Warnings: Very mild Scotty swearing, appearance of Harry Mudd in bad outfit.
Four: You've got to pick a pocket or two, boys
Scotty pulled his hat down against the drizzle. Apparently, it was a myth that the Inuit had a thousand words for snow, but he'd bet the inhabitants of New Glasgow had a thousand words for rain. Whoever named this planet had a sense of humour at least; it was just like Glasgow, back home in Scotland. On this small grey planet it rained for thirty-five percent of the year, half an inch in an afternoon was common. Pavements were permanently slick, but when the sun came out, it lifted the spirits, along with the veil of smog that floated in from surrounding mining operations. "So, what have we got today, Charlie?"
"Standard swipe: you bump into and apologise. Hoots mon, I'm a wee Scottish laddie an' I'm awfy sorry! I'll rifle through their clothing." Charlie grinned with her mouth closed; the anticipation of a well-executed theft always got her pumped up.
"Ya rascal, I dinnae talk like that. Cheeky besom." He laughed, every time she smiled he wanted to pick her up in a hug. When he watched her defuse a bomb, he wanted to tell the planet, galaxy and universe that she was his girl. When it came to Charlie, he had his heart in his mouth, and on his sleeve all at once. "What does the Doc want?"
"An Orion's ID chip."
"Man or woman?"
"Man," said Charlie, "there's an Orion underground club on Renfield, a kinda specialist place, fetishists, submissives, bondage; that kind of stuff. He wants to sniff about there on a case."
"Oh Gorn, does this mean he'll be taking the tanning pills again? He's even worse on them. Like a bear with a sore heid." Unfortunately Scotty, Chapel and McCoy were the only crew-members who could sport a convincing Orion disguise. Chekov was too nervous and green, pardon the pun, and Charlene was too dark. The side-effects were grim, and caused the doc to exhibit levels of methane-fuelled surliness usually reserved for calls to his ex-wife. To date they hadn't been able to synthesise a make-up convincing enough to fool a real Orion, so the pills it was, in all their stomach-churning horror. "Aye, he'll need a cork."
There was a window of about a day, when you could stop taking the pills to allow your intestines to un-knot, and before the complexion started to fade. You got all your sneaking about done in that day.
Charlie and Scotty split up and milled around New Glasgow's main square, looking for a mark. Just like its namesake, the square had lions, and a classical central column Scotty always assumed supported a statue of someone called George. It was called George Square, after all. One day, after an evening dram, he called New Glasgow Tourist Information - amazed such an organisation existed - and asked who was at the top of the column. An incredulous silence followed, and after too many seconds, the operator answered, "It's Mayor Khan, sir." Oh right, my silly mistake, thought Scotty, of course it is. That's me told then.
About twenty yards away, he saw Charlie indicate a likely target by a nod of her head, and Scotty strode through the crowds, only to have his path blocked by a tall, fat man wearing a purple zoot suit with stripes so wide it could have been cut from the cloth of a fortune-teller's tent. Jewelled rings squeezed fat fingers that were occupied in smoothing out a moustache the size and shape of a small rodent. A purple velvet Homburg festooned with a green feather had an uncertain purchase upon his wide head.
"Mister Scott, de-lighted to make your acquaintance again. How is my favourite head of engineering at Clyde spaceport?"
Harry Mudd: a reporter who would sell an organ for a story. "Mudd, ye know I'm the only head of engineering there, and I'm in a hurry."
"Oh, dear boy, don't let me stop you. I just have a message for your neighbour, Detective McCoy. He does forget to call me and I've left so many messages for him. I know you have an apartment in the same building as his little agency. The Herald Enquirer is very interested in an angle on these missing persons. No, please don't tell me he isn't on the case, he is on every case here, him and that funny little Russian boy." Mudd paused, in mock discovery of the striking of a sudden thought. "Oh, my dear, do you suppose they are," he affected a sotto voce, cupping his pudgy hand to shield his mouth, "having an affair?" The other hand rose and he clapped them together in childish delight, rising on his toes. "How simply divine."
A heavy sigh blew through Scotty's lips. "Mudd, GTF ye slimy git. You lot are scum, grubbing through people's rubbish and hacking into their comms. McCoy tells me he just got a new communications operative to hunt you down and put a stop to your shite. Now bugger off before my fist goes off by accident." Scotty forged on as Mudd shouted after him, "Well he knows where to find me, m'dear." Of course, the mark was gone, and Scotty and Charlie spent another hour in the rain before they got what they came for.
.
"Gorn, it's freezin' in here Charlie, I'll get the fire on." Back at their apartment, Scotty shook out his coat and hung his hat on a peg at the door. In the small kitchenette, Charlie made noises that meant a pot of tea was on its way and Scotty settled into their dumpy – and a bit lumpy – couch to read the news on a Padd.
"There's a picture here of Khan, the creep, at a party hosted by JT. Gaila's in the background. Canny believe the press still think she's his PA. She's lookin' good 'though."
"Scotty!" Censure came from behind.
"Och, ye'd have to be blind..." It was time Scotty stopped talking on that subject he thought.
A cup of tea appeared on the table at his elbow and Charlene's hand rested on his shoulder. "You want a slice of malt loaf?"
"Did you make it, love?"
"Of course I did."
"In that case, you bet." The Scotsman rubbed his hands together.
They sat squashed up on the couch and Charlie read the news with him, curled up like a cat. "Gaila was in the office the other day."
"Aye? That's no' like her." He put the Padd down and faced his partner.
"One of her friends has gone missing. She's frantic with worry. I talked to her this morning. I wish we could find a connection." She slid her elbow on to the arm rest and put her chin in her hand.
Scotty budged over and put an arm about her, kissing the top of her head. "Now, don't you be going out at night on yer own Charlie. I mean it. Not until this thing's cleared up." Thoughts of Charlene, taken away, kept him awake at night.
"It's not just women!" Her eyes hardened in a look Scotty knew as: I may be small but I don't need any man telling me I can't look after myself! "Can you turn the fire up? I'm still cold." A tartan blanket lay over the couch back and she pulled it about her shoulders.
"You look like a wee old Heilan' wifey. I can think of a better way to get warm, granny."
Charlie's small chin stuck forward in challenge. "Oh yeah? Show me what you got."
"Only if you promise to call me Commander."
"Aye Commander, show me what you got."
~~~intermission~~~
GTF: Scottish expression; abbreviated form of Get To F***
