Chapter Six

SMALL, FIRM, and utterly adamant hand came down hard upon McCoy’s shoulder and drove him painfully to the cold floor. He gasped sharply when his knees protested the harsh action, and felt the other members of the landing party draw around him in a huddle in the sudden darkness. As close as they were, he could see nothing, not even the glint of insignia. Their breathing sounded light and rapid in his ears. His own heart trip-hammered against his rib cage like a native drummer gone berserk, and he fought down the adrenaline-shot desire to flee. Panicked retreat in blind darkness would only spell disaster for him, if not for the entire party. Ensign Hallie’s flash-encumbered hand stayed firmly in place on his shoulder, and he was grateful for the physical contact. It gave him a point of reference in the disorientation of utter sightlessness.

“Spock—” McCoy’s whispered voice sounded raspy with stress and overly loud. Hallie’s fingers tightened on his shoulder, bidding him be silent. He was probably breaking some important rule by speaking out, but he had to know—

“Silence, Doctor,” the Vulcan ordered sharply. The hushed command, delivered in an inarguable tone, came from McCoy’s right and above his head. Evidently Ensign Markson hadn’t had as much success as Ensign Hallie in getting his charge to crouch at floor level. Spock was still standing.

“What are you doing?” McCoy demanded hoarsely, ignoring Spock’s command. He wanted so badly to know if something was creeping up on them, though if there were, it was probably as hindered by the darkness as they. Right, he snorted to himself. With my luck, it’s wearing infrared glasses.

The first officer’s next words were short, his speech clipped in the closest approximation he ever had to genuine irritation. “Endeavoring to listen, Dr. McCoy, if you would be so kind as to cease your unnecessary chatter.”

That shut up the brash physician and heated his face with a sudden, well-justified blush. He stayed silent, crouched where he was with one hand against the cool floor between his knees for balance and the other wrapped securely around the butt of his phaser, for all the good it would do. He wasn’t about to start shooting in the dark, even if one of Commander Scott’s shipboard bogeymen was coming at them. He wasn’t going to risk killing one of his crewmates on the unlikely off-chance that he might hit whatever was out there. If there was anything out there.

He looked down toward his phaser and was startled to find he couldn’t see the power indicator light. What the hell was going on here?

Someone’s shoulder bumped his lightly, startling him and rocking him slightly off-balance for a moment. A whispered voice that sounded a little like Leno’s, murmured, “Sorry,” and the contact was immediately broken. He missed it as soon as it was gone. The brief touch was immeasurably reassuring. It was nice knowing he wasn’t alone in this, even if he couldn’t see the other person’s face.

Wait a minute … yes, he could! The corridor’s murky emergency lights flickered and grew steady. The unanticipated illumination was comforting, for all that the reddish hue lent a sepulchral, otherworldly cast to everything. Welcome to Hell Dr. McCoy, the doctor thought sourly.

The doctor looked up. Spock stood over them, his lean form tensed. The Vulcan’s head turned slowly from side to side as he attempted to catch any vagrant sound with those superior ears of his. The weird lighting edged the sharp contours of his face and drove skeletal hollows into his cheeks and around both eyes until he looked more like a Vulcan corpse than a flesh-and-blood entity.

“Can we get up now?”

When the first officer nodded once in response to his question, the doctor and the others climbed to their feet. Almost without conscious thought, they stood nearly back-to-back, at least one pair of eyes trained in each direction.

“Did you hear anything, Mr. Spock?” Chekov inquired.

“No.” The Vulcan seemed disappointed. His dark eyes searched the empty corridor.

“Is everyone all right?” McCoy asked the others. They all nodded assent, and Hallie blew a stray lock of hair out of her eyes. Leno’s eyes flicked in rapid movements as she checked every angle for something that wasn’t right.

McCoy drew a deep breath. All the more power to her, he thought. I don’t think there’s anything here that’s quite right. “Well,” he said, “What the hell was that all about?”

“Uncertain, Doctor.” Spock said evenly. His eyes continued to hunt the shadowy corridor, though there was obviously nothing to see. “My shipboard sensors indicated systems on bare maintenance with no draw of power. Even were systems to fail entirely, such failure should under no circumstances affect our personal handlamps.”

“That’s not all it affected,” Hallie spoke up. She raised her phaser. “The power’s up now, but during the blackout even this went dead. At least, the indicator light did,” she amended. “I don’t know if we would have had power if we needed it.”

McCoy nodded. “Hallie’s right. I know my light was out.”

“Not good,” Leno muttered, and shared a look with Chekov.

“This is most curious,” was Spock’s response to the news.

“‘Most curious’?” McCoy parroted, irritated by the first officer’s calmness. “Is that all you can say? ‘Most curious’?” Hands on his hips, he quelled a desire to shake the Vulcan.

“I fail to understand what it is you desire me to say,” Spock replied. He swung his tricorder around front and thumbed the controls. “My tricorder is functioning along normal parameters.” He turned in a slow circle and stopped, facing in the direction they had been heading. “However, there is no indication of a power drain.” He held up the instrument for all to see. “Fascinating. I suggest we proceed with our search.”

“Wait a minute!” Mccoy’s voice brought the Vulcan up short. “What are we going to do if our lights fail again?”

Spock turned and gave the doctor an appraising once-over. “We will have to deal with that when, and if, it occurs,” he replied pragmatically.

“Terrific,” McCoy sneered and turned away.

“I would prefer to submit almost any other positive alternative course of action, Dr. McCoy, but our options seem to be singularly limited in that regard at this time, until we gain further information.”

Was that testiness edging the Vulcan’s firm tones like ice forming along the shore of a lake? McCoy turned back and peered closely at Spock’s emotionless face, zeroing in on the dark orbs beneath the peaked and shadowed brows. Spock could swear on all his Vulcan ancestors that he harbored not one whit of emotion in his soul, but McCoy knew differently. Just as he now knew, clear as day, the message Spock silently broadcast via those dark, bottomless eyes: We are the senior officers on this mission. We need to be together in this, if in nothing else.

McCoy felt a stab of shame for his behavior. He was well deserving of Spock’s chastening. This station and everything in it was an enormous unknown quantity. Spock would do everything in his power to keep their group safe and together, but he was obviously bothered by the situation, whether or not he’d admit it. The fact that all this had spooked the unflappable Vulcan was enough to make McCoy sit up and take notice. “Don’t you think we should contact the ship?” he asked quietly and far more appropriately. “The captain might want to reconsider an exploration if we don’t have any assurance of lights.”

Spock paused, deep in thought. “While I do not wish us to be caught at a disadvantage should our lights fail us again,” he concluded after several moments of silence, “neither do I necessarily think that abandoning our exploration is our best course of action. Your recommendation is sound, Doctor. We shall let Captain Kirk advise us on how to proceed. He may, indeed, prefer that we return to the ship at this time.”

“Sounds good to me,” the doctor agreed readily. Chekov and Leno looked slightly disappointed by the decision, but they had the notorious reputation for being two of the more adventuresome spirits aboard the Enterprise. Hallie seemed ambivalent, her eyes on her chief. For his part, Markson looked enormously relieved.

Spock unhooked his communicator and flipped it open. “Spock to Enterprise.” When there was no immediate response, he glanced briefly at his companions and toyed with the dials on the mechanism’s face before he tried again. “This is Mr. Spock. Enterprise, do you read me?”

The responding silence made McCoy’s stomach try to climb up the inside of his throat. “What’s the matter, Spock?”

The Vulcan stared thoughtfully at the communicator a moment before folding it shut. He looked up. “We appear to have lost contact with the ship,” he said simply.

An icy chill trickled along Kirk’s stomach lining at the chief engineer’s dire words. He inhaled sharply and hunched over the desk in his quarters. “What’s happened, Scotty?”

Despair colored the chief engineer’s rich tones even over the shipboard communicator’s tiny speakers. “That’s just it, sir! I don’t know! One minute they were there, safe as a bairn in a basket. The next minute they were gone, like they’d never even been there!”

“Did you have a clear reading on them the entire time?”

“Aye, sir, that I did!” came the Scotsman’s vehement reply. “It was a strong, solid signal, all but for an instant.”

“An instant?” Kirk repeated, jumping on the chief engineer’s words. He leaned farther forward, as though he could squeeze himself through the linkup and appear at Scott’s side in the transporter room. “An instant, you said, Scotty?”

“Aye, sir. For no reason I can fathom, the signal fluctuated a wee bit.” Scott’s voice grew mournful. “The next thing I knew, they were gone.”

Kirk slumped back, mind racing. “The antigrav failed in the gym,” he murmured to himself. “And the turbolift …”

“Sir?” Mr. Scott questioned. “What was that about the turbolift?”

“I’m not certain, Scotty, except that it was behaving oddly a little while ago. I just thought there were a lot of people using it at once, but now I think that may not have been the case. I want you to check on it and compare your findings with whatever caused the antigrav to kick out in the gym. And stay on the transporter. Keep trying to find the landing party, and when you do, beam them back immediately.”

“Aye, sir!” The line closed.

Kirk stabbed a button on the console, his reflection cast back waveringly from the dark screen. “Uhura!” he barked. “Have you got a fix on that channel to Spock?”

“I’m sorry, Captain.” The communications officer sounded angry with herself or her equipment. “I’ve tried everything, but I can’t access the channel.”

“Is something jamming us?” Dammit, was this a Romulan plot and were they about to attacked?

“I don’t know, sir. It’s not like any jamming I’ve ever come across. It’s more like … well, like leaching, sir. As though the signal’s just evaporating.”

Kirk’s mind leapt like water across a hot griddle as a wash of adrenaline set his heart thudding rapidly against his ribs and painfully reminded him of his bruised side. “All right, Uhura.” He kept his voice calm, reassuring. “I know you’re doing your best. Keep trying to raise them. I’m on my way to the bridge.”

“Aye, sir.”

Kirk leaned forward, “And, Uhura, I want reports from all sections regarding any malfunctions, power drop-offs, or unusual energy drains or fluctuations of any kind in the past couple of hours. I don’t care how minor they might appear.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll have the information waiting for you.” Uhura dropped out of the connection.

There has to be a correlation, Kirk thought as he started for the door. This couldn’t be just coincidental. Besides which, he didn’t happen to believe in coincidence. Too many close brushes with death had instilled in the captain a firm philosophy that everything happened for a reason, no matter how obscure. You might never know or understand the reason, but it was there.

He hit the corridor almost running and strode quickly toward the turbolift. The doors silently opened as he reached them. Good. At least they were back to working normally. He stepped inside without hesitation, and the doors closed quietly as his back. “Bridge.”

The grav plate beneath his feet hummed quietly as the turbolift accelerated, moving with a smooth, upward sensation, the readout over the door glowing. Deck 3 … Deck 2 … Next would be the bridge.

The turbolift ground to a halt with a sound that set Kirk’s teeth on edge. The door panel stolidly read 2, and the doors did not open.

Kirk’s sigh was an explosion of frustration. “Dammit, I don’t have time for this!” He had an away team missing, at least so far as the transporter console was concerned, and he needed to find a way to reach them. What he did not need was a malfunctioning ship!

The turbolift car suddenly dropped away beneath him, leaving Kirk’s stomach hanging in his throat. He lunged toward the manual override but was knocked off his feet as the car unexpectedly jerked sideways on Deck 5. Kirk lost his balance, spun around, and hit the floor hard, knocking the air from his lungs. His formerly bruised side exploded with a flare of brilliant pain as two ribs snapped. Fighting for breath, he hitched gasps against the rush of agony and fought the encroaching dark that threatened to leave him unconscious on the floor. The deck indicator over the door glowed a steady 5 as the turbolift hurtled the length of the saucer section.

There was a roaring in his ears and, despite his efforts, his vision was going gray. Kirk blindly shambled to his knees, one hand pressed firmly against the white heat in his rib cage, and tried to remember through the haze of pain and disorientation in which direction lay the manual override. With his free hand, he clawed sightlessly for the handrail and pulled himself up, forcing himself to stand on knees watery with shock and pain.

The turbolift abruptly paused. There was the briefest, most horrible moment of silence … then the car fell. Utterly out of control, it plummeted in free-fall in a destructive destination to the shaft bottom.