Losh, that woman certainly knew how to push a man’s buttons, didn’t she? “It may surprise you, but Captain Kirk did make the occasional mistake. Still, he certainly was no thief. He did what he was ordered to—”
A laugh—or was it a snort?—from Nechayev interrupted him, but he regained his composure quickly enough.
“He sometimes interpreted the rules a tad too generously, that is true, but what he did was always in the best interest of Starfleet and the entire Federation. And as for the events you cited, let me tell you that the Romulans were our enemies back then. I seem to remember that the Kropaslin were supposed to be our tradin’ partners and a potential member! We’re not supposed to steal from our allies!
“Those Axanar rebels, they deserved nothin’ better, and if you’ve read my file, you know. As for the Pelosians, let me just say that history vindicated our actions, just as it did with regards to the Talin incident. Nobody was found guilty of violatin’ a single General Order.”
“Have I touched upon a sensitive subject? If so, let me apologize, Mr. Scott. However, you have not explained your involvement with the Starstalker project.”
“And I shan’t. The S.C.E. asked me to help them out, which I did, mainly because I was asked politely.”
Nechayev surprised him by smiling, even though it was not a kind smile. It reminded him of the expression usually found on the face of a Gorborasti palm-snake before it dislocated its left and right jaws to devour its victim.
“A pity you chose to be an engineer, Mr. Scott. You would have made a decent intelligence operative. Your evasive reasoning is on par with that of my best agents.”
Now he became really angry—even though he didn’t know what about, to be honest. “What is that supposed to mean, Admiral?”
“Mistakes are always the others’ fault, aren’t they? If you or your friends break the rules, there’s always a good enough reason to pacify your conscience. Somebody else does the same, it’s an outrage. How dare they treat the principles of the Federation like that, et cetera.”
“Now that is simply not true, and you know it! Frankly, I’m appalled that an officer like you would resort to makin’ petty remarks like these. Stealing anythin’ from the Kropaslin is an extraordinarily serious crime, and I hate myself for havin’ been moved into participatin’.”
“I remember you telling me as much just after the mission ended. Why did you choose to contact me at this exact point in time?” asked Nechayev, her face deadly serious.
“I…I simply had to. The disgust is eatin’ me up inside, and I just can’t bear it any longer. Eventually, though, I will be able to speak with others about all this, not just with you. The truth will out, Admiral, there’s no denyin’ it.”
Nechayev leaned forward, so close to the optical sensor in her com terminal that her face filled the entire display. “Are you threatening me?”
Scotty shook his head. “No. I’m not willin’ to incur your eternal wrath by leakin’ Starfleet secrets to the press. However,” he began and took a sip of the now stale kalifal he’d replicated earlier today, “be assured that I know of no secret that remained exactly that. Somethin’ always goes wrong, somebody always blurts somethin’ to his ‘friends,’ and pretty soon there’s no stoppin’ it. I’m a patient man, Admiral, I can wait. But when the Kropasar mission becomes public knowledge, I certainly won’t be helpin’ you to save your precious hide.”
“Mr. Scott, far worse than you has threatened me during my Starfleet career. You can do whatever you like, but I would advise you to remember your manners when you speak to your superiors, even if you are on…‘inactive duty.’”
“Manners, my arse. You had better start preparin’ a plausible explanation for your actions, because people will ask questions. Lots of them. Good-bye, Admiral. Rest assured you won’t be hearin’ from me in a very long time. Scott out.”
Before Nechayev had a chance to reply, the connection was cut, and the El Dorado logo replaced her thin face.
“Computer, do not establish a two-way connection to Admiral Alynna Nechayev’s office until further notice, no matter how urgent she makes it out to be, you hear me?”
“Acknowledged.”
“Good. Now switch off and let me take a nap.”
The following day lacked any unforeseen events, thus being the first “normal” working day for months. Not even Ross decided to call, which was…interesting, to say the least. In fact, the day’s uneventfulness was suspicious, but Scotty couldn’t well complain about experiencing a boring day every now and then, could he?
Despite his misgivings about the lack of unexpected happenings, the day progressed and ended without a surprise of the bad sort. He went to work, drank a few drinks with new and returning patrons of the Engineering Room, and spent some time talking to Beltz, one of the regulars, about the romantic prospects of a middle-aged, balding Klingon on a Federation pleasure planet.
Over the past few weeks there had been almost regular communications with HQ, mostly because of Ross’s repeated calls. However, the next days did not bring any news from that corner of the galaxy. No pleading calls to change his mind, no requests for more officer recommendations, nothing. Not even Commander Lynch tried to contact him, which was a miracle in itself. If ever there was a person most certainly not suited for the job of S.C.E. liaison to the admiralty, it was Leland T. Lynch. Of course, this made his calls much more frequent than they would have been if Lynch had actually been competent. Despite what he’d told Nechayev and Ross before, Lynch was about as perfect for the job as a Klingon was for writing juicy romance novels.
By the end of the second week, Scotty had almost gotten used to the lack of attempts to contact him. At the very least, he didn’t constantly expect to receive a call from Ross or somebody else at HQ any longer. Yet just as he was making small talk with all four members of an Andorian quad, one of the bartenders ran toward him.
“Sorry for the interruption, Scotty,” said the bartender, whose name was Geren’zrix, “but there’s a message for you. Somebody from Starfleet, apparently. He said it was urgent.”
“It’s always urgent, Zrix. It always is.” Scotty sighed. “Please excuse me, zhutanii,” he said to the quad.
There was a com terminal near the faux warp core, to be used by the ER staff whenever they needed it. When Scotty arrived there, it was active, displaying the bulldog face of William J. Ross. What was the old gadgie up to now?
“I apologize for disturbing you at work, Captain Scott, but there’s something I have to tell you, and it can’t wait. If this wasn’t urgent, I wouldn’t have called you, trust me.”
Scotty felt that a sigh was in order right now, and he did not try to hide it. “I do have to say you didn’t pick an ideal time, Admiral. But I’m here, listenin’ to you, and so we had better continue this. What is it that you want?”
“I have made inquiries,” said Ross, leaving Scotty to wonder what on Earth he was talking about. “Somebody told me that you are not very fond of a certain member of the admiralty. Is that true?”
True to the old Fleet proverb, rumors did travel at warp ten, it seemed. “Who told you that?”
“Never mind. I have people who tell me things I need to hear. Mind you, I also have people who tell me things I want to hear, but those are not as welcome as the others.” Ross allowed himself a quick smile before his face returned to its usual state of stony seriousness. “In any case, I know of your, let’s say, ‘discussion’ with a certain female admiral, and I believe I have a good idea of what this is about.”
A short, deprecating laugh escaped Scotty’s mouth before he could stop himself. “I’m sorry, Admiral, but I don’t believe you do. And even if you know somethin’, you most likely don’t know everythin’.”
“Then why don’t you tell me? I’ll be in-system in a couple of days. I suggest we meet on Epsilon Ceti Outpost.”
“I don’t know. If this is just another trick of yours to get me back into action, then forget it. Al
l due respect, Admiral, but I’m not a toy to be played with as you see fit.”
“I am quite aware of that, Captain Scott. Let me assure you that I’m not trying to trick you into returning to the Fleet. While I make no secret of my interest in getting you ‘back into action,’ as you phrase it, I consider myself honest enough not to resort to scheming and plotting like a power-hungry madman.”
“And I never accused you of bein’ one.”
“I know. Now, what say you to a meeting, Scotty?”
“Well, I don’t think it can hurt,” the former engineer said carefully, not wanting to sound too eager. The fact of the matter was that he welcomed the idea of meeting with Ross face-to-face, but for completely different reasons. Some things just didn’t have a big enough impact when said on a subspace channel. “Let me know when you’re here.”
“I will. Scotty, I’m really looking forward to this meeting,” the admiral said, apparently satisfied. “Ross out.”
When he returned to his place near the ER’s entrance, Scotty began to realize that a visit from Ross, no matter what the reason, could only mean trouble.
Crivens, what have I got myself into now? he asked himself. Ever since Ross had got wind of his resignation, he’d tried everything in his power—short of bribery and blackmail—to make him change his mind.
Was it Scotty’s fault if Ross didn’t realize he didn’t have a chance?
True to his word, Ross called him a mere two days later, asking him to be on Epsilon Ceti Outpost at noon, Central Risian Time. The U.S.S. Cerberus, Ross’s flagship, had arrived in the system, ready to beam the admiral onto the outpost. After telling Quincy that he really needed to do this, Scotty was allowed to borrow his private impulse flitter, which he piloted across the binary system toward the Starfleet outpost orbiting the smaller star of the pair at a distance of roughly four hundred sixty million kilometers.
The outpost had been established toward the end of the twenty-second century, shortly after the Risian government had agreed to ally itself with the fledgling Federation of Planets that had been founded only a few decades before. The Risians had hoped for an increased influx of visitors to their planet, and they had not been disappointed.
Of course, the structure now orbiting Epsilon Ceti B was not the same one that had been built almost two centuries ago. The station had been overhauled, repaired and upgraded many times, so much so, in fact, that it no longer resembled a dark gray cylinder but a disc with a slightly blue tinge.
EC Outpost, as it was commonly named, featured a breathtaking observation center. Five levels tall, it served as a general recreation area, complete with trees, ponds, lakes, hills, even a river and a waterfall. Ross had asked him to wait at the Littlejohn Monument, a statue of the famous Earth president that had been erected near the central lake. On three sides of the monument, a number of comfortable benches invited passersby to sit down and enjoy the view—and perhaps think about the time of the founding of the Federation, back when Lydia Littlejohn had been Earth’s president.
Those had been bad times, almost as bad as these last few years, Scotty was sure. The Romulans had been the twenty-second century’s Dominion, provoking Earth into a war by means of their minefields and crudely disguised ships. Earth’s wounds from the Xindi attack had just begun to heal when a new threat had made itself known. However, although they were trying to destabilize relations among Earth, Andor, and Tellar, the pointy-eared xenophobes managed to strengthen them instead, which directly led to the foundation of the Federation only a few years later.
The sound of approaching steps on the graveled path behind him disrupted his train of thought, and he turned around to look at the newcomer. It was Ross.
“Good day, Captain Scott,” the much-decorated war veteran said. “Thank you for coming.”
“A good day to you, too, Admiral. Why don’t you take a seat?”
“Oh, I will, don’t worry. I have a lot to talk about with you, and I’d much rather do that with a nice hardwood bench beneath me.”
“A lot, you say? I thought there’s only one thing we need to discuss,” Scotty said, confused. What had Ross planned for this meeting? He mentally prepared himself for the worst and expected dozens of S.C.E. captains looking for new crew members, letters of recommendation to be written, speeches to be given, and all the other tasks that so far had been dutifully fulfilled by Leland T. Lynch.
“One major thing, that is correct,” Ross said, his face once again serious as usual, the welcoming smile of seconds before gone without a trace. “But before we start, let me just show you this.”
Ross held up a small metallic-looking ball between his thumb and forefinger and showed it to Scotty. It was an electronic device, that much was certain, but its function was not as clear. However, Ross had chosen a particularly public spot that, while currently being remarkably devoid of other visitors, still was not as suited for discussions of a very secret subject as both of them would have liked it to be. Most likely, this device’s purpose was to change that. Indeed, it did have some similarity with a com scrambler that Nyota had shown him once, about a century ago, if he wasn’t mistaken.
Ross seemed to read his thoughts. “This here is a little gadget to ensure the privacy of our conversation. Nobody will be able to listen in, so you may talk as freely as you like.”
“That depends,” Scotty said and leaned back, crossing his arms across his chest.
“On what?”
“Will you do the same?” he asked and looked Ross in the eyes. Scotty’s level of candidness depended heavily on Ross’s reaction, so he observed intently.
The answer came at once. “Of course I will. I have no reason to lie to you.”
“That’s very good to hear. So, let’s cut to the chase, lad. Why are we both here?”
“I thought that was obvious. I know of your connection to Alynna Nechayev, and of your journey to Kropasar last year.”
So his fears had not been unfounded. Had he been a cynic like McCoy, he’d have been happy about that, at least. Still, there was no reason to immediately spill all the beans. “What are you talkin’ about?”
“Oh, don’t play the innocent here, Scotty,” Ross said impatiently. “I know what the Gorkon’s mission was said to be. I also know what her mission really was, and I know that Alynna doesn’t think as highly of you as she did before you set foot on her ship half a year ago.”
“Oh, she doesn’t? That’s a pity.”
“Sarcasm doesn’t suit you, you know that?”
“I happen to think otherwise, but let’s stop the small-talkin’. You know what she ordered—forced me to do. All right. Still, what is it to you? Are you goin’ to expose her for what she really is: a threat to the Federation?”
“Honestly, no. I can’t do that.”
Scotty harrumphed. “I should have known.”
“Probably, yes. But tell me, if her orders went against everything you believed in, why didn’t you simply disobey them? Correct me if I’m wrong, but didn’t Kirk do the same repeatedly, not caring about what happened to him and his career, because he did what he thought was right?”
“Don’t lecture me on what Jim Kirk did, Admiral, I know that better than you. Better than most of today’s SFHQ, even. I was serving in Starfleet before their grandfathers were born, so—”
“Don’t give me that speech again, Scotty! I’ve heard that so often now that I’ve lost count. You’re older than I, that’s right. You’re even older than Admirals Akaar and Mondolen. So what? Does that give you the right to be obnoxious and stubborn?”
“It bloody well should,” Scotty grumbled, angry at Ross for preventing him from complaining about the inadequacies of today’s Starfleet top brass.
“Let me tell you something. People were making mistakes even in your time. Does the name Cartwright ring a bell?”
Scotty nodded silently.
“How about th’Zhalin? T’Vreen? Usbek-Wran? Almodóvar? Ortolappin?”
“I know a
few of them.”
“Good. Suffice it to say that Alynna Nechayev is only one in a long line of people doing seemingly ‘bad’ things for the good of the Federation, and I—”
Scotty’s disgusted snort caused Ross to interrupt himself.
“What’s the matter? Don’t you think that she gave you the order because she wanted the Federation to survive this war?”
“Is our survival a good enough reason to sacrifice our principles? Where would we be if those in charge did what they thought was necessary, disregardin’ everythin’ from common sense to general standards of morality and everythin’ in between? This is wrong, Admiral, and I will not accept it.”
Ross observed his outburst in silence and then said, “You still haven’t answered my question, Scotty.”
“Hm? What question?”
“If you found those orders so appalling and downright wrong, why didn’t you disobey them? Surely the result of such a decision could not have been worse than what you actually did shortly afterward. In both cases, the result would have been the loss of your Starfleet commission.”
“So I have to defend myself against you now, is that what you’re aimin’ at?”
“No, it isn’t, and you know it. Granted, I’m no psychologist, but I believe that you did what you were told to—instead of telling Alynna where to put her orders in a not very polite manner—because deep down you felt it was necessary, even though you tried to convince yourself of something else. Maybe now your bad conscience is trying to punish you for not listening to it then?”
“Oh, that’s a load of dreik, Admiral, and you know it!”
“Do you have a better explanation?”
“Of course I do, but I don’t see why I should tell you.”
Ross sighed. Scotty was close to doing the same, but he held himself back.
“Captain Scott,” Ross began, using the formal address as if to underline the importance of what he was going to say, “let me tell you a story.”
“I hope it’s a short one,” Scotty said in a low voice.
The Future Begins Page 7
