Open Writing

At four thousand feet above the planet’s surface, the Enterprise broke through the cloud cover and Sulu began a wide, circling turn that would bring them on a course towards the lake. The turbolift doors opened and McCoy stepped through, and stared in open-mouthed wonder at the sight on the forward viewer. He looked around at the others on the bridge, then he spotted Chekov. The Russian was still lying on the floor between the weapons station and the science console, and McCoy hurried to his side.

The others, meanwhile, were still too busy with the landing to notice. The ship was bucking and bouncing in the turbulent air, and they all had their hands full just keeping her in level flight.

Kirk turned to Sulu. “Can you see the lake yet?”

The Asian shook his head. “Not yet, captain. Perhaps it is over that ridge just ahead.”

Struggling with the controls, Sulu attempted to gain precious height, in order to clear the ridge that was approaching rapidly, while Kirk sat back in his chair and watched helplessly. Had they been in space, there would be any number of things he could be doing, but in a planet’s atmosphere, where no starship was ever meant to go, had ever gone before, he could only sit and watch. Their lives were in the hands of the Asian pilot, and Kirk reflected that there was no one he would rather entrust the task to than Sulu. If it could be done, then he would do it.

At the controls, Sulu trimmed and planed, constantly firing short bursts from the attitude thrusters to keep the ship on an even keel. They had one thing in their favor; the disk-shape of the Enterprise was actually helping to keep her level, and as long as they had thruster power, he felt they had a chance. All in all though, Sulu thought as he struggled with the mighty ship, I’d rather be back in ‘Frisco, flying my old Huey chopper.

A moment later they cleared the ridge, due entirely to Sulu’s skill, and there before them stretched the lake.

“There it is, captain,” said Sulu.

“Well done, Mr. Sulu,” said Kirk. “Now, try to set us down so that we end up on the far side. I don’t think we want to try swimming in that water.”

Scotty nodded. “Aye, who knows what beasties might be lurkin’ in yon loch.”

The Enterprise skimmed the surface of the lake, no more than fifty feet above its dark waters, the far side still hidden in the murk. Just as the giant ship touched the water, they saw a line of scrub in the distance; then they were down, bouncing and crashing, the landing throwing them about in their seats.

The Enterprise carved a great swathe through the low, bushy scrubs in the shallows, finally coming to rest nose down among some larger trees at the lake’s edge. After the chaos of the landing, the silence that followed was almost painful, and no one moved for a moment. Then Kirk broke the silence, smiling ruefully at the Asian pilot.

“Well done, Mr. Sulu. I think.”

Sulu smiled back. “You know what we pilots say, captain. Any landing that you can walk away from….”

They were interrupted by a shout from McCoy. “Jim! Over here! Give me a hand with Chekov!”

The others turned towards the doctor and saw Chekov for the first time; with a cry, Sulu leapt out of his chair and hurried to his friend’s side. Together, he and McCoy carried the Russian, who was only semi-conscious, to the turbolift. McCoy turned to Kirk.

“We have to get him to sick bay, Jim. I’ve only got a basic medical bag with me, and Chekov needs urgent treatment, now!” He started for the elevator, and Kirk held him back.

“It’s no good, Bones. That part of the ship is under water. We were holed there in several places. With all of our instruments out, we don’t know how deep the water is here, but we’re still sinking. We have to abandon ship.”
McCoy moved closer to the captain, and spoke in a lower tone. “But Jim, if he doesn’t get proper treatment right now, he’s going to die!”

Kirk looked at the Russian helplessly, then back at his old friend. “I’m sorry, Bones. You can’t go down there.”

They stared at each other for a moment, then Kirk said, “See if you can rig a stretcher for him. Sulu, you help him. Mr. Spock, get everyone out through the aft emergency hatch. When you reach the shore, head for shelter. The ship is sure to attract some of those creatures, and we don’t want to be here when they arrive.”

Spock left his station and hurried to the rear of the bridge while McCoy and Sulu fashioned a stretcher out of a blanket and some steel tubes. The Vulcan activated a manual valve, and a small circular hatch began to open in the ceiling. Quickly, the stretcher bearing Chekov was passed through and on to the flat surface of the ship. The others followed, with Kirk the last to leave. When he cleared the hatch, he gave one last, regretful glance at the ship that he had been a part of for so long, and which had been a part of him. Then he followed the others down the emergency ladder to the lakeshore.

Moving as quickly as they could over the marshy ground at the lake’s edge, they made their way to a small clump of trees, and went deeper into their midst. When they could no longer see the ship, Kirk called a halt, and McCoy began to do what he could for the Russian.

Kirk crouched down beside the doctor and glanced at him. McCoy was working furiously, desperately trying to stem the flow of blood from the Russian’s chest and abdomen, where the shrapnel from an exploding console had struck him.

“How is he?” Kirk asked.

McCoy, still working, said, “Not good, Jim. I’m doing all that I can, but I just don’t have the equipment or the facilities.”

Kirk looked at the stricken Russian, whose entire body seemed to be soaked in blood. Chekov’s face was white; his eyes were open, but he didn’t seem to be seeing anything, and his breathing came in short gasps. Kirk looked back at McCoy. “Bones, you’ve got to do something. You’ve got to save him!”

McCoy continued working on the Russian for a few moments, then stopped and turned to Kirk. “Jim, I can’t!” he whispered urgently. “He’s already lost far too much blood, and I don’t have any to give him! Besides,” he said, hopelessness in his voice, “he’s all torn up inside.”

They both looked back at Chekov. The Russian’s head was in Uhura’s lap, and Sulu was gripping his hand while Spock and Scotty stood by. As they watched him, Chekov’s eyes suddenly cleared and focused, and he looked around at them. He tried to smile, and coughed a small amount of blood. Kirk knelt and took his other hand and smiled.

“Hello, Pavel,” he said. “You had us worried there for a moment. Just lie still, and Bones will have you up and about in no time.”

The Russian smiled, small and strained, his voice barely above a whisper. “Not this time, I think, Kepten.”

Kirk looked at McCoy, who was sitting back on his heels, his hands red with the Russian’s blood, and the doctor shook his head imperceptibly. In desperation, Kirk turned back to Chekov. “Come on, Pavel!” he said. “Don’t give up! Fight!”

Chekov smiled again. “No, Kepten. First order I ever disobey. No more fighting for me. Now, it is all of you who must fight.” He looked up at Sulu; the Asian’s eyes were brimming, and he could not speak. “So, my friend,” he said. “It is time.” Chekov looked around at them all. “Do not grieve for me. I would not have hed it any other way.”

Kirk looked at the small figure of the man who had been his loyal friend and shipmate for twenty-five years, and with whom he had shared so much. “Pavel, I…I’m sorry I got you into this,” he said.

Chekov smiled again. “No, Kepten. I came because I wanted to. We all did. As we always…” He convulsed as another fit of coughing shook him, then he looked at them again.

“Das vodanya, my friends. I wish…”

The Russian never completed his last thought. Eyes staring at eternity, Pavel Andreievitch Chekov joined his ancestors.

The others were silent for a moment, then McCoy said, unnecessarily, “He’s gone.”

Uhura began to weep, and they all bowed their heads in homage to their fallen comrade as, on an alien planet under an alien sky, a Cossack went home.

*

After a few minutes, Kirk looked up at the others. “Come on,” he said, getting to his feet. “We’ve got to find a place where we can find some shelter, and get some rest.”

Sadly, they carried the body of their shipmate to the base of a large tree; the ground was too hard to attempt to dig a grave, even if they had had the tools, so they sat him down. Sitting with his back against the tree, his head slumped forward onto his chest, he seemed to have merely fallen asleep, and with one last look, they left him there. When they had walked on for a few minutes, Kirk looked back, but could no longer see Chekov. He paused a moment longer, then turned away, and led the others from that place.

*

Kirk led the surviving members of his crew through the small forest and out on to the barren plain. There was a line of low hills in the distance, and after a short conference, they decided to make for them.

They were all fatigued; it took them two hours to reach the foot of the hills, and the blood-red sun was low in the sky as Kirk led them up a narrow canyon to where a few trees grew in a natural bowl. Once there, they took stock of their situation.

They had little food, less water and few weapons, all they had been able to grab in their haste to leave the Enterprise. Now, Kirk wondered if they might have been too hasty; perhaps the ship would not sink, after all.

They held an inventory of weapons; each of them had a phaser, and Sulu also carried the weapon he had taken from Chekov. They laid them on the ground and looked at the pitiful arsenal for a moment. Then Scotty stepped forward and laid a long parcel he had been carrying on the ground beside the phasers, and began to unwrap it. The others watched curiously, then gasped in surprise as the Scotsman laid aside the wrapping to reveal a long, bright sword.

Kirk stared in amazement, and said, “Scotty, where the hell did you get that?”

Scotty smiled. “ ’Tis the ancestral claymore of the Scott clan, captain. I can trace its lineage all the way back tae William Wallace and Robert the Bruce himself, and I’ve carried it in me personal gear for thirty years.” He picked up the heavy sword and hefted it in two meaty hands, and his smile turned grimmer. “Now it looks as if I might finally get the chance tae use it.”

Kirk smiled, looking at the Scotsman, standing there in the dusky light, brandishing the mighty sword like some heroic figure of old. But his smile faded quickly; they had been in some tight spots before, but they were going to need more than a few phasers and an ancient sword to get them out of this one.

Kirk thought for a moment, then said, “Uhura, did you manage to get any mayday signals away before we went down?”

“Yes, captain,” Uhura replied. “But, as you know, it will take at least three months for a rescue ship to get here, and that’s after they receive the messages. Even at sub-space speeds, we’re looking at a pretty long wait.”

Kirk nodded. “Yes, I know. So we’ll just have to survive until help comes.”

McCoy looked up from where he was taking stock of his medical supplies. “Jim, you can’t be serious! We’ve got virtually no food or water, and we’d be taking one hell of a risk using what we find here. How the hell can we hope to survive for even three days, let alone three months?”

“What do you suggest, doctor?” Kirk replied. “Surrender?” He looked around the group. “Personally, I’d rather surrender to Klingons than throw myself on the mercy of these creatures. I’ve got a feeling that they wouldn’t even have any concept of what it meant.”

There was no answer to that, and he added, “We’d better get some rest. I’ll take the first watch.”

The air was warm, and they needed no bedding, so they each found as comfortable a place as they could and settled down for the night.

***