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Instantly, there was a glass in the captain’s hand. He extended it meaningfully toward Scott.

“There ye go,” said the older man, filling it and then his own. This time, they tossed back their drinks together.

“Ahh,” said Scott, feeling it warm his insides on its way down.

For a time, there was an easy silence between them, a silence that made no demands on anyone. Nor was it a complete silence at that; in the background, there was the low base thrum of th e old Enterprise’s various systems.

Running at peak efficiency-of course. Scott wouldn’t have tolerated anything less.

Finally, he broke the silence. Turning to Picard, he asked “What was the first ship you ever served on? As captain, I mean?”

Picard grunted. “It was called … the Stargazer.”

“Ye say it like an incantation,” the older man noted.

The captain smiled. “There was nothing magical about it, I assure you. The Stargazer was an overworked, underpowered vessel that was always on the verge of flying apart at the seams. In every measurable way, my Enterprise is a superior ship.” A pause. “And yet, there are times when I miss that cramped little bridge more than I care to say.”

Scott beamed. Here was a man who was very much like him, who could understand what he was going through.

“It’s like the first time ye fall in love,” he told Picard. “Ye dinnae ever love a woman quite the way ye did that first one. Here, allow me.”

Scott poured another shot into the captain’s glass. As before, the liquid gleamed as it captured the light. Then he poured himself a refill as well.

“A toast,” he suggested. “To the Enterprise and the Stargazer… old girlfriends we’ll never see again.”

Clinking glasses, they drank up. Drawing a satisfied breath, Picard turned again to his companion. “And while we’re on the subject of ships … what do you think of the EnterpriseD?”

“Ah,” said Scott, “she’s a beauty fer certain. A dream in duranium. With a good crew, too, as far as I can tell.”

Picard could hear the reservation in his voice. “But?”

Scott took in the bridge with a sweep of his arm. “When I was here,” he said, “I could tell ye the speed we were travelin’ by the wee shiverin’ in the deck plates. I could feel it when we came about, and tell ye our heading without even looking. On yer ship …” He shook his head. “Half the time, I cannae seem to tell up from down.”

Suddenly, Scott was enveloped by a great sense of sadness, of loss. He turned again to his monitor screen and regarded his image there.

He was old. And like the comrades he had recreated moments earlier, he was out of place here, a round peg in a square hole. Time had passed him by-like a dinosaur, like a relic of some prehistoric age.

Maybe it would have been better if he’d been lost in the transporter like poor Franklin. Then he’d have gone out at the top of his game. He’d have been remembered for what he was, not as some pathetic has-been.

Picard put a hand on his shoulder. “Feeling a little disoriented?” he asked congenially.

Scott sighed. “Feeling wrong,” he replied. “I’m in the way here, Captain Picard. I’m a nuisance. Nothing’s what it should be … where it should be. Damn! I feel so bloody … useless.”

Picard looked at him sympathetically. “Seventy-five years is a long time, my friend. A big gap. You shouldn’t expect to close it in a day. If you’d like to study some of the technical-“

Scott shook his head peremptorily. “I’m nae eighteen, Captain. I cannae start over again like a raw cadet.”

“You need not start over,” Picard told him. “Not entirely.”

The older man shook his head. Getting unsteadily to his feet, he moved toward the captain’s chair, then turned back toward Picard.

“There comes a time,” he said, “when a man finds he cannae fall in love again … when he knows that it’s time to stop.” Another wistful look around. “I dinnae belong on your ship, Captain. I belong on this one. This was my home. This was where I had a purpose. But this …” He used his glass to indicate the entirety of the bridge. “… is