Have We Met?

NOTE #1: This is a Star Trek fanfic by me, cuddlesaurus21. Orin and her species and planet, Dinar/Dinarians, are products of my imagination (as is "Loorkeet Syndrome," a fictional space disease based largely on real-life fibromyalgia and CFS, which I have myself). Since Jaylah's species from Star Trek Beyond, and Keenser's species from all the Star Trek "Reboot" movies, have not been given names yet in the canon material, I made up the name "Tesshans" (and planet "Tesshorl," and martial art "Jol-Tok") for Jaylah's and "Grikkuls" for Keenser's in my fanfic here.

NOTE #2: This story was partially inspired by a conversation with , who told me (before I'd gone to see Beyond myself) that Scotty had a friend in this new movie that she thought Orin would have fun meeting; and partially by seeing this fav.me/dabdws6 that made, and wondering what would happen if my own fancharacter had her photo in that old box too. (I didn't actually have a conversation with SailorTrekkie about this, but I do watch her, and hopefully she's okay with me giving her a shout-out here too. )

Okay, anyways, on with the story!

~~~

After the incident on Nimbus III, many of the Enterprise crew had been given extended shore leave. For Scotty, this was a much-needed time to recuperate with his adoptive daughter, Orin. The wee mite hadn't been allowed to go on the latest mission, of course, since it had involved a dangerous rescue race with the Klingons--as always, the Enterprise children and other children of Starfleet were kept safely behind on planets and bases with relatives during those hazardous times. Orin had had a fairly good visit with Scotty's sister, Maggie, and the cousins. But now, Scotty would be on a full two-month shore leave, and he had elected to take her for a vacation to the Federation's grand Tarrytown space station. (It had almost been named the Yorktown, but that name had been passed onto a Starfleet vessel.) It seemed that Starfleet was wanting to help the oldest members of the Enterprise-A crew ease into civilian life again, giving them such a long break this time--it was no real secret that Captain Kirk and his legendary core crew were expected to retire within the next year. Scotty was planning on settling near his sister in their old homeland of Scotland, in the little village of Brackenfife, and raising Orin up to be a proper little "highlander." So perhaps it would have been more fitting to spend their shore leave there--but still, Orin had already been there in the Alban hills with Maggie for a full week, and the Tarrytown would be a fun change of pace, with its urban yet lushly-landscaped environment, and literally thousands of things to do, the theme parks and restaurants Scotty and his "bairn" both enjoyed among them. And there was one other reason Scotty had decided to make the trip--he'd recieved an invitation from a very old friend of his, who had himself recently settled at the Tarrytown. He'd kept in touch with the little rascal ever since their Starfleet Academy days, but it had been a few years now, and his old friend had never actually gotten to meet Orin in person yet.

When they had arrived at the Grikkul dwelling, Orin had been even more delighted than Scotty had expected. She had squealed herself silly at being hugged by an entire family of wrinkly little green munchkins ("They look a wee bit like cabbages wi' arms an' legs," Scotty had tried to describe his friend's species to his adoptive child, "but dunna call them that when ye see 'em, okee?"). There were four adults and two children of about eight or nine (Scotty had to struggle not to laugh as he suddenly thought of them as "Brussels sprouts")--the old engineer wasn't sure how Grikkul family units worked, but he got the impression that Keenser was not one of the actual parents, but rather an uncle now. Oddly enough, Scotty was now being called "Unca" himself on a daily basis, as he had been for a couple of years now--but by the child he himself, rather than his sibling, had actually adopted. "Unca Scotty" he had been when Orin had first met him on the now-lost Enterprise's transporter pads, and "Unca" he had stayed, with all the love of any birth-parent and child between him and the little Dinarian.

Said little Dinarian had fit right in with the quiet but busily-shoulder-patting and bustling family of Grikkuls ("They dunna talk much, see, but they'll understand what we say to 'em--communicate mostly by hearin' an' gestures wi' us, an' all that plus even smell within their own species, or so Ah'm told"). They were all her own size! What fun to find more Federation citizens the same height as Dinarians, even if they looked so different! At first Scotty was worried that Orin might be frightened of his old friend Keenser, with his beetle-like black eyes and craggy features, but thankfully, the little Grikkul's gentle, unassuming demeanor had put her instantly at ease, just as it had him so long ago. Keenser had been assigned to another ship when Scotty first began his mission on the Enterprise, over two decades ago now--but they had served together on a couple of freighters before that, and were roommates at Starfleet Academy even before that, young engineering majors. Ah, how many years ago that had been! Scotty wondered if Keenser's own species could see as many signs of age on him as Terrans could on himself, with his now-pure-silver hair and "crow's-feet" wrinkles.

"Good tae see ye, wee man!" Scotty had chuckled, picking the little "artichoke" into a big hug upon their arrival. Keenser's family had eagerly shown the portly Terran and his daughter to the rooms where they would be staying for the coming weeks--the Grikkuls had a spare bed just Orin's size, but as for Scotty, well, they'd had to make do with their largest couch, laid out with some extra blankets. Scotty would use it politely for a few nights, until he had a chance to purchase a cheap Terran-sized cot that would fit on the living room floor, he privately reckoned.

And now it was the next morning, and while the cot itself would probably be a later purchase, the engineer and his "bairnie" were paying a visit to the neighborhood drugstore, to pick up a few essentials Scotty had somehow forgotten between his Enterprise cabin and the temporary apartment he kept back in San Francisco. Among them was "Blizzacream Oil"--a brand of soothing salve Dr. McCoy had often recommended for Orin. She was such a happy child, Scotty often had to stop and remind himself that she had a condition--that was why they had found her among the mistreated orphans at the Dinarian dictatorship's medical research base, after all. Because of what the Dinarians called "Loorkeet syndrome," her tiny muscles ached constantly, some days much worse than normal, and that was when the pain-deadening lotion at least could be brought in to help a bit. It had made Scotty cry, at first, to sometimes have to rub the salve meant for people his own age onto his new daughter's little elbows and shoulders. And he noticed, too, how, despite her talking and imagination and enthusiasm often working as fast as his beloved warp engines, Orin's actual physical energy levels were quite low, as his were becoming in old age. Though her excited little jump while tugging at the side of his leg (especially when wanting to get to go along on away missions, or even just to the cinema or to a fun kids' restaurant) was quite the familiar sight to Scotty now, Orin didn't run around as much as children her age normally would, especially for more than a minute at a time. Sometimes it just didn't seem fair, that she couldn't feel good enough to do that. But still... she was happy and loved, and her pain levels at least usually stayed on a managable, background sort of level. And those were blessings worth counting, just as finding her was.

"Arthritis acting very bad lately, Sir?" the amphibious cashier asked, by way of friendly senior conversation, as she tucked the two tubes of Blizzacream into a bag and accepted Scotty's credits. Apparently the purchase of so much at once had surprised her, for just one Terran.

"Aye, weel... 'tis also for me bairn," Scotty smiled sadly in return, indicating the little Dinarian out of the corner of his eye. "She has a muscle condition," he whispered, hoping Orin hadn't overheard.

"Oh, I see," the alien woman nodded gravely. Her blue head-crest seemed to waver a bit in sympathy.

Orin had been looking at the drugstore's small display of candy and magazines, but now her attention had grown riveted to its bulletin board. "Unca Scotty, lookit, lookit!" she chirped, as she noticed her guardian coming back from the counter. One tiny finger was pointing to an ad, a medium-sized poster of a stylized figure practicing a kick. It looked to be wearing some sort of martial arts uniform, and, if Scotty wasn't mistaken, the figure was a stylized version of a Tesshan--one of the Federation's newest arrival groups. Tesshorl had joined the United Federation of Planets only the year before. Still, it wouldn't be surprising if a melting pot like the Tarrytown was one of the first places Tesshan immigrants would start settling at. There were almost too many sentient species to count gathered at the space station, and that was one of the things that made it so vibrant and invigorating, in a way.

This was further confirmed as Scotty read the poster's text (the part of it that was in Federation Standard): "Tesshan Jol-Tok. Lessons for fun, exercise, and self-defense. All ages welcome." It showed a local address--a street just a few blocks down from Keenser's family den, in fact. He and Orin could probably walk there, if they wanted.

"Can we go try?" the little Dinarian turned to her guardian and peeped, still pointing.

Scotty rubbed his chubby jowls in concern. "Weel, Ah dunno, Darlin'... ye... ye know ye get tired 'n' hurt so easily...."

"But that's why I want t' learn!" Orin protested, though she knew what her guardian said had been said in kindness. There had been some standard self-defense taught onboard the Enterprise in the gymnasium, but it was usually only for the older cadets, not the youngest children like her. Scotty had told her to scream and punch back if, heaven forbid, any person tried to physically harm her (not that he would ever plan to let her out of his sight around strangers), but that was about it so far. "I need t' learn how t' be strong in short bursts. Li'l kicks. Li'l punches, but with more power. An', an' build my muscles a little. I wanna be strong," she almost whimpered, looking up at her guardian, her hero. "Like you with th' tribble Klingons."

The "tribble Klingons" was a reference to her favorite bedtime story--Scotty had told her about the incident with the tribbles flooding the original Enterprise--and the barfight he and Chekov had gotten into with some Klingons during that time--that the term "tribble Klingons" made perfect sense, in the private language of their own tiny family. Scotty's mustache couldn't help but twitch a bit as a sentimental smile crept upon him. And he didn't know whether to cry or hug or just be proud of his little bairn for her simple--brave, even--wish. He almost did all three.

"All right, Bairnie," he promised her, though still with slight reservations. "We'll go walk down there this afternoon an' see aboot it."

Scotty had taken a photo of the poster with his pocket tricorder, and looked at it to find the lesson times. He took Orin there around thirty minutes before one, hoping this would mean the instructor would be there but be able to talk before most of the students arrived and the lessons started. He also wondered if the Jol-Tok teacher--master? sensei? what would their word for it be?--would actually be a Tesshan, or just someone else who had studied the Tesshan art, made more commonly known to the Federation in the past year.

When they finally walked into the small dojo, its window to the street, he found that his expectations were indeed correct. There was a middle-aged lady there in a martial workout uniform (Orin's little eyes were already glittering at the sight of the purple streamers on her robe--was this how Jol-Tok ranks were designated, like the colors of the belts themselves in karate? They'd probably learn soon enough.), and her striking eggshell-white skin and the projected clumps in her natural hairline both identified her as a Tesshan, from what Scotty had seen of them in holophotos so far. Most striking of all was her facial pattern--spidery but quite beautiful coal-black lines. Scotty was rather ashamed that he didn't know yet whether these were cultural tattoos or the literal skin-markings of Tesshans. They seemed so artisticly precise, it was almost strange to think they might be "drawn" by nature rather than by humanoid hands--and yet, the Creator had stamped such intricate patterns on flowers, and the wings of butterflies and the backs of wasps, so why not on some sentient race somewhere? The galaxy was full of just such wonders as that.

The lady turned around from where she had been arranging some supplies as Scotty cleared his throat softly. She appeared to be in her late forties or early fifties, or the Tesshan equivalent of that--younger than Scotty, but still not what most would consider "young." "Hello," she said, her foreign-planet accent quite noticeable but her words clear and practiced; "who are you?"

Scotty returned her polite smile, hands clasped almost shyly. "Montgomery Scott--or Scotty, if ye like," he shrugged friendlily. He wasn't sure why, but this alien lassie was giving him a strange feeling--not an unpleasant feeling, in fact it was almost quite the opposite, platonically pleasant and reassuring--but a sort of illogical-yet-insistent episode of deja-vu.

"Montgomery Scotty," the Tesshan woman beamed and repeated the name in what apparently seemed the logical way to her. Orin and Scotty both stifled their giggles at the strange combination of his nickname and full name. "I am Mistress Jaylah. Have you come to learn with us today, Montgomery Scotty?"

Scotty at first was taken aback, not having imagined Jaylah would think *he* was the prospective student. "Och, nay, Ma'am, Ah'm probably a wee bit too round in the middle fer such hijinks," he chuckled good-naturedly, giving his ample stomach a pat.

Jaylah chuckled, too, but egged the old Terran on optimistically. "Martial arts can be for anyone! I have heard there are some quite heavy combatants--'soo-moh wrestlers' I think they are called, yes?" she cocked her head--"from some areas of your home planet, and they perform quite admirably."

Scotty managed another good-natured but shrinking chuckle. "Weel, aye... but Ah think their bones are a wee bit younger than me old ones when they go intae the ring."

Jaylah just beamed with further optimism. "You are never too old to learn! Look at me! I learned Jol-Tok from my father before me, and I have continued to train all my life."

Scotty gave in to her logic, shrugging amicably again. "Aye, well... Ah see yer point there. An' 'tis true Ah learned some forms o' martial arts meself, when trainin' in Starfleet. Ah'm a bit oot-a-practice lately, Ah'm afraid, but who knows... mebbe I will learn a wee bit if we start comin' here. But anyways..." he nudged Orin forward paternally, from where she had been clinging to his leg--"*this* is yer wee pupil here. Orin, say hello to Mistress Jaylah."

"H-hello, Mistress Jaylah!" Orin obeyed with a strange mixture of shyness and enthusiam, bobbing a hesitant bow to the Jol-Tok instructor. She wondered if this was the proper way you greeted a Tesshan "sensei," as Mr. Sulu had once showed her for a master from his own Earth culture.

"Hello, Orin," Jaylah chuckled again and smiled reassuringly at the little girl. "--She is your granddaughter?" she looked back at Scotty again.

"Nay, but most people think so at first," the old Scotsman informed her, having gone through this speech many times before. "Orin's actually a Dinarian, but they do look quite a bit like smallish Terrans would. She's me own wee daughter, by adoption." He beamed proudly at the little bundle, who was now re-fastening one of her pink shoe-snaps.

"You want to learn some Jol-Tok, Orin?" Jaylah continued to encourage her tiny potential pupil.

"Oh yes, *please*!" Orin barked like an excited puppy, hopping up closer to her new friend.

"Um..." Scotty pulled Jaylah aside for a moment, wanting to have this discussion before Orin got too excited. He lowered his voice to a whisper, as he had done earlier at the pharmacy. "Wee Orin... she has a condition, see, Loorkeet Syndrome, 's what her people call it. Her little nerves go all a-wire an' her muscles hurt more than they should, an' she doesnae always have energy for more than a few minutes at a time, no' like most wee tykes. Ah had me reservations, but she insisted on comin' here--can she--will she honestly be able tae learn any o' yer techniques at all, wi' her feelin' that way?" he had the sad but concerned look any father in his position would.

Jaylah did not brush this new information off lightly--she was obviously interested in a pupil's well-being, not just in the money. But she did, after a few seconds' consideration, nod with conviction. "She will be able to, if she is willing to try, Montgomery Scotty," Jaylah whispered in return to the Terran. "She may not be able to compete in sparring matches for long, but she will be able to learn the Five Stages of Jelthesh, the Branch of the Lirreek, and some other moves once she has advanced from them. And our meditation practices and warmup stretches may actually help her to feel better than she once did."

This was all the further encouragement Scotty needed. He only had one more question--"We dunna actually live here on the Terrytown, we're stayin' wi' a friend o' mine fer two months--is that long enough fer her to complete some o' yer program?"

"There is no set time," Jaylah nodded pleasantly. "She can learn as much a she wants during the time she has. And we have holovideos she can work from when you return home, too," she gestured across at a shelf near her desk, that had a few such supplies for sale.

"Well, that settles that! We'll be here fer her first lesson this evenin'," Scotty promised, beginning to feel quite excited himself. Then he realized he did have one more question--though he worried it would make him seem quite a fool. And yet... that feeling... it just wouldn't leave him alone.

"Lassie..." the old Terran stammered, looking at the Tesshan's yellow-black-striped eyes, wondering if he would see a kindred light. "Have we... Ah know 'tis nearly impossible, really... but have we... met before?" His gray eyebrows furrowed, trying to figure out why.

Jaylah looked startled for a moment, but then her own eyes twitched--not in disgust at all, but in a low-key sort of shock, a quiet realization. "I... I do not think so, not unless you saw me in some street or shop somewhere, when I arrived and set up shop here some weeks ago. But..." her eyes did meet Scotty's sincere brown ones then, and returned the feeling behind them. "I almost... had thought the same thing when you first walked through the door," she whispered. Then, almost unexpectedly, she broke into a broad smile, offering him her hand. "Perhaps it just means we were meant to be friends, Montgomery Scotty," Jaylah offered.

Scotty clasped the chalk-white hand in his own, returning the same warm smile with a mustache on top. "Aye, I think Ah'd like that verrah much, Lassie."

It was then that they were interrupted by Orin's pitter-patter of feet and excited gabbling at the far corner of the dojo. She had run towards one bit of Jol-Tok equipment that had caught her attention. "A pole-vault, a pole-vault!" she chirped, big eyes all a-sparkle. "Is that a pole-vault, Mistress Jaylah?? Or a quarterstaff, like in Robin Hood??"

Jaylah chuckled softly again as she and Scotty approached the little girl, and the tall training stick in the dojo corner, attached by a rubbery sort of spring to its base in the floor. "Yes, I suppose you could call it that, young one. I do not know your story--is it a Federation movie?--of this 'Robinood' yet, I am afraid. But that is what you call a quarterstaff, yes, and people can use it to vault around. We keep it in that practice holder for that reason. But," she tried to explain to the little girl without disappointing her, "it is usually for students taller than you, you know--our pupils from smaller species like yours are given better-sized--"

But Orin was already jumping for the stick, heedless of her new instructor's advice. "Lemme try, lemme try!" she whooped, grabbing onto the cloth-lined pole. Between her tiny weight and considerable momentum, the stick lunged further towards the wall, then snapped back on its rubbery fixture and sent Orin soaring in the opposite direction--straight into her guardian's ample middle.

WHUMP! "Whooof!!"

Suddenly the adoptive father and daughter were in a heap on the floor, Scotty managing a weak laugh as he caught his breath, slightly cross-eyed. Orin sat on his round belly, where she had landed, looking by turns shamefaced and confused.

Jaylah had one hand over her mouth in shock, but couldn't help dissolving into a small, amused smile herself, once she realized everyone was okay. "Well," she gave a hesitant giggle with her fluting accent; "at least she landed on something soft!"

***

Far out across the fabrics of time and space, in a parallel world, a somewhat younger, other version of Scotty stood sharing a drink with his new friend, Jaylah. He was busy giving her some tips for her oncoming days in Starfleet Academy, but his ramble was interrupted as his crewmate, Spock, motioned him over.

"Och, gotta go. Keep an eye on Keenser for me, will ye Lass?" the engineer winked, hoping his little green friend would keep the still slightly-rattled Jaylah company. She was the first of her kind to set foot on the Yorktown space station, after all, and still getting used to her new surroundings.

Spock was already addressing the rest of his core crewmates in the room nearby. Scotty noticed that his face was unusually somber--even for a Vulcan--not exactly in a way that suggested a fresh wave of grief, but still with a definite sort of earnest, heavy seriousness about it. They had all heard about the passing of Spock's elder counterpart, who had come through to their timeline from a parallel world, and they all felt saddened by this, as Ambassador Spock had been their friend and ally. Now, Spock's younger self was spreading some trinkets out on the table before them, lain on a Vulcan cloth. Apparently the display included most of the contents of the elder Ambassador's keepsake box.

"I... felt that I should share this with you," the Vulcan officer stammered. "As you know, my... predecessor had his own friends, his own life, in a world, a timeline, parallel to ours. Ambassador Spock did not always tell me the details of their adventures, but... he did tell me that many of his companions, were the same as mine--were... well, you." Spock continued to falter a bit, seeking the words--such displays of emotion were still sometimes difficult for him, and besides, the subject matter itself would be rather mind-boggling for all of the Terrans, he knew. "Your... your other selves, just as Ambassador Spock was... mine. I felt... I felt you should all see this. You, Captain, and Doctor, and you, Mr. Scott, Nyota, Mr. Chekov, Mr. Sulu. I believe the seven individuals in this photo are, well... us... that is... our other selves. I thought you... would want to see, just as I have been priveleged to see."

He pushed a rectangular holophoto forward, carefully preserved in its Vulcan case. After a few gasps, and then an awkward, reverent silence, several small chuckles started to tumble forward. "That's me? That's *me*??" "Chekov, look at your *hair*!" "Keptin, you apparently alvays *vere* fond of zat chair!" "You know, it's... it's wonderful, in a way, to know that we all stuck together, over there... even if it *did* mean I must've spent half m' life arguin' with you, ya pointy-eared hobgoblin!"

Scotty finally giggled, cocking his head at the image he now knew to be his "other self," chubby and grinning in old age. He stroked his upper lip thoughtfully. "Ye know... Ah always *did* wonder whether I should try growin' a mustache," he chuckled again, musing as much to himself as to anyone else.

"Looks like zat is not *all* you are going to grow, Meester Scott!" Chekov couldn't help grinning mischievously, noticing the other Scott's waistline in the photo, as they all did.

"Och, mind how ye talk tae yer elders, Laddie!" Scotty growled playfully, ruffling his little pal's curly hair.

Then they all turned their attentions to a few other photos that had tumbled out of the chest. "That's Demora!" Sulu gasped, realizing one of the photos of his other self also included his daughter's counterpart from that timeline, further verified by the names on the back of the holocard.

There was a photo of Kirk, Spock, and McCoy in camping gear, and then a picture of Ambassador Spock's family--his father Sarek in his ceremonial garb, and his mother Amanda, grown to old age and sitting serenely by her son, a blue Vulcan headdress crowning her gray hair.

As they all rummaged through the photos, Scotty noticed another one of his other self peeking out from a corner. And that wasn't all. His eyes widened, and his hand darted in to snatch the holocard before it fell to the ground.

Old Scotty, plump as an overstuffed teddy bear, dressed in a Starfleet engineering vest, and beaming there grandly and affectionately, with a little girl hoisted up in his arms. Their matching brown eyes were both all a-twinkle at each other as they shared a nose-nuzzle.

"A bairn... *a bairn*!" Scotty stammered. "I'm... I'm... Ah'm goin' tae have a bairn! Sulu, Uhura, look, look!... But I'm... Ah wonder if she was born tae me, or adopted... she almost looks too small tae be a Terran child, more the size o' a Terran baby, almost..." the engineer faltered as his friends gathered round, Uhura giving a cooing "Awww!" as she noticed the brown-haired child photographed in old Scotty's arms.

Their questions about the biological origins of the girl were answered as the card flipped over. "Mr. Scott and Orin, the Dinarian child whom he adopted," Ambassador Spock's gentle scrawl read.

"Dinarian..." Scotty repeated, still taking it all in. "Dinar... Ah dunna recall a planet called...."

"Dinar V is a class-M planet in the solar system of the sun Phyton, Mr. Scott," Spock interjected, back to his old technical, scholarly self. "Surface scans by Starfleet ships in the area ten years ago indicated a growing civilization nearing the beginnings of its spaceflight era. An as-yet obscure but promising chapter in our Galactic Geography studies at Starfleet Academy. The Prime Directive prevents us from contacting or studying the Dinarians during this delicate part of their cultural evolution, but roughly within another decade, they should reach contact stage. As of yet, no known member of the Federation has met a Dinarian in person, but we will likely be hearing much more about them soon." The Vulcan completed his almost dictionary-esque discourse calmly, hands tucked behind his waist.

"M-may I keep this, Mr. Spock?" Scotty still held the holophoto gingerly, looking to his friend with both hesitancy and gratitude.

"I do not believe it would be a breach of protocol," Spock acquiesced, his nod and very gentle smile showing more warmth than his carefully-chosen words.

The middle-aged engineer's own smile grew slightly as he turned back to the photo, pushing stray dust motes off of it with his thumb. Ten years ago, he might have laughed or even scoffed to think such a man might one day be him--a silver-headed old butterball, apparently still quite the engineering genius, but settled in his comforts of tea and biscuits and journals by the fireside, and up to his ears with the domestic joy of parenthood, instead of up to his ears in fast-paced adventure. Scotty's free hand subconsciously glided off the handle of his teacup on the table, and brushed the side of his stomach, which suddenly felt very warm and full. His eyes moistened as he stared at the child in his "other self's" arms, wondering what she might look like, in this world, and whether she was already walking and talking, or as yet still unborn. Wondering also, when the official contact of Dinar V might be, and how he could--how he *would*--make sure he would be one of the Starfleet representatives involved in it.

"Ah'll find ye, Bairnie," Scotty whispered, his smile growing further with the promise. "Dunna fret. Uncle Scotty'll be there for ye, someday." He closed his eyes, dreaming of childish giggles and tiny hands and brushing hair, and folded the holophoto card against his heart.