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

Chapter Text

Chapter 3:

Wednesday, June 14th, 2243
The Lady Grey
On the North Atlantic

"It's gonna be a good sailing day."

Cor's voice still sounded shaky and teary, which wasn't too surprising. Scotty still felt shaky and not a little raw himself, though out of the two of them, he was in better shape and therefore quietly stepped into the leadership role as the battle transitioned into the aftermath. He took to directing their crew on what to do with the now-secured prisoners, directing that the boats be hoisted and secured, at least long enough to allow his best friend to get his head together.

He paused in his coordinating then though, looking at Corry, who had his face into the wind that had dissipated the last of the fog left after the sun rose. "Aye?"

"Yeah. A good wind and a following sea."

Scotty tried the same trick, sticking his face into the wind. But he couldn't seem to tap into exactly what sixth sense told Corry that. After another moment, he quit trying and went back to rattling off orders to the crew, albeit on the low-toned side.

Still, the comment stuck with him.

"If O'Sullivan doesn't walk the plank willingly, can I push him?" Albright asked, still rubbing his head from where he'd been hit, as he made his way over.

Having been on the receiving end of that fist, Scotty could sympathize. "Ye'll get first go, Joey."

"Good." Joe took a breath, looking at Cor, worry cutting across his expression. "You okay, Corry?"

Corry just nodded, not looking away from the ocean, swaying easily with the motion of the Lady Grey like a fixed piece of the schooner.

"Where's Lewis?" Scotty asked, glancing around the deck.

Joe half-shrugged. "Still making sure our prisoners are comfortable. We're kind of a packed ship right now. Want me to go get him?"

"Not yet."

Jansson was the next to join the impromptu design team reunion, looking tired but cheerful in the orange light. "Well, what's left? We've got prisoners, we're still afloat-- time to go sink the Queen Mary?"

There was a long pause, and Scotty thought about it. "Cor-- ye sure about that weather?"

That got Corry to look away from the wind, and he nodded, sounding a little better. "Yeah, I'm sure."

Scotty nodded, gave Corry a pat on the shoulder, and then walked away.

"Where's he going?" Joe asked, looking after the shipwright.

"Take her."

Sean Kelley was standing at the bulwark, looking at the Queen Mary with an expression that could only really be called complicated, but that was enough to jerk his attention right back to the immediate vicinity. He blinked in surprise, eyeing Scotty as though he hadn't quite heard that right. "Huh?"

Scotty looked at the steel full-rigger himself for a moment; took her in as a piece of engineering instead of a target, and he found himself smiling.  Then he looked back at Sean. "Yer ship, Captain Kelley. Take her. And as many o' yer crew as ye need to sail her; just leave us the saboteurs, and promise ye won't disable that jamming device until sunset." 

"Seriously?" Sean still looked a little shocked, but there was something else in his expression and voice, too; for the first time since he jumped -- since they jumped -- he looked genuinely happy, a smile breaking across his face. "You're not going to sink her?"

There was nothing at all left in Scotty that thought that was the right thing to do, now. "No."

Though, then a thought occurred to him. He worked it over once or twice, and found himself having to fight down a laugh. "Don't win the race, though."

"But you guys aren't going to be able to," Sean replied. He didn't sound like he was protesting, though, more like he was just confused.

"We're not, no."

"So, who will?"

Completely despite his best efforts, Scotty grinned. "After all o' this? I want Command to have to name a starship 'Barely Afloat'."

Sean stared at him for a moment, incredulously. And then he started laughing, hard, practically to the point of tears.

"You what?!" If the fact that they were cutting the Queen Mary loose wasn't enough to break through Corry's distraction, then the fact that the Barely Afloat would win the race was. It was absurd. And even though he was still reeling, the back of his throat was tickling with a laugh at it. "That's-- that's really absurd."

Scotty nodded, eyebrows up, perfectly earnest. "Aye, it is."

"So, what're we gonna do between now and sunset?" Joe asked; unlike Corry, he had been laughing pretty much from the moment the announcement was made and still was chuckling. So was Jansson.

"Good sailin' weather, right?" Scotty shrugged, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bulwark. "We sail. Heave to before sunset and throw some bastards overboard for a quick swim, and then wait for Starfleet to show up when they realize what happened."

It was amazing how you could want to laugh and cry at the exact same time. Corry huffed out a breath, trying to get the feelings back under control, but he couldn't quite do it. After the struggles, after the repeated near-death experiences, after all of it-- he almost couldn't breathe, but it was in a good way, not in that terrible way where he felt like he was sinking into some place where man was never meant to go.

"I mean, ye'll have to mind the repairs," Scotty was saying, looking off to the horizon. "And ye might have to put up with me heavin' over the lee bulwarks, or finishin' off the saltines--"

Cor swallowed hard, taking a few deep breaths. Shaky all over again. But he managed a slightly cracked, "Thank you."

"It's what I built her for." Scotty chuckled, dryly. "I kinda lost sight o' that."

"Yeah, me too," Corry said, and didn't feel too bad at having to wipe his eyes on his sleeve. But he was smiling, even if he didn't exactly know why, and it felt good. Right. Geez, he felt okay; dazed and raw, but--

He felt right.

"Pick a horizon," Scotty said, half-smiling. "I'm goin' and takin' a nap."

In the end, the Lady Grey took the bone in her teeth and ran; drove rainbows from under her bow, every thread of canvas rigged flying aloft. Hauled over to a portside tack, she nearly buried her lee rail under the sea a few times.

The Wildstorm's crew, despite their gratitude (and the promise that they would tell all about the rescue at sea by the Lady Grey at whatever hearings would be due soon), ended up going with the Queen Mary. Most of Kelley's crew ended up going with him, too, aside the saboteurs; it was doubtful that they'd do anything but be well-behaved themselves with that many people to keep them in line.

Which left the original Team C with their prisoners, but no one was thinking about that right now. There was a certain sense of relief in the air, almost tangible, certainly as substantial as the wind that had the Grey bowing and dancing through the water.

As though they had faced the real trial, regardless of what Starfleet would end up doing.

Half-dozing, sometimes asleep, sometimes adrift, Scotty was sure that was exactly what it was. The storm was over. There was nothing that a court-martial could do to him that came close to what he had lived through and nearly died for; nothing that they could take from him more important than what he'd lost and gained. In the fire. In the water. On the Queen Mary.

And now. There against the bulwark, in the play between sun and shadow from the sails, only occasionally getting jolted when the spray made it up over the weather-side rail where he was reasonably sheltered from wind and water.

He drifted there, tired all the way into his soul, but a good kind of tired. Just weary, and peaceful, and still. He probably could have gotten up and pretended to be a sailor; hauled the lines, manned the wheel or just stood watch, but in the end, this was the spot that he had come to think of as his. Braced against a bulwark, secure enough that he didn't feel seasick. Even the bells being sounded didn't bother him, and he'd grinned a bit drowsily at the realization that he was actually kind of relieved to hear them ring for the normal watches again.

She wasn't a starship, but he wouldn't have traded her in that moment for any starship.

This was what he built her for. To sail fast, full and drawing, under the command of someone who loved her and who was now probably living and breathing this day back on the quarterdeck.

It was as close as Scotty could get to turning back time for awhile, and it had cost a lot of everyone, but it was worth it.

The Lady Grey was where she belonged, and so were they.

-ding-ding-

Corry smiled, but didn't open his eyes. The air was pretty warm, even into the evening, and after the hours he spent on the quarterdeck or on the mast, or hauling lines, trimming sails, running the Grey as hard as her patched hull would allow, it was nice to sit and rest for a short time. He still felt raw, like his nerve endings were all exposed, but it wasn't in a bad way.

-ding-ding-

"I love that sound," he said.

"It's not too bad," was the grudging reply from the other side of the brace. "What time is it?"

-ding-ding-

"Start of the First Watch."

"Already?"

"Ayuh,” he said, and then shook his head with a smile at the inevitable giggle that answered him.  Even if that was the point of him saying it in the first place.

-ding-ding-

It was hard to believe how fast the day had gone. Not to say it was a short day; sunrise to now, 2000 hours, in the summer on the Atlantic, and it would be awhile more until the sun set. But it still had gone fast. Cor had only just slowed down a half-hour or so ago; settled down on the other side of the brace from Scotty, letting his crew handle the sailing for awhile.

There were a bunch of times he thought about dragging his best friend away from his spot there to show him something, but in the end, Corry had decided that if anyone deserved to spend a day dozing in peace, it was Scotty.

The fact that it was peace, something Corry wasn't sure he'd ever actually seen from Scotty before, made it worth it.

Cor didn't let himself think about what was going to happen at twilight, when Starfleet showed up. He would have to give up his ship, and then there would be inquiries, court-martials, maybe even prison time. He didn't regret anything, but he didn't plan on thinking about it until he didn't have any other choice. For now, they were on the ocean.

"I, uh..." Corry chuckled at himself, shaking his head. "I wouldn't be here if not for you. You know that, right?"

There was a long pause, then Scotty grumbled, "Don't go gettin' sentimental on me, all right? I'm drawin' the line at heartfelt discussions."

Cor had to laugh at that one. After everything, maybe there was a good point to that plan -- what could anyone ever really say about it all?

Maybe they'd already said it, in all the ways that mattered.

"I've gotcha," Corry said, not entirely out of the blue, and he knew that it would be understood. If only because it was the first time he was starting to really get it himself.

He could hear the smile in the answer: "I know."

The deck was a bit rowdy, but that wasn't anything like a surprise. After the past few days, people were having fun; the certain knowledge that things would all come to an end shortly had something to do with it. It was decompression, in a way; trying to release some stress before it was over.

"Arrrrrr!" Jansson said, striking a pose, sounding and looking like a fool and obviously not caring.

Scotty was absolutely sure that Corry would make Jerry look like a top-billed Shakespearean actor, regardless.

The 'prisoners' were busy glaring darts at everyone else; tied quite well and with sailors' knots, the only one of them not glaring was Harrison. He was still looking kind of stunned, kind of miserable, kind of terrified. Scotty couldn't blame him; impulsive as he himself had been of late, Harrison's terrors and ambitions had gone much further.

He paused from watching the plank being put out for this little high-seas 'execution', a moment of indecision, then headed over. O'Sullivan gave him a long, hard look; Scotty only briefly returned it, one eyebrow up, then ignored him further.

Harrison looked at him in appeal, but Scotty wasn't quite ready to grant one. Still, he wasn't about to go kicking a man while he was down, either. "They can't kill ye," he said, without any preambles.

"They can kill my career," Harrison replied, swallowing, then looking elsewhere. "Send me to prison to break rocks. I mean, I held a phaser set to kill on you. That's prison time right there."

"Aye, it is." The fact that the phaser really had been set to kill made Scotty's stomach do a flip, but he managed to keep that out of his voice. It was over now, and he was still alive; dwelling too hard on the could have happened would only add stress he didn’t need right now. "But that doesn't change the fact that ye'll live to see tomorrow."

"I guess not." Harrison didn't look like he believed it. But, Scotty reasoned, it wasn't his job to comfort someone who could have killed him; only to be fair about things.

Maybe Harrison would figure out what the important thing was, in the end. Maybe not. At least Scotty had.

"All right, swabbies, let's send some blackguards to the briny deep!" Corry's voice cut through any introspection, and everyone on deck looked at him. Then looked harder. "Mister Albright, please scan and make sure there are plenty of sharks in the near vicinity!"

Albright was too busy staring to acknowledge the order. In fact, everyone on deck was too busy staring to do anything but that.

The fact that Cor was in full, stereotypical pirate regalia had something to do with it. Absurdly bright colors, with a fake gold hoop in one ear, with fake hook covering his hand, and a not-so-fake cutlass in his sash, he looked like he'd stepped out of a storybook.

But it was the huge, obviously false black beard that was hanging to his waist that did it.

"What arrrrrrrre you waiting for?!" he barked, brandishing his hook high. "Get to it, ya slacks!"

And the entire deck crew, with the exception of the prisoners, busted up laughing.

Corry kept playing his mad pirate routine, generally insulting his crew with the worst imitation oaths ever, but eventually Albright managed to quit laughing long enough to report, "Twenty-three sharks in a half-mile, Captain Blackbeard!"

"ARrrRRgh! And bring on the chum!" Corry replied, pulling his cutlass dramatically once he made sure that no one would be accidentally impaled.

While they were doing that, he made his way over to Scotty, quieting a little. "What?"

Scotty just shook his head, slowly, trying his absolute best not to start laughing again. But it was a fight he was losing. "Ye look like--"

"Like a fearsome, deadly pirate about to turn people into chum?" Cor asked, grinning, eyebrows pegged up.

"Like an idiot," Scotty finished, and was still laughing when Corry dragged him to the side and threatened to pitch him overboard.

"Mister O'Sullivan! For mutiny, piracy -- arrr, we be hypocrites! -- assault and various other nefarious deeds, we're hereby offering you to the sharks! And may whatever higher power you believe in-- well, to hell with it! Over with the bastard!"

Far and away, Corry's pirating routine was more memorable than throwing the prisoners overboard. Simply because, despite some growling from the mutineers, the real theatrics were in Cor's over-the-top performance.

O'Sullivan didn't actually put up any fight, probably to deprive them of the joy of throwing him over. He clearly wasn't afraid; despite all talk of sharks, everyone knew that the scans had been confirming the lack thereof. And all of the prisoners had life-vests on before they were pitched over, along with two teams of cadets ready to haul them out again.

As such, Keith just gave a long, narrow-eyed look at the crew and Scotty in particular, then stepped off the plank.

As the rescue crew was busy working on hauling him out, Maggie made the walk. She was trying to take a page from her boyfriend's book, but wasn't doing nearly so good a job of it.

"This is absurd!" she said, setting her heels and requiring the cadets escorting her to the plank to half-drag her the rest of the way.

Corry briefly dropped his mad pirate persona for a moment, grinning back at her brightly. "Well, yeah. That's kind of the point."

She didn't apparently get it, just stared at him, incredulously. The cadets stuck her on the plank, then nudged her out. "Why?!"

Scotty was the one who ended up replying, with a smirk. "'Cause it's good for a laugh."

And it was. Not only did she screech when she was pushed off of the plank, but she likewise screeched when she hit the cold water. It was gratifying actually getting a reaction from one of the mutineers, at least, since O’Sullivan had taken it with such stoicism.

Harrison was the last one, largely because the crew of the Lady Grey felt the most strongly about his deeds. While O'Sullivan had a part, and the others did as well, Harrison was the one who nearly sunk the schooner and likely had masterminded quite a bit of it.

As of now, he simply looked miserable, as though any fear of being pushed overboard couldn't compare to the internal grief. If not for the fact that he had been so much a part of the whole mess, Scotty would have probably felt more badly for him.

Corry was about to say something, face gone grim despite his terrible costume, but Scotty cut him off; he didn't raise his voice much, but after only a few words, the entire deck fell silent.

"I don't think any of us were particularly thinkin' when we got started on this whole mess. I know I wasn't. And," he shrugged there, "I don't really think we've got all that much right to judge ye. I'm guessin' the inquiry we're all gonna be facin' here shortly will do a better job than us lot can."

Harrison looked briefly relieved, but then Scotty shook his head and the look faded as he continued talking, "I'm not gonna pretend this isn't revenge. It is. Ye damn near destroyed this schooner, damn near killed a whole lot o' people, and I don't think there's any possible explanation or excuse ye could give that'd make any o' that acceptable. We all made our share o' mistakes. But when it came down to givin' up the race and everything else, or continuin' on and maybe costin' lives, we made the right call."

There was a long pause, and Scotty nodded to the 'executioners', who pushed Harrison up onto the plank. It wasn't a huge struggle, but it was enough of one.

It wasn't all that satisfying, watching Harrison start to panic. But the next words were.

"We made the right call." Scotty tipped his chin up. "Consider yerself lucky that ye'll someday get the chance to make the right one yerself."

The sun settled down on the horizon, low and vivid. Things had quieted down again; on the quarterdeck, it was nearly silent, just the sounds of the sea and the light of the sunset throwing out the last warm colors of the day in a brilliant display.

The taffrail he'd gone over to dive under the schooner was warm under his hands, and the internal calm he'd managed to find today was still entirely present. It was, for the moment, just the sea and the schooner and himself. Corry was up aloft on his platform, or had been last time Scotty had looked, and was doubtless soaking in these last moments on the Atlantic, steeling himself for the inevitable, reflecting on the same strange inevitability that had led them here.

But it wasn't really fate. Or destiny. Still all about choices; which ones could make you, which ones could break you. Upsea or down. Sink or swim. Maybe even live or die.

The universe may or may not notice.

Scotty nodded to himself.

To hell with the universe. It could ask all of the questions it wanted, and some of those could never be answered. And he could ask it all of the questions he wanted, and those wouldn't be either. When it came down to it--

When it came down to it, regardless of the universe, regardless of everything, the choices were still his own.

"Shame we won't get to use those guns," Corry said, stepping up to the taffrail just as the sun's bottom red-orange edge touched the horizon, likely just down from his time aloft. It didn't sound like he was all that bothered by it, though. More just a random, slightly amused comment.

"Aye, I think Joey may be mournin'. All that work, and they'll never be fired."

"Yeah. Probably be melted down or something." Cor leaned on the rail on his elbows, taking a deep breath and letting it out, watching the sun sink faster.

Scotty nodded himself, and mirrored the motion. "They'll be here in probably a half hour? Give or take."

"I know."

Half down, sunk into the ocean, the sun was all red now. Good sailing day tomorrow, even if by then they would likely be behind bars or at least confined somewhere.

"Didn't the navies do somethin' with the guns, to salute other ships?" Scotty asked, at length.

"Yeah," Corry said, with a side-long glance. "They'd fire their cannons. Show that they were willing to put themselves into a vulnerable position, since it takes time to reload, as a salute to another nation's ship."

Scotty looked over, one eye closed, grinning some.  "Well, we do have cannons..."

Corry grinned back, just as the sun left the sky.

And when Starfleet's shuttle showed up in the twilight, hovering near the Lady Grey, for the first time in centuries a gun salute was fired by a ship at sea.