Fic: Present Dangers (1/4)
The entire point of a ‘skeleton crew’ was to make it possible for as many crewmen as possible to be off-ship at a certain time. Only the most necessary positions were accounted for: medical officer, transport, engineer, helmsman, and security. Montgomery Scott was never going to surrender his engines to anyone else if he could help it, so it was only natural that he was still on the ship while the majority of the crew was down planetside living it up at some two day ‘ball’. He wasn’t sure who was handling the helm, and the security teams never stuck around too much (which, he supposed, might’ve been due to the danger inherent in their position).
It was a surprise to see Leonard McCoy on the duty roster. Usually, the captain dragged him along wherever he could, no matter what the doctor had to say about it. But whatever the reason, he was still on the ship now.
Montgomery sipped his coffee, glancing about the empty mess. It never did sit too well with him, honestly, being all alone on the ship. Okay, not alone - he knew that there were about two dozen crewmen still aboard. But the chances he’d bump into one of them were almost negligibly low, and he wasn’t one to seek them out himself.
The replicator must’ve been glitching a bit, though. The coffee had a metallic taste to it. Not that he wasn’t used to that; being an engineer meant you got your hands dirty, and there were times when no matter what you did, you weren’t getting something off your fingers. As long as it wasn’t toxic, he wasn’t going to take issue with it. And besides, after subsisting on protein nibs and replicated espresso that tasted more like brewed charcoal, he could handle pretty much anything.
There really was no point in drinking all alone in the mess, though. And besides, the captain had ordered a test on the transporter while he was gone. No time like the present, he supposed.
As he exited the mess, his attention was immediately drawn to a grumpy-looking helmsman coming his way. His golden shirt was pristine, save for a light dusting of orange pollen on the right sleeve. Didn’t seem to be bothering him any, so Scotty shrugged it off, smiling genially at the younger man.
“G’morning, Lieutenant Sulu,” he offered. Sulu met his eyes, and a forced smile took his face. Ah, so it was that kind of morning. “Ah, come off it, laddie. Less than 36 hours now until everythin’s back to normal.”
A snort escaped the younger man. “Right,” he muttered. Montgomery raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. I just got a letter from base. Whoever first said long distance relationships don’t work should’ve been taken more seriously. I’m adrift in free space, if you know what I mean.”
Ah. He did know. All too well. “It’s not the end of the world, Laddie,” he said firmly, and immediately regretted his choice of words. He saw Sulu’s eyes darken a moment too, and he cleared his throat in the suddenly uncomfortable silence. “Metaphorically speakin’, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Sulu managed, the word sounding stiff. Montgomery wanted to hit himself repeatedly with an old-fashioned wrench. The closest would be in engineering, and it probably wouldn’t help the situation any. He took another swallow of coffee, listening for the faint hum of the engines and the electrical buzzing that signified home, and with as much effort as he could muster he flashed the helmsman another awkward smile.
“You’d like some coffee, then?” he offered, stepping backwards into the mess. Sulu nodded, following him in and making his way to the replicator. The engineer returned to his previously occupied table, carefully not drumming his fingers on the surface.
The good thing about replicated coffee was that it maintained its heat for a much longer time that traditional brewers. He’d been nursing this mug for the better part of an hour, and the half he still had left was as piping hot as the one Sulu was undoubtedly getting and doctoring up himself.
He’d had Sulu pegged for the tea type when they first met. The man’s hobby was botany - botany, for Pete’s sake! And all right, maybe he was going a bit off his nationality, too, but that wasn’t strictly a conscious part of his reasoning. Besides, green tea was supposed to be healthy, and Sulu was nothing if not healthy. Of course, he’d realized about three days after he met him that the tea thing was complete bollocks and nothing more. Turned out Sulu had plenty of hobbies. Botany was just up for circulation that month.
“Is it gonna be awkward if I sit by you?” the man asked, suddenly standing across from him. Montgomery cocked his head. How long had he been there? It must not have been too long, especially since Sulu immediately clarified his inquiry. “This is a very empty room. Plenty of empty tables. Are we gonna sit together and socialize or pretend we’re each alone?”
Montgomery gestured for him to sit at his table, swallowing the last of his coffee. “I’ll get a refill while ye settle in there,” he explained, crossing the room. With any luck, the replicator wouldn’t glitch this time. He gave the order for strong coffee, squinting at the dust around the edges of two buttons. When the replicator finished, he swirled the liquid, sniffed it, and took a long sip.
Still metallic.
He shrugged, taking the cup back to his seat. Sulu was scrunching up his face at his own drink. “Yours too?” Montgomery asked. The helmsman nodded. “I’ll get on fixin’ the replicators after I run that transporter test the captain asked for. Hope ye can deal with it until then.”
Sulu shrugged, knocking back another mouthful. “At least it’s not decaf,” he observed. “And it’s not like anyone drinks it for the taste. Transporter test?”
“I’d normally add a little somethin’ extra back home,” the engineer admitted, smiling. “Testing magnetic inhibitor stress and shield penetration bypass codes. Commander Spock told me spiking my coffee’s against regulations.”
Sulu set his coffee down, the corner of his mouth quirking upward. “Shield penetration bypass codes? Captain’s reaching,” he said easily. “And you know, if you’re all about following regulations maybe you shouldn’t be making your own moonshine.”
Montgomery took another sip of his coffee. “Don’t know what ye’re talkin’ about, Lieutenant,” he smirked. “And I’ll have ye know, I’ve got it almost figured out.”
“The moonshine or the codes?” Sulu deadpanned. The engineer would’ve laughed, but the door was opening. He glanced up to see who he was going to have to warn about the coffee, and before he could even register who was there, Sulu was jumping to his feet. “Computer, sound red al-”
A particle weapon discharged, and the helmsman dropped. Montgomery stood, searching for anything he could use to defend himself-but it was too late. Even as he dove to avoid the discharge, he knew he was going to be hit. With his last conscious thought, he prayed the weapon was set to stun.
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He awoke to an unceremonious slap in the face. The ground was cold below his legs and lower back, and he was propped up against the side of a bench. He opened his eyes, the world slowly coming into focus around him, and found the doctor and a security member kneeling beside him. McCoy looked even grumpier than usual, and as his surroundings became clear, Montgomery couldn’t help but blink in confusion.
“We’re in the brig?” he asked. McCoy nodded. He tried to sit up further, but the doctor’s warm hand on his shoulder kept him down. He cast his eyes to the doorway, forcefield firmly intact. “Guess it is rational, if we’re stayin’ alive. Everyone here?”
McCoy’s lip thinned. “Ensign Jamison didn’t make it. He’s dead,” he said. Then he jerked his chin towards his shoulder. “We’re missing two of the security team. Not holding out a lot of hope for them, either. Sulu’s still out, but he’s stable. It’s a bit crowded in here, though. Cell’s only built for four people.”
Montgomery glanced around. Sixteen, not including himself. “Not much I can do about that, Doctor.”
McCoy shook his head. “Didn’t expect you could,” he grumbled. “You realize you’re the highest ranking person here, right, Second officer?”
Oh. So he was. Not that it particularly mattered. McCoy’s hand left his shoulder, and he managed to sit up, craning his neck to check their guard. It seemed to be just one individual, and if he had to venture a guess, he’d say it was female. It was difficult to tell, though; he’d never seen the species before.
Whoever this was had a definite orange tone to their skin, and the texture didn’t look too different from the peel of a tangerine. It-she, probably-was long and slender, hips flaring out just slightly. Her hands were at rest at her sides: three fingers and a thumb on each, the tips nearly white. No nails. And she didn’t have hair; atop her head protruded some sort of stalk, almost resembling a large bean sprout. He had the strangest feeling of déjà vu, and the stalk twisted and…beeped.
The guard turned to face them, eyes wide and dark. “What do you hope to accomplish by examining me through a forcefield?” she asked, voice unexpectedly gentle. He started. “I do not appreciate being scrutinized, and I am more than capable of euthanizing you should I wish. It would be wise for you to keep your eyes where they belong.”
She turned her back to them again, making her way to the guard post once more, pulling a weapon out of a holster located about where the left scapula would be on a human. Montgomery turned his attention back to Dr. McCoy immediately.
“At least they’re not Klingon,” he offered. The doctor rolled his eyes. “What’ve we got on us?”
McCoy raised an eyebrow. “I have one used hypo. None of us has any weapons, no communicators, no tools - whatever you’re thinking isn’t gonna work, Commander.”
Montgomery shifted to his feet with a grunt. “I’ll need the hypo,” he murmured. “Help me move Sulu; he’s in the way.”
The doctor still looked skeptical, but he got up too, gripping Sulu by the elbow and relocating him in the middle of the cell. One of the security team moved to pull the helmsman onto the bench Montgomery had been leaning against earlier. Satisfied, the engineer pressed his ear to the side of the cell, tapping carefully against the bulkhead.
“What’re you planning, Scotty?” McCoy asked, gruff voice now laced with curiosity. Montgomery held up one finger, tapping lower. McCoy settled in next to him, resting his forearm on his knee and drawing out the used hypo with his other hand, twisting it between his fingers. Finally, the right sound met his ear, and he carefully measured around the area.
Not like he had a pen. He grimaced, brought his finger to his mouth, and bit the knuckle as hard as he could. McCoy’s displeased sound met his free ear, but he went ahead with it, squeezing around the injury until a droplet of blood was sliding down his finger. He dipped his little finger on his right hand into it and smudged the fluid onto the wall, tapping occasionally to make certain he was still tracing the correct area. After he outlined it completely, he drew his bleeding knuckle into his mouth.
“You realize I don’t have anything to fix that, right?” McCoy drawled, irritation obvious in his tone. Montgomery nodded, running his tongue over the laceration.
“After losin’ one finger completely, a cut like this doesn’t hurt a lick,” he said mildly, watching McCoy blink in surprise. He held up his right hand, wiggling the middle finger. “Prosthetic. Lost the real one doin’ emergency repairs on the first ship I served on.”
“Didn’t know,” McCoy said neutrally. He handed him the hypo. “You plannin’ on tellin’ me what you’re doing?”
Montgomery snapped the hypo with one jerk, carefully pulling out the primary injector. “I’d prefer t’be doin’ this with a full set of tools,” he offered. “Help me get this prosthetic off. You can always put a new one on me later.”
The doctor sighed. “You’re crazy. You know that, right?”
And that was the last conversation they had for some time. It was almost a shame, being without his finger again. He’d almost forgotten it wasn’t real. His mind flashed back to the accident. He’d been trying to realign the primary injector cables in the middle of a conflict with a Klingon battle cruiser, and they’d outright exploded. Dr. Sworovski had done a beautiful job fixing all his other fingers, all things considered. A week later, he’d gotten the prosthetic, and that was that. It had to be in his medical file somewhere, but it wasn’t relevant to his work.
He finished realigning the pumps from the prosthetic and reached for the hypo again. This time, he tried to draw out a small, pointed implement from just under the control wiring. It neatly sliced through his fingertip as he tried to remove it, and he cursed lightly. It took two more tries before he could get it out, and he immediately fixed it onto the empty base of one cylinder.
Experimentally, he pressed the second joint of his prosthetic, watching the point push forward. When he straightened it, the point retracted.
“Perfect,” he murmured. McCoy was flushed red.
“Perfect, my ass,” he growled out. “Your hands are almost a lost cause!”
He looked over his hands, and yes, it wasn’t a pretty sight. They were bloody, his callouses stained red and the place his prosthetic once was not so much resembling a stump as a mass of flesh ready to start bleeding anew. It was ugly and painful, but that didn’t matter.
“I have work to do,” he told the doctor. “Ye can lecture me later.”
This was quickly becoming one of those times Montgomery wished Starfleet hadn’t insisted on the inside of their ships being as durable as the outside. Normally, it was damn useful, if anything. Phaser battles could be fought and won in hallways. The wiring wasn’t going to be in danger when the ship was going through rough territory. Everything was absolutely fireproof, regardless of its location. And it was damn near impossible to cut through a wall with anything short of a plasma torch. It didn’t precisely help that the brig was reinforced; the only access panel was the one he had outlined. He had to cut into it with a reconfigured prosthetic topped off with what was essentially a razor.
It might’ve been easier to break the laws of physics than to finish this.
Either way, he began.
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