Behind him, Spock heard Uhura say, "Understood, Mr Kevuthi. Bridge out." When she did not relay information to the Captain, Spock understood it was not urgent enough to disturb those immediately involved in the combat. He crossed to the communications station, and raised an eyebrow in inquiry.
"The team trapped in down near the staboard nacelle access managed to restore power," she said softly. "Ensign Duval went up the conduit for repairs. She got out before the power went on, but she's in the three two crawlway and in trouble. The only access near her location is on this level, but - " Her spread hand indicated the urgency of the bridge crew's current tasks, and at that moment an impact rocked the ship.
Spock steadied himself on the back of her chair. "I am not needed here at the moment." he said. "Reassure Mr Kevuthi that I will assist Ms Duval."
As she said "Yes, sir," he turned and strode from the bridge.
It was fortunate that Ms Duval had managed to climb to a position close to the access, and was clinging to the handholds almost directly opposite the hatch. Spock had had doubts about the advisability of attempting to climb any distance down the crawlway to assist her with the gravity fluctuations that were currently occurring. He leaned through the access hatch and stretched towards her.
It was fortunate that Ms Duval had managed to climb to a position close to the access, and was clinging to the handholds almost directly opposite the hatch. Spock had had doubts about the advisability of attempting to climb any distance down the crawlway to assist her with the gravity fluctuations that were currently occurring. He leaned through the access hatch and stretched towards her.
"Take my hand, yeoman." he said, and it was only the unbelievable, mundane calm of his voice that enabled her to let go of the ladder with one hand and stretch out over the shaft to place it in his. "Well done. Now, you must -"
Whatever he was going to say was lost in her scream as the Enterprise snapped into a pitch and yaw manoeuvre that further stressed the inertial dampeners and her grip on the rung came loose. For an instant she hung, supported by Spock's grip and her toehold on the wall of the shaft, pawing at the ladder in an effort to take hold again and then the delicate balance gave and she fell.
Spock closed his hand on hers and locked the other around the edge of the hatch. Her whole weight plus the gravity of the manoeuvre pulled at his arm and he hit the ground hard, head and shoulders over the empty blackness of the shaft. The sinews of his arm and shoulder cracked as he struggled to keep from being pulled over the lip of the hatch. Duval's overwhelming terror roared through him and he sealed his mind to it, focusing only on the strength of his grip. Her mind was a blur of images, the conduit, Larssen sliding into the access behind her, the whomph of power turned on and horror at the woman still behind...
"Oh, god," she was sobbing, "Oh, god, oh, god..."
Spock shut off his sudden realisation that there had been two crew in the conduit, and only Duval had escaped. He did not think about the image of Corrina Larssen climbing into the crawlway behind Duval. He thought only of holding that small, sweaty hand in his and keeping hold of the edge of the hatch.
He realised he could not last much longer if the ship continued to move. Already the metal edge of the hatch had scraped the skin from his palm and his grip was growing slippery with blood. His voice only a little ragged with strain, he said:
"See if you can reach the ladder with your foot, Yeoman."
She strained for it, but could not reach, and the movement made her hand slip a little in his. Her panic was overwhelming. Spock felt it battering at his shields with the force of mindlessness, and he knew that if he let it in he would lose himself in it, would have no thought or reason but the vast fear of the dark tunnel below.
"You must be calm," he said. "Be still, Yeoman, do not struggle."
Duval kept trying to find a foothold on the walls of the tube and each effort made his grip more precarious, placed more strain on the screaming muscles of his arms and back.
"Yeoman," he said, and her hand slid again in his and he was holding her only by the most tenuous of grips. She screamed in terror and her fear came roaring at him like a star gone nova.
Later he would know that his reaction was the only logical one, the one he would have chosen had he time to consider his actions and chose the best option available to him, but at the time he did not think. Out of sheer instinctive self-preservation he reached out his mind, the driving force of his will and absence of any thought in Duval's mind making it possible to form for an instant a link. As his shields began to crumble under the force of her terror he touched her consciousness and pinched it out.
The sudden inner silence was like deafness. Duval hung by his precarious hold on her fingers, head down, completely limp.
The Enterprise seemed to be running steady at the moment, and Spock took the chance that provided. He let go of the edge of the hatch and reached down to get hold of Duval's arm before his grip on her fingers gave. Her head lolled as he pulled her up, getting her over the edge of the hatch with more haste than gentleness and getting the hatch cover safely sealed as a precaution against further manoeuvres before he turned to her.
She was breathing. He touched her face and felt the life within her -
unconscious. Not dead. Not damaged. That was gratifying.
His right hand was bleeding from the lip of the hatch. It would be informative, he thought, to ascertain at a later time what the inertial force had been during those manoeuvres, to calculate more precisely the limits of his strength.
Spock went to the comm. and keyed for the bridge.
"Sir," Uhura said, "We've outrun them. We're running stable for the moment."
"Yeoman Duval requires medical attention." he said. "Unless I am needed on the bridge, I will take her to sickbay."
"Spock," another voice cut in, a familiar one. "I'm on my way there myself. McCoy wants me down there, there's a coolant case - bad -" Kirk paused slightly. "I'm on my way. I'll hold the lift at two for you."
"Understood, Captain. Spock out."
Before he bent to lift Duval, he touched another combination of keys.
"Computer, whereabouts of Lieutenant Larssen?"
"Unknown."
"Computer, local comm. units keyed to ID of Lieutenant Larssen."
"Local comm. 32 engineering."
"Computer whereabouts of comm. 32 engineering?"
It seemed to take the computer longer than usual to respond, and when it did the electronic voice seemed slower. "That comm. is not operational." the computer said with regret.
Spock stood still.
Master your emotions, lest they master you, his father's voice said.
He wondered if Larssen had appreciated the irony of her survival of the rigours of ice of Ser Etta Five, only to die in fire aboad the ship. Had she had time to consider it? Or had she believed, to the last moment, that she too would survive? Spock was not sure which to hope for. He himself would prefer to have at least a short time to prepare for death, but Larssen had been herself, and perhaps she would have wanted to be taken quickly, unaware. Spock hoped merely that whichever she had sought had been the end meted out to her.
Spock stooped to raise Yeoman Duval in his arms, his back protesting. He ignored it. The pain was of no significance. He had duties to attend to.
Kirk looked around the bridge. Despite the burns and bruises she had got working under her console to restore intraship while the ship lurched through Sulu's crazy manoeuvres, Uhura was working steadily, patching through requests for help and damage reports and casualty lists. Sulu sat back in his seat, his shirt soaked with sweat, while Chekov monitored the sensors as if not entirely convinced the enemy was gone.
"Mr Chekov, you have the conn." Kirk said, and turned to Uhura. "Ms Uhura, can you hold on there until Mr Mahese gets here?"
"Yes, captain." she said. "This looks worse than it is."
Kirk doubted her, but her job was crucial at the moment. "I'll send medical up here as soon as they've got time," he told her, "and you can tell Mr Mahese from me that he's to hurry."
"Thank you." she said, and smiled.
When the lift stopped on two, Spock was already waiting. He stepped in,
impassive, as if an unconscious crewmember was no more significant than a piece of equipment that needed to be transported.
"Is she - will she be -"
"She will recover completely, Captain." Spock said. "Her lack of consciousness is not the result of physical trauma." And he looked straight ahead at the turbolift wall, discouraging further questions.
At sickbay, Kirk stood back to let Spock enter first. Lia Burke met him at the door, directed him to place Duval on a biobed, listened to something he told her and nodded. As Kirk stepped through the door Spock was straightening,
turning back to the door to fall in to his usual place behind his captain's shoulder. Kirk took another step, and noticed three things. He would later remember noticing them, clearly, precisely, because they were the last things that happened before - before ...
One. A crewmember in an engineering uniform on a diagnostic bed who had obviously been caught in a coolant leak, so burned it was impossible to tell what species ze was, let alone make an identification.
Two. Spock hesitating slightly as they went through the door, so that Kirk felt a slight space opening between them, just a little more than the usual distance when Spock was with him.
Three. A tall woman in science blue, lieutenant j-g pips on the collar, a mass of brown hair coming loose and bubbling burns on face and hands. Christine Chapel spraying something on them.
And then -
"Sir, we've accounted for all missing except for Ann Ridley."
It was an engineering crew member talking to Scotty, who sat by the figure on the bed. Yeoman Darcy, Kirk though her name was, Yeoman Mary Darcy, and he tried to remember when she'd come aboard, when he'd last seen her, because if he concentrated on trying to remember he wouldn't understand what she'd said,
wouldn't understand the way that Scotty closed his eyes at her words, wouldn't understand why no-one moved or spoke or turned to him to explain -
Spock was close behind him again now, so close Kirk could feel the higher body temperature of the Vulcan like radiant heat against his back.
"Try the starboard nacelle conduit." said the woman with the burned face and hands, and her voice was steady and calm. Larssen, Kirk identified, Lieutenant (junior grade) Corrina Larssen, he knew that voice, and where had coolant leaked that science personnel would be in the way of it, where had - the nacelle conduit -
"Jim."
Spock had him by the elbow, and for a moment Kirk thought he would fall despite that inhumanly strong grip. Then there was a chair behind him, and Bones' hand on his shoulder, pressing him down. Kirk sat.
"What-" he said, and cleared his throat, "what -"
"There was an overload blow out when containment went on that side." Scotty said. "I'm aye sorry, captain. The wee professor was with Duval gettin' the power back for us."
"What-" There were so many questions he had to ask. "What was *she* doing fixing it?"
"She was small enough." Larssen said. "It's narrow up there. I sent her and Duval because they were small enough."
"I'm aye sorry, captain." Scotty said again, a terrible grief in his voice. "We had tae hae power. We *had* to. She said she was clear but I knew she wasn't, sir, but we had tae hae the power. I'm aye sorry. I'm aye sorry."
Kirk looked at him, and then at Larssen, who held herself as if waiting for a blow. I killed her, captain, she had been saying, and Scotty too. We killed her, captain, they said, and waited for the blame.
"I see." Kirk said at last, when he had his voice under control. "I know that you wouldn't have - I know that you both did what you had to." It was very hard to say, but he knew that somewhere, on the other side of this greyness that had engulfed him, he would know that it was the truth. He wanted to blame them, hell, he *did* blame them, but at the same time he knew that it wasn't fair to do so. He did not have the luxury of giving in to the selfish impulse to hurt them for what they'd done.
He was their captain, they were his people. That sounds so simple, he thought wildly, and it's so hard.
"I know that you did what was necessary." he said, and saw across a great distance that Larssen closed her eyes and lowered her head as if receiving a benediction.
An absolution.
Kirk got to his feet and walked to the diagnostic bed. His legs held him; his hand was steady when he laid it on the shoulder of the figure on the bed. "Mr Alspe?" he said. "This is your captain. We're out of danger. You did it." Then, aside to McCoy, "Can he hear me?"
"Hear - c'tain." Alpse responded for himself.
Kirk bent closer to the ruined face. "Well done, Mr Alpse." he said. "The ship owes you her life, and the lives of all aboard."
"Starfleet..." Alpse whispered. "that's ... job d'sc'ption."
McCoy laid his hand over Kirk's, and Kirk realised that Alpse wouldn't speak again.
He straightened slowly, looked up and saw Larssen still looking at him. There was no way to read an expression on that scorched visage, in those bloodshot eyes. You killed Ann, he couldn't help thinking, but he could certainly prevent the thought showing. He reached out, touched Larssen's arm gently. "You did your job." he told her, and smiled.
"Thank you, sir." Larssen said. She watched him leave, Spock beside him like his shadow, and she couldn't tell where the pain from her burns ended and the pain in her heart started. *That* was the captain. *That* was the yardstick.
She would have killed for him then: or died, if he'd so much as asked.
"Come on." Christine Chapel said to her gently. "Come and sit down. Let's get you looked at."
Larssen went with her, allowed herself to be moved and treated and made to lie down. Her body felt distant from her, a strange source of pain and weariness. Her vision blurred and greyed as McCoy sprayed something in her eyes. The last thing she saw was the doctor's tired face, his keen eyes sad. Did you see that? she wanted to ask him. Did you see him? He's the *captain*.
A hypospray hissed against her neck.
Sleep took her down.