"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 7/?

Martial artistry

As the days passed, Connor happily threw himself, literally, into the recovery regimen prescribed by Dr. McCoy. This included not only the swimming with Ekar, but weightlifting, aerobic exercise classes, and even running. Although shy at first, the teenager became popular with the younger crewmembers, particularly young security men and women who were expected to be highly proficient in the combat training. One goal that Connor had set for himself was to eventually join the "Primary Hull Club", an elite group of runners who made it a point to exercise on the main deck, just a few levels below the Bridge. The primary hull deck was almost a circumferential path of the enormous outer disk, and going around once was not enough. One had to accrue a minimum of one thousand laps to join and even the Captain had not become a member yet although he was inconspicuously aware of the group.

Naturally, Connor made many friends in the engineering department. Scotty was a popular chief and his crew accepted the boy as one of their own. It was not uncommon for Connor to visit them during alpha, beta or even gamma shifts. McCoy had asked him when he slept, to which Connor had replied "Um, just when I get tired, sir".

A major improvement as his physical therapy proceeded was Connor's appetite. He quickly became known in the mess hall as the man who could eat nearly as much as Changeling humans, a race of eight feet tall humanoids. But as a fifteen-year-old energetic human, he only filled out healthily, developing a lean, muscular physique from the frequent exercise that he enjoyed.

What made him well liked was really no mystery. He had the rare ability to speak many (dozens of) languages fluently and was willing and able to learn anything new. Enterprise indeed had a varied mix of Federation crewmembers, with whom Connor could converse in their native language without the benefit of a mechanical translator. Uhura, Sulu, Chekov and others were delighted to get to know him and he was often in their company when they were off-duty, chatting, telling stories and playing chess or cards. Scotty had filed for, and had been almost immediately granted, legal guardianship, which would last until Connor reached eighteen years of age.

One evening as Connor left the swimming pool and stationary bikes, with a dark blue gym towel slung haphazardly over his shoulder, he passed by a smaller training room on the Rec Deck. He'd not noticed it before but what he saw through the observation window thoroughly piqued his curiosity. A dozen or so crewmembers were working out, and each of them was wearing padded protective head, hand- and footgear as they sparred in pairs. While he recognized some of the kicks and punches, it was a close-combat martial art that he had no idea even existed. Slipping in through the door as inconspicuously as he could, he sat cross-legged on the floor to watch.

The instructor was an older man, probably in his late-fifties, his close-cropped silvery hair and beard were precisely trimmed but for his age, he was slender and deceptively strong. He wore a Starfleet issue short-sleeved dark gray t-shirt and loose karate-style pants (black), held up with a neatly double-wrapped black belt. On his feet were what looked like a pair of Japanese hiking sandals, and he watched over his students like a hawk. His emerald green eyes under a deeply tanned brow missed nothing: techniques, stances, breathing… nothing. Connor could not even begin to guess where the man was from.

"Right and switch!" he barked and exactly half of the heavily perspiring students… both men and women, Terrans and off-worlders, stepped to their right to change sparring partners. The last one in line, a lanky blue Andorian male, ran to the start of the line to face off with his new partner. "Go! Jameson, I swear to Pete you'd better keep your hands up or she'll take your head off."

"Aye-aye, Chief!" Jameson replied at once, his words barely understandable around his bite guard and he corrected his stance. The young crewman tapped gloves with his sparring partner before they resumed.

Connor was so caught up with watching the class that he didn't see when the instructor suddenly and silently materialized at his side, standing over him.

"Can I help you, son?"

Connor jumped, smiling sheepishly as he got to his feet; the stern sensei was only one or two inches taller than he. "Sorry to disturb your class, sir. I've never seen anything like this before." He bent and caught up the water bottle he'd dropped.

The man turned slightly toward the group of students behind him, frowning. "MMA, mixed martial arts. And who are you?"

"Oh, Connor Scott, sir," he answered, holding out his right hand. "Glad to meet you."

"Chief Dan Borden, likewise. I run this quiet little end of the Rec Deck," replied the instructor; he gave a firm handshake, his eyes intently studying the youngster's face. "Jameson, I mean it! I'll knock you out myself if you don't get your hands up, mister," growled Borden with a quick glance over his shoulder.

"Aye-aye, Chief!"

Hands on hips with a slight adjustment of his belt so that it was aligned correctly with the midline of his body, Borden turned back to Connor. "And how can I help you, Mr. Scott?"

"Uh, I was wondering if anyone can join this class, sir," Connor answered, hesitating a moment under the intense scrutiny. "Or if it is reserved for Starfleet Security officers."

Borden's piercing gaze softened slightly as he shook his head. "Not just for Security. Do you have any previous martial arts experience, Mr. Scott?" The chief folded his arms across his chest.

The youngster nodded, gripping the side of his right palm, unconsciously mimicking one of the student's open-hand strike technique. "Aye, sir. I earned a black belt in karate, and kenpo, back home a couple of years ago. My teacher was Master Ki Tomika, from Osaka on Earth."

Borden caught the gesture and silently approved. "Hmm, good. Have you trained in any other forms? Weapons or anything?"

"Bo-staff, jo-staff… that's about it, sir."

Borden grunted his endorsement, glancing back over his shoulder at the class in session. "Break! Stay hydrated, you knuckleheads."

A few loud groans of relief came from the students as they made their way to benches across the dojo where more than a dozen water bottles waited. The sounds of Velcro tabs on gloves and headgear being removed could be heard as they made their way from the exercise floor, grabbing clean towels from a pile of folded items on a side table.

The Chief allowed a small smile, which remained on his lips when he turned back to Connor. "Well, first of all, you'll have to be cleared by the CMO, chief medical officer… Dr. McCoy or Dr. Chapel, before you can start in here, understood?"

Connor immediately straightened, grinning broadly. "Yes, sir! Thank you! I can get to that right away. It'll be first thing in the…"

Dan Borden held up one finger in admonishment. "And you don't have to keep 'sirring' me, son. I work for a living," he said sternly but there was a flicker of humor in his eyes that Connor had to wonder about.

"Aye, s.. aye-aye, Chief." Connor dropped both hands to the sides of his body and bowed from the waist. Borden returned the formal bow. His lips twitched, almost smiling behind his beard.

"Bring the medical report from the doctor directly to me, got it, Mr. Scott? Then we'll get your gear fitted and squared away," Borden told him, holding out his right hand in polite dismissal. Connor shook it gratefully.

"Thank you, Sensei," he replied, his face alight with enthusiasm. "As soon as possible, sir."

Borden rolled his eyes, gently swatting the boy on the chest with the back of his hand. "Right, get out with you then. I have a class to teach." He was shaking his head in amusement as Connor hurried out and one of the bigger MMA students came up behind him, draining a second bottle of water into his thirsty mouth.

"Who's the kid, Chief?" came a deep voice far above his head.

"New boy, rescued from RL-whatever it was that novaed a while back. Commander McCoy told me to expect a visit from him sometime."

"Huh. He any good?" asked the burly young Security ensign, Ivan Blasic by name, as he wiped sweat from his brow with a forearm the size of a small tree trunk.

Borden shrugged noncommittally. "We'll see."

-/-/-/-/-/-

"Front prone resting position, on my count," commanded Chief Borden as he prowled barefooted among the three lines, watching closely as all thirteen students got to the floor, readying for pushups; some of them were already breathing hard having just completed standing rapid punch combinations. Borden knew that their shoulders would start to burn any moment now. "Down!"

"One!" replied the class in unison.

Borden tsked his disapproval at one or two sloppy executions. "I expect perfect technique from all of you or I'll double it this evening… down!"

"Two!" Better, he thought to himself.

And so it went. As Chief Dan Borden supervised, he took them through their lengthy warm-up drills and calisthenics in the tiny dojo. A few of the students, Connor included, were more flexible than others and he knew that they all needed to limber and stretch their muscles well in order to reduce the occurrence of any avoidable injuries when they did finally start sparring. MMA, or mixed-martial arts, was a combination of many weaponless forms: karate, kenpo, wing-chung, judo, tae kwon do, jiu-jitsu, muay thai… all from Earth, as well as kan-tah and vol-sah from planets such as Vulcan or Andor.

After the last set of stretches and kick drills, he mentally paired the students according to height, weight and ability. Borden decided that for Connor's first class with the group, he would test him with a solo bout before the others sparred. "Alright, quick water break and Jameson, Scott, get your gear on." A few of the students laughed lightly and cheered for both of them. Connor blushed at the friendly attention from his classmates; looking way up as the giant Blasic tossed him a new bite guard from a bin.

"The rest of you, take a seat. We need to make sure Mr. Scott is gonna be up to speed if he thinks he's gonna join our dojo," Borden told them. He tugged on the side of Jameson's headgear to get the crewman's attention.

"Keep your hands up; three minutes," he said sternly, stepping between the pair of combatants. Jameson nodded, slapping his gloves together in acknowledgement and then he tapped one glove to Connor's, a sporting gesture. Borden checked that both men were ready and he dropped his hand sharply. "Begin!"

Connor circled tentatively, his gloved fists reaching out to block Jameson's jabs and crosses. He stumbled slightly as he backed away from two rapid sweeping crescent kicks. A heartbeat later, he found his footing and connected with head and body combination punches that staggered the ensign. What he didn't expect was the grappling part of MMA-style fighting. Jameson came in with a head feint followed by a full-body takedown, momentarily knocking the wind out of the young Scot as he landed flat on his back. Connor twisted away, landing a hook kick to the side of his opponent's padded headgear; this gave him time to spring back up, circling more warily this time. He gradually got the hang of combining his more familiar hands and feet of karate with the close-combat grappling. Jameson was more skilled, mainly due to experience but not for lack of trying on the teen's part.

By the time their second three-minute round was up, both men were tiring somewhat (Connor more so) but Borden had seen what he needed to evaluate the youngster's skill level. "Break!" The rest of the class cheered or whistled in support and a few patted Connor's sweat-soaked back, murmuring words of encouragement as they rose and lined up on the mats. Ensign Jameson bobbed his head and touched gloves with Connor, out of respect for a good fight.

"Good job, man." Connor nodded his thanks, trying to remove his bite guard without slobbering all over his shirt.

"Jameson, over there with Norton. The rest of you, pair up; practice kicking combinations," he ordered, stepping in front of Connor to help him remove his unfamiliar headgear. "And you, Mr. Scott, are with me. Go ahead and take off the rest of that gear."

"Yes, s-, er Sensei," Connor replied at once, confused but following the instructor to the far side of the dojo. Borden reached into a recessed storage panel and dragged out a full-sized, more or less anatomically correct grappling dummy. The only thing missing was the human-flesh toned figure's head; the decapitated mannequin even wore a pair of lightweight karate pants.

"You and I can work on grappling tonight and…" the chief said and was interrupted by gleeful shouts and catcalls from the rest of the class: "Headless Bob!"

Connor couldn't help laughing and even the dour Chief cracked a smile. "Yes, it is. Who told you people to stop sparring over there? I'm not tired yet."

TBC