Star Trek Into Darkness Page 0,60

Marcus, can you reverse the action that just took place within the torpedo? Can you disarm it?”

“I—I’m trying!”

On the planetoid below, Carol Marcus’s fingers were flying over the monitor’s front panel—to no apparent effect. Individual sections continued to appear in red, as did the numbers that maintained their inexorable countdown.

Wincing in pain, McCoy prodded her through clenched teeth. “I can’t get my arm out!”

As a physician, he should have been analyzing the pain in his arm and speculating as to possible permanent damage. If they had a phaser between them, he would have considered having Carol cut off his arm so they could be beamed back to the ship. A missing limb he could deal with, later. He was healthy, and the prospects for full regeneration down to the neural level were acceptable. But, expecting no confrontation on the surface of the uninhabited planetoid, they had not brought any weapons with them. Except the torpedo, of course. In contrast, it might take as much as half a minute to amputate his arm with the use of a precision cutter. And, wonder of wonders, they had a precision cutter.

Unfortunately, McCoy was holding on to it with the hand that was trapped inside the torpedo.

Reaching a decision, Marcus abruptly moved to the side of the weapon. Using the same tool that she had employed to detach the first two outer panels, she began to remove the protective transparency that covered the torpedo’s main visible readout. As she worked she kept muttering to herself, “I can do this . . . I can do this.”

Watching her, McCoy came to a decision of his own.

Quietly, and without fanfare, he addressed his comm unit. “Jim, I’m . . . boned. No reason for both of us to be. Get her out of here. You can beam her back aboard without any problem.”

Overhearing, Marcus snapped a response in his direction even as she continued to work on the weapon’s innards. “No! You beam me back, he dies! I can do this, dammit! Trust me!”

“Standing by to transport Dr. Marcus on your command, sir.” Sulu was not as emotionless as Spock, but in doing his job he was trying his best not to influence his captain’s decision one way or the other.

Carol Marcus removed the outer panel and then the LCD readout within, exposing a mass of cabling and optical connections that now pulsed with intensity. Without hesitation, she began digging through them. As her arms interrupted the opticals, there were flashes of light and a few sparks. But she didn’t retreat or remove her probing fingers.

“Twenty seconds,” McCoy mumbled as he stared in horrified fascination at the remorseless readout. “Eighteen . . .” Full awareness of what she was doing interrupted his morbid count. “Hey, what are you doing over there? I thought we weren’t supposed to touch anything?! ”

“Like I’m going to make things worse by trying?” she responded. “Please be quiet.”

Four . . . three . . .

So many cables, so many connections, so many unknowns.

“Shit!”

Grabbing a double handful of cables, Marcus leaned back and yanked as hard as she could.

From somewhere deep within the bowels of the torpedo there came a puff of vapor, neither toxic nor explosive. The steady beeping that had emanated from the weapon’s depths since it had been armed gave way to a falling whine. The panel pinning McCoy’s arm retracted, releasing him. As he fell to the ground, he clutched at his freed arm—it was deeply bruised, but it was still attached to his shoulder and, as near as he could tell, fully functional. Gritting his teeth against the painful tingling sensation as full blood flow resumed to his hand, he flung the now-unneeded cutter aside. Nearby, a relieved Carol Marcus slumped onto the gravel, still clutching both handfuls of cable.

On the bridge Spock turned and reported, calm as ever. “Deactivation successful, Captain.”

Letting out a relieved breath, Kirk leaned forward and shut his eyes. Remembering McCoy’s distress, he then half straightened and addressed the comm. “Dr. McCoy, are you all right? Report. Bones?”

McCoy wasn’t listening, nor did Carol Marcus step in on the doctor’s behalf to acknowledge the captain’s query. Her action had done more than deactivate a supposed live warhead. It had also resulted in the protective paneling that shielded the special drive compartment opening, sliding backward, revealing . . .

McCoy stared downward. “Jim, you’re gonna want to see this. Spock is gonna want to see this.” He paused. “Everyone is going to want to see this,