What's Past_ The Future Begins (Book 2) - Michael Schuster [6]
“Indeed it is,” said a new voice. Scotty turned to see an older-looking human male had approached from his right without his noticing. “Sorry,” the man said, “but I couldn’t help but hear your conversation.” Scotty recognized him as yet another member of the group from the Gorkon that had assembled in the transporter room that morning, though he hadn’t been introduced to him. The man stuck out his hand. “Professor Andrews of the Timsonian Institute.”
Scotty sighed inwardly and quickly transferred his kebab to the left hand, which was also holding his ale, and shook Andrews’s hand. “I imagine you lot will have your hands full catalogin’ all this new stuff, won’t you, lad?” Located in Cluster Telpha-Z, the Timsonian Institute was a counterpart to the more famous Daystrom Institute, focusing less on development of new technologies and more on classifying and labeling ones acquired through trade, alliance, and the like.
“Indeed we will,” said Andrews, moving over to the food bar, where he grabbed a spider tramezzino from Alpha Arietis. “I would appreciate it, Captain Scott, if you did not refer to me as ‘lad.’”
“Ach, you may be older than me physically,” Scotty admitted, “but I was realignin’ dilithium crystals when you were in diapers.”
“Oh, I remember hearing about this,” Vantimor said excitedly. “You fell through a temporal rift in the Typhon Expanse, didn’t you? Came from the twenty-third century to the present?”
“No, lassie, that was my good friend Morgan Bateson. My story is a wee bit different. I was on my way to a retirement colony on Norpin V, when the ship I was on, the Jenolen, encountered a Dyson sphere.”
“A Dyson sphere?” asked Vantimor. “Is that a spatial anomaly of some sort?”
“No,” said Andrews, “it is a massive artificial habitat constructed around a star to absorb all of its energy.” He munched on his half-sandwich with a forlorn expression. “Unfortunately, before the Institute could mount an expedition to take a look at the one the Jenolen discovered, it up and vanished. Most perplexing and distressing.”
Scotty had taken advantage of the interruption to take another swig of the Andorian ale. “Exactly,” he said. “The Jenolen crash-landed on the sphere, killin’ everyone aboard but me and an ensign. Knowin’ rescue might be a long while in comin’, I managed to put the two of us into transporter stasis, by loopin’ our patterns through the buffer over and over.”
“Really?” came a voice from his left. Scotty realized they had been joined by another Kropaslin. “That is extraordinary.”
“Well, don’t praise me all too quickly,” Scotty said to the newcomer. “We were in transporter stasis for seventy-five years, until we were rescued by the Enterprise-D. But poor Franklin’s pattern degraded too far for him to be rematerialized.”
“That’s sad. However, it’s still an amazing piece of work,” affirmed the Kropaslin. “A miracle of engineering.”
Scotty shrugged. “Aye, you might say that.”
Vantimor had what Scotty thought might be a puzzled expression, though quite honestly he wasn’t qualified to judge Kropaslin faces. No wonder—they have no sodding eyes! “I thought you were on your way to a retirement colony. Why are you in Starfleet now?”
“Well, lassie,” said Scotty, taking another sip of his ale, “that is another story.”
“Tell it then,” she said.
Scotty smiled. One of the advantages of being an old relic was almost always having a willing audience for a story—and having more than enough stories to tell. “After I helped save the Enterprise-D from a wee bit of a scrape they landed in, Captain Picard rewarded me with my own shuttlecraft. Instead of headin’ to the retirement colony, I decided to roam the galaxy for some time.” He fell silent.
“What happened?” asked someone Scotty didn’t recognize, a Deirr. It seemed he was attracting a crowd.
“Well, warpin’ around in your own shuttle sounds thrillin’, but it soon gets lonely. Oh, I had my fair share of…excitement, but before long I’d entered into a sort of funk. Bein’ seventy-five years out of time