Well, he didn't even remotely know how to respond to that. But he was a smart little thing; he counted back the years from when that Kirk fellow said it was -- 2258 -- and mentally built a calendar.

And he knew it was true.

And it clicked into place, that quiet thing that whispered somewhere down below where his heart was beating now a little too fast, and it clicked into place as though it had always been there. He didn't take the hand; his breathing was light and a little quick, and he just looked at this Montgomery Scott, a gaze that had no words to define it. Not pain, per se. Not bright, readable thought. Just a look that spoke of inevitability.