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

Chapter Text

Chapter 3:

Friday, March 17th, 2243
Malone Road
Starfleet Engineering Academy
Belfast, Ireland, Earth

Amidships the ribs were finished, and for the first time the construction team for the Lady Grey had found a steady routine. That made all the difference in the speed that she was being completed, and meant a great deal to the heads of the project in that they could see their drawing coming to life.

The actual project leader, though, hadn't stuck too hard to his resolution to spend more time engineering and less time researching modern medicine. If anything, Corry had fallen even farther into his obsession; one night he'd stumbled across a medical journal with an article devoted specifically to categorizing space-borne bacteria, and that was the end of that. Now he only came down to the shipyards intermittently.

Scotty took the brunt of the work with more and more consternation every day. Over the past two weeks, he'd gone from being in a reasonably good mood to downright short-tempered, people started actively avoiding him again, and a few of the cadets under his supervision had started to grumble despite making good progress.

Cor's temperament wasn't much better; he went from the extreme high of being on a good trail to the anger and frustration of the hopelessness of it, to the guilt of leaving his best friend to take on the duties that weren't his. But he didn't slow down, nor stop. He couldn't, and every single time that he thought about it, he panicked himself back out of it.

It finally got to a point that Scotty couldn't stand it anymore, but instead of trying to get through to the brick-skulled Corry, he just turned around and went to Barrett. Maybe to just give a half-concealed plea for someone to step in and make it right. Heavens knew, he couldn't seem to find a way to do it.

Catching up with the commander after classes had ended for the day, he launched into it before he had time to talk himself out of it. "Sir? Could I have a moment o’ yer time?"

Barrett paused on the walkway, no doubt heading towards his house on the other side of the campus. "Yes, Mister Scott?"

"--well, I wanted to talk to ye about Cor-- Mister Corrigan, sir." Inwardly, Scotty winced; no part of him wanted to do this, but things couldn’t keep going the way they were. "He's not worked on the project since what happened with his father, and-- I mean, I dinna mind takin' his place, but..."

"But…?" Barrett prompted, though from his tone, he already had a good idea of what the situation was.

"But I'm startin' to think it's a bit too much, sir," Scotty finished, not able to keep the miserable note from his voice.

Barrett's frown colored his entire face dark. "Would you like me to remove him from his position?"

"No, sir, I just-- I dinna ken." Scotty shook his head, clasping his hands behind his back and looking at the ground. That was just it: He didn't know, and it was driving him crazy.

"There are only two options. You can lodge a formal complaint, which is the course of action that I suggest, or you can continue to act as project leader and let him get credit for your work." They were harsh words, though Barrett delivered them frankly and without an edge.

"That's it. Two options, and neither of 'em right," Scotty said sharply, before he remembered who it was he was talking to. Taking a deep breath, he looked back down at his boots. "Sorry, sir."

"I understand that it's a horrible thing to stomach, but what happens when you're on a starship, where everyone depends on everyone else to stay alive?" Barrett asked, gesturing down in Scotty’s line of sight for him to look up, though not to any avail. "I know he's your friend, and I know it's against every single heroic ideal you've got, but think about it. This time it's a class project, Mister Scott, and next time it might be monitoring engine outputs and overload gauges. This time you've got the option, but next time you won't and it could be you, your ship and your crew."

Scotty's jaw knotted as he thought about it. It was such plain common sense that it was damn hard to imagine any other course of action. "What would happen to his grade?"

"He'd lose a lot of points, but he could probably still pass so long as he does something between now and then."

"And if I don't file a complaint?" Scotty asked, finally looking back up and meeting the professor's gaze unflinchingly. He was pretty sure he already knew what his course of action was going to be, struck now with one part inspiration and one part desperation.

Barrett smiled a sort of sad smile, no doubt sure himself. "Then this conversation never took place. Just keep in mind what I told you, though, because you're not always going to have the range of choices you do now."

By the end of the next week, the ribs of the ship were finished and the tension in berth #22 was so thick that it could choke a person. Even Jansson, who normally was easygoing, had started getting edgy; it wasn't long before he'd pretty much cornered Scotty in the mold loft to protest. "We've got four cadets saying that if I don't file a complaint against you or Corry, they're just going to up and drop the class."

"So file it," Scotty challenged, raising his eyebrows. He was well aware that the pace he was working the other cadets bordered inhumane, and that this was quickly becoming his own obsession, but there was no backing down now.

"Look, you know I won't do that to either of you, but don't you think it might be a good idea to just slow down a little bit before we lose everyone?" Jansson all but pleaded, looking more concerned than angry.

Scotty sighed, impatiently, and rubbed at his eyes.  It wasn’t Jerry’s fault; he needed to keep reminding himself that just because he’d plotted this course, that didn’t mean the rest of his team had.

But it was a lousy place to slow down right this second, too.  "I'll make ye a deal, Jer,” he finally said, shoulders feeling almost unbearably heavy.  “If we can get the fore crossbeams in by the middle o' next week, I'll cut back the hours and we can take it a little slower. But we need somethin' other'n a couple o' boards supportin' the ribs in front."

"I think they'll go for that. Most of them were taking it pretty well, just not those four. Uhm, Harrison, O'Sullivan, Thylita and Midlinn, if I remember right." Jerry leaned on the wall. "Mind if I ask you something, chief?"

"Depends," Scotty answered, forcing a half-smile back.

"Why're you covering for Corry like this?" Jansson asked, eyebrows drawn. "Not that I'm complaining, 'cause he's my friend too, but I kinda wanna know what your reasoning is."

Well, that wasn't necessarily an easy answer to come by. There were a few times Scotty wasn't entirely sure why himself, though usually those moments of indecision faded back to the determination he was currently working on. Dropping the self-imposed wall for a few minutes, he took a deep breath. "Honestly?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Remember when I said he needs somethin'?"

"Yeah. Back before he got too buried in-- whatever this is." Jansson frowned for a moment, and then it was like the metaphorical lightbulb and he smiled not a few seconds later. "You're trying to finish her fast, aren't you? So that he'll snap out of this and start being Corry again."

"Think it'll work?" Because in all honesty, Scotty wasn't entirely sure himself if it would. He wasn't really sure of anything. But it was worth a try; Cor had just loved the idea of having a real sailing vessel, he'd loved the schooner when she was still just lines on a schematic.

Maybe when she was whole and sitting in the water, he could fall in love with her all over again.  Maybe he’d come back, then.

"It's damn well worth a try," Jansson said, nodding emphatically. "Well, I've got your back on it. Here's hoping it works."

"Aye, here's hopin'."

Jansson flashed a brief smile and went back to the part of the loft where the templates were kept, and where he was now working on the structure beams. Most of them were already cut for the forward part of the ship, so it probably wouldn't be too much effort to get them up.

The acting project leader took a few moments to relax, something he just didn't do all that often anymore. Not going back to the dorms had turned into a necessity for Scotty, who had it worked out pretty well: Go back right at curfew, sign in with security, then slip back out once they'd acknowledged that he'd gone into the dorms. Anymore he slept more in the mold loft than he did in his room, and he honestly doubted that Corry even noticed the absence.

Well, Scotty thought, sardonically, at least he won't be bitchin' about my boots.

It was a hollow enough thought, though, and he had gotten used to silence again after all. He wasn't even sure if it was worth the effort, trying to get Cor to come back from this land of medical terminology and lab tests. He wasn't sure if it was worth barking orders at a troop of cadets who, though they were obligated to work, weren't obligated to throw heart and soul into his fight.

That was why he'd given Jansson the okay to cut down the hours; mostly to keep his workforce and be more fair minded, but some small part of him harbored the fear that he'd become just as lost and obsessive as the person he wanted to help.

And under that was something even more-- unsettling?  Unexpected?  But it was starting to dawn on Scotty, the realization that he had ended up tangled up in Cor’s life and mental health and in a fashion he’d never intended to be.  That at some point, it had just-- happened.

He didn’t know if he was in over his head, but he was worried he might just be.

He scrubbed at his brow for a moment, as if he could literally scrub those thoughts out of his head, and he was just turning to get back to work when the door opened again.

"Mutiny in the ranks, sir," Albright said, sticking his head in.

Scotty looked up, mostly expecting it to be a joke, but Albright looked dead serious.

Well, hell, they'd finally had enough just when he was starting to dial it back.  Feeling more tired and frustrated than worried, Scotty nodded his acknowledgement, took a minute to grab his coat and then he headed after Albright, down the steps and onto the main floor.

Sure enough, there was a battle brewing, and it looked like Keith O'Sullivan was the ringleader; not too big a surprise, there, the man was something of a notorious rebel long before this.

Squaring his shoulders and doing his best to forget the fact that the stolid Irishman was probably a solid thirty kilos heavier than he was, Scotty stepped into the middle of the crowd, going for his best officer's voice. "What's the meaning of all o' this?"

"The meanin', sir, is that we're downright sick and tired of being driven like dogs," O'Sullivan answered, without a trace of hesitation. "My hands're practically bloody and we haven't had a day off in a week."

"Ye'll get yer day off, soon as the forward crossbeams're up. Anything else?"

O'Sullivan smirked, and without so much as a word of warning took a swing. It was by sheer luck Scotty managed to duck under that fist, or he might have ended up with a busted jaw on top of everything else. Leaping backwards a pace and running into Albright, heart hammering with that instant rush of adrenaline, he snarled, "Aye, real smart there, takin' a shot at another officer. Right good thinkin'."

"That's because ya think ye're just the regular dictator," came the furious answer, and O'Sullivan leaped after Scotty for another try. And he might have been big, but he was fast and managed to land his punch this time, knocking Scotty a good few meters back and to the ground. "Well, sir, maybe ye're not as big as ya think ya are."

Jansson had joined the party by then, and he and three other cadets managed to catch O’Sullivan and hold the irate mutineer back. "Should we call security, sir?" Jansson asked, voice strained as they wrestled with the man.

Scotty shook his head, getting back up on his feet with iron in his mouth and fire burning up the rungs of his spine, coiling in his limbs.  "Hell no," he said, taking his coat off and flinging it aside.

"Uh-- he could turn you into ground meat," Albright said tentatively, looking between the two. "And this is not exactly professional Starfleet conduct here."

O’Sullivan and Scotty both gave Albright an exasperated look, but then Scotty looked back at Jansson. "Jerry, let the jackass go."

"Scotty--"

"Just do it," Scotty snapped; after a moment where they were clearly unhappy, though, they did as they were told.

O'Sullivan shrugged them off with a sneer, but he didn't seem to be in any real hurry now that he knew that there wouldn't be any security involved.  Looking fairly pleased with the fact he'd landed the first punch, he smiled, no doubt for the sake of anyone else who felt bitter about how hard they'd been worked.

A few of the other cadets smiled back, and his buddies looked downright worshipful.  After all they'd learned about maintaining discipline in the ranks, it probably was kind of empowering to see the man in charge get some back for it, especially after recent weeks.

So, he never really saw it coming.

Scotty slammed into O'Sullivan with every bit of weight and ferocity he had, a soundless leap and execution, and the two of them slid across the ground, scattering cadets in their wake; O’Sullivan didn’t even have a chance to throw arms up before Scotty had the man’s collar in one hand and punched him so hard in the nose with the other that he could feel the bone and cartilage give, his own teeth bared in white and red, and something that couldn’t have ever been called a smile.

There wasn’t even a rustle of movement after that.

Point made, Scotty got up and stepped back several paces, shaking his bruised hand out and cracking his neck, ignoring the fact that his jaw throbbed as he stared O’Sullivan down.  O'Sullivan, seeming somewhat stunned by this turn of events, didn't move for a very long moment before crawling back to his feet, protecting his face with his cupped hands, tears streaming down his face.

There wasn't anything particularly smug about him now, and maybe seeing his own blood dripping in thick gobs onto his shirtfront was enough to take the fight from him.  At least for now, anyway.

It was Jansson who broke the silence, asking either or both of them, "Anyone need a doctor?"

Scotty just shook his head. His jaw was aching with fierce intensity and he was having a hell of a time wrestling with the anger O’Sullivan hitting him provoked, but he still had all of his teeth and nothing was broken. That alone was enough of a reason to count his lucky stars; if the other cadet had followed through better, he'd probably be on a soup diet for a few days until the doctors had him properly patched up.

O'Sullivan apparently didn't want to lose any more face, and shook his head as well. "I'll walk on my own, thanks." Shooting Scotty a glare and giving him a wide berth, he headed for the door.

"That's the last we'll see of him, I'll bet," Albright sighed, then looked at the rest of the team still gathered there in near silence. "C'mon, crew, back to work."

"Any bets on me spendin' tonight in the brig?" Scotty finally asked, breathing off the heat and an ache much older than this as well as he could, wincing a little as he prodded at the spot where O’Sullivan’s fist had landed.  He’d bitten his cheek when he’d hit the ground, the bruise was probably going to be impressive and he could already feel where the soreness was going to settle, but it was nothing that wouldn’t heal on its own in a few days.

Jansson frowned, looking somewhere between comically serious and honestly serious. "I'll put ten credits on you getting away without so much as a slap on the wrist."

"I'll bet against that," Lewis, one of the construction cadets, said as he picked up the first crossbeam they were going to put up. Grinning apologetically at Scotty, he added, "You did break his nose, after all."

"All bets're good, but I'm hopin' Jerry here's right." Scotty smiled back as well as he could, stepping over to help carry the board. Maybe he could use the less-depressing attitude in his favor and get some more solid work done. "Well, in the spirit o’ not losin' any teeth, anyone who wants to go can. Volunteer work only, at least for tonight."

The order was passed around, and it kind of surprised him when all but the three who were in with O'Sullivan stayed. It was somehow very heartening to see a rally like that, particularly after all that he'd put those cadets through; from the minute their classes ended to curfew, minus meals, every day for over a week straight.

If he hadn't been in charge, he might have gone the way of the mutineer, honestly.

But at any length, the remaining cadets stuck around, and Scotty intermittently worked with the construction team and iced his jaw; he didn't look forward to explaining the bruise the next day, but it was still better than wasting time with the small, rather apathetic medical staff on campus. Security hadn't shown up yet, and he was determined to get as much as he could done before they did.

When the hush fell over the floor of the berth, he was pretty certain it was a troop of security personnel coming to haul him to lockup. Looking around one of the ribs, he was honestly taken aback when it was Corry.

Cor looked a little like he had slept for weeks on end and was just waking up. His hair was longer than he usually kept it, dark circles hung under his eyes, and his overall appearance was just disheveled. He walked across the floor with measured caution; a stranger in their midst, in a way, even if he was supposed to be the most familiar among the crew.

Scotty frowned to himself and went back to pounding the woodnail in, breaking the silence, and before long everyone else went back to work, all but ignoring the project leader. He wasn't about to call Corry over, more because he didn't have a clue of what to say rather than because he didn't want to say anything. He did; he wanted to tell Cor to snap out of it, look at the work that had been done, look at what was being done for his sake.

But words like that were far too hard to come up with, and Scotty had no clue of how he'd even try to explain, so he did what he knew he was better at and worked.

"Looks like she's really going to be something special," Corry said, uncertainly, once he'd found his way over to his roommate.

"Aye," Scotty answered, evenly, giving the nail one last whack with the mallet. Sounding resentful would probably drive Corry back to his little world, and sounding too friendly might do the same. It was a tightrope act and he was more afraid than he’d ever want to acknowledge about stepping wrong.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go and hit the pub before curfew." Corry looked along the length of the ship, kind of blankly. "I wanted to celebrate-- they finally released Dad from the hospital, and all, and it looks like the bacteria's been fully purged."

"I would, but I've got a bit left to do here." Pausing for a moment, Scotty balanced himself on the rib, trying to untangle the knot of anxiety and hope and resentment twisting in his middle. "If ye wouldn't mind waitin' for a half hour or so, I could?"

"I guess," Corry said, rather quietly. Looking around for a moment, he finally climbed up onto the keel, movements awful clumsy-looking for a man who knew how to dance like Cor did.

Jansson climbed back up right after him and gave him a tight smile, then slid around him and tossed the new icepack in Scotty's general direction. "Head's up, chief."

Scotty ducked under it, only barely catching it in his right hand before giving Jansson a look. "Tryin' to finish the job?"

"I don't know, you have been a bit of a dictator lately," Jerry answered, jokingly, before going back to his post on the starboard side.

"What happened?" Corry frowned, looking even more lost and confused.

"Mutiny!" Scotty chuckled, shaking his head and leaning back on the rib, feet on the brace. He tipped his head to show off the darkening bruise along his jawline, then shrugged. "He got it back in spades, though."

Corry eyed the bruise, some expression on his face that Scotty didn’t know how to read; his hand came halfway up like he wanted to reach out, but then he dropped it. "Who was it?"

"O'Sullivan." Scotty put the ice back against his face, not quite able to stifle the flinch. "I up and broke the bastard's nose, though. Ye shoulda seen it, Cor."

"I was talking to Dad's doctor," Corry said, as way of explanation. The look he got in answer, though, seemed to make him edgy. "What?"

Trying to find the right words, Scotty took a deep breath. Back on the tightrope again, it looked like. "D'ye think maybe-- well, now that he's feelin' better, ye might wanna spend a little more time down here?" he asked, and was glad he didn’t sound as pathetic as he felt.

Corry sighed, running his hand through his messy hair. "Just because he's out of the hospital doesn't mean he's out of the woods. Anything could trigger another reaction."

"I'm not sayin' not tae be worried, just that-- ye know. Maybe it's time to worry about the rest of yer life too? What with yer grades, and--" That didn't sound like it was supposed to. Scotty cringed mentally and wished he could build himself a time machine, go back two minutes, and strangle himself before he had the chance to bring it up.

"My grades are okay," Corry answered, a little too quickly and far too defensively. "And I actually helped out, because I sent them an entire list, a whole thirty pages of known strains along with similar symptoms and treatments."

There wasn't any immediate reply that came to mind. Scotty couldn't honestly see an engineering cadet making any huge breakthrough that experienced Starfleet medical personnel hadn't already thought of, but he wouldn't say that. He'd already dug a hole and anything else might end up landing him in it. "Maybe ye should think about goin' to medschool," he finally said, heart sinking like a stone.

"Maybe I should." Corry looked down at his watch. "Hey, we'll go have a drink later. I should probably go back to the dorms and finish my paper for Pearson."

Maybe ye should start it, not to mention the last three, Scotty thought, tiredly, but he only nodded and said, "Aye, maybe later."

Corry nodded back, stiffly, and climbed down. He exchanged a few greetings with cadets as he made his way to the door, and then he was gone again.

Who even knew when he'd be back. Scotty groaned softly and let his head fall back against the wood, closing his eyes and clenching his sore jaw, though even that little burst of pain didn’t distract him from the hopeless feeling washing over his head and clutching him by the throat.

Maybe if he'd tried harder, he could have swallowed his whole leg instead of just his foot.  The whole damn thing.  Or maybe someone offered tact implants; that would make his life a lot easier.  Or maybe he would give that time machine serious consideration and change everything.

"You shoulda gone with him," Jansson offered, helpfully.

The only answer Scotty had was another groan.

"It's generally not a good thing when cadets start dropping classes this close to the end of the year," Barrett said, pacing in front of the podium, between that and the three cadets lined up at attention. O'Sullivan had dropped the class earlier that day, his nose knit together (but still discolored); Thylita and Midlinn had followed soon after. "When I told them they'd have to go through one of their superiors in order to file a formal complaint, they asked to drop the course. Now, the reason for this could be one of two things: They could have asked to file a complaint and were turned down, or they could have been afraid to ask for fear of retaliation."

Jansson audibly swallowed. "Well, sir, it's a little more--"

"Is it?" Barrett stopped, looking at the anxious cadet sharply. "Four of you were put in charge of this. Now, normally this would fall on the project leader to explain, but since he's still missing in action, as it were, it comes back on you. If this is the type of behavior you have here, heaven help the ship and crew you get assigned to if you graduate."

"It's nae his fault, sir," Scotty said, quietly, wishing that talking didn't hurt so much.  On several levels. "I was the one workin' 'em too hard, and it's my responsibility."

"No, it isn't." The professor sighed, rubbing at his temples with both hands. "The only thing you're technically responsible for is not turning over any complaints you've received. How long do you plan on pulling double-duty? How long do you plan on allowing Mister Corrigan to abuse your good intentions and the hard work of your team?"

"Sir, I was the one who received the complaints." Jansson looked like he was going to his own funeral, but he'd apparently taken the jump when he'd told Scotty he'd watch his back.  Even as lousy as this whole mess was, Scotty was touched by that.  "By the time they were brought to Mister Scott's attention, O'Sullivan had already made up his mind," Jansson added.

"Why didn't you act on them?" When he didn't get an answer, Barrett shook his head in clear disappointment. "Loyalty is one of the finest traits a person can be blessed with, but there does come a time when you have to put concern for your crew before concern for your friends."

The three cadets didn't have any answer to that, either. Albright broke his stance to study his shoes, Scotty did the same, and Jansson looked downright miserable as he stared at the wall. It wasn't that easy, was it?

After a very long two minutes, where the silence couldn't be cut with a plasma torch, Barrett finally sighed, "All right, standing here in silence won't fix any problems, nor will it make them any clearer. Dismissed."

The relief was pretty thick -- if likely short lived -- as they made their way out, though Barrett wasn't quite finished. Waiting until they were nearly to the door, he called, "Mister Scott!"

Scotty paused with his foot in midair, closed his eyes for a moment in resignation, then turned around. "Sir?"

"What happened to your jaw?"

"I-- uhm, I ran intae somethin', sir."

Barrett's face was fairly inscrutable. "Strange, that's what O'Sullivan said about his nose. The senior cadets this year seem to have a clumsy streak in them, wouldn't you agree?"

There was only one answer to give, so with a red face, Scotty gave it. "Aye, sir." Without waiting for further comment, he turned and stepped out.