Free Enterprise - Day Number One - #123

After being released from “Kori's Dungeon” aka Sickbay, Tyr headed for the nearest lift and up to the bridge. There he entered The Lion's Den ( his Ready Room ) trailed by Tamara, Fatou, and Xena. He sat behind his desk and listened while Tamara stood at parade rest and gave him the daily rundown.

“. . . . . everything is on hold pending a report from Lt. Commander Kesha.” Tamara stated.

“Wonderful. Just what I've always wanted, to be a specimen in a cage for Q to gawk at.” Tyr replied.


"How appropo." "  Fatou thought.

“Sir, if I may, we still need to deal with the problem of our stowaways. Normally, I would not have mentioned them, but they are kicking up a fuss.” Xena said.

“Oh really? It is I who should be making a fuss, not they. . .” Tyr started. “ . . . . . . amazing, they stow away on MY ship, yet THEY are complaining. What ever for?” Tyr asked, tiredly.

“Being confined to quarters for one thing. . . . . .” Xena started.

“I can remedy the situation by flushing them out of the photon torpedo tubes. Then they will be free to move about as much as they please.” Tyr cut in.   "They would be dead, but they would be free." he thought.

“Sir, you can not do that. . . . .” Fatou started.

“That was only said in jest, Councilor. I am well aware of Starfleet regulations against “spacing stowaways and unwelcomed guests”. Tyr replied.

Between Solon and his rag-tag Nietzsche-phobic group and stowaway INN news correspondents, Tyr was seriously thinking of penning his own amendment to those particular Starfleet orders.

“I strongly suggest you not make that statement to them whether in jest or otherwise.” Fatou said, as she closely watched Tyr's reaction. He'd heard her, but chose to ignore what she'd said.

"Thick-skulled Nietzschean  . . . ."  she thought.

“What are your orders regarding them, Sir?” Xena asked.

“Inform Ms. Culpepper, and only Ms. Culpepper, that I wish to speak to her, and escort her up here, ASAP.” Tyr said.

“Aye, Sir.” Xena replied. She beat a hasty retreat while Tamara excused herself to attend to her bridge duties. Only Tyr and Fatou remained. Tyr stood, walked over to his favorite spot and stared out of the clear steel portal at the unfamiliar stars.

“Excuse me, Tyr, but you should not have this meeting with Ms. Culpepper.” Fatou said.

“Why ever not?” Tyr asked, as he turned his gaze from the stars to the Katay Tigress who was standing a few feet away from him.

She was of smaller stature, and her odd coloring identified her as an Albino Tiger.  However, she resembled Khan in so many ways. One of them was her manner of speaking the truth. The other, she wasn't afraid to get up in his face if she had to.

“I don't wish to speak ill into being but, this meeting will not go well. She will make you will look like a fool in the end.” Fatou predicted.

“And I will look equally foolish for canceling the meeting at this juncture. I'm just curious, when do you suggest have it?” Tyr asked, testily.

“This evening after the both of you have rested and eaten. I've noticed over the course of my career that some Humans tend to become very testy when hungry or tired. And you, Sir, have not breakfasted yet. . . . . .” Fatou stated. Tyr was about to reply when the Ready Room's buzzer sounded.

“Too late!” Tyr whispered. Fatou found her seat, which incidentally the very same chair Khan would sit in when he was on board. Tyr remained standing.

“Enter.” he said.

In stepped Ms. Culpepper, flanked by Xena and two of her subordinates.

Melissa Culpepper, was an African American woman of average height and weight. She was dressed in what is considered an “on camera uniform of the day”. A blue business pants suit, white blouse, with tasteful, matching shoes.

She was a handsome woman with very dark skin coloring, and beautiful, brown sloe-shaped eyes. She usually wore colorful head wraps which helped to highlight her exotic looks. However, today she wore an expensive looking shawl with which she covered her shoulders, and had drawn up over her head like a hood.

Upon entering the Lion's Den, she pushed the shawl back, and both Tyr and Fatou were shocked to see that she was as bald as a Delton.

“I have Alopecia Areata. A condition where Humans are either born completely hairless or lose some or all of their hair during their lifetimes. My eyebrows are tattoos, my eyelashes are implants. . . . . .  So I do know what it is like to live without something that everyone else has.” she explained.

"An excellent attempt to defuse The Admiral's anger, but it's not going to work."  Fatou thought, as pulled her whiskers back with mirth. She watched the two dynamic personalities check each other out like two wolves giving each other the sniff over.

“Good Morning, Ms. Culpepper. Forgive me for not formally introducing myself in the past. I am, Rear Admiral Tyr Anasazi of the USS Insurrection. This is my ships assistant Councilor Fatou.” he said graciously. Fatou graciously inclined her head and held her handpaws out, palms up, claws in.

“Good Morning, Admiral, Councilor. I'm Melissa Culpepper, Chief Correspondent for The Inter-Galactic News Network.” She replied in kind, as she sat in the chair next to Fatou.

“What we have to discuss, hopefully will not take long.” Tyr started, he remained standing with his powerful arms crossed.

"Ah, here we go with the manly position of dominance.  Not good because she is not impressed.  I'd better defuse this right now."  Fatou thought.

“Oh really? Whatever could that be, Admiral?” Ms Culpepper asked, innocently. Fatou sensed Tyr targeting his phasers for a direct hit, and interjected.. . .

“That is not your standard accent, is it? That's if you don't mind explaining. . . . . . .” Fatou asked.

“Oh no. I don't mind because many people have asked me the very same question in the past. Why do I speak with a New York City accent off camera and on camera I have a different accent? I was required to learn a certain accent because INN wanted me to sound more cultured during my broadcasts. So I studied recordings of Christiana Amanpour until I was able to get her accent down pat.” Melissa replied. Tyr cut his eyes at Fatou for taking them off subject, and she glared right back st him.

“Ms. Culpepper, how the #@$&%@&$@%#$@$#&%@ did you get onto my ship, while my Chief Councilor, four of my body guards, and Fatou's children were left behind?” Tyr demanded.

He was major ticked and decided to let fly. Fatou sat bolt upright in her seat. Her face impassive but her whiskers drooped meaning she was highly displeased. Were she close enough, she might have “cuffed” him as if he were one of her misbehaving kits.

Melissa was a different story, once she got over the shock of the initial outburst, she smiled, and started laughing. In fact, she laughed so hard that she nearly fell out of the chair. Tyr was stunned. Never in his life was he laughed at so.

“Oh my word! I've sworn at and called some horrible things during my career but I've NEVER heard that one! That is definitely one for the record books!” she said, after a fresh wave of laughter. She suddenly straightened up:

“Listen Mister. . . .” she started.

“Admiral.” Tyr insisted.

“Admiral, Shamd-miral. I am not in Starfleet, so I'm not one of your kiss your ring toadies! In my ten years as INN's Chief Correspondent, I've dealt with higher ranking and much worse despots and characters then you, and I've put them all in their place. Compared to most of them you are just a big pussy cat!” Melissa said. She clearly had her back up.

"Oh My Divine!  Did she actually say that?"  Fatou thought.

“No offense Fatou.” Melissa added, realizing that she was actually sitting next to a big, bipedal, feline. . . . . .

“None taken.” Fatou replied, as she absently waved a handpaw.

“Ms. Culpepper. Let me make something perfectly clear. You are currently on MY SHIP, therefore you will DO AS I SAY.” Tyr stated dangerously.

"Woooooooo!"  Fatou thought.

“And what if I don't. What ya gonna do ta me?” Melissa egged in her New York City accent.

"Ouch!"  Fatou thought.

“You and your team will be confined to the brig.” Tyr stated simply.

“You can't do that! That is a violation of our rights!” Melissa replied, hotly.

“Rights! What rights? You stowed away on MY SHIP and you ask for rights?    I'll give you rights! I have the right to sling your  . . . . . .  a. . . . . ah. . . .butts right out of the nearest photon torpedo tube!” Tyr countered, correcting himself in the nick of time before he swore again.

"Akkk!  I distinctly told him NOT to mention 'spacing'!"  Fatou thought, as she did a face palm.

“You can't do that, and you know it. There are Starfleet regulations against that! Just because I'm not a member of Starfleet, doesn't mean I haven't studied up on their regulations.” Melissa countered.

"It figures.  INN probably has a retired JAG or two on staff just for that purpose."  Tyr groused to himself.

“So, what's it gonna be, Big Guy?” Melissa asked.

"Big Guy???  There is only ONE person I allow to call me that, Seamus Harper!" Tyr thought as he gawped.   Fatou pulled her whiskers back and chuffed.

“You will remain confined to quarters.” Tyr replied, once he'd calmed a bit.  He really could not fault the woman because she knew nothing about his personal history.

“You can't do that to us either. It seems to me like you are talking in circles. You really don't know what to do with us do you, Big Boy?” Melissa mocked.

“Ms. Culpepper, the problem lies herein. You are on MY ship, therefore you must play MY game, by My rules. It is either being confined to quarters or take a magic carpet ride. Your choice.” Tyr replied coldly. Fatou coughed politely at the last statement as she didn't want to start chuffing again.

“Being confined to quarters for the next three months or so may be stretch though . . . . . . . Can we arrange something where we can perhaps work it off?” Melissa asked.

In response Tyr glowered at Fatou. Fatou in turn held up her handpaws in surrender. No, she was not the one who gave Ms. Culpepper that bit of news. The woman was a newshound after all. . . . . . .

“I will speak to my department heads and find out who can use an extra hand or two. Mind you, Ms. Culpepper, you and your team members will be under constant surveillance. One wrong move. . . . . .” Tyr threatened.

“Yada, yada, our butts will be confined to the brig. Yada, yada, yada. . . . . .” Melissa countered, cutting off Tyr's warning.

“You will hear from me sometime this evening. Good bye, Ms.Culpepper.” Tyr said, by way of dismissal.

“Thank you. Nice to meet you too, Admiral.” Melissa said,. “Oh, by the way, Perhaps you should adopt the parade rest stance so people won't see that you are missing your boneblades.” she continued, as she stood.

Ms Culpepper then pulled her shawl up over her head and headed for the door. As soon as the doors parted, Xena and her people were waiting to escort her back to her shared quarters.

It was quiet for a few minutes after she left. Tyr sat behind his desk, rocked back in his chair, and put his feet up on the desk.

“Fatou, what the hell was that?” he asked. He knew the Katay was was quietly standing off to his right and waiting her turn to speak.

“A number ot things. First, a stalemate. The two of of you made threatening noises but really got nowhere and accomplished nothing. In other words, you huffed and puffed like the Big Bad Wolf and threatened to blow her house down, and she just laughed. She knows you can't do a damned thing to her. Additionally you, were obviously overcompensating for the lack of your Nietzschean powers.” she said, as he stared at his bare forearms and allowed a pregnant silence to reign.

''. . . . . . .sadly, she did manage to run rings around and make a fool out of you, Tyr. Perhaps next time you will heed when I tell you not to do a thing.” Fatou continued, as Tyr frowned.

“For the next meeting, I strongly suggest that you invite her to an Anasazi family dinner.” she continued. “The main reason she stowed away was to learn more about the Nietzschean family unit, yours in particular. Perhaps if you are forthright with her, she won't have to sneak and skulk about so.” she continued. Tyr's response was a deep and dangerous growl.

“Oh my! Was that your stomach? I'll call Gynn and ask her to send up some breakfast.” Fatou said more to herself, as she pulled her whiskers back with mirth and reached for the communications tab. “Bye the way, how do you like your Rakitgino?” she added.