Star Trek: The Original Series: The Rings of Time

Unfortunately, they still had the fire to deal with.

The respirators made verbal communication difficult, so they had to rely on hand signals. Kirk located a fire extinguisher and indicated that Fontana should grab one, too. Leading the way, he pushed off toward the command module. Zoe started to follow him, but Fontana held up her hand and pointed back at the hab emphatically. Her message was clear: Stay here.

She slammed the hatch shut, sealing Zoe in the hab, and trailed Kirk into the murky vestibule leading to the command module. A blast of intense heat hit Kirk as they cautiously approached the open hatch at the opposite end of the tunnel. His eyes widened behind his mask.

The blaze was worse than he had feared.

Unrestrained by gravity, a bright blue fireball, at least a foot in diameter, spread out from the center of the mid-deck, scorching the surrounding minilabs and payload racks. The roaring inferno fed eagerly on the ship’s air supply, throwing off fiery orange sparks and gouts of flame in all directions. Irreplaceable lab equipment crackled and burned. Chemical reagents in airtight containers exploded, blowing apart overheated cabinets. Rubber gloves bubbled and melted. A sealed containment box cracked, releasing toxic fumes. The bulkheads blackened alarmingly.

He briefly considered sealing off the module and venting its atmosphere to extinguish the fire, but the hatch door was already too hot to touch — and O’Herlihy was trapped one deck above. They could seal off the vestibule at the other end, try to contain the blaze to the command module, but what about O’Herlihy? Kirk wanted to call out to the man, find out if he was okay, but he couldn’t remove his respirator mask. He could only hope that the endangered scientist was still alive and that they wouldn’t have to sacrifice him for the good of the ship.

Here’s hoping it doesn’t come to that, Kirk thought.

He flew as close to the hatchway as he could, feeling the heat of the blaze through his mask and jumpsuit, and hefted the bright orange fire extinguisher into position. He wondered briefly what they used in the twenty-first century to fight fires. Carbon dioxide? Nitrogen? A more advanced compound? Whatever it was, he prayed it was effective.

Before he could aim the nozzle at the fire, however, Fontana tapped him on the shoulder to get his attention. She used her hands to pantomime a missile flying back the way they’d come.

Right, Kirk thought. In zero gravity, the spray from the fire extinguisher would act as a thruster, propelling him in the opposite direction. They needed to brace themselves securely first. But how?

An idea occurred to him. Putting his extinguisher aside, he wedged his feet beneath a guide rail, grabbed a nearby truss with one hand, and wrapped his other arm around Fontana’s waist. Getting the idea, she braced herself against him and aimed her own extinguisher at the conflagration. She twisted the nozzle.

A spray of white fire-retardant foam shot from the nozzle, the unleashed pressure driving her backward into Kirk. Grunting, he absorbed the impact and held fast while she emptied the extinguisher into the heart of the fireball. Steam rose from the flames, adding to the smoky chaos. Burned foam splattered the walls, floor, and ceiling.

But the fire kept on burning. To Kirk’s alarm, he saw globules of molten metal boiling off the charred bulkheads. Sparks erupted from exploding terminals. His heart sank. There was no containment field outside the ship to protect them in the event of a hull breach. If the fire burned through the outer hull, they would vent their atmosphere whether they wanted to or not. Explosive decompression would blow them all out into the vacuum.

They needed to kill this fire!

Fontana’s extinguisher sputtered. The spray slowed to a trickle, before dying out entirely. She shook it angrily, but it was no use; the entire contents of her extinguisher had barely made a dent in the inferno. Chucking the empty container aside, she claimed Kirk’s extinguisher and resumed her efforts. A fresh supply of foam battled the blaze.

Keep it up, Kirk thought, holding on to her against an equal and opposite reaction to the spray. Peering over her shoulder, he watched anxiously to see if the second helping of foam was doing any good. For a second, he wondered what had started the fire, then pushed the question aside. They could worry about that later, if and when they saved the ship.

A hatch opened in the ceiling above the mid-deck. More foam sprayed down from the upper level, joining Fontana’s efforts. Combined, the twin sprays attacked the blaze from different angles.

O’Herlihy, Kirk realized, relieved to discover that the other man had not suffocated yet. But the ceiling separating the flight deck from the fire was in trouble. Kirk watched in dismay as the flames ate away at the bulkheads. Molten steel sprayed from the ceiling, weakening it. A sudden gout of flame lunged at the open hatch, forcing O’Herlihy to slam it shut again. He was alive, but for how much longer?

Fontana let loose with the extinguisher. Kirk wasn’t sure, but it looked as if she might finally be making progress. The flames and sparks retreated, compacting back into the central fireball, which began to dim in intensity, going from blue-hot to red to orange…

That’s it, Kirk thought, feeling a surge of hope. You’ve got it on the ropes. Don’t stop.

The extinguisher ran out of foam.

“Dammit!” he cursed inside his mask, even as Fontana hurled the empty canister away in anger. He shared her frustration. Just when it looked as if they were on the verge of extinguishing the blaze!

Was there time to go searching for another extinguisher? Kirk doubted it. He glanced back at the tunnel behind him. If they hurried, there might still be time to seal off the vestibule and the command module. Had the moment come to sacrifice the module and O’Herlihy?

Kirk had faced this decision before, during ion storms and radiation leaks back aboard the Enterprise. Sometimes a captain had to jettison a pod or seal off a deck to save his ship, even if unlucky crew members had to pay the price. But it never got any easier.

I’m sorry, Marcus, he thought. But we’re running out of options.

He heard a metallic bump behind him. Glancing back over his shoulder, he saw a petite, shadowy figure rushing toward them through the smoke. Zoe flew awkwardly out of the haze, clumsily bearing a third fire extinguisher. The metal canister smacked noisily against the side of the tunnel. She thrust the extra extinguisher at them.

Kirk could have kissed her.

Fontana snatched the canister from Zoe. She opened the valve and delivered a foamy coup de grace to the blaze. To Kirk’s relief, the third extinguisher seemed to do the trick. Fontana kept on spraying until the foam completely smothered what was left of the fire and didn’t stop until she exhausted the new canister’s supply. By now, there was more foam than embers floating through the blackened mid-deck. Kirk let out a sigh of relief.

That had been a close one!

Zoe applauded their success, clapping her hands loudly. She started to take off her mask, but Kirk signaled her to wait. There was still too much free-floating smoke and ash; they needed to give the ship’s air filters a chance to scrub the atmosphere thoroughly.

Letting go of Fontana, he squeezed past her to inspect the charred ruins. The mid-deck, which had primarily served as the ship’s onboard laboratory, had been gutted by the fire. Loose debris and foam drifted amid the wreckage. Kirk doubted that they would be conducting any more experiments there.

Could have been worse, he thought. We could have lost the hab or the flight deck. Or maybe even the engines.

But one troubling question remained. What — or who — had started the fire?

“Take a deep breath,” the doctor instructed.

The fans were churning noisily as O’Herlihy checked out Kirk and Zoe in the infirmary. Paper filter masks, clasped over their mouths and nostrils, had replaced the more cumbersome respirators. The air was getting cleaner by the hour, but they still needed to avoid inhaling any lingering smoke or soot. Kirk sat on the examination pad, while O’Herlihy applied a cold stethoscope to his bare chest. Kirk breathed evenly.

“Not bad,” the doctor pronounced. “Your lungs sound clear enough. Looks like you got that respirator on in time.” He put away his stethoscope. “But I’m going to want to check everyone’s blood-oxygen levels regularly for