Ship of the Line - Diane Carey [4]
Bateson laughed merrily. “You’d have to lend me that starship too. The Klingon fleet wouldn’t be intimidated by a border cutter.”
“So you say, but I know the Bozeman’s record. That’s a tough ship. Don’t give her up.”
“No, to be sure. I’ve got my sector and my line of scrimmage and I know how to defend it. Can’t say that with your big roaming superfortress. Say, is our favorite battle-ax tinkerer still on board?”
“Yes, and he sends his most blistering criticisms. He says you’ll fill in the blanks with the right expletives.”
Bateson laughed with reverie. “Montgomery Scott, the galaxy’s foremost hindmost. Tell that spacedog I’ll be around to pick up after him once he dirties up that fancy upper-class engine room of yours.”
“I’ ll pass that along to him. That’s a refitted Reliant-class ship, am I correct?”
“You are. It’s been redesignated as Soyuz class. Very compact, lots of power, no frills. Extra shielding, more weapons—not meant for science application as the Reliant class is. The Bozeman and the other four Soyuz ships are just knotted fists, and we pack a punch. Would you like to come on board for a visit?”
“Can’t afford the time. We’re already late. Spock should be beaming over with your new officers right now. I’ll take you up on the visit when we’re done dealing with the Klingons.”
“Give ‘em hell, Admiral.”
“They’ll get a tan, you can be sure. Kirk out.”
As the screen flicked back to an outside view of the starship, Bush turned quickly to Bateson and asked, “Do you think he expects trouble?”
Bateson’s slightly pouched gray eyes narrowed and his high brow puckered. He scratched his beard as if perpetuating a stereotype. “Wouldn’t bet either way. He seemed cool as a cat, but he’s in a hurry. Conflicting clues. He’s been on the Starfleet Academy faculty for several months—could just be itchy for open space. We’ll probably never know.”
“Mr. Spock’s coming here,” Gabe Bush uttered, suddenly more self-aware than before. “It’s hard to believe. Captain Spock, I mean.”
“Now, relax, Gabe,” Bateson said. “I know what you mean. He’ll always seem like the ideal definition of a first officer, no matter how high they promote him. You can’t help but compare yourself to that. Don’t forget, though, he was also science officer of the Enterprise, and that put him in the middle of more situations than the typical first mate would see. I think you and I have a much more conventional relationship, and that gives me some comfort. I wouldn’t want to be risking my first mate and my science officer all at once. So! I guess it’s convenient that you’re only my first mate, because I can risk you and not worry, right?”
“Whatever weathers your helm, sir.”
“All right, crew.” Bateson glanced around. “Put on your happy faces. We want the new men to feel at home. If you have any questions for them, feel free to ask after Captain Spock leaves.”
“I got questions,” Wizz Dayton piped. “Did Adam and Eve have belly buttons?”
Instantly heads turned all over the bridge, and one came up from inside a lower trunk. Voices popped up from all around.
“How do you know when to tune bagpipes?”
“What’s the French word for ‘bouquet’?”
“Was ‘dead reckoning’ ever alive?”
“This ship is sick!” Bateson rolled his eyes and shoved to his feet. “And ‘dead reckoning’ was never alive. It comes from ‘deduced reckoning.’ The abbreviation was ‘ded.’ Now you know.”
“Should’ve figured he’d know that,” somebody muttered as the double-door panels on the back of the bridge parted, and suddenly the chatter dropped off. They had company.
Out from the lift strode Captain Spock, supremely Vulcan and elegant, somehow looking smarter in that uniform than anyone else, including the spiffy young lieutenants who followed him. Both young men were tall and slim, one slightly more so than the other on both counts, and the second had a dark moustache and a narrow face. Spock strode immediately to the center of the bridge as if he could’ve found it blindfolded, and extended a hand to Bateson. “Captain, good morning.”
“Welcome aboard, Captain Spock,”