"Din Lugh"
A Star Trek-the Original Series (TOS) fan-fic/Alternate Universe (set mainly after "Wrath of Khan").
A/N: This story is Scotty-centric, and I do not own any rights to these "Star Trek" characters and tales. I am using a timeline of my own design that runs with movies II-V, more or less (notice that I ignore ST-"The Motion Picture"). I started writing this fan-fic more than 30 years ago and only recently decided to dust it off a bit to see where it takes me.
Summary: Scotty has family members elsewhere in Starfleet and the Klingons would love to capture one or any of them.
Rating: T for now; may change in later chapters.
Pairings: MS/NU, others as needed.
Chapter 1/?
Prologue
It happened in the pre-dawn quiet. A Klingon light battlecruiser, the Konith-ka, entered orbit around Federation planet RL-995. Cloaking allowed her to sidle in without notice. The landing party's only witnesses were the twin moons in full phase. Kataz, commander of the Konith-ka, had very specific orders: the Empire wanted a particular Federation engineer. An engineer named Scott.
Colonists were dragged from their beds and assembled in the outer compound. Most were farmers or research scientists and offered little or no resistance to the professionally trained Imperial warriors. Only two of the colonists were killed in the initial contact. They had been frantically trying to send distress beacons and were blasted to vapor and various remnants where they once stood over the communications panels.
"What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? This is Federation space," fumed one very irate colonist, held frozen in his tracks at the point of a Klingon blast phaser. He was further hindered by two wide-eyed little girls who had fastened themselves securely around each of his legs. Several other colonists loudly voiced their protests to such ill treatment.
Kataz ignored them for the moment as he prowled in front of the crowd of humans. His troopers, their discipline impeccable, kept the forty-odd colonists under a close watch. Strangely enough, the crying of the frightened human children both annoyed and pleased him. He was the sort of Klingon male who was at his most dangerous when he was amused.
"I want the engineer Scott. None will be harmed if he steps forward." Kataz paused to watch the colonists' reactions to his announcement. Their eyes betrayed their fear, even though he could smell it easily. A Klingon's superiorly heightened senses, he often told himself.
A young blondish man, dressed in a technician's jumpsuit, moved boldly to the front. "I am Scott," he said in a steady voice. "What is it that you bastards want?"
One of the other Klingons said something, it was a gruff and guttural phrase, to Kataz, who then raised his own weapon and fired at nearly point blank range. Screams of terror still echoed as the smoke cleared, leaving only a charred patch where Harris had stood moments before. Kataz regarded the colonists angrily, baring his lupine teeth at them.
"Let me make myself plainer to you: I want the engineer Scott within the hour. One of you will be killed each quarter hour after that I am forced to wait. Do not doubt my sincerity. Any treachery will be dealt with severely, as this example clearly illustrates!"
At their commander's order, the troopers herded the remaining colonists into one of the buildings, leaving them locked in and unguarded to ponder their fates. Then, with uncharacteristic patience, Kataz settled down to wait. This mission would be a pleasure, he promised himself. He had never hunted Earthers before, at least not face-to-face, though his grandfather had. The old Klingon had called them "ssts", a hissed acronym for "soft skin, sharp teeth". His grandfather had killed many of them, and had regaled a young Kataz with his stories of adventure.
Once the Klingons had left them in the large meeting hall, the burly man who had first spoken calmly called for quiet. He carefully detached one of the little girls from around his leg and handed her to a frightened woman who stood at his side. The remaining child clung even tighter to her father's right knee and her eyes were wide with fear.
"It's Robert they want, but we don't know why. I'm not about to hand him over to these murderers," Thornson said; his accent was clearly north-Midwestern North America, Michigan probably. "We should wait and not provoke them any further."
The petite woman at his side spoke up in a shaky voice. "Jack, Din Lugh is deep enough in our own space. The treaties assured that. Why are these monsters here? And they must have some sort of scanners on their own ships, wouldn't they? Why blast us to find Robert?"
Thornson frowned at his wife's underlying meaning, but he ignored her cowardice for the moment. "Ann, I don't know. Please..."
"The star is probably interfering with their instruments up there. We're somewhat shielded here under the atmosphere, but..." another man spoke up with a poignant shrug. He was one of the astronomers of the colony, observing first-hand the decay of a yellow star.
"For the sakes of Robert and his family, we will stall for as long as we can until they get here. He has a nephew in Starfleet remember? Perhaps help is already on the way, we were due for annual supplies soon," declared Jack Thornson with more conviction than he really felt.
-/-/-/-/-/-
Family camping trips had become a tradition for Robert and Amanda Scott early in their marriage, and now, with their son Connor, the tradition continued on Din Lugh. The planet's official name was RL-995, but Dr. Scott believed that the translated "Lugh's Fort" had a more adventurous ring to it. Even his nephew Montgomery, chief engineer on the starship Enterprise, had agreed with the renaming.
Fourteen-year old Connor was beginning to rebel somewhat against these family outings as he noticed members of the fairer sex more and more. Caroline Hoyer, daughter of the colony's microbiologist (and painter), was his current interest. Although arranged marriages had not applied in his family for centuries, Connor had pledged himself to marry her. Someday.
As far as camping was concerned, Connor would have much rather gone wandering the woods without his parents, but with his favorite dog along for company. The dog, a handsome black and white Border collie named Cuchulain, was the boy's constant companion. One of Connor's engineer father's projects was raising dogs, a hobby carried on from his boyhood days in Scotland. It was actually Connor's mother, Amanda, who insisted on these camping trips, during which she could polish her son's language skills without distraction. As a well-known Starfleet linguist, she could speak at least ninety languages and could understand marginally some dozen more. When Connor had shown a preternatural gift for learning languages quickly at an early age, she decided to teach him the skills of a translator. The boy's other love was starship design and engineering, after his father of course. It was in this happy and nurturing balance that Connor thrived.
Amanda Scott (also Scottish by birth but of the Highland clan Ross), had never learned to completely trust mechanical translators, no matter how much more efficient they were. In language she found that there were too many nuances of meaning and idiomatic expressions to be dealt with as accurately by a computer than by a well-trained linguist. It was a rare person, she believed, who could speak more than his own native tongue and perhaps one other. Her ninety speaking languages included those from Earth, some that were modern and some that were not, as well as languages from many other planets.
The family was returning to the colony compound early that morning, before the heat of the day. Robert had taken some environmental readings and found disconcerting increases in levels of gamma and alpha radiation. Although the protective atmospheric layer was intact, he wanted to notify Starfleet early enough in the case that an evacuation was needed as the star decayed further. So far, Din Lugh had experienced no difficulties in this remote star system, but Dr. Robert Scott was by nature a cautious and careful man.
Absently listening to his wife and son recite an epic poem in the family's native language of Scots Gaelic, Robert's frown deepened as they neared the compound. Even at this early hour of morning, it was strangely quiet and deserted. Farm animals at least made some sounds in the morning and the children of the colony, his lanky son included, were early risers.
"Amanda, dearest, I will be along shortly. I have a few things to check on before breakfast," he said, a little guiltily. Connor had run ahead, laughing and shouting, chasing the huge dog into one of the farm buildings. "I won't be long, I promise."
Hands on hips, Amanda regarded him with an amused look, and then she smiled. "Poor Robbie. This place can manage without you once in a while, ya ken." She kissed him briskly on the cheek, turning to follow after their son.
The boy had followed the collie into the building, scattering the cats that were there waiting impatiently for their breakfasts. Mice had never become a problem on this farm, but the cats were kept anyway. After feeding the cats, and briefly stroking the back of each one (there were ten), he went to a darkened corner stall where a large female Border collie was nursing her young pups. Aine, as she was named, raised her head to growl at the male hound. Cuchulain growled back softly. This was their natural relationship, since females of her kind feared instinctively for her young, even around their own father. The dog did not seem to mind this rather chilly welcome from his mate, and he turned to look for his stainless steel food dish that Connor had filled.
Connor knelt at her head and stroked the hound's silky ears with his slender fingers (he had his mother's hands and his father's eyes). "Good morning, little lady. How are your young five doing today?" He glanced around, hearing Amanda's quiet approach. "Mama, I think their eyes should open any day now. They're already so growing fast."
"Aye, and then you'll be even busier than you can imagine looking after seven dogs and ten cats, on top of your other chores, and studies."
He grinned up at her. This was the usual lecture that he got on responsibility, though his father's version was generally much longer. "Thomas and Caroline have promised to help me. And Aine here does a good job at looking after her sons and daughters."
Amanda ruffled his eternally mussed red hair affectionately. "She'll probably have just as much trouble as I did with her little hounds. Don't be too long; your father will be back for breakfast soon. And don't forget to wash up before you come inside. Use soap this time, aye?"
Connor grinned again. "Yes, ma'am," he replied as he put the camping gear in a storage locker. The "little hound" was a nickname for him, based on the Celtic legend of Cuchulain, which itself meant "Hound of Chulain". In fact, Connor's given name actually meant "hound" or "dog" in the Gaelic language. He looked around for the hero's namesake and the blinding flash as the walls exploded was the last thing he remembered. The very ground shook as he fell. He was only vaguely aware of the pain, and odd sense of worry, that he felt.
TBC
A/N: I thank you kindly for reading this far. As I said on page one, this is a Scotty-centric fan-fic that I started while I was a teenager, more than thirty years ago. In fact, ST-"Wrath of Khan" had just come out in the theaters! In particular, I miss Jimmy Doohan and DeForrest Kelley and their unforgettable performances.
That being said, I am thoroughly enjoying the "reboot" of our beloved Star Trek universe from 2009 and 2013 in the capable hands of Chris Pine, Zachary Quinto, Zoe Soldana, Simon Pegg, Karl Urban and the rest (especially Karl Urban's portrayal of Dr. McCoy) and I mean no disrespect to the new legions of fans they have gathered.
I'm just an old school gal.
Best,
D.
