Fred Smith: New Guy in the Red Shirt... again.
Fred had really scored this time. Serving on the Vlad Tepes was going to be great. Yeah, it of course, wouldn't be like the medical frigate with their huge sick bays and all those friendly medical personnel, but the Ambassadors ship would have its own set of perks.
They were on their way to Risa for the first ever peace talks with the Romulans. Why they chose Risa for the peace talks, Fred didn't know or really much care. The thing Fred did care about, however, was shore leave. The Vlad Tepes could potentially orbit over Risa for weeks or maybe even months with most of the crew having nothing to do, so a shore leave rotation was begun.
Unfortunately, Fred missed his first time through the rotation, when, on the same day he was supposed to beam down to the planet's surface, he had a bit of a mishap. It seems that a human in a top hat and 20 drunken midget Catullans singing children's songs crammed themselves into the turbo lift and proceeded to crash it into the ceiling of the turbo lift chute, chanting "Up and Out, great glass turbo lift, Up and Out!" A moment later, Fred stepped through the turbo lift door, falling 13 decks.
Fred was released from sick bay just in time for his second go through the rotation. He had gone to his quarters to shower and shave in preparation for his departure when he was faced with the most bizarre situation. It seems that a cooks assistant in the mess hall had neglected his responsibility, namely that of disposing of the used cooking lard in a timely fashion. It had built up for several months... o.k., o.k., 2 years next week, when the cooks assistant was informed of an inspection during this slow period and hid the lard in the first place he could. Fred walked in on 12 vats of the stuff in his quarters.
Fred, ever easy going, let it be. He was sure somebody would be after it sooner or later, besides, he would have to hurry if he was going to make it in time to beam down.
To add to his enjoyment of the occasion, Fred had decided to take a good hot water shower, instead of his usual sonic shower. Fred was in a deep soapy lather when he heard first his door chime, then a pounding on his door. "Shoot, I'm late!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm coming!" Fred bolted from the shower not even bothering to rinse off. Soap ran into his eyes, he began feeling his way to his bedroom. He tripped, falling head first into a vat of lard. Fred knocked through a second and a third, eventually bouncing through his quarters like a ball in a pin ball machine.
The lieutenant that had been sent to fetch Fred, hearing the commotion, used is security override to open the door. It was just then that Fred, greased from head to toe, flew through the door plastering the poor lieutenant to the far wall, encasing him in the slippery stuff.
Fred bounced off walls, doors, ceiling and floor, seeming to increase in velocity as he went. A cook huffed out from the mess hall, pushing a huge 7 layer wedding cake on a cart. "That's right," Fred thought, "the Kaplah-p sisters were marrying the Bynar twins today..."
CRASH
Fred tumbled through the cake, the cart and the cook, not losing an ounce of speed. He was rapidly coming up on an intersection in the corridor, wiping frosting from his eyes. If he could make it through, then he would probably be okay. He should be so lucky. It just so happened that two security officers were carrying an ancient earth oil painting that was to be presented to the Romulan Delegation as a gesture of good will. The two met in the intersection. A millisecond before crashing through the priceless work of art, Fred came to the realization, "The bull dog is cheating!"
RRRIIP!
Fred went through the painting as if it wasn't there. This cliche marathon finally ended with another cliche. Fred collided head long into a wall, sticking for a moment from the half congealed lard before sliding to the floor. He lifted himself to his elbows, his head bobbing. Fred began to hallucinate with the head trauma. He was really getting sick of those canaries flying around his head at times like this. Just then, and army of little Caitian women, one for each canary, lept up, grabbing its prey, eviscerating it for Fred's entertainment. Fred grinned. "That'll do, Kitty, that'll do." And Fred passed out, soapy, greasy, smelling of very old French fries and naked as a jay bird.
Fred was released from sick bay weeks later. It wouldn't even have been that long, if it wasn't for the removal of the bride and groom figures from... well... we don't need to go into that.
Maybe now he can get some shore leave?
To be continued in Hangin' With The Gods
