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

Chapter Text

Chapter 3: 

Tuesday, December 6th, 2242
Weikman Lecture Hall, Theatre 2B
Starfleet Engineering Academy
Belfast, Ireland, Earth

Falling back into a schedule was sort of like reading a book that's been read a thousand times. You knew what was coming, spent a few hours re-reading, and occasionally you might cross a paragraph you'd read before and never properly appreciated. That was what Historical Engineering and Design class was like as well; going over the old and familiar, and gaining a new appreciation for it. The professor was a commander in Starfleet whose love for engineering was surpassed only by his love of history, hence making it the perfect combination for him to teach.

He wasn't a bad teacher either, and his passion for the subject was infectious. Scotty wasn't the most historically-inclined student, reserving his attachments for modern day designs, and even he found the occasional lecture that made him look up from whatever schematic he was poring over to listen.

This was not one of those days.

Going over Cochrane's first designs was terrific, getting a real in-depth view on how the man's mind had worked when he had basically invented the modern age; it was a whole different experience from trying to self-study the same.

The advent of the impulse engine had been another really intriguing lecture. He'd even found something mildly interesting in a study of nuclear powered naval destroyers. Then they went back further in their studies, into the age of petroleum-based internal combustion, then steam, and finally back to wood and sailcloth.

Corry loved it, Scotty couldn't stand it, and the last two nights had brought on two arguments that had reached almost epic proportions over which each of them believed to be true; Cor thought that to understand modern starships, one had to understand archaic sailing ships, and Scotty most adamantly disagreed.

And now, sitting in the back of the theater, Scotty had basically tuned out the entire proceeding and concentrated on the fuel-mix ratios for the Deravian-class freighters, which went right along with a recent battle the Constitution had engaged in with some Orion raiders. Historical Engineering was an elective, taken mostly for the credit, and even if he didn't do more than take common sense guesses on the exams, he could still pass it.

So he didn't hear the next words, but if he had, he might have started to worry.

"As this is my last year, gentlebeings," Professor Barrett said, pacing in front of the podium, "I've decided to do something a little different. I understand that every other year, we've taken a written exam, and that's what you're expecting. But since this is the last time I'll have the distinct pleasure of teaching cadets, we're going to have a practical final exam."

Waiting until the students quieted down, he stepped back and drew a few lines on the chalkboard, the most elementary lines of a sailing vessel. That drew more concerned whispers, but he continued without a word of reproach, "This year, we're going to be building vessels. More specifically, sailing vessels, all the way from an initial design to the final launch, and perhaps even further. This project will take the rest of the year, and we'll begin next week, so prepare yourselves."

"Sir?" One of the cadets in the front row raised his hand, eyebrows drawn in a frown. "This sounds awfully time-consuming, will it interfere with our other classes?"

Barrett smiled, leaning on the podium. "Well, Mr. Jansson, that might depend on how much you can get done in class, and on your personal time."

Jansson cringed, probably not wanting to ask anything else for fear of the answer, and Corry jumped in without hesitation, "Will we have a choice on what sort of vessel we're building, Professor?"

"I'll have you all broken into teams and assigned a specific material to work with, but so long as you're historically accurate, the design's entirely your discretion." Barrett glanced at the chronometer, then back at the student body. "Assemble any questions you have and I'll answer them tomorrow." As if on cue, the chime ended the class.

Now the chime was akin to Pavlov's work with the dog; even the most engrossed senior cadets heard it through whatever technology-induced haze they had fallen into, and Scotty wasn't any different. Corry had speculated aloud on the feasibility of building one just for the sake of getting Scotty to pay attention when he was otherwise disinclined.

Of course, Cor never followed through on the half-threat, but the chime still had pulled Scotty back to the moment. 

Corry had bounded up the steps to the top of the hall in the meantime and was now waiting impatiently for Scotty to finish organizing his books. "This is just gonna be great. In fact, I can't think of a better final."

"Final? In December?" Scotty didn't look up, sure he was just hearing things. No one had finals in December, unless it was only a semester class, and none of his classes were.

"Did you even hear a word? Hell, a syllable?" Corry leaned on the back wall, one eyebrow going up.

"Nu uh. See, 'bout two weeks ago, the Constitution had a run in with not just a pirate ship-- oh no, a whole damn fleet o' the bastards. So there they are--" Scotty set his books down and gestured with both hands, having no trouble visualizing what he was describing, "surrounded on all sides, takin' hits from every quarter. Shields go down, she's practically floatin' dead in space, an' Cohlburn -- that's her Chief -- he has t'rewire the whole bloody relay system, reroute power directly from the engines, can't even use the converters or the regulators--"

Corry rubbed at the bridge of his nose. "Can I just guess at the end? It works, the ship survives, and goes on to demolish the whole pirate fleet."

Scotty shot him a dirty look, pausing in mid-gesture. "No, but she set 'em runnin'."

"I was close." Cor smiled a genial, somewhat disarming smile. "So you heard absolutely nothing about how, for our final, we're going to be designing, building, and maybe even sailing something with real, honest-to-god sails? You know, those ships you call archaic piles of lumber?"

Scotty blinked once, twice, and when it clicked he had to run it back a few times just to make absolutely sure he'd heard that correctly. "Ye're kiddin'!"

"Nope!" Corry said, beaming. "And care to guess when we're starting this little project?" Apparently taking the dumbfounded shake of the head as a 'go-ahead', he dropped the metaphorical bomb, "Next week."

Scotty finally looked at the blackboard. When he saw the lines, he wanted to crawl into a dark hole. "Next-- next week? As in, actually next week? We're gonna start workin' on this next week?"

Corry sighed happily, starting down the steps and for the exit. "I knew you'd be thrilled."

"Displacement, buoyancy, rightin'-arms an' rightin' movements, deep-v instead o' shallow draft-- ohhhhh god." Scotty buried his face in his hands and moaned softly, just trying not to let the headache he had drive him to throwing himself out the window. This entire business of building a sailing ship was mind-numbing -- in fact, he could feel his brain cells dying a slow, painful death.

It didn't help that out of twenty team members, Corry had placed him as head shipwright.

"It's not that bad, is it? It's engineering, at any length," Cor pointed out, closing the door behind him and setting down the three bags he'd brought.

"He's been mumbling about it since you left." Jerry Jansson stood from where he was perched on the table, setting aside an ancient book to go snoop in the bags.

Scotty scowled, pulling the drawing board back onto his lap and looking down at it. He'd been working on it for the past week when he couldn’t find literally anything else to do, and still felt utterly hopeless at it. Corry had decided that they were going to be all traditional Maine, and build a schooner -- well and good, aye, but the mathematics were agony.

Just the business of translating the words used several hundred years ago into actionable effort was a whole process unto itself.  It wasn’t like there were a whole lot of dictionaries that spanned between the late 1800s and the 2200s.

And, frankly, Scotty resented the hell out of the fact he was stuck doing this instead of something that would actually have a bearing on his future career. "A'right,” he said, glaring at his teammates, “lemme see someone else do this. Lemme see one o' you try'n figure out these calculations and make bloody sense of 'em."

Corry shook his head and stepped over, peering over his shoulder. "You have a whole group here who'll help. It's not like you have to do this alone."

"'GZ, the rightin'-arm, is drawn from G perpendicular to the direction of buoyancy--'" Scotty frowned deeper still, raising an eyebrow up at Corry. "Tell me again what this has to do with modern shipbuildin'?"

Corry picked the drawing board up, looking over the rough drawing for a moment before replying, "Okay, look at it like this. In starship design, we have a keel, a center of gravity for gravity-well purposes, a displacement for any low-atmosphere flying.  It's not that different. Just-- I dunno, try thinking of it like a starship, but on water."

"Suuure, a starship on water." Scotty leaned back, crossing his arms. "Why, that's bloody brilliant, isn't it? Just imagine that starships have buoyancy, angles of heel, metacenters and inch trim movements."

"Exactly!" Corry chirped, beaming a blatantly false grin, passing the drawing board back. "And at least try to have fun with it."

"Hey, Corry! Are you gonna let us eat, or do we have to wait for a finished schematic?" Joe Albright asked, calling from the table where the bags were still sitting.

"Nah. We'd starve to death." Corry shot his roommate a sharpish look before going back to the table himself, ignoring the fact that Scotty was glaring darts right back at him.

Instead of having the common decency to at least acknowledge the look he was getting, though, Corry fished out the burgers, tossing one to Albright. "Can you believe I paid three credits apiece for these things? Processed veggies made to taste like meat, and they charge three credits for it."

"Welcome to modern economics," Jansson chuckled, already through two burgers and heading into a third. "Supply and demand? Nu uh. Gouge the hungry cadets! Make 'em beg!"

"Or pay out through the project budget." Corry sat down on a chair, kicking back and munching at the food, though it looked like it was a half-hearted effort at best.

Albright smirked. "Well, if we're not going to build a ship, at least we won't be hungry when we fail, right?" he asked, and Scotty thought about telling Joe where he could stick that particular opinion.

"Just fat and slothlike in our misery!" Corry howled, melodramatically, holding the burger out in one hand and putting his other hand over his heart, "But soft! What shout through yonder doorway breaks? It is the calisthenics officer and we are the victims! Arise, fair cadets, and slay that chunkiness, which is congealed about your bellies!"

"Oh man," Jansson laughed, crumpling the wrapper and throwing it into the bag, "I don't think Shakespeare had that in mind at all."

"Shakespeare never attended Starfleet Engineering Academy, either," Albright answered, glancing at his watch. "Hey, shouldn't we be getting back to the dorms? It's getting late."

"Yeah, yeah."

"You two go ahead," Corry said, taking another bite of the sandwich before throwing it away. "I'll see about getting our head architect to move a little quicker."

Will ye, then? Scotty worked his jaw and cracked his neck, bracing for the argument that was about to take place, eyeballing Corry across the room.

"Good luck." Jansson shrugged, pulling on his cadet-issue jacket. "Give me a call if you need anyone to take over."

Cor frowned, leaning back in his chair. "All right. See you guys later." Waiting until they were out of the loft, he stood and stretched as if he was somehow oblivious to the fact that he was being watched. He just took a deep breath and let it out, then started back across the room, pausing a few feet away and offering, in a tone that seemed half-conciliatory, "You know, the sooner we get this done, the sooner we can move onto something else."

Pity Scotty wasn’t remotely interested in reconciliation right now.  He tipped his chin up, eyes narrowed.  "It's pointless! A damn waste o' time, completely and totally foolish, no matter how ye look at it."

Corry rubbed at the bridge of his nose, not answering right away; when he did, his voice was even and calm, "Listen. I know you're less than thrilled about this whole thing, you've made that perfectly clear from the outset. But this isn't just your grade, this is the whole group's grade too."

Scotty barely bit back a growl, stung by the tone even more than the words, and set the drawing board down.  He stood and snatched his coat from the back of the chair, before rounding back on his roommate.  "I know that. I understand that perfectly, but if ye wanted a happy trooper, Cor, ye shoulda picked someone else."

"But I didn't, and dammit, this is your responsibility!" Corry leveled a hard look at Scotty, holding it until Scotty looked down at his boots. "Look, I'm not going to just hand this over to someone else. You're the best designer here, and as soon as you can drag yourself away from this fog of self-pity, we can get this project moving."

"Ye're a bastard," Scotty snapped back, face hot as he picked his head back up, biting each word off and getting very little satisfaction out of the small wince Corry gave back.

"Hate me if you want, but I'm not going to let you moan and groan about how stupid this is until we're all trying to explain why we failed our final," Corry said, after a moment, going back to that even voice of before. He took another deep breath and let it out, and when he continued, it was notably softer, "I know this isn't your idea of a good time, but if I didn't think you were the best man for the job, I wouldn't have appointed you. Use that genius of yours and make the best of it; do that, and I'll buy the scotch."

"Ye'll have it by the deadline, and not a day earlier."  Scotty pulled his coat on, not sure at that moment whether he was more furious or more hurt by the dressing down he just got.  For that matter, he wasn’t even sure why he felt either of those so keenly as he did, but he also wasn’t going to stick around until one of them ended up saying something that they couldn’t take back.

Without a backwards glance, shoulders square, he all but marched out.

Morning came inevitably, bringing a still soft rain and the smell of sea so strong that it permeated everything. Corry drifted awake to the buzzer, reaching back with one hand to smack the off button sloppily without opening his eyes. 

It was too early to go to class; too early to think of anything but staying in bed, for that matter.

The evening before had been spent in a stew of frustration and guilt, and the sense that even if he’d been right, he’d handled things poorly.  He knew how much Scotty resented having to work on something that didn’t make any sense to him, and no matter how much Corry loved the idea of them designing and building a schooner as a project, he could get where his roommate would be chewing tacks about it.

On the other hand, he was the project leader; regardless of friendship, it was his job to make sure things were happening apace.

On the other other hand, though, he couldn’t immediately think of many worse things than being on the outs with his best friend.

He had spent a bit of time sitting with the board himself the night before, looking over Scotty’s sketches and notes and admiring what was there, even if what was there wasn’t much yet.  Despite himself, he’d found himself smiling at some of the notes, too: Schooner, fore and aft, LOD≈106', LOA≈157', Beam≈26' - GZ? GM? ITM? Help?  And he was a little surprised and a little more guilty yet about the fact that some of the figures had been worked out longhand under those notes, too, with translations and formulae scribbled down along the side.  When he’d come back to their room, he’d hoped for a chance to actually talk things out, but Scotty hadn’t been back yet and he’d fallen asleep waiting.

Now it was still too early, but he was awake anyway when the secondary buzzer went off, and smacked the off button again, a little harder.

He didn’t really want to open his eyes, not wanting to face the fact that his best friend was probably still angry with him, but he finally heaved a sigh and did so, sitting up and then glancing around.

Scotty was long gone himself, apparently. His second pair of service boots and his civilian pair were even put away neatly in the bottom of his closet; testament that Corry must have struck a nerve. He hadn't been there when Cor had come in last night, and if not for the boots, Corry would never have guessed the other cadet had shown back up.

Feeling another pang of self-recrimination, he opened his own closet, trying to figure out how he could patch things up between them.

His uniforms hung neatly, sharp grays that he actually tried to keep nice and crisp for class. Reaching to grab one, he stopped short when he saw the note hanging by engineer's putty from the shelf, and after a moment puzzling over it, he pulled it down to unfold and read it.

Cor,

Here they are, every last one of them -- every last one of them that I could manage anyway. Albright should be able to check them and if he could finish the weight distribution studies, I would be in his debt.

Scott

Corry smiled a little, half-bemused, half-relieved, before folding the note and pulling the old-fashioned notebook down. Sure enough, in slightly shaky but otherwise neat block lettering were the equations, from the righting movement to the center of buoyancy above the keel, all done in longhand and with notations and citations in the margins. Even the inch-trim was worked out.

He didn't want to think too much about how long and hard the night must've been for Scotty to have pulled off a feat like that, but he did think about where he could find a good bottle of Scotch. After all, fair was fair.

Slipping the note into the front cover, he set the notebook on his dresser and went back to getting dressed for the day.

It had been a long night, spent under the overhanging roof of a dockside building in the cold damp air, using the weak light from above to write. One hand with a pencil, the other turning the pages of the shipbuilding handbook -- written circa 1845, though a modern copy for the sake of preservation -- and Scotty had worked out every single equation that he could until he was too tired to see straight.

Why he did was well beyond him. When he'd told Corry that he wouldn't have it until the deadline, he had been serious. Deciding wisely that he needed more time to cool off before putting himself back in proximity to his roommate, he'd checked in with Security, let them think he was in for the night, then snuck out and headed down for a walk along the docks.

Pacing the concrete in the dark, listening to the tide lapping against the piers, he tried and mostly failed not to let that whole damn argument eat at him; Cor might have been right about him dragging his feet, maybe in the hopes someone in the administration would pull veto on Barrett’s idea of a final, but even beyond the project, Scotty wasn’t quite sure how to reconcile what it was to be at any real odds with his roommate.

Finally frustrated by the anxious and tired loops his mind was running, though, around midnight he'd decided to just work on the project’s equations a little and cut down on what he'd have to do the next day. It was a quick walk back to the dorms, and it hadn't been hard to scale the fence and slip into the basement window that was always left open by the last cadet who had been doing laundry that night.

It took maybe a half-hour to get in and back out, a task Scotty had gotten damn good at since moving into the dorms. He'd gone back to the docks, found a spot out of the rain, pulled the books and notebook from where he'd shielded them under his coat, and gone to work.

Now, at not quite a quarter to ten in the morning, he could barely stay awake. The lecture hall was nice and warm, pleasant after being chilled all night by mist, and he really wanted to nod off and sleep through the rest of class. Or skip out altogether and go to bed. Or even get a nice, hot cup of coffee-- never mind. Long hours were an unbeatable part of being an engineer in the service.

"Hey."

And there was the other half of the reason he'd stayed out all night. Trying to muster up some indignation and failing, Scotty glanced sidelong at Corry, who'd somehow managed to slip into the hall without him noticing. "What?"

Corry winced slightly, setting his books down on the desk. "Thanks for finishing the equations."

"Welcome."

"...are you still mad?"

"Noooooo, o' course not." Really, he wasn't too angry now, but it didn't hurt to make Corry squirm. As far as Scotty was concerned, he deserved it a little at least; Corry might have ultimately been right to deliver that dressing down, but it didn't take the sting away. "Give those t' Albright?"

"Yep. He was overjoyed; he says he can have them all polished and finished by Tuesday, a whole three days before deadline," Cor said, quietly, leaning on his books and looking down at the guest lecturer. "I really like the design, you know."

Scotty frowned slightly, leaning back and crossing his arms. He wasn't in the mood for small talk, being friendly, or anything that required energy. "Aye."

"And I went out and got you something." Corry grinned in sudden good-humored pride, pulling an old, square bottle out of his carryon and offering it over. "Fair's fair and all."

"Cor! Bloody hell, put that away!" Scotty answered in a quiet rush, once he got a good look at the label. "Are ye daft, pullin' that out in here?"

"Nah, she's not paying attention," Corry answered, but he put the scotch away just in case. "It's some good stuff though, cost me a bundle so you'd better appreciate it."

"Ye're bribin' me."

Corry pegged his eyebrows up, a hopeful and earnest look that was almost impossible to brush off as anything less than sincere.  "Is it working?"

Scotty chuckled, shaking his head. So much for staying mad. "Aye. It's workin'."

Barrett was indeed pleased, probably not having expected the cadets from Team C to finish stage one early. He had assigned Corrigan as the leader, partly for the sake of prior experience and partly because he was reasonably people-oriented, and they had drawn wood to work with as their primary material. Team A had gotten aluminum, no easy find in the modern day. Team B had gotten steel, Team D had fiberglass, and so forth.

So looking over the finished equations, he seemed happy with the progress. "Gentlemen, I'm impressed."

"Thank you, sir," Corry answered for the rest of his team. He tried to ignore the looks they were getting from the rest of the class; it wasn't their fault they seemed to have the majority of the talent. "Do we have permission to move onto the next stage?"

"Absolutely. I'll give you a list of distributors. I take it you've worked out which woods you'll be using?"

Albright spoke up, having adjusted Scotty's figures enough to work with the different densities, "Yes, sir, we've decided we're going to work with oak primarily."

"Very good. I'll expect your detailed schematics by the next deadline," Commander Barrett said, offering the notebook back to Corry. "Good luck."

Cor took the notebook and turned to leave, the rest of his team following on his heels. Most of the twenty-member crew was waiting to start the actual work, reading up on the physical process of building a ship and working with the timbers; the design team was the one working on the more mental level. Jansson was in charge of working on the material plans, Albright was the man who had to adjust the initial equations for every change made in the ship, and Scotty was heading up the overall design, in charge of the schematics. Not that he had to do it alone, since Albright and Jansson were damn good designers as well, and Corry was willing to help even if his main design strengths were generally smaller scale.

It was a good team, and Corry was pretty sure they wouldn't have any trouble with the rest of the cadets either. He just regretted Maggie being assigned to Kelley's team and not his; it just tickled him when she returned his smile on the way out of the hall.

"Now we're movin', baaaaby," Jansson sang, impromptu, skipping a step. "Team C, as in c-ya later."

"Ye're too cheerful. Stop it," Scotty teased, in a good mood himself. With the worst of the architectural math out of the way and no more discord in their dorm room, his disposition had improved considerably.

"I'm just thinking about the looks on all of their faces when we came trotting in with our finished math. I mean, you could just bathe in the stench of anguish." Jerry stopped outside of another theater. "I'll catch up to you three later, and we'll see what we can get done before break."

Corry grinned, waving. "Thanks, Jer." Albright had just peeled off to chase after his girlfriend, and the entire atmosphere at the academy had taken a turn for the better; it might have been the rain pausing for a break, but it was more likely the upcoming winter break.

Tossing a glance at Scotty, Corry asked, "Ready for another stretch?"

Scotty thought about it for a moment, shifting his books from one arm to the other. "Honestly? No. But I can do it."

"We still have that whole bottle of Scotch to celebrate with."

"Aye, but we have class tomorrow, too."

Cor shrugged, but let it drop at that. "What're you doing over break?"

Scotty blew a breath out that sounded resigned. "Mum wants me home for Christmas. You?"

"Eh, same here. Care to hang out for New Years?"

Scotty stepped out of the building, holding the door open with his foot for Corry, mulling the idea over and eying Cor with a slightly calculating look that instantly made Corry wonder what he was getting into. "Aye, why not?” Scotty asked, finally. “But you come over to Scotland, this time." He shrugged, adding with a smirk, "Give ye a chance to meet my family."