Chapter Eight

THROUGH THE ENCROACHING snowy gray haze of his vision, Kirk crabbed blindly for the turbolift’s manual control. His brain raced, fighting against the throbbing pulse of pain in his side, striving to retain consciousness, striving to regain equilibrium. He felt, rather than saw, the latch under the groping fingers of his fumbling hands spring open at his touch. Ribs shrieking, he used both hands to grasp the handle within, and hauled on the manual override like a sailor at the rudder of a storm-tossed vessel. The emergency couplers locked in with a clang and squeal of metal, slowing the turbolift’s runaway descent and leaving Kirk’s heart in his throat.

Gasping, he looked up at the readout over the door. The gray haze vanished from his vision, and his tight grip on the manual control lever was the only thing that kept him on his feet as shock kicked in. It had been close, too damned close! Another few moments and it would have all been over for James T. Kirk. Bones would have had to scrape him off the shaft floor and ship his remains home in a mason jar.

Kirk felt a white-hot flash of pain from his broken ribs every time he took a breath. He watched the readout through the thatch of hair across his dazed eyes as the turbolift car began to rise: Deck 14 … Deck 13 … Deck 12 … and still it rose at its normal speed, as sedate as a coach and four out for a turn around the park. When it reached Deck 7, a mellow tone sounded. The turbolift stopped its ascent without any impetus from Kirk, and the doors slid open silently.

Scotty, and the two engineering techs with him, blinked with astonishment at the sight of their captain slumped against the turbolift wall. “Captain Kirk! What in the name of all that’s ho—”

“Get me out of here!” Kirk rasped and lunged for the door, not wanting to remain inside the ill-behaved contraption one moment longer. Their hands caught him and pulled him free. Kirk’s legs gave out, and he sagged to the floor with Scott’s supporting arms around his shoulders. Chest heaving with aftershock, the captain watched as one of the techs deactivated the turbolift, locked the doors open, and applied a bright orange strip that said No ACCESS.Kirk’s eyes tracked to Scotty’s concerned face. “How did you know I was in there?”

“I didn’t, sir. These lads called me in the transporter room and said the computer had flagged a malfunction on the starboard turbolift, that it was in free-fall. They threw an immediate coupler, but by that time one had already been thrown manually from within the turbolift, so we knew someone was inside. I had it routed here so I could take a look for myself.”

“You’re supposed to be in the transporter room tracking the away team.”

Scott met his captain’s accusatory glare without batting an eye or flinching. “Aye, sir. I’ve got Lieutenant Rand on it. She’s as good as they come, with none better. If the landing party’s signal comes back on line, she’ll fetch them home as quickly and neatly as I could.” Scott’s expression was serious. “I was needed here as well, sir, to assure the safety of the crew. And speaking of which, you’ve cut your forehead, Captain.”

Kirk probed his brow with gentle fingers and winced. A goose-egg swelling rose over his left eye, though he couldn’t remember having hit his head. The center of the contusion was damp, and his fingers came away spotted with red. Blood had trickled into his eyebrow and caked there in a sticky patch.

“You should have that looked at, Captain,” Scott suggested.

“Later, Mr. Scott.” Kirk wiped his sticky fingers on his pant leg and held out his arm. “Help me up.” The jolt of pain as he rose was so severe that Kirk’s teeth snapped together, clacking like an Arn dreamtalker’s divining bones, and he hissed sharply. His knees turned to mud, and his vision momentarily grew cloudy again and faded at the edges.

“Captain!” Scott snugged a firm arm around Kirk’s waist, and the captain fought back a desire to scream. “You’re hurt!”

“You could say that, Mr. Scott,” Kirk grated through clenched teeth. With the chief engineer’s help, he staggered to the intercom console on the wall beside the turbolift. An unsteady finger depressed the speaker button. “This is Captain Kirk.” He closed his eyes, hating how weak and reedy his voice sounded. He felt as though all the blood had drained out of his body. “The turbolifts are off-limits to all personnel. Repeat, all personnel. Use of the turbolifts may be a risk to your life. Until further notice, you are ordered to use the main stairwell and access ladders only. Kirk out.” He forced his eyes open.

Scotty was staring at him, obviously perplexed. “Captain, there’s no reason to shut down the entire system. These lads and I can take care of it in a jiffy. T’was only a wee malfunction.”

“I don’t think so, Mr. Scott,” Kirk said grimly. “I think it was a whole lot more than that.” He hitched a deep breath, wincing. “I have to get to the bridge.”

“Aye, sir,” Scott agreed readily. “As soon as you’ve been to sickbay.”

“Scotty—”

“This isn’t the first time this old pub crawler has seen a man suffering from broken ribs, Captain,” Scott said sternly. “You’ll never make it the seven levels to the bridge on your own without that being tended to. Sickbay is only down the hall, right on the way to the stairs. Can you not take a few minutes to have Dr. Chapel take a look at you?”

“I don’t have time for that.” Stubbornly, Kirk pulled himself out of the chief engineer’s supporting embrace and turned away. One hand pressed tightly against his side, he took a single limping step down the corridor toward the stairwell and felt the recently regained color drain out of his face.

Scotty was at his side in an instant, lending a strong arm for Kirk to lean on. “Aye, but you’re an obstinate man, sir. Do I have to carry you to sickbay?”

Kirk stared back, dumbfounded. “You wouldn’t dare.” He watched the chief engineer for a moment, then silently acquiesced with a weary sigh. “You would, too, wouldn’t you?”

“Aye, sir.” Scott glanced back over his shoulder. “You lads run a diagnostic on that turbolift and send the findings to my station on the bridge.”

“Yes, sir, Commander.” They turned away and began to work.

“Shall we, then, Mr. Scott?” Kirk held out an arm for Scotty’s support and, quite happily, Scott slid in under the offered arm as they started toward sickbay.

It didn’t take long for Christine Chapel to minister to Kirk’s injuries and send him on his way with a strict order not to overdo. Two of his ribs were cracked, though fortunately not broken through. Chapel agreed to wait to repair them until the end of the present crisis, contenting herself with dressing the cut on his forehead.

Now he gusted a heavy sigh as he and Scotty reached the main stairwell leading upward through the Enterprise’s inner workings to the emergency hatch on the bridge, located just forward of the helm console. “I’m not looking forward to this, Mr. Scott.”

“I know,” Scott replied with feeling. “I can’t say as I am, either.” He stared up the long stairwell, and his head cocked sideways. “If need be, sir,” he offered generously, “I can always take you piggy-back”.

“Be careful what you offer, Mr. Scott,” Kirk warned. “I may just take you up on it.” He batted the chief engineer’s arm. “Let’s go.”

It galled Kirk to have no real strength or stamina for this climb, no ability to draw the deep breaths necessary for such exertion. The painkiller dosage Dr. Chapel had given him was light, because he needed to remain sharp, but he was paying the price for the stitch of pain tracing along his side. His initial speed, an attempt not to give in to the injury, fell off after two flights, his breath catching in his chest and his lungs laboring like captives behind the prison of his rib cage. The cut over his eyebrow, butterflied shut by Dr. Chapel’s efficient hands, throbbed like a second heart, keeping juxtaposed rhythm with his labored breathing.

Kirk held up a hand, calling for a momentary halt, and hating to have to do it. His sight was fraught with pinpoints of light. If he didn’t stop and rest, he’d pitch over and Scott would have to carry him. “Have we heard anything from the landing party?” he gasped.

“Not that I know of, sir,” Scott panted, out of breath but not nearly as badly as Kirk. “And no sign of their signal on the transporter.”

“Damn.” Kirk ran a hand through his sweaty hair. “Can we send someone else over?”

Scotty looked dubious. “I suppose I could try, Captain, but I’d really rather not unless I have to. The transporter’s been acting a bit queer since I lost the signal. I’d hate to transport someone into the bulkhead.”

It wasn’t a pleasant image. “How about sending over a shuttlecraft?”

The chief engineer thought a moment, then nodded. “Aye, it might be tricky with the fluctuations, but we could try that. Send a security crew over with another generator to patch into an airlock.”

“Good. We’ll do that.” Frustration itched at Kirk like a rash. He needed to act. He needed to know what had happened to his landing party and what he could do to retrieve them, and he wanted to find out what the hell was wrong with his ship.

“Captain?” Scott asked as they resumed their climb. “What did happen on the turbolift?”

Briefly, Kirk outlined the story. Then he said, “Remember, I called you and told you about the antigrav cutting out on me in the gym?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, the turbolift was acting odd earlier, too. Didn’t come when the call button was depressed. And the transporter is out and Uhura can’t raise the away team.” His eyebrows rose. “Does that produce any theories, Mr. Scott?”

“Sounds like it may be an energy drain from somewhere, Captain, but I can’t imagine from where. I’ll check on it as soon as we reach the bridge.”

In four million years … , Kirk thought. “Uhura’s compiling a list”—Kirk paused to catch his breath—”to see if there have been other aberrations aboard the ship. If there are, we need to know where they’re located, how widespread they are, and just how they are manifesting themselves.” His sharp eyes sought Scott’s. “And we need to find out what’s causing them.”

“If it’s the Enterprise herself,” Scotty vowed, “I’ll know it.”

“I appreciate your assurance, Mr. Scott, but I don’t think it is the ship.”

“Sir?”

“Our problems didn’t start until we found that space station, Scotty. And we can’t just assume that the reason we haven’t heard from the landing party is because of our own problems with power. For all we know, they may be experiencing their own difficulties.”

“That’s not a pleasant thought, sir.”

“No, Mr. Scott, it’s not. But I don’t know as much about that station as I’d like.” He continued to climb.

As the levels approached and passed, Kirk leaned more and more heavily on the metal banister, relying on that and Scotty’s staunch presence at his side to get him up the next flight.

Chest heaving and sending a jolt of pain into his side with each labored breath, Kirk leaned against the railing as Scott loosened the toggles securing the hatch cover. When it was loose, he pushed past the chief engineer, lifted the hatch, and climbed onto the bridge.

He grimaced as he climbed forth, grateful for Scotty’s assistance from below. “Status report, Uhura!” he barked as evenly as he could, hauling himself out of the way so the chief engineer could climb past and head for his station.

“No contact with the landing party, Captain. Several decks reporting a variety of malfunctions,” she announced briskly, “with more reports coming in.”

Kirk all but fell into the command chair. He swallowed a groan and, for a moment, wished for another of Chapel’s painkillers. He took the computer pad a yeoman offered, and his heart fell. Though the majority of problems were relatively minor, the list was much longer than he had anticipated. And had Uhura really said something about more reports coming in?

A profound tiredness stole over him, threatening to wash him away in a darkening tide, but there was no time for weariness, not with an away team missing aboard a space station that shouldn’t even be there, and a starship that was falling to pieces around him.

“Scotty, I want you to see this.” Kirk passed the list across to the bridge’s engineering console. The captain didn’t know the exact English translation of the Gaelic words that escaped Mr. Scott’s lips in a vitriolic rush, but he could extrapolate very well, because the same general thought had crossed his own mind moments before.

Scott shook his head in disbelief. “I don’t understand this at all, sir.” He waved a hand at the readout. “Systems are falling off at different times. There’s no pattern to the fluctuations nor where they’re occurring. It’s like we’re a main course at a beer tasters’ convention—a sip here, a sip there. I’ll get my crew on it right away, but it may take some time—”

“We don’t have the luxury of time, Commander Scott,” Kirk stonily reminded him, hazel eyes hard.

“Aye, sir, that we don’t. My crew is on it.” He bent over his work station, speaking urgently.

Uhura turned from her console. “Captain, Deck 6 reports life support dropping to minimal despite attempts to bring it back on-line. With your permission, I’ll have the off-duty personnel transfer elsewhere.” When he nodded, she swiveled her chair around again.

“Ensign Estano!” Kirk called to the man in Chekov’s chair during the security chief’s absence.

The young ensign sat bolt upright. “Aye, sir!”

“I want a security team of two in the shuttlebay in five minutes. They’re to take a shuttlecraft across to the space station and attempt to access the station proper and locate the landing party.”

“Yes, sir!” Estano’s hands flew over his console, and his voice rang out. “Security guards Jaffe and Corey are ordered to the shuttlebay in five minutes, suited for a rescue operation aboard the Romulan space station.” Static broke up his message. Frowning, Estano repeated it. He shot a glance at Kirk. “I think they heard me, sir.”

“Let’s hope so, Mr. Estano. It’s a long walk to the shuttlebay.” He rubbed his hands together. “Uhura, is it cold in here or is it just me?”

She studied some readouts on the vast panel before her. “Life support is minimally affected, Captain. Bridge temperature has dropped by several degrees.”

He nodded, unease squirming through his veins. Kirk stared ahead at the viewscreen. Its image of the space station was interrupted by a flurry of static. Frustration gnawed at him. He was doing everything he could, following up his leads, and it felt like he was doing nothing! Something was making the Enterprise come apart around him, stealing the power she needed in order to function, and his landing party was as good as vanished. What in hell was happening over there?