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“Current speed?” Sulu asked.

“Warp three-point-five,” Rahda replied, her hand slowly pushing forward the speed control. “Everything—”

This time, as every light shut off, McCoy swore that he didn’t just feel the deck buckle, he felt it ripple, throwing him forward. He gripped the railing as hard as he could, keeping himself on his feet—but then a second ripple threw him backwards.

The doctor reeled and hit the communications console with his hip, only narrowly avoiding Uhura. He heard her cry out as she fell off her chair. McCoy reached out with his hand, hoping to catch her and help her back up.

Everything was suddenly dipped in blood red as the emergency lights came on. McCoy had always thought that color choice was unfortunate, but right now he didn’t give a damn. Now he could see. As he guided Uhura back to her seat, everything tilted sideways, sending both of them flying to port as they futilely held on to each other for support.

“Stabilize!” Sulu shouted.

“Working on it!” came Rahda’s voice at the exact same time that Farrell shouted, “Aye, sir!”

McCoy’s feet scrambled for purchase on the deck, and he almost had it—was almost safe—when the bridge recoiled, tilting the other way, knocking him straight onto the floor. Uhura managed to stumble back into her chair and grip her console.

The main lights switched on, and McCoy squinted until his eyes adjusted. Gravity was back to normal, as were the inertial dampers. The deck had stopped lurching. Most of the crew were resuming their positions, except for the young yeoman forward of Rodriguez. She’d somehow ended up clear on the opposite side of the bridge, clutching an unoccupied port station.

“That spatial distortion of yours has a helluva kick.” McCoy had trouble suppressing a pained groan. Damn, that had not been good for his back. He had to use the railing to pull himself up. “I don’t—”

“Doctor McCoy,” Uhura interrupted him, “sickbay is signaling. Nurse Chapel needs your assistance.”

“Tell her I’ll be right down.” He nodded at Sulu, but the lieutenant was only paying attention to Rodriguez, who was explaining something about spatial physics.

McCoy sprinted for the turbolift. In a crisis situation he knew where his place was. His patients came first.

As Montgomery Scott put on his silver EV suit, he remembered all the memos he’d sent to the quartermaster pointing out that if the things weren’t so damn uncomfortable, people wouldn’t complain so much about extravehicular work. He’d never received a reply.

This excursion had been his idea, and his alone. Nevertheless, that didn’t keep him from muttering under his breath while checking all the seals on the suit.

“Thanks, Doctor,” Scotty said as Doctor M’Benga handed him the large helmet he’d just pulled out of the storage unit of the shuttlecraft Hofstadter. The physician had made himself useful by helping Scotty get ready for the work awaiting him outside.

Scotty checked the shuttle’s force field. With the hatch open, the thin energy barrier would be the only thing keeping the air in. The force field was fully operational. Scotty fidgeted with his suit’s controls as the shuttle pulled closer to the satellite, checking the tether line.

He glanced over at Petty Officer Cron Emalra’ehn, the Deltan security guard who’d volunteered to go with him. Scotty was, quite frankly, gobsmacked by the man’s decision. “Are you sure you want to do this, laddie?”

“I like to get away from it all,” Emalra’ehn said. “Too much stuff in here, if you know what I mean.”

Scotty didn’t see how anyone could think that a G-class shuttle had too much stuff in it. On the other hand, he could understand wanting to get outside after four days of low-warp travel. “We’re almost there.” Scotty looked up toward the controls of the Hofstadter, where Spock was making final adjustments to the shuttle’s course. “Right, Mister Spock?”

“Correct.” Spock looked backward just for a moment. “I suggest you put your helmets on.”

Scotty lifted the bulky thing up over his head, and