Data's eyebrows slip up his forehead in mild surprise. He'd judged, perhaps prematurely (based on the outdated uniform he's wearing) that Trip wouldn't be familiar with the technology. At the man's offer though, he steps obligingly out of the way, fingers curling around the edges of his plate of wayward food as he lets the gagh do what it will.

"You are an engineer?" He asks, solely for the sake of making conversation while he watches Trip work. After all, according to his databanks the red-colored piping from that era could mean tactical or security as easily as engineering.