"Mr. Scott, we're receiving a message from the shuttle," Uhura said. She looked worried.

"What is it, lass?" Scotty asked.

"I'm not sure. I'm having trouble clearing it up." She shook her head. "This is as good as i can make it, sir," she said unhappily.

"Shuttle Brahe to Enterprise," Sulu's voice came over the com, static filled and barely audible. "Losing control.... instruments.... rock..."

"That's all i could get, sir," Uhura said, frustrated.

"Keep tryin' lass," Scotty advised. "See if ye' can get anythin' more out of that message."

"Aye, sir," She replied determinedly, turning back to her instruments.

Scott sighed, shifting in the captain's chair. He never had liked this chair.

"Sir," The Ensign at the science console said tentatively. He waited for Scott to acnowledge him before continuing.

"I've been scanning the energy itself, and there's a peculiar signature to it. I can't identify it, but i don't think it's random, sir. I'm not even sure it's natural."

"What d'ye mean 'natural?" Scotty demanded. "Ye' think someone's gone and tried ta' drive off the researchers?"

"I don't know, sir," The young man replied. In fact, he did know what he thought about it, but Mr. Spock would have his hide if he gave his opinion to the Captain, acting captain or no, without proof to back it up.

Scotty frowned again. "Keep tryin' lad," he said with a sigh. That seemed to be the phrase of the day.

"Sir," The Lieutenant at the helm said nervously. Scotty winced.

'Yes," he asked warily.

"Helm control has deteriorated slightly. Not enough to cause any real problem," he added quickly, glancing nervously at Scotty's glowering face, "But I thought you should know about it..."

"Aye, you're quite right," Scotty replied in appology. Ye' shouldnae snap at the lad, he reproved himself. He cannae help what happens to the ship. "Are any o' tha other controls bein' affected?" He asked, looking around at the bridge crew.

"Navigations is a little...." ensign Chekov paused, staring at his console. He tapped a few buttons urgently. "It's gone, Sair," He said worriedly. "I can't get any information from it at all now." He ran a diagnostic on the machine and shook his head. Chekov turned to face Scotty. "The Radiation is interfering vith the Navigational sensors, also," He said unhappily.

"Engineering to bridge," Came the urgent voice of the lieutenant in charge of engineering while Scott was condemned to the bridge.

"Aye?" Scott demanded. One problem after another and no time to deal with the one before another cropped up....

"The Warp engines will be off-line, shortly, sir. The radiation damaged the housing and I have to shut them down. I have it contained, and i'm working on stabilizing it. It'll be a while before we can run on Warp again, Mr. Scott."

Scotty itched to be in engineering. His wee bairns... "Any chance the housing will fail?" he forced himself to say calmly. Uhura gave him a sympathetic look from her post.

"It's odd, sir... the bombardment on the engines stopped as soon as we took them off-line."

Scott frowned, glancing at the science officer, who was working furiously.

"Alright, Hines," He said finally. "Keep workin' on it. Contact me afore ye' start 'em back up again."

"Aye, Sir. Engineering out," Hines replied quickly.

Scotty glanced at Uhura. "Any progress, lass?"

Uhura shook her head without looking up from her work. He got the same response from the science officer. He sighed heavily, wishing there were something he could do himself.

"Sir," Uhura said, finally looking up from her console. "We're being hailed by the orbiter."

"On screen," he comanded, sitting up straighter.

The screen lit with an image of Garold Arnett, looking haggard and very worried.

"Enterprise, our systems are deteriorating more quickly than I expected them to. Vital systems are beginning to fail. We need help. Equipment, supplies..."

Scott frowned, and motioned Uhura to cut audio as the manager continued his pleas for help. He raised one eyebrow at the science officer, who had motioned for his attention.

"Sir, life-support is failing on the orbiter. More supplies aren't going to help them; we don't have that much equipment on board anyway. We need to get those people off the station," he finished up hurriedly, as it looked like Arnett was winding down.

Scotty nodded at Uhura, and she restored audio in time for what he thought was the tail end of a list of supplies.

"We Donnae have that much equipment on board," he said bluntly, assuming the science officer was correct without checking on it. Nobody Spock had trained would give him information without doing everything possible to make sure it was correct first.

"We're goin' te haftae get your people aboard via shuttles," he added. "My science officer says your life support is failin'. Ye' havnae got much time tae get here, so we'll be startin' now. I'll send a shuttle down for the first load shortly. People, mind ye', not equipment," he added forcefully. He had Uhura cut the channel. "Mr. Chekov," he said "See tae the shuttle's bein' outfitted for a trip to the station," he ordered. Chekov didn't have anything else to do at this point anyway. And Uhura was busy.

He wondered how long it would take the radiation to damage the Enterprise to the point that they couln't leave orbit at all. Even under Impulse power.

Spock woke first. Rising to his elbows, he paused there, eyes closed. He waited for the diziness to subside a little, then painfully climbed to his knees. Taking a deep breath, he supressed a shiver as his lungs filled with cold air. He assesed the damage to himself carefully. He seemed fine, except for a few bruises, which was to be expected. He wondered how cold it really was. Once the temperature got below 0° he was in serious trouble. Especially wet. He pulled his clothes away from his body, allowing the shiver this time as the sticky foam from the fire extinguisher plastered his clothes against him again. He almost wished the fire hadn't been put out entirely, but surpressed that thought as illogical, and unworthy of him.

Spock leaned up against the bulkhead for support and looked around him. A large crate was wedged between two struts before him. The projector, of all things, seemed the only thing to have survived intact. Which apparently accounted for his survival, as, by all rights, he should have been crushed by the flying debris. Well, perhaps not crushed, as he wasn't exceptionally fragile, but at least injured.

He noted his attention wandering and wondered if he wasn't injured more than he had thought.

A gust of cold wind whirled in through a jagged hole in the bottom of the shuttle. Or was it the side, now? More wind swirled through, this time with a few snowflakes in tow. This did not bode well.

He noted that one of the shuttles stubby wings had been sheared completely off. He could see jagged rock through the openeing it left. There didn't look to be much left of the other, either.

Spock realized he had been standing there for quite some time, and that it was probably time he did something. "Captain," he called, climbing over projector. "Jim," he called again, when there was no response. Concern tinged his normally emotionless voice.

As no response seemed forthcoming, he headed toward the cockpit, sidestepping smashed cartons and jagged pieces of metal and plastic alloy.

The door was damaged, and it wouldn't budge when he tried to open it. He gave it a hard, sharp shove with all his considerable strength, and it gave way with a loud 'crack!', as the door fell inward. It landed solidly on one of the seats. A grunt of pain indicated that someone was lying under it.

The shuttle began rocking violently, and Spock froze. He climbed over the door carefully, pausing every time the shuttle made an unhappy noise. He raised his eyes to the front of the shuttle and saw the shattered, twisted opening where the view port had been. Jagged shards of nearly indestructable plexi-glass were scattered about the front of the small craft, leaving only broken chunks clinging to the frame of the port.

Spock pulled his attention away from the phenomenon at the sound of a low moan just behind him. He'd forgotten that there was someone under the door. "Captain?" he asked.

"Spock--! Get this thing off," Kirk grunted, giving the door a shove for good measure.

"Of course, Captain," Spock replied, moving toward the door. He stopped as he bumped into a pair of hands. He hadn't noticed those before... he must have injured his head at some point, he thought, looking up.

The shock webbing seemed to be the only thing keeping McCoy from falling to the floor. His arms dangled loosely, his face partly obscured by stragley, foam soaked hair. He moaned softly, just regaining consciousness.

Of course. The seats were suspended from the ceiling, and McCoy had been seated next to Kirk.

Kirk muttered something under his breath, and the door rose a little, only to fall again. A fresh grunt of pain emerged from under it. "Spock, I need a little help," Kirk said, starting to sound impatient.

Spock reached down to help, and together they managed to get the heavy door shoved into the cargo compartment, out of the way.

Kirk shifted in his chair, breathing shallowly. Spock noted his pained expression and small gasp, but said nothing. Short of knocking him unconscious, which didn't seem called for-- yet, he wasn't going to stop Kirk from over-exerting himself. His concern would have to wait until the crew was out of danger.

"Captain, the shuttle is unstable. An immediate evacuation seems advisable."

Kirk nodded, raising his head to look around. Ensign Wheeler, also suspended from the ceiling, was groaning as he regained consciousness, and Sulu.... Sulu was nowhere to be seen. "These things look more spacious right side up," Kirk commented feebly.

He looked up to see McCoy hanging from the ceiling. "Spock, get McCoy down," Kirk ordered, wondering why the Vulcan hadn't all ready done it. He was standing in the aisle, looking a little vague. Kirk hoped Spock hadn't injured his head.

Spock nodded. Reaching up, he released the shock-webbing, catching the doctor as he fell. Kirk did a quick inspection of his friend as Spock set him down. The only injury he saw was an angry gash running along his forehead to his temple.

The doctor opened his eyes slowly, blinking in the dim daylight filtering through the holes in the craft. He saw Spock leaning over him, and his mouth twisted in wry humour. "Oh, God, i've died and gone to Hell."

Spock raised a single, slender eyebrow. "Doctor, we are not that fortunate," he said levelly. McCoy blinked in surprise. Was he imagining it, or was that a ghost of a smile playing about Spock's mouth.

"Are you all right, Bones?" Kirk asked.

McCoy took a deep breath, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Uh, give me a minute, and i'll let you know."

Spock looked down at McCoy. "We need to evacuate the shuttle as quickly as possible," he said slowly. It occured to him that his time would be better spent doing something else.

McCoy nodded, instantly regretting the gesture. "All right," he answered, blinking. He waved a hand at them in dismissal. "I'm fine. Go take care of the others. I'll have a look at Jim."

Spock nodded, looking around. He spotted Wheeler, still dangling from the ceiling and moved over to help him down.

McCoy leaned over the captains seat and looked down at him. Kirk waved vaguely up at him. "I could use some help getting out of this," he said. McCoy released the shock webbing.

The shuttle shifted again, sliding down the mountain about a half of a meter. It came to a hesitant stop, and Spock waited, frozen, for it to begin sliding again.

McCoy bit his lip in apprehension. Spock hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said unstable.

The shuttle slid a few more centimeters, tilting even more, and Spock fought to keep his balance on the slippery deck.

Whatever was holding them in place wasn't going to hold much longer.