Hour-glass - [Risa, Pier, Day 7]
After the last of the party last night, Scotty took his food and bid a goodnight to Harold. From there, he went to grab his stuff from his locker and managed to catch a good shower before the public beach houses closed for the night, then change into his clean clothes. And, since he didn't have to worry about starving, he also finally picked up a comb. It took him about a half-hour to untangle his hair, in all. He hadn't properly combed it in a week, and it was apt to be uncontrollable even when it was neat, let alone when it wasn't.
But finally, after all of that, he went back to his spot.
His last night here. He still didn't want to leave. He still thought those plaintive, childish thoughts that he could be Robinson Crusoe or Peter Pan and just spend the rest of his life under a pier, scraping by, maybe building a small shelter under the eves of civilization. Scotty was only ever one step removed from the wilderness. Not even because he loved wilderness, but because he understood it and it meant not being around people. It meant he could live or die by his own hands.
Still, he had given his word. He hadn't heard back from the other Scott, but he still wasn't all that surprised by it. Man probably finally came to his senses.
He didn't sleep brilliantly, mostly because he was a little anxious and partly because he felt like he was mourning, but he was up with the suns and resolved to carry through on what he said he would. It wasn't easy; he kept having to jerk himself back on task, away from everything in him crying out to run.
The first thing he did was type up his proper transcripts into the PADD, including name, rank, serial number and everything else. He wasn't a member of this Starfleet, but he included all of his Basic Training information, included all of the classes he'd taken and scores -- universally above average -- and then the classes he'd already been released from in Command School thanks to his time at the University of Aberdeen, and his class-credits from those. He was, in his own universe, a first-year Command Cadet, but he was sure that wouldn't translate.
The second thing he did was draw up a contract. He wasn't ready to commit to being in this Starfleet; far from it, he wasn't even sure if he could commit to being in this universe. So, the contract he drew up was that, if accepted, he would work as a privately contracted civilian at a pay-rate of a crewman third class, answerable to senior warrant officers and commissioned officers, but not a member of the crew officially. He could, then, leave if it proved to be a bad idea. He would be able to wear his own clothes, but he would be under the command of everyone from senior warrant officer on up. It was the best he could do to honor both his own Starfleet, who he had made his commitment to, but likewise be fair to the crew of this starship and properly pull his weight, and to put himself under their code of conduct so long as he worked with them.
He read over it a handful of times, then send it off:
To: Yeoman Harold Lee, USS Enterprise
From: Montgomery Scott
Re: Contract Proposal for Captain Kirk
Attached: transcripts.doc, contract.doc
Yeoman Lee,
Herein is my formal request to join the crew of the USS Enterprise as a privately contracted civilian, as well as my qualifications for such a position. Please forward this to Captain Kirk as priority allows. If said contract is approved, please pass on my formal request to work one full shift rotation in the galley, and one half shift rotation as a technician, and any/all pertinent information I would need (reporting officers, schedule, quarters) to adequately perform my duties.
-Montgomery Scott
It was a formal note, but it made Scotty grin briefly. He wondered if he was the first person to send paperwork to the newly minted yeoman as something of a loose introduction to his job. And he imagined Harold's face as he tried to figure out what to do with it, which made him laugh outright.
It was still morning when Scotty was all finished with that.
And all that was really left for him to do then was wait.
But finally, after all of that, he went back to his spot.
His last night here. He still didn't want to leave. He still thought those plaintive, childish thoughts that he could be Robinson Crusoe or Peter Pan and just spend the rest of his life under a pier, scraping by, maybe building a small shelter under the eves of civilization. Scotty was only ever one step removed from the wilderness. Not even because he loved wilderness, but because he understood it and it meant not being around people. It meant he could live or die by his own hands.
Still, he had given his word. He hadn't heard back from the other Scott, but he still wasn't all that surprised by it. Man probably finally came to his senses.
He didn't sleep brilliantly, mostly because he was a little anxious and partly because he felt like he was mourning, but he was up with the suns and resolved to carry through on what he said he would. It wasn't easy; he kept having to jerk himself back on task, away from everything in him crying out to run.
The first thing he did was type up his proper transcripts into the PADD, including name, rank, serial number and everything else. He wasn't a member of this Starfleet, but he included all of his Basic Training information, included all of the classes he'd taken and scores -- universally above average -- and then the classes he'd already been released from in Command School thanks to his time at the University of Aberdeen, and his class-credits from those. He was, in his own universe, a first-year Command Cadet, but he was sure that wouldn't translate.
The second thing he did was draw up a contract. He wasn't ready to commit to being in this Starfleet; far from it, he wasn't even sure if he could commit to being in this universe. So, the contract he drew up was that, if accepted, he would work as a privately contracted civilian at a pay-rate of a crewman third class, answerable to senior warrant officers and commissioned officers, but not a member of the crew officially. He could, then, leave if it proved to be a bad idea. He would be able to wear his own clothes, but he would be under the command of everyone from senior warrant officer on up. It was the best he could do to honor both his own Starfleet, who he had made his commitment to, but likewise be fair to the crew of this starship and properly pull his weight, and to put himself under their code of conduct so long as he worked with them.
He read over it a handful of times, then send it off:
To: Yeoman Harold Lee, USS Enterprise
From: Montgomery Scott
Re: Contract Proposal for Captain Kirk
Attached: transcripts.doc, contract.doc
Yeoman Lee,
Herein is my formal request to join the crew of the USS Enterprise as a privately contracted civilian, as well as my qualifications for such a position. Please forward this to Captain Kirk as priority allows. If said contract is approved, please pass on my formal request to work one full shift rotation in the galley, and one half shift rotation as a technician, and any/all pertinent information I would need (reporting officers, schedule, quarters) to adequately perform my duties.
-Montgomery Scott
It was a formal note, but it made Scotty grin briefly. He wondered if he was the first person to send paperwork to the newly minted yeoman as something of a loose introduction to his job. And he imagined Harold's face as he tried to figure out what to do with it, which made him laugh outright.
It was still morning when Scotty was all finished with that.
And all that was really left for him to do then was wait.