the roof of a disabled turbo car three decks below, blocking any possibility of gaining access to Engineering. The only viable alternative was Auxiliary Control, which was located three levels up, on the same deck which had suffered an explosion of it's own less then a minute ago. Spock looked up and observed a fine white mist billowing out of the ragged rupture nearly forty meters up. A quick tricorder scan detected a mixture of plasma coolant and frozen carbon dioxide. Which meant…
ALERT! COOLANT FAILURE IN WARP CORE! ALERT! COOLANT FAILURE IN WARP CORE!
The warning claxon blared, and the rolling motion of the ship increase once in severity again. "Jesus bloody Christ," Baeill swore, looking down at the inferno below. "We've got to get to the fecking…"
"Engineering is no longer a possibility," he barked, cutting her off. "Auxiliary Control is our best alternative. We will be able to override the warp reactor from that location."
"That's plasma coolant sir!" She screamed, gesturing toward the milky white mist floating down from above. "Temperature minus 200 degrees Celsius. One of the conduits runs the length of that deck!"
"The ladder Petty Officer, time is a precious commodity," he ordered cutting her off, his voice devoid of inflection.
Hand over hand they scurried up the rungs toward their goal. The noise of the alarms and the repeating alert drowned out everything else. About half way up, they entered the white fog slowly creeping down the shaft. Spock immediately experienced a drastic loss of bodily warmth. While the hazardous materials suit offered protection from the corrosive effects of the plasma coolant, it was not well insulated. As he progressed, his hands lost sensation and his heart rate increased dramatically, an involuntary reaction of his Vulcan physiology to extreme cold. The ship's movements became so erratic, that at times they could scarcely climb. Spock became hyper sensitive to any indication of core failure, which was wholly illogical. In the event of such an occurrence, they would never know.
As they drew closer, his discomfort became acute. Hands and feet became numb, his chest burned with every breath. Ahead of him Ms. Baeill stopped, shouting to him that they were there. The gaping hole in the wall of the turbo shaft looming just above. She carefully found a safe hand hold amongst the jagged metal that fringed the opening and pulled herself in. He followed awkwardly, his limbs stiff and slow to respond. As he extended his arm a strong hand gripped his own, pulling him from the dark hole of the shaft into a wall of white fog.
After a few steps they could scarcely see more then a foot in any direction. It was nearly impossible to navigate around the shattered remains of the deck. Broken panels from the walls and the floor were jumbled together, creating barriers that they had to climb over. Wires, conduits, and various fixture hung from the ceiling, forming a tangled mass that forced them to move in a crouch. Every step they took entailed the risk of damage to the suits, their only protection against contact with the toxic coolant. And above all these potentially deadly hazards, there was the cold.
His mind was fixated on the severity of it's debilitating impact. Heart hammering, beating at over twice the nominal rate, muscles cramping as they contracted, terrible pain in his chest and head from blood rushing to his liver and brain. Another twisted tangle of wreckage loomed out of the whiteness, blocking their way forward. He attacked the obstruction, clawing at the wreckage piled in front of him, his arms flailing uselessly.
ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! CORE BREACH IMMINENT!
The sound was deafening and inwardly he seethed over his failure. He started to slide back, but her hands were on him, holding him up. In a rage, she cursed in her native tongue, then in Standard and Klingonese for good measure. Spock was promptly shoved up and over the mound of debris, tumbling down the other side. There was a red light flashing ahead. Struggling to his knees, he crawls toward it. Her hand closed around one of his and she was pulling him behind her the last ten meters to crimson beacon. He came to a sudden stop, resting on his back, with no strength left in him. All he could do was stare as Baeill fumbled at the controls, her body shaking violently from the cold. After several seconds, she screamed, pounding on the door in her fury. The sound of her anguish jolts him from his deadly stupor. Plasma coolant. Sensors must have engaged the air lock to Auxiliary Control. One hand gropes for the tricorder, still strapped to his side. Fingers unfeeling from the cold trace the display and then he closes his eyes and slowly taps out the code from memory.
The door slides open and she quickly hauled him in. The moment the room is sealed fans kick in, drawing the toxic coolant out of the tiny room. After a long thirty seconds, the inner door opened and she half carried, half dragged him into Auxiliary Control. There are several shapes he can discern lying near the door. He thinks they might be bodies, but due to the condensation forming on his face shield, he cannot be sure.
"Sir! Please answer me! I cannot do this without you! Mr. Spock!"
"My helmet," he croaked, "remove it."
"No sir! I don't think the air is safe yet."
Almost certainly true, but irrelevant. He needed warmth, and he needed to see. "That was not a request Petty Officer," he ordered, in a firm voice.
After a second, she fumbled at the latch and cracked it off him. The heat on his skin was almost painful, or perhaps it was trace amounts of plasma coolant that still lingered. He could certainly smell it, a vile odor that nothing natural could be compared to. He would have to work quickly. Even at residual levels, it would rapidly incapacitate him. Bleary eyed and dizzy, he scans the room until he finds what he needs. Much of the main systems control panel was inoperative, but fortunately the warp coolant system still functioned. A glance at the temperature indicator tells him all he needs to know. Their time has nearly run out.
"Ms. Baeill, as my hands are not functional, I require your assistance to manipulate the controls." She nodded slowly, licking her lips. "Shut down coolant conduit one and increase pressure to the rest of the system by one hundred and twenty-five percent."
For a moment she hesitated, then with a small shake of her head her hands flew to the controls. When she was finished, they can do nothing but watch. For several seconds the numbers keep rising. She turned to look at him and when their eyes locked he felt the need to apologize. Instead, he simply nods, and they wait in silence, feeling more exhausted then anything else when the increase in temperature slows, and finally stops.
"Switch to circuit B," he ordered, and when she does more of the board lights up. "Cycle through the screens."
The data flashed before him and his mind drinks it in, calculating their options. They were not promising. Even with the temperature of the warp core stabilized, it was still generating prodigious amounts energy. With one magnetic plasma conduit not operational and the other barely operational, that power had no outlet. An engine systems failure of this magnitude should have shut down the warp core. For reasons unknown, this had not occurred, which has left him with only one alternative. Eject the warp core. He heard the panel chime which indicated an incoming message. He glanced at Baeill and she shook her head.
"Incoming message…from Engineering." The shock in her voice was clearly audible, even through the tiny speaker on her Haz Mat suit. He nodded and she flick a switch.
"This is MacPherson in Engineering. Can anyone here me up there?"
"Spock here," he responded, after stifling a cough. "What is your situation Commander?" Ms. Baeill made a motion with her hand, and the vid screen above their counsel brightened, displaying a fuzzy washed out figure of someone in a radiation suit.
"Our situation?" He retorted, his voice rising. "Why don't you take a good look at our damned situation?"
The camera slowly panned back, bringing the Engine Room into full view. Several bulkheads were deformed, and a section of the floor had buckled. The very air in the room seemed to glow with an eerie greenish light, which combined with the smoke and other gases spewing from damaged display counsels to obscure much of the view. There were a dozen other crew, also in rad suits, either clustered around the Commander or the few instruments that still functioned. Behind this group, Spock could see the transparent aluminum bulkhead that separated Engineering from the power flow glowing a sickly bluish-green. In the far corner Spock could make out several bodies piled together.
"I take it you are responsible for stabilizing the temperature," MacPherson continued on after a few seconds.
"Affirmative."
"Well I do thank you for that," the other man said, with a trace of bitterness in his voice. "Unfortunately, you have just delayed the inevitable."
"Commander, is it possible for you to restore impulse power?"
"It's a hopeless pile of slag."
"Are you certain?"
"He asked me if I'm certain," the engineer barked back. "I sent my best fusion man into the impulse reactor," he went on in a voice full of emotion. "He was wearing a rad suit,
and he didn't last thirty seconds."
A sudden fit of coughing wracked Spock's body. When he looked at the hand that he had used to cover his mouth, there were splotches of green on it. While feeling was slowly returning to his extremities, he found it increasingly difficult to draw breath.
WARNING! WARNING! WARNING! ANTI-MATTER CONTAINMENT FAILURE IMMINENT! INITIATE CORE EJECTION IMMEDIATELY!
Spock nodded to Baeill, then turned to MacPherson. "Commander, secure your people as best you can. I will…"
"NO SPOCK!" The other man shouted, waving his arms frantically. "Without impulse or warp drive, we canna get clear before the damned core blows!"
"I estimate less then one per cent chance success. I am open to alternative suggestions. However, you had best make them quickly."
"A controlled shutdown of the core. Bleed the excess energy through the impulse plasma coils, then cut off the stream of anti-matter. It's the only way."
It was an elegant solution. If the sequence were properly computed, the magnetic field could be contracted, squeezing the energy build up into a narrow stream that would be directed through the impulse plasma coils and vented into space. Spock quickly did the calculations in his head. All the variables fell into place, with one glaring exception.
"Commander, there will be .0962 percent residual energy remaining when the magnetic field collapses."
"Don't ya know I already figured that one out Spock."
"Can you evacuate?"
"If I could, we'd already be gone," he snapped. He said something on another channel that Spock couldn't make out. "Two o' my kids are cutting through the outer airlock door. Should take maybe five minutes."
It was hopeless. The ship had perhaps ninety seconds, barely enough time for him to verify the calculations. "Commander…," he began, but the older man cut him off.
"Laddie…you know what it is that has to be done. I suggest that you get to it."
"No!" Baeill shouted, very aware of what they were discussing. "Mr. Spock…Mr. Mac, there has to be…we just can't kill them…"
"Aileen…Aileen Baeill?" The engineer inquired gently.
"Yes sir," she answered softly, in a voice filled with emotion.
"Please girl, no more of that nonsense. Call me Angus."
"Angus…please, there has to be another way."
"Too right there is Allie, and it's a damned shame that there isn't the time to think of it."
Petty Officer Baeill bowed her head, crying softly. On the screen, they could see the rest of MacPherson's engineers gathering around him. The Commander closed the channel, so that he could say something to them privately. When he came back online, Spock was ready.
"Spock… Aileen, I'm sorry that you must do this. If there was any way…"
"I understand Angus," the Vulcan answered. "I salute you and your crew. You will be remembered."
Another fit of coughing took hold, leaving him doubled over and spitting blood on the floor. Ms. Baeill started to leave the her station, but he stopped her with a gesture. Then in a ragged voice he relayed the sequence of commands for her to input, saving only the last for himself. When she finished he told her to stand back. Then he painfully entered the last command with his own hand.
For several seconds nothing happened. Then the Valiant began to vibrate, an almost imperceptible movement that rapidly escalated until they could only remain standing by holding onto the control counsel. A low rumbling emanated from deep inside the vessel, followed by the high pitch whine that grew in volume until nothing else could be heard. Spock tried to monitor the sensors, but after several loud popping sounds the screens went blank and they lost contact with Engineering. She tapped his shoulder pointing toward to an alcove near the door leading out of Auxiliary Control. He nodded, and they staggered toward it, with Spock leaning on her arm for support. They had gone almost half the distance when the ship lurched upward, sending them both tumbling through the air to slam into a nearby wall. He heard a groan from Ms. Baeill and tried to turn his head to observe her, but his body refused to cooperate. There was a roar like thunder, followed by another vicious jerk and then the ship was still.
With a supreme act of will, he managed to roll over. She was less then five feet way, her body crumpled against the wall. He called her name, but his voice came out a whisper the even he could barely hear. With agonizing slowness, he pulled his body across the deck until he was next to her. Laying his head on her chest, he could feel the slight rise and fall that signified respiration. It was enough.
A/N: Thanks to everyone who is reading this. Please let me know how I'm doing, for better or worse. I enjoy hearing from you.
