STAR TREK - TOS - 08 - Black Fire

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Star Trek - TOS - 08 - Black Fire Black fire [030-011-4.3] By Sonni Cooper This novel is a work of

fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are

used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely

coincidental. Another Original publication of TIM ESCAPE BOOKS A Timescape Book published by

POCKET BOOKS, a Simon Schuster division of GULF WESTERN CORPORATION 1230 Avenue

Rights Reserved. This Book is Published by Pocket Books, a Simon Schuster Division of Gulf Western

Corporation Under Exclusive License from Paramount Pictures Corporation, The Trademark Owner. All

rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

For information address Timescape Books, 1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y. 10020

ISBN 0-671-83632-3 First Timescape Books printing January, 1983 10 987654321 POCKET and

colophon are registered trademarks of Simon Schuster. Use of the trademark TIM ESCAPE is by

exclusive license from Gregory Benford, the trademark owner. Designates a Trademark of Paramount

Pictures Corporation Registered in the U.S. Patent and Trademark Office. Printed in the U.S.A. For

Theodore Sturgeon, my mentor and a loving friend Introduction Once upon a time there was a tiny plump

Jewish mama who knew how to make kreplach from scratch, and whose chicken soup so terrorized the

local disease bacteria that you hardly had to eat it; you just mentioned it. I knew a lady, the wife of a

famous nuclear physicist, who, during a long tenure in New Mexico, turned with compassion and

boundless energy to the plight of the Native Americans. It was more than study; she legally adopted a

days-old Pueblo child, later became an honorary Blackfoot, and wrote a novel about Indians as they

were and are. There was a writer who decided for the first time in her life to write a novel. She did, and a

publisher gave her a handsome advance and a sheaf of requests for editorial changes. Being new to the

business, "Oh!," she said, and sat down and wrote another novel instead (and did it damned fast, too). A

lot of strange things happen in publishing, but this was unprecedented. The only course the publisher

could think of was to tell her to keep the money and forget the contract. Indignantly she refused to take

money she felt she had not earned, and bashed away at her typewriter, rewriting the first book from

beginning to end. Hollywood has its share of glittering glamor-goddesses and magnetic sexpots; it came

to me that none of these would ever be heard of were it not for the support of the dozens and sometimes

hundreds of faces-in-the-crowd, spear-carriers, waitresses in the background. I realized this upon

meeting an actress who had been in a great many movies in functions such as these. You have, if your eye

is quick, seen her often. We are all familiar with the phenomenon of fandom-baseball and football fans,

crewel, dirt-bike, science fiction, Macedonian dirk-hilt fans. Did you know that the word "fan" in this

context derives from "fanatic"? Well, there's one species of fan in whose light all others fade to the status

of mild interest, and that's the Trekkie. It's the Trekkie who has kept Star Trek on the tube all over the

world for (at this writing) thirteen years after network cancellation-something achieved by no other show

in the history of television. I know a Trekkie so ardent that she has taped all 73 Star Trek episodes. She

is so involved in Trekdom that she can pick up the phone just once and contact I don't know how many

meticulously organized Star Trek fan clubs. Captain James T. Kirk's personal manager is a Trekkie.

(He's otherwise known as William Shatner.) I have a friend in the Bay area who owns a bathtub. You

probably do too, but I doubt it's like this one. It stands on a pedestal like an altar; it's black; it's big

enough for four people without crowding. It has two sets of gold faucets (his and hers, one presumes),

and on command, water showers down from the living greenery hung overhead. You must by this time be

aware that all these paragraphs concern the same person, the author of this book. This small

timid-seeming dynamo with her little-girl voice and her sofa-cushion aspect is in truth an irresistible force.

There have been times in her life when she has had nothing to do, and she has gotten sick--very seriously

so. The one therapy that works is for her to relax by doing eight or ten people's work and doing it all

well. This book begins with one hell of a bang, literally, and whizzes its way from there on through a

surprisingly complex plot, in which it sets up an irresolvable situation and then, equally surprisingly,

resolves it. The author treats certain of the laws of the universe cavalierly, but then so does Star Trek on

the screen and Sonni Cooper in real life. When they're inconvenient she simply nods politely to them

(she's not ignorant) and goes on. The really significant thing about the book is that it's real Star Trek. Star

Trek has had many imitators, and all have failed to reach the altitude of its original. Clearly there is a

secret ingredient that has eluded the followers who are really a knowledgeable lot and know their trade

and are Especially adept in the techniques of following a trend. Yet none has been able to find that magic

something that makes Star Trek capture the fans and endure. The answer is (as somebody once said

about Einstein's Theory) not at all difficult to understand; it's just impossible to believe. It is simply that the

show comes straight from the basic convictions of its creator, Gene Roddenberry. These convictions are

Mom and apple-pie convictions in the equality of the races and of the sexes; of faith in the dream of

American democracy; of loyalty, the bondings of friendship and other kinds of love, like loyalty to

personal commitment, and especially to duty. Most of the suspense in the episodes derives from the

conflict between this last and all the others. And so it is with this story. One other thing is very much

worth mentioning Sonni Cooper writes with her ears. Unlike so many authors of Star Trek novels, Sonni

has captured the intonation of each of these familiar voices. Partly this comes out of the skill of an

accomplished actress; mostly from the compulsions of the archetypical Trekkie. So read, and enjoy.

Theodore Sturgeon San Diego, 1981 Chapter I The Attack "Oh, my God," Chief Engineer Montgomery

Scott shouted as he was hurled against a bulkhead as the ship lurched, and his eardrums resonated

painfully as the sound of a massive explosion echoed throughout. It was the sound of an internal blast, the

shock waves pulling the Enterprise off her course into a spiral at warp speed. He watched his engineering

crew spring into action, as he directed them to compensate for the erratic spin. He then raced to auxiliary

control to get the ship back on course. All communications from the bridge were cut off; he was on his

own. Horrified, Scott realized that the bridge was the source of the explosion. The turbolift was useless,

and the emergency repair crew was frantically working to clear the debris away from the stairway to the

bridge. Scott joined the crew, torch in hand, working along with them--and praying. He inched his way

up the cluttered stairway and, with a strength he did not know he had, pushed against the unyielding

hatch. He recruited two burly crewmen, and with their combined strength exerted against the resisting

hatch, they managed to open it slowly. Scott raised himself onto the demolished bridge. "My God," he

whispered as he looked around. He observed that the blast had occurred in the center of the bridge. It

was a vision of hell; the pattern of destruction radiated from the center of the blast to the outer walls. The

inner sheathing of the hull was destroyed by the violence of the blast, and Scott soon detected a weak

spot in the outer hull. "Better get the injured out o' here quickly," he ordered. "That outer sheathin' will go

any minute." He checked the crewman nearest him--dead. Scrambling over the wreckage, he looked for

the captain. What was left of the navigation console was scattered toward the darkened view-screen. He

found Sulu first. The helmsman, pinned under the wreckage, was clawing at the floor trying to free

himself. Scott found the captain, his tunic covered with blood and as torn as the body within it. The entire

area was spattered with blood and strewn with twisted metal. The body of the young navigation trainee

was mangled almost beyond recognition. Beside him lay Chekov, whose condition was unknown; he was

almost hidden under debris. A group of crewmen grimly started freeing him. Spatters of green led Scott

to the prone figure of Spock, lying face down near the smoking, blackened science console. A jagged

piece of metal was protruding from his back. It. Uhura lay unconscious; Scott could see she had been

slammed into the communications panel, which was now a sputtering, flaming mass of twisted wires. All

of his years of training and control, all of his years of experience, had not prepared Scott for this scene of

mayhem. Unshed tears stung his eyes as he worked along with the crew, carrying the injured and dead

from the completely demolished bridge. "Concentrate on the living!" he shouted, watching the bulge in the

outer hull enlarge. McCoy stood in the corridor below the bridge, quickly evaluating the extent and

nature of injuries as each bridge crew member was carried out and put on a stretcher to be t aken to sick

bay. A full disaster alert was sounding; the emergency medical team was assembling quickly. "Everybody

clear?" Scott asked as the last of the injured was being brought down the stairway. He sprang against the

hatch, closing and securing it tightly. The rush of displaced air and the shattering of over-stressed metal

combined into an awesome roar as the entire dome of the bridge broke off with a sudden tearing wrench,

sending the ship into another series of erratic dips and spins. McCoy, now in sick bay, was too intently

absorbed for his usual complaining. The entire surgery was being utilized; each surgical team was working

quickly and efficiently to repair the most life-threatening injuries. Dr. M'Benga, more qualified than

McCoy to cope with Vulcan anatomy and special problems, was applying his skills and experience to

Spock's critical wounds. Thank God we stocked some T-negative blood for Spock last time we took on

supplies, McCoy thought. At least we can meet any of his blood needs. But the doctor's main concern

was on the severe condition of the captain; he hadn't yet assessed all of Kirk's injuries and McCoy

entered surgery not knowing exactly what he would find. At least he's alive--barely. It took all of

McCoy's professional detachment to suppress his despair when he fully examined his patient and his

friend. There were just so many organs one could transplant, just so much one could patch and mend in a

human body. Kirk's wounds pressed that limit. He needed massive amounts of blood. The hard-pressed

medical teams had exhausted the supply before Kirk's surgery started. A ship-wide plea for donors soon

created a line in the corridor outside sick bay. Any crewman with the proper blood type was relieved of

duty until the blood was drawn; yet since the ship needed her entire crew to deal with the emergency, as

soon as the blood was taken they returned to their stations foregoing the normal period of recuperation.

Scott grimly and dispassionately assessed the damage to his beloved ship. The strain suffered when the

bridge sheared off was too much for the Enterprise, and he knew the entire primary hull would have to be

jettisoned or the resultant stresses would rip the ship apart. This would necessitate a complete evacuation

of the primary hull--a systematic and thorough movement of personnel and supplies as rapidly as

possible. But the emergency surgery could not be rushed. All but the medical team was shifted to the

lower hull, and Scott was counting the minutes, then hours, anxiously hoping that the ship would hold

together until all the vital surgery was completed and the patients could be safely moved. McCoy

grudgingly accepted the fact that his patients, no matter how critical their condition, would have to be

moved immediately following surgery. He worked on relentlessly, hour upon hour, backed up by his

proficient staff, losing all track of time as he worked to save the life of Jim Kirk. The sophisticated

medical technology of the day had made such extensive time in surgery unusual, but McCoy was

essentially rebuilding a man. Another surgeon would possibly have given up, but McCoy continued

diligently, repairing the body of the man he both admired and loved. Only when he had done as much as

he believed he could, and his endurance would no longer sustain him, did he conclude the operation and

retreat to the quarters assigned him in the cramped lower section of the ship. And then he quietly

wept--for his friend, for his lack of skill--in his weariness, and with despair greater than any he had ever

felt. Always before, when he thought Jim was dead, it was a quick realization that had to be accepted.

The hours he had spent in rebuilding the man, the strain he had put upon himself, the acceptance of his

limitations as a physician, the as-yet-unknown prognosis--all built up to this release of emotion and

tension. The buzzer to his quarters sounded and McCoy, regaining his composure, pushed the button that

admitted his visitor. A young medic carrying his possessions entered. "Doctor Jonah Levine, sir." It was

clear that the young man was as surprised as McCoy at being assigned bunk-mate to the head of the

medical section. "There must be an error. I haven't shared quarters in years," McCoy wearily protested.

"I wrote down the cabin assignment, sir. Seventeen BO three." The intercom signal interrupted them.

McCoy answered promptly. "Doctor, you're needed in sick bay--immediately." Nurse Christine Chapel

sounded extremely agitated. "Jim?" he asked. "No, Doctor M'Benga has to see you right away."

"Spock," he said aloud, leaving young Dr. Levine to sort out the problem of room assignments. "You

look exhausted, McCoy. I know you're beat, but I've come across a problem with Spock I don't quite

know how to handle," M'Benga said tiredly. "You're the authority on Vulcan medicine aboard this ship,

M'Benga. It must be really serious if you want my input." "It is. Spock is not entirely Vulcan, remember?

There seem to be some irregularities in his recovery patterns. He shouldn't be, but he is conscious. He

seems to be fighting to keep from falling into the Vulcan healing mode. He is controlling the pain--but

barely. I can't get him to relax. I knock him out with a hypo, and in the minimum time he's awake again.

He keeps asking for Mister Scott." The chief medical officer nodded grimly. "I'll check on him. Maybe I

can get him to relax so that he can get on with that self-mending process. I don't entirely understand what

it is, but it works and we've done all we can for him medically. You take a break, M'Benga. You need

the rest. I'll stay with Spock." Gratefully, M'Benga sank down into the lounge. It had been a marathon for

the medical teams, both physically and mentally. He, like McCoy, was completely exhausted. Spock was

lying stiffly on his back, his face contorted by pain. McCoy heard the barely audible murmur of the

Vulcan's litany of mental control "I am Vulcan; there is no pain." "But there is pain, Spock. Why are you

fighting the natural healing process?" Spock was startled into alertness by McCoy's voice. "No time, no

time .. . ," Spock said hoarsely. "Mister Scott. I must see Mister Scott." He summoned all his discipline

to suppress the pain in his back as he struggled to rise. McCoy gently pushed him back down. "You must

stay flat and immobile. That piece of metal came very close to your spinal cord. There's still a small sliver

embedded in your back which we can remove only when you're more fully recovered from the initial

surgery. Until then, you must let your natural healing process work." "Get Mr. Scott .. . ," Spock insisted,

the words weakly but precisely uttered. Seeing he would get nowhere until Spock had relaxed, McCoy

relented. "Okay, I'll get him. Now, rest." "The captain .. . how is he?" McCoy shook his head. "Not

good," he answered quietly. "Now rest until Scott gets here. I'll stay with you until he arrives." Spock

closed his eyes. The Vulcan's brow was wet with the effort. McCoy ran a dampened cloth over Spock's

forehead, taking note of the Vulcan's clenched fist, and shook his head in frustration as he watched the

monitor above his patient's head register the inner battle Spock was waging. In a very few minutes Scott

arrived. He was running on sheer willpower, expending his last to keep the ship operating. As far as the

engineer knew, this was the first time a starship had been forced to shed its upper hull. Decisions had to

be made quickly and efficiently, and he had had no time to rest. "Well, Doctor, make it fast. I've a ship ta

hold together," he blurted out as he entered the room. "Slow down, Scotty. You can't hold it together in

that state. I'd recommend at least a few hours' sleep," McCoy advised. "Is that why ye called me ta sick

bay, Doctor? I don't ha' the time to rest now." "No, Scotty. It's Spock. He wants to speak with you, and

won't rest until he does. Try to calm him down." Spock opened his eyes. Speaking deliberately, and with

great effort, he addressed the engineer. "Mister Scott-sabotage--it had to be an act of sabotage--a

bomb--nothing on the bridge could have caused an explosion of that magnitude--must be an intruder on

board ..." "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 Started 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

regu larly 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 lad y?"

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 reestablished 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. Speck'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 t o the nurse beside him. 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 something' 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 could dna 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 could dna 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 impostor, 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. Back on board the

scout ship, Spock examined the two pieces of evidence he had found. The bottle contained a chemical he

would have to analyze when he returned to the base. On the paper was a series of dots in what appeared

to be a random pattern. As Scott turned the ship about to return to Starbase 12, Spock was already

deep into his analysis of the series of dots. When they returned, Spock stationed himself at the computer

terminal nearest his quarters without any further indication as to what he was looking for. Scott returned

to the salvaging plans, and no more was said of their investigation. The towing operation had begun, and

still Spock remained at the computer terminal, taking no time to eat or sleep. McCoy clucked and fretted

and did the physician's equivalent of a gavotte around the obsessed Vulcan, but he was ignored

completely. During one of his infrequent breaks, Spock finally acknowledged the doctor's presence.

McCoy was hovering like an anxious mother, waiting for Spock to collapse. "All right, Spock. What do

you think you're going to find? You've been at it for hours." "That is correct, Doctor. It might be days

before I find that for which I am searching. I estimate at least ten million possibilities." "What are you

looking for, Spock? That's a question from Jim. You remember him? Captain James T. Kirk?" "To put it

precisely, Doctor, I am looking for a planet." "A planet! There are billions of them!" "Exactly, Doctor.

That is why I cannot waste my time acknowledging your tantrums. Now, kindly leave me undisturbed."

He turned to the computer, flashing star system upon star system on the screen as fast as his eyes could

scan. At Spock's request, the inquiry into the explosion on board the Enterprise was set at 1500 hours,

shortly after he had finally concluded his relentless study of star configurations. He donned his formal

jacket with difficulty, careful of his injured back. He reviewed the facts and theories he would set forth at

the hearing while he walked down the corridor to the hearing room. To the casual observer, Spock's

bearing seemed his normal stalwart one. To McCoy, who was observing Spock's every move, it was an

indicatio n that all was far from well with his recalcitrant patient. With the exception of the captain, who

was still far too weak to attend the hearing, the entire complement of the Enterprise's officers was

present. Uhura, Sulu, and Chekov were having a very quiet conversation in a corner of the room. Scott

sat in the chair assigned him, chafing to get back to his primary concern--recovering and repairing the

Enterprise. It . Lowry, who had been on-duty as, security officer that day, sat behind Scott, clearly

uncomfortable. Spock took the seat beside McCoy. The medical officer whispered to Spock, "You

realize, of course, that you went off without my medical clearance." "I am quite aware of that, Doctor,"

Spock returned impassively. As he spoke, the Board of Inquiry was brought to order. The three officers

at the table, all abo ve the rank of captain, asked for quiet. All took their seats, and the hearing began.

Commodore Kingston Clark, a well-respected elder statesman of the fleet, officiated. In the old days of

sailing ships, he might have been referred to as an "old salt." Clark now addressed the assembled

officers. "This is a formal hearing, gentlemen, but I think we will accomplish more if we relax a bit. We

are all here to try to ascertain what happened on the Enterprise. All of us assembled here have the same

goal. With that in mind, we will begin this inquiry." Spotting McCoy, he added, "We will deal with

Commander Spock's defiance of medical orders at another time. Call the first witness, please." The clerk

called It. Uhura to the stand. Commodore Clark smiled at her after she was seated. Uhura gave her

identification tape to the clerk and fidgeted nervously while her service record was being recorded. Clark

questioned, "It. Uhura, you are communications officer on board the Enterprise. Did you see or hear

anything prior to the explosion that was in any way unusual?" "No, sir. I was entirely absorbed in training

the cadet assigned to me. She was having trouble with the subspace channels. Nothing unusual showed

up on the communications panel. She was leaning over my shoulder at the time of the explosion; she took

the force of the blast and was killed." She hesitated. "I owe her my life, sir." Ensign Chekov followed

Uhura. His description of the events on the bridge just previous to the explosion was much like Uhura's.

Sulu followed Chekov, with very much the same portrayal of events on the bridge at that time. But he

added one thing. "Mister Spock visited me in sick bay. He said that I had provided a clue which he was

going to investigate. I believe it concerned a cadet who left the bridge just before the blast occurred." It.

Lowry testified next. He could offer no additional information, but accepted full responsibility since he

was on duty that day. Scott was called next. He related events as they occurred in engineering. Since he

had not been on the bridge at the time of the explosion, he could offer nothing in the way of direct

evidence. When he mentioned Spock, all eyes turned to the Vulcan, who sat unperturbed, looking

straight ahead. Glaring at Spock, McCoy gave his medical report. "I wish to state for the record that I

have not given Commander Spock medical clearance to attend this hearing. He must rest so that we can

complete his surgery--in his present condition we can do nothing. His injuries were extremely serious."

Spock faced Clark squarely, ignoring McCoy's outburst. "As you can see, Commodore, I am quite well.

Doctor McCoy is exaggerating. I find that he is frequently overzealous in fulfilling his duties. Please go on

with the investigation." Clark looked carefully at Spock. "We generally would not hear your statement if

you are considered unfit for duty. I have to admit, though, you do seem fit enough." McCoy chafed. "It's

a Vulcan skill. He's masking symptoms. Believe me, he's in pain. He's just not letting it show." "Is that

true, Commander Spock?" Clark asked. Spock emphasized. "At this moment, I am fully fit for duty."

McCoy's medical scanner whirred; he knew better. He started to speak. "Well, then," Clark said, cutting

McCoy off, "we will get on with this investigation." McCoy glowered at Spock, mumbling oaths under his

breath, while the remainder of the Enterprise officers observed the exchange, understanding completely

what Spock was doing. "Commander Spock," the Commodore continued, "it was at your request that

this hearing was convened at this time. I see no evidence at this point that the explosion on board the

Enterprise was anything but an unfortunate accident." "Commodore," Spock answered respectfully, "if

you will permit me to continue, I will try to convince you with physical evidence." "Continue, Mister

Spock. But I warn you, it will take very persuasive evidence to convince this panel to the contrary." In his

very deliberate way, Spock began his presentation of the facts concerning Sulu's memory of the cadet,

and his and Scott's resulting examination of the jettisoned hull. From time to time, Scott nodded in

agreement. Otherwise, the room remained very still. "As you know, my race is known for its reliance on

logic as the mode of conduct in any difficulty. What evidence I do present, therefore, is most carefully

considered. After the explosion, I analyzed the force factor it would have taken to cause such complete

devastation. I am as well-informed as any in Starfleet as to a starship's tolerance. Mister Scott concurs

with my conclusions. We took it upon ourselves to return to the blasted hull to investigate the explosion.

There was no physical evidence in what remained of the bridge. "It was then we followed It. Sulu's lead.

The only person who was not a regular member of the crew who had entered the bridge and departed

just before the explosion was one of the cadets assigned for the training session we were conducting at

that time. I searched the computer records and, by a process of elimination, narrowed the search to five

potential female candidates. Mister Scott and I then searched their quarters on the jettisoned hull of the

Enterprise for anything unusual. All but one had the standard gear for a short tour of duty. The exception,

Yeoman Isabel Tomari, had hidden in a drawer in her quarters two unusual objects. One, a flattened

bottle which contained a chemical substance, identified after analysis as lauric-mono ethanol amide stearic

diethanolamine sorbatin trio late the other item was a crumpled piece of paper with a series of dots

drawn on it, which I believe to be a star chart. It has taken me a great deal of time to find the equivalent

star placement in Starfleet's records. Admittedly, the map detail I am now going to show you and the

chart I found on the Enterprise show differences. I interpret them as omissions rather than significant

variations." Spock relayed the appropriate directions to the computer which then displayed the visuals on

the screen. "The chart on the left is the one I found on the Enterprise, the other, a computer readout from

Starfleet's library. As you can see, they match well enough to be considered the same, since one is

obviously hand-rendered and the other is a projection from our telescopic probes. This section has never

been thoroughly mapped. It is far to the other end of our galaxy. We have never physically ventured into

it at all. I suggest our suspect is from one of the star systems projected here." Commodore Clark

grimaced disapprovingly. "Are you suggesting we were sabotaged by someone from a planet as remote

as that?" "Correct." Spock answered without hesitation. Clark shook his head negatively. "What was that

chemical you found again?" "Lauric-mono ethanol amide ..." "In simple terms, what is it?" "A depilatory,

sir. A substance to remove excess hair." "Mister Spock, I don't know about Vulcan women, but human

women use such things regularly. I see nothing strange about that particular substance being present in a

woman's quarters." "Sir," Spock responded. "The potency indicates a quantity of chemical present that

would serve the needs of a Terran woman for a period of ten years three months and an odd number of

days if she chose to remain completely hairless during that period." As usual, Spock had not intended to

be amusing, but the hearing room hummed with stifled mirth when he presented his last statement.

Spock's only response was the slight raising of an eyebrow in consternation. "This hearing will come to

order," Clark boomed. "I will not have this investigation turned into a circus." He turned to the two

officers sitting beside him. They whispered for a short time, then Clark turned to Spock. "Mr. Spock, we

know how upset you must be after the explosion on your ship and the deaths and injuries that occurred,

but we can see no reason to believe it was anything but an unfortunate mechanical accident. The

depilatory certainly doesn't prove anything, and even you admit the star map and the dots you found on

the piece of paper do not match exactly." "Sir, I wish to add one more thing. Yeoman Isabel Tomari

seems to have vanished completely. There is no record of her at the Academy or in any Starfleet

file--only the computer on board the Enterprise acknowledges her existence. It is significant that she

vanished so completely." Clark looked exasperated. "Then, Commander Spock, the computer on board

the Enterprise must be in error." "/ am responsible for that computer, sir. There was no malfunction

indicated." "Commander Spock, we have reached our decision. Your evidence is insufficient to support

your case. It is the decision of this board that the explosion on the Enterprise is still of undetermined

origin, and probably accidental. This hearing is closed." "But, Commodore Clark, I am convinced there is

sufficient evidence to warrant further investigation," Spock insisted. "You must hear my reasons. I believe

we are in extreme jeopardy, and if we prove ourselves vulnerable, we may be leaving ourselves open for

further, more serious attack." "I see no reason to believe we are threatened, Commander Spock. You

have presented your evidence; I order you to return to the hospital with Commander McCoy and remain

there until he declares you physically fit to return to duty." The Commodore rose, as did the others on the

board of inquiry, and left the room. Spock rose painfully from his seat and motioned for Scott to join him.

McCoy was standing close beside Spock and failed to suppress a look of triumph. "Okay, Spock,

you've delayed long enough. Now you're in my hands. Back to sick bay on the double!" "I have no

intention of returning to sick bay with you, Doctor. I have some business to discuss with Mister Scott . If

you will leave us now, I will ..." "Nothing doing, Spock," McCoy interrupted. "You have a direct order

from the commodore. You're in enough trouble already, what with going off without orders or clearance."

Ignoring the angry McCoy, Spock took Scott by the arm and walked out of the room without further

comment. There was a loud murmuring throughout the hearing room. A feeling of dissatisfaction was

prevalent. "Why did Clark ignore the testimony?" Sulu asked McCoy as they left the room. "Damned if I

know, Mr. Sulu. I'm just an old country doctor who can't hold onto a patient long enough to treat

him--but something does seem not quite right about all this...." Chapter II The Search U.S.S. RAVEN

CLASS AA CRUISER. WARP POTENTIAL 5 MAX. CAPTAIN ROSS FONTAINE. CREW 17,8

HUMAN 8 AN DORIAN - 1 VULCAN. PRESENT CREW STATUS REST LEAVE--STARBASE

12. SHIP'S STATUS PROVISIONING COMPLETED. LAUNCH SYSTEMS CHECK IN

PROGRESS--ENGINEER FESTUS PARKER AUTHORIZED ON BOARD. LOCATION

STARBASE 12, LOCK 6. STANDARD SECURITY. Spock read the computer readout with

satisfaction. The Raven, docked two days before, would serve his purpose well. Scott, peering over

Spock's shoulder, nodded in agreement. They had found their ship. But the Scotsman was uneasy. "Are

ye sure this is the only way, Mr. Spock? Starfleet doesna' take kindly ta unauthorized borrowing of its

ships, ye know." "If you have reservations, Mister Scott, you are under no obligation to accompany me,"

Spock replied calmly. "I am determined to prove my suspicions are correct regarding the explosion.

Your company, however, would be most helpful and welcome." "It'll be a bit tricky handlin' a ship o' that

size with only two aboard, but I think we can do it," Scott answered. "When do we borrow her?"

"Tonight. Only personal items are necessary; the ship is fully provisioned." The lone guard in front of the

docking bay checked his chronometer every few minutes. Guard duty on a starbase was more a matter

of form than necessity and a good night's sleep was being sacrificed for a nonessential task. Yawning, he

leaned against the wall, peering down its length, wishing for his long watch to end. He didn't sense

Spock's presence until the Vulcan was directly behind him. He turned, recognized Spock, and smiled.

That was the last he remembered. The precise pressure on his shoulder brought instant unconsciousness.

Spock gently lowered him and beckoned to Scott. Carrying their gear, they quietly entered the ship.

Heading straight for the computer, Spock snapped a tape into its console. The communications board

came to life, signaling the starbase flight-control center. Spock activated the tape's audio mechanism and

addressed the control-center personnel. "U.S.S. Raven Standard launch check. Limited flight. Clearance

requested." "State authorization," droned the response. "Commander Festus Parker, chief engineer.

Safety-systems check. Authorization standard procedure." "Permission granted--limited-duration flight.

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StarTrek-TOS-08-BlackFireBlackfire[030-011-4.3]BySonniCooperThisnovelisaworkoffiction.Names,characters,placesandincidentsareeithertheproductoftheauthor'simaginationorareusedfictitiously.Anyresemblancetoactualeventsorlocalesorpersons,livingordead,isentirelycoincidental.AnotherOriginalpublicationofTIM...

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