Chapter 65- What Lies Beneath

Mendak was rather feeling like the cat toying with an injured mouse and he was loving every minute of it. Oh the irony! He got to watch the mighty Captain Kirk squirm and sweat as he tried everything his feeble little human brain could think of to save his ass, and he had to tip his proverbial hat to his opponent; he was indeed pulling some puzzling tricks out of his sleeve. How exactly he was able to fire with such power when the ship's energy reserves were dangerously low was perplexing, but somehow he or that mousy little engineer of his had managed the impossible. But it didn't matter, Kirk could throw all of the stones he wanted, when and only when he felt like it he would tire of the defiance and unleash hell.

Only a few ships survived the Klingon onslaught and were in good enough condition to follow the Enterprise, but for the time being the numbers were in his favor despite a few lucky shots that disabled two of them. What mattered was that Mendak had witnesses to his impending glory. When he released the secret weapons that would punch through the weak defense shields of Starfleet's flagship and obliterate it, he wanted all to see his genius. At first he thought he would die in the venture, but fate had smiled on him a second time and it was looking more and more that he had a hero's welcome to return to in his future.

"Sir!" His second in command shouted. "The Enterprise has launched a shuttle craft."

"Are they abandoning ship?" He asked almost incredulously. He didn't pin Kirk for a coward and really, where could they possibly go? Without a rescue ship they were sitting ducks.

"No, Sir. Just one occupied by two humans." He replied somewhat disappointed. Dishonor before death would have been especially sweet.

"What are you up to, Kirk?" Mendak muttered softly to himself as he squinted at the tiny shuttlecraft on his screen.

Jim quickly rubbed his face in exhaustion before once more sitting up straight in his chair to address the next crisis. "Spock- status."

Spock calmly looked over his panel. Even if the warning lights seemed to be panicking, he wasn't about to give in himself. "The shuttle has left the dock. Damage on almost all lower decks. McCoy's casualty log has not been updated in 7 minutes- last count 14 dead and 52 wounded." He pushed some buttons on his console and added, "The fire suppression system on decks 10 and 11 have ceased."

"So the fire's out." Jim nodded.

"A likely conclusion, however, the sensors may have simply melted." Spock replied poker faced.

"Very uplifting report, Spock. Thank you." Jim sighed as he hung his head in his hands. He turned abruptly at the sound of Noah's voice.

"Found your intruder." He gestured towards Hiro who had a sheepish look on his face. "I don't think he's of much value to you as a hostage, though."

"Not as a hostage…" Jim almost whispered as his eyes grew large, "but he's definitely valuable."

"I am?" He wondered aloud.

"Oh yeah." Jim smiled. "I think I just figured out a way to win."

"How's that?" Matt asked suspiciously.

"We can't beat them with firepower and we can't hold them off until help arrives. But, if the ships are disabled one by one…" he trailed off.

"Captain, what are you suggesting?" Spock asked intrigued.

"Peter is busy down in sickbay and he can stay there if that's where he's needed. Hiro, as the only other teleporter, I need you to board each and every one of those ships and disengage the core power. After you get out, we can destroy them."

"Because the shields will lose power." Sulu smiled with an appreciative nod.

"And you are wery fast." Chekov added. "So fast they vill not know vhat happened until it is too late."

Hiro looked unsure, but if this was to be his duty he would accept it. "How do I…?"

"Don't worry," Jim smiled jabbing the intercom button on his chair, "Scotty! Get your ass up here on the double!"

Her legs burned like fire, but the pain was fleeting and paled in comparison to those who had been injured. At least her ability allowed her to recover quickly- from the burn of lactic acid in her fatigued muscles to the ugly gash she had sustained pulling a crew member out of a twisted heap of metal. She was indestructible and Jim was right, the job she was asked to do was fraught with danger from fires and explosions, but she was the perfect person for the rescue mission. In some ways it reminded her of the time she rescued the man from the burning train wreck back in Odessa. For once she felt needed- uniquely needed- and although she was trying her best to block out all of the unpleasant images that assaulted her relatively innocent psyche, time and again she ran back into danger to pull yet another person from the jaws of death. That was, if she could get them to the sickbay in time.

Her ability to heal was by far faster than even the best technology on board, but even she was amazed that sometimes a person she had just dropped off in fairly bad shape was up and walking around by the time she came back with the next patient. The one she currently had was not as bad as some of the others, so she knew by now that meant a nurse could take them without bothering Dr. McCoy. The last time she saw him, he was covered in blood and looking very tired and angry all at the same time. She was beginning to understand how he felt.

"Peter!" She called sliding her patient up next to her uncle while he was fleetingly unoccupied. "She was exposed to smoke and I think her arm's broken." She reported.

Peter nodded and smiled. How many times had he been in her situation giving a hand off to the ER doctors? Now it felt strange to have the tables turned, but the situation was what it was. "Hey there." He smiled warmly at the injured woman. "I'm Peter. What's your name?"

"Kelly, Sir." She answered bravely despite a nasty cough.

"You can just call me Peter." He chuckled reaching for his tricorder. "Let's have a look at you, shall we?" Claire watched as in just a few seconds Peter was able to put the woman at ease with just a few smiles and a warm tone of voice. She shook her head and smiled- she too felt the same when she first met him. It was just who he was and she was glad to think that there were people like him in the world who decided to use their gifts- superhuman or not- to help those in need as she once was.

"How's it lookin' out there?" McCoy's gruff voice startled her as he hurried past to see to another patient nearby.

"Uh…it's getting thin." She sighed. "My deck is clear. Do you need me somewhere else?"

McCoy's sharp eyes cut into her momentarily. "I'm sorry about this, kid. Really. This is no place for you." He nearly growled.

She squared her shoulders and replied. "Well, I'm here now and I'll stick around as long as I'm needed." He looked exhausted, but there was a steely determination to him that kept him going. As long as he had patients, he would be there and she could see that. She felt as though she should do the same.

He smirked and said, "Stubborn like your Daddy I see."

"Which one?" She asked raising her eyebrow.

"Doesn't matter I guess," he shrugged, "in this case it's not a bad thing. Sweep your deck one last time just to be sure there's no one left and then check with the charge nurse to see where the most casualties are coming from."

Nathan concentrated very hard, intuitively learning the shuttle's capabilities by noting the slightest change in his muscles with each small movement and the way the craft reacted. It was how he flew jets and it served him well. Flying in space was remarkably similar to flying on Earth with one notable difference: without gravity there was no appreciable drag and therefore no perception of G's with which to gauge speed. This was disappointing to him because he loved the feeling of being pushed into his seat during take-off and the exhilaration of floating during rapid loss of altitude. There were times when he could swear he felt the blood being pushed out of his capillaries and only intense drills and training kept him from blacking out during maneuvers.

While on Earth, one could use landmarks to judge distance, in space there really were no distinguishing markers aside from the tiny pinpoints of light that he knew were stars. He also knew that any given star could be millions of light years away, so using them for navigation was out: he had to rely on his instrument panel to know where he was going.

Sylar calmly looked out the window at the massive ships floating in the vacuum of space and even being as jaded as he was, he couldn't help but be impressed with the scope of things. Suddenly he felt insignificant and small in the tiny craft and that was a feeling he detested- that was how Gabriel felt and since then he fought it with everything in him. He took in the sights of the battered skin of the Enterprise and noted bits of debris slowly floating away from a huge gash in the burned hull and it seemed surreal. Everything was silent and he knew that likely there were people floating among the debris and the darkness, but none of it felt real.

"2:00." Nathan abruptly stated.

Sylar glanced at his partner. "What?"

"2:00!" Nathan repeated impatiently pointing to his right. "That way!"

Sylar turned to see another small craft making its way toward them. It was decidedly of a different make than the one he was in which made him realize it was an enemy ship. He waited until the craft came closer and he could see the pilot. While it looked remarkably like the man he found in the box on the Klingon ship, the arrangement of tattoos on the face were not the same. It didn't matter to him- it was nothing personal. He reached out with one hand and used his telekinesis to shatter the windshield of the craft into a million glittering shards while he pulled the unfortunate being from the craft with the other just to be sure he couldn't get access to any life support systems that may be onboard. He momentarily held the Romulan suspended among the floating glass until he realized that there was no need: there was no gravity in space and he let go.

Nathan's gut wrenched as he watched the man reflexively kick and twist as he gasped for air that didn't exist. He had never before watched someone die in real time- let alone in such a horrific way, but here he was witnessing another living being suffocate to death and it seemed to drag on forever. What bothered him more was that his partner didn't seem at all affected by it. If anything, he appeared to be bored and that sent chills up his spine. He had probably murdered so many people he had become completely numb and the coldness in his eyes reminded Nathan of his true nature. He had almost been fooled. He, like Peter, had almost believed that he had changed. Yet that momentary glimpse into the darkness of his soul reminded him that Sylar would always be a monster trapped in a twisted, ticking psyche no matter what mask he wore. A true wolf in sheep's clothing.