It was to be their first time flying a non-simulated mission, and the four-person flight crew buzzed with nervous energy, though each did their best to maintain an external collected appearance. They were about to embark on their capstone, comprehensive final exam for the first term of their third year at Starfleet Academy: a twenty-hour planetary survey and reconnaissance mission to Aldebaran and back.

Nyota Uhura was pleased with the crew. Though they would be graded as individuals, they would also be graded collectively, and she didn't think she could have ended up on a better team.

She would take weapons and communications, Anthony Nemechek was assigned as the mission's flight engineer, Pavel Chekov was to be the navigator and sensor operator, and Hikaru Sulu would take the helm. She knew Sulu fairly well and Chekov and Nemechek in passing.

Sulu had the best grades of any pilot at the Academy, and Nemechek was supposed to be a wizard in warp theory with a good head for ingenuity and improvisation. She heard Chekov was only sixteen, but heard he was among the most brilliant and promising mathematicians Starfleet had ever produced, and such a skillset would no doubt be invaluable for the mission's navigator.

The instructor assigned to fly with them as an observer-controller was also one of the best at the Academy, Lieutenant Agatha Bautista. She was tough, but fair, and possessed the rare combination of both a sharp wit and a quiet patience. She'd been Uhura's instructor in both astrogation and stellar cartography, and she was secretly excited to pick her brain in a more close setting without three hundred other students vying for her attention.

"I couldn't sleep last night," Sulu admitted with a laugh.

"Me either," Chekov agreed, arms crossed about his chest. "And this is going to be a long mission."

"I couldn't sleep thinking about the fact that we're on Risa and not allowed to mix with the locals," Nemechek grumbled.

Uhura rolled her eyes. It had taken them three days to travel from Earth to Risa for this mission, and she couldn't deny she'd stayed awake later than she probably should have studying last minute things.

"Oh come on. This is going to be a piece of cake," Nemechek laughed. "Just a little trip to the edge of the Betreka nebula and back. No sweat."

"Yeah," she replied.

No sweat.

An hour ago they had already passed the first part of the exam, which was performing maintenance checks and pre-launching procedures on the shuttle they would be flying. Now they sat in the holding area of the shuttle bay on Risa, waiting for Lieutenant Bautista. All the other teams had already left, and she was getting antsy.

Uhura glanced at the large digital clock above the entrance. They were scheduled to depart at 1300, and it was now 1217. They were done with pre-flight checks, but it would take at least half an hour to get the shuttle's systems properly online for departure and she hated cutting things this close.

"This is what Starfleet is about though," she thought to herself. "Plan, get your plans changed, adapt, and succeed."

Her fellow crewmembers seemed to be having the same thought, and she noticed their eyes darting to the clock and watching the minutes drag by.

At 1230 she stood and prepared to walk to the manifest desk and ask about the status of their mission when the door opened and she turned, expecting to see Lieutenant Bautista.

Disappointment. It was only Commander Spock.

She started to approach the desk to inquire after their observer-controller when he spoke.

"I presume the four of you comprise Gamma Team?" he asked.

"Yes, sir," she said, squinting her eyes at him.

"Your mission has begun," he said, turning crisply on his heel and leaving the holding area. "Follow me."

The four crew members exchanged quizzical glances, and she chased Commander Spock into the open shuttle bay.

"Sir, where is Lieutenant Bautista?"

"On her way back to Earth with a medical condition," he explained. "I am qualified to act as your observer-controller."

Sulu, Chekov, and Nemechek caught up with them and waited anxiously for a status update on their mission.

"So... what? We're flying with you?" she asked, fighting to keep the disbelief out of her tone.

"You infer correctly," he said.

She had been in Commander Spock's xenolinguistics programming lab the previous year. He had the honor of being the first and only instructor to ever give her less than "exceptional" rating. Of course, everyone had told her not to take it personally, because he had never given anyone an "exceptional" rating. At least not that anyone had ever heard of.

"Sir, we already did pre-flight checks on the Volta III," Sulu explained. "Lieutenant Bautista had signed for that vessel, and she needs to be here to transfer command codes."

"I am aware, cadet," Spock said. "I have signed for the Dalton II."

"That's a type-15 shuttlecraft," Nemechek argued. "We've trained and prepared for type-16 vessels. The fifteens aren't even authorized for use beyond Federation space anymore."

"And as we are not leaving Federation space, your argument is irrelevant. I think you shall find it has all of the necessary components. It was inspected this morning and cleared to fly," Spock explained. "You are also wasting time arguing immaterial details. You will lose considerable points for a late launch."

"That's not-"

Her words froze in her throat. She had been about to say, "that's not fair," but assumed it would fall on deaf, pointy ears.

"It takes thirty minutes just to do all of the necessary pre-flight checks," she protested. "And we haven't even done maintenance checks on the Dalton II. We're supposed to do these checks while getting the systems online?"

"I have served on a crew that performed the same task in nineteen minutes," he countered, checking the time on his PADD. "This team currently has twenty-seven minutes remaining before scheduled launch. You are not using your time wisely."

She stared at him open-mouthed and wanted to really lay into him, but she sighed in frustration and stamped her foot. Sulu, Chekov, and Nemechek were already jogging toward the Dalton II, located 300 meters up the shuttle bay. Spock noted something on his PADD and looked at her, and she begrudgingly ran after her crewmembers.

When she boarded the shuttle, her three comrades were clawing and groping at control panels, gearing up systems, pulling out gear to inventory, and calling out check sequences. She sat down at the terminal to the left of the helm and did her best to keep from shaking.

Spock strolled in through the port hatch and took a seat in the rear jumpseat to observe.

"Impulse engines, online," Sulu barked.

"Check," Chekov replied in his thick Russian accent, looking over to his terminal while rustling through emergency equipment. "Thrusters, fully operational also."

"Sir, there's an internal plasma leak in the aft manifold," Nemechek whined.

"It has been noted in the shuttle's previous maintenance records," Spock mused.

"Well, maybe I would know that if I had more than ten minutes to look over the shuttle's maintenance history," Nemechek hissed under his breath.

"I am sorry, I did not-"

"Communication tests on all channels are green," she called, interrupting Spock and exchanging glances with Nemechek.

She began running a test on their hypothetical weapons: the training mission didn't allow for use of live phasers or torpedoes, but accounting for the systems was still part of her grade.

Along with hand weapons. Damn.

She hastily flipped around in her chair and made her way to the aft of the shuttle, trying to keep out of Nemechek's way as he feverishly primed the small warp core.

Chekov made himself busy inventorying the medical supplies and food rations. She could hear him noting serious deficiencies, though none significant enough to delay the launch of a mission lasting less than twenty-four hours through Federation space.

She grabbed the case with the hand phasers and slammed it down on the seat next to Spock.

"Prepared for weapons serial number inventory, sir," she snapped.

The disdain seeping through her voice was unfortunate, but she couldn't take it back now.

"Ready," he replied, flipping the screen on his PADD.

She began to read the serial numbers of the phasers while the others managed to get the rest of the shuttle's systems ready for launch. They made it with six minutes to spare and she took her seat next to Sulu with grim satisfaction.

No doubt Spock would still find arbitrary errors and shortcomings, but he couldn't deny that they made it in the allotted time.

"Impulse systems ready, prepare for departure," Sulu shouted.

"Course laid in, bearing 012-mark-16. Destination, Aldebaran," Chekov added, speaking slowly through his accent.

"Impulse ready on your mark," Nemechek called to Sulu.

"Ready, one-eighth impulse," Sulu replied.

Out of the corner of her eye, Uhura could see Spock's canted eyebrows rise as he deftly typed out notes on his grading PADD. She scowled.

"Starfleet channels open, long range scanners clear of alien traffic," she called, feeling jittery but euphoric.

Sulu engaged the sequence to move the Dalton II out of the shuttle bay, but it stalled. She glanced at him, and Sulu gulped and checked the helm monitor.

"Sprung another internal plasma leak," Nemechek groaned. "Computer's reading it in the forward sensor conduit."

"What classification?" Spock replied.

"Class I, sir," Nemechek sighed.

"You are aware that the vessel remains operational so long as the plasma leak is contained and not higher than classification II, are you not?"

"Aye. Sir," Nemechek growled.

The cabin lights flickered and then went out and were replaced by emergency lighting, and Nemechek began cussing. Spock was unfazed, and Chekov rose from his chair to see if he could provide any assistance. Ten minutes later, Nemechek and Chekov had the warp reactors back online, the power restored, and the forward plasma leak contained.

She noted the time in the shuttle's log as 1305 with a hint of defeat in her voice. Five minutes late.

She saw Spock entering a long string of information into his PADD and resisted the urge to rip it out of his hands and stomp on it. Less than an hour ago, she had such high hopes for her grades this term. Now it was all drifting away on the whims of a Vulcan who was practically married to policies and in a vessel probably held together by engineering tape and older than the Federation itself.

Twenty hours to go. What could possibly go wrong?