CHAPTER 3
The computer voice was cool, yet cordial.
“Starfleet shuttle Romain , you are cleared for mooring. Welcome to Starbase one-seven-eight, Captain Scott.”
A moment later, Scotty guided the shuttle to the coordinates transmitted. It glided into the appropriate bay, one of many on the large station.
As soon as the shuttle came to a halt, the computer notified him that the bay had been pressurized. For perhaps the tenth time that day, Scotty marveled at the pace of modern life.
Then he opened the shuttle door and descended to the deck outside. Abruptly, he came face-to-face with a smiling Starfleet officer. A quick look at the uniform pips told the engineer that the man was a commander— probably the one in charge of the station.
The officer had a large smile on his round, cherubic face. He put out his hand.
“I’m Commander Yuri Nelson, Captain Scott. It’s a real honor to have you on my station.”
Scott took the commander’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to be here, Commander.”
“I wish we’d had more notice,” remarked Nelson. “I would have liked to arrange something,” he said as the two men walked across the shuttlebay.
Though Nelson was clearly enthusiastic about having a legend on his base, Scotty wondered if anyone else on the staff had heard of him. When the engineer last saw active duty seventy-five years ago, the grandparents of most of the station crew would have been young children.
“Will you be with us for very long?” the commander asked, stopping in front of a turbolift door. “We have quite a collection of alien artifacts here. No doubt, some pieces that would be of interest to you.”
Scott shook his head. “I’m afraid nae, Commander. Nae on this trip.”
Looking at Nelson’s open, friendly features, Scott regretted what he was about to do. At some point in the future, he might have liked to come back to Starbase 178 and spend some time. But if all went well, the commander wouldn’t be nearly so glad to see him the next time.
“I’ll be back, though, as soon as I can,” Scott promised. It was true enough.
By the look on his face, the commander was about to ask another question. Scott cut him off with a gesture.
“The tour?” the engineer asked. “The one I inquired about?”
“Yes, of course,” Nelson replied. “The last one of the day leaves in a few minutes. This turbolift will take you directly to the shuttle. If you had time, we could arrange something more private. These public tours can be a bit basic for someone like you.”
“It’ll be fine,” Scott assured him. “I’m glad ye could fit me in.”
Nelson extended his hand and Scotty shook it again. “Believe me,” said the commander, “that was the least I could do. It was good to meet you, sir.”
Scott entered the turbolift. “The same here. Thank ye, Commander. I’ll be speaking with ye.”
A moment later, Scotty was in the turbolift, speeding toward the shuttle in what would no doubt be the shortest and easiest leg of his journey.
The turbolift came to a stop. The door opened onto a shuttledeck almost exactly like the one he had landed in.
Sitting on the deck was a large, short-range passenger shuttle. The deck was clear of people except for a single attendant waiting by the shuttle door.
As Scott approached, he could see that the attendant was a young woman wearing an ensign’s uniform. She flashed him a smile, but her eyes looked thoughtful— even worried.
Probably nervous about having to give the red carpet treatment to an ancient Starfleet officer she’d probably never heard of—at least, until her commander briefed her on him. Scotty grunted.
“I’m Ensign Hammond,” the woman told him. “Welcome aboard, Captain Scott. It’s an honor to have you with us, sir.”
“Montgomery Scott, lass. Captain Montgomery Scott, if ye want to get formal about it—which I do nae. In fact,” he said, leaning a bit closer to her, “I’d like to keep a low profile on this tour, if ye know what I mean. No special treatment, please.”
Ensign Hammond nodded, clearly relieved. “Yes, sir,” she replied. “No special treatment. I’ve got it.”
As Scott boarded the shuttlecraft and looked around for a place to sit, he saw that the shuttle had four rows of five seats with an aisle down the middle. Nineteen of those seats were occupied—perhaps a third of them by children.
Nineteen faces looked up to watch him walk down the aisle. Apparently, he’d kept them waiting a wee bit. Giving the group a tight smile, he took his seat.
Without ceremony, the ensign sat down behind the controls and ran through the preflight protocols. Ahead of her, the shuttlebay doors opened to the blackness of space.
When he felt the craft lurch slightly, Scott forced himself to look away from Ensign Hammond. He recognized the irony of it. After all his years in space, he was uncomfortable traveling in a ship he wasn’t piloting.
Of course, there were a few others he trusted at the helm of a vessel. But none of them were available, the engineer thought wryly.
Scott tried to distract himself by silently running through his plan, but that didn’t help much. To call what he had in mind a plan was being kind in the extreme. The fact was, he had only the vaguest idea of how he would accomplish his objective.
Well, he mused, he’d simply do what he always did when facing a difficult problem under a tough deadline. He’d just take it one step at a time.
A flash of light from the starboard observation port caught his eye. As he turned, he couldn’t help but grin at the sight. Hanging there in space, the Yorktown was even more beautiful than he remembered.
They were approaching the dry dock from out front, the dock’s lights reflecting off the ship’s command hull. It would have been more efficient to approach the ship from the rear and enter the shuttlebay directly, but this was a tour intended to show off the ship. And despite the lost time, Scotty couldn’t find it in his heart to regret the view.
First, they skimmed along the smooth top of the main saucer section of the ship. Al! eyes in the shuttle, including Scotty’s, were glued to the vessel—which dominated not only the observation ports, but also the viewscreen up above the pilot’s seat. They came close enough to see the letters that spelled out her name.
U.S.S. YORKTOWN, it said. The call letters were NCC-1717.
No bloody letter, Scotty thought, in the old Starfleet typography. What’s more, he liked it better that way.
They dipped down at the end of the saucer to a point just above the engineering hull. This gave them a good view of both the cigar-shaped engineering section of the ship below them and the engine nacelles above them.
Scotty had never taken to the newer starship designs, including those of the new Galaxy-class ship. The damned engine pods just seemed too short.
On the old Constitution-class vessels, the nacelles were long and graceful. Long enough, in fact, that they should have looked unwieldy. But they didn’t. Instead, they conveyed a sense of power that the newer ships seemed to lack.
Of course, he knew that was just an illusion. Modern engine designs were so powerful, the warp speed chart had to be rewritten to account for their performances.
Still, though Scotty knew all of that intellectually, the illusion persisted. As they came around to the rear of the ship, it looked to the engineer as if at any moment she would shake off the dry dock like an old coat and blast out of the system in a blur of light.
Positioning itself directly behind the shuttlebay, their small craft began its approach. As it glided into the bay and took its place on the deck, Scotty could feel the vibrations from the shuttle doors closing.
Then he could hear the hiss of the air re-entering the cargo bay area. And when there was enough air in the shuttlebay to transmit the sound, he could actually hear the air pumps at work.
Scotty noted that the pumps rattled a bit. It was a design flaw that he and every other chief engineer of this type of vessel had corrected. The fact that the Yorktown still had the flaw meant that the museum engineers had returned the ship to its original specs.
Normally, such thinking would have irritated Scotty. After all, the modifications and improvements made over the years by a ship’s engineering staff were part of that vessel. Denying those efforts seemed
disrespectful, somehow.
But now, Scotty had to admit, he was of two minds about it. After all, the practice would make his job easier.
Ensign Hammond stood to face the captive audience in the shuttle as the door beside her opened to the shuttlebay.
“Welcome,” she said, “to the Constitution-class starship U.S.S. Yorktown registry NCC-One-Seven-One-Seven. This ship was built almost one hundred and twenty years ago, in the year Twenty-two Forty-seven, at the San Francisco shipyard facility above Earth. The San Francisco facility is still operational today, producing components for state-of-the-art vessels like the Galaxy-class starships. These serve as the new flagships of Starfleet.”
The ensign was clearly reciting a memorized speech for which she had no doubt lost enthusiasm long ago. The people around Scotty didn’t seem to mind, however. And he was too busy thinking to be truly offended.
“In its day,” Hammond went on, “the Yorktown and the other eleven Constitution-class ships were the most advanced Federation vessels in space. As exploratory vessels, they were out of communication range with Starfleet command for long periods of time. Much as they do today, ship’s captains enjoyed broad discretionary powers in dealing with first contact issues, as well as matters of Federation security.
“Today, we’re going on a walking tour of the Yorktown. We’ll work our way from the shuttlebay to all of the major areas of the ship, and finally come up on the bridge. This is a modified version of the ‘walking the ship’ inspection ritual that is still performed by Starfleet captains. In the days of the Yorktown, an officer could walk every corridor and deck of the ship in a single duty shift. Today, it can take more than a week to walk every corridor of a Galaxy-class starship.”
Hammond pointed out the shuttle door. “Out in the shuttlebay, we’ll have a few minutes to explore the bay’s museum, which includes artifacts collected from the voyages of the twelve Constitution-class starships. If you have any questions about individual exhibits, you can ask the ship’s computer. And feel free to try any controls that you wish. You can’t hurt the ship.”
She looked around. “Any questions before we begin?”
A hand went up immediately. The ensign nodded at its owner, a young boy of about ten, Scotty guessed.
“Did the Yorktown ever get into a battle with the Romulans?” the boy asked.
“Well,” said Hammond, “though the Yorktown was involved in a few battles, her chief accomplishments were in the area of galactic exploration.”
The same hand went up again.
“Yes?” the ensign asked.
“Does it still work?” the boy wanted to know.
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean,” Hammond replied.
Scotty did. He spoke up.
“I think the lad is asking if the Yorktown`s still operational.”
Ensign Hammond gave Scotty her professional smile. “Yes, she is. All systems are fully operational. Right down to the ship’s synthesizers, which are capable of producing the uniforms, food, and other essentials that would have been necessary on a five-year mission.”
“Are there any live photon torpedoes? Do the phasers work?” the boy asked insistently.
“No,” the ensign replied—a bit tautly, Scotty thought. “Both the phaser and photon torpedo systems have been deactivated. There is little call for those types of weapons in the Starfleet museum.”
The boy’s hand went up one more time. This time he didn’t wait for the tour guide to acknowledge him. “I thought you said that the ship was fully—”
“Now, if there are no further questions,” the ensign said, turning for the door and heading out, “please join me on the deck—so we can begin our starship adventure.”
Scotty was among the last to exit the shuttle. Reaching the deck, he scanned the bay at a glance. Given more time, he would have been happy to gawk at the museum’s treasures with the others on the tour. But he knew he couldn’t spare a moment.
Making his way across the deck, he noticed that the boy had cornered Ensign Hammond. Scotty wondered where the lad’s parents were. No doubt, the ensign was wondering the same thing.
A moment later, he’d made his way to a display case— one that contained the device he had been looking for. Though it was listed in the museum’s brochure, he had made up his mind not to count on it until he saw the wee bairn with his own eyes.
About a meter in height, the unit consisted of two circular sections, a larger one on the bottom and a smaller one on top. No power was being fed to the unit at the moment, but Scotty knew that when it was working the lower cylinder would glow with energy.
Scotty tapped the nearby intercom pad and said, “Computer, is this the original Romulan cloaking device retrieved by the U.S.S. Enterprise on stardate five-oh-two-seven-point-three?”
“Yes,” the computer responded. “Thank you for your interest and enjoy your starship adventure on the U.S.S. Yorktown.”
The electronic voice was the same one that Scotty remembered from the Enterprise, but the personality was different. More friendly, less mechanical—a lot like the voice that had welcomed him to the starbase.
The change annoyed him. After all, the computer was a machine.
“Is the unit operational?” he asked. “Has it been modified in any way?”
“The Romulan cloaking device is fully functional and has been restored to its original specifications. Thank you for your inquiry and enjoy your starship adventure on the U.S.S. Yorktown.”
Well, that’s it then, Scotty thought.
Suddenly, he realized he wasn’t alone in front of the exhibit. Turning, he saw the now familiar face of the youngster with all the questions.
“A ship like this stole that cloak from the Romulans,” the lad informed him.
“Really,” Scott said noncommittally.
“Yeah. It was a hundred years ago,” the boy added enthusiastically.
“Is that so?” Scotty replied.
“Yeah. The starship got chased by three Romulan battle cruisers when they tried to get away with the cloaking device. Man, that must have been something,” the youngster remarked with a flourish.
“It was,” Scotty replied, too low for the lad to hear.
A moment later, Ensign Hammond called the group to the shuttlebay exit and led them out into the corridor. Their first stops were the cargo and recreational areas on the lower decks.
Scotty tried to remain as inconspicuous as possible and maintain a polite distance from the boy, who was now lecturing a young couple on the Earth-Romulan war.
Walking the corridors, Scotty could feel a vibration through the deck. The warp engines were on-line, though operating at minimal power.
That was good. It would make the execution of his scheme much easier. That is, the scheme that was still developing in his head—becoming firmer and firmer by the minute.
Scotty’s breath caught in his throat as he followed the group onto the engineering deck. Again, he felt the desire to lose himself in the wonder of his surroundings, but he kept his mind on his task.
While the others were marveling at the engine core, Scotty discreetly headed for auxiliary control. On the way, he passed Ensign Hammond trying to coax the same lad down from a Jeffries tube.
“But you said we couldn’t hurt the ship,” the boy protested in a high-pitched voice.
In auxiliary control, Scotty seated himself behind the console and tested all of the engineering lockouts, using the shipyard presets he remembered from the Enterprise. The curators had completed their restoration down to the use of the factory codes—so they all worked, giving him access to most of the ship’s engineering functions.
His first task was to change the codes, giving him sole access. Then he used that access to begin a minor overload to the warp engine systems.
Scotty had time for a few more adjustments, after which he was ready to try the prefix code. The curators— bless them—had restored that one as well.
He summoned the numbers from memory. Just another moment and he’d–
“Even if the entire bridge was destroyed,” a recognizable boy’s voice said behind him, “they could control the whole ship from here, even fire the weapons.”
Scotty sighed with his whole body.
“What are you doing?” the lad asked.
“Just trying out the antiques,” Scotty told him, keeping his voice even with great effort.
Ensign Hammond appeared in the doorway. “We’re moving on, sir,” she called to Scotty, purposely ignoring the boy.
“Of course,” the engineer replied, getting up. “The lad was just asking me about the secondary functions of auxiliary control. Perhaps ye could explain them to him.”
Joining the rest of the group, Scotty endured the remainder of the tour. But it was a blur to him, really. His mind raced ahead as he planned his next moves.
So engaged, the engineer barely noted the brief visit to the starboard engine pod, or the tour of the science labs, sickbay, the observation deck, and the crew quarters. An hour later, he made a point of being the first one on the turbolift going to the bridge.
He couldn’t afford to have his time cut short up there. He knew he would get only one shot at what he had to do.
When the turbolift door opened, Scotty emerged, intent on his objectives. So intent, in fact, that he was unprepared for the sight that greeted him.
It was like stepping into a dream. He stared openmouthed at the bridge, unable to shake the feeling he was home—that he was on the Enterprise.
Vaguely aware that he was holding up the people behind him, Scotty moved aside to let them out. Then he stood there for a moment, shaking his head.
Why did he have this feeling? This was the Yorktown, not the Enterprise. And though to the untrained eye the bridges of Constitution-class ships were quite similar, an experienced officer could always tell the difference.
After all, there were changes in the shipyard specs from ship to ship. There were design improvements, alterations in monitor sizes and shapes, fine-tuning of station ergonomics.
And yet, this bridge was absolutely identical to the one where Scotty had served.
Puzzled, he turned his head to read the dedication plaque next to him.
My God, he thought. It’s nae possible.
But it was. The plaque clearly read:
U.S.S. ENTERPRISE
CONSTITUTION CLASS
SAN FRANCISCO, CALIF.
A voice next to him said, “I thought you knew, sir.”
Scotty turned to see Ensign Hammond standing next to him.
“This bridge module was removed from the original Enterprise during the refit in Twenty-two Seventy. When the Yorktown was decommissioned the bridge was damaged, so the museum used the Enterprise’s module.”
Unable to speak, Scotty simply nodded. Once the ensign had turned away, however, he headed for his station and took a seat behind the engineering console.
He could feel his throat constricting as he worked. Calling up the prefix code, he changed it to ensure that no one on board the starbase would be able to access the ship’s primary systems.
Then he increased the rate of the warp engine overload he had begun from auxiliary control. It would only be a few moments now.
Turning his attention to the rest of the group, Scotty saw Ensign Hammond explaining modular bridge design to the others, while the young boy lectured another child on the Enterprise’s encounters with the Romulans.
Both conversations were interrupted when warning lights went off on most of the bridge stations. Almost simultaneously, the ensign’s communicator beeped.
“Hammond here,” she said.
The voice on the communicator, which Scotty thought he recognized as the base commander’s, instructed her to go to the communications station. Once there, she picked up an earpiece and listened to a private message. When the ensign returned to the group, she was all business.
“I’m afraid we’ll have to be getting back to the starbase now,” Hammond informed everyone there.
“Is there a problem?” asked one of the adults in the group.
“Are we under attack?” asked the boy—hopefully, Scotty would have sworn.
Hammond managed a semblance of her usual smile. “Nothing like that, I’m afraid. But there is a minor malfunction in the life support system. It’s nothing to worry about, really, but I’ve been asked to escort you back to the base so maintenance crews can make repairs.”
She gestured toward the turbolift. “So, if you will please enter the turbolift five at a time, it will take you directly to the shuttlebay and we can be on our way.”
As the first group entered the turbolift, Scotty took the ensign aside. “Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
Hammond shook her head. “It’s really just a minor malfunction.”
Scotty pointed to the engineering control panel. “Nae according to those warning lights, it’s nae.”
The ensign dropped her professional smile. “There’s a fluctuation in the warp engine, and the base is having trouble accessing the Yorktown’s systems. But it’s probably nothing.”
Scott shrugged. “Perhaps I could take a look at the engines for ye while ye get these people out. I’m still on active duty, and I do know the ship.”
Hammond’s smile returned. “No thank you, sir. I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible. Only base personnel are allowed to perform repairs. But I would appreciate some help keeping everyone together and getting them on the shuttle as quickly as possible.”
“Aye,” Scott said in a resigned sort of way, as he and the ensign joined the last group to get onto a turbolift. During the ride, Scotty wondered how he would separate himself from Hammond.
He considered a number of options. One was to pull rank on her and send her on her way. Another was to overpower her and set the shuttle on automatic. Of course, he could simply hide in the Yorktown somewhere, until she had no choice but to leave him.
None of those choices seemed palatable to him. And worse, none of them was certain to work. Scotty recognized that his fragile plan was in imminent danger of falling apart. And failure at this point meant more than just embarrassment for him.
As they walked out onto the shuttledeck, the ship’s computer began announcing yellow alert through the intercom system. Scotty knew it was an automatic response to the overload.
Ensign Hammond didn’t wait for the question this time. “It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, “just a precaution. However, we should all board the shuttlecraft now.”
She ushered the nervous line of people on board. When the young boy came up to the shuttle entrance, he asked in a loud voice, “Are we under attack? Is it the Romulans?” His eyes were alight.
Before Hammond could respond, the boy broke away from her and headed for the shuttlebay doors.
“I want to see,” he announced.
The ensign looked up at Scotty, stricken.
“I’ll get him,” Scotty reassured her, racing after the boy. “Get the shuttle ready,” he called behind him as he went.
Damn, the engineer thought. The boy could get himself killed—and it would be his own fault for initiating the engine overload. Seeing the lad turn right at the end of a corridor, Scotty dashed after him.
He took one turn and then another, homing in on the sound of retreating footsteps, glad that the lad didn’t have the presence of mind to slip into a turbolift. But it didn’t take long for Scotty to realize that he was losing ground.
In a footrace against a ten year old, he was hopelessly outclassed. So he bowed to the inevitable and came to a halt when he saw the boy dart around another corner.
“STOP!” he shouted in a booming voice. “You’re endangering the mission!” he called out.
He heard the boy’s footfalls recede for a few more seconds—and then silence.
“What mission?” the lad’s voice called out.
“Dinnae question orders, just get over here,” Scott bellowed.
The boy peeked around a corner. Scotty scowled at him, his face a deep red—an effect that was easy to achieve after his run. The boy took one look at Scotty and skulked over, hands in pockets.
“I just didn’t want to miss anything,” he said.
“Enough foolishness,” Scotty told him. “Come back with me to the shuttlebay. Now.”
He’d saved the lad, he thought. Too bad he couldn’t have saved Spock as well. However, he’d run out of chances to get the solitary time he needed on the Yorktown.
By the time he got the boy back to the shuttlebay, the maintenance team would likely be there. And that would be it.
Then it struck him. He and the boy wouldn’t be going back to the shuttlebay. Grabbing the youngster’s arm firmly, Scotty directed him to the nearest turbolift.
“Where are we going?” the boy demanded petulantly
The lift door opened and they entered. Once inside, the engineer tapped the controls and said, “Transporter room.”
Then he turned to his companion. The youngster cringed at Scotty’s stern expression, but to his credit didn’t turn away.
“What’s your name, son?” Scotty asked.
The boy seemed surprised by the question. “Adam,” he sputtered.
“Adam,” he began, “do you know who I am?”
The boy shook his head no.
“When you get back to the base, I want you to look up Montgomery Scott of the U.S.S. Enterprise.”
The boy tried to speak, but Scotty cut him off.
“There is nae time for questions, lad. I need you to do exactly as I tell ye. Understand?”
The boy nodded his agreement.
The turbolift came to a halt, the doors opened and Scotty escorted the lad out into the corridor. They turned left. After just a few meters, they came to the transporter room.
Its doors parted for them. Scotty pulled the boy inside
“Have ye ever taken a transporter?” he asked.
“N—No,” the youngster responded, looking around with some trepidation.
The engineer grunted. “It’s perfectly safe, ye know.”
“I know,” the boy piped up. “It’s one of the securest forms of travel ever.” Obviously, he was repeating something he’d heard—in school, perhaps.
“Good,” Scotty told him. “Now, if ye dinnae mind, I’d like ye to get on one of the transporter pads. Ye’re goin’ to have an adventure, Adam.
“Though clearly still apprehensive, the boy stepped onto the transporter platform. Scotty took his place behind the controls. He tapped the intercom.
“Captain Scott to Ensign Hammond,” he said, making a point of using his rank. “Hammond here,” came the reply.
“I have the boy in the transporter room, Ensign. But there’s nae time to bring him to you. I’m prepared to transport both of us to the shuttle while ye’re in flight.”
The tension in Hammond’s voice was evident even over the intercom. “Sir, I can’t allow that. We’ll wait for you here.”
Damn, Scott thought. He was out of options. If the shuttle didn’t take off, he would have no choice but to take the boy down to the shuttlebay and submit to failure.
That was when the Yorktown saved him. The ship went to red alert: flashing lights, klaxons, and all.
Scotty smiled. If the ship were a woman, he would have kissed her right then and there.
Hammond’s intercom voice was taut with urgency. “On second thought, sir, I don’t think there’s time.”
“I’ll scan ye,” Scotty offered, “and transport as soon as ye clear the ship.”
“Acknowledged,” came Hammond’s reply.
“You’re coming with me?” Adam asked from the transporter pad.
Scotty shook his head. “No, son, I’m nae. I need this ship for an important mission.” “Where are you going?” the lad wanted to know.
“I’m going to … to face the Romulans,” Scotty told him, watching the boy’s eyes go wide. “They have a friend of mine,” he continued.
That’s the first time I’ve told anyone else the truth about what I’m doing, the engineer thought.
Scanning his board, Scotty could see that the shuttle was clear of the ship.
“And, son,” he said, smiling and meeting the boy’s awestruck gaze, “I could nae have done it without ye.”
Then Scotty energized the transporter. He reveled in the feeling of the sliding controls under his fingers. Better than those damned touch pads they use today, he mused.
A moment later, the lad vanished from the transporter platform in a blur of color and light.
He used the ship’s sensors to confirm that the boy was safely on board the shuttiecraft. Then he headed out the door at a jog, ignoring the intercom’s insistent chirping.
A few seconds later, he was back at auxiliary control. Sitting down at the control panel, he heard Ensign Hammond say, “Hammond to Scott. Hammond to Scott. Captain Scott, please respond.”
Though it pained him to do so, he ignored the hail and got to work. It was a simple matter to halt the engine overload. Next, he locked out the shuttlebay, so that the doors wouldn’t open when the maintenance shuttle approached—which Scotty calculated would happen in less than a minute.
Then he set to work releasing the ship from the tractor beam moorings. A simple feedback loop would—
The base commander’s angry face appeared abruptly on the auxiliary control viewscreen. “Whatever you’re doing, Captain Scott, I advise you to stop it immediately.”
Scotty ignored the face and the voice and concentrated on the task at hand. He regretted doing this to Commander Nelson, who seemed to be a good man and deserved an explanation—but Scott couldn’t possibly give him one right now.
As soon as the mooring tractor beams were off-line, he grabbed a tool kit from the storage locker, gave silent thanks to the museum curators for their thoroughness, and sprinted for the shuttledeck. Inside, he wasted no time freeing the cloaking device from its display case.
The job took longer than Scotty had expected. He resolved to make it up in the installation.
Down in engineering, Scotty headed right for the dilithium reaction chamber. He installed the cloaking device in eight minutes, which was comfortably under the ten he’d planned. Of course, he’d done this sort of thing before. He was even able to make a few improvements in the makeshift circuit that connected the Romulan beasty to the ship.
Scotty didn’t bother to test the cloaking mechanism as he ran for the nearest turbolift. If it didn’t work, there was no time to tinker with it.
The turbolift ride was interminably slow, thanks to the original shipyard specs. Upgrading the turbolift drivers had been one of his first tasks on board the Enterprise.
When he reached the bridge, Scotty bolted for Sulu’s station. He spared a glance at the viewscreen, which already held the base commander’s angry visage.
“We scanned the ship,” Nelson warned him, “and saw that you altered the engineering lockouts and the prefix code. I can tell you that whatever you’re planning, it won’t work. Captain Scott?”
Scotty laid in the course that he’d calculated on board his own shuttle, and hit the forward thrusters.
“You won’t get ten minutes out of dry dock,” Nelson told him, his voice taking on even more of an edge than before. “Our runabouts can easily overtake the Yorktown. You should know that.”
Watching the board carefully, Scotty calculated that it would take another full minute to clear the dock.”I can’t allow this vessel to be taken,” the base commander pressed. “Don’t make me fire on the Yorktown, Captain. I’m asking you as a Starfleet officer to bring the ship to a stop and release all controls.”
Nelson’s voice changed in tone again, softening this time.
“Please understand that no one here holds you responsible for what you’re doing. We want to help you.”
Of course ye do, thought Scotty. And I’m the blasted Prince of Donegal.
He looked up from his controls to face the commander “I regret that I canna comply with yer request,” he apologized. “But ye have my word that I’ll return the Yorktown, if it’s within m’power to do so.”
After all, losing a prized antique starship to a crazy old coot wouldn’t be good for Nelson’s career. If there was another way, Scotty told himself, he would have taken it.
Nelson’s composure was slipping fast. “Is this how you want to be remembered, after all you’ve done?” he asked “This is crazy!”
There, the commander had said it. Scotty knew it was the subtext of all the man’s arguments.
Well, so be it, he thought. At that point, he wasn’t sure he entirely disagreed with Nelson’s assessment of him.
“I’m sorry, Commander,” the engineer said. And he was.
All that remained was one more roll of the dice.
The commander let fly his last warning. “You won’t get half a light-year out of the system.”
Scotty half wished that Nelson was right.
Nonetheless, he pushed the button that would activate the cloaking device. Scotty could feel the slight shudder of the deck as the ship redirected a portion of its power to the alien machine.
Then a warning light told Scotty there would be no quick and easy end to this mission. The cloak was operational.
He took the ship to full impulse.
Scotty knew it would be a simple matter for Nelson’s people to recalibrate the starbase sensors and penetrate he obsolete cloaking system. But in those few minutes, he shuttle would make it well out of sensor range.
Moments later, free of the base, he went to warp. The Yorktown leaped forward, as if remembering what it was like to be free.
The deed done, Scotty drew a deep breath and surveyed the bridge carefully. He knew that if he went back to the engineering station—his station—he would be able to touch the underside of the control panel and feel a gouge in the metal that predated even his service on the ship.
This place was the closest thing to home he would likely ever find in the twenty-fourth century. Looking at the bridge stations, he could imagine his friends at them— just the way it used to be.
The notion should have comforted him, but it left him cold somehow. Curious, he thought.
Shaking off the feeling as he would a highland winter, Scotty got up and headed for the turbolift. He didn’t have time for such foolish musings. He had work to do.
Somewhere in Romulan space, there was someone who needed him. As he entered the lift, he vowed to keep that in mind. For now, Scotty’s work would be his world.
And he’d leave the ghosts on the bridge to theirs.