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[Well that's the last thing he wanted to hear when he's staring despairingly at the fried innards of a crippled and drifting shuttle, trying to work out how the hell he's going to get it functional. Thanks for that]

...how long?

Approximately forty point five minutes. [Even toned and impassive, the direness of their circumstance does not fail to register with the Commander, he simply reports the known facts to better their motivation.]

The other vessel is inoperative, Mr. Scott. I do not believe her capable of making the necessary course corrections.

Right. Of course she isnae. [Because that would make life easy and obviously they can't be having that. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, regarding the smoking remains of the main drive with an air of resignation]

I think there's some life left in the starboard manoeuvring thrusters. That might be enough t'get us off course. How much d'we need t'change course by t'miss them?

A change of six degrees would be sufficient. If we are able to do so within ten minutes. [He raises an eyebrow.] Perhaps the efforts would be best served if I lend some assistance to you?

[Always helpful. That's Spock for you.]

Six degrees-- [His eyes go distant, a hint of a frown creasing his brow, muttering to himself under his breath as he runs down some hasty mental calculations] Six over eighty-four by...we're doin' what, about two point seven... a wee bit under two six three-

[He stops, blinking, and seems to refocus] I need t'route power through the secondaries. Can you run diagnostics on the thrusters, see how much the efficiency's dropped by? Just t'the nearest five percent or so. Need an idea how much thrust we'll be gettin' fae them.

[Nodding, the Commander keeps his attention divided at the helm and running the diagnostic. Neither task is overwhelming at the moment, and as soon as he has the necessary information he relays it to Scotty.]

We've dropped thirty percent on the starboard, eighty on the port and aft. [Spock's gaze flickers over to his company for the moment.] If the calculations are correct, it will be possible to make this attempt. Though perhaps only once. Given the damage to other systems, we will need the power to sustain life support.

Aye, even wi' the mass of the shuttle the starboards should get us clear. Long as I get them workin' inside... [He glances at his chrono and snorts something that's not quite a laugh] ...four an' a half minutes. Better get on that then, eh?

[He's already buried up to the elbows in the still gently smoking circuitry before he's finished speaking. There's no chance of restoring full control, not in the time they have, but fortunately they don't need precision. They just need power]

[For three of those minutes, Spock is ready to pass the engineer any tools he has need of. Switching parts out as quickly as possible. When their time limit draws close, he resumes his seat at the helm, needing to direct them manually. The autopiloting subroutine is not trustworthy at this time.]

On your mark, Mr Scott.

[He considers the patch job on the control relays dubiously for a moment before closing his eyes and offering a silent prayer to the gods of duct-tape-and-hope engineering]

Alright. Go for it.

[Spock is unfamiliar with that deity. It is not his custom to pray either. Yet he does spare a moment before pushing the ignition sequence. The shuttle rumbles in reaction to the change in it's power, but does shift course successfully. The tense moment only lasts seconds before Spock leans back.]

Five degrees port. Well done, Scotty. [The nickname slips out unbidden. It is the first time that Spock has ever used it.]

Edited 2013-08-03 22:26 (UTC)

[He throws his hands in the air in triumph, giving a relieved laugh, and kills the power to the thrusters. No sense wasting any more power than they have to. Heading back up to the cockpit, he sinks into the co-pilot's chair]

We should have life support for another four hours. Plenty'a time for the ship t'come pick us up. S'the distress signal runnin'?

[A small quirk of his mouth is as much celebration as he allows himself.]

Affirmative, the ship should have no trouble tracking it once they are in range.

[It would be beyond him to attribute their good fortunes to anything like chance, but if one did believe in 'luck', they seemed to have had a positive moment of it.]

[ Dean just stands there with a wide-eyed look on his face, he's sick of dying and he shouts over to Spock while he is pointing at the view screen! ] Yes! I can see we are going to fly straight into that asteroid!

Now, if you could kindly work on getting us flying in another direction instead of pointing out the obvious!

[Humans. Always so excitable. Well, this is what Spock gets when Starfleet insists on trading officers around on temporary assignments.]

Attempting to correct the trajectory now. Please prepare short burst phasors, targeting these outer debris. [The smaller asteroids are highlighted with a casual swipe of Spock's finger.]

[ Dean had no idea how he was sitting at the weapon's station of the USS Enterprise. He shifts about in his chair, his eyes drifting from side as if he was looking to see if this was completely real, one of Castiel's plans to teach him a valuable life's lesson or something.

The elder Winchester takes a glance around him to see the people on the bridge in their various colored shirts, and he looks down at himself to see he's still in the same clothes he was in from the other day. But ayup, someone put Dean here and he clears his throat to go along with it. ] Lieutenant Winchester requesting a large bag of Doritos, a six pack of beer, and for the love of anything that's worthwhile a cassette player! Cause, if I'm to play asteroids, I need some serious video game chow!

[ He wiggles his fingers in anticipation at getting to shoot the pieces of space debris, his hands soon find themselves grasping the controls and he goes to play his role here. ] Preparing the short and long burst phasors, and I've got those big hunks of space debris targeted! And, I'll be damned if we end up like the passengers of the Titanic!

[The Commander was going to have to have a word with the officer in charge of transfers. It seemed that the professional standards of Starfleet were lax, this far into deep space. The Captain may have been amused at such a conversational approach to the task at hand, but Spock was not amused.]

Indeed, lieutenant. Now, if you would please. [The words were polite but the tone, for a given definition of 'tone' coming from a Vulcan, was steely.]

We have one point four minutes to complete the evasion exercise.

[ Dean goes to look down at the controls, man the shit on that console was complicated with plenty of triangulations that look like greek to him. Dean tries anyway, with his tongue hanging out to help him concentrate he tries to get the phasers to line up with the target.

Oh, and how did he fail as he totally miscalculated things. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap he thought to himself. Really, Starfleet of the deepest of space really needs to check itself. Dean tries to hide the fact that he's nervous, he's very nervous. ] Sir. Commander Sir! There appears to be a major malfunction with the guns!

[ Dean starts to try to think of what could be wrong with them, and not the fact he never saw a trigonometry book in his life. ] Somehow, it appears that they are not moving in the direction I wish them to move in.

Edited 2013-08-06 02:41 (UTC)

There is no malfunction. [Spock would deny it, but he seemed to have developed a slight twitch that was triggered by Lieutenant Winchester's mere presence.

Swiftly moving from his station, while another officer moved to replace him, Spock then comes to stand to one side of the helm and weapons station.] Disengage the randomizing subroutine, and the proceed to manually target the asteroids.

[The entire bridge has gone silent.

And this was just a training exercise.]

Damn tootin' there's a malfunction! [ Dean lives to drive people like this up a proverbial wall, and of course, he's completely overreacting to the training exercise. It was when Spock gave the orders to disengage auto and to go into manual, Dean looks up over his shoulder with a hesitant look on his face and then back down to the controls.

He tries to make quick work of everything, and luck is on Winchester's side this time as he manages to do it right. He flexes his hand, and he waggles his eyebrows. ] Let's get this asteroid shootin' on! [ He reaches out for the control stick, and he gets ready to blast up some asteroids! ]