Almost all the crew were aboard the shuttles when

Sulu spun around. "That's Spock's voice." he said.

"Back that way." Uhura said, phaser at the ready.

"I've never heard - I've never heard him scream."

"Let's go," Chekov said.

"We've got orders, Pavel. Come on. The Captain and

Commander Spock have enough to do taking care of

themselves, without looking after us."

"If you're scared, I'll go alone." Chekov said, and

started back the way they had come. Sulu grabbed his

arm.

"Don't be a fool," he said, "the captain said not to

stop or go back - for anything."

"He obviously didn't know vhat vas going to heppen!"

Chekov said. "*Listen* to that!"

"Everybody, into the shuttles," Uhura ordered. "This

is not a traffic accident or a spectator sport. Move

along, there! Pavel. You're being an ass. Come on!"

"An ass!" Chekov said. "At least I'm not being a

coward!"

"Chekov, you're the gunner! We *need* you on the

Enterprise if this is going to work!" Sulu said.

"Let go of me!" Chekov pulled his arm free. He

turned towards the exit and turned straight into

Uhura' right hook. He went down hard and she swore

and shook her hand.

"Nice technique. Get him on board." Sulu said, and

Uhura and Larssen bent to lift Chekov between them.

"We're the last, the rest are powered up to leave."

He ducked beneath the bulkhead and slipped into the

pilot's seat. "Bay doors opening, containment field

still intact."

Uhura backed into the shuttle, tugging Chekov by the

shoulders. Larssen heaved Chekov's feet into the

shuttle and was about to follow, one hand on the

lintel to pull herself in, when Sulu raised his

voice.

"I've got an unidentified on sensors, coming straight

for the bay, mass proximity, get aboard, all aboard,

we are due for *immediate* departure -"

The containment field failed.

Larssen's feet went from under her and her grip on

the lintel slipped as the wind hit her. A shuttle

came barrelling in through the open bay doors,

skewing sideways as it hit the atmosphere pouring

out. It skidded towards the wall as Larssen flew

across the shuttle bay and slammed into one of the

other waiting shuttles. She managed to get a

finger's grip on the wing and looked up through the

wind to see Uhura hit the controls by the shuttle

door and the door hiss shut.

~Well,~ she thought, ~there goes my uneventful trip

back to the Enterprise.~

Uhura couldn't have done anything else as the

atmosphere in the shuttle-bay streamed out into

space. The shuttles were beginning to move, using

their manoeuvring jets to resist the wind and line up

for exit from the shuttle-bay. The one Larssen clung

to shifted slightly and she lost her grip and skidded

down the wing. Managing to get one hand on a nearby

mechanical handler before she lost her grip on the

shuttle, she hung on grimly. ~Although I'm not sure

what the point is,~ she thought. ~I'm delaying the

inevitable by about seven seconds.~ Still there was

no way she would willingly let go, although her palms

were bleeding and her shoulders felt like they were

being pulled out of their sockets.

"Saut ed. Fried and boiled." Larssen muttered, trying to

find a foothold. "Stinking. Rotting. Garbage." There was

no chance of getting her feet on anything solid and the

effort caused her grip to slip precariously.

The shuttles carrying the crewmembers flew out of the

shuttle-bay one by one, some clipping the doors as

they rode the wind out into space. The shuttle that had

flown *into* the bay when the containment field went

down was skittering across the deck and Larssen saw by

the markings it was an Enterprise shuttle. ~What the - ~

She closed her mind to speculation, stilled her racing

thoughts. ~First things first, Cory.~ Her hands were now

slippery with blood and she was losing her grip. She

called up every particle of strength she had, ignoring the

voice of sense that told her that her muscles were at the limit

of their endurance, and managed to haul herself a little closer

to the handler. Terror told her that her only hope of

survival was to keep both hands closed as tightly as she

could over the strut she'd grasped, but she terror didn't

seem to understand that her grip would not last much

longer. ~Do it now, Cory!~

She let go with her right hand and clung for perilous

nanoseconds by her left only, struggling to get her arm

around the strut. ~I can't reach, I can't reach, I can't hold

on, I can't - ~

~'Can't' is no bloody good if thou hast no choice!~ Fat

Harry Pateman roared in her mind and she got her arm

around the strut and clung.

With a low whine, the containment field came back up,

and the wind stopped abruptly. Larssen found herself

hanging several feet off the ground and she let go and

dropped to the floor.

"Stinking rotting -" Her hair had come completely loose,

the plait sent to its final resting place by the wind after

taking several death blows during the course of the day.

"Fried boiled and saut ed -" Uniform torn and bloodied,

plastered with grime and scraped and bruised, with her

hair a tangled mess, she hardly looked the picture of

Starfleet competency. "Garbage on a silver plate -" Not

to mention, of course, that she was now alone - apart from

the Captain and Commander Spock , who were Ifni knew

where and in Ifni knew what condition - on a Starbase

with a creepy alien creature that could induce

hallucinations and take over minds, no way to

communicate with ship, no way to beam back, the only

way out the one shuttle left for the Captain and Spock,

with the possible exception of the one that had just crash

landed at the other end of the bay, not that she could fly

either of them single handed anyway. "In a cream and

herb sauce with garnish."

The air was very thin, now, and she could not hear the

thump of the compressors that would, on the Enterprise,

signal an all out effort to bring air and air-pressure back to

a decompressed part of the ship. Finding the nearest

take-hold she locked her arms around it and waited to see

what disaster would overtake her next,

The door to the Enterprise shuttle creaked up and Jack

Whittaker stepped out. He was hardly his usual band-box

self. His hair was mussed, uniform torn, he was bleeding

from half a dozen cuts and grazes. Even the creases in his

trousers had melted . He hopped out of the doorway and

looked around.

Larssen blinked and wondered whether she was suffering

from oxygen deprivation. When the shuttle doorway was

suddenly filled by the enormous bulk of Harry Pateman,

she was sure of it.

Then she noticed the phaser in Whittaker's hand and rolled

hard to her left, getting as much of her body as she could

behind the nearest cargo loader. Scrunching down, arms

around knees, Larssen wished get again that she was a

smaller person. Trying to keep every part of her body

behind the loader, she felt like an elephant.

"Whittaker!" roared Pateman in a voice that seemed to

rattle the deck plates.

Whittaker turned and fired at him and Pateman dived for

cover with an unexpected turn of speed.

"Whittaker!" Pateman yelled again from behind the

shuttle. "Man, thou hast one last chance! Come to thy

senses, or I swear to thee that hell itself will look like an

afternoon in Aldebaran's Purple Pleasure Palace of

Delight compared to what I'll do to thee!"

Whittaker's only answer was to fire again. He turned, and

Larssen ducked back down behind the loader.

As she huddled there, she could hear Whittaker's

footsteps as he moved around the bay. The temptation to

look up, to see where he was, was almost overwhelming.

~Stay down, stay small, she told herself.~ She could hear

him getting closer, and darted a quick glance to her left, to

her right, looking to see if there was better cover she could

get to. Nothing.

~Hold your position, hold your nerve. Hold your position,

hold your nerve. Moving won't help. Looking won't help.

Staying still is your only chance. Staying still - ~

"Larssen."

Hoping he was only trying to startle her into movement

Larssen stayed still, trying to press herself further into the

deck.

"Larssen." The cold barrel of a phaser touched her neck.

~Well, that didn't work,~ she thought, and slowly raised her

head.

"Sir." she said, although looking at the gleam in

Whittaker's eyes, the flecks of foam at the corners of his

mouth, Larssen very much doubted there was anything

left of the Starfleet officer in Jack Whittaker.

"Get up." Whittaker stepped back, gestured with the

phaser. "On your feet. I know it's not your favourite

position, Larssen, but on your feet."

"Aye, sir." Slowly and carefully, keeping her hands in

view, Larssen got up. "Sir, I respectfully recommend that

we evacuate the area, in my view -"

"Nobody's interested in your view, Larssen."

"Nossir." The look in his eyes made her flesh crawl. Jack

Whittaker was bad enough at the best of times. Jack

Whittaker was associated with an awful lot of memories

Larssen had trained herself not to think about. Being in

his presence was unpleasant enough on the Enterprise. Now,

as well, there was something in his eyes that brought the

feeling of being back in that abandoned science lab with that

not-child.

Nonetheless, she held herself still, jaws clamped on a wave

of nausea, and met his gaze.

"You're going to come with me, Larssen, because we have

things to do. Oh, yes, yes indeedy, we have things to do.

Your precious Captain Kirk thinks he can handle anything

but he's over matched here. He should have asked my

advice. He should have asked me, Larssen, but never

mind, never mind, never mind that now, I'm here now, and

Kirk will see, he will see, he will see he should have

realised that it was me, it was me, it was me all along. I'm

the one. I'm the one. I'm the one, they'll all see, they'll see

it's me."

"Sir." Larssen said, and took a little breath, as much as she

could manage with every muscle of her chest frozen tight.

"Sir, you may wish to consider - I don't think you're

yourself right now, sir. I've heard it too, sir, I know what

you're going through, and if you just -"

"Shut up!" He thrust the phaser in her face. "Shut up,

Larssen, shut up! As if there's anything I'd listen to *you*

about, you little slut! Whore! I know what you are,

Larssen, we know what you are!"

"Yessir." Larssen said steadily. "I'm sure you're right,

sir. I'm sure you're right. It's the Captain's mistake, sir,

not to realise that you were the most suitable person to

handle this. Sir, now you've corrected that mistake, don't

you think it would be worth considering return to the

Enterprise to establish -"

"No!" Whittaker said. "It's time - it's time I was here. It's

time I was here. This is where I have to be. This is the

place. The Captain is about to make a terrible mistake. A

terrible mistake, Larssen, he's been listening to that Vulcan

- not as smart as he thinks he is, Mr Spock, oh, no, not as

smart as he thinks he is. I have to stop them from making

a mistake. I have to stop them! And you're not going to

stop me, Larssen, you filthy little whore." He raised the

phaser, levelled it at Larssen and took aim.

Bracing herself for the blast, ready to duck and lunge, as if

Whittaker could miss at this range, as if she could possibly

hope to make it across the distance between them after

taking a hit, Larssen heard Pateman's voice from across

the bay.

"Whittaker, thou cowardly cunt!"