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by Edward H. Bart IV
[editor's note: this takes place between Mission Logs
3 and 4]
“Are you
ready to go?”
The father looked
at his son, waiting expectantly.
“Yes, Father.
I’ve been waiting to have it ever since you told me to wait
until I was older,” the son answered.
The father nodded,
then looked at his son. “Is that what you’re going to
wear?”
The son looked
down at himself. “Why? What’s wrong with this?”
“Well, for
one thing, I doubt they have ever seen an Uxarst before. Well,
not yet.”
The son nodded
his understanding, and changed. “There you go. Human male,
just like you like.” Now the son looked exactly like his
father.
“That’s
my outfit,” the father said pointedly.
“Fine.”
The son’s face smoothed out, and his receding black hair
grew fuller and darker. “Younger then?”
“Now you’re
just being snotty,” the father shook his head, raising his
eyebrow archly. “Let’s go.” With a snap of his
fingers, the father and son vanished into brightness.
They appeared
in a grey corridor, lined with white lighting and black computer
panels. Humanoids of varying sizes and species walking to and
fro, and through the two newcomers.
“Invisible
and intangible, huh?” the son remarked.
“Yep. Best
way to observe them, which is what you wanted to do in the first
place. And they don’t make annoying and sarcastic remarks
to you.”
“Ah.”
The father stroked
his chin, looking around. “You know, for some reason, I feel
like Captain Picard.”
The son’s
face wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you
know, he did that one-man play on the Enterprise. Remember?
I took you when you were two.”
“Oh yes.
I remember it as if it were yesterday.”
The father raised
an eyebrow in thought. “Well it actually was just a few days
ago. But I digress. Got your blinders on?”
“Yes. I know
nothing about these people and what will happen to this ship.
Now, tell me why.”
“Okay. Ah,
here’s one of them.”
“Who?”
“That’s
the ship’s doctor. Edward Hartman,” the father said.
“So?”
“Well, he’s
interesting. Let’s follow him.”
The two unseen
visitors fell in step behind the brown-haired doctor. They followed
him into a turbolift.
“Deck 12,”
Hartman told the computer.
“So what
makes him interesting?” the son asked.
“Well, one
of his biggest secrets is a physical flaw,” the father replied.
“Other than being human,” he chuckled at his own joke.
The son sighed.
“You know, I can never understand you. You keep making derogatory
remarks about them, yet you continue to be drawn to them.”
“What can
I say? It’s a bad habit.” At the sight of the son’s
annoyed expression, the father relented. “Okay. I’ll
continue. Well, this man has a chemical and psychological addiction
to alcohol.”
“Oh. Not
many of those around. Well, that shouldn’t be a problem.
They’ve adopted the ridiculous pretense of imbibing syntheol,
and getting drunk off it. If he wants to get drunk, all he does
is pop down into their lounge and ask the Ferengi bartender for
some.”
“Ugh. Never
liked them.”
“Syntheol?”
“Not that,
but no. Ferengi. Especially that one. I’ve met him before.
He rubbed me the wrong way.”
“Oh. Didn’t
the captain do that to you too?”
“Well, I
wouldn’t call it a rub,” the father stroked his jaw
in the memory. Nevertheless, Hartman doesn’t drink syntheol.
He drinks the real thing. On several different occasions, he’s
used the replicator to replicate the real thing.”
“Oh. Isn’t
that a violation of Starfleet protocols?”
“You bet
it is, son.”
The turbolift
opened and Hartman walked out, followed by the father and son.
Hartman made his way into a large sickbay. He nodded to a blue
skinned Benzite and headed into his office, sitting down.
“As I was
saying,” the father continued, “you’d think that
in this so-called enlightened society, he’d acknowledge his
problem and seek the suitable help. But nooo....”
Hartman sat down
at his desk as the father hovered behind him.
“That’s
strange,” the son remarked.
“Isn’t
it though? That should be your first indication that something’s
different about these humans. When they know the right thing to
do, they don’t always do it. They lie to others, and to themselves.
This,” the father pointed to Hartman, “is a liar.”
He snapped his
fingers and a bottle of liquor appeared on Hartman’s desk,
with a full shotglass in Hartman’s hand.
“That’s
what he’d rather be doing, than filling out forms,”
the father said. He snapped his fingers again. Hartman was now
leaning over, one sleeve rolled up past his elbow. A tourniquet
was tied around his arm, and a syringe was imbedded in his arm.
“Another
form of addiction these humans have. True, this one’s a bit
archaic. They use hyposprays nowadays.”
The syringe and
needle vanished from Hartman’s hand, replaced by a hypospray.
The son shook
his head. “But he’s a doctor! Doesn’t he realize
what he’s doing to himself? Doesn’t he realize his actions
affect others as well?”
The father nodded.
“They do know that. Sometimes they choose to ignore that.
Even though they don’t have the gifts we have to see the
invisible ripples, they know actions have consequences.”
The father snapped
his fingers again. The hypospray vanished and Hartman was once
again sitting at his desk normally. A bottle of liquor remained
on the edge of his desk. The father picked it up and set it down
on the floor behind the desk, near Hartman’s feet.
“Let’s
move on.”
The bottle toppled
onto the floor as Hartman kicked it over. He leaned over. “What
the-- what’s this doing here?”
The son looked
over his shoulder as his father ushered him out of the office.
“What’s
he going to do?” the son asked, as they walked into another
room.
“That’s
the question, isn’t it?” the father smiled. “You
can’t predict what he’ll do.”
“Well, all
I have to do is take my blinders off and I’ll know what he
will do.”
The father shook
his head. “But that defeats the whole purpose. Think back
to when you were, oh, about five years old.”
The son pursed
his lips. “Yeah?”
“Remember
that you went to see your aunt when she died?”
The son frowned
at the memory. “Yeah.”
“And ever
since then, your visits with Aunt Kathy were never the same?”
“Yeah. I
remember, she looked at me and asked, ‘Why the long face?’
And I didn’t have the heart to tell her why. I just hugged
her instead.”
“That was
partly my fault. I should have told you not to leap ahead in time
and see her later on. But that’s my point exactly. What you
knew, colored your perception. With these people, you have to
remember to limit yourself somewhat.”
“Ohh,”
the son nodded. “Hence the blinders you asked me to put on.”
“Exactly.
Okay, here’s another one.”
They passed through
a wall into another crewman’s quarters. A tall black man
sat on the floor, doing stomach crunches. He counted out his crunches.
“Thirty one, thirty two, thirty three, thirty four...”
“Who’s
this?” the son asked.
“The chief
security officer, Leonard Bogarde.”
“Like Worf
and Tuvok.”
“Yes but
with a smoother forehead and ears. Much more aesthetic, don’t
you think?”
“Never cared
one way or another,” the son shrugged.
“Ah, diversity
is overrated. See that picture on his desk?”
The son walked
past the exercising man to a small desk. He bent over to peer
at a holographic picture set on the surface. “A young human.
His son?”
“Yes.”
“Who’s
the other man in the picture?”
“His son’s
father.”
“But isn’t
Bogarde his father?”
“Biologically,
yes. But young Leonard, yes, that’s his name- original isn’t
it? prefers his mother’s new husband over his true father.”
“Oh, that’s
a shame.”
The father waved
his hand dismissively. “Don’t feel sorry for Bogarde.
It was his own damn fault.”
“How so?”
“He made
mind-boggling poor choices, one after another.” The father
leaned against the desk, holding up his hand. He ticked off each
of his points with a finger. “First, he got married much
too young. Second, he knocked her up. I love the English euphemisms
they’ve invented, I’ll tell you that. Third, he chose
the wrong job to take.”
He tilted his
head, indicating that his son should turn around. The son turned
to see Bogarde standing at attention, dressed in a black uniform.
Bogarde was thinner and younger. He was standing in front of another
black uniformed man.
“Well, Private,
congratulations with your recent news.”
“Sir, thank
you, sir,” Bogarde replied.
“Hope it’s
a healthy boy or girl.”
Bogarde nodded,
smiling slightly.
The officer frowned.
“Kind of bad timing. There’s a slot opening up on a
team. Comes with a promotion and pay raise. You’re perfect
for it.”
“Sir, that’s
great, sir.”
“Lot of traveling
though. You’d be away from wife and kid for quite a while.
Still, the posting’s yours if you want it.”
“Sir, I accept,
sir.”
The officer stopped
pacing in front of Bogarde. “You don’t have to accept
now. You can take the night to think about it, talk it over with
the wife.”
“Sir, that’s
not necessary. Thank you though.”
The father shrugged.
“Of course, you can see why she eventually divorced him.
It wasn’t the job, it was him.”
Bogarde was back
on the floor, exercising.
“Let’s
see, where was I? Ah yes. Fourth, when he had the opportunity
to be home more, he didn’t take it. He spent more time away
from home than at home. Naturally, his son would resent that.”
“Doesn’t
he love his son?”
The father nodded
and shrugged. “Yes.”
“Then why-?”
“See? See,
that’s what I’m talking about. Sometimes you can’t
just get why they do what they do,” the father tossed his
hands in the air. “And now he’s a couple of thousand
of light years away from his son. He’s given up again.”
“That doesn’t
sound like the humans I know.”
“Sixty five,
sixty six, sixty seven...” Bogarde’s voice intoned.
The father looked
down at Bogarde. “Sixty one,” he said.
“Sixty one,
sixty two, sixty three,” Bogarde said then he stopped. “Damn!”
The father smirked.
He looked at his son. “Come on. Let’s go.”
They sat down
on a couch, watching a tan haired woman organize a series of PADDs
at her desk. The son looked around the room, noting the lack of
pictures and decorative objects.
“Yeah, I
know. No sense of style,” the father nodded. “Efficient
as hell, but then so are the Borg.”
“So, who
is this person?”
“Chief of
Engineering, one Janelle Fonda. French, to boot.”
“What does
that have to do with anything?” the son asked.
“Nothing.
Anyway, she has a child also, but her circumstances are markedly
different from Chief Bogarde’s.”
“Where’s
the child?”
The father crossed
his arms as he leaned back on the couch. “Back on Earth,
with her grandparents,” he said, setting his feet on the
coffee table.
“Does she
love her daughter?”
“Yes, very
much.”
The son nodded,
and watched as Fonda leaned over her desk. “Well? You brought
me here for a reason. What happened?”
“Well, I
won’t get into the full story here. Suffice it to say that
she almost got kicked out of Starfleet. Almost got put in jail
for the rest of her natural lifespan. Not very long, only about
eighty years or so,” the father waggled his hand. “You
know what she blames for her actions?”
“I don’t
know.”
“Her love
for her daughter.”
“Really?”
The father nodded.
“You’d think that something as pure and sweet-sounding
as a mother’s love wouldn’t cause her to get in such
trouble.”
“Yeah.”
“You’re
right. It wasn’t that. It was bloody vengeance!” The
father clenched his fists and pumped them in the air for emphasis.
“Luckily the guy wasn’t much of a nice guy, by human
standards. He wasn’t even human! Which brings me to another
point- sometimes these humans have such aggravating double standards.
I mean, why do I have to wear clothes everytime I pop up in Picard’s
quarters? He’s naked too!”
“He is?”
“Well, yeah.
Underneath his pajamas, he is. Bah, technicalities! Back to the
femme fatale. Fonda here was angry at the father-”
“The father?”
“Yes, of
her daughter, pay attention! Now she was angry and she made one
of those life choices. It changed things for her. It changed her.
She wasn’t always this anal. And you know how many friends
she has on this ship?”
“Uh, I don’t
know... four? Twenty one?”
“Just one,”
the father held up his index finger. “The captain.”
“Oh.”
“She also
hurt her career. Look at her pips. Only a lieutenant commander,
even after nearly ten years.”
“But earlier,
you showed me Bogarde looking for a promotion. Doesn’t that
contradict the point you’re making here?”
“I’m
not talking about the promotion only. It’s just a detail,”
the father shrugged, waving his hand. The point is, she made one
of those choices. Not only did her actions have consequences,
she was motivated by the so-called baser nature of humanity, in
spite of what she would otherwise believe.”
“Wow. She’s
kind of screwed up, isn’t she?”
“You said
it, not me,” the father raised his eyebrows, as he stood
up.
“I don’t
think I could be friends with a human like that.”
“You are.”
“Who?”
“Well, mon
captaine for one. And your aunt.”
“My aunt?
What did she do? I’ve never seen her do anything like what
Fonda did.”
“Yes you
did. Remember the whole situation with Captain uhh... Kidnapping?
No, that’s not right. Ransom, that’s it. Captain Ransom.”
“Huh,”
the son frowned in understanding. “I suppose I’ll have
to go back and see that again.”
“No need
to do that. I’m sure your aunt is embarrassed enough. On
second thought, we’ll go there after this.” The father
smirked. He gestured for his son to stand.
After his son
stood up, the father pushed back the couch a few centimeters,
a barely noticeable move. “Come on.”
Fonda turned around,
sighing as she tapped a PADD against her thigh. She frowned as
she looked at the couch. She walked over and pushed it back to
it’s exact previous position.
The father jerked
a thumb over his shoulder as he glanced at his son. “Told
ya. Anal. Not as funny as Jean-Luc.”
“Mai-Tai?”
The father offered his son a large drink with a paper umbrella
in it.
“No thanks.
Nice shirt, by the way,” the son smirked at his father’s
outlandish attire. The father was now dressed in a white shirt,
although the white was barely noticeable in the haze of purple
and blue flowers that were printed all over the cloth. It was
a direct contrast to the son’s Starfleet uniform.
“Yeah. I
took it out of the ambassador’s closet. After all, we’re
on the beach.” The father crunched his bare feet in the sand.
“So, why
are we in the holodeck?”
“For them.”
The father pointed in the distance. A couple were seated on the
shore near the water. The father and son began walking through
the sand towards the couple.
As the son got
closer, he saw it was two women. One was swarthy skinned with
short black hair. The other was a blond light skinned young woman.
A closer look told him that she wasn’t quite human. Faint
ridges on her nose hinted at a Bajoran heritage.
“Amanda Ruiz
and LeAnn Walker,” the father declared. “The ‘It’
couple of the ship, according to the grapevine.”
Ruiz was rubbing
oil onto LeAnn’s back with her firm hands. She brushed back
LeAnn’s blond hair to keep it from sticking to the oil. LeAnn
was sighing contentedly.
Ruiz was also
planting kisses onto LeAnn’s neck and shoulders as she worked
oil down LeAnn’s back. LeAnn helped by taking off her bikini
top.
The father slurped
at his Mai-Tai, watching as the events unfolded. “For some
reason, this really turns me on,” he mused.
“That’s
probably because you’re in an heterosexual male human body.
Which brings up a point, why do you always wear the same thing?”
“I like it.
The humans have an equivalent- wearing old shoes. It’s easier
to get around, rather than breaking in a new body.”
“There’s
got to be a million of other species you could’ve picked
other than human,” the son said.
“Hey, until
you’ve been the scarecrow, you can’t talk to me about
this,” the father pointed a finger at his son. He looked
back at the women. “Oh come on, you just put oil all over
her body. Now the sand’s gonna stick to the oil.”
The son nodded.
“Ooh, she’s going to end up with sand in hard to reach
places.”
After several
minutes of silent observation, the son spoke up again. “So
why am I here? Some sort of example of human voyeurism?”
The father stopped
tilting his head and looked back up at his son. “Oh, um...
your aunt already gave you the human sex talk?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Then
I don’t have to do it,” the father sighed. “I’m
here to pose a question to you. Amanda here, looks very much in
‘love,’ and I say that with quotation marks, with Walker.
Do you think this is really love?”
The son watched
Ruiz and LeAnn. He shook his head. “I can’t say. I would
know if I could look into them, if it weren’t for the blinders.”
“Okay. Then
we’ll do it the human way, by observing action. Here’s
one such action,” the father gestured to the naked women.
“Are they in love?”
“Sure looks
like it to me from here.”
“Or... lust?”
The son frowned
thoughtfully. “That’s another possibility.”
“What if
I told you that Amanda leaves Walker at least one e-message a
day, with such piffle as ‘Last night was great. Looking forward
to lunch together later.’ Or some such inane comment. Is
that love?”
“Well, she
did call or e-message the next morning. They’ve been dating
for a while?”
“By human
standards, about three weeks. Today is in fact, their three week
anniversary date.” The father rolled his eyes. “Okay.
Here’s another situation. What if Amanda were to die in,
say, the next month or so? If Walker was to mourn for longer than
three weeks, would it mean she really loved Amanda?”
“It’s
very hard to get over death, for humans. Aunt Kathy’s showed
me that,” the son nodded. “Yes, that would be love.
As your favorite victim, Jean-Luc, would quote, ‘It is better
to have loved and lost, than never have loved at all.’ ”
“Is it truly?”
The father shrugged, and tossed his empty Mai-Tai glass over his
shoulder, and began walking away from the women. “I’ve
observed humans doing a lot of different things out of a misguided
sense of love. Some very dark and dangerous things. They think
it’s love but it’s just a convenient excuse, and a particularly
pleasing one at that. ‘I loved her so much, I had to kill
her.’ I heard a man say that once, several hundred years
ago.”
“So, did
that man love the woman?”
“What does
it matter? She’s dead,” the father said. “Trust
me, son, try not to puzzle too much on the so-called notion of
human love.”
The father snapped
his fingers and the clear blue sky suddenly turned grey, and rain
began pouring down on the beach. He smiled upon hearing the surprised
shriek of the women, who broke from their passionate embrace.
They walked into
an office cluttered with books, both of the archaic paper and
electronic variety. A closer inspection showed that they were
scientific books ranging from anthropological to linguistic books.
Seated at the rounded desk was a long black haired human male,
chewing on his lower lip. He sat back in his chair, with his boots
propped up on the end of his desk as he read a PADD.
Occasionally he
would mumble a few phrases to himself. The son recognized the
phrases as from the Jigon language, the official language of a
race near the Delta Quadrant. The son’s aunt had met them
several years ago.
“Nathan Favor,
the ship’s ambassador,” the father gestured, as he walked
through a table. His garish shirt was gone, now replaced with
the standard Starfleet uniform.
“I know,”
the son nodded. “What are you going to show me?”
“Well, you
can look into his past- the things he has done. But not into his
future,” the father said.
“Okay.”
The son gazed at Favor, who remained oblivious to the intruders.
“Done.”
“Notice a
common thread?”
“Hmmm, is
it the women?”
“Nnnno. Although
that does seem to pop up quite regularly. I’m talking about
his motivation.”
“Ah yes.
Seems to be pretty typical of humans raised in the Federation.”
“Yes.”
The father stuck his tongue out in disgust, while rubbing his
stomach. “Ugh.” His mouth tightened in a thin line.
“Bottom line, he wants to do the right thing. What if circumstances
meant doing the right thing meant doing something very unethical?
And no, I’m not talking about a little white lie, I’m
talking about out and out deception, backhanded maneuvering, and
insidious manipulation?”
“Well, he
has done shady things in his past,” the son remarked.
“What if
people died because of what he does?”
“Hm.”
The son crossed his arms and looked at Favor. “I don’t
know.”
The father clapped
his hands once and pointed at his son. “That’s right.
You don’t know. Neither does he! And he won’t act the
same every time a similar situation presents itself. He could
go one way. He could go another. You just can’t tell.”
“Well without
my blinders on, I could.”
“But his
crewmates don’t have the ability to take their blinders off.
They can’t predict what he will do. They can only trust that
he will do the right thing.”
“And what
is the right thing?”
“Depends
on what he thinks is the right thing.”
“And if it’s
not what the others think is the right thing?”
“Aye, there’s
the rub! Ooh. I just channeled a little bit of Jean-Luc there,”
the father said, slightly surprised.
The son smirked,
just as his father was wont to do.
The father looked
at the books stacked on Favor’s desk. He pushed one stack
of books over to the side, looking at his son. “Whoopsie.”
Favor snapped
upright, tossing the PADD out of his hands in shock, startled
at the sudden clatter of books.
“Ah, the
bridge! The nerve center of a starship!” The father spread
his arms wide open, gesturing to the bridge around him and his
son. They watched the crew busying themselves with their work.
The captain’s chair remained empty.
“Let’s
go into the romper, I mean, ready room,” the father said.
He and his son walked through the door into an adjacent room.
Seated at a large table was a dark haired man. His tunic jacket
off, and his sleeves were rolled up, as he held a paintbrush.
A small replica of a starship was in his hand.
“Herr Kaptain,
Thomas Johnson, the second. Or Junior,” the father shrugged.
“I see,”
his son nodded.
“Playing
with his toys.”
“I think
they’re called models.”
“Models,
toys, whatever. You think the other people I showed you were a
little nutty? Well this guy has gone far around the bend. He tried
to kill himself by ramming his starship into an enemy ship. I’ve
got to hand it to him, that scenario had style.”
“Were there
other people on the ship?” the son asked.
“No,”
the father replied, sounding rather disappointed. “Just him.”
“I assume
since we’re standing in his ready room, peeping on him, that
he did survive.”
“Well, in
this version of reality, he did.” The father bent in close,
peering at the model in Johnson’s hand. “You missed
a spot.”
“Is he still
suicidal?”
“Oh, no.
He’s seeing a counselor regularly. Human, not Betazoid, thank
goodness. Betazoids are so annoying, aren’t they?”
“Most humanoids
are generally annoying to you,” the son answered back.
“That’s
beside the point. The point... oh yes. The point is, he’s
broken before. He could break again. It would only require the
right things, or rather, the wrong things to happen. He rebuilt
his sanity on a foundation on things he believed in, on things
he felt strongly about. Things such as the Federation, his close
friends, and his marriage.”
The father walked
across the room, looking at the PADDs on the captain’s desk.
He noticed the captain’s jacket draped across the chair behind
the desk. He looked up at his son, continuing his talk.
“Now, if
one, or more of those bedrocks of his life were to change, or
vanish, well, wouldn’t you think that’d make his grip
on sanity a little bit more tenuous?”
“You’ve
made your point. You can’t really predict what a human would
do in a certain set of circumstances. However, I’d have to
say, based on what I know about him, yes maybe it’d change
him. For the worse, probably.”
“That’s
what you’d think,” the father said.
The son rolled
his eyes. “Does that mean it wouldn’t?”
The father only
shrugged. “As the humans say, ‘wait and see.’ Of
course they only say that because they’re stuck doing that.”
The father plucked
the combadge off Johnson’s uniform jacket, and walked over
to the couch, and buried the communicator underneath a cushion.
“Want a drink
now?” he asked his son.
“The employee
lounge,” the father declared, sitting on a barstool. The
son sat on a barstool next to his father.
“The crew
lounge,” the son corrected him.
“Employees,
crew, same difference.” The father twisted around on the
stool to lean back against the bartop. He surveyed the crowd of
humanoids eating and drinking in the lounge. Outside the windows,
a blue storm roiled around the ship.
“Quantum
slipstream drive,” the son noted.
“Mmhmm. They
only learned about it a few years ago. And now they’re using
it, even though they don’t fully understand how it works,”
the father said.
“Well, they’re
known for big leaps in technological evolution.”
“More like
big leaps off cliffs,” the father murmured. “I’d
hate to be on this ship when something goes wrong with the slipstream
drive.”
“Something
will?”
“No, I just
meant, I would hate to be here if it did. Hey, look over there,”
he pointed.
The son looked
at a distant corner of the lounge, seeing a stern looking man
with short bristly hair seated alone in a booth.
“Maximillian
Ironsides,” the father whispered. “Go on. Take a good
look at him.”
The son nodded,
and stared intently at Ironsides. After a moment’s contemplation,
he said, “Wow.”
“Oh yeah.”
“Complex,”
the son shook his head.
The father grinned
broadly, shaking his head. “They don’t know the half
of it. He’s the one I like the best.”
The son looked
at his father. “Okay. Out with it.”
“What?”
“You keep
making unflattering remarks about humans, in specific and in general.
You constantly point out their deficiencies, especially on this
trip. Yet, you brought me here for the sole purpose of observing
humans. Well?”
The father sighed.
“I just wanted to make sure you weren’t getting a one-sided
view of humanity.”
“Well this
trip was nothing if one-sided.”
“Yes, but
your aunt has shown you the other side. And... that’s a side
I can’t really get. You grew up with her teaching you and
showing you. I never did. You’re probably the only one in
the family to get the most balanced perspective on humanity.”
The son looked
down at his boots for a moment, pausing. “Really?” he
finally asked.
“Yes. And
that makes you the obvious candidate to carry on my job for me.”
“Uh, what
job is that?”
“Why, to
judge them, of course,” the father put a hand on his son’s
shoulder.
“Oh,”
the son replied. “But haven’t you already ruled?”
“Like I told
Jean-Luc, it’s a continuing trial.”
“Don’t
you already know how it all ends?”
The father shrugged.
“Well, we’re not totally omniscient. Just enough to
bluff our way through.” He smiled. “Don’t worry,
you won’t get the job for another few hundred millennia.
So live it up now. Just keep your eye on humanity.”
“Okay,”
the son smiled back at his father. “How about that drink?”
“A capital
suggestion, my boy!” The father spun around on his stool,
facing the bar now. His son turned around as well. The Ferengi
bartender was walking right in front of them, carrying a tray
of glasses.
“Quark! Two
beers,” the father said.
Quark suddenly
saw the father and son, and let out with a short bloodcurdling
shriek, tossing his tray in the air. The glasses clattered onto
the floor, and the Ferengi looked at the father. “Q!”
“That’s
my name, don’t wear it out,” the father said. “Two
beers.”
Quark whined,
“What are you doing here! Where’s Vash? Did you bring
anything here for me? Is something bad going to happen?”
Q frowned at Quark’s
barrage of questions, wincing at the Ferengi’s grating voice.
He snapped his fingers, and Quark disappeared in a flash of light,
replaced by a tall man with receding blond hair. “Two beers
please,” he asked the new bartender.
The man nodded,
slightly surprised, but went to fill his order.
Ironsides walked
up to Q and his son. “Excuse me. What are you doing here?”
he said, setting his face in a firm frown.
“I think
the question is, what are you doing here?” Q winked
at Ironsides.
Ironsides blinked,
unsure of how to reply.
“Oh, never
mind that. Just contact the captain and the others in your little
clique. I want to introduce them to someone.”
“Clique?”
Ironsides shook his head.
“Oh, you
know, the uh, what do you call it, high officers. The doctor,
the ambassador, the Chief Engineer.”
Ironsides narrowed
his eyes, and tapped his combadge. “Ironsides to senior crew.
Please report to Eleven-Forward.”
“Sorry, I’m
late,” Johnson said, walking into the lounge. He saw that
everyone else was already there. Ironsides, Bogarde, Hartman,
Favor and the rest were standing in front of two people at the
bar.
Johnson noticed
the bartender. “Hey, Seamus. Everything okay?”
“Everything’s
fine, sir,” the red-headed bartender replied. “They
just appeared right in front of me.”
“Sir,”
Ironsides stepped up to Johnson. “Q is here.”
“Ah crap,”
the captain muttered.
“And he brought
a friend.” Ironsides gestured to the man seated next to Q.
Johnson thought he saw a similarity between the two men,
Q smiled upon
seeing Johnson. “Ah, good, the gang’s all here. I just
wanted to introduce you all to my son.” Q put a hand on the
younger man’s shoulder. “Little q.”
“Actually,
I prefer Junior,” the other man said.
“Fair enough,”
Q nodded at Junior. He looked back at Johnson. “Junior.”
“And what
are you two doing here?”
“Ah, I was
just showing my son around this ship. It’s an interesting
crew.”
“Uh, thank
you,” Johnson nodded. “And what do you want?”
“Nothing.
Already got what I wanted,” Q replied. “Thanks for the
beer. We’ll be going now.” Q hopped to the floor, and
his son followed suit. They walked through the lounge, and out
the windows into the black and blue whirlpool spinning around
the ship.
Johnson shook
his head at the bizarreness of it all. He looked at Ruiz and LeAnn
finally. “Why are you two so wet?”
“Well, you
sure do know how to make an exit,” Junior told his father.
“Style, my
boy,” Q said, as they walked through the void of space. “Waste
of style anyway. I made them forget what happened. They’re
easier to deal with that way.”
Junior smiled,
and gazed around the cosmos around them. He frowned and looked
back at them. “Hey, what did you do about Quark?”
“Oh, I put
him back on Deep Space Nine. I made it so that he never
came with the Courageous.”
“Oh. Aren’t
you going to put him back on the ship?”
Q twisted his
mouth thoughtfully. “Nah. Doesn’t matter.”
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