Sybok's henchmen found the shuttle easily. They figured out the controls quickly and brought it in overhead, landing it in the deserted city square. As the four Starfleet officers were led to it at phaserpoint, Kirk spotted a familiar body, sprawled out on the ground and soaked in blood. He caught a glimpse of blond hair and a face frozen forever in agony.
Kirk stumbled, though out of weakness or grief was not certain. "No..." he whispered.
"Jim, what's wrong?" McCoy asked from his side. He followed the younger man's gaze and gasped sharply. "David..."
"Keep moving!" Sybok growled in warning.
"Please, let me go to him," Kirk said, eyes fixed on David. "If he's injured, he needs help. If he's dead..." he managed to choke out the last part, "we need to take his body with us."
Sybok shrugged. "What is another body amongst the destruction you have brought?"
"Have you no honor?" Spock asked, his voice betraying anger for those who knew how to listen. "Let my friend go to his son."
Sybok hesitated, then nodded to his guards. They released Kirk, and the admiral raced to David's side and knelt down. He felt for a pulse, and there was none. "No..."
Spock came over, and the guards made no motion to stop him. The Vulcan gently lifted David's body and cradled him in his arms. "I will carry him," he said softly, and Kirk nodded silently, tears streaking his cheeks.
~~~~~~~
The small shuttle blazed out of the atmosphere of Nimbus III, and the Enterprise-A loomed in front of it.
Sulu sat in the pilot's seat, constantly aware of the two projectile rifles trained on him. In the copilot's seat was Spock, pointedly ignoring the phaser being aimed at his head. In the back, David's body lay on a bench on the port side. On the starboard bench, Kirk sat and stared at the lifeless body of his son. McCoy watched him worriedly, wishing for a medical tricorder to scan his friend.
The comm system crackled to life with Chekov's voice. "Shuttlecraft, ve are tracking a cloaked Klingon wessel. Please find safe haven until situation is safe. Acknowledge."
"No reply," Sybok said quickly as Sulu began to reach for the voice pickup switch. "Keep going."
"Sybok, the Enterprise must lower her shields for us to land," Spock objected. "If there is a Klingon ship, cloaked, the Enterprise will be vulnerable to attack the instant the shields are lowered."
Sybok glanced back at the Klingon 'hostage,' Korrd. "He speaks the truth," the large alien affirmed. "If my people are cloaked, they intend to strike."
Sybok looked back at Kirk. "Well, 'Admiral,' do you have any suggestions?"
Kirk looked up, glaring at the Vulcan. "As far as I'm concerned, you can go to Hell."
Sybok's face darkened with rage, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned back to Sulu. "Doesn't your ship have transporters?"
Sulu flicked on the comm. "Enterprise, this is the shuttlecraft. Has Mister Scott repaired the transporters?" he asked.
"Och, not a chance, laddie," Scotty's voice responded. "Th' poor wee darlin' willnae be working for another few hours at least."
Without warning, the starfield rippled and was replaced by a speeding Klingon Bird-Of-Prey. A split second later, three photon torpedos blasted the Enterprise's saucer section. One blew through the starboard hull, taking out crew quarters. The second took out the Observation Deck and all areas around it. The third scored a direct hit on the bridge, driving straight through to the other side.
Over the comm, there a split second as the bridge crew screamed, and then silence. On the screen, the large starship shuddered and began to drift downward toward the planet.
All the occupants of the shuttle stared in shock as the Klingon ship fired full disrupters into the warp nacelles, prodding the mighty starship further into the atmosphere. The primary hull began to blister white-hot as it began its descent into the planet.
Kirk, who had staggered to the cockpit during the brief exchange with the ship, gripped the back of Spock's chair tightly with both hands, jaw clenched in agony. "My ship..." He muttered a very uncomplimentary term, directed toward the Bird-Of-Prey. "My turn," he snarled at Sulu, and the startled helmsman abandoned the seat.
Kirk slid into the pilot's seat with the liquid grace of a deadly panther, and punched up a heading. The shuttle accelerated and banked hard, assuming a course straight for the Klingon ship.
"Jim, what are you doing?" McCoy asked in alarm.
Kirk ignored him, and brought the shuttle's speed up another notch. He ignored the flaming fragments of the Enterprise as they continued their descent. He ignored the threats of Sybok. All of his being was riveted on one thing: vengeance.
With one hand, he made minute adjustments to his trajectory. With the other, he reconfigured the shuttle's underpowered phasers to do something that they were never designed to do.
At the last second, Kirk fired and pulled up sharply.
The two high-voltage bursts of electricity he had fired impacted with the green hull, and sparks played along the entire ship. All the lights went off, and it shuddered to a relative stop.
Just then, the shuttle's lights dimmed and the engines shut off. Kirk had pushed it past the limit, and the engines were now thoroughly fried.
"Wonderful," Sybok said sarcastically. "Now there are no functional ships in the area!"
"Not so," Kirk objected. "Spock, scan the Klingon Bird-Of-Prey."
Puzzled, Spock did as he was ordered. His voice was tinged with awe as he reported, "Sensors reveal the ship as completely functional. No life signs registering."
The adrenaline rush of battle and anger drained out of Kirk, and he suddenly had to struggle to stay conscious. Pale and shaky, he leaned back in the chair, his head throbbing mercilessly. "Spock, initiate computer link and use their transporter to beam us aboard. We're taking over." He tried to stand up, and immediately everything split into pairs. Tiny tremors shook his body as he fought a wave of nausea, and there was a roaring in his ears.
"Jim, you don't look too good," McCoy's voice said from over his shoulder, and Kirk didn't grace him with a reply. Spock noticed, and reached over to grasp Kirk's arm.
"Admiral, you still are not recovered. You need medical attention," Spock said.
Kirk didn't have the strength to resist. He merely nodded slightly, wincing in reaction as the entire room performed a slow, deliberate loop-de-loop.
McCoy had other concerns. "Spock, we don't even have a medikit on board! What do you expect me to do, wave a magic wand from nowhere and instantly cure him? I don't even know what's wrong with him!"
"Concussion, probably," Kirk muttered. McCoy regarded him worriedly.
Spock's slender fingers quckly tapped out a sequence on his console. "First, we shall beam aboard the Klingon vessel, as Admiral Kirk has ordered. Then you shall locate their sickbay, and attempt to use the Klingon medical supplies."
Before McCoy could answer, all of the shuttle's occupants shimmered in a red-gold transporter beam, leaving the tiny, crippled ship adrift in cold space.
~~~~~~~
Kaithlin Dar, the Romulan woman, looked up from the navigations station as Korrd walked onto the bridge. "The Bird-Of-Prey is fully operational," she reported. "I detect no malfunctions."
Korrd only grunted in agreement. "I am pleased with Kirk's tactics," he rumbled. "Even injured and angry, he was a worthy opponent. The Klingon crew fought like targs. No honor amongst their ranks."
From the communications board, Talbot called to Korrd. "Korrd, can you come translate this for me? I don't know what this says."
Korrd growled and stomped over to the board. He looked at what Talbot was pointing to, and translated it for the white-clad Terran. Talbot nodded his thanks, and the tall Klingon tromped off to the other side of the bridge.
~~~~~~~
In the back of the ship was an area laughingly referred to as Sickbay. Two hard metal bunks served as diagnostic beds, and much of the equipment consisted of sharp objects. A few containers of medicine, a pack of bandages, and a single hypospray law strewn across the counter.
McCoy had found a translating lens, which was proving extremely useful. With the device held in front of one eye, the device would translate whatever Klingon script he was looking at into Federation Standard. The doctor had it positioned over his right eye, held in place by an odd black metal piece that fit over his ear.
Even with the translating lens, McCoy was frustrated to death over Klingon script.
"Dammit!" he swore, resiting the urge to throw something. He looked over at Spock, who was standing next to the bunk Kirk was resting on. As expected, the Vulcan raised an eyebrow.
"Is something amiss?" Spock asked.
"Hell, yes. I can't find the right equipment to treat a concussion, let alone a single medical tricorder!" McCoy shifted his gaze to Kirk, who had gone semi-conscious in the past few minutes. He wondered if Kirk could hear them talking, though he showed no awareness. "This hunk of junk doesn't even have any painkillers on board," he said in a lower tone. "I can't do anything for him here. If he's gonna recover, we need to get back to the Federation."
Sybok, who had been silent up until that point, spoke up. "We cannot go to the Federation for help. We are in a stolen Klingon ship. If we show up at a starbase - with shields down or up, it doesn't matter - we'll be blasted into subatomic particles faster than you can say puk'ai'la." McCoy didn't recognize the Vulcan word.
"Then what am I supposed to do?" McCoy demanded. He looked back at Spock. "Can't you use some Vulcan mental thing and help him out?"
Spock raised an eyebrow. "I am not trained as a healer."
Then Sybok startled both of them. "You have not, Spock, but I have. I am a hakausu, taught by the best before my banishment." He gestured toward Kirk. "May I, Doctor McCoy?"
McCoy simply stared at the Vulcan for a moment, then sighed. "It's our best shot, I suppose. Go ahead."
Without further delay, Sybok placed his hands on Kirk's face and began the mind-meld.