Any direct route Kirk and Spock might have taken to Deck Seven was blocked by the aftermath of multiple explosions. Ceilings and walls were collapsed in on each other, leaving piles of wreckage. They had found Lt. Kyle lying amid one pile of wreckage. He was almost burned beyond recognition. As they had each time it had been possible, they covered him and moved on. The first access ladder led only down again, to Deck Nine, but Kirk chose to take it and see if they could find another way up to Sickbay.
They had skirted the worst of Deck Nine on their journey to Auxiliary Control on Deck Eight. Now they were confronted with it again. Even in his darkest nightmare, Kirk had not envisioned anything like Deck Nine in its current state.
The bodies of his crew had been randomly tossed aside, many dead from a single bullet wound to the head. They found the discarded remains of two more Security Platoons. Kirk had nearly become used to the carnage. At least his stomach had stopped discharging gorge into his throat.
The rooms were torn apart as if a lunatic had carved them in some mad search. They had been looking for someone… or something.
The one who bends now, Kirk thought. Whoever it was, they had wanted it very badly. He glanced at Spock. Deck Nine was the Science Officer's domain, as many of the labs were located here. The Vulcan was assessing the damage with his typical, cool penetrating gaze. Kirk took comfort in that. Spock could tell them they had seconds to live and it would somehow be comforting, if delivered in that rational voice and accompanied by that solemn expression.
It was almost impossible to walk normally. In places they were forced to walk across twisted "floors" that had once been walls. When corridors were blocked they went into rooms and through walls that simply did not exist anymore. They had little luck finding another way to access Deck Eight. It seemed the defenders of the Enterprise had chosen to take a stand on Deck Nine.
They came finally to a corridor that looked like the aftermath of an earthquake. Every bulkhead had been blown out. Everything was scored with phaser burns and riddled with bullets. The ceiling had collapsed and covered the invaders with rubble. Even all this time later, the air stank with a strong, acrid metal smell that must have come for the invaders weapons.
Kirk was horrified to see two familiar figures in shredded gold uniform shirts, lying on top of the debris. He stared hollow-eyed, too numb suddenly to react. It was Spock who walked forward on quiet, stealthy feet; as if he walked on graves. His face was pale but his composure was absolute. He knelt beside one, paused, and then lowered his head for a moment as if seeking control.
"It is Chekhov," he said, finally, in a tone rimmed with ice.
Kirk forced himself forward against a murderous wave of grief. He found Sulu covered in blood. One arm was missing and most of one leg. The remains of a strap of some kind hung from his shattered shoulder.
Across the void of destruction, Kirk locked eyes with his First Officer.
"They should have been on the Bridge," Kirk said, dully.
Spock lifted an eyebrow. "In time like those faced by this crew in our absence, men like this do not remain safely on the Bridge," he spoke slowly and allowed his solemn tone to honor his deceased comrades.
Jim looked up at the inverted ceiling, the torn ductwork and the bullet riddled surface.
"They must have been crawling around in the ductwork, stalking the enemy," he shook his head, stunned by the bravery.
Spock lifted Chekhov and carried him away from the worst of the slaughter and laid him carefully against a wall, arranging the Ensign as if he were sleeping. He knelt there for a moment beside the young man who had been his unofficial protégé. During the incident with the Tholians, Chekhov had been held in Sickbay for only a short time and yet his absence had been deeply felt. Spock pondered for a moment what that would mean now that Chekhov was dead, repeating to himself a Vulcan mantra about accepting that which could not be changed; then he rose as if every muscle in his body ached, and went to get Sulu.
It was not logical. Chekhov and Sulu were gone and no rearranging of their bodies would change that. But they were human, and they had been left abandoned for too long. For reasons he could not name, the disrespect bothered him.
"Spock," Jim said, "Look at this."
Spock went to his Captain's side and examined the object Kirk was holding.
"It's a photon grenade, "Kirk said, "But someone has been tampering with it."
"Someone turned it into a basic explosive device. This one malfunctioned and did not detonate on impact." Spock had pried it open and was checking the changes that had been made to the basic structure. "I suspect it was Sulu and Chekhov."
Jim stared at him. "How would they know how to do that?"
Spock's eyebrow went up again. "They once rigged the computer game in Rec One into a miniature transporter to deliver devices that produced a foul odor into the private quarters of some of their shipmates. I have no doubt they could figure this out with some ease."
"They used a miniature transporter to send stink bombs all over the ship?" Jim paraphrased, incredulous.
Spock frowned. "I believe that is what I said," he glanced sideways at his Captain, "I have suspected Lt. Kyle was also involved, but never delved into the matter deeply enough to ascertain that. They were celebrating an Earth custom known as 'April Fools'?"
Jim looked inward, remembering. Sulu was a brilliant pilot but prone to mischief if not kept busy; and what Sulu didn't think of, Chekhov did. Jim had often thought that if one lied the other would swear to it, though he knew neither would ever lie to him. Sulu, in his own way, was as calm and reliable as Spock. He would have been the leader of the pair as they raced through ductwork on a suicide mission. It would have been Sulu who kept Chekhov's hot temper under control, who kept the younger soul going in the face of incredible odds. It would have been Chekhov cracking jokes and making terrible one liners to ease the tension. Sulu had come to the Enterprise as a complete man and Jim found himself wondering now where Sulu had gotten his sense of peace, his seeming fearlessness in the face of death.
A ship, a galaxy, without them seemed impossible. Each death had carved away another piece of Jim Kirk's soul. Now they were beginning to find the most devoted and well-loved of his crew members: Alpha Shift. He was withering inside a little at time.
A flower dying in the desert…. The memory came to him as a soft voice, called up through time, but he could not quite place it. He whispered it to himself, just as he thought he remembered it, as something heard and repeated.
It was not whispered so softly that Spock's incredible Vulcan hearing didn't catch it however.
"Captain?"
"Sulu," Jim said as a deflection."I never left him in command enough, never gave him enough time away from the helm. Command is in his blood. He already had the brains and temperment for it and I never gave him a chance."
He met Spock's eyes miserably. The Vulcan hesitated only briefly. He had trained himself over the last five years to give this man his unvarnished opinion and the truth as he knew it, even in the worst moments, even when the truth forced him to admit painfully "I don't know." He had also learned, by watching his Vulcan father interact with his Terran mother, that he could often lessen the blow of the truth by the tone of his voice and look in his eyes.
"No, you did not," Spock agreed, softly, "Sulu reminded me of you in many ways; though Chekhov did even moreso. Sulu had the same ability to remain in charge, calm even in a crisis. Chekhov had your raw energy. I've no doubt they would both have become exemplary starship captains."
Kirk slumped against a wall, drained for a moment. He was sick of it now; sick of the smells, the vision of his ship as a ruined battlefield. The loss of his crew, his friends. Spock took him by the forearm, a gesture of support and incredible bravery. Jim was raw with emotion. His entire being throbbed with pain. He doubted any amount of Vulcan mental shielding would block it, yet Spock had touched him without hesitation.
It gave him courage. He straightened as if to physically shake off the sorrow, looked at Spock and nodded.
"Let's go. We still need to find a way up."
Even though Jim appeared to have recovered, Spock considered suggesting that they find a place to stop, to rest, maybe even to eat. Jim had been under considerable strain from the moment they had dropped out of the time bubble; and the worst was yet to come.
But Jim Kirk would just reject it. He would continue moving until he finally broke down entirely. Spock adjusted his own metabolism to compensate. When Jim finally crashed, he intended to be there to hold him up.