Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [32]
But now, he only felt the aches and pains of four hours of work on the weapons systems. In the end, of course, it had been worth it. He had the phasers back on-line and seven fully charged torpedoes at the ready.
The ship was really up to speed now. He enjoyed full control of the helm, full power to all of the main systems including weapons. And the computer on board his shuttlecraft was doing virtually all the real work of running the ship, rivaling the efficiency of the original Enterprise with a full crew.
All he had to do was give the orders.
The fact was, his adventure was going better than it had any right to. Scotty knew it was luck that had gotten him to this point unscathed. Luck and an improved cloaking device, with which the ship could go virtually anywhere in the Empire unnoticed.
Of course, the hardest part was yet to come, and it had nothing to do with high-tech tinkering. He still had to locate Spock on a planet full of Vulcanoids, beam his friend up to the ship, and escape—after probably setting off every alarm from Romulus to the Neutral Zone.
Grabbing the forward edge of the helm console for support, Scotty pulled himself up out of his chair. Then he headed for the turbolift, all the while brushing off the accumulated dirt and grime he’d collected on his uniform.
It was no use. He would need a new one.
Of course, that was easily enough accomplished. The uniform he wore now was one of a half dozen he had borrowed from ship’s stores. It was the traditional red tunic and black slacks he’d worn a lifetime ago, which hadn’t seen active duty in nearly a century—much like Scotty himself.
He couldn’t help feeling a little embarrassed in the antique outfit—as if he were trying to pass himself off as a teenager at a school dance. But then, he had to wear something, didn’t he?
Back in his quarters, he shucked the soiled clothes, forced himself to take a quick shower, and put on a fresh uniform. Dressed and ready, Scotty finally allowed himself to fall into bed. If the computer woke him up with an emergency, as he had programmed it to, he wanted to be able to move on a moment’s notice.
Fortunately, the call didn’t come for hours. And when it did, Scotty was already beginning to drift back toward consciousness.
“Mister Scott,” the computer said, “a Romulan vessel has been identified by long-range sensors. If there is any other information you require, do not hesitate to ask. And enjoy your starship adventure on the U.S.S. Yorktown. “
Rising from the bed, Scotty resolved not to jump to any conclusions. Unless a vessel was purposely looking for him and knew that he was using an old-style Romulan cloaking device, he doubted the Yorktown could have been detected.
And even if someone were looking for him, they’d have to pass pretty close to pick him up. Otherwise, the cloak would conceal him. Given the size and relative emptiness of this sector of space, the odds were vastly on his side.
In any case, he would know soon enough whether he had been—or would be—seen. Hitting the corridor at a trot, he headed for the turbolift.
When he came out onto the bridge, there was no sign that anything was wrong—except for the blinking proximity indicator on the helm console. Heading for Spock’s science station, Scotty tied the viewer into the long-range sensors.
Sure enough, there was a ship out there. Judging by the power curve, it was pretty damned large, probably a warbird. A dangerous vessel, to be sure, and more than a match for the century-plus-old Yorktown.
However, it was only dangerous to vessels it could detect. And so far, there was no indication it had detected the Yorktown.
Using the ship’s computer and sensor logs, Scotty extrapolated the Romulan vessel’s course and heading. It appeared to be a standard patrol pattern. At its closest point it would come within about half a light-year of the Yorktown—a comfortable distance.
What’s more, the Romulans were moving quickly. He doubted that the Yorktown would be in close sensor range for more than a few seconds.