The shuttle craft lifted up from the stony surface of Cyliss and headed up for the grey swirling clouds above. Uhura watched its bleak horizon become more distant out of the front viewer before placing the beacon information disc into the communications computer.
Sulu turned to her. "Which way first?"
Uhura listened intently to her ear piece, adjusting her controls with small precise movements to pick up the faint high frequencies. "There's a lot of static." She was bent almost double over her console in concentration. "There… I think I've got it. I'll feed the data over to you."
Sulu watched the arriving figures scroll across his board: 296.017.005 He swung the shuttle round to the left and upwards, plunging them into the broiling clouds. The storm began to buffet them, the rain lashing at the windows and the lightning flashing somewhere not too far away. They continued on the same course for several minutes. The helm felt distressingly sluggish. Somewhere behind him an alarm went off. And we've only just left, he thought bleakly.
"That loss of power we were experiencing on the way in – it's getting worse." He cast a quick glance at one of the panels. "Chekov, get back to engineering and check it out."
Chekov nodded. He got up from his chair and went through to the small rear compartment. He was glad of something definite to do. He had had a premonition that he would be a spare part on the way back – a feeling he hated. He could never just be a passenger.
In the middle of the wall was a round hatchway set into the rounded bulkhead at the back of the shuttle like on a submarine. He spun the handle and pulled the thick door open with a heave. He placed his hands on the rim at the top and jumped in feet first. As he straightened himself up what greeted him was worse than he had expected. The instrumentation panels on the wall were flashing red in all the wrong places – power management, shields, engine reactor management – all at half power or offline. He sucked in his breath. The shot from the Klingon ship had done more damage than they had realised. He cursed himself for not checking sooner. He went over to the main console in the middle and started to address the damage. It looked manageable, as long as they could keep the reactors stable. The shuttle gave a sudden lurch downwards. Chekov felt his stomach rise sickeningly in inverse proportion. He held on to the edge of the console to keep himself from falling. This was going to be another bumpy ride. Next he moved over to the engine controls. Something wasn't right here either. They were losing power – that much he knew, but not at this rate surely? He traced his way along the system from the start, at the intake reaction, to the end - the exhaust – looking for a fault. He located a problem at the venting system. That wasn't right. There was hardly any plasma being vented. If it wasn't venting then where was it going and why weren't the back-up systems taking over? He glanced over at the manual relief valve to his left and his heart sank. Instead of sitting flush against the inner hull, the small wheeled valve handle was stuck out at a strange angle. As he hurried over to look closer he could see why – the hull itself had buckled and bulged inwards into a large, unsightly grey bleb. He flipped up the securing latch, pulling with both hands on the valve to try to rotate it. It was stuck fast. He struggled for several minutes to try to force it. There was no way it was going to move. He went back to the console, panic starting to rise. Perhaps he could force the system electronically to by-pass the valve. He tried to work quickly, seeking any way to manipulate the controls to respond to each other.
The shuttle gave another sharp roll, throwing him sideways. As he hit the wall he felt rather than heard a surge beginning in the panel beside him. It was an overload. He only had time to duck his head as the whole panel exploded outwards. Burning metal and components fired out in all directions like screaming shrapnel. He took the full blast down his left side. Something hot struck him in the face, knocking him sideways and onto the floor. A searing pain tore through his arm. He lay on the floor for a few seconds, trying to focus. The emergency lights had come on. Through his blurred vision the room took on the appearance of a hellish nightmare as smoke and flames billowed above him before being sucked out and extinguished by the control systems. He stared up at the ceiling. It was going round and round. He had to get up. He had to check what damage had been done. He tried to push himself off the floor but his left arm gave way under him. Instead he rolled stiffly onto his other side and staggered upwards, clutching his arm. He staggered sideways with a rush of vertigo. He leant against the console for support. He lifted his hand and looked down at his upper arm. His hand came away with thick sticky black blood. The wound was a mash of skin and material from his uniform. He couldn't really tell how bad it was. Maybe that was a good thing under the circumstances. He clamped his hand back in place and hobbled over to the engine control panel. Every system seemed to be in meltdown. He pressed the controls – nothing seemed to be working. He slammed his right hand down in frustration.
Above all the noise in the room his ear picked out another, more natural noise. There was something dripping. It was getting louder. He looked up the coolant transfer duct just as a large fracture burst out into a watery torrent. Icy dark water and coolant gushed out onto the floor of the room. How much worse could this get? He turned back to the controls in fear and frustration. Why was this happening? What was going on? He suddenly saw the problem – the replicator system was jammed on. It would keep making water and coolant until it was shut down. He knelt down in the rapidly forming puddle of water and pulled the panel off the console column with his good hand. The door fell onto the floor with a clang. He looked in and sat back in despair. The circuits had overloaded and melted into one another. Life support? He had to check life support. He stood up and went back to the console. He stood under the shower of water from the duct to access the controls. The water fell onto his head in a slimy, toxic waterfall. He kept having to stop and rub his eyes and pull his hair out of his eyes. It was like it was trying to stop him. Yes, that was ok for now. He worked onwards, going from system to system, checking and rechecking, trying to coax as much life as he could into the failing ship. He lost track of time. He had no idea if hours or minutes had passed. The water had built up to ankle depth. In the end he had exhausted his knowledge and imagination. There was nothing more to be done in here. He pushed himself back though the hatch and into the rear compartment. Again the ship lurched forwards, propelling him through the door and onto the Bridge.
"I can't shut the relief valve. The last shot to our port side has buckled the hull. It's wedged shut. I don't know what to do."
Sulu turned around in his seat to see Chekov sink down onto a bench by the wall and against a row of EV suits. He had been gone for over an hour. He was soaked from a mixture of water and what smelt to Sulu like coolant. His dark hair was plastered to his forehead and clung to his closed eyelids as he put his head back. He released his right hand which was clamped around the top of his left arm and wiped the water off his face with an exhausted movement. He smeared blood across his forehead which mingled with the water and trickled down his cheeks. There was a burn across his right cheek which glistened black and red in the emergency lighting. He put his hand back down to his arm. Blood oozed between his fingers. The note of despair in the young man's voice brought Sulu to his feet. Now was not the time for giving up. He wasn't going to let that feeling get the better of him. If he could still walk then there was still a chance. He strode the few paces across the small shuttle bridge and stopped in front of him, his hands on his hips.
"Get up," he said curtly. He knew that tone of voice in his friend. It was time to apply some psychology.
Chekov looked at him blankly. The contaminated water stung, making him squint as he raised his red and swollen eyes to Sulu. He ignored the command. "The controls are shot," he continued tiredly. "Half the components are melted. The only way is manual." He grimaced with a sudden stab of pain, hugging his arm tighter. Bloody water ran down his cheekbones from his hair and dripped off his chin.
Sulu was in no mood to hear why-nots. He grasped the material at the front of Chekov's shirt and hauled him up off the seat. The navigator cried out in surprise and pain. Sulu shut his ears. The young man was so weak he had to hold him up. They stood chest to chest, so close that Sulu could speak directly into Chekov's ear. The navigator listened, his eyes squeezed shut.
"Listen to me," he hissed. "If you don't get back in there and open that valve then we're all dead. You, me, Uhura: dead. I can't do it. I've got to fly this ship back through the storm. Uhura can't do it. She's listening for the beacons. You've plotted your course. You've done your work here. You have to open the valve."
"But the hull has buckled. It's wedged the handle shut," Chekov replied desperately.
Sulu heard an edge of hopelessness in his voice. "The un-wedge it!" he yelled, shaking the ensign in frustration. Chekov grasped Sulu's arm and dug his fingers in as if he could try to find some relief from the pain in his shoulder by transferring it to the helmsman. "The coolant transfer duct has leaked. The replicator system is stuck on. I can't stop it. It's making a flood of water. I'm up to my knees in it. Without the valve we don't have enough power for half the ship's systems. I can't shut them off." Pain and frustration started to choke his voice.
"Chekov, we don't have time. Stop the leak and get that damned valve shut."
"It's going to flood the compartment!
"Then stop talking and get back in there!"
"I can't!" he closed his eyes, looking away and falling backwards. Sulu thought he had fainted, but it was just the ship lurching in the storm.
"Get creative!"
"Sulu, you've got to get up here," called Uhura urgently from the front. "I can't stabilise the inertial dampeners. I'm not very good at this."
Sulu pulled Chekov forwards towards him and shook him again. "I'm giving you a direct order, Ensign! Get back into the engine room, release the valve and don't come back till you've done it." He gave Chekov a shove that sent him reeling back against the bulkhead. He fell back, bringing down his hand from the wounded arm to stop himself from impacting with the wall. Sulu saw the blood. He hadn't realised how deep the cut was. In any other situation he would have offered help, sympathy… but not here and not now. "If you don't do this, Ensign, you will have condemned the whole crew of the Enterprise as well."
"You mean I'm expendable," cried Chekov angrily. "Why don't you just say it?"
"Yes, on this mission, this time - you are. Now get back down below."
Sulu immediately regretted the harshness of his words. That wasn't what he meant. It wasn't right that so much responsibility had to be put on him - at his age and in this situation. But he knew deep down that he was the only one who could do this. There was a reason that Spock had asked to mentor him. His knowledge of the ship's systems and how and why they worked was broad. All he needed to do now was to apply that knowledge.
I can't protect you this time, kid brother, thought Sulu. I'm trusting you to do this for us. Dammit, I'm paying you a compliment, if only you'd see it.
Chekov hesitated for a second, breathing hard, before spinning on his heel with a look of hatred and headed for the door of the rear compartment. Sulu's shoulders slumped as the door opened as he approached and swallowed him up. He went back up to Uhura and sat down heavily in his chair, adjusting the dampeners back into alignment with an angry push on the controls. Uhura looked at him knowingly. She picked up her earpiece and brought the scanner back on line with a tap of her finger.
"Will he do it?" she asked tensely.
"Of course he will," was Sulu's taut reply.
Silence fell between them. They turned back to the storm.