CHAPTER 6

Sitting in engineering, Scotty passed the time by inspecting his cloaking device. It resided just where he had installed it, on the dilithium reaction chamber.

Of course, it looked a little different now. In addition to its basic components, it sported all the new add-on

modules he’d constructed out of equipment scavenged! from the Yorktown.

The Romulans had abandoned most of the cloaking technology behind the device after the Enterprise stole] this prototype. That was a mistake, Scotty thought. 1

With a little ingenuity, he’d been able to increase the power of the device drastically, and all without taking the thing off-line. Also, he’d been able to eliminate most of the trace energy discharges that had rendered the thing] susceptible to Starfleet sensors. With the way she was working now, the improved cloak would almost certainly ensure him safe passage out of Federation territory.

Now there was just one more piece of business before he could head for the Romulan Neutral Zone. And a very important piece of business at that.

Once, a long time ago, he and his friends had tried to operate a starship with a skeleton crew, using a centralized computer control system he installed himself. That was on the refitted Enterprise 1701.

Unfortunately, the vessel was incapacitated by a single volley from an underpowered Klingon Bird-of-Prey. And when push came to shove, the centralized computer control system overloaded, leaving the ship a sitting duck.

For years afterward, Scotty had blamed himself for the destruction that followed, thinking that his automated system had failed because it simply wasn’t good enough. However, he had known even then that he’d been pushing twenty-third-century technology to the limit.

A vessel meant to be crewed by 430 people just couldn’t cut it with a crew of five. Or, in this case, a crew of one.

Likewise, Scotty knew that he was pushing the Yorktown computer to its limits now—even though he was asking it to do little more than stay on course. Very shortly, all that would change. He would be asking a lot more. But, this time, he had some twenty-fourth-century technology to back him up.

And according to his control panel, which was lighting up on the other end of the room, the biggest component of that technology had just made itself available.

Swiveling in his chair, Scotty hit the switch that opened the shuttlebay. Then he left engineering control and headed for the shuttledeck at a trot.

He arrived at the shuttlebay control room just as the doors were opening. Through them, he could see the Romaine hanging in space. The shuttle had been called the Goddard when Captain Picard gave it to him, but the engineer had rechristened the ship—naming it after a lovely lass he had known. The shuttle’s autopilot had brought it obediently to the rendezvous point, but Scotty would have to handle the rest of its journey.

Taking the controls, he locked the Yorktown’s tractor beams onto the smaller vessel. Then, watching through the control room’s transparent-aluminum window, he guided the shuttle inside with well-practiced hands.

Once the Romaine was where he wanted it and the bay was secured, Scotty shut the doors and waited several painfully long seconds for the chamber to repressurize. The warning light finally shut off.

At last, Scotty entered the shuttlebay. Striding across the deck, the engineer noted the contrasts between the shuttles the Yorktown normally carried and the Romaine, which was built more than a century later.

On the outside, the improvements were subtle. The modern shuttle had more curves and rounded surfaces and a decidedly streamlined look. Of course, Scotty knew that the real differences ran much deeper.

Entering the shuttle, the engineer made his way to her control console. “Computer,” he said, “activate Constitution-class command interface.”

The operation, which established a link between the shuttle’s computer and that of the Yorktown, took less than a second to complete. Scotty had designed the computer interface from memory, and he was pleased by how well he had done.

Still, he made a few quick modifications now, based on what he had observed in his short time on board the Yorktown. Pronouncing the interface complete, he got up and headed for the bridge.

For each day of its nearly thirty years of active space duty, the Yorktown had required a full crew to run her effectively. In a few minutes, from the bridge, Scotty would slave the starship’s primary functions to the shuttle’s computer, which would handle them all with plenty of processing power to spare.

Then he would establish access to the shuttle’s computer via the Yorktown’s bridge stations. At that point, he would have full control over a vessel that had once been the pride of Starfleet. And it would only be possible because of a shuttle that was smaller than a cadet’s stateroom.

Entering the bridge, Scotty found it didn’t have quite the same effect on him this time. The initial surprise was gone, he supposed. And besides, he didn’t have the time to wax nostalgic.

Of course, he still felt the ghostly presence of his friends around him. But now they seemed to hover in the background, cheering him on.

Taking Sulu’s position at the helm, Scotty routed all ship’s functions to the shuttle. He was about to complete the last part of the process, transferring control of the shuttle to the starship’s bridge, when the proximity detector flashed on his board.

“Computer,” Scott said, “identify the vessel now in sensor range.”

“Working,” the computer replied. “Vessel is the U.S.S. Intrepid, Galaxy-class. Thank you for your inquiry and enjoy your starship adventure on the U.S.S. Yorktown.”

Damn, Scotty thought. They must have been scanning for his energy signature. Checking his sensors, he saw the ship approaching fast. It had just come into sensor range a few seconds earlier, and it was already almost on top of him. What’s more, the ship was on an intercept course.

“Well, that’s it, then,” Scotty told himself.

If the phasers were on-line and the photon torpedoes were loaded with antimatter—neither of which was the case—he might have thought about putting up a fight and trying to escape. It would have been a long shot, but he would have had a chance.

As it was, he was out of luck.

After all, as fine a vessel as the Yorktown was, she was no match for a modem starship. Hell, she couldn’t outrun even a fast shuttle these days.

Still, out of sheer stubbornness, he continued to try to complete the command setup before the Intrepid came into weapons range. Scotty could see the light on Uhura’s station indicating that the Intrepid was trying to hail him, but he couldn’t stop his work to answer the call.

Finally, the circuitry diagram on his monitor went from red to green. He had control of the shuttle and the shuttle had control of the ship. All functions were available through the helm.

Scotty felt a flush of pride at his accomplishment. Even at over a century old, the ship was a powerful force, and he’d found a way to harness it. However, it didn’t look like he was going to get a chance to put her capabilities to the test.

“Computer, what is the status of the Intrepid?” Scotty asked.

“Working,” the computer told him. “The Intrepid is hailing this vessel and focusing its tractor beam.”

Scotty felt the thump through the ship as the beam latched onto the Yorktown.

“Tractor engaged,” the computer added helpfully. “Thank you for your inquiry and enjoy your starship adventure on the U.S.S. Yorktown.”

It’s done, Scotty remarked inwardly. I’m done.

“Computer, put the Intrepid on the main viewscreen.

“Even as he spoke, the engineer found it hard to admit defeat. Had everything he’d done been for nothing?

Clearly the Yorktown wouldn’t be moving another light-second under his control. That meant his attempt to rescue Spock ended here as well.

And perhaps worst of all, he would never get a chance to reprogram that damned tourist-friendly computer voice.

The Intrepid’s captain came on screen. Gray-haired and ruddy, the man looked about fifty-five to sixty, which meant he was well into his Starfleet career.

He wore his experience easily, obviously comfortable with the fit. Scotty didn’t think there would be any tricking this man or charming him, or appealing to him. This was a fellow who knew his duty.

“Captain Scott, this is Captain Terrance Riley of the U.S.S. Intrepid. I have orders to apprehend you and take the Yorktown in tow. Please release the controls of your ship.”

Riley’s tone was deadly serious. “Make no mistake, Captain, I will fire on the Yorktown and disable her if necessary.”

Scotty heard every word the man said. Yet part of his mind was one hundred years in the past.

It can’t be, he thought. There must be dozens of them in Starfleet. Still, the engineer was sure he could see a resemblance.

“Captain,” Scotty began, “I am prepared to cooperate with ye fully. But I have one request.”

Riley let his impatience show. “Captain Scott, I’m afraid I can’t allow you to set terms. Your surrender must be immediate. Please do not test me, sir.”

The engineer sighed. He had to make his move quickly—or not at all.

“Captain Riley … are ye related at all to a Starfleet officer named Kevin Riley?”

For a moment, Riley’s face betrayed his surprise. Then he looked downright uncomfortable, and Scotty was sure he was right.

“My family has no bearing on the matter at hand, Captain Scott. You have stolen Starfleet property and are in violation of at least a dozen Federation laws and Starfleet regulations. I must insist—”

“Son or grandson?” Scotty asked.

The man paused. “Kevin Riley was my father,” he replied.

It fit, Scotty thought. Kevin Riley must have had a son relatively late in life. Now, the boy was fully into middle age.

“He was a lieutenant when he served on board the Enterprise under Captain Kirk,” Scotty noted.

Riley’s face was stony. “I’m aware of that, sir.”

“I was his supervisor in engineering,” Scotty added. “Did ye know that as well?”

The captain nodded. “My father told me a great deal about the Enterprise… and about you, sir.” He added the last part almost reluctantly.

Riley frowned. “Please understand, Captain Scott. You’re putting me in a very awkward position. I can’t let you go, no matter what you’ve done for the Federation or what you did in the past for my father.”

Scotty smiled broadly.

“Lad, I’m nae asking you to do anything but talk to me, in private—for a few minutes at most. I’ll beam over to yer ship. And once we’ve spoken, ye may do with me and the Yorktown what ye wish. As an officer, I’m just asking for a few minutes of yer time.”

Captain Riley hesitated as he mulled over the proposition. Watching the doubt play over the man’s features, Scotty felt sorry for him. Yet again, the engineer regretted what he was about to do.

At last, Riley came to a decision. He looked like a man who had set a course he knew he would regret.

“I’ll have you beamed directly to my ready room,” he said.

“Thank ye, Captain,” Scotty replied.

The transporter took him just a few seconds later. The meeting was brief, and Scotty did virtually all of the talking. He simply told Riley the truth.

As he spoke, Scotty avoided mentioning Kevin Riley’s name or their service together. But then, he didn’t need to. Hell, it was only because of his relationship with the elder Riley that the younger one was even listening to him.

To his credit, the captain remained attentive to Scotty’s story throughout. He didn’t interrupt him even once. But when it was over, his expression was as stony as before.

Scotty cursed inwardly. He was on the verge of losing everything—on the verge of losing Spock.

“Captain,” he started again, “did yer father ever tell ye about the time he shut off the Enterprise’s engines? As we were in orbit around a class-M planet?”

“Yes,” Riley answered, his face a mask. “He was under the influence of a mind-altering compound at the time.”

“Aye, most of the crew was by then,” Scotty remarked. “It was nae Kevin’s fault, but the ship was minutes away from burning up in the planet’s atmosphere.” He leaned forward. “Did yer father mention it was Ambassador Spock who saved him and the entire ship? That he came up with an intermix formula, and a cold-start procedure for the engines?”

“Yes,” Riley said again.

“And did yer father happen to mention that he felt a debt to Spock? A wee bit of gratitude for all he’d done?”

Riley exploded, his face the color of blood. “Dammit, Captain, you have no right to ask me this!”

The engineer met the man’s anger dead-on. “Ye’re right, lad. I have nae right to ask what I’m asking—but I’ve got nae choice. Unless ye help me, a good man’ll die—a man I owe my life to many times over. A man yer father and hundreds of others owe their lives to as well. Now, the Federation canna do anything to help him, we understand that. But I can—if ye let me.”

For a long moment, Captain Riley stared at him in silence, the decision weighing on him. Finally, with a pained expression, he nodded.

“All right,” the captain said. “I’ll come up with a way to sort it out in the logs.”

Scotty wondered how the man would explain that a Galaxy-class vessel lost a ship more than a century old. Of course, he didn’t ask. Riley knew well enough what kind of risk he was taking without being reminded.

The man tapped his communicator badge. “Captain Riley to transporter room one. Prepare to beam Captain Scott back to the bridge of his ship on my command.”

Standing up, Scotty regarded the captain kindly. “I’m truly sorry to be askin’ this of ye. If there was another way, I would surely take it.”

For the first time, Riley smiled. It made the resemblance to his father that much greater.

“Good luck, Captain Scott.”

“Thank ye, lad.”

“Energize,” said Riley.

The next thing he knew, Scotty was back on the bridge of the Yorktown. Turning to the viewscreen, he watched the Intrepid warp away.

If he ever survived this mission, Scotty resolved, he’d look up Captain Terrance Riley and tell him a few stories about his father.

That was, of course, after he returned the Yorktown to Commander Nelson and apologized to Ensign Hammond for stealing the vessel on her watch. Sighing, he thanked the Great Bird of the Galaxy and his lucky stars for taking him this far.

Then he got back to work.

First, he ran a quick diagnostic on the new computer interface, which checked out fine. Then he laid in a course for Constanthus at warp factor eight.

But his labors were far from finished. He still had to release the safety interlocks on the phaser banks and power them up. And when that was done, he would have to bleed off antimatter from the engines for the photon torpedoes.

There was still a lot to do. As he headed for the turbolift, Scotty decided that he would start on the phaser banks and then work on the torpedoes as the phasers charged …