That did it. Geordi had tried, he really had. But it was absolutely impossible to humor Scott and still get anything done.

"Mr. Scott," he, said, "please. I'd like to explain everything, really. But the captain wants this spectrographic a.n.a.lysis done by thirteen hundred hours. So if you'll excuse me ..."

With that, he turned his back on the older man and retreated into his office. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scott watching him for a moment. Then, uninvited, he went in and quietly moved to Geordi's side.

Is there no end to this? asked the chief engineer. No relief?

"Would ye mind ... a little advice?" asked Scott.

Geordi decided he would mind. He didn't want any advice at all. But he held his tongue, hoping that once Scott gave it to him, he'd leave him alone.

"Starships' captains are like children," the man said in an avuncular tone. "They want everything right now and they want it their way. The secret is to give them what they need, not what they want."

Scott's att.i.tude really p.r.i.c.ked Geordi. Worse, the advice itself went completely against the grain of his personality.

"I told him I'd have that a.n.a.lysis done in an hour," Geordi said firmly.

Scott grinned conspiratorially. "An' how long will it really take you?"

Geordi was puzzled now-genuinely puzzled. "An hour," he replied.

The other man seemed shocked. "Ye didnae tell him how long it was really going to take you?"

Geordi was irritated-and getting more so by the second. "Of course I did."

Scott rolled his eyes in mock disappointment. "Laddie, laddie, laddie. Ye've got a lot to learn if ye want them to think of ye as a miracle worker. Take it from me, ye've got to-"

Every man has his threshold, a line beyond which he can tolerate no more. Geordi had just reached his. He rounded on Scott.

"Look, sir," he said, "I've tried to be patient. I've tried to be polite. But I've got a job to do here-and you're getting in my way."

The last thing he expected was that Scott's own temper would flare ... but flare it did. Every engineer in the place turned and stared as his voice rose, trembling with righteous emotion.

"I'll have ye know I was driving starships while your grandfather was still in diapers. I should think ye'd be grateful for a wee bit o' help-"

Geordi had had enough of this. It was embarra.s.sing. It was stupid. And it had to be stopped before it went any further.

Rather than fan the flames any higher, he turned away from Scott... just focused on his monitor and ignored the man. It was a mistake; Scott took it as an insult, and his voice waxed even louder for one last barrage.

"Then I'll leave ye to yer work, Mr. La Forge!" With that, the man stormed out of engineering. Everyone watched him go. In his wake, there was an inescapable feeling that the whole thing could have been handled a lot better.

Geordi cursed under his breath. He was already sorry about the incident, d.a.m.ned sorry. But it was too late; the damage had been done.

Chapter Seven.

NOT SO LONG AGO, Scott's quarters had seemed so s.p.a.cious he didn't know what to do with them. Now they felt too small-like a cage, slowly but surely closing in on him-as he paced from one bulkhead to the other and back again.

"In the way," he muttered, not for the first time. "He actually said I was in the way!" He harrumphed loudly. "Used to be engineers had a wee bit o' respect for one another. Used to matter if a man spent his whole life in the bowels of a starship and never-"

Abruptly, the door chimed. Scott turned.

"What do ye want?" he demanded.

Scott wasn't sure what he'd expected, but it wasn't what he got. As the door slid aside, it revealed one of the loveliest women he'd ever had the pleasure to meet. The smile on her smooth-skinned face was so pleasant, so disarming, that he felt compelled to back away from his anger.

"Is this a bad time?" she asked, her large, dark eyes fairly dancing beneath a fringe of curly black hair.

"Uh... no," said Scott. He extended his hand to her. "Captain Montgomery Scott at your service. What can I do for you?"

She took his hand and grasped it firmly. "Deanna Troi, ship's counselor. And actually, I'm here to see if there's anything I can do for you."

Scott didn't quite know what to make of that, but she was much too pretty to dismiss out of hand. Gesturing, he offered her a seat, then took one himself.

"I thank ye kindly for your concern, la.s.s. But I'm set for now. The quarters are more than adequate. And the replicator is an honest-to-goodness wonder..."

Scott smiled at her. She smiled back. But he still didn't know why she was here. And maybe, he mused, he didn't care-as long as she stayed a while.

"I'm glad you're comfortable," said Troi. "But I was actually more interested in how you feel."

For a brief moment, Scott had visions of something more than a friendly encounter. But he hadn't even met the woman until moments ago. And though he was still a handsome man, if he did say so himself, he just couldn't imagine ...

"How I feel?" he repeated lamely.

"Yes," said Troi. "It would be perfectly normal to feel disoriented, confused or even frightened following the kind of experience you've just had."

Scott still didn't get it. "I suppose it's been ... a mite bewilderin', yes."

There was an awkward pause as Scott tried to figure out where all this was headed. Troi straightened in her seat a bit, as if considering a different tack.

"I'm sure you have a lot of questions about what's happened over the last seventy-five years," she declared. "If you'd like, I can help you access some of our historical records ... maybe help you discover what happened to your family ... or friends."

Scott recoiled at the suggestion, surprising even himself. Family? Friends? "I dinnae think I'm ready for that just yet," he said. "It's a hard thing to come to grips with ... I mean, the fact that everyone ye once knew is probably..."

His voice trailed off-as he suddenly realized what tone this conversation was taking. He looked at Troi with suspicion.

"Pardon me fer asking," he began, "but tell me, what exactly is a ... ship's counselor?"

"I'm here to watch over the emotional well-being of our crew," she explained. And smiling that incredible, bonnie smile of hers, she added "And of course, that of our guests as well."

Scott felt his eyes narrowing. "And ye're an officer?"

Troi nodded. "Yes. They started a.s.signing counselors to starships about forty years ago, when they realized that the pressures of extended s.p.a.ce travel-"

Scott's suspicions were confirmed. "Ye're a psychologist!" he said.

"Among other things," Troi responded, as calm and even-keeled as ever. "As I said, I'm here to make sure-"

Scott scowled. "La Forge sent ye h ere, didn't he? He did! I may be old, but I'm nae crazy!"

Troi shook her head. "You misunderstand, Captain Scott. Geordi didn't send me. And I know you're not crazy."

Scott got to his feet, annoyed at the whole affair. What had started out as something very pleasant was turning into just another form of humiliation. h.e.l.l, he was getting to be an expert at humiliation.

"Ye're d.a.m.ned right," he told her. "And since we're in agreement on that point, ye should know I dinnae need a ship's counselor, or a psychologist, or whatever else ye may be." He paused, feeling his cheeks grow hot. And in a voice that was so whisper-thin it surprised him, he said "I know what I need-and it's nae here."

Nor would it ever be, as far as he could tell. The weight of that realization hit him with an almost physical impact.

For a moment, Troi looked as if she might try to convince him otherwise. Then she must have thought better of it, because she just rose from her seat and folded her arms across her chest.

"I hope you'll come to feel differently, Captain Scott. In the meantime, I'll be available if you decide you want to see me again."

Scott harrumphed. Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely, he mused, as he watched her exit his quarters and disappear behind the sliding door.

As Deanna Troi negotiated the corridor outside Scott's door, she felt the darkness inside her slowly dissipating. Scott's darkness. She sighed.

Such despair. She had seen men succ.u.mb to lesser burdens. She had seen the shadows of suffering eat them from within, until there was nothing left of them but hollow sh.e.l.ls.

And yet, Scott did not seem to be in danger of that. He was carrying his load with remarkable fort.i.tude, uncanny courage. Troi could not help but admire him for it.

Of course, it would have been better for him if he had opened up to her. She could have lightened his load, perhaps shown him a personal future he would not have thought possible.

Hope-that was her stock in trade. But he had not let her peddle it in his presence. The same courage that kept him sane in a strange environment would not let him accept what she had to offer.

Nor could she press her case. If Scott wanted her to intervene now, he would ask. Shaking her head, feeling a little defeated, she entered the turbolift and headed for the bridge.

Of all the nerve. Of all the b.l.o.o.d.y, condescending nerve.

To even suggest that he, Montgomery Scott, might need a psychologist-a blasted headshrinker. Hadn't he been through more harrowing experiences across the length and breadth of this galaxy than there were people on this twenty-fourth-century version of the Enterprise? And hadn't he managed to keep mind and body together through it all?

Scott didn't know exactly where he was going as he stalked along the corridor. What's more, he didn't care.

He just had to walk, to get his blood pumping. To figure things out.

If only he were back on his own Enterprise. Then he could have curled up in his quarters with a bottle of fine scotch and bit by bit gotten some perspective on what had happened to him... what was still happening to him.

Scott shook his head. Psychologist indeed. All he needed was a place of refuge where he could wet his whistle and mull it all over.

As he negotiated a curve in the corridor, he couldn't help but notice the looks he was getting from those who pa.s.sed him going in the opposite direction. Did they know about him? Had they heard?

And were they going to offer him some advice too? Some twenty-fourth-century psychological gobbledygoop?

Scott was so busy avoiding the gazes of the people in the corridor that he almost overlooked the one set of eyes that wasn't trained on him. If it wasn't for their color-a vibrant gold-and the pallor of the skin surrounding them, he would never have given them a second glance.

But he did. And what he saw piqued his curiosity enough for him to do an about-face and head the other way.

His initial a.s.sessment had been that the specimen in question was just an alien. A representative of a race that had joined the Federation sometime in the seventy-five years he'd been away. Then some sixth sense-the kind that made him the best ship's engineer in the fleet of his day-told him otherwise.

This was a mechanical man. An artificial life form. An android-or at least, that's what they had called them a century ago.

And it was wearing a Starfleet uniform-with a lieutenant's pips on the collar, no less. This ... construct... was an officer on the Enterprise. First Klingons and now this!

Intrigued, Scott accelerated a bit and caught up with the android. Immediately, those golden eyes slid in his direction, taking him in.

"May I be of a.s.sistance?" it asked.

Scott chuckled. It even sounded artificial. Its speech pattern was too precise, too perfect... too devoid of emotion to have come from a living pair of vocal cords.

"May ye be of a.s.sistance?" the human echoed. Aye, he thought. Ye can a.s.sist me in twisting yer b.l.o.o.d.y head off, so I can get a peek down yer neck to see what makes ye tick.

But he didn't express that sentiment out loud. He didn't feel right speaking that way to a fellow officer, even if it was just a thing made of nuts and bolts.

The android tilted his head to one side. It was a subtle movement, but noticeable nonetheless. "You are Captain Scott," it observed.

So it knew him. But then, if it was an officer on this ship, it would have been its business to know such things.

"Right ye are," said Scott. "And who might you be?"

"My name is Data," it replied simply.

Data, eh? "An interesting name," the human observed.

"I am an android," it went on, as if it recognized that an explanation might be in order.

"I can see that," Scott told it. "I've seen my share of androids before, y'know. Back at Exo Three, we had one that looked like our captain sitting in the command chair. And then there was the pack that Harry Mudd unleashed on us, though before long he wished he had never considered it. And of course, there was that poor, sweet thing on Holberg Nine-One-Seven-G... I dinnae suppose I need to go on."

Data nodded. "Nonetheless, you did not expect to see an android serving as an officer on the Enterprise. Correct?"

Scott looked at him. Perceptive, wasn't he? Had he been that obvious about it? Or had Data just drawn a logical conclusion from the information at hand?

"Something like that," the human admitted. "So ... how did ye come to be an officer here? Were ye built for the purpose?" Another question occurred to him. "Does every ship have an android aboard it these days?"

It was a chilling thought, Scott mused. Machines had no business being in charge of starships. They'd proven that a hundred years go, the time Starfleet inflicted the M-5 unit on them.

"I am the only android presently serving in Starfleet," Data responded. "Nor was I created to do so. I was originally designed and built by Dr. Noonian Soong, a cyberneticist, who had no idea that I would one day become an officer on a starship. As for my joining the Enterprise... my career path was not unusual. Like anyone else, I first attended Starfleet Academy and served in lesser capacities on various other vessels."

The human nodded. There was something strangely likeable about this mechanical man. He was so forthcoming, so honest. So downright... friendly. And no doubt, an excellent source of information. After all, his name was Data, wasn't it?

I can use a source of information, Scott told himself. Especially one who doesn't seem to mind my asking a bunch of questions-unlike that upstart La Forge.

And he still had lots of questions. About the warp engines, the transporter units, the phaser banks, the sensor array... and of course, about Data himself.

Scott put his hand on the android's shoulder. "I'd like to speak with ye sometime at greater length," he said. "I dinnae suppose he'll be getting off duty soon, eh?"