Crossover - Michael Jan Friedman [43]
He himself was too troubled by what had just taken place. Nearly three quarters of his original body of students had abandoned their studies.
Granted, some of them were still quite new to the principles of logic. Yet the Teacher knew he had made his case well. And he knew as well that it was right to continue his efforts, even in the face of death.
Spock saw the truth in these thoughts. Yet it seemed the truth was somehow inadequate now. It was not logical, but so it was.
“I suggest we meditate individually,” he said, “so that we may consider today’s lessons in the depth they deserve.”
His followers nodded their assent. As they left for their quarters, the Vulcan watched them go.
Though he had called the break for the benefit of his students, he needed the peace and certainty of meditation as much as they did. No …
More.
Hunched over on the floor of his cell, Scotty peered once again past the energy barrier that penned him in— essentially the same sort of barrier he’d seen in his confinement on the warbird. Satisfied that his guards weren’t around, he resumed his attempts to pry loose a bulkhead plate in the cell’s back wall.
His tool in this effort was a metal eating utensil which the Romulans had given to him with his meal a half hour before. Hardly the picture of efficiency, they hadn’t bothered to check on him since. He doubted they would even notice the utensil was missing when they picked up the remains of his uneaten lunch.
Certainly, the personnel on this station had their flaws—perhaps because the place was such a dead end for them. But then they were no more imperfect than the station itself.
This was an older facility and—Scotty guessed—a relatively unimportant one. Some of the construction techniques and pieces of equipment he had seen on his brief walk through the corridors predated even the Romulan technology he’d encountered on the Enterprise.
That meant the station was very likely even older than he was. And would probably be here after he was gone, the engineer groused.
Truth to tell, it depressed him to meet his end in such a sloppy operation. All the more reason to keep at what he was doing—to continue in his attempt to pry up the bulkhead plate—and not think about the consequences.
Scotty grunted as he applied some elbow grease. Fortunately, the plate was already loose and was located on the back wall—the warmest of the three available to him.
That meant there was a relatively high concentration of antiquated circuitry behind the plating. And if he could gain access to it, he might be able to get out of here.
Then, even if he couldn’t quite escape, he might be able at least to throw the Romulans a curve. Perhaps disable an important system. It might help him later on.
Abruptly he heard the sound of footsteps. Slipping the utensil into his boot, he stood up to face whoever was approaching.
As it turned out, it was only one of his jailers. By the look on the Romulan’s face, he had something to say— for a change.
“You will see the station administrator in a little while,” he said. “He will interrogate you. He wanted you to know.”
Scotty didn’t say anything. He just curled his lip at the Romulan.
The guard shook his head at the human’s idiocy. Then he turned and departed the way he’d come.
As soon as he was sure the Romulan was gone, Scotty cursed beneath his breath. Here he’d thought he was to be handled with kid gloves until the proconsul arrived. Obviously, someone had had other ideas in the meantime.
If you couldn’t trust a Romulan bureaucrat, he thought with disgust, who could you trust?
He had only minutes left before he was ushered out of his cell. At the rate he was going, it would take hours for him to work his way behind the bulkhead panel.
And once they brought him to an interrogation room, the engineer held no illusions about his prospects of escape—no matter what shape the station was in.
In the academy, Scotty had had a grizzled old instructor who taught a course in survival