Author's Note: This is a story I wrote more than ten years ago, when I was in high school. It's a bit rough, a bit immature, a bit imprecise in its Star Trek details and timeline, rather terrible in its fake Scottish accent, with some "interesting" grammar and punctuation, but it's fun. Please be kind to my little high school self.
"Morganna!" Philip Church shouted. He raced up the stairs of his sister's house to find her in her art room surrounded by paint. "Morganna, I understand!"
"You understand what? Sit down; you don't want to injure yourself."
"Injure myself!" the 50-year-old man snorted. "I jog everyday—it helps me think. But who cares about that? I understand!"
"So you've said. What do you understand?"
"What the Captain said so many years ago. Remember? Scotty said, 'I did it! It was supposed to happen!' Today, I read in a newspaper that I supposedly said I got my ideas from aliens, because I knew just what I'd find!"
"Do you mean," Morganna gasped, "that you'll be famous into the 23rd century! That they knew you, and what you'd do, and that's why Kirk kept saying to do it, to not worry about anything, but to do it!"
"Yes! I'm positive! The news that aliens helped me will survive till then, and everyone will wonder…until Scotty finds out that he did it!"