"The USS Lone Star!" The exclamation preceded Ensign Burgundy into the
Science Department; it didn't have to wait almost a second for the
sliding doors to part. All heads turned towards the door in time to see a
furious science officer entering. "I've been on the fucking Lone Star
for five fucking days and you've all let me believe it's the fucking
Enterprise you fucking twats!" The Prepondrian Ensign possessed a wide
vocabulary. His decades in the gaming community had taught him more than
a thousand curses and insults in several different languages, and he
prided himself on using many of them quite fluently and fittingly. This
time his rage was too severe to recall any but the most basic and
adolescent varieties, and he found himself settling for only the most
versatile.
"We are all surprised that you didn't figure it out until now," said the
static voice of the speech synthesizer. A few metres from the tank a
handful of senior officers failed to suppress their giggles, which soon
turned into loud laughing. "Captain Paiján has an excellent sense of
humour, Ensign. And a healthy self-distance, unlike yourself," the
synthetic voice continued, commenting Burgundy's unspoken thoughts about
taking his complaints elsewhere.
Burgundy's red face didn't match his science-blue collar very well, but
it did communicate his mood effectively. Most of the other newcomers to
the department actively moved away from the confrontation. The
atmosphere in the large room was thick and tense; the laughing officers
in one corner only made it more so. "This is workplace harassment," the
Ensign said between clenched teeth.
"It's also really funny," countered Lieutenant Commander Animo through
the speech synthesizer. They knew what the Science Officer was thinking,
after all, and to file a complaint into the bureaucratic black hole of
Starfleet against misconduct on the part of a whole department and the Captain of the USS Lone Star was not among those thoughts. "One day you will see it that way too, young one."
"Young?! Have you read my file? I'm more than a century old, you
gelatinous misfit! Not some dumb child!" Burgundy was more than a little
flustered and frustrated. Only his family ever spoke down to him like
that, and that was one of the reasons he'd found it agreeable to leave
home in the first place.
"Potato potato," replied Perdita. The two instances of the word sounded identical through the speech synthesizer. Did you finish the tissue analysis?
they sent the question telepathically, because it was easier to set a
relaxed tone of voice that way. Even if it did come through as tinny and
echoing. And intrusive, of course.
Burgundy instinctively turned around to find the source of the voice,
before recognizing it for what it was. He walked briskly over to the
tank that housed his department head, and proceeded to pound the glass
while yelling “Stop being in my head!” a few times. “I will fucking kill
you if you keep doing that, jelly brain!” he finished off, apparently
tiring of the exertion and in general starting to calm down. “No you
won’t,” answered the flat voice from the speaker nearest him. I can hear your thoughts, remember? added the tin-can echo in his head.
A few moments passed in silence, which the ensign spent on thoughts of
filling the tank with acid, transporting Perdita Animo into space,
boiling the amniotic fluid, drying the gelatinous shape out, pressing it
through a mesh, and otherwise causing its demise. His meticulous train
of thought was interrupted by a loud intermittent squeaking through the
speakers.
“That didn’t sound like a laugh either. It was meant to,” the Lieutenant
Commander explained. “Telepathy is easier than this device.”
The Ensign felt defeated for the moment. He sat down with his back
against the tank and sighed. “Yes, I finished. It’s not a tribble. Just
as I said after reading the initial report; had it been a tribble that
whole colony would have been overrun by them. It was a trooble. A
relative to the tribble, but much slower to reproduce and a lot more
sensitive to the environment. The air on that colony wasn’t humid enough
to allow it to spread rapidly,” he picked at an imaginary dust mite on
his trousers while speaking. “Why did you even assign me to that? The
conclusion was foregone, the junior lab assistants had already checked
it and my speciality is mathematics, physics, and simulations.”
“The pathologists were least likely to accidentally reveal our little
ruse,” Perdita explained. “They are a seclusive bunch, on this ship.
Half of them don’t care which ship they’re on and the other half don’t
small talk at all.”
Burgundy’s pulse started rising at this, and his thoughts betrayed his
anger resurfacing. Not only had they plotted to pull his leg; they had
gone to great lengths to make the conspiracy last.
“Would you like an apology?” his chief asked. “The captain is having a
social gathering for senior officers soon. I have been asked to bring
someone from the department. Would you like the spot?”
The ensign blinked. “Are you asking me to be your plus one? Like a
date?” he asked, perplexed. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
“No, not a date. Just the representative of this department, apart from
myself. It’s not a plus one thing. The captain has requested that each
department send a representative of the crew.” As always, it was
impossible to tell what, if anything, the electronic voice implied.
Burgundy almost wished that the offer had been communicated
telepathically. Of course, when he for once wanted that, the gelatinous being didn’t offer it.
“Sure, why not,” he said, shrugging. Some socializing couldn’t hurt.