**Story Progress: 24%
Jim Kirk picked himself up from the floor of the bridge, where he suddenly found himself sprawled out, having been knocked off balance by a sharp, sudden jerk that rocked the entire ship. The red alert klaxon rang out.
"Report! What the hell was that?" he demanded. Were the Amarilians firing on them? "Shields up!"
"Captain," the android science officer on duty responded. "Sensors indicate a major explosion originating in Main Engineering." His fingers flew rapidly across his control screen. "The detonation does not appear to have been triggered by a source external to the Enterprise."
So they weren't under attack. "What caused the explosion?" Kirk demanded.
"Unknown, sir," the officer replied, still working his console. "Sensors indicate extensive structural damage."
"Scotty, what the hell's going on down there?" Kirk yelled as he activated the comm link to Engineering.
But there was no response from the other end. "Scotty!" Kirk called out again, to no effect.
"Emergency response teams to Main Engineering immediately," he ordered over the comm, trying to keep his voice calm.
Kirk turned to his bridge crew, his face tight. "I need answers now! What the hell just happened to my ship?"
Scotty struggled into a sitting position, choking and gasping for air. Thick black smoke clouded his vision and stung his eyes. He shook his head to clear the effects of being forcibly thrown several feet from his previous position.
The loud blast had left his ears ringing, but as his hearing began to return, the sound of screams and cries for help could be heard all around him.
Overhead, the Enterprise's fire containment system kicked on. The dark, smoke-filled air was quickly funneled up and out of the area while foamy fire retardant rained down on the room and its occupants. After just a few seconds, the smoke had dissipated enough that Scotty was able to get his bearings.
Move, he willed his body.
He hauled himself up, ignoring the painful ache in his back. He stumbled over to the nearest control station, and quickly tripped the evacuation protocol. He had to get everyone out of there. If the warp core was breeched…..
"Warning. Evacuate immediately," the ship's computer announced in a loud, clear voice. "Warning. Evacuate immediately."
Scotty frantically initiated a status check of the ship's warp core. As his blurry vision slowly came back into focus, he cycled through a series of readings and outputs that reassured him that the core was still intact and not in danger of containment breech. At least they wouldn't all be blown to kingdom come…..
Grateful for small miracles, the Chief Engineer turned to survey the chaotic scene around him.
Dark smoke was still billowing from the northwest corridor, which appeared to be where the blast had originated. All around him, the Engineering crew was yelling and running in panic, desperately trying to flee the area.
"Go, go," he directed them. "Get out. Everyone get out!"
With the warp core safely contained and no other signs of imminent danger, Scotty knew his next priority was the safety of his crew. It was his responsibility to ensure that every last man and woman was accounted for. As everyone ran from the direction of the explosion, the Chief Engineer now ran toward it, frantically looking for anyone that needed assistance.
As he rounded the corner into Engineering's aft section, he almost tripped on a young woman lying on the ground, her left arm underneath her bent at an odd angle. Despite the dark soot covering her face, Scotty recognized Lieutenant Waters, and said a silent prayer of thanks that she was still moving.
He kneeled down and gently helped her into a seated position. She moaned in pain, but appeared to be fully conscious.
"Can you walk, lass?" Scotty asked.
The woman coughed and struggled to speak. "Yes. Yes, I think so."
Scotty helped her to her feet, being careful to avoid her injured left arm. She took a moment to find her footing and then glanced back to the still-smoldering corridor.
"I don't think everyone made it out," Lt. Waters said, in a small voice.
Scotty grimaced. "Get to the Med Bay," he told her. "I'll make sure no one's left behind."
"Be careful, Sir," she told him, her dark eyes filled with concern.
Scotty nodded to her briefly and took a deep breath. He ran headlong through the burned remains of the passageway. The acrid stench of burned metal filled his nostrils, nearly causing him to gag. He fought back the reflex and strained to see through the hazy air.
"Hello," he called out. "Is anyone here? Can you hear me?"
He carefully ran the length of the darkened corridor, sidestepping partially collapsed structural material and sparking circuitry. He was just about to breathe a small sigh of relief that the blast area was clear, when his gaze suddenly caught the outline of a red uniform. Someone was lying under a pile of debris. His heart skipped a beat.
Scotty quickly jumped over some burned wreckage and bent down to lift a large, misshapen piece of metal off of the prone individual. With a grunt, he tossed the twisted wreckage to the side and turned back to the fallen crew member.
"Jesus," he breathed. The man lying before him was severely injured. His face was covered in blood, his right leg had been partially crushed by the surrounding debris, and he was bleeding profusely from a scary-looking wound in his right shoulder.
Scotty was no doctor, but one thing was immediately clear - it was bad. Really bad.
From her location, Vanessa had felt the jolt to the ship like everyone else on board. She had no idea what had just happened, but she knew the Enterprise had suffered a calamitous event of some kind.
She was still off-duty, but her first instinct was to head back to the Medical Bay, just in case there were any injuries that needed to be attended to. She walked the Enterprise decks quickly, urged on by the blaring of the red alert klaxon.
As she rounded the corner of the hallway on Deck Seven, she could see a steady stream of people filtering into the Med Bay, some being helped or carried by others, most bearing some sign of traumatic injury.
Her brisk walk turned into a run.
As she burst into the ship's Medical Bay for the second time that day, the scene before her was one of chaos. More than a dozen crew members were scattered about the room, some lying on biobeds, others laid out on the floor. Each were suffering various degrees of injury, ranging from burns to lacerations to broken bones.
The medical staff on hand was scrambling to meet the inflow of casualties, their voices raised in urgent cries, calling out orders and directives. As she stood taking in the scene, Vanessa was nearly run over by two nurses supporting a limping crew member with visible trauma to his lower leg. Her doctor's instincts quickly kicked in.
She quickly scanned the room, in search of the most critical patient that was currently unattended. Her eyes fell on a young ensign writhing on a biobed, who appeared to be suffering from first- and second-degree burns on her face and hands.
She ran over to the young woman and grabbed a nearby tricorder to scan her vitals. From a few feet away, Dr. McCoy looked up from treating a burn patient of his own, his dark eyes flashing.
"You're on administrative leave," he snapped. "You shouldn't be here."
Vanessa didn't so much as glance in his direction as she started her treatment. "Dr. McCoy, you've got a Level Three medical situation and you need all the experienced hands you can get," she replied evenly. "I'm assisting and if you don't like it, you can kindly go to hell."
McCoy half snarled at her, but didn't press the point. Both doctors turned back to their patients, more concerned with the immediacy of the situation than with procedural technicalities.
After a few intense minutes, Vanessa managed to get the young woman in her care stabilized and out of danger. "I'll be right back to get that skin regenerated," she told her patient with a hurried smile. "You're going to be just fine. But I've got to check on some other folks first, okay?"
The ensign nodded, her face still taut with fear. Vanessa gave her a reassuring pat on the arm and turned to begin the process of extracting a piece of debris that was embedded in Lt. Aja's calf.
Suddenly, Scotty's anxious voice was heard rising over the din. "We need some help here!"
Vanessa turned to see Scotty, his uniform covered in dark soot, and another crew member carrying a badly injured man on a makeshift stretcher. She could see, even from some distance away, that the man's injuries were severe. As she moved closer to make a more complete assessment, a sick feeling suddenly washed over her. She realized she was staring at the battered body of Lieutenant John Michaels.
Her face went pale. "John!" Oh no, she thought.
Vanessa motioned them to a nearby biobed. "Over here, quickly!"
Scotty and the other officer moved to deposit the injured man on the biobed as instructed. Vanessa tried to fight back the panic that was welling up inside of her at the sight of her friend's extensive injuries.
John moaned. "Vanessa?" he asked weakly, his head lolling to the side.
"I'm here, John," she replied, motioning to one of the nurses for assistance. The nurse quickly complied, loading a hypospray and handing it off to her.
John's face was a mixture of pain and fear. "I don't want to die," he whispered, a tear sliding down his bloody cheek.
"You're not going to die," Vanessa replied with false conviction, her throat suddenly full. "We're going to take good care of you. Just relax." She pressed the hypospray into his neck and his eyes fluttered shut. She moved quickly to staunch the flow of blood from the open wound in his right shoulder.
"Dr. McCoy," she called out as she worked. John's injuries were so severe, she knew his best chances lay with the most skilled surgeon on the ship. "I have a critical patient! Severe blunt thoracic trauma."
McCoy moved over to her side, quickly assessing the extent of John's injuries with a visual examination.
"Let's get that wound closed up first" he said. "Dr. Nguyen, we'll need a hand."
Hearing his name, the harried-looking doctor hastily stepped over to help assist Vanessa and McCoy in their efforts.
Under Dr. McCoy's direction, the trio worked quickly to repair the damage from John's multiple injuries, but it quickly became clear that they were fighting a losing battle. As soon as they repaired the damage in one localized area, another injury manifested itself somewhere else. John's vitals were weakening by the minute.
Suddenly, an alarm sounded from the nearby display screen monitoring those vitals.
"Dammit," McCoy muttered. "He's going into cardiac arrest. Doctor, two hundred milligrams of metrazine to the aortic cavity."
Dr. Nguyen skillfully loaded the hypospray and brought it down hard on John's chest, deploying the serum directly into his heart.
"Again," McCoy said, calmly. Dr. Nguyen repeated the action, but the monitor continued to flash its red warning. It wasn't working.
"Again."
Once more, the metrazine was applied. The only response was the frantic beeping of the monitor.
Vanessa tried to fight back the panic rising within her. Please, John, she silently pleaded.
McCoy leaned over John and checked for a pulse and signs of breathing. He repeated his check, but there were no signs of life.
The CMO exhaled forcefully. "I'm pronouncing him," he said solemnly.
"No!" Vanessa cried out. She looked frantically at Dr. Nguyen. "Another round of metrazine," she ordered.
Dr. Nguyen paused for a moment before plunging the hypospray down into John's chest. There was no response.
"Again," Vanessa ordered, her voice breaking. Dr. Nguyen froze, his hypospray in mid-air, and glanced at McCoy for direction.
"That's enough, Doctor," McCoy said firmly, raising his voice just a bit. "He's gone."
Vanessa's breath caught in her throat. This couldn't be happening.
"Please note the time of death in the medical log," McCoy ordered, briefly closing his eyes. For just a moment, a hint of emotion washed over his face before he opened his eyes again, and the look was gone.
Vanessa felt the room around her spinning. John couldn't be dead. It didn't seem real. For a moment, she wished it could have been anyone else lying still and silent on that biobed instead of him. But she couldn't escape the harsh reality – her friend was gone.
With a sudden flash of anger, she reached out and knocked over the nearby tray of medical instruments that had failed to save John's life.
"Goddammit!" she yelled loudly, her voice thick with emotion. The instruments on the tray skittered noisily across the room, coming to rest several feet away from where she stood.
Everyone around Vanessa turned to look at her, startled by the sudden outburst. McCoy recovered from his surprise first.
"Doctor, you will control yourself in this Med Bay," he said in a low voice. "And if you can't conduct yourself in a professional manner, I will have you removed. Is that clear?"
Vanessa's chest heaved as she gulped in huge, angry breaths of air. Every fiber of her being wanted to lash out at something, or someone, but the rational part of her brain struggled to make itself heard. John was still dead. Nothing could change that now. She could still help the crew and save more lives, but she couldn't do that by throwing a temper tantrum.
She squeezed her eyes shut tightly for a few seconds, making a supreme effort to swallow her anger and her grief. A blessed wave of numbness washed over her and she opened her eyes.
Vanessa finally looked up at the Chief Medical Officer, her face blank. "Of course," she said flatly. "My apologies, Doctor."
"Good," McCoy replied, his face softening just a bit. "Now please see to Lieutenant Aja and close that laceration."
Still in a state of shock, Vanessa moved wordlessly to begin treating Lt. Aja's injury. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them away. She knew she had to focus and help who she could. But the image of John's pale, frightened face wouldn't release its grip on her mind.
The next hour was a blur as the medical staff worked to treat all of the incoming injuries and stabilize the situation. Eventually, a wary calm settled over the room. Fortunately, it appeared that there would be no further fatalities. Just John, Vanessa thought bitterly. It was so damn unfair.
As soon as every injured crew member was in stable condition and she judged that she was no longer needed, Vanessa quietly slipped out of the Med Bay. She would file her report later. She wasn't supposed to be here anyways. And at that moment, she wanted to be alone more than anything.
She walked briskly back to her quarters, fighting valiantly to keep a straight face.
She soon reached the sanctuary of her room and quickly stepped inside. As the doors closed behind her, she stood very still for a few moments. Then, very calmly, she walked over to her bed and picked up a pillow and pressed it to her face.
An almost primal feeling came over her as she let out an anguished scream, muffled by the fabric.
John was dead. She couldn't save him and now he was dead.
Vanessa sank onto the floor as all of the intense emotions of the past six hours finally overwhelmed her. It was all just too much.
She buried her head in her hands and sobbed.
