Lt. Uhura pivoted her chair forward in front of her communications station. Slender fingers of one hand deftly adjusted multi-colored jewel-like console instrumentation. Slender fingers of her other hand adjusted the silver stud of an electronic receiver. It poked lopsidedly from an ear.

“Captain, Klingon battle cruiser opening hailing frequencies,” Lt. Uhura reported urgently.

Kirk and Spock exchanged tense glances.

“Visual, Uhura,” snapped Kirk.

“Aye, captain,” Uhura responded. She swiveled back to face her communications station. Delicate, agile, experienced fingers danced expertly across gleaming instrumentation emitting melodic bleeps.

Klingon Commander Koloth’s sinister moustached, goateed, slimy facial image swam into view on the main bridge viewing screen. His face had retained its familiar smirk after all this time since the tribble debacle on Space Station K7.

“We meet once again, Captain Kirk,” gloated Klingon Commander Koloth. “Unlike Space Station K-7 with those abominable tribbles, these circumstances are quite different. Fortunately, we encounter each other in battle. Unfortunately, it is an extremely weak battle. You keep running away. Very disappointing.”

“You’re correct, Commander Koloth. No tribbles this time,” stated Kirk. “Hopefully, you appreciated our little gift after last we met. At least while it lasted.”

Koloth snorted. “We Klingons have put a permanent end to that highly annoying matter.”

“I can imagine,” replied Kirk sarcastically. “Glad I don’t know. However, having had personal experience with Klingon solutions it seems that tribble solution of yours may apply to us.”

The bridge shook again.

“Klingon disruptor bolts,” informed Sulu. “Deflector shields holding at reduced power levels.”

“Come now, Captain Kirk,” prodded Commander Koloth. “It is useless wasting time in order to delay the inevitable.”

“Starfleet Command will realize the Klingon Empire deliberately invaded Federation Space. Ruthlessly attacked a civilian pharmaceutical installation. Something which Klingons despise. ‘Medicines for the sick. Liquids for the weak’. Believe me, you’ll get your precious battle.”

“However, by then, Captain Kirk, it will be too late for you. Far too late.”

The bridge shook heavily. Klingon disruptor bolts erupted against the ENTERPRISE’s deflector shields in a second volley. They punctuated Commander Koloth’s threat.

“As I’ve just demonstrated,” Commander Koloth declared. Thick menace and heavy malice coated his foreboding voice.

“We’ll see about that, Koloth,” Kirk snapped. He frustratingly gestured Uhura to cut the connection.

“Spock. Sulu. Anything convenient nearby we can use to our advantage in escaping Commander Koloth?” inquired Kirk tensely. “An asteroid field somewhere perhaps?”

Sulu flicked different colored switches and pressed buttons speckling his helm panel. He occasionally glanced into his hooded gooseneck viewer, sprouting from the upper left corner of his helm console.

“Scanning, sir,” responded Sulu.

Spock hunched over his hooded sensor viewer, adjusting library computer station controls.

A third volley of Klingon disruptor bolts hit ENTERPRISE deflector shields, shaking the bridge. Again.

“As soon as possible, please, gentlemen,” intoned Kirk uneasily.

Sulu shook his head. “All clear. Nothing, sir.”

“Figures,”commented Chekov. “Joost ven you need a divershoon dair iss alvays nootink.”

“Recommendation, captain,” Spock said.

“Go.”

The Vulcan first officer straightened. Clutched his library computer edge as the bridge shook.

“This had better be good, Spock,” warned McCoy. He leaned back against the red bridge railing section in front of the engineering section. It was currently manned and operated by the red shirted Lt Leslie. He had replaced Sulu at the helm console on a few occasions.

“What I have in mind is highly dangerous. However, if successful, it will increase our chances of reaching Baria Five sooner than expected.”

“We’re accustomed to “highly dangerous”, Spock,” said Kirk. “Proceed.”

“No obstacles exist with which to evade Commander Koloth’s advancing D7 Klingon Battle Cruiser. I propose we utilize a slingshot effect around a nearby black hole, travel along its event horizon, and increase our speed with the slingshot effect’s added gravity greatly increasing our speed by momentum alone, quickly evading Commander Koloth, enhancing our chances of survival to Baria Five.”

“Why not let Koloth end it all? Better than going out as shredded meat,” commented McCoy.

“We have utilized the slingshot effect quite a few times already, doctor,” replied Spock calmly. “Especially for time travel.”

“Not around a black hole! That amount of turbulence is a million times stronger than an ordinary sun! The strain would be insane, to say the least. To blazes with time travel!” exclaimed McCoy. “In our present condition I doubt it.”

“Koloth is bearing down on us rapidly, Bones,” said Kirk. “We’ll risk the attempt.”

“Jim, you’re not serious!” objected McCoy.

“When it comes down to our survival I certainly am serious. We may die from a Klingon attack or wind up unbearably stretched by the unimaginably heavy gravity of a black hole. Either way it’s over for us,”explained Kirk. “Only one option available, Bones. Survival. Ours.”

Kirk turned to Spock. “Begin calculations for a slingshot effect around that black hole’s event horizon, Spock. Bring Mr. Scott in on this as well.”

The bridge swung sideways as it shook under another direct hit from a Klingon disruptor bolt. Everyone clasped and clutched consoles.

“Shields, Sulu?”

“Holding, captain. Power reduction slowing.”

“Beginning slingshot calculations now, captain,” replied Spock urgently. He bent over his library computer station. Hands and fingers ran across his multi-colored, glinting jewel-like controls, responding with familiar melodic bleeps and warbling.

McCoy straightened. Headed for the red bridge turbo-lift doors. “I’ll be in sickbay. Prepping for extremely serious bumps and bruises with Nurse Chapel. Perhaps a few broken bones. A concussion or two. Here and there.” After stepping inside McCoy turned around. He faced the bridge through open turbo-lift doors. ”Florence Nightingale Division. Heaven knows what else.”

“Commander Koloth transmitting message to Baria Five,” Uhura reported.

“Very well,” nodded Kirk solemnly. “Our chances of survival from this undertaking may have just narrowed down to nil.”

Klingon Commanders Kor and Kang had taken control of the Paradise Pharmaceuticals Communications Center. It resembled The 1964-65 World’s Fair General Motors Pavilion Futurama Exhibition.

Three globular monitors clung precariously from ends of slender support rods. They dangled from the heavily cracked ceiling and its support beams. They hung over corresponding, thin, horizontal, control consoles lined with gleaming rows of silver buttons and square-shaped data screens. Klingon soldiers occupied dusty chairs. They were deeply engrossed in attempting to operate unfamiliar technology. A giant wall-size map composed of four vertical oval sections dominated the front wall. It was a planetwide map displaying Baria Five’s geological land mass contours.

Directly in front of the console configurations, embedded on the main forward wall were displayed four vertical oval-shaped sections composing a planetwide map.

Surrounding walls were smudged with dirt and grit. Cracks webbed along charred walls and a heavily beamed ceiling.

“Searching for survivors are never conducted. The weak die. The strong live,” stated Kor. “These survivors are sources of vital information needed to locate The Phoenix Medical Algae. They are also sources of vital slave labor provided for star systems ruled by The Klingon Empire.”

“After information obtained through intense sessions with our Klingon mind-sifter,” added Kang. “The Phoenix Medical Algae’s location. Its current stage of development. Unfortunately, the only services these so-called survivors will perform are vital slave labor. If one is able to conceive slave labor as surviving. It is more aptly a living death. Truly a concept we Klingons treasure.”

“Quite so,” agreed Kor. “Unfortunately, our mind-sifter will leave them as cattle. No identities. No scientific knowledge. Misfortunes of war.”

Kor ambled over to a ruined chart table. It overflowed with a pile of thin, shiny, large, rectangular plastic transparencies. “Flimsies” were their nickname. Kor rifled through them. “On the subject of vital information here is another kind. Quite an abundance. These plans depict detailed areas, levels, and various sections of this pharmaceutical complex. This section is labeled…Florence Nightingale Division.”

Kang wandered over to Kor, the chart table, and flimsies. “This….Florence Nightingale Division. Possible Phoenix Medical Algae location? Useful in supplying additional information?”

“Perhaps. These plans display quite a large amount of information,” answered Kor. Both Klingon commanders scrutinized engraved layouts of The Baria Five Pharmaceutical Complex Florence Nightingale Division. They flipped through the thin, flat, rectangular, long, plastic flimsies. Sharp, keen Klingon eyes missed nothing. Absorbed everything. One flimsie attracted their attention. It contained a large, round circle indicated a major structure with rectangles ringing its circumference. They seemed to represent airlocks. Or protective observation chambers. Perhaps both.

“According to this print Paradise Pharmaceutical’s Florence Nightingale Division contains a major laboratory,” mused Kor.

“Indeed,” grunted Kang with his deep, baritone, barrel voice. “An appropriate, secure location for chemical storage. Among other things.” Both grinned sinisterly as Kang’s implication sunk in.

The Klingon soldier seated before the central console pivoted about urgently. He faced Kor and Kang. His expression displayed anxiety, tension. “Commander Kor. Commander Kang, a communication from Captain Koloth.”

Kor and Kang turned to the Klingon soldier simultaneously. “The message,” snapped Kor.

“ENTERPRISE heading for gravitational vortex,” reported the Klingon soldier. “Attempting evasion from Captain Koloth’s assaults.”

Kor and Kang exchanged puzzled glances. “Self-destruction?” questioned Kor, puzzled.

“Suicide is for fools,” stated Kang. “Only fools choose suicide,” agreed Kor.

“Captain James T. Kirk is most certainly not a fool,” stated Kang. “Having experienced dealing with Kirk in the past I would expect he is up to one of his tricks.”

“Gravitational vortexes could be a permanent solution to our problem,” ventured Kor thoughtfully. “Especially the Starship ENTERPRISE.”

“Gravitational vortexes are referred to by Starfleet Sciences as black holes,” explained Kang. “Their gravity well is extremely powerful so that even light is inescapable. I have dealt with these….black holes…or gravitational vortexes on various Klingon campaigns.”

“Undoubtedly, so has Kirk,” stated Kor. “Undoubtedly, he has a plan of attack. We must anticipate it.”

“I believe Kirk intends swinging around the gravitational vortex,” began Kang contemplatively. “Increasing speed. Evading Koloth’s attacks. Expediting his arrival.”

“Attack and rescue,” claimed Kor. “The Phoenix Medical Algae. Its scientists.”

“A retaliatory maneuver is to be expected,” said Kang. “Especially by Kirk. If he is involved. He always seems to be. With us.”

“Phoenix Medical Algae formula and its scientists must be located as soon as possible before Kirk’s arrival,” said Kor. He tossed The Florence Nightingale schematics on the chart table.

“I trust you will succeed in that endeavor,” growled Kang.

“I will organize a search party. Or rather a large group of scavengers,” said Kor. “Scavengers hunting for defenseless prey.”

“I, on the other hand, will prepare three D7 Klingon battle cruisers for Kirk’s reception,” stated Kang. “A special reception,” he emphasized. Flung his pile of schematic flimsies on top of Kor’s.

Commander Kor’s grin was malicious. His intense eyes glistened intently. They sparkled with hostile malevolence. “The Phoenix Medical Algae along with its planetary ecological repercussions spread amongst worlds of The Klingon Empire is a priceless, invaluable prize.”

“Kirk will eventually break our communications interference channels,” said Kang. “Word of this conquest shall spread. Starfleet will send reinforcements. We must call in our own. A major war will surely result. As to its outcome….”

Kor’s smile portrayed pure evil. “We will continue our war begun in planet Organia’s orbit. At that time The Organians immobilized both fleets dead in their tracks from inevitable conflict. However, as would have been last time, and now this time…. IT WILL BE GLORIOUS.”

The Florence Nightingale Laboratory was a partially standing former shelf of itself. Charred. Skeletal. Crushed, split containment units. Smashed computer consoles. Broken, cracked data screens. Exposed smoking interior console circuitry innards. Thick, cut, dangling useless power cables. All contributed to a turbulent ocean of ruin and debris spanning the entire floor.

After steady pounding hammered from underneath the wave of wreckage stirred. A pair of metallic, crumpled wall sections flung away.

Professor Romain Senkovitch erupted from the volcano of debris. His yellow lab technician coveralls were covered with dust and grime. They slid off in a cloud of grit. He snapped erect, fanning himself in an attempt to clear his nose and mouth. Gradually, the orange Paradise Pharmaceutical chest insignia was revealed. It was a silhouetted palm tree and triangle with wavy lines representing water separating them. They were framed inside a circle. Its orange color stood out prominently stamped on the yellow laboratory technician coveralls. Professor Senkovitch clambered unsteadily down the mound of debris. He continued coughing.

His coughing fits eventually subsided. Professor Senkovitch stared at his shambled laboratory with total bewilderment. It was wide and dome-shaped. Immense mazes of intricate cracks webbed circular walls. Gold shafts of sunlight poured through jagged-edged ceiling holes yawning through a domed ceiling and charred laboratory walls. Precariously dangling curved ceiling support beams hung uselessly. They were ready to join other support beams covering the floor covered wreckage, an ever present turbulent ocean of wreckage and debris.

“Natalie! Where are you?” roared Professor Senkovitch, swiveling around with a look of desperation sagging his face. “Are you alright?”

Another geyser of wreckage erupted. Professor Natalie Bianchi popped free. Pieces of debris flung in all directions. She crawled from the hole. A dust cloud surrounded her as well. It caused her to cough spasmodically. She brushed dirt clear from her light blue laboratory technician coveralls. It was the same style and cut as Professor Senkovitch’s coveralls. Her Paradise Pharmaceutical chest insignia was the same as Professor Senkovitch’s in design and orange color.

Professor Natalie Bianchi wiggled her head, long black, curly strands of hair whipping free more clouds of dirt, revealing soulful eyes, and wide generous mouth with thin lips, in contrast with Professor Senkovitch’s angular, prominent jawline, chiseled cheeks, aquiline nose, and intense eyes. Professor Senkovitch grabbed Professor Bianchi’s shoulders gently, but firmly. Helped her rise on slender legs and booted feet. Her trim figure wracked with coughing fits and puffs of dust as they unsteadily clambered down the mound of debris. She continued fanning her face free of the annoying dust puffs.

“Feeling better, Natalie?”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m fine despite all of this miserable dust,” replied Professor Bianchi hoarsely. She heaved deep breaths.

Professor Senkovitch turned about for a steady, firm spot on which to stand. In doing so, he froze. A stare of incredulity etched itself on his face. Professor Bianchi took notice. Turned and followed his stare.

They faced a large, sharply-edged hole yawning in a laboratory wall. It framed a scene of decimation. Charred, smoking, partially standing grotesquely twisted beams which at one time supported buildings were now frozen in immobile, permanent, agonizing, tortured shapes. Other skeletal beams stabbed skyward. Some complex, burnt structures were left partially standing. Teams of Klingon soldiers threaded and spread through mountains of destroyed buildings. They seemed to be searching for survivors. Sifted through chunks of wreckage and large clusters of rubble. Other groups of Klingon soldiers herded dirty, hurt, shuffling survivors in and around mounds of rubble. They prodded them with their disruptor pistols. “Those Klingon soldiers are awfully busy looking for something,” stated Professor Bianchi. She looked at Professor Senkovitch grimly. “Or someone.” “Us,” stated Professor Senkovitch. “They’re looking for us. And especially The Phoenix Medical Algae vial samples contained in their containment case. We’d better find IT before they find US.”

“Or the rest of our team,” added Professor Bianchi. She looked at the string of dirty survivors poked by the Klingon soldiers with their disruptor pistols. “Wherever they are.”

“With them,” claimed Professor Senkovitch. He studied the doomed procession. “Their end. A session with the Klingon Mind-sifter. If surviving, they’ll become slave labor.”

“Heard the Mind-Sifter has a nickname,”said Professor Bianchi. “Mind-ripper.”

“Klingon power at its highest.” Both professors turned their backs on the nightmare of anguish. Gratefully, worriedly, they faced the field of ruin inside Paradise Pharmaceuticals Florence Nightingale Laboratory. Deep frowns of concentration enhanced the intensity of their eyes. They scrutinized it all.

“Remember anything about the Klingon attack after we sent our distress signal through the untraceable Lazarus medical emergency channel?” asked Professor Senkovitch. Suddenly both had a desperate look of hopelessness. Realization of their immense task hit home. They gazed apprehensively at the seemingly endless field of scientific ruin.

Professor Bianchi looked serious, contemplative. “Darkness. Deafening noise. Rumbling. Explosions. Lab coming down around us,” she responded thoughtfully. Both professors examined different miscellaneous, semi unrecognizable, electronic, scientific, computerized guts splayed about.

“Darkness. Deafening noise. Rumbling. Explosions. Lab coming down around us,” she replied, examining various miscellaneous semi unrecognizable electronic, scientific, and computerized items lying haphazardly about.

“Me too,” agreed Professor Senkovitch. “Hopefully, The Phoenix Medical Algae storage containment unit is still in one piece. Kept in the lab’s storage compartment with chemicals and other experiments.”

Stepping over a specific area, Professor Bianchi said,”Used to be the storage comportment section.” She kicked some unrecognizable debris with frustration.

“Have to be here. Somewhere,” claimed Professor Senkovitch. He began sorting through unrecognizable rubbish. Professor Bianchi joined him. They plowed through layers of glass, metal, cables, circuitry, wiring, and cables. Only item found was the rectangular crumpled metallic wall panels. Both professors had burst through them earlier after regaining consciousness.

“We’re lucky to live through the Klingon attack,” said Professor Bianchi. She dug urgently through layers of laboratory junk. Used her metallic, rectangular wall section.

Professor Senkovitch was heavily engrossed scooping through miscellaneous mounds of debris with his crumpled metallic rectangular wall section. “Hope it lasts.”

“It has run out,” claimed a voice sharp as the crack of a whip.

Both professors froze instantly. They still clutched their rectangular wall panels. They remained squatting on their piles of rubbish while pivoting about in surprise. A trio of Klingons stood threateningly inside one of the laboratory’s holes in the wall. Their Klingon disruptor pistols were aimed directly at both professors. The Klingons appeared to be Mongolian. Goatees, long, pointed, wispy eyebrows stretching to their temples.

“I am Klingon Commander Kor.” The lead Klingon spoke antagonistically. An angry sneer radiated evil. “You are prisoners of The Klingon Empire. Defiance and treachery against us are punishable by death. Or worse..the mind-sifter. Violence is our way of life. We take what we desire. And we desire your Phoenix Medical Algae. Surrender it or you will undergo the mindsifter. I promise you a living death.”

“You can’t torture us,” replied Professor Senkovitch with intense defiance. He continued squatting on his dense pile of wreckage. “You need our information about the Phoenix Medical Algae and its refinement for widespread application. We’re it.”

His hands tensed on the piece of metallic, rectangular panel.

“Can you identify it in whatever form it’s currently in?” asked Professor Bianchi. She noticed Professor Senkovitch’s hand indiscreetly struggling to find a tight grip and did the same.

“Our clandestine operative obtained and informed us of all information regarding The Phoenix Medical Algae. Refinement procedures included,” responded Kor. “We intend to search whatever is left of this laboratory. Both of you are no longer needed.”

Both professors’ fingers tensed. Tightly pressed edges of their metallic panels.

“War is a Klingon’s way of life,” said Kor. “Therefore you shall be exterminated.”

“When Starfleet ships arrive you’ll have precious war,” snarled Professor Senkovitch.

Commander Kor smiled. He and his two Klingon soldiers slowly raised their disruptor pistols. Their grips never wavered. “As it should have been at Organia, and as it will be now, it shall be GLORIUS.”

Professors Senkovitch and Bianchi sprang to their feet. They flung their rectangular crumpled wall panels at the three Klingons. They ducked. Professor Senkovitch and Professor Bianchi jumped for, and dove through the same jagged-edged yawning hole out of which they had first witnessed the Klingon massacre. They ran, stumbled, staggered, tripped, fell, and rolled down an incline of rubbish. Both cried out as the stabbing pain of sharp-edged wreckage pierced their skin through thin layers of laboratory technician coveralls.

From behind and above them in the Florence Nightingale lab Kor was heard bellowing orders. Both professors rose groggily to their unsteady feet. Professor Senkovitch held Professor Bianchi’s arm, supporting her. Shouts of discovery and sounds of Klingon hand disruptors firing followed behind the fleeing couple. Panting and groaning, they dashed blindly around large mounds of rubbish in their mad, desperate attempt to lose chasing Klingon forces.

They realized Kor and his hunting party now consisted abundantly of more than two Klingon soldiers. Were probably closing in. They continued running and ducking. Professor Bianchi stumbled. Almost fell. Professor Senkovitch caught her as she toppled. Grabbed her arm. Prevented her fall. Then he tripped and fell into a cul-de-sac form by huge, thick chunks of rubble from a destroyed building foundation.

He dragged Professor Bianchi down with him. Both scientists sagged back against crumbled concrete with pressing fatigue. Their chests panted heavily. They were worn. Dust and dirt covered their faces and coveralls. Again. “No Klingon mind-sifter sessions for us,” declared Professor Senkovich. “Might be if we get caught searching The Florence Nightingale Lab before he does,” replied Professor Bianchi.

Professor Senkovitch shook his head wearily. “No choice. Have to return. Go back. Risk getting caught. Klingons would use Phoenix Medical Algae to replenish degenerated planetary ecosystems within their Empire. Somehow use those revived ecosystems in constructing new biological weapons. Conquer more star systems.”

“You’re right. We have to get that Phoenix Medical Algae. At any cost,” stated Professor Bianchi firmly.

In the distance they heard Commander Kor shouting orders.

Thick orange and yellow blinding bands of intense plasma streams circling the black hole enlarged menacingly as the ENTERPRISE approached. Kirk was anxious, apprehensive. Would not be a starship captain if he weren’t. “That slingshot course, Spock. We’re getting close to the black hole's event horizon.”

The ENTERPRISE shook.

“Klingon fire, captain,” reported Sulu. He looked into his gooseneck viewer sprouting from the upper left helm console corner for confirmation. “Still trying to discourage us from entering.”

“Ignore it, Mr. Sulu,” instructed Kirk. “Steady as she goes.” “Aye, sir,” replied Sulu. He frowned in concentration at glittering, gemlike helm instrumentation on his board.

Pulsating, humongous, brilliant, orange and blinding yellow plasma streams loomed overwhelmingly on the main bridge viewing screen.

“Spock, now would be a good time,” prodded Kirk.

The Vulcan First Officer sat in front of his library computer console, arms spread wide, long thin fingers manipulating controls simultaneously, his brow stamped with a deep frown of heavy concentration. Piercing eyes carefully examined instrumentation readouts. Occasionally, Spock turned his head from to side, supervising results.

“Slingshot course coordinates coming through now, Captain,” Spock informed Kirk urgently. “Feeding to Mr. Sulu’s helm console now, sir.”

“Sulu?” snapped Kirk.

Sulu replied,”Course coming through now, sir. Laying it in.”

The Oriental helmsman scrutinized helm console readouts. His hands flew over the console. Deep rumbling warp drive thunder rose in pitch until it faded on a high note.

The main bridge viewer displayed orange and yellow plasma streamers flashing directly at the ENTERPRISE. She buffeted with their overpowering turbulence. At the same time the ENTERPRISE roughly skimmed through continually streaking, eye-searing yellow and orange flashing plasma streams. A blinding yellow glow emanated from the main bridge viewing screen, saturating the bridge. Kirk shielded his face with a hand for eye protection against the viewing screen’s glare. Bridge personnel seated in front of their control stations squinted at the dazzling yellow and orange streaks of blinding light flashing towards them.

The ENTERPRISE bumped roughly along the black hole’s event horizon through surrounding plasma streams’ immense turbulence. An elongated, slight, curvature formed along the plasma stream’s trajectory trail in front of them. A loud warping, crumpling sound pervaded the swinging, bumping, shaking starship bridge.

“Spock, how long?” Kirk shouted.

“Approximately five minutes. Longer time dilation will rapidly age everything outside the event horizon while we remain the same.”

Kirk thumbed his command chair intercom button.

“Kirk to engineering. Scotty, status report.”

“I canna believe it, sair,” replied Scotty’s filtered voice. “Engines are pullin’ throo despite additional gravitational strain from the black hole’s event horizon.”

“Very well. Acknowledged. Keep on them.”

“Aye, captain,” responded Scotty. “Will doo.”

Kirk punched off. Looked at the yellow and orange flashing main bridge viewing screen. Yellow and orange plasma streams continued sweeping past the ENTERPRISE. The bridge continued bumping roughly. Crumpling sound increased.

“Approaching extraction point, captain,” called out Spock. Instead of peering into his hooded sensor viewer he was seated in front of his console with both arms spread across each side, fingers manipulating controls. He scrutinized readings closely.

“Standing by for extraction thrust, Mr. Spock,” reported Sulu.

“Engage warp engines, Mr. Sulu! Now!”

Sulu’s experienced fingers pressed buttons and flicked switches with rapid succession. Low warp engine rumblings began rising in volume and pitch. They fluctuated with uncertain balance between volume and sounds of distortion as they struggled against powerful turbulence.

Ensign Chekov bit his lip. Clenched the navigation console. Squinted against flashing glare from the main viewer. So did Uhura.

Warp engine rumbling slowly stabilized. It began rising steadfastly with renewed strength. Blackness enveloped the unsteady bridge. It wallowed and lurched sideways. Everyone was thrown from their seats.

Slowly, the bridge leveled. Everyone frantically scrambled to regain their preciously stable seats. Rumbling warp engine thunder sounded reassuringly again as the warp engines came on-line. Rose to their familiar fading whine.

The main bridge viewing screen was out.

“Get that viewing screen back on, ordered Kirk, settling into his command chair. “Uhura. Damage control report. All decks.”

“Yes, sir.” She adjusted her silver electronic receiver. Began flicking switches, contacting each deck.

Chekov breathed a sigh of relief as he ran navigation console checks. His fingers were quick and experienced just like Sulu's. “All navigational siisteems functioning normal, sair,” he announced. “On course to Baria Fife.” He sighed with gratified relief.

“Confirm, Mr. Sulu,” snapped Kirk from his command chair.

Sulu ran a quick check of the helm console. Peered into his gooseneck viewer. “Confirmed, sir. On course for Baria Five.”

“Very well,” acknowledged Kirk.

“All decks report minimal damage, captain,” reported Uhura. “Minor injuries due to falls reporting to sickbay.”

“Very well, lieutenant. McCoy will be quite busy for awhile,” commented Kirk. Punched the command chair armrest intercom button again. “Kirk to engineering. Scotty. Engines. Condition?”

“Tuckered out, sair. Do ye mind if we settle ‘em down for a wee bit? Coast on impulse power? Give these wee bairns a rest? They’ll need it. All that additional strain.”

“Very good, Mr. Scott.”

“Aye, sair. Engineering out.”

Kirk clicked off. Looked at the main viewing screen with satisfaction. It displayed comforting sight of far-off stars and galaxies. Both black hole and Commander Koloth were finally behind them.

Impulse power, Mr. Sulu. Steady as she goes. Our coasting speed will increase a bit. If it all.

“Yes, sir.” Sulu touched helm controls. “Engines now on impulse power.”

“Sensor scan, Mr. Spock? Are we being followed? Any signs of Klingon ships?”

Spock bent over his hooded sensor viewer. One hand adjusted the silver tuning knob on its side. A bar of soft blue stamped across his satanic brow.

“Negative, captain. All clear. It would appear we have outrun Commander Koloth, and successfully traversed the slingshot effect around the black hole’s event horizon by riding its plasma rings,” Spock reported, straightening.

“I doubt Koloth would follow us through that turbulence, much less even think about it,”Kirk said. “Too risky. Even for a Klingon.”

“Indeed, captain,” replied Spock clasping hands behind his back. “He realizes what lies ahead for us at Baria Five.”

“Possibly,” Kirk stated. “I doubt if Koloth would have survived. Klingons aren’t known for being that risky taking a chance on what we’ve just been through. Especially when it comes cutting things close to an extremely fine line.” Kirk paused for a moment. “Not especially accurate as a Vulcan navigator.”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Vulcans are very perceptive navigators, captain.”

Kirk grinned. “So it would seem.”

Chekov swung around to face Kirk. “Vhat uff Russian nawigators, Keptin? Vir specialists also. Secund only tuu Wulkins,” grinned Chekov. Sulu threw Chekov a humorous glance.

Kirk looked mildly surprised. “Well… I guess Russian navigators will do in a pinch,” Kirk said slowly.

“Yes, sair.” Chekov grinned and turned back to his navigation console. Traded secretive smiles with Sulu.

“I’ll keep Russian navigators in mind, Mr. Chekov. When we find ourselves in a pinch,” Kirk said. He massaged his chin, becoming serious. Looked uncertainly at the main bridge viewing screen. “Which most certainly lies directly ahead of us at Baria Five. You may have widened a diversity of plotting approach courses, Mr. Chekov. Something we’ll have to consider before we arrive.”

“Aye, keptin,” Chekov replied seriously.

Kirk faced Spock. “Any ideas?”