The
                   Star Traks
                Reunion Special
                      By
                  Alan Decker





                   Prologue


     "I don't think I can do this."
     "Yes, you can.  Everything will be fine, Travis.  Trust me."
     "But how are they going to react, Alex?  Why would they
even want to see me?
     "Commander Travis Michael Dillon was and always will be a
part of this crew.  You have to be there.  It won't be right if you're
not."
     "But I'm not that man."
     "Then come introduce yourself to a room full of friends you
didn't know you had."
     "Well..."
     "You're going to come, right?" Alex insisted.
     On the monitor, Travis Dillon smiled slightly.  "Who am I to
argue with the Captain of the Secondprize?"
     "Why do I think there's a joke there that I'm missing?"
     "Don't worry about it."
     "So I'll see you here next week."
     "Yeah yeah.  I'll be there."
     "You'd better, or I'm calling out the fleet to find you."
     "GOODBYE, Alex."
     "All right.  See ya, Travis.  Rydell out."





                   Reunion

     One of the benefits to owning your own resort world was
the ability to instantly host a party.  It was a benefit Alexander Rydell
had not taken advantage of as often as he probably should have. 
Rydell family reunions tended to be held at his parents' resort on
Bransonis, and the day-to-day business of running The Suburb
generally kept Rydell too occupied to consider planning
something like this.
     Looking around The Suburb's ballroom at this moment,
though, Rydell knew he'd been an idiot not to do it sooner.
     His crew had come, and it wasn't until now that he realized
how much he had missed them.  It had been sixteen years since he
resigned from Starfleet and just about eight since he last saw most
of these people during the Forever incident when Starfleet briefly
dragged him back into service.  In short, it was ages since he was in
command of anyone in this room, yet he still felt so close to them
all.  Spending that many years on the same starship created bonds
that didn't break easily.  He'd needed to move on with his life,
though.  That's why he retired with his wife, Karina, to The
Suburb.  The rest of his crew had needed to move on as well.  The
last thing he wanted was for any sense of misguided loyalty to him
to cause any of them to miss out on career opportunities.
     From the looks of things, it hadn't.
     Jaroch was standing by the bar (enjoying something non-
alcoholic no doubt, if his past experiences with alcohol were any
indication).  He was captain of the Secondprize now.  Actually,
he'd been captain longer than Rydell was.  Somehow Rydell
would always think of the Secondprize as his ship, but it really
wasn't.  Not anymore.  He was just some old guy who used to run
the place.  Jaroch had center seat now, and it suited him.
     Standing with Jaroch was Patricia Hawkins.  Or was it Patricia Jaroch
now?  How does that work when the groom only has one name? 
Knowing Patricia, she probably kept the Hawkins anyway.  Even
though Hawkins had spent a good deal of Rydell's tenure on the
Secondprize dating the ship's First Officer, Travis Dillon, Rydell
always had a hunch she and Jaroch would figure things out.  The looks
between them were just too obvious.  The couple looked very
happy together.  Rydell would just hate to be around if they got
into an argument and J'Ter showed himself.  Between her normal
temper and his warrior prince past life, that would get really ugly
really fast.
     Jaroch and Hawkins were talking with the other couple to
emerge from the years spent on the Secondprize, Scott Baird and
Emily Sullivan.  Baird left the Secondprize shortly after Rydell
did to take over as the Supervising Refit and Repair Officer of the
Deneria Dry Dock, a position he still held, even though it looked
like the pressures of the job were turning Baird's black hair gray. 
Either that or the man just grayed earlier.  Kind of scary
considering he was only in his mid 50s.  In order to get the job at
Deneria, Baird had been forced to have a profanity filter installed. 
The filter had been deactivated during the Forever incident (rather
forcibly), but Rydell had to wonder if the Deneria higher-ups had
allowed him to remain unfettered once he returned to duty. 
Somehow Rydell doubted it.
     Fairly early into Emily Sullivan's assignment on the
Secondprize, Rydell had made a log entry predicting she would be
a captain one day, and sure enough, she had.  As captain of the
USS Inevitable, Sullivan had played a big role in resolving the
Forever crisis.  Even now, seeing her in civilian clothes, Rydell
could sense the commanding officer about her.  Maybe it was
egotistical of him, but he liked to believe that he'd played some
small part in shaping her into the officer she was today.  At the very
least, maybe he showed her a few things not to do; although, he had
heard rumors that she had instituted his buffet-during-briefings
practice on the Inevitable.
     A short distance away, Rydell spied Andrea Carr. 
Once upon a time, she'd been one of the Secondprize's shuttle
pilots.  After spending a few missions with her, Rydell had seen
her potential and promoted her to Operations Officer, putting her
on the bridge.  Captain Jaroch had evidently agreed with Rydell's
assessment of her, since he had made her his First Officer as soon as
Starfleet would allow it.  The pair had been working together for
over eight years now, and Rydell had every confidence that she
too would get her own command before too much more time
passed.
     Carr was seated at the long dining table that had
been set up for the group with Beth Aldridge.  He and Beth
locked eyes for a moment and exchanged a smile.  They'd actually
tried dating for a while back on the Secondprize, but quickly
discovered that their personalities made for better friends than
lovers.  There was no animosity in their split, though.  If anything,
Rydell felt it made him closer to his Chief Medical Officer.  It also
helped her bedside manner a bit.  
     Before coming to the Secondprize, Aldridge had been a
pathologist.  Shifting from working on the dead to caring for the
living was something of an adjustment as she wasn't used to her
patients complaining...or saying anything at all really.  She must
have decided she liked the work, though, because, last Rydell
heard, Aldridge had gone into private practice on Earth.
     Also at the table were Monica Vaughn, once his Transporter
Chief and sexual sparring partner (not that it ever had gotten to the
point of actual sex, only banter) and now the Secondprize's Chief
Engineer; Lisa Beck, his former Communications Officer who left
to command Waystation and now had achieved the rank of
Admiral; and Claire Webber, once the Secondprize's Counselor and
now the host of a very successful children's show on the Associated
Worlds Network.
     The face he didn't see was Travis Dillon.  Travis had
chickened out, not that Rydell could truly blame him.  Actually,
blame was at the heart of the problem.  Travis was sure that the
Secondprize crewmembers would blame him for what had
happened during the Forever incident.  Rydell had hoped that
instead Travis would come and join the group.  Evidently, that
wasn't going to happen.
     Pushing thoughts of Travis aside, Rydell approached the
table, unable to stop the huge grin from spreading across his face. 
Seeing their former captain heading their way, Jaroch, Hawkins, Baird,
and Sullivan took their seats.
     "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," Rydell said,
standing at the head of the table.  "And welcome to what I hope
will be the first of many Secondprize reunions."
     "I'll drink to that," Baird said, raising his glass and taking a
long swig.
     "What won't you drink to, dear?" Sullivan remarked,
elbowing her husband playfully.
     "I can't tell you how happy I am that all of you could make
it," Rydell continued.
     "I wouldn't miss it," Beck said.
     "Nor would I," Jaroch said.
     "That stands for all of us," Hawkins said.  
     If possible, Rydell's smile grew a bit more.  "I've missed
you guys.  I've been looking forward to tonight."
     "Well, the gang's all here," Baird said.
     "Almost," Rydell said.
     "No, I believe Scott is correct," Jaroch said, pointing at the
ballroom entrance.  
     Rydell turned to see Travis Dillon tentatively peering into
the room.  He decided to come after all.  "Travis!  Get your butt in
here!" Rydell called, waving him into the room.
     The final reunion guest did as he was told, making his way
toward the table as his eyes shifted nervously from one person to
the next to the next.  Suddenly, Claire Webber leapt up from her seat,
charged Dillon, and grabbed the cringing man in a massive
bearhug.
     "Everybody gets a squnch for old time's sake," Webber said.
     "Thanks," Dillon gasped.
     After finally releasing him from the hug, Webber grabbed
Dillon's arm, led him to his seat, and pushed him lightly into his
chair.  
     "Um...hi, everyone," he said.  "Sorry I'm late."
     "Don't worry about it," Rydell said.  "We're just happy
you made it."
     "Indeed," Jaroch said flatly.
     "Since, as Scott said, the gang is all here, I'll get back to my
speech," Rydell said.
     Dillon raised his hand slightly.  "Alex, can I say
something before you get started again?"
     "Uh...okay.  Sure."
     Dillon stood up from his chair, rubbing his hands together
uncomfortably.  "Thanks.  I just want to apologize to everyone
about what happened with Forever.  I wasn't myself then.  I'm
sorry.  Thank you."  He quickly sat back down.
     Jaroch and Hawkins exchanged a quick glance.  "Apology
accepted, Travis," Hawkins said smiling softly.  "Besides, if you
think about it, I'd say Jaroch did more damage to you over the years
than you ever did to him.  You don't even have the market
cornered on going crazy."
     "I beg your pardon," Jaroch said, eyeing his wife.
     "Come on, Jaroch.  You went after him lots of times, and you
were out of your mind on at least a few of those occasions."
     "Name one."
     "How about that time we ran into that other Yynsian ship?"
Sullivan said.
     "You do not have to help her," Jaroch said.
     Sullivan smiled.  "Sure I do."
     "She's right anyway," Hawkins said.  "Remember..."





                   "Picnic"


     "Captain's Log.  Stardate 49504.3.  Our arrival at Copitana
is going to have to be pushed back a bit, since some inconsiderate 
person decided he just HAD to activate an automated distress signal 
nearby.  The Secondprize has altered course to investigate.  Hopefully, 
we can wrap this up quickly seeing as how I have some pressing duties 
to attend to on Copitana."


     "A little faster, Sullivan," Captain Alexander Rydell said,
leaning forward eagerly in his command chair.
     "Somebody's in a hurry," Ensign Emily Sullivan remarked
from the helm as she pushed the Secondprize's speed up a bit. 
     "Hey.  Those swimsuits on Copitana aren't going to judge
themselves."
     In the chair next to Rydell, Commander Travis Dillon let
out an exasperated sigh.  "I can't believe you accepted their
invitation.  Starfleet Captains have no business judging
beauty pageants."
     "Think of it as public relations," Rydell said grinning.
     "And just how much of the public will you be having
relations with?" Lieutenant Commander Jaroch asked from his post at
the bridge science station.
     "Touche'."
     "We have arrived at the coordinates," Ensign Kristen
Larkin, the Secondprize's android navigator reported.
     "So what's the big emergency?" Rydell asked as the
Secondprize's tactical officer, Lieutenant Patricia Hawkins, shifted the
viewscreen image to show a small space craft.
     "It looks to be adrift," Hawkins said.
     "The vessel's engines have been shut down; however, all
systems are functional," Jaroch added.  "I am detecting three lifesigns. 
All Yynsian."
     "Friends of yours, Jaroch? Rydell asked.
     "Unknown but HIGHLY unlikely."
     "You never know.  It's a small galaxy," Rydell said,
swivelling to face his communications officer, Lieutenant Lisa
Beck.  "Beck, see if anybody's answering the comm over there."
     "Hailing...they're responding," Beck reported.
     On the viewscreen, a wild-eyed Yynsian woman appeared. 
Her hair looked like it had just been through some kind of natural
catastrophe, and the small ship's bridge visible behind her didn't
seem to be in much better shape.
     Rydell rose from his seat.  "This is Captain Alexander Rydell
of the Federation Starship Secondprize.  Can we offer assistance?"
     "LOST CONTROL!  VOICES EVERYWHERE!" the
woman screamed.  "And it's 'may we offer assistance'...YOU
STUPID FREAK!"
     "Ooooooookay.  Jaroch, you have any clue here?"
     "The vessel is a private yacht of standard Yynsian design. 
No anomalous readings detected," the science officer replied.
     "I guess that's a no.  All right, Hawkins, send Miss
Grammar and friends to sickbay. Dillon, you and Jaroch go 
take a closer look at that ship."


     As soon as they materialized on the small bridge of the
Yynsian yacht, Dillon and Jaroch's noses were assaulted by the smells
of several different foods and drinks, most of which had been
smeared across the various chairs and consoles around the room,
mingling in an entirely unpleasant fashion.
     "What a mess!" Dillon exclaimed in disgust.  "This is why
space travel should be left to professionals."
     Jaroch nodded.  "Agreed.  We should return you to Earth
immediately."
     "If we didn't have a job to do, Mister..."
     "You would still be an idiot."
     "Just start scanning something!" Dillon snapped.
     Jaroch pulled out his tricorder to do just that as Dillon looked
around the bridge, picking up a small bottle of some sort.
     "Maybe it was a wild party.  They all got a little too drunk. 
End of story," Dillon said.
     "I sincerely doubt it," Jaroch replied.
     "Okay then, Lieutenant Commander," Dillon said, putting
the emphasis on Jaroch's lesser rank.  "What did happen here?"
     "I do not know as yet.  We may have to wait until the ship's
occupants regain something resembling coherence."
     "Pardon me if I don't hold my breath."


     In the Secondprize's sickbay at that moment, the three
Yynsians in question were resting comfortably under the soothing
effects of a nice, strong sedative while Doctor Rebecca Singer and
Counselor Claire Webber watched them from nearby.
     "All three of them were acting like raving lunatics when
they beamed in," Singer said, waving her arms around wildly.  "I
didn't know what do to!  They were all shouting and screaming,
and I couldn't make them stop and tell me what was wrong!  I had
to drug them.  I didn't want to, but I had to."  Singer sniffled,
fighting back a tear.  "Those poor poor people.  What could have
done this to them?"
     "There there," Webber said, clutching Singer close in a
tight hug.  "You just let me talk to them."
     Webber approached one of the biobeds, where Jurel was
staring dazed at the sickbay ceiling, muttering softly to herself.
     "Ma'am, my name is Claire Webber, ship's counselor.  You can
just call me Claire.  Can you tell me what happened?"
     Jurel's head turned to Webber, but her eyes refused to focus. 
"We were having a nice meal and then...too many lives...all at
once...lost control.  Speak in complete sentences, woman!  Leave
her alone!  Make me!"
     Webber quickly realized this was getting out of hand.  She
scooped up Jurel in the super bone crunching bear hug she only
used in really extreme cases and squeezed with such force that the
Yynsian woman's eyeballs almost burst from her skull.
     "It's going to be okay.  Claire is here with all the squnches
you need," Webber said, refusing to let go.
     "For me too?" Singer whimpered.
     "Yes, for you too," Webber replied soothingly.


     Quickly growing bored as Jaroch continued his scans of the
ship, Dillon decided to take a load off and try out the yacht's
command chair.  Sure it wasn't anywhere near as impressive as the
command chair of a Federation starship, but he was willing to see
how it felt...at least until he saw the pile of brownish green gunk
that was already occupying it.
     "Uggh.  What is this stuff?" Dillon asked.
     "Yynsian potato salad," Jaroch replied after a quick glance.
     "It smells awful."
     "That is what it is supposed to smell like."  He aimed his
tricorder at a nearby console as something caught his attention.   
"Hmm...I am detecting faint traces of radiation."
     "Dangerous?" Dillon asked, his hand poised over his
commbadge, ready to call for beam out.
     "Not at these levels."
     Suddenly, something on the console started beeping.
     "What is that?" Dillon demanded in a panic.
     "The Secondprize is hailing us," Jaroch said flatly, opening the
channel.


     Over on the Secondprize bridge, Captain Rydell paced
back and forth anxiously as he waited for the away team to respond
to his comm.  He wasn't particularly concerned about their safety. 
Nothing in the scans so far had indicated any real danger.  What
really concerned Rydell was the chronometer, which was
continuously ticking.  If the pageant organizers on Copitana went
ahead and found another judge, he was going to be VERY upset.
     Finally, Dillon's face appeared on the viewscreen as Jaroch
continued his tricorder scans in the background.
     "What's your status?" Rydell asked quickly.
     "There's nothing really to report, Captain," Dillon replied. 
"Jaroch says everything here seems normal except for a small, benign
radiation leak.  And he seems perfectly normal as well.  Is it
possible that..."
     "You will die for this trespass, puny mortal!" Jaroch bellowed
suddenly.  Dillon managed to get out half of a "hunh?" before Jaroch,
now fully possessed by the past life of J'Ter, warrior prince,
grabbed him and flung him forward.
     The Secondprize bridge crew found themselves with an
excellent view up Dillon's nose as his face flattened against the
camera projecting his image on the viewscreen.  Then the channel
abruptly closed, the viewscreen switching to an exterior view of the
yacht, which began rapidly moving away.
     "Beam them out of there," Rydell ordered.
     "They've raised shields," Hawkins said.
     "Tractor beam!"
     "He's already jumped to warp,"
     "If Jaroch makes me late...  Sullivan!"
     "Already pursuing," Sullivan replied, sending the
Secondprize launching into warp.
     "Singer to Captain Rydell," the comm barked suddenly. 
Well, it didn't really bark.  It was more of a soft whimper followed
by a sniffle.
     "Go ahead, Doctor," Rydell said.
     "You've got to get Jaroch out of there.  He's in danger from the
potato salad!"
     "You want to run that one by me again?"
     "I found traces of irradiated potato salad in the Yynsians'
digestive tracts.  Somehow it's
disrupting their control over their past lives.  He doesn't even have
to eat the salad!" Singer exclaimed.  "If he even gets near it, he
could...he could...LOSE CONTROL!!!"
     "So we've noticed.  I'll send him to sickbay as soon as we
catch him and rescue Commander Dillon."
     "Oh no!  Am I going to need to knit Dillon's bones back
together...AGAIN?"
     "I think that's a pretty safe bet."
     "Oh...okay," Singer said, her voice audibly quivering. 
"Just please get Jaroch away from that potato salad!"
     "I may just have an idea about that," Rydell replied with a
slight smile.


     "Captain's Log.  Supplemental.  We have caught up with
Lieutenant Commander Jaroch, but rather than risk harming him or
Commander Dillon with weapons fire, I'm going to try a less
dangerous approach...well maybe not less dangerous for Dillon,
but it will be a lot safer for everyone else."

                         
     All Dillon wanted to do was sleep.  Every bit of his body
ached, and the idea of movement, any movement, was just
horrifying.   In his future he saw a lot of being very still and hoping
that Jaroch didn't come back for round two.
     His dream of immobility was quickly shattered as his
commbadge activated.  "Psst.  Dillon.  Wake up," Rydell's voice
whispered.
     Dillon groaned softly, half in pain, half in irritation.
     "Dillon!" Rydell whispered again.
     "Wha?" Dillon muttered.
     "Listen to me.   There's potato salad on that bridge.  Find it
and get rid of it."
     "What?"
     "Get rid of the potato salad!  That's an order!" Rydell said
just before the channel clicked closed.
     An order.  Why did it have to be an order?  A suggestion
Dillon could ignore.  He'd even have happily turned down a
request to do it, but he couldn't not follow an order.  Forcing his
neck to move, Dillon looked for Jaroch/J'Ter, whom he quickly
spotted hunched over the helm, poring over the controls and
muttering to himself.
     With Jaroch/J'Ter occupied, Dillon saw his chance.  Moving
as quickly as he could (which ended up being a plodding crawl),
Dillon made his way over to the pile of potato salad in the
 yacht's command chair.  It was even more disgusting close up.
     "What are you doing, spineless one?" Jaroch/J'Ter demanded
suddenly.
     Dillon froze, scared out of his mind.  If he didn't act fast,
Jaroch/J'Ter was going to start pummeling the crap out of him again. 
But he had to get rid of that potato salad!  Panicked and out of
options, Dillon frantically started shoveling the potato salad into
his mouth at a furious pace.
     "Answer me!" Jaroch/J'Ter boomed.
     Dillon scooped in the last bit of potato salad just as
Jaroch/J'Ter reached him, yanking Dillon's head back and leaning in
threateningly.  The sudden movement jolted a something deep in 
Dillon's digestive tract...
     "BRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPPPPPPPPPP!"
     The ensuing blast of noxious fumes emanating from inside 
Dillon was powerful enough to send Jaroch/J'Ter staggering back.  
The dazed Yynsian slammed into the helm console and promptly 
flipped backwards over it.
     The possessed science officer pulled himself back to his feet,
his eyes wide with fury.  "You will perish for this outrage!"
     Terror helping him force his way past the pain filling his
body, Dillon scrambled to his feet and ran off of the bridge,
covering his mouth with both hands as he went.  Racing down the
ship's corridor, he could hear Jaroch/J'Ter's footsteps thudding behind
him.
     For his part, Jaroch/J'Ter could not believe that any creature
would have the gall to defy him, yet that's exactly what the man
fleeing in front of him was doing.  The puny one would die painfully
for this.  "Stand and face me so that I may rip out your spleen
and...eat...and...unnh."
     Jaroch stumbled, the wild look draining from his eyes.  An
instant later, it was over.
     "Commander, I have regained control," Jaroch called to
Dillon.  "I will now return to the bridge and lower our shields."
     Relieved, Dillon stopped running and collapsed against a
wall.  His stomach suddenly shuddered, then rolled, then broke into
the electric slide.  Dillon gasped.   "Need...bathroom."
     He took one tiny step, then instantly doubled over.
     "BLAAAAAAAAAAT!!!"


     "Captain's Log.  Stardate 49504.7.  After giving their ship a
thorough cleaning, particularly in the spot where Commander Dillon 
puked up a mountain of radioactive potato salad and a large portion 
of his digestive tract, we have returned the Yynsians to their yacht and
sent them on their merry way.   Jaroch seems to have completely
recovered from his experience, but Dillon will be spending the 
next day or so in sickbay.  And in even better news, we're still 
going to get to Copitana in plenty of time for me to help crown 
the next Miss Sector 834...and, more importantly, console the 
runner ups."


     The Secondprize did indeed reach Copitana in plenty of
time for Captain Rydell to serve as a judge in the Miss Sector 834
pageant, but, as he watched the eight tentacles of Miss Lekikek
Prime wave about in time to the gyrations of her vaguely eggplant-
shaped body, Rydell sorely wished that it hadn't.
     "Next time, Rydell, research the sector first," he thought
to himself.  He accidentally locked eyes with Miss Lekikek Prime,
who gave him a sultry wink.
     Rydell plastered a fake smile on his face.  "Shoot me
now," he muttered through clenched teeth.





                   Reunion


     "I always meant to contact Jurel and her friends to see how
they were doing," Webber said.  "I'd hate to think they had any nasty
aftereffects from their experience."
     "I'm sure they were fine," Jaroch said flatly.
     "Oh come on, honey," Hawkins said, rubbing his leg.  "It's
nothing to be embarrassed about.  We can look back on it now and
laugh."
     "And Dillon's bones knitted just fine," Sullivan said.  
     "I'd watch it if I were you," Baird said.
     "What's that supposed to mean?"
     "Well, it's not like Jaroch and Dillon are the only ones who've
been known to go a little crazy."
     "Yeah, but we all know you have a temper, hon," Sullivan
said.
     "I wasn't talking about me," Baird replied pointedly.
     Dr. Aldridge smiled.  "No.  I bet he wasn't."
     "What?" Sullivan demanded.
     "I seem to remember a certain dinner party."
     "Oh no," Rydell said, lowering his head.  "I liked that
restaurant, too."
     "It was nice," Aldridge said.  "Until we got there..."





     "Scenes From An Italian Restaurant"
                                        
     

STARDATE 51783.8


     "Well...what do you think?" Captain Alexander Rydell asked,
looking around the table expectantly.  The others with Rydell,
namely Dr. Beth Aldridge, Lieutenant Patricia Hawkins, Commander
Travis Dillon, and Lieutenant Commander Jaroch, collectively
shrugged.
     "It's fine," Aldridge said.
     "Fine!" Rydell exclaimed.  "Look at this place!  It's
fantastic."
     "No offense, sir," Dillon said.  "But I've been to Italian
restaurants before."
     "In Italy?"
     "No.  Actually I think the last one was on Rigel Six, but the
idea is pretty much the same.  Candles mounted in empty wine
bottles, a few paintings of Italian scenery, wine rack, soft music,
some more wine."
     "But this is really Italy," Rydell protested.  Indeed it was
really Italy; although, Rydell was quickly wondering why he
bothered bringing this group to his favorite restaurant on Earth, La
Casa di Salsa Segreta.  He'd found the place by accident during a
layover on Earth when he was just an ensign.  He'd arranged to
meet with some friends in a bar in Naples, but he had gotten lost
and ended up down the wrong alley where he found La Casa di
Salsa Segreta.  Hungry and annoyed at being lost, Rydell ducked
inside and had one of the best meals of his life. La Casa di Salsa
Segreta was a bit off the main roads, so only the locals really knew
about it, which was fine with Rydell.  It was his chance to get his
crew into some civilian clothes and take them someplace really
special.
     At least he thought it was special.  The others would
obviously take a bit more convincing.  Wait until they had the food. 
The food would change their minds.  Of course, they couldn't eat
until they ordered.  And they couldn't order until the last couple
involved in this triple date (triple date plus Jaroch anyway) arrived.
     Finally, the creaky wooden door of the restaurant was
yanked open, and Commander Scott Baird stormed inside, followed
by his new bride, Lieutenant Emily Sullivan, who was wearing a
bemused smile.
     "Who the f*** puts a f***ing restaurant where nobody can
find it without a full f***ing sensor sweep?" Baird groused,
slamming himself down into an empty chair beside Hawkins.
     "Trouble finding the place?" Rydell asked innocently.
     "Some people just can't appreciate a scenic stroll," Sullivan
said.
     "You're here now.  That's the important thing," Rydell
said.
     "Which means you can start talking," Hawkins said.  "How
was the honeymoon?"
     Baird, who was in the process of shoving a complimentary
breadstick down his throat, gave a thumbs up.  Hawkins quickly
looked to Sullivan for a more thorough answer.
     "Nice," Sullivan said grinning.  
     "I think we get the picture," Dr. Aldridge said.  
     "And just what are you implying?" Sullivan replied in mock
horror.
     "That you copulated incessantly," Jaroch said curtly.  "May we
order now?"
     "What's with him?" Sullivan asked.
     "He doesn't have a date," Dillon said.
     "I did not wish to bring a date," Jaroch shot back.  
     "Uh huh."
     "I could have brought someone."
     "Who?" Dillon demanded.
     "That is none of your affair."
     "See.  Couldn't get a date," Dillon said smugly.
     "I CHOSE to come alone," Jaroch insisted.  
     "Okay," Dillon said, holding up his hands.  "I believe you."
     "No, you do not."
     "I said I did."
     "I do not believe you."
     "Am I going to have to sit between you two?" Hawkins
asked.
     "Please," Jaroch replied, drawing a glare from Dillon.
     "Waiter!" Rydell said, hoping for a distraction.
     In an instant, a young man in a white dress shirt, black
pants, and a black bow tie rushed over to the table.  "Are you
prepared to place your order?" he asked eagerly.
     Baird gulped down the last giant bite of his third breadstick. 
"Fu...OWW!"  His head whipped toward Sullivan.  "What was that
for?"
     "I think we're all ready," Sullivan said sweetly, thickening
her normal slight Southern accent to an all-out drawl as she usually
did when she was trying to sound sweet and friendly.  "Captain?"
     "No no.  Newlyweds first," Rydell said.
     "All right.  I'd like the ricotta and spinach tortellini, but
could I get the sauce on the side."
     The waiter jolted slightly.  "The...the sauce on the side, you
say?"
     "Is that a problem, hon?" Sullivan asked.
     "No!  Not at all.  But you are sure you are here for the
ricotta and spinach tortellini with the sauce on the side?"
     "I sure am."
     "Very well.  It shall be yours," the waiter replied, tapping
the order into a small padd.  The waiter continued around the table,
taking everyone's meal order, then headed back to the kitchen,
turning back to Sullivan and giving her a wink as he went.
     "Friendly staff," Sullivan commented.
     "I noticed," Baird grumbled.  The restaurant door creaked
open again, allowing two hulking men and a rough-looking woman,
all fitted with matching scowls, to stomp inside.
     "Charming clientele, too," Baird added.
     "The locals aren't real big on tourists in their restaurants,"
Rydell said.
     "I'm so glad you picked such a warm and friendly place for
us to eat at," Aldridge said, patting Rydell's arm.  "Do the cooks spit
in our food, too?"
     "You'll see," Rydell replied.  "Once dinner arrives, you'll
all be eating your words along with one of the best meals you've
ever had."
     "In the meantime," Hawkins said, turning back to Sullivan
and Baird, "I'm not letting you two off the hook.  I want details!"
     Sullivan shrugged.  "It was a honeymoon.  What's to say?"
     "Where did you go?"
     "Here."
     "This restaurant?" Dillon asked confused.
     "No.  Earth," Sullivan said, prompting a round of snickers
from the non-newlyweds at the table.
     "What?" Sullivan demanded.
     "Earth?" Aldridge asked.  "You've got an entire galaxy out
there, and you decided to stay on Earth?"
     "Earth's got a lot to see," Baird said. "It's a good planet."
     "But no one goes to Earth this time of year!" Hawkins said.
     "We did."
     "And it was great," Sullivan added.
     "What did you do that was great?" Hawkins asked.
     "Is there a reason that you are pressing this particular issue
to such an extent?" Jaroch asked.  
     "Does it matter?"
     "I just find it interesting that you are so intent on learning
the details of an event occurring after a wedding."
     "I'm not getting married, if that's what you're implying."
     "I do not believe that I implied anything."
     "Of course you didn't," Hawkins said flatly.
     "Sure sounded like an implication to me," Dillon added.
     "I was not aware that you were even familiar with the
concept," Jaroch said.
     "Oh look.  Food's here," Rydell said relieved as the waiter
set a steaming tray of plates down on a tray stand and began
distributing each meal, ending with Lieutenant Sullivan.
     "Your sauce on the side, signora," the waiter said, giving
Sullivan another wink before quickly making his way to the table 
where the three scowling locals had planted themselves.
     "He does that again, and I'm taking his eye," Baird
grumbled.
     "Shut up and eat, honey," Sullivan said, giving her husband
a quick peck on the cheek, then impaling one of the tortellinis on her
fork and dipping it in the pint-sized bowl of garlic parmesan sauce
that came with the meal.  She popped the tortellini in her mouth.
     "Wow!  Yummy!" Sullivan exclaimed, diving for her next
piece.
     "This is fantastic," Dillon agreed between fork-fulls of his
veal scallopini (faux veal, of course).
     "Told you," Rydell said vindicated.


     "And what may I bring you this fine evening?" the waiter
asked the three occupants of the table he'd approached.
     "Lasagna," Hentora and Makon Nessu replied in unison. 
The pair were brother and sister, as a casual observer may have
been able to guess from their resemblance to each other.  What they
were not, however, was local, despite their appearance.  They were
not from Naples, or Italy, or from Earth for that matter.  They were
actually from Orion, not that anyone would have guessed it due to
their exceptional lack of green skin.  Amazing what a little pigment
alteration could do.
     Hentora and Makon were accompanied by (actually, they
were more accompanying him) a fellow formerly-green-skinned
Orion by the name of Gronus Dalor, who next place his order with
the waiter.
     "I want the ricotta and spinach tortellini with the sauce on
the side.  Got it?  I want the sauce on the side."
     The waiter blanched.  "The sauce on the side?" he asked
nervously.
     "That's what I came here for."
     "Ah...well...you see, signor."
     "Is there a problem?" Gronus asked darkly as Hentora and
Makon made a show of reaching for the knives in their place
settings.
     "Yes," the waiter squeaked.
     "What problem?" Gronus demanded.
     "WEEEEHAAAAAA! ZIPPIDEE-DOO-DA-DAYYYYYYYY!" Sullivan shouted
suddenly from the table across the restaurant.  "ME LIKEY!"  She
jammed her hands into the sauce bowl and began shoveling it 
into her mouth as fast as she could.
     "That would be the problem," the waiter said.


     "Sullivan," Rydell said, looking around the restaurant
embarrassed as other patrons began to stare.  "Emily.  I know it's
good food, but let's show some restraint.  Okay?"
     "F***, Emily.  Slow it down," Baird said.
     "Um...I've seen Sullivan eat before, and this isn't how she
normally does it," Dillon said.
     "You don't say," Jaroch remarked.  
     "Emily, stop it," Baird said, trying to pull her back. 
     "MINE!" Emily snapped, slapping Baird away.
     "What the f*** is wrong with her?" 
     "Good question," Dillon said.  "What's wrong with her,
Doctor?"
     "How the hell should I know?" Dr. Aldridge retorted.
     "Examine her!"
     "Funny.  I seem to have left my tricorder on the ship."
     "Why would you do that?" Dillon said.
     "I don't know.  Maybe because I was on a date?"
     "Seems unprofessional, if you ask me."
     "Fortunately, nobody did," Rydell said.  
     "We've got to get her out of here," Baird said.
     "Go," Rydell said.  "I'll settle the bill and meet you."


     "You gave the berydin to that human woman!  Have you
lost your mind?" Gronus whispered harshly, resisting the
overwhelming urge to grab the moronic waiter and slam his head
into the table until he really did lose his mind...in little oozy bits all
over the nice tablecloth.
     "She gave me the code."
     "Impossible."
     "She did!  Right down to the sauce on the side."
     "Really?"
     "Yes!"
     "Weird.  I didn't think anybody would order that with sauce
on the side."
     "Well, she did."
     "Hmm...have to remember that.  Make a note, Makon. 
Need better code."
     "Errrmph," Makon grunted in acknowledgment.
     "In the meantime, that woman has thirty grams of pure
berydin in her system."
     "No refunds," the waiter said.  "Paolo is very firm about
that."
     "Fine.  We'll just have to get the berydin out of her,"
Gronus said.
     "Is that possible?"
     "Sure.  We just drain every drop of blood from her body
and distill it out."
     "Oh."
     "Her friends seem to have noticed that she's not right,"
Gronus said, watching Baird and Aldridge try and help Sullivan from
her chair.  "Convince them to stay."
     "Um...of course," the waiter said, bowing curtly and racing
over to the Secondprize crew's table.
     "Is there a problem with the food?"
     "My wife's crazy about it," Baird said.
     "She may have a food allergy," Dr. Aldridge said.  "We just
need to get her home."
     "Ah...well...maybe you should just let her rest," the waiter
said.
     "Can I eat your head?" Emily said, her eyes darting around
wildly.  "That's some mighty fine lookin' corn you got up there."
     "We're leaving," Baird said firmly, pushing past the waiter
and dragging Sullivan to the exit.  He found their path blocked by
Gronus, Makon and Hentora.
     "She stays," Gronus said, pointing at Sullivan.  Sullivan's
head darted forward suddenly as she chomped down on the
disguised Orion's finger.  "YEOOWWW!" Gronus cried, snatching
his hand back.
     Baird handed Sullivan off to Aldridge and stepped up closer to
the Orions.  "That's my wife you're talking about there, pal.  The
only place she's going is with me."
     "Makon," Gronus said.
     Makon moved toe-to-toe to Baird, towering a good six
inches above the Secondprize's Chief Engineer.
     "You know the old saying," Baird said.  "The bigger they
are..."
     THWACK!!!
     Makon slugged Baird, then grabbed the dazed officer and
lobbed him directly onto the Secondprize officer's table.
     "The quicker they smack you into oblivion," Aldridge
remarked, retreating quickly back to the table with Sullivan in tow. 
Hawkins, Dillon, Jaroch, and Rydell were already on their feet.  Jaroch
and Rydell dragged a moaning and battered Baird off of the table
as Hawkins and Dillon quickly flipped the large round table up to
use as a barrier between them and the Orions.
     "We're reasonable beings," Gronus said as he and the
other's advanced on the group huddled behind the table.  "The rest
of you can go.  We just need the woman.  She has something that
belongs to me."
     "What does she have?" Rydell called out.  "Maybe we can
just throw it to you."
     "She kind of ate it."
     "Then we'll mail it to you when it comes out the other end."
     "It's not that kind of thing.  We just need to drain her of
blood."
     "That will kill her!" Aldridge shouted.
     "Consider it an unfortunate side effect."
     "That's it!" Hawkins said, yanking a hand phaser out of her
boot.
     Dillon gaped.  "What...what is that?"
     "What does it look like, Travis?"
     "I don't believe this.  You brought a phaser on a date!  Did
you think we were going to be attacked or something?"
     "News flash.  We ARE being attacked!"
     "This was supposed to be a romantic dinner."
     "You're mad she has a phaser?" Aldridge said in disbelief. 
"You were just all pissed off about me not having a tricorder!"
     "At least Pat came prepared!" Dillon shouted back.
     Hawkins popped up above the edge of the table and fired
off a quick shot, nailing Makon on the shoulder and sending Gronus
and Hentora scrambling for cover.  With the path to the door clear,
the other restaurant patrons, who had been doing a nice job up until
that point of panicking and screaming for their lives, stampeded for
the exit, giving the Orions the cover they needed to flip up a table
of their own to huddle behind as the waiter tore back into the
kitchen.
     "That was a phaser!" Gronus exclaimed.
     "Uh huh!" Makon and Hentora agreed as Makon rubbed his
numb arm.
     "Why would they have a phaser unless..."  A horrible
realization dawned.
     "Hey!" Gronus shouted across the restaurant.  "Are you
Starfleet?"
     "Yes, we are!" Rydell shouted back.  "Want to surrender
now?"
     "Granklefrap!" Gronus cursed.
     "Is that a yes?" Rydell asked, peering around the table.  He
narrowly managed duck back before a knife sailed past him.
     "I'm guessing not," Hawkins said, knocking the power level
of her phaser up a few notches.
     "What are you doing?" Rydell asked.
     "Obliterating their cover," she said, taking aim at the Orion's
flipped over table.
     "You're going to disintegrate them in the process!"
     "I'm really not caring."
     "No vaporizing anything," Rydell said firmly. 
     "Can't we just call in security?" Dillon asked.
     "The entire crew is on leave while the Secondprize is in
Spacedock, and I am NOT bringing Starfleet security into this,"
Hawkins replied.  "People think we're enough as a joke as it is."
     "I am not a joke!" Dillon said.
     "I would consider you more of a recurring gag," Jaroch
remarked.
     "Could you think about getting us out of here instead of
picking on Dillon?"
     "We could just rush the door; however, that would not deal
with the underlying problem."
     "I thought those guys trying to kill us was the underlying
problem," Aldridge said.
     "Our attackers wish to take Lieutenant Sullivan away in
order to get something out of her bloodstream.  Judging by her
recent behavior, it is safe to say that this is most likely a narcotic of
some sort, a narcotic that was transported via Sullivan's bowl of
sauce.  If that is indeed the case, then this establishment is engaged
in a bit more than the restaurant business."
     "Makes sense," Rydell said.  "Let me check."  He
cautiously peered around the table again.  "Hey!  What drug did my
friend eat?"
     "Berydin.  And I want it back!" Gronus shouted back.
     "We don't want her dead."
     "If she hadn't ordered the sauce on the side, none of this
would have happened!"
     "I'll let her know," Rydell said, ducking back behind the
table just as Hentora sent another knife winging his way.
     "Berydin?" Dr. Aldridge said.  "I'm not familiar with it."
     "I've seen it mentioned in some alerts on Orion Syndicate
activities," Hawkins said.  "It's supposedly really popular with the
Andorians and the Yridians."
     "And evidently this place serves it to go," Rydell said.
     "It is quite possible that they are synthesizing the drug on
the premises, most likely in the kitchen where such equipment
would go unnoticed," Jaroch said.
     "Then I'm going to find it," Rydell said, holding his hand
out to his security chief.  "Hawkins, phaser."
     Hawkins's eyes widened in shock and horror. 
"My...my...phaser?"
     "I need it to blast the lab equipment.  Hand it over."
     "But I could blast it," Hawkins protested.
     "Scott and I can handle it.  You guys take care of our
friends at the next table.  You up for it, Scott?"
     "Yeah," Scott muttered, forcing himself up.  He turned on
the rest of the group.  "Nothing happens to Emily.  Got it?"
     "We'll take care of her," Dr. Aldridge replied.
     "All right," Rydell said, getting into a sprinter's stance. 
"Count of three.  One...two...three."  Rydell and Baird took off
running and slammed through the kitchen door, bowling over the
waiter and two cooks who had hidden there to watch the show in
the dining room.
     "Sorry, fellas," Rydell said looking over the fallen group
as the door closed behind them.  "Now who's going to show me
the drug lab?"



     "Okay," Hawkins said, thinking over the situation.  "We
still outnumber them five to three."
     "Redo the math, Hawkins," Dr. Aldridge said.  "Sullivan isn't
in any condition to fight, and I'm staying with her."
     "Fine.  It's three on three then.  Even odds."
     "Not quite," Dillon said anxiously.  "You saw what that
guy did to Baird."
     "They do appear to have us at a distinct strength
disadvantage," Jaroch agreed.
     "That only matters if they hit us," Hawkins said.
     "I'm not nearly as fast as you are, dear," Dillon said. 
"You're so quick and skilled you could take one of them without
any trouble, but not me."
     Hawkins smiled and gazed lovingly at Dillon.  "You really
think I could clobber one of them?  That's so sweet."  Hawkins
gave the Secondprize's first officer a soft kiss on the lips.
     "Be still my churning innards," Jaroch muttered.


     Before any of the kitchen staff could respond to Rydell, a
tall, older Italian gentleman stormed into the kitchen from a door on
the opposite side of the room.  Rydell immediately recognized him
as Paolo, the restaurant's owner.
     "Good evening, signor," Rydell said with a slight bow. 
"Our meal has been so amazing that we just had to have a word
with the chefs."
     "You must leave my kitchen!" Paolo demanded.
     "Come on, Paolo.  I really wanted to see how you made the
secret ingredient.  I think it's called berydin."
     "I know nothing of this berydin."
     "Really?  I'm guessing you cook it up right here.  What do
you think, Scott?"
     The chief engineer's trained eye scanned the equipment in
the room.  Finally, he pointed at a large stainless steel object along
the far wall.  "That one."
     Rydell aimed and fired.
     ZAP!
     "My stove!"
     "Whoops.  Try that one."
     ZAP!
     "My dishwasher!"
     "Er...There."
     ZAP!
     "My pasta maker."
     "Wait!  Over there."
     ZAP!
     "My drug lab!"
     "That's got it," Baird said smugly.
     Rydell shot a quick glare at Baird then turned his attention
back to the restauranteur.  "I'm really ashamed of you, Paolo.  Was
making fantastic food not enough for you?"
     "Who eats it?  We are a hole in the wall with eight measly
tables.  Look at our location.  I had to do something to
supplement."
     "You could have moved," Baird said.
     "But we've always been here," Paolo replied defiantly.
     Rydell shook his head.  "And just like that, logic loses
another one."


     "Was there any sauce left in Sullivan's bowl?" Dr. Aldridge
asked suddenly as Hawkins, Dillon, and Jaroch continued their
strategizing.
     "I have no idea," Hawkins replied.
     "And I don't think that's going to help us right now,"
Dillon added.
     "I want to look at it," Dr. Aldridge said.
     Dillon peered out around the table and spotted the bowl of
garlic parmesan sauce sitting upright in the mass of splattered meals
on the other side.  "It's out there, but I can't reach it from here."
     "Then go get it," Aldridge said.
     "But..."
     "Doctor's orders.  Now GO!"
     "All right," Dillon grumbled.  "But I'm not sure that your
authority extends to things like this."
     As quickly as possible, Dillon crawled out from behind the
safety of the table and scurried toward the bowl.  He had the bowl
in his hands in a matter of seconds and was on his knees racing
back to cover.
     THUD!
     Dillon looked back in horror at his shoe, which now had a
rather long and sharp steak knife embedded in it.
     "Hey!" he cried.  "I liked these shoes!"
     Gronus poked his head up from behind the Orion's table. 
"Hold still and Hentora will make you stop caring."  He looked
back at his comrades, who were evidently speaking to him.  "What
do you mean we're out of the sharp ones?" he snapped angrily.
     Dillon didn't wait around for an answer.  He sped around
the table again and shoved the bowl into Dr. Aldridge's hands.  "Enjoy
it," he said, slumping against the table beside Sullivan.
     She looked over at him with heavily dazed eyes.  "Are you
chewy?  You look like gum."
     "I taste like Brussel sprouts," Dillon said flatly.
     "Not good gum."
     "Nope."
     "What do you expect to learn from the sauce?" Hawkins
asked, sliding over to Dr. Aldridge.
     "Hard to say.  Jaroch, come take a look at this."
     "I was not aware that there was anything to see," the
Yynsian replied, moving closer to Aldridge and bowl.
     "Look closer at the texture," Aldridge said.
     Jaroch peered into the bowl.  "What are you referring to?  I do
not see...MMMMPHHH!"
     In an instant, Aldridge has scooped the bowl's remaining
contents into her fingers and shoved it into Jaroch's open mouth.  He
yanked himself back and gulped hard, swallowing most of what had
been forced upon him.
     "What was that for?" Hawkins shouted.
     "Hopefully, I just called the cavalry," Aldridge replied as she
watched Jaroch's eyes go wide and his body begin to twitch.
     "And if you didn't?" Dillon asked alarmed.
     "Who knows?  Either way, we should probably move."
     "Where?" Dillon exclaimed.  "I'm not about to be the one
to find out if those guys managed to find more pointy things to
throw at us."
     Jaroch was heading toward outright vibration at this point.
     "I don't think we have much more time to argue," Dr. Aldridge
said.
     "You'd better be right about this," Hawkins said.  She
suddenly shoved Jaroch, sending him out beyond the cover of the table. 
For a few moments, nothing happened.  Then an expertly-thrown
salad fork embedded itself in his chest.
     "Holy OWWWW!" Jaroch screamed.  "I mean that really,
REALLY hurts.  And my shirt!  Look at my shirt!  You will all be
facing many of my boots to your heads, and when I am done, I shall
write of my deeds without mercy or remorse!"
     THWACK!
     A particularly firm breadstick sailed across the room and
smacked Jaroch in the head.  "Another oww...this one most buttery."
     THWACK!  THWACK THWACK!
     Three more breadsticks slammed into him.
     "Your grains cannot harm me," Jaroch said, striding forward.
     THUD!
     Jaroch staggered back as an empty wine bottle holding a candle
slammed into his gut.  "You have lobbed your last table setting,
weak ones!" Jaroch bellowed, scooping the bottle up by the neck and
charging.
     "Get him!" Gronus ordered, smacking Makon and Hentora
on the back and pushing them forward.
     "You smell of fear and soap," Jaroch announced as the pair of
Orions approached him.  "Soapy fear with brimming bubbles of
terror."
     "Huh?" Makon said.
     WHAM!  CRASH!
     Jaroch swung the bottle upward, catching the lumbering Orion
under the chin.  He smoothly slammed the bottle back down,
smashing it over Makon's head and sending him tumbling to the
floor unconscious.
     Jaroch turned on a stunned Hentora.  "You also smell of fear,
but your soap has a nice lavender scent.  Pretty odors do not mask
the fright billowing from your pores in great jets of flowery panic."
     "You hurt my brother," Hentora said simply, then swung at
Jaroch.
     The Yynsian dodged quickly, then came back with a swift
kick to the Orion's left shin.  "Whatcha gonna do about it?" he
taunted.
     Hentora swung again and missed.  She was rewarded with a
boot to her right shin.
     "Nyah nyah!" Jaroch laughed.
     Hentora suddenly grabbed Jaroch by the throat and lifted him
off of the floor.  "You will feel pain now," she said.
     SMASH!
     A Hawkins-wielded plate suddenly crashed over Hentora's
head followed closely by another swung by Dillon.  Hentora
dropped Jaroch and turned around to face her attackers.  She was met
immediately by Hawkins's foot slamming into the side of her
already-battered head.  The impact spun her directly into Dillon's
oncoming fist, which spun her toward Jaroch's right cross.  After two
more circuits of this circle of pummeling, Hentora collapsed to the
floor, joining her sibling in dreamland.
     With Jaroch, Dillon, and Hawkins occupied beating the crap
out of his associates, Gronus made a break for the exit.  He'd made
it most of the way to the door before a weight leapt onto his back,
sending him sprawling on the floor.
     "Tasty!" Lieutenant Sullivan squealed happily as she
bounced up and down on Gronus' back a few times before ripping a
nice chunk of hair from his head and shoving it into her mouth,
roots and all.
     "Emily, get back here!" Dr. Aldridge said, rushing over.
     "My meal!  My meal!" Sullivan protested, yanking Gronus's
head up by the hair and slamming it back down repeatedly to
emphasize her point.
     "That's not food, Emily," Dr. Aldridge said gently just as
Rydell and Baird returned from the kitchen holding Paolo at
phaser point.
     "Much...hurting," Gronus gasped, looking up at the
Starfleet Officers with pleading eyes.
     "I could yank Emily off of him," Baird suggested.
     "Or I could just stun him to take the pain away."
     "That's awfully nice of you," Aldridge said.
     Rydell fired, letting Gronus join his friends in
unconsciousness.  "What can I say?  I'm a nice guy."


     Fifteen minutes later, the local authorities had swarmed over
La Casa di Salsa Segreta and taken Gronus, Paolo, and all of their
compatriots into custody while detectives took statements from
Dillon and Hawkins.  Dr. Aldridge had promptly snatched the medical
tricorder away from the medtech who came along and started to
work on treating the injured and the supremely drugged.  A quick
scan of Gronus revealed a bit more than some missing scalp.
     "Hmmm...Orion.  You don't say," Rydell remarked loudly
so the Naples constabulary could hear as he looked over the
readings Aldridge was showing him.  "An Orion disguised as a human
buying a drug that the Orion Syndicate is known to sell.  And
buying it from this very restaurant.  Residents of this fine city
involved with the Orion Syndicate?  Paolo, I'm shocked!"
     The two officers flanking the restaurant owner were
obviously not amused as they glared down at their captive.  "We
have a clean city," one of them said, an edge of menace in his voice. 
"We work hard to keep it that way."
     "Hear that, Paolo?" Rydell said smiling.  "They're going
to clean you up!  Aren't you excited?"
     As the officers dragged Paolo out of the restaurant, he
shouted something back that the universal translator couldn't
handle, but Rydell got the gist of it.  "Make sure you clean his
mouth up, too," Rydell called after them, then he turned his
attention to Dr. Aldridge, who was looking over Jaroch and Sullivan.
     "How are they?"
     "They should be fine once I get them back to a decent
medical facility and detox them.  I was able to link the tricorder
back to the Starfleet Medical database and look up berydin.  It's
not very effective on humans or Yynsians.  Large doses can cause
mild hallucinations and a feeling like intoxication, though.  It even
comes complete with its own hangover in the morning."
     "Lovely," Commander Baird muttered as he held his wife
still for Dr. Aldridge.
     "Remember, Scott.  It's in sickness and in health," Rydell
said, clapping his engineer on the shoulder.
     "If she vomits, I'm calling you.  You're the one who got us
into this."
     "Hey.  It was a memorable evening," Rydell said.
     "Don't even try that one," Aldridge said.
     "Excuse me, Doctor 'Jam the kooky drug down Jaroch's
throat'?"
     "What?  It worked...mostly." Aldridge said.
     "You were so certain?"
     "It seemed likely.  I hoped that the drug would weaken his
control over his past lives and let them take over.  The drug seemed
to affect them to...assuming what we saw was them, but it got the
job done."
     "I'm sure Jaroch will want to discuss your great plan
tomorrow...after his head stops pounding," Rydell said.  "In the
meantime, I'm starving.  Wanna get some dinner?"
     Aldridge eyed Rydell.  "After all this, you expect me to go
out with you again tonight?"
     "Sure.  Why not?"
     "Let me get these two back to the Secondprize first.  Then
I'M picking the restaurant."
     Rydell grinned.  "Okay, but I guarantee it won't be nearly
as exciting."





                        Reunion

     "One time!" Sullivan exclaimed.  "One time I get a little
kooky, and you throw it back at me."
     "We have to take the opportunities when we get them,
Captain," Rydell said.  "Can't have you getting too big for your
pips."
     "But my own husband didn't have to be the one to bring it
up," Sullivan said.
     "Sure I did," Baird replied with a smile.
     "You've have your not-so-shining moments too, you
know."
     "True, but most of the time he was so loud and angry about
it that the rest of us felt it best not to say anything for fear of our
lives," Rydell said.
     "Fear is good," Baird said.  "I worked very hard to cultivate
that image."
     "I still liked you," Carr said.  "Even if you did scowl
a lot."
     "It's a cute scowl, though," Sullivan said.  "And most of the
time, you were pretty together."
     "Thank you," Baird said, crossing his arms.
     "Most of the time," she repeated with a smirk.
     "Choose your next words carefully," Baird threatened.
     "Oh, I've only got one word."
     "What?" Baird said warily, leaning forward.
     "Herbert."
     "F***."
     "I thought you might say that..."





                 "Uncle Dork"
               

STARDATE 52165.6


     "Doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed,
doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed, doomed,"
Commander Scott Baird repeated as he paced the living room of his
quarters.  
     "Would you stop saying that?" his wife, Lieutenant
Commander Emily Sullivan, said as she watched her husband from
the sofa.
     "F***ed, f***ed, f***ed, f***ed, f***ed, f***ed, f***ed,
f***ed, f***ed, f***ed, f***ed, f***ed."
     "Never mind.  Could we go back to 'doomed' please?"
     "You just don't get it, Emily."
     "He's a seven year old boy.  What's to get?"
     Baird chuckled humorlessly.  "You've never met him.  You
have no idea what he's capable of.  Damn her!  Cathy did this on
purpose!"
     "Yes.  How dare your sister take a second honeymoon! 
She's obviously out to get you."
     "She and George are off to Risa just when we happen to be
docked at a Starbase on the way, so we can watch her little
hellspawn for the night?  Tell me that wasn't planned.  If I ever
figure out how the f*** she knew when we would be...  You told
her, didn't you?"
     "She asked," Sullivan said with a shrug.    "Cathy thought
you'd want to spend some time with your nephew."
     "Translation: I'm going to torture Scott.  I am so getting her
for this."
     "Oh relax.  Your parents will be here tomorrow to get him."
     "Good...and they'd better not stick around long," Baird
grumbled.
     "I like your parents.  They're very sweet people."
     Baird only grunted.
     "Makes me wonder how the hell they produced you,"
Sullivan added.
     "Vaughn to Commander Baird," the voice of the
Secondprize's transporter chief said, breaking in over the comm
system.
     "Oh f***.  Here we go," Baird said.  "Baird here."
     "You've got company anxiously waiting to beam over."
     "We'll be right there, Monica," Sullivan said, getting up from
the sofa, grabbing Baird by the arm, and dragging him toward the
door.  "Remember, hon.  It's only one night."
     "And when it's over, I guarantee you'll be begging for my
parents to get here."
     "Oookay, hon."
     "Begging!"
     "Gotcha."


     "Monica, get this kid out of here," the Starbase 57
Transporter Chief pleaded over the comm.  "He's driving me crazy. 
NO!  Don't touch that!"  Lieutenant Monica Vaughn heard an
annoying giggle in the background closely followed by a female
saying "Now now, Herbert."  Just then, Baird and Sullivan walked
into the transporter room.
     "The relatives are here to take possession, Paul," Vaughn
said.  "I'm energizing now."
     "Thank you," the harried transporter chief replied in relief. 
"I'm never going to get this peanut butter out of the matter
reintegration circuits."
     "Oh sh**, he's started already," Baird moaned.
     "He sounds like a wonderful kid," Vaughn said sarcastically
as two figures began to materialize on the transporter pad.  "You
three should have lots of fun."
     "Care to join us?" Sullivan asked.
     Vaughn laughed.  "Not a chance in hell."
     "Some friend you are," Baird mumbled just as the transport
finished leaving a woman and a small boy on the pad.  The woman
was a good two inches taller than Baird; however, her facial
features and black hair (although hers was curly) left no doubt as to
the fact that she was related to the Secondprize's chief engineer. 
The sandy-haired boy's facial features were hard to gauge as his
head was whipping back and forth in a blur, taking in his new
surroundings.
     Cathy stepped down off the transporter platform and
hugged her brother.
     "Scott, luv!  How have you been?" she asked almost too
happily.  "I haven't seen you in so long.  You never write or comm. 
And when are we going to get a visit?  Hello, Emily.  Good to see
you again.  I'm so glad to see you've stayed with him."
     "He hasn't run me off yet," Sullivan said with a smirk.
     "Where's George?" Baird asked.
     "He's...waiting for me."
     "Too scared to show his face, huh?"
     "Well, you could be nicer to him.   He is your brother-in-
law."
     "It's not my fault he's scared of me.  I never did anything to
him," Baird said.
     "He thinks you don't like him."
     "I don't."
     "You don't even know him," Cathy exclaimed.
     "Exactly.  Not liking people is kind of my default setting.  If
he decides to grow some balls and get to know me, maybe I'll like
him.  Doubt it, but it could happen."
     "This is why he wins the ship's Miss Congeniality award
every year," Sullivan said.
     "Well, I'm sorry George and I can't stay, but at least you'll
get to see your nephew some," Cathy said.
     "I'm thrilled," Baird replied.  He could see Herbert inching
toward the circuit access panels on the far side of the transporter
room.  He was about to grab the innocent looking seven-year-old
when, but Cathy acted first.
     "Come here, Herbie, and say hello to your Uncle Scott and
Aunt Emily."  Herbert stopped in his tracks and turned toward his
mother and uncle.  Baird could see the look of 'I'm going to destroy
everything I can' in his eyes.
     "Hello, Dork," Herbie shouted and started laughing
hysterically.
     "I'm sorry about that Scott.  He's been calling everybody
dork for the last two weeks," Cathy explained.  "Promise me that
you won't cuss around him.  You see how quickly he picks up
words he shouldn't say."
     "Better gag yourself," Vaughn mumbled.
     "Shut up, bi..."
     "Scott!" Cathy snapped.
     "All right!   I promise," Baird said grudgingly.
     "Well, I'd better get back.  The starliner to Risa leaves in
half an hour.  Have fun," Cathy said, hugging her brother again. 
"Thank you again, Emily."
     "We're happy to do it," Sullivan replied as Cathy stepped
back onto the transporter pad.
     "One of us is," Baird muttered.  "Goodbye, Cathy."
     "Goodbye, Scott.  Now, Herbert, you be the little angel we
all know you can me.  Mommy and daddy love you.  See you
soon!"
     Herbert just nodded distractedly, his eyes locked on the
controls of the transporter console in front of Vaughn.
     "Energize," Baird said.  Vaughn activated the transporter
sending Cathy back to the Starbase.  Suddenly, Baird heard the soft
whoosh of doors opening.  A quick glance around the room
confirmed what he already knew.  Herbert was missing.  Baird ran
out into the hallway in time to see Herbert disappearing around a
corner.  
     "COME BACK HERE!!!" Baird bellowed at the top of his
lungs, freezing terrified crewmen up and down the corridor. 
Sullenly, Herbert rounded the corner back into the main corridor
and trudged up to Baird.
     Baird leaned in closely to his nephew.  "Do that again, and
I'll..."
     "Who wants some lunch?" Sullivan said, stepping quickly
over to the pair.  "It'll give us a chance to get to know each other."
     "Lunch!" Herbert cried happily.  Baird growled under his
breath.
     "Come on, boys," Sullivan said, taking Herbert by the hand
and leading him toward the nearest turbolift.  
     Herbert looked back at Baird and stuck his tongue out. 
"We're beating you...dork!"
     Baird's growl instantly became quite audible.  Across the
deck, crewmen fled in fear of whatever monster had been unleashed
on the ship.  Herbert just giggled and continued strolling along with
his aunt.


     "All right," Sullivan said, clapping her hands together as
Herbert sat at the dining table in Baird and Sullivan's quarters, arms
crossed and face in a full pout.  "What would you like to eat?"
     "I don't wanna eat here," Herbert said angrily.
     "Then you don't eat," Baird said, stepping over to the
replicator.  "I'm having a hamburger, though.  A big, juicy
hamburger with a ton of fries."
     "Aunt Emily promised me a restaurant!"
     "We're not going to Seven Backward, and that's final,"
Baird said.
     "Scott..." Sullivan began.
     "I'm not setting him loose in there."
     "Fine.  Herbert, how about a hamburger like Uncle Scott
has?"
     "I don't wanna eat like Uncle Dork!"
     "Then what about something else?" Sullivan said quickly
before Baird say anything in response.  Most likely nothing he'd
have to say would be appropriate for Herbert's ears...or anyone
else's for that matter.
     "No."
     "Chicken fingers?"
     "No."
     "Grilled cheese?"
     "No."
     "Peanut butter and jelly?"
     "No."
     "Tuna fish?"
     "No."
     "Pizza?"
     "No."
     "K'rachit da'al?"
     "NO!"
     "Then pick something yourself!" Sullivan snapped, losing
her cool for a moment.  She quickly caught herself and calmed
down.  "I've got an idea," she said, moving over to the replicator. 
"Hot dog and french fries."  The order materialized, and Sullivan
placed the plate in front of Herbert.  "There you go.  One nice..."
     SMASH!
     In a sudden blur of motion, Herbert had swung his arm out
and slapped the plate, sending it flying off of the table and against
the wall.
     "Pizza!" he shouted, glaring at Baird, who was seated
across the table eating his lunch and trying hard not to start
laughing at Sullivan's efforts to appease the demon child.
     "Pizza.  Fine," Sullivan said, plastering a smile on her face
as she returned to the replicator and placed the order.  "Here you
are," she said, returning with the plate a few moments later.  "Now,
you're going to sit here and eat your lunch, and if you're very good
and eat every last bite, we'll take you up to see the bridge.  If not,
you'll sit at this table until your grandparents get here...which is in
about eighteen hours.  Your choice, Herbie."
     Herbert wisely decided to eat the pizza.


     "So this is our special guest," Captain Alexander Rydell said,
swivelling around in his command chair as Baird, Sullivan, and
Herbert stepped out onto the bridge.  "What's your name, little
man?"
     "Beelzebub," Baird said.
     "No, it's not, Uncle Dork!" Herbert screamed.  "I'm
Herbert!"
     "Uncle Dork?" Rydell said with a smirk.
     "Endearing, don't you think?" Sullivan said, leading Herbert
down toward the helm console.  "This is where Aunt Emily sits to
fly the ship."
     "Can I do it?" Herbert asked.
     "Not right now.  We're parked at this spacedock and can't
move."
     "Does this make you want a kid of your own?" Rydell
asked as Baird plopped down into the chair normally occupied by
Counselor Webber. 
     Baird glared back.  "Have you lost your fu...freakin' mind?"
     Rydell smiled.  "Watching your language?  How sweet."
     Before Baird could respond, the ship suddenly jolted
forward.
     "I said don't touch that!" Sullivan shouted, then quickly
caught herself.  "That's a big no-no."
     "This is no fun.  I wanna see where Uncle Dork works,"
Herbert said, crossing his arms in a pout.
     "No way," Baird said.  "I'm not letting that thing into
Engineering."
     "I'm telling Mommy you were mean to me."
     "Go ahead.  I was mean to her too.  All through our
childhoods."
     "I WANNA SEE ENGINEERING!" Herbert wailed.
     "NOT A CHANCE!" Baird shouted back.
     "Here," Sullivan said, practically yanking Herbert out of the
helm chair and dragging him back to the rear of the bridge.  "This is
kind of like where Uncle Scott works.  These are the Bridge
Engineering Stations.  Now don't touch any...HERBERT!"
     Baird was about to spin around and let Herbert have it when
he realized that he wasn't exactly in the chair anymore.  Instead, he
was slowly drifting up into the air as was everyone else on the
bridge.
     "I see he found the bridge gravity controls," Rydell said
flatly. 
     "Not just the bridge, sir," Sullivan replied sheepishly as
Baird did his best to propel himself over to the engineering station.
     "Ah.  Okay."  Rydell flipped himself over in mid-air,
reached down, and tapped the all-call on the armrest of his chair. 
"Good afternoon, everyone.  This is Captain Rydell.  You might
have noticed a slight loss of gravity.  It's nothing to worry about. 
We'll have everything back to normal in just a second."
     Rydell, along with everyone and everything else on the
ship, suddenly plummeted back to the deck as Baird reactivated the
artificial gravity.
     "There," Rydell gasped painfully.  "All better now."


     Lieutenant Commander Sullivan rolled over in bed to look
at her husband, who was flat on his back, glaring at the ceiling.
     "You planning on speaking to me again any time soon?"
Sullivan asked.
     "No," Baird growled back.
     "Hey, this isn't my fault.  Talk to Dillon if you've got a
problem with it.  He's the one who made the bridge shift
assignments."
     "I'd have a better chance of getting through to Herbert,"
Baird groused.  "But why did it have to be tomorrow morning?  It's
like he knew that I needed you to help...you asked for this shift,
didn't you?"
     "Why would I do that?" Sullivan replied quickly.
     "Emily..."
     "You'll only have to keep Herbert occupied by yourself for a
couple of hours.  Then you can hand him off to your parents and
forget he was ever here," Sullivan said.
     "Way to be a supportive spouse, Emily."
     "I'm not the one related to that monster."
     "So you admit he's a demon child."
     "Yes.  You were right.  Happy?"
     "No. I'm the one stuck with him tomorrow, while you're off
doing nothing on the bridge.  We're docked at a starbase!  Why do
you need to be up there anyway?"
     "Talk to Dillon."
     "Never mind," Baird said, crossing his arms angrily.
     "I love you," Sullivan said, kissing him lightly on the cheek. 
"Try to have fun with Herbert.  I'll be thinking about you."
     "You mean laughing at me."
     "Well, that too."


     The next morning, Commander Baird stared across the table
at the young boy who was currently slurping his way through a big
bowl of Frosted Plomeek Flakes.  Baird wasn't sure if coating the
cereal flakes in so much sugar was logical, but it sure had given the
Vulcans a big hit with the kids of Earth.  Herbert was happy with
them, so they could be coated with plasma residue for all Baird
cared.
     To the boy's credit, he hadn't destroyed the spare room
where he'd slept the night before.  Baird had taken the precaution of
locking him in, just in case.  Of course, he didn't tell Sullivan about
that part.  He didn't see the big deal.  The room had a bed and a
bathroom.  What more would Herbert need?
     "So what do you want to do today?" Baird asked finally. 
"How about heading to the holodeck?"
     "I wanna see engineering," Herbert replied.
     "That area's off limits," Baird said, trying to come up with a
more tactful response than "NO!"  
     "Why?"
     "There's a lot of dangerous stuff there."
     "I wanna see it."
     "I'm sorry, but I can't take you there."
     "Why?"
     "Because I said so, you little brat!" Baird snapped.  So
much for tact.  It wasn't exactly his strong suit, anyway.
     "Look," Baird said, calming himself down.  "I could create a
simulation of engineering on the holodeck.  How's that sound?"
     "Stupid!" Herbert spat back.  He suddenly leapt out of his
chair and made a break for the exit.
     "Hey!  Where are you going?" Baird shouted, fumbling to
get out of his seat and give chase.
     "Away from you...DORK!" Herbert cried, darting into the
corridor.
     "Come back here, you fu..."  He couldn't curse.  Herbert
would hear and...it'd be so much easier just to kill the monster. 
Cathy would be pissed, but who cared?  No, he couldn't do that either. 
He really couldn't do anything except...
     "ARRGGGGGGH!"  
     The scream helped a little, but it still didn't solve the
problem of the escaped munchkin from hell.  Baird could hear
Herbert's obnoxious giggle receding down the hallway.
     "Bye, Dork," Herbie shouted.
     "Baird to security," Baird said slapping his commbadge as
he ran.
     "Hawkins here," Lieutenant Commander Patricia Hawkins
responded from her post on the bridge.
     "I need you to find a small boy running away from my
location."
     "This is not a proper use of the ship's internal sensors."
     "Dammit, Pat, you sound like Dillon!  Since when did
you care about regulations anyway?"
     "Great attitude to have toward the person you want to help
you," Hawkins said.
     "Did you lose Herbert?" Sullivan's voice broke in.
     "Emily..."
     "Please give him a hand, Pat," Sullivan said.
     "All right," Hawkins said.  "I'm checking... got him!  He's
heading toward Sickbay."
     "Thanks," Baird said, breaking into a job down the corridor.
     "If you're having a hard time controlling your nephew, I
could send Counselor Webber down to help you."
     "I think a security team would be more useful," Baird
muttered.


     Running at full speed, Baird managed to catch up with
Herbert as the boy approached the doors to Sickbay.  Herbert was
weaving back and forth through the corridor, trying to find a set of
doors that would open to him.  So far he hadn't had any luck, but
Baird knew that would change if he made it to Sickbay.
     "Stop right there!" Baird bellowed.  Rather than freezing in
his tracks, Herbert actually sped up and raced right up to the
Sickbay doors, which had just opened to allow Lieutenant Andrea
Carr to exit.
     "Hi there, little guy," Carr said warmly, tousling
Herbert's hair as he dashed past her.  She spotted Baird running
toward her.  "Morning, Commander."
     "Why didn't you stop him?" Baird demanded.
     "Was I supposed to?" Carr asked confused.
     Baird growled and stormed into Sickbay, where he quickly
spotted Herbert.  He had a hypospray in his hand and was eyeing it
mischievously as Dr. Beth Aldridge slowly approached him, hand
outstretched.
     "Give the nice doctor her medicine back please, little boy,"
Aldridge said, a distinct edge present in the sweetness she was trying
to force into her voice.
     "Is this yours?" she asked, spotting Baird.
     "Unfortunately," Baird said.  "What's he got?"
     "It's a local anesthetic.  I was about to use it on Ensign
Borral.  He caught his third leg in the turbolift doors again."
     "And it hurrrrrrrts!" Borral wailed from a nearby biobed.
     "Give it back, Herbert," Baird ordered.
     "No!  I wanna see it."
     "You saw it," Baird said, moving to grab Herbert.  "Now
give it..."
     Herbert squirmed away Baird's arms and slammed the
hypospray against the Chief Engineer's leg.
     HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
     "Get away from meeeeeee!" Herbert whined, running back
out the door.  Baird moved to follow and promptly fell to the deck
as his right leg refused to cooperate.
     "That's not good," Dr. Aldridge observed, looking down at
Baird.
     "You got something to counteract this?" Baird asked, using
a biobed to pull himself to his feet.  His right leg was stuck straight
and stiff as a duranium rod.
     "Sure.  Time.  In about three hours, you'll be good as new."
     "F***ing great," Baird grumbled, step-dragging himself to
the Sickbay replicator.  "Give me a roller skate," he ordered.
     "This is a food replicator only," the computer replied.  "For
other replicated items, use the replicator rooms located throughout
the ship."
     "I know where the f***ing replicator rooms are!" Baird
thundered.  "But if you don't give me a f***ing roller skate, I'm
going to ram a f***ing phaser up your control circuits and alter 
your f***ing programming the hard way!"  
     The replicator hummed softly and produced a nice shiny
roller skate.  With a great deal of difficulty (accompanied by a fair
amount of profanity), Baird put the skate on his immobilized foot
and stood up, step-rolling toward the exit with a look of grim
determination (or maybe it was cold homicidal fury.  It can be so
hard to tell the difference sometimes) on his face.
     "Sullivan to Baird," his commbadge barked.
     "Baird here." 
     "Pat says Herbie's in a turbolift.  No wait.  He's out and
heading toward engineering," Sullivan said. 
     "Sh**!  Sh**!  Sh**!!!!" Baird screamed.  "How did he even
know where it was?"
     "He probably just asked the computer."
     "Remind me to make that thing less f***ing helpful," Baird
said.
     "I've got some good news, honey," Sullivan added.
     "What?" Baird asked.  "Are the Borg attacking?"
     "We received a message from the ship carrying your
parents.  They're going to be here in half an hour."
     "Something is going right.  Evacuate engineering, Emily."
     "Are you sure that's such a good idea?" Sullivan asked
uneasily.
     "I'm going to get him one on one."
     "Whatever you say, dear.  Bridge out."
     "Baird to Vaughn."
     "Vaughn here," the Secondprize's transporter chief replied.
     "I need you to beam me to engineering now."
     "Too lazy to walk?" Vaughn replied.  
     "What part of now did you miss?" Baird snapped.
     "Fine.  Energizing."  
     Baird felt the tingle of the transporter beam envelop him,
and seconds later he was in engineering, which was already
deserted.  His staff had sure cleared out in a hurry, not that they
needed to be told twice to take a break.
     "Baird to bridge.  I'm here.  Where's Herbert?"
     "He's in there somewhere," Sullivan said.  "He couldn't have
left without us knowing about it."
     "Well, I don't see... ARRRGH!"  Baird suddenly felt his
good leg being pulled up behind him, flipping his body parallel to
the ground supported only by his dead leg.  Then he heard 
Herbert's evil cackle behind him.
     "Time to go for a ride, Uncle Dork!" Herbert said as he
started wheeling Baird around the room, narrowly avoiding
slamming him into the status table and several of the wall displays.
     "Let me go, you little sh**!" Baird screamed.
     "Okay!" Herbert replied gleefully, running Baird directly
toward the warp core, more specifically toward the deep shaft
surrounding the core.  At least there was a railing there...a railing
Baird quickly realized that he was going to pass right under, bent 
over as he was.  Herbert let go at the last second, giving Baird a
chance to take action.  He managed to reach up and grab onto the
railing just as he started to pass under it, hanging on for dear life as
the rest of his body dangled over the core shaft.  His one good leg
kicked madly, attempting to get a perch on the safety of the deck.  
     He wasn't having much luck, particularly since he kept
getting distracted by Herbert, who was stalking over with an
sadistic glint in his eye.  "Can Uncle Dork fly?"
     "No!" Baird shouted back.  "If I fall, I die.  Do you
understand?"
     "No, you won't."
     "Yes, I will."
     "No, you won't."
     "YES, I will!"
     "No, you won't," Herbert insisted, grabbing one of Baird's
fingers.
     "Don't do this, Herbert," Baird said, next pulling out a word
he rarely used.  "Please."
     "That's enough!" Lieutenant Commander Sullivan's voice
bellowed, echoing across the emptiness of engineering.  Herbert
spun around and saw that his Aunt Emily and another woman
were racing toward him.  Neither looked happy at all.
     "I was just playing!" Herbert cried, jumping away from
Baird.
     "Tell it to her," Sullivan said, pointing at Lieutenant
Commander Hawkins.  "This is our chief of security, and she thinks
you have been VERY bad."
     "BBBBUT," Herbert wailed on the verge of tears.
     "Shut up!" Hawkins shouted, getting into the swing of
playing bad cop.  "You're under official...playtime arrest."  Sullivan
looked at her in confusion.  Hawkins shrugged.  It was all that she
could come up with.
     "I want to play with Uncle Dork...I mean Scott some more,"
Herbert whined.
     "Too bad, kid.  You're coming with me.  Now march!"
Hawkins said, grabbing Herbert by the arm and dragging him
toward the door as Sullivan helped Baird get his footing then pull
himself over the warp core railing.
     "Tsk tsk," Sullivan scolded, barely containing her laughter. 
"Scott Baird almost gets taken out by a seven-year-old."
     "An evil seven-year-old!" Baird said, trying to regain his
balance on his numb leg.
     "Sure, hon."
     "He is!"
     "Okay."
     "Fine.  I know what would have happened if you hadn't
shown up.  Dead Me!"
     "So you admit I saved your life," Sullivan said smiling.
     "Oh, go to hell," Baird snapped, storming out of
engineering with as much indignation as he could muster on his
roller skate.


     Thirty minutes later, Baird paced slowly around Transporter
Room Three, trying to work some feeling back into his leg as
Herbert wandered sullenly around the transporter room, watched
closely by Hawkins and Sullivan.  There were two security guards
stationed just outside the door should Herbert decide to make a
break for it.  Hawkins wasn't taking any chances.  Every once in a
while, Herbert would edge toward one piece of equipment or
another, but Hawkins would promptly aim her phaser at him,
sending him a clear message to move away.  
     "Bridge to Commander Baird," Lieutenant Caulk's voice
said over the comm system.
     "Baird here."
     "Starbase 57 Transporter Control says your parents have
arrived and are standing by to receive the child."
     "About f***ing time," Baird muttered, low enough that
Herbert couldn't hear.  "We're sending him over.  Baird out."
     "You don't want to beam over with him?" Sullivan asked. 
"We could see your parents."
     "Why would I want to do that?" Baird asked.
     "I hope this taught you something," Hawkins said to
Herbert as he stepped up onto the transporter pad.
     "Yeah.  Don't get caught," Herbert said as an evil grin
spread across his face.
     "Get him out of here," Baird ordered.
     "Energizing," Lieutenant Vaughn said.  
     And a moment later, the demon was gone, but Baird could
swear that just before Herbert vanished for good, he'd stuck his
tongue out at him.


     "So you're back to normal, huh?" Sullivan said from the
sofa as Baird walked into their quarters with both legs in perfect
working order.
     "Finally," Baird said, ordering a drink from the replicator.  
     Sullivan got up and wrapped her arms around Baird.  "Your
dad commed while you were in Sickbay.  Something about Herbert
calling him a 'little sh**.'  You wouldn't know where he picked that
up, would you?"
     "F***ing kid.  Next time Cathy comms, you're talking to
her," Baird said.  "And this is the last time we babysit.  As far as
I'm concerned, this is the last time I ever want to be near anything
even associated with kids!"
     "Is this a bad time to tell you I'm pregnant?"
     Baird's eyes widened in horror as he broke into a
spontaneous coughing fit.
     "Kidding, hon," Sullivan said smiling sweetly.
     "Death," Baird croaked, slamming his glass down on the
table.
     "Can't we talk about this?" Sullivan asked, backing toward
the door.
     "No talk, just death."  
     Baird lunged at her just as Sullivan darted out of the exit,
screaming and laughing all the way as her husband pursued her
through the Secondprize corridors.



     


                   Reunion


     "Funny how things change, huh?" Sullivan said, patting
Baird's hand on the table.
     "Uh huh," Baird said simply.
     "Um...excuse me?" Beck said, catching the glint in their
eyes.  "What do you mean change?"
     Sullivan and Baird exchanged an amused glance.  
     "You're pregnant, aren't you?" Beck insisted.
     "Yep.  We found out a few days ago," Sullivan replied, a
huge grin spreading across her face.  Baird wasn't able to hold back
a smile either.
     "Wow.  What happened?" Rydell asked after the initial
hugs, shouts of excitement and calls of congratulations subsided.  "I
mean, last time I saw you two you'd decided to have a dog instead
of kids."
     Baird shrugged.  "We changed our minds."
     "Somebody decided he wanted to be a daddy," Sullivan
said, cupping Baird's chin.  "Yes he did.  Yes he did."
     "Do you want to live to deliver this bugger?" Baird
growled.
     "Yes I do," Sullivan cooed, planting a kiss on his lips.  "And
to think I only had to be pushing 50 before you made up your
mind."
     "So you'll be 100 when your kid hits 50.  No big deal,"
Rydell said.  "My kids aren't going to have it that much different."
     "Kids plural?" Jaroch said.  "I was not aware that you had had a
second child."
     "Four years ago," Rydell said.  "Brian.  He's just getting to
the point where he can effectively annoy his older sister.  What
about the rest of you?  Any offspring we should know about?"
     "No," Travis said.
     "We don't think so," Hawkins said.  "We're pretty happy
with just us."
     "None here," Beck said.
     "Is that a none ever or a none for now?" Rydell asked.
     "If I ever get the love life figured out, I'll think about the
whole motherhood thing.  For now, I'm doing just fine."
     "Fair enough," Rydell said.  "Claire?"
     "Millions.  Via holovision, of course.  I can sing to them,
teach them, nurture them, and the best part is I don't have to clean
up after them."
     "You may be onto something there," Rydell chuckled. 
"Beth?"
     "Adrian.  He's 10.  Looks just like his father, too."  Aldridge's
husband was also her partner in the pediatrics practice she had on
Earth.
     "Monica?" Rydell asked.
     "A little boy here, too.  He's five."
     Rydell paused for a moment before speaking.  Several
years ago, Vaughn had married a Nuphelian.  The male of the
species was known for a particular anatomical difference from most
other humanoids.  "Does he...um...take after his father?"
     "You mean does he have three pee-pees?  Jeeze.  Listen to
me.  I am a mom.  But no.  He's just got the two."
     "Two," Rydell said.  "Oooookay.  Moving on.  What
about you, Andrea?"
     "Well...we're thinking about it," Carr replied with a
slight smile.
     "We?  When did you become a we?" Rydell asked amused.
     "Two years ago last month."
     "And I didn't get an invite."
     "No one did," Hawkins said.  "They eloped."
     "It was romantic," Carr said a little dreamily.
     "So who's the lucky guy?" Rydell asked.
     "Dr. Temple," Jaroch replied, since Carr seemed to be
busy staring off into space, most likely remembering bits of her
elopement.  "He is part of the Secondprize's medical staff."
     "A doctor, huh?" Rydell said.  
     "Yes indeed," Carr said, her mind coming back to
the group.  "He is."
     "Don't take this the wrong way, but somehow I always
thought you'd end up with someone more...I don't know...artsy. 
Like a painter or something."
     Carr's face darkened.  "Unh uh.  No way.  I tried
that route once and NEVER again..."





           "You're the Inspiration"


STARDATE 51977.3


     There was something of a spring to Lieutenant Andrea
Carr's step as she made her way past the various storefronts
and stands of The Vergunui, the galactically-renown shopping
district of Oentia City on Argellus III.  Actually Carr's
spring was bordering on an all-out bounce, which was starting to
get to her shopping companion.
     "Andrea!" Lieutenant Emily Sullivan snapped suddenly. 
"Please!  It's like walking with a kangaroo here!"
     "Sorry," Carr replied giddily.  "It's just...TWO
WHOLE WEEKS LEAVE!  Can you believe it?  I owe Starfleet a
big thank you letter.  Maybe I'll even write them an ode or
something."
     "You do realize they did this to get us out of the way while
the Federation President tours the local sectors," Sullivan said.  
     "Who cares?  We get two weeks on Argellus III.  I've
always wanted to come here."
     "I didn't know you were that into shopping."
     "I'm not.  This planet...this city is the home of Seugio
P'lezar.  I might get to meet Seugio P'lezar!" Carr
exclaimed.
     "Okay.  I'll bite," Sullivan said.  "Who's Seugio P'lezar?"
     "The Phases of Neuiris Diel?"
     "Never heard of it."
     Carr gasped.  "It's the greatest book of poetry of
the modern age!  Six years ago when P'lezar published it, the book
won the V'dreth Prize in Literature.  They even asked him to be
Poet Laureate of the Federation, and he turned them down!  Instead
he stayed here."
     "Wow.  I can't believe I didn't know that," Sullivan said
sarcastically.
     "I guess poetry just isn't your genre."
     "I didn't think I had a genre," Sullivan said.  "That aside,
how are you going to meet this guy?  Go knock on his door?"
     "NO!" Carr replied in horror.  "He's scheduled to
do a reading this evening at the Oentia Central Theater.  I ordered
tickets as soon as I found out we were coming here."
     "Tickets?" Sullivan asked warily.  "As in more than one?"
     "Yes!  I got you one, too!"
     "But..."
     "Isn't Scott off on that caving trip with the Captain for the
next couple of days?"
     "Spelunking."
     "But he's away."
     "Yeah, but..."
     "And you didn't have any other plans."
     "No, but..."
     "And you're always complaining that Scott isn't interested
in culture."
     "True, but poetry and I..."
     "Will get along great!" Carr said.  "You just need to
give yourself over to it."
     "I don't know, Andrea.  If the poetry starts trying to get that
personal with me, I'm out of there."
     "You'll love it.  Trust me.  We'll get dressed up, find a nice
restaurant to get dinner at, then we'll go hear the words of the
greatest poet of our time."
     "Sounds great," Sullivan said weakly.  Oh well.  At the very
least she might be able to catch up on her sleep.


     The evening was not turning out to be nearly as painful as
Sullivan had expected.  She didn't have much use or many
opportunities for getting dressed up, but finding a sleek black
formal dress and slipping into it had been kind of fun.  Dinner was
also decidedly on the enjoyable side.  Argellian cuisine, while
limited to meats and vegetables, was exceptionally flavorful due to
the various blends of herbs and spices they used to season their
foods.  No sauces of any kind need apply.
     At the reading itself, the famous Seugio P'lezar read from
his equally famous (or perhaps more so) and award winning
collection of poems, "The Phases of Neuiris Diel."  Sullivan didn't
have a clue if this Diel was a person a place or a state of mind, but
from what she could pick up, the phases varied between longing,
loneliness, some lonely longing, and the occasional longing while
alone.  
     It didn't seem to matter to Carr, though.  She was
obviously a full-on poetry groupie, or at least a Seugio P'lezar
groupie.  Sullivan couldn't blame her for the most part, P'lezar was
an attractive man in his mid-30's with wavy black hair, intense eyes,
a strong chin, and a soulful melodious voice that had a way of
sucking you in even when you didn't have a clue what the hell he
was talking about, which Sullivan didn't.  Carr, meanwhile,
was mouthing the words along with P'lezar as he made his way
through each poem in his practiced yet powerful performance.
     "A life of wisps.
      A silent hiss before muted time."
     P'lezar finished his last verse, took a slight bow, then
retreated from the stage as the audience broke into enthusiastic
applause.  Sullivan, who was clapping more politely than eagerly,
glanced over at Carr, who sat ramrod straight in her chair,
her body seemingly frozen as her eyes stared forward.
     "Andrea?" Sullivan said.  "You in there?"
     Carr nodded slowly, her gaze still locked on the
now-vacant podium where P'lezar had stood moments before.
     "Wasn't he incredible?" Carr said finally.
     "Poetry isn't really my thing, but he kept my interest,"
Sullivan said.  She almost asked Carr to explain what the
hell any of it was supposed to mean, but caught herself.  No need to
walk into that trap.
     "I want to meet him," Carr said, standing up and
heading out to the aisle.
     "Now?"
     "I've got to catch him before he leaves.  This could be my
only chance to talk to him."
     "All right.  All right," Sullivan said, rising up from her chair
as quickly as she could in a dress that didn't allow her as much
mobility as she was used to.  By the time she made it out into the
aisle, Carr was already climbing the stairs to the stage.  A
moment later, Carr disappeared into the wings, following
P'lezar's path.
     Jogging as much as possible, Sullivan raced after
Carr, soon finding her backstage standing a short distance
from Seugio P'lezar himself.  At the moment, P'lezar was in
conversation with an older, heavyset gentleman who was shaking
his hand warmly.  The man soon said his goodbyes and rushed
away.  P'lezar, noticing Carr, turned to his admirer and
smiled.
               

     He was smiling at her.  Smiling!  At her!  Carr was
at once exhilarated and petrified as the man whose work she had
admired for years took a step toward her.
     "Greetings to you," P'lezar said with a slight bow. 
     "H-h-hello," Carr stammered.  "I-I can't believe I'm
talking to you."
     "And why is that?"
     "You!  You're you!"
     "That I am, but it is no great feat.  As for you, you're
Terran, are you not?"
     "Yes.  Andrea.  Andrea Carr.  I'm a big fan of your
work.  I adore it really.  You've been such a huge influence on my
own writing."
     "Oh really?  You write as well."
     "Yes.  I'm nowhere near the poet you are, though.  Your
words touched me from the first time I read 'The Phases of Neuiris
Diel.'"
     "You're very kind.  I hope you enjoyed the reading," P'lezar
said.
     "Oh I did!  I did!  I never thought I would get the chance to
actually see you in person.  This has been amazing.  I'm sorry.  I'm
babbling.  You must have a hundred other things to do.  But I just
had to come speak to you and let you know what your work has
meant to me."
     "Would you like to join me for a drink?"
     Carr froze.  "Excuse me?"
     "Pardon me for being so forward, but I have not had the
opportunity to speak to anyone from off world for quite sometime. 
Certainly no one as lovely as you."
     The Secondprize's Operations Officer blushed.  "Thank
you.  I'd be honored."
     "The honor is all mine."


     Across the room, Sullivan watched as Carr took
P'lezar's arm and walked with him toward the exit.  Carr
looked over her shoulder, spotted Sullivan, and gave her a quick
wave.  That settled it.  Carr would not be coming back
anytime soon.  Sullivan chuckled softly and headed off in the other
direction.  At least someone wouldn't be spending the evening
alone.


     The following morning, Carr had just about finished
her breakfast in Seven Backward when she heard the rapid
approach of feet.  Lieutenant Patricia Hawkins practically 
leapt into the seat across the table from her.
     "Sullivan told me everything except the important stuff,"
Hawkins said as her significant other, Commander Travis Dillon,
plodded up behind the chair, obviously unhappy to be dragged into
this situation.  "So spill it.  What happened last night?"
     "I had a wonderful evening with the most amazing man in
the cosmos," Carr replied dreamily.  "What else is there to
say?"
     "Plenty," Hawkins said.  "Like did clothes stay on?"
     "Patricia!"
     "I'm just asking!"
     "There's a betting pool," Dillon said flatly.
     "Travis!" Hawkins snapped, glaring back at him.
     "Well there is."
     "What?" Carr exclaimed.
     "We're just looking out for you, Andrea," Hawkins said. 
     "Sure."
     "Well?"
     "Well what?"
     "How far did it go?"
     "He was a perfect gentleman," Carr said.
     Dillon snorted.
     "He was!" Carr insisted.  "This is one of the
greatest lyrical artists of our time we're talking about here.  Not
some one night stand!"
     "So you're seeing him again," Hawkins said.
     "Tonight.  He's invited me to his home for dinner.  I think
he's actually going to cook for me.  Can you believe it?"
     "He probably wants your access codes to the ship," Dillon
said.
     Carr resisted the urge to roll her eyes.  "With all due
respect, sir, he's a poet.  What would he want with my access
codes?"
     "I just don't trust a man who does this."
     "Does what?" Carr asked.  "Ask me out?"
     "I didn't say that."
     "It was implied."
     "It was a hell of a lot more than implied," Hawkins said,
swinging her hand back and swatting Dillon lightly on the arm. 
"Where's your sense of romance?"
     "It's fine.  I just don't want to wake up tomorrow morning
to find the ship overrun with Argellian extremists."
     "There's no such thing as Argellian extremists," Hawkins
said.
     "Prove it."
     "Travis..."
     "You can't!  So I say better safe than sorry."
     "Fine," Hawkins said, turning back to Carr.  
"Andrea, if the nice poet asks for your access codes, say no.  Okay?"
     "I'll do that."
     "Good.  Problem solved," Hawkins said, getting up from
her chair.  "You go have some fun tonight."
     "I plan to," Carr said.  "You try to have a nice
evening as well."
     "I'm going to try to teach this guy some romance,"
Hawkins said, elbowing Dillon playfully in the side.
     "I'm romantic," Dillon protested.  
     "Oh really?" Hawkins said skeptically. 
     "Really," Dillon replied.  "And that, I can prove.  I got you
something."
     "What?"
     "A new holodeck program."
     "Is it violent?"
     "Very.  I had it especially designed for you."
     "Can we play it?" Hawkins asked eagerly.
     "I reserved us a two hour slot tonight, which includes time
for a nice meal before the carnage begins."
     "Okay.  You got me.  That was romantic."
     "Thank you."  She looked back at Carr.  "I'll check
with you tomorrow."
     "Okay," Carr said with a laugh.  "Enjoy your
slaughter."


     If it wasn't actually happening to her, Carr would
have thought that the last few hours were some fantasy her mind
had conjured in her sleep rather than actual reality.  P'lezar had
indeed made dinner for her.  An incredible meal of meat so tender it
almost dissolved in her mouth accompanied by equally sumptuous
vegetables and wine that set her taste buds dancing.  
     After the meal, she and P'lezar had gone to his den, where
they were both lounging on thick floor rugs in front of a blazing
fireplace.  An actual blazing fireplace!  She was ready to melt into
his arms at any moment.
     But then the most amazing thing happened.  He asked to
hear her poetry.  Sure connecting to the ship and downloading her
work to a padd he'd let her borrow broke the mood for a few
moments, but that was more than worth it to have Seugio P'lezar
sitting across from her, watching her intently as she read her poems,
poems his own work had inspired.
     He was silent as she completed her final reading, his right
fingers slowly and repeatedly running across his left palm.
     "I know they're nowhere near as good as yours,"
Carr said.  "But you've been a big inspiration to me."
     "They were very nice," P'lezar replied with a warm smile. 
"Very emotional.  You have a way of evoking your inner self that is
admirable."
     "Really?  Thank you!  And thank you for listening.  You
must have people coming up to you all the time wanting to read
you their poems."
     "Not so often anymore.  Staying on my homeworld has hurt
my galactic fame, but that was never of interest to me.  It is all
about my art."
     "Of course," Carr said wistfully.
     "I do enjoy sharing my work with others, though.  In fact, I
have a reading tomorrow afternoon, if you would care to join me."
     "I'd love to!" Carr exclaimed.  "Um...should I meet
you here or there or..."
     "Actually, I was hoping you would stay the night."
     Carr grinned.  "I was hoping you'd ask."


     As much as she loved her writing, Lieutenant Carr
had never really considered it to be more important than her
Starfleet career.  Yes, she enjoyed the time she spent composing
her works, but it was a good way to relax after bridge shifts and the
like.  Deep down, she always saw herself in command of a starship
one day.  It had been a dream since high school.  Something about
the Starfleet recruitment vid she'd been forced to watch in class one
day had struck a chord and made her realized that she longed to be
out among the stars.
     But after last night and this morning, Carr was
seriously considering chucking it all and taking up residence on
Argellus III, preferably inside Seugio P'lezar's residence.  Honestly,
it was taking everything she could muster just to allow herself to be
pulled from his house today.  But P'lezar's fans were waiting, and
she could not deny them the thrill of listening to him read his work.
     The couple emerged into the sunshine of a cool Argellian
Fall day and began their walk down the shaded path in front of
P'lezar's wooded lot toward the main road where they would catch
a hovertram into the central part of the city.  To Carr, the
entire scene was idyllic, especially the part where she was walking
hand-in-hand with Seugio P'lezar.
     P'lezar stopped suddenly about halfway down the walk. 
"I've forgotten my reading," he said with a chuckle.  "You'd think
by now I wouldn't need anything to read from."
     "It is a lot of poems," Carr said.  She had them all
memorized, but she wasn't about to make him feel worse about
needing a padd to jog his memory.
     "Stay here.  I'll just run back and grab it."  
     P'lezar jogged back to his front door and went inside,
leaving Carr to enjoy the crisp air.
     Which was what she did right up until the hand clamped
over her mouth and dragged her away.


     "Who are you?" Carr shouted to the darkness
surrounding her.  "What do you want?"  After being roughly
grabbed from P'lezar's front walk, she'd had a hood tossed over he
head and been stuffed into a hovercar.  Now she was blindfolded
and tied to a chair, which was a situation that, considering how
wonderfully the day had began, she never expected to find herself
in, not that there were many days she expected to be kidnapped and
bound to a chair.
     "I'm a Starfleet Officer, so unless you really want to bring a
whole bunch of trouble down on yourselves, I think you'd better let
me go."
     "Oh we have every intention of letting you go," a silky
female voice whispered into her ear.  "But in exchange you're
going to do something for us."
     "I'm not giving you my access codes," Carr said
firmly.
     "What would we possibly want with your access codes?"
     "Um...never mind.  What do you want me to do?"
     "Just deliver a message for us to your friend P'lezar."
     "What kind of message?"
     "If you'd let me say more than ten words without
interrupting me, I'd tell you!" the woman snapped.  
     "Sorry."
     "Good.  Now then, at P'lezar's reading tomorrow at the
Oentia Citadel, he will deliver our message to the Governing
Council."
     "I thought I was delivering the message," Carr said
confused.
     "You're delivering the message that he has to deliver our
message.  Understand?"
     "Got it.  Will you be giving me the message that he's
supposed to deliver?"
     "Yes!  That's what I'm trying to do!  Listen closely.  Unless
P'lezar tells the Governing Council to turn rule of the Uleera
Province over the to the local magistrates at his reading tomorrow
night, we, the members of the Uleera Independence Guild, are
going to start killing the people closest to him one by one...starting
with his new girlfriend."
     "He has a girlfriend!" Carr shouted in horror.
     "That's you."
     "Oh!  Does he really think of me as his girlfriend?  It's so
fast.  But so sweet.  He's really an amazing man.  I'm so lucky to
have met him."
     The mysterious woman cleared her throat threateningly.
     "Oh right!" Carr said.  "Message!  Got it."
     "You'd better hope so," the woman hissed.  


     Several hours later, Carr was unceremoniously
dumped onto P'lezar's doorstep, still blindfolded and with her
hands bound behind her back.  Her captors were nice enough to
ring the door chime before running away at least.
     A few seconds later, she heard the door whoosh open.
     "Andrea!" P'lezar exclaimed, pulling her into the house. 
"What happened to you?"
     "I was kidnapped!" Carr replied as P'lezar removed
the blindfold from her eyes and started working on the bindings on
her hands.
     "Why would anyone want to do that?"
     "It was the Uleera Independence Guild.  They want you to
say something at your reading tomorrow about turning the Uleera
Province over to the local magistrates.  I don't get why they think
it's so important for you to do this, though."
     "I have always kept politics out of my work, and that has
given me a good relationship with the Governing Council.  The
Guild believes that, because of that relationship,  if I take a stand on
an issue, the Council will be swayed by my point of view.  I've
refused their requests in the past.  Obviously now they've decided
to step up their efforts.  Hopefully you won't have to be involved in
this anymore."
     "I'm very involved now.  They threatened to kill me if you
don't do what they say."
     "Perhaps you should spend tomorrow on your ship then,"
P'lezar said, his face filled with concern.
     Carr shook her head.  "No way.  I'm going to that
reading tomorrow.  No Argellian extremist group is going to keep
me from hearing your poetry again."
     "I don't know that they're really extremists..."
     "Close enough.  And I'm going!"


     Another picture perfect day on Argellus III, yet
Carr couldn't shake a sense of nervous anticipation.  It could
have something to do with the threat of death hanging over her, not
that she really put much stock in the abilities of the Uleera
Independence Guild.  If they wanted to get to her, they were going
to have to get through Starfleet...well, the Secondprize
anyway...the few people she could muster to help at least.
     For his part, P'lezar appeared to be equally nervous as he
and Carr once again made their way down his front walk
toward the main road.  He'd cooked for her again last night and
then given her the most wonderful massage to work out any kinks
brought on by being tied to a chair for a couple of hours.  Honestly,
Carr didn't have any muscle pain after her mini-ordeal, but
she wasn't about to tell him that.  Not when there was massaging to
be done.
     P'lezar suddenly stopped in his tracks.
     "What did you forget?" Carr asked, anticipating his
next words.
     "My security badge.  I won't be able to get us into the
Citadel without it."  He turned back to the house.  "I'll be..."
     "No.  I'll go," Carr interrupted.  "Just tell me where
it is."
     "Top right desk drawer in my study."
     "Got it.  Be right back."
     "All right.  I'll hold the hovertram for you."
     As P'lezar continued on to the street, Carr jogged
back to the house and waited for the computer system to authorize
for entry.  The computer chirped its approval, the door slid open...
     And then a hand clapped over her mouth from behind and
dragged her away.


     Commander Travis Dillon shifted uncomfortably on the
stone bench he was seated on in the outdoor amphitheater at the
Oentia Citadel, the seat of government for Oentia City and the
surrounding provinces, and looked around as his annoyance grew.
     "Where is she?" he asked for the hundredth time since their
arrival.
     "I don't know," Lieutenant Patricia Hawkins replied.  The
crowd for P'lezar's reading was slowly growing as the start of the
event approached, but there was no sign of Carr anywhere.
     "If I'm going to have to sit through the same poems again,
she'd damn well better be here," Lieutenant Emily Sullivan
groused.
     "I'm with her," Dillon said.  "Except for the hearing them
again part.  I didn't hear these poems before, and I'm not really
happy about hearing them now."
     "Then don't listen," Hawkins said, watching the crowd for
signs of anyone suspicious.  "That's not what we're here for
anyway."
     "Right.  We have extremists to find.  What about him?"
Dillon said, pointing a man out to Hawkins.
     "He looks to be about a thousand years old," Sullivan said.
     "He's scowling."
     "So are you," Hawkins said.
     Dillon folded his arms and deepened said scowl. 
"Carr had better be here."


     Carr wasn't there.  At that particular moment, she
was again blindfolded and her hands tied behind the chair in which
she was seated, a state of affairs that had her emotions wavering
between frightened and damn annoyed.
     "Okay.  That's enough!  Is someone going to talk to me
today?" she called out.
     "No need to talk," a raspy male voice replied.  Hmm...a man
this time.  What happened to the woman from yesterday.
     "Are you with the Uleera Independence Guild?"
     The man grunted a yes.
     "Um...so why am I here then?  I delivered your message to
Seugio."
     "If he doesn't say what we want him to, we're supposed to
kill you."  Was it just her imagination or did this guy not sound at
all comfortable with the threatening captor role?
     "I'm sure he will," Carr replied, trying to sound as
sweet and innocent as possible.  "Seugio wouldn't want anyone to
get hurt.  And you don't really want to hurt anyone, do you?"
     "We'll do what we have to do," the man replied
unconvincingly.
     "You won't have to hurt me.  I'm sure of it.  Seugio will
deliver your message, but while we're waiting, could you untie my
hands?"   
     "What?"
     "I'm claustrophobic, and this is really starting to make me
want to panic.  I won't move.  I promise."
     "Claustrophobic?  You seemed fine yesterday."
     Time to lay it on.  "Only because I was so scared.  Now I
know everything will be fine, but these ropes...I can't move my
hands.  Please..."
     "I don't think..."
     "Please!  Untie me!  Please!  PLEASE!  You have to untie
me!  I can't take this!  I'm going to...I can't breathe.  Help! 
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!    
AAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!  PLEEEEEEEEEASEEEE!"
     "All right!  All right!" her captor cried.  Carr felt
hands working on her bindings as the man knelt behind the spartan
metal chair holding her.  A moment later, her hands were free, but
before the man could stand back up she suddenly threw all of her
weight backward, knocking the metal chair back right into his skull. 
Carr leapt up from the chair, ripping the blindfold off as she
did so.  
     For the briefest instant, she was stunned by her
surroundings.  She was in a living room.  Somehow she'd expected
the Uleera Independence Guild to operate out of a warehouse
somewhere or something, not some normal residence.
     She didn't have much more time to consider the matter as
her captor was shaking off the chair to the head and struggling to
his feet.  Carr quickly sent him back to the floor with the
help of one of the patented Starfleet double-fist shots to back of his
already battered noggin.  That was enough to send him off to the
realm of the unconscious.  In short order, Carr hogtied him
with the ropes he'd used to tie her hands, then raced out of the
house determined to get to the Citadel and P'lezar before the
Uleera Independence Guild realized she'd escaped.


     Despite Carr's assertion to the contrary, after
listening to P'lezar read for a second time, Sullivan was now
positive that poetry was not her genre.  In fact, she was pretty
much back to her earlier belief that she didn't have a genre at all. 
The one small consolation to all of this was that P'lezar was reading
new poems this time.  Too bad Carr wasn't there to hear
them.   
     From the growing look of concern on Hawkins's face next
to her, Sullivan could tell that the Secondprize's security officer
was having the same dark thoughts that were running through
Sullivan's mind.  The Uleera Independence Guild must have gotten
to Carr first.  So far P'lezar had not made any political
comments, but the reading wasn't over yet.  That meant
Carr was probably still alive.  The Secondprize's
transporter room was supposedly keeping track of Carr, but
if the Guild found the commbadge she'd stashed in her pocket, all
bets were off.
     For now, all Sullivan, Hawkins and Dillon could do was
watch for anyone who didn't seem to be there for the poetry.  It
was a longshot, but it was all they had until the situation changed.
     Hawkins tapped Sullivan on the shoulder and pointed to the
rear of the amphitheater.  Carr was standing there, gasping
for breath as though she'd just run a long distance.
     That certainly changed the situation.


     Carr squatted at the top of the amphitheater stairs,
trying to pull herself together after sprinting from the hovertram
stop into the Citadel, past the security guards (who seemed to
content when she flashed her commbadge and shouted that this was
a Starfleet emergency), and into the area where P'lezar was to read.
     Much to her relief, everything seemed to be calm and
orderly.  Her backup from the Secondprize, such as it was, had
arrived and was seated several rows down.  Meanwhile, P'lezar
stood at the center of the stage, his arm extended dramatically, his
voice booming as he spoke those words.
     Those words.
     Wait.
     "HEY!  THOSE ARE MY WORDS!" Carr
shouted, storming down the stairs toward the stage.
     The audience erupted into utter chaos.  Okay, really is was
more of a confused murmur, but it didn't matter to Carr. 
The bastard was reading HER poems!
     "Andrea!" P'lezar exclaimed, obviously surprised to see her
there.
     Carr reached the stage and went toe-to-toe with the
frightened poet, snatching the padd out of his hands.  It was full of
nothing but her poems.  "Another writer's work.  How could you?" 
She turned back to the audience.  "I wrote these poems," she
announced.  "Not this...this...plagiarist!"
     "That would explain the frequent Earth imagery," a voice
from the crowd said.
     "And that bit about his hair billowing in the wind."
     "And that whole poem about his womanhood."
     A wave of discontent swept through the audience as they
realized that they had indeed been had.  Hawkins quickly motioned
for Sullivan and Dillon to follow her up to the stage.  She didn't
think a poetry reading crowd would really get violent, but best to
be prepared just in case things got ugly.
     "What do you have to say for yourself?" Carr
demanded turning back on P'lezar.
     The Argellian's head drooped.  "I'm sorry," he said.  "I've
never done anything like this before, but once I heard your work, I
saw a light in the darkness that has been surrounding me."
     "What darkness?" Carr scoffed.
     "The darkness that fills my mind every time I try to write.  I
haven't completed a new poem since 'The Phases of Neuiris Diel'
was published.  I can't.  I've tried, but nothing happens.  That's
why I turned down the offer to be Federation Poet Laureate. 
That's why I've stayed on my homeworld.  I didn't want anyone to
know that I had lost my talent.  But then I met you, and when I
heard your work I felt flashes of my own.  I grew jealous and did
something horrible.  I had my sister and brother-in-law keep you
from attending my readings so that I could read your poems and
present them as my own.  I hoped that if I could just keep you out
of the way until your ship left, I could stay here and read your work
without you ever knowing."
     Carr's face softened.  "You really thought my
poems were good enough to steal?  Wow.  That's..."  She suddenly
lashed out and slapped him.  "...still really crummy!"
     "I know.  But you can't know the agony I felt knowing that
the quadrant was watching me, waiting for me to produce new
works.  Day after day I would stare at a blank screen, praying for
something to happen.  Some inspiration to come.  Instead, I felt
nothing but despair as I faced an arid wasteland my own creative
famine.  I was staring into the abyss of my own mind, searching for
sparks of..."  P'lezar's eyes suddenly glazed over as he stood
staring off at nothing.
     "Sparks of?" Carr asked.  "Seugio?"
     "Ha!" P'lezar cried suddenly, grabbing the padd back from
Carr.  He slipped a light pen of out the back of the padd
and began scribbling furiously on the screen.  Moments later, he
slapped the padd down on the podium and launched himself at
Carr, embracing her in a bear hug that would have made
Counselor Webber jealous.
     "Thank you!" he exclaimed, holding her close.  "The words! 
I can feel the words returning to me!"
     "Glad I could help," Carr gasped.  P'lezar released
his grip and took a step back, clasping her hands in his.  "I know
I've done a horrible thing, but I do care for you.  Please come home
with me, so that I can try to make this right."
     Carr smiled softly.  "Um...no."
     "No?"
     "No," she repeated, pulling her hands away.  "You had me
kidnapped and stole my work.  There's no coming back from that
one, Seugio."
     "I...I don't want this to end.  The pain of losing you.  I will
feel it inside for the rest of my days.  I will...HA!"  P'lezar scooped
up the padd again and resumed his scribbling.
     Carr took the opportunity to join her shipmates at
the foot of the stage.  "Let's get out of here," she said.
     "I knew that guy was after something," Commander Dillon
muttered.
     "You okay, Andrea," Hawkins asked.
     "Fine.  Really.  I may have actually helped him.  I think
Seugio's problem was that he wasn't suffering enough.  Some
people have to suffer to create, you know."
     "If you ask me, you didn't make him suffer enough,"
Sullivan said.
     "Probably not, but it's a start."
     "Speaking of, I haven't made Scott suffer lately," Sullivan
said.  "You wanna go visit a cave and mess up some male
bonding?"
     "Sure.  Sounds like fun."
     Hawkins turned to Dillon.  "See.  Now aren't you glad the
Captain didn't invite you?"
     Dillon just grunted.
     Carr took a last look at P'lezar, who was still
writing furiously as the audience filtered out of the amphitheater. 
She couldn't help but smile.  He looked so involved in his work
now.  Idly, she picked up a pebble and lobbed it in his direction,
smacking P'lezar right in the ear.
     "OW!"
     There.  She'd done her bit to increase his suffering.
     She tapped her commbadge.  "Carr to Secondprize. 
Four to beam up.  Energize."





                   Reunion
                       

     "I'm much happier with my doctor, thank you very much,"
Carr said.
     "That's all that matters," Rydell said.  "Hmmm...you know. 
I never did properly thank Starfleet for giving us those two weeks
off.  It was awfully nice of them."
     "Nice?" Jaroch said.  "We were being shunted to a remote
locale so that we would not cause trouble or embarrass the
president."
     "That's one perspective on it."
     "There's another?"
     "Probably," Rydell said.  "I can't think of it right now, but
that doesn't mean it doesn't exist."
     "It doesn't," Sullivan said.
     "So we weren't popular with the top brass.  Big deal,"
Rydell said.
     "We weren't popular with anyone," Vaughn said.
     "Waystation liked you," Beck said.  
     "Not that y'all were biased or anything," Sullivan said.
     "It is hard to deny that we developed a certain reputation
that affected our dealings with the rest of Starfleet," Jaroch said.  
     "That's an understatement," Vaughn muttered.
     "It didn't matter that much," Rydell said.  "We had our
own family on the Secondprize, and we stuck together.  The rest of
the fleet just wasn't an issue."
     "Unless the Secondprize wasn't around for some mysterious
reason," Vaughn said.
     Rydell winced.
     "And no matter how nice you are, other people still don't
want to help you," Webber added.
     "You two aren't still bitter over that tiny little goof, are
you?" Rydell asked.
     "Little goof!" Vaughn exclaimed.
     "Well, you were late," Sullivan said.
     "Sure.  Take his side."
     "Look at it this way.  You got to make some new friends,"
Rydell said.
     Vaughn rolled her eyes.  "Oh yeah.  They just loved us..."





           "The Road to Feruk'Zin"


STARDATE 52843.2
                         

     "All right.  I'm here," Captain Alexander Rydell said as he
jogged out of the turbolift onto the bridge of the USS Secondprize. 
"Let's go.  Let's go."
     "You know, we wouldn't be in such a rush if you'd gotten
back to the ship on time," Lieutenant Commander Emily Sullivan
observed from the conn console.
     "And you're starting to sound like Dillon," Rydell said,
settling into his chair.
     "That was just mean, sir."
     "You're right.  Sorry.  Clear all moorings, and tell Starbase
Control that we're outta here.  We've got an appointment to keep."
     "Starbase Control confirms that we are clear for departure,"
Lieutenant Commander Patricia Hawkins reported from the tactical
console behind Rydell's chair.
     "Then by all means let's depart," Rydell said.  "You think
we can pick up some time on the way, Sullivan?"
     "We're going to have to push warp nine the whole way to
the rendezvous just to keep us to our usual fifteen minutes late, and
you know what kind of wonderful mood that's going to put Scott
in."
     "Which is why it's a good thing you're married to him and
not me," Rydell said as Sullivan steered the Secondprize away
from the docking port and toward the docking bay doors of
Starbase 163.


     Normally it took a lot to faze a Nausicaan, but upon seeing
the determined being in tie-dye charging his way, the Nausicaan
standing in the corridor heading toward the docking ring inside of
Starbase 163 dodged left, pressing himself against the wall as
Counselor Claire Webber plowed by with the Secondprize's transporter
chief, Lieutenant Monica Vaughn close behind.
     "Okay!  So I shouldn't have tried on that last dress," Vaughn
panted as she struggled to keep up with Webber.  "But come on! 
This is Captain Rydell we're talking about.  He probably isn't back
on board yet himself."
     Webber didn't respond as she hurdled a horta sliding along the
hallway and turned the corner to the docking arm assigned to the
Secondprize.  
     Vaughn passed the horta on the right and made the turn into
the docking arm.  "Besides, it's not like they're going to..."  She
trailed off and came to a halt beside Webber, who was staring out of
the docking arm viewport into the vast interior of the starbase's
docking bay.  The Secondprize was no longer attached to the arm. 
Instead, the Excelsior Class starship was just clearing the massing
docking bay doors into open space beyond.  A moment later, it
launched into warp, streaking away from Starbase 163 at incredible
speed.  "...leave us," Vaughn finished softly.
     The counselor started frantically slapping her commbadge. 
"Webber to Secondprize!  Webber to Secondprize!  Captain Rydell! 
Stop!"
     "They can't hear us," Vaughn said.  "They were out of range
the moment they went to warp."
     "I-I-I can't believe this," Webber said.  "What are we going to
do?"
     "Take the emergency recall to the ship message more
seriously next time?"
     "Monica!  Our home just flew away!  This is serious!"
     "Not to counsel the counselor here, but just relax, Claire. 
We'll get this straightened out.  All we have to do is talk to the
Starbase commander.  I'm sure she can help us."


     The Secondprize command crew had just managed to fill
their plates at the briefing room buffet and get to their seats when
Captain Rydell bounded into the room and dropped himself into
his chair at the head of the table.
     "Okay, Commander," he said to Commander Travis Dillon,
his First Officer.  "Since you're the one who volunteered us for the
mess, why don't you fill us all in on the big emergency that cut our
visit to Starbase 163 a bit short."
     "You volunteered us!" Lieutenant Commander Patricia
Hawkins, the Secondprize's tactical officer and Dillon's significant
other exclaimed, eyes widening. 
     "We were the fastest ship available," Dillon squeaked.
     "As much as I don't give a f*** what's going on, could I at
least hear it from the beginning?" Commander Scott Baird groused.
     "All yours, Dillon," Rydell said, gesturing for Dillon to
take the floor.  
     Dillon stood up and quickly went into full-on lecture mode. 
"While I was in the starbase commander's office filing our
requisition requests, a distress call came in from a small spacecraft
traveling through a nearby sector.  The vessel had experienced an
engine failure and was currently adrift.  Normally this would not be
a life-threatening situation; however, the spacecraft in question was
transporting the heir to the throne of Feruk'Zin to his homeworld.
     "The heir's mother, the Queen of Feruk'Zin died two days
ago.  By law, if her legitimate successor is not on the planet and in
the palace in the next thirty hours, their claim to power will
collapse.  If that occurs, the planet will erupt into a massive civil
war as rival factions attempt to seize control."
     "We're the only ones close enough who can grab the heir
from his ship, get him to Feruk'Zin by the deadline, and prevent a
bunch of people from getting slaughtered," Rydell said, leaning
forward and resting his hands on the table.  "I know this is a bit
different than most of what we've been doing lately, but we're still
a Federation starship.  We've got a chance to prevent a war here,
and I'm determined that we're going to succeed.  Any questions?"
     No one spoke.   
     Rydell started to rise from his chair.  "Okay then, if there
are no other issues..."
     "Um...sir?" Dillon said hesitantly.
     "What, Dillon?"
     "There is one little thing," Dillon replied.  His voice
dropped to a fast whisper.  "We left Counselor Webber and
Lieutenant Vaughn at the starbase."
     Rydell was silent for a moment, processing Dillon's
words.  "We what?" he exclaimed suddenly.
     "Vaughn and Webber didn't make it back to the ship by the
deadline," Dillon said.  "We left without them."
     "How did we do that?"
     "You said 'clear all moorings,' so we did," Lieutenant
Commander Sullivan said with a shrug.
     "I can't believe we left them," Rydell said, falling back
into his seat.  In all of his years of command, he'd never lost a
crewmember.  Webber and Vaughn weren't exactly lost in the sense of
being dead or anything, but leaving without them wasn't exactly
Rydell's idea o