Chapter Text
Captain’s Log, Stardate 2259.001. We’ve stopped for shore leave on a pretty little world. The new year for us, which means nothing to them, but they have been welcoming and kind. Humans have never been here, but this planet is a citizen of the universe and a hub world for many species we are just meeting. The crew is looking forward to getting to know them better.
Scotty returned with another round of drinks and put them down on the table in front of his crewmates. The flavors weren’t anything they could pin down, but they were all vibrantly alcoholic. A bar was a bar, it seemed, even so many light years from home.
“You were saying?” Chekov prompted Scotty.
“...so we roll intae this moonbase,” Scott said, waving his drink, continuing a story where he’d left off. “Shithole of a place, in unclaimed territory. And we are in desperate need of four plasma relays, so Captain April sends me off with a thousand credits and a 48 hour pass to see what I can find. Trouble is, a Klingon Bird of Prey had come in, also looking for relays. And there is one person on the whole station selling ‘em, a little Ferengi. He’s seeing profit and tries tae have us bid against each other. Korg—that’s the Klingon engineer—and I figure out his game, so we team up and scare the shite out of the Ferengi, who just wants tae escape with his life by the end. Korg and I have a laugh over the look on his face, and decide that we like each other.” Scotty took a long pull on his drink, fully into the swing of his story. Chekov was hanging on his words; Sulu and Uhura were both enjoying the way Scott was winding up the young man.
“Just six hours in,” he continued, “and we both have our plasma relays, extra money in our pockets, and two days left on our passes. We could go back tae our ships, but we didnae do that. So we hit every bar on the base. I introduce him tae scotch, which he declares a ‘warrior's drink.’ I dinnae know what we ate, but it was a kind of wriggling haggis, and we get intae a bar fight with some Orions. We’re bleeding on each other in the hall, singing drinking songs in Klingon and Gàidhlig, when he decides it would be hilarious tae smuggle me aboard his ship tae look at his engine room. Then we beam over to our engine room. And we are both well intae treason by this point, but figure what the hell…”
“I swear to god, Scotty,” Nyota said, draining down her drink. “If this story ends with you having sex with a Klingon …”
“Funny thing about that,” Scotty shrugged. “There is a lot more quoting poetry involved in Klingon sex than you’d think.” Nyota and Hikaru groaned, and Scott grinned wickedly at them. “Fortunately, my wee granny always made sure I was up on my Burns. Nae what she had in mind when I was memorizing A Red, Red Rose, but it did the trick. Let’s just say that Korg had a strong, ah, oral tradition. And a hell o’ a tight …”
“Oh, my god,” Sulu interrupted, shooting a look at the gaping navigator beside him. “Pavel. He is bullshitting us. Lieutenant Commander Scott is a drunk engineer on shore leave, and every word out of his mouth is pure bullshit. He’s having you on, especially since it’s your first leave. Do not, ever, ever attempt to have sex with a Klingon. Am I right, sir?”
“Right,” Scott said, catching on abruptly. “No sex with Klingons, Ensign. Bad idea. Especially since you prefer tits to dicks. Takes a hell of a high pain threshold to risk sex with a Klingon woman, although it can be worth it, they do this amazing ...”
“Scotty,” Uhura snapped.
“Aye, lass?” he said blearily.
“Shut up.”
“Aye ma’am. Just remember, we ever run intae Korg son of Vrenn, and he’s trying to kill us, tell him that he has a qaStaHvIS wa'maH ghom and we may get an invitation tae dinner instead.” Scotty glanced over at the table beside them, and a pretty blue couple who had been unabashedly eavesdropping and laughing at his story. He winked at them.
“We believe you,” one of them called.
“They believe me!” Scotty crowed.
“They believe you’re drunk and easy,” Nyota corrected.
“I am,” he agreed, then stood and walked over to them. One of them pulled him down for an open-mouthed kiss; a universal language, it seemed, then whispered in his ear. He offered her a hand, then the other to her friend, and let them lead him out of the bar.
“Bye,” he called over his shoulder to his shipmates.
Chekov’s jaw practically hit the floor. “That was impressive,” he said in awe. “How did he do that?”
“A lot of practice,” Sulu said sagely. “You probably didn’t see it, but he bought them drinks when we first came in, more every time he bought a new round, and has been flirting with them all evening. And they both had their hands all over him every time he walked by.”
Uhura put her face in her hands. “Pavel, don’t get me wrong, I love Scotty, but he’s objectively awful,” she groaned.
“I’m going to try it!” Chekov said excitedly, and headed for a nearby table and another gorgeous blue woman.
“Hopefully they’re biologically compatible,” Sulu deadpanned, finishing his drink.
Uhura sighed in longsuffering. “Hopefully they don’t cause an interstellar incident. Want to shop for shoes and swords, Hikaru? I spotted a great little market on our way here.”
“Absolutely,” Sulu said. She stood and offered him her arm, and they left their shipmates to their own pleasures.
Captain’s log, Stardate 2259.75. Five months out on our jaunt into uncharted space. We are now well back into charted space, however. The crew is starting to look forward to being home. We’re a few days out from a small world we’ve been asked to survey, with care because of indigenous population is approximately stone age. Should be simple, but a break from days of cruising home at warp four.
“Some days I am just tired of sitting on my ass,” Chekov said at the end of an utterly uneventful shift, stretching tiredly as they rode the turbolift down from the bridge.
“God, yes,” Sulu groaned. “I’m not sure whether I’ve taken the shape of the seat, or the seat has taken the shape of me.”
“Treadmill, weights?” Uhura asked as they stepped into the hall and headed for the gym. “Or yoga? Maybe hand-to-hand sparring? I think Kirk and Spock were planning to beat the shit out of each other in the training ring tonight.”
“I need to sweat. Run for hours,” Chekov said. “Preferably along a quiet, wery long path through some mountains or along a beach where I can get baked by the sun, followed by a cold shower and a big plate of fresh fruit.”
“Mmm,” Uhura agreed wistfully. “Failing that, treadmill, sun lamps, loud music, sonic shower, and something synthesized?”
“God, that sounds awful,” Scott said, falling into step behind them with two of his engineers, Masters and Singh.
“You three look like you’ve already had a workout today,” Nyota said, noticing their sweat-stiff uniforms.
“Aye. Twelve hours of zero G in the port nacelle. Which means a couple hours of mandatory high G exercise tae compensate.”
“Hardly seems fair,” Charlene Masters grumped, and Singh grunted in agreement.
“You’re young and invincible now, Ensign,” Scott sighed. “By the time you’re old as me and in charge of your own engine room, the bone loss from too many weightless hours would start tae catch up with you.”
“Damn straight,” McCoy agreed from where he was waiting for the engineers in the hall outside the gym. Zero gravity work was serious enough to require medical monitoring, and he gave them a quick scan. “An hour on the treadmill,” he told them. “At one and a half Gs, so don’t forget the knee and lower back support. Low aerobic heart rate; don’t bother going faster, you’d just be sore and go into calorie debt. Don’t forget to drink water and suck down a couple of gels, then eat what the computer wants you to eat for dinner.”
“Then do it all again tomorrow, because we still have the starboard nacelle to do,” Charlene said in a weary aside to Uhura, who patted her arm sympathetically. “I could have picked science. Sat on my ass all day. But noooo, I just had to be an engineer.”
“Ass-sitting isn’t all it's cracked up to be. At least you’ll sleep!”
“Unless the Chief wants a 0600 start. Which he always does because he’s a heartless machine.”
“I could make it 0500,” the chief engineer warned, only half-teasing.
The music was already pounding loudly in the gym, humid with sweat from a crew that was starting to need to work themselves into exhaustion just to sleep at night. They stepped into the locker room, filled with mostly-naked species in every color of the rainbow and the full spectrum of genders. The initial shy prudishness that had marked the beginning of the mission had more than faded after five months of living on top of each other in 500 meters of livable space.
“If we’re this stir crazy after a couple months, I’m not sure about a five-year mission,” Uhura admitted, taking off her uniform to change into her workout gear.
“I’ve heard there is a hump, right about where we are. We’d push past it,” Sulu said confidently.
“Aye, until the next one, which is at about a year. And the one after that at 18 months. Beyond that, no one really knows,” Scott said, pulling a shirt back on over the high-g back brace and heart monitor. “We’re off to suffer,” he told the Bridge crew cheerfully, and prodded the grumpy junior engineers toward the treadmills.
“That really is brutal,” Chekov said. “Weightlessness is fun for just playing around, but exhausting for trying to get any real work done.” In solidarity with the engineers, Uhura, Chekov, and Sulu went for the treadmills, put their heads down, and knocked out ten kilometers.
“We need a swimming pool,” Chekov complained afterward, all of them headed for the much-less-than-satisfying sonic showers. “It isn’t like we don’t have water; 2.5 megaliters down in engineering for cooling and power generation.”
“We can only sustain four real water showers on this whole ship, and you want a pool?” Scotty scoffed. “That would be fun in a gravity loss. I’ll just install an extra fusion reactor, shall I, tae power the gravity plating, and a filtration system, and heaters tae keep it from freezing where it touches the hull?”
“A pool wouldn’t be impossible, is all I’m saying,” Chekov continued later as they sat down together in the mess hall, everyone but Scotty only half-dressed in a combination of gym-wear and duty underclothes. The second officer, like the first officer and the Captain, was always in uniform.
“You give me unlimited power, nothing is impossible,” Scott agreed.
“I’d settle for edible food,” Uhura said, poking at the gelatinous slabs that passed for rations. “Just five months and our fresh food stores are nearly gone. You’ve got to invent a way for the food synthesizers to make something closer to the real thing, Scotty, or it’s going to be a long five years.”
“I think we could set up sustainable hydroponics for vegetables,” Sulu mused. “The trick is definitely going to be everything else.”
“Everyone is treatin’ the five year mission as a forgone conclusion, but it isnae.” Scotty shook his head. “Someone is going tae get it, but dinnae get your hopes up.”
“Why not?” Chekov challenged. “We’re the fastest ship in the fleet. The best nawigational system, the best science equipment, the best crew.”
“Aye,” Scott said, plowing through his food as if he didn’t care it was awful. “We are also the largest, the best shielded, the most heavily armed. And, nae for nothing, this crew has the most combat experience in the fleet. They may want us patrolling borders closer tae home in a show of force.”
The junior officers blinked at him, disquieted by his words. He glanced up at them, and stopped mid-chew.
“What? You think that isnae a major consideration?” he asked them incredulously. “Vulcan was destroyed less than two years ago. Earth attacked. There are plenty of people at home, including admirals, who think that the exploration part o’ Starfleet ought tae be shelved in favor of militarization.”
“That wouldn’t happen,” Chekov said firmly.
“Wouldnae it?” Scott sighed, standing to catch a few hours of sleep before his day started again. “I hope you’re right, Pavel.”
Captain’s log, Stardate 2259.80. Our survey of Nibiru has revealed a dangerous volcano that could destroy the delicate, developing indigenous species. As difficult as it is, we cannot, of course, interfere. And even if we wanted to, there is no way of stopping a geological force like a volcano. Let us hope that the planet is more stable than it appears to be. Otherwise, our survey has been uneventful.
“And when the volcano erupts?” Kirk asked urgently, studying his first officer’s face with concern.
“The entire species will be destroyed,” Spock reported. “Possibly the entire planet.” Although he might have sounded calm to a stranger, everyone on the bridge knew the first officer was deeply agitated.
“I’ve stood above enough planets and watched them fall to pieces,” Kirk said firmly, turning to the beautiful world on the screen. “I’m not inclined to let that happen again.”
“Nor am I, Captain,” Spock admitted.
“It would be interfering with planetary development,” Kirk said quietly.
“The Prime Directive only prohibits societal interference,” Spock said slowly. “So long as they are not aware of our interference, there is no violation.”
“Okay,” Kirk said. “You stop a supervolcano by cooling the magma chamber into solid rock. How do you cool a magma chamber?” They shared a long look with each other, and the Captain hit a button on his chair. “Scotty, can you come up to the bridge please?”
Scotty boggled at them when they described the project. “A magma chamber? Right off the top o’ my head I can tell yeh there will be an energy problem. Setting aside the energy requirements for cooling something that massive, cooling itself releases energy …” he started scribbling equations on a pad. “Depending on the size, it might nae be possible. The latent heat release might be more than we can overcome.” He frowned at the mathematics. “Although maybe we could use that energy to create a feedback loop and power an ongoing reaction ... Okay. Yes. Maybe. But assuming we can create some kind o’ … I dinnae ken, self-sustaining molecular dampening cascade, it would have tae be limited tae the magma chamber. Otherwise you’d run the risk of solidifying the planet’s molten core in a runaway reaction.”
“Destroying the magnetic field, allowing the solar winds to strip away the atmosphere and water,” Kirk said. “Got it. Don’t do that.”
“Dinnae invent a terrifying planet killer?” Scott said sarcastically. “Aye aye, sir.”
“You have 48 hours, Mr. Scott, Mr. Spock,” Kirk said.
“Oh, well, dinnae make it hard,” Scott complained. “Also, how in the hell are we planning to deliver this entirely theoretical device that doesnae exist yet? Yeh cannae beam something intae the middle of a volcano.”
“Shuttlecraft?” Sulu volunteered reluctantly. “Maybe we lower someone down in a modified encounter suit?”
“Oh, my good lord,” Scotty groaned.
“Scotty,” Kirk snapped. “We’re talking about the extinction of an entire species. The destruction of a planet. I think we’ve had quite enough of that, don’t you?”
Scott glanced somberly at Spock. “Aye, sir,” he sighed. “Mr. Spock, I could use your help.”
Personally, Spock and Scott always circled each other carefully, stabilized and polarized in equal measure by their love for Nyota and their vague confusion about exactly what it was she saw in the other man. Professionally, however, they worked extraordinarily well together, driven upward by Spock’s swiftly methodical precision and Scott’s intuitive genius for fusing untested theory with engineering reality.
They solved it, of course, and their doubts were swept up in the fierce joy of invention. “Six successes in the modeling, Mr. Spock. We’ve got it,” Scott said jubilantly.
Spock looked over the engineer’s shoulder. “What is this failure in the seventh test?” Spock asked, pulling up the data.
Scott grimaced, reaching to shut off the screen, then stopping himself. “Nothing, sir, just an experiment…”
Spock gave the engineer an appraising, uneasy look that would color every interaction they would have for the rest of their lives. “You altered the mathematics to test the runaway reaction. Alterations which result in a doomsday weapon.”
Scott swallowed hard. “Just testing the maths, sir. If our controlled reaction was accurate, that precise change would create the full cascade. Just means our equations are correct. I wouldnae …”
“Of course, Mr. Scott,” Spock said smoothly. “Please proceed with fabrication. I will discuss delivery options with the Captain.”
It damn near ended with Spock dead, not because of a device that accomplished the impossible, but because of the heat limitations of a cable. And, in the aftermath, if Scotty only vaguely noticed that Nyota was giving Spock a cold shoulder, he definitely noticed it when she grabbed the front of his uniform and shoved him into the wall outside his quarters.
“Right, you’re angry,” he said.
“Well deduced, Mr. Genius,” she growled at him.
Scotty rubbed his face. “Um … I’m sorry?” he said, and she rolled her eyes at him.
“You have no idea why I’m mad.”
He shrugged bewilderedly.
She let go of his shirt and paced away. “Spock has this specific, endangered-species inspired survivor's guilt. And he’s a reckless enough danger to himself without you handing him another way to nobly kill himself!”
“I’m sorry, Nyota, but I’m not sorry for saving those people,” Scott said earnestly.
“That was not remotely my objection,” she hissed at him, and stalked away. He watched her go in puzzled frustration.
Things went swiftly downhill from there: disgrace and death, resignation and Klingons, torpedoes and terrorists; murderous admirals and dying starships. They wouldn’t speak again until they stood outside the warp core, both of them as bruised and battered as their suffering ship, and wept helplessly on each other’s shoulders while their Captain died and Spock screamed at the sky.
Captain’s Log, Stardate 2259.110, supplemental. Note for log: Chief Engineer Lt. Cmdr. Scott and First Assistant Ensign Keenser have requested personal leave. Although irregular just prior to our deployment, permission has been granted.
“Let’s come back on the record,” Admiral Komack said. “If everyone is ready?” the assorted collection of Admirals and Commodores nodded. In the mezzanine, Chekov, Sulu, Uhura, and McCoy sat back down. They had not been subpoenaed, and had been permitted to attend the inquest. In rooms somewhere below, Kirk and Spock waited to testify, sequestered from the proceedings, the crew, and one another.
“It hasn’t been bad so far,” McCoy murmured, tugging on the collar of his dress uniform. “A lot of focus on Khan, Marcus, and the Vengeance.”
“It’s about to get bad,” Uhura sighed. “Scotty’s not going to throw anyone to the wolves if he can help it, but the questions are about to get really uncomfortable.”
“I remind everyone that this inquest is classified,” Komack continued. “Lieutenant Commander Scott, continuing with your testimony. You are still under oath. Admiral April?”
The venerable and deeply-respected former commander of the USS Constitution leaned forward. “Stardate 2259.110. The Captain’s log notes that you requested personal leave. Is that entry accurate?” April asked.
“No, sir,” Scott answered steadily. “I resigned.”
April frowned. “Not noted as such in the log, or reported immediately to command, as required by regulations. Presumably because a report that the chief engineer and second officer of the Federation’s flagship had resigned an hour before deployment would have brought immediate and intense scrutiny of the Captain, the orders, and the mission.”
“I cannae speak tae that, sir.”
“Why did you resign?” April asked.
“A number of experimental torpedoes had been brought aboard,” Scott answered. “I couldnae detect their fuel sources and was advised that the specs were classified above my clearance.”
“Just to clarify—how many torpedoes?”
“Seventy-two, sir.”
“And what is your security clearance?” the Admiral asked.
“Top secret, sir,” Scott answered.
“And the specifications for these torpedoes were above that?”
“So I was told, sir.”
“Continue, please.” April gestured. “How did this lead to your resignation?”
Scotty leaned on the podium. “Without specifications, there was no way tae tell whether the torpedoes would interfere with the magnetic balances required tae keep the warp core stable,” Scotty said. “Under those circumstances, regulations and my own judgment required me tae decline tae sign for the torpedoes. Captain Kirk disagreed with my assessment and asked me tae sign for them despite my objection.”
“Did he ask you to sign for the torpedoes, or did he order it?” April pressed.
“Ordered, sir.”
“How did you respond to that order?”
“I told him that I would resign rather than follow that order, sir.” Scott answered.
April nodded. “I’m sure you did. And that resignation was accepted?” he asked.
“Aye, sir.”
“Kirk then appointed a junior ensign, outside of the engineering department, as chief engineer,” April said, his voice pitched in sarcastic disbelief. At the end of their row, Chekov shifted uncomfortably.
“That’s my understanding,” Scott said.
“Were any of your engineering lieutenants, the deputy chiefs, aboard at the time?”
“All of them.”
“Mr. Chekov. Bright kid. Nineteen years old,” April said agreeably. “How many doctorates do you have, Mr. Scott?”
“Four, sir.”
“What fields?”
“Theoretical physics. Warp physics. Starship engineering. Mathematics,” Scotty answered.
“How many does Mr. Chekov have, if you know?”
“I believe he’s working on his first, sir.”
“Is there a chief engineer in the fleet with any fewer than two?” April asked.
“I dinnae believe so, sir.”
“What are the minimum number of continuing educational hours required of a chief engineer every year?”
”A hundred, sir,” Scott said.
”How many of those must be classified as safety and regulatory?”
”At least fifty.”
April pursed his lips, and glanced at his colleagues on the inquiry board. “So Ensign Chekov, the navigator without formal training as an Engineer, without the basic qualifications of a chief, and without requisite training in the safety regulations required of all chiefs, is appointed as chief engineer, and immediately signed for the torpedoes, as requested by the Captain.”
“Is that a question, sir?”
April leaned back in his chair. “I supposed the implied ‘was Mr. Chekov appointed only for his naiveté’ is more appropriately directed at Captain Kirk,” April agreed.
In the observation seats, Chekov grimaced. “It’s not true,” Sulu said softly to him. “And you know it.”
“Ensign Chekov is a fine officer,” Scott defended.
“No question is pending, Lieutenant Commander,” April said. “But here’s one: in your opinion, was the Captain’s order to you to sign for the torpedoes illegal?”
“Shit,” McCoy breathed.
“I told you,” Uhura said sorrowfully. “Hang on.”
“I’m nae a lawyer, sir,” Scott said, staring hard at the podium.
“You're a Starfleet Officer,” Komack interrupted. “Who was willing to resign rather than follow the order. And, Lieutenant Commander, I remind you that the terms of your own disciplinary action are contingent upon your full and honest testimony here,” Komack said.
Scott flushed red in anger, his jaw working.
McCoy leaned over to Uhura. “What the hell?” he asked softly. “What disciplinary action?”
Uhura’s gaze flashed, deep and angry. “They arrested him in the engine room of the Enterprise, in front of his people, and were going to bring him up on court martial charges. Bad ones. Infiltrating a secured facility. Stowing away on a Federation Starship. Sabotage. There were even threats of a murder charge.”
“Murder?” McCoy hissed quietly, startled.
“He vented a security officer into space when he opened the hatch for Kirk,” Uhura sighed. “I know you’ve been focused on the Captain’s health, and rightly so, Leonard, but Scotty’s pretty messed up just now.”
“Jesus,” McCoy murmured, rubbing his eyes. “He saved our lives. Those kinds of charges would send him to prison for the rest of his life.”
“That’s what his lawyer said too,” Uhura whispered. “Especially since, technically, he’s guilty on all counts. They couldn’t subpoena him if he was up on his own charges, so they told him they would drop the charges completely if he testified here against Kirk. He told them they could go fuck themselves. Those words, literally, to their admiral-y faces. Then Kirk woke up, got wind of it, and made him take the deal.” They turned their attention back to the hearing.
“I’ll ask you again,” the Admiral continued. “In your opinion, as a Starfleet Officer and Chief Engineer of the Enterprise, was Captain Kirk’s order to you to sign for the torpedoes illegal?”
Scott was struggling. “It was dangerous and unwise,” he answered. “And against numerous regulations.”
“Not the question, Lieutenant Commander,” Komack warned again. “Last chance. Legal or illegal?”
“Nae legal, sir,” Scott sighed.
“What was your understanding of the Enterprise’s orders?” April asked, taking over the questioning again.
“I hadnae been fully briefed,” Scott answered. “But my understanding was that we were tae hunt an alleged criminal and launch torpedoes at him on a world that is not one of our allies.”
“Which world?”
Scott hesitated. “Do you want me tae answer on the record, sir?”
“This inquest is classified. Answer the question.”
“The Klingon homeworld, sir.”
“In your opinion as a Starfleet officer and second officer of the Enterprise, were those orders legal or illegal?” April leveled a serious look at Scott. “Before you prevaricate again, Lieutenant Commander, I remind you of your duty of candor here.”
“In the absence of a declaration of war or self defense, nae legal, sir,” Scott sighed. “An opinion that I believe Captain Kirk came tae.”
“No question is pending,” April said icily. “As the second officer, do you agree or disagree that those illegal orders should have been declined outright, on threat of resignation, by a starship Captain and the First Officer.”
In the observation seats, McCoy sighed, disbelieving. “They’re going after Spock too.”
“Oh, they definitely are,” Uhura murmured unhappily.
“Do I agree or disagree?” Scott asked, clearly stalling for time.
“That is the question,” April said.
“As I said, I had not been fully briefed.”
“You are fully apprised of the facts now, Lieutenant Commander,” Komack interrupted again. “As the second officer of the Enterprise, under these facts, if the Captain had failed to refuse these illegal orders and the First Officer had then failed to relieve the Captain, would it or would it not have been the Second Officer’s duty to relieve them both and take command of the ship?”
“I wasnae aboard, sir,” Scotty answered, knuckles white on the podium.
“We’re not doing this with you, Lieutenant Commander,” Komack said dismissively. “Get the military police in here.”
“Just … let him answer, James,” April said placatingly. “Goddamnit, Scotty,” April breathed wearily, and it was an abrupt reminder that Scott had served under the Admiral—and Pike—aboard the Constitution in deep space. “You were willing to resign over the possibility of magnetic fluctuations. Why are you fighting to protect men who wouldn’t do the same to prevent the possibility of war?”
Scotty looked down and swallowed hard. “Admiral Pike loved them, sir,” Scott said softly to April, and April looked away, his jaw clenched in sorrow. Pike had been his first officer, and Pike’s fate was an agony for everyone who’d ever served with the man.
“The question still stands, and the MP’s are here,” Komack warned. “I will gladly have you arrested and reinstate all charges against you if you fail to answer again. Knowing what you know of the facts, and had you been aboard, would it have been your duty to relieve Captain Kirk and Commander Spock for continuing to execute Admiral Marcus’s orders?”
Scotty looked up into the seats in the mezzanine, at his shipmates.
“He has to say yes,” Uhura murmured.
“Had I been aboard, and had they given the order tae fire torpedoes at the Klingon homeworld,” Scotty said, dropping his gaze, “my answer is yes.”
“Should the Enterprise have embarked at all, on a mission with those orders as the intended result?” April continued.
Scott rubbed his face. “No,” he said wearily.
“The Captain’s order to cross into Klingon space: legal or illegal?”
Scott sighed. “Illegal, sir.”
“A violation, in fact, of treaties which could have led to war,” April said, pointed and sharp.
“Yes.”
Commodore Paris, the Enterprise’s immediate senior commander in Starship Group One, interrupted smoothly. “We are, perhaps, treading afield from Mr. Scott’s factual testimony and into hypotheticals. After all, Mr. Kirk did not use the torpedoes or fire on Kronos.” And then, blessedly, she threw the struggling engineer a line. “I have a question, however. Despite your many hesitations, Lieutenant Commander, you ended up on the USS Vengeance less than 24 hours later. You have already testified concerning your actions on the Vengeance. My question, Mr. Scott, is this: what prompted you to look for the Vengeance in the first place?”
Scotty took a breath.“I received a subspace communication from Captain Kirk, asking me tae look into whether there was something strange at some coordinates near Jupiter.”
“Where were you at the time? And what was the time you received that message?”
“San Francisco, ma’am,” Scott said. “Nearing 0100.”
“And you went immediately?”
“Aye, nearly. I’m afraid I had been drinking very heavily, ma’am. I was significantly intoxicated. I had tae sober up and obtain a shuttle, but I left by 0400.”
“This board is well acquainted with your passion for the Enterprise. Captain Kirk had just dismissed you from that ship. He had disregarded your wise advice. And yet, with one vague call from Kirk in the middle of the night, you were willing to put your career and, in fact, life on the line. Why?”
Scott blew out an breath and gripped the podium. “If you’ll indulge me in a long answer, ma’am. There are three versions of Captain Kirk. There’s ‘Jim,’ a young, kind, humble man who is a friend of mine. I dinnae see him very often. Then there’s ‘Kirk,’ a hothead who can be overruled by his fierce passions, and who doesnae listen to reason. He and I never get along, and our conversations usually end in shouting. It was ‘Kirk’ who was standing on the deck of the ship, askin’ me to sign for a load of torpedoes. And then, ma’am, there is ‘Captain James T. Kirk.’ He is one of the most extraordinary people I know. Brave, loyal, selfless, fearless, wise. It was Captain James T. Kirk on that line, asking me tae look intae something that his gut was telling him was wrong.” Scott looked up fiercely. “And ma’am, if James T. Kirk wanted me tae follow him straight tae hell, I’d go, and die there if he asked it of me.”
“A ringing endorsement,” Paris said serenely, “from a man without cause to give one.” It wasn’t a question for Scott, but a closing statement for the board of inquiry.
April leaned back in his chair and nodded ruefully, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “And a difficult one to get from this officer, who suffers no fools. I believe, gentlebeings, we have taken enough of the Lieutenant Commander’s time,” April said. “He has much work to do on the repair of Enterprise.” He paused; no one disagreed.
“You are dismissed, Mr. Scott,” Komack said, and the board decided to break for lunch before taking up the testimony of Commander Spock.
Uhura and McCoy had to run to try to catch Scott, who was exiting the building at maximum warp. “Scotty!” Uhura called sharply down at him from the second floor. He hesitated just enough that she knew he’d heard her, then continued toward the exit on the main floor without looking back.