Ad Astra :: Star Trek Fanfiction Archive ^{Beam me up, Scotty.}

Chapter Text

Part I: Balancing Equations

A soul in tension is learning to fly,
Condition: Grounded, but determined to try,
Gotta keep my eyes from the circling skies,
Tongue-tied and twisted, just an earth-bound misfit...
...I.

-Pink Floyd, Learning to Fly

Chapter 1: 

Thursday, November 24th, 2242
Malone Road Dormitory, Room 17
Starfleet Engineering Academy
Belfast, Ireland, Earth

"All right, I've got no less than fifty credits saying that it won't stop raining within the next month."

Scotty didn't look up from the computer. The mere sound of rain water dripping on the floor told him two things: That Corry had missed the shuttle from the main campus, and that he was not thrilled about that fact. "No bet here."

"Have you even moved since I left?" Corry asked, as he threw his coat into the closet with a wet-sounding slap that had Scotty wincing.

"Hm mm."  Scotty had just gotten a new batch of upgrade schematics and plans that were going to be performed on the USS Constitution when she was back in port, and saying that he was obsessed with the starship and the class that would be named for her would have been a hell of an understatement. Not only did he have every article, journal and schematic he could get his hands on, but he had managed to bribe one of the higher-up officers to pass on any new information.

He couldn't think of too many better ways to spend an evening than by catching up on his reading, especially given the rain.

"Anyway, I was talking to Admiral Pirrie," Corry was saying as he moved around his side of the room and doubtless tracked water everywhere, "and he agreed to our four-day leave."

For a long moment the comment didn't process, mostly because Scotty was focused on something else and the words had been casual enough that they were slotted into the background soundtrack of his life. It must have been duly noted somewhere though, because after reading another four or five lines, he glanced up, eyebrows furrowed. "Wait, I didn't request leave."

"Nope, you didn't.  Well, you did, but only electronically. " Corry grinned back, flopping back on his bunk. "I requested leave and you're coming with me."

"Ohhhh no. I'm stayin' right here," Scotty answered, shaking his head and turning back to the monitor. There was too much he wanted to get done and it would be hard enough with the idiotic simulations they seemed to run the senior cadets through every other week. Well, not every other week, but way too bloody often for his tastes. "I've got three different articles due, and that mockup warp core in Pearson's class--"

"But you're coming with me because I'm not going to feel guilty about leaving you here over Thanksgiving."

This was one of those times Corry was irritating him, just a bit. Not that Corry ever irritated him for more than a half-hour tops before he gave in, but this time, he just wasn't going to let the other cadet talk him into anything.  It had already happened a surprising number of times.

And the last time, he had slept through an entire day to avoid the hangover. Or, tried to.

Scotty rubbed over his eyes before dropping his hand to eye his roommate.  He knew better than to ask how Corry had managed to request leave on his behalf electronically; it was a fair bet it involved unsanctioned access to his student account, though. "That's one o' those culture-specific holidays, Cor.  And not even one o’ the good ones, for that matter."

Corry whistled a few notes, then sat up again and leaned forward. "So? It’s a chance to eat a lot and take time off with no penalties, what else does it need to be?  And anyway, the proper response to a Thanksgiving dinner invitation is, 'Thank ye, Corry, ye're too kind to lifeless little me.'"

Despite himself, Scotty laughed. Corry just loved imitating him (often with worrying accuracy), which probably went back to the Basic Language lessons not quite a year before when Corry'd had the painstaking task of tutoring a mostly language inept student.

Well, inept at speaking them; reading them was easy enough.  He shook his head again. "Not on yer bloody life. Not now, not ever."

"All right, forget the thank you. But you're coming with me, because not only did I tell Mom I was bringing you along, but I already booked two transatlantic tickets."

Scotty was pretty sure he was telepathic. He could almost hear the, 'Ha! Let him try to weasel his way out of that one .' "No."

"Yes."

"No."

"Yes!"

"No, and that's final!"

"Yes, or I just beat you unconscious and drag you there."

"You wouldn't."

"Bet me?"

He would. "Bastard."

Corry whooped in triumph, jumping to his feet and doing a quick victory-dance. Scotty glowered at him as downright maliciously as he could, which was pretty damn weak since it was impossible to be angry when your roommate was dancing some elaborate swinging two-step, oblivious to the ridiculousness of it. But Scotty at least wanted a point or two for the effort. Waiting until Corry was finished flailing around, he tapped his fingers on the desk. "When're we booked, then?"

"In three hours," Corry replied, hopping from foot to foot excitedly.

Three hours?! Oh for the love of-- "Corry, I want to reiterate. Ye're a bastard. A sneaky, lowdown, devious, malcontent-- oof!"

Well, that saved him from dragging his carryon out of the closet. Scotty sighed, a sort of resigned sigh, and got started on packing. True, he hadn't protested too hard against the idea, but it would have been nice to have some advanced warning.  But then, advanced warning was a luxury when dealing with Cor, not a privilege or necessity. He'd learned that the hard way when Corry had asked whether they were going to become roommates and had decided to move him in months later without so much as a word of warning; by the time Scotty was able to gather his wits to protest, the deed had already been done hours before while he was in class.

And this was after Corry spent months following him around, persistent like some big, friendly dog, wearing away at his resolve to stay focused on his schooling and keep to himself.

Of course, if not for Cor, he might not have been able to pass the much-hated Basic Language course. It would have been a serious setback to have tested out of his entire first two years worth of Engineering school only to be held back over something as downright worthless as a course that no one ever put to practical application.

Like the universal translator would go out and it'd be critical to speak in ancient high Vulcan to ask for directions. Right.

Thankfully it didn't come to that; he was the youngest senior cadet and first in the class, and all it took was learning to live with the force of nature that was Andrew Corrigan, to not punch him out for constantly correcting his alleged accent, to get used to living in the same small room, to not get into too much trouble when they got up to some shenanigans, and--

All right, none of that was particularly easy, and Scotty was still getting comfortable with this friendship business -- something different and deeper than learning how to get on with his squadmates had been -- but thus far, it had been worth it.

And really, a few days off didn't sound too bad.  It wasn’t the first -- or third, fourth, eighth -- time Corry had asked him along, so Scotty knew it was really only going to be a matter of time before he gave over on it.  Might as well make it now when he had three hours of warning instead of later when he might have three minutes.

Besides, if nothing else, hanging around with Cor was guaranteed to be entertaining in some fashion.  If Scotty had really discovered his own sense of humor properly in Basic, he had most definitely burnished it to a high shine since he started hanging out with Corry.

"Ever been to Maine?"

Scotty shook his head, grabbing his civilian clothes and packing them away. "Been to New York, and Maryland." Half under his breath he added, "And California. Coulda lived without that one."

"Which part, Basic or Command School?" Corry asked, still wearing his 'vacation or bust' grin.

"Command School." Basic had been surprisingly painless after the initial adjustment; Scotty still exchanged letters with his squadmates, for that matter.  Command School, however, had been weirdly isolating after Basic and a lot more stressful.

Corry started shoveling his clothes carelessly into his own bags.  "Well, Maine's colder than this, but we get sunlight a hell of a lot more often. And we live in South Bristol, right there on the coast. Half of it's on an island. You'll like it, and dammit, put that book down!"

"What book?" Scotty asked innocently, eyebrows up as he hid the 55th edition of 'The Ships of Starfleet: A complete technical reference to the most state of the art vessels' behind his back.

Corry must not have been fooled, because he wrestled it away not more than three seconds later, feinting left, then right, and taking advantage of his height to do it. "There's no way you're going to have your nose buried in a book over the entire leave. Cripes, you need a life."

"But..." Scotty was trying not to look pathetic. He knew he was failing, but damn, he was trying.

"No. You're not going to take that or any other remotely engineering-based material. This is vacation! Relaxation! A break from the norm! A chance for peace! An opportunity to--"

"Point taken, Mum," Scotty replied dryly, snatching the book back and putting it back on the shelf neatly. The prospect of four days off campus without any sort of trade-related material was akin to hell; engineering wasn't a hobby or a career, it was his life.

Corry must've caught the slightly-- well, obviously unhappy tone and sighed, "Look, there'll be enough to do without working on something school-related. Besides," he continued, his voice jumping from chiding to obscenely cheerful, "we're gonna be the greatest engineers ever to work for Starfleet. Might as well have fun while we still can."

"Engineering is fun," Scotty answered, tossing a longing glance at the halfway torn-down phase inverter sitting on his workbench. He was pretty sure he wouldn't get his way, though, even if he had gotten down and sobbed for all he was worth. Of course, compared to his former fate of being a starship captain, four days on leave wasn't too bad, books and bits or no. 

Just four days, he thought. How bad can that be?

The constant drumming of fingers on the back of the seat practically drowned out the wind that buffeted the transatlantic shuttle, and it had only been fifteen minutes. Out of a two and a half hour flight.

Had Corry known his roommate was going to get fidgety, he might have just let him take the book, but this was the first long-term leave he'd convinced (or bullied) Scotty into taking. Their occasional weekend jaunts usually ended up in the student's lounge on campus or pub-crawling through Belfast -- or trying to, since most places took one look at them, knew where they came from and promptly kicked them out -- but that was a quick run that lasted one night and the next day was spent recovering from it.  And it had taken months just to get Scotty to quit working or studying long enough to do even that.

But this was four entire days in Midcoast Maine, and if the trip over was any indicator, it could turn out to be a long four days for the high-strung Scotsman.

"You could try for a rhythm. You know, something other than 'tap, tap, tap'," Corry suggested, leaning back in his seat.

"I could be workin' on my term project too." Tap, tap, tap.

"You could, but then you'd miss out on a great dinner, with all kinds of dishes and desserts."

"I can cook, Corry." Scotty looked over, pausing in his drumming for a moment, one eyebrow going up. "Are ye sure that yer parents know that I'm along for the ride?"

"Absolutely sure." Corry beamed his trademark, mile wide grin. "Trust me! When have I ever led you wrong?"

"Last month when I woke up on the floor with my bootstrings tied together and a hangover? The same time I missed turnin' in a paper 'cause I was sleepin' it off?" Scotty clearly tried to suppress a smirk, but only partially succeeded. "Or the time before that when we were almost nailed for violatin' curfew, all because ye wanted to spy on Maggie?"

"Hey, the guy she was with was a scumbag," Corry defended, frowning at the thought. She had been so nice in turning him down the fifth, sixth and seventh times that he had asked her out that he had to make absolutely sure that she wasn't going to get into trouble with the lieutenant she was dating.

Of course, the mishap with the napkin had been entirely accidental. Corry had no clue how that itching powder made it onto that single napkin, and dammit, just because he was mysteriously missing twenty credits out of his personal account meant absolutely nothing.

"Aye, perhaps he was," Scotty admitted, crossing his arms and finally relaxing for a moment or two. He wouldn't admit it aloud, but Maggie had caught his eye too -- evidenced by the way he blushed almost to his ears every time she so much as said hi to him -- and he hadn't been the one to slide into the kitchen of that particular restaurant with the offer and with Corry's credits in hand, nope.

(Not that Corry didn't know. But he figured that they could both afford to dream about the same person since neither of them had any real chance of getting her romantic attention.)

He took the moment of silence to actually get his thoughts in order, leaning forward a little again to look out of the window. It wasn't often he had a moment of peace, between classes, scenarios and having a roommate that didn't seem to know what sleep was a full eighty-five percent of the time.

Far below, illuminated by scattered rays of moonlight, the wind spun seafoam into long streaks, visible even through the broken cloud cover and at the height and speed they were traveling.  Corry smiled a little at the sight of it.  "Looks rough out there. Did you know that back in the old days, the wind could get so bad out there that the waves would just break a ship apart?"

Scotty nodded, looking out himself. "Had to've been pretty damn brave, I suppose. I think I'll stick to starships."

"Easier to die on a starship."

"Really?"

"No. Not really. Well, not back then." Corry leaned his elbows on the back of the seat in front of him, still looking out. There was something beautifully dangerous about the ocean in a full-gale, something he grew up seeing on the shores of Maine.

Growing up in New England meant that he grew up with the stories of a time when ships still sank, and life or death could depend entirely on the wind and the vessel and the skill of the men onboard. "It's kind of hard to believe that it's been almost a century since the last time a vessel's gone down and someone actually lost their life," he added, shivering a little at the thought.

"I wouldna say that's a bad thing," Scotty pointed out, craning his neck trying to see down through the thickening cloud cover to the Atlantic's surface.

"Not at all, but we've gotten everything so fail-safe here on Earth that it's almost impossible to do anything wrong."  Corry knew that Scotty would be the last person in the quadrant to understand, but he tried to explain anyway, "See, if we can't fail, we can't succeed either. Not unless we go out into the stars. But people used to go out on the water and that was like their final frontier, their lives on the line. Kinda makes me wish I was born about five hundred years ago."

"Why? I mean, ye've got a handful o’ sheets, a pile o' lumber, and if somethin' does go wrong, there's no emergency transport, no backup systems, nothin' standin' between you and the deep." Scotty shrugged, going back to drumming once he lost interest in the view out the window. "If I'm gonna give my life, I'd want to do it out there. Up there. Where I can make a difference, instead of relyin' on the right winds."

"Have you ever even been sailing?"

"No. Been out on power boats with my uncles, though, a few times. Fishin', mostly, not too far out."

Corry grinned, trying to break away from the somewhat philosophical feeling that had fallen. "Sounds like you were pretty sheltered."

Scotty gave him a brief, down-his-nose look, eyes narrowed a little. "If I were sheltered, I wouldna been allowed to hang glide. Tell me that's not wind related."

Cor waved it off.  "Yeah, but hang gliding's different. That's a land-based thing."

"I went out over the water a few times. I just prefer the land scenery."

"Suuure. Uh huh. Right. Yep. Yessiree." Corry smirked, knowing full well exactly what the response to that needling would be.

Right on cue: "Ye're such a bastard sometimes."

Corry sighed happily, looking up at the ceiling with a self-satisfied look. "I know."