The ship shuddered around him, and Kirk tightened his grip on the arms of his chair as the Enterprise’s deflector shields absorbed yet another strike. Alarm indicators flared to life across the bridge, though he recognized most of them as pertaining to noncritical systems. Still, the message being sent by the Tholians was becoming clearer with each passing second.

I don’t think we’re going to get that full five minutes.

“Any estimate on how long until the Endeavourretrieves the rest of the survivors?” When Spock did not respond, Kirk looked over to see that the first officer seemed to be directing even greater concentration at his instruments. Frowning, he prompted, “Spock, what is it?”

“I’m picking up a massive new energy reading,” the Vulcan reported, “emanating from within the station’s central core. A significant matter/antimatter reaction has been enabled, which is not part of the primary or backup power systems.” Pulling himself away from the sensor controls and looking over his shoulder, he added, “Captain, based on these power readings, I believe someone on the station has activated a self-destruct mechanism.”

Kirk’s jaw went slack. “Are you sure?”

“I cannot be certain,” Spock said, “but the energy levels are too high and concentrated to be appropriate for simple power generation. Considering the security requirements surrounding the station’s activities and the current tactical situation, it seems a logical course of action.” An alert tone from his station made the science officer turn back to his console and adjust several controls. “Sensors now detecting yet another energy reading, from the same area. Its pattern is not consistent with any of the station’s power systems.” He paused, and Kirk noted his friend’s hesitation as he worked to interpret the data he was receiving. Then Spock turned and fixed his gaze on Kirk. “Captain, it is a Shedai energy reading, larger than anything we’ve previously encountered.”

“The Shedai?” Kirk repeated, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. Jerking his attention back to the image of the station rushing past beneath the Enterprise, he asked, “Where the hell did it come from?” What had the men and women of Starbase 47, toiling in secret to understand the Shedai, done to so anger the reclusive, fearsome beings?

Spock replied, “From inside the station, sir. I am detecting multiple Shedai life readings, within a very restricted area. The Shedai appear to be attacking it from within.”

TEN

Alarms were echoing throughout the Enterprise’s cavernous main engineering space, at least until Montgomery Scott touched a control on his station to mute them. Around the room, situation monitors flashed for attention, and gauges and other indicators provided the current status on systems throughout the ship. To the untrained eye and ear, it was an indecipherable cacophony conveying nothing but gibberish, but for Scott, it represented a heartfelt appeal from the vessel that had been entrusted to him. Each alert tone was a call for help; every light a statement of concern or—in many cases—a declaration that the starship was continuing to answer the demands being placed upon it. This, of course, was in addition to the very substantial effects of Tholian weapons fire making themselves known as the deck trembled beneath his feet, the bulkheads around him, and even his bones and teeth. Overhead, lighting flickered yet again as multiple enemy weapons struck the Enterprise’s shields, which were holding.

For now.

“Easy, lass,” Scott said under his breath, as he stood before the master situation panel that dominated the section of bulkhead over the chief engineer’s workstation. “We’ll get through this.” Thanks to this single station and the array of information it conveyed, he was able to discern nearly everything of note taking place within each of the ship’s major systems. There were other, less tangible signals, such as the sounds of the vessel’s immense power plant reverberating through nearly every surface in this chamber. The slight, almost imperceptible warbling emanating from the depths of the ship was more than enough to tell him that the Enterprisewas feeling the strain of the battle waging beyond its hull.

On an intellectual level, Scott knew that the ship, despite any romantic notions he or anyone else might have to the contrary, truly was nothing more than a sophisticated machine that was the physical manifestation of science, technology, and perhaps even art and dreams. Still, he liked to think that the bond between an apparatus and the engineer charged with its care was one that could be forged only over time and as a consequence of the care given to such complex mechanisms. No one ever would convince him that his years spent working in and around the myriad components that came together to form the heart, mind, and even soul of the starships they inhabited had not given him insight and an appreciation that extended far beyond manuals and technical schematics. Reaching for the workstation, Scott laid his hand upon the console’s smooth, polished black surface and gave it a reassuring pat.

“You’ve never let me down before; you won’t now.”

The sentiment was punctuated by another strike against the shields. This time the deck pitched and Scott gripped the console to maintain his balance. Lights flickered as the entire ship seemed to shudder, groaning in protest at this latest attack. Something snapped above and behind him, and he turned in time to see a stream of bright pink smoke jetting from one of the conduits running down the bulkhead near the main energizers. It was followed an instant later by a new alarm sounding in the compartment.

“Coolant leak!” someone shouted over the din, but Scott already was reacting to the new danger. His fingers found the controls to isolate the compromised conduit and contain the leak. He looked over his shoulder and saw that Crewman Hertzog, one of his engineering assistants working near the energizers, already had fallen victim to the coolant’s toxic fumes. Another crewman, a muscled young man named McLoughlin, had crossed the room and was pulling Hertzog away from the immediate danger, and Scott heard someone using the intercom to contact sickbay.

A few more commands entered to his console told Scott that the leak had been addressed, with coolant now being rerouted through an adjacent, secondary conduit designated for such emergency purposes. Automatic cleaning and decontamination protocols already were clearing the noxious coolant fumes from the compartment, though Scott still caught a faint scent of the harsh, hazardous compounds. Dividing his attention between his console and his fallen crewman, Scott looked to where McLoughlin and other engineers knelt over an unconscious Hertzog. “How is he?”

“I don’t know, sir,” McLoughlin called over his shoulder, his expression clouded with concern. “He was only a few steps from the conduit when it ruptured. I didn’t see it, but I think he might’ve gotten sprayed right in the face.” Indeed, Hertzog’s face, neck, and hands were discolored, indicating severe direct exposure to the coolant. The engineer kneeling next to McLoughlin, Lieutenant Donovan Washburn, was treating the affected areas with what Scott recognized as a medicinal spray from an emergency medical kit.

“What about you?” asked the chief engineer. “Did you get hit?”

McLoughlin shook his head. “No, sir. I didn’t breathe any of it in, and I didn’t touch him with my bare hands, just hooked him under his arms and dragged him away.”

“Good lad,” Scott said, “but let Washburn treat your exposed skin, anyway, and have the medics look you over.” That was all the helpful advice he was able to offer before the ship trembled again, and this time Scott was thrown off his feet. He landed hard on the deck, the wind forced from his lungs. Wincing at the pain in his hip where he had struck the unyielding metal, he looked up to see that other members of the engineering team also had been tossed into consoles or bulkheads or had fallen to the floor. “Everybody all right?”