Part 12 (1/2)
It felt good just to say their names. It seemed to give them a reality even before the holodeck worked its magic.
”Lieutenant Sulu at the helm, Ensign Chekov at navigation. And at communications, the loveliest la.s.s who ever wore a uniform-Lieutenant Uhura.”
”Mission-tape information on all these individuals is on file. Please select a time frame.”
Ah, of course. A time frame. People weren't like the bridge of a stars.h.i.+p. They changed slightly from year to year, from month to month, even from day to day. He thought for a moment.
It had to be at least a third of the way into the original five-year mission-or Chekov wouldn't have been there yet. And he wanted Chekov there. Of all those who'd sat at the navigation station-DeSalle, Bailey, Stiles and on and on-Chekov was the one with whom Scott had been the closest.
”Let's see,” he said, scratching his jaw.
How about just after that tribbles business? He smiled despite himself, recalling those furry little creatures and all the trouble they'd caused. Not that he'd minded the trouble all that much. It had given him a chance to mix it up with the Klingons, to let off a little steam ...
Those were the days, all right. Those were the b.l.o.o.d.y days.
Too bad that sort of thing couldn't happen anymore. Now that the Klingons and the Federation were allies, there would be no more brawling between them. No more knockdown-dragouts with the h.o.r.n.y-headed barbarians, no more defending the honor of the Enterprise and the fleet.
Too bad, Scott mused. Another valuable cultural phenomenon lost to the ravages of time.
He felt the tug of the silence around him. It seemed to cry out for relief. For voices.
”I know, I know,” he said. ”Ye're waiting.”
The computer had no reply, but its impatience was almost palpable. All right then. A time frame. Hmmm...
Then it hit him. Of course. Why hadn't he thought of it before?
”Stardate 4534.7,” he told the computer. ”And as far as my friends are concerned, I'm to look now as I did then. Understood?”
”Processing,” the machine replied.
A second later, Scott had company. It hadn't exactly appeared-at least, not in the way he'd expected. It was just there, as if it had been sitting or standing on the bridge all along.
He muttered an oath. They were there. They were really there. All his friends, in the places where he'd always thought of them. All except Dr. McCoy, and he'd no doubt be along presently.
”How much longer, Mr. Sulu?” asked the figure in the center seat.
”We're right on time, Captain,” replied the helmsman. ”We'll be in docking range of Starbase Nine in two hours, twenty-five minutes and thirty seconds.”
”Excellent, Lieutenant. We can all use the rest, after that business back on Triskelion. And n.o.body makes steak au poivre like Commander Tattinger.”
The navigator turned to peer back at the captain. ”Steak au poivre is actually a Russian dish, sair. My mother made it for us vhen ve vere growing up. Vith just a pinch of paprika.”
The figure in the center seat cleared his throat. ”I see, Mr. Chekov. I'll have to remember to share that with the commander.”
Training his gaze on the command chair, Scott leaned forward. ”Captain Kirk?” he ventured.
The captain turned and rose to face his chief engineer. He looked young, vital. Brash, in a way that Scott had all but forgotten. It seemed the holodeck had remembered Kirk better than his old colleague had.
There was something wrong with that, wasn't there? With a machine remembering a man better than that man's friend?
”Yes, Scotty,” said Kirk. ”Is something ... ?”
Suddenly, he stopped in mid-question, his gaze going to the bottle in Scott's hand. He looked up until their eyes met. ”Mr. Scott,” he said firmly but calmly, ”what in the name of sanity are you doing here with that bottle?”
What indeed! ”Stop program,” Scott commanded.
The program froze, but Kirk's eyes still reproached him. Scott put the bottle and the gla.s.s down on the deck beside him.
”Computer,” he said, ”can ye hide these for me?” He pointed to the items in question.
Abruptly, they were gone. Vanished into thin air.
”Good. Now resume the program.”
As life came back to Kirk, he blinked. ”That's strange,” he said.
”What is, sir?” asked Scott.
The captain shook his head. ”For a second there, I thought I saw ...”
”A bottle,” Scott reminded him. ”Ye said something about a bottle, sir.”
Kirk's eyes narrowed. ”I could have sworn ...”
”Aye, sir?”
The captain frowned. ”Never mind, Scotty.” His demeanor changed, becoming more businesslike. ”Have you run those diagnostics on the warp engines?”
”I have indeed, sir,” said Scott. And he had, too-about a hundred years ago. ”They're runnin' as smooth as Saurian brandy.”
Kirk tilted his head to one side, his eyes narrowing. Probably thinking again about the bottle. ”An interesting a.n.a.logy,” he noted.
Scott nodded. ”Thank ye, sir.”
Pulling down on the front of his tunic, the captain surveyed his bridge. Funny, thought Scott. Their uniforms looked a little skimpy to his eye. Had the computer erred, or had they always looked that way?
Spock, who had been hovering over his science monitor, chose that moment to straighten and turn to the captain. ”Sir?”
”Yes, Mr. Spock?”
The Vulcan's features were even more severe than in Scott's memories, his demeanor more cold and aloof-more alien. ”Sensors indicate a rather unusual phenomenon off the starboard bow. According to my files, we have encountered such a phenomenon before, but never one of such magnitude.”
Kirk grunted. ”Does this phenomenon have a name, Spock?”
”It does,” said the first officer. ”However, I believe you will recognize it without any help from me.”
With that, Spock turned to his control board and made the requisite adjustments to project his finding onto the main viewer. All eyes turned to the large screen, awaiting their first inkling of what Spock was talking about.
Scott knew what it would be, naturally. For him, this was deja vu. But he didn't let on that he knew-it would have spoiled the surprise.