Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [45]
Nor was there any reason he should not have. Vulcans were notoriously long-lived, and even in this era Spock would have been far from elderly.
Spock … alive. It was a cheering thought. But it led to other thoughts a whole lot less cheering, for that was probably not the case with some of Scott’s other comrades. He looked around the bridge again and saw them all in a new light.
Kirk, Spock and McCoy. Uhura, Sulu and Chekov. How many had survived, and in what shape? Who had lived to see this day of optical data chips and five-phase autocontainment fields … and who had not?
Out of the corner of his eye, Scott noticed a reflection-his reflection-in one of the monitor screens of his engineering station. Turning toward it, he studied his image there.
It wasn’t like Kirk’s or McCoy’s or Uhura’s. It wasn’t young. It was old. Ancient, it seemed to him. He didn’t belong in this kind of company anymore. And they didn’t belong here, on a ship that none of them would have recognized as their beloved Enterprise.
Suddenly finding that he had lost his taste for this particular program, Scott called out. “Computer, delete these people.”
Instantly, faster than his mind could register the fact, they were absent from the program. There was no one on the bridge besides Scott and Picard.
The captain turned to him, his eyes framing a question. The older man shrugged. “It was time,” he said. Then he remembered something else.
“I’d like my refreshments to reappear,” he told the computer.
Before he knew it, his bottle of green liquor and its accompanying glass had assumed a visible reality again. Stooping to pick them up, he held them out meaningfully to Picard.
“Have a drink with me, Captain?”
For a moment, Picard gazed at the bottle full of green liquid, as if weighing his tolerance for it. “Why not?” he said finally.
Pouring a drink from the bottle, Scott handed it to the captain. The contents caught the light and shimmered as they sloshed.
“I got it in yer Ten-Forward lounge,” the older man explained. “I’m nae sure what it is, exactly, but I’d be careful with it if I were you. It has a real…”
Scott’s voice trailed off as Picard suddenly threw back the drink in a single, fluid motion. Nor did it have the effect Scott expected. On the contrary, Picard didn’t appear to be staggered in the slightest.
“Aldebaran whiskey,” said the captain appreciatively, as he returned the glass. “Northern continent. Stardate 36455-a good year. Not too much rain.”
Scott must have been open-mouthed, because Picard smiled at his expression. “Tell me something, Captain Scott. Who do you think gave that bottle to Guinan in the first place?”
Scott felt the laughter bubble up inside him, and he had no reason not to let it out. Lord knew, he’d done little in the way of laughing since he left the twenty-third century behind.
“Ye’re full o’ surprises, Captain Picard.”
Picard shrugged. “I try not to be too predictable. Keeps my people on their toes.” A pause. “No, that’s a lie. I’m very predictable.”
He took another look at the antiquated bridge. Since there was no longer anyone on it, the captain had to be attending to the technical details.
“Constitution-class,” he announced at last.
“Aye,” said Scott. “Ye’re familiar with it?”
“There’s one at the fleet museum,” the captain replied. “Well-preserved, too.” And then “This is your Enterprise?”
Scott nodded thoughtfully. “One o’ them. I actually served on two ships with that proud name. This was the first, though, the one I spent the most time aboard. She was also the first ship I ever served on as engineer.”
Picard sat down at the next bridge station over from the engineering console. It was a gesture that said tell me more.
Scott leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Ye know,” said the older man, “I shipped out aboard eleven vessels in my career. Freighters, cruisers, starships, ye name it. But this is the only one I ever think about… the only one I ever really miss. Funny thing, is it nae?”