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

RILEY     (over ship's speakers):
          "' .   .   .   and   wheeeeeeen 
          the fields are fresh and greeeeeeen . . .,
          Aye'll  taaaaaaake you to your hooooooome .  .  .,
          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

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

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

DOC:      "That was a long time ago."

McCOY:    "Then  what's  that  noise  up  ahead?   And  that

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

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

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

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

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,

KIRK:     "Name it, Pal."

CRANE:    "If  I  start acting strange, knock me  out,  will

KIRK:     "Hey,  no  need  to  ask for that  specially--it's
          standard procedure.  But what made you bring it up

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

SCOTT:    "What in the name of all that's wonderful is  that

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

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,

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.

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

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

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,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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!"

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

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

NELSON    (turning to Morton again):  "Any luck raising  the

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.

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

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:   "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

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

NELSON:   "Lee,  slow  down.   You're  not  seeing  the  big

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?"

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

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

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,

KIRK:     "You  do realize that now we'll never get back  to
          our own time?  Killing Crane must have changed the

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.


Act 4

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Copyright 1997 Rachel Howe and Alison Passarelli