Christine's eyes surveyed the interior of the Enterprise as she traveled from one deck to another.
Overhead was a labyrinth of metal beams, the crosswalks intersecting wherever officers needed to exit from one deck to another. Everyone had a task at hand, everyone was busy with something to do. Someone almost bumped into her before mumbling a quick apology and then proceeding towards his destination.
She finally arrived at the Enterprise's main control room and fell silent with wonder. The bridge was the epitome of Starfleet taste, design, and technology. Cadets were reading data off glossy panels that glowed with plasma energy. The constant bleeping of lights was heard from the machines where people had been posted to their stations. One chair swiveled forward to address a command while two chairs swiveled backwards to examine the monitor screen.
Christine took a step forward and almost tripped over a small metal bucket and mop that had been placed near the panel door. Whoever had left it there had done so deliberately, although she was puzzled at its presence on the bridge. Everything looked clean and glossy enough as it was. Perhaps more significant was the engraved plaque of an ancient aircraft above the bucket. The inscription read A-10 FIGHTER JET: U.S. HERCULES 1996
Despite the slight clunking sound when her boot hit the bucket, few people looked in her direction. She could only see the back of the captain's chair and was uncertain of the protocol. Should she simply approach him or wait for a senior officer's permission?
One chair from the science station rotated around to face her. It was none other than Commander Spock. Christine colored slightly, remembering his involvement in her trial and the Damianatus crisis. The commander, on the other hand, looked cool as ever. The rigidness of his all-black uniform had been swapped for a blue science officer shirt, which Christine thought suited him better. He nodded to acknowledge her presence on the bridge. "Ms. Chapel," Spock said.
"I need the captain to sign this," she informed him, holding up the sheet. "Is he available?"
Spoke looked towards the center chair and spoke in a firm clear voice. "Captain."
The chair did not rotate all of the way but the hand motioned for her to come closer. She approached the captain's chair as if it was a king's throne, keeping her eyes averted away from him. Only when she got closer did she recognize the face of Captain Christopher Pike and feel a wave of relief flood over her.
Pike took the PADD from Christine and began to write his signature along the bottom.
"No regrets coming along, Ms. Chapel?" he asked her.
"No regrets, captain."
"McCoy approves so far?"
"Yes, sir." And with a trace of confidence she added, "He's promoted me to a staff nurse."
Pike was not at all surprised. "Good", he nodded. He signed the PADD and spoke up loud and clear so that everyone in the bridge could hear him.
"Everyone, this is Nurse Chapel. She is among the members of our medical staff who will be attending any Starfleet officers in case of sudden injuries or illness. The sick bay is on deck G4. Report to Dr. Perry if you have any problems." He paused and added, "But don't make a habit of it."
Pike motioned around the room for Christine to see. "I believe you know our first officer, Commander Spock. This is our helmsman, Hikaru Sulu." Yellow-shirted and seated behind the controls, her recent new ally nodded from his position.
Next to him was another young man in a yellow shirt who looked even younger than Sulu. Rosy-cheeked and curly-haired, he couldn't be out of his teens and reminded Christine of a cute puppy.
"Ensign Pavel Chekov," Pike instructed. "Tactics." Chekov gave her a nod and drew two fingers to his temple then pointed them to Christine in a quick salute.
Pike introduced her to a red-shirted officer handling communications who answered with a polite nod, though his eyes were rather distracted by Christine's presence. After Pike dismissed Christine from the bridge she headed for the shaft, unaware of a few male officers who were also distracted from their posts by watching her blue skirt sway to and fro.
"I saw that," Pike warned them.
A-A-A
Back in the sick bay, Christine went to go check on Jim Kirk. He was still deep in sleep, much to her relief. She suspected the moment he woke up he'd start flirting with the other nurses and that would probably send McCoy and himself down a one-way street to the detention room.
The door slid open revealing Dr. McCoy, who had also changed into his blue medical uniform. "How's it going?" she asked while handing him the PADD back.
"Perry should know antibiotics go by region, not alphabetization," he growled like a wounded bear. "Other than being his usual twit-headed self, everything's where it should be. You might as well relax for a few minutes because once we get to Vulcan there's no telling when you'll be able to sit down."
"Thank you, doctor." Christine did just that and sat down on a spare medic bed just as the plasma screen on the wall flickered to life.
The youthful face of the ensign appeared onscreen and he began to speak in a thick but audible accent. "Your attention, please. This is Ensign Pavel Chekov speaking to you from zu bridge. Ze keptin has asked me to brief you on our rescue meesion."
"Damnit, can you hear a darn word this kid is saying?" McCoy snapped. "Where'd he learn to speak English?"
Christine just turned up the volume and bent closer so she could understand what he was saying. It took a moment or two to understand Chekov's scientific terms but she managed to simplify it in her head. "At tvetny-two hundred hours, long range sensors detected an energy surge of astronomical proportions in de Wulcan quadrant. It vas described as a' lightning storm' in space."
Christine frowned. Weather patterns weren't her specialty anymore than engineering but a "lightning storm" in space sounded supernaturally impossible. Didn't the Federation have technology to watch out for such a storm?
"Soon after, Starfleet Command received a distress signal from de Wulcan High council declaring zat seismic sensors situated across de entire surface of ze planet ver prediction massive tectonic shifts within ze planet's crust zat could trigger immense earthquvakes and unprecedented volcanic activity."
Earthquakes and volcanoes, hmmm. At least that makes more sense.
"Our mission is to confirm ze tectonic shifts and be prepared to assist in evaluations should ze need arize. Please review all report details thoroughly before our arrival. Thank you for your attention." Chekov punctuated his report with a sharp nod of the head.
"Lightning storm!" someone repeated her thoughts aloud. Jim had bolted up and was wide awake, wheezing and sweating. He was obviously not as comatose as Christine or McCoy had thought.
"Ah, Jim," McCoy nodded. "You're finally awake."
And then Christine saw Jim raise his hands up to eye level.
"What the HELL is this?!" Jim blurted out. Christine would've laughed if the situation hadn't been so serious. Jim Kirk's hands were swollen to elephant-sized proportions, bulging and throbbing as if he had been stung by hundreds of thunder-wasps. Her inward humor was kept in check by her empathy, knowing fully aware that Jim was in terrible pain.
"A reaction to the vaccine," McCoy concluded quickly. He rushed to the prescription cabinet and began pulling out hypo-needles. "Nurse Chapel, I need fifty cc's of Coritzone!" he yelled at her.
"Yes, doctor!" In the wink of an eye she had seized the capsule of requested medicine and tossed it in his direction. McCoy caught it in his open right hand and began to draw it into the hypo-needle. Meanwhile, Jim was trying to re-play Chekov's message, his awkward hands fiddling with the screen. Judging by his facial expression, Christine realized he was taking this seriously—very seriously. She had never seen him so worked up about anything, not even during his trial.
"Bones, we've gotta stop this ship!" he insisted. "We're headed for a trap!"
Had they two minute to spare then Christine and McCoy would have sedated their agitated patient. But with no time on their hands Jim Kirk had leapt off the table and was running to the exit. McCoy followed after him yelling, "We've got to keep your heart rate down, damnit! Do you want to get us expelled on our first voyage!?'
And just like that they were gone. Are things always going to be this loony around here? Christine shook her head in disbelief.
If Jim's theory about a "trap" was accurate then they'd have to prepare for a full-scale attack from whoever was attacking Vulcan and waiting for the starships. But if Jim was wrong then he'd be in way over his head.
Insomuch as Christine was going to spend most of the maiden voyage in the sick bay, her curiosity overcame any sensible ideas to remain demure and wait for McCoy and his inflated patient to return.
She reached for a tiny transmitter that was fastened to the wall along with the other medical equipment. In theory Starfleet had patented this particular brand as an "audio action receptor" but the casual term among medical officers was "pin-pod". It was, of course, the size and shape of a pin but its purpose was to be attached to a uniform, allowing the medical officer to be able to listen in on reports while having hands free to do whatever was necessary. Though simple enough in design, its use was effective and helpful.
Christine turned on the transmitter and tucked it behind her right ear, fastening it into her blue hair band. She adjusted the pin-pod and spoke aloud. "This is Nurse Chapel requesting audio communication to Enterprise bridge."
There was a tiny beeping sound and then a computerized voice buzzed into her ear, "Communication established."
The static quickly gave way to voices that were rising in the background. It was hard to tell at first but soon Christine was able to identify the people behind the voices and string the sentences together into a coherent conversation. The urgent voice of Jim Kirk was making her feel uneasy while Spock began to disapprove, reminding the captain that Cadet Kirk was on prohibation.
"We're walking into a trap, sir," Jim cautioned Pike. He began to explain, in a hasty but informative speech, that he recognized the "lightning storm" as the same one that attacked a Starfleet vessel on the day of his birth.
"The U.S.S. Kelvin, which had formidable and advanced weaponry, was never seen from or heard again. And at 23 hours last night, there was a similar attack; 47 Klingon warbirds were destroyed by Romulans, sir. And it was reported that the Romulans were in one ship, one massive ship. You know that, sir. I read your dissertation," Kirk concluded.
Christine was slightly perplexed. If this was in fact the same giant Romulan ship that had attacked the Kelvin over 20 years ago and the Klingons just last night…then why had it suddenly struck now? And why had it gone undetected all this time?
"And how do you know about this?" Pike's tone was less-than-approval.
A new voice, sincere but determined, rose up. "Sir, I transmitted the message myself." Relief flooded through Christine when she heard Uhura's voice on the bridge. It was good to know at least one of her close friends had also made it onto the Enterprise. "Kirk's report is accurate."
"We're warping into a trap, sir. The Romulans are waiting for us, I can promise you that." There was no mistaking the genuine concern in Jim's voice: he was certain that doom lay head for the Enterprise.
An uncomfortable silence followed; perhaps the captain was questioning the authenticity of Kirk and Uhura's information.
"The cadet's logic is sound," Spock suddenly spoke up in Kirk's favor. "And Lieutenant Uhura is unmatched in xenolignuistics. We would be wise to accept her conclusion."
Yeah, you said it! Christine thought to herself. If Uhura knew something wrong was afoot then Pike would have to get to the bottom of this.
There were some commands issued as Pike ordered Uhura to relieve the communications officer. She was trying to signal other starships surrounding Vulcan…..but there were no answers.
A coincidence…or something worse?
Christine turned to face one of the giant windows stretched across the sick bay. Stars and light were whizzes of gray and white streaks that flickered past the Enterprise.
And then the Enterprise dropped out of warp drive.
What was once a calm trek had turned into a wrecked battlefield. Christine's blood froze in horror, a hand over her mouth to prevent a shriek from escaping her lips. There were no starships waiting for the Enterprise because they had all been destroyed. The battered remains of the ships, once proud and strong crafts of Starfleet, lay in grotesque broken pieces drifting through space like shattered glass. They flickered pass the windows resembling haunted ghosts clawing at the Enterprise for help.
Jim had been right...the Romulans were waiting for them to arrive. But how could one ship have caused so much damage?
A ripped metal plate, all that remained of one starship, drifted by Christine's window. And this time she did shriek. It was the Independent.
Ben, she thought horrifically.
Christine slid to her knees, her head bowed in disbelief and sadness. Sweet, headstrong, optimistic Benjamin John Harrero was gone forever. There were so many adventures they wanted to share, so many opportunities they had talked about as young aspiring cadets. In the blink of an eye all that had been ripped from them.
The Enterprise gave an unexpected shudder. McCoy was back in a flash, his face set in fierce determination.
"What's going on?" Dr. Perry spoke up. "And what is that vagabond Kirk doing on this ship?" He spit Jim's name out like a parasite.
McCoy ignored the comment. "Our signal is being jammed by the Romulan vessel. The Enterprise can't access Starfleet command or any other ships. I need to report to the upper deck in case of an attack."
For once, Dr. Perry did not disagree with McCoy. His words must have had an impact because the senior medical officer began ushering his staff around, warning them to get into correct positions if the Enterprise would be under fire.
Christine just looked back out to the window, scanning for any signs of life or hope.
What she did see instead was the Romulan vessel that had come into view after several ripped starship had floated out into space. It could hardly be called a ship; it was so grotesque. The mutated craft was composed of long mechanical extensions of twisted metal that stretched on for hundreds of feet, each one ending in a razor sharp tip. It looked like a metallic monster with tentacles.
It did not take much imagination to picture this ship wiping out the Kelvin and 23 warbirds.
Christine pressed her forehead to the glass and strained her eyes to see better. What looked like a single thread of metal construction was streaming down from the ship and onto the surface of Vulcan below. At least it looked like a thread to her. Up close it must've been much bigger and thicker.
What on earth was that?
She tried adjusting the pin-pod but everyone was talking too fast. It seemed that it was some sort of a drill attacking Vulcan and blocking off their communication at the same time.
She saw tiny pricks of light off in the void of space that were drawing closer to the Enterprise. More ships? No…not by the way they were growing in size and speed. An alarm switched on in her mind.
Missiles. The Romulans were attacking them!
Christine did the first thing she could remember from emergency evasive: drop to the floor and cover her head.
Her wrist had just slipped through the belt as their world shattered. A missile must've slammed into the sick bay because a side of the wall was blasted in and everyone was sent hurling, flying, and screaming through the air. She felt her body go slamming into a wall while chunks of debris rained down on them and hot flames licked at her skin. Christine felt her body bounce across the deck before she came to a rolling stop. She lay there, shaking and numb, too scared to move for fear of being blasted apart.
There was another explosion heard and the room quaked back and forth. Christine tucked her knees into her chest, waiting for the monstrosity to end. But it was over as soon as it had started. Within five minutes the Enterprise had gone from complete to fractured like a toy ship tossed around.
She got to her feet, knees shaking terribly. All around her, people lay groaning and moaning in pain. She saw a metal beam had pinned someone down and rushed over to see who it was.
Dr. Perry had been killed instantly.
The beam must've come across his head. She gulped at the bloody mess smeared all over the once-clean floor in dismay, a once breathing person now a lifeless corpse. His arms lay twisted at an odd angle while his feet were in the opposite direction. She was only brought out of her numbed state when McCoy had come back in, covered in dust and coughing profusely.
"Nurse Chapel!" he ran to her side." Are you all right?"
"I'm f-fine sir," she stuttered, trying to stop her shaking arms. "Dr. McCoy, your eye!" she shouted at him. A heavy gash had ripped above his left eye and blood was trickling down his face.
"It's nothing," he brushed her off. McCoy merely wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, smearing the blood along his temple. "Where's Dr. Perry?"
She pointed to the corpse on the ground. McCoy surveyed the scene looking as dazed and confused as her. Then a voice bleeped on the monitor and McCoy flipped it open.
"Doctor Perry, this is acting Captain Spock. Report," came the Vulcan's efficient voice.
'Acting Captain' Spock. Christine shuddered inwardly. Where's Captain Pike? Is he dead?
"Dr. Perry's dead, sir!" McCoy yelled into the speaker. Christine just stood, numbed as people around them tried to crawl out from damaged areas of the ship. Everyone was moaning and writhing in pain. She knew she had to do something...but whatever that was, it had temporarily fled her mind.
The cool unemotional response of the Vulcan was brief. "Then you have just inherited his medical responsibilities as chief medical officer."
"Tell me something I don't know," McCoy muttered under his breath. He looked around and wiped his brow with a sweaty hand.
"Prepare all bays for mass triage. Get the less seriously wounded back on duty as soon as possible. Spock out." A crackle of static ended the transmission. McCoy stood up straight again, his teeth gritted fiercely.
The split second of shifting authority seemed to have brought McCoy out of his shock, as well as Christine. McCoy whirled on her, his eyes flashing fiercely in her face.
"Well don't just stand there," he said to Christine. "Get to work!"
Without even a "yes doctor" she began rushing around the room helping officers pry beams off the wounded and moving others onto the gurneys. Now her brain was whirling away, assessing the situation and calling on her years in school to analyze each victim. Get this one off the floor. Someone needs a bandage. Don't move her or she'll strain her neck.
Christine watched the doctor bend over and with unexpected strength, lift a wounded man over onto his back and carry him into the sick bay. The lack of concern for his own status—and the concern he showed for everyone injured—moved her deeply. No sooner had McCoy transported the man to a gurney then he raced back to find the next wounded officer.
"Chapel, give me a hand here!" he ordered her. The stringy teenager of years before would never be able to do what the lithe woman did as she heaved and pulled, helping McCoy to push a heavy beam off another officer's leg. But once it was off, Christine was mortified at the damage done. The beam had sliced through the victim's knee, cutting her leg in two.
"Kneecap's ripped off. We'll have to operate ASAP," McCoy ordered her. The gurney came down and Christine helped him raise the woman onto it. "Oh god! Oh god! I don't wanna die!" she began sobbing uncontrollably.
"Lie still," McCoy ordered her. The next hour was full of demands from the doctor but Christine stayed close by, listening and delivering out his orders. A laser scalpel for someone's eye. 500 grams of anesthesia there. Use the sonar scanner for her head. Start stitching his wrist back together. Wrap the bandage around his torso to stop the bleeding.
She had never seen anyone work like him before and as miserable as the situation was around them, Christine was in awe at the efforts of Dr. Leonard "Bones" McCoy. He was racing around the medical bay without so much as colliding into another person, ordering a nurse in one direction and a fellow doctor in another. His eyes assessed each patient, tending to the most urgent ones first before moving onto the lesser wounded.
"How's she doing?" McCoy asked over his shoulder. Christine had just finished up restoring a ripped muscle using the laser scalpel.
"There's cartilage damage but she's out of danger," Christine assured him. McCoy nodded and instructed her to move on to the next patient.
"I can't do this! I can't do this!" a fellow nurse shrieked. Christine could see she had started to wipe up the blood from a victim who lay on another table but must have lost her senses because she was too scared to continue tending to her duty.
Christine resisted the urge to shake the girl and merely took the sanitation swipe from her hand. There was no time to waste. "I'll patch him up," she offered firmly. "Can you get me four quadro-capsules from the pharmacy cabinet?"
The tearful junior nurse nodded at Christine and sniffling to herself, she went off to the cabinet. Christine turned to the patient at hand. A chunk of metal must've ripped part of his arm out. The sight of all that lurid pink and red flesh was grotesque and Christine shuddered inwardly. Trying to remember how similar it was to the stimulation test, she assessed the situation. At least he hadn't punctured any critical organs but she had to stop the bleeding fast. The pills would help regain bone structure and as soon as she had the wound clean, she'd be able to wrap it in a self-adhesive bandage.
The officer released a soft moan and his eyes fluttered in her direction. Despite his weakened state and the throbbing pain that seared into his body, he found himself moved by the sight of the woman hovering over him.
"Are you an angel?" he murmured.
"No. And you're not going to heaven just yet," she assured him. Christine took the pills from the nurse who had returned and managed to get the officer to swallow them. Within minutes his arm had stopped losing blood and the bandage was secured in place.
Christine had to move onto the next patient but couldn't resist adding her own touch of effort to the task. It may not have been standard protocol but it was important to her.
"What's your name?" she asked him.
"Jonathan. Midshipman Jonathan Ben-Lachi."
She squeezed his hand gently as a gesture of understanding. "You're going to be fine, Jonathan. Try to get some rest." The response was a squeeze from his hand.
A-A-A
One hour had turned into two.
They were running out of medical beds and supplies quickly. McCoy had said they'd have to start putting patients on the floor if everything continued at this pace. Christine would've asked what to do but by now McCoy was preoccupied in a lengthy complicated task of repairing the woman's knee up to her stump of a leg. He'd have to use a silicone plate in place of her kneecap and join the fibers of her muscles together, not an easy feat in such cramped conditions.
Without even asking for permission, Christine went up to the intercom and pressed the button. She wasn't the senior medical officer but this was code red status. McCoy could grill her later on.
"Attention Enterprise crew. This is Nurse Chapel speaking." The efficiency of her voice and the awareness that everyone could hear her startled Christine. She had never addressed 400 people at once and certainly not in such dire circumstances.
Remembering the task at hand, she forced herself to speak into the intercom.
"We are experiencing an overflow of injured officers in the sick bay and require further accommodations. All able-bodied officers with sleeping quarters to spare please report to the sick bay at once. Furthermore, any personal medical supplies to spare are essential in order to assist our patients. Thank you."
The transmission was heard all over the Enterprise and reached the ears of the acting captain. Inwardly, Spock thought the words "please" and "thank you" were unnecessary in the nurse's request.
No doubt a result of human emotions and need for gratification, he mused to himself. Nevertheless, the message was a practical one even if its sender had a tendency to be overly enthusiastic about the welfare of others.
A-A-A
Just as McCoy was going to have to put his next patient onto the floor of the sick bay, the panel door slid open. Christine winced, dreading another flood of patients and tedious work without enough help.
She was wrong.
Chekov was standing in front of a line of able-bodied officers looking fresh and willing to help. There were at least 50 people in total and nearly all of them were carrying their Aid-One Starfleet health kits in hand.
"Ensign Pavel Chekov reporting as you rekvested, nurse," he spoke up. "Ve have our rooms open and ready for ze patients."
Christine took the Aid-One kit from his outstretched arm and nodded eagerly. "Thank you, Mr. Chekov and everyone for your help." She motioned behind her. "Please follow me."
By now at least the worst was over and nearly all patients had gotten sedated or bandaged up. Christine noticed a spare PADD on the floor and picked it up. While the medical crew began moving patients out of the sick bay, she wrote down their names and the private quarters where they were going.
"Ben-Lachi…room A-342. Wurther...room F-983. X'noria…room R-314," she announced aloud.
"Pref'gu is going in my room, F-702," someone said over her shoulder.
"Pref'gu…F-702," she repeated aloud.
It was precise work but not overly taxing to Christine, who was careful to move only the lesser injured patients out of the sick bay and into other people's quarters. Those in intensive care had to be left in place for Dr. McCoy's inspection. Christine noticed that the officers, even those not assigned to medical services, were helping to move the gurneys to and fro. Ensign Chekov had to report back to the bridge in minutes but he had left the Aid-One kit, along with the others, for Christine's use.
The Enterprise crew exceeded all expectations.
McCoy stopped what he was doing long enough to wipe his sweaty brow with the back of his hand. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his arms were stained with blood. He had been so busy repairing the severed kneecap that he didn't realize the once-overflowing bay was only three-quarters full and a constant humdrum had replaced the chaos. He looked around the sick bay in astonishment.
"What's going on here?" he asked Christine.
"Other officers are sharing their quarters with patients, sir," she explained. She motioned to a table where the kits were stacked up. "And we should have more than enough self-adhesive bandages for now."
McCoy's jaw nearly hit the floor. "You did all this in under an hour?!"
"Everyone pitched in, doctor."
McCoy nodded and said, "Fine, nurse. Carry on." Once his back was turned to her, he raised his eyes upward and silently thanked the cosmos.
Once out of earshot, Christine's thumb pressed the button for the intercom. "Mr. Chekov," she spoke in a low voice. "Could you tell me if Captain Pike is on the bridge?"
He hesitated before speaking. "He haz been taken captured by ze Romulans, Nurz Chapel."
A fresh wave of fear slammed into her. "No," she whispered.
She couldn't bear the thought that he would just go out like a light, just like everyone else aboard those doomed starships. Behind the the curtain of diplomacy there was a bloodthirsty battle being raged between the Romulan Empire and the Federation. The Romulans were not known for being merciful towards their prisoners either.
"Yez. They stopped firing on ze Enterprise and ordered him to come to zer ship to discuss negotiations."
"And he agreed to go?!" Christine was alarmed.
"We had no choice," Chekov's voice came through the speaker. "Zey have activated a drill zat has been blocking our communications."
That must've been what was sticking out of the Romulan vessel, Christine wondered to herself.
"Acting keptin Spock is here now and Sulu and Kirk have dropped onto ze drill to deactivate it. Zat is buying us some time to contact Starfleet," Chekov explained.
"They've dropped onto the drill?" Christine couldn't believe her ears. "Do you mean to say that they're down there on that thing?" Jim Kirk must've been back to his nutty self to run headfirst into danger. But if Dr. McCoy was right about Kirk's instincts then he'd find some way to deactivate it. Hopefully Sulu would make it back alive as well.
She could hear a slight beeping noise coming from the bridge.
"Zee gravitational sensors are off the scale," Chekov's voice rose in concern. "The Romulan vessel just launched something zav vill consume the planet."
"An earthquake inside of Vulcan?" she asked.
"A black hole," Chekov concluded.
That was impossible. But before she could even ask Chekov about the black hole, he had to cut communications off and report back to Spock.
The next half hour was a fresh whirl of events that Christine struggled to keep straight in her head. While Captain Pike had gone unwillingly to the Romulan vessel, Kirk and Sulu had successfully managed to deactivate their device. She knew that was true when they both limped into the medical bay, battered and bruised but very much alive.
"What the hell have you two been doing?!" McCoy barked at them. Sulu and Kirk just exchanged glances, gasping for breath after a fierce rush of adrenaline and nearly plunging into Vulcan's surface.
"Cloud jumping?" Kirk suggested.
Boys will be boys, she thought while helping the limping Sulu onto a spare table. Fortunately his ankle wasn't in any real danger of being sprained. The moment she had secured a compression wrap around his foot, he had hopped off the table and insisted on reporting back to duty on the bridge. It was good to know they were this enthusiastic no matter what circumstances lay ahead.
But nobody could fathom just how far the captain of the Romulan vessel would go to wreck havoc on his adversaries.
There was a brief moment when Christine heard Uhura's voice over the intercom announcing that operations were back online. But then the Enterprise started to shiver slightly and when Christine saw everyone pointing out the window, their direction was focused on the brown sphere known as Vulcan that lay out in space. Something marred the flawless surface of the planet, something that looked like a cavity that was growing slowly from within the planet's surface. It looked like a pinprick from the Enterprise but everyone knew it was consuming continents by the second.
"My god! They're destroying it!" McCoy shouted.
It was impossible but it was happening. The swirling void continued to suck up Vulcan like a vacuum while the Enterprise trembled. Then the last thing Christine saw before the ship zipped off into light speed was the dry desert planet collapse in onto itself leaving only a flicker of light within the void of space.
Christine couldn't believe it. She had just seen an entire world collapse upon itself within minutes. Millions of lives sucked away into nothing as the voices of history echoed forlorn disasters in Christine's mind. Black Plague. Pompeii. Titanic. Hiroshima. Chernobyl. Gen-thraw Island. World War III.
Dr. McCoy had been right. Space was danger and disease wrapped in darkness and silence.
A-A-A
By now Christine knew how it felt to be on the losing side of a battle. The drill had been destroyed thanks to Jim Kirk and Sulu but Vulcan had been obliterated. Over one shoulder she heard someone comment that only 10,000 or so inhabitants were alive out of a race of 6 billion people.
The odds were staggering.
The sick bay had become a constant place of activity again. A few of the surviving Vulcans stood on one side, their faces masks of calmness that could only be holding back overwhelming grief and pain. At least the Enterprise had managed to transport them out just before going into warp drive.
And then she got the news: Spock's mother had not survived.
There was no time to think, only act. And act she did...yet still with that part of her that wanted to reach out and help, hoping somehow to ease the pain that when pill or bandage would do.
Jim had gotten a few gashes on his wrist but was nothing else for the worse. Christine knew he had every right to go back to his quarters and rest but instead he chose to stay in the sick bay and help. Once again that mischief prankish side of him had quickly been replaced with concern and consideration.
Spock, on the other hand, was unreadable. An icy mask had dropped over the acting caption's face when he went around the sick bay, requesting status updates and responding to comments from fellow officers.
Christine couldn't imagine how he could possibly command a ship under the circumstances. The burden on his shoulders was far too much to even fathom and he shouldn't be carrying it right now. She would have come to his side and said something, even a word of condolence, if she had the opportunity. But none came and so she could only hope that someone else would do it.
Now she was focused on a small Vulcan girl who sat on the table. Her long brown hair curled around shoulders and her pointed ears peeped out slightly like an Elvish princess. Her mouth was set firmly between dimpled cheeks and her deep-set eyes were solemn and quiet for one so young.
But when Christine tried to approach her with a small scanner, the girl seized her wrist in a tight grip and pushed it away. "It's okay, sweetie." Christine ran the scanner up and down her own arm. "See? It doesn't hurt." She tried to use the scanner again but the girl pushed her hand, lips sealed tightly in disdain.
"She is an'kharh", a deep voice spoke from behind Christine. An elderly Vulcan woman with a wrinkled face and grave air had appeared beside her. Her almond-shaped eyes gazed out at the world pensively, not revealing any tormented thoughts to the human nurse who stood before her.
She came beside Christine and cast a sweeping glance at the child before coming to a conclusion.
"The child is traumatized," the Vulcan woman informed Christine. "She cannot control or even access her emotions after what she has witnessed."
"Can she communicate with us?" Christine asked.
"I think not," the woman said. "And she will not permit you to examine her either."
Christine was at a loss for options. She could handle basic human trauma but wasn't prepared for dealing with such a delicate situation. A sleeping tablet would only postpone the problem.
"I don't know what to do for her," Christine finally admitted. "But I must find a way to examine her injures or else I can't treat her."
The woman pulled back the sleeves to her purple robe revealing gnarled brown wrists. "I may be of assistance."
Christine watched in fascination as the woman reached out to the girl's face and quickly place her hand on her cheek, finger to temple and thumb to chin, before she could push her hand away.
"Nahp hif-bi tu throks," she murmured before her eyes snapped shut. The child's eyes closed as well. Neither of them moved or spoke yet Christine could feel as if the woman was binding an invisible thread between herself and the little girl, establishing a telepathic mode of contact.
After what seemed like hours but was only seconds, the woman released her hand from the child's face.
"S'frei?" she asked the little girl. Her cool green-gray eyes opened and gazed at the woman.
"Ah," the girl answered faintly. Obediently she stuck out her wrist for Christine to examine. The elderly woman nodded at Christine. Aside from the occasional cuts and bruises, the girl's body was not in any physical danger. But Christine knew the emotional scars could run deep within a person, no matter how young they were.
After cleaning the girl's wounds, Christine bent closer and whispered in a voice as gentle as she could muster. "Can you tell me your name?"
The child nodded gravely and answered in an equally soft voice, "I am Saavik."
"Saavik." Christine rolled the strange word around in her mouth. "That's pretty. My name's Christine."
"Chris-tine," Saavik punctuated carefully.
A shadow had fallen over them and Christine noticed it was Spock who was looking at them. She quickly rose to meet his gaze and when her eyes meet his, she felt a deep ache inside.
"Status, Nurse Chapel?"
"We're doing the best we can, sir. I'm almost done." She motioned to the Vulcan woman who had just helped the girl. "But I wish we had some more private space for the other Vulcans to rest."
"T'pau and the elders will have my private quarters," Spock insisted firmly. Why he could be so generous to others but single out resentment towards Jim Kirk was beyond Christine. But she held her tongue for now.
"Thank you, captain." And then she added, "May I have your permission to let Saavik rest in my room?"
"Permission granted. Carry on, Nurse."
Within minutes, Christine was leading Saavik by the hand to her little room. The child surveyed the interior carefully before seating herself on the bed. "Chri-stine," she repeated in the same monotone voice.
"Yes, Saavik. I'm here."
Only now did Christine remember the bundle that Janice had given her. Saavik watched Christine remove the drawstring pouch from under the pillow and open it up. Inside was her stuffed elephant and a bright red apple. Christine also found a scrap of paper with Janice's long loopy handwriting had scribbed GOOD LUCK. The dull ache pressing against her ribs continued.
Saavik was fingering one of Sumatra's fuzzy floppy gray ears thoughtfully. She didn't seem to know how to respond to the toy, to cuddle and hug it like a human child. Her attention was then distracted to the foreign fruit and she ran a finger over the shiny surface.
"Here." Christine cut off a piece of apple and offered it to the girl. Saavik just eyed it.
"Taste it. It's good." She took a bite and tried chewing it but the apple remained a hard lump in her throat. Christine forced it down and offered the second piece to Saavik.
Glancing at Christine, Saavik also took a small bite and managed to swallow it. No sooner had she finished eating her apple slice then her lower lip quivered slightly. Christine saw a shiny film cast over Saavik's eyes.
"I feel afraid," Saavik spoke at last.
Christine knelt beside Saavik and placed her arms on the small girl's slim shoulders. "I know, Saavik. So am I," she confessed. "But it's okay to be afraid. You're not alone. We're going to help you."
Saavik blinked as two tiny streams of tears trickled out of her eyes and ran down her soft cheeks. She felt the human woman's arms around her body and pull her closer, as if willing the pain inside of Saavik to stop and release itself. Saavik could only see the blue fabric of her dress and one of those small human pink curved ears peeping out of her pale hair.
She was still scared. But at least now Saavik felt safe.
