Sulu sighed in thought, carefully moving aside items as he rummaged.
"What's that?" McCoy asked.
The Helmsman looked up from where he squatted. "It's the tool chest."
"What are you looking for?"
Sulu stood up and brandished a large metal tool in the air. "A wrench."
McCoy's eyes widened and he straightened, swallowing hard. "Why do you need a wrench?" he asked, his voice strident with alarm.
"Doctor McCoy," the younger man marveled. "You've seemed quite on edge since you came aboard."
"I'm that way when my life is in immanent danger," he rasped.
A smirk crossing his lips, Sulu bounced the wrench's head into his palm several times. "You need to work on your trust issues," he said and pointed the wrench at him for emphases. "Pavel was in the Navy for years: he knows what he's doing."
"He doesn't appear happy about doing it," McCoy insisted. "Whatever IT is."
"I'm working on it," the Helmsman observed. He grinned easily and clutched the wrench's handle for emphases. "Trust me."
Eyeing the Lieutenant suspiciously, McCoy followed as he strode over to the unmanned ship's wheel. "What...what are you doing!" the Doctor gasped in horror. "JIM!"
Kirk appeared by his side instantly. "Bones?"
"Jim," the man rushed, panic in his voice. "There's something wrong with the steering wheel!"
The Captain moved around the Doctor so that he could see his Sulu. He was, in fact, loosening the main nut at the center of the wheel. "What's the matter with the wheel?" he asked, forcing his tone to level through McCoy's alarm.
"Chekov," the Helmsman stated.
Kirk straightened. "What's wrong with the wheel?" he repeated, confusion in his voice.
"Pavel Chekov. Ask the Doctor," he advised and pulled the nut off with a flourish.
"He's lost his mind!" McCoy declared. "Jim: stop him!"
Sulu chuckled, a glint in his dark eyes. "Doctor, you said so yourself. Chekov needs an attitude adjustment. I'm adjusting his attitude."
He tossed the massive, loose nut at Kirk, who caught it reflexively.
"Nytoya," he called out to the woman who was standing at the chart table. "Is he still asleep?"
She twisted to peer down the companionway and into the captain's cabin. "Still asleep," she confirmed.
The Helmsman hesitated. "Are you sure he's not just laying there awake?"
Uhura shook her head and shrugged at him. "He looks like a corpse."
"Asleep," Sulu confirmed. "From sleeping in Navy bunks all those years," he explained to the confused Captain standing next to him.
Illumination flashed across Kirk's face and he rubbed a sore shoulder in sympathy. No damn headroom in the bunks. "It's all clear now."
"I just have to hedge my bets that he's going to stay asleep a little while longer," he added.
"I don't understand," Kirk said, studying the piece of metal in his hand.
"The Navy shifts are four hours long: four on, four off. Pavel still can't sleep longer than four hours at a time," Sulu explained. "He catches a couple naps as well. I have to hurry in case this is a nap."
"I don't understand what you're doing with the wheel," the Captain maintained.
"I told you: attitude adjustment," he stated, latching onto the upper spokes and yanking. "Watch the master." Sulu stumbled back as the wheel broke free and flew off, hovering in mid-air in his hands.
"Oh, good God!" McCoy gasped.
"Sulu!" Kirk exclaimed, this time echoing his friend's alarm.
"Put the nut back on, Jim," the Helmsman urged. "Tight: we don't want it to get lost."
"Where are you going?" the Doctor demanded, his alarm growing as Sulu hoisted the wheel onto his shoulder and trotted quickly toward Uhura.
"Hikaru?" the woman questioned, alarm lacing her voice as well now.
"Just make sure he stays in that cabin, Nytoya," he urged. "I'll be right back."
He disappeared down the companionway with the wheel and left the other three officers looking dumbfounded.
Kirk shrugged in acceptance of his confusion and reaffixed the single nut which should have held the wheel on it's pivot. "I have confidence in the officers of my command team," he reassured the Doctor.
"I don't get it," Uhura insisted, wrapping her arms around her waist.
"You will," Sulu smiled as he reappeared on deck without the wheel.
"What happened to the wheel?" McCoy demanded. "How are we supposed to get out of here without it? Jim, can we steer without a wheel?"
"Actually," the Captain mused as he watched Sulu replace the wrench and close the chest. "The wheel is attached to a tiller, which moves the rudder: like on my sailboat. We could expose the tiller and steer her from below."
"Relax," Sulu chuckled in amusement. "We're not going anywhere yet."
"But what..."
"Shh!" the Helmsman scolded the Doctor. "Patience!"
Uhura eyed him curiously. "So what are we supposed to do now?"
"Drink coffee," Sulu declared, sidling up to the constantly warm pot. "We're on a break. Believe me, we won't get many.
"Here," he prompted, pushing a cup toward Uhura.
She accepted it, looking satisfied with her utter confusion.
"Jim?" he continued, holding out another cup.
The Captain sighed and smiled as he took it. "Far be it for me to question a scholar of the topic."
"What topic?" McCoy asked, accepting his own cup as he moved to join them.
"Why, Pavel Chekov, of course. You knew him before he posted to the Enterprise, didn't you?"
Sulu nodded. "I was assigned as his Big Brother at the Academy: major computer foul-up. I had to live with him the last two years I was there."
"And now that he's Chief Navigator you have to share a bathroom with him," McCoy observed, pity in his tone.
"I don't mind: I'm a slob, he cleans up after me." A grin flashed over his face and he laughed. "Sorry, I'm not a slob–Pavel says I'm organizationally challenged."
"He's very gracious," Uhura agreed affectionately.
"What's he going to do when he finds the wheel gone?" the Doctor demanded.
"Shh," Sulu scolded. "He'll be up here any minute.
McCoy scowled. "I know you two are close friends, but now you're telepathic?"
"No. The wind has picked up."
"What difference does that make?"
"The ship is moving again," Kirk explained knowingly, pointing at the deck beneath his feet. "The movement will wake him up."
Sulu turned and poured another cup of coffee, holding it out to Chekov as he reemerged on deck as predicted. "We've got wind again," the Helmsman commented.
"I noticed," the younger man said, taking a drought of coffee as his eyes glanced up. The canvas above his head was fluttering as the wind toyed with its limp sheets. He shuddered, his face wrenching in disgust.
"This is foul," he insisted, handing the back the cup to Sulu.
"I didn't tell you it was tea."
"Captain," Chekov instructed. "Shorten the anchor chain."
"Alone?"
The Navigator hesitated, glancing over at Kirk. "I don't know," he commented. "Do you need help?"
"What do you mean 'I don't know'?" McCoy blurted in alarm again. "I thought you were the expert here!"
"The Russian Navy's ships are living history museums, Doctor. There aren't any motorized wenches aboard them."
"You used a capstan," Kirk concluded.
"Hours of walking in circles," Chekov agreed. "Can't beat it."
"Bones, help me."
"Belay that!" the Navigator blurted suddenly, his eyes fixed on the stern of the ship.
"Something wrong?" Sulu asked light-heartedly.
The younger man glanced at him sharply, then let his gaze travel over his other shipmates. They all seemed studiously ignorant: except McCoy, whose face had noticeably grayed.
Chekov paced slowly toward the stern. His gaze fixed on the wheel house, he paused at the side of the binnacle and simply stood there, staring at where the wheel should have been. He fiercely turned back to level dark eyes at his helm partner.
"Pasha?" the man asked innocently.
A low growl emerged from somewhere deep in the Navigator's throat as he paced slowly back toward his friend. He stopped only a foot from the man and they stood there: dark eyes locked in silence.
In a testament to the reaction time the Alpha Helm Team had developed between themselves, Chekov lunged at the exact moment Sulu bolted. Throwing his cup over the rail, the Helmsman flew toward the bow of the ship, leaping over hatch covers and life boats with the younger man in close pursuit.
Sulu's hand grabbed onto the foremast and he spun himself around it. He raced back to the foremost companionway and dropped down it: disappearing from sight. The Navigator passed it and threw himself down the second companionway. The sound of him tackling the other man echoed up onto the upper deck.
Only seconds later, the sound of running feet could be heard again as Sulu obviously broke free. He was tackled again moments later. Kirk buried his face in his coffee cup and laughed as he listened to the sounds of the two young men wrestling in the Great Room just below them. He had no idea what Chekov was yelling at his friend, but it didn't sound complimentary.
It was almost a disappointment when the sound stopped and the Helm Team simply dissolved into peals of laughter which filled the expanse of the Great Room. Chekov was still grinning when he reemerged on the main deck, eyes shining and skin glistening from the exertion. Sulu followed close behind with the wheel over his shoulder again. He was trying his best to look sheepish, but it wasn't working.
"Where'd you put it?" Kirk asked curiously as he passed.
"Your bunk."
Chuckling, the Captain finished his coffee. He and McCoy were each assigned the large bunks in the two cabins at the far end of the Great Room. They still had no head room and the most distasteful of bathroom facilities, but he realized now it was about the only place the wheel could have been hidden out of sight without access to the locked bilge.
"Go ahead and weigh the anchor now," Chekov said easily to the Captain as he passed.
"Aye, Sir," he responded and gestured to McCoy to follow him. Sulu's the master, he agreed silently. The Chief Navigator's irritated, tense exterior had dissolved completely away.
"Go fishing, Hikaru," the young man's voice was saying. "And be quick about it."
"I thought it was bad luck for sailors to fish," Uhura said.
Chekov shook his head as he opened one of the doors next to the compass. "Not when it's for the good of the planet." He shot at glance at the Helmsman, now leaning over the rail with a net. "We don't trash the element that gives us life."
Sulu looked suitably chagrined when he produced the coffee cup he had thrown. "It's bad luck," he said.
"Sailors certainly seem superstitious," Uhura observed.
"They know the nature of the universe," the Helmsman drawled elaborately, humor tugging at his lips as he replaced the net. A sparkle in his dark eyes was taunting when he glanced at his younger friend, but he hesitated when they fell on the Navigator's form.
Chekov had his hands balanced on the edge of the binnacle box and his head was down as he listened to an ear piece he had placed in his ear.
"Hik..."
The man shot up a hand, silencing Uhura as his eyes stayed frozen on his Helm partner. His face went gray.
Immediately alarmed, the Communications Officer shot her own dark eyes over at the young man. The warm, boyish charm Sulu had managed to reinstill in him had already disappeared. His flesh had become stone and an opaque film covered his dark eyes as he stared down at the open binnacle box.
"Anchor's aweigh," Kirk called out from the bow.
"Get it up!" Chekov yelled, eyes wild and bright as they shot up. "Get it on the cat! Neatly!
"Man the mainsail NOW!"
The Captain hesitated, but only momentarily. "Go!" he ordered McCoy. "I'll finish here," he declared even as he jammed on the wench again. The tone in Chekov's voice did not belong to a man just out of the Academy.
The deep, resounding force of urgency struck immediately and resoundingly into the very soul of everyone around him. It held no panic. It held no fear.
But it clearly signaled danger.
"Anchor's apeak," Kirk declared as he grabbed onto mainsail line and swept it off its belaying pin.
"Not the braces!" the Navigator bellowed as he scrambled up the mainmast. "Man the peak! Get the sail in!"
The Captain quickly took a turn around the pin to secure the line and grabbed for the other line without thought. He threw it back to McCoy.
"Aren't you going to sing?" asked the Doctor. Every other time they'd worked on the sails the Navigator had shouted out shanties to coordinate their work.
Chekov jumped up and grabbed the first mast hoop, yanking it down before they'd even begun to pull the sail in. "Fuck you!" he retorted. "Heave! Smartly! Smartly!"
The Captain pulled so hard and fast, the rope shredded the skin off his palms and he punched the Doctor in the face twice.
"'Vast peak!" the Navigator yelled.
Taking a single turn around the pin, Kirk dropped the line and dove for the sail. He threw the gaff rope around the peak of the sail, quickly securing it tightly to the boom before Sulu and Uhura were even finished hauling in their end. It was down by the time he reached it and he used a foot against the thick boom to jam home the gaff rope and throw an iron hard knot into it.
"Get the mizzen sail in!" Chekov ordered, running away from them and toward the bow of the ship. He scrambled out along the bowsprit and yanked down the foresail by himself.
The mizzenmast sail was secured by the time he'd returned and Kirk had set to ballentining the loose ends of line.
"Screw the ballentines," the Navigator said, grabbing the line and quickly spinning it into a coil. He jammed it down on the belaying pin. "Batten down the hatches! Secure the ship!
"Jim, man the wheel!"
Chekov quickly coiled the rest of the loose lines, getting them off the deck and out of the way as the others scurried to follow his orders.
"Pavel," Kirk said evenly. "The wind is up. We're not going anywhere unless the sails are set."
"I QUIT this job!" the Ensign roared, spinning on his Captain with fury blazing in his eyes. "I quit this job!" he yelled again, thrusting his face within inches of the man at the wheel. "Do you understand! I sit on my ass eight hours a day and stare at the stars! And I LIKE it!"
"Chekov!" Sulu spat out in warning, grabbing the other side of the binnacle.
The Captain stared at his Chief Navigator, honestly stunned. And outright amused, he was wont to admit. After all, he had strong armed Chekov into his current position. Kirk had become so used to the easy camaraderie and friendship of his Alpha command team he had allowed himself to forget the Chief Navigator didn't really feel their equal yet. He'd pushed him on the assumption the young man would push back if he honestly objected: only his absolute deference to his captain was the most blatant fault Chekov had to work on. At least the Enterprise captain considered it a fault in a Command Officer.
The man needed to learn to talk back. Kirk fought back a grin. He seemed to be working on it.
Kirk waited for him to spin away and throw his arms up in frustration. Lacing his fingers, Chekov pressed them into the back of his head and growled deeply. "Pavel," he said tolerantly. "We're not going to win this race unless we take advantage of the wind start making some headway."
"Race?" the Navigator retorted, spinning back to glare at him. "Race?" he demanded. "There is no race!"
The Captain stilled, his hazel eyes seeking out the man's dark ones. "What are you talking about?" he asked thinly.
Chekov shook his head violently and threw his arm out at the sea behind Kirk's back. "They never even left port, Captain. We're not racing anyone."
The older man shot a quick glance backward. "Now why would you think they didn't even leave port?" he asked with a patient look at his Ensign.
Shaking his head, the Navigator paced up to Kirk slowly. There was deference in both his brown eyes and movements now. "Because THEY," he said quietly. "Weren't being cocky little shits trying to impress their Captain.
"THEY checked the WEATHER REPORT!" he spat out.
What could have occurred to Kirk was that the other major thing Chekov had to work on was how impossibly hard he was on himself. Only what his eyes had seen suddenly registered somewhere deep in his brain.
He jerked his head back toward San Francisco, hazel eyes hardening as they saw the horizon. The sea behind them was a monster churning beneath an opaque ceiling of black rock. The Captain looked back at Chekov's somber, knowing eyes before they shifted briefly to the barometer in the binnacle housing with a sense of building doom.
Kirk's heart stilled as he felt the wind's icy fingers streak across the back of his neck. It was nearly triple the strength since Chekov's reemergence on deck only a short time ago.
"It's getting cold," McCoy complained.
"Bones," he said, glancing at him quickly. "Go below and grab the foul-weather gear. Grab Chekov a shirt and some shoes, too. Hurry."
The Doctor hesitated, but knew his friend well enough to go off on his errand without comment.
"Pavel," Kirk insisted, turning his attention back to the young man. "You can do this. We can do this.
"How long were you in the Navy? You must have encountered storms like this before, haven't you?"
The Navigator stared at the Captain in silence a long moment, his dark somber eyes downright eerie. "Yes," he finally answered in a thin, quiet voice. "Twice."
"Than you know you can do this."
"I wouldn't say that," he replied. "I died both times."
Kirk watched him walk away and sighed quietly, hands twisting around the wheel's spokes. "At least he always seems able to keep his sense of humor," he commented.
Sulu stood up from jamming the locks into the hatch cover next to the wheel house. Dark, unreadable eyes fixed on Chekov at the chart table a long moment before returning to his Captain.
"He's not joking, Jim."