FIC: Divergence 24/27?
‘Helm, reverse course! Attack pattern bravo six-seven!’
Sweat poured off Hikaru Sulu but he shivered as if he was freezing. This couldn’t go on forever, he knew. They were smaller, more maneuverable, but the Romulans were relentless. The Enterprise doubled back, corkscrewing in for another attack. Bolts of bright green blazed from the Romulan vessel, charging right for them. Chekov targeted the incoming torpedoes and red beams lashed out at them, whipping them into scrap. The shields sparked as a cloud of shrapnel, charged particles and radiation slammed against them. Hikaru Sulu threw the ship into a straight down plunge, starboard, then port, finally pulling up at a sixty-degree angle; doing everything he could to avoid a direct barrage. The constantly changing vectors from the maneuver sent everyone scrambling to hold on.
A blast hit the underside of the primary disc, punching through the shields to scorch a phaser cannon mount. The blast reverberated across the bridge, shaking people from their seats. Power failed for a second, killing all illumination. The artificial gravity went haywire and Sulu grabbed for his console as his feet lifted off the floor, shouting in alarm. A second later, he was back in his chair but his concentration had been broken.
‘Evasive starboard!’ Kirk yelled.
But it was too late. The torpedo blasts hit the Enterprise dead-on, sending the bridge lurching wildly to the side. Half the instruments blew out. Sulu felt the voltage punch through Chekov’s body even two meters away. It flung the young man back in his chair, contorting his spine, making his body convulse before he dropped to the deck with a sickening thump.
‘CHEKOV!’ He yelled, joining the chorus of shocked cries. From his chair, he couldn’t tell if the Russian was breathing. His knees ached, caught between leaping up and remaining in his seat. He clenched his hands over the controls and bit back a frustrated scream; Chekov was not the only one injured. Several officers had also fallen on the upper deck including Uhura. Commander Spock rushed to the young navigator’s side and dropped to one knee heavily, his hand feeling for a pulse. Sulu heard the captain shout into the intercom as if from a great distance away. ‘Bones, I need a medic up here!!’
A moment later, Kirk was at Chekov’s station, his fingers gingerly seeking out which operations were still responding and which ones were gone. ‘Helmsman! Evasive!’ The man ordered, dark blond-brown hair gleaming under the hot glare of Red Alert lights. Swallowing down the bile climbing up his throat, Hikaru Sulu threw the starship hard port aft.
‘All power to aft shields!’
The entire ship buckled under another blow. The helmsman gritted his teeth and swung the ship into another sharp turn.
----
Through the dark fog that seemed to have fallen over her, Nyota heard the shrieks of tortured metal, people crying out, and Kirk's voice above it all shouting out orders. When she finally opened her eyes she saw Spock crouched above her, his face pale, cast in a bloody glow from the Red Alert, lips moving to issue orders. He didn't know she was conscious. It made her wonder how long she had been out. Nyota struggled to turn onto her belly and crawl up but got only as far as tipping onto her side. Tilting her head up, she looked across the bridge deck from her place on the floor. The captain's chair was empty.
'Kirk...' she croaked weakly, eyes flicking to and fro to find him, 'Kirk!'
She saw a body being gently lifted from the lower command deck by two security officers. Her chest tightened, fearing the worst. But it was not Kirk. With a shock, she zeroed in on the curly head of hair. Chekov, her lips mouthed silently. The captain had taken over the young ensign's station. A shockwave made the bridge deck tremble, sending a shiver up her spine.
'...Do not attempt to move, lieutenant, you shall be escorted to Sickbay very soon,' she heard Spock murmur, hand light on her shoulder. The pain from her seared hands shot through her, burning hotly as the Vulcan administered First Aid. No, she tried to say, no Sickbay, she was okay, she could do this. But Spock was not looking at her. His attentions were all upon Kirk at the damaged weapons and navigation's console, several functions still smoking - it was obviously not safe, but then again, when had that ever stopped James T. Kirk. The tight compression of Spock's lips and the tilt of his jaw showed his worry. She searched her memory, trying to remember when she had last seen him like this - there was a story there, she thought, and suddenly realized she hadn't shared a meal with the Vulcan in weeks, hadn’t truly taken the time she’d promised to remain his friend.
The security personnel approached her and made to take her away. 'No,' she protested weakly, rolling away from them onto her belly. Painfully, she struggled up onto her knees, pulling away from the hands that reached for her. This was their last stand and she wasn’t going to miss it.
'Lieutenant, you're injured -!'
'No!' She snapped. Nyota stumbled into a hard impenetrable wall.
Spock stared down at her, face hard. ‘Nyota, you are in no condition to continue at your post.’
‘WE’RE LOOSING MAIN POWER!’ Someone yelled. Kirk swore in response.
‘Commander, with all due respect, I’m staying,’ she said, low and hard, her eyes daring Spock to say otherwise. The Vulcan looked at her, lips pursed in displeasure. That look, she noted wryly, had been known to send big burly men whimpering from the classroom, but she didn’t back down. I’m not going to change my mind, Spock, I belong here on this damn bridge with the rest of you. Their stare down broke off when the bridge rocked again under the force of a heavy blow and they were both sent scrambling for something to hold onto. Kirk shouted for a damage report. Without waiting for confirmation that she was cleared to stay, Uhura threw herself back into her chair and went to work.
---
‘You all right, James?’ Chief Engineer Scott asked him in a quiet voice, hands firm on his shoulders. Around them, the walls trembled, and the packed engineering walkways rattled with each blow as the battle raged on. He nodded mutely. How could the engineer be so calm? Someone yelled for Commander Scott’s attention and the man twisted around to yell an affirmative. The hands on his shoulders tightened and pressed him down until he was forced to bend his knees to sit. ‘You’re gonna be just fine, lad. Try to hang on, okie-dokie? You’re doing great, I’ll be back.’ And then the commander was gone.
Fine? He didn’t think he was ever going to be fine again. Doing great? At what? Not panicking? Not screaming, not crying? James slumped against the warm metal behind him, splattered in blood, unable to move, hands trembling. He wanted to get into a sonic shower then scrape a layer of his skin off. He had been working, manning Commander Watson’s console when an explosion had sent shrapnel flying. It had instantly killed several of the crew members nearest to him. If he had been any taller, if he had not instinctively ducked at the sound of the explosion, he would have been decapitated. He should be dead. He should be dead.
A noise made his head snap up. Spock stepped towards him, face pale. James stared at him, not entirely sure if the young Vulcan was really there but desperately he hoped that he was not hallucinating. ‘James,’ the image said, in low voice that sounded just like Spock. ‘James…’
Struggling up he lunged for Spock, the terror that he’d kept down bubbling up in big teary gulps. Pressed into the crook of Spock’s neck, James cried like he was choking, beating his hands against Spock’s side because why, why?! They were dead - Lieutenant Dimitriadis, Commander Watson, even Chief Johnson - and so many people he didn’t even know. This was hell, he wanted to scream. He’d heard the stories told at those formal boring Starfleet dinners, when the survivors of the Kelvin would come together. He felt small and stupid for never having paid attention, for the way he had sneered at Frank, for those times he had hated dad, for thinking his mom had dumped Sam and him at home so they wouldn’t ruin her fun.
A firm hand gripped the back of his neck and shoulder, bringing James abruptly back to his shuddering collapse into Spock’s arms. He looked up through his tears, choking on the fumes and smoke that crowded around them. Spock cupped his face. James smiled weakly to reassure his friend and felt his lip crack. ‘I’m okay,’ he managed to get out between small wretched gulps of air, ‘not mine, it’s not my blood.’
Spock opened his mouth to speak but an abrupt explosion pushed them both off their feet and punched them into the deck with jaw-aching force. He landed on top of Spock, hard, but they scrambled back up together, long past the stage where they were still rattled from the chaos. The alerts seemed to triple in volume, and a red-clad figure came barreling past them howling incoherently. Chief Engineer Scott stopped at one of the subsidiary consoles attached to a railing post and looked up at the upper levels, horror clear on his pale sweaty face. ‘Mother a' God, the compressor! It cannae be-! It's gonna blow!’ Not bothering with the intercom, the man climbed the rails and, holding onto a pole, swung out to frantically signal at the crew on an adjacent gangway above them. ‘YOU LOT, CLEAR THE UPPER DECK!’
Drowning the commander’s shouts out, a plume of hissing, boiling liquid broke from the burned upper part of a port side sectional tank. As if in harmonized chorus, several other tanks and turbines began to hiss and groan. Something blew on the upper deck, sending a shockwave through Engineering that made everything rattle. James snapped around at a new sound from behind. Jerking Spock away from the noise on instinct, he watched wild-eyed as a white-frothy cascade of liquid engulfed an officer who had been running in their direction. He screamed - a dark blood-curling sound - collapsing to the deck, and moments later, what had been his right arm and leg snapped into pieces like he was made of chalk and his uniform was delicate rice-paper. The man gurgled wordlessly, left hand clawing at the deck.
James stared at him, stunned, and took a faltering step in the dying man’s direction. The solid sheet of gaseous liquid continued to slurp its way onto the deck, soaking the area around the officer and then dribbling over the edge onto the decks below them. It sent people fleeing.
A hard hand clamped on his shoulder and wrenched him around before he could take another step. ‘Whaddaya think ya doing, lad! Don’t be getting any closer! Go now, get!’ James stared up at Commander Scott, trembling and mouth dry, haunted by what he’d seen. Frustrated, the Chief Engineer turned to Spock. ‘You get James outta here to safety, lad, and then come back to pick up any stragglers, ya hear?’ And then he was being pulled along, Spock’s hand so tight around his fingers that it hurt.
“Auto-lockdown for Engineering Deck initiated - countdown commencing - Section1 depressurization in ten minutes,” the computer’s dry echo informed them.
Frantic shouts erupted in response to Commander Scott’s bellows to evacuate, almost as loud as the dangerous gushes and mechanical shrieks. Emergency shields sprang into being as prelude to bulkheads shifting to seal the upper section of Engineering off first. All around them, engineers ran and jostled one another, but never in a disorderly fashion. Suddenly, James tripped and went down hard despite Spock’s hand shooting out to grab him by the back of his shirt. His chin clipped the deck, knocking him out of his shock. His head ached like his brain had been rattled inside his skull, and his eyes started watering again but he managed to bite back his whimper. Boots pounded along the flooring as crew scuttled for the exits, passing them. Spock wrenched him up with inhuman strength.
‘SPOCK!’ The shout halted them at the next junction. A man in science blue struggled towards them, saturated in sweat, a wounded crewman’s arm slung over his shoulder.
‘Doctor O’Connell,’ said Spock, eyes widening in recognition.
‘Here!’ The doctor ordered, sliding the engineer’s arm from his shoulders. Spock took over supporting the unconscious man, and looked to Doctor O’Connell for instructions. James rushed to take the other side. ‘You and your friend, Spock, get this man to safety!’
‘What about you?’ James blurted out.
‘I’ll be fine, go on.’ Doctor O’Connell clapped him on the shoulder and shoved him in the direction of the evacuation, ‘I’ll be fine, go! GO!’
James shared a look with Spock, and then they were hurrying down the gangway as fast as they could go. Two crewmen had set themselves up to receive the fleeing engineers, one foot through the airlock to safety and one foot on the deck. They were shouting, their voices lost in the cacophony of chaos but James could read the dread on their faces, their lips mouthing “come on” and “faster.” A loud abrasive whistle shrilled through the intercom at maximum volume and James flinched in surprise at the sound of his elder self’s voice:
“…I repeat; we’re evacuating! Get to the shuttles now!”
They collapsed across the threshold, passing off the injured crew member into waiting arms. As soon as his burden was gone, James stumbled over to the nearby bulkhead and collapsed against it in relief, gasping for breath. A medic knelt to administer to the bloody wound on the unconscious man’s side.
‘Nystrom’s stopped breathing! No pulse!’ A crewwoman yelled in alarm, appearing around the doorjamb of the next chamber, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders.
‘I can administer first aid,’ Spock volunteered, stepping through to assist her.
James glanced over at the airlock leading to the maintenance shaft that would take them down to the shuttle bays then back at the smoky hot interior of Engineering Deck sub-section 3D, more crew running towards them and safety. Commander Scott and Doctor O’Connell were nowhere to be seen.
“Depressurization in six minutes…” The computer informed everyone coldly. The lights over the airlock seals flashed bright orange as a warning and a guide for anyone still lost in the depths of Engineering deck. Sweat broke out anew over James’ skin as the memory of what depressurization did to a human body slammed into full color behind his eyes. The idea made his innards churn and shudder in phantom terror.
A woman in science blue appeared beside him, medical tricorder in hand. James belatedly realized she was a medic. ‘There’s a few more coming,’ she told the crewmen standing guard at the airlock seals. Strangely detached despite the sweat pouring down her face, she stared hard into the smoke and checked her tricorder again.
‘They’re going too slow,’ she said tonelessly, ‘they’re not going to make it.’
---
The life sensors didn’t stabilize. The girl - and she was a girl even if she had that bloody uniform on her - only had a few lacerations, a set of broken ribs, and a burnt hand. Not all that serious on the surface, but she had also taken a high dose of unshielded radiation. Even if he pumped her with the maximum legal dose of hydronalin, it would be useless. Multiple organ failure, internal bleeding; he could keep her alive for another half an hour, but it would be little more than torture, and any goodbyes had been said before they’d put her down. Instead he increased the strength of her sedatives to keep her comfortable and kissed her good hand. ‘Say hi to my grandma for me,’ he murmured tenderly. Then, forcing himself to put her hand down, Doctor Leonard McCoy stormed out of the operating theatre, heart heavy. The supporting nurse gave him a wide berth before rushing inside to take care of the rest.
Things were going from bad to worse. Sickbay was the only place with power on this level. Chekov had arrived a few minutes ago and was still unconscious. He had strapped the whiz kid down as a safety precaution, not wanting Chekov to be thrown out of the bed as soon as he turned his back. Another lurch sent him to stumbling backwards, collapsing against the wall and then onto the floor as the grav-systems attempted to calibrate. Sickbay spun around him; he had to close his eyes to get his balance. Shutting down the part of him that screamed he was flying in a deathtrap, he moved on to his next patient, face grim.
He felt the battle rage on through the skin of the ship; he watched the flow of casualties increase and the number of people released to go back to duty decrease as injuries worsened. He would have loved nothing more than to get onto the intercom and find out what the hell was going on, but he was barely keeping up with admissions, and intra-ship communications were flooded with damage reports and departments bombarding one another with information. He was sealing a nasty cut when something caught his attention in the confusion. It was Chekov, who had ripped off the restraining straps and rolled himself off the bed.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ He snapped, gesturing for Chapel to take over so he could bully Chekov back onto the bed - UNBELIEVABLE! What was there - some sort of genius repellent in the air here? ‘Get back on that bed, ensign, or I’m gonna whoop your ass you hear!’
‘They need me on the bridge-’
‘Get back on the damn bed.’ He ordered darkly, dogging the ensign’s attempt to sidestep him.
‘-Doctor, please!’ Chekov pleaded, his eyes wide and earnest.
McCoy jabbed his finger at the bed in question, deadly serious on following through with his threat. He’d just watched three kids slightly older than Chekov die in the last twenty minutes, all because they were young and stupid enough to think that they could keep going! ‘I am NOT persuaded by that look, kid!’ He spat. ‘You get your lily-white Russian ass into that bed, Chekov, or I’ll sedate you till your twenty-first birthday!’
Undeterred, Chekov opened his mouth to continue his protest. The intercom cut him off.
“Attention all decks, this is the captain; I’m issuing General Order Thirteen! Evacuate the ship! I repeat; we’re evacuating! Get to the shuttles now!”
The noise level in Sickbay dived and his people froze in shock. McCoy turned for a moment to order them to begin evacuation procedures but Chapel beat him to it. ‘You heard the captain! We’re evacuating! MOVE!’
It sent people scrambling. Turning back to address his rebellious patient, McCoy blinked in shock at the empty space previously occupied by the Russian. The Sickbay doors whished open at the corner of his eyes, unnoticed in the chaos, but he caught the quick flash of mustard yellow.
‘CHEKOV!’ He bellowed, in shock and surprise, ‘CHEK-!’ McCoy closed his mouth mid-yell because fuck this, Chekov was long-gone on those marathon-runner legs of his. Cursing as loud as he could, the doctor grabbed a med-kit and fought his way to the doors.
---
Spock had never had any interest in medicine beyond the basic. He could perform more than first aid, but he had never had to use the skills before. This was not to time to be uncertain about his inexperience. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation - he was a Vulcan and this man was human, thus the procedure had to be altered slightly for his increased strength and lung capacity. He took a deep breath, choking slightly on hot air heavy with the taint of burned plastic, vaporized metal and chemicals, tilted the injured crewman’s head back, opened his mouth, and breathed three breaths into him. The heels of Spock’s hands pressed decisively against the engineer’s sternum, and compressed the chest rapidly fifteen times in a row. A slow breath, fifteen compressions…
The unconscious man did not react, but Spock kept going. A slow breath, fifteen compressions… A slow breath…
‘Immobilize that arm, wrap the leg, first-aid that facial burn. Make her comfortable and then move her you’ll have to stabilize the vitals on the shuttle. Go!’ He heard the medic say over the top of his head - his mind was too scattered to recall her name.
At his periphery, someone nodded and bent to comply. Spock did not look over and he did not stop. Statistically he knew that the likelihood of the man under his hands surviving was low, but until the medic ordered him to cease, he would keep going. A breath, fifteen compressions…
Senior engineers loudly discussed the ship’s predicament behind him: ‘We can’t get the main back online! The compressor is gone - the whole thing is going to go critical if we turn it back on!’ A woman shouted.
‘The conduits are fine - we can get main power back online!’
‘If we get in there and fix the compressor! You wanna kill yourself, Morgan, you go in there and do it!’ The same woman retorted angrily. A breath, fifteen compressions… Spock paused and checked for a pulse; nothing that he could detect. The female crewmember who had solicited his assistance stared at the unconscious man as if she could will him awake. Spock did not let her proximity or state of emotional upheaval affect him. A breath…
At the corner of his eye, he saw James’ figure tense after a medic had checked him with a tricorder, suddenly springing through the airlock seals. The two crewmen standing guard shouted in alarm and tried to grab the boy but he just ducked under their swinging arms. Spock’s head jerked up, the rhythm of his compressions faltering.
‘JAMES!’ His shout joined several other shocked cries but no one moved to follow.
His entire body abortively surged forward as if he was going to jump up and give chase. An almost agonizing bitterness shot through him when he came back to himself. It was not logical to go after the other boy right now. He had offered his assistance, and the rule of cardiopulmonary resuscitation was to not stop until a medic could take over or it was clear that the injured person would not recover - if he did not stay and continue CPR, the engineer’s fate was sealed. James on the other hand, may not be in any more danger now than he was previously; there was still time until lockdown. You do not truly believe that, a voice hissed rebelliously, would you sacrifice James for this engineer whose name you do not even know? He wouldn’t let that happen, Spock vowed, but neither could he abandon this crewman who needed him.
Mechanically, the Vulcan bent to breath into the injured man’s mouth and renewed the chest compressions, his even movements becoming crude as his concentration scattered further, his composure flagging. The medic knelt next to him, ‘Pulse?’
Spock shook his head. A breath, fifteen compressions… She drew a pressure-injector out of her bag, changed the settings and fitted a long, heavy needle to its end. The sight of it chilled him - it resembled what he envisioned barbaric torture implements of the pre-Surak era to have been like. He knew what it was for, but he had never seen one up close. ‘When I tell you, get out of my way but keep breathing for him. Okay?’
He nodded. The medic cut the shirt open deftly with a small short-range laser. Spock roughly pulled the fabric away, baring the man’s chest. ‘Okay, outta the way!’
He slid aside on his knees then bent to continue blowing air into the man’s mouth. What was the count for artificial respiration? Human, not Vulcan - was it fifteen or ten per minute? He slid his hand to hold the unconscious engineer’s head just beneath his jaw but still could feel no pulse. Without warning, the medic reared up on her haunches and plunged the needle down with a sharp grunt. The crewwoman watching the proceedings gave a startled cry, making him jerk - he had forgotten her.
The man shuddered, writhing on the floor before he went limp. Spock’s hand sensed a pulse, fast and fleeting but gaining. The man gasped against his mouth, making him flinch in surprise. He was alive. The medic touched his shoulder but Spock was already standing. His body shaking with unspent adrenalin, he bolted for airlock seals and dived back into the thick chemical fog of Engineering before anyone could react.
Behind him, he heard several voices call out but soon he could hear nothing except the shuddering and echoes of explosions in far corners of the engine room. The chemical cloud overwhelmed him by the time he was past the second sub-junction. He ripped the respirator from the face of a dead crewman before continuing. ‘James!’ He shouted, his voice weakened and distorted by the respirator. He wasn’t deterred, his vocal cords straining to reach previously untried volumes. ‘James! JAMES!’
A sound from ahead made him stiffen, senses focused upon the gangway in front of him. His steps quickened in hope, gaining speed until he almost slammed into several bodies.
‘SHIT!’
‘Commander Scott! Doctor O’Connell!’
James looked to him, eyes wide in surprise. The Vulcan closed his mouth with a sharp click to stifle the cry that ripped through his throat. Intense emotions and compulsions assailed him, ranging from utter relief, the elation he associated with the completion of a significant achievement, reactions he associated with reacquainting himself with his parents after a long absence, and… pure rage.
‘Spock,’ Doctor O’Connell panted, clearly unwell, cutting through Spock’s erratic thoughts and confused feelings, ‘help Commander Scott. We’ll be right behind you,’ he assured, allowing himself to partially lean on James.
Nodding, Spock took the other arm of the semi-conscious female engineer and matched his steps with Commander Scott. Everything was a blur, his feet hammering the deck as they set a hard fast pace. There was a loud howling and orange emergency lights began flashing, cutting through the thick smoke. Spock glanced up, feet never stopping. Bulkheads slid over the top of them, cutting off the Section 1 of Engineering in preparation for lockdown.
“Emergency Auto-Lockdown, initiating in two minutes…” The computer’s voice reminded them patiently.
A shattering explosion went off just above them, causing him to cower low on instinct. The bulkheads to seal off Section 2 started to close. Abruptly, Spock realized that he couldn’t hear anything behind them. He snapped his head around, his pace broken. This sent all three stumbling to a stop, the young injured engineer slumping against the commander as she let out a pained groan, pulled in two directions. Mister Scott swore. ‘Spock, what are you doing?!’
Spock glanced behind at where they had come from to the Chief Engineer, stricken with a staggering panic. He was not used to experiencing fear. He was not used to experiencing panic. Yet in that moment, all those terrible emotions assaulted him. He wanted to explain, to beg, to tell the commander but his tongue was thick in his mouth, all blood draining from his face.
‘Come on!’ Commander Scott shouted, nodding his head in the direction of the exit. ‘We’re almost home free, lad!’
Spock nodded wordlessly and together, they covered the rest of the distance, grunting and panting. As soon as they had safely delivered the moaning crewwoman into the waiting arms of the medic, he spun back to return. A calloused hand clamped down around his wrist.
‘Where da ya thick ya going!’ The commander demanded, ripping the respirator from Spock’s face.
‘James-! They’re-! But-!’ He had never been so lost for words.
“Auto-lockdown, one minute; fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” The computer informed them, her smooth deep voice relentless.
Something inside of the Vulcan snapped.
With sharp twist, he wrenched free, momentum sending him stumbling across the threshold to the other side of the airlock seals. Commander Scott howled for him to stop, hands scrabbling for the back of his shirt but Spock evaded him with a swift duck and hurtled back the way they had come from, the last place he had seen James Kirk.
----
Montgomery Scott leaped after the Vulcan boy with a cry of despair, but found himself held stationary by the five sets of hands that latched onto him ferociously. Glancing back only for a second, young Spock lifted up his forearm protectively before him and dove into the thick darkening smoke. He struggled desperately against his crew’s good intentions, pleas and curses erupting from his mouth. ‘NO, NO - LEMME GO YOU BLOODY-!’
“…Thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one…” The computer droned on.
‘The order is given, sir!’ Someone pleaded with him.
Scotty howled, struggling and throwing himself side to side to escape. Hatred flared, and he stared accusingly at the strong young crewmen and women holding him prisoner, his beloved crew. He was meant to have protected those lads, kept them safe. And yet, here he stood, safe in auxiliary engineering, ready to head down to the shuttles, while they were… Scotty renewed his struggles. “…Nine… eight… seven…” The countdown continued, relentless. An arm wrapped around his neck, wrenching him back from the airlock seals in a painful choke hold. He was roughly wrestled to the floor, kicking and swearing. The seals began to close.
“Auto-lockdown completed. Initiating Section 1 depressurization…”
‘NO!’ Scotty roared. Rearing back on a burst of adrenalin, he jerked his arm up, elbowing and twisting his way free. Launching himself he slammed against the airlock, pounding his fists against the seals as if somehow it would make them open.
‘No… No…’ He moaned breathlessly, falling over the airlock manual control panel and ripping the metal cover off it, thrust his hand in. Hands tried to pry him away but he shrugged them all away and collapsed on the ground, back to the airlock, expressionless. He wasn’t a crying sort of bloke, but God, they were just wee lads. He didn’t know the little Spock well but Scotty liked James, James was brilliant.
“Warning, warning: all decks, abandon ship under General Order Thirteen… Warning, warning, all decks, abandon ship under General Order Thirteen…”
Scotty looked up at the young faces still staring at him solemnly. ‘Whaddaya all looking at? Go on now, get outta here…’ Several of them looked at each other, uncertain. ‘Ya all deaf or something! Can’t you hear the alarms! Go on - scram!’ His shout seemed to break the spell over them, and they all turned with mechanical efficiency, gathered the last of the wounded, and disappeared through the hatch. Scotty drew in a shivery breath and got to his feet. His work was done here. Placing his palm flat against the nearest bulkhead, he allowed himself to grieve for the two young boys who would never become the officers he so respected.
‘Oh no…’ The medic’s voice cut through his reverie and Scotty spun to face the woman. She stared at him, terror and shock mingling on her face, tricorder gripped by her hands like she was praying. ‘They’re alive,’ she breathed roughly, ‘They’re in range-’
Both of them jerked to stare at the airlock in mixed hope and horror as several thumps were heard through the thick metal.
‘How long till depressurization commences in Section 3?’ She asked, voice trembling.
----
The starship shuddered, sending him lurching madly to the right and into the crew traveling in the opposite direction of the stairs, in the correct direction, towards the shuttles. Doctor Leonard McCoy tried to sidestep the collision but ended up shoved into the stairwell railing. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to regain his balance, pushing at the shoulder of the young officer who’d ended up falling into him. He didn’t bother with a sorry, just started struggling up the stairs again after his escaped patient. McCoy almost missed the click-chirp of his communicator, but it was still in his hand as he’d been trying desperately to contact the bridge.
‘McCoy here!’ He shouted, struggling past yet more crew fleeing the ship as ordered, jamming the communicator under his ear.
Static crackled and then, “…Scott here! Doctor, we… medical emergency override! The boys are trapped and… depressur-! We got three minutes before… and then…!”
McCoy shook his head, not really understanding what was happening. ‘Scotty, I can’t understand you! Can you repeat-? Dammit!’ He swore vehemently, staggering to a stop on a landing. If it wasn’t the battery, it was interference! Suddenly there was an alarmed cry and a woman in operations red tripped into the personnel in front of her, tumbling between their bodies down the stairs to the next landing. McCoy turned, ready to run over but the crewmembers around her all pitched in to get her back onto her feet. A woman in science blue slung the fallen woman’s arm over her shoulder and together, they continued descending the stairs at a fast pace. McCoy pushed on.
‘Sir!’ A familiar voice called out. It was Leslie.
‘Lieutenant!’ McCoy jostled up the final steps to the next landing and grabbed the bridge officer by the shoulder. ‘Where’s the captain?’ He demanded, eyes scanning the people behind him, all bridge crew but no Jim. Actually he couldn’t see any of the main bridge crew.
‘Sent us ahead, sir,’ Leslie looked like he was itching to protest the orders.
McCoy pushed the man on, ‘Then get to it!’ He flew up the remaining emergency stairs to the bridge, ignoring the burning in his chest and the nagging voice in his head that told him that he needed to get into better shape. The bridge’s emergency hatch was open above him, loud voices drifting down to him even through the shuddering booms and shrieks of battle. McCoy climbed as fast as he could.
Jim’s growl was instantly recognizable. ‘I’m still the Captain and until-‘
A hard voice cut Jim off. ‘May I remind you, as superior officer, you’re-‘
‘SPOCK-!’ Jim swore when he saw the doctor. ‘Dammit Bones! Not you too! What the hell happened to getting off the goddamn ship when the captain orders a Thirteen?’ He snapped, eyes still flashing from the argument that, from the sounds of it, Spock had been winning.
‘If you stopped infecting everyone with your brand of crazy, then maybe I’d have an easier time of it.’ McCoy said mildly, eyes flicking from Jim to his runaway Russian who was back at his usual station, already engrossed in his efforts to keep the ship afloat. ‘What’s going on? Dammit, people, you’re supposed to be -!’ He went flying before he could finish as the bridge rocked to another explosion, causing instruments to crackle and somehow found himself clinging against the back of the central chair for dear life waiting for gravity to right itself. Jim slammed his hand down on an intercom button. ‘Bridge to all decks, this is the captain - if you’re not on a shuttle, get to hangar three now! Spock, Sulu, Chekov, get Uhura outta here.’
The helmsman and navigator both nodded. All three left the bridge via emergency hatch. Only Spock remained, ignoring the orders and instead taking the abandoned helm before Jim could make a move towards it. He did something too fast for McCoy to make out but then the main viewscreen started to blink with an insistent message: AUTO-PILOT ENGAGED. ‘Captain, there is no tactical advantaged gained by your continued presence on the bridge after all other crew members have evacuated.’ The Vulcan’s gaze was imploring, ‘Jim, our auto-pilot program remains fully functional.’
Disbelief and anger surged through McCoy as the implication sank in. Oh HELL no!
‘The auto-pilot could fail-’ Jim was still talking, but McCoy didn’t want to hear it. He was a doctor, dammit, but all he seemed to do lately was watch people die, and could not, would not let Jim go without a fight. Without thinking, Leonard McCoy seized Jim by the front of his shirt, hauled back, and punched him as hard as he could. The young man slammed into Spock with a grunt.
‘What the hell Bones?!’ Jim said from his new location in Spock’s lap. Spock raised an eyebrow as if to second the question. Leonard just glared at them both shaking his stinging hand. ‘Someone had to slap the hero out of you. Get up! We’re all leaving- NOW.’
Just as they reached the emergency hatch, one of the consoles began to chirp insistently. Jim shared a frown with Spock, who leaned to examine the nearest console. ‘There appears to be two vessels approaching our location at high warp.’
McCoy swore under his breath. He opened his mouth to ask Spock if they were still able to warn the poor bastards but was interrupted by the sight of two ships dropping out of warp on the viewscreen. In stunned silence they watched as warning torpedoes lashed out to explode off the Narada’s bow, and the bridge speakers crackled:
“Attention, unidentified vessel! This is Commodore Winona Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, dammit! Cease fire and identify yourselves! Failure to respond will be taken as hostile intent!”
part twenty-five
A/N: okay see when I'm in a rush to finish, I can do it, I really can.
Sweat poured off Hikaru Sulu but he shivered as if he was freezing. This couldn’t go on forever, he knew. They were smaller, more maneuverable, but the Romulans were relentless. The Enterprise doubled back, corkscrewing in for another attack. Bolts of bright green blazed from the Romulan vessel, charging right for them. Chekov targeted the incoming torpedoes and red beams lashed out at them, whipping them into scrap. The shields sparked as a cloud of shrapnel, charged particles and radiation slammed against them. Hikaru Sulu threw the ship into a straight down plunge, starboard, then port, finally pulling up at a sixty-degree angle; doing everything he could to avoid a direct barrage. The constantly changing vectors from the maneuver sent everyone scrambling to hold on.
A blast hit the underside of the primary disc, punching through the shields to scorch a phaser cannon mount. The blast reverberated across the bridge, shaking people from their seats. Power failed for a second, killing all illumination. The artificial gravity went haywire and Sulu grabbed for his console as his feet lifted off the floor, shouting in alarm. A second later, he was back in his chair but his concentration had been broken.
‘Evasive starboard!’ Kirk yelled.
But it was too late. The torpedo blasts hit the Enterprise dead-on, sending the bridge lurching wildly to the side. Half the instruments blew out. Sulu felt the voltage punch through Chekov’s body even two meters away. It flung the young man back in his chair, contorting his spine, making his body convulse before he dropped to the deck with a sickening thump.
‘CHEKOV!’ He yelled, joining the chorus of shocked cries. From his chair, he couldn’t tell if the Russian was breathing. His knees ached, caught between leaping up and remaining in his seat. He clenched his hands over the controls and bit back a frustrated scream; Chekov was not the only one injured. Several officers had also fallen on the upper deck including Uhura. Commander Spock rushed to the young navigator’s side and dropped to one knee heavily, his hand feeling for a pulse. Sulu heard the captain shout into the intercom as if from a great distance away. ‘Bones, I need a medic up here!!’
A moment later, Kirk was at Chekov’s station, his fingers gingerly seeking out which operations were still responding and which ones were gone. ‘Helmsman! Evasive!’ The man ordered, dark blond-brown hair gleaming under the hot glare of Red Alert lights. Swallowing down the bile climbing up his throat, Hikaru Sulu threw the starship hard port aft.
‘All power to aft shields!’
The entire ship buckled under another blow. The helmsman gritted his teeth and swung the ship into another sharp turn.
----
Through the dark fog that seemed to have fallen over her, Nyota heard the shrieks of tortured metal, people crying out, and Kirk's voice above it all shouting out orders. When she finally opened her eyes she saw Spock crouched above her, his face pale, cast in a bloody glow from the Red Alert, lips moving to issue orders. He didn't know she was conscious. It made her wonder how long she had been out. Nyota struggled to turn onto her belly and crawl up but got only as far as tipping onto her side. Tilting her head up, she looked across the bridge deck from her place on the floor. The captain's chair was empty.
'Kirk...' she croaked weakly, eyes flicking to and fro to find him, 'Kirk!'
She saw a body being gently lifted from the lower command deck by two security officers. Her chest tightened, fearing the worst. But it was not Kirk. With a shock, she zeroed in on the curly head of hair. Chekov, her lips mouthed silently. The captain had taken over the young ensign's station. A shockwave made the bridge deck tremble, sending a shiver up her spine.
'...Do not attempt to move, lieutenant, you shall be escorted to Sickbay very soon,' she heard Spock murmur, hand light on her shoulder. The pain from her seared hands shot through her, burning hotly as the Vulcan administered First Aid. No, she tried to say, no Sickbay, she was okay, she could do this. But Spock was not looking at her. His attentions were all upon Kirk at the damaged weapons and navigation's console, several functions still smoking - it was obviously not safe, but then again, when had that ever stopped James T. Kirk. The tight compression of Spock's lips and the tilt of his jaw showed his worry. She searched her memory, trying to remember when she had last seen him like this - there was a story there, she thought, and suddenly realized she hadn't shared a meal with the Vulcan in weeks, hadn’t truly taken the time she’d promised to remain his friend.
The security personnel approached her and made to take her away. 'No,' she protested weakly, rolling away from them onto her belly. Painfully, she struggled up onto her knees, pulling away from the hands that reached for her. This was their last stand and she wasn’t going to miss it.
'Lieutenant, you're injured -!'
'No!' She snapped. Nyota stumbled into a hard impenetrable wall.
Spock stared down at her, face hard. ‘Nyota, you are in no condition to continue at your post.’
‘WE’RE LOOSING MAIN POWER!’ Someone yelled. Kirk swore in response.
‘Commander, with all due respect, I’m staying,’ she said, low and hard, her eyes daring Spock to say otherwise. The Vulcan looked at her, lips pursed in displeasure. That look, she noted wryly, had been known to send big burly men whimpering from the classroom, but she didn’t back down. I’m not going to change my mind, Spock, I belong here on this damn bridge with the rest of you. Their stare down broke off when the bridge rocked again under the force of a heavy blow and they were both sent scrambling for something to hold onto. Kirk shouted for a damage report. Without waiting for confirmation that she was cleared to stay, Uhura threw herself back into her chair and went to work.
---
‘You all right, James?’ Chief Engineer Scott asked him in a quiet voice, hands firm on his shoulders. Around them, the walls trembled, and the packed engineering walkways rattled with each blow as the battle raged on. He nodded mutely. How could the engineer be so calm? Someone yelled for Commander Scott’s attention and the man twisted around to yell an affirmative. The hands on his shoulders tightened and pressed him down until he was forced to bend his knees to sit. ‘You’re gonna be just fine, lad. Try to hang on, okie-dokie? You’re doing great, I’ll be back.’ And then the commander was gone.
Fine? He didn’t think he was ever going to be fine again. Doing great? At what? Not panicking? Not screaming, not crying? James slumped against the warm metal behind him, splattered in blood, unable to move, hands trembling. He wanted to get into a sonic shower then scrape a layer of his skin off. He had been working, manning Commander Watson’s console when an explosion had sent shrapnel flying. It had instantly killed several of the crew members nearest to him. If he had been any taller, if he had not instinctively ducked at the sound of the explosion, he would have been decapitated. He should be dead. He should be dead.
A noise made his head snap up. Spock stepped towards him, face pale. James stared at him, not entirely sure if the young Vulcan was really there but desperately he hoped that he was not hallucinating. ‘James,’ the image said, in low voice that sounded just like Spock. ‘James…’
Struggling up he lunged for Spock, the terror that he’d kept down bubbling up in big teary gulps. Pressed into the crook of Spock’s neck, James cried like he was choking, beating his hands against Spock’s side because why, why?! They were dead - Lieutenant Dimitriadis, Commander Watson, even Chief Johnson - and so many people he didn’t even know. This was hell, he wanted to scream. He’d heard the stories told at those formal boring Starfleet dinners, when the survivors of the Kelvin would come together. He felt small and stupid for never having paid attention, for the way he had sneered at Frank, for those times he had hated dad, for thinking his mom had dumped Sam and him at home so they wouldn’t ruin her fun.
A firm hand gripped the back of his neck and shoulder, bringing James abruptly back to his shuddering collapse into Spock’s arms. He looked up through his tears, choking on the fumes and smoke that crowded around them. Spock cupped his face. James smiled weakly to reassure his friend and felt his lip crack. ‘I’m okay,’ he managed to get out between small wretched gulps of air, ‘not mine, it’s not my blood.’
Spock opened his mouth to speak but an abrupt explosion pushed them both off their feet and punched them into the deck with jaw-aching force. He landed on top of Spock, hard, but they scrambled back up together, long past the stage where they were still rattled from the chaos. The alerts seemed to triple in volume, and a red-clad figure came barreling past them howling incoherently. Chief Engineer Scott stopped at one of the subsidiary consoles attached to a railing post and looked up at the upper levels, horror clear on his pale sweaty face. ‘Mother a' God, the compressor! It cannae be-! It's gonna blow!’ Not bothering with the intercom, the man climbed the rails and, holding onto a pole, swung out to frantically signal at the crew on an adjacent gangway above them. ‘YOU LOT, CLEAR THE UPPER DECK!’
Drowning the commander’s shouts out, a plume of hissing, boiling liquid broke from the burned upper part of a port side sectional tank. As if in harmonized chorus, several other tanks and turbines began to hiss and groan. Something blew on the upper deck, sending a shockwave through Engineering that made everything rattle. James snapped around at a new sound from behind. Jerking Spock away from the noise on instinct, he watched wild-eyed as a white-frothy cascade of liquid engulfed an officer who had been running in their direction. He screamed - a dark blood-curling sound - collapsing to the deck, and moments later, what had been his right arm and leg snapped into pieces like he was made of chalk and his uniform was delicate rice-paper. The man gurgled wordlessly, left hand clawing at the deck.
James stared at him, stunned, and took a faltering step in the dying man’s direction. The solid sheet of gaseous liquid continued to slurp its way onto the deck, soaking the area around the officer and then dribbling over the edge onto the decks below them. It sent people fleeing.
A hard hand clamped on his shoulder and wrenched him around before he could take another step. ‘Whaddaya think ya doing, lad! Don’t be getting any closer! Go now, get!’ James stared up at Commander Scott, trembling and mouth dry, haunted by what he’d seen. Frustrated, the Chief Engineer turned to Spock. ‘You get James outta here to safety, lad, and then come back to pick up any stragglers, ya hear?’ And then he was being pulled along, Spock’s hand so tight around his fingers that it hurt.
“Auto-lockdown for Engineering Deck initiated - countdown commencing - Section1 depressurization in ten minutes,” the computer’s dry echo informed them.
Frantic shouts erupted in response to Commander Scott’s bellows to evacuate, almost as loud as the dangerous gushes and mechanical shrieks. Emergency shields sprang into being as prelude to bulkheads shifting to seal the upper section of Engineering off first. All around them, engineers ran and jostled one another, but never in a disorderly fashion. Suddenly, James tripped and went down hard despite Spock’s hand shooting out to grab him by the back of his shirt. His chin clipped the deck, knocking him out of his shock. His head ached like his brain had been rattled inside his skull, and his eyes started watering again but he managed to bite back his whimper. Boots pounded along the flooring as crew scuttled for the exits, passing them. Spock wrenched him up with inhuman strength.
‘SPOCK!’ The shout halted them at the next junction. A man in science blue struggled towards them, saturated in sweat, a wounded crewman’s arm slung over his shoulder.
‘Doctor O’Connell,’ said Spock, eyes widening in recognition.
‘Here!’ The doctor ordered, sliding the engineer’s arm from his shoulders. Spock took over supporting the unconscious man, and looked to Doctor O’Connell for instructions. James rushed to take the other side. ‘You and your friend, Spock, get this man to safety!’
‘What about you?’ James blurted out.
‘I’ll be fine, go on.’ Doctor O’Connell clapped him on the shoulder and shoved him in the direction of the evacuation, ‘I’ll be fine, go! GO!’
James shared a look with Spock, and then they were hurrying down the gangway as fast as they could go. Two crewmen had set themselves up to receive the fleeing engineers, one foot through the airlock to safety and one foot on the deck. They were shouting, their voices lost in the cacophony of chaos but James could read the dread on their faces, their lips mouthing “come on” and “faster.” A loud abrasive whistle shrilled through the intercom at maximum volume and James flinched in surprise at the sound of his elder self’s voice:
“…I repeat; we’re evacuating! Get to the shuttles now!”
They collapsed across the threshold, passing off the injured crew member into waiting arms. As soon as his burden was gone, James stumbled over to the nearby bulkhead and collapsed against it in relief, gasping for breath. A medic knelt to administer to the bloody wound on the unconscious man’s side.
‘Nystrom’s stopped breathing! No pulse!’ A crewwoman yelled in alarm, appearing around the doorjamb of the next chamber, her hair wild and loose around her shoulders.
‘I can administer first aid,’ Spock volunteered, stepping through to assist her.
James glanced over at the airlock leading to the maintenance shaft that would take them down to the shuttle bays then back at the smoky hot interior of Engineering Deck sub-section 3D, more crew running towards them and safety. Commander Scott and Doctor O’Connell were nowhere to be seen.
“Depressurization in six minutes…” The computer informed everyone coldly. The lights over the airlock seals flashed bright orange as a warning and a guide for anyone still lost in the depths of Engineering deck. Sweat broke out anew over James’ skin as the memory of what depressurization did to a human body slammed into full color behind his eyes. The idea made his innards churn and shudder in phantom terror.
A woman in science blue appeared beside him, medical tricorder in hand. James belatedly realized she was a medic. ‘There’s a few more coming,’ she told the crewmen standing guard at the airlock seals. Strangely detached despite the sweat pouring down her face, she stared hard into the smoke and checked her tricorder again.
‘They’re going too slow,’ she said tonelessly, ‘they’re not going to make it.’
---
The life sensors didn’t stabilize. The girl - and she was a girl even if she had that bloody uniform on her - only had a few lacerations, a set of broken ribs, and a burnt hand. Not all that serious on the surface, but she had also taken a high dose of unshielded radiation. Even if he pumped her with the maximum legal dose of hydronalin, it would be useless. Multiple organ failure, internal bleeding; he could keep her alive for another half an hour, but it would be little more than torture, and any goodbyes had been said before they’d put her down. Instead he increased the strength of her sedatives to keep her comfortable and kissed her good hand. ‘Say hi to my grandma for me,’ he murmured tenderly. Then, forcing himself to put her hand down, Doctor Leonard McCoy stormed out of the operating theatre, heart heavy. The supporting nurse gave him a wide berth before rushing inside to take care of the rest.
Things were going from bad to worse. Sickbay was the only place with power on this level. Chekov had arrived a few minutes ago and was still unconscious. He had strapped the whiz kid down as a safety precaution, not wanting Chekov to be thrown out of the bed as soon as he turned his back. Another lurch sent him to stumbling backwards, collapsing against the wall and then onto the floor as the grav-systems attempted to calibrate. Sickbay spun around him; he had to close his eyes to get his balance. Shutting down the part of him that screamed he was flying in a deathtrap, he moved on to his next patient, face grim.
He felt the battle rage on through the skin of the ship; he watched the flow of casualties increase and the number of people released to go back to duty decrease as injuries worsened. He would have loved nothing more than to get onto the intercom and find out what the hell was going on, but he was barely keeping up with admissions, and intra-ship communications were flooded with damage reports and departments bombarding one another with information. He was sealing a nasty cut when something caught his attention in the confusion. It was Chekov, who had ripped off the restraining straps and rolled himself off the bed.
‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ He snapped, gesturing for Chapel to take over so he could bully Chekov back onto the bed - UNBELIEVABLE! What was there - some sort of genius repellent in the air here? ‘Get back on that bed, ensign, or I’m gonna whoop your ass you hear!’
‘They need me on the bridge-’
‘Get back on the damn bed.’ He ordered darkly, dogging the ensign’s attempt to sidestep him.
‘-Doctor, please!’ Chekov pleaded, his eyes wide and earnest.
McCoy jabbed his finger at the bed in question, deadly serious on following through with his threat. He’d just watched three kids slightly older than Chekov die in the last twenty minutes, all because they were young and stupid enough to think that they could keep going! ‘I am NOT persuaded by that look, kid!’ He spat. ‘You get your lily-white Russian ass into that bed, Chekov, or I’ll sedate you till your twenty-first birthday!’
Undeterred, Chekov opened his mouth to continue his protest. The intercom cut him off.
“Attention all decks, this is the captain; I’m issuing General Order Thirteen! Evacuate the ship! I repeat; we’re evacuating! Get to the shuttles now!”
The noise level in Sickbay dived and his people froze in shock. McCoy turned for a moment to order them to begin evacuation procedures but Chapel beat him to it. ‘You heard the captain! We’re evacuating! MOVE!’
It sent people scrambling. Turning back to address his rebellious patient, McCoy blinked in shock at the empty space previously occupied by the Russian. The Sickbay doors whished open at the corner of his eyes, unnoticed in the chaos, but he caught the quick flash of mustard yellow.
‘CHEKOV!’ He bellowed, in shock and surprise, ‘CHEK-!’ McCoy closed his mouth mid-yell because fuck this, Chekov was long-gone on those marathon-runner legs of his. Cursing as loud as he could, the doctor grabbed a med-kit and fought his way to the doors.
---
Spock had never had any interest in medicine beyond the basic. He could perform more than first aid, but he had never had to use the skills before. This was not to time to be uncertain about his inexperience. Cardiopulmonary resuscitation - he was a Vulcan and this man was human, thus the procedure had to be altered slightly for his increased strength and lung capacity. He took a deep breath, choking slightly on hot air heavy with the taint of burned plastic, vaporized metal and chemicals, tilted the injured crewman’s head back, opened his mouth, and breathed three breaths into him. The heels of Spock’s hands pressed decisively against the engineer’s sternum, and compressed the chest rapidly fifteen times in a row. A slow breath, fifteen compressions…
The unconscious man did not react, but Spock kept going. A slow breath, fifteen compressions… A slow breath…
‘Immobilize that arm, wrap the leg, first-aid that facial burn. Make her comfortable and then move her you’ll have to stabilize the vitals on the shuttle. Go!’ He heard the medic say over the top of his head - his mind was too scattered to recall her name.
At his periphery, someone nodded and bent to comply. Spock did not look over and he did not stop. Statistically he knew that the likelihood of the man under his hands surviving was low, but until the medic ordered him to cease, he would keep going. A breath, fifteen compressions…
Senior engineers loudly discussed the ship’s predicament behind him: ‘We can’t get the main back online! The compressor is gone - the whole thing is going to go critical if we turn it back on!’ A woman shouted.
‘The conduits are fine - we can get main power back online!’
‘If we get in there and fix the compressor! You wanna kill yourself, Morgan, you go in there and do it!’ The same woman retorted angrily. A breath, fifteen compressions… Spock paused and checked for a pulse; nothing that he could detect. The female crewmember who had solicited his assistance stared at the unconscious man as if she could will him awake. Spock did not let her proximity or state of emotional upheaval affect him. A breath…
At the corner of his eye, he saw James’ figure tense after a medic had checked him with a tricorder, suddenly springing through the airlock seals. The two crewmen standing guard shouted in alarm and tried to grab the boy but he just ducked under their swinging arms. Spock’s head jerked up, the rhythm of his compressions faltering.
‘JAMES!’ His shout joined several other shocked cries but no one moved to follow.
His entire body abortively surged forward as if he was going to jump up and give chase. An almost agonizing bitterness shot through him when he came back to himself. It was not logical to go after the other boy right now. He had offered his assistance, and the rule of cardiopulmonary resuscitation was to not stop until a medic could take over or it was clear that the injured person would not recover - if he did not stay and continue CPR, the engineer’s fate was sealed. James on the other hand, may not be in any more danger now than he was previously; there was still time until lockdown. You do not truly believe that, a voice hissed rebelliously, would you sacrifice James for this engineer whose name you do not even know? He wouldn’t let that happen, Spock vowed, but neither could he abandon this crewman who needed him.
Mechanically, the Vulcan bent to breath into the injured man’s mouth and renewed the chest compressions, his even movements becoming crude as his concentration scattered further, his composure flagging. The medic knelt next to him, ‘Pulse?’
Spock shook his head. A breath, fifteen compressions… She drew a pressure-injector out of her bag, changed the settings and fitted a long, heavy needle to its end. The sight of it chilled him - it resembled what he envisioned barbaric torture implements of the pre-Surak era to have been like. He knew what it was for, but he had never seen one up close. ‘When I tell you, get out of my way but keep breathing for him. Okay?’
He nodded. The medic cut the shirt open deftly with a small short-range laser. Spock roughly pulled the fabric away, baring the man’s chest. ‘Okay, outta the way!’
He slid aside on his knees then bent to continue blowing air into the man’s mouth. What was the count for artificial respiration? Human, not Vulcan - was it fifteen or ten per minute? He slid his hand to hold the unconscious engineer’s head just beneath his jaw but still could feel no pulse. Without warning, the medic reared up on her haunches and plunged the needle down with a sharp grunt. The crewwoman watching the proceedings gave a startled cry, making him jerk - he had forgotten her.
The man shuddered, writhing on the floor before he went limp. Spock’s hand sensed a pulse, fast and fleeting but gaining. The man gasped against his mouth, making him flinch in surprise. He was alive. The medic touched his shoulder but Spock was already standing. His body shaking with unspent adrenalin, he bolted for airlock seals and dived back into the thick chemical fog of Engineering before anyone could react.
Behind him, he heard several voices call out but soon he could hear nothing except the shuddering and echoes of explosions in far corners of the engine room. The chemical cloud overwhelmed him by the time he was past the second sub-junction. He ripped the respirator from the face of a dead crewman before continuing. ‘James!’ He shouted, his voice weakened and distorted by the respirator. He wasn’t deterred, his vocal cords straining to reach previously untried volumes. ‘James! JAMES!’
A sound from ahead made him stiffen, senses focused upon the gangway in front of him. His steps quickened in hope, gaining speed until he almost slammed into several bodies.
‘SHIT!’
‘Commander Scott! Doctor O’Connell!’
James looked to him, eyes wide in surprise. The Vulcan closed his mouth with a sharp click to stifle the cry that ripped through his throat. Intense emotions and compulsions assailed him, ranging from utter relief, the elation he associated with the completion of a significant achievement, reactions he associated with reacquainting himself with his parents after a long absence, and… pure rage.
‘Spock,’ Doctor O’Connell panted, clearly unwell, cutting through Spock’s erratic thoughts and confused feelings, ‘help Commander Scott. We’ll be right behind you,’ he assured, allowing himself to partially lean on James.
Nodding, Spock took the other arm of the semi-conscious female engineer and matched his steps with Commander Scott. Everything was a blur, his feet hammering the deck as they set a hard fast pace. There was a loud howling and orange emergency lights began flashing, cutting through the thick smoke. Spock glanced up, feet never stopping. Bulkheads slid over the top of them, cutting off the Section 1 of Engineering in preparation for lockdown.
“Emergency Auto-Lockdown, initiating in two minutes…” The computer’s voice reminded them patiently.
A shattering explosion went off just above them, causing him to cower low on instinct. The bulkheads to seal off Section 2 started to close. Abruptly, Spock realized that he couldn’t hear anything behind them. He snapped his head around, his pace broken. This sent all three stumbling to a stop, the young injured engineer slumping against the commander as she let out a pained groan, pulled in two directions. Mister Scott swore. ‘Spock, what are you doing?!’
Spock glanced behind at where they had come from to the Chief Engineer, stricken with a staggering panic. He was not used to experiencing fear. He was not used to experiencing panic. Yet in that moment, all those terrible emotions assaulted him. He wanted to explain, to beg, to tell the commander but his tongue was thick in his mouth, all blood draining from his face.
‘Come on!’ Commander Scott shouted, nodding his head in the direction of the exit. ‘We’re almost home free, lad!’
Spock nodded wordlessly and together, they covered the rest of the distance, grunting and panting. As soon as they had safely delivered the moaning crewwoman into the waiting arms of the medic, he spun back to return. A calloused hand clamped down around his wrist.
‘Where da ya thick ya going!’ The commander demanded, ripping the respirator from Spock’s face.
‘James-! They’re-! But-!’ He had never been so lost for words.
“Auto-lockdown, one minute; fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven…” The computer informed them, her smooth deep voice relentless.
Something inside of the Vulcan snapped.
With sharp twist, he wrenched free, momentum sending him stumbling across the threshold to the other side of the airlock seals. Commander Scott howled for him to stop, hands scrabbling for the back of his shirt but Spock evaded him with a swift duck and hurtled back the way they had come from, the last place he had seen James Kirk.
----
Montgomery Scott leaped after the Vulcan boy with a cry of despair, but found himself held stationary by the five sets of hands that latched onto him ferociously. Glancing back only for a second, young Spock lifted up his forearm protectively before him and dove into the thick darkening smoke. He struggled desperately against his crew’s good intentions, pleas and curses erupting from his mouth. ‘NO, NO - LEMME GO YOU BLOODY-!’
“…Thirty-three, thirty-two, thirty-one…” The computer droned on.
‘The order is given, sir!’ Someone pleaded with him.
Scotty howled, struggling and throwing himself side to side to escape. Hatred flared, and he stared accusingly at the strong young crewmen and women holding him prisoner, his beloved crew. He was meant to have protected those lads, kept them safe. And yet, here he stood, safe in auxiliary engineering, ready to head down to the shuttles, while they were… Scotty renewed his struggles. “…Nine… eight… seven…” The countdown continued, relentless. An arm wrapped around his neck, wrenching him back from the airlock seals in a painful choke hold. He was roughly wrestled to the floor, kicking and swearing. The seals began to close.
“Auto-lockdown completed. Initiating Section 1 depressurization…”
‘NO!’ Scotty roared. Rearing back on a burst of adrenalin, he jerked his arm up, elbowing and twisting his way free. Launching himself he slammed against the airlock, pounding his fists against the seals as if somehow it would make them open.
‘No… No…’ He moaned breathlessly, falling over the airlock manual control panel and ripping the metal cover off it, thrust his hand in. Hands tried to pry him away but he shrugged them all away and collapsed on the ground, back to the airlock, expressionless. He wasn’t a crying sort of bloke, but God, they were just wee lads. He didn’t know the little Spock well but Scotty liked James, James was brilliant.
“Warning, warning: all decks, abandon ship under General Order Thirteen… Warning, warning, all decks, abandon ship under General Order Thirteen…”
Scotty looked up at the young faces still staring at him solemnly. ‘Whaddaya all looking at? Go on now, get outta here…’ Several of them looked at each other, uncertain. ‘Ya all deaf or something! Can’t you hear the alarms! Go on - scram!’ His shout seemed to break the spell over them, and they all turned with mechanical efficiency, gathered the last of the wounded, and disappeared through the hatch. Scotty drew in a shivery breath and got to his feet. His work was done here. Placing his palm flat against the nearest bulkhead, he allowed himself to grieve for the two young boys who would never become the officers he so respected.
‘Oh no…’ The medic’s voice cut through his reverie and Scotty spun to face the woman. She stared at him, terror and shock mingling on her face, tricorder gripped by her hands like she was praying. ‘They’re alive,’ she breathed roughly, ‘They’re in range-’
Both of them jerked to stare at the airlock in mixed hope and horror as several thumps were heard through the thick metal.
‘How long till depressurization commences in Section 3?’ She asked, voice trembling.
----
The starship shuddered, sending him lurching madly to the right and into the crew traveling in the opposite direction of the stairs, in the correct direction, towards the shuttles. Doctor Leonard McCoy tried to sidestep the collision but ended up shoved into the stairwell railing. He cursed under his breath as he struggled to regain his balance, pushing at the shoulder of the young officer who’d ended up falling into him. He didn’t bother with a sorry, just started struggling up the stairs again after his escaped patient. McCoy almost missed the click-chirp of his communicator, but it was still in his hand as he’d been trying desperately to contact the bridge.
‘McCoy here!’ He shouted, struggling past yet more crew fleeing the ship as ordered, jamming the communicator under his ear.
Static crackled and then, “…Scott here! Doctor, we… medical emergency override! The boys are trapped and… depressur-! We got three minutes before… and then…!”
McCoy shook his head, not really understanding what was happening. ‘Scotty, I can’t understand you! Can you repeat-? Dammit!’ He swore vehemently, staggering to a stop on a landing. If it wasn’t the battery, it was interference! Suddenly there was an alarmed cry and a woman in operations red tripped into the personnel in front of her, tumbling between their bodies down the stairs to the next landing. McCoy turned, ready to run over but the crewmembers around her all pitched in to get her back onto her feet. A woman in science blue slung the fallen woman’s arm over her shoulder and together, they continued descending the stairs at a fast pace. McCoy pushed on.
‘Sir!’ A familiar voice called out. It was Leslie.
‘Lieutenant!’ McCoy jostled up the final steps to the next landing and grabbed the bridge officer by the shoulder. ‘Where’s the captain?’ He demanded, eyes scanning the people behind him, all bridge crew but no Jim. Actually he couldn’t see any of the main bridge crew.
‘Sent us ahead, sir,’ Leslie looked like he was itching to protest the orders.
McCoy pushed the man on, ‘Then get to it!’ He flew up the remaining emergency stairs to the bridge, ignoring the burning in his chest and the nagging voice in his head that told him that he needed to get into better shape. The bridge’s emergency hatch was open above him, loud voices drifting down to him even through the shuddering booms and shrieks of battle. McCoy climbed as fast as he could.
Jim’s growl was instantly recognizable. ‘I’m still the Captain and until-‘
A hard voice cut Jim off. ‘May I remind you, as superior officer, you’re-‘
‘SPOCK-!’ Jim swore when he saw the doctor. ‘Dammit Bones! Not you too! What the hell happened to getting off the goddamn ship when the captain orders a Thirteen?’ He snapped, eyes still flashing from the argument that, from the sounds of it, Spock had been winning.
‘If you stopped infecting everyone with your brand of crazy, then maybe I’d have an easier time of it.’ McCoy said mildly, eyes flicking from Jim to his runaway Russian who was back at his usual station, already engrossed in his efforts to keep the ship afloat. ‘What’s going on? Dammit, people, you’re supposed to be -!’ He went flying before he could finish as the bridge rocked to another explosion, causing instruments to crackle and somehow found himself clinging against the back of the central chair for dear life waiting for gravity to right itself. Jim slammed his hand down on an intercom button. ‘Bridge to all decks, this is the captain - if you’re not on a shuttle, get to hangar three now! Spock, Sulu, Chekov, get Uhura outta here.’
The helmsman and navigator both nodded. All three left the bridge via emergency hatch. Only Spock remained, ignoring the orders and instead taking the abandoned helm before Jim could make a move towards it. He did something too fast for McCoy to make out but then the main viewscreen started to blink with an insistent message: AUTO-PILOT ENGAGED. ‘Captain, there is no tactical advantaged gained by your continued presence on the bridge after all other crew members have evacuated.’ The Vulcan’s gaze was imploring, ‘Jim, our auto-pilot program remains fully functional.’
Disbelief and anger surged through McCoy as the implication sank in. Oh HELL no!
‘The auto-pilot could fail-’ Jim was still talking, but McCoy didn’t want to hear it. He was a doctor, dammit, but all he seemed to do lately was watch people die, and could not, would not let Jim go without a fight. Without thinking, Leonard McCoy seized Jim by the front of his shirt, hauled back, and punched him as hard as he could. The young man slammed into Spock with a grunt.
‘What the hell Bones?!’ Jim said from his new location in Spock’s lap. Spock raised an eyebrow as if to second the question. Leonard just glared at them both shaking his stinging hand. ‘Someone had to slap the hero out of you. Get up! We’re all leaving- NOW.’
Just as they reached the emergency hatch, one of the consoles began to chirp insistently. Jim shared a frown with Spock, who leaned to examine the nearest console. ‘There appears to be two vessels approaching our location at high warp.’
McCoy swore under his breath. He opened his mouth to ask Spock if they were still able to warn the poor bastards but was interrupted by the sight of two ships dropping out of warp on the viewscreen. In stunned silence they watched as warning torpedoes lashed out to explode off the Narada’s bow, and the bridge speakers crackled:
“Attention, unidentified vessel! This is Commodore Winona Kirk of the United Federation of Planets, Starfleet, dammit! Cease fire and identify yourselves! Failure to respond will be taken as hostile intent!”
part twenty-five
A/N: okay see when I'm in a rush to finish, I can do it, I really can.