Алан Дин Фостер - The Unsettling Stars

3

Confident he could deal with the situation in engineering whatever its cause, Kirk moved purposefully to that section of the Enterprise . As he entered the area where the chief engineer was usually found, the first inkling of the nature of the predicament manifested itself, though not in any of the several forms he had anticipated. Surrounded by the immense tangle of silvery conduits, processing cylinders, sealed wiring, and photonic connectors, he descended the access walkway until he was intercepted by an engineering officer, Lieutenant Ben-Haim.

A rousingly loud bellow resounded from somewhere behind and below Ben-Haim.

“Oohhh, there was a young lady from Inverness,

“I stopped to ask her about her dress…!”

While casually following the words, Kirk looked sideways at the ship’s second engineer. “Is that singing?”

The continuing lyrics were rapidly approaching warp nine on the bawdiness scale. Ben-Haim looked uncomfortable. “I believe so, Captain.”

Kirk’s expression hardened. “Is that Chief Engineer Scott singing?”

The engineer looked as if he would rather be anywhere else. “Yes, Captain.”

“Thank you, Mister Ben-Haim.” Kirk started past the other man. “I’ll deal with it. Go about your business.”

“Yes, sir.” The engineer moved past the captain.

One did not have to have a bat’s sonar to locate Montgomery Scott. The chief engineer’s bellowing burr reverberated loudly between the walls and conduits, tubes and instrumentation. Kirk found Scott by himself, noting the information being displayed on a panel.

“Scotty?”

The chief engineer’s less than profound and decidedly off-key chorale stopped. “Ah, Jim! That little dustup was one for the ages, it was! We have done a good thing. Rescued some lost and kindly souls from an evil slug with one too many eyes, we have.” He wagged a knowing finger in Kirk’s direction. “First rule of interstellar contact: Never trust anyone with more than two eyes. You never can tell what the others might be looking at.”

“Not my first rule.” Kirk regarded his chief engineer. “I was told there was a problem here.”

Scott looked away. “Nothing mechanical, Captain.”

“So what’s troubling you, Scotty?”

The chief engineer hesitated, then turned from the panel. “I heard that you’re making the first visit to the alien craft via shuttle.”

“And…?”

“Captain, I put you and Mister Spock inside the Narada under considerably more stressful circumstances. Suddenly you feel you have to use a shuttle when both ships are practically within caber toss of each other.” His eyes searched Kirk’s face. “Have you lost confidence in me and my abilities, Captain?”

“Is that what’s bothering you?” The suddenly serious Scott nodded. Kirk smiled and put a hand on the older man’s shoulder. “Scotty, I am convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that you are not only the finest chief engineer in all of Starfleet, but the most inventive and adaptive one as well.”

“Captain, the words are profoundly gratifying, but it still doesn’t explain why you’re not usin’ the transporter.”

“We are unfamiliar with the interior of the Perenorean vessel, Scotty. You know that.” When the chief engineer appeared ready to protest anew, Kirk raised a forestalling hand. “Yes, I know, we were also relatively unfamiliar with the layout of the Narada . In contrast, we know absolutely nothing about Perenorean design.”

Scott was only partially mollified. “I still think that given the opportunity I could put the three of you right on their bridge.”

“We have barely an inkling of what their ‘bridge’ may be like, Scotty. It would be bad for interspecies relations if, purely by accident of course, we were to materialize inside, say, one of their hydrology conduits.”

Scott eyed him sharply, seemed about to say something equally cutting, and then slumped. “I cannot argue with that, Captain. Shuttle it is, then. And—I appreciate you explaining the decision to me in person.”

“Just as long as you understand that the choice of transportation is in no way a reflection on you or your competency, Scotty. I’m just proceeding cautiously.”

The chief engineer hesitated, then broke out in a wide grin. “James T. Kirk proceeding ‘cautiously’? For sure, the galaxy is full of surprises.”

“There’s a time and a place for everything, Mister Scott. Even caution. Especially when working to establish a relationship with a newly contacted species.” There was a twinkle in his eye. “There’s even a place for song.”

Scott blinked. “Captain?”

Drawing himself up, Kirk replied in as officious a voice as he could muster. “You’ll kindly oblige me by finishing the song you were singing when I arrived here. I have always had a secret interest in regional terrestrial poetry.”

“What?” A broad smile spread across the chief engineer’s face and he winked. “Oh, aye, aye! ’Tis an old sailors’ chantey from Glasgow. It sounds better in its original dialect, but if it’s sung that way, then no one but another Glaswegian can understand it.”

For the next few minutes, the metal and composite–ribbed jungle of engineering echoed to the sound of something more boisterous and considerably more warming than the unfeeling machines that were its permanent occupants.

“I’m looking forward to making some new friends.” McCoy’s tone soured. “Though not to the trip across, of course.”

Kirk’s exasperation was plain. “I swear, Bones, for someone with such a visceral dislike of space travel, I don’t understand why you didn’t just ask for a permanent posting on a Federation world.”

McCoy looked away. “I would have, but it’s important for me to keep moving. If you want to know why, ask my ex-wife.”

“Physician, heal thyself,” Spock offered, though not a glimmer of a smile cracked the Vulcan’s face.

The doctor responded immediately. “Oh, so now you presume to know the intricacies of human personal relationships? I didn’t realize that your studies of our culture had progressed to that point.”

“I am merely an interested observer, Doctor. I confess that I find such particulars highly illogical. In contrast to human males and females, the relationships between subatomic particles and waveforms act in a logical manner.”

“You need to do more work in chaos theory, Spock,” said Kirk. “You’d be surprised at the analogies that crop up.”

They entered the shuttlebay. Positioned in the stern, a pair of the unlovely but functional craft were lined up within yellow and black launch lines, facing the airlock doors. Storage and equipment bays lined both walls. Two techs were concluding a final inspection of one of the shuttles. At the approach of the trio of senior officers, they straightened up. Kirk returned their acknowledgment with a casual wave. He was still getting used to being a senior officer.

Not that he didn’t enjoy the perks.

The colony vessel loomed larger. It was not overwhelmingly vast—it looked like the living quarters, work areas, and supply sections formed by the six interconnected globes were spacious.

I must remember to ask exactly how many colonists there are , Kirk reminded himself as Spock maneuvered the shuttle into the welcoming open bay of the Eparthaa .

As the science officer set the shuttle down and the bay doors closed behind them, the three visitors had their first opportunity to examine aspects of Perenorean engineering. It was, Kirk decided as he peered out the shuttle’s forward port, oddly indistinct. In place of the usual highly visible conduits and instrumentation one would expect to find on any other starship, there were only a few ivory-hued bumps and ridges. Perhaps for aesthetic reasons , he thought. The Perenoreans might prefer to conceal their engineering works. The absence of in-your-face material did not necessarily mean a lack of skill.