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“Mr. Genestra, do you know what standard procedure is?” Scott’s mind was now awash in pity, and it only made the patronizing tone he took more infuriating to Genestra.

“Of course I do, it’s—”

“It’s the procedure you follow when things are goin’ normal. I think we can both agree, can we not, that things out here are a wee bit off from normal. Since the war, Starfleet’s supply lines have been stretched thinner’n syntheholic scotch. On top of that, since that foolishness at Rashanar, the Enterprise has not been Starfleet’s top priority when it comes to resupply.”

Genestra could not deny the truth of Scott’s words. “But to involve a Ferengi—”

“Who better? We’re hardly at war with ‘em, and if there’s one thing a Ferengi can do right, it’s scrounge.” Scott grinned, and Genestra felt an odd combination of appreciation and affection. “Situations like this call for creative solutions, Mr. Genestra—and you’d know that if you’d had any time in the field instead of spendin’ your career hemmin’ admirals’ trousers.”

“Captain Scott—”

Irritation and dismissal. “If that’ll be all, Mr. Genestra, I promised to have dinner with Mr. La Forge and Mr. Data—and I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my area of this inspection.”

Without another word, Scott turned on his heel and left the observation lounge.

Genestra sighed. He supposed that Scott did have a point, but he still should have noted the improper procedure in his report. It was Captain Go’s place to decide the propriety of Commander La Forge’s actions as head of the inspection team; their job as inspectors was to bring all data to her attention.

Perhaps the chain of command was also lax in the twenty-third century.

With another sigh, Genestra sat down at the table and started compiling his latest report on Commander Vale.

“Come,” said Riker’s voice from the other side of the door to his quarters.

In response to the keyword, the door slid aside. La Forge looked in to see the distinctive biosignature of William Riker seated comfortably in the large chair in the common room, just a couple of meters from the poker table. Riker had been reading a padd, which he set aside as La Forge entered the cabin. “Geordi. Thanks for coming.”

“What can I do for you, Commander?”

“Quite a bit, actually.” Riker indicated the couch perpendicular to his chair, and La Forge sat down in it. “I’m not taking you away from anything, am I?”

“I’m supposed to be meeting Scotty and Data in Ten-Forward for dinner, but I can cancel, if—”

“No, that won’t be necessary. This’ll only take a minute.” Riker chuckled. “I envy you, you know.”

“How so?”

“You’ve got Scotty checking you over. We should all be so lucky.”

La Forge let out a breath. “Yeah, I wasn’t exactly doing cartwheels when I saw Genestra again. After what he did to poor Simon

” Simon Tarses had been a medical technician on the Enterprise when Admiral Satie’s search for a Romulan spy got out of control. It was Genestra who interrogated Tarses, revealing in front of the entire crew that Tarses was one-quarter Romulan, not part-Vulcan as he’d said on his Starfleet application. Tarses recovered from the experience, thankfully, as wiser heads prevailed over Satie’s irrational judgment. He went on to attend Starfleet Medical and, last La Forge heard, was serving as a doctor on Deep Space 9.

“I know,” Riker said. “And Beverly’s chewing nails over Russell’s presence.”

“I haven’t come across Captain Go—what’s she like?”

Riker hesitated, then: “Not the friendliest person I’ve ever met. She makes Worf look chirpy.”

Wincing, La Forge said, “That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

Grinning, La Forge said, “Well, I’ll just count my blessings down in engineering.”

“As well you should. Like I said, Scotty’s an ideal inspector.”

“Oh yeah—if nothing else, he’s been in my shoes plenty of times before.”

It had been good to see Scotty again. Their first meeting, back when they rescued the old captain from the Jenolen’s transporter, had not started out well. La Forge viewed the time-displaced engineer as an intruder in his engine room, serving mostly to keep La