The Trouble With Terrorists
By Katherine L. Vinson
© Copyrighted May 1998
Chekov strolled through Bidoah's town square. Every now and then he'd stop to gaze at the alien trees and flowers. Chekov smiled, glad he'd decided to walk to where he was to meet Scotty. It had been a long time since he'd last had a chance to go planetside.
Chekov glanced at the chronometer on his wrist and picked up his pace. He and Scotty had arranged to visit the Cochran Institute to witness a series of experiments demonstrating a new design for an inertial damping system...not exactly a weekend on Wriggley's Planet, Chekov had to admit, but certainly a career-enhancing experience that he'd not have been able to attend without Scotty's patronage.
The engineer had been scheduled to go on leave a few hours earlier than Chekov, so they'd agreed to meet at the Black Hole, a local bar. If the directions he had gotten from the ship's computer were correct, the pub would be down an alley not far from the park.
Chekov stepped out of the peaceful silence of Bidoah's park and crossed an empty street. He saw the sign announcing the bar and walked the murky darkness of the Black Hole.
"Here, lad!" Scotty hailed him. He waved a glass of scotch wildly and spilt most of its contents across the floor. The engineer was surrounded by a tableful of strangers whose appearance was forbiddingly odd, to say the least. "Come meet me mates!"
Putting a polite smile on his face, Chekov stepped forward; hands crossed behind his back.
"This is Pivel ... Povel ... Puvel ..." Scotty sighed heavily. "Ach, lad, what's your name?"
"Chekov."
"Aye, this is Chekov." Scotty flopped an arm across the shoulders of the thin, rat-faced man beside him. "And this, this is me old mate, Bardon Goudchaux, the scurviest mother's son to ever sail the galaxy."
Goudchaux's grip when he reached out to shake Chekov's hand was as thin and icy as his smile. "I see you're Star Fleet but I'm afraid I can't read your rank."
"Not much rank to read, for he's an ensign!" Scotty announced with a bellow of laughter. "But one of our best. Lad, Goudchaux and I shipped out together in the Merchant Marines when we were no older than you are now. Our ship was the Lideo Low ... Lodia Lie..."
"Lydia Lee," Goudchaux supplied.
Scotty raised his glass in a solemn toast. "An' a fine ship she was."
Chekov could see the sort of evening this promised to be. "Meester Scott, I think I'll meet you at the Institute."
"You're not going to have a drink with us?" a tall woman at the end of the table asked. A metallic patch covered one of her eyes, but the other was a deep shade of blue. "I think I'm insulted."
"Ach, we've got plenty of time to get to the experiments," Scotty argued, pouring him a drink. "And I know you, Chekov. You're not one to refuse a drink... or insult a lady."
Normally this was true -- even of lovely, one-eyed pirate ladies. "Thank you, but there is an opening lecture at 1800..."
"1800?" Goudchaux laughed and nodded to the huge Asian man sitting at his side, who rose to his full six feet and eight inches of height and moved to take a position behind Chekov. "Why, it's only 1600 now."
"Aye, lad, we've plenty of time," Scotty added. "I've got me chromimiter... chronanater...chronoo... I know what time it is."
"Chen, show Mr. Chekov to a seat," Goudchaux directed and a grip of iron clamped onto Chekov's shoulders. "I think there's a seat next to Morgain."
"If you insist," Chekov said, trying to look like he was retaining some control over his destination as Chen guided him firmly to an empty seat that appeared next to the woman.
He barely had time to recover when the woman grabbed him by the chin. She tilted his head from side to side inspecting him. "Hello, Angel. Y'know, I've always been a sucker for men with brown eyes."
Chekov carefully pulled himself free of her grip, cleared his throat and straightened his tunic. "Thank you," he said, deciding not to comment on her remaining eye.
The black man with slanting green eyes sitting opposite Chekov leaned over the table and grabbed a handful of his shirt.
"I'm Khwaja," he growled.
Chekov sighed and worked free of the man's grip. "Hello."
"Sir!" Khwaja seized Chekov with both hands and shook him roughly. "You will call me sir! I am Zakaria Munfaz Khwaja, prince of Riordan, heir to the house of Zovfasta!"
Chekov smiled wryly. "Actually, Riordan is an oligarchy, not a monarchy. A member of the ruling class is called a Vastafah, not a prince. I believe the Vahshadons are the ruling clan, not the Zovfasta. And you should take your hands of me...now!"
Scotty exploded with laughter. "He's got you there, Khwaja!"
"Yes..." Goudchaux smiled as Khwaja released Chekov. "You have to work very hard to fool an Academy boy like this one."
"Where's his drink?" Scott demanded. "I know I poured him one."
"I've got it." Chen passed a glass to the woman. "We're drinking Black Forests."
"Black Forests?" Chekov eyed the murky liquid as the held it out temptingly.
"Aye, it's got in it," Scott informed him enthusiastically. "I know you'll not turn that down."
"Silurian wodka," Chekov noted, finally recognizing the drink from its licorice aroma.
"With a touch of anasinsel." The 's lips curved into a smile.
"Vhat did you say your name was?" She pressed the glass of black liquor into his hand.
The pirate lady picked up her drink, downed it in a single gulp, then threw the empty glass over her shoulder. "Moray Morgain." She offered a hand for him to shake as the glass shattered on the barroom floor.
Chekov took a deep breath before surrendering to the inevitable. He then downed his drink and sent his glass crashing after hers. "Pleased to meet you, Meess Morgain." He took her hand and gave it a courtly kiss instead.
The table roared with laughter at this. Even the surly Khwaja guffawed and slapped him on the back.
"But he's so sweet!" Morgain reached out and tousled his hair. "What'ya say, Goudchaux? If I promise to feed him can I keep him?"
"What did you do with the man we threw you last week?" Goudchaux returned with a leer.
As Chekov tried to brush his hair back into place, he decided that he simply had to get something to eat. Just that one drink had made him very light-headed. "Meess Morgain..."
"Don't ya love the way he says that?" She slipped her hand behind his neck and pulled him into a long, deep, and quite unexpected kiss.
When Morgain finally pulled away, Chekov opened his eyes and found something had gone terribly wrong with his vision. He couldn't quite put his finger on how or why, but nothing looked exactly as it should. Moray Morgain, who had been rather deficient in the eye department, seemed to have developed several.
"Two... Three... Four..." Chekov counted her extra eyes as they appeared. "Five... Six... Seven..."
"Eight!" Morgain exclaimed as he fell forward senselessly into her arms.