Star Trek - Relics. Part 13

"Sir," said the Vulcan, "we must prepare for our approach to the starbase-which we will reach in ..." He glanced at his monitor. "Exactly twenty-two minutes and nine seconds."

"Of course," said Kirk, taking his guest's arm and ushering him in Spock's direction. "But first, I'd like to introduce you to Captain Jean-Luc Picard. Captain Picard, this is Mr. Spock, my first officer."

As Scott looked on, Picard and the Vulcan exchanged deferential nods. "A pleasure to meet you, Mister Spock," said the captain of the EnterpriseD.

The first officer's brow creased ever so slightly. "Sir... do I know you? There is something about you that seems..." He paused, somewhat discomfited. "Familiar," he finished-rather lamely, Scott thought.

Picard shook his head. "No. You have never seen me before this moment," he a.s.sured Spock. "But I feel as if I know you nonetheless. Let us just say... that your reputation precedes you."

There was something more there than met the eye, Scott decided. After all, Picard had purposely avoided answering Spock's question in the manner it had been posed. What's more, the Vulcan seemed aware of it, though he was too polite to pursue the matter any further.

"I am ... honored," said Spock.

"You have served the Federation in good stead. And I fully expect you will continue to do so."

That cinched it. Somewhere along the line, Picard had met Spock... the real Spock, not just a holodeck recreation of him.

Nor was there any reason he should not have. Vulcans were notoriously long-lived, and even in this era Spock would have been far from elderly.

Spock ... alive. It was a cheering thought. But it led to other thoughts a whole lot less cheering, for that was probably not the case with some of Scott's other comrades. He looked around the bridge again and saw them all in a new light.

Kirk, Spock and McCoy. Uhura, Sulu and Chekov. How many had survived, and in what shape? Who had lived to see this day of optical data chips and five-phase autocontainment fields ... and who had not?

Out of the corner of his eye, Scott noticed a reflection-his reflection-in one of the monitor screens of his engineering station. Turning toward it, he studied his image there.

It wasn't like Kirk's or McCoy's or Uhura's. It wasn't young. It was old. Ancient, it seemed to him. He didn't belong in this kind of company anymore. And they didn't belong here, on a s.h.i.+p that none of them would have recognized as their beloved Enterprise.

Suddenly finding that he had lost his taste for this particular program, Scott called out. "Computer, delete these people."

Instantly, faster than his mind could register the fact, they were absent from the program. There was no one on the bridge besides Scott and Picard.

The captain turned to him, his eyes framing a question. The older man shrugged. "It was time," he said. Then he remembered something else.

"I'd like my refreshments to reappear," he told the computer.

Before he knew it, his bottle of green liquor and its accompanying gla.s.s had a.s.sumed a visible reality again. Stooping to pick them up, he held them out meaningfully to Picard.

"Have a drink with me, Captain?"

For a moment, Picard gazed at the bottle full of green liquid, as if weighing his tolerance for it. "Why not?" he said finally.

Pouring a drink from the bottle, Scott handed it to the captain. The contents caught the light and s.h.i.+mmered as they sloshed.

"I got it in yer Ten-Forward lounge," the older man explained. "I'm nae sure what it is, exactly, but I'd be careful with it if I were you. It has a real..."

Scott's voice trailed off as Picard suddenly threw back the drink in a single, fluid motion. Nor did it have the effect Scott expected. On the contrary, Picard didn't appear to be staggered in the slightest.

"Aldebaran whiskey," said the captain appreciatively, as he returned the gla.s.s. "Northern continent. Stardate 36455-a good year. Not too much rain."

Scott must have been open-mouthed, because Picard smiled at his expression. "Tell me something, Captain Scott. Who do you think gave that bottle to Guinan in the first place?"

Scott felt the laughter bubble up inside him, and he had no reason not to let it out. Lord knew, he'd done little in the way of laughing since he left the twenty-third century behind.

"Ye're full o' surprises, Captain Picard."

Picard shrugged. "I try not to be too predictable. Keeps my people on their toes." A pause. "No, that's a lie. I'm very predictable."

He took another look at the antiquated bridge. Since there was no longer anyone on it, the captain had to be attending to the technical details.

"Const.i.tution-cla.s.s," he announced at last.

"Aye," said Scott. "Ye're familiar with it?"

"There's one at the fleet museum," the captain replied. "Well-preserved, too." And then "This is your Enterprise?"

Scott nodded thoughtfully. "One o' them. I actually served on two s.h.i.+ps with that proud name. This was the first, though, the one I spent the most time aboard. She was also the first s.h.i.+p I ever served on as engineer."

Picard sat down at the next bridge station over from the engineering console. It was a gesture that said tell me more.

Scott leaned toward him conspiratorially. "Ye know," said the older man, "I s.h.i.+pped out aboard eleven vessels in my career. Freighters, cruisers, stars.h.i.+ps, ye name it. But this is the only one I ever think about... the only one I ever really miss. Funny thing, is it nae?"

"Funny thing," Picard agreed. He looked up. "Computer, another gla.s.s. One like Captain Scott's."

Instantly, there was a gla.s.s in the captain's hand. He extended it meaningfully toward Scott.

"There ye go," said the older man, filling it and then his own. This time, they tossed back their drinks together.

"Ahh," said Scott, feeling it warm his insides on its way down.

For a time, there was an easy silence between them, a silence that made no demands on anyone. Nor was it a complete silence at that; in the background, there was the low base thrum of th e old Enterprise's various systems.

Running at peak efficiency-of course. Scott wouldn't have tolerated anything less.

Finally, he broke the silence. Turning to Picard, he asked "What was the first s.h.i.+p you ever served on? As captain, I mean?"

Picard grunted. "It was called ... the Stargazer."

"Ye say it like an incantation," the older man noted.

The captain smiled. "There was nothing magical about it, I a.s.sure you. The Stargazer was an overworked, underpowered vessel that was always on the verge of flying apart at the seams. In every measurable way, my Enterprise is a superior s.h.i.+p." A pause. "And yet, there are times when I miss that cramped little bridge more than I care to say."

Scott beamed. Here was a man who was very much like him, who could understand what he was going through.

"It's like the first time ye fall in love," he told Picard. "Ye dinnae ever love a woman quite the way ye did that first one. Here, allow me."

Scott poured another shot into the captain's gla.s.s. As before, the liquid gleamed as it captured the light. Then he poured himself a refill as well.

"A toast," he suggested. "To the Enterprise and the Stargazer... old girlfriends we'll never see again."

Clinking gla.s.ses, they drank up. Drawing a satisfied breath, Picard turned again to his companion. "And while we're on the subject of s.h.i.+ps ... what do you think of the EnterpriseD?"

"Ah," said Scott, "she's a beauty fer certain. A dream in duranium. With a good crew, too, as far as I can tell."

Picard could hear the reservation in his voice. "But?"

Scott took in the bridge with a sweep of his arm. "When I was here," he said, "I could tell ye the speed we were travelin' by the wee s.h.i.+verin' in the deck plates. I could feel it when we came about, and tell ye our heading without even looking. On yer s.h.i.+p ..." He shook his head. "Half the time, I cannae seem to tell up from down."

Suddenly, Scott was enveloped by a great sense of sadness, of loss. He turned again to his monitor screen and regarded his image there.

He was old. And like the comrades he had recreated moments earlier, he was out of place here, a round peg in a square hole. Time had pa.s.sed him by-like a dinosaur, like a relic of some prehistoric age.

Maybe it would have been better if he'd been lost in the transporter like poor Franklin. Then he'd have gone out at the top of his game. He'd have been remembered for what he was, not as some pathetic has-been.

Picard put a hand on his shoulder. "Feeling a little disoriented?" he asked congenially.

Scott sighed. "Feeling wrong," he replied. "I'm in the way here, Captain Picard. I'm a nuisance. Nothing's what it should be ... where it should be. d.a.m.n! I feel so b.l.o.o.d.y ... useless."

Picard looked at him sympathetically. "Seventy-five years is a long time, my friend. A big gap. You shouldn't expect to close it in a day. If you'd like to study some of the technical-"

Scott shook his head peremptorily. "I'm nae eighteen, Captain. I cannae start over again like a raw cadet."

"You need not start over," Picard told him. "Not entirely."

The older man shook his head. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he moved toward the captain's chair, then turned back toward Picard.

"There comes a time," he said, "when a man finds he cannae fall in love again ... when he knows that it's time to stop." Another wistful look around. "I dinnae belong on your s.h.i.+p, Captain. I belong on this one. This was my home. This was where I had a purpose. But this ..." He used his gla.s.s to indicate the entirety of the bridge. "... is nae real. It's just a computer-generated fantasy. And I'm just an old man, living in his memories of days gone by."

For a moment, Picard looked as if he was going to continue to argue otherwise. But he didn't. He just sat there.

Looking up at the computer grid somewhere above him, Scott called "Computer-shut this b.l.o.o.d.y thing off. It's time-high time-I acted my age."

Instantly, the old bridge vanished, leaving the two men on the stark, empty holodeck. Scott harrumphed at the sight of the yellow-on-black grid.

So this was what a dream looked like after all the trappings were stripped away. Somehow, it made him feel even emptier inside than before.

He nodded to Picard. Picard nodded back. And without another word, Montgomery Scott headed for the exit.

Chapter Nine.

AS SOUSA ENTERED THE REC, he saw Kane sitting all alone. Tranh and the others were there too, but at the opposite end of the room.

That didn't seem right, somehow. Kane belonged with the group, in the middle of the conversation. After all, he was their unofficial leader. He was the one about whom everyone else revolved.

"Andy!" said Tranh, beckoning to Sousa. "Come on, have a seat."

Kane looked up for a moment and took note. Then he turned away again.

Sousa went over to the group and sat down, but he couldn't help glancing in Kane's direction. "What's going on?" he asked. "Why's Kane over there all by himself?"

Tranh shrugged. "It's his choice, no one else's. We asked him to join us, but he refused." And then, in a lower voice "If you ask me, he's embarra.s.sed. After all that hype about being in tight with the captain, he's still getting the worst a.s.signments imaginable."

"That's not his fault," Sousa countered.

"No one said it was," replied Tranh. "Personally, I sympathize with him. But I don't think he wants any of my sympathy."

Sousa made a decision. "Excuse me," he said. And getting up, he crossed the room to where Kane was sitting.

His fellow ensign looked up. He didn't seem any different. He still had that air of confidence about him-that bravado that had made Sousa envy him so. h.e.l.l, he still envied him, despite the fact that Kane's fortunes had taken a turn for the worse.

"Hey," he said. "Mind if I sit down?"

Kane shrugged. "Suit yourself, helm-jockey."

Sousa sat. "How are things down in the shuttlebay?" he asked.

His friend smiled-but it wasn't his usual grin. It didn't have that old Kane charm in it. Instead, it seemed bra.s.sy, fake, as if Kane was hiding something behind it. Something he didn't dare allow anyone else to see.

"They're fine, just fine. How are things up on the bridge?"

Sousa shrugged. "I've got no complaints."

Kane grunted. "Of course you don't." A pause. "That's the problem with you. You've got no ambition. You think you've gotten to the bridge, you've made it," His expression turned sour. "But it's a long race, y'know? And the winner isn't always the one who starts off the fastest."

Sousa shook his head. "I'm not racing with you, Kane. You're my friend." He leaned closer. "If you're hurting, I'm hurting. If you're angry about how they're treating you, I'm angry too."

The other man looked at him for a second or two. Then he started to laugh. It was a cutting kind of laughter, intended to hurt. And it did.

"That's good, Sousa. Like I really believe that. Like you really care what happens to the compet.i.tion."

Sousa frowned. "Listen, man. I know what you're feeling. You're down. You're disappointed. But that's not going to last forever, okay?"

Kane chuckled derisively. "You've got it wrong, buddy. Very wrong. I'm not down and I'm not disappointed." He stood up. "I'm d.a.m.n Kane. And I don't need you or anybody else. Got it?"

Suddenly, Sousa was angry. Here he'd tried to help the poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d-and look what he was getting for his trouble.

He stood, too. "You know, Kane, I used to think you were really something. But you want to prove me wrong, that's fine. You sit here in the corner and feel sorry for yourself. But don't think I don't see through you. Don't think there's anyone here who doesn't see through you."

Kane's mouth twisted then and he reached out to grab Sousa's tunic. But Sousa was too fast for him; he grabbed Kane's wrist instead.

And it might have gone farther than that, except there was a crowd of crew members around them before he knew it, and some of them were driving a wedge between him and Kane. They glared at each other across the wedge, too, as if they still wanted to go at it. But it was over.

"Come on," someone whispered in Sousa's ear. "Walk away, man, walk away-before this goes on somebody's record."