Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [34]
He’d hesitated as well. After all, he couldn’t fire first. To do so would breach Starfleet’s rules of engagement, and that was a regulation Scotty was not prepared to violate—especially when it would mean the immediate destruction of his ship.
Scanning the interior of the warbird, Scotty was amazed at the magnitude and complexity of it. The thing was several times the size of the Galaxy-class Enterprise commanded by Captain Picard, and Picard’s ship was more than double the size of the Yorktown.
Finally, the Romulans hailed him. When he answered the hail, an angry-looking individual in a commander’s uniform appeared on the viewscreen.
“Federation starship,” he intoned, “you are in violation of Romulan space and the Treaty of Algeron. What is your explanation?”
Scotty stared at the screen for a moment, unsure of what to do next. Clearly, the truth wouldn’t be appropriate here. So, at a loss for what to say, he said nothing.
The Romulan commander considered him for a moment. “I will have my answers, human. Lower your shields and prepare to be boarded. Do so immediately or I will blow you out of space.”
Scotty knew he had no choice but to comply. Still, he took the time to purge all information about Spock from the data banks of both the Yorktown and his shuttle. That done, he lowered the Yorktown’s shields—and felt the Romulan tractor beam latch onto her.
Only then did Scotty realize something quite remarkable had occurred. No, two things. One, he was still alive. And two, the Yorktown was still in one piece.
He never would have thought it possible.
On the other hand, the galaxy had changed quite a bit since his time. And at that moment, Scotty had to admit, some of the changes were for the better.
CHAPTER 8
Picard leaned back in his seat and considered the bridge’s main viewscreen, where he’d asked Worf to bring up a long-range sensor grid. There were several red blips moving across the thin green lines of the grid.
Each blip, the captain knew, represented a Romulan warbird.
It was no surprise to him to see that the Romulans were still patrolling the far side of the Neutral Zone. What did surprise him was the number of vessels assigned to that function.
“Curious,” Picard said, stroking his chin with the knuckle of his forefinger.
Riker, who was seated beside him, turned to the captain. He looked suspicious. “There should be more of them, shouldn’t there?”
“There should,” Picard agreed.
He would have turned to Counselor Troi, who was seated on his other flank, but there was no point in doing so. They weren’t even close enough for a visual yet, much less for her to gauge the Romulans’ emotions.
Instead, the captain addressed Data, who was stationed at Ops. “Commander, put together whatever information you can access and come up with a reasonable hypothesis. I want to know why—”
His command was interrupted by the subtle shoosh of the turbolift doors. Picard didn’t have to crane his neck to see who had come in. He could tell by the caustic mumbling, and the looks of discomfort on the faces of his officers.
Admiral McCoy had emerged onto the bridge.
“—why these Neutral Zone patrols look sparse,” the captain finished.
“Aye, sir,” replied the android, and set to work.
“Sparse?” echoed the admiral, as he descended to a position in line with the command center, alongside Riker. His eyes narrowed, deepening the elaborate crow’s-feet at their corners, as he took in the graphics on the viewscreen.” What’s sparse?”
Picard sat up in his chair and turned to face McCoy. “The number of warbirds along he border,” he explained evenly. “If we can determine the reason for it, we might be able to use it to our advantage.”
The admiral harrumphed. It was not a compliment. “Idle speculation,” he commented. “A waste of time, if you ask me.” He eyed the captain from beneath bushy white brows. “What are we doing to help Spock?”
Picard could feel a considerable heat climb his neck and rise into his cheeks. He did not normally tolerate that tone on his bridge. Not even from a higher-ranking