"That was one hell of a lucky shot, to take out the nacelle conduit like that!"
Chekov said as he entered the room. He looked tired, and grim, but mostly he looked angry, and the ragged gash that ran from temple to jaw and was only recently sealed with permaskin gave him a dangerous, feral air. Kirk remembered when Chekov had first come aboard. He had been so young!
The man now seating himself at the table was a seasoned veteran, tried and proven under fire. And beside him, Sulu, moving carefully and favouring his left leg, a contained rage in every inch of his bearing.
Kirk turned his head tiredly. Spock, at the end of the table near the briefing console, was just Spock. Perhaps he was more Spock-like than usual. Uhura was liberally patched with permaskin that was an ugly pink contrast to her skin, and she was leaning her head on her hands as if sitting upright was beyond her. McCoy, at the other end of the table, was slouched back in his chair in his usual attitude. He was uninjured, and seemed to have taken time for a shower and shave before the briefing, unlike the others. His clothes were fresh, his hair neat, his eyes closed in a attitude of boredom. Just above his eyebrow, where the sonic had somehow missed it, was a dash of blood.
Kirk wondered how much he had washed off.
McCoy opened his eyes, caught Kirk looking at him, and looked away.
"At that point, fire from all three ships was focused on the point. It was enough to overload the shield - briefly - and the damage was done." Spock said.
"So they planned it," Kirk said. "Carefully." He passed on hand over his face as if he could wipe away the past twenty-six hours.
"There are anomalies." Spock said. He said it quietly, with no special emphasis, as if it were of bare importance. He got Kirk's attention as surely as if he had grabbed the captain by his shoulders and shaken him.
"Anomalies?" Kirk said, matching the gentle evenness of Spock's tone. Spock did not look up from his PADD.
"At this point, we cannot take any detailed readings of the inside of the conduit. It is inadvisable to power down the nacelle at this point."
Kirk laughed, a breath only. "No. I think we're unanimous on that one."
"However, ship sensors and viewers pick up the outside of the conduit quite well."
"And?"
Spock touched a key; the view-screen lit, and showed an image of the Enterprise from outside. The angle seemed to be from low on the disk. The picture moved steadily, sweeping back and forth.
"This is a direct feed from camera Alpha 27 Rex." Spock said. "Computer, halt image. Enlarge 200%. Enhance."
Suddenly all that was visible on the screen was the white outer skin of the ship, filling the view screen, looking a little scorched in places but, if I say so myself, Montgomery Scott thought, in damn fine shape for what she's been through the past few years.
"What are we looking at, Mr Spock?" Kirk asked. Scotty thought that the captain looked to be out on his feet, sitting absolutely still with his eyes fixed on the screen, face with the grey cast of a man who'd been hurt so desperately he *himself* couldn't tell how bad it was.
"The nacelle conduit." Spock said.
"Aye, ye hae the wrong one up there - that's the *port* conduit, see for yersel' there's nary a blemish -"
"This is the starboard nacelle, Mr Scott." Spock said. "I mentioned anomalies."
"The shields overloaded." Kirk said. "Just there. And the connections blew out when the conduit was breached and the safeties went on as the containment field wavered. Except that conduit was never breached."
"No." Spock said. "It seems we must look elsewhere to explain the connection failure."
"There isna other explanation!" Scotty protested. "Even with a containment flicker it's damn bad luck to have two connections overload at once! There's nothing else that would cause it!"
"Sabotage would." Kirk said.
"No, sir! It'd have to be done while we were power down, and the last time for that was more than 6 months ago. We would hae noticed the second we tried to bring her up for running, leaving dock, and every time since then. It1s not possible! It would have to have been done in the past few days, and There's no way any living being could just take a stroll up there! When we're running it's like hell itself - "
"Thank you, Mr Scott." Spock said, and Scotty could have bitten out his own tongue when he saw that the captain had turned his face away. Ah, I'm a bluidy fool, he told himself. Talkin' about me bairns and makin' Himself think so hard on't. Best hold your peace, man, and think before you speak. And then Kirk turned back, and looked across the table and smiled, and Scotty knew he was forgiven.
"All right, Kirk said. "We've got a conundrum. Mr Spock, you're in charge of solving it. Ms Tomlinson, as this may involve ship's security, you and your people may be involved."
"Captain," Spock said, "Given the earlier unexplained death of Aide Kythis, and until we eliminate the possibility that the connection failure was caused by the deliberate and planned action of some being aboard or able to gain access to this ship, I recommend you declare an Intruder Alert."
"Doctor?" Kirk said, looking over at McCoy. "That's a lot of strain on the crew at the best of times." An Intruder Alert would mean doubling up of watches, changed and more time consuming procedures for just about everything,
and mandatory sharing of sleeping quarters. "How badly will it hit them now?"
"You know as well as I do they'll rise to any occasion you give them," McCoy said. "If you have to do it, you have to do it. End it quickly."
"What's the latest on casualties?" Kirk asked.
"Same as my last report, except Larssen's been moved from 'serious' to 'stable'."
"Will the lassie be alright?" Scotty asked.
"She'll likely live." McCoy said shortly. "It's too early to tell whether she'll see again, or whether those burns will be amenable to dermal regeneration. Stuff as lethal as coolant has no business within thirty miles of human beings! This is the fourth time I've had to treat coolant burns on this ship alone!"
"Write a letter to the Admiralty." Kirk said. "All right, people. We go to intruder alert as soon as I log it. Spock, the mystery is in your hands. The - funerals - will be at 1800 tomorrow. Is there anything else?"
Murmurs of no, a mute head shake from Uhura.
"I recommend you all get some sleep!" McCoy said.
"Noted," Kirk said. "Dismissed."
McCoy was the only one not to move. When the others had gone, he got to his feet with a great show of casualness, and said, "That recommendation included you, Jim."
"I know." Kirk said. "I can't, though."
"What are you going to do? Check up on Spock?"
"First," Kirk said, pulling himself to his feet, "I'm going to sound the intruder alert. Then I'm going to make sure Yeoman Rand can manage the roster changes that an intruder alert produces. Then I'm going down to Engineering to be shown the repairs in progress. After that, I'll probably go up to Science and then across to Hydroponics. Then, probably Stores. After Stores, I daresay - "
"I take the point" McCoy said. "A little touch of Jimmy in the night."
"More or less," Kirk said.
"Cut yourself some slack," McCoy said. "Tomorrow is going to be a long day too."
"Bones," Kirk said as they went together into the corridor, "I'm the captain. "'Slack' isn't anywhere in the job description that I can find."
"You're their captain, not their mother."
"I'm their captain, and therefore I *am* their mothers, and their fathers, and their confessor and their judge and their court of last appeal." Kirk stopped dead, and for a moment he looked so desolate that McCoy reached out to him instinctively.
And then Kirk gave a small, shaky sigh, and then another, and then he was the captain again. "A lot of them are only kids." he said. "You know how young they are." He put a hand on McCoy's shoulder, turned him in the direction of the turbolift. "Go on, Bones. I'm all right."
"Sure you are," McCoy said. Kirk stopped him, searching McCoy's face.
"You can't always do anything, Bones." he said softly. "Sometimes they're just hurt too badly. You're the best doctor in Starfleet. If anyone could have saved Alpse, you would have. Let it go."
McCoy took a ragged breath. "I *hate* having patients die on me," he said, and tried to smile. "The Doctor is God complex, eh?"
"The doctor isn't god, " Kirk said softly. "The doctor is only a doctor. Get some sleep yourself. Go on." He pushed McCoy gently towards the turbolift again, and McCoy went this time, feeling oddly as if the weight in chest was not - not *gone*, exactly, but very slightly lessened.
Kirk watched the doors close and then put out a hand to steady himself on the wall. The doctor isn't god, Doctor, he thought. That's the captain's job.
He straightened up, and went to sound the alert.
Captain's Log, Stardate 2045.2
We are under way for Starbase 22, at warp 3, this being the maximum we can attain at the moment. Mr Scott's repair crews continue to perform Herculean efforts, and it seems probable we will have both nacelles back on line soon,
allowing us to reach Starbase 22 in ten more days. There has been no sign of pursuit by either the Sythenes or the Vocheron, and the representatives of those peoples remain in custody. None of them will speak. Until further instructions from Starfleet arrive, as to whether they are to be considered prisoners of war or not, I have given orders that their wishes be respected although their freedom of movement is curtailed.
This has had a possibly deleterious effect on Mr Spock's investigation of the murder of Vocheron diplomatic aide Kythis, which to date s has revealed no further clues to indicate who the perpetrator, and any accomplices, may be.
I have filed the following recommendations for commendations:
Yeoman Martinique Duval, for conspicuous bravery in repairing damage to the ship at risk of her own life, and conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty.
Lieutenant (j-g) Corrina Larssen, for bravery in risking her own life in the attempt to save another, and conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty.
Ensign Micaed Alpse, for conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty (posthumous).
Yeoman Kevuthi, for conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty.
Yeoman Lucy Quandt, for conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty.
Lt-Commander Nyota Uhura, for conduct befitting an officer, above and beyond the requirements of duty.
I have also filed a recommendation that Professor Ann Ridley be recognised with an appropriate civilian award for her actions in assisting Yeoman Duval to repair the nacelle conduit, which cost Professor Ridley her life, and without which the Enterprise may well have been destroyed.
Funeral services for the Enterprise crew killed in the line of duty in the last engagement will be held when the ship's status is stable and we have stood down from intruder alert. We await information from Professor Ridley's family as to her wishes for the disposal of her body.
End Recording.
Kirk turned away from the computer and stood up. Yeoman Rand was at the other desk, the one usually covered with ship's reports and PADDs of information. Normally, Janice Rand had her own workspace, but with an intruder alert active even the captain was not supposed to be alone.
"Yeoman." Kirk said. "I'm going to the bridge."
"Yes, sir." she said, gathering her work together. She could not, of course,
remain here by herself, any more than he could take the turbolift to the bridge alone. All over the ship, crew were adjusting their work practices to meet the demands of an intruder alert. Teams were scanning the ship for traces of the strange energy Spock had detected after the murder. Other teams were eyeballing all essential systems to make sure that nothing else had been sabotaged.
Sulu gave up the conn as Kirk came onto the bridge, and Kirk took a moment to read over the reports. Nothing had been found. He reached for the comm.
"Bones," he said, "have you had a chance to look over Spock's report?"
McCoy's sigh was audible. "No" he admitted.
"I'd like your opinion on it."
"I'll get to it when I can, Jim."
"Understood."
In sickbay, McCoy looked around at the biobeds, each occupied, and then at the untidy pile of PADDs on his desk. "Christine," he said, "Is there a report on Lieutenant Hoffman's condition?"
"No, doctor." she said. "He hasn't been back to sickbay."
"Well, call him, and get him down here."
Chapel went to the comm., but came back with a frown. "He doesn't want to come down."
"He what?"
"He doesn't want to come down. He said he doesn't feel too bad, and he's too upset to leave his quarters."
McCoy snorted. "I'll give him *upset*."
"Len," Chapel said quietly. "He said Yeoman Duval is a good friend of his. And she's still not regained consciousness"
McCoy's shoulder's slumped, and he rubbed his face wearily. "Ah. Well, he needs a check-up. Can you get up there? I'll hold the fort."
Chapel nodded, and picked up her medical tricorder. "No problem." she said.
However, in less than five minutes she was back. "He wouldn't let me in." she said. "He said he was too upset to see anybody. He's done something to his door, too, the medical override code didn't lift the privacy lock."
"Well, get security to- no, on second thoughts -" McCoy imagined a security team bursting in on the grieving officer with the words, Doctor's Orders. "No,
um... tell him you want to talk about Duval, and scan him surreptitiously. How's Larssen doing?"
"Scans don't show any improvement in her eyes, but she's recovering well from the life-threatening aspects of her injuries."
"Well, take her with you. She can tell Hoffman that she wants to tell him about Duval, and maybe he'll open the door."
Chapel looked over to where Lieutenant Larssen sat quietly on her biobed. The lieutenant's face and hands had taken the worst of the burns when she had gone into the coolant leak after Alpse. Coolant poisoned flesh as well as burning it, and despite McCoy's best efforts with the dermal regenerator, Larssen's burns were still raw, grotesque welts and blisters on a face swollen to almost perfect roundness.
"Len," Chapel said, "don't you think that might be a shock for Hoffman?"
McCoy followed her gaze. "Tell him to keep the light low." was all he said.
And so, shortly later, Chapel let go of Larssen's arm and stepped back from Hoffman's door. Larssen pressed the chime.
"Who's there?" Hoffman's voice was slurred with grief.
"Corrina Larssen." Larssen said. Chapel could see that it was difficult for her to talk, for her lips had not escaped the burning. "I was - near the conduit. I wanted to talk to you about Marty."
There was a pause. "Is anyone with you?"
"Nurse Chapel is with me," Larssen said painfully.
"I don't want to talk to Nurse Chapel." Hoffman said.
Chapel quickly set her tricorder. "Just point it at his voice," she whispered,
"and press activate. It'll turn off when the scan is done."
Larssen nodded. "This button?" she said, fingering the tricorder.
"Yes." Chapel stepped back, reaching for her comm. to call security to wait with her.
"Hoffman," Larssen said, "Nurse Chapel will wait for me in the corridor. May I come in? Oh, and keep the lights low." A part of her mind wondered what she must look like, for Chapel to have told her that Hoffman had better do that,
but that part of her mind had been running along those lines since she had woken up that morning and Chapel had told her, gently, that the way her face had felt yesterday had not been emotion but injury. It can just wonder, she thought, and said again, May I come in?"
The doors hissed open. Larssen stepped forward.
"I can't see." she said, stopping just inside the doorway.
"I know," Hoffman said heavily. "I heard. There's a chair to your left."
Not wanting to risk banging her injured hand on it, Larssen moved slowly to her left, groping. The doors hissed shut behind her as she found the chair, and sat down.
"How are you?" she asked.
"Tired." Hoffman said, and laughed. "Very tired."
"Me too." Larssen told him, waiting for him to sit down so she could get the tricorder aimed. "Yesterday went for about three days, it felt."
Hoffman was pacing, and his indistinct words didn't seem to come from the same place twice.
"What happened to Marty?" he asked her.
"She - she went up the nacelle conduit." Larssen said. "I ordered her to, but she volunteered as well - I'm not sure what happened after that. But she was very brave."
"I heard - I heard we were sabotaged."
"Yes, there's an intruder alert." And why, Larssen wondered, was Hoffman all alone in his quarters when there was an intruder alert on? "We thought it was battle damage at the time, though."
"You look terrible." Hoffman said flatly. "What happened to your face? Were you in the conduit as well?"
"No," Larssen said calmly, fighting the instinct to raise her hand to her face,
"this was coolant. We had a leak around the main starboard phaser targeting array."
"That should have done it," Hoffman said, and Larssen wondered why he sounded regretful. "Was Marty in the conduit when it went live?"
"No. She made it out to the three two crawlway but she was still there when the next attack came. She almost fell, she was in great danger, but somehow she got out."
"Almosst poetic justicce," Hoffman said.
"Not really, no." Larssen said. He wasn't going to sit down, and she suddenly didn't want to spend any more time in here with him. She stood up, and took three quick steps in the direction his voice had last come from, bandaged hand outstretched until she felt his arm. "Hoffman, I have to get a medical reading," she said, and raised the tricorder.
As she pressed the button and the tricorder bleeped quietly Hoffman twisted away and slapped the machine from her hand. Larssen heard it clatter away and stood still.
"Nno." Hoffman said. "I donn't want to be sscanned."
"You've been sick," Larssen said reasonably, straining her ears to hear where he was. "Dr McCoy is concerned."
"Telll Dr McCoyy to concentrate on injured crew like you." Hoffman said, a little to her left. "Llooks like you'll nneed all hiss attention."
"Hoffman," Larssen said calmly, and then without thought or calculation she half turned towards him, took one short step to bring her weight to her left leg and kicked with her right, aiming forty centimetres or so below his voice. She felt it connect, heard the gasp as Hoffman's breath was driven from him,
and was already following through. Her left fist, driven with all the force of her torso uncoiling from the twisted position the kick had left her in,
connected solidly with Hoffman's face and she felt a bloom of pain from her injuries and at the same time registered a sickening sense of wrongness as her hand drove in to something that felt too soft, too mobile, to be human lips. She felt the bandages on her hand start to unravel, and something disgustingly moist touched her fingers. For a second she flinched away, and then flung herself forward and locked her arms around Hoffman, shouting "Computer!
Security emergency, Hoffman's quarters!"
Something slapped against her face, something wet and flexible, and she ducked away instinctively, flipped Hoffman face down and knelt on him. The door opened, Christine Chapel cried out and her footsteps came closer.
Stay clear, Larssen wanted to say, but all her attention was concentrated on keeping Hoffman down and at the same time trying to stay as far away from him as possible. There was a slithering sound, Chapel screamed and fell, and Larssen felt her grip on Hoffman loosen.
"Security!" she called again, trying to make her hands close tightly despite the bandages. Hoffman made a sound and Larssen heard a blow, heard Chapel panting. The three of them were writhing over the floor. Larssen got her grip on a leg, clung on and felt a foot rake her hands.
"Not me, dammit!" Chapel gasped, and Larssen realised she had the wrong leg,
let go and reached out for Hoffman, heard the door open and voice yell "Clear!"
She rolled away, rolled and rolled until she came up against a wall, heard the whine of a phaser, curses and scuffling and then footsteps retreating. Straining her ears, she lay still, and when footsteps approached her she snatched at them, caught a body and brought it down beneath her.
"It's *me*!" Chapel's voice said. "He's gone."
Larssen let her go, scrambled to her feet with her back to the wall. "What happened?" she asked.
"He got past security, into the hall. The phaser didn't - didn't even slow him." Chapel climbed to her feet as well.
"His face." Larssen said, and heard the answer to her unspoken question in Chapel's sudden sound of disgust. "It felt - wrong. Was it?"
"He had those tentacle things, the Vouche have them." Chapel said. "It looked -
I thought -". She made the noise again, and fell silent.
"That's why he let me in," Larssen said calmly. "He must have heard from someone, that I -" and then, to her own surprise, she found she couldn't quite say it.
"Yes," said Chapel, and coming closer she put one hand on Larssen's arm, at the elbow where the burns were not so bad. "I guess he miscalculated. Looks like you threw him half-way across the room."
Larssen laughed softly. "I wish Mr Sulu were here. I'll never get him to believe I was even partly successful in a fight."
The alarm sounded, and they heard the captain's voice. "All crew are authorised to apprehend and restrain the alien who has assumed the appearance of Lieutenant Hoffman of Tactical, last sighted in section 22, corridor 12. Act with caution."
"C'mon." Chapel said. "Let's go back to sickbay. I want to give you a manicure."
"You want to *what*?" Larssen said, but let herself be drawn towards the door.