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antimatter discharge directly ahead… it might disrupt the field long enough for us to break away.”

Kirk nodded slowly as he considered it. “A photon torpedo?” “Aye.”

The older captain turned toward Demora. “Load torpedo bays, prepare to fire on my command.”

“Captain.” Demora swiveled toward him, unmasked dismay in her eyes. “We don’t have any torpedoes.”

“Don’t tell me. Tuesday.” Kirk closed his eyes briefly, then opened them at Harriman, who gave a defeated nod.

“Captain,” Scott said, “it may be possible to simulate a torpedo blast using a resonance burst from the main deflector dish.”

Fighting to keep his balance on the unsteady deck, Kirk turned to him with a fresh surge of hope. “Where are the deflector relays?”

“Deck fifteen,” Demora replied at once. “Section twenty-one alpha.”

Harriman rose, his bearing unsteady because of the shaking floor beneath his feet. “I’ll go. You have the bridge.” And without pausing to hear the response, he headed for the turbolift.

“No, “Kirk said sharply. As tempting as it was for him to slip into the empty captain’s chair, this was Harriman’s ship; and the younger man had just proven his worth. Only a true captain would swallow his pride and turn over command for his crew’s sake.

Harriman straightened, and turned to stare at the older captain behind him. “No,” Kirk said. “A captain’s place is on the bridge of his ship.” He paused. “I’ll take care of it.”

Harriman smiled with his eyes only; his jaw was set grimly as he gave Kirk a nod that acknowledged far more than the older captain’s words.

Kirk turned to Scott as he headed for the turbolift. “Keep her together until I get back.” “I always do,” Scott said.

Kirk gave him a smile just before the turbolift doors slid shut.

And when the lift doors opened onto level fifteen, he was again in exhilarating free fall, a combination of the sheerest terror and bliss. Terror, because he remembered the dreams of the night before and knew Spock would not be there to catch him; bliss, because he was once again doing what he had been born to do—make a difference. There was no time for thought, for reflection, only for pure mindless action.

Jim ran down the trembling corridor with a speed he had thought himself no longer capable of, following the signs to section twenty-one alpha until at last he made it to the deflector room, with its massive generators towering behind a stand of consoles.

His heart was pounding, his breath coming in gasps, but none of it mattered; it was the first time in over a year he had truly felt alive. He found the bulkhead panel and pried it off, then began to work at rerouting the deflector circuitry.

He hadn’t been at it more than a minute when the wall intercom whistled and Scott’s voice filtered through, barely audible over the ship’s groaning. “Bridge to Captain Kirk.”

“Kirk here,” he shouted, not taking his gaze from his work. What needed to be done was simple; and if he