In the Control Room, Morton picks himself up from the floor
behind the chart table and realizes that the the ship is at
last moving toward the surface. While he is still wondering
how that happened and what to do about it, one of the
consoles catches fire; simultaneously, an overhead steam
pipe bursts and a jet of steam, stained an attractive pink
by the emergency lighting, geysers into the room. That
keeps him and everyone else in the Control Room nicely
occupied as Seaview continues to ride upwards on the whale's
broad forehead.
The Admiral and Spock, meanwhile, have commandeered
Crane's cabin--one of the few quiet and tidy places left on
the ship--and are working on the design for a subspace radio
beacon that should be able to re-establish contact with the
Enterprise. At least, Spock is working on it; the Admiral
is doing a lot of pacing about, struggling with increasing
desperation to stay calm and therefore human.
SPOCK: "Admiral, it would be more logical for you to
conserve your energy and air supply."
NELSON: "I know! It would be easier if those two would
stop that infernal singing! It makes me want to
howl!"
RILEY
and
RILEY (over ship's speakers):
"' . . . and wheeeeeeen
the fields are fresh and greeeeeeen . . .,
Aye'll taaaaaaake you to your hooooooome . . .,
Kaaaaaaath-leeeeeeen.'
WAH - UN MOR - OORE TY - IME! . . ."
SPOCK: "I, too, find the sound somewhat distressing--
Vulcan ears are almost as sensitive as vulpine
ones, I believe."
Nelson shoots him a suspicious look, but Spock's face is
absolutely deadpan. (This is the point at which they feel
the ship start to fall, then rise.)
NELSON (hanging onto the bulkhead): "Well, that looks
like a good sign, anyway."
SPOCK (clinging to the desk): "I am not so sure,
Admiral. A starship moving at such an angle would
be gravely damaged, if not disabled."
NELSON (so intrigued that for a moment he forgets all his
other worries): "But surely there isn't any 'up'
and 'down' in space?"
SPOCK: "In Federation space there is, I assure you. All
ships adhere strictly to the same orientation--
much as your earthly traffic keeps to one side of
the road. Even the Romulans obey those rules; it
keeps our battles much simpler."
NELSON (shaking his head in bemusement): "I'll take your
word for it, Mr. Spock."
Down in the Crew's Quarters, the two doctors are confronting
a bunch of bewildered crewmen who claim that the old flute
player who had them trapped just wandered off somewhere and
vanished a few minutes ago, leaving only his flute to show
he ever existed.
McCOY (shaking his head disgustedly): "Looks like
another fool's errand. We may as well get back to
your Sick Bay--maybe there we'll find something
useful to do."
DOC: "I wouldn't count on it. Half the time I wonder
what I'm doing on this ship at all--no one ever
comes for treatment unless they're unconscious,
and even then, half the time, they get better on
their own when by all the rules they ought to be
dead."
The two physicians begin to wander down the corridor
together, heading towards Sick Bay.
McCOY: "I know what you mean. I guess it's part of being
a hero--they can't admit to needing help, let
alone rest, if there's anything more interesting
going on. Mind you, I have had a few little
successes in my time--like doing open-heart
surgery on Spock's ol' Dad in the middle of a
battle."
DOC: "I wish I could say the same. The miraculous
cures around here all seem to happen without any
help from me at all. A lot of the time I just
have to give the patient a sedative and hope for
the best; they didn't cover possession by aliens
or ancient mummies in my medical training--let
alone cases of lethal radiation poisoning that
clear up for no good reason and then suddenly
recur years later."
McCOY: "Well, considering the primitive state of medicine
in your century, I guess you can't be doing too
badly. Even in the twenty-third century, we've
got a ways to go before we come up with a sure-
fire treatment for alien possession." (He stoops
to pick up a scrap of rotting bandage from the
deck): "Hey, what was that you were saying about
mummies?"
DOC: "That was a long time ago."
McCOY: "Then what's that noise up ahead? And that
smell?!?!"
In the corridor outside the Missile Room, a gang of crewmen,
led by the ship's cook, have the Lobster Man and the Manfish
cornered at last--until Kirk opens the Missile Room hatch to
see what all the noise is about. The Manfish dives for the
opening, knocking Jim flying; the Lobster Man lumbers after
it, and the rest of the detail piles in after them. A free-
for-all fight erupts, made all the more exciting by the
erratic rocking of the ship. Two men try to climb on the
Lobster's back, only to be shrugged off and sent cart
wheeling against the torpedo tubes. Kirk picks himself up
from the corner by the scuba-gear rack and flings himself
joyfully into the fray; he launches a fine right cross at
the Lobster, only to realize--too late--that its jaw is
armor-plated. It swipes him aside with one claw, and sends
another pair of crewmen spinning over to collide with Crane,
who is still struggling with the missile controls. Winded,
but not to be outdone, Crane drags himself up and staggers
into the thick of the fighting. Kirk rolls (remembering to
slap the floor) and bounces to his feet just in time to be
knocked halfway across the room again by the Manfish's
flailing, webbed arm. Grinning, he comes back for more.
Crane snatches at the creature's other arm; it shakes him
off and propels him towards the missile silos. He hits the
base of Silo 1 and lies still, muttering, "Sorry, Admiral,"
before he lapses into unconsciousness for the second time in
fifteen minutes. Kirk throws himself into the middle of the
fight yet again, and gets in a series of blows below where
the Manfish's belt ought to be, before someone else sneaks
up on it from behind and pulls it over. Then the Lobster
Man remembers to use his ultrasonic antennae to zap a couple
of the crewmen, who go down and stay down. Yelling
imprecations, Kirk aims a flying kick at the deadly
tentacles, but slips on a patch of fish-scales and lands
flat on his back. The Manfish surges to its feet again ...
and so it goes on, until finally, one of the crewmen makes
a break for the door and the creatures go after him. The
other crewmen follow; after a few moments the unconscious
ones wake up and stagger after their comrades, rubbing their
bruises. Except for the still-unconscious Crane, Kirk is
left alone; his shirt hangs in ribbons, and blood is pouring
down his face from a cut on one temple. Just then, the
Missile-Control Panel starts to emit a high-pitched, urgent
beeping sound. Kirk gets to his feet and totters over to
see what's the matter with it. Unable to make head or tail
of the primitive wiring, he makes a brief, futile attempt to
rouse Crane, and then grabs the nearest microphone.
KIRK (in a voice almost as ragged as his shirt):
"Admiral Nelson? Admiral, are you there?"
NELSON (via the intercom): "I read you, Captain. What's
the trouble?"
KIRK (holding the microphone to the beeping panel):
"Hear that? What does it mean?"
NELSON: "It means the missile's going to blow in about a
minute. I thought I gave the two of you orders to
disarm it."
KIRK: "Sorry, Admiral, we got a little distracted. And
now Lee's out cold. Can you tell me how to disarm
this contraption?"
NELSON: "It's too late now. Unless . . . Maybe there's
still a chance! Have you got that phaser-gun with
you?"
KIRK: "Sure."
NELSON: "Good. Now listen carefully; we're only going to
get one chance at this."
THE PANEL: "Beep beep beep beep (pause) BEEEEP!"
NELSON (his voice turning hoarse, almost growling from
the strain): "Put the gun on its lowest setting."
KIRK: "Phaser on stun, check."
NELSON: "Now open the inspection door on the missile silo
and fire a five-second burst into the works."
SPOCK (also via the intercom): "Jim, I urge extreme
caution. I fail to see what logical purpose--"
NELSON (snarling): "Forget logic! If this doesn't work,
we won't be around to worry about it--and besides,
it's worked before. Fire that phaser, Kirk!"
KIRK: "Whatever you say, Admiral."
He walks over to the silo, pulls the hatch open, and fires.
The beeping stops abruptly.
KIRK: "Right, I've stunned the missile, Admiral. What
now?"
NELSON (with a little laugh of relief): "Wake up Lee if
you can--if not, get him to Sick Bay--and meet us
in the Control Room in ten minutes. I've got a
hunch things are going to start happening now."
KIRK: "Start happening?"
Shaking his head, Jim kneels down and tries again to bring
Crane around. It takes a while, but eventually Lee opens
his eyes and sits up, groggy but insisting--of course--that
he is perfectly all right.
KIRK (unconvinced): "It's me, remember? No lower
ranks within earshot. You don't have to fake it."
CRANE: "No, I really am feeling better--a bit dizzy,
that's all. I guess that makes sense, if that
Doppelganger's gone." (He takes in Kirk's
battered appearance): "Boy, that uniform of yours
got torn up pretty good. Don't they have better
fabrics than that in the twenty-third century?"
KIRK (shrugging, and trying to pull the rags of his top
together): "They have, but Paramount can't afford
them--all the clothing budget goes on stockings
and boots for the girls. The stockings have to go
all the way up, you see."
CRANE: "I thought mini-skirts went out of style last
year!"
KIRK: "Don't worry, they'll be back--in a big way. Come
on, the Admiral wants us in the Control Room.
Think you can make it?"
CRANE: "I guess so." (With Kirk's help he gets back on
his feet, and they stagger for the door together.
Out in the corridor, Crane adds): "We'd better
stop by my cabin first--I'll lend you a sweater or
something."
KIRK: "Fine, just as long as we don't have to squeeze
down any more of those ducts to get there!"
CRANE: "I hope that won't be necessary. Let's just keep
on going and see what we run into, OK?"
KIRK: "Sounds like a good plan to me. Say, what time do
you have dinner around here?"
CRANE: "Dinner? You're thinking about food at a time
like this?"
KIRK: "What better time than dinner-time? Anyway, a
good punch-up always gives me an appetite."
Crane sways suddenly, passing his hand over his eyes.
KIRK: "Lee? Are you sure you're OK?"
CRANE (faintly): "Will you do one more thing for me,
Jim?"
KIRK: "Name it, Pal."
CRANE: "If I start acting strange, knock me out, will
you?"
KIRK: "Hey, no need to ask for that specially--it's
standard procedure. But what made you bring it up
now?"
CRANE: "Oh, probably nothing. But I've got a bad feeling
about what might be causing these dizzy spells."
Meanwhile, in another part of the ship . . .
After their respective Captains turned them out of the
Missile Room, Scotty, Sharkey, Chekov and a few overalled
Seaview crewmen have found their way back to the Reactor
Room. They find the floor knee-deep in sinister flora;
what's worse, a seven-foot high, white-furred creature is
huddled up against the reactor, trying to keep warm in the
radioactive glow. It's quite safe from anyone trying to
engage it in unarmed combat, because the orchids hiss and
spark dangerously as soon as a human foot comes near them.
The reactor's hum has turned to an ominous throb, and its
normally rainbow-hued light glows a constant and threatening
red.
SCOTT: "What in the name of all that's wonderful is that
thing?"
SHARKEY: "You'd have to ask the Admiral, Scotty. The day
that thing came aboard was so mixed up and crazy,
he never did get around to telling us what it was
all about."
CHEKOV (hefting his phaser): "Is it dangerous?"
SHARKEY: "You'd better believe it, Kiddo!"
SCOTT: "We dare'na try a phaser blast on it, that close
to the reactor. But maybe I can adapt something
else to do the trick."
In a corner that is still free of the deadly orchids, he
flips open his toolbox--and out tumbles a small, round, lump
of purring fur. Scotty mutters something unprintable.
SHARKEY: "Unless I've forgotten something, that wasn't one
of our problems! What is that goofy-looking
thing, anyway?"
SCOTT (frowning): "A tribble, Laddie. Only the one--
but if you don't look sharp, you'll be waist-deep
in them before ye know where ye are."
SHARKEY (watching the tribble, which has started to browse
on the leaves of the nearest orchid): "It don't
look too dangerous to me. In fact, it looks kinda
cute."
SCOTT: "Not dangerous, Chief--just hungry. Still, if it
could get rid of those nasty flowers for us,
perhaps it might be of some use for once."
The tribble, having devoured the orchid with every
appearance of enjoyment, purrs even louder, and gives birth
to a couple of mouse-sized but hungry offspring. For
several minutes, the humans watch fascinated as the
creatures continue to multiply, eating a broad swathe
through the flowers. The Abominable Snowman sits there,
with its head in its paws, basking in the radiation and
apparently, half-asleep. Then, suddenly, the ship lurches,
and the furry monster rouses.
SHARKEY: "What happened to that gadget you were gonna rig,
Scotty?"
SCOTT: "Dinna fash yoursel', Chief--I'm nearly done."
SHARKEY: "Somethin' tells me 'nearly' isn't gonna be good
enough! Let's get out of here!"
SCOTT: "Och, mebbe ye're right. Chekov, laddie, grab a
couple o' those tribbles, will ye? The Captain
ought to see them."
CHEKOV: "Aye, zirr."
As Chekov stoops to scoop up the nearest patch of the
voracious furballs, the ship wobbles again, hard enough to
dislodge a couple of the never-very-secure dampening rods
from the reactor. Alarms start to go off all over the room,
and the Snowman stretches to its full height and lets out a
blood-curdling snarl. As Sharkey watches, trying to pick
his moment to make a dash for the rods, IT speaks. It has a
surprisingly gentle, educated voice, a little muffled by a
mouthful of fur.
THE
ABOMINABLE
SNOWMAN: "At last! At last I can take my revenge on Nelson
for his interference."
SHARKEY (grabbing a laser gun that someone carelessly left
lying around, and aiming at the monster's furry
head): "Get away from there or I'll . . ."
A. S.: "Or you'll what, Chief? Shoot me down and damage
your reactor even further beyond repair than it
already is? I don't think so."
SHARKEY: "Just get away from there, geek!"
SCOTT: "Wheesht, Laddie, that isna the way. Did they
never teach ye anythin' about first-contact
protocols?" (He turns to the Abominable Snowman):
"What is it ye want now? Whatever it is, I'm sure
we can come to some kind of arrangement."
A. S.: "I want Nelson, here, now. I want rope to tie him
up with, and peace and quiet to finish my business
with him. Can you arrange that?"
SHARKEY: "Not on your life, buster! If you think we'd let
you get your filthy paws on the Admiral, after all
he's been through today already, you got another
think comin'!"
SCOTT: "As my colleague here says, that might be a little
difficult. Why don't we sit down like civilized
folk and talk it over some more?" (With a jerk of
his head, he sends Chekov and his handful of
tribbles towards the door.)
Meanwhile, in another corridor . . .
Doc and McCoy turn a corner and see the Mummy lurching
towards them, trailing unraveling bandages and letting out
unhappy little moaning noises.
McCOY: "Tell me that isn't what I think it is."
DOC: "If you're thinking what I'm thinking, I'm afraid
I can't."
McCOY (opening up his tricorder and pointing it at the
undead figure): "This is extra-ordinary. It's
not alive, but there are definite signs of
neurochemical activity. If I could only get it
tranquilized, I might be able to find out more."
DOC (trying to hide behind his Starfleet opposite
number): "Are you sure that's wise? Even I
wouldn't suggest trying to give that thing a
sedative--it's been dead for three thousand
years!"
McCOY (his eyes gleaming with the excitement of the true
scientist): "I wouldn't be so sure. Here, you
take this and keep me covered, will you?"
He hands over his phaser; Doc, who doesn't often need to
handle even regular sidearms, looks as if he would rather be
holding a snake by the tail. McCoy rummages in his case and
pulls out an extra-strength hypospray. He advances on the
Mummy with the instrument on the ready; it takes a clumsy--
but fast and heavy--swing at him with one bandaged arm. The
doctor ducks under the blow and manages to plant the hypo at
the base of the Mummy's neck as it prepares for another
punch. With a ghastly shriek, the Mummy crumples up--but
even as the potent drugs work through the embalmed remains
of its nervous system, it sends out an urgent psychic signal
to the one man on board conditioned to receive it . . .
In a corridor not far from the Missile Room, Crane stagers
to a halt, clutching at the bulkhead in a desperate attempt
to stay on his feet.
KIRK: "Steady now. It can't be that much farther."
CRANE (deathly pale): "I'm sorry, Jim. It's getting
worse . . . I don't think I can go on." (His
legs buckle, and he slides to the floor, with only
the wall keeping him even in a sitting position.)
KIRK: "That does it. Which way's your Sick Bay?"
CRANE: "Never mind that--we haven't got the time! You go
on without me; I'll catch up if I can." (He bends
over, putting his head between his knees.)
KIRK: "I can't leave you here in this state! The
Admiral would have my head for dessert!"
CRANE (in a vague, far-off voice): "Never mind the
Admiral. You have to . . . I have to . . . I
have to go and sabotage the Automatic Navigator."
KIRK: "You have to do what? But we aren't even going
anywhere!" (The implication of Crane's words
suddenly dawns on him): "Oh, I see. Well, in
that case . . ."
Kirk pulls out his phaser and gives Crane a short burst on
stun--enough to put him out for a few minutes. Then,
thankful, for once, for his fellow-Captain's slim build, he
slings Crane over his shoulder and struggles down the
corridor with him.
In Crane's Cabin . . .
Now that there is a man on board, other than himself, who is
capable of fabricating fantastic futuristic hardware,
Harriman Nelson can afford to give in to exhaustion. As
Spock inspects the wiring of what is soon to be the subspace
radio beacon--primitive by 23rd century standards, but
functional, nevertheless--Nelson pushes himself from behind
the desk.
NELSON (rubbing the back of his neck): "Mr. Spock, I
think I'll take your advice and lie down for
awhile."
SPOCK (without looking up): "A sensible idea, Admiral,
since the beacon will not be ready for testing for
at least another nine point two four minutes."
NELSON (grinning): "'Nine point two four minutes', eh?
That's a pretty precise estimate, Mr. Spock."
SPOCK: "I strive to be accurate."
NELSON: "You not only strive, sir, you achieve!"
SPOCK (cocking his head appreciatively): "Thank you,
Admiral."
Nelson taps the Vulcan on the shoulder, then moves to
stretch out on Captain Crane's neat-as-a-pin bed. Resting
his furry hands behind his head, Nelson laughs quietly to
himself.
SPOCK (picking up needle-nosed pliers): "Something
amuses you, Admiral?"
NELSON: "Hm? Oh, I was just thinking, if I wasn't so
tired, I'd go ahead and short-sheet Lee's bunk."
SPOCK (raising a brow, he attaches copper coil to metal
electrodes): "For what purpose?"
NELSON: "Just a . . . a practical joke. You see, Mr.
Spock, Lee's really a wonderful fellow, salt o'
the earth, and all that, but he has this tendency
to get a little grim. It's mostly the writers'
fault. Take our first season, for example. If he
smiled once the whole bloody year, it was a lot.
Oh, sure, he gets his share of babes on Shore
Leave. Why the minute he sets foot on the pier,
chicks are all over him like barnacles! See, the
gals go for that polite, self-effacing, 'aw
shucks' manner of his."
SPOCK: "And, I would imagine, for his fancy-schmancy red
Italian sports car?"
NELSON: "Naturally. And of course, they go completely gah-
gah over his matinee idol looks! The good news
is, I get the cast-offs; the bad news is, it seems
he'd rather be here plotting courses than out
doing the Hustle in Santa Barbara. The boy is all
work and no play. He practically sleeps at
attention. Come to think of it, that's probably
why he goes wacky on me every now and again. You
know, one time, he actually left his post right in
the middle of a mission! Just upped and went AWOL
to go chasing after that stupid mermaid!"
SPOCK: "Interesting. He also seems to have a rather
unfortunate propensity for passing out."
NELSON: "Yes, he's a regular jack-in-the-box when it comes
to staying conscious. One minute he's up, next
minute he's down. I was thinking of getting him
one of those 'I've Fallen And I Can't Get Up'
gadgets for his birthday. At least we'd know
where to find him when we need him. Still and
all, I can't complain. He's a great Skipper."
SPOCK: "Judging from my observations, Admiral, I would
say that Captain Crane is a highly-proficient,
extremely conscientious officer."
NELSON: "That he is, Mr. Spock. That he is."
SPOCK: "And he appears to be much less neurotic than Ji--
than some other officers I could name."
NELSON: "Believe me, Spock, Lee Crane is one of the finest
men you'll ever chance to meet. He just needs to
RUFF loosen up a bit."
SPOCK: "I beg your pardon, Admiral?"
NELSON (aggravated at having to repeat himself): "I said
he needs to loosen up a bit. And you need to get
the GRRRRR wax out of those ears, Mister!"
Admiral Nelson swings his feet over the side of the bunk and
begins scratching his left leg with his right foot.
NELSON (coming to a standing position): "GRRRRR-RUFF! I
feel like a hamburger. Raw. Shall I order up
some chow for you, too, Mr. Spock?"
SPOCK: "No thank you." (Still engrossed in his work):
"Admiral, are you continuing your meditation
exercises?"
NELSON (scowling): "Get off my back, Spock!"
SPOCK (turning to face the Admiral): "Sir, you are in
dire need of a shave."
Mutated once more to a completely feral state, Nelson growls
threateningly at Spock.
SPOCK: "My!" (Putting down the device and rising from
his seat): "What big teeth you have, Admiral."
Nelson lunges for Spock, but the Vulcan paralyzes him with a
nerve pinch. Kneeling next to the uniformed beast, Spock
considers then rejects the idea of a mind-meld. He also
gives a thought to training the canine commander to sit,
heel, stay, and fetch, but logic, a lack of time, and the
absence of a leash dictate otherwise.
SPOCK (reaching for the desk intercom): "Spock to Sick
Bay."
Moments later, the Vulcan responds to a knock at the door.
His brow arches at what he sees.
SPOCK: "Captain!"
KIRK: "Give me a hand, Spock."
The two men from the Enterprise step over the knocked-out
Nelson, in order to deposit the catatonic Crane onto his
bunk.
KIRK (glancing at the wolfman on the deck): "What's
with Lon Chaney?"
SPOCK: "That, Captain, is Admiral Nelson. The virus has
won out, I am afraid."
KIRK: "I hope he's house-broken. This tin-can smells
bad enough already."
Kirk exhales tiredly and begins looking through Lee's closet
for that sweater.
SPOCK (noting Kirk's ragged clothing and bloody
forehead): "Sir? Are you all right?"
KIRK (checking the sizes on Crane's collars): "I'm
fine, Mr. Spock. But Lee's in bad shape.
Something's affecting his mind. He made a crack
about wrecking the ship, so I had to stun him.
Between that and the radiation sickness . . .
You'd better get the doctors down here, fast."
SPOCK: "I expect them momentarily."
KIRK (pulling Crane's black leather flight jacket out
for show): "Hey, Spock, check this out! Epaulets
and everything!" (Putting it back, he pokes his
head in the Head.): "Hmm. So they don't have any
johns, either, huh?"
SPOCK (shaking his head no): "According to the Admiral,
ABC was just as inflexible on the subject of
latrines as our own network."
KIRK: "Figures." (Shedding his tattered top, he throws
a black turtleneck sweater over his head. It's a
tight-fit all right, but better than nothing.):
"How'd they fare on the subject of residuals?"
SPOCK: "Shall we say, Captain, that most of the Seaview's
crew won't be retiring for a very long time."
The doctors arrive presently and shake their heads at the
medical mess waiting for them in the Captain's cabin.
Treating the patients in order of rank, McCoy administers a
potent nitrogen hypo to Nelson. Save for some itchy flea
and tick bites, for which Doc prescribes Calamine Lotion,
the Admiral recovers completely. The Captain is another
matter. His color currently bordering on chartreuse, his
pulse as slow as a stopped up sewer, Crane's prognosis is
not good. Even so, he begins to stir.
NELSON: "Look!" (Hopeful): "He's coming around!"
McCOY: "Comin' a-ROUND?!?"
Crane's eyes flutter open.
McCOY (checking the readings on his whirring medi-
scanner): "Beats me all ta heck how this boy's
even still breathin'!"
KIRK (winking at Crane): "Good genes. Right, Lee?"
CRANE (smiling): "Right, Jim."
With JTK's help, Crane sits up and braces himself on the
edge of the bunk. A moment later, he attempts to stand.
Doc prevents the maneuver with a hand to the Captain's
shoulder.
DOC: "Captain, don't you dare move from that bed!
That's a medical order!"
McCOY (whispering in Doc's ear): "Way to go!"
CRANE (too weak to argue): "Ohhhh." (Running a shaky
hand over his hazel eyes, and through his wavy
black hair): "I feel like I've been hit by a
bus."
KIRK: "That's the effect of the phaser stun. Sorry I
had to do it, Lee, but--"
CRANE: "No, you did the right thing." (Looking up at the
medical men): "Can you give me something to get
me on my feet again?"
McCOY: "Son, Ah doan mean ta be blunt, but yawl ah
startin' ta git on mah nerves. Now you ah
sufferin' from radiation poisonin'. That means
you ah not supposed ta be runnin' aroun' lak a
chicken without its hay-ed. Capeesh?"
DOC: "Yes, Captain. Rest is definitely indicated."
CRANE: "Rest?! I can't rest! That's exactly what the
Mummy wants me to do. Then, as soon as I'm
asleep, he'll exert his influence over me, and
I'll screw everything up again!"
NELSON: "He's right, Doc. Give him a stimulant. And
that's my order!"
McCOY (elbowing his colleague in the ribs and
whispering): "Just stand up to him. He'll back
down."
DOC (full of confidence): "I'm sorry, Admiral, but
I'm afraid I can't carry out that order."
NELSON: "Oh yeah? How'd you like a swift transfer to 'The
Love Boat'?"
DOC (elbowing McCoy right back): "Give the man his
drugs."
McCOY (he shakes his head, pulls out a hypospray, and
mutters out the corner of his mouth): "We'll go
over those assertiveness training techniques again
later."
Within seconds of receiving the shot, a healthy color
returns to the Captain's cheeks. He feels almost himself
again. He even remembers his manners.
CRANE: "Is everyone else all right? Admiral? Jim?"
NELSON (scratching behind his ear): "Yeah. We're all
dandy. Now let's get up to the Control Room.
Chip's never been in command this long before.
He's liable to get panicky and take off for Venus.
Besides, we should be broaching the surface any
second."
CRANE (on his feet at last): "I'd better do this first,
Admiral." (Grabbing the mike on his desk):
"Master-at-Arms, this is the Captain. I want
armed guards posted at all vital areas of the
ship. Absolutely NO ONE is permitted to enter the
Circuitry Room, the Reactor Room, Engineering,
Maneuvering, or the Missile Room."
KIRK: "Lee, don't forget the Officer's Mess!"
CRANE (eyeing his favorite--and formerly, best-fitting--
sweater): "One more calorie, Jim, and you're
gonna bust right through those seams. And that
happens to be the sweater my Mom knitted for me
last Christmas!"
MASTER-at-
ARMS (over intercom): "Skipper, when you say,
'Absolutely No One', does that include you, sir?"
CRANE: "Especially me, sailor!"
McCoy and Doc turn toward Sick Bay to go check on the Mummy.
Nelson, Crane, Kirk and Spock head for the Control Room.
NELSON: "What about that subspace radio, Spock? Does it
work?"
SPOCK: "In theory, yes. However, it has not, as yet,
been put it to the test."
Following Nelson through the heavy drapes at the Control
Room hatchway, Spock spots a shiny object lying in a corner.
The object in question is an old-fashioned pocket watch.
Intending to show it to Nelson, Spock retrieves it from the
deck and promptly forgets all about it as he takes in the
near-chaos in the Control Room. Crewmen are sweeping up
glass and mopping away extinguisher foam; Chip Morton is at
the periscope, looking harassed. Nelson and Crane go to join
him, with Kirk and Spock close behind.
NELSON: "Well?"
MORTON (doing a 360 degree walkaround): "We're on the
surface, Admiral. And we seem to be holding trim.
Rather, the whale's holding trim for us, till
we get rudder control back again. Damage Control
says another ten minutes oughta do it."
CRANE: "That's one piece of good news, anyway. Let's see
what's going on in the rest of the ship."
The Captain grabs a microphone and calls up every section of
the ship in turn, demanding status reports. Work is
proceeding smoothly enough in Air Revitalization, though
there's been some trouble clearing an infestation of jungle
growth out of the main duct; in the Circuitry Room, a work
detail is clearing up the mess left when the running
Manfish/Lobster battle briefly spilled in there. From Sick
Bay, the corpsman left in charge in the Doctors' absence
complains that the queue of men with stubbed toes, bumped
heads and burnt fingers is backed up halfway down the
corridor; all seems to be quiet in the Missile Room. Scotty,
in the Reactor Room, has more interesting news.
SCOTTY: "Och, Captain, we cannae do much work on the
reactor the noo."
CRANE: "What's the trouble? You've been down there twenty
minutes at least!"
SCOTTY: "Captain, if ye know a good way to work on a
reactor when ye're knee deep in tribbles, I'd be
glad to hear it! Besides, the Professor here is
still insisting he has tae talk tae the Admiral
about the extension on his research funding."
KIRK: "Tribbles? Give me that!" (He snatches the
microphone from Crane's hand): "Scotty, this is
Kirk. What was that about tribbles?"
SCOTTY: "I'm afraid so, Captain. A couple of the wee
beasties popped out of my toolbox, and they took a
real fancy to those flowers that were growing down
here. There must be a hundred of them by now!"
KIRK: "Thank you, Scotty. Do the best you can."
SCOTTY: "Aye, Captain."
KIRK: "I'm afraid we may have even more problems than we
thought, Admiral. If the tribbles came down with
Scotty's equipment, who knows what else might be
loose aboard the Enterprise. We've got to restore
communications!"
NELSON (turning to Morton again): "Any luck raising the
Enterprise?"
MORTON (coming away from the scope area): "No, sir.
Sparks says he's on strike until we let him go on
a shore-party, or at the very least, let him go
for a swim in Lee's yellow wet-suit."
NELSON: "That leaves your subspace radio, Mr. Spock.
You'd better pray it works. If the whale decides
to take a hike--"
SPOCK: "Admiral, supplication to the Almighty is not
necessary. The beacon cannot fail. However, I
suppose a quick 'Hail Mary' wouldn't hurt."
Needing both hands to operate the signaling device, Spock
holds out the pocket-watch to Nelson.
SPOCK: "Would you mind, Admiral?"
NELSON (with saucers for eyes he takes the watch):
"Where in the world did you find this?"
SPOCK: "Just outside the Control Room."
NELSON: "So Mr. Pem's around here, too!"
SPOCK: "Who?"
NELSON: "Mr. Pem. I told you about him before.
Remember?"
SPOCK: "No, sir. Perhaps the writers will go back and
put in that conversation at a later date."
NELSON: "Yes, I'm sure they will. But Mr. Spock, I can
tell you right now, the beacon won't work."
SPOCK: "Admiral, with all due respect, it must work.
Otherwise, the Laws of Physics are not in
operation. And if the Laws of Physics are not in
operation, then--"
NELSON: "Go ahead and try it."
The device made from Spock's disassembled communicator,
spare wires from the Circuitry Room, and a string and a cup
from the Crew's Mess, does not work. The Vulcan is
nonplused.
NELSON: "Told ya."
SPOCK: "Admiral, the Laws of Physics simply cannot be
broken. According to Dr. Richard Feynman--"
NELSON (recalling his last meeting with the eccentric,
bongo-playing genius): "Take it from me, Spock,
Dick Feynman is a certifiable kook! And you can
also believe me when I tell you, with Mr. Pem,
anything's possible!"
CRANE (abruptly): "Never mind Pem. We've got enough on
our hands without bringing him into it!"
MORTON (rather startled at Crane's tone): "Lee? Is
something wrong?"
CRANE: "I'm fine--which is more than I can say for this
ship! Where are those Damage Control reports, Mr.
Morton?"
MORTON: "Right here, sir." (He hands over a clipboard
with a three-page list.)
Leaning against the railing of the periscope platform, Crane
reads through the tally of damaged bulkheads, watertight
doors torn from their hinges, fused wiring, burst pipes and
monster sightings with a steadily deepening frown.
Meanwhile, Spock takes his device over to the table in the
nose, clears himself a space among the coffee cups, and
settles down to try to work out what went wrong. All but
forgotten, Kirk wanders down to the nose window and starts
in on the doughnuts left over from the earlier coffee-break.
CRANE (finally looking up): "What a mess! If we go
down again in this state, we've had it. I want
work parties on those bulkheads and hatches right
away. Send some men down to the laboratory to
force-feed the creature down there with carbon
dioxide, and details with stun-guns to round up
any other stray monsters we've got wandering
around. Oh, and send the duty plumber to
investigate that steam explosion in Frame 32."
MORTON: "Frame 32? Lee, there aren't any steam pipes down
there."
CRANE (jabbing an impatient finger at the relevant
paragraph): "Then what's this report all about?"
NELSON (peering around Morton to see the report):
"Unless I'm very much mistaken, that was what
happened when the Heat Monster met one of those
Frost Men from that flying saucer we found in the
Arctic. At least that's two things less for us to
worry about."
CRANE: "That just leaves about a hundred to go. Jump to
it, Mr. Morton."
MORTON: "Aye-aye, sir." (Shaking his head slightly, but
not presuming to argue with his commanding officer
in this mood, he goes off to arrange the work
details.)
NELSON: "Lee, slow down. You're not seeing the big
picture."
CRANE: "Admiral, every big picture is made up of small
details. The more details we can tackle while
we've got a breathing space, the more chance we'll
have." (He strides over to the sonar station.)
"Sonar, what's below us?"
SONAR
OPERATOR: "The whale, sir."
CRANE (rubbing his temples, and looking confused for a
moment): "Of course it is. Carry on."
NELSON (coming up behind him, and putting a hand on his
arm): "Lee, why don't you come and sit down?"
CRANE (spinning round, and jumping several inches into
the air): "What? Don't do that! Oh, it's you,
Admiral. Sorry."
NELSON (frowning): "What's gotten into you, Lee? I've
never seen you this edgy!"
SPOCK (aside to Kirk, at the table): "It would appear
that the Doctor's stimulant has been a little too
effective, Captain."
KIRK (with his mouth full): "I hope that's all it is.
Keep an eye on him, Spock."
CRANE: "I keep telling you, I'm fine. It's just . . ."
NELSON: "What? What's bothering you?"
CRANE: "Nothing, Admiral. Nothing at all. Mr. Morton,
is there any progress on the Air Revitalization
System yet?"
MORTON: "Not yet, sir. They're working on it."
CRANE: "Well get more men on it!"
MORTON: "But, Lee . . ."
CRANE: "Do you understand your orders, Mr. Morton?"
MORTON (uncomfortable, but determined): "Frankly sir, no
I don't. Sending more men to Air Revitalization
won't--"
CRANE: "Now you're questioning my decisions?"
NELSON: "Lee. Lee. We need to talk. Now."
CRANE: "Admiral, I'd thank you not to interfere when I'm
trying to run the ship. We haven't time for those
games now."
NELSON (having a hard time holding on to his patience):
"Time is exactly what I want to talk to you about,
but you don't seem to be in any state to listen."
Crane flings away and goes to stand in the corner by the
arms locker, facing the wall. Spock tenses, watching him
closely.
NELSON (following Crane into the corner): "You've had a
rough few hours, Lee. We all have, but you seem
to have got the worst of it. Perhaps you should
go back to your cabin for a while, huh?"
CRANE (still facing into the corner, as he opens the
arms locker. His voice is eerily calm): "It
won't do you any good, Admiral. Sooner or later,
I'm going to have to kill you." (He turns to face
Nelson, with a gun in his shaking hand.) "Just as
soon as the voices in my head finish fighting over
who gets the ship afterwards."
NELSON: "Put the gun down, Lee. We can talk about this."
Quietly, Spock reaches out and grabs the nearest weapon.
Kirk watches with his mouth open, and one hand holding half
a doughnut in mid air.
CRANE: "Too late, Admiral."
With a light of madness in his eyes, he tightens his finger
on the trigger--but Spock's Vulcan reflexes are faster. A
single shot rings out. Crane staggers, then falls; a
spreading crimson stain over his heart makes it obvious that
this time, no amount of hyposprays are going to be any use.
Aghast, Spock stares at the weapon in his hand, as does
everyone else in the Control Room.
KIRK: "Spock! What have you done?"
SPOCK: "It would appear, sir, that I have killed Captain
Crane. I will, of course, stand trial and suffer
whatever penalty the law prescribes."
KIRK: "Later, Spock. At this moment, I'm more
interested in knowing why."
SPOCK: "If I had acted a fraction of a second later,
Captain, Admiral Nelson would be dead."
KIRK: "But you didn't have to put a bullet in him! A
phaser-stun would have done the job just as well!"
SPOCK: "I am aware of that, Captain, and I was fully
intending to use a phaser. I am at a loss to
explain why the weapon in my hand should have been
this primitive hand-gun. A continuity error,
perhaps."
KIRK: "You do realize that now we'll never get back to
our own time? Killing Crane must have changed the
future."
SPOCK: "That does seem a likely outcome, Jim. In all
probability, we are now irrevocably trapped in
this timeline."
NELSON (kneeling beside Crane's lifeless body): "This
can't be happening. It just can't be. Someone's
playing games with us."
KIRK (springing to his feet and beginning to pace
around the Control Room, gesticulating in his most
Shakespearean manner): "All right. Game's over.
Come out, come out, wherever you are! You've put
these men through nightmare after nightmare: fear,
indignity, pain, madness . . . and now death. And
you know something? You haven't the right.
They've been through all this before; they've
faced these things a hundred times and overcome
them. They've triumphed, over and over, against
these very creatures and phantoms that you've sent
against them today. What can you possibly learn
by throwing a lifetime's troubles at then in one
afternoon? What can you hope to gain?"
With Kirk's voice droning away in the background of his
awareness, Nelson stares numbly at the timepiece that he's
still holding, wondering if things could possibly get any
worse if he pressed the anachronistic red button on its top.
From what he remembers of Mr. Pem, they could.
But, before the Admiral can make the fateful decision, Time
stops of its own accord.
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Copyright 1997 Rachel Howe and Alison Passarelli