Chapter Six: The Borrowers
Disclaimer: I only borrow these characters for my own purposes—none which includes making money!
"Drop it!"
Scotty hears the guttural voice at the same time that he feels a phaser in his back.
Not just any phaser, but a modified C-217 Landwic Special, judging from the characteristic helix-shaped scope on the end of the cold metal barrel.
"Hey, laddie!" he says, darting a glance over his shoulder as he raises his hands. "There's no call for that, now!"
The bearer of the phaser is an off-worlder of a type Scotty doesn't recognize, a tall, gangly creature with several large protuberances poking up from its skull. A popular universal translator often sold on the ring colonies hangs around its neck. Four arms, or the equivalent—one holding the Landwic Special—are lifted in Scotty's direction looking more than a little menacing.
"Drop it!" the alien says again, and Scotty obliges by letting his handheld scanner fall loudly on the concrete floor.
They are standing inside a large civilian hangar. Immediately in front of Scotty—and the object of his attention until he was interrupted—is a mid-size runabout, large enough to get him to the coordinates Captain Kirk gave him but not so large as to require flight plans or travel permits.
Down both sides of the hangar are personal flitters stored by individuals and at least two commercial hoverbuses that have seen better days. At the far end of the hangar is a garage workstation for diagnosing mechanical problems.
It's also the spot where Scotty had assumed the night patrol stayed, watching the feed from the surveillance cameras he and Keenser were careful to avoid when they jimmied the lock and came inside.
He'd already spent a frustrating two hours trying to hire transport. Breaking and entering into a parking facility had been the action of desperation.
"Looky here," he says, swiveling around slowly, his hands in the air in the universal sign of surrender. "I wasn't going to steal anything. I just wanted to borrow this runabout for a few hours. I'd have it back good as new in no time. Better than new, actually. See, I found a loose catalytic connection—"
"Cease talking!" the alien says as he waves the phaser in Scotty's face. "You will be turned over to the local authorities."
"No, wait!"
From the corner of his eye he sees a small flicker of gray—Keenser dodging silently between two of the closest flitters, unseen by the alien.
"I haven't done anything wrong, mate." Scotty keeps his eyes forward, peering into the light sensing organs that pass for eyes on the alien. "No need to report to anybody."
"Your purpose was to take one of these vehicles without offering remuneration," the alien says in slightly stilted Standard. "I have no options other than to alert the local law enforcement."
"There are always options," Scotty says, slowly lowering his hands and hopefully directing the alien's attention away from Keenser who is making his way forward. "Let's call it a rental fee. I borrow this runabout for a few hours. I get it back before the owner even knows it's gone. What would that cost, say?"
"Unacceptable," the alien says, brandishing the phaser.
"Whoa, there," Scotty says, moving back.
From behind the alien Keenser takes another step. Flicking a glance at him, Scotty can just make out something in his hands.
Not a weapon, surely? If the Roylan thinks he can take on the tall alien in a fight—
It's Keenser's fault he's in this mess at all. There Scotty had been at The Bay Bar, a place too trendy and hip for his taste, drinking his third Miridian Sunset or some such ridiculous cocktail—whoever heard of a bar that didn't serve decent Scotch—and the Captain had called, fairly crawling on his hands and knees in apology.
Jim Kirk, admitting he made a mistake.
And then asking for a favor, as if Scotty was barmy enough to forget that the Enterprise had warped out of Space Dock less than an hour after he'd been forced to march off in protest. Forced! His good guidance ignored, Kirk not even hearing Scotty's larger concern about what the hell Starfleet was doing sending the ship out like some military strike force.
Not just any favor, either, but one that required transport to coordinates on the other side of Io, Jupiter's closest moon. Easy enough to get to if he had the time and money, but difficult on short notice. And for what? Kirk had been vague on the comm call.
I have a feeling you'll know it when you see it.
What was that supposed to mean? Now the captain trusted his judgment?
No. Scotty was having a good time—or a reasonably good time—right here in the bar. It was too much to ask him to head off to who knew where to find who knew what. He slammed the comm shut and shook his head.
Keenser's protuberant eyes clicked from left to right in that annoying way he had of sizing things up wordlessly.
"Going?" Keenser said, almost too low for Scotty to hear him over the music.
"He shoulda asked me before I had three of these," Scotty said, raising his empty glass.
Keenser continued to stare at him.
"He didn't say it was an emergency!" Scotty said.
Keenser dipped his head.
"Don't give me that look! He let you go, too, you know! Let us both walk right off that ship. He can find someone else to do his royal bidding!"
To most people, Keenser appeared to have a stonelike visage, his face unmoving, his expression unchanging. But Scotty had spent enough time alone with him on Delta Vega to have a sort of sixth sense about what the Roylan was communicating. Perhaps it was all that time in such a forsaken landscape with nothing else to do, but Scotty and Keenser could look at each other and say volumes.
Or Keenser could. Scotty still tended to say volumes out loud. Often. Loudly. With enough contrariness that Keenser knew he was more than halfway teasing him.
"Needs you," Keenser said, and Scotty sighed.
"Oh, alright, but not another word. I can't stand your nagging."
They sat for another half hour in the bar while Scotty called the nearest transport hire companies. When the seventh one claimed not to have anything available, they left the bar and walked to the eighth one, a small private business on Marina Boulevard that Keenser had used before.
"Emergency," he told the proprietor, but the only available vehicles were too small to make the jump to Jupiter.
Looking sympathetic, the owner said, "You might try one of the apartment garages. They might be willing to rent to you."
Something in the owner's voice suggested such a strategy was a long shot. As they walked down the boulevard, Scotty made the decision not to waste their time.
"You know the old saying," he said. "Better to ask forgiveness than permission. Let's borrow something. That's almost the same as renting."
If he expected Keenser to point out that it was also almost the same thing as stealing, he was gratified that he said nothing but kept pace as Scotty scouted out the area.
The first private garage they came to was double locked and had an obvious alarm system in place. The second one was more promising, with a rusted gate and an old-fashioned chain and padlock on the doors. One good whack ought to open it. Scotty looked around on the ground for a rock or a stick but Keenser was quicker. With a soft snick, the lock opened in his hands.
"How'd you do that!"
"Gift," Keenser said, shrugging.
The inside of the garage was dark except for light filtering in through several small windows along the roofline. Even in the dim light Scotty could see that none of the vehicles stored there had enough engine capability to get him out of Earth's orbit, much less all the way to the coordinates.
With a sigh, he led the way back outside.
The second garage they broke into was actually empty. Standing in the doorway, Scotty threw his hands up in disgust.
"I'm going home," he said. "If the captain wants those coordinates checked out so badly, he can find someone else."
As he turned to leave, he caught a glimpse of Keenser, his arms crossed across his chest, his disapproval palpable.
"Oh, alright! One more," Scotty said. "I'll try one more. And if that doesn't work—"
But the next one seemed promising. At one end of the hangar was a Starfleet runabout, or what used to belong to Starfleet. Sometimes small ships were sold to the public after they were decommissioned. This one looked like a workhorse, scuffed and well-used, but a quick scan showed that the engines were sound and the fuel cells in surprisingly good shape. The storage bins held several fireproof travel coveralls, though none small enough for Keenser.
"Aye, this might do," Scotty said. "Finally our luck is changing."
And then the alien put the phaser in his back.
"What d'you say?" Scotty says, trying to sound reasonable, unsure what Keenser is planning as he inches closer to the alien.
"Unacceptable," the alien says, his tone unmistakably irritated. "I will bind you now until the authorities arrive."
"Wait," Keenser says. Whirling around, the alien takes a moment to locate the little Roylan. Keenser holds up something in one hand.
"Found this," he says, his eyes darting from the alien to Scotty and back again.
At once Scotty knows what it is. Drug infusers—probably loaded with something illegal. Not probably. Definitely, from the way the alien reacts.
"Give me that!"
"Already scanned," Keenser says, holding up his comm. "Information in queue."
"His comm queue has an automatic cycle sequence," Scotty improvises. "If he doesn't turn it off manually, it sends out everything he's put there. Tell you what, matey. Let me borrow this runabout for a few hours, and Keenser there won't tell anyone what you've been hiding in here."
The alien is clearly torn. On one hand, he's responsible for the care and safety of the vehicles in the hangar. Letting one out could cost him his job. On the other hand, if he's running illegal drugs on the side—
"How do I know you won't turn me in as soon as you leave?" he asks.
"Hmm," Scotty says, rubbing his chin. "Would you take my word for it?"
"Me," Keenser says. "I'll stay."
"Ach, no," Scotty says. "I might need you. I don't know what I'll find out there."
"No deal," the alien says.
"But that means you're keeping my man as a hostage!"
"Collateral," the alien counters. "When you return, he can leave."
"I have half a mind to turn you in now!" Scotty says with genuine anger in his voice. Keenser flinches.
"Go ahead," the alien says. "And you won't be going anywhere tonight."
With a sigh, Scotty turned to Keenser.
"What do you think?"
Keenser takes a step closer.
"Go."
"You sure?"
"Hurry," Keenser says. "Hurry back."
"It's probably nothing," Scotty says, trying to sound reassuring. "Just the captain with a bug in his ear. I'll run out there and take a peek and be back here in a jiffy. An hour. Two, max. You won't even notice that I'm gone. It's not like I'm going to find anything important on the far side of the moon."
Later they will laugh about that comment—or Scotty will. Keenser will shake his head, baffled as he always is by the promises humans never seem to be able to keep.
A/N: Thanks for your thoughtful comments. You help me become a better writer!