Relics - Michael Jan Friedman [36]
“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 assigning counselors to starships about forty years ago, when they realized that the pressures of extended space 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. Hell, he was getting to be an expert at humiliation.
“Ye’re damned 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 bloody 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 succumb to lesser burdens. She had seen the shadows of suffering eat them from within, until there was nothing left of them but hollow shells.
And yet, Scott did not seem to be in danger of that. He was carrying his load with remarkable fortitude, 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 bloody, condescending nerve.
To even suggest