Black Fire Page 2

  "Aye, Mister Spock. That thought crossed my mind also. I've checked our personnel lists. There's no one on board who shouldna be. All are Starfleet cleared."

  "An intruder could have slipped through Starfleet security—look further. Ship's status—tell me… ." An involuntary gasp escaped him. He closed his eyes tightly, struggling to regain his lapsed control.

  Scott reported succinctly. "We came away in verra good shape, considerin'. There were five deaths on the bridge, and five seriously injured. All personnel, except those on the bridge at the time, are accounted for and uninjured. The upper hull has been jettisoned. We're cramped down here, but all is functioning and under control. Ye can relax!"

  "Good," Spock whispered. "Now help me up!" He weakly raised a hand for Scott's assistance. The engineer looked to McCoy, who motioned for Scott to leave.

  "Nothing doing, Spock. You can't get up. I just explained why you can't move. Christine." McCoy motioned to the nurse, who was standing ready with a hypo-spray. She quickly administered the strong sedation.

  "Make sure you keep him down," McCoy ordered, leaving the room to check on Kirk.

  The medi-scanner showed all life functions at very low levels. McCoy examined Kirk's unconscious form and double-checked the instruments in the auxiliary sick bay. He was not entirely comfortable with the secondary facilities even though they were regularly checked and kept ready for such an emergency. It wasn't his sick bay. The three medics who had continually hovered near Kirk since McCoy had gone to his quarters waited for further orders.

  "Get some rest. I'll stay with him—couldn't sleep anyway. Someone bring me some coffee." A young nurse he had never noticed before brought him a steaming hot cup.

  "Where have you been hiding, young lady?" the doctor asked, more as a means of distraction from his growing fatigue than anything else.

  "In the clinic, Doctor. I'm new on board. Cathy White. I'm one of the cadets from the Academy assigned for the training session."

  "Ah, yes. I almost forgot about that. Not a very standard training session, is it? It's not always this bad."

  "Will he be all right, sir?" She looked at the captain lying motionless on the bed.

  "I don't know yet. His condition is marginal. I really can't tell at this point. All we can do now is wait." He sat down on a chair beside the bed, cupping the hot coffee in his hand, staring at his friend, and feeling completely helpless.

  Christine Chapel's shouts interrupted the quiet of sick bay. "Mister Spock, you can't get up! Please lie down! Please!"

  McCoy hastened to the other room, followed by the young trainee, to find Spock standing shakily, using the bed for support with one hand and using the other to brace his injured back. Either he wasn't trying to mask the pain or he wasn't succeeding in his attempt, McCoy wasn't sure which. Christine turned to him as he entered.

  "I really tried to keep him flat, as you ordered, but he won't listen!"

  "I'll handle this, Christine. Just leave us alone, please."

  "Yes, sir," Christine responded, grabbing Cathy White and heading for the door.

  Cathy was not prepared for such dire emergencies as were taking place one after the other aboard the Enterprise. "Is it always this difficult, Christine? I've had no experience with non-Terran patients at all."

  "Mister Spock is a most unusual man. We all admire him very much. I'm sure that Doctor McCoy can settle him down. You might hear some shouting though—just ignore it."

  As if cued by Christine's warning, McCoy's raised voice could be heard as he lashed out at Spock. "What are you trying to do? Kill yourself? Do you think we put you back together to have you destroy yourself? Get back on that bed! That's an order!"

  "I have no intention of lying here while the ship is in jeopardy, Doctor. I will ask you to not interfere."

  "Well, I am. And you don't have the strength to stop me."

  "Just don't force me to… ." Spock raised his supporting hand from the bed and faltered a step.

  "Look! You can't even stand up unsupported. Listen to reason, Spock. Now is no time for your Vulcan stubbornness."

  Having sublimated the pain as much as he was able, Spock was feeling stronger. He slowly straightened up and took a tentative step. "I'm fine, Doctor. The discomfort is completely under control now." His voice reached its normal tenor. "You can set aside your bigotry."

  "Bigotry? Why, you overgrown walking string bean, I have no time for … Wait a minute, Spock. I'm not about to start one of our verbal fencing matches." McCoy's anger subsided. "Listen to me, Spock, to McCoy, the physician. I know you respect that part of me even though you won't admit it. This is a medical judgment, not an arbitrary personal assessment. In this I am the authority. Now, please listen to me."

  Spock leaned wearily against the bed, gathering the strength he knew he would need.

  "I told you about your injury. Every movement you make jeopardizes your life. If that sliver moves, it could kill you, or leave you paralyzed. That's a fact. You can't just sublimate it or wish it away. You may be able to control the pain, but that fragment is inside of you. Pain is your friend now, Spock. Feel it! It indicates a real physical danger. You can suppress it, but you're fooling yourself. This time it's a signal, a signal warning you, trying to prevent you from further injury. If I can't convince you, let yourself feel that pain. Don't fight it. The severity of it will tell you that I'm right about this."

  "I know what I am doing, Doctor," Spock answered with conviction. "I know what I must do." He then slowly walked out of the room, ignoring McCoy, almost achieving his usual dignified, erect bearing.

  Spock turned toward the rest of the temporary sick bay ward. Sulu was gingerly testing his repaired limbs, facing away from the First Officer.

  The Vulcan casually addressed the helmsman. "I see that you are recovering well, Lieutenant."

  An astonished Sulu turned. "Mister Spock, you're all right! Rumor had it that you were seriously injured."

  "Humans do have a propensity for rumor, Mister Sulu. As you can see, I am quite well. I have not come here to talk of my health, although it is an important consideration. How are the others?"

  "It's a miracle we weren't all killed. It seems that the trainees from the Academy took the brunt of the blast. Except for you and the captain, we were all shielded from it by our students. We'll all be back on duty in no time." Sulu quieted. "I feel guilty about being alive at their expense."

  "Yes," Spock said thoughtfully, "the trainees. Mister Sulu, do you remember anything unusual happening on the bridge before the explosion?"

  "No."

  "Are you sure? No one unfamiliar?"

  "Who could have been there, Mister Spock? We're all Starfleet-cleared."

  Characteristically, Spock did not respond. He sank deeper in thought. "Mister Sulu, I have an idea, but I require more information. Will you help me?"

  "If it means finding out what happened on the bridge, I'll do anything you ask."

  "Good. I suspect you saw more than you are able to recall. I believe the shock may have blocked your memory. If you will allow a limited mind probe, I might be able to draw out the fragments you are sublimating. Will you permit the probe?"

  "Yes." Sulu realized the importance of this information; the Vulcan never made such a request lightly.

  Spock put his fingertips to Sulu's temple, concentrating on reaching the helmsman's unconscious.

  "I want you to think back to the period just before the explosion. I will ask you to describe the activity on the bridge in detail."

  Spock was able to penetrate the upper levels of Sulu's memory with ease; but as he approached his experience of the accident, he met with increasing resistance. Gently, Spock eased the release of those memories of just preceding the explosion from the hold Sulu's subconscious exerted over them. Finally, the helmsman relaxed his vigilance over the disturbing scenes and they were made available to Spock. Sulu, now yielding his mind to Spock's, spoke slowly and clearly.

  "I was teaching the
cadet assigned to me how to switch from warp to sub-light speeds in emergency situations. The mechanism on board the Enterprise is more sophisticated than the Academy's simulations. His name was John Real. Behind me, Chekov was instructing his student. You were at the science console looking over a computer readout. Your back was turned to the center of the bridge. Lieutenant Uhura was having trouble with her cadet. I could hear her correcting her over and over again.

  "Uhura was close to losing her patience. The captain was in the command chair. No. He got up. It's becoming clearer now. A yeoman, one of the cadets, entered the bridge. She had something for the captain to sign. She gave it to him. Then she left the bridge."

  "She didn't wait for him to sign it?"

  "No. She gave it to the captain and left."

  "Then what happened?"

  "The captain put the pad on his chair."

  Spock prodded gently. "And then …?"

  "The explosion—I don't remember anything else."

  Spock withdrew his hand from Sulu's brow. Sulu instantly snapped out of the trancelike state. "Was I of any help?"

  "Yes, Lieutenant. You have given me a lead."

  "Can I help you any further?"

  "Not yet. It is too soon for me to reach a satisfactory conclusion. I will know what occurred more specifically when I have examined the facts you have just given me. I must be entirely sure before I act." Spock turned to leave but stopped. "One more thing. Can you describe the cadet who entered the bridge?"

  With his memory jogged, Sulu, who had an acute eye for visual detail, remembered quickly. "She was very fair, short and stocky. She looked almost square. Know what I mean? Not fat, but strong for her size. Are you going to question her?"

  "Perhaps," Spock answered absently as he walked out of the room. His concentration was already intently focused on his task.

  After checking briefly with the other injured crewmen, Spock headed for the quiet, darkened room in which James Kirk lay. The captain was still unconscious. From what Spock could see of his condition, it was assuredly for the best.

  Two unfamiliar nurses worked around the captain. Spock approached and sat down on the chair beside the bed. An agonizing pain pierced through his spine and he gasped; putting all his effort into regaining control, he re-established his Vulcan discipline of the mind. The gasp alerted one of the nurses who started to approach.

  "I am all right. Please leave us alone," he ordered abruptly.

  Spock's aura of unquestioned authority was overwhelming; the nurses reluctantly left. He then placed his hand on the captain's head, establishing a healing meld. Kirk groaned as he became aware of the Vulcan reaching into his mind. Spock strained his skills to the limit to suppress his friend's pain as well as his own.

  Sometime later, when McCoy checked on his patient, he saw a marked difference.

  "Spock's been here. Right?"

  "Yes, Doctor. How did you know?"

  "I've seen him do this before. There could be no other reason for so great an improvement so quickly. He may well have made the difference in Jim's recovery."

  Kirk, regaining consciousness, struggled to speak.

  "Don't try to talk, Jim. You've had a rough time." McCoy gestured to the nurse. She administered a shot which took immediate effect. As Kirk lapsed into a deep healing sleep, McCoy could read the word he formed with his lips.

  "Spock."

  The chief medical officer sighed with relief as he turned away from his sleeping captain. "The worst is over now," he said, as much to himself as to the nurse beside him.

  2

  Mister Scott finally allowed another engineer to supervise the remaining tasks. The lower section of the Enterprise had been prepared for towing back to Starbase 12, the nearest facility. When the ship had safely docked, Scott immediately retired to his assigned quarters there. He took a large shot of brandy, stepped into the sonic shower, and dropped into bed.

  But he couldn't sleep. He tossed and turned with the events of the past two days flashing through his mind relentlessly. He rose, took another gulp of brandy straight from the bottle, and returned to bed. It seemed hours before he finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

  He was groggy when he acknowledged the buzzer to his quarters. Spock entered the darkened room. Scott eyed him blearily from his perch on the edge of the bed.

  "What is it, Mister Spock? Ye look like ye've eaten somethin' verra sour," he said, yawning and lying back down, more asleep than awake.

  "Mister Scott, I need your assistance. I suspect the explosion on board the Enterprise was sabotage. I believe I've already shared this theory with you."

  "Aye, but ye were in no condition ta discuss the possibilities then."

  "True. But now I must investigate further. I must have concrete proof. I will require a ship large enough to return to the jettisoned hull quickly, and will need the assistance of an engineer. I propose that we return to the jettisoned section and search thoroughly until we find the evidence to corroborate my suspicions."

  "I examined all o' the record tapes myself, Mister Spock. The relays ta the auxiliary bridge worked verra well. I couldna find anythin' ta indicate the explosion was anything but an accident."

  "Mister Scott, you of all people must be aware that there is no mechanism on the bridge which could have caused a blast of that magnitude. It had to be a foreign object."

  "Aye, that crossed my mind, too. But I couldna find anythin' ta substantiate that theory."

  "That is why we must return to the abandoned hull. We must investigate before anyone disturbs the remains of the bridge. Once they send out a tow, the evidence may be obliterated."

  "Have ye requested a ship, Mister Spock?"

  "That is one of the difficulties. Doctor McCoy will not give me medical clearance. I cannot obtain permission to leave the starbase. You must request the ship. It is logical for you to request to return to the jettisoned hull to ready her for the towing procedure. I will accompany you."

  "Aye, but ye still will na have clearance ta leave, Mister Spock."

  "That is my responsibility. Will you assist me?"

  "I will," Scott answered without hesitation. "If my ship was sabotaged, I want ta be the first ta find the one who did it."

  "I believed that would be your probable response," Spock admitted.

  As Spock predicted, Scott was readily provided with an appropriate vessel, and the two officers arrived at the site of the hull separation in less than a day. With their life-support suits and packs firmly attached, Spock and Scott floated toward the abandoned upper section of the Enterprise. Small beacon lights outlined her circular rim. All else was dark. All systems had been shut down; she lay dead, drifting slightly in space.

  They worked their way toward the upper section, where the explosion had pierced the sheathing. A mass of twisted metal was all that remained of the bridge. From one end to the other and from top to bottom, they examined every inch of the shattered bridge, concentrating on the central area where the explosion had originated. Not one shred of evidence could be found in the debris. They returned to their scout ship, removed the bulky suits, and held a brief conference.

  "The outward rush of atmosphere when the sheathing blew ejected whatever there was for us to find, Mister Scott. We will find nothing on what remains of the bridge to substantiate our suspicions. I do have another idea. It is not logical … it is more intuitive. But it is our only alternative. I rarely permit myself to follow what you would call 'a hunch' but I feel I have no choice.

  "If you will remember, we had some sixty-three cadets on the Enterprise at the time of the explosion. They were all Starfleet-cleared, but if somehow only one were an imposter, we might have a lead. I have established that one of the cadets, a young woman, was on the bridge just prior to the explosion. If I could determine her identity, I think I may be able to find our saboteur. The computer has that information. With that data and with what I have learned from the crew, I should be able to trace her. Can you give me enough
power to tap the computer banks?"

  "Aye, I can run a line from the scout ship to the computer. It'll be jury-rigged, but it'll work for a time."

  "Excellent. Please do so."

  Scott, now absorbed in his task, did not notice Spock flinch as he tried to assume a comfortable position over an instrument panel. The Vulcan gritted his teeth, took a deep breath, and released the air rather explosively. Scott turned at the sound only to find Spock busily adjusting some circuitry.

  With the computer link completed, Spock was again in touch with his alter ego, the main computer on board the Enterprise. He searched the records of the female cadets assigned to the ship for the training session. When he had completed the first data-retrieval run, five candidates remained. All were blond, average or short in stature, and all had access to the bridge. He then set about the process of elimination. All were Terran; all their records indicated superior skill in their chosen fields. They were all about the same age.

  "Mister Spock, my temporary connection is about ta come apart. I hope ye've finished," Scott announced as the wire began to sputter near the terminal. It finally gave way with a dramatic spark.

  "I have narrowed it down to five, Mister Scott. But any of them could be guilty—or none of them. We must examine their quarters—check everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem."

  Both donned their space suits again and returned to the abandoned section. They searched through four of the cabins, finding nothing. Spock was examining the contents of a lower drawer in the fifth, finding it hard to concentrate on the search because of the growing discomfort in his back. He grasped the drawer for support when he felt his back give way and pulled it free as he floated momentarily out of control.

  "Are ye all right?" Scott drifted toward the Vulcan as fast as he could manage in his weightless state.

  "Yes," Spock managed to reply, suppressing his pain again. He floated back to his original position. The drawer had been pulled completely away and its contents had drifted out into the room. He retrieved an oddly flattened bottle and a crumpled piece of paper. Neither he nor Scott found anything else of interest.