Chapter Sixteen

THE FOUR REMAINING MEMBERS of the landing party descended the stairway from the catwalk as rapidly as they could, their eyes almost constantly on the creature as they moved.

If McCoy thought it was impressive from above, it was more so from beside. He wanted to call it a jellyfish or a krill, but those words just didn’t encompass all this creature seemed to be. It bugged him that, with all his education, he couldn’t come up with one or two correct adjectives to describe this damned thing.

They gathered in a line several yards back from the shimmering bulk. “Energy level readings,” Spock said, loosening his phaser into his hand.

Chekov glanced at his own, then looked to either side to double-check McCoy’s and Hallie’s. “Well, there’s power, Mr. Spock, but I don’t make any promises.”

“I don’t recall asking for any, Lieutenant,” the Vulcan replied calmly. “As it is to be expected that our beams will be weak, we may need to step closer to effect any response from the creature. Please wait to follow my lead.” He brought up the weapon and sighted down it. “Begin.”

McCoy absurdly felt like something out of Shootout at the OK Corral as their phasers all came up in identical smooth motions and their fingers depressed the triggers. A weak stream of energy, curdled as old milk, slipped forth and splashed against the creature like a wayward seaside wave. Colors spread along its side, and it seemed to flinch in response.

“Closer,” Spock ordered, and they stepped several feet nearer. Their second volley sent up another spray of color along the creature’s side, but it did not attempt to retaliate or repulse the attack.

McCoy glanced sideways at all the machinery. “Are we having any effect? Is its hold weakening?”

“I do not yet know, Doctor,” Spock replied. “I recommend we get somewhat closer.”

“Just how close are you expecting to take us, Spock? I don’t exactly want to become bosom buddies with this thing.”

“This will suffice,” the Vulcan said, taking his place only several feet from the creature’s pulsating form.

“It’s probably just trying to decide if our phasers taste good,” McCoy grumped to Chekov.

“A weak beam just doesn’t seem to be having any effect,” Hallie said. “Can’t we up the power, sir?”

“I would prefer not injuring this creature, if possible,” Spock informed her. McCoy could tell from her look that she wouldn’t have had any problem at all with injuring it, or even killing it for that matter. “Let us try one more time.”

Chekov glanced down at his phaser. “That’s about all we have left, Mr. Spock. After that, we’ll be without weapons.”

“Understood, Lieutenant. Is everyone ready? Then, fire.”

An indescribable rainbow of color rippled over the creature’s surface, and it suddenly reached toward them. No … not toward them but toward Hallie. It writhed up the energy beam from her phaser, sliding over the weapon and her hand like it was made of jelly, and drew her inside itself before any of the men could move. Her body twitched hard within the color-shot mass, and she struggled to turn around, staring at the men with eyes that were huge, panic-stricken, and pleading, the white showing all around the dark iris. Her hands reached toward them beseechingly, begging for help. Her slim form shuddered, then snapped violently backward, her back bent like a strung bow. One hand dug at her chest while the other reached toward them, fingers crabbed into the palm.

“NO!” Not thinking about what he was doing, not daring to think about it because he wouldn’t do it if he did, McCoy started in after her. Behind him, Spock roared his name in a voice that must have hearkened back to the Vulcan’s more violent roots, and someone’s hands grabbed the doctor’s arm. McCoy struggled against the tight grip, winning forward by inches, and thrust his other arm up to the shoulder inside the creature.

He had left his arm in snow, in someone’s freezer, beneath the iceberged waters of the planet Nordstral. The cold was pain, sharp and bright, the e-suit all but useless, but when Hallie’s limp fingers brushed McCoy’s, he lurched for them, caught them in his own, and leaned back, letting the force of whoever had him drag them both to safety.

McCoy sagged to his knees, and Hallie slid out at his feet like a baby fresh from the womb. Her face was as blue as death. Her lips, the edges of her nose, and the corners of her closed eyes were violet. She lay unmoving, unbreathing.

The doctor lunged over her and tore at the front of her e-suit, rending it open to expose the pale flesh beneath. His right arm and hand were cold and unresponsive from their journey inside the creature. He had to reach across with his left hand into the medipouch at his side, finger-picking unerringly through the equipment, finding what he needed by touch, and sliding the vial into the hypospray in a smooth motion. He pumped the medication into the center of her chest, tossed that vial aside, and rammed home another.

“What is it?” Chekov asked, breathing heavily behind him, and for the first time McCoy knew who it was who had dragged them both to safety.

“Cardiac arrest!” he snapped. Laying the cold flesh of his right hand against her body and cupping his left over it in the age-old gesture for cardiopulmonary resuscitation, he pumped Hallie’s chest rapidly several times, then tilted her head back, pinched her nose, and breathed into her mouth. He listened for a moment, then repeated the routine. And again. And again. And again.

“Come on, Hallie,” McCoy grated from between clenched teeth. “You’ve come this far. Don’t let me down now.” Why the hell hadn’t the medication done anything to restart her heart? His mind rifled through what else he had in the pouch that might be effective, and came up empty-handed. If he had her in sickbay, then he could do something. Then he could perform a miracle worthy of Montgomery Scott. But here …

He stopped pumping an instant before Spock’s hand touched him. McCoy threw off the touch with a rough jerk of his shoulder and sat back on his heels, his hands curled and useless between his knees, his head bowed in defeat.

A wordless noise of regret escaped Chekov. He knelt beside the doctor to gently close up the front of Hallie’s e-suit and fold her hands together over her stomach. He sighed. “The suits may afford us some protection, but evidently it’s not enough,” he said quietly.

McCoy stirred, drawn away from memories, and rubbed his right arm. He was beginning to get some feeling back into the useless appendage. Sparks of sensation tingled along his skin, and he flexed his fingers slowly. Loss of manual dexterity … “But why did it go after her?”

Chekov shrugged, his eyes on his team member’s silent form. He frowned suddenly and touched her hand, where her fingers still curled around the butt of her weapon. “Maybe this had something to do with it.” He turned the phaser so the others could see. Hallie had set it nearly on full. “I guess she didn’t agree with you, after all, Mr. Spock. So much for whether or not it’s into revenge.”

“Either that, or it went after the strongest beam, the one that posed the greatest danger, or possibly the strongest source of food,” Spock postulated.

“What difference does it make?!” McCoy snapped. “Hallie’s dead either way!” He shook his head helplessly. “We have to get out of here.”

“Where do you suggest we go, Doctor?”

McCoy’s head snapped around, and he glared up at the Vulcan. “Anywhere on this station that’s the farthest point from that thing! You saw what it did to Hallie! It leached away every ounce of energy and warmth she had in her entire body. You think it won’t do the same to us, even if we don’t touch it? The farther away we are, maybe the longer we’ll have.”

“Distance did not save the Romulans on the bridge,” Spock pointed out.

“But maybe it bought them time!” McCoy spat. “We have to try something!”

“Leaving engineering will not aid our attempts, Dr. McCoy. We have discovered the cause of the energy drain affecting the station and the Enterprise. Only through observation of the creature can we hope to learn how to counteract—”

“And just how long do you think we’ll be able to observe this thing before we drift into unconsciousness and coma?” McCoy wrenched free the mediscanner and turned it on Spock. It warbled apologetically but produced no readings. “Dammit!” McCoy stopped short of flinging it across the room and jammed the piece of equipment back into his pouch.

“Mr. Spock’s right, Doctor,” Chekov said quietly. “We have to try. Running to the other side of the station won’t do anyone any good. Even if we don’t survive, maybe if we stay we can help someone who comes later.”

“Yeah, yeah, right. Okay, we’ll stay.” McCoy didn’t feel like arguing, but his blue eyes challenged the Russian. “I’m not happy about it,” he felt obligated to add. “We’ll stay, but let’s find someplace away from that … thing.”

“For the moment, I concur,” Spock agreed. He assisted McCoy to his feet with a hand under the doctor’s elbow. All three men glanced briefly at Hallie’s body, but there was really no point in moving it.

They turned away, and McCoy stopped dead. “I really don’t need any more of this,” he said to no one in particular.

A body was propped up against the front of one of the consoles. None of them had noticed it before. The desiccated Romulan sat with his legs stretched out straight before him, his hands in his lap. One death-stiffened hand clutched a writing stylus. Beneath the other rested an open book.

“What do you suppose he was doing down here all by himself?” Chekov asked, kneeling to get a closer look. Unlike the other bodies they’d discovered, the smell wasn’t so bad down here. Maybe the overwhelming odor of peaches the creature put out had something to do with it. “Why didn’t he gather together with the others?”

“His rank insignia identifies him as a physician,” Spock supplied, his dark eyes studying the peaceful corpse.

McCoy looked at it in a different light, then, for this man had been a kindred spirit, for all that their races warred against one another. Would he have liked the Romulan? Could they have carried on a sociable conversation, sharing information and learning medical techniques? He liked to think so. But what had this man been up to, down here alone while his fellow crewmen slowly froze in comradely death, his fingers growing numb and hard to maneuver before unconsciousness claimed him and death carried him away?

Spock tugged free the book from beneath the corpse’s hand and began to flip through it. “This is most curious. It appears to be a diary of some kind.”

Chekov stood and peered around the first officer’s arm, shaking his head at the spidery Romulan script. “It’s not often you see anyone keep written records anymore.”

“Too true, Lieutenant,” McCoy agreed. He was as dependent as the next person on the computer for his record-keeping, but sometimes he lamented the loss of the truly written word and thought that humanity was a trifle less for its absence from their lives. “So, does it say anything interesting, Spock?”

The Vulcan did not answer at first, so intent was he on skimming pages. Then his eyebrows rose high on his forehead in the largest expression of surprise McCoy had ever seen on that saturnine face.

“Well …” the doctor prompted.

Spock turned to look at his companions. “There is much here of interest, Doctor, particularly to the captain. We must endeavor to contact the Enterprise.”

“I’m all for that, Spock, but don’t you think that is going to be difficult? I was under the impression you had a hard enough time doing it up on the bridge. Now you want to try it down here with this thing sucking away at—”

“On the contrary, Doctor. In light of the information in this journal, I realize that my successful attempt at contacting the Enterprise was extraordinarily easy.”

McCoy cocked an eyebrow, for the moment not caring if he looked like Spock. “Come again?”

“According to this diary, and as we have observed in our own experience, this creature feeds sporadically.”

“In fits and starts, you mean.”

“Precisely. Part of that may have to do with metabolism. This Romulan physician also theorized that the creature must recalibrate its internal system every time it comes upon a new energy source.”

Chekov snorted. “Between us and the Enterprise, this thing must think it is having a banquet.”

“In a manner of speaking, Lieutenant, except that it must find some of the banquet unpalatable, at least initially, hence its proclivity to ‘taste’ each source in order to understand it and best define how to consume it in the most expedient manner.”

“Which is why you got through to the ship?”

Spock nodded. “I believe so, Doctor. The generator has a unique fusion pulse system, and it was never tied into the system long enough for the creature to get a good ‘taste,’ if you will. When I used it on the bridge, there was some interference, but I believe the problem lay with the Enterprise, not with the transmission.”

“The creature must have been drawing energy from the ship at that time,” Chekov said, eyes wide.

“Possibly so. Owing to its unfamiliarity with the generator, I was able to reach the ship. This entity is leaching energy from a variety of sources, all new to it, which must require some effort. That, coupled with the fact that the generator is something of an unknown quantity, should allow us enough power to contact the ship.”

“Providing their systems aren’t so depleted that they can’t hear us.” McCoy almost wanted to slap himself for saying it.

“We must take that risk,” Spock said calmly, and continued. “The creature has evidently not become proficient in draining Human beings—”

“How can you say that?” Chekov demanded, waving an arm toward Hallie’s silent body. “It took everything out of Hallie in only moments!”

“Because she merged with the creature, Lieutenant. I suspect that the creature drew the heat because of its own low body temperature, causing it to draw the heat from Ensign Hallie’s body according to the laws of basic thermodynamics. In addition, if the creature had previously experienced humans, you would all have been feeling the results of its leaching much sooner and with much more severity than you have.”

“Which explains why you felt so bad on the bridge,” McCoy supplied. “Vulcans and Romulans have the same physiology.”

“Exactly, Doctor. We can use its inexperience with the energy produced by Earth Humans to our advantage. If the creature finds new, unaccostumed energy sources disturbing or disorienting, you and Lieutenant Chekov can act as additional buffers around the generator.”

McCoy shrugged. “I don’t have any problem with that, Spock, except for this—it drained Hallie dry, throwing her into cardiac arrest. That may have been all it needed to learn everything about us. Despite the best intentions, we may do you no good.”

“There are no guarantees, Dr. McCoy. It is merely the only option we have open to us. The creature must digest what it has learned in order to accomplish a realignment of its systems.”

“Let’s just hope it’s a slow eater,” McCoy observed.

It took longer than Kirk had anticipated for Scotty to manually jerry-rig all the photon torpedoes aboard the Enterprise, but the Scotsman wasn’t about to leave it to just anyone to do. As chief engineer, it was his job, his prerogative.

Kirk had followed him with his mind’s eye, watching him take the long walk from the bridge back down to Deck 7 and Engineering, where he picked up the necessary tools. Then it took a little longer for him to get from there to the foundation levels of the connecting dorsal at Decks 12 and 13, where the photon-torpedo launch system was contained. Kirk envied him the opportunity for one last stroll around the vast ship. Why shouldn’t he take his time? It wasn’t as though hurrying to get there was going to radically change anything. They were all in danger. They were all going to die. A few more minutes either way wouldn’t make that much of a difference to anyone.

Scott had his orders, and Kirk knew that he would follow them to the letter, even if regret tore at his heart. It was Scott who’d stayed with the Enterprise throughout the years, nursing her through the troubled times when Kirk left her to pursue the Admiralty he thought he wanted. Scott had eased her through a rigorous refitting and all the troubles that entailed. Even when the others went off on shore leave, more than likely he was to be found sitting with the engines, reading quietly, just he and his girl.

They had both done right by her all these years, and together they would do right by her now. If she had to go out, then Kirk knew that Scott would arrange that she go out in a blaze of glory, by God.

So, if Scott had taken the time and care, going from torpedo to torpedo, checking their charges, priming them, and connecting them via their magnetic loading plates until the torpedo bay looked like it was strewn with streamers for a New Years Eve party, who could blame him? Then he had made the long, slow climb back to the bridge … saying goodbye to this grand lady every step of the way.

Kirk glanced up when Scott climbed out of the floor, and read the reality of the chief engineer’s emotions on his craggy face. Chances were, he didn’t look much better. He felt more haggard and careworn than he ever had in his life. It was a certainty that these events were going down his throat no easier than they were Scott’s. They both loved the Enterprise, for vastly different reasons, but love her they did.

“All set, Mr. Scott?” Kirk’s voice was subdued and taut with emotion.

“Aye, Captain.” The chief engineer nodded. “She’s all set. When she goes, she’ll make a fireball that they’ll see all the way to Antares.”

Pain sliced Kirk’s heart. “Thank you, Scotty. I’m sure she appreciates it. Uhura, were you able to get through to Valgard and tell Corey and Jaffe what’s going to happen?”

She shook her dark head. “Not that I can tell, sir, but I sent the message.”

“Very well.” It wasn’t the sort of surprise he’d wish on anyone, but he didn’t suppose the two security guards would have time to ponder it any longer than would anyone else. “Any luck raising the landing party?”

“None yet, sir. I’m still trying.”

That rankled him more than anything. He at least wanted to hear Spock’s and Bones’s voices one more time, to tell them goodbye, to tell them …

They already know it, Jim. Well, he supposed that was true, but he still would have liked to deliver the message in person. Kirk cleared his throat. “Uhura, can I get shipwide communication?”

“You can try, sir. I don’t know whether or not all sections will read you.”

It was worth a try. Kirk hit the button on his chair.

“This is Captain Kirk. I am about to initiate the self-destruct sequence. I deeply regret that it has come to this. I—” Emotion clogged his throat, and he swallowed hard. “It has been an honor and a privilege to work with each and every one of you. Kirk out.” He sat back in his chair, feeling that it wasn’t enough and knowing it was all he had. His eyes strayed briefly around the bridge. Everyone was watching him—Uhura, Sulu, Scotty, Estano, and all the others. Watching him. Trusting him.

He cleared his throat. “Commander Scott, if you please. Lieutenant Commander Sulu, you’ll fulfill Mr. Spock’s role as acting science officer.”

“Aye, sir.” The helmsman rose to come and stand with his captain and the chief engineer around a free computer screen.

Kirk then took a single deep breath and kept his voice even. “Computer, this is Captain James T. Kirk. Request security access.” The screen flared to black. A beep sounded, and the words SECURITY ACCESS—IDENTITY ACKNOWLEDGED appeared. Kirk licked his lips, not daring to look at the two officers with him, not daring to look at the bridge crew, not daring to think of Spock and McCoy. “Computer, destruct sequence one, code one-one-A.” The computer fed it back to him, words as everlasting as an epitaph. DESTRUCT SEQUENCE ONE. CODE: IIA.

Scott leaned forward, heartbreak and resolution kindred spirits in his eyes. His voice never wavered as he gave the command. “Computer, this is Commander Montgomery Scott, chief engineering officer. Destruct sequence two, code one-A-two-B.” Again, the words were repeated on the screen.

Sulu drew a steadying breath. “Computer, this is Lieutenant Commander Hikaru Sulu, acting science officer. Destruct sequence three, code one-B-two-B—”

“Captain!” Uhura’s voice was incredulous, her face as bright as a child’s on Christmas morning. “I have Mr. Spock!”

“Computer, hold self-destruct!” Kirk snapped, and felt the trickle of ice water throughout his body. “Spock?”

The connection was terrible, but it was Spock, no doubt about it. “Yes, Captain. I’m here with Dr. McCoy and Lieutenant Chekov.”

Oh, no … “What’s happened to Hallie and Leno?”

“Ensign Leno has become trapped in a turbolift, Hallie is dead.”

Damn, damn, damn … No time for this now. Not much time for anything much longer. “Spock, we’ve been trying to reach you. We have very little power left and no way to rescue the landing party or save our ship. Several crew have fallen unconscious due to lowered internal temperatures. We are in the process of initiating a self-destruct sequence—”

“Jim! No!”

“Bones, I—”

“Captain.” Spock’s calm tones overrode them both.

“We have discovered the cause behind the energy loss and ship malfunctions.”

Relief made Kirk’s knees feel rubbery, and he sat down hard at the conn, hardly noticing when the pain flared in his side. “Does it have something to do with the station’s power source?”

“In a manner of speaking. There is a creature living aboard this vessel—”

“Did I hear you right, Spock? A creature? What kind of creature?”

“A creature that ingests energy, Captain.” As quickly as possible, Spock told Kirk the little they had observed about the creature, including Hallie’s death and the discovery of the diary.

“Then, that settles it,” Kirk said finally, a real sense of purpose making him feel better than he had in some time. “In order to save the ship and rescue you, we need to discover a way to kill the creature, and do it before we lose all ability to function.”

“I would advise against trying to destroy the creature, Captain.”

Kirk frowned. “But why, Spock? It’s endangering not only your lives but the lives of every person aboard this ship. If we don’t destroy it, we’re condemning five hundred people to their deaths.”

“Doctor Rinagh kept quite good records, Captain. He reports the initial malfunctions aboard the station, the discovery of the creature, and their inability to either kill it or induce it to leave the station. By that time, of course, it had realigned its internal systems to their energy output and was rapidly draining the station to minimal power.”

“Why only minimal power, Spock? Why not drain it altogether?”

“I have only conjecture in that regard, but I postulate that the creature needs a certain reservoir of energy in order to survive. When power reaches limits too low to consume, it maintains the status quo by going into some form of hibernation.”

“I see. Go on.”

“When it became obvious that they were doomed, Doctor Rinagh chose to leave his companions and come to Engineering in an effort to learn more about this creature before his death, to warn others who might come this way. He felt that the creature was intelligent and possessing, perhaps, rudimentary sentience.”

Kirk’s heart fell. He didn’t want to hear this. He wanted to hear that the creature that threatened his crew was a dumb brute beast.

Spock was continuing to speak. “He reports that it reacted to emotion in waves of color, which I also noticed when Ensign Hallie died.”

“Did that thing murder Hallie?” Kirk asked.

“Killed,” McCoy stressed. “Not murdered. It … drained her of body heat, inducing hypothermia, cardiac arrest, and death.”

“Then it did kill her.”

“You could just as easily say it was self-defense on the part of the creature. We were attempting to stun it, but Hallie had her phaser set on kill.”

“Have you seen any indications of hostility?”

“None, Captain,” Spock said. “We have been almost within reach of the creature, and it seems to barely take note of our existence. As for Ensign Hallie, I don’t believe it did harm to her with a sense of purpose.”

“Captain.” Chekov this time, his voice sounding strained. “Hallie was part of my team, but I must concur with Mr. Spock and Dr. McCoy. We need to discover for certain whether or not this creature is truly sentient. We cannot destroy it. We need to learn more about it.”

But it’s endangering my crew. “Can we do something to drive it out of the station?”

“Uncertain, Captain. I postulate that this creature operates on somewhat the same level as an Earth hermit crab. Given that, I cannot imagine it leaving the space station when its current size is considered.”

That got Kirk’s attention even more fully. “Just how big is this thing?”

“Jim, you’ve got to see it to believe it,” came McCoy’s laconic reply.

“I’d give anything to do that, Bones.” And it was true. Much as he was worried about his crew, much as he was uncertain of how to proceed, Jim Kirk was, first and foremost, an explorer. And he desperately wanted to get a look at this thing for himself. “So it won’t leave?”

“Ostensibly, it would probably leave were its home destroyed. Other than that, I imagine it would not leave until it outgrows its present home, which does not seem likely in the near future, or another energy source comes along.”

“Like the Enterprise. So why didn’t it come aboard?”

“Like I said, Jim,” McCoy broke in, “there’s no room for it. And why should it move when it can just take what it needs from right where it is?”

“Good point, Bones.” Kirk plucked at his bottom lip, deep in thought. “Is there any way we can cut off its ability to feed?”

The silence on the other end of the connection went on for so long that Kirk thought they’d lost the away team again. Then Spock came on, his tone thoughtful. “The creature evidently needs time to recalibrate itself to each new, previously untried food source. Captain, how much power does the Enterprise currently have available?”

It was Scotty who answered. “We’re not down to minimum yet, lad, but it’s a close call. We have enough power to use the tractor beam on short bursts to bring us into the station. We’d planned on initiating self-destruct and boosting it with every photon torpedo we have.”

“Might I recommend an alternative, Mr. Scott?”

Scotty exchanged looks with Kirk. “Please do, please do.”

“I suggest you reroute all remaining power to the ship’s engines. It has been our experience that the creature has not yet completely recalibrated itself to the configurations of Human physiological energy output. That is essentially why we are able to contact you now. In theory, you can use the ship’s company as a Human barrier to buffer the engines and allow power to build. If you can use that power to manufacture a frequency matching that which is put out by Humans, and continue to change it slightly every few minutes—”

“Then the creature won’t be able to feed, and the power drain will stop!” Scott finished, amazed. “Captain, I might then be able to get the engines up to impulse, and that would be enough to let us retreat out of the creature’s range.”

“Correct, Mr. Scott,” Spock continued. “Once the ship is out of danger, you could attempt a long-distance transport of the landing party. In the event that is an impossibility, Captain, I urge you to leave us behind and notify Starfleet. They could recommend how best to proceed in that eventuality. However, I strongly suggest not destroying the creature unless it must absolutely be done. We have never met anything like this, Captain. For all we know, it may be the last of its kind. To lose this opportunity would be a great tragedy and a greater loss.”

As would your places in my life, Kirk thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Spock was right. When they joined Starfleet, they put their lives on the line for a greater cause. Knowledge was their siren song, no matter what the cost.

“All right, Mr. Spock. We’ll try it your way. But if it doesn’t work and we’re left adrift, I’m not consigning my entire crew to freezing to death.”

“Understood, Captain. And thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Kirk turned sideways. “Mr. Scott? It’s time for you to make a trip to the engine room.”