From: eisimps@cie.uoregon.edu (Eileen Simpson)
Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
Subject: STORY:  The Great American Star Trek Novel.
Summary: Continuation of story
Date: 13 Aug 92 22:55:13 GMT
Organization: University of Oregon Campus Information Exchange

Our story continues...

                                CHAPTER TWO

                              ****************
  He had no idea how long he floated before awareness began to 
return. Indeed, even as he began to notice aspects of his experience, 
he was far from certain who he was, but he felt no worry or need to 
do anything about it.
  There was sound. It was unlike anything he had heard before--at once 
low and sustained as well as high-pitched and tinkling, like 
bells. There were no individual notes to this music. Only an 
impossibly unified sensation of things he knew to be different.
  The sound tickled, and he began to laugh. His laughter billowed about 
him, joining the sound he had heard before and producing a blossom 
of inconceivably vivid color.  He was quickly enclosed within it.  The 
experience awed and startled him, and he shrieked with pleasure at 
his discovery.
  His reaction produced another burst of intense hues, with tones and 
nuances far beyond anything he had ever seen on any alien world or 
any artist's rendering of the wildest flights of imagination. His eyes 
had never seen the like.
  Then he realized no human eyes were recording this sight, although 
he was obviously registering the experience.
  He wondered what had happened to his body, then laughed at the 
thought. It was unimportant. He could hear the magical laughter of 
the bells, see the colors. It was enough.
  But there was more.
  The part of himself that produced the colors when he laughed, the 
part that felt the tinkling of the bells, seemed to throb at the core of 
some consciousness that was at once his own, and yet connected to 
some much larger self. This larger self produced its own music, that 
blended and pulsed with his. It produced its own colors, its own 
laughter. It was...itself. And yet, it was everything.
  Including him. This larger self felt his music, knew his laughter. It 
was part of him, he knew that, and yet it was not a function of his 
ego.  It was a totally unique experience. 
  He realized that for the first time, he was not alone. Not isolated in 
his solitary human existence. Not set apart by the burdens of 
command. Paradoxically, he was suddenly intensely frightened.
  "The ship!," his thoughts cried out. He could not remain in this 
child-like trance--he was responsible for his ship and crew. God only 
knew what was happening to them! He had to break free of 
whatever had overcome him, had to protect the people who were 
counting on his leadership.
  As he struggled to break free, the patterns around him took on a 
different texture. He still sensed the presence of the other, only 
now, it was more separate. He experienced confusion and alarm, a 
sudden awareness of error.
  Whether it was his own guilt he was experiencing over his failure to 
foresee this event, or someone else's remorse for a hasty action, he 
was fully aware of profound sadness and regret, and a benevolent 
desire to rectify things as much as possible.
  He resisted the feelings of oneness and connection, and willed 
himself to separate.
  "I must get back in command!, " he insisted.
  The bond broke cleanly.

                               *************

  James Kirk returned to awareness and found himself on the 
transporter room floor. Scotty lay quietly beside him, obviously still 
breathing and apparently uninjured. Spock and McCoy lay silently on 
the transporter pad.
  _What the hell happened? Transporter malfunction?_
  Kirk moved quickly to the two figures on the pad. Vulcans were 
vulnerable to a host of complications from transporter power-surges. 
Spock needed to be checked out--fast. Kirk struggled over two his 
friends, calling for help as he moved.
  _Why was there no answer? Had they blown the intercom circuits, 
too?_
  He reached the pad. McCoy seemed to be in the same state as Scotty: 
no visible injuries or distress, unconscious, and a blank expression on 
his face. "A trance," Kirk observed.
  Spock lay silently on his side, his back to Kirk.
  "Spock! Spock!," Kirk called to his friend urgently, as he turned the 
Vulcan over.
  The look on Spock's face astonished and alarmed him. It was the 
most relaxed Kirk had ever seen his friend, with an appearance of 
innocent wonder that seemed entirely out of place. Spock's eyes were 
open, and moved as if absorbed by some invisible display. Kirk 
yelled again for assistance, cursing the silence that answered his 
pleas.
  He turned to McCoy, shaking the latter awake, forcing him out of his 
trance. The doctor began to respond, pulled himself up on one elbow.
  "Wha...?"
  "Never mind that! You have a patient, doctor. Spock's down. 
Something went wrong just after we energized..."
  McCoy's brain registered the medical implications of the situation. He 
pulled himself together and turned toward Spock. Simultaneously, 
every alarm on the ship seemed to go off, as if she, too, was just 
coming out of some strange dream, and had found herself distressed 
by what she found when she awoke.
  Kirk pulled himself away from the pad. "Scotty!," he shouted toward 
his Chief Engineer, as he did his duty as Captain, and headed for the 
bridge. "Bones! Do everything you can to get them up and moving!" 
  Kirk felt something in this emergency, something saying it was more 
urgent than anything he had ever faced. "I need these people!"
  He was out the door, struggling to an intercom panel. He hit the 
command override. "Red Alert! Red Alert! This is not a drill.
This is not a drill!"
  James T. Kirk raced for his bridge.

  All hell had broken loose. People were running for emergency 
positions at break-neck speed.
  Scotty struggled into a turbolift, heading for Engineering, and almost 
caught McCoy between the doors.
  "Where in blazes are you heading? This isn't going to Sickbay!"
  "Heavy casualties...Engineering," McCoy panted.
  "Damn!" The lift began to move. "What about Spock?"
  "The scanner says he's not in immediate danger. Whatever he's got, 
there's nothing I can do for it now, not when..."
  The lift lurched to a halt. Scotty swore again.
  "The mains are off-line," he announced tersely. Scotty waited, 
expectantly, for Auxiliary power to cut in and restart the lift.
  Nothing happened.
  The lighting flickered, and momentarily went out. Simultaneously, 
McCoy had a sudden feeling of nausea. He realized the artificial 
gravity had flickered as well.
  It was bad. Real bad. McCoy's stomach reacted again, this time from 
fear.
  Scotty yanked open the escape hatch at the top of the lift, swearing 
great Celtic oaths. The gist of it was that he was too old for all this, 
but McCoy knew Scotty was furious because his bairns needed him, 
and he wasn't there.
  Scotty had the hatch clear.
  "Come on!," he shouted, "we're gonna climb!" He scrambled out the 
hatch with an agility that astounded McCoy, and paused just long 
enough to grab the latter's arm and pull him up.
  "The things some people will do to avoid an assignment!," Scott 
barked at his old shore-leave buddy, as the doctor struggled to the 
top of the lift. Before McCoy could respond, Scotty was gone up the 
lift tube, running a maze that led to Engineering.

  The lift failed just outside the bridge. Kirk tripped the manual 
override, forced open the doors, and leveraged himself up the last 
few meters onto the bridge.
  To his trained eye, it was chaos: everything was in its proper place, 
nothing emitted any sparks or flames, no one was bleeding--but that 
just added to the eeriness of the scene. The viewscreen was blank. 
Virtually every system that wasn't obviously burned out, flashed an 
alarm. Every officer was at his or her station, in varying degrees of 
awareness, struggling to respond. Uhura, at the communications 
station, seemed to be coming around. 
  One person moved rapidly and deliberately about the bridge, 
assessing the situation as if it were an Academy efficiency test. It 
was Murphy, Kirk noted, McCoy's nemesis of just a short time before.
  "Status, Mr. Murphy!" Kirk moved quickly to the Captain's station, 
inspecting it and the helm/navigation console.
  "We are severely damaged, sir," the young man responded crisply. 
"The mains are off-line, and from the condition of the lift, emergency 
power has also failed. As far as I can tell, we're not receiving any 
operational reports from the Divisions in the dorsal or Engineering."
  Even through his alarm, Kirk found the compulsive precision of the 
report annoying. Damage control reports were supposed to begin 
with the most serious problem. The loss of power was certainly the 
most serious problem, but also the most obvious. Kirk was furious at 
the young officer's waste of time.
  "Stick to things any idiot wouldn't already know, Mister, and make 
this fast!"
  Murphy barely paused, but speeded up. "We may not have 
navigational sensors, in fact, we may not have any sensors at all. 
From what I've seen, it appears that everything that was on-line 
when we got hit, or that had an automatic trigger to come on as a 
back-up, has been burned out."
  "You're saying we're blind as a bat?," Kirk interrupted incredulously.
  "Yes sir. I believe so, sir."
  Kirk's hands flew over the helm and navigational panels. Murphy 
assisted him in the evaluation.
  "What's our course and speed?," Kirk asked Murphy in alarm, as he 
realized he couldn't pull up any data.
  Murphy shook his head. "Unknown, sir. They cannot be determined 
from the systems presently operative."
  The quick inspection of the helm stations confirmed Kirk's worst 
fears: unless Auxiliary Control was in better shape than they were, 
the ship was out of control with a planet full of people nearby. God, 
the beam-out was timed for before they went into orbit! They were 
still on approach! 
  Kirk's pulse rate shot even higher. He hit the communications pad on 
the command chair, and franticly signalled Aux Control.
  There was no response. What the hell did he do now?
  _The research pod._
  Kirk grabbed Murphy by the arm and propelled him toward the exit.
  "You get your butt into the research pod, Lieutenant. I don't care how 
you do it or what it takes. You get yourself in there and turn on it's 
sensors and do whatever it takes to get us the data we need to 
navigate and assess our condition. We need eyes!" Murphy was 
nodding; he understood. Kirk turned him loose, and the younger man 
took off like a shot.
  "Grab a communicator!," Kirk yelled to him before Murphy hit the 
door. "Don't rely on internal communications!" 
  If they were lucky, the sensor burn-out was limited to the systems 
that were operational when they were hit, and the pod's manually 
activated sensor system was still intact. Nothing said it had to be that 
way, but they had to try.
  Kirk turned to the next task. What was going on with internal 
communications? Where were the damn Damage reports?  Was it just 
Uhura's disorientation, or...
  "Uhura! Damage control! Report!"
  Uhura was back in control, repairing her station, working with the 
little operative equipment she had.
  "I'm sorry, Captain. There's very little information available. Internal 
communications have failed in most of the ship."  She struggled to get 
information from her panel.  "It's almost like what they used to call a 
'brown out'. What I'm getting is coming through very weakly on 
secondary channels. It looks like the saucer section has sustained 
only minor damage." Her voice became more stressed. "I can't get 
anything from the dorsal, or from engineering, sir."
  As Kirk digested this information, the doors to the second bridge lift 
opened, and Sulu and several other officers raced out. It was a 
good sign. The lifts to the bridge had a separate emergency power 
supply, and were designed to remain operational except in the most 
extreme circumstances. That this power had failed, even temporarily, 
was highly distressing. That it was now restored was the first 
hopeful thing Kirk had encountered.
  "Sulu! Get to the helm!  See what you can do with it!" Kirk turned 
back towards Uhura. "I'd say Scotty is still with us," Kirk remarked to 
her, indicating the working lifts. "Give priority to repairs that will 
allow us to communicate with the man in the pod."
  Sulu was at the helm, inspecting the situation. How long did they 
have, Kirk wondered--before Murphy got to the pod, that little 
research station out on their underbelly, near the outer rim of the 
saucer?--before he found out if the pod's sensors were operational?-
-before they went through Menata's atmosphere, and the anti-matter 
went up? 
  Christ! Estimating their current position from their course and speed 
at the beam-down coordinates, he couldn't even initiate a destruct 
sequence and save the Menatans, not if the ship was still on a 
planetary approach.  _Contamination_ worries...
  Sulu reported in quickly.
  "Helm control is inoperative, Captain. Manual override is operational, 
but useless without any navigational data and course readouts. I 
might extrapolate from where we were when the effect hit," Sulu 
mused. "bring back the readouts from our last position and make an 
educated guess on where we are, now, how fast our momentum is 
taking us, how much adjustment to make..."
  Kirk knew the man was desperate to avoid the planet.  "Those are an 
awful lot of guesses, Sulu. If we're not on our original course..." The 
look on Sulu's face said it all: if Kirk had a better idea...  "Do 
it," Kirk 
ordered. "Make it fast, but make it your most educated guess."
  Kirk turned back to take the damage reports. There was nothing new. 
The only data coming in was from units in the saucer, there was 
nothing from the Engineering sections where the problems were 
obviously severe. He was blind up here, and without the information 
he needed to make even the most simple decisions.
  The doors opened and a breathless young Ensign stepped out. Kirk 
recognized him as Pavarti, a newcomer who was assigned to a 
position far down the chain of command, and normally far from the 
bridge. He was bright enough, Kirk recalled, but was proving to be an 
under-achiever. Constantly second-guessed himself. McCoy had 
reported that he needed watching and development, and might 
ultimately prove unsuited for Starfleet.
  "What are you doing on the bridge, Mister?"
  "Cmdr. Chekov's compliments," Pavarti breathlessly reported. 
"Internal communications appear to be out, sir.  In view of the seriousness
of the situation, sir, he went straight to aux control.  He advises he has 
established a system of runners until communications can be restored. He 
had me bring you some communicators. They're still operational." 
  Pavel was on the ball as usual, Kirk noted with relief. Pavarti 
continued his report. 
  "He wants you to know the systems in Aux Control are badly 
damaged and the ship cannot be handled from there. We have no 
sensors, no helm control, and our back-ups are out. There may be 
damage to the computer core, and he wants to confer with Science 
Chief Spock on that problem by communicator."
  The youngster paused for breath, and his hands and arms shook, but 
he went on. 
  "Cmdr. Chekov advises that our manual overrides are operational, 
but we don't have the data we need to use them. Unless things are 
significantly worse here, sir, he believes there is nothing to be gained 
by abandoning the bridge in favor of Aux Control." 
  Kirk could hear Pavarti's voice shaking.
  "Sir, the systems failures are severely affecting our ability to assess 
damage to the ship and mount a response," Pavarti continued 
hesitantly. "It's hard to tell what's going on, sir. On the way here, I 
heard that the Mains are down because there isn't any anti-matter."
  *"What?!*," Kirk's brain shouted. He remained outwardly composed. 
"Who reported that, Mister?"
  "I'm not sure, sir, it was one of the medics I passed.  He said it was a 
mess in Engineering, and that the anti-matter just seemed to be 
gone."
  Kirk snorted in disgust. "I can pretty well discount that rumor, 
Mister." It would require a break in the containment system to 
entirely deplete their anti-matter reserves. If that had happened, 
they wouldn't be having this conversation. Jeez!, the kid was really 
rattled. 
  "Confine your report to official information, Mister. No rumors. There 
are bound to be dozens in a situation like this."  _Who the hell came 
up with that one??_, Kirk thought.
  "Sulu!," Kirk turned to his former helmsman. He had hoped Murphy 
would have reported in by now. "How much longer?" They had to be 
getting impossibly close to the planet, even at sublight speed.
  "Almost there. Another few minutes."
  "The Menata may not have a few minutes, Sulu!  We need to move, 
soon." 
  Kirk considered the communicator in his hand. The trouble with 
them was that they had so damn few channels, and none of those 
were private. He didn't want the whole ship hearing every damage 
report that came in. He adjusted the control to "full-band" and 
broadcast on all channels, to all units.
  "This is the Captain. Internal communications have temporarily 
failed. Restoration is underway. Until then, Channel 1 and 2 are 
reserved for direct communication with the bridge, subject to my 
personal control. All other channels will be under the assignment of 
Cmdr. Chekov in damage control. Use of the communicators shall be 
in response to direction from the bridge or damage control, or at the 
direct instruction of the Department head. Engineering! Report to the 
bridge on channel 1."
  "Sir!," Uhura interrupted. "I have Lt. Murphy, sir! He's in the pod!" 
Uhura listened carefully to her headset. "He recommends you take 
no, repeat, no immediate action with regard to course and speed. No 
immediate danger is apparent. He will provide further information 
ASAP. Murphy, out."
  Kirk and Sulu looked at each other in relief. While the report was 
cryptic, it was clear enough that Murphy hadn't looked out the pod 
window and seen a planet coming up, fast. They had at least some 
room to breathe--on that one.
  There was still no answer from Engineering. Or Scotty. Maybe 
Chekov's runners hadn't made their way to him yet. With the lifts 
down, this was a very big ship. Kirk saw Pavarti standing around 
nervously, and decided to make use of him to inform Pavel of some 
things he didn't want broadcast over the communicator.
  "Tell Cmdr. Chekov we will be remaining on the bridge, that our 
sensors and helm controls are also out, that we'll be running on 
manual for anything he can name, and that we've got a man in the 
research pod who will be available for damage assessment 
and control just as soon as we've established our position."  Kirk's 
voice was controlled, but he gunned out the information. "We'll 
communicate with the pod on Channel 2. Tell him to monitor that 
channel and not to bother the man in the pod until he's reported in 
on what we need to do to avoid a collision with Menata." 
  Pavarti paused a moment to absorb it all. 
  "Go!,"  Kirk spat.
  He called Engineering again. No response. He sent an urgent all-
channel call for Scotty to report to the bridge on Channel 1.
  This time a tech answered, obviously stressed, and to the 
accompaniment of chaotic background noise.
  "Captain!  Engineer Scott told me to make his report."
  "Is he hurt?" Kirk knew he couldn't afford to lose Scotty.
  "No, sir. He's--completely occupied with the fire, sir."  The boy was 
terrified.
  "Get me the Chief Engineer." 
  There were more sounds of chaos, of desperate voices. Finally, 
Scotty's familiar brogue came over the communicator.
  "Captain! I can only give you a moment!  We're in trouble down 
here!"
  "Where are you?  Give me a report.  We have no data on your 
section, Engineer."
  Kirk thought he heard an angry sob from his Chief Engineer.
  "I'm in the dorsal, fighting the fire!  Where else would I be?"
  Kirk spoke as calmly and distinctly as he could to the man.
  "Scotty, we've had major systems failures. We are unaware of a fire. 
We are unaware of your status. We have no information on the 
condition of any sections of the ship or its personnel below Level 3, 
dorsal. Give me your report."
  The Engineer spoke quickly.
  "We can't get any power, and we can't get any current data. This is a 
guess from what the records show before the power spiked and cut 
out." Scotty's voice was urgent. He wanted to be working on the 
crisis, not talking about it. "Something converted all the anti-matter 
in our system. That's why the Mains shut down: the anti-matter is 
gone."
  Kirk went numb. Scotty continued, giving Kirk the information he 
would need if the bridge was blind.
  "When that happened, the Impulse system was already operational. I think the
impulse system was working 
perfectly, but as I see it, the shock of the sudden conversion of that 
much fuel, must have overwhelmed the primary power conducting 
system. The super-conductive system just plain failed.  What's left of 
it's slag.  The Impulse reactors shut down because there's nothing 
left that can conduct their power."
  Kirk waited impatiently while Scotty dealt with some acute 
emergency. Things were becoming clearer. At least he knew why 
they didn't have power.  What Kirk was sure of, as he waited for the 
rest of Scotty's report, was that he was running on the battery and, 
at best, what power they could generate was dribbling to the ship's 
systems through secondary, less conductive lines.
  He couldn't fight a fire in that condition! 
  But why were they on fire, and why couldn't they reach the lower 
dorsal or the Engineering decks? He forced himself to remain calm.
  "Scotty! Why are we on fire?"
  There was grief and rage in Scotty's voice when he answered.
  "I don't know!  The energy that destroyed the superconductive system had
to be enormous, and must've put out tremendous heat!  It could be a 
problem with the main engines, though.  I just don't know yet!
We can't get to them, and we can't get any information on their 
condition!"
  No wonder that Tech was scared.  Kirk was scared.  Anyone but a 
damn fool would be scared. Trouble was, the Tech didn't know the 
half of it: without sensors and communications, Command hadn't 
even known of the fire, how the hell could they put it out?
  Kirk forced his mind to quiet.
  "Understood, Scotty. Do what you can. We'll get you help as soon as 
possible. Kirk out."
  He needed information, fast!
  "Uhura! What's the status on communications with that pod?," he 
demanded.
  "I have Lt. Murphy on the line, sir. He says the pod's systems have 
activated. He'll have navigational data momentarily." Uhura's voice 
was urgent, too. "Once I replace a few more circuits we'll be able to 
tie the pod's computer into a Daystrom micro-unit I've had brought 
to the bridge. Tying into the mainframe will take a bit longer."
  Considering the damage, Uhura had already accomplished a lot. That 
didn't change the fact that Kirk had to ask for more.
  "Tell Murphy to move it! We need damage control information as 
desperately as we need to navigate!"
  "Aye, sir!" Uhura turned back to her panel.  Kirk started to pace, then 
stopped himself.  There was nothing he could do, but he wouldn't let 
the crew see his distress.  He turned toward his command chair to sit.
  _Whoosh!_  The bridge elevator opened and Spock stepped out.
  Insanely, considering their situation, Kirk was flooded with relief at 
knowing his friend was alright. Alright? No one on the ship was 
alright!
  Kirk immediately moved toward his friend.  Spock was a study in 
control, normal enough for a Vulcan, but something in Spock's 
manner told Kirk this was a facade.  Perhaps it was his stiffness, or 
the way Spock avoided Kirk's eyes as he moved to his station, but 
Kirk knew something was deeply affecting the Vulcan.
  Kirk's relief became quiet concern.  "Spock..."
  "Yes, Captain.  I will have a report for you momentarily."
  "I'm most concerned about you right now."
  "I am quite well, Captain," Spock said simply, with a formality that 
gave lie to his words.  "I am distressed that I failed to execute my 
duties efficiently at the outset of this crisis, however, I am now able 
to do so. You are, of course, aware of the sensor failure?"
  It was an obvious question. Kirk nodded affirmative--both to answer 
the inquiry and to indicate his acceptance, for now, of how Spock 
wanted to handle his condition.
  "I'll bring you up to date on what we know about our situation, 
Spock," Kirk volunteered.  "We can't determine our course or speed.  
Main power has failed because the anti-matter is gone.  Auxiliary is 
out because the conductive system has failed. . ."
  As he recited the litany of horrors affecting his ship, Kirk found 
himself alternating between controlled fear and a desire to laugh at 
the impossibility of their situation.  It was stress, he reminded 
himself. It was his enemy and he'd need to be aware of it as he 
continued.  He finished summing up their situation quickly, and took 
a deep breath.
  "...and as one final problem, Chekov thinks there may be something 
wrong with the computer.  Check it out and let me know what you 
find."
  "Captain!  Lt. Murphy is reporting in!"
  "Sir! Murphy here." The young man's voice came clearly over the 
communicator. "You're alright. You're traveling on momentum at 0.6, 
sublight, gradual deceleration. There are no navigational hazards 
ahead. You can safely maintain this course until navigational 
readouts are restored."
 "One down," Kirk thought. He raised the communicator. "Murphy, how 
close are we to Menata?"
  The pause was just an instant too long, and Kirk knew he was getting 
bad news before he heard Murphy's answer.
  "There's no sign of Menata, sir.  We're at the outer edge of a system, 
Captain, but its not the Menatan system, nor any one in their area. 
I've checked the charts I have sir, and there's no known navigational 
reference that corresponds to the data I have from my scans." 
  Murphy paused. "I don't know where we are, sir, but the main 
computer should be able to tell us."
  "Stand by on that, Lieutenant, and rig to scan the ship for damage 
control. Focus on the Dorsal and Engineering sections."  Kirk turned to 
Spock.  "How about it, Spock. Is the computer reliable?"
  Spock frowned.  "It is correctly processing test data and equations. 
Nevertheless, there are subtle, but definate abnormalities in my 
readings, Captain. The precise problem escapes my analysis, but after 
careful consideration, I believe our present emergency outweighs 
any risks I am able to identify.  I will monitor the situation closely."
  Kirk turned back to the communicator in his hand.  "Lieutenant, 
download your information to the bridge, as per Cmdr. Uhura's 
instructions, then render immediate and full assistance to damage 
control.  Report on Channel 2.  I will monitor.  Kirk out."
  It was less than 15 minutes since Kirk had forced his way onto the 
bridge.  He felt useless.
  Murphy's reports on the Engineering section were chilling.  Main 
Engineering might not be technically in flames, but as Kirk listened to 
the numbers on the temperature in the section, he decided he may as 
well be dealing with a small sun inside his ship.  Whatever had 
happened as a result of the disorienting episode they'd experienced 
had occurred very quickly, without warning. A few emergency doors 
in the lower level had closed, but plasma from some source had 
obviously boiled through Main Engineering simultaneously with the 
event, creating an inferno that quickly seared everyone and 
everything within.
  The temperature of the 'fire' was incredible.  They were a good 400 
degrees over what everyone said was the upper-limit of a survivable 
shipboard fire. At these temperatures the ship's internal structural 
materials, even in the reinforced Engineering section, would warp 
and break down. Some had ignited. Kirk knew elements of their 
damage control system had undoubtedly failed from the extreme 
heat. He was going to take casualties from asphyxiation. Shield doors 
or not, no one was alive in Engineering, and damn few would survive 
very long on the lower levels.
  _He was going to lose the ship._
  He considered cracking off the main saucer. It wasn't part of this 
design, but in desperate situations others had tried it. Sometimes it 
worked. But it took power, and he couldn't get enough power to 
where he needed it to make the attempt.
 _He was going to lose the ship._
  "Like hell!," he thought. The event that caused this was over now. 
It wasn't pouring fresh plasma into the inferno.  What he had to do 
was find a way to reduce the heat trapped inside the heavy, 
reinforced lower hull and the insullating qualities of space itself.  He 
had to look at the data, find a way to vent the heat, cut off the fire's 
oxygen, and get the temperatures down to a level Chekov and Scotty 
could deal with.
  Kirk quickly reviewed the displays Spock was putting together from 
the pod's data.  An idea began to form.  It might be 'luck' that most 
of the emergency doors hadn't closed. It gave him an open cavern of 
an area to work with to attack the fire, just as much as it gave the 
fire a clear run of the lower level. Kirk looked for how to exploit the 
situation, turn it to his advantage.
  The vertical intermix chamber. He could place charges to tap in at the 
base of the dorsal and vent both the dorsal and forward Engineering 
into the hard vacuum of space.  If depressurization didn't draw off 
enough heat they could force inert gas through the area to conduct 
the heat away from the ship. It would help Chekov and Scotty's fire 
control parties advance down the dorsal, even if they did have to 
wear pressure suits. Hell, no one was fighting that fire in duty 
fatigues--not for very long anyway.
  He focused intently on the display. The intermix chamber wouldn't 
be enough. His brows knitted. To do the job fully, he'd have to 
simultaneously blow out the bulkheads at the rear of Engineering. 
He'd have to go thru the shuttle bay. A few charges, correctly placed, would 
weaken 
the internal bulkhead enough that the inferno's own pressure would break 
through the damaged structure. The pincer action on the fire would 
explode their self-contained hell into the vacuum of space from both 
ends. If they could pump enough gas through the area they might 
snuff the damn thing out. It would give them a chance.
  He had the plan. Now he had to figure out how to implement it. He'd 
have to suit up and maneuver manually outside the ship to place the 
charges. With its shield doors closed, the shuttle-bay was accessible 
only through Engineering or by someone outside the ship entering 
the bay through its airlock. If there was enough power, they'd open 
the bay doors. If not, they'd have to blow the bay doors, too. Damn! 
They were going to lose the shuttles. It would make it damn hard to 
abandon ship.
  Then he'd just have to save her, Kirk decided. He spun around and 
headed toward the elevator, just as Pavarti came out the door. Kirk 
grabbed him by the arm.
  "You're coming with me, Mister," Kirk snapped.  RSulu!  You have the 
con."
  He relayed his plan to Chekov and Scotty as he raced through the 
decks toward an airlock. The crew began falling back from its fire-
line in the dorsal, moving into the saucer section and securing for the 
desperate gamble. This was it. Everyone understood the situation.
  Including Pavarti. As he raced through the ship beside his legendary 
Captain, Pavarti's predominant reaction was that he couldn't believe 
Kirk was taking him into this. It was crazy. He wished frantically that 
Kirk to realize what he was doing and grab someone else for the job: 
Pavarti wasn't afraid of dying, he was afraid of screwing up, of 
blowing it, now, when everyone's lives depended on him, and killing 
everyone else. He'd botch the job, he was sure of it.
  Kirk arrived at the airlock a few minutes after Chekov and his team. 
They were putting on pressure suits for the dangerous, untethered 
spacewalks ahead.
  Chekov had listened carefully to Kirk's description of his plan.  He 
understood it completely, and he agreed--except with the part where 
the Captain put on a spacesuit and made an untethered trip the 
length of the ship to rupture the shuttle-bay hull.  It didn't wash. 
  Chekov wasn't letting him off the ship.
  "Dammit, Mister, when this is over, you can consider yourself under 
arrest!  I don't have time to debate you! In case you haven't noticed, 
there's a war on--a war for this ship!"
  "I hev noticed, sair," Chekov snarled back, continuing to climb into 
his suit.  "Thet is vhy it is imperative thet the Kepten remain with 
the ship. You are not expendable, sair.  As Executive Officer, I 
am more expendable.  As former Damage Control Officer, I am more
qualified, sair."
  "You need a simultaneous detonation, dammit!  Two teams! You can't lead
both, now give me a suit!," Kirk demanded.
  "I'll lead the second team."  It was Scotty.  "I know where to place 
your charges better than anyone."  He pushed through and grabbed a 
suit.  Kirk was stumped.  They were right, this wasn't his job.
  "All right," he told Chekov.  "Get going, and good luck!"

  Back on the bridge, Kirk felt worse than helpless, he felt useless.  He 
had no idea what he had contributed to their response to the 
emergency.  And that scene with Chekov--inappropriate, Kirk chided 
himself.
  The pressure on Kirk was enormous.  He had too little to do and too 
much time to think.  Periodically, the voices of Scotty's and Chekov's 
teams came through the communicator.  
  Chekov's team had farther to go, they had drawn the more dangerous 
and difficult task of traversing the length of the Engineering section. 
Terse, tense, they spoke infrequently as they worked their way along 
the body of the ship.  They moved quickly and carefully until finally 
they reached the shuttle-bay airlock.

  Scotty and Pavarti did the easy job first. They placed their charges nearest
the top of the dorsal, then moved downward, toward the base of the 
strut where it joined the Engineering sections. Pavarti breathed more 
heavily in his suit than did the older man. It was dangerous to move 
untethered outside a moving vessel under ordinary conditions, when 
one could touch the ship's skin for support.  Pavarti and Scotty dared 
not come into contact with the exterior of the ship, especially as they 
moved closer to the base of the dorsal, and the site of the fire.  
Placing the last charge was going to be tricky, but no trickier than 
how they were going to escape the blast of the charge and the 
explosive decompression of hot gases that would follow.  Pavarti 
tried not to think about it.

  Kirk clenched his teeth as Chekov's team prepared to enter the bay.  
No one was entirely certain of the conditions they would find:  The 
bay's angle from the pod, the location of the pod's sensors, meant the 
readings from the pod weren't precise.  They knew the bulkheads between 
Engineering and the bay hadn't ruptured, but they didn't know what else 
Chekov's team would encounter, including whether they'd be able to 
open the shield-doors, or if they'd have to blow them.  The shield 
doors were reinforced, if they didn't open they'd be damn hard to 
blow without major problems...

  Chekov's team found the airlock controls inoperative, and hooked up 
their external power.  The outer lock hatch finally yielded, and the 
team moved inside.  Time was critical.  They worked quickly to open 
the interior hatch, ready to enter the bay.
  Pavel scanned the area quickly as the hatch swung open.  He could 
see waves of intense heat radiating from the deck.  Warped and 
melted equipment was plainly visible around him.
  This was going to be tricky--with the bay's shield-doors closed, the 
area was pressurized. To move to the bay's control panels without 
touching the deck they would have to use precious suit-power to 
hover.
  Chekov evaluated the situation, and decided against trying to make it 
into the bayUs control center.  It was too far away, and if the power 
was out, they'd just have to go back to the overrides.  He signalled 
his team to stay put. Chekov pushed out into the bay, maneuvering 
carefully to the manual overrides near the great shield doors 
themselves, using his suit controls to keep himself off the deck, like 
an anti-grav unit.
  The overrides were undamaged.  He vented the bay's remaining 
atmosphere quickly, then pulled hard on the shield-door override.  
  The heavy shielding began to move.  The doors were going to open!  
As the pressure gage hit 'zero gravity' he signalled his team to move 
out from the airlock, knowing they could now work with less drain 
on their suits.  They would need all the help they could get.
  And speaking of help, the cooperation of the bay doors meant he had 
three members of his team with nothing to do while the others set 
the bulkhead charges.  Pavel eyed the shuttles carefully and 
signalled his people.

  Out on the dorsal, Scotty was checking Pavarti's last charges.  The 
Engineer had been silent most of the mission, speaking only when 
absolutely necessary, and then only in monosyllables.  He finished up 
his inspection with a grunt.  Pavarti took this as a good sign, and 
waited to find out what they did next.
  Well, he hadn't screwed up, he thought with satisfaction.  If he had, 
the Engineer would have caught it.  Of course, he was going to die in 
the blast when the charges went off, but at least he hadn't screwed 
up.  He wondered what officers did when they'd done everything 
they needed to do, everything they could do, and it wasn't quite time 
for them to die yet.  Was there some appropriate way to spend the 
time?
  "Laddie."  Scotty's brogue interrupted his reverie.  "I suppose you'd 
be wondering, how we're gonna get out of this wee mess we're in.  
Now, you just listen carefully and do everything I say..."

  On the bridge, it was clear the readings were reaching the point of no 
return.  The charges were finally in place, it was his people who 
weren't clear.  Spock alerted Kirk tersely: It was now or never.  Kirk 
reluctantly agreed.
  "Chekov!  Scotty!  We can't wait any longer!  We've got to detonate!  
Ten seconds, counting down from my mark. Ten, Nine, Eight..." 
  Kirk said silent prayers for the shipmates fleeing the charges, for his 
ship, for the crew.  He counted down in a firm, clear voice.  
  At zero, he detonated the charges himself.  
  The sound of the explosions didn't carry through the vacuum of 
space.  He set his jaw and waited for the report from Murphy's 
sensors in the pod.

  "That's it, sir! It's working!," Murphy shouted.  "We're visibly venting
intense heat!"
  Kirk interrupted Murphy's report.  "Get Science Chief Spock hard 
data, Mr. Murphy, ASAP."  Kirk needed to know if it was enough, or if 
he had just blown a few worthless holes in his ship before he lost 
her.
  Spock waited patiently for the data, reviewed it, correlated it.  Kirk 
tried not to hover.  Finally, it was clear Spock had the verdict.
  "It appears your strategy has been successful, Captain.  The fire no 
longer endangers the ship."  Kirk's face momentarily registered relief 
at their success, then he focused on the next task.  They were not out 
of the woods yet.
  "Captain!" It was Uhura.  She sounded happy again.  "I have Cmdr. 
Chekov, sir. His team is safe, and, Captain--they saved four shuttles!"  
  Her face fell and her voice changed.  "They cannot locate Scotty, sir, 
or the Ensign. They'll continue to search, but. .."
  Uhura stopped abruptly. Her faced registered shock, then joy, then 
anger.
  "Sir!  The Chief Engineer has been located, along with Ensign Pavarti.  
They are safe and sound."  Uhura was more than a little miffed that 
Scotty had not called in sooner to tell her he was alright.
  Kirk had no time for those 'problems.'  He had bought them a chance.  
He had to bring it home.

  Kirk no longer had any sense of time.  He was simply aware that he 
wasn't stopping, no one was stopping, until the ship was secure.  He 
knew they were gaining, that more power was becoming available, 
more systems brought back on line.  He was almost ready to believe 
they were going to make it.
  Pavarti was back on the bridge, a full participant in the team.  He'd 
reported in as Kirk's runner immediately upon his return to the ship, 
and stayed on after communications were restored, assisting with 
repairs.  From the looks of things, they'd have work for him to do for 
days, Kirk thought.
  Spock continued to work quietly at his station, interpreting their 
scanty data, making his reluctant, but notoriously accurate 'guesses', 
quietly offering his help wherever it was most needed.  He still 
appeared...not unwell, but unsound.  Kirk couldn't put his finger on it, 
and Spock wouldn't talk.
  The computer glitch continued to elude Spock's analysis.  It was a 
major, but unpressing concern.  
  "Subtle but definate abnormalities."   It wasn't what they needed to 
hear.
  At some point it became apparent to Kirk that they were going to 
survive the immediate crisis, and he found himself developing a 
curiosity about where they were--and why Spock had not reported 
on the subject.  Perhaps the computer difficulty was interfering with 
the VulcanUs analysis of the navigational data Murphy had provided 
Kirk thought.  That still wouldn't account for the fact that Spock had 
made no report on the subject.  It was an ominous sign. 
  When he judged things settled enough, Kirk approached Spock and 
asked for a status report on the Vulcan's analysis of Enterprise's 
location.
  Spock stiffened in a way Kirk had learned to watch for over the 
years.  It told him something was very wrong.
  Spock's next words confirmed it. 
  It needed to stay on the bridge, he cautioned Kirk quietly.
  They were 47,453 light-years from where they should be.
  On the other side of the galaxy.

End of Chapter 2.            (To be continued...)