by Dayton Ward
“What the devil have ye done here, lad?” Looking inside an access panel on one of the engine components, Scott could see that the entire inner workings of the power regulation system appeared to have been completely rebuilt from the ground up. The original network of internal circuitry, what was left of it, had been augmented, enhanced, and in some ways reconstructed in schemes he had never seen or even imagined before. It amazed him that the shuttlecraft engine didn’t blow apart the instant it was activated, much less actually allow the vessel it powered to fly.
“It’s like I keep telling you,” al-Khaled told him as he inspected the power settings on another of the power plant components. “We have a lot of time to tinker between assignments. Not to mention that when something breaks, we’re usually in a spot where we can’t put in to a starbase for replacement supplies. Sometimes we have to adapt to the environment, whatever it might be.” Opening one of the engine shell’s larger access panels, he indicated for Scott to look.
Doing as he was asked, Scott peered into the opening and saw a plethora of wiring running to and from what should have been a flow regulator, responsible for channeling deuterium within a shuttle’s engine core and warp nacelles. But what he was looking at was most definitely not Federation issue.
“That almost looks…,” he began uncertainly.
“Klingon,” al-Khaled finished for him. “We salvaged it from a crashed scout ship we found about a year ago. We’ve taken it apart, documented its specifications and sent the information to Starfleet Research and Development. The thing works better than the one that originally came with this engine. I wish I had half a dozen more just like it.” He couldn’t suppress the playful grin that was forcing itself onto his face. “Maybe some of its features will make their way into future engine designs. Wouldn’t that be something?”
The younger man’s enthusiasm was infectious, very similar to what Scott had felt when he was confronted with a challenging technical problem. Having watched the man and his team in action, Scott was now convinced that the Corps of Engineers, with its oftentimes nonconformist methods, was just the arena where a man of al-Khaled’s talents could flourish.
“The engines on these shuttles operate around twelve to fifteen percent above normal standards,” al-Khaled explained. “And we have a few tricks that can squeeze even more out of them. It still won’t replace the station’s normal reactor, but it should be more than enough to power most of the outpost’s primary systems. We can reconfigure the power distribution to bypass nonessential expenditures, and that should be enough to get them by until the replacement reactor arrives.”
“Lovell to landing party,” Okagawa’s voice sounded in their helmets. “How is everything going down there, Mahmud?”
Tapping his suit’s external communicator control, al-Khaled replied, “We’ve just about finished here, Captain. Give us five more minutes.” He turned to see Ensign Ghrex stepping out of the reactor chamber’s master control room as the Denobulan gave him a thumbs-up sign, confirming his report.
“Excellent. I have no doubt this will work, Lieutenant. You and your team are to be commended.”
Exchanging frowns at the praise, al-Khaled tried to keep the doubt from his voice as he said, “Thank you, sir. However, perhaps it is unwise to congratulate us before we’ve had a chance to test our theory.”
“No need, Lieutenant,” the Lovell’s captain responded, the tone of his speech adopting a paternal yet almost teasing quality that Scott suspected had been employed against the engineers on more than one occasion. “After all, if this doesn’t work, then the entire Federation intelligence-gathering apparatus in this region of space will be effectively neutralized. You certainly wouldn’t allow me to make such a report to Starfleet Command now, would you?”
Unable to stifle the laugh provoked by that, al-Khaled shook his head in mock defeat. “Well, when you put it that way, Captain, I cannot disagree. Stand by.” Severing the connection, he turned his attention back to Scott. “Well, I suppose there’s only one thing left to do. Ghrex? LeGere? Are you ready?”
From the control room, LeGere replied, “Aye, sir. Ready when you are.”
Indicating the trio of salvaged shuttlecraft engines with a nod of his head, he said to Scott, “Let’s see what happens.”
While Ghrex and LeGere monitored the proceedings from the control center and stood ready to sever the power connections at a moment’s notice, Scott and al-Khaled activated the three engines. Scott could feel the rock floor of the reactor chamber begin to vibrate in concert with the units’ increasing power levels.
“Readings are steady,” Ghrex reported from the control room. “Power levels are within normal levels, sir.”
Scott was the first to detect it, though, a tremor in the protective shell encasing the third of the three shuttle engines that was almost imperceptible through the thick layers of his suit glove. Had he not had a hand on the control panel built into one side of the unit, he most likely would never have detected it.
At nearly the same instant, Ensign LeGere shouted from the control room, “I’m picking up a power fluctuation in engine three!”
“Shut it down!” Scott called even as an alarm sounded from a status display on the engine’s control panel. Reaching out, he stabbed the emergency shutdown switch and the suddenly ailing power unit immediately began to deactivate itself.
“We overloaded the internal flow regulator,” al-Khaled reported, consulting his tricorder. Casting a wry look at Scott, he added, “I told you I wish we had more of those Klingon parts.”
Ignoring the attempt at humor, Scott was already opening the panel that would give him access to the engine’s internal systems. Looking inside, he realized that he would not need a tricorder to determine the extent of their latest problem. “Aye,” he said, “it’s had it, all right.” Without the flow regulator, the power generated by the engine would be unchecked, creating a potentially dangerous situation when trying to channel that energy through the outpost’s distribution network.
“Let’s get it out of there,” al-Khaled said, moving to help. “We’ve got less than six hours to repair it and get this engine back up and running before we lose the station’s battery power.” Without its battery backup system, the outpost would lose everything, including life support to the fifteen personnel still trapped within the facility’s lower levels.
“Can ye not simply replace it?” Scott asked. “Surely ye’ve got another one aboard ship?” With the Lovell’s transporters all but useless after only a few hundred meters below the surface, they would need the Mole to travel back up the tunnel and retrieve any replacement components the ship could provide.
But the look on al-Khaled’s face told him that things were not going to go according to that plan.
“We don’t have a replacement regulator,” the younger engineer said, grimacing as if in pain at having to admit that. “We were overdue for resupply before we took on this mission, and besides, we’re never exactly first priority when it comes to replacement parts. That’s another reason we end up improvising so much.”
Scott shook his head. It disgusted him to think that with all the talent possessed by the members of the Lovell’s crew of engineering specialists and with the efficiency and practicality with which Starfleet normally operated, that any one of its ships should find itself in such a situation. Something as ridiculous as not being considered important enough to obtain proper supplies might actually end up defeating them here, especially after all they’d had to deal with so far.
Not if he could help it, though.
Looking about the reactor chamber, it didn’t take Scott long to zero in on the Mole, sitting unattended near the mouth of the tunnel it had created mere hours before. After all, it was the only thing in the room that could even begin to serve their present needs.
“We’ll pull the flow regulator from the drilling rig,” he said simply as he set off in the direction of the vehicle.
“It’s not strong e
nough to handle the power put out by a shuttle’s engine,” al-Khaled countered. “There’s no way it’ll hold together.”
Casting a knowing smile at his companion, Scott said. “Trust me, laddie. You’ve done a fine bit o’ miracle workin’ here today. Now it’s my turn.”
“I don’t believe it,” al-Khaled said, making no effort to hide the stunned expression on his face.
No sooner did Scott activate the repaired shuttle engine than the unit immediately began its power-up sequence. After only a handful of seconds it had begun to generate power at a level equal to its two counterparts. In fact, as Scott scanned the engine with his tricorder, he was pleased to note that the unit’s output was actually a few percentage points more than the other engines.
“It’s a simple thing, lad,” Scott said. “These drilling rigs are tough little beasties, designed to handle a lot more punishment than most engineers are willin’ to expose ’em to. In fact, the flow sensors in this particular model work on a wee bit more than the conservative side, if ye ask me. Ye can almost bypass the bloody thing entirely.” Which was exactly what he had done when he had removed the flow regulator from the Mole and hastily installed it into the shuttle engine. Now more than ever, he was thankful for that group of dilithium miners and the patience they had demonstrated all those years ago, obliging young Ensign Montgomery Scott and his endless stream of questions and burning desire to learn about just one more facet of engineering.
“Power levels are steady,” Ensign Ghrex called out from the reactor control room. “All primary outpost systems are on-line and functioning. Captain Okagawa reports that full capacity has been restored to the main control center.”
Scott nodded in approval. They had already received a report from the Lovell’s captain that another team from the ship had successfully reached the remaining outpost crewmembers who had been trapped during the storm. The better news was that all fifteen people had been recovered with no further casualties.
“I guess our work here is done,” Scott said to al-Khaled as they made their final preparations to leave the reactor room behind. “There’s no reason why these wee bairns willna run just fine until that replacement reactor gets here.” Of course he knew that a team from the Lovell would be brought down to assist the outpost engineers until the reactor actually arrived, but there was no reason to expect any more problems.
“Just another day at the office, I suppose,” al-Khaled replied. Smiling wryly at Scott, the younger man asked, “So, Scotty, ready to chuck that pampered life aboard a starship and join a group of real engineers? I think you’d fit in just fine with the Corps.”
Laughing, Scott shook his head. “I dinna think so, lad. I’ve been looking forward to my next assignment for quite some time.” He wasn’t about to give up his upcoming posting to the Enterprise, at least not without a fight. Still, he had to admit to himself that were circumstances different, he might very well find life with the Corps of Engineers exciting enough.
With any luck, though, life aboard the Enterprise would provide its own set of challenges.
“One thing I intend to do when we get back for our after-action briefing, though,” he said, “is file a report to Starfleet Command with recommendations for the Corps. I know that your group was originally established to handle more routine assignments that don’t always make the Federation News Network. But this wasna some underground colony ye dug outta the rock, lads. This type of work is a wee bit more specialized, and dangerous. If they mean to send ye out on more missions like this, then they’ll hafta do a wee better job of supportin’ you.”
This assignment may not have enticed Scott to transfer over to this branch of Starfleet, but it had convinced him that a dedicated group of engineers, separate from the demands of regular ships of the line, could be a valuable resource. Not simply for performing the regular, mundane, even boring types of assignments for which the Corps had been created, he saw the potential to utilize the obviously unique talents and experience that a group of such high-specialized professional technicians could bring to the table. What was needed was for Starfleet Command to provide the necessary logistical and administrative elements to support such an initiative, just as they would for other departments and ships in the fleet.
“You’re talking about changing the minds of bureaucrats, Commander,” al-Khaled countered. “That’s going to take some serious report writing.”
Scott indicated the tunnel leading from the reactor room to the asteroid’s surface with a nod of his head. With the turboshafts and access crawlways leading to the outpost’s upper levels still blocked off due to damage from the ion storm, it was still the only way for the engineers to effect their departure. However, not even the Mole was at their service for the return trip back up the tunnel. All that was left was the engineers’ own feet.
“Well, considerin’ that I basically broke our only means of gettin’ outta here, I figure I have plenty of time to come up with a first draft. Come along, lad.”
And with that, the engineers began their long walk home.
Chapter
8
Stardate 53675.4
Montgomery Scott.
If ever there were an engineer’s engineer, thought Kieran Duffy, it’s Scotty.
As he started to settle back in his seat at the engineering station, the sound of someone clearing his throat shook him back to the twenty-fourth century and the issues at hand. “Sorry, Captain, are my fifteen minutes up?”
“Promote me to admiral and I’ll buy you another fifteen minutes,” said Fabian Stevens, who had silently made his way to Duffy’s post without interrupting the reading engineer. “I’d look good with a boxed pip or two.”
“Good like a Medusan,” Duffy quipped, “because if I ever see you sporting one of those, I’d better have a visor on. What are you doing up at this hour?”
“As soon as Bart got back from the bridge, griping about our heading into a first contact situation, how could I go back to sleep?” Stevens turned to look at the Senuta ship in the main viewer. “Any ideas?”
“I’m kicking stuff around,” Duffy said as he let out a heavy breath. “You know me. Something’s bound to fall out of my head at any minute.”
“Out of your head and right onto the deck. Well, I’m ready to help.” Stevens leaned on the console and moved a bit closer to speak to his friend. “Bart tells me that you did some morale-building from the big chair at my expense.”
“I was just telling the Tellarite story to the night shift.”
Stevens groaned. “I hate the Tellarite story.”
“I loooove the Tellarite story. I even told Core-Breach the Tellarite story.”
“I know. She mentioned it.”
Duffy did not mask his surprise that Domenica Corsi, the ship’s security chief and one of his prime foils, had talked with Stevens about such matters. “She mentioned it?”
“Yeah. We do converse, you know.” Duffy watched Stevens pause a bit as if collecting or tempering his thoughts before speaking. “She’s not all business and regulations, Duff. You’d enjoy her, too, if you weren’t a smart-ass with her all the time.”
“So you’re telling me you enjoy her?”
“It’s not what you think,” Stevens countered. “We eat together sometimes, or talk in the corridors, just in passing.” Duffy refused to suppress the smirk that was spreading across his face. Stevens saw it and knew precisely what Duffy was thinking. The rumors had been flying around the ship since Empok Nor. “Okay, so you know about the one time. She needed someone and I was there. No apologies, no regrets.”
“Hey, you two are grown-ups,” Duffy said, at once happy to have the rumor finally confirmed and confused as to his feelings about what that confirmation meant. “I’m not anybody you need to justify your flings to.”
Stevens nodded. “But truthfully, I think that night helped her remember how to build a friendship, and she’s trying that out on me.”
“Friends are good. Sonnie and I wer
e friends,” Duffy said of his dating relationship with Sonya Gomez, the da Vinci’s first officer. “I mean, we still are friends, but we were friends first back on the Enterprise.” He paused, looking about the bridge and seeing that work continued as usual. “So, what, you think maybe you and Core-Breach are friends?”
“As close as she’s willing to have me be one, sure.”
“And you’d be open to more than that?”
Stevens paused again, mulling his words. “I’m thinking so, yes.”
“And you think she might be, too?”
“That I don’t know.”
Duffy lost his interest in mincing words. “I know, and I just don’t see it.”
“Be open to her, Duff,” Stevens countered. “Don’t crack wise next time you talk to her and maybe you’ll see it. She told me that she respects you, and that you earned that during the run-in with the Tholians. Maybe someday we can all sit down together. Eat, drink, find some common ground.”
“What, you, me, Sonnie, and Core-Breach on a double date? Having a drink and some laughs?” Duffy figured that the chances of that happening were about as likely as a wormhole opening up in his cabin.
Stevens shrugged. “Well, sure.”
“Not in my lifetime, pal,” Duffy replied as he returned his attention to the bank of engineering displays and began to reconsider the problem of how to slow down the Senuta ship. The alien vessel’s ion drive was not like anything he was used to, but the principles behind its method of propulsion were fairly straightforward. It all centered around the flow of ions through the engine’s series of intermix chambers. In reality it was a simpler theory to grasp than even the most rudimentary Starfleet warp drive design.
When he noticed that Stevens was still leaning on the nearby console, Duffy looked up and saw the slightly withered expression on his friend’s face. “Look, Fabe, I just don’t want to see you shot down here. I know Corsi’s type. I think what you need more than a meal and a talk is a cold shower.”