Twenty Questions and One Nickname

Hikaru was trying to think what his dad would do in his shoes, and he was coming up empty. He was a Starfleet scientist who studied bugs on far-off planets, and he was always prepared. He wouldn't have forgotten to bring a stupid comm with him. Heck, he would've just been able to jump in his flitter and fly Len to the ER.

"Hikaru—"

Len's voice brought him back to the edge of the abandoned lot. He'd managed to get his breath back.

Hikaru was instantly focused. "Yeah?"

"I need a favor."

Hikaru nodded, then remembered Len's eyes were still screwed shut. "Yes—ok—what do you need?"

"Start asking me questions."

Hikaru blinked. "Questions? Like what?"

"I don't know! Any kind of questions!" Len snapped, sounding almost like his old, grumpy self again. In any other situation, Hikaru might have laughed. Instead he stuttered:

"Um—what—what's your favorite color?"

"For crying out loud, it's blue, you know that!"

"Sorry! Sorry! Ok. Um…what did you have for breakfast this morning?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?"

Hikaru knew Len was in pain and that he needed to remain calm for his friend's benefit, but Len's panic and anger were all too easy to match. "I don't know, just answer it!" he shouted back.

Len grimaced. "I…um…" he paused. "Scrambled eggs. And toast."

Hikaru let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Ok. Good. What about…what did you get on your last test?"

Len frowned. "Last test was…a math quiz, and I got…I got an A."

Despite himself, a quick smile spread across Hikaru's face. "Smarty pants."

Len managed a short laugh, but then stopped and drew a sharp breath, and the smile was wiped off Hikaru's face.

"Len! Hikaru!"

Hikaru looked up and saw Jim running at them across the abandoned lot, followed by another boy with buzzed hair, and a man climbing out of a beat-up ground car. He blinked. He hadn't even heard them pull up.

"Greg, call an ambulance!" the buzz-cut kid was shouting back at the man—who, Hikaru realized, wasn't a man at all, but a tall, burly teenager. He caught up to Jim and the buzz-cut kid in a few quick, long strides, and then suddenly everyone was grouped around him and Len.

"Len, we got help, ok?" Jim was saying.

"Call 'em! For Pete's sake!" the buzz-cut kid yelled, and Hikaru realized he wasn't from Riverside, and he definitely wasn't from Iowa.

"I'm callin' 'em!" the teenager shouted back. He whipped out a phone and dialed, then held it up to his ear. Then: "Hi. I'm at the corner of Derby Drive and—and—" he broke off, scanning for a street sign that didn't exist.

Hikaru and Jim shouted it at the same time: "Bay Road!"

"Bay Road," the teenager said, standing and taking a step toward the junkyard, his other hand pressed over his ear. "There's a kid who fell out of a tree, looks like he's broken his arm. Uh-huh. Yeah. We're on the other side of this—junkyard—antique cars? Yeah, there's two of 'em. Ok. Yeah. I'll wave when I see you."

The buzz-cut kid was staring so hard at Len's arm it was like his eyes were bugging out of their sockets. "How'll they fix it?" he asked. "Will they set it?"

Hikaru realized this was probably a good question for Len to focus on while they waited for an ambulance. Len's dad was—had been, Hikaru reminded himself—a doctor, and between the three of them Len was the one who knew the most medical stuff. "Yeah, Len, how do they fix broken bones?"

At this, Len's eyes snapped open. "Regen," he whispered, then flinched. More clearly: "Regen unit. Bone knitter."

He was suddenly very pale.

"Len?" Jim asked. "Are you gonna hurl?"

Len shook his head slowly. "No."

Then his eyes rolled up in their sockets and his head lolled to the side, and he was down for the count.

Two paramedics were lifting the injured kid—Len, Monty remembered—onto a stretcher. One of them was pressing a hypospray to his arm, above the break. A third was talking to Greg, while the other two kids, the fast boy who'd found him on the road, and the dark-haired boy who'd been waiting with Len, hovered next to him.

"Are you a blood relation?" the paramedic was asking, and Greg was shaking his head and stuttering: "No, I don't—I just moved here, I don't know—"

"He lives with his grandparents—" said the dark-haired kid.

"They aren't home—" said the fast kid.

The paramedic afforded them each a glance, then looked back at Greg. "And how old are you?"

"…Eighteen." The word sounded reluctant coming out of Greg's mouth, which, Monty reflected, wasn't normal. Usually his brother was all swagger about being an adult, with adult rights, like traveling off-planet by himself and not having to be home for dinner.

The paramedic let out a short sigh through his nose. "Ok. Listen, I hate to put this on you, but seeing as how you're the only legal adult around, I gotta ask if you're willing to follow us to the hospital."

Greg looked for a minute like he wanted to say no, but finally, reluctantly, he nodded. "Yeah, I can do that."

"Thanks, kid," the paramedic replied. "We'll see you there."

Greg turned back around, looking at the other two boys. "Are your parents—" he began, but the fast kid cut him off.

"I'm coming with you." Without asking, he started walking toward Monty's dad's car, and the dark-haired kid followed.

"You coming?" The paramedic was hanging out the passenger door of the ambulance hovercraft.

Monty glanced toward the car. The fast kid and the dark-haired kid were already climbing into the backseat.

"I—yeah," he heard Greg say.

Monty followed Greg and climbed into the passenger's seat as the ambulance started up, lights flashing. No siren, though, he thought, disappointed.

Greg turned the key in the ignition, and the car rumbled to life. As they pulled out of the abandoned lot and followed the ambulance up Bay Road, all was quiet.

Then the fast kid spoke. "I'm Jim. Jim Kirk."

Greg started, but only enough for Monty to notice. "Gregory Scott," he said, after a moment.

Monty turned around and peered over the back of the passenger seat. Jim Kirk and the dark-haired kid stared back.

Greg's eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror. "And you?" he asked, addressing the dark-haired kid.

"Hikaru Sulu," the boy said.

Jim glanced at Monty. "What about you?"

"Montgomery Scott," he replied. Then inspiration struck, and he grinned despite himself. "But you can call me Scotty."

"Nice to meet you, Scotty," Jim answered, and Hikaru nodded.

Then Jim stuck out his hand, which was a little weird, because he couldn't have been older than ten, but Monty shook it anyways.

If Greg noticed Monty's new name, he didn't say anything. Instead he spoke to Jim and Hikaru, adopting an authoritative tone. He sounded like their dad, Monty thought. Or at least he was trying to. "The second we get to the hospital everyone is calling their parents," he said. "Understand?"

"Yeah," Hikaru said.

"Yeah. Ok," Jim echoed. Monty thought he sounded a little crestfallen.

The car fell silent again.

Maybe it was the adrenaline, and maybe it was because he really liked the sound of his new name, but Monty couldn't contain himself. He looked up at Greg, whose knuckles were white on the steering wheel.

"I like this town. It's exciting!"