Free Enterprise - Dinner With Dragon #130

Melissa and Dragon were out on their first date. They didn't consider it a date though. The meeting as a sort of get together around a good meal to find out a little more about one another. In reality it was to size up and scrutinize each others potential.

Melissa didn't consider herself dressed up. She didn't bring any of her dressy clothing on this particular outing. She'd packed just enough to tide her over. Whatever else she needed had to be replicated. T'Kell had replicated a rose colored Sari outfit which Melissa wore with a pair of ballet like flats. She looked very exotic and feminine.

Dragon was a different matter. He was was dressed in his Nietzschean best. He was garbed in a matching light gray body hugging outfit which was made from leather. The shirt had no sleeves which placed great emphasis on his forearms, biceps and wide shoulders. He wore black boots and black bone blade gauntlets. He was the perfect Nietzschean Man 'O War and Prince Charming rolled into one.

An Ensign had led them to a private and reserved table, and handed them each a menu after they had settled into their chairs.

“I thought your eyes were brown.” Melissa said, as she frowned at Dragon.

“They are, but they tend to change according to what I wear or how I feel sometimes.” Dragon replied.

“You have mood ring eyes.” Melissa remarked, as she removed her combo veil/head covering, and arranged it around her shoulders like a shawl.

“Mood ring eyes? What are mood rings?” Dragon asked.

“They were a big fad back on Old Earth in the 1970's. The rings were made from cheap metal, topped with an equally worthless color-changing stone. Lots of people wore them because the stone supposedly changed color according to one's mood. There was a sort of color chart and according to it, red meant you were angry, blue meant you were calm, I forget what black and green meant. A friend gave me one as a gag gift two years ago, but it always stayed black when I wore it . . . . . ..“ Melissa replied. She had been told black either meant she was either cold hearted or she was stressed out.

“Why would. . . . . why would people want to wear something that clearly broadcasts what kind of mood they have?” Dragon asked.

“The same reason two people would get together to have dinner and talk. To see if they are a potential match.” Melissa replied, as she gave him the age old “You know what I mean.” look.

“No, I would not know. My people as a rule do not engage in such dalliances.” Dragon replied. Though young, he was incredibly astute.

“Hey, what are we having for dinner?” she asked, as a means of distraction. She had scanned the menu and wasn't really sure what she wanted.

“Let's see what he orders.” she thought.

“How about Chicken Cordon Blue?” he asked and smiled.

“Wow!! Fancy shmancy!” she replied. Melissa was impressed.

“I usually stick to plain meals and salads, but I like to have something nice once in a while. And this is a special occasion, isn't it?” he asked.

“Sort of. I haven't had Chicken Cordon Blue in years.” she replied as she put up her menu. Seconds later the steward returned and Dragon gave him their orders.

“So tell me about your Starfleet Career. What was the first ship you served on?” Melissa asked.

“The first ship I served on straight out of the Academy was the USS Nimitz. I served on her for five years. The next ship was the USS Sally Ride for another five years. I was just transferred on to the Insurrection six months ago.” Dragon replied. Melissa did some quick calculations in her mind. . . .

“Wait a minute. How old are you?” she asked and frowned.

“Twenty-five.” he replied.

“OMG! I'm robbing the cradle!” she thought to herself.

“How. . . .how old were you when you entered Starfleet Academy?” she asked hesitantly.

“Fifteen.” Dragon replied. Melissa stared in horror.

“I thought Starfleet did not take beings until a specified age.” she stammered.

“This is true, but that is based upon the Human standard, and Nietzscheans are an exceptions to that rule. Due to our accelerated growth factor, we are mentally, and physically, mature, and considered legal adults at age 15.” Dragon replied. Melissa tried to picture Dragon at age 15 and failed miserably.

“So you are how old. . . . .” Melissa started.

“Twenty-five.” he replied. Melissa comforted herself with the fact that she was just ten years older than Dragon, not twelve or fifteen, as she had originally believed.

“What kind of Starships did you serve on?” Melissa asked, changing the subject. At the same time the food arrived.

“The Nimitz is a Dreadnaught Class. The Sally Ride is a Voyager Class, and the Insurrection. . . . .” Dragon started.

“. . . . . . .Is an Akira Class Star Ship. She'd heavily armed and loaded for bear. She is designed to provide armed escorts, attack, defend, pursue and destroy.” Melissa finished.

“You've certainly done your research.” Dragon said and smiled.

“When you are INN's top correspondent, you must stay on top of as many things as possible.” she replied. “Speaking of which, Sally Ride was Old Earth's first female astronaut, wasn't she?” Melissa continued. She was about to say more when Dragon put his finger up to his lips signaling quiet.

“Yes she was, Melissa. But, please eat your food. Cold Chicken Cordon Blue is disgusting.” he admonished. They both tucked in.

About three hours later, both were still sitting at the same table, and both were talked out. Both told everything from childhood stories to career horror stories. The 88 Lounge wait staff had cleared off all of the tables. They were discreetly hovering about in the background waiting for the couple to leave. They wanted to complete their cleaning and close up, like yesterday. . . . . .

“Thank you so much for the dinner. I had a wonderful time, but I'd better get going. I've got duty tomorrow.” Melissa said.

“You are welcome. But before you go. . . . .” Dragon started as he gently took her right hand in his. Melissa's eyes bugged and she squeaked in surprise. Just like that, he was present in her mind.

Melissa was well aware what telepathic links were like, because she shared light ones with T'Kell and Skorr. But this one was nothing like that! Instead of the typical slow Vulcan mind meld decent, Dragon's link could be likened to him opening a door, stepping in and finding Melissa in her undies. . . . . . .

“Are you alright? I did not intend to frighten you.” Dragon thought apologetically, as let her hand go. Though they were separate, the link still remained.

“My God! I did not know.” Melissa thought back. “You are a Tele-Nietzschean aren't you?” she inquired. Melissa sensed him wince, and regretted asking.

“We have not called ourselves that since The Great Cleansing. We've re-named ourselves Pride Secreto.” Dragon replied.

“Wow!” Melissa thought.

“Oh my, we better go. These poor folks need to clean up and close.” she said verbally as she rose. Dragon rose with her.

“Walk you home?” he asked.

“It's not far.” Melissa replied. Knowing full well he probably knew every nook and cranny of The Insurrection.

“It doesn't matter.” he replied.

“And I won't mind the company.” she said, as she pulled up her shawl to cover her head. They both thanked the 88 Lounge staff and apologized for holding them up, then left hand in hand.

Much to their dismay, even when they walked slow, it took them less then ten minutes to arrive at Melissa's VIP Quad that she shared with T'Kell and Skorr.

When they arrived at the door, Dragon meant to let go of Melissa's hand, give her a chaste kiss on the forehead and leave. But she held fast.

“You might as well come in.” she thought and smiled.

Dragon quickly glanced down the corridor in both directions, then ducked into the quad with her.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Meanwhile both T'Kell and Skorr lay wide awake in bed like two worried parents. After raising a successive line of children, grand and great-grand children, Melissa was more of an adoptee to them than an employer. They had been hired to look after her, and they took their charge very seriously.

“A telepathic Nietzschean?” Skorr asked his spouse with both eyebrows raised.

Both Vulcans had detected that Dragon possessed an unprecedented amount of mental shielding as if he were a Kholenar Adept. Naturally the next most logical question was: “Why would a Nietzschean have such shielding, unless?” But the answer seemed to be far fetched.

“Damned Skippy.” T'Kell replied.

“T'Kell. Your response is most illogical.” Skorr replied.

“That is precisely why you married me, Skorr.” Tkell replied.

“I suppose so.” he replied.

“Now, who is being illogical?” she asked.

“T'Kell, this is not the time to discuss logic.” Skorr replied.

“No, it is not, my husband.” she replied.