Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [76]
The empath suppressed a giggle. “I see.”
“There was one shuttle in particular,” Kane recalled. “One he really seemed to take a shine to. The Christopher, I think it was.” He looked up at her. “Man … if it was up to me, I’d give him that ship.”
Troi smiled. “An admirable thought,” she said. “You see? You can be nice.”
The ensign grunted. “Yeah. Well, thanks for your help, Counselor.”
“Think nothing of it,” she told him. “It is my job.”
Taking a deep breath, Scott activated the computer terminal in his quarters. There was no point in avoiding it anymore, he told himself. He could’ve died on the Jenolen never knowing the truth. And he owed it to himself-to them-to find out.
One by one, he brought up their names, the names of those with whom he’d risked his life time and again. One by one, he queried the Enterprise’s computer as to their status, their whereabouts. And one by one, the computer supplied the answers.
Not all the answers were happy ones. Death had laid claim to some, though none of them had died any way but proudly. He took solace in that.
Besides, he had expected some bad news. Time hadn’t stood still for them the way it had for him. There were bound to have been some casualties in seventy-five long years; not every ship returned to port. Not every person survived, or was accounted for.
But some of them had lived and done well for themselves. McCoy, for example, had become an admiral. Who would have predicted that? Of all of them, he’d been the one most opposed to Starfleet’s bureaucracy-and here he’d gone and become part of it.
Then there was Spock. First a respected ambassador, just like his father. And recently, a force for the reunification of Vulcan and Romulus-now working in secret for the same cause. It was just like Spock to take on the most impossible task he could find. And knowing him, he’d be equal to it.
So it went. Scott perused the files once, twice; a third time. Before he was done, he’d all but memorized them. And he’d gone from gladness to sorrow and back again so many times that he felt like a Ping-Pong ball.
Finally, he’d had enough. Storing the last of the biographical details, Scott sat back in his chair and sighed. He felt as if he’d been in a brawl and lost-badly-but he had no regrets. He knew he’d done the right thing.
Montgomery Scott had made his peace with his past. Only now he could think about facing his future.
Epilogue
GEORDI GRINNED as Scott made the turbolift compartment echo with his enthusiasm.
” ‘But how did ye do it?’ the captain asks me. And I tell him ‘Sir, I just had the cleanup detail pile every last one of those wee beasties onto the transporter platform.’ And he looks at me, sort of horrified-sort of the way ye’re looking now, lad-and says ‘But Scotty … ye did nae just transport them out into space, did ye?’”
Geordi looked at him. “Well… did you?”
“What do ye think? Of course nae. So I put on an offended expression, something like this, an’ I say, ‘I’m a kindhearted man, sir. I gave them a good home.’ And the captain says, ‘Where, man? Spit it out now!’ And I tell him that I gave them to the Klingons. Just before they went into warp, I transported the whole kit and kaboodle into their engine room-as a wee parting gift!”
The younger man shook his head. “You didn’t!”
Scott placed his hand over his heart. “May I be struck by lightnin’ if I’ve changed a single word of it!”
The turbolift doors opened and Geordi ushered him out. “All right,” he said. “Now I’ve got one for you.”
As they started down the corridor, he related—in broad strokes, of course-the most preposterous story he could think of. It felt good to be telling Scotty a tall tale, instead of the other way around.
“Come on now,” said his companion. “Ye’re pullin’ an old man’s leg!”
“No, really,” Geordi insisted. “This alien space baby-which was about the size of a four-story building-really thought the Enterprise was its mother.”
“So what’d ye do?” asked Scotty.
The younger man rubbed his hands together. “Well,” he said, “it was suckling power directly from
the