"Communications-status report?"
"All decks are functional again, Captain. Remaining damage is gradually being repaired. Hull integrity has been fully restored. We are not at a hundred percent yet, but we're getting there."
"Thank you, Lieutenant."
"You're welcome, Captain."
Something in her reply caused Sulu to glance in Uhura's direction, then across at Spock. But the communications officer was no longer looking in the direction of the command chair, and the Vulcan's gaze was directed straight ahead. Giving a mental shrug, the helmsman forgot all about it as he resumed monitoring his own station.
The turbolift doors parted and the ship's chief medical officer entered. Considering all the wounded on board, he ought to have been preoccupied, but McCoy had the ability to separate professional thoughts from the personal. While one part of him was going over in his mind such matters as forthcoming surgeries and the next series of specific prosthetic replacements he would have to approve, another part focused laserlike on the ramrod-straight figure occupying command.
"You wanted to see me?"
Unexpectedly, the Vulcan gestured for him to come closer. When Spock finally spoke, it was in an atypically discreet tone. He did not exactly whisper, but the steel of command that everyone on board had recently become familiar with was absent from his voice.
"Yes, Doctor. I just wanted to say that I'm aware that James Kirk is a friend of yours, and that your recent support of me must have been difficult for you. Having to choose between a close friend and cold regulations is never easy."
McCoy blinked uncertainly. For a change, he also kept his own voice down. "Are you thanking me?"
"I'm simply acknowledging awareness of your personal difficulties in the course of an awkward moment."
No direct thanks. Nothing about offering credit where credit was due. No overt expression of gratitude. Merely an observation. McCoy was unsure how to react. On the other hand, he did have something to say.
As his crewmates were finding out, he usually did.
"Permission to speak freely, sir."
Spock didn't hesitate. "I welcome it."
"Are you out of your Vulcan mind? And I don't mean by projecting it. I have to ask: Have you done the logical thing by expelling James Kirk from this ship? Probably. The right one? Debatable. One thing I know for damn sure: That kid doesn't know And I don't mean by projecting it. I have to ask: Have you done the logical thing by expelling James Kirk from this ship? Probably. The right one? Debatable. One thing I know for damn sure: That kid doesn't know how how to lose. Just isn't in his DNA. No matter how difficult the situation in which he happens to find himself, no matter how seemingly impossible the odds, he's going to find a way to come out on top. You, of all people, should know that." to lose. Just isn't in his DNA. No matter how difficult the situation in which he happens to find himself, no matter how seemingly impossible the odds, he's going to find a way to come out on top. You, of all people, should know that."
The acting captain stiffened but withheld any comment. McCoy didn't need to explain the reference, and Spock certainly did not require additional explication.
Unabashed, McCoy continued. "Back home we have a saying. 'If you're gonna ride in the Kentucky Derby, you don't leave your prize stallion in the stable.'"
Spock pursed his lips. "A curious metaphor, Doctor. If I'm not mistaken and my admittedly limited knowledge of the finer points of equine psychology is reasonably accurate, a stallion must first be broken before it can be trained to achieve its full potential. Teaching it that it is not always in full command of a situation is necessary to induce receptivity to directions." His eyes cut in the doctor's direction. "Does this not, in the end, make for a more successful racehorse?"
McCoy stared at him, shaking his head. Logic, nothing but logic. Logic, nothing but logic. Aside from the eloquence with which it had been delivered it was exactly the kind of response he might have expected from a computer. Aside from the eloquence with which it had been delivered it was exactly the kind of response he might have expected from a computer.
"My God, man-you could at least act act like it was a hard decision. You had him like it was a hard decision. You had him marooned." marooned."
Spock hesitated only briefly before replying. "Now that we are on course for the Laurentian system, I had intended to return to my lab and consult with my subordinates and assistants in the science department in an effort to break through continuing interference and warn Starfleet. However, if the ship's doctor feels that morale would be better served by my roaming the corridors weeping profusely, I'll gladly defer to your far more extensive medical expertise."
A human might have concluded the brief speech with a four-letter word, or on a rising intonation. Spock punctuated his riposte to the doctor's comment by holding his gaze for a moment longer before turning back to the command chair.
Utterly frustrated and not knowing what else he could say to make his point, McCoy could only stand off to one side and fume quietly.
Fumes of a far different and more pungent kind attended the interior of the outpost where a relieved Kirk had his first welcoming contact with artificial heating since walking away from the transport pod.
"What are we looking for here?"
The elder Spock was leading him down a seemingly endless corridor lined with steaming, occasionally clanking conduits, pipes, and other poorly maintained subsistence paraphernalia. If the outpost's communications equipment existed in a similar state of disrepair, Kirk thought as he walked alongside his guide, it was no wonder that the elder Spock had been unable to deliver any kind of warning to Federation authorities in time to save Vulcan.
"You will see soon enough," the old man assured Kirk in reply to his question. "Though I have been aware of this particular individual's presence here for some time, there was no reason to pursue further contact. Until your arrival. That has clarified for me how the time stream is struggling for resolution. Hopefully we can be of assistance. Sometimes the hand of Fate can use a hand itself."
The younger man didn't try to hide his confusion. "I don't follow you."
"That is quite correct," Spock told him. "You precede me."
Kirk considered how best to reply to this, decided that he was still too cold to think clearly, and held his piece. At least, he did until they turned a corner and found themselves confronting one of the outpost's personnel.
The small, dark alien eyed them uncertainly.
"My name is Keenser. Can I help you?"
"Are you the station chief?" Spock asked him.
The alien looked them over, then came to a decision. "No-this way."
As they followed their diminutive guide, Kirk found himself wishing he was back on the Enterprise. Enterprise. Even as a prisoner. Wishing, however, would get him nowhere. The wizened Vulcan who had saved him from becoming an indigenous predator's snack just might. It wouldn't get him back to the ship, of course. They were well and truly stuck on Delta Vega. But having hiked a small portion of this planet, he had already decided that anywhere under cover was a better alternative. Even as a prisoner. Wishing, however, would get him nowhere. The wizened Vulcan who had saved him from becoming an indigenous predator's snack just might. It wouldn't get him back to the ship, of course. They were well and truly stuck on Delta Vega. But having hiked a small portion of this planet, he had already decided that anywhere under cover was a better alternative.
Looking past Spock to scrutinize the young human who accompanied him, the alien chattered a bit more with the Vulcan, then turned and led the way down the huge corridor. Around them the machinery that sustained the outpost and its largely automated functions throbbed away, generating heat, water, and a host of other necessities for the outpost staff.
The rest of that staff appeared to consist of a single individual. Leaning back with his feet propped up on a console, the Starfleet officer was sound asleep. Approaching without hesitation, the alien tapped one boot.
"Hmm," the lanky human mumbled.
Keenser stepped back. "Visitors."
Peering out from beneath his cap, he glared at the pair and essayed a salutation that to his way of thinking, no doubt, constituted a polite greeting.
"You realize how unacceptable this is?"
Kirk swallowed his instinctive reply while he took a moment to identify the raspy terrestrial accent. Initially through globalization and then via stellarization many such locutional variants on standard English had long since withered away. But not all. Some traditional Earth cultures were too fond of their linguistic distinctions to surrender them completely. And a few were too stubborn.
Scottish, Kirk finally decided. Kirk finally decided. Definitely Highlands Scottish. Definitely Highlands Scottish.
"Excuse me?"
Spock was staring at the clearly annoyed officer. "Fascinating..."
Kirk was more than slightly confused. "What?"
Ignoring him, the officer slid out of the chair and straightened. "I'm sure it's nae your fault, and I know ye lads are just doin' your job, but could ye nae have come a wee bit sooner?"
"I beg your pardon?" was all Kirk could think of by way of a reply.
The officer was pacing back and forth in front of them. "I mean, six months I've been livin' on nothing but Starfleet protein nibs and the promise of a real food delivery! It's pretty clear what's going on here, isn't it? Punishment! Ongoing! Without me havin' recourse to so much as an appeal. For something that was clearly an accident."
"You're Montgomery Scott," Spock declared abruptly.
Kirk turned to the elder Spock. "You know him?"
"Aye, that's me," the officer admitted readily. "'Scotty' to me friends. You've got the right man." He gestured expansively. "Are there any other hardworking and equally starved Starfleet officers around?"
Visibly offended, the alien looked up at him. "Me."
Scott glared down at him. "You eat nothing. A bean, and you're done for a week." His eyes were a little wild now. "I need food." food." He turned back to the two visitors. "And now you're here. So-thank you." He tried to see behind them. "Where is it?" He turned back to the two visitors. "And now you're here. So-thank you." He tried to see behind them. "Where is it?"
"You are are in fact the Montgomery Scott who postulated the theory of transwarp beaming." Spock spoke without mentioning anything about food. in fact the Montgomery Scott who postulated the theory of transwarp beaming." Spock spoke without mentioning anything about food.
The engineer eyed the Vulcan warily. "How d'ya think I ended up here here? Too smart to waste and too reckless to trust: that's how they described me at the-well, it wasn't a court-martial, exactly. They couldn't find a suitable regulation with which to charge me. So they resorted to callin' it a straight 'transfer.' Woulda been better if they'd 'transferred' me to a jail on Earth. Or at least to some half-civilized world. Anything'd Anything'd be better than this." With a wide sweep of his arms he encompassed his entirely functional and unadorned surroundings. be better than this." With a wide sweep of his arms he encompassed his entirely functional and unadorned surroundings.
"Look at this place, willya? A man kinna even deteriorate in the company of his own species!" His eyes fastened on Kirk. "But then, you're too young and innocent to know about anything like that, laddie."
Kirk did not smile. "You'd be surprised at what I know. What did did you do to get yourself posted to this vacation paradise?" you do to get yourself posted to this vacation paradise?"
Scott grew animated. "I got into a debate with my instructor on the issue of relativisitic physics as they relate to subspace travel. He seemed to think the range of transporting a, say, roast turkey, was limited to a few hundred kilometers. So I told him not only could I beam a bird from one planet to an adjacent planet in the same system, which is no big deal anyway, but that if I were so inclined I could actually do it with a viable life-form. Long-range transwarp beaming is supposed to be impossible." He snorted. "Difficult maybe, but not impossible."
"Says you," countered Kirk.
"Says I, aye." The engineer glared back at him. "My mistake was in attemptin' a practical demonstration. Unfortunately, for a test subject I chose Admiral Archer's prize beagle." He shook his head sadly. "Shoulda scanned the little mutt's ident implant first, I suppose."
Kirk's expression changed to one of surprise. "I know of the admiral-and his dog. What happened to it?"
Scott looked away. "I'll tell ye when it reappears. I'm convinced it will, one of these days." His voice dropped to a mumble. "Somewhere. Somehow. If I'd known it was the bloody admiral's I would've been more careful." He perked up. "Sweet dog, though. Nice ears. I feel guilty."
Spock moved closer. "What if I told you that your theory was correct? That it is indeed possible to beam from a fixed point onto a ship that is traveling at warp speed? And that you only required the correct field equation for the continuous recrystallization of dilithium while transport is in progress? And availability of sufficient power for the transporter being used, of course."
Scott carefully regarded the Vulcan. "Haven't been out of touch that that long. If such an equation had been discovered and verified, I'd 'ave heard." He shook his head in disagreement. "Delta Vega's out of the loop, but not completely out of touch. I keep up as best I can. Otherwise I'd go crazy here. And I haven't heard of any such development." long. If such an equation had been discovered and verified, I'd 'ave heard." He shook his head in disagreement. "Delta Vega's out of the loop, but not completely out of touch. I keep up as best I can. Otherwise I'd go crazy here. And I haven't heard of any such development."
"The reason you haven't heard of it, Mister Scott, is because you haven't discovered it yet."
Surprised yet again, a startled Kirk turned to his rescuer. Simultaneously, the engineer narrowed his gaze as he took a much closer look at the Vulcan he knew only as a hermit and occasional visitor to the outpost in search of supplies. All those lines in his face-just age lines? All those lines in his face-just age lines? he asked himself. he asked himself. Or physical manifestations of wisdom? Or physical manifestations of wisdom? You never could tell whether a Vulcan was telling you the truth or having you on. They would've made the Federation's best poker players-had they not found the game insufficiently challenging from an intellectual standpoint. You never could tell whether a Vulcan was telling you the truth or having you on. They would've made the Federation's best poker players-had they not found the game insufficiently challenging from an intellectual standpoint.
"And how would you know something like that?" he finally inquired. "You said 'yet.' Heard ye plain as day. Come from another time, do ya? From the future? Brilliant! Do they still have sandwiches where ye come from? Piece an' jam? Mince an' tatties? Cockaleekie soup?"
"What's he talking about?" Kirk asked. This time it was Keenser and not Spock who responded.
"Food."
"I'm not gonna believe anything anyone says without something more than their word to back it up," Scott declared challengingly. "Personally I think you're full of month-old haggis, but I'm so bored here that I'm willing to listen to anybody's tale, no matter how tall. So let's see if ye can support your whimsy with something more than talk." He punctuated the challenge with a lopsided grin. "That's 'logical,' ain't it?"
"Indeed it is, Mister Scott." Spock regarded their surroundings. "If you will allow us access to your shuttlepod I will gladly show you what a genius you actually are."
The engineer hesitated. Leaning over, his assistant conversed with him in excited tones. There followed an animated conversation whose exact content Kirk could not decipher but whose gist he could gather from the amount of energy expended. The squat alien was expressing his doubts about the visitor's request in no uncertain terms while Scott continued to vacillate. In the end, curiosity won out. Or maybe, as the engineer had indicated, it was just boredom.
The old shuttle's transporter pod was not exactly primitive, but it was basic. It was also constructed to industrial-strength standards, having been built to handle heavy supplies as well as individuals. Whether it was powerful enough to send a pea, let alone a primate, across the necessary spread of subspace remained to be seen.
What Spock had in mind was considerably larger and more complex than any vegetarian component.
Scott indicated the control console, stepped back, and waved grandly. "Have at it, future man."
Sitting down at the console, Spock accessed the necessary files and began typing, his fingers moving far faster over the controls than should have been possible for someone of his advanced age. Numbers and symbols began to fill the formerly blank monitor. There was no hesitation, no pause in his work. The Vulcan was not composing: he was dictating.
An increasingly serious Scott looked on approvingly. The Vulcan might be full of imploding mind-meld, but he could certainly input. He was at the console for only a minute or so before he rose and stepped aside.
"Rapid," Scott commented quietly. "That's impressive."
"Your equations for achieving long-range transwarp beaming-Mister Scott."
The engineer eyed him doubtfully, then began to study the monitor. He studied it for longer than it had taken the Vulcan to input the information. As he pored over the symbols and figures his expression progressed from confused, to dumbfounded, to one of utter delight.
"Carry the omega-twelve to the fourth-imagine that! Never occurred to me to think of space as the part that's moving. No wonder I could never resolve the central string! I was looking at it from the perspective of the beamer instead of the beamed." He peered down in wonder at the quietly unassuming Vulcan.
"Point of fact," Spock told him forthrightly, "it did did occur to you." The elderly Vulcan began inputting an entirely different string of queries. occur to you." The elderly Vulcan began inputting an entirely different string of queries.
"What're you doing now?" The engineer's voice was still tinged with wonder and disbelief. "Adjunct equations?"
Spock did not turn from his work. "On our way here, Captain-Lieutenant Kirk-you informed me that your current acting captain intended to set a course directly for the Laurentian system with the intention of rendezvousing there with the rest of Starfleet."
Kirk nodded. "That's right. Knowing-him-I doubt that once his mind is set on a course of action he would be unlikely to change it."
Again, Spock did not quite smile. "Yes. He sounds quite fixed in his ways. I can sympathize." His tone turned wholly serious once more. "Prior to departing for that destination he detoured briefly to deposit you here. It is therefore not difficult to extrapolate the Enterprise' Enterprise's logical and most practical vector between Delta Vega and Laurentia." His fingers continued to work the console's inputs.
Scott frowned. "'Enterprise'?" He looked over at Kirk. "Had its maiden voyage already, has it? Well, well, ye must've done something right to be assigned to that ship, boyo."
Kirk swallowed and looked away. "It's a little complicated."
Scott was daydreaming. "She's a well-endowed lady, that's for sure. Love to get me hands on her ample nacelles-if you'll pardon the engineering parlance."
"This will be your chance, Mister Scott." Spock continued to work the console.
The engineer stared at the back of the Vulcan's head. "You're serious about tryin' this, aren't you? What am I thinking-of course you're serious. Vulcans don't believe in practical jokes." He shook his head slowly. "Even if I believed ye, that I'm the genius who wrote that code-and I've plenty o' confidence even in a version of meself that hasn't happened yet-we're still talking about slingshottin' onto a ship travelin' at warp speed that by now is a considerable distance from here. And one without a properly activated receiving pad or engineering team awaitin' us. It'll be like tryin' to intercept a bullet with a smaller bullet. Blindfolded. While ridin' a horse." He grunted. "No-it'll be like tryin' to hit a grain of sand with a bullet. While they're both travelin' at angles to one another. In a tornado. While they're both-"
Spock interrupted. "Ease off on the similes, Mister Scott, or you will exhaust your arsenal before you depart." He sat back from the console and contemplated the complex information he had entered. "I calculate no more than a four-meter margin of error provided transport is energized within the next ten minutes-local time."
"That's all well and good," Scott concurred, "unless you rematerialize four meters outside the ship, or in a solid slab of metal. Not that I'm buyin' this technical twaddle for one minute, you understand."
Spock considered briefly, then returned to working the console's inputs. "Agreed. Therefore I determine that the aft engineering bay is the best option. A large open space, no unpredictable airlocks, located well within the ship in an area with which you will be familiar. And most importantly, one with a remote access point that will allow you to override the helm and redirect the ship's course." For a second time he sat back, satisfied with the work he had done, and turned to regard the engineer.
"Well, Mister Scott? You said you have confidence in yourself as well as in your future selves. Do you have confidence enough to put your abilities to an actual, practical test?"
The engineer considered. Then he broke out in a wide, wild grin. "At the hearin' about the dog they said that unless I straightened up I was going to the dogs. Aye, Mister Pointy-ear, let's do it! What's the worst that can happen? That I spread meself all over a wide corner of the cosmos? Better to go out in a flash than a footnote." He looked over at the younger officer. "And you, Lieutenant-Kirk, was it?"