Part 11 (1/2)
”As a matter of fact,” Data told him, ”I am off-duty right now.”
A stroke of luck-one of the few Scott had had since boarding this s.h.i.+p. ”Are ye now? Splendid. Then maybe there's some place we can chew the fat a bit.”
The android looked at him, his golden eyes narrowing ever so slightly. Then, abruptly, he seemed to understand.
”Chew the fat,” he repeated. ”Converse. Engage in discussion.” A pause. ”I would like that,” he concluded. ”And I believe I have an appropriate venue in mind. It is called Ten-Forward.”
”Wherever ye like, laddie,” said Scott. He'd never heard of Ten-Forward; it was probably a lab of some kind. But then, that didn't really matter, did it? After all, they were going there to exchange information, not to swap tall tales over a bottle of Saurian brandy.
Data had barely escorted Captain Scott into the Ten-Forward lounge when he knew he had made the right decision. It was obvious from the man's broad grin and the way he rubbed his hands together that Scott felt right at home here.
”Why did ye nae tell me ye had a tavern on board?” he asked the android.
Data looked at him. ”You did not ask,” he replied.
That brought a flood of laughter from Scott. ”Ah, Mr. Data, I had my doubts about ye, I must admit-but ye're nothing like the androids I used to know.” He slapped Data on the back. ”Lay on, Macduff.”
The android looked at him. It took his positronic brain a moment to find the reference. And even after it had, he didn't quite grasp the connection.
”Macduff was a character in William Shakespeare's Macbeth,” he noted. ”What does that have to do with-”
”It's only an expression, lad, only an expression. Here now, that looks like the bar. What do ye say we belly up to it?” And without waiting for an answer, he took the second officer by the arm and pulled him in the necessary direction.
As they sat down on neighboring stools, a waiter came over to them. ”May I help you, sir?” he asked Scott, who was nearer to him.
”Aye, lad. Scotch. Neat.”
”And you, sir?” the waiter asked Data.
”I will have the same, ” the android replied.
Scott gazed at him with new admiration. ”Thatta boy, Mr. Data-though I would nae have figured ye fer a scotch man.”
”I am not a scotch man,” the android told him. ”In fact, this is the first time I have ever placed such an order.”
”Is that so?” said Scott. ”Well, then, ye're in fer a most pleasant surprise.” He paused. ”Unless, of course, alcohol does nae agree with ye.” Then he rolled his eyes and chuckled. ”What am I thinking? If it did nae agree with ye, ye would nae have brought me here, now would ye?”
As Data puzzled over Captain Scott's remarks, the waiter brought them their drinks. Scotch was an amber-colored beverage, the android noted. And as his companion requested, it had been served without ice in short, squat gla.s.ses.
”Thank ye, lad,” said Scott, eyeing his liquid portion with obvious fondness. ”I'm forever indebted to ye. Bottoms-”
Suddenly, with the gla.s.s halfway to his lips, he noticed something amiss-or at least, it seemed that way to Data. For a moment, he held his drink up to the light and inspected it.
Perhaps it was not the quality of scotch the man was accustomed to, the android surmised. In any case, Scott didn't carry on his inspection for very long. Shrugging, he turned to Data.
”Oh well,” he said. ”Any port in a storm, eh?” And his doubts apparently overcome, he took a hearty gulp of the stuff.
The android did the same. But he'd barely swallowed when he heard the sound of something hard striking the surface of the bar.
”Are ye trying to poison me?” Scott demanded. There was a look of disgust on his face as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. ”What in blazes is this?”
The waiter was by their side in record time. ”Is something wrong?” he asked.
”I'll say something's wrong,” the older man spat. ”Ye did nae bring me what I asked for.”
”Didn't you order scotch?” asked the plainly confused waiter.
”That I did,” said Scott, thrusting the gla.s.s back into the man's hand.
The waiter looked at the gla.s.s. ”But... but that's what I brought you, sir. Scotch.”
Scott leaned close to the man and said, in a voice taut with frustration ”Laddie, I was drinkin' scotch about a hundred years before ye were born, and I can tell ye one thing fer certain whatever this is, it is most definitely not scotch.”
The waiter was at a loss. He just stood there for a moment, baffled.
But Data had figured it out. ”I believe I may be of some a.s.sistance,” he offered. ”You see, Captain Scott is unaware of the existence of synthehol.”
The older man turned to him. ”Synthehol?” he asked, making it sound like a curse. ”What the bleedin' blazes is that?”
”It is an alcohol subst.i.tute,” said the android. ”Synthehol simulates the appearance, smell and taste of alcohol, but its intoxicating effects can be dismissed in humanoids with a mental effort. Therefore, one may imbibe to one's heart's content-without suffering any negative consequences afterward. Though it was originally developed by the Ferengi, it is now served aboard all Federation stars.h.i.+ps.”
Scott just looked at him. He did not seem happy.
”Synthehol,” he echoed.
”That is correct,” Data responded.
”And the Ferengi... ?” he started to ask-but quickly erased the question with a wave of his hand. ”No, dinnae tell me. I dinnae want to know.”
The android answered him anyway. ”The Ferengi Alliance is made up of a number of planetary systems with a centralized government. The Ferengi themselves are intergalactic traders whose main motivation is profit. In appearance, they are quite short, dark, highly energetic humanoids with exceedingly large...”
”Mr. Data!” cried Scott. ”I said I did nae want to know!”
”... ears,” the android finished, and was still. Obviously, the human's statement had been meant literally rather than colloquially.
Scott sighed. ”Synthetic scotch and synthetic commanders. I'm beginning t' hate the twenty-fourth century,” he said with pa.s.sionate sincerity.
”I'm sorry to hear that,” replied a feminine voice. Data and his companion turned at the same time, tracing the voice to its source.
”Guinan,” declared the android.
”In the flesh,” she said. And then to Captain Scott ”I don't believe we've been introduced. You are... ?”
”Montgomery Scott,” the human answered-a bit wearily, Data thought.
”Nice to meet you, Montgomery Scott. Say... aren't you the fellow they fished out of the Jenolen?”