Chapter 46- Unlikely Allies

"Scotty." Jim reflexively called while he pushed the intercom button to Engineering on the arm of his chair.

"Aye?" Scotty answered picking himself up off the floor where he and Ando had crash landed.

Jim tried not to look too disturbed at his gaffe, but recovered nicely. "Get down there and get a damage report. We need as much power to the engines as possible. I'm not going to mess around here, I want us out post haste and we will fight if they chase us." It was bad enough to potentially lose crew members, but having the evolved humans on board raised the stakes and having displaced Klingons to be responsible for just compounded the problem and Jim had to be especially careful not to screw this one up least he find himself in a brig for a very long time to come.

"Aye, Sir!" He replied running to the lift.

"Where the hell is Chekov?" He asked looking around.

"I believe he is still in sickbay, Sir." Sulu answered nonchalantly as he again raised the shields and took care of the activities his friend would normally do as best he could.

"Crap." Jim muttered looking back at Spock's empty station. He knew the scrappy Russian would have to get checked out, but he also knew how tenacious he was. If there was even a chance he could return to duty at a time like this even though he was not 100% he would have, which made him wonder if his navigator's condition was worse than he first thought. There was no question as to what was going on with Spock, but he really could have used his calm assessment. How was he supposed to run a ship when all of his best men were absent?

Down in sickbay, Mohinder slowly stood from the floor and gently rubbed the bump that was forming on his head from where he was thrown into the desk in his lab. Whatever happened, the area was now abuzz with frantic activity, so he peeked out into the main area to see a swarm of blue uniforms surrounding Spock and Nathan as they were hoisted onto the exam tables across from each other. Where had they come from and when did they get back? What had happened to them? He calmed a bit when he took in Peter's stoic form nearby his brother's bed. If Peter wasn't worried, then there was no need for him to be, he reasoned.

Claire remained at Chekov's side, but her attention was fully on the commotion on the other side of the room where her father lay. Spock seemed to have received the short end of the stick, but although he seemed like a nice enough alien, he wasn't really her concern; he wasn't her father. Despite the often bumpy and what some would call nonexistent relationship they had, her heart was in her throat at the thought of losing him. Thankfully, her observant uncle came to her rescue…again.

He quietly pulled up a chair next to her and gave a friendly nod to Chekov who smiled in return and tried his best not to eavesdrop on what he was sure was going to be a private conversation, but it was fairly difficult given the fact that he couldn't go anywhere and they were no more than three feet away. Besides, he too was eager for any news of what had happened.

"It's ok, Claire." Peter smiled warmly at his worried niece. "I checked him out myself. He has a head injury, but Dr. McCoy said he could fix it in no time and he'll be right as rain by dinner." Even as he said the words, he realized how incredulous it all sounded. In his experience it would take the average person a week or two to recover under normal circumstances, but he had to remind himself that the future was not normal and he had no reason to doubt Dr. McCoy's estimation even if it did seem implausible.

Claire nodded and tried not to cry, but after having both of her fathers, her favorite uncle, and her new friend in near medical mishaps so close together while she stood by and watched, she felt drained from the stress. "And what about Spock?" she asked more for Chekov's benefit than her own although she certainly wished him no harm.

Peter looked over his shoulder at McCoy as he worked frantically and answered, "I don't know. I think he will be ok, but his body isn't entirely like ours from what I can gather. I'm not sure what that means, but I am sure they will work as hard as they can to help him." He gave her a reassuring squeeze on her hand and asked, "So what's going on here? How do you feel, Chekov?"

"I vill be fine, Sir." The young Russian reported.

Peter smirked at being called 'sir' because he probably wasn't that much older than him, but he chalked it up to being in the military and let it go. "Thanks for trying to get to us." He nodded. "I saw you just before the bomb hit. You were way out in front of everybody! Either you got a huge head start or you are quite a sprinter."

"I do like to run." He shyly admitted. "I von the marathon at the academy every year I vas there."

Noah watched the conversation from a distance and was thankful Peter had returned to deal with what he couldn't. Matt stood by his side and tried to stay out of the way as best he could, but couldn't help but remark, "They look pretty cozy, don't they? Do you think Claire has a crush on the navigator?"

Noah removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I hope not, but probably."

"He doesn't seem like such a bad kid." Matt shrugged. "It could be a lot worse. She could have fallen for a punk who rides a motorcycle and has a pierced nose."

Noah chuckled. "Oh, that wouldn't happen. Trust me." There was just enough of an edge to his voice to let Matt know that he would do whatever- and that could be a great many things not available to the average father- to put an end to that relationship before it had a chance to take off. "He's not a bad kid, but this can only end badly." He replaced his glasses and looked to Matt with a heartbroken expression. "What will happen down the road when it is time to go? She doesn't belong here and he can't come back with us. I should try to stop it now before it gets too far."

"Just give them a little more time." Matt said cautiously. "She needs a friend right now and that's all it is." Noah looked sharply at him because he knew he had read his daughter's mind, but Matt couldn't stand to see her suffer needlessly. "Just let her have her 15 minutes, ok?"

McCoy worked furiously to sedate Spock so he could begin the lengthy repair process to close the many, many wounds that crisscrossed his green tinted flesh. "Barbarians." He spat in frustration as he ran yet another line of synthetic blood replacement he had formulated specifically for Spock since a traditional transfusion would likely kill him. If the ship was going to take hits like the one they just experienced, it would make his job that much harder. It seemed like a desperate losing battle; Spock was bleeding out as quickly as McCoy could pump it in, but he kept a few of his techs busy making more and he was determined to win because he made a piss poor loser.

Sylar made his exit shortly after Peter had whisked them away from the god forsaken mining planet and plopped them in the medical area of the ship. There was so much chaos and running by the staff he found it easy to slip out unnoticed since he was not injured nor necessarily cared about those that were. Through some miracle he was alive and well although he certainly didn't look it with his dirty, bloody clothing. He looked down at his red shirt stained darker in some areas by Peter's blood with distain. He was angry to say the least and he stalked the hallways to clear his mind of the things that were swirling through it like a hurricane and disturbing his normally tranquil thought process. He was incredulous that someone- likely Noah or Nathan- had decided that he was expendable despite the uncharacteristic goodwill he had shown. He knew deep in the back of his mind that he could never be redeemed in their eyes no matter what he did and maybe he deserved that distinction, but he didn't deserve to be abandoned on a foreign world with hostile aliens. Barring another eclipse cycle, he could easily defend himself until the end of time, but it would have been a bleak and weary existence always being on the run and hunted like an animal…but was it really any different than his old life in New York?

But aside from all of the backstabbing and hidden agendas, which was to be expected in his estimation, was the cold hard fact that he was denied what he most desired: revenge on the bastard guard that brutalized him when he was most defenseless. Never mind that a differential in power was how he lived his life- he being the have while most everyone else was a have not, or at least soon dispossessed of what they did have if he wanted it- it was quite different when he was the one who could not fight back and every fiber in his all-powerful being screamed for revenge. In a way he could understand Peter's haste in getting out, but at the same time it cut short his plan to make the guard suffer at his leisure and it irritated him. He didn't like his plans taking a backseat to other's concerns and Peter could have left him to…he stopped dead in his tracks and thought about it for a moment. Peter could have left him behind as the others wanted- but he didn't. He cocked his head slightly and pondered the peculiarity. Aside from it just being his nature, what made him reach for his hand to save him? The two certainly had their share of knock down drag out fights in the past and the smart thing for him to have done was to let him rot as a final victory over his foe, but instead he teleported him along with the others. Sylar's dark eyes widened slightly as the wondered if Peter felt something for him as well- some kind of special mercy as a person somehow important to him…something like…a brother? How else could you explain the asinine reaction that was beyond all logic?

He slammed into a wall when the ship suddenly jerked and shuddered and he didn't need his IA to tell him that something had gone dreadfully wrong. The few people he did see in the hall began suddenly running towards their destinations with haste and he assumed the ship was being attacked. He also knew that if there was ever a time when he may be needed and another chance to redeem himself, it was then. It may never matter to anyone else if he got involved and no doubt everyone would question his motives, but he for one really wanted to return to Earth intact and the prospect of eternally floating in space alternately dying and reviving after the ship was blown up did not seem like a very attractive option. So once more, his agenda would indirectly benefit everyone else, he thought as he made his way to the bridge to avail himself of his services once more. If he wasn't careful, people may get the wrong impression that he was a good guy, but that was a chance he was willing to take if it meant saving his own ass.

Down in the engine rooms, Scotty swore loudly as he fanned thick smoke away from his face and turned off the blaring alarm of the fire suppression system. When the ventilation fans kicked in and the air cleared, his jaw dropped when he realized that they were in very deep trouble indeed.

"Scotty to the bridge," he called to the intercom, "Ah got that status report ya asked for."

"Yeah, what's the news, Scotty?" Jim asked anxiously.

"Bad. Very bad, Captain. We're lookin' up the arse end of a dead horse here."

There was a moment of silence before Jim's voice patiently called, "Um……what?" It had been awhile since he left the farm in Iowa, so the livestock analogy didn't click for him.

Scotty slowly walked over to the smoldering remains of the now fractured and partially melted housing of the warp core and gave it a half-hearted kick. "The engines are as useless as tits on a boar, Sir. The core is intact, but Ah cannae fire them up or we'll be blown inta the next quadrant."

"So what you are saying is we are sitting ducks." He surmised bleakly.

"Aye, Sir. The auxiliary system has just enough juice ta keep the shields up, but Ah don't know for how long." He sighed. Even being the galaxy's best engineer ever had its limitations and he was forced to admit he may be looking at his. Even if he worked non-stop, it would take him days to get it up and running again and that was time they just didn't have with the Romulans breathing down their necks.

"Hold on, Scotty." Jim chuckled with a smile in his voice. "I have just been informed that a new engineer may be able to help."

"Ach, I don't need any more bodies down here." He groused. "I don't think it will help and Ah sure as bloody hell don't have time ta train someone wet behind the ears."

"Oh, I think you will want this one and I don't think you'll have to train him much."

Scotty started to protest until it clicked. Who was the only person who could master such a complex system in so little time without any guidance? "Sylar?" he guessed feeling a little conflicted about letting someone like him near his precious machinery no matter his intentions.

"Yep. He's on his way." Jim confirmed. "And Scotty? Be nice and share your toys with him. I know how you can be sometimes."

Scotty grumbled and looked around at the beautiful systems he had come to love. For him it was going to be a little like sharing his girlfriend with a total stranger, and not in a good way.