Chapter 9: Scotty

Fumes of a far different and more pungent kind attended the interior of the outpost where a relieved Buffy had her first welcoming contact with artificial heating since walking away from the transport pod. "What are we looking for here?" she asked, her breath visible in the chilly air.

The elder Spock was leading them down a seemingly endless corridor lined with steaming, occasionally clanking conduits, pipes, and other poorly maintained subsistence paraphernalia. "You will see soon enough," the old man assured them in reply to her question. "Though I have been aware of this particular individual's presence here for some time, there was no reason to pursue further contact. Until your arrival. That has clarified for me how the time stream is struggling for resolution. Hopefully, we can be of assistance. Sometimes the hand of Fate can use a hand itself."

Kirk, unable to hide his confusion, sought clarification. "I don't follow you."

"That is quite correct," Spock told him cryptically. "You precede me."

Kirk glanced at Buffy, who mirrored his confusion, and then rolled his eyes in response.

Eventually, they turned a corner and found themselves confronting one of the outpost's personnel. The small, dark alien eyed them uncertainly. "My name is Keenser. Can I help you?"

Are you the station chief?" Spock asked the alien, his curiosity piqued.

The alien looked them over, assessing their presence, then came to a decision. "No—this way." He turned, looking past Spock to scrutinize the young humans who accompanied him, engaging in a brief exchange with the Vulcan before turning and leading the way down the vast corridor. Around them, the machinery that sustained the outpost and its largely automated functions hummed, generating heat, water, and a host of other necessities for the outpost staff.

As they continued their journey, it became evident that the rest of the staff appeared to consist of a single individual. Leaning back with his feet propped up on a console, the Starfleet officer was sound asleep. Approaching without hesitation, the alien tapped one boot.

"Hmm," the lanky human mumbled in his sleep.

Keenser stepped back and informed the officer, "Visitors."

Peering out from beneath his cap, the officer glared at the trio and attempted a salutation that, in his perspective, constituted a polite greeting. "You realize how unacceptable this is?" he muttered in a grumbling tone.

Kirk swallowed his instinctive reply, choosing instead to maintain a more diplomatic approach. However, Buffy had no such compulsion. "Excuse me?" she said, her tone a mix of indignation and confusion.

Spock, ever the observer, was staring at the clearly annoyed officer with his characteristic fascination. "Fascinating..."

Kirk, more than slightly confused, glanced at Spock and questioned, "What?"

Ignoring Kirk's inquiry, the officer slid out of the chair and straightened, addressing them more directly. "I'm sure it's nae your fault, and I know ye lads are just doin' your job, but could ye nae have come a wee bit sooner?"

"I beg your pardon?" Kirk replied, still trying to grasp the situation and the man's perplexing attitude.

The officer was pacing back and forth in front of them, his agitation palpable. "I mean, six months I've been livin' on nothing but Starfleet protein nibs and the promise of a real food delivery! It's pretty clear what's going on here, isn't it? Punishment! Ongoing! Without me havin' recourse to so much as an appeal. For something that was clearly an accident."

Spock, with his characteristic ability to connect the dots, declared abruptly, "You're Montgomery Scott."

Buffy turned to the elder Spock, a mix of surprise and curiosity in her expression. "You know him?"

"Aye, that's me," the officer admitted readily, a twinkle in his eye. "'Scotty' to me friends. You've got the right man." He gestured expansively. "Are there any other hardworking and equally starved Starfleet officers around?"

Visibly offended, the alien looked up at him. "Me."

Scott glared down at him. "You eat nothing. A bean, and you're done for a week." His eyes had a hint of desperation now. "I need food." He turned back to the three visitors. "And now you three are here. So—thank you." He tried to see behind them. "Where is it?"

"You are, in fact, the Montgomery Scott who postulated the theory of transwarp beaming," Spock stated with his typical directness, temporarily putting aside the matter of food.

The engineer eyed the Vulcan warily, a hint of bitterness in his expression. "How d'ya think I ended up here? Too smart to waste and too reckless to trust: that's how they described me at the—well, it wasn't a court-martial, exactly. They couldn't find a suitable regulation with which to charge me. So they resorted to callin' it a straight 'transfer.' Woulda been better if they'd 'transferred' me to a jail on Earth. Or at least to some half-civilized world. Anything'd be better than this."

With a wide sweep of his arms, he encompassed the entirely functional and unadorned surroundings. "Look at this place, willya? A man kinna even deteriorate in the company of his species!" His eyes fastened on Kirk and Buffy, and he couldn't resist a teasing remark. "But then, you two are too young and innocent to know about anything like that, laddie and lassie."

Buffy chuckled, her voice carrying a hint of wistfulness. "I'm older than I look," she informed him. "So, what did you do to get yourself posted to this vacation paradise?"

Scott grew animated, clearly enjoying the opportunity to share his story. "I got into a debate with my instructor on the issue of relativistic physics as they relate to subspace travel. He seemed to think the range of transporting a, say, roast turkey, was limited to a few hundred kilometers. So, I told him not only could I beam a bird from one planet to an adjacent planet in the same system, which is no big deal anyway, but that if I were so inclined, I could actually do it with a viable life-form. Long-range transwarp beaming is supposed to be impossible." He snorted with a hint of pride. "Difficult maybe, but not impossible."

"Says you," countered Kirk, a playful glint in his eye.

"Says I, aye," the engineer asserted with a stubborn nod. "My mistake was in attemptin' a practical demonstration. Unfortunately, for a test subject, I chose Admiral Archer's prize beagle." He shook his head sadly. "Shoulda scanned the little mutt's ident implant first, I suppose."

Kirk's expression changed to one of surprise, and he inquired, "I know of the admiral—and his dog. What happened to it?"

Scott looked away, his voice tinged with regret. "I'll tell ye when it reappears. I'm convinced it will, one of these days." His voice dropped to a mumble, "Somewhere. Somehow. If I'd known it was the bloody admiral's, I would've been more careful." He perked up slightly. "Sweet dog, though. Nice ears. I feel guilty."

Spock, ever the scientist, moved closer, his curiosity piqued. "What if I told you that your theory was correct? That it is indeed possible to beam from a fixed point onto a ship that is traveling at warp speed? And that you only required the correct field equation for the continuous recrystallization of dilithium while transport is in progress? And availability of sufficient power for the transporter being used, of course."

Scott carefully regarded the Vulcan, his skepticism evident. "Haven't been out of touch that long. If such an equation had been discovered and verified, I'd 'ave heard." He shook his head in disagreement. "Delta Vega's out of the loop, but not completely out of touch. I keep up as best I can. Otherwise, I'd go crazy here. And I haven't heard of any such development."

"The reason you haven't heard of it, Mister Scott, is because you haven't discovered it yet," Spock stated with his characteristic calm and certainty.

The engineer, now deeply intrigued, narrowed his gaze as he took a much closer look at the Vulcan he had previously known only as a hermit and an occasional visitor to the outpost in search of supplies. "And how would you know something like that?" he finally inquired, a glimmer of understanding dawning. "You said 'yet.' Heard ye plain as day. Come from another time, do ya? From the future? Brilliant! Do they still have sandwiches where ye come from? Piece an' jam? Mince an' tatties? Cockaleekie soup?"

Kirk, bewildered by the sudden turn of conversation, turned to Keenser for clarification. "What's he talking about?"

Keenser, concise as always, responded with a single word, "Food."

Scott, not easily convinced, declared, "I'm not going to believe anything anyone says without something more than their word to back it up. Personally, I think you're full of month-old haggis, but I'm so bored here that I'm willing to listen to anybody's tale, no matter how tall. So, let's see if ye can support your whimsy with something more than talk." He punctuated the challenge with a lopsided grin. "That's 'logical,' ain't it?"

"Indeed, it is, Mister Scott," Spock acknowledged. "If you will allow us access to your shuttlepod, I will gladly show you what a genius you actually are."

The engineer hesitated, his brows furrowed in thought. Leaning over, his assistant engaged in a rapid conversation with him, expressing doubts and concerns about the visitor's request. Scott continued to vacillate, torn between caution and curiosity. In the end, it was the allure of the unknown, or perhaps sheer boredom, that won out.

The old shuttle's transporter pod was not exactly primitive, but it was basic and robust. It had been constructed to industrial-strength standards, designed to handle heavy supplies as well as individuals.

Scott indicated the control console, stepped back, and waved grandly. "Have at it, future man."

Sitting down at the console, Spock accessed the necessary files and began typing, his fingers moving with uncanny speed for someone of his advanced age. Numbers and symbols began to fill the formerly blank monitor. There was no hesitation, no pause in his work. It was as if the Vulcan were not composing but rather dictating the complex equations.

An increasingly serious Scott observed with approval. "Rapid," he commented quietly. "That's impressive."

"Your equations for achieving long-range transwarp beaming—Mister Scott," Spock stated as the calculations took shape on the screen.

The engineer, still wearing an expression of utter delight, eyed the monitor with rapt attention. He studied it for a considerably longer time than it had taken the Vulcan to input the information. As he pored over the symbols and figures, his expression went from confused to dumbfounded before finally settling into one of sheer delight.

Scott's eyes widened with amazement, his face lighting up as if he had just uncovered a hidden treasure. "Carry the omega—twelve to the fourth—imagine that!" he exclaimed, his excitement palpable. The joy in his voice was infectious, and you could practically see the gears turning in his mind. "Never occurred to me to think of space as the part that's moving. No wonder I could never resolve the central string! I was looking at it from the perspective of the beamer instead of the beamed." He peered down in wonder at the quietly unassuming Vulcan.

"Point of fact," Spock informed him, his voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction, "it did occur to you." He began inputting an entirely different string of queries.

Curious, Scott asked, his eyes still gleaming with enthusiasm, "What're you doing now? Adjunct equations?"

Spock did not turn from his work as he responded, his tone as steady as ever, "On our way here, Buffy, you and Captain—Lieutenant Kirk—you informed me that your current acting captain intended to set a course directly for the Laurentian system with the intention of rendezvousing there with the rest of Starfleet."

Kirk nodded. "That's right. Knowing—him—I doubt that once his mind is set on a course of action, he would be likely to change it."

Again, Spock did not quite smile. "Yes. He sounds quite fixed in his ways. I can sympathize." His tone turned wholly serious once more, his stoic facade returning. "Prior to departing for that destination, he detoured briefly to deposit you two here. It is therefore not difficult to extrapolate the Enterprise's logical and most practical vector between Delta Vega and Laurentia." His fingers continued to work the console's inputs.

Scott frowned, his momentary delight giving way to curiosity. "'Enterprise'?" He looked over at Kirk and Buffy, his brow furrowing in thought. "Had its maiden voyage already, has it? Well, well, ye both must've done something right to be assigned to that ship."

Kirk swallowed hard and looked away, his emotions tangled in a web of complicated circumstances. "It's a little complicated."

"For me, it helps to have an in with her former captain," Buffy admitted, a touch of warmth in her voice. "Pike couldn't imagine anyone else as his chief of security."

Scott was daydreaming, his eyes distant as he mused. "She's a well-endowed lady, that's for sure. Love to get me hands on her ample nacelles—if you'll pardon the engineering parlance."

"This will be your chance, Mister Scott," Spock assured him, his fingers dancing over the controls as he continued his calculations.

The engineer stared at the back of the Vulcan's head, his apprehension palpable. "You're serious about tryin' this, aren't you? What am I thinking—of course you're serious. Vulcans don't believe in practical jokes." He shook his head slowly, the weight of the impending endeavor settling on his shoulders. "Even if I believed ye, that I'm the genius who wrote that code—and I've plenty o' confidence even in a version of meself that hasn't happened yet—we're still talking about slingshottin' onto a ship travelin' at warp speed that by now is a considerable distance from here. And one without a properly activated receiving pad or engineering team awaitin' us. It'll be like tryin' to intercept a bullet with a smaller bullet. Blindfolded. While ridin' a horse." He grunted. "No—it'll be like tryin' to hit a grain of sand with a bullet. While they're both travelin' at angles to one another. In a tornado. While they're both—"

Spock interrupted, his patience evident. "Ease off on the similes, Mister Scott, or you will exhaust your arsenal before you depart." He sat back from the console and contemplated the complex information he had entered, his resolve unshaken. "I calculate no more than a four-meter margin of error provided transport is energized within the next ten minutes—local time."

"That's all well and good," Scott concurred, his voice tinged with skepticism, "unless you rematerialize four meters outside the ship, or in a solid slab of metal. Not that I'm buyin' this technical twaddle for one minute, you understand."

Spock considered briefly, then returned to working the console's inputs with unwavering determination. "Agreed. Therefore, I determine that the aft engineering bay is the best option. A large open space, no unpredictable airlocks, located well within the ship in an area with which you will be familiar. And most importantly, one with a remote access point that will allow you to override the helm and redirect the ship's course."

For a second time Spock sat back, satisfied with the work he had done, and turned to regard the engineer. "Well, Mister Scott? You said you have confidence in yourself as well as in your future selves. Do you have confidence enough to put your abilities to an actual, practical test?"

The engineer considered, his face a battleground of doubt and determination. Then he broke out in a wide, wild grin, his resolve solidifying. "At the hearin' about the dog they said that unless I straightened up I was going to the dogs. Aye, Mister Pointy-ear, let's do it! What's the worst that can happen? That I spread meself all over a wide corner of the cosmos? Better to go out in a flash than a footnote." He looked over at Kirk and Buffy. "And you, Lieutenant—Kirk, was it? And…?"

"Lieutenant Buffy Summers," Buffy informed him with a hint of gravity. "And we don't have any choice, Mister Scott—Scotty. There's far more at stake here than you yet realize."

"And we can't do anything about it if we're stuck here on this planet," Kirk said with a thin, resigned smile, fully aware of the gravity of their situation. "No matter how convivial the company or engaging the surroundings."

Only one of those present protested the chosen course of action. It was clear that the alien did not want his human associate to leave, a touch of sadness in his alien eyes.

Excited at the prospect of not only escaping the backwater that was Delta Vega but at the chance to acquire actual proof of a notion with which he had been toying for years, Scott gently reassured his fellow officer that all would be well. Unable to sway his friend, the alien responded understandingly but with obvious regret.

As the Vulcan rose from the console chair, Kirk and Buffy confronted him uncertainly. "You're coming with us?" Kirk asked, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"No, Jim," Spock answered, a rare hint of warmth in his voice. "May I call you Jim?"

"Sure, I guess." Coming from this elder incarnation of Spock, it sounded…odd. Odd, but nice, Kirk decided.

Spock nodded and looked at Buffy, his expression carrying a weight of solemnity. "You have more than one name for which I have always called you. I have known you as both Buffy and T'Lin."

Buffy thought about it for a moment and smiled softly. "Whichever you prefer."

Spock nodded in acknowledgment. "T'Lin. My destiny lies along a different path," he told them, his voice holding a tinge of regret. "You two must make your own without me. The situation in which we find ourselves is unprecedented and fraught with potential danger. My presence as you two seek to determine your futures would present complications whose consequences cannot be foreseen and which, I feel, are best avoided."

"Your destiny can wait. He won't believe either Buffy or I. Only you can explain wha—" Kirk began, a plea in his eyes.

The Vulcan cut him off, his resolve unwavering. "Under no circumstances can the one to whom we are referring be made aware of my existence. You both must promise me this."

"You're telling us we can't tell you we're following your own orders?" Buffy asked, her tone tinged with a mix of confusion and irony.

"Why not?" Kirk added, his curiosity and determination evident. "What happens if we do?"

Spock moved closer, his gaze unwavering. "Trust me, Jim, T'Lin. Above all, this is the one rule you two cannot break. To stop Nero, you, Jim must take command of your ship. And you, Buffy, must take your place as first officer."

Kirk's expression was grim, a shadow of concern in his eyes. "Over your dead body?"

"Preferably not," the elder Spock replied, his tone laced with a hint of irony. "There is, however, Starfleet Regulation Six-nineteen."

"Six-nineteen," Buffy said, her brow furrowing as she delved into her Academy knowledge. "Oh…Any commander who is emotionally compromised by the mission at hand must forthwith resign his command. But wouldn't Dawn have forced that issue by now?"

"Dawn is just as emotionally compromised as I am," Spock informed her, his voice tinged with regret. "After all due to her empathic powers, she can feel my emotions. Besides, Vulcan was her adopted home. What you two must do is get me to—show it."

Kirk considered this, the weight of responsibility settling upon his shoulders. Quietly, carefully, and intently, he pondered their situation. "Hmm."

"Aye, then! Live or die, laddie…lassie, let's get this over with! The Enterprise has decent food service facilities, I'm guessing." Whistling to himself, the engineer headed for the transporter pad, his resolve unwavering and his spirit indomitable.

Buffy and Kirk started to follow, then Kirk looked behind him, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You know, coming back in time, changing history, informing someone in the past about what's happened in the future—that might be construed by an impartial onlooker as cheating."

"A trick I learned from an old friend." Stepping back, the elder Spock retreated toward the transporter console, his wisdom and experience evident in every gesture.

Buffy nodded as she remembered what she had said at the end of the disciplinary hearing. "So, it's a trick you learned from Jim," she said as Spock nodded, her connection to him deepening in this critical moment.

Before taking the seat, he raised one hand with the fingers separated into pairs. Kirk and Buffy took up a stance on the pad beside the whistling engineer.

"Live long, and prosper," the old Vulcan told them, his words resonating with a profound sense of hope. He half expected Buffy to return the gesture and then remembered this wasn't his Buffy. His Buffy had been an adopted citizen of Vulcan by this time for a century. This Buffy was not her. Then he sat down and activated the transporter. Both men and Buffy dematerialized, leaving behind the mysteries of Delta Vega to confront the destiny that awaited them in the future.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

There was no one present in the open engineering bay to hear the steady, powerful hum of the ship's engines. Maintenance was busy elsewhere, still battling to repair the last of the serious damage that had been incurred in the fight with the Narada. At the moment, no technicians were on hand in the vicinity of central cooling and water distribution, a largely automated corner of the ship that required little attention.

So it was that there was no one present to see the trio of vertical columns of lambent particulate matter that swiftly solidified into the shapes of three human beings.

Kirk stumbled, gasping, to look down at himself in amazement. As he and Buffy began to slip out of their cold-weather outer clothing, a quick look around revealed that they were indeed in the engineering section of a starship.

"Where is Engineer Scott?" Buffy asked, her voice tinged with concern, a frown creasing her face.

Looking around anxiously, Kirk searched among the huge tubes and conduits for Scott. They turned only when they heard a faint banging. Their eyes went wide as they located the source.

Scott had rematerialized equally intact and energetic—but inside one of the cooling tanks.

"Oh, no," Buffy said, her heart sinking as pressure shoved the wide-eyed engineer upward and into a crosswise conduit.

Trapped like a worm in a hose, cheeks bulging, Scott was spun sideways, his frantic gaze locked on Kirk and Buffy as they pursued him. Fists pounded desperately on the transparent unbreakable composite, but the engineer could see Buffy and Kirk, unable to reach out to them.

Racing along below, Buffy and Kirk looked ahead in search of an access, the urgency of the situation weighing heavily on their shoulders. Instead of a port or sampling cylinder, Kirk's eyes fell on the main coolant distribution chamber. If the trapped Scott made it that far, he would not have to worry about drowning: the greatly increased pressure in the chamber would crush him and distribute the pieces to different parts of the ship.

"We got a problem," Kirk told Buffy, his voice heavy with concern, his eyes locked on the impending disaster.

"We have to find a way of getting him out of there," Buffy said, her determination unwavering as she spotted a control panel just off to one side. But did it offer access to the right controls? She made for it with a sense of urgency, hoping for a solution to their life-and-death dilemma.

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

On the bridge, a small portion of a usually unimportant display suddenly went from green to red. Dawn frowned at it, her brow furrowed in concern, and quickly manipulated a few controls. She double-checked before daring to report her findings. "Spock, we're detecting unauthorized access to one of the auxiliary cooling tank control boards." She checked her console for any further details. "Appropriate retrieval code was not entered."

One eyebrow on Spock's face rose sharply, his curiosity piqued. "Auxiliary cooling?"

Dawn eyed her console again for confirmation. "Yes. Perhaps the technician on site forgot to punch in his identification."

The acting captain considered the situation carefully. "Perhaps. What is the board's current status?"

Dawn quickly relayed the information. "Still in use. And there is something else. The sequences that are being entered: from an engineering standpoint, they seem almost—random."

Spock nodded curtly, his logical mind processing the data. "Someone is being derelict in their duty. Or…" He paused, pondering the possibilities. "Send a security team to check it out. Tell them to take sidearms. Set to stun."

Dawn nodded as she stood, a sense of urgency in her movements. "Understood," she said as she marched toward the turbolift doors.

"Where are you…" Spock started, a note of concern in his voice.

Dawn pointed her hand toward the floor and fired off a controlled burst of energy from the palm of her hand. "I don't need weapons. And I can regulate the intensity."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

"Manual control; enabled," Buffy said, her voice determined. "Pressure; calculated. Emergency pressure release; located."

Fluttering eyes half-shut, Scott was hurtling down the final conduit leading to the distribution chamber. All that remained was to see if he would meet a watery end, drowning or being torn apart by the distributor pump. Then…

The rush of water ceased as emergency seals fell into place on either side of him, and a maintenance access panel in the underside of the conduit abruptly dropped open, unceremoniously dumping onto the deck a couple hundred gallons of water and one severely waterlogged engineer. Kirk and Buffy rushed to him and propped him up as a gasping Scott spasmodically relieved his insides of a liter or so of involuntarily imbibed liquid. Worse, it was water.

"You all right…?" Buffy asked, concern etched on her face.

Taking a deep breath, the engineer wiped at his dripping face, looked up, and recognized his new friend. "Nice," he coughed up water, "ship. Really."

Buffy and Kirk helped him to his feet. "Better to be remembered as the inventor of the equations that allow for long-range ship-to-ship transporting than as the first man in history to die from drowning aboard a starship," Kirk said, looking around worriedly. All this commotion in what was normally a tranquil section of the ship was bound to attract attention.

"Come on—let's get to the bridge!" Buffy instructed, the urgency in her voice propelling them forward.

Kirk's prescience was soon proved correct as Dawn and a security team arrived barely moments after they had departed. Noting the presence of entirely too much water on the deck, an emergency release latch that showed no sign of having accidentally given way, and wet bootprints leading deeper into the ship, Dawn's team drew their sidearms as they went on immediate alert.

"Captain," Dawn reported into her communicator, her voice firm and composed, "we appear to have unauthorized access on the engineering level."

Spock responded quickly to the new information, his voice commanding. "Seal engineering. All security personnel on high alert."

0 – 0 – 0 – 0 – 0

Dawn held her hand up, and her two security guards had their weapons trained directly at Kirk, Buffy, and Scott, ready to act on her command.

"Dawnie?" Buffy said, her voice a mix of concern and recognition.

"Buffy," Dawn said with a sigh of relief, her eyes glistening with emotion. She looked toward the guards. "Lower your weapons." When the guards hesitated, she added, "That's an order." They reluctantly complied, reholstering their weapons, as Dawn turned her attention back to Buffy and embraced her sister. "How are you back onboard?"

"Long story," Buffy admitted as she returned Dawn's embrace, feeling a surge of gratitude for the reunion. "Dawn, we have to get Spock to admit…"

"He's emotionally compromised," Dawn said in understanding, her gaze shifting back to the guards. "Dismissed. I will see them to the bridge personally." Dawn was quick to assert her authority, and with the guards dismissed, they could focus on the task at hand.