A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed-you brighten my day! :-) And thank you to everyone who has been reading ... please let me know if you're enjoying it!
Dena VII was a gray, drab chunk of rock orbiting a medium-sized gas giant of equally drab coloring. The appearance of neither the planet nor its moon had any bearing on their current assignment; however, Spock noted the lack of aesthetics and cataloged it in his brain along with the other facts he had discovered during mission preparation that were perhaps of interest, but also irrelevant. He began initial scans of the pertinent area as it rotated into view, listening as Uhura contacted the mining authorities and Kirk requested an up-to-date report.
"There are definitely people alive down there, Captain. We haven't been able to contact them, but we don't know if that's because of interference from the dilasantium or if their communicators were damaged. We haven't had any success with getting any closer them, either. Every time we try to begin any kind of dig, we get tremors, and we don't know what that's doing beneath the surface—it might be holding up, but it also might be bringing the entire thing down on top of them."
"Don't make any further attempts," Kirk instructed shortly. Spock reviewed the exchange in an effort to determine what had irritated the captain, and found himself at a loss. Still, Kirk had been in general quicker to annoyance in the months since McCoy's death—nothing worrisome, M'Benga had assured him when he had approached the assistant CMO with his concerns, but simply a period of adjustment to the loss of a friend and adviser. So, it was simply something to be waited out. It would, however, be … gratifying when that particular adjustment mechanism had passed. "I'll be down in ten minutes with my science officer and my chief engineer to assess the situation for ourselves."
"Thank you, Captain. My assistant is transmitting the beam-in coordinates now."
Kirk twisted around to Uhura, who concentrated for a moment and then nodded. "I have them, Captain. Sending them to the transporter room now."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." The captain returned his attention to the screen. "We'll be down shortly, Chief Dryson."
"We'll be waiting, Captain."
The screen went blank, and Kirk turned on Spock. "Communications, too? Is this mineral impervious to everything but a pickaxe, Mr. Spock?"
"So it would seem, Captain." Spock finished his scan and straightened. "The scanner modifications appear to have yielded only minor improvements to the miners' own scans. However, I am able to confirm at least seventeen life signs in the collapsed tunnels. I am also able to confirm the presence of triane gas in the area, although not its concentrations. It is likely the triane which was responsible for the explosion."
"Triane?"
"A relative of methane. The composition varies by—"
"Never mind, Mr. Spock." Kirk shook his head, and a hint of a grin quirked one corner of his mouth. "As long as you know what you're talking about."
Spock folded his hands behind his back and raised an eyebrow. "Always, sir."
Kirk's grin widened. "Of course. I wouldn't expect any less."
"Of course."
Kirk shook his head, then nodded toward the turbo lift. "Shall we, Mr. Spock?"
"Indeed, Captain."
He followed the captain toward the lift, halting when Kirk swung toward Uhura. "Lieutenant, I want you to set up a continuous monitor of all channels for any communications originating in this sector while we're in orbit. Anything that comes across, record and log. There's been no trouble reported with the Chareni, but given that our last dealings were not entirely friendly, I don't want to take the chance that they'll decided to take exception to the presence of a starship in the area and try to start something. If they head this way, I want to know about it."
Uhura nodded, already beginning adjustments to the communications panel. "Aye, sir."
Kirk and Spock entered the turbo lift, and in short order were materializing with Scott in Greg Dryson's office. The chief of the Dena VII mining colony stepped forward to meet them. "We're glad you've come. We're running out of time before we have to start making the tough decisions, and we've had little to no forward motion on our end during the last twenty-four hours."
"Well, we'll have to see if we can change that." Kirk shook the proffered hand, and gestured toward the office door. "I see no reason to delay. Can you take us to the site?"
"Of course, Captain. This way."
Two lifts and a mining tram brought them to the southern section of the mine. They walked the last tunnel, and finally came upon a large group of miners and heavy equipment gathered near a dark flood of rock and dirt that blocked any further progress. Spotlights brightened the entire area, and most of the equipment idled, but the miners themselves were seated on boulders and gear and the tunnel floor. They rose and converged upon the Starfleet men as they approached.
"Quiet!" Dryson called over the general clamor, and the shouting and questions slowly died away. Dryson scanned the group, and indicated a man near the rear. "Jenning!" Jenning pushed his way to the fore, and Dryson rapped out quick introductions. "Commander Spock and Lieutenant Commander Scott are the science officer and the chief engineer of the Enterprise. Take them through what we've managed to this point."
"It's not much," Jenning sighed, pushing his way back through the pack of miners with Spock and Scott in tow. And indeed, when he had finished with the brief, Spock was forced to agree. Other than a vague idea of how far the slide extended from their position, it was not, in fact, much. He removed his modified tricorder and began to take readings. Jenning watched avidly, and from a position rather too near to Spock's left shoulder. "Can that thing really read all the way through the slide, Commander?"
"Indeed," Spock murmured, stepping away to continue his scans. "This instrument is more sophisticated than any scanning equipment you posses in this colony." He made a minute adjustment. "With the possible exception of your platinum locators."
"Do you think I could have a go?"
"Unfortunately, as Chief Dryson has noted, we are short on time. Your inexperience would only delay our work."
No reply was immediately forthcoming, and Spock continued on down the length of the slide until Kirk's soft voice sounded near his other shoulder. "I don't think you're making any friends, Mr. Spock."
Spock looked up and around, locating Jenning with a group of other miners who appeared to be muttering and staring his direction. He reviewed his interaction with the man briefly, and found no flaw in his response. "His desire to 'have a go' would have been detrimental to our overall timeline. I was unaware that that our purpose here was to make friends, Captain."
"What about just aiming for not giving the impression that that computer you keep inside your skull has no time or use for the rest of us, Mr. Spock? Would that be too much for you?"
He ignored that.
Kirk chuckled, and motioned to the tricorder. "What have you found?"
"Possibilities, sir." He called for Scott, who rose from his inspection of the slide itself and joined them. "I have confirmed the miners' estimates regarding the extent of the slide—it appears to be roughly sixty-seven feet at its widest point."
"Roughly sixty-seven feet, Mr. Spock?" The captain folded his arms.
"Yes, Captain."
Kirk's eyebrows drew together. "You can't be … more specific?"
Spock paused, and glanced down at his tricorder. "I agree that it is a crude estimate, Caption. However, given the dilasantium involved, a more accurate scan is—"
"Never mind, Spock." Kirk seemed to be suppressing a laugh, and when Spock looked at Scott, the engineer was just turning around to cough vigorously into his elbow. It was possible that they were teasing him, although he wasn't certain he understood the purpose or found the timing appropriate. Decimal points mattered—it was a fact that had been proven to him time and again. It was foolish to venture out into space using only whole numbers. He hesitated again, and decided to simply move on without addressing the issue.
"The slide is roughly sixty-seven feet at its widest point, and considerably less in some places."
"Aye." Scott shook his head. "Fer all the good it'll do us. She's completely unstable, Captain. Move one rock and ya'll get ten or twenty more fallin' down around ya. There's nae diggin' through it from here, sir. Nae wi' what we got and at the angle we're workin' with."
"Hmm." Kirk chewed on his lower lip for a moment, then looked back to Spock. "You said possibilities, Mr. Spock?"
"Aye, sir. Although I was unable to scan for any distance beyond the slide, it would seem that the triane levels immediately on the other side are negligible. Using the Enterprise's phasers, it may be possible to drill through the outer crust at a point just inside the sealed area. Leaving a two to three foot rock 'cushion,' as it were, between the phaser burst and the inner tunnel, and considering the low triane levels, the probability of igniting the gas with the phasers is low."
"Low?"
"Approximately six hundred thirty-eight to one."
"Approximately." Kirk grimaced, eyeing the mound of jumbled rock behind them. "And what would be the purpose of this hole we'd be drilling? Could we be beam the miners out, without so much material to go through?"
"I wouldna advise it, sir."
"Agreed. Even given the transporter modifications, such an attempt may prove risky. However, it is quite possible that a lack of solid dilasantium-based rock between the Enterprise and the affected area, even in such small circumference as would be provided by a phaser burst, would allow supplies and equipment to be transported through. Assuming at least some of the miners inside are still functional, we may be able to communicate with them and to learn more about the situation inside the sealed area."
Kirk nodded slowly. "That sounds promising. Mr. Scott, we'd need to be exactly accurate—there's not any room for error. Can the phasers handle something this delicate?"
"Oh, aye, Captain." Scott appeared offended by the inquiry, as was his usual wont when the abilities of his ship seemed to be in question. "If I canna do somethin' as simple as drillin' a hole in the ground, I dinna deserve ta be on the Enterprise, or any other starship."
The task was by no means simple—in fact, it presented any number of complexities. This was apparently yet another instance of Mr. Scott's tendency to exaggerate the simplicity and/or complexity of tasks, as befitted his estimation of the situation at hand. Still, given that he had no doubts regarding Scott's ability to accomplish said task, Spock chose not to raise the issue of the oversimplification presented by the chief engineer.
"Of course." Kirk frowned for a moment, deep in thought, and then nodded. "Very well, gentlemen. As this seems to be our best bet for the moment, let's do it. You two get back up to the ship and get started, I'll let Dryson know what it is we're doing."
By the time that Kirk had convinced Dryson of the necessity of their plan, Scott had finished the required adjustments to the phasers and Spock had modified a number of tricorders and communicators for transport. Kirk was muttering beneath his breath when he returned to the Enterprise.
"Man is awfully cautious for someone with no other options." The captain shook his head, and punched the wall comm. "Mr. Scott? Are we ready?"
"Aye, sir. Ready and waitin'."
"Proceed."
"Aye, sir."
The actual drilling lasted for 46.3 seconds. Another twenty passed in silence while, Spock assumed, Scott confirmed his readings, and then the engineer's voice snapped through the comm.
"Done, sir. Mr. Spock, there's … three and a half feet of rock between our tunnel and the sealed-in section."
"Very well, Mr. Scott." Spock made the necessary adjustments to the transporters, and activated the controls. The stack of modified equipment on the transporter pads shimmered and faded from view. Kirk hovered near the transporter controls.
"Well, Mr. Spock?" he finally asked, approximately 7.3 seconds after Spock had expected the question. "Did it work? Were you able to get the equipment through?"
Spock completed his readings. "Controls indicate a completed transport, Captain. Given the somewhat tenuous accuracy of our equipment when dealing with dilasantium, I cannot—"
"This is Captain James Kirk of the Enterprise." Kirk hit the comm button and was speaking before he could finish. Spock tilted his head, waiting. Transporter controls were all well and good, but too many variables factored into this equation—the condition of the miners, the condition of the equipment they had just beamed down, the success of his modifications to said equipment … "This is Kirk, from the Enterprise. Will anyone hearing this transmission please respond?" They waited for long, silent minutes, and Kirk tried again. "This is Kirk, from the Enterprise. Anyone receiving this message, please respond."
Another long pause followed the attempt. Kirk shook his head.
"What happened, Mr. Spock?"
Spock reviewed the transporter controls, and his readings. "Impossible to say with any certainty, sir. A combination of factors prohibit—"
Crackling static cut him off, and then a voice, faint but firm, surged through the open comm channel.
"Enterprise? Captain Kirk? This is David Galloway, crew chief. Are we ever glad to hear your voice!"
He was dozing, the most he ever really managed in the dim blue lighting, when the sound of bolts scraping open jolted him awake. Usually, UyaVeth warned him. McCoy clawed his way out from under the thin blanket, too intent on putting up a defensive front to note that the single slim figure which slipped inside bore no resemblance to the tall, bulky Supervisor. He was nearly to his feet when he recognized T'Pana, who had stopped near one of the tables and was taking in his laboratory with her usual raking glance. Her gaze was flat as he approached.
"It is little wonder that you are hypothermic. The Chareni have much for which to answer."
"What are you …" He stopped, utterly baffled. "What are you doing here?"
"An agreement was reached more quickly than we imagined, and the time to act was either now, or weeks from now. There was no time to alert you—we were forced to simply obtain you on our way."
McCoy rubbed his hands briskly and blew on his fingers, his usual routine to restore circulation after waking. "How long has it been?"
T'Pana's eyes flitted around the lab again. "Two nights. This is the third."
"Huh." McCoy squinted toward the doorway. "In a hurry, are they?"
"Indeed." Her voice was dry, but he knew Vulcan humor, and this was not it. "Do not trust him, McCoy." She spoke so softly that he was forced to lean in to hear her. "He may have agreed to this, but he is hiding something. He has some other agenda. Be vigilant."
He nodded, biting off his response when another figure loomed in the doorway. The man was a member of an underground group out to kill thousands and destroy the Chareni way of life—of course he was hiding something. Vigilance went without saying.
Still, he appreciated the warning.
"Come, quickly!"
And speaking of … McCoy eyed the tall, hairy figure. He wasn't certain what to expect, but Chiya seemed much like every other Chareni of his—admittedly limited—acquaintance. He was tall and broad, with charcoal gray coloring. His mane of hair was maybe longer than others McCoy had seen, but he had no way to judge the significance, or even if there was any. He wore the simple guard's uniform, of course, with its insignia pendant on the shoulder. His gait was the most noticeable difference—smoother, less brazen. Whatever his intentions now, this was not someone accustomed to open bullying with either weapons or authority. The dark eyes bored into McCoy as he stepped into the hallway.
"So. You are the human."
"I am." McCoy met the Chareni's gaze for a brief instant, long enough to telegraph that he had no intention of being intimidated, then looked away, scanning the hall. It would be just their luck to be caught before they ever even got started.
"No one will find us." Chiya pushed back into his field of vision. "My partner for this night is … indisposed. The other pairs are patrolling their own sections, they have no reason to be in this area."
Indisposed? McCoy narrowed his eyes, but before he could speak Irrel appeared, stepping around Chiya's bulk. "You need not worry, McCoy." Her voice had not lost its subtle insult, the scorn which told louder than words what she thought of his reluctance to do the Chareni harm. He didn't care—what Irrel did or didn't think of him had, at some point, ceased to matter. "He is not dead. He will, however, find himself quite ill for the next several days."
"Fine." As long as there had been no killing or any other permanent damage, he didn't really want to know. McCoy twisted around and located Salin, standing immobile against the near wall. The young Vulcan nodded silently, and McCoy drifted toward him, eager to put some distance between himself and Chiya. He took in the last section of their immediate hallway, curious if Irrel had been brazen enough to come alone. She had not—he finally located Tahren, standing slightly behind the Romulan doctor and their Chareni escort.
Well. This was a surprise.
"The two of you decide to play nice for a while?"
Tahren shrugged fluidly. "It was an endeavor of which we could both approve."
Contacting the Federation? Unease stirred in McCoy's gut. Somehow, he didn't believe it. It was true that successfully contacting the Federation could only improve the Romulans' situation as well, but … something still didn't seem right. Something in their postures, or expressions—something in the little he had learned about them over the past months—warned him that T'Pana was right. There was definitely something else going on here.
"Well." McCoy eyed the odd group. "What next?"
Chiya moved closer, looming over him, and McCoy bit back a grumble. The Chareni, he reminded himself, didn't believe in personal space. At least, not when trying to establish dominance. It was really too bad for them that this little trick didn't work the same with humans—his reaction was less intimidation and more a very real desire to inflict damage somewhere impolite. Teach him to get too close. "There is no need to put yourself at risk, McCoy." He drew a—very large—syringe out of the pack attached to his belt. "Provide us with your blood now, and you need not accompany us."
Hadn't he just been assured that 'no one will find us'? McCoy snorted. "Nothin' doin'." He snatched the equipment from the guard's hands. "You're not getting rid of me that easy—I'm not handing over the good stuff until I know exactly where it's going." He stuffed the syringe into his waistband, after making good and sure that the needle was properly covered. The last thing he needed was to stab himself somewhere fun halfway to their destination.
Chiya's whine was more of a growl. He spun abruptly and stalked down the hallway, leaving the others to catch up. Irrel shot a dark glare in McCoy's direction, cut off abruptly when T'Pana stepped between them. It was odd, seeing them together—fire and sea, fury and cool compassion. The incongruity was dizzying.
Of course, that could also be the anemia.
"So, how did we manage this?"
"It was not difficult. We first, of course, discussed the plan with Skanet. He agreed that such an attempt would be logical, given our circumstances."
Of course. Apparently, though, that meant that Skanet had recovered at least enough to discuss crazy plans—though no Vulcan would ever use that word—and covert operations. McCoy was glad to hear it.
"Knowing that Irrel was Chiya's contact, we waited until a time when no guards were present and requested to speak with her." T'Pana's voice was, he thought, disgustingly even, given the tension and their increased pace. He himself was panting like an Andorian sheepdog from the unexpected exertion. "We … strongly reinforced your decision, and explained our alternative proposal. As no other option was available, it was only logical that she agree to approach him."
Only logical. Except, they were dealing with Romulans and Chareni here, not Vulcans. It probably wasn't the time to bring that up. He wondered what kind of discussion had led to a need to 'strongly reinforce' his refusal to donate his blood toward wholesale chaos, and was a little glad that he had missed it.
"And it had to happen now?"
"He will not be assigned again to the appropriate rotation for another six of their weeks—which converts to nearly eight of ours." Salin shrugged. "We saw no reason to delay."
"You're ready? You know what you're going to say?"
"Indeed. The datastream will need to be succinct, small enough to hide amongst other everyday transmissions once set on a repeating frequency, but I believe I will be able to convey enough pertinent data to alert the Federation of the need to investigate."
It was one of the big questions that McCoy had been pondering for the last few days, alone in his lab. Could they piggyback their transmission onto something else and make it look natural? Because, if it was discovered, there would be no second chance. Not for them, or for any prisoners who came after them. It was a frightening responsibility. Still, he thought, sneaking a glance at Salin and T'Pana, if anyone was going to attempt it, these would be the two he would lay his money on. Maybe he'd be more comfortable with Spock here to oversee things—more as a matter of familiarity than a lack of trust in his current companions—but … of course, if Spock was here, it would mean there was no need for any of the rest of this anyway.
Could it work? Really? Was there even the smallest chance that he could possibly see his friends again? His daughter? That he might someday go to sleep on a real bed, in a room where he wasn't freezing, and eat food that didn't leave him anemic and cramping?
He didn't want to think about it. He couldn't think about it. If he allowed himself to believe in it, to hope for it, and things went wrong …
No. McCoy jerked his mind back into the present moment, just in time to keep from slamming into Chiya's back as he rounded a corner. He stepped back, and found himself face to face with a shining, solid wall set with a single, large, double-paneled door. A keypad blinked on one side, beneath a plate bearing an actual deep keyhole. A matching plate and keyhole set into the wall on the opposite site, beneath what looked like a retina scanner. The entire wall holding the door mechanism was protected by a shimmering force field.
McCoy felt his mouth fall open. "Who puts security like this in a power plant?" He had thought that he had grown accustomed to living his life behind locks, but the sheer scope of the barriers between him and the outside world sparked a sensation very near to claustrophobia. He swallowed, hard, and ignored it.
Chiya snorted, already moving toward the near wall. "Energy authorities who hold intelligent, technologically-advanced prisoners in this place. A government which has lied for decades to its people regarding the source of their power, and knows that if it is discovered, the consequences will be dire." He felt along the top of the wall, and tugged at an area McCoy had assumed to be a shadow. A panel came away, and even from his position against the opposite wall, McCoy saw the telltale green glow.
This was it. His mouth went dry.
"Well, McCoy?" Irrel's voice was nearer than he had expected. He jumped, and swore silently. "We are, it seems, waiting on you."
Right. McCoy pulled the syringe out of his waistband, removing the cap with careful fingers. He had no way to disinfect, and he could only hope the needle was clean.
"Do you require assistance, Doctor?" T'Pana's voice was low.
"No, I've got it." He rubbed his arm, locating the vein, and slid the needle gently in. So far, so good. "What will this shut down?" he asked, more to distract himself than anything.
Irrel's annoyed hiss reached his ears seconds before Chiya's response. "The eastern third of the lower level, if we're fortunate."
"And we're sure it'll get this door?" The blood was running into the syringe now, dark and red.
"Of course." Chiya's eyes were riveted to the proceedings, and McCoy found that he was less than comfortable with the Chareni's fascination. "Do you think I would take such steps without being certain? My compatriots have been in possession of complete blueprints of this plant for several years. I memorized them before being inserted here." The Chareni crossed the hallway, and the dark face pushed close. "You accuse me of being unprepared?"
McCoy flicked the needle out of his arm, and held out the blood-filled syringe. "Just checking."
Chiya glared for a long moment, then snatched the syringe and wheeled back toward the open power junction. Pressure against his arm drew McCoy's attention. T'Pana, it seemed, had not come completely unprepared—she pressed a square of folded linen against the needle mark, and secured it with a length of medical tape. He nodded his thanks, and turned back in time to see Chiya insert the needle into the glowing conduit and depress the plunger.
For the length of maybe thirty seconds, they waited in silence, watching the glow from the open panel dim and finally disappear. And then, abruptly, the lighting died.
It was a grim group of officers that surrounded the conference table. Kirk leaned back in his chair and motioned to Chekov. "Mr. Chekov, would you please update everyone on the situation, so that we're all on the same page?"
The young Russian stood. "Aye, sir." He folded his hands behind his back and pivoted to face the length of the table. "Ve have been in contact with the trapped miners for just ower two hours. Chief Galloway and his crew have scanned the area using Mr. Spock's modified tricorders, and we have received and compiled the data." He tapped the control console, and an indistinct, vaguely circular map appeared on the overhead screen. "The miners are trapped in an area of roughly 2500 square feet, ceiling twenty feet on one end and tapering to five at the edge of the slide." He moved toward the overhead, and tapped the far end of the area. "Triane levels are highest here. The miners were sinking a shaft in this spot—it is likely that a spark from their drill ignited an unseen pocket of triane, resulting in the explosion that brought down an unstable section of the roof in the tunnel."
Maria Kentev from Geology shook her head. "They're lucky it caved in down the line instead of bringing the whole roof down right on top of them."
"Indeed, Lieutenant." Luck was a fabrication, and therefore not worth his consideration. However, the miners had been … quite fortunate. Spock joined Chekov. "It seems that three of the miners were caught beneath the slide. Another three have succumbed to wounds received at the time of the explosion."
"So." Trella made a note on her data pad. "That leaves twenty-four alive yet."
He hesitated. "Perhaps."
"Perhaps?" She looked up. "What haven't you told us?"
Chekov motioned again to the area containing the aborted shaft. "Five of the miners were far enough avay from the flash point to avoid the immediate explosion, yet fell into the shaft when the ground beneath them collapsed in the aftermath. They have not been heard from—the other miners do not know …" He hesitated, glancing at the captain and Spock before continuing. "They do not know for certain whether they surwived, or what has become of them."
It was a tender topic, and would no doubt become even more so before the end of the briefing, considering the only logical alternatives that lay before them. Spock braced himself for the inevitable arguments, but Sulu spoke before anyone could question Chekov's odd hesitation.
"Has anyone tried to reach them? Tried climbing down, or—"
"The levels of triane in the shaft make such an attempt untenable." Spock indicated a set of numbers on the overhead, directly beneath the shaft. "Levels are three times as high in the shaft as in the area directly above it, and five times as high as in the opposite end of the cavern, against the slide."
Trella studied the numbers, nodding. "Yes. The levels in the open area are not immediately dangerous, although the longer the miners are exposed without ventilation, the more likely they are to develop some permanent sequelae. Given the length of time they've been trapped, they'll certainly need detoxification and at least low level treatment. The levels in the shaft, though …" She paused, obviously calculating in her head. "Exposure to that amount of triane would cause almost immediate disorientation, and unconsciousness in fairly short order."
"They did try it, anyway," Scott spoke up from across the table. "Had ta haul the poor bugger back up before he reached the bottom, barely conscious. Nae one's gettin' ta the bottom of that thing in one piece."
A long silence followed Scott's declaration. Finally, Kirk stretched and rubbed at his jaw. "Doctor, given what you've just said, is there any chance that those five miners could still be alive down there?"
She nodded, slowly. "There's a chance, Captain—although not for much longer. If they're still alive, I wouldn't give them more than another twelve hours, at the most. Not at those levels."
"Tell them, Spock! Tell them how that boy insists that his brother is still alive down there, that he would know otherwise! Or is it all just too illogical for you? Too much 'human emotion' involved for you to give them any kind of credence? Let me tell you, I'll put human intuition up against—"
"Captain?" Chekov's tentative voice interrupted the doctor's rant, pulling Spock's errant attention back to the briefing at hand. "Crew Chief Galloway vas rather insistent that—"
"Ensign." Spock stepped around Chekov before he could drop that topic into the center of an already tense situation. "Thank you. You may be seated."
"You unfeeling, green-blooded computer …"
Chekov hesitated, and Spock thought for a moment that the ensign would protest. Finally, though, he took his seat, and Spock motioned for Scott to join him.
"We have been studying the variables involved in a rescue attempt, and have determined that the most viable option is to cut through another section of the crust with our phasers in an attempt to widen a large enough gap that the dilasantium will not interfere with life-form transport. It will require complete access to the cavern—we will be unable to leave a 'cushion' as before; however, the moon's atmosphere, although quite thin, will be sufficient to sustain the trapped personnel for the time it will take to complete the operation and beam them aboard."
Kirk frowned. "What about the triane, Mr. Spock? Won't the phasers ignite it?"
"We'll need ta pump out the triane before we start cuttin', Captain." Scott's eyes flickered to Spock. Spock knew that the man was feeling the same trepidation as Ensign Chekov, in the face of the miners' rather forceful arguments. It was only natural—the Enterprise's chief engineer could be nearly as emotional as the late Dr. McCoy. Spock took up the report again.
"Once the pump is in place, Captain, the cavern should be cleared of any significant amount of triane within two to three hours. At that point, we can begin cutting."
"What about the shaft, Mr. Spock?" Chekov blurted. "The more triane we pump out, the more we'll pull up from below, and who knows how large that pocket is?"
Spock turned his gaze on the ensign, who subsided. Kirk, however, nodded thoughtfully. "It's a valid point, Mr. Spock. What are we going to do about the shaft?"
"Good for you, kid! It might not matter to the—"
You forget yourself, Doctor. You are not the only being to know that life matters, or to act upon it. Do not accuse me of barbarism for simply presenting the logic of the only available plan which may successfully free the remainder of the trapped personnel before they succumb to more severe consequences.
Spock straightened, and clasped his hands tightly behind his back. "We will require the shaft to be sealed in order to proceed, sir."
He braced himself for the usual explosion.
It didn't come, of course. At least, not audibly.
"You can't do this, Spock! There's got to be another way, those are people down there and you don't know that they're dead, you can still try to save them …"
Kirk blanched. "There are men down there, Mr. Spock."
"Indeed." He shifted, and traded glances with Scott. The engineer looked down, and away. He continued. "It is regrettable, and a fact that certainly deserves a more in-depth analysis before we proceed. That does not change the fact that the shaft must be sealed in order to effect a rescue."
"Dr. Trella." Kirk swung on his CMO, who had been noticeably silent during the exchange. "You said that the miners in the shaft might have twelve hours left."
She nodded, slowly. "They might, Captain."
He looked back around to Spock and Scott. "And there's no way to tell? You only picked up seventeen life signs, Spock—which doesn't add up anyway based on our figures from the miners. There's no way to tell whether any of those missing life signs are because those personnel are dead, or if it's just our usual scanner troubles with the dilasantium?"
Scott hesitated, wincing, and then shook his head. "Nae, sir. And, it's likely we wouldna be able ta tell even if we could scan the cavern with any certainty. There's a good deal more dilasantium between us and the bottom of that shaft—nae chance of seein' what's goin' on down there from up here."
Kirk's face was openly torn. Spock drifted closer, hoping by his presence to offer support. The captain, he knew, took such decisions extremely personally. He agonized over them.
No, McCoy was certainly not the only being to know that life mattered.
Kirk fell back in his chair and sat in silence for a long moment. Then, "Doctor. Is there any way that we could get one or two of those miners down there safely? Anything we could give them to counteract the effects of the triane long enough to take a look at the situation and see what we've got?"
Trella fiddled with her data pad. "There is a … not a counter-agent, but a substance which may ward off the more severe immediate effects of the triane for a time. It's a similar theory to radiation counter-agent, if not as effective."
"What about it, gentlemen?" Kirk turned on them. "Do you think the miners would be willing to give it a go?"
"Oh, aye, nae doubt, sir." Scott nodded eagerly. "They're desperate ta get down there. One of the lads has a brother at the bottom, even—keeps insistin' that he's sure he's alive, that he'd know if the boy was dead."
Typical, illogical humanity. It was, however … understandable, given the circumstances and the species involved. Kirk nodded thoughtfully, but Trella cut in again. "Captain. I remind you that this is only a marginally effective measure at best. We have no idea of the concentrations of triane at the bottom of that shaft, and therefore no idea what dosage to administer. The miners have also been exposed to triane already for more than two days—they won't be in the best of condition as it is. The dose required might have negative effects, it might wear off too soon, it might not be enough when they get down there. We may simply be trading one life for another, or even adding to the death count."
"This is insane! We've got one of the most advanced ships and the best-trained crews in the quadrant, and you're telling me that the best we can come up with is either 'let them die' or 'we can try, but you might just kill even more of them while you're at it'?"
Emotionally expressed, but for once, Spock found himself in agreement with McCoy. He glanced to Kirk, who had subsided once again into his chair, chewing thoughtfully on a thumbnail. Had the doctor—Dr. McCoy, that was—been actually present, he would have been in full tirade, baiting Spock and lecturing Jim and in general creating a loud, chaotic nuisance until their argument had produced either an unforeseen solution or Kirk had sent them off on a flurry of desperate attempts to find some way around the inevitable …
Yes. It was the general pattern of their briefings in such crises, and had been for some years, since McCoy's earliest days on the Enterprise. Unease stirred in Spock, and as he studied Kirk, he found that it was not easily controlled. On his own, Kirk was a quick thinker, an impressive tactician, and a charismatic commander. Perhaps his most undeniable gift, however, lay in that, given the correct tools, James T. Kirk had navigated a path between sometimes ruthless logic and often flagrant emotionalism to create for himself a brilliant equilibrium—one that made him far more than a match for any opponent, be it Klingon, planet killer, politician, or, indeed, caved-in mine. And now, that balance was … off.
Kirk was still Kirk, of course. He would, in time, find a way to battle any challenge placed before him with somewhat incredible rates of success. It was his nature. He had depended upon the doctor for more than just personal friendship, however—he had also heavily depended upon McCoy's opinions and guidance and expertise. It was logical to expect that, until he had completed the adjustment period of which Dr. M'Benga had spoken, the captain might experience a few of his more … indecisive tendencies on a stronger scale. Spock had, for one, observed in the past a remarkable penchant for Kirk to second-guess himself—and he was doing so even now, if Spock was not mistaken.
"So? What are you going to do about it?"
Indeed. What did he have to offer? Their options were quite limited, and time was growing short.
"Dr. Trella. You said the miners in the upper area are in no immediate danger. Will that change at any point in the next twelve hours?"
She sighed. "There's no way to be absolutely certain, but I wouldn't expect it, Captain."
Kirk nodded, his mind already, as McCoy would have phrased it, 'seven sectors away.' Finally, he stirred and looked around, as if surprised to find himself still surrounded by people. "Let's reconvene in two hours." Spock recognized this ploy—Kirk needed more time to think, and without being stared at by his staff. The bulk of the group nodded and began to gather their belongings. Scott drifted closer.
"Captain? Do ya want me ta begin preparations ta start pumpin' the triane out of the cavern?"
"I do." Kirk looked around, frowning. "But preparations only. Nothing happens down in the mines until I specifically give the word."
"Aye, sir." Scott hurried out, and Spock approached as the last of the department heads left the room.
"Captain? May I be of any assistance?"
Kirk shook his head. "No thanks, Spock. I just …" He looked up, and the hazel eyes were hard. "I don't like losing anyone, and I especially don't like the idea of helping death along. I won't do that."
"Indeed, that is wise. It is in general a … difficult situation."
Kirk nodded, already sunk back in thought. "I'm sure you have preparations to make as well, Mr. Spock. You might as well see to them."
It was a dismissal, and Spock accepted it. As he exited the conference room, pondering the events of the briefing, Trella's voice sounded again in his mind. "The miners have also been exposed to triane already for more than two days—they won't be in the best of condition as it is."
The entire idea of sending any sort of triane counter-agent to the trapped miners—who had no medical knowledge beyond first aid and who were surely suffering hunger and exposure themselves—and asking them to attempt a rescue on their own, or even a surveillance of the shaft, was highly illogical and fraught with the possibility for disaster. And yet …
What if it was not a miner making the attempt?
"Spock? What are you thinking?"
Transport of a life-form through the small hole they had drilled with the phasers was inadvisable, but even with that, the odds were still in favor of success. Twenty-three to one was not as certain as he might have liked, but it was still probable that he would emerge unscathed.
"Are you insane? Jim will never go for—"
The captain need not be forced to participate in this decision, Doctor. Spock turned and strode briskly toward the nearest turbo lift.
"You are insane. He'll skin you alive if he finds out that—"
Doctor. You insisted that something more must be done. You inquired what it was that I intended to do. Will nothing satisfy you?
"He's a big boy, Spock. It's his job to make these calls."
Your point is valid; however, if presented to the captain, this option will not increase the ease of his decision. It may, in fact, complicate matters. Therefore, I see no advantage in doing so. It is logical to make some attempt to lighten this burden, given that he has not yet had adequate opportunity to complete his own adjustments, either personal or professional, to your death.
"And you think this is the way to do that. Logical, my—"
The argument ceased abruptly as he entered sickbay, awash with preparations for the upcoming influx of patients. It was just as well. The logic behind his argument, and therefore his entire plan of action, was indeed beginning to seem … tenuous. He located Trella in her office, studying the inventory files. She did not hide her surprise at finding him in her doorway.
"Mr. Spock. Can I help you?"
"Doctor. I wish to borrow a quantity of the triane counter-agent of which you spoke in the briefing."
A frown flickered across her face. "Has the captain—"
"An idea of my own. However, I would like to perform some brief research before I present my thoughts."
"Research. Is that what you're calling it now?"
Control yourself, Doctor.
"Of course." Trella led him across the bay to a cabinet in the rear. "All of the background data, dosing, adverse effects, etc, are downloaded into this tricorder." She paused in the act of handing it over. "Is there something that I can help you with, Mr. Spock?"
"No, Doctor." Her eyes flickered away, and Spock made an effort to soften his voice. "I'm certain the facts that I need will be found here," he indicated the tricorder, "and I am equally certain that you have a good deal of preparation to yet oversee."
Trella huffed out a little laugh. "That's definitely the truth. I would never have even dreamed of all of the detail that goes into this sort of thing." She drew in a long breath, her eyes skirting the medical bay. "It's a terrible thing, isn't it, Mr. Spock? I wouldn't want to be the captain right now."
"Indeed. It is, however, the lot of a starship captain to have many such decisions on his conscience. Captain Kirk understood that when he accepted the post."
He was aware of the irony, given his mental argument with McCoy only minutes before. Trella, of course, was not. She smiled faintly, accepting his statement for the comfort it was meant to be, and nodded before hurrying away. Spock checked the compound and the tricorder, and slipped back into the halls before Chapel or M'Benga could spot him and discern something of his intent. Chapel especially, he had noted, seemed to have quite a healthy dose of human intuition when it came to this sort of thing. When he had first joined the crew of the Enterprise, he had discounted such things. After so long aboard, though, he had been forced to admit that, just perhaps, human 'guesses' might not contain strictly as much 'guesswork' as he might have once insisted.
"Ha. Bet that hurt to admit."
He ignored that, and continued on to the transporter room.
"Mr. Kyle. I have work to do here. You may retire to your secondary post."
Kyle nodded and slipped out the door, leaving him alone with the transporter controls and the triane counter-agent. So easy. It had all been so very quick, so very simple, and now here he was, face to face with his choice. Once the transport was begun, there could be no turning back.
Spock was not one for second-guessing a decision, once made. There was little logic in the extra time and energy expended. He fed the coordinates into the modified transporter, adjusting to a tighter beam for a life-form rather than equipment.
"Spock? This is good of you, and darned brave."
Spock tapped the console, setting the transport delay.
This once, Doctor, I will proceed. In the future, however, the captain must find another to fulfill your role for him. I cannot.
He slung his tricorder and the bag containing Trella's medical supplies over his shoulder, and activated the transporter.