What's Past_ The Future Begins (Book 2) - Michael Schuster [14]
Scotty led the way out of the office, as Geordi followed. “It won’t be, of course. It never is.”
Strange New Worlds, the full name of the bar commonly called “Worlds,” was an ancient Starfleet institution, supposedly older than the Academy itself. According to myth, it was here that Admiral Jonathan Archer had been offered the position of Chief of Staff of the fledgling Federation Starfleet.
La Forge had never quite bought that one. The bar was old, but it wasn’t that old. Regardless, it had been popular with Starfleet personnel for over a century now, and that showed little sign of changing. La Forge had been coming here on and off since he was an Academy cadet, and had always liked it. The bar was filled with Starfleet memorabilia, from dedication plaques to model starships to used self-sealing stem bolts.
Once they were settled in at a nice corner booth—Scotty with an Aldebaran whiskey, and La Forge with a nice Saurian brandy—the younger engineer prompted Scotty to continue his tale. “Did you return to wandering, or what?”
“I suppose so, laddie,” said Scotty, “but wanderin’ of a more limited sort. I returned to Scotland, revisiting my old homeland for the first time since I left on the Jenolen back in ’94. But soon I found myself called away to a far more…pleasurable destination.”
Damage Control
Stardate 53194.6
March 2376, Old Earth Time
As he made his way to the lift of the observation tower, Montgomery Scott managed not to bump into a single tourist, which in itself was a small miracle. Usually, they didn’t care whether they were in his way, only to later complain quite loudly about his obvious inability to walk without distracting others from observing the scantily-clad natives.
Even if the visitors were forgettable, Risa itself always was a lovely spot to spend your downtime, and it hadn’t changed a bit in the years he’d been…offstage, so to speak. There were still those large wooden horga’hn s everywhere, almost forcing you to get yourself some jamaharon while there was still some left.
Scotty was glad that he had found this job. He just wasn’t the kind of man to sit around lazily all day long, reading books, and solving 3-D crossword puzzles. He wished he had figured that out just a few years earlier (relatively speaking, of course), because then he wouldn’t have been on the Jenolen, on course to that bloody retirement colony, which had resulted in him skipping seventy-five years cleverly ensconced in a transporter buffer.
It had had its upsides, however—not only had he escaped a depressing number of wars and armed conflicts, but also some unnecessary revivals of outrageous fashion styles. Yet what had survival brought him? Nothing, except the knowledge that the galaxy hadn’t improved. People were still as stupid as they had been in the twenty-third century.
Case in point—suddenly, someone big and heavy bumped into him, mumbled an excuse and continued down the corridor. Scotty looked at the quickly moving back of the person—who seemed to be a Megarite, judging from his drysuit—and thought about thanking him for his consideration, but somehow he got the impression that sarcasm was wasted on the peculiar aliens who used song to communicate their ideas and opinions.
Finally, Scotty made it to the lift; it made the one hundred twelve-story journey in less than thirty seconds. He stepped out of the turbocar and onto the observation deck of the Tolari Tower, the tallest structure on this continent. Even from up here, the main building of the nearby El Dorado Resort resembled a fake Aztec pyramid consisting of real Risian basalt, and it looked authentic, from what Scotty could tell. But then again, he didn’t know all that much about ancient Aztec architecture.
He went to the railing and took a deep breath. The view was outstanding as always. He had heard that Risa’s peculiar geological history was responsible for the abundance of beaches and lagoons, but he suspected that the Risian government had