In the Great Hall of the Q, one hundred Q stood at parade rest in front of Janeway Q, and waited, waited, and waited. No one dared say a word for they all knew their leader was ticked.
“Two weeks, three days, twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes after I gave the order to find, capture and return Q to me, and you still haven't found him?” she asked calmly.
The leader of this particular group chose to step forth and speak. Contrary to popular thought and belief, the Q were not exclusively Human. This one was a stern looking Vulcan who strongly resembled Spock's father, Sarek.
“We have initiated a multi-verse search grid which was partially successful in only discovering where he had been.” he replied.
“Oh? Where?” she asked, patiently.
“He made multiple trips to Pinnacle and Deep Space Ten.” he replied.
“Pinnacle. That is the main Nietzschean home world, isn't it?” she asked.
“Yes it is the official seat of Nietzschean government.” he replied.
Though the Nietzscheans inhabited many planets and world ships, if Teddy Roosevelt were a Nietzschean, he would've said of Pinnacle “The buck stops here.”
“So what recent and significant event would've happened on Pinnacle to attract Q's attention?” she wondered aloud. Not that she didn't already know. For Q was unfortunately attracted to certain important events like a crow was to shiny objects.
“The death of Viceroy Barbarossa Anasazi. It was made significant by the fact that in totally breaking with Nietzschean tradition, Barbarossa chose to pass his crown to his youngest son, Tyr instead of his oldest son, Agamemnon.” The Vulcan Q replied.
“BINGO!” she thought.
“Viceroy Tyr Anasazi also happens to be a highly decorated Star Fleet officer, is he not?” she asked.
“Affirmative, Q." the Vulcan Q replied.
“So Tyr Anasazi is either blessed or cursed with being both. Q enjoys sticking his foot out and tripping people like him.” she replied and stood. “We are going to Deep Space Ten.” she said in answer to the questioning looks on everyone's face.
“We?” the Vulcan Q queried, as he raised his right eyebrow in a typical Vulcan manner.
“My father always said, if you want something done right, you must either do it your self, or personally supervise the task . . . . . .” she replied, as she and all 100 Q blinked out of existence.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Captain Dylan Hunt was having an in-depth conversation with Captain Sherra of the Dolgarian ship Sojourner. Currently Dylan was in a quandary because he was both extremely tired and did not know which end was up Sherra.
The Dolgarian Captain was a black Human sized Pule, who had long black dreadlocks hanging over her face and eyes. The only hint he was talking to her face, was her moving snout and the occasional flash of her white canine teeth, and pink tongue.
“I can't believe I'm talking to a giant dog who is has dreadlocks like Tyr. First, human sized talking cats, now this. What's next? Talking elephants? If I run into any of those, I'm handing in my papers. . . .” Dylan thought wearily to himself, as he barely suppressed a yawn. He thought had done a good job of covering it up, but. . . .
“Captain Hunt. When was the last time you slept?” Sherra asked.
“Ops!” Dylan thought.
“Uh . . . . .Uh. . . . . . Forgive me. . . .” Dylan fumbled.
“I understand the Rear Admiral is a very close and dear friend, however, you must rest, or you will not be of much use to anyone. Not to yourself or even The Admiral should find him. Take some down time, Captain and Divine willing we will speak tomorrow.” She admonished. Dylan blinked because he swore he saw one of her alert brown eyes gazing back at him in the video pickup.
“Alright Captain, we will continue this conversation tomorrow at this time.” Dylan replied.
“1300 hours. Aye.” Sherra replied as she signed off. Dylan immediately called Rommie into his Ready Room. The second she saw him, she ordered him off the bridge and to his quarters to rest.
“Hey, you can't do that! You're my XO!” Dylan protested.
“I can if I see that you are unfit for duty. Which is a lot better than what Trance would do. She'd haul you down to Sickbay and give you a sedative.” Rommie replied. “Captain, go get some sleep, I'll take care of things here. Remember, androids don't require sleep.” she continued.
With that Dylan left the bridge and headed to his quarters. Once there he only had enough strength to remove his boots before he stretched out on his bed and fell asleep fully clothed in his uniform.
* * * * * * * *
Back on Deep Space Ten, the Janeway Q and the rest of her compatriots showed up on the station in a random manner. Some were disguised as merchants, others as crew, still others as tourists.
However, she personally decided to disguise herself as a ten year old girl. Nancy Cox was a child genius who'd won The Intergalactic Tesla Award for inventing some scientific thing of a bob. One of her prizes was an all expense paid trip to and a tour of Deep Space Ten.
“Why a child?” the Vulcan Q had queried.
“No one fears a child because for the most part, they are innocent, and because of that, people tell children everything.” she replied, and smiled. “I wager after speaking to a few key people I will be able to track down Q faster than your entire team.” she challenged.
“But, Q we have been using these methods for the past hundred eons.” the Vulcan Q replied.
“Perhaps your methods of investigation need a serious update.” she said. “That is precisely why Q was able to spring the trap without being caught by the noose.” she continued.
The Vulcan Q did not bother to reply. Janeway knew he was displeased, but she couldn't help that. Obviously Q was not an amateur, but neither was she. . . . . .
“First things first. We go to meet Fleet Admiral HaxHis. I never met a Katay before but I've heard a lot about them.” Janeway said, as she skipped along side the tall, austere Vulcan male as they made their way across the Upper Promenade to the bank of lifts.
* * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, Tyr and Tamara were spending quality “cuddle” time with each other. They had just gotten comfortable when
SQUEAK!
“What was that?” Tamara asked as they both jumped nearly a mile high off the bed like scalded cats.
“I don't know.” Tyr replied, as he grabbed the end of the duvet and shook it out, expecting to find one of his sons squeak toys in it. He then unsuccessfully searched the bed itself, to no avail.
“False alarm.” he said as he shrugged his shoulders and got back into bed. Tamara followed him and curled up into his arms. Back to business at hand. . . . . .
SQUEAK!
Both Nietzschean and Vulcan started again and stared at one another.
“It's you.” Tamara accused.
“Me? How the. . . . .” Tyr asked. In reply Tamara pressed the tip of his nose with her right forefinger and . . . . .
SQUEAK!
Tamara put both hands over her mouth as her green eyes became as wide as saucers. The look on Tyr's face was of utter stupefaction, then the realization dawned.
“Tamara. Do not laugh!” Tyr commanded.
“Your nose squeaks like a clowns nose and you expect me not to laugh?” Tamara thought through their marital link. She didn't exactly trust herself to speak at this particular time. . . . . . .
“I will beat you from port to starboard if you laugh.” Tyr threatened.
“Tyr Anazasi! I thought Nietzschean men did not beat their wives!” Tamara thought. Despite her best intentions she chuckled. She pulled away as he reached for her, and dashed across the room.
“There are always exceptions to that rule. . . .” Tyr replied and the chase was on.
* * * * * * *
In the meantime, Q was on the floor of the multi-verse rolling with hysterical laughter.
“You should've seen the look on your face when she pressed your nose, Mr. Neitzschean! What a hoot! I haven't had so much fun in ages!” Q said, as he applauded.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“I'd love to give him one up side the head.” Fatou thought sourly, as she stared up at the ceiling, through the many decks of The Insurrection, out into space at the exact spot where Q was hiding.
Q sensed Fatou's disapproving gaze. He looked back, gave her a raspberry, stuck his thumbs in his ears and twittled his fingers.
“Divine preserve us! Q is but a big child and Tyr is just his personal plaything!” Fatou thought in distress.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The mood was clearly broken so now the two love birds lay entwined in each other's arms. They'd both figured out, if they didn't touch Tyr's nose, they wouldn't have any problems.
“You do know that you have to go to Sickbay, right?” Tamara asked.
“I most certainly will not.” Tyr replied.
“Tyr!” Tamara exclaimed.
“And exactly what am I going to tell the Good Lady Doctor? That my nose squeaks like a child's toy? What remedy can she possibly recommend? I know no other except to find that low down filthy scum of a Q, who caused this mess in the first place and crush him like a rodent!” Tyr said. “I tell you what she's going to do. She's going to laugh her rear end off, just like the rest of the crew will do when they find out.” Tyr continued.
“I'm pretty sure she's not going to laugh at you, Tyr.” Tamara replied. At least she hoped and prayed Kori didn't. Klingons had the tendency to be unpredictable. . . . .
“That remains to be seen.” Tyr groused.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“This is so embarrassing.” Tyr thought to himself, and rolled his expressive brown eyes toward the ceiling. “I should've not only bet money Kori was going to laugh, but extra because she is howling too.” Tyr continued to think somberly.
You see, Klingons unlike Humans did not twitter, chuckle, chortle, or giggle. They roared with mirth, and since Kori was a typical Klingon she let it all hang out. Tamara wondered if the woman was going to howl at the moon next.
“So, what do you recommend?” Tyr asked as Dr. Kori calmed down.
“I have no recommendations except to not touch your nose.” Kori replied.
“Not touch my nose! That is impossible! I have to wash my face and blow it . . . . . .” Tyr started.
“Now you must find somewhere private if you need to do that. Oh and by the way, watch out for your sons. Once they find out your nose squeaks like that, they will never let you rest. Plus if the entire crew will find out. . . . .” she said, as she shook her head.
“And I will be the laughing stock of Starfleet. . . .” Tyr groused as he thought of Alexander's little reaching arms and grabby hands. Lysander was equally precocious. Kori was right, there was no rest for the weary.
“Thanks a lot Q! When I get my hands on you, you'll be deader than Elvis.” Tyr thought fiercely.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Oh my! I don't like that look on your face Mr. Nietzschean. Should I be afraid? Should I cringe in abject terror or should I laugh my butt off? I chose the latter! Oh, this is soooooo much fun!” Q said, as he dry washed his hands with glee, just like a mad scientist.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fatou narrowed her amber eyes. She was having her own private thoughts on what to do about Q, and they were not civil.
* * * * * * * * * *
Janeway Q had in the guise of Nancy Cox had just completed her tour with none other than the Station Commander, Fleet Admiral HaxHis. She and her compatriot Q were now all gathered in a safe corner of the multi-verse.
“Here is what I found out. Three and a half weeks ago, Admiral Anasazi was scheduled to lead a convoy of 12 relief ships to Avon Six. However, at the last second they were diverted due a distress signal which came from the Antares sector. They went to assist with Tyr's ship in the lead, however, The Insurrection and her crew simply disappeared.” she reported.
The other Q looked at one another with quizzical expressions. The unspoken question was "How the heck did she find all of that out?" Even though they were Q, there were some limits to what they could do especially when pitted against one of their own who had gone rogue. He was obviously using his limitless power to hide from them.
“HaxHis had the padd with the report on her desk, and I just happen to know how to read upside down.” Janeway replied, with a smile.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was no problem getting to the Antares sector, in fact it was a piece of cake. However, finding where Q had secreted himself was another story. At Janeway Q's orders the Q fanned out in pairs into as many directions as possible to begin an intense search.
* * * * * * * * * *
Q was in the middle of being up to no good as usual, when he froze in mid action.
“Oh shhhhhhhhhhhhh...............” he said. “I thought I put up enough shielding to protect and hide me from them!” he continued. He waved his right hand in Tyr's direction.
“I'll be back.” Q promised impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger's “Terminator” charactor, then blinked out.
* * * * * * * * * *
Seconds later Fatou was heading towards the Bridge in a professional panic.
When the lift opened Tyr was sitting in the Central Seat reading and signing padds. He looked up, saw Fatou, and she gave him the signal that she wanted to speak to him and Captain McPhearson in private.
Once they were all situated, Tyr standing in his favorite place in front of the window, Tamara standing at parade rest, in front of Tyr's desk. Fatou spoke.
“I don't sense Q anymore.” she said simply.
“Oh? Why didn't you tell me you were capable of sensing him?” Tyr asked, raising both eyebrows in surprise.
“I didn't tell you because I considered my sensing his presence to be unreliable. I can only sense him when he uses his powers and I didn't want you to hang your hat on that, so to speak.” Fatou explained.
“Does this mean we will be able to go home?” Tyr asked.
“No, unfortunately it does not.” Fatou replied.
“Why not?” Tamara asked.
“Because I distinctly heard him say that he would be back. Then he blinked out.” Fatou replied. She tactfully left out Q's Arnold Swartzinagger impersonation. . . . . . .
“What cause him to leave in such a hurry?” Tyr wondered out loud.
“There are others here, now.” Fatou replied.
“Others? You mean other Q?” Tyr asked
“The Q Continuum consists of possibly hundreds of their kind. The majority of which are peaceful, co-exist with us, and occasionally help us out.” Tamara replied. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the one we encountered." she continued.
“So, they obviously are hunting for their rogue compatriot.” Tyr stated.
“I guess in the meantime we have to cool our nacelles until they either find him or set things straight.” Tamara said. Referring to being released from the "bubble" Q had trapped The Insurrection and her crew in.
“Or rather until they find him and MAKE him set things straight. Divine only knows, he may have set things into motion which only he can undo.” Fatou said sagely. The small hairs on Tyr's neck stood on end. That was not a good sign.
“You mean I'm stuck with this for the duration?” Tyr asked as he touched his nose, expecting to hear a resounding squeak. But, there was only silence.
“Stuck with what?” Fatou asked innocently.
“Never mind.” Tyr covered. “In the meantime I must have a meeting with the Quartermaster and Lieutenant Torres of Hydrophonics. I don't know how long we will be stuck here and if necessary I may have to institute rationing of resources and provisions to the crew.” Tyr continued.
The Insurrection was an Akira class Star Ship and not considered a long range vessel like the old Constitution or the updated Enterprise class. So, if Tyr instituted the “Voyager Protocols (made standard practice by Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Voyager while in the Alpha Quadrant) his crew and family would be able to survive a long term mission if need be.
“The first order of the day is to reduce power to all non-essential areas.” Tyr said to Tamara. “Other orders will be forthcoming after my meetings have been concluded. Dismissed.” Tyr continued in command mode.
“Aye, sir.” Tamara responded, executed a textbook military right and left. Leaving Tyr and Fatou alone.
“Now, what was that about the possibility of Q setting something in motion only HE can undo?” Tyr asked of Fatou.
“I said what I meant, and I meant what I said.” she replied succinctly, leaving no doubt in the Nietzschean Admiral's mind.
Fatou's Spanish was rusty, but she was positive Tyr's response was nothing but swear words in that particular language. . . . . . .
* * * * * *
Meanwhile, in the 88 Lounge (The Insurrection's Mess Hall), Melissa and Dragon were sitting together at a private table. They had agreed to coordinate their meal breaks to meet, chat and chew.
Dragon was outfitted in his modified version of a Starfleet Security uniform. Melissa was dressed in Starfleet Hydroponics coveralls. He had taken liberty of ordering food and drink for both himself and Melissa.
“How is your Chai?” Dragon asked, as he watched her hesitantly sip from a steaming cup.
“It's positively delicious!” Melissa proclaimed and smiled, after taking her first ever sip and taste.
“I'm surprised you've never had Chai before. After all you've traveled so far and wide. . . . .” Dragon said.
“Dragon, you wouldn't believe the stories I have of people trying to poison me. That's why I have my team along.” Melissa replied.
The life of an intergalactic news correspondent was not all it was cracked up to be. When dealing with shady characters, one did not eat what they offered you, no matter how hungry you were, or how tasty it looked. T'Kell always brought along a supply of meal bars and water pacs just in case. . . .
Dragon glanced off for a second and espied the Vulcan couple on the far side of the room engaged in lively discussion with several officers from Cartography. He was not fooled by that rouse one bit. They were attuned as to his every move as he was of theirs.
“What kind of sandwich is this?” she asked, as she gazed at hers then watched Dragon pick up his.
“It is a CLT. Cheese, lettuce and tomato on toasted multi grain bread, with a hint of mayonnaise.” he replied.
“No bacon?” she asked. .
“Yuck. Bacon contains far too much nitrates and fat.” Dragon replied. She'd forgotten that Nietzscheans were consummate health nuts and were extremely picky about what they ate.
“You should eat yours before it gets cold.” he admonished. Melissa took a bite and agreed it didn't taste bad.
“Okay, here comes the five thousand bars of gold plated latinum question. Why is your name Dragon?” Melissa asked. They had both finished their meal and the dishes had been removed by a steward. Dragon smiled shyly, dropped his head and sighed. Melissa was immediately sorry she'd asked.
“There was a slight error when my parents filed my official birth documents with The Hall of Records. My father had named me Dragoon, but somewhere along the line an “o” was omitted. The error was not discovered until I entered primary school. My father was furious and could have changed it back, but my mother loved the name Dragon. Since we Nietzscheans have a Matriarchal society and whatever the lady of the house says, goes, thus Dragon it stayed.” Dragon explained.
“Dragoon?? That's either a light infantry or a pirate ship isn't it?” Melissa asked.
“My father is an ardent fan of old Earth military history, and that's how he chose my name. It is a light infantry, where the soldiers originally rode horseback and carried light weaponry so they could move quickly.” he replied.
“So, how do you feel about your name now?” she asked, in full interview mode though she didn't intend for it to be so.
“I have no problem with it because I've been told on numerous occasions that I am as fierce as my namesake.” Dragon replied and smiled.
At that particular time, Dragon didn't look fierce. However, the man was second in command of Security on Tyr Anazasi's ship. That alone was no mean feat.
“So I'd say you were appropriately named.” Melissa replied.
“Yes, my father knows that now.” Dragon said as he smiled.
Melissa had so many other questions to ask but realized their meal break was almost over.
“Would you like to share dinner with me later?” Dragon asked. “That way you can ask all of the questions you want and I can ask some of my own.” he continued.
“I don't see why not.” she replied.
“How about back here at 1900 hours?” he asked.
“Excellent. I'll be here.” Melissa said as she rose to go. She didn't have to look for T'Kell and Skorr, because they were already approaching.
She waved as she left the 88 Lounge, and it was back to work for her.
“Ah! Isn't it great when love is in the air?” Ensign Palmer asked her fellow crew member Ensign Chee as they bussed The 88 Lounge's tables.
“Yeah. Those two will not be able to keep their minds on work for the rest of the afternoon and evening.” Chee replied.
“Oh the horror of it all!” Palmer replied as she playfully poked her friend in the ribs.
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Free Enterprise - Connections #126
Free Enterprise - Connections #126
In the Great Hall of the Q, one hundred Q stood at parade rest in front of Janeway Q, and waited, waited, and waited. No one dared say a word for they all knew their leader was ticked.
“Two weeks, three days, twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes after I gave the order to find, capture and return Q to me, and you still haven't found him?” she asked calmly.
The leader of this particular group chose to step forth and speak. Contrary to popular thought and belief, the Q were not exclusively Human. This one was a stern looking Vulcan who strongly resembled Spock's father, Sarek.
“We have initiated a multi-verse search grid which was partially successful in only discovering where he had been.” he replied.
“Oh? Where?” she asked, patiently.
“He made multiple trips to Pinnacle and Deep Space Ten.” he replied.
“Pinnacle. That is the main Nietzschean home world, isn't it?” she asked.
“Yes it is the official seat of Nietzschean government.” he replied.
Though the Nietzscheans inhabited many planets and world ships, if Teddy Roosevelt were a Nietzschean, he would've said of Pinnacle “The buck stops here.”
“So what recent and significant event would've happened on Pinnacle to attract Q's attention?” she wondered aloud. Not that she didn't already know. For Q was unfortunately attracted to certain important events like a crow was to shiny objects.
“The death of Viceroy Barbarossa Anasazi. It was made significant by the fact that in totally breaking with Nietzschean tradition, Barbarossa chose to pass his crown to his youngest son, Tyr instead of his oldest son, Agamemnon.” The Vulcan Q replied.
“BINGO!” she thought.
“Viceroy Tyr Anasazi also happens to be a highly decorated Star Fleet officer, is he not?” she asked.
“Affirmative, Q." the Vulcan Q replied.
“So Tyr Anasazi is either blessed or cursed with being both. Q enjoys sticking his foot out and tripping people like him.” she replied and stood. “We are going to Deep Space Ten.” she said in answer to the questioning looks on everyone's face.
“We?” the Vulcan Q queried, as he raised his right eyebrow in a typical Vulcan manner.
“My father always said, if you want something done right, you must either do it your self, or personally supervise the task . . . . . .” she replied, as she and all 100 Q blinked out of existence.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Captain Dylan Hunt was having an in-depth conversation with Captain Sherra of the Dolgarian ship Sojourner. Currently Dylan was in a quandary because he was both extremely tired and did not know which end was up Sherra.
The Dolgarian Captain was a black Human sized Pule, who had long black dreadlocks hanging over her face and eyes. The only hint he was talking to her face, was her moving snout and the occasional flash of her white canine teeth, and pink tongue.
“I can't believe I'm talking to a giant dog who is has dreadlocks like Tyr. First, human sized talking cats, now this. What's next? Talking elephants? If I run into any of those, I'm handing in my papers. . . .” Dylan thought wearily to himself, as he barely suppressed a yawn. He thought had done a good job of covering it up, but. . . .
“Captain Hunt. When was the last time you slept?” Sherra asked.
“Ops!” Dylan thought.
“Uh . . . . .Uh. . . . . . Forgive me. . . .” Dylan fumbled.
“I understand the Rear Admiral is a very close and dear friend, however, you must rest, or you will not be of much use to anyone. Not to yourself or even The Admiral should find him. Take some down time, Captain and Divine willing we will speak tomorrow.” She admonished. Dylan blinked because he swore he saw one of her alert brown eyes gazing back at him in the video pickup.
“Alright Captain, we will continue this conversation tomorrow at this time.” Dylan replied.
“1300 hours. Aye.” Sherra replied as she signed off. Dylan immediately called Rommie into his Ready Room. The second she saw him, she ordered him off the bridge and to his quarters to rest.
“Hey, you can't do that! You're my XO!” Dylan protested.
“I can if I see that you are unfit for duty. Which is a lot better than what Trance would do. She'd haul you down to Sickbay and give you a sedative.” Rommie replied. “Captain, go get some sleep, I'll take care of things here. Remember, androids don't require sleep.” she continued.
With that Dylan left the bridge and headed to his quarters. Once there he only had enough strength to remove his boots before he stretched out on his bed and fell asleep fully clothed in his uniform.
* * * * * * * *
Back on Deep Space Ten, the Janeway Q and the rest of her compatriots showed up on the station in a random manner. Some were disguised as merchants, others as crew, still others as tourists.
However, she personally decided to disguise herself as a ten year old girl. Nancy Cox was a child genius who'd won The Intergalactic Tesla Award for inventing some scientific thing of a bob. One of her prizes was an all expense paid trip to and a tour of Deep Space Ten.
“Why a child?” the Vulcan Q had queried.
“No one fears a child because for the most part, they are innocent, and because of that, people tell children everything.” she replied, and smiled. “I wager after speaking to a few key people I will be able to track down Q faster than your entire team.” she challenged.
“But, Q we have been using these methods for the past hundred eons.” the Vulcan Q replied.
“Perhaps your methods of investigation need a serious update.” she said. “That is precisely why Q was able to spring the trap without being caught by the noose.” she continued.
The Vulcan Q did not bother to reply. Janeway knew he was displeased, but she couldn't help that. Obviously Q was not an amateur, but neither was she. . . . . .
“First things first. We go to meet Fleet Admiral HaxHis. I never met a Katay before but I've heard a lot about them.” Janeway said, as she skipped along side the tall, austere Vulcan male as they made their way across the Upper Promenade to the bank of lifts.
* * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, Tyr and Tamara were spending quality “cuddle” time with each other. They had just gotten comfortable when
SQUEAK!
“What was that?” Tamara asked as they both jumped nearly a mile high off the bed like scalded cats.
“I don't know.” Tyr replied, as he grabbed the end of the duvet and shook it out, expecting to find one of his sons squeak toys in it. He then unsuccessfully searched the bed itself, to no avail.
“False alarm.” he said as he shrugged his shoulders and got back into bed. Tamara followed him and curled up into his arms. Back to business at hand. . . . . .
SQUEAK!
Both Nietzschean and Vulcan started again and stared at one another.
“It's you.” Tamara accused.
“Me? How the. . . . .” Tyr asked. In reply Tamara pressed the tip of his nose with her right forefinger and . . . . .
SQUEAK!
Tamara put both hands over her mouth as her green eyes became as wide as saucers. The look on Tyr's face was of utter stupefaction, then the realization dawned.
“Tamara. Do not laugh!” Tyr commanded.
“Your nose squeaks like a clowns nose and you expect me not to laugh?” Tamara thought through their marital link. She didn't exactly trust herself to speak at this particular time. . . . . . .
“I will beat you from port to starboard if you laugh.” Tyr threatened.
“Tyr Anazasi! I thought Nietzschean men did not beat their wives!” Tamara thought. Despite her best intentions she chuckled. She pulled away as he reached for her, and dashed across the room.
“There are always exceptions to that rule. . . .” Tyr replied and the chase was on.
* * * * * * *
In the meantime, Q was on the floor of the multi-verse rolling with hysterical laughter.
“You should've seen the look on your face when she pressed your nose, Mr. Neitzschean! What a hoot! I haven't had so much fun in ages!” Q said, as he applauded.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“I'd love to give him one up side the head.” Fatou thought sourly, as she stared up at the ceiling, through the many decks of The Insurrection, out into space at the exact spot where Q was hiding.
Q sensed Fatou's disapproving gaze. He looked back, gave her a raspberry, stuck his thumbs in his ears and twittled his fingers.
“Divine preserve us! Q is but a big child and Tyr is just his personal plaything!” Fatou thought in distress.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The mood was clearly broken so now the two love birds lay entwined in each other's arms. They'd both figured out, if they didn't touch Tyr's nose, they wouldn't have any problems.
“You do know that you have to go to Sickbay, right?” Tamara asked.
“I most certainly will not.” Tyr replied.
“Tyr!” Tamara exclaimed.
“And exactly what am I going to tell the Good Lady Doctor? That my nose squeaks like a child's toy? What remedy can she possibly recommend? I know no other except to find that low down filthy scum of a Q, who caused this mess in the first place and crush him like a rodent!” Tyr said. “I tell you what she's going to do. She's going to laugh her rear end off, just like the rest of the crew will do when they find out.” Tyr continued.
“I'm pretty sure she's not going to laugh at you, Tyr.” Tamara replied. At least she hoped and prayed Kori didn't. Klingons had the tendency to be unpredictable. . . . .
“That remains to be seen.” Tyr groused.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“This is so embarrassing.” Tyr thought to himself, and rolled his expressive brown eyes toward the ceiling. “I should've not only bet money Kori was going to laugh, but extra because she is howling too.” Tyr continued to think somberly.
You see, Klingons unlike Humans did not twitter, chuckle, chortle, or giggle. They roared with mirth, and since Kori was a typical Klingon she let it all hang out. Tamara wondered if the woman was going to howl at the moon next.
“So, what do you recommend?” Tyr asked as Dr. Kori calmed down.
“I have no recommendations except to not touch your nose.” Kori replied.
“Not touch my nose! That is impossible! I have to wash my face and blow it . . . . . .” Tyr started.
“Now you must find somewhere private if you need to do that. Oh and by the way, watch out for your sons. Once they find out your nose squeaks like that, they will never let you rest. Plus if the entire crew will find out. . . . .” she said, as she shook her head.
“And I will be the laughing stock of Starfleet. . . .” Tyr groused as he thought of Alexander's little reaching arms and grabby hands. Lysander was equally precocious. Kori was right, there was no rest for the weary.
“Thanks a lot Q! When I get my hands on you, you'll be deader than Elvis.” Tyr thought fiercely.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Oh my! I don't like that look on your face Mr. Nietzschean. Should I be afraid? Should I cringe in abject terror or should I laugh my butt off? I chose the latter! Oh, this is soooooo much fun!” Q said, as he dry washed his hands with glee, just like a mad scientist.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fatou narrowed her amber eyes. She was having her own private thoughts on what to do about Q, and they were not civil.
* * * * * * * * * *
Janeway Q had in the guise of Nancy Cox had just completed her tour with none other than the Station Commander, Fleet Admiral HaxHis. She and her compatriot Q were now all gathered in a safe corner of the multi-verse.
“Here is what I found out. Three and a half weeks ago, Admiral Anasazi was scheduled to lead a convoy of 12 relief ships to Avon Six. However, at the last second they were diverted due a distress signal which came from the Antares sector. They went to assist with Tyr's ship in the lead, however, The Insurrection and her crew simply disappeared.” she reported.
The other Q looked at one another with quizzical expressions. The unspoken question was "How the heck did she find all of that out?" Even though they were Q, there were some limits to what they could do especially when pitted against one of their own who had gone rogue. He was obviously using his limitless power to hide from them.
“HaxHis had the padd with the report on her desk, and I just happen to know how to read upside down.” Janeway replied, with a smile.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was no problem getting to the Antares sector, in fact it was a piece of cake. However, finding where Q had secreted himself was another story. At Janeway Q's orders the Q fanned out in pairs into as many directions as possible to begin an intense search.
* * * * * * * * * *
Q was in the middle of being up to no good as usual, when he froze in mid action.
“Oh shhhhhhhhhhhhh...............” he said. “I thought I put up enough shielding to protect and hide me from them!” he continued. He waved his right hand in Tyr's direction.
“I'll be back.” Q promised impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger's “Terminator” charactor, then blinked out.
* * * * * * * * * *
Seconds later Fatou was heading towards the Bridge in a professional panic.
When the lift opened Tyr was sitting in the Central Seat reading and signing padds. He looked up, saw Fatou, and she gave him the signal that she wanted to speak to him and Captain McPhearson in private.
Once they were all situated, Tyr standing in his favorite place in front of the window, Tamara standing at parade rest, in front of Tyr's desk. Fatou spoke.
“I don't sense Q anymore.” she said simply.
“Oh? Why didn't you tell me you were capable of sensing him?” Tyr asked, raising both eyebrows in surprise.
“I didn't tell you because I considered my sensing his presence to be unreliable. I can only sense him when he uses his powers and I didn't want you to hang your hat on that, so to speak.” Fatou explained.
“Does this mean we will be able to go home?” Tyr asked.
“No, unfortunately it does not.” Fatou replied.
“Why not?” Tamara asked.
“Because I distinctly heard him say that he would be back. Then he blinked out.” Fatou replied. She tactfully left out Q's Arnold Swartzinagger impersonation. . . . . . .
“What cause him to leave in such a hurry?” Tyr wondered out loud.
“There are others here, now.” Fatou replied.
“Others? You mean other Q?” Tyr asked
“The Q Continuum consists of possibly hundreds of their kind. The majority of which are peaceful, co-exist with us, and occasionally help us out.” Tamara replied. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the one we encountered." she continued.
“So, they obviously are hunting for their rogue compatriot.” Tyr stated.
“I guess in the meantime we have to cool our nacelles until they either find him or set things straight.” Tamara said. Referring to being released from the "bubble" Q had trapped The Insurrection and her crew in.
“Or rather until they find him and MAKE him set things straight. Divine only knows, he may have set things into motion which only he can undo.” Fatou said sagely. The small hairs on Tyr's neck stood on end. That was not a good sign.
“You mean I'm stuck with this for the duration?” Tyr asked as he touched his nose, expecting to hear a resounding squeak. But, there was only silence.
“Stuck with what?” Fatou asked innocently.
“Never mind.” Tyr covered. “In the meantime I must have a meeting with the Quartermaster and Lieutenant Torres of Hydrophonics. I don't know how long we will be stuck here and if necessary I may have to institute rationing of resources and provisions to the crew.” Tyr continued.
The Insurrection was an Akira class Star Ship and not considered a long range vessel like the old Constitution or the updated Enterprise class. So, if Tyr instituted the “Voyager Protocols (made standard practice by Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Voyager while in the Alpha Quadrant) his crew and family would be able to survive a long term mission if need be.
“The first order of the day is to reduce power to all non-essential areas.” Tyr said to Tamara. “Other orders will be forthcoming after my meetings have been concluded. Dismissed.” Tyr continued in command mode.
“Aye, sir.” Tamara responded, executed a textbook military right and left. Leaving Tyr and Fatou alone.
“Now, what was that about the possibility of Q setting something in motion only HE can undo?” Tyr asked of Fatou.
“I said what I meant, and I meant what I said.” she replied succinctly, leaving no doubt in the Nietzschean Admiral's mind.
Fatou's Spanish was rusty, but she was positive Tyr's response was nothing but swear words in that particular language. . . . . . .
* * * * * *
Meanwhile, in the 88 Lounge (The Insurrection's Mess Hall), Melissa and Dragon were sitting together at a private table. They had agreed to coordinate their meal breaks to meet, chat and chew.
Dragon was outfitted in his modified version of a Starfleet Security uniform. Melissa was dressed in Starfleet Hydroponics coveralls. He had taken liberty of ordering food and drink for both himself and Melissa.
“How is your Chai?” Dragon asked, as he watched her hesitantly sip from a steaming cup.
“It's positively delicious!” Melissa proclaimed and smiled, after taking her first ever sip and taste.
“I'm surprised you've never had Chai before. After all you've traveled so far and wide. . . . .” Dragon said.
“Dragon, you wouldn't believe the stories I have of people trying to poison me. That's why I have my team along.” Melissa replied.
The life of an intergalactic news correspondent was not all it was cracked up to be. When dealing with shady characters, one did not eat what they offered you, no matter how hungry you were, or how tasty it looked. T'Kell always brought along a supply of meal bars and water pacs just in case. . . .
Dragon glanced off for a second and espied the Vulcan couple on the far side of the room engaged in lively discussion with several officers from Cartography. He was not fooled by that rouse one bit. They were attuned as to his every move as he was of theirs.
“What kind of sandwich is this?” she asked, as she gazed at hers then watched Dragon pick up his.
“It is a CLT. Cheese, lettuce and tomato on toasted multi grain bread, with a hint of mayonnaise.” he replied.
“No bacon?” she asked. .
“Yuck. Bacon contains far too much nitrates and fat.” Dragon replied. She'd forgotten that Nietzscheans were consummate health nuts and were extremely picky about what they ate.
“You should eat yours before it gets cold.” he admonished. Melissa took a bite and agreed it didn't taste bad.
“Okay, here comes the five thousand bars of gold plated latinum question. Why is your name Dragon?” Melissa asked. They had both finished their meal and the dishes had been removed by a steward. Dragon smiled shyly, dropped his head and sighed. Melissa was immediately sorry she'd asked.
“There was a slight error when my parents filed my official birth documents with The Hall of Records. My father had named me Dragoon, but somewhere along the line an “o” was omitted. The error was not discovered until I entered primary school. My father was furious and could have changed it back, but my mother loved the name Dragon. Since we Nietzscheans have a Matriarchal society and whatever the lady of the house says, goes, thus Dragon it stayed.” Dragon explained.
“Dragoon?? That's either a light infantry or a pirate ship isn't it?” Melissa asked.
“My father is an ardent fan of old Earth military history, and that's how he chose my name. It is a light infantry, where the soldiers originally rode horseback and carried light weaponry so they could move quickly.” he replied.
“So, how do you feel about your name now?” she asked, in full interview mode though she didn't intend for it to be so.
“I have no problem with it because I've been told on numerous occasions that I am as fierce as my namesake.” Dragon replied and smiled.
At that particular time, Dragon didn't look fierce. However, the man was second in command of Security on Tyr Anazasi's ship. That alone was no mean feat.
“So I'd say you were appropriately named.” Melissa replied.
“Yes, my father knows that now.” Dragon said as he smiled.
Melissa had so many other questions to ask but realized their meal break was almost over.
“Would you like to share dinner with me later?” Dragon asked. “That way you can ask all of the questions you want and I can ask some of my own.” he continued.
“I don't see why not.” she replied.
“How about back here at 1900 hours?” he asked.
“Excellent. I'll be here.” Melissa said as she rose to go. She didn't have to look for T'Kell and Skorr, because they were already approaching.
She waved as she left the 88 Lounge, and it was back to work for her.
“Ah! Isn't it great when love is in the air?” Ensign Palmer asked her fellow crew member Ensign Chee as they bussed The 88 Lounge's tables.
“Yeah. Those two will not be able to keep their minds on work for the rest of the afternoon and evening.” Chee replied.
“Oh the horror of it all!” Palmer replied as she playfully poked her friend in the ribs.
In the Great Hall of the Q, one hundred Q stood at parade rest in front of Janeway Q, and waited, waited, and waited. No one dared say a word for they all knew their leader was ticked.
“Two weeks, three days, twenty-three hours and seventeen minutes after I gave the order to find, capture and return Q to me, and you still haven't found him?” she asked calmly.
The leader of this particular group chose to step forth and speak. Contrary to popular thought and belief, the Q were not exclusively Human. This one was a stern looking Vulcan who strongly resembled Spock's father, Sarek.
“We have initiated a multi-verse search grid which was partially successful in only discovering where he had been.” he replied.
“Oh? Where?” she asked, patiently.
“He made multiple trips to Pinnacle and Deep Space Ten.” he replied.
“Pinnacle. That is the main Nietzschean home world, isn't it?” she asked.
“Yes it is the official seat of Nietzschean government.” he replied.
Though the Nietzscheans inhabited many planets and world ships, if Teddy Roosevelt were a Nietzschean, he would've said of Pinnacle “The buck stops here.”
“So what recent and significant event would've happened on Pinnacle to attract Q's attention?” she wondered aloud. Not that she didn't already know. For Q was unfortunately attracted to certain important events like a crow was to shiny objects.
“The death of Viceroy Barbarossa Anasazi. It was made significant by the fact that in totally breaking with Nietzschean tradition, Barbarossa chose to pass his crown to his youngest son, Tyr instead of his oldest son, Agamemnon.” The Vulcan Q replied.
“BINGO!” she thought.
“Viceroy Tyr Anasazi also happens to be a highly decorated Star Fleet officer, is he not?” she asked.
“Affirmative, Q." the Vulcan Q replied.
“So Tyr Anasazi is either blessed or cursed with being both. Q enjoys sticking his foot out and tripping people like him.” she replied and stood. “We are going to Deep Space Ten.” she said in answer to the questioning looks on everyone's face.
“We?” the Vulcan Q queried, as he raised his right eyebrow in a typical Vulcan manner.
“My father always said, if you want something done right, you must either do it your self, or personally supervise the task . . . . . .” she replied, as she and all 100 Q blinked out of existence.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Captain Dylan Hunt was having an in-depth conversation with Captain Sherra of the Dolgarian ship Sojourner. Currently Dylan was in a quandary because he was both extremely tired and did not know which end was up Sherra.
The Dolgarian Captain was a black Human sized Pule, who had long black dreadlocks hanging over her face and eyes. The only hint he was talking to her face, was her moving snout and the occasional flash of her white canine teeth, and pink tongue.
“I can't believe I'm talking to a giant dog who is has dreadlocks like Tyr. First, human sized talking cats, now this. What's next? Talking elephants? If I run into any of those, I'm handing in my papers. . . .” Dylan thought wearily to himself, as he barely suppressed a yawn. He thought had done a good job of covering it up, but. . . .
“Captain Hunt. When was the last time you slept?” Sherra asked.
“Ops!” Dylan thought.
“Uh . . . . .Uh. . . . . . Forgive me. . . .” Dylan fumbled.
“I understand the Rear Admiral is a very close and dear friend, however, you must rest, or you will not be of much use to anyone. Not to yourself or even The Admiral should find him. Take some down time, Captain and Divine willing we will speak tomorrow.” She admonished. Dylan blinked because he swore he saw one of her alert brown eyes gazing back at him in the video pickup.
“Alright Captain, we will continue this conversation tomorrow at this time.” Dylan replied.
“1300 hours. Aye.” Sherra replied as she signed off. Dylan immediately called Rommie into his Ready Room. The second she saw him, she ordered him off the bridge and to his quarters to rest.
“Hey, you can't do that! You're my XO!” Dylan protested.
“I can if I see that you are unfit for duty. Which is a lot better than what Trance would do. She'd haul you down to Sickbay and give you a sedative.” Rommie replied. “Captain, go get some sleep, I'll take care of things here. Remember, androids don't require sleep.” she continued.
With that Dylan left the bridge and headed to his quarters. Once there he only had enough strength to remove his boots before he stretched out on his bed and fell asleep fully clothed in his uniform.
* * * * * * * *
Back on Deep Space Ten, the Janeway Q and the rest of her compatriots showed up on the station in a random manner. Some were disguised as merchants, others as crew, still others as tourists.
However, she personally decided to disguise herself as a ten year old girl. Nancy Cox was a child genius who'd won The Intergalactic Tesla Award for inventing some scientific thing of a bob. One of her prizes was an all expense paid trip to and a tour of Deep Space Ten.
“Why a child?” the Vulcan Q had queried.
“No one fears a child because for the most part, they are innocent, and because of that, people tell children everything.” she replied, and smiled. “I wager after speaking to a few key people I will be able to track down Q faster than your entire team.” she challenged.
“But, Q we have been using these methods for the past hundred eons.” the Vulcan Q replied.
“Perhaps your methods of investigation need a serious update.” she said. “That is precisely why Q was able to spring the trap without being caught by the noose.” she continued.
The Vulcan Q did not bother to reply. Janeway knew he was displeased, but she couldn't help that. Obviously Q was not an amateur, but neither was she. . . . . .
“First things first. We go to meet Fleet Admiral HaxHis. I never met a Katay before but I've heard a lot about them.” Janeway said, as she skipped along side the tall, austere Vulcan male as they made their way across the Upper Promenade to the bank of lifts.
* * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, Tyr and Tamara were spending quality “cuddle” time with each other. They had just gotten comfortable when
SQUEAK!
“What was that?” Tamara asked as they both jumped nearly a mile high off the bed like scalded cats.
“I don't know.” Tyr replied, as he grabbed the end of the duvet and shook it out, expecting to find one of his sons squeak toys in it. He then unsuccessfully searched the bed itself, to no avail.
“False alarm.” he said as he shrugged his shoulders and got back into bed. Tamara followed him and curled up into his arms. Back to business at hand. . . . . .
SQUEAK!
Both Nietzschean and Vulcan started again and stared at one another.
“It's you.” Tamara accused.
“Me? How the. . . . .” Tyr asked. In reply Tamara pressed the tip of his nose with her right forefinger and . . . . .
SQUEAK!
Tamara put both hands over her mouth as her green eyes became as wide as saucers. The look on Tyr's face was of utter stupefaction, then the realization dawned.
“Tamara. Do not laugh!” Tyr commanded.
“Your nose squeaks like a clowns nose and you expect me not to laugh?” Tamara thought through their marital link. She didn't exactly trust herself to speak at this particular time. . . . . . .
“I will beat you from port to starboard if you laugh.” Tyr threatened.
“Tyr Anazasi! I thought Nietzschean men did not beat their wives!” Tamara thought. Despite her best intentions she chuckled. She pulled away as he reached for her, and dashed across the room.
“There are always exceptions to that rule. . . .” Tyr replied and the chase was on.
* * * * * * *
In the meantime, Q was on the floor of the multi-verse rolling with hysterical laughter.
“You should've seen the look on your face when she pressed your nose, Mr. Neitzschean! What a hoot! I haven't had so much fun in ages!” Q said, as he applauded.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“I'd love to give him one up side the head.” Fatou thought sourly, as she stared up at the ceiling, through the many decks of The Insurrection, out into space at the exact spot where Q was hiding.
Q sensed Fatou's disapproving gaze. He looked back, gave her a raspberry, stuck his thumbs in his ears and twittled his fingers.
“Divine preserve us! Q is but a big child and Tyr is just his personal plaything!” Fatou thought in distress.
* * * * * * * * * * *
The mood was clearly broken so now the two love birds lay entwined in each other's arms. They'd both figured out, if they didn't touch Tyr's nose, they wouldn't have any problems.
“You do know that you have to go to Sickbay, right?” Tamara asked.
“I most certainly will not.” Tyr replied.
“Tyr!” Tamara exclaimed.
“And exactly what am I going to tell the Good Lady Doctor? That my nose squeaks like a child's toy? What remedy can she possibly recommend? I know no other except to find that low down filthy scum of a Q, who caused this mess in the first place and crush him like a rodent!” Tyr said. “I tell you what she's going to do. She's going to laugh her rear end off, just like the rest of the crew will do when they find out.” Tyr continued.
“I'm pretty sure she's not going to laugh at you, Tyr.” Tamara replied. At least she hoped and prayed Kori didn't. Klingons had the tendency to be unpredictable. . . . .
“That remains to be seen.” Tyr groused.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“This is so embarrassing.” Tyr thought to himself, and rolled his expressive brown eyes toward the ceiling. “I should've not only bet money Kori was going to laugh, but extra because she is howling too.” Tyr continued to think somberly.
You see, Klingons unlike Humans did not twitter, chuckle, chortle, or giggle. They roared with mirth, and since Kori was a typical Klingon she let it all hang out. Tamara wondered if the woman was going to howl at the moon next.
“So, what do you recommend?” Tyr asked as Dr. Kori calmed down.
“I have no recommendations except to not touch your nose.” Kori replied.
“Not touch my nose! That is impossible! I have to wash my face and blow it . . . . . .” Tyr started.
“Now you must find somewhere private if you need to do that. Oh and by the way, watch out for your sons. Once they find out your nose squeaks like that, they will never let you rest. Plus if the entire crew will find out. . . . .” she said, as she shook her head.
“And I will be the laughing stock of Starfleet. . . .” Tyr groused as he thought of Alexander's little reaching arms and grabby hands. Lysander was equally precocious. Kori was right, there was no rest for the weary.
“Thanks a lot Q! When I get my hands on you, you'll be deader than Elvis.” Tyr thought fiercely.
* * * * * * * * * *
“Oh my! I don't like that look on your face Mr. Nietzschean. Should I be afraid? Should I cringe in abject terror or should I laugh my butt off? I chose the latter! Oh, this is soooooo much fun!” Q said, as he dry washed his hands with glee, just like a mad scientist.
* * * * * * * * * *
Fatou narrowed her amber eyes. She was having her own private thoughts on what to do about Q, and they were not civil.
* * * * * * * * * *
Janeway Q had in the guise of Nancy Cox had just completed her tour with none other than the Station Commander, Fleet Admiral HaxHis. She and her compatriot Q were now all gathered in a safe corner of the multi-verse.
“Here is what I found out. Three and a half weeks ago, Admiral Anasazi was scheduled to lead a convoy of 12 relief ships to Avon Six. However, at the last second they were diverted due a distress signal which came from the Antares sector. They went to assist with Tyr's ship in the lead, however, The Insurrection and her crew simply disappeared.” she reported.
The other Q looked at one another with quizzical expressions. The unspoken question was "How the heck did she find all of that out?" Even though they were Q, there were some limits to what they could do especially when pitted against one of their own who had gone rogue. He was obviously using his limitless power to hide from them.
“HaxHis had the padd with the report on her desk, and I just happen to know how to read upside down.” Janeway replied, with a smile.
* * * * * * * * * *
There was no problem getting to the Antares sector, in fact it was a piece of cake. However, finding where Q had secreted himself was another story. At Janeway Q's orders the Q fanned out in pairs into as many directions as possible to begin an intense search.
* * * * * * * * * *
Q was in the middle of being up to no good as usual, when he froze in mid action.
“Oh shhhhhhhhhhhhh...............” he said. “I thought I put up enough shielding to protect and hide me from them!” he continued. He waved his right hand in Tyr's direction.
“I'll be back.” Q promised impersonating Arnold Schwarzenegger's “Terminator” charactor, then blinked out.
* * * * * * * * * *
Seconds later Fatou was heading towards the Bridge in a professional panic.
When the lift opened Tyr was sitting in the Central Seat reading and signing padds. He looked up, saw Fatou, and she gave him the signal that she wanted to speak to him and Captain McPhearson in private.
Once they were all situated, Tyr standing in his favorite place in front of the window, Tamara standing at parade rest, in front of Tyr's desk. Fatou spoke.
“I don't sense Q anymore.” she said simply.
“Oh? Why didn't you tell me you were capable of sensing him?” Tyr asked, raising both eyebrows in surprise.
“I didn't tell you because I considered my sensing his presence to be unreliable. I can only sense him when he uses his powers and I didn't want you to hang your hat on that, so to speak.” Fatou explained.
“Does this mean we will be able to go home?” Tyr asked.
“No, unfortunately it does not.” Fatou replied.
“Why not?” Tamara asked.
“Because I distinctly heard him say that he would be back. Then he blinked out.” Fatou replied. She tactfully left out Q's Arnold Swartzinagger impersonation. . . . . . .
“What cause him to leave in such a hurry?” Tyr wondered out loud.
“There are others here, now.” Fatou replied.
“Others? You mean other Q?” Tyr asked
“The Q Continuum consists of possibly hundreds of their kind. The majority of which are peaceful, co-exist with us, and occasionally help us out.” Tamara replied. "Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for the one we encountered." she continued.
“So, they obviously are hunting for their rogue compatriot.” Tyr stated.
“I guess in the meantime we have to cool our nacelles until they either find him or set things straight.” Tamara said. Referring to being released from the "bubble" Q had trapped The Insurrection and her crew in.
“Or rather until they find him and MAKE him set things straight. Divine only knows, he may have set things into motion which only he can undo.” Fatou said sagely. The small hairs on Tyr's neck stood on end. That was not a good sign.
“You mean I'm stuck with this for the duration?” Tyr asked as he touched his nose, expecting to hear a resounding squeak. But, there was only silence.
“Stuck with what?” Fatou asked innocently.
“Never mind.” Tyr covered. “In the meantime I must have a meeting with the Quartermaster and Lieutenant Torres of Hydrophonics. I don't know how long we will be stuck here and if necessary I may have to institute rationing of resources and provisions to the crew.” Tyr continued.
The Insurrection was an Akira class Star Ship and not considered a long range vessel like the old Constitution or the updated Enterprise class. So, if Tyr instituted the “Voyager Protocols (made standard practice by Captain Kathryn Janeway of the Voyager while in the Alpha Quadrant) his crew and family would be able to survive a long term mission if need be.
“The first order of the day is to reduce power to all non-essential areas.” Tyr said to Tamara. “Other orders will be forthcoming after my meetings have been concluded. Dismissed.” Tyr continued in command mode.
“Aye, sir.” Tamara responded, executed a textbook military right and left. Leaving Tyr and Fatou alone.
“Now, what was that about the possibility of Q setting something in motion only HE can undo?” Tyr asked of Fatou.
“I said what I meant, and I meant what I said.” she replied succinctly, leaving no doubt in the Nietzschean Admiral's mind.
Fatou's Spanish was rusty, but she was positive Tyr's response was nothing but swear words in that particular language. . . . . . .
* * * * * *
Meanwhile, in the 88 Lounge (The Insurrection's Mess Hall), Melissa and Dragon were sitting together at a private table. They had agreed to coordinate their meal breaks to meet, chat and chew.
Dragon was outfitted in his modified version of a Starfleet Security uniform. Melissa was dressed in Starfleet Hydroponics coveralls. He had taken liberty of ordering food and drink for both himself and Melissa.
“How is your Chai?” Dragon asked, as he watched her hesitantly sip from a steaming cup.
“It's positively delicious!” Melissa proclaimed and smiled, after taking her first ever sip and taste.
“I'm surprised you've never had Chai before. After all you've traveled so far and wide. . . . .” Dragon said.
“Dragon, you wouldn't believe the stories I have of people trying to poison me. That's why I have my team along.” Melissa replied.
The life of an intergalactic news correspondent was not all it was cracked up to be. When dealing with shady characters, one did not eat what they offered you, no matter how hungry you were, or how tasty it looked. T'Kell always brought along a supply of meal bars and water pacs just in case. . . .
Dragon glanced off for a second and espied the Vulcan couple on the far side of the room engaged in lively discussion with several officers from Cartography. He was not fooled by that rouse one bit. They were attuned as to his every move as he was of theirs.
“What kind of sandwich is this?” she asked, as she gazed at hers then watched Dragon pick up his.
“It is a CLT. Cheese, lettuce and tomato on toasted multi grain bread, with a hint of mayonnaise.” he replied.
“No bacon?” she asked. .
“Yuck. Bacon contains far too much nitrates and fat.” Dragon replied. She'd forgotten that Nietzscheans were consummate health nuts and were extremely picky about what they ate.
“You should eat yours before it gets cold.” he admonished. Melissa took a bite and agreed it didn't taste bad.
“Okay, here comes the five thousand bars of gold plated latinum question. Why is your name Dragon?” Melissa asked. They had both finished their meal and the dishes had been removed by a steward. Dragon smiled shyly, dropped his head and sighed. Melissa was immediately sorry she'd asked.
“There was a slight error when my parents filed my official birth documents with The Hall of Records. My father had named me Dragoon, but somewhere along the line an “o” was omitted. The error was not discovered until I entered primary school. My father was furious and could have changed it back, but my mother loved the name Dragon. Since we Nietzscheans have a Matriarchal society and whatever the lady of the house says, goes, thus Dragon it stayed.” Dragon explained.
“Dragoon?? That's either a light infantry or a pirate ship isn't it?” Melissa asked.
“My father is an ardent fan of old Earth military history, and that's how he chose my name. It is a light infantry, where the soldiers originally rode horseback and carried light weaponry so they could move quickly.” he replied.
“So, how do you feel about your name now?” she asked, in full interview mode though she didn't intend for it to be so.
“I have no problem with it because I've been told on numerous occasions that I am as fierce as my namesake.” Dragon replied and smiled.
At that particular time, Dragon didn't look fierce. However, the man was second in command of Security on Tyr Anazasi's ship. That alone was no mean feat.
“So I'd say you were appropriately named.” Melissa replied.
“Yes, my father knows that now.” Dragon said as he smiled.
Melissa had so many other questions to ask but realized their meal break was almost over.
“Would you like to share dinner with me later?” Dragon asked. “That way you can ask all of the questions you want and I can ask some of my own.” he continued.
“I don't see why not.” she replied.
“How about back here at 1900 hours?” he asked.
“Excellent. I'll be here.” Melissa said as she rose to go. She didn't have to look for T'Kell and Skorr, because they were already approaching.
She waved as she left the 88 Lounge, and it was back to work for her.
“Ah! Isn't it great when love is in the air?” Ensign Palmer asked her fellow crew member Ensign Chee as they bussed The 88 Lounge's tables.
“Yeah. Those two will not be able to keep their minds on work for the rest of the afternoon and evening.” Chee replied.
“Oh the horror of it all!” Palmer replied as she playfully poked her friend in the ribs.
Free Enterprise - A Family Feast - Sorta #125
Free Enterprise - A Family Feast – Sorta - #125
Tyr woke up and dived into pure pandemonium. All of his wives were multi-tasking, doing three things at a time while trying to get ready themselves.
Both Alexander and Lysander were hungry and loudly demanded to eat right now, not later when the meal was finally cooked and served. So Hoy Li and Li Hoy took them aside and gave them each a light fruit snack to keep them quiet.
Tyr found himself in competition for kitchen counter space as he whipped up a large tray of baked ziti and a salad to accompany it. Amanda had taught Desi how to make curry chicken, and she was cooking up a batch along with some rice and peas, while Tamara cooked up Huminza (a Vulcan wild rice with vegetables dish). Not to be outmatched by Fatou who was preparing a pot of Quil. A spicy and hearty Katay fish stew. Once everything was in the oven or on the stove simmering away, wives scattered to get cleaned up and dressed for the event. Tyr mosied back to his quarters to do likewise.
By the time he returned their first guests were there. Melissa Culpepper was there with her team. The team consisted of one man and one woman, both of Vulcan decent and married to each other. T'Kell was “hair”, make up and wardrobe specialist and she took care of Melissa's on the camera appearance and administrative duties. Skoll was the technical guy who handled the camera and sound aspect, and was also the body guard. Actually both were. Though T'Fara was female, she was more than capable of opening a can of Beat Down if needed to.
It seemed as soon as Melissa sat down on the sofa, Alexander climbed up on her lap. Tamara and Xena tried to shoo him off, but he stubbornly clung to the reporter. Truth be told, Melissa was charmed by this miniature version of Tyr, though she couldn't say the same for his father.
“The children should not suffer because of their father's sins.” Melissa muttered.
“Oui!” Fatou thought to herself.
* * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, back on Deep Space 10 , in her office, Admiral Haxhis was receiving reports from all over.
A half an hour ago she had just made a call to Tyr's mother Victoria Anasazi and apprized her of the situation. To wit: her son's ship, crew, family, and he was missing. This of course included her grandchildren Alexander and Lysander.
HaxHis had expected the woman to go nutter. To scream, cry, rage, howl at the moon, anything. But, The Queen Mother was as measured and composed as could be. She'd even offered the assistance of ships and crews to augment the search. But, Haxhis had turned it down.
“We don't really know what has happened yet and if you send ships the word will spread like wildfire that the Nietzscheans brand new Viceroy is missing.” HaxHis replied.
“You are right.” Victoria said. “Perhaps I should send a couple of merchant ships with disguised military crews to assist instead.” she suggested.
“No, that would not do either. This station is being monitored by spies with hostile intentions and the slightest action out of whack will spark an incident. Plus, the Dolgarians have volunteered to help. Haxhis said. “If anyone can find that ship, they can. They are excellent trackers.” she continued.
“And what of this Q person you spoke of? I thought he was imprisoned by the Continuum due to him introducing the Borg to our system which initiated The Borg War.” Victoria said. That war had cost BILLIONS of innocent lives and destroyed hundreds of planets.
“I thought so too. Where ever he was, he got out of jail so to speak and is back up to his old tricks. I pray to the Divine The Continuum finds him, puts a stop to his nonsense. There's no telling what that creature has in store for Tyr, his crew and his family.” HaxHis replied.
“I have an apt punishment for Q's crime. Remove his immortality and leave him in my charge for a year.” Victoria suggested. At it's mere mention, the fine hairs stood on Haxhis neck. She couldn't imagine what the Nietzscheans Queen Mother would do to Q while he was in her care.
“May it never come to that.” Haxhis thought. For Nietzschean women tended to be three times as treacherous as their male counterparts.
“I'm confident The Continuum will find him before any serious damage is done.” Haxhis replied firmlly.
“Oh? Why do you say that?” Victoria asked.
“Because of their newest addition and leader. She didn't exactly see eye to eye with Q when she was alive, and now that she is with the Q. . . . .” Haxhis started.
“And whom might that be?” Victoria asked.
“Admiral Kathryn Janeway.” Haxhis replied.
“If all I've heard about her is true, Q is definitely in big trouble.” Victoria said after a stunned moment of silence.
“Yes, indeed he is.” HaxHis replied.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile back on The Insurrection, Tyr's Pride took time out from their present day problems and circumstances to have a traditional Nietzschean family feast.
Traditionally, family members (if old enough) prepared dishes and guests/friends brought their empty stomachs and some form of entertainment.
After the food had been eaten and desserts consumed, Hoy Li and Li Hoy assisted with clean up, while Tamara and Xena put the little ones to sleep. This was although Alexander was perfectly happy to doze in Melissa's lap.
Since Alexander was the more outgoing of the two boys, he took on the task of doing reconnaissance, and if he approved, then Lysander came along.
For the rest of the evening the group fell into easy conversation. Melissa even brought up a charity she had pioneered as a result of her condition.
Lids For Life, was where thousands of women and men donated, hand knit, crocheted or weaved hats and head coverings for the follicular challenged. To prove her point she reached into her shoulder bag and brought a ball of colorful yarn with a crochet needle stuck into it. Attached to said needle was the beginnings of her next project.
“Wow! I haven't seen anyone do that in years.” Tamara said. “My foster Mom not only taught me how to knit, crochet and sew but also beading, because she had cousins who were full blooded Navaho and Shoshoni Indians. I'd like to get back into it for the cause, but I'm afraid, I might be too rusty though.” she continued.
“You see, this not only teaches women to be charitable to others, but it also teaches what is believed to be one of the many dying arts in Humanoid culture. Handcrafting. The sad thing about progress is the easier it is to replicate things, people forget the skills and arts one needed to make the items in the first place.” Melissa said. “Oh and don't worry about your skills being rusty. I always carry extra yarn and needles and I also give impromptu lessons if need be.”
The evening ended with Tamara making an appointment to see Melissa in order to have a refresher course in crocheting. Then Melissa Culpepper and her “people” were escorted back to their quarters by Security. Tyr was not letting her off the hook yet. Even though she had befriended his sons. . . . . . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“That one admires you.” T'Kell said, as Melissa entered their quarters. It was a much smaller version of the Anasazi Family Quad. Melissa pulled up short because she knew exactly “who” T'Kell was talking about. Both of her staff had been trained in spotting stalkers and undesirable hangers on and the like, just in case. They were both dead on the mark when they pointed out someone to her. But, Melissa was no slouch either. After ten years in the field she too recognized the weirdos and dangerous types.
Yes, she had noticed the leader of her supposed Security Team since yesterday when Tyr has sent them to fetch her to the bridge. He was, an intense young man (approximately 10 to 12 years her junior), perhaps 5'8”, 190 pds, a fit as all get out Nietzschean, with dark brown hair and eyes and a latte complexion.
The man's stare was a tad too intense. However, when he noticed that The Vulcans had taken notice of him (like a pair of alert Dobermans), he quickly averted his attention and only stole an occasional meaningful glance at her. One of those so-called glances was enough.
“It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning.” Melissa thought to herself.
“I know what you're thinking T'Kell. But, he's young enough to be my son.” Melissa replied.
“That may be so, but obviously he was mature enough to apply for and be accepted by Star Fleet.” T'Kell replied. In other words, if he was old enough to put his life on the line and become a living and breathing target for Star Fleet Security, he was old enough to take an interest in Melissa Culpepper.
“Ah, T'Kell, in case you haven't noticed, Nietzscheans are really into this body perfection thing. They tend not to mate up with Humans who have obvious design flaws like me.” Melissa said. Referring to her obviously bald pate.
“This is a prime example of why you Humans are so illogical. The young man merely wishes to speak to you, however you already foresee yourself as a great grand parent.” T'Kell replied. It sounded far fetched, but once again T'Kell was right on point.
“Chalk that up to an over active imagination.” Melissa said.
“It is more like undisciplined thinking. You must remember to handle one task at a time. Absolutely nothing will be accomplished if you have numerous things on your mind at once.” T'Kell admonished. “First, arrange to speak to the young man, then see where that leads.” she continued.
“What is his name by the way?” Melissa asked, for she knew the woman had the scoop on all of his details.
“Dragon.” was T'Kell's reply.
“Dragon? What kind of name is that? I thought Nietzscheans only named their children after famous rulers and conquerors. Is that his given name or surname?” Melissa asked as she frowned.
“Dragon is his given name.” T'Kell replied. “Now you have a valid topic to discuss.” she continued as she headed into her shared quarters with her husband Skoll.
“Melissa and Dragon? Dragon and Melissa?” the reporter thought. “Naaaaaaah!” she scoffed out loud as she stepped through the doors to her quarters.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, the man of the hour, Q was practically asleep at the switch.
“OMG! This is so BORING! I've got to do something to kick things up a notch!” Q exclaimed. “ Tomorrow morning when Mr. Anasazi wakes up, he'll have a nice unpleasant surprise.” he promised, as he got up from his easy chair and stormed off.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Fatou was grooming herself for the night. She paused mid-lick as she sensed Q afoot.
“Oh-oh!.” Fatou thought.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rear Admiral Tyr Anasazi was awakened from his sound slumber by the worse stomach cramps he ever had in his life. In fact, he'd never had stomach cramps!
For approximately two minutes he could only curl up in fetal position and writhe in complete agony. However, at the last second he dashed out of bed and scorched to the head. He made it just in time.
As he exited he ran right into Tamara who had stationed herself directly in front of the door. Tyr had forgotten his first wife was telepathically linked to him and therefore felt every ache and pain he felt.
“I would not go in there if I were you.” he said seriously.
“Why? Did you blow it up?” Tamara asked in equal seriousness. “Blow it up” were code words her Foster Mom would use to describe when one left the bathroom stinky and unihabitable. . . . . . . .
Tyr was about to reply when another series of cramps tore through him. He swiftly retreated to whence he had come.
“I called Kori.” Tamara said, as Tyr returned. “Montazuma's Revenge is nothing to play with, Tyr.” she continued with hands on hips as she eyed her stubborn Nietzschean spouse.
“If I recall correctly, that particular malady was due to impure drinking water.” Tyr sighed.
“Either you get dressed and come with me to Sickbay right now, or I will summon Security to drag you there.” Tamara threatened.
“Uh, you're gonna have to wait one. . . . .” Tyr said as he dashed back into the head.
“Oui Vay!” Tamara said as she threw up her hands and shook her head.
“It's just like dealing with Alexander and Lysander, only they are a lot smaller.” she thought.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
From the rims of the Multi Verse, Q was besides himself with glee. He was literally rolling on the ground and laughing.
“This gives new meaning to the words POOP DECK!” Q said, as sat up and tossed handfuls of confetti into the air.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Ugh! Poor Tyr!” Fatou thought as she headed for Sickbay.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Well? What is your verdict?” Tyr rumbled at Kori. She'd just finished his full spectral exam.
“Verdicts are for juries. Doctors give diagnosis.” Kori replied patiently. Tamara stared at the two. If she didn't know better it looked as if they enjoyed baiting one other.
“Out with it woman!” Tyr said.
“As a Human being there are select conditions or diseases inherent to certain races. Some are more prone to heart attacks and strokes than others. Some are more prone to high blood pressure and diabetes . . .” she started.
“What does that have to do with me?” Tyr interrupted.
“I don't like to bring up race but you are considered to be of African American extraction. About 85% of African Americans are Lactose Intolerant. This just means the body lacks a specific enzyme which helps to break down the sugar content in milk and dairy products. That's why some get stomach cramps and the trots.” Kori continued.
“You mean I can no longer consume cheese or drink milk? I've always. . . . .” Tyr started. "I love cheese. . . . . ."
“Tyr, you were not always fully Human like you are now. Now you are susceptible to kinds of things that a normal Nietzschean body would just throw off.” Kori explained.
“You have two choices, I have an enzyme supplement you can take before you eat any dairy products. It will help your body break down the sugar content. Or you can give up all dairy products until after this thing with Q ends. It's up to you Tyr.” Kori said. Tyr opted for the pills.
“Also, try to get some water into your system. The trots have a tendency to cause dehydration, and you don't need that either.” Kori said. “Remember, we are here to help you so that you don't have to go it alone.” she continued.
Tyr woke up and dived into pure pandemonium. All of his wives were multi-tasking, doing three things at a time while trying to get ready themselves.
Both Alexander and Lysander were hungry and loudly demanded to eat right now, not later when the meal was finally cooked and served. So Hoy Li and Li Hoy took them aside and gave them each a light fruit snack to keep them quiet.
Tyr found himself in competition for kitchen counter space as he whipped up a large tray of baked ziti and a salad to accompany it. Amanda had taught Desi how to make curry chicken, and she was cooking up a batch along with some rice and peas, while Tamara cooked up Huminza (a Vulcan wild rice with vegetables dish). Not to be outmatched by Fatou who was preparing a pot of Quil. A spicy and hearty Katay fish stew. Once everything was in the oven or on the stove simmering away, wives scattered to get cleaned up and dressed for the event. Tyr mosied back to his quarters to do likewise.
By the time he returned their first guests were there. Melissa Culpepper was there with her team. The team consisted of one man and one woman, both of Vulcan decent and married to each other. T'Kell was “hair”, make up and wardrobe specialist and she took care of Melissa's on the camera appearance and administrative duties. Skoll was the technical guy who handled the camera and sound aspect, and was also the body guard. Actually both were. Though T'Fara was female, she was more than capable of opening a can of Beat Down if needed to.
It seemed as soon as Melissa sat down on the sofa, Alexander climbed up on her lap. Tamara and Xena tried to shoo him off, but he stubbornly clung to the reporter. Truth be told, Melissa was charmed by this miniature version of Tyr, though she couldn't say the same for his father.
“The children should not suffer because of their father's sins.” Melissa muttered.
“Oui!” Fatou thought to herself.
* * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, back on Deep Space 10 , in her office, Admiral Haxhis was receiving reports from all over.
A half an hour ago she had just made a call to Tyr's mother Victoria Anasazi and apprized her of the situation. To wit: her son's ship, crew, family, and he was missing. This of course included her grandchildren Alexander and Lysander.
HaxHis had expected the woman to go nutter. To scream, cry, rage, howl at the moon, anything. But, The Queen Mother was as measured and composed as could be. She'd even offered the assistance of ships and crews to augment the search. But, Haxhis had turned it down.
“We don't really know what has happened yet and if you send ships the word will spread like wildfire that the Nietzscheans brand new Viceroy is missing.” HaxHis replied.
“You are right.” Victoria said. “Perhaps I should send a couple of merchant ships with disguised military crews to assist instead.” she suggested.
“No, that would not do either. This station is being monitored by spies with hostile intentions and the slightest action out of whack will spark an incident. Plus, the Dolgarians have volunteered to help. Haxhis said. “If anyone can find that ship, they can. They are excellent trackers.” she continued.
“And what of this Q person you spoke of? I thought he was imprisoned by the Continuum due to him introducing the Borg to our system which initiated The Borg War.” Victoria said. That war had cost BILLIONS of innocent lives and destroyed hundreds of planets.
“I thought so too. Where ever he was, he got out of jail so to speak and is back up to his old tricks. I pray to the Divine The Continuum finds him, puts a stop to his nonsense. There's no telling what that creature has in store for Tyr, his crew and his family.” HaxHis replied.
“I have an apt punishment for Q's crime. Remove his immortality and leave him in my charge for a year.” Victoria suggested. At it's mere mention, the fine hairs stood on Haxhis neck. She couldn't imagine what the Nietzscheans Queen Mother would do to Q while he was in her care.
“May it never come to that.” Haxhis thought. For Nietzschean women tended to be three times as treacherous as their male counterparts.
“I'm confident The Continuum will find him before any serious damage is done.” Haxhis replied firmlly.
“Oh? Why do you say that?” Victoria asked.
“Because of their newest addition and leader. She didn't exactly see eye to eye with Q when she was alive, and now that she is with the Q. . . . .” Haxhis started.
“And whom might that be?” Victoria asked.
“Admiral Kathryn Janeway.” Haxhis replied.
“If all I've heard about her is true, Q is definitely in big trouble.” Victoria said after a stunned moment of silence.
“Yes, indeed he is.” HaxHis replied.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile back on The Insurrection, Tyr's Pride took time out from their present day problems and circumstances to have a traditional Nietzschean family feast.
Traditionally, family members (if old enough) prepared dishes and guests/friends brought their empty stomachs and some form of entertainment.
After the food had been eaten and desserts consumed, Hoy Li and Li Hoy assisted with clean up, while Tamara and Xena put the little ones to sleep. This was although Alexander was perfectly happy to doze in Melissa's lap.
Since Alexander was the more outgoing of the two boys, he took on the task of doing reconnaissance, and if he approved, then Lysander came along.
For the rest of the evening the group fell into easy conversation. Melissa even brought up a charity she had pioneered as a result of her condition.
Lids For Life, was where thousands of women and men donated, hand knit, crocheted or weaved hats and head coverings for the follicular challenged. To prove her point she reached into her shoulder bag and brought a ball of colorful yarn with a crochet needle stuck into it. Attached to said needle was the beginnings of her next project.
“Wow! I haven't seen anyone do that in years.” Tamara said. “My foster Mom not only taught me how to knit, crochet and sew but also beading, because she had cousins who were full blooded Navaho and Shoshoni Indians. I'd like to get back into it for the cause, but I'm afraid, I might be too rusty though.” she continued.
“You see, this not only teaches women to be charitable to others, but it also teaches what is believed to be one of the many dying arts in Humanoid culture. Handcrafting. The sad thing about progress is the easier it is to replicate things, people forget the skills and arts one needed to make the items in the first place.” Melissa said. “Oh and don't worry about your skills being rusty. I always carry extra yarn and needles and I also give impromptu lessons if need be.”
The evening ended with Tamara making an appointment to see Melissa in order to have a refresher course in crocheting. Then Melissa Culpepper and her “people” were escorted back to their quarters by Security. Tyr was not letting her off the hook yet. Even though she had befriended his sons. . . . . . . .
* * * * * * * * * * * *
“That one admires you.” T'Kell said, as Melissa entered their quarters. It was a much smaller version of the Anasazi Family Quad. Melissa pulled up short because she knew exactly “who” T'Kell was talking about. Both of her staff had been trained in spotting stalkers and undesirable hangers on and the like, just in case. They were both dead on the mark when they pointed out someone to her. But, Melissa was no slouch either. After ten years in the field she too recognized the weirdos and dangerous types.
Yes, she had noticed the leader of her supposed Security Team since yesterday when Tyr has sent them to fetch her to the bridge. He was, an intense young man (approximately 10 to 12 years her junior), perhaps 5'8”, 190 pds, a fit as all get out Nietzschean, with dark brown hair and eyes and a latte complexion.
The man's stare was a tad too intense. However, when he noticed that The Vulcans had taken notice of him (like a pair of alert Dobermans), he quickly averted his attention and only stole an occasional meaningful glance at her. One of those so-called glances was enough.
“It was like being struck by a bolt of lightning.” Melissa thought to herself.
“I know what you're thinking T'Kell. But, he's young enough to be my son.” Melissa replied.
“That may be so, but obviously he was mature enough to apply for and be accepted by Star Fleet.” T'Kell replied. In other words, if he was old enough to put his life on the line and become a living and breathing target for Star Fleet Security, he was old enough to take an interest in Melissa Culpepper.
“Ah, T'Kell, in case you haven't noticed, Nietzscheans are really into this body perfection thing. They tend not to mate up with Humans who have obvious design flaws like me.” Melissa said. Referring to her obviously bald pate.
“This is a prime example of why you Humans are so illogical. The young man merely wishes to speak to you, however you already foresee yourself as a great grand parent.” T'Kell replied. It sounded far fetched, but once again T'Kell was right on point.
“Chalk that up to an over active imagination.” Melissa said.
“It is more like undisciplined thinking. You must remember to handle one task at a time. Absolutely nothing will be accomplished if you have numerous things on your mind at once.” T'Kell admonished. “First, arrange to speak to the young man, then see where that leads.” she continued.
“What is his name by the way?” Melissa asked, for she knew the woman had the scoop on all of his details.
“Dragon.” was T'Kell's reply.
“Dragon? What kind of name is that? I thought Nietzscheans only named their children after famous rulers and conquerors. Is that his given name or surname?” Melissa asked as she frowned.
“Dragon is his given name.” T'Kell replied. “Now you have a valid topic to discuss.” she continued as she headed into her shared quarters with her husband Skoll.
“Melissa and Dragon? Dragon and Melissa?” the reporter thought. “Naaaaaaah!” she scoffed out loud as she stepped through the doors to her quarters.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile, the man of the hour, Q was practically asleep at the switch.
“OMG! This is so BORING! I've got to do something to kick things up a notch!” Q exclaimed. “ Tomorrow morning when Mr. Anasazi wakes up, he'll have a nice unpleasant surprise.” he promised, as he got up from his easy chair and stormed off.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Meanwhile Fatou was grooming herself for the night. She paused mid-lick as she sensed Q afoot.
“Oh-oh!.” Fatou thought.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Rear Admiral Tyr Anasazi was awakened from his sound slumber by the worse stomach cramps he ever had in his life. In fact, he'd never had stomach cramps!
For approximately two minutes he could only curl up in fetal position and writhe in complete agony. However, at the last second he dashed out of bed and scorched to the head. He made it just in time.
As he exited he ran right into Tamara who had stationed herself directly in front of the door. Tyr had forgotten his first wife was telepathically linked to him and therefore felt every ache and pain he felt.
“I would not go in there if I were you.” he said seriously.
“Why? Did you blow it up?” Tamara asked in equal seriousness. “Blow it up” were code words her Foster Mom would use to describe when one left the bathroom stinky and unihabitable. . . . . . . .
Tyr was about to reply when another series of cramps tore through him. He swiftly retreated to whence he had come.
“I called Kori.” Tamara said, as Tyr returned. “Montazuma's Revenge is nothing to play with, Tyr.” she continued with hands on hips as she eyed her stubborn Nietzschean spouse.
“If I recall correctly, that particular malady was due to impure drinking water.” Tyr sighed.
“Either you get dressed and come with me to Sickbay right now, or I will summon Security to drag you there.” Tamara threatened.
“Uh, you're gonna have to wait one. . . . .” Tyr said as he dashed back into the head.
“Oui Vay!” Tamara said as she threw up her hands and shook her head.
“It's just like dealing with Alexander and Lysander, only they are a lot smaller.” she thought.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
From the rims of the Multi Verse, Q was besides himself with glee. He was literally rolling on the ground and laughing.
“This gives new meaning to the words POOP DECK!” Q said, as sat up and tossed handfuls of confetti into the air.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Ugh! Poor Tyr!” Fatou thought as she headed for Sickbay.
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Well? What is your verdict?” Tyr rumbled at Kori. She'd just finished his full spectral exam.
“Verdicts are for juries. Doctors give diagnosis.” Kori replied patiently. Tamara stared at the two. If she didn't know better it looked as if they enjoyed baiting one other.
“Out with it woman!” Tyr said.
“As a Human being there are select conditions or diseases inherent to certain races. Some are more prone to heart attacks and strokes than others. Some are more prone to high blood pressure and diabetes . . .” she started.
“What does that have to do with me?” Tyr interrupted.
“I don't like to bring up race but you are considered to be of African American extraction. About 85% of African Americans are Lactose Intolerant. This just means the body lacks a specific enzyme which helps to break down the sugar content in milk and dairy products. That's why some get stomach cramps and the trots.” Kori continued.
“You mean I can no longer consume cheese or drink milk? I've always. . . . .” Tyr started. "I love cheese. . . . . ."
“Tyr, you were not always fully Human like you are now. Now you are susceptible to kinds of things that a normal Nietzschean body would just throw off.” Kori explained.
“You have two choices, I have an enzyme supplement you can take before you eat any dairy products. It will help your body break down the sugar content. Or you can give up all dairy products until after this thing with Q ends. It's up to you Tyr.” Kori said. Tyr opted for the pills.
“Also, try to get some water into your system. The trots have a tendency to cause dehydration, and you don't need that either.” Kori said. “Remember, we are here to help you so that you don't have to go it alone.” she continued.
Friday, October 28, 2011
Free Enterprise - Day One Part 2 - #124
Breakfast was a complete travesty. Fatou put on her best disapproving face and scowled at Tyr. The Nietzschean was usually a hearty eater, but he picked and minced through his food like a spoiled toddler. Smelling and tasting this or that, grimacing, and spitting things out. Finally, Fatou lost it.
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Fatou demanded, in an authoritative voice.
“Probably the very same tone she uses on her kits.” Tyr thought and sighed.
“Forgive me, Fatou, but everything tastes strange. I cannot properly describe it.” Tyr replied and frowned.
“Whether it tastes strange or not, you must keep up your strength and energy level. You will just have to ignore your taste buds for the sake of nourishment.” Fatou said. Tyr reluctantly agreed and forced himself to consume the rest of his meal.
Exasperated, Fatou rolled her eyes and silently prayed to the Divine for strength.
“It is indeed true, men never truly grow up. . . .” she sighed to her self.
“Perhaps you should stop by Sickbay and let Doctor Kori have a look at you.” Fatou suggested, and waited for the blow back. Tyr merely gazed at her as if she'd asked him to submit his own neck to the guillotine.
“After all, Doctor Kori. did say even if you had minor issues, you should stop and see her. Just to be safe.” Fatou continued. All she received in return was a grunt.
“Whiskers and fur! Is he always this stubborn?” Fatou wondered.
“Now, this I really like.” Tyr said, after he'd taken a healthy gulp of Raktigino from his favorite mug, and held it up in a mock toast. Indeed, it was the only food item that didn't taste strange or nasty.
“At least he is smiling. Now, what did Khan tell me about that. . . . .” Fatou wondered to herself.
“Since you are feeling better, do you have anything special slated for this morning?” she asked.
“I wish to review the troops.” Tyr said, as he stood. As if clairvoyant, Gynn slipped in, collected the dishes and silverware, then hurried out.
“Oh no! The dreaded Scare The Hell Out Of The Crew Tour!” Fatou thought. Khan HAD warned her about those. . . . .
“The strength of the wolf is the pack, and the strength of the pack is the wolf.” Tyr quoted in response to Fatou's questing gaze.
“Rudyard Kippling, Tyr?” Fatou asked. She had recognized it from one of the authors books.
“Now which publication was that in?” she wondered silently and frowned. For she'd also heard that same phrase uttered in connection with another race in the past.
“You do realize that quote speaks of interdependence. The wolf needs the pack as much as the pack needs to wolf. In other words, no man is an island.” Fatou said.
“The Bible, Fatou?” Tyr asked. Gazing at the female Katay Tigeress with both eyebrows raised.
“My people are a spiritual race who believe in the same Creator.” Fatou replied.
“Whether the word came from a child's rhyme or not, I've found them to be the most appropriate for this place and time.” Tyr started. “I've been dealt an egregious blow but my crew needs to both see and know for themselves that I am still capable of functioning as their Commanding Officer.” Tyr continued with a determined gleam in his eyes.
“Your secret will be safe with me, Tyr. Yes, this will be an excellent way to put an end to all rumors.” Fatou said.
“Exactly.” Tyr replied as he headed towards the door. “And the sooner, the better.” he continued.
“Oh and bye the way, The Dolgarians also use the same motto, after all, they call their family units packs, like their brothers the wolves. . . .” Fatou added as she formed up behind Tyr and followed him out of the Lions Den.
“It appears that I am in good company . . . “ Tyr thought as entered the lift.
* * * * * * * *
The very first stop on Tyr's tour was. . . . .
“. . . . . .Engineering. Now, how did I know he was going to stop here? Perhaps it has something to do with his little brother being down here?” Fatou thought, as she followed The Rear Admiral into main Engineering module.
Upon seeing him, crew members scattered like mice who'd just seen a cat, leaving only five people visible. Harper and four of his subordinates were struggling with a large piece of equipment. Apparently they were trying to put it back where it came from after they had repaired it. But, it wouldn't fit.
“Let's take a fifteen minute breather, everyone.” Harper called out.
As a team they gently set the cumbersome piece of equipment down on the deck and all stepped away. Harper looked up and smiled at Tyr. Tyr in turn noted Harper had a smudge of grease on his nose.
“Where in the universe did you find grease in such a pristine environment?” Fatou asked. Clearly she was not used to Seamus Harper, the part time grease monkey.
“Oh that's from one of my side projects.” Harper replied as he swiped at it with his sleeve. He always wore coveralls when he worked, so he wouldn't mess up his uniform.
“Are you still restoring that 1970 Camero engine?” Tyr asked.
“Yep! I'm almost finished too.” Harper replied as his eyes and face lit up.
“Like a child's face at Yuletide.” Fatou thought as she pulled her whiskers back with mirth.
“Perhaps you should turn that around.” Tyr said, as he pointed to the equipment lying on the deck.
“Wha. . . .?” Harper asked, and frowned.
“Your technicians turned it upside down to fix it, forgot it was upside down and . . . . .” Tyr started.
“. . . . . . . and tried to put it back the wrong way. Ohhhhhh, that's why it didn't fit.” Fatou thought.
“Zounds! You wouldn't believe we've been at this since yesterday and all morning. . . . .” Harper replied as he gave himself a head pop.
That noted he called his people back. Tyr and Fatou watched as they worked together to upend the devise, then slipped it back into place. The formally deadened panel immediately lit up and hummed to life.
“And we have lift off!” Harper proclaimed, as they briefly celebrated with hi-fives.
“You look good, Sir.” Harper said as he smiled up at Tyr. Aside from Tyr's lack of bonelades, he didn't see a thing wrong with his Big Brother.
“Thank you.” Tyr replied.
“No. Thank you. If it wasn't for you figuring this thing out, we would've still been banging our heads against the bulkheads.” Harper said.
“Wasn't it you who told me that I must learn to take a break from things more often?” Tyr asked.
“Yeah. Guilty as charged.” Harper replied.
“How is Monique?”
“She's as happy as can be. I'm surprised she's not floating around here somewhere.” Harper replied as he smiled. She'd told him she was expecting last night.
“Possibly another reason why he couldn't concentrate properly on work. . . . “ Fatou thought, and pulled her whiskers back.
“Don't forget to tell her, I am having a pot luck dinner at our quad tonight, and at the usual time.” Tyr said, as he stepped away.
“Goody. I know just what to bring.” Harper replied, to Tyr's and Fatou's backs.
“It better not have engine grease in it. . . . .” Tyr groused.
“Don't worry, I'll get Monique to cook it.” Seamus shouted before the doors closed.
“I see you've decided to take my suggestion and invite Ms Culpepper to dinner.” Fatou said as they got on the lift.
“I have not given her the invitation yet. Plus, I haven't made any pies.” Tyr replied.
“Pies. . . . . why would you. . . . . other than dessert. . . .” Fatou started, as she suddenly remembered something from an Old Earth slap-stick comedy named “The Three Stooges.”
“Stop Lift!” she ordered, and the lift halted. “Tyr don't you dare throw pies at Ms Culppeper! Are you out of your mind?” she asked.
“I wasn't exactly going to throw them at her.” Tyr replied innocently.
“Well how were you going to make your assault? Levitation?” Fatou asked.
“I was considering a catapult.” Tyr replied as he shrugged his shoulders, while looking oh so innocent.
“A catapult!” Fatou exclaimed.
“A slingshot would be too small. I would have to use tarts and I will need too many of them to be affective. . . .” Tyr continued. It was at that point Fatou realized she'd been had.
Both made doubly sure they were finished laughing before the lift resumed.
* * * * * * * * * *
Tyr's next stop was Hydroponics, and even though this was a surprise visit, Lieutenant JG Jessica Torres looked like she had been waiting for him to make his appearance.
Fatou had never been to this area of the ship and was free to wander from Tyrs side as they discussed StarFleet Business. The shear amount of fresh flowers, fruits and vegetables growing in the space was amazing.
She'd heard that ships which had Nietzscheans as the majority of the crew had one of these habitats. Why? Because they refused to eat replicated food. Of course they would do it in case of a dire emergency, but to live on it during a course of a three to twelve month mission? No way!
One of Jessica's subordinates, an Ensign Jerome Chang proudly showed Fatou around, while Tyr and Jessica talked. By the time she returned, Tyr and Jessica had sealed the deal.
“I have decided that Ms. Colpepper and her colleges will be assigned to Hydroponics for the duration of their stay. It was either here or the galley and I think Gynn would've slaughtered her after the first hour. . . . . .” Tyr stated.
“Very true, with Gynn being an Andorian, that would certainly be the case.” Fatou thought.
It stood to reason as both the Galley and Hydroponics were the two least secure spaces on the Insurrection. Sickbay was another to a certain extent. However, The Dragoness Kori, was not going to allow anyone body to step up into her lair. Yes, the INN correspondent was safer a lot in Hydroponics.
“After all, how many secure Starfleet secrets would Ms. Culpepper learn from misting roses and tying up tomato plants?” Fatou thought.
* * * * * * * * * * *
Tyr's next stop was Cartography. Immediately upon seeing them, Dr. Svetlana Sorrenson disengaged herself from her intense and strident conversation with Kesha and seven other members of her staff.
“It's good to see you up and around, Admiral.” Svetlana said in her Russian accented Standard.
“Thank you, Doctor. It is good to be up and around.” Tyr replied. Fatou knew he was referring to the fact that he was no longer confined to Sickbay. . . . .
“Come, Sir. We have things to show you.” Svetlana said and beckoned.
“Why do I have the feeling I'm not going to like what I'm going to see? My goose is really cooked if she offers me a Raktigino . . . . . .” Tyr thought.
“Sir, would you like a cup of Raktigino before we start?” Svetlana asked. Tyr turned and gazed at Fatou, who pulled her whiskers back with mirth.
“I guess this is going to be a long morning.” Tyr replied.
“It's going to get even longer once he hears what she has to tell him.” Fatou thought, as they all sat behind a large meeting table, and an Ensign dimmed the lights. The presentation screen lit up, and the meeting began.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Fatou fears were correct. By the time the meeting finished a bout an hour and a half later Tyr was in a foul torpor. Fatou detected that everyone was terrified that he would blow his stack, except for Svetlana, Kesha and her, of course.
Tyr politely excused himself and left the Dr. Sorrenson and her staff to argue over what quadrant they were in at present. He frankly didn't give a damn because they were not in his home sector, and because of Q, they were unable to return anytime soon.
Tyr abruptly canceled the rest of his tour, and headed straight for the gym. He needed to blow off some steam or he would destroy something.
* * * * * * * * *
Tyr had just finished his first “modified” workout with Gilgamesh. It was exactly as Kori had warned, he was forced to half the amount of weight he was used to lifting and he was closely monitored by his cousin.
Gilgamesh made sure Tyr wore a weight belt when he did his, squats, dead lifts and cleans. He also made sure Tyr wore gloves on his hands to prevent cuts and abrasions. But when he finally finished his first Human workout, it wasn't his hands that worried him, it was Tyr's entire body. He was sore from head to foot.
“Go sit in the whirlpool for a few minutes.” Gilgamesh suggested. For all of the countless times Tyr worked out, he never had to use the whirlpool, but he took advantage of it now.
”Now I know how the lobster feels while he boiling in the pot.” Tyr thought glumly as he waited out the prescribed fifteen minutes.
A half an hour later, he was back in his quarters, stretched out on his sofa and drifting off to sleep when the Ping Sisters showed up. They were toting his sleepy sons and were about to put them down for their naps. They immediately added dad to the mix.
“You okay?” Hoy Li asked, as she watched Tyr ease himself off the sofa and walk stiffly towards his bedroom.
“I'm just peachy keen.” Tyr replied. He'd never been so sore in his life. “Latic acid builds up in the muscles which in turn causes pain.” he thought to himself.
“Where hurt?” Hoy Li asked, in her Chinese Accented Standard.
That was another glaring difference between the twins. Hoy spoke with pronounced accent ( Tyr swore she did this on purpose . . . . ) while Li spoke in perfect textbook Vulcan-like Standard.
“Everywhere. I think my toenails and hair follicles are screaming too.” Tyr groused as he gingerly sat on his bed.
“Silly man. What you not do? You warm up?” She asked.
“Yes.” Tyr replied, remembering the cardio paces Gilgamesh put him through, while Fatou ran flat out on all fours on a specially designed treadmill.
“Not too much weight?” She asked.
“No. Not too much.”
“Too many reps?”
“We kept it light.”
“You cool down?
“Yes.”
“You stretch?”
“Yes. I even soaked in that stupid whirlpool.” Tyr replied.
“Then what missing? Ah! Massage! You need massage! I get! ” she said, as she got up and scampered away.
She was back with a tiny jar, untwisting the cap as she sat. For the next fifteen minutes she rubbed Tyr down. The Nietzschean wrinkled his nose at the smell. The stuff smelled like horse lineament
“Sorry about smell. I use scentless kind next time.” Hoy promised.
The stuff may have smelled bad, but his sore body and muscles couldn't care less. He submitted to Hoy Li's ministrations and drifted off to sleep.
Friday, October 14, 2011
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.
"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.
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