Jim Kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
pursuedthestars) wrote2015-11-04 10:02 am
pursuedthestars) wrote2015-11-04 10:02 am
Space | Wednesday FT
It turned out that Scott's physics were far more accurate than his suppositions. Jim and Spock materialized right where the engineer said they should, in the center of the Narada's rambling, multicompartmented cargo bay.
It was not, however, empty.
Half a dozen crew reacted with surprise as the two Starfleet officers appeared in their midst, so close that there was barely time to react. Arriving mentally ready for combat, human and Vulcan lit into their foes with a deadly combination of speed, skill, and desperation. Unlike the Romulans, they had nowhere to go if they went down.
Fortunately, only one of the cargo bay workers was armed. Singling him out, Jim engaged him immediately. Mindful of the difficulty he'd had with hand-to-hand combat atop the drill platform in Vulcan's atmosphere, he made sure to go on the offensive immediately and not let up. Being general crew, this Romulan proved easier to get a hand on than the more highly trained specialist Jim had tackled high above Vulcan. That left Spock to deal with all the remaining Romulans.
It was difficult to tell, but it was possible that he was pleased.
Fighting the Vulcan was like trying to grapple with a shadow. Spock was a blur—dodging a wild swing while knocking one crew member unconscious, leaning back just out of the reach of clutching hands and then putting his assailant on the deck, spinning around to snap the heel of his palm upward to crack open the nose of yet another. Though the Romulans swarmed him, they might as well have been one instead of five. When one broke away from the fight in an attempt to get within range of an audio pickup, Spock found just the right piece of cargo to fling in his direction. The Romulan reached the wall panel containing the comm unit—and slammed into it, thanks to the cylindrical container that struck him precisely in the back of his head. As the Romulan slid down the wall, a fully energized Spock turned swiftly to confront his next attacker.
There were no more attackers.
Breathing hard but evenly, Jim surveyed the carnage that had been wrought by the Enterprise's science officer. Everything had happened so fast he couldn't be sure, but it occurred to him that Spock had put down the five Romulans in order of size, beginning with the biggest and finishing up with the least threatening.
He even fought logically, the younger officer realized. Doubtless he played a mean game of three-dimensional chess.
At Jim's feet the Romulan whom he had been battling emitted a final pained snuffling sound before going motionless. Jim eyed him, then the five enemy Spock had rendered unconscious.
"Mine had a gun," he pointed out, perhaps a bit self-consciously.
"Indeed he did." There was not a trace of condescension in the science officer's voice. "I am trained in the Vulcan martial art of Suus Mahna. Techniques for dealing with multiple opponents are among the first that an acolyte strives to master."
Jim moved to where one of the Romulans who had challenged Spock was groaning and trying to sit up. "See if you can master the whereabouts of the device."
While his companion stood guard over the dazed Romulan, Spock knelt and placed his hands on the alien's temples and closed his eyes. His fingers appraised—knowingly, precisely. After a long moment he looked up at Jim. "I am unable to meld with this Romulan. There are subtle differences in their physiology. Or it may be that my traditional skills are lacking. Whatever the reason, I cannot draw forth the information we need."
"Then we'll have to resort to traditional human skills."
Spock frowned. "In what sense?"
"Punch him in the face. Make him talk. Suus Mahna his ass!"
The science officer sounded doubtful. "Suus Mahna is only intended for self-defense. This individual is no longer a threat."
Jim rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Pretend he's a threat. That's an order!"
"Vulcan strictures insist that the techniques of Suus Mahna should only be employed on occasions of…"
Jim glared at his fellow officer. "This is one of the people who destroyed your homeworld and is preparing to blow up mine! Excuse me if I mistakenly interpret him as a threat!"
Spock replied softly. "I take your point." Bending over, he proceeded to ram his closed fist square into the Romulan's face while making sure his words were directed as much as possible toward the tiny translation device Uhura had fastened to his uniform.
"What is your ship computer prefix code?"
Smirking, the Romulan spat green blood at his tormentor. With the methodical precision and relentless consistency of a machine, Spock continued the questioning session while Jim divided his attention between the ongoing interrogation and the still unoccupied corridors that entered the vast cargo bay.
"Tell me the code."
*_*_*
The speed with which Spock worked not only an alien input device but one whose layout was both different and advanced in design was breathtaking to see. Looking on, Jim could barely keep track of the flying fingers. He shook his head in amazement.
"How the hell are you doing this?"
The science officer replied without looking up from what he was doing. "I am familiar with the technology of several other space-going species besides that of Romulus. While the design of this instrumentation is different, it is not so radically advanced that I cannot fill in the divergences with intuition. One plus one equals two no matter where one happens to be in the known cosmos, and the means for generating such a result are not beyond inference to one who is familiar with the basics."
"Yeah," Jim agreed readily. "My sentiments exactly."
Seconds later a pair of images appeared within the projection screen. One showed a small starship of unique design that resembled nothing Jim had ever seen before. He said as much to his companion.
"I perceive sufficient design elements to identify it as Vulcan in origin." Spock indicated a glowing point within the ship schematic. "What you refer to as the Red Matter device is still located on board. It may be too tightly integrated with the ship's superstructure to be removed."
One finger traced the peculiar torus shape that encircled the rear of the singular craft. "This section appears capable of movement independent from that of the rest of the vessel. I suspect it may have something to do with containing the Red Matter when the ship is in motion."
The second image was less heartening. Lying on a platform suspended above a pool of liquid in the depths of a dark chamber was the supine body of Christopher Pike. His eyes were closed, and insofar as they could tell from the remote image, he was not moving. A lack of magnification prevented them from discerning if his chest was moving up and down, however slowly.
Spock's verbal evaluation confirmed what Jim was seeing.
"We now know that the Red Matter device is on board the small ship in the main hangar—and as you can see, I have also located Captain Pike."
Jim tried to will his vision to clarify the image on the screen, to no avail. "Is he alive?"
Spock tuned a couple of inputs. The details they supplied were extraneous and immaterial.
"Unknown. This is the cargo bay, and we only have access here to minimal visualizations, not medical information."
Jim nodded. "Let's move."
As the science officer turned from the Romulan console, he nodded in the direction of the still-unconscious half-dozen crew members. One was covered in green blood.
"They will begin to recover within a short time."
"Doesn't matter." Jim lengthened his stride. "A short time is all we've got. A short time is all everyone on Earth has got. Either we resolve this fast or it won't matter." He smiled thinly. "It's the Matter that matters now."
This time the vastness of the Narada worked to their advantage.
Only once did they encounter members of the crew. Having no reason to believe intruders might be aboard, and with their own transporter intentionally disabled to prevent any enemy from potentially making forcible use of it (there being no reason to suspect any Federation vessel in this time frame capable of transwarp beaming), Jim and Spock managed to avoid being seen before continuing on their way.
Resting in the huge main hangar alongside Captain Pike's shuttlecraft, the strange Vulcan vessel sat open and unguarded. The two officers nevertheless boarded cautiously, not allowing themselves to relax until they stood in the forward cabin. Searching the interior, Jim was reminded of what Spock had said only moments earlier about utilizing intuition to fill in the blanks in one's knowledge. Because of his studies at the Academy, the basics of Vulcan flight technology were almost as familiar to Jim as to the science officer. The panel he was looking for should be…there.
Sure enough, as soon as he hit the intuited place on the most likely console, a friendly voice responded in basic Vulcan. On command it switched to Federation Standard and repeated what it had said.
"Voice print, face, pheromone, body density, and retinal recognition analysis enabled."
Taking a step back, Jim gestured to his companion. "Spock, you'll be piloting the ship alone."
The science officer had been studying the extensive command layout intently. "Which may be problematic. While I recognize, as did you, certain essential instrumentation, I have to confess that I am unfamiliar with this particular vessel's design and construction."
Responding to his voice, the ship immediately sent a scan playing across his features. Other less visible security instruments took note of everything from his height to the color of his eyes to his general respiration. It all took only a couple of seconds.
"Access granted, Ambassador Spock. All ship functions are now at your disposal."
Jim's exaggerated exclamation of surprise did nothing to fool the Vulcan.
"Wow, what a coincidence, huh? Weird."
It took a moment for the science officer to make certain mental connections. Ambassador Spock, the ship had called him. "You'll be piloting the ship alone," Jim had insisted. Vulcan intuition was applicable to more than just instrumentation.
"Computer," he asked, "what is your manufacturing origin and date of commission?"
The ship replied without delay. "Stardate twenty-three eighty-seven, commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy under special emergency declaration twelve-oh-eight."
Spock digested this, then turned to Jim. "It appears you've been keeping rather important information from me."
Jim repressed a grin. "You're just going to have to trust me, Mister Spock. Can you do that?"
"Once again you ask for trust. For a deceiving stowaway who advanced in short order from the would-be instigator of a near-mutiny to becoming acting captain of the same vessel, you certainly ask for a lot of trust."
Jim could no longer hold back a smile. "I'm not the shy type."
Spock considered this, then nodded thoughtfully. "While I attempt to engage with this vessel, I presume you are going to try and find Captain Pike."
Jim shrugged, as if what Spock had just surmised was the most natural thing in the world. "He told me to come and get him. Just following orders. Like I always do."
The science officer seemed ready to say something else, but every considered comment took time, and time was the one commodity of which they were running short. With a last nod he settled himself into the command seat and resumed his detailed examination of the strange instrumentation. This console should activate the engines, that one communications, the one next to it was new to him but he felt he could puzzle it out, the next…
He could have departed sooner, but he had to wait until Jim had enough time to exit the hangar—or at least until his fellow officer had moved beyond the nearest blast airlock door.
When he felt that sufficient time had passed, he began moving his hands over the gleaming, futuristic cabin controls. A few of the elements that sprang to life were unfamiliar to him. But not those that controlled the impulse engine.
Detecting a rising hum where there should have been only silence, a contingent of crew conversed briefly among themselves before advancing in the direction of the captured Vulcan craft. Unlike their now semiconscious comrades lying in the cargo bay, this group was armed. As they approached the now internally illuminated vessel, they cautiously drew their sidearms.
While it was impossible for any enemy to have boarded the Narada, there was no reason to take chances. Perhaps the captain was running a drill, in which case their need to respond appropriately was self-evident. Or possibly a distraught comrade had finally given in to an overwhelming desire to try and return home, even if only by himself.
Soon the leader of the squad was near enough to the Vulcan ship to see that someone was indeed sitting in the forward cabin—someone far too sallow to pass muster as even the most pallid Romulan. Shouts and sidearms arose simultaneously as the Vulcan craft lifted from the deck.
Spock let loose with the ship's weapons. They opened an exit just as effectively as any hangar command, though with considerably more noise and accompanying destruction. The unfortunate members of the patrolling contingent followed the phaser-shattered airlock doors out into open space.
Blown apart, large sections of the hangar doors were flung outward. They were followed closely by the now fully activated Vulcan craft. Growing more and more familiar with the ship's instrumentation with every passing moment, Spock swooped in and out among the Narada's superstructure, firing at close range from within the protective diameter of her defensive shields.
A human would have rocked the fore cabin with jubilant shouts while inflicting such devastation on an enemy. Spock went about the business of disabling the Romulan vessel with surgical silence and precision.
*_*_*
The room was dark and damp even for a Romulan interrogation chamber.
He saw Pike still fastened to the slightly tilted platform. The faint moan that reached Jim as he hurried toward it was more uplifting than a whole stadium full of cadets cheering on their Academy team. The captain was still alive.
There was nothing elaborate about the straps that held him down. As traditional and straightforward as they were effective, they yielded rapidly to his determined hands. As he worked, Pike's head lolled limply in his direction. The captain's eyes struggled to focus.
"…Kirk?"
"Came back, sir. Just like you ordered. Hold still—I'll have you out of this in a minute."
Pike managed a nod to show that he understood. "How—how did you…?" He swallowed, coughed. "Where are we?"
"Still on board the Narada, sir. A lot has happened since you were taken prisoner. Some of it I'm still not sure I believe myself. But believable or not, we have to deal with it." He pulled hard at the main strap, yanking it free. "One thing you can believe: I'm not leaving here without you."
As more straps were released, Pike fought to move his arms and legs and reassert some control over his stiff muscles and unused nervous system. "I believe your presence here constitutes violation of at least a dozen ordinances, Mister Kirk."
Working above the supine senior officer, Jim had to smile. Pike was going to make it, all right.
"Guilty as charged, sir. You can decide my punishment as soon as we're back on the Enterprise."
With his back to the entrance, he failed to notice the arrival of several heavily armed guards.
Jim's presence hadn't been detected by ship security; the guards were simply carrying out a time-scheduled check on the prisoner. Eyes widening in surprise, the Romulans perceived what was taking place and started to raise their weapons.
In a tribute to a lifetime of hard work, and demonstrating to the utmost the efficacy of Starfleet training, Pike pulled Jim's own sidearm and shot them in perfect sequence before a single one of them could trigger their weapons. They went down as Jim whirled. Exhausted, Pike let the phaser fall from his fingers. Jim caught first it and then his superior officer.
"Thanks, Captain. Don't worry—I've got you. Can you stand?"
Gritting his teeth, and with Jim's help, Pike was on his feet a moment later. Once he was sure he wasn't going to fall, he nodded to his rescuer.
"Not only can I stand: if circumstances require it I think I can run." He gestured past the dead guard in the direction of the only exit. "The question is, where do we run to? I don't know how you got on this ship, but from what I've seen, there's no way off it."
Draping one of Pike's arms over his shoulders, Jim helped the older man stumble toward the portal. "I don't suppose, Captain, that you've by any chance heard of a disgraced Starfleet engineer named Montgomery Scott?"
*_*_*
Having unleashed the first volley of torpedoes at the fleeing smaller ship, Nero had subsequently returned tactical to the officer in charge. He could not direct the Narada's firepower if he also wanted to bathe fully in the moment of destruction.
The Vulcan's evasive maneuvers were carried out with exceptional skill and his small but advanced ship was proving difficult to hit, but the number of weapons the much larger Romulan warship could bring to bear could not be avoided forever. Detonated by a proximate program, one torpedo finally ripped into the hull of the Vulcan craft. Though it self-sealed, Spock's vessel had unmistakably suffered some permanent damage. The Narada's tactical sensors confirmed the partial hit.
Observing the ongoing pursuit via the forward viewscreen, Nero whispered to himself with satisfaction.
"You should have entered warp when you had the chance, Spock. You should have fled."
Looking toward tactical, he raised his voice. "Sight target for final destruction and fire."
Spock's ship was far more advanced than any vessel he had ever served upon, seen, or studied, but it was not from a thousand years in the future and it was not immune to equally sophisticated and no less deadly weapons. Particularly when those weapons were fired on it in multiples. One of the first lessons students in warfare were taught was that club plus force plus trajectory achieves the same totality of death as a properly aimed phaser burst.
"Warning," the ship announced in deceptively calm tones, "all shields off-line."
This was it, then, he knew. The end. But not the end just for him. He steeled himself. At such moments logic and reason offered a great comfort that was unknown to all but a few humans who found themselves trapped in similar circumstances.
"Computer, prepare to execute General Order Thirteen."
"General Order Thirteen," it repeated. "Self-destruct sequence confirmed."
Strange, he mused, how the computer and he sounded so much alike.
"Execute," he finished with hesitation as he redirected the ship's course.
Straight back toward the pursuing Narada.
Their quarry's abrupt reversal of direction did not go unnoticed on board the Romulan warship.
There was pandemonium as tactical, science, and the helm fought to react appropriately.
Somehow, the Vulcan ship managed to avoid every weapon that was flung in its direction.
Nero's second-in-command wasn't worried about the damage a collision might cause. The Narada was large enough to overcome such an impact.
There was, however, the not-insignificant matter of a certain quantity of the galaxy's most volatile known substance being held in stasis on board the Vulcan vessel. And the two ships were too close for evasive action to be taken, so that…
It was a great relief when, an instant later, one of the numerous torpedoes the Romulan warship had unleashed struck home and the Vulcan craft was blown to bits.
*_*_*
Pressure. Heat. The machinery on board the smaller vessel that sustained the stasis shell collapsed under the force of both. Driven inward by the intensity of the torpedo explosion, within nanoseconds they compacted the contents of the inner containment bubble, forcing it in upon itself.
Igniting that which lay within.
A tiny anomaly appeared in space. It was pure luck that when it was created it was on a trajectory that would take it out of the solar system on a course nearly perpendicular to the plane of the ecliptic. It would not pass by any of the eight planets—which meant that said planets would remain intact.
Anything caught in its immediate vicinity, however…
"Full reverse course!" Nero was screaming as an expanding darkness blacker than space itself appeared on the viewscreen. "Get us away—now, now! Prepare to engage warp drive!"
"Warp drive activating, Captain," the helm reported. "Warp one in four—three…"
The Narada shuddered violently. Crew members found themselves thrown from their chairs.
Throughout the great ship longitudinal rips lacerated her hull as phaser bursts tore through the superstructure. Crew members barely had time to wail in despair as they were sucked out into space. One blast after another tore at her components, her weapons systems, her engines. As her wild-eyed commander struggled to retain his seat, the cause of the devastating and unexpected disruptions was revealed on another screen.
Fully occupied in the pursuit of Spock's vessel as it reached the vicinity of Saturn, its crew and tactical arm had failed to notice the appearance of another ship behind it as it had risen from within the distorting depths of Titan's atmosphere.
It was possible there was someone on board the Enterprise who was not at that moment fully engaged in one critical task or another, but only among the wounded in sickbay. Every other member of the crew was on station, their entire being devoted to a particular task at hand.
Tactical was engaged in pouring as much debilitating fire into the Romulan warship as possible while the helm controllers undertook a ferocious combination of evasive and assaulting actions.
*_*_*
Nowhere was activity as frenetic as in the main transporter room, where a focused Montgomery Scott was directing two equally perilous and life-threatening actions at the same time. It was not an impossible feat to pull off, but it was difficult enough to make everyone involved sweat profusely despite the presence of fully functional climate control.
A figure began to materialize on one of the transporter pads. As it started to flicker dangerously, Scott's attention darted from platform to instrumentation to those assisting him.
"Hold it, hold it," he muttered tensely. "Full power—now!" At the same time as the first shape began to solidify, two more started to appear. Fingers raced over controls as telltales on the main console flashed warningly. The second pair of silhouettes began to steady. Off to one side Uhura looked on apprehensively while McCoy and a full medical team stood by in case their skills were needed. Despite the new chief engineer's evident expertise, the doctor was not optimistic. But then, whenever a transporter was in use, he never was.
The three shapes tightened, opaqued, and began to take on the appearance of something more substantial than refulgent hopes. Spock was the first to be recognized. From Uhura's throat there emerged a small sound that McCoy would forever keep private. Then the other two figures steadied and he was able to identify both—Jim and Pike.
Rapidly regaining full control of his neuromuscular system, Jim was the first to step off the platform and congratulate the engineer.
"Nice timing." He looked to his left. "I'm beginning to think you could beam anything from any place to anywhere, Mister Scott, if only someone gave you the right coordinates."
The engineer stood a little taller. "Never beamed two targets from two places onto the same pad before. And both targets in motion, at that. Have to try it one day with something smaller and more stable over a greater distance. A bottle o' fine malt whiskey, for example."
Jim grinned. "I hope you get the opportunity—Scotty." He turned. "Captain?"
As the seriously weakened Pike finally gave in to exhaustion, Jim caught him as he slumped forward. The medical team took over immediately. Playing a scanner over the captain's barely conscious form, McCoy barked orders to a senior medtech.
"We're gonna need neurogenic stimulators and"—he made a face as his scanner locked onto a small dark shape pressed tightly against the captain's spine —"cord sheath protection. Let's prep him for surgery. We're gonna have to do repair, rejuve, and an extraction at the same time."
As the other two just-transported arrivals headed for the bridge, the briefest of glances was exchanged between the Enterprise's science officer and its communications chief. No one noticed it but Jim. Varying from the sly to the snide, several suitable comments took shape in his mind. Ultimately, he voiced none of them.
Like lightning, maturity can strike anyone unexpectedly and at the most peculiar moments.
*_*_*
The instant Jim and Spock reappeared on the bridge, the acting science officer moved away from his post and Sulu surrendered the captain's chair to return to his own post at the helm.
Chekov was reporting excitedly even before Jim had resumed his seat.
"Keptin! The enemy ship is losing power and…its shields are down!" He looked toward the command chair. "All of them! They're defenseless."
All eyes turned toward Jim. There was no uncertainty in them now, no qualification in those glances. They no longer hoped for him to render decisions—they expected it.
Would he issue the directive to resume firing on the Romulan craft whose commander was responsible for so much death and destruction? Or…?
"Hail them," Jim snapped. "Now."
It took longer than usual for contact to be established, and when the screen finally produced a picture, it was not the best. Static occasionally distorted the image and it shifted or doubled unpredictably. The commander of the Narada took a moment to try and stabilize his own pickup.
Despite the continuing disruption, there was no mistaking the identity of the human who was presently gazing back at him.
"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Your ship is compromised. You are sacrificing power fighting a losing battle against a growing gravitational anomaly. The closer to it you fall, the more inexorable its pull becomes and the less the likelihood that you or any of your crew will survive. In the absence of full warp power there is no possible way you can attempt to escape by utilizing the anomaly to attempt a time shift—you have no maneuverability.
None of you will survive without assistance—which we are willing to provide."
Of all the possible responses to the current state of affairs Jim could have articulated, this was one none of his fellow crew members had anticipated. Spock's reaction was no different.
"Captain—what are you doing?"
"We show them compassion. It may be the only way to secure a permanent peace with Romulus.
It's logic, Spock. I thought you'd respond positively to such an offer."
The science officer measured his words even more carefully than usual. "Captain, he destroyed my home planet. As a human might say—to hell with logic."
As it turned out, further discussion and possible dissension was obviated by an unequivocal retort from the Narada's commander. Pushing his face toward his pickup, Nero glared unapologetically across space at his human and Vulcan nemeses.
"I would rather suffer the death of Romulus a thousand times than accept assistance from you!"
That was all Jim needed. No, he told himself—it was more than he needed. When the history of this encounter was written, no one would be able to say that he had not acted with consideration and forbearance.
He was much relieved.
"You got it," he shot back as he turned toward Chekov. "Lock phasers. Fire everything we've got!"
Swinging around in a wide arc, the Federation starship unloaded a massive burst in the direction of the struggling Narada. Already weakened by previous attacks, its shields down, and succumbing to the relentless pull of the anomaly, one detonation after another began to tear the huge ship to pieces. As it lost what remained of its drive it began to disintegrate, collapsing into the singularity. The main bridge screen offered a final glimpse of the Romulan commander they had known as Nero: defiant, half-mad, and ultimately frustrated as he joined his ship in being crushed down into his subatomic components.
The Narada, Nero, and everyone else on board who had taken part in the destruction of multiple Federation starships and the planet Vulcan—were gone.
There no longer being any need to address tactical, Jim directed his attention and his command elsewhere. "Kirk to engineering—get us out of here, Scotty!"
"Aye, Captain!" came the immediate report. A slight quiver ran through the length of the Enterprise as her weapons systems and shields were drawn down so that all power could be directed to the engines.
On screen and behind them, the last vestiges of the warship Narada collapsed inward and upon themselves as they passed the gravitational point of no return and vanished into the mini–black hole. Seated squarely in the captain's chair, Nero had less than a second to let out a final defiant scream as his life, body, and fanatic's hopes were compacted out of existence.
On board the Enterprise full power was directed to ram her into warp. Dilithium gave up its incredible matrix in ever-increasing quantities in response to the command from engineering central. And…
Nothing. The ship's position relative to the system-departing anomaly did not change. It did not fall inward in the wake of the Narada, but neither was it able to pull away. The fabric of the ship itself began to vibrate as it threatened to succumb to the enormous gravitational forces that were clawing at its superstructure.
On the bridge, Jim stared at the main monitor. The view aft showed the all-devouring monster to which Red Matter had given birth.
"Why aren't we at warp?"
"We are!" Sulu reported even as he struggled with a recalcitrant helm.
"Captain!" Scott's voice resounded over the bridge speakers. "We're caught on the edge of the gravity well! It's got us!"
"Go to maximum warp! Push it, Scotty!"
From deep within engineering, Scott raised his voice to a shout in order to make himself audible above the straining whine of the engines.
"I'm givin' 'er all she's got, Captain!"
"All she's got isn't good enough!" Jim shot back. "What else have you got?"
Scott's thoughts were a whirl. "If we eject the core, the wave front when it detonates against the singularity might be enough to kick us clear—if it doesn't kill us. And if that fails, then we'll be without drive power! We'll be sucked in for certain!"
Jim looked over at the helm. "Mister Sulu! Status!"
"Still holding position relative to the anomaly, Captain, but we can't break the impasse. If we don't break free soon, we'll begin to lose ground incrementally until we pass the gravitational point of no return!"
Jim didn't need to hear anything else. "Do it, Scotty!" he yelled into the command chair pickup.
"We're dead anyway!"
In engineering Scott slammed a series of controls, unkeyed a protective security cover, entered the catastrophe code all chief engineers are required to commit to memory in the course of their initial studies, and then struck simultaneously two parallel and now flashing deep-set switches.
The entire central engine compartment shook once, violently, as the warp core was expelled from the stern of the ship.
Ejected at speed, the activated core sped backward. Impinging upon the singularity, it released all of the energy contained within it in a single titanic explosion. Light too bright to look at directly illuminated a tiny corner of the solar system and flared outward. There was no sound.
That was not the case within the Enterprise. The shock wave enveloped the ship that was now fleeing as fast as possible in the opposite direction on impulse power alone. On multiple decks, anything not fastened down was jolted loose. Artificial gravity was momentarily disrupted, sending airborne anyone not strapped in place or failing to grab onto something fixed. The instant gravity was restored, bodies fell to the floor or onto surrounding furniture or equipment.
A collective moan of pain seemed to wash over the ship as nearly every crew member suffered bumps or bruises. Paradoxically, those who came through without injury of any kind were the patients confined to sickbay, who were secured in their beds. In a single instant the entire crew had been battered and beaten. So had their ship.
But it had not come apart.
And in spite of the pressure, the pain, and the threat of near annihilation of themselves, their ship, and the world whose survival had ultimately rested entirely on them, neither had they.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the ST novelization. All done except the epilogue!]
It was not, however, empty.
Half a dozen crew reacted with surprise as the two Starfleet officers appeared in their midst, so close that there was barely time to react. Arriving mentally ready for combat, human and Vulcan lit into their foes with a deadly combination of speed, skill, and desperation. Unlike the Romulans, they had nowhere to go if they went down.
Fortunately, only one of the cargo bay workers was armed. Singling him out, Jim engaged him immediately. Mindful of the difficulty he'd had with hand-to-hand combat atop the drill platform in Vulcan's atmosphere, he made sure to go on the offensive immediately and not let up. Being general crew, this Romulan proved easier to get a hand on than the more highly trained specialist Jim had tackled high above Vulcan. That left Spock to deal with all the remaining Romulans.
It was difficult to tell, but it was possible that he was pleased.
Fighting the Vulcan was like trying to grapple with a shadow. Spock was a blur—dodging a wild swing while knocking one crew member unconscious, leaning back just out of the reach of clutching hands and then putting his assailant on the deck, spinning around to snap the heel of his palm upward to crack open the nose of yet another. Though the Romulans swarmed him, they might as well have been one instead of five. When one broke away from the fight in an attempt to get within range of an audio pickup, Spock found just the right piece of cargo to fling in his direction. The Romulan reached the wall panel containing the comm unit—and slammed into it, thanks to the cylindrical container that struck him precisely in the back of his head. As the Romulan slid down the wall, a fully energized Spock turned swiftly to confront his next attacker.
There were no more attackers.
Breathing hard but evenly, Jim surveyed the carnage that had been wrought by the Enterprise's science officer. Everything had happened so fast he couldn't be sure, but it occurred to him that Spock had put down the five Romulans in order of size, beginning with the biggest and finishing up with the least threatening.
He even fought logically, the younger officer realized. Doubtless he played a mean game of three-dimensional chess.
At Jim's feet the Romulan whom he had been battling emitted a final pained snuffling sound before going motionless. Jim eyed him, then the five enemy Spock had rendered unconscious.
"Mine had a gun," he pointed out, perhaps a bit self-consciously.
"Indeed he did." There was not a trace of condescension in the science officer's voice. "I am trained in the Vulcan martial art of Suus Mahna. Techniques for dealing with multiple opponents are among the first that an acolyte strives to master."
Jim moved to where one of the Romulans who had challenged Spock was groaning and trying to sit up. "See if you can master the whereabouts of the device."
While his companion stood guard over the dazed Romulan, Spock knelt and placed his hands on the alien's temples and closed his eyes. His fingers appraised—knowingly, precisely. After a long moment he looked up at Jim. "I am unable to meld with this Romulan. There are subtle differences in their physiology. Or it may be that my traditional skills are lacking. Whatever the reason, I cannot draw forth the information we need."
"Then we'll have to resort to traditional human skills."
Spock frowned. "In what sense?"
"Punch him in the face. Make him talk. Suus Mahna his ass!"
The science officer sounded doubtful. "Suus Mahna is only intended for self-defense. This individual is no longer a threat."
Jim rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Pretend he's a threat. That's an order!"
"Vulcan strictures insist that the techniques of Suus Mahna should only be employed on occasions of…"
Jim glared at his fellow officer. "This is one of the people who destroyed your homeworld and is preparing to blow up mine! Excuse me if I mistakenly interpret him as a threat!"
Spock replied softly. "I take your point." Bending over, he proceeded to ram his closed fist square into the Romulan's face while making sure his words were directed as much as possible toward the tiny translation device Uhura had fastened to his uniform.
"What is your ship computer prefix code?"
Smirking, the Romulan spat green blood at his tormentor. With the methodical precision and relentless consistency of a machine, Spock continued the questioning session while Jim divided his attention between the ongoing interrogation and the still unoccupied corridors that entered the vast cargo bay.
"Tell me the code."
*_*_*
The speed with which Spock worked not only an alien input device but one whose layout was both different and advanced in design was breathtaking to see. Looking on, Jim could barely keep track of the flying fingers. He shook his head in amazement.
"How the hell are you doing this?"
The science officer replied without looking up from what he was doing. "I am familiar with the technology of several other space-going species besides that of Romulus. While the design of this instrumentation is different, it is not so radically advanced that I cannot fill in the divergences with intuition. One plus one equals two no matter where one happens to be in the known cosmos, and the means for generating such a result are not beyond inference to one who is familiar with the basics."
"Yeah," Jim agreed readily. "My sentiments exactly."
Seconds later a pair of images appeared within the projection screen. One showed a small starship of unique design that resembled nothing Jim had ever seen before. He said as much to his companion.
"I perceive sufficient design elements to identify it as Vulcan in origin." Spock indicated a glowing point within the ship schematic. "What you refer to as the Red Matter device is still located on board. It may be too tightly integrated with the ship's superstructure to be removed."
One finger traced the peculiar torus shape that encircled the rear of the singular craft. "This section appears capable of movement independent from that of the rest of the vessel. I suspect it may have something to do with containing the Red Matter when the ship is in motion."
The second image was less heartening. Lying on a platform suspended above a pool of liquid in the depths of a dark chamber was the supine body of Christopher Pike. His eyes were closed, and insofar as they could tell from the remote image, he was not moving. A lack of magnification prevented them from discerning if his chest was moving up and down, however slowly.
Spock's verbal evaluation confirmed what Jim was seeing.
"We now know that the Red Matter device is on board the small ship in the main hangar—and as you can see, I have also located Captain Pike."
Jim tried to will his vision to clarify the image on the screen, to no avail. "Is he alive?"
Spock tuned a couple of inputs. The details they supplied were extraneous and immaterial.
"Unknown. This is the cargo bay, and we only have access here to minimal visualizations, not medical information."
Jim nodded. "Let's move."
As the science officer turned from the Romulan console, he nodded in the direction of the still-unconscious half-dozen crew members. One was covered in green blood.
"They will begin to recover within a short time."
"Doesn't matter." Jim lengthened his stride. "A short time is all we've got. A short time is all everyone on Earth has got. Either we resolve this fast or it won't matter." He smiled thinly. "It's the Matter that matters now."
This time the vastness of the Narada worked to their advantage.
Only once did they encounter members of the crew. Having no reason to believe intruders might be aboard, and with their own transporter intentionally disabled to prevent any enemy from potentially making forcible use of it (there being no reason to suspect any Federation vessel in this time frame capable of transwarp beaming), Jim and Spock managed to avoid being seen before continuing on their way.
Resting in the huge main hangar alongside Captain Pike's shuttlecraft, the strange Vulcan vessel sat open and unguarded. The two officers nevertheless boarded cautiously, not allowing themselves to relax until they stood in the forward cabin. Searching the interior, Jim was reminded of what Spock had said only moments earlier about utilizing intuition to fill in the blanks in one's knowledge. Because of his studies at the Academy, the basics of Vulcan flight technology were almost as familiar to Jim as to the science officer. The panel he was looking for should be…there.
Sure enough, as soon as he hit the intuited place on the most likely console, a friendly voice responded in basic Vulcan. On command it switched to Federation Standard and repeated what it had said.
"Voice print, face, pheromone, body density, and retinal recognition analysis enabled."
Taking a step back, Jim gestured to his companion. "Spock, you'll be piloting the ship alone."
The science officer had been studying the extensive command layout intently. "Which may be problematic. While I recognize, as did you, certain essential instrumentation, I have to confess that I am unfamiliar with this particular vessel's design and construction."
Responding to his voice, the ship immediately sent a scan playing across his features. Other less visible security instruments took note of everything from his height to the color of his eyes to his general respiration. It all took only a couple of seconds.
"Access granted, Ambassador Spock. All ship functions are now at your disposal."
Jim's exaggerated exclamation of surprise did nothing to fool the Vulcan.
"Wow, what a coincidence, huh? Weird."
It took a moment for the science officer to make certain mental connections. Ambassador Spock, the ship had called him. "You'll be piloting the ship alone," Jim had insisted. Vulcan intuition was applicable to more than just instrumentation.
"Computer," he asked, "what is your manufacturing origin and date of commission?"
The ship replied without delay. "Stardate twenty-three eighty-seven, commissioned by the Vulcan Science Academy under special emergency declaration twelve-oh-eight."
Spock digested this, then turned to Jim. "It appears you've been keeping rather important information from me."
Jim repressed a grin. "You're just going to have to trust me, Mister Spock. Can you do that?"
"Once again you ask for trust. For a deceiving stowaway who advanced in short order from the would-be instigator of a near-mutiny to becoming acting captain of the same vessel, you certainly ask for a lot of trust."
Jim could no longer hold back a smile. "I'm not the shy type."
Spock considered this, then nodded thoughtfully. "While I attempt to engage with this vessel, I presume you are going to try and find Captain Pike."
Jim shrugged, as if what Spock had just surmised was the most natural thing in the world. "He told me to come and get him. Just following orders. Like I always do."
The science officer seemed ready to say something else, but every considered comment took time, and time was the one commodity of which they were running short. With a last nod he settled himself into the command seat and resumed his detailed examination of the strange instrumentation. This console should activate the engines, that one communications, the one next to it was new to him but he felt he could puzzle it out, the next…
He could have departed sooner, but he had to wait until Jim had enough time to exit the hangar—or at least until his fellow officer had moved beyond the nearest blast airlock door.
When he felt that sufficient time had passed, he began moving his hands over the gleaming, futuristic cabin controls. A few of the elements that sprang to life were unfamiliar to him. But not those that controlled the impulse engine.
Detecting a rising hum where there should have been only silence, a contingent of crew conversed briefly among themselves before advancing in the direction of the captured Vulcan craft. Unlike their now semiconscious comrades lying in the cargo bay, this group was armed. As they approached the now internally illuminated vessel, they cautiously drew their sidearms.
While it was impossible for any enemy to have boarded the Narada, there was no reason to take chances. Perhaps the captain was running a drill, in which case their need to respond appropriately was self-evident. Or possibly a distraught comrade had finally given in to an overwhelming desire to try and return home, even if only by himself.
Soon the leader of the squad was near enough to the Vulcan ship to see that someone was indeed sitting in the forward cabin—someone far too sallow to pass muster as even the most pallid Romulan. Shouts and sidearms arose simultaneously as the Vulcan craft lifted from the deck.
Spock let loose with the ship's weapons. They opened an exit just as effectively as any hangar command, though with considerably more noise and accompanying destruction. The unfortunate members of the patrolling contingent followed the phaser-shattered airlock doors out into open space.
Blown apart, large sections of the hangar doors were flung outward. They were followed closely by the now fully activated Vulcan craft. Growing more and more familiar with the ship's instrumentation with every passing moment, Spock swooped in and out among the Narada's superstructure, firing at close range from within the protective diameter of her defensive shields.
A human would have rocked the fore cabin with jubilant shouts while inflicting such devastation on an enemy. Spock went about the business of disabling the Romulan vessel with surgical silence and precision.
*_*_*
The room was dark and damp even for a Romulan interrogation chamber.
He saw Pike still fastened to the slightly tilted platform. The faint moan that reached Jim as he hurried toward it was more uplifting than a whole stadium full of cadets cheering on their Academy team. The captain was still alive.
There was nothing elaborate about the straps that held him down. As traditional and straightforward as they were effective, they yielded rapidly to his determined hands. As he worked, Pike's head lolled limply in his direction. The captain's eyes struggled to focus.
"…Kirk?"
"Came back, sir. Just like you ordered. Hold still—I'll have you out of this in a minute."
Pike managed a nod to show that he understood. "How—how did you…?" He swallowed, coughed. "Where are we?"
"Still on board the Narada, sir. A lot has happened since you were taken prisoner. Some of it I'm still not sure I believe myself. But believable or not, we have to deal with it." He pulled hard at the main strap, yanking it free. "One thing you can believe: I'm not leaving here without you."
As more straps were released, Pike fought to move his arms and legs and reassert some control over his stiff muscles and unused nervous system. "I believe your presence here constitutes violation of at least a dozen ordinances, Mister Kirk."
Working above the supine senior officer, Jim had to smile. Pike was going to make it, all right.
"Guilty as charged, sir. You can decide my punishment as soon as we're back on the Enterprise."
With his back to the entrance, he failed to notice the arrival of several heavily armed guards.
Jim's presence hadn't been detected by ship security; the guards were simply carrying out a time-scheduled check on the prisoner. Eyes widening in surprise, the Romulans perceived what was taking place and started to raise their weapons.
In a tribute to a lifetime of hard work, and demonstrating to the utmost the efficacy of Starfleet training, Pike pulled Jim's own sidearm and shot them in perfect sequence before a single one of them could trigger their weapons. They went down as Jim whirled. Exhausted, Pike let the phaser fall from his fingers. Jim caught first it and then his superior officer.
"Thanks, Captain. Don't worry—I've got you. Can you stand?"
Gritting his teeth, and with Jim's help, Pike was on his feet a moment later. Once he was sure he wasn't going to fall, he nodded to his rescuer.
"Not only can I stand: if circumstances require it I think I can run." He gestured past the dead guard in the direction of the only exit. "The question is, where do we run to? I don't know how you got on this ship, but from what I've seen, there's no way off it."
Draping one of Pike's arms over his shoulders, Jim helped the older man stumble toward the portal. "I don't suppose, Captain, that you've by any chance heard of a disgraced Starfleet engineer named Montgomery Scott?"
*_*_*
Having unleashed the first volley of torpedoes at the fleeing smaller ship, Nero had subsequently returned tactical to the officer in charge. He could not direct the Narada's firepower if he also wanted to bathe fully in the moment of destruction.
The Vulcan's evasive maneuvers were carried out with exceptional skill and his small but advanced ship was proving difficult to hit, but the number of weapons the much larger Romulan warship could bring to bear could not be avoided forever. Detonated by a proximate program, one torpedo finally ripped into the hull of the Vulcan craft. Though it self-sealed, Spock's vessel had unmistakably suffered some permanent damage. The Narada's tactical sensors confirmed the partial hit.
Observing the ongoing pursuit via the forward viewscreen, Nero whispered to himself with satisfaction.
"You should have entered warp when you had the chance, Spock. You should have fled."
Looking toward tactical, he raised his voice. "Sight target for final destruction and fire."
Spock's ship was far more advanced than any vessel he had ever served upon, seen, or studied, but it was not from a thousand years in the future and it was not immune to equally sophisticated and no less deadly weapons. Particularly when those weapons were fired on it in multiples. One of the first lessons students in warfare were taught was that club plus force plus trajectory achieves the same totality of death as a properly aimed phaser burst.
"Warning," the ship announced in deceptively calm tones, "all shields off-line."
This was it, then, he knew. The end. But not the end just for him. He steeled himself. At such moments logic and reason offered a great comfort that was unknown to all but a few humans who found themselves trapped in similar circumstances.
"Computer, prepare to execute General Order Thirteen."
"General Order Thirteen," it repeated. "Self-destruct sequence confirmed."
Strange, he mused, how the computer and he sounded so much alike.
"Execute," he finished with hesitation as he redirected the ship's course.
Straight back toward the pursuing Narada.
Their quarry's abrupt reversal of direction did not go unnoticed on board the Romulan warship.
There was pandemonium as tactical, science, and the helm fought to react appropriately.
Somehow, the Vulcan ship managed to avoid every weapon that was flung in its direction.
Nero's second-in-command wasn't worried about the damage a collision might cause. The Narada was large enough to overcome such an impact.
There was, however, the not-insignificant matter of a certain quantity of the galaxy's most volatile known substance being held in stasis on board the Vulcan vessel. And the two ships were too close for evasive action to be taken, so that…
It was a great relief when, an instant later, one of the numerous torpedoes the Romulan warship had unleashed struck home and the Vulcan craft was blown to bits.
*_*_*
Pressure. Heat. The machinery on board the smaller vessel that sustained the stasis shell collapsed under the force of both. Driven inward by the intensity of the torpedo explosion, within nanoseconds they compacted the contents of the inner containment bubble, forcing it in upon itself.
Igniting that which lay within.
A tiny anomaly appeared in space. It was pure luck that when it was created it was on a trajectory that would take it out of the solar system on a course nearly perpendicular to the plane of the ecliptic. It would not pass by any of the eight planets—which meant that said planets would remain intact.
Anything caught in its immediate vicinity, however…
"Full reverse course!" Nero was screaming as an expanding darkness blacker than space itself appeared on the viewscreen. "Get us away—now, now! Prepare to engage warp drive!"
"Warp drive activating, Captain," the helm reported. "Warp one in four—three…"
The Narada shuddered violently. Crew members found themselves thrown from their chairs.
Throughout the great ship longitudinal rips lacerated her hull as phaser bursts tore through the superstructure. Crew members barely had time to wail in despair as they were sucked out into space. One blast after another tore at her components, her weapons systems, her engines. As her wild-eyed commander struggled to retain his seat, the cause of the devastating and unexpected disruptions was revealed on another screen.
Fully occupied in the pursuit of Spock's vessel as it reached the vicinity of Saturn, its crew and tactical arm had failed to notice the appearance of another ship behind it as it had risen from within the distorting depths of Titan's atmosphere.
It was possible there was someone on board the Enterprise who was not at that moment fully engaged in one critical task or another, but only among the wounded in sickbay. Every other member of the crew was on station, their entire being devoted to a particular task at hand.
Tactical was engaged in pouring as much debilitating fire into the Romulan warship as possible while the helm controllers undertook a ferocious combination of evasive and assaulting actions.
*_*_*
Nowhere was activity as frenetic as in the main transporter room, where a focused Montgomery Scott was directing two equally perilous and life-threatening actions at the same time. It was not an impossible feat to pull off, but it was difficult enough to make everyone involved sweat profusely despite the presence of fully functional climate control.
A figure began to materialize on one of the transporter pads. As it started to flicker dangerously, Scott's attention darted from platform to instrumentation to those assisting him.
"Hold it, hold it," he muttered tensely. "Full power—now!" At the same time as the first shape began to solidify, two more started to appear. Fingers raced over controls as telltales on the main console flashed warningly. The second pair of silhouettes began to steady. Off to one side Uhura looked on apprehensively while McCoy and a full medical team stood by in case their skills were needed. Despite the new chief engineer's evident expertise, the doctor was not optimistic. But then, whenever a transporter was in use, he never was.
The three shapes tightened, opaqued, and began to take on the appearance of something more substantial than refulgent hopes. Spock was the first to be recognized. From Uhura's throat there emerged a small sound that McCoy would forever keep private. Then the other two figures steadied and he was able to identify both—Jim and Pike.
Rapidly regaining full control of his neuromuscular system, Jim was the first to step off the platform and congratulate the engineer.
"Nice timing." He looked to his left. "I'm beginning to think you could beam anything from any place to anywhere, Mister Scott, if only someone gave you the right coordinates."
The engineer stood a little taller. "Never beamed two targets from two places onto the same pad before. And both targets in motion, at that. Have to try it one day with something smaller and more stable over a greater distance. A bottle o' fine malt whiskey, for example."
Jim grinned. "I hope you get the opportunity—Scotty." He turned. "Captain?"
As the seriously weakened Pike finally gave in to exhaustion, Jim caught him as he slumped forward. The medical team took over immediately. Playing a scanner over the captain's barely conscious form, McCoy barked orders to a senior medtech.
"We're gonna need neurogenic stimulators and"—he made a face as his scanner locked onto a small dark shape pressed tightly against the captain's spine —"cord sheath protection. Let's prep him for surgery. We're gonna have to do repair, rejuve, and an extraction at the same time."
As the other two just-transported arrivals headed for the bridge, the briefest of glances was exchanged between the Enterprise's science officer and its communications chief. No one noticed it but Jim. Varying from the sly to the snide, several suitable comments took shape in his mind. Ultimately, he voiced none of them.
Like lightning, maturity can strike anyone unexpectedly and at the most peculiar moments.
*_*_*
The instant Jim and Spock reappeared on the bridge, the acting science officer moved away from his post and Sulu surrendered the captain's chair to return to his own post at the helm.
Chekov was reporting excitedly even before Jim had resumed his seat.
"Keptin! The enemy ship is losing power and…its shields are down!" He looked toward the command chair. "All of them! They're defenseless."
All eyes turned toward Jim. There was no uncertainty in them now, no qualification in those glances. They no longer hoped for him to render decisions—they expected it.
Would he issue the directive to resume firing on the Romulan craft whose commander was responsible for so much death and destruction? Or…?
"Hail them," Jim snapped. "Now."
It took longer than usual for contact to be established, and when the screen finally produced a picture, it was not the best. Static occasionally distorted the image and it shifted or doubled unpredictably. The commander of the Narada took a moment to try and stabilize his own pickup.
Despite the continuing disruption, there was no mistaking the identity of the human who was presently gazing back at him.
"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the U.S.S. Enterprise. Your ship is compromised. You are sacrificing power fighting a losing battle against a growing gravitational anomaly. The closer to it you fall, the more inexorable its pull becomes and the less the likelihood that you or any of your crew will survive. In the absence of full warp power there is no possible way you can attempt to escape by utilizing the anomaly to attempt a time shift—you have no maneuverability.
None of you will survive without assistance—which we are willing to provide."
Of all the possible responses to the current state of affairs Jim could have articulated, this was one none of his fellow crew members had anticipated. Spock's reaction was no different.
"Captain—what are you doing?"
"We show them compassion. It may be the only way to secure a permanent peace with Romulus.
It's logic, Spock. I thought you'd respond positively to such an offer."
The science officer measured his words even more carefully than usual. "Captain, he destroyed my home planet. As a human might say—to hell with logic."
As it turned out, further discussion and possible dissension was obviated by an unequivocal retort from the Narada's commander. Pushing his face toward his pickup, Nero glared unapologetically across space at his human and Vulcan nemeses.
"I would rather suffer the death of Romulus a thousand times than accept assistance from you!"
That was all Jim needed. No, he told himself—it was more than he needed. When the history of this encounter was written, no one would be able to say that he had not acted with consideration and forbearance.
He was much relieved.
"You got it," he shot back as he turned toward Chekov. "Lock phasers. Fire everything we've got!"
Swinging around in a wide arc, the Federation starship unloaded a massive burst in the direction of the struggling Narada. Already weakened by previous attacks, its shields down, and succumbing to the relentless pull of the anomaly, one detonation after another began to tear the huge ship to pieces. As it lost what remained of its drive it began to disintegrate, collapsing into the singularity. The main bridge screen offered a final glimpse of the Romulan commander they had known as Nero: defiant, half-mad, and ultimately frustrated as he joined his ship in being crushed down into his subatomic components.
The Narada, Nero, and everyone else on board who had taken part in the destruction of multiple Federation starships and the planet Vulcan—were gone.
There no longer being any need to address tactical, Jim directed his attention and his command elsewhere. "Kirk to engineering—get us out of here, Scotty!"
"Aye, Captain!" came the immediate report. A slight quiver ran through the length of the Enterprise as her weapons systems and shields were drawn down so that all power could be directed to the engines.
On screen and behind them, the last vestiges of the warship Narada collapsed inward and upon themselves as they passed the gravitational point of no return and vanished into the mini–black hole. Seated squarely in the captain's chair, Nero had less than a second to let out a final defiant scream as his life, body, and fanatic's hopes were compacted out of existence.
On board the Enterprise full power was directed to ram her into warp. Dilithium gave up its incredible matrix in ever-increasing quantities in response to the command from engineering central. And…
Nothing. The ship's position relative to the system-departing anomaly did not change. It did not fall inward in the wake of the Narada, but neither was it able to pull away. The fabric of the ship itself began to vibrate as it threatened to succumb to the enormous gravitational forces that were clawing at its superstructure.
On the bridge, Jim stared at the main monitor. The view aft showed the all-devouring monster to which Red Matter had given birth.
"Why aren't we at warp?"
"We are!" Sulu reported even as he struggled with a recalcitrant helm.
"Captain!" Scott's voice resounded over the bridge speakers. "We're caught on the edge of the gravity well! It's got us!"
"Go to maximum warp! Push it, Scotty!"
From deep within engineering, Scott raised his voice to a shout in order to make himself audible above the straining whine of the engines.
"I'm givin' 'er all she's got, Captain!"
"All she's got isn't good enough!" Jim shot back. "What else have you got?"
Scott's thoughts were a whirl. "If we eject the core, the wave front when it detonates against the singularity might be enough to kick us clear—if it doesn't kill us. And if that fails, then we'll be without drive power! We'll be sucked in for certain!"
Jim looked over at the helm. "Mister Sulu! Status!"
"Still holding position relative to the anomaly, Captain, but we can't break the impasse. If we don't break free soon, we'll begin to lose ground incrementally until we pass the gravitational point of no return!"
Jim didn't need to hear anything else. "Do it, Scotty!" he yelled into the command chair pickup.
"We're dead anyway!"
In engineering Scott slammed a series of controls, unkeyed a protective security cover, entered the catastrophe code all chief engineers are required to commit to memory in the course of their initial studies, and then struck simultaneously two parallel and now flashing deep-set switches.
The entire central engine compartment shook once, violently, as the warp core was expelled from the stern of the ship.
Ejected at speed, the activated core sped backward. Impinging upon the singularity, it released all of the energy contained within it in a single titanic explosion. Light too bright to look at directly illuminated a tiny corner of the solar system and flared outward. There was no sound.
That was not the case within the Enterprise. The shock wave enveloped the ship that was now fleeing as fast as possible in the opposite direction on impulse power alone. On multiple decks, anything not fastened down was jolted loose. Artificial gravity was momentarily disrupted, sending airborne anyone not strapped in place or failing to grab onto something fixed. The instant gravity was restored, bodies fell to the floor or onto surrounding furniture or equipment.
A collective moan of pain seemed to wash over the ship as nearly every crew member suffered bumps or bruises. Paradoxically, those who came through without injury of any kind were the patients confined to sickbay, who were secured in their beds. In a single instant the entire crew had been battered and beaten. So had their ship.
But it had not come apart.
And in spite of the pressure, the pain, and the threat of near annihilation of themselves, their ship, and the world whose survival had ultimately rested entirely on them, neither had they.
[NFB, NFI. Taken from the ST novelization. All done except the epilogue!]