the ship?”
“Come on, Scotty,” Kirk urged him. “D’you really think Starfleet would put a new type of torpedo on one of its vessels without first testing to make sure it wouldn’t cause any problems?”
“I’m sure they’ve tested it, Captain.” The chief drew himself up. “And just maybe me refusal to blindly accept them is part o’ that same testin’. I dinna know what tests Starfleet has run on them or with them, but I do know that none o’ them ’ave been run on the Enterprise, and I’m not ’avin’ those things on me ship unless I know what’s inside them besides maybe gerbils runnin’ nowhere inside little metal wheels!”
Sulu’s voice sounded from above. “Captain, the ship’s ready for departure on your orders.”
“Thank you, Mr. Sulu! Scotty—”
The chief took a step backward. “If you’ll excuse me, Captain, I’ve got a core to prime.” Looking to his right, he barked at his first assistant. Checking storage instructions imprinted on its topside, the stubby Roylan was straddling one of the torpedoes. “What are you bloody gapin’ at, Keenser? Get down!” Turning, he strode off toward Engineering with the silent alien ensign trailing behind and struggling to keep up. Thoughts churning, Kirk watched Scott in silence until he was interrupted by the senior of the two insistent security personnel.
“Captain? We need a decision regarding this cargo.”
“I know what you need. I’m trying to decide what I need. Stand by.”
Behind him, an unhappy McCoy looked up from his recorder. “Jim, these numbers aren’t good.”
Looking up the corridor, Kirk raised his voice. “Scotty . . . dammit!” When no response was forthcoming, he hurried off in the chief’s wake, leaving a more than usually perturbed McCoy behind.
Kirk did not catch up to Scott until he reached Engineering itself, at which point he just did manage to intercept the chief before he disappeared among the Enterprise’s imposing drive components. Unable to flee openly, Ensign Keenser had to content himself with keeping as clear as possible of the two senior officers.
“Mr. Scott, I need you to approve those new weapons. They have special properties that may prove essential to the success of our mission. We can’t leave without them, and as chief engineer, you’re the only one who can authorize their loading. I can countersign for them. So could Mr. Spock. But Security won’t relinquish them without your okay.”
The two men regarded each other for a long moment. Then Scott turned and pointed with deliberation. “D’you know what that is, Captain?”
Kirk did not bother to look in the indicated direction. “No, Mr. Scott. As captain of a starship, how could I possibly be familiar with her propulsion system? Let me think a moment now. Could you be referring to the ship’s food-processing facilities? Her hygienics systems? Or might you just possibly, just maybe, be indicating the warp core?” His tone hardened. “I don’t have time for a lecture, Scotty, especially about aspects of ship technology with which I am more than marginally familiar. We have to—”
“It’s not only the warp core, Captain: It’s a matter-antimatter catastrophe waiting to happen. I dinna know what kind of mini-drive propels those new torpedoes, but ’tis reasonable to assume they would be more powerful than those they replace. Or differently configured. Otherwise they wouldn’t be very ‘new,’ now would they?”
Kirk found himself hesitating. “Go on.”
“More powerful drives implies the use of more powerful magnetic containment fields for the intermix. Dependin’ on how they’re utilized and the nature of the payload they’re carryin’, they could generate a greater magnetic field shift when they’re activated than any earlier models. That could create an interaction with the main core’s containment fields. Consider, Captain: In a combat situation where all weapons are armed, we’d be dealin’ with six dozen photon torpedoes of a new type about whose individual drive containment fields I know nothing and to whose relevant specifications I am being denied access. If their activation interferes in any way with the core containment field, we could lose the ship.”
Kirk fought for patience. “Mr. Scott, do you still think Starfleet would let new weapons on a vessel if they hadn’t first been fully tested to ensure that such an event was impossible?”
“I guess I dinna ’ave your confidence in ground-based laboratory testin’, Captain. This whole mission is a rush job. The crew were rushed back to the ship, the ship is being rushed out of orbit, and these bloody bang-sticks are bein’ rushed on board.” He shook his head. “Maybe it’s a fault o’