The Way Home

by Jane Seaton

Part 4 of 4

"Warp six," Sulu reported, "We will be entering Tien space in just over one hour on this heading and exiting again in fourteen point three..."

"Well, since they don't seem to recognise their boundaries themselves, we may as well carry on straight through. Are they following?"

"No, Captain," Spock replied. "I had only a short time to examine the vessels but I would judge that they were not fast enough to be able to pursue us. They may also be concerned that we are not as badly damaged as they thought."

"Someone has called for medical assistance on deck seventeen," Uhura reported, "but I'm still getting no response via the intercom..."

"That makes sense," Sulu interrupted optimistically. "If McCoy got out and called for help, and now he's trying to assist Chekov."

"I hope you're right." Scott's tone suggested that he didn't dare to hope anything of the sort. "D'ye still think he shouldn't have been on duty, Captain?"

"No, Mister Scott, I don't. And I never meant to suggest that I didn't have complete confidence in him."

"Aye, well... I ought to get down there and make sure there's nothing left in a dangerous condition. There were still one or two live systems running through that shaft."

Kirk made a be my guest gesture, accepting the excuse without comment.

"Spock, can't you use the scanners to see what's going on down there?"

%%%

McCoy half fell off the ladder, out into the corridor. He paused, trying to balance up in his mind the fact that Scott wouldn't be trying to rush them if it wasn't desperate, against his own need to know that Chekov was safe before giving the engineer the all clear. Even as he hesitated, a hand gripped the first rung above floor level. He forced himself not to go and help and flung himself at the nearest intercom. As he reached it, an explosion threw Chekov head over heels into the corridor. McCoy forgot everyone on the bridge and hit the medical emergency code before turning back to the ensign. Chekov lay very still, not breathing, until he suddenly gasped and tried to sit up.

"Don't move."

"I'm all right. It was only the shock wave." But Chekov obeyed the order and McCoy knelt beside him, cursing the absence of his medical tricorder. There was a steady pulse of blood from the jagged cut into the ensign's left hand, despite its cauterised edges. McCoy caught and raised the hand as far as it would go. The bleeding slowed to a trickle and the uniform sleeve pulled back, revealing the burns inflicted by the welder and other, older marks.

The intercom was squealing furiously but McCoy ignored it. "Why the hell did Scotty send you to do this?"

"I don't know. I think there was no one else. He couldn't do it. He couldn't work down there."

"Neither could you if you weren't twenty pounds underweight."

"Then it's just as well the Tien didn't overfeed me, isn't it?"

McCoy turned to look at the ensign, stung by the words, but Chekov was smiling. The expression was infectious.

"Well, I hope they appreciate the irony of that. Where's that damn medical team?"

"I cut the power to the turbo lift and most of the other shafts were out already. They'll have to find another way down to us."

"I see." McCoy stretched up to look at Chekov's hand again. The bleeding had diminished to a sticky ooze. "Well, you'll survive till they get here. Tell me, what exactly were we doing down there?"

Chekov grinned. "Getting the power of the warp engines to the deflector dish."

"But that's what the Jeffries tubes are for, isn't it?"

"I know where all the Jeffries tubes are. I didn't know about this."

"Ah. For which ignorance we are profoundly grateful. But surely whatever you did's just been blown to pieces again? What was that explosion?"

"You can't put that much power through conventional channels. It has to have it's own containment field but you can't set the field up until the power's flowing. So you use a magnetic lens system to control it until the field is established. That was just a... a leak. And you can feel we're in warp."

"You mean that sort of power is charging around the ship the whole time we're in warp drive?"

Chekov nodded, still smiling through the grime and blood on his face. McCoy shivered. "Can you keep your arm up for a moment?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good, I'll go and answer that damned intercom."

He pushed to his feet, expecting to feel the ache of overworked muscles, but triumph was burning in him, blotting out any genuine physical symptoms. From Chekov's cheerful expression, he could only conclude that the ensign was similarly protected from the pain of his injuries. He paused to look down at his patient, covered from head to toe in a greasy layer of soot and looking as if he just wanted the word to go and do battle with the Romulans, or whoever else Starfleet had lined up for them. "You're all right now?" he asked, meaning more than just the shocks of the last fifteen minutes.

"I'm all right." Chekov shoved with his boot against McCoy's feet. "Go and answer that intercom."

"McCoy here. What the hell do you want?"

There was a stunned silence from Uhura. She said cautiously, "What is the situation, Doctor?"

"I'm fine, and Chekov will be as soon as someone gets a medical team here."

"Mister Scott's on his way down to you. I'll chase up the medics."

Chekov's face fell. "What did you do with Mister Scott's tool kit?"

"I left it in there."

"That was his own tool kit."

"You can always buy me another," the engineer suggested mildly as he rounded the sharp curve of the corridor pursued by M'Benga and his team. "And reset all the contents to my satisfaction. It'll keep you out of mischief, Doctor."