What's Past_ The Future Begins (Book 2) - Michael Schuster [21]
Scotty, however, was all too happy to settle down permanently. He was ready for retirement, had been ever since before Khitomer. There were some in Starfleet who thought it a good idea to get him back into action, but they simply had not found out yet that they were wrong.
Granted, working until they dropped dead might be all right for some, but it wasn’t for him. He was no Leonard McCoy—still an active Starfleet admiral at nearly 150, occasionally commanding a starship on a mission, visiting starbases and cruising around the Federation in a small runabout.
That inspection tour he’d joined McCoy on had been a lot of fun, even when they had almost met their fate on Bakrii at the hands of a Breen warship. It was better than paperwork, at any rate. Afterward, though, they had seen the damage wrought by the Breen on Earth, and learned how fragile some things really were.
The Breen. Of course.
His mind was going in circles, never straying too far from the subject that was at the heart of the matter. It all came down to the orders Nechayev had given him, the ones that had forced him to betray the trust of a planet full of innocent beings, simply because she thought it a good idea.
Blast the Breen.
Blast Nechayev.
Abruptly, Scotty moved over to the desk upon which the computer terminal sat.
“Computer, patch me through to Admiral Leonard McCoy’s office.”
“Working.”
Seconds passed, and even though he hated the cliché, they seemed much longer—though not quite like hours.
Then, finally: “Unable to comply. Admiral McCoy’s office is closed.”
“Why?”
“Admiral McCoy is not in his office,” the computer said, almost mockingly.
What? Where would Leonard be at this time of year? And why would he close his office? The last time they’d spoken face-to-face—which had happened shortly after their return to Earth, in the aftermath of the Breen attack on San Francisco—McCoy had intimated that he’d refrain from ever leaving his home planet again, “unless it turns out to be absolutely necessary and impossible to avoid.”
“Locate Admiral McCoy. Authorization: Scott-Psi-Three-Phi-Tango.”
“Authorization accepted. Locating.” A few more moments passed. “Admiral Leonard H. McCoy is currently on Arcturus.”
“Patch me through to Arcturus, then. And better make it quick, y’hear?”
“Working,” the computer’s male voice said, ignoring the angry undertone in Scott’s voice.
While the computer contacted the planet via various subspace relays, Scott took another sip of the Takaran ale. It was a bitter brew, and even for him it had required some getting used to.
“Comlink to Arcturus established. Contacting Admiral McCoy.”
“Finally. Next time I’ll do it myself. Wouldn’t be any slower than you, I’m tellin’ you,” Scotty grumbled.
Another sip, and he closed his eyes as the liquid made its way down his throat. Because of that, he was completely unprepared for what happened next.
“I’d sure like to know who has such a unique talent of calling at the worst possible moment!”
It was all Scotty could to do keep from sputtering his ale across the computer screen. He’d been successful!
“Hello, Admiral,” Scotty said, using the formal address that Len so despised.
“Scotty! I should have known it was you. I’m doing something very important, and I don’t want to be disturbed. Why do you think I closed down my office?”
“And a good day to you, too, Len.”
“Oh, don’t pretend to be so awfully polite. Doesn’t get you anywhere, y’know?” McCoy said, looking distracted. Scotty couldn’t quite make out where his friend was, except that it was a room with a giant emblem of Starfleet Medical on the wall. A medical conference? But they usually took place on holiday planets, didn’t they?
“I’ll try to remember it for the future. So, what is it you’re doing, and why did you close your office in Krung Thep for it?”
“Because this is the presentation of this year’s Carrington Award winner,