“I’ll certainly try to make it as short as possible. So. There once was an idealistic Starfleet officer rising through the ranks, on his way to being an admiral, just as in those dreams he’d had as a child.”
“This is goin’ to be about you, isn’t it?” Scotty asked mischievously.
“Maybe. Just be quiet for a moment and listen, okay? So, there was this man, and in the fifties he was assigned as second officer to the Leonov. It did not take long for the troubles with the Tzenkethi to intensify. One day, the ship was caught between two Tzenkethi troop transports that fired on it. The enemy fire caused the warp core to breach. There was barely enough time for the Leonov’s crew to get to their life-pods and leave the ship before the core exploded, taking the ship with it. The fight had been initiated by the transports near an L-class planet, so the crew’s only chance was to land on that planet and fight for their survival. Unfortunately, the Tzenkethi fired on the slowest pods, killing roughly half of the remaining crew. The ones that managed to make it to the planet’s surface fought the enemy for over two weeks before reinforcements finally came.
“A few months later, the officer found out that the location of the Leonov had been leaked to the Tzenkethi by somebody in the Federation. Not somebody from Starfleet, but somebody who was working for an autonomous agency. The officer was enraged, of course, because that somebody was directly responsible for the destruction of the Leonov and for the deaths of three hundred sixty-four able men and women. He swore that he’d hunt down the person responsible and bring him to justice.
“So he spent month after month on the search, using all his contacts both inside and outside the Fleet to find clues as to the person’s whereabouts. Eventually, he was successful and caught him on a remote moon in the Arias sector.”
Unable to avoid being interested in how the story ended, Scotty asked, “And then what happened?”
“They talked. They talked for a long time, and during the conversation the officer realized that, while the deaths of the crew were a very high price to pay, everything the other man had done had been in the best interests of the Federation.”
And to think it had actually been interesting until now! “You’ve just lost me here. He’s the one that could just as well have killed your crew himself, and you’re defendin’ him?”
“That officer was angry, I will admit as much, but he did not let his anger cloud his mind. He listened to what the other man had to say, examined the proof, eventually spoke to some other people involved, and in the end he saw that there would have been many more deaths if the Leonov had not been attacked.”
“Why? What makes you say that? What sick, twisted mind can listen to all that hogwash and still be able to keep down his lunch?”
“The Leonov would have received orders to destroy a presumed industrial complex on Gauran Ja-Tem, a Tzenkethi border world, about two days later, had the attack not taken place. Many innocent people, mostly civilians and scientists, would have been killed. The repercussions of this assault would have been enormous, and the autonomous agency the man worked for had judged them to be grave enough to try everything in their might to avoid them.”
“And you’re actually believin’ that? You’re dafter than I thought, pardon my Tellarite.”
“Oh, I’ve had my doubts, rest assured. Still have them, as a matter of fact. But whenever I feel like I’m not doing the right thing, I walk over to the nearest mirror and look myself in the face. Never have I had cause to turn away. And not once have I regretted my decision not to report the man to the Fleet authorities.”
Ross apparently hadn’t noticed slipping from the third into the first person. Scotty wondered if that was significant.
“Is that all? Did you come here to tell me this story? I’m sorry, but you haven’t made me change my mind. If anythin’, you’ve strengthened my resolve not to have anythin’ to do with the likes of Nechayev and yourself for the rest of my life. Expect my final resignation to grace your desk when you get home,” he said and made as if to get up.
“Wait,” Ross said, placing a hand on the ex-engineer’s shoulder. “There’s more I have to tell you.”
“I’m not in a mood to listen, Admiral. I don’t think there’s anything you can tell me now that would make me change my mind about you.”
“Then it won’t hurt you if you listen to me, right? Last year, I was given a similar task to the one that Nechayev gave you, except that in my case it wasn’t an order, it was more of a friendly request.”
“That ‘autonomous agency’ you were tellin’ me about before, I suppose.”
“Indeed, yes. They needed somebody higher up in the Starfleet hierarchy to help place a mole in the Continuing Committee on Romulus. Because of my previous association with them, they thought of me. Just as I did that other time, I asked them to present me with all the documentation I needed to make up my mind. Scotty, I’m not one of those mindless fools with their finger constantly on the trigger who blindly follow orders, no matter how wrong those orders may be. However, if I can do something to save the Federation I love, then I’ll do it, and damn the bad conscience.”
Despite himself, Scotty was actually interested once more. Ross had…well, charisma, and besides, he’d heard rumors about that bilateral conference on Romulus last year that coincided with the ascension of Tal Shiar chairman Koval to the Committee.
“I have a relationship with Alynna that enables me to get her to tell me things she wouldn’t tell any other admiral, mostly because of the similarities of our professional lives. We met for lunch a few days ago, and she told me that you were a, and I quote, ‘real pain in my back end.’ Apparently, we both made use of the same tactic—pretending to have fallen ill quite suddenly.”
“An old trick, that was, and I really should have known better,” Scotty admitted, his logical self insisting that having a mole in the Continuing Committee was a tactical advantage, while his emotional self was jumping up and down, shouting that the ends did not justify the means, no matter how good one’s intentions were.
“Ah well, don’t chastise yourself because of it. The person I was forced to play that trick on also fell for it,” Ross said, “and he was not happy about it, not at all.
“If this was an ideal world, I would never have agreed to work with these people. You should know me well enough by now to believe me when I say this. I was idealistic once, when I was a raw cadet, but I soon realized that I had no reason to be that ‘daft,’ as you put it. The world was a bad—and a mad—place, and it still is. Yet the Dominion War is over now, the threats to the Federation reduced to a minimum, which is their only goal, you know. Keep the Federation safe, regardless of the cost.”
“And that is exactly the problem I’m havin’ with their actions. And Nechayev’s, for that matter.” As he spoke the words, something in Scotty’s mind clicked. “Wait a minute…is she working for them?”
“Even if I knew, I wouldn’t tell you. There’s a reason why keeping the organization a secret is of the utmost importance. If they knew about me telling you this, they’d be rather angry, to put it mildly.”
Scotty had a wee bit of trouble digesting all the information Ross had heaped on him, and while the image of the war veteran was changing into something of a somewhat unpredictable top-level operative sometimes working on the wrong side of the law, he also had to admit that it made Ross somewhat more…well, truth be told, more of a person. Before, Ross had been flat, unremarkable, the perfect soldier, with an altogether incomprehensible affection toward Scotty. Now, however, he had faults, he had dubious motives, just like every other human in the galaxy.
Come to think of it, that affection toward him was still as incomprehensible as ever. What better time to ask Ross about it than now?
“I can’t say you’ve won me over, Admiral, but at the very least, you’ve given me somethin’ to think about.”
“I should hope so. Now, let me ask the obvious question: is there really a chance of you returning to active duty?”
Okay, that had not come all that unexpectedly. “I really can’t say. Give me time to think about it, about everythin’. But please tell me: why me? Why not some other, younger genius of an engineer who’s currently workin’ on the U.S.S. Lollipop?”
“I’ll tell you why, Scotty. Because you’re different. You’re old-school, you know what a ship is made up of. You know how to work engines. However, you also know how to work people. That’s even more important for the job as S.C.E. liaison. You have to interact with people, you have to make them work with each other.”
“I’d be the one handin’ out assignments, just like Blackjack did, right?”
“Right. I believe Commander Lynch was assigned this duty by yourself when the two of you took over from Harriman, is that correct?”
“’Tis, indeed.”
“Care to tell me why?” Ross wanted to know, concern still etched into his face.
“It just didn’t feel like the kind of job best suited for me. I’ve always felt more confident with machines and computers than with people,” Scotty admitted, secretly amazed at how his mood had changed ever since Ross had more or less confessed to having been part of an organization that had no compunctions about working outside the law. “Don’t get me wrong, I like people. It’s just that…I don’t know…it is easier to find out what makes a warp engine tick, if you know what I mean, than doin’ the same for a person. People are a Daluvian puzzle to me, most of the time.”
“Ah, I don’t believe that. You’re working as a greeter on Risa, for goodness’ sake! If you don’t get along with people, you should have moved elsewhere. Friends tell me there’s a lump of rock orbiting 36 Ursae Majoris that offers its visitors spectacular views of the entire star system.”
“Now you’re just makin’ fun of me. I can’t say I’m in the mood for that right now.”
“I’m sorry, Scotty,” Ross said and stood up from the bench. He straightened his uniform, turned and asked, “When can I contact you again?”
“There’s no need to. I won’t change my mind,” Scotty replied, certain now that Ross was only wasting his time. But that was his problem, and not Scotty’s. An important admiral from Starfleet’s upper echelon wanted to spend hours, even days, trying to make him reconsider, so what? Let him. It certainly wasn’t Scotty’s responsibility to make Ross happy. Ross was a grown man who should have learned how to deal with disappointments.
Yet, deep down inside of him, Scotty also knew that Ross was a man who was eager to give more to the service than he expected to get back. The people of Starfleet were more important to William Johannes Ross than his own life and career. By his own admission, protecting the Federation from coming to any harm was his top priority, and he would do almost anything to achieve that.
There weren’t that many differences between Ross and himself, Scotty realized. They both had the same approach to their work, and they really cared about the people they worked so hard at protecting. It was only a matter of where one drew the line. Admiral Ross had found out for himself that he could draw it quite a bit further off than the retired Captain Scott.
Still standing on the same spot as before, Ross said, “I realize that you are still mad at Alynna, and you even have a good reason for it, unlike many other people. You didn’t want to hurt the Kropaslin, but by following her orders, you had no choice but to harm them and their civilization.” Stated like that, so matter-of-factly, it seemed extremely neutral and distant, rather like coming from an android than a human person.
“As I said, I had a conversation with Alynna a few days ago, and she told me that, while she understands the reasons for your ‘emotional outburst,’ as she called it, she does not in any way understand how you can hold her responsible for changes in Kropaslin society that the Kropaslin themselves are to blame for.”
Now that was too much, indeed. “What? How dare she! The carnaptious hag! If she hadn’t come to steal that cruiser, Kropaslin society would not have fallen apart!” Calm yourself down, Scotty! Do you want to get yourself sued by calling a Fleet admiral names?
“Maybe not. Maybe, however, it would still have done so, only at a later date. Who knows? The truth is, Scotty,” Ross said, playing with the com scrambler in his right hand, “the past is just that: the past. We can’t do anything about it, as Regulation 157 tells us. However, we can do something about the future. And that is where you come in.”
“Me?” Scotty had no idea what Ross was talking about.
“Yes, you. If you agree to become the full-time head of the Starfleet Corps of Engineers, leaving Commander Lynch free to retire, then you will have enough power and resources at your disposal to assist the Kropaslin with rebuilding their societal structures.”
“You’re havin’ me on, Admiral!” he said, unbelieving. “Aren’t you?”
“Oh, you’d know if I was. This, however, is serious. Just about as serious as I can make it.”
“That…that is…temptin’, to say the least. Still, I do need to think about it all. You said you’d give me some time for cogitatin’?” Scotty asked, realizing too late that he sounded vaguely optimistic. Ross didn’t deserve that much, certainly not.
“Yes, I did say that. Contact me when you have reached a decision, say, within the next month or so?”
“That’s acceptable. It might take the whole month, though.”
“I understand. Thank you for listening to me, Captain Scott. I appreciate that,” Ross said, and he sounded serious. He might have been an idealistic man once, but he had let himself be pulled over to the dark side by the evil forces that were at work within the Federation.
That sounds much too dramatic for an old tinker like me. I really must do something about that.
Scotty remained seated on the bench and watched Ross walk down the path that, some thirty meters from the Littlejohn Monument, was lined with tall trees on both sides. They had slightly orange leaves that prevented any light from reaching the ground. As he observed Ross disappearing in the shadows, he thought that this was an apt depiction of the admiral’s dilemma.
But Ross had made his decision long before. From the look of it, that had happened roughly two decades ago, during the Tzenkethi situation. Now he had to live with it.
Scotty didn’t know if he could do the same.
There was only one way to find out.
The following days were agonizingly long, which was mainly due to the fact that Scotty didn’t make it easy on himself. He still worked in the Engineering Room, and every time he walked by the artificial waterfall in the middle of the hotel lobby, directly underneath the artificial sun at the top of the lobby’s magnificent dome, he thought that it was not the worst kind of work he was doing here. Sure, there were almost no machines involved, and certainly no warp drive—unless you counted the ER’s cleverly disguised drink dispenser column—but that was not a major issue for him anymore. The truth of it was, he was content with his current job, and there would have been no reason at all for him to ask for a change if things had been normal.
Except that things were not normal. They actually never were, so that was not much of a surprise.
Ross, despite his flaws and questionable connections, had made him an offer that was very, very tempting. To take over the S.C.E. full-time, throw out Lynch, and take an active hand in organizing things was a huge task. He’d realized that when Harriman had talked to him about it in ’71, and today it wasn’t different.
As S.C.E. liaison to the admiralty he’d be the one handing out the assignments to the various ships and their crews, all the while making sure that the best of the best were working for the Corps. He’d be a sort of talent scout, constantly on the lookout for new engineers that seemed perfectly suited for Corps work. Most important, however, he’d be in the position to actively influence the Fleet’s technological development, as he’d have a say in their ship design policies.
Ah, the agony of making life-changing decisions! He could almost hear his sister scold him: Face it, Sc
otty, this is a prestigious job, and you’d be a real dobber if you said no. Clara, in addition to being the only one back then to call him by his future nickname instead of his proper name, had been the one to always tell him the truth outright and without embellishment.
Ah, the hell with it. He could think about it all later today, when his job was done. Indeed, today was a busy day at the Engineering Room. He’d shaken many hands and tentacles already, downed many drinks—in company, of course.
From the corner of his eye he saw the main doors open and two humanoid females enter. Promising the Hekaran in front of him to drop by later for a short talk, he started to walk toward the pair. They looked remarkably like mother and daughter, but he’d learned early enough that appearances were deceiving. They could just as easily be two lovers, or two friends. And besides, what looked like a female person didn’t always have to be a female person.
And the older of them looked rather familiar. He approached them swiftly, all the while concentrating on the face of the woman, trying to remember the person she reminded him of.
“Welcome to the Engineerin’ Room, on behalf of the management of the El Dorado. I’m—” he began, but had to stop himself because now he realized who the woman was.
It couldn’t be.
It simply couldn’t be.
She looked just like Christine Chapel, except that she didn’t. Her hair was different, and she was a bit younger than Christine had been the last time he’d seen her—the last picture of her in her Starfleet file, to be exact. It had to be a remarkable coincidence, finding somebody who looked so much like her, even if that was just as unlikely as having her really be here.
The younger of the pair, a thin lass with a round face and dark-brown hair, watched him closely, he noticed.
Get hold of yourself, Scotty!
“You are…?” she asked, offering him an encouraging smile.
“Scott. Montgomery Scott.” It was impossible for him not to study the face of the woman who was and was not her. “Christine?” he whispered before he could stop himself. The moment the word left his lips he felt the blood rush to his cheeks, caused by shame about the foolishness of actually thinking that this woman here was the real Christine Chapel, late of the Enterprise. Losh, his face must look like a port formation light! He suddenly felt as stupid as he had when he’d just been liberated from transporter stasis and he’d asked his rescuers if Kirk himself had managed to devise a means of saving him.
The Future Begins Page 8