Last Call - [Original Enterprise]
Where is the end of them, the fishermen sailing
Into the wind's tail, where the fog cowers?
We cannot think of a time that is oceanless
Or of an ocean not littered with wastage
Or of a future that is not liable
Like the past, to have no destination.
We have to think of them as forever bailing,
Setting and hauling, while the North East lowers
Over shallow banks unchanging and erosionless
Or drawing their money, drying sails at dockage;
Not as making a trip that will be unpayable
For a haul that will not bear examination.
Scotty was still clutching his coffee mug when he came onto the bridge; still not quite enough sleep, but enough to clear his head some and enough for him to effectively command a starship. The rest of the main bridge crew was in about the same shape as he was -- tired, but alert and ready.
"Have ye gathered the messages, Lieutenant?" he asked, stepping down onto the command deck and setting his coffee on the arm of the captain's chair to sign off the watch reports.
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Uhura replied. "But I intercepted some fragments of communication that suggest the other Enterprise had gone into battle."
Scotty winced. Wonderful. "Distress signals?"
"None. As of last communication, they were winning."
Well, that was something of a relief. He'd never forgive himself if he sent McCoy back, only to have the doctor and the other two trapped over there blown to atoms. He handed the clipboard off to the yeoman on duty, then took a sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts. He'd recorded his own message when he woke up for the captain, which left very little to do but say goodbye. Hopefully not for the last time.
"All right, lass. Send the package."
Uhura nodded, turning back to her console. "I'm going to download it into the first beacon and set it to transmit through the string until confirmation's received. They'll more likely get it that way."
Scott grinned a bit. "I'm glad one of us is thinkin' this mornin'."
She didn't look away from her console, but he could hear her smiling back. "Well, I think you should probably finish your coffee and get your head in the game while I do this, Mister Scott. Or we're going to be here for awhile."
"Aye aye, ma'am," he replied snappily, with a mock-serious face, giving her a salute with the mug. And still wearing a bit of a good-natured smile, he turned back to eye Chekov and Sulu. "Gentlemen? Are ye ready?"
"Ready, sir," came the dual, in unison reply.
Scotty thumbed the button on the Captain's chair. "Mister DeSalle! Are ye ready for our break-away maneuvers?"
"Aye aye, Chief," De replied, readily.
Breaking away from the temporal band was going to take a ballet of movement. It required shields being tuned to the proper frequencies, meant to sort of help 'tug' the Enterprise back to where every atom of her vibrated to the frequencies of her native universe, like turning her into a magnet. It required helm to adjust speed swiftly to avoid the worst of the battering they were sure to receive. It required some hardcore work from the warp drive. And finally, it required a navigator who could do course calculations based on star patterns and hard math without sensors to help all that much.
It gave the crew a chance to shine, minus three. Security was busy battening down loose gear, like a sailing ship facing a storm, and coordinating safe spots where those non-essential would be least likely to be wounded. Engineering was in full gear, guarding the shield controls down below like a group of knights. Sciences were watching what few sensors they had left to make sure the calculations were correct. Communications was busy encoding messages and repairing what they could of the subspace arrays.
"Download and transmission completed," Uhura said, the note in her voice taking on a somber sound. "It's broadcasting at one hundred percent and should continue to long enough for them to get it."
"Good," Scotty replied, finishing off his coffee and tucking the mug into the captain's chair where it was least likely to go flying around if things got rocky enough. "Let's get goin', then. Mister Chekov, lock in our course. Mister Sulu, raise shields and get ready to start us off with Warp one; yer discretion as to increase speed as needed." As they complied, he hit the comm for Engineering, "Mister DeSalle..." A pause. "Ye wreck my engine room--"
"--I will submit myself for the stoning that will result," DeSalle replied, without ever raising his voice. "Aye aye, Chief."
Scotty nodded, then got on shipwide: "Attention all personnel: Batten down the hatches and secure all the deck gear... and yerselves while ye're at it. Scott out." Then, waiting about a minute for them to do so, he finally gave the order.
"Ahead full, Mister Sulu."
--
When she broke free, finally back to her own stars, it nearly put Scotty on his knees; a spike of agony shot through his skull, and he staggered against it, teeth set. He vaguely heard someone call for him, but he just gritted, "'M fine," held out a hand in the universal, "Don't touch me," gesture and pressed the other hand to the side of his head. It was over fast, though. Before he even had time to get queasy, the very persistent headache he'd had since being pulled back to the Enterprise here dissolved completely.
On the new Enterprise, in the brig, the reflected version did end up hitting his knees, holding his head both handed and temporarily forgetting about the other visitors to the brig. And just like the man he's the much younger reflection of, he ground his teeth against it, though he never made a sound otherwise. He was still breathing hard when it faded away quickly to reveal a much quieter, much more tolerable and dull headache probably more from tension and lack of food than anything else. And before anyone could come through the security field, he staggered back up, thoroughly shaken by what had happened. And replied to no one in particular, his first words since his creation, "'M fine."
Back aboard the original, Scotty shook off the worried looks he was getting, ordering, "All ahead stop."
Sulu turned back to the panel. "Aye aye, all ahead stop."
Still rubbing his head, more from the surprise than pain -- actually, he had gotten so used to that damned headache that he was flabbergasted that his head didn't hurt -- Scott got his bearings again. "All right. Mister Chekov, figure out our position and plot a course to the nearest starbase with a dry-dock. Lieutenant Uhura, see about gettin' a message to Starfleet command as soon as we're in range of a subspace relay that can handle it. Get any damage control parties out for anything we mighta shaken loose."
Everyone moved with their usual efficiency. And he tried hard not to think too hard about those they had to leave behind.
--
The messages for Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, were numerous. Likewise, there was a huge bulk of 'mail' for Spock and McCoy. Every single one of the crew, from the enlisted to the officers, had sent something. Some were humorous. Others, deeply heartfelt. Messages of love, support, sorrow. Messages of determination. Promises to find a way back, no matter how long it took. Short tales of gratitude to their commanding officers. Private injokes shared.
The last one was attached to the end, and from Scotty -- in the usual manner, it was pragmatic and unadorned, a simple statement.
Captain: I'll take good care of her for ye until we get ye back. Take care of yerself and the other two. Godspeed, and good luck. Scotty out.
'Fare forward.
O voyagers, O seamen,
You who came to port, and you whose bodies
Will suffer the trial and judgement of the sea,
Or whatever event, this is your real destination.'
So Krishna, as when he admonished Arjuna
On the field of battle.
Not fare well,
But fare forward, voyagers.
-T.S. Eliot, Dry Salvages
Into the wind's tail, where the fog cowers?
We cannot think of a time that is oceanless
Or of an ocean not littered with wastage
Or of a future that is not liable
Like the past, to have no destination.
We have to think of them as forever bailing,
Setting and hauling, while the North East lowers
Over shallow banks unchanging and erosionless
Or drawing their money, drying sails at dockage;
Not as making a trip that will be unpayable
For a haul that will not bear examination.
Scotty was still clutching his coffee mug when he came onto the bridge; still not quite enough sleep, but enough to clear his head some and enough for him to effectively command a starship. The rest of the main bridge crew was in about the same shape as he was -- tired, but alert and ready.
"Have ye gathered the messages, Lieutenant?" he asked, stepping down onto the command deck and setting his coffee on the arm of the captain's chair to sign off the watch reports.
"Yes, sir," Lieutenant Uhura replied. "But I intercepted some fragments of communication that suggest the other Enterprise had gone into battle."
Scotty winced. Wonderful. "Distress signals?"
"None. As of last communication, they were winning."
Well, that was something of a relief. He'd never forgive himself if he sent McCoy back, only to have the doctor and the other two trapped over there blown to atoms. He handed the clipboard off to the yeoman on duty, then took a sip of his coffee, gathering his thoughts. He'd recorded his own message when he woke up for the captain, which left very little to do but say goodbye. Hopefully not for the last time.
"All right, lass. Send the package."
Uhura nodded, turning back to her console. "I'm going to download it into the first beacon and set it to transmit through the string until confirmation's received. They'll more likely get it that way."
Scott grinned a bit. "I'm glad one of us is thinkin' this mornin'."
She didn't look away from her console, but he could hear her smiling back. "Well, I think you should probably finish your coffee and get your head in the game while I do this, Mister Scott. Or we're going to be here for awhile."
"Aye aye, ma'am," he replied snappily, with a mock-serious face, giving her a salute with the mug. And still wearing a bit of a good-natured smile, he turned back to eye Chekov and Sulu. "Gentlemen? Are ye ready?"
"Ready, sir," came the dual, in unison reply.
Scotty thumbed the button on the Captain's chair. "Mister DeSalle! Are ye ready for our break-away maneuvers?"
"Aye aye, Chief," De replied, readily.
Breaking away from the temporal band was going to take a ballet of movement. It required shields being tuned to the proper frequencies, meant to sort of help 'tug' the Enterprise back to where every atom of her vibrated to the frequencies of her native universe, like turning her into a magnet. It required helm to adjust speed swiftly to avoid the worst of the battering they were sure to receive. It required some hardcore work from the warp drive. And finally, it required a navigator who could do course calculations based on star patterns and hard math without sensors to help all that much.
It gave the crew a chance to shine, minus three. Security was busy battening down loose gear, like a sailing ship facing a storm, and coordinating safe spots where those non-essential would be least likely to be wounded. Engineering was in full gear, guarding the shield controls down below like a group of knights. Sciences were watching what few sensors they had left to make sure the calculations were correct. Communications was busy encoding messages and repairing what they could of the subspace arrays.
"Download and transmission completed," Uhura said, the note in her voice taking on a somber sound. "It's broadcasting at one hundred percent and should continue to long enough for them to get it."
"Good," Scotty replied, finishing off his coffee and tucking the mug into the captain's chair where it was least likely to go flying around if things got rocky enough. "Let's get goin', then. Mister Chekov, lock in our course. Mister Sulu, raise shields and get ready to start us off with Warp one; yer discretion as to increase speed as needed." As they complied, he hit the comm for Engineering, "Mister DeSalle..." A pause. "Ye wreck my engine room--"
"--I will submit myself for the stoning that will result," DeSalle replied, without ever raising his voice. "Aye aye, Chief."
Scotty nodded, then got on shipwide: "Attention all personnel: Batten down the hatches and secure all the deck gear... and yerselves while ye're at it. Scott out." Then, waiting about a minute for them to do so, he finally gave the order.
"Ahead full, Mister Sulu."
--
When she broke free, finally back to her own stars, it nearly put Scotty on his knees; a spike of agony shot through his skull, and he staggered against it, teeth set. He vaguely heard someone call for him, but he just gritted, "'M fine," held out a hand in the universal, "Don't touch me," gesture and pressed the other hand to the side of his head. It was over fast, though. Before he even had time to get queasy, the very persistent headache he'd had since being pulled back to the Enterprise here dissolved completely.
On the new Enterprise, in the brig, the reflected version did end up hitting his knees, holding his head both handed and temporarily forgetting about the other visitors to the brig. And just like the man he's the much younger reflection of, he ground his teeth against it, though he never made a sound otherwise. He was still breathing hard when it faded away quickly to reveal a much quieter, much more tolerable and dull headache probably more from tension and lack of food than anything else. And before anyone could come through the security field, he staggered back up, thoroughly shaken by what had happened. And replied to no one in particular, his first words since his creation, "'M fine."
Back aboard the original, Scotty shook off the worried looks he was getting, ordering, "All ahead stop."
Sulu turned back to the panel. "Aye aye, all ahead stop."
Still rubbing his head, more from the surprise than pain -- actually, he had gotten so used to that damned headache that he was flabbergasted that his head didn't hurt -- Scott got his bearings again. "All right. Mister Chekov, figure out our position and plot a course to the nearest starbase with a dry-dock. Lieutenant Uhura, see about gettin' a message to Starfleet command as soon as we're in range of a subspace relay that can handle it. Get any damage control parties out for anything we mighta shaken loose."
Everyone moved with their usual efficiency. And he tried hard not to think too hard about those they had to leave behind.
--
The messages for Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, were numerous. Likewise, there was a huge bulk of 'mail' for Spock and McCoy. Every single one of the crew, from the enlisted to the officers, had sent something. Some were humorous. Others, deeply heartfelt. Messages of love, support, sorrow. Messages of determination. Promises to find a way back, no matter how long it took. Short tales of gratitude to their commanding officers. Private injokes shared.
The last one was attached to the end, and from Scotty -- in the usual manner, it was pragmatic and unadorned, a simple statement.
Captain: I'll take good care of her for ye until we get ye back. Take care of yerself and the other two. Godspeed, and good luck. Scotty out.
'Fare forward.
O voyagers, O seamen,
You who came to port, and you whose bodies
Will suffer the trial and judgement of the sea,
Or whatever event, this is your real destination.'
So Krishna, as when he admonished Arjuna
On the field of battle.
Not fare well,
But fare forward, voyagers.
-T.S. Eliot, Dry Salvages