NEW TOS: Sea Change 1/5 (Sc/f)[R]
lyrasta...@yahoo.com
Author: Lyrastar
Series: TOS
Codes: Sc/f
Rating: R
Contact: Lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com or
www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher
Betas: PineTrees and Cait N. ; thank you so much for your help!
Disclaimer: Paramount owns Scotty, Mira, Janice and most of the stuff
from the first page, but not much else out of this. No, the idea is
hardly original, but every other fandom has been doing it recently, so
I
thought it was only fair that TOS got in there too.
Summary: A little Scotty backstory.
Part 1/5
SEA CHANGE
"Are you done for the night?" asked Scotty. His bedside reader had
displayed the same screen for over ten minutes. He wondered, and not
for the first time, what supreme power women had to suck the living
marrow right out of a decent man's mind. He had so much reading to
catch up on, but no matter how hard he tried, his eyes and his
thoughts kept wandering right back to Mira.
"Not quite," said Mira Romaine from the desk computer. She took a
break to rub the fatigue back into her eyeballs. "I still need to
calculate the optimal orientation for the mnemonic transponder array
and calibrate all of the transplanar data metacouplers."
"Mmm!" Sexy, smart and expert knowledge in a technical field too.
Scotty had hit the trifecta. Most days it seemed too good to be true,
so he figured that he'd better make the most of it now, just in case
it turned out not to be later. He switched off the reader and pulled
to his feet, all thoughts of professional journals--or professional
anything--completely abandoned. "I love it when ye talk like that."
"Like what?" Mira's voice was distracted. She toggled a switch and
pulled up a new display: the Memory Alpha communications grid. She
sighed. Even before the tragedy with the Zetars, it was going to be a
big job and now, with the librarians dead, that much more of the
installation process fell to her. So much work--
Scotty came around the mesh divider and sidled in behind her. "When
you talk sexy like 'optimal orientation for the mnemonic transponder
array'. Say it. Say 'transplanar data metacouplers' just for me." He
leaned over her body and massaged his hands slowly up her thighs as he
whispered the words into her ear.
Mira twisted her neck away and zoomed in to the first coupler
position, trying her best to act like he wasn't there. She did change
to voice control; it's not easy to use a toggleboard with a full-grown
man hanging over your shoulders. "Computer: show me the primary data
metacoupler interface."
"Mmm! Aye, that's it! You're going to drive me crazy, lassie."
Scotty pushed his lips in against her neck. He loved the little dint
in her breastbone where throat met chest. What do you call that spot?
He'd have to look it up sometime. He nuzzled her and nudged his head
against her chin until talking was as difficult as toggling.
"Oh, you're crazy all right, but I'm pretty sure it happened before
you met me." Mira tried to brush him away--tried, but not too hard.
Her perfume intoxicated his senses and her hair brushed soft along his
cheek. There was no question: her body made him insane; her soul made
him hers. "Crazy for you. And it wouldn't do to upset a crazy man,
so I suggest that you cooperate fully. "
Mira leaned back for a kiss, acknowledging the acquiescence for what
it was. "Oh, I think that that can be arranged." The work would still
be there in a few hours. One thing that the Zetars had taught her is
that one should not assume the same of mortal lives or loves.
His hands made their way under her uniform and together they made
their way to the bunk. At first there was laughter and silly chatter
about dynamic egonium hyperion rods, then there was only the soft
sounds of two healthy people very much in love.
When it was over, they lay with his head on her breast. She stroked
his head and he made lazy circles on her stomach with his hand.
"Why am I so lucky?" she asked.
"Pardon?" Scotty pushed away the lull of sleep.
"That you should be here waiting for me. Why weren't you taken long
ago?"
"I was. By the finest ship ever built. But for you, she'll just have
to learn to share." Scotty cuddled her closer to him.
"No, silly." She shoved her palm into his stomach. "I mean by a real
girl. Why aren't you already married?"
Scotty rolled over on to his back, Sleepiness was no longer a problem.
"I guess I never met the right woman."
"In all that time?" The skepticism in her voice could have cut
through a bulkhead.
"Ih've been immersed in engineering programs since I was fourteen. For
me whole life, I've been surrounded by men. As you may have noticed,
women aren't exactly swarming around impulse vents and antimatter
pods."
Mira giggled. "Of course I noticed. Why do you think I went into
engineering?"
Scotty chuckled. "That's me girl." He kissed her on the nose. "So,
surrounded by all of us dashing and brilliant engineers, why haven't
you been swept away by the right man?"
"I have." She tugged at him playfully. He still uncomfortably
sensitive there--as well she knew--but somehow, from her, he didn't
mind.
"I meant before now. "
"I thought I was; I was wrong." She let him drop from her hand.
"I'm sorry." He pulled her back against him.
"It's okay," she said. "If I things didn't happen like they did, I
wouldn't be here now." She kissed him on the chin.
"So, nice try on the change of subject, Scotty boy. Back to you: all
that time and you never met the right...person?"
Scotty admired the carefully chosen word. "No, lassie; I never have."
~~~
John O'Flaughty was about as removed from Montgomery Scott as helium
was from hawkinium. A lady's man with a joke for every occasion, John
had never been heard to raise his voice in anger. Older than Monty
by three years, he had a string of would-be lovers as long as the
registrar's list at the University of Aberdeen. He also had a fiancée
back home, whom he called every night and saw every other weekend.
The only thing they had in common was a gift for creative engineering
and an apartment rental in Aberdeen.
The project of the moment was a more economical design of a trimodal
personal transport. If the impulse vents could be redesigned to be
water tight with a pleomorphic seaborgium valve--instead of the
current convoluted system--it would cut production costs by a third,
not to mention maintenance and repair.
They thought they had it--or nearly did. They had found an isolated
patch of coast north of Aberdeen and now stood on the rocky shore to
test their scale model. John manned the tele-troller and brought the
robot ship down from space flight into atmospheric propulsion mode.
Monty--as everyone had called him back then--scanned the sky. Today
was a pleasant change from the usual Highland gray. The sun was
playing hide and seek and losing a great deal of the time. The clouds
had scattered respectable distances apart and Monty hoped to see their
model fly.
It dropped out of a cloud about five kilometers away and cruised down
toward the ocean on an even vector. The splash was visible from the
shore.
"Six point oh from the Russian judge," joked Monty.
"You want to drive?" grumbled John. "I didn't realize style counts."
"Style always counts," said Monty. "That's the art of engineering.
How's the telemetry?"
"Hydropulsion at ninety percent. Internal humidity ranging from
twenty to twenty-four and holding."
"Good. Drop down to the bottom."
"Eighty four meters. That's as deep as she gets," announced John. "We
need to test it off the continental shelf next time. "
"Assuming we get through this time. Humidity?"
"Holding."
"Wait until the impulse temperature drops to ambient, then bring it
in," said Monty.
"Still at seventeen hundred degrees. No reason I can't have a little
fun with it 'til then. Have you ever seen a submarine ballet?" John
torqued the tele-troller control. "Look it's Swan Lake!"
The tele-troller beeped. "Bugger all! Port valve failure!"
"Surface and bring it in before the conversion chamber floods!"
"Ihm tryin'!" John's brogue thickened as he furiously tried control
after control. "It's shorted the guidance."
"I told ya nae to run the transfer cable through the mix chamber."
"Shut up! I've almost--"
John looked up in alarm. "DUCK!"
They both dropped to the rocks as the transport model went shooting
over their heads, up over the cliff behind them. They heard a woman
scream, then a crash.
They blinked at each other, then went running.
Monty headed for the direction of the crash up the hillock; John
headed in the direction of the scream. It had seemed to come from an
irregular outcropping in the rock. When Monty came back with the model
in his hands, he found the little hideaway. Inside was John staring
at a woman, naked save for a miniskirt and long, silver hair draped
about her breasts. A few strands of black were peppered through her
hair, and one shocking streak of coal black ran down its length.
"Well, what are you looking at?" she demanded in a vigorous Highland
brogue. "Haven't you ever seen a naked woman--or perhaps not one you
just tried to kill."
"You must know that you are very striking," said Monty, trying not to
stare.
"Striking, my Aunt Fannie! Thanks to you, I was all but struck down!"
"We're sorry, ma'am," stammered Monty. "You've heard of the one that
got away? This is it." He held the model out for her surveillance,
but the joke fell flat.
"Ye need to take better care of your toys around others," she said,
pulling a pink tank top on over her head.
"It's not a toy; it's a trimodal transport model," said Monty.
She stared at him like he was a moron. She had a way of making him
believe that she was correct. "At least your friend has some
manners," she said. John was working on picking up her belongings.
It looked like an ultra-portable easel. It was. The seascape
painting on it had been smudged beyond repair by the fall to the wet
rock.
"Ruined," she pronounced. "A full day's work."
"I don't think you are being quite fair, ma'am," John started.
"Accidents do happen you know."
"Aye. More around some than around others." She eyed them
significantly.
"Allow, me to introduce myself. John O'Flaughty, at your service."
John gave a deep bow and whipped an imaginary Tam off of his head with
a sweep of an arm.
"Thank you for your help, John," she said with a grudging grin.
"And this is my flatmate, Montgomery Scott," John said, gesturing in
his direction.
"My friends call me Monty." He extended his free hand.
"Hello, Montgomery," she nodded, pointedly not taking the hand. "I'm
Lesa. I don't think we need to be on a last name basis."
Monty didn't think that this was quite fair. John had been the one at
the controls, but some how he was now the bad guy left holding the
bag--or the experimental model trimodal personal transport, as the
case may be. He set the unit down.
He tried one last time. "Look, I don't know what else to do. I've
just met the most stunning woman I have ever seen in my life. I am
sorry that it was under less than ideal circumstances, but that's over
with, and I want to get to know her better. Can ya nae give me some
advice as to how?"
She looked him over much more purposefully than before. "If the
woman's had a long day, ya might try feeding her. You've heard it's
the way to a man's heart, but I've news for you: women eat too."
Monty squelched a smile. It was far too early to be counting his
eggs; there was nary a hatchling in sight. "I know a place near here.
Do you like seafood?"
"Only if it's fresh."
Monty gestured out the North Sea. "Look where we are. None fresher."
She shouldered her bag. "We'll see about that. You're buying?"
"Of course. I invited you."
She shouldered her rucksack. "Lead on, Macduff."
John took the flitter home, leaving them to walk the two miles to the
restaurant. She ordered cod; he ordered kippers. He wished he'd
picked the steamed langoustines--or anything that took longer to eat.
It was the best meal he never tasted and it was over far too soon.
"Can I see you again?" he asked.
She spread her arms wide apart. "Here I am."
He laughed. "Ye know what I mean."
She showed mercy. "Aye. I do. I paint here most days when the
weather is warm and fair."
"This is the Highlands! It could be next year before that happens."
"Aye. It could...if we're lucky." She laughed with him. It was a love
only true Scots understood. Year-round freezing drizzle keeps out
the riff-raff, or so went the local expression.
"If we plan on next Saturday, could your friend come?"
"John? I was sort of hoping to being alone."
"You can be alone all you like."
"I meant, alone with you."
Still she waited.
Half a win was infinitely better than a loss. "Aye. I think he could
come, if you like." Still, he couldn't quite keep the disappointment
from his face.
She took his hand. "Monty, you're a fine, man and I enjoy your
company. You're just so young in the ways of the world--"
"John is only two years older than me!"
She toyed with her fork. "That's not what I meant, exactly. It may
not seem like it, but I am thinking of you. I'm not someone you want
to lose your head over."
"Too late," he said with a goofy grin.
She looked to the wall. "That's what I mean."
"Ah'll see ya anyway I can." He paused. "John has a girl, Anne, by the
way--back home. I'hm not tryin to change your mind or anything; I
thought that you should know--before you lose your head."
She gave him a quirky smile that radiated a patient tolerance that he
couldn't reconcile to the circumstances. "Don't worry about me. I
can hold me own with men--and women. The same spot? Where we met. I
could paint you."
"You ken do anything you want with me," Monty said.
She rolled her eyes and picked up her rucksack as they went out the
door. They were going separate directions; she wouldn't let him see
her home, but she kissed him on the cheek before she stepped onto her
shuttle.
~end part 1 of 5