The Trouble with Tribbles
Just because something's cute and friendly, doesn't mean it's not trouble
Giotto helped to hand off another armful of tribbles and then retrieved his padd and headed back to his office. The Captain had ordered maintenance to clean up the ship, but that fell under engineering and Scotty already had his hands full repairing compromised systems. Since removing dangerous life forms was technically Security's job (even though the life forms in question were cute, fuzzy and dangerous only in being voracious and astoundingly prolific), overseeing the task had fallen to Giotto. Checking reports from the various teams as he walked, he organized the data and marked off sectors cleared, contained, in progress, or yet to be searched.
Once inside his (blessedly tribble-free) office, Sam sent the updated list and then leaned over his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. The last three days had been one emergency after another and for the last 18 hours he had been going non-stop. He wasn't even sure if the current headache was from dealing with bureaucrats, Klingons, the present interminable task, or the fact that the replicators had stopped working properly 10 hours ago so it had been at least that long since he'd had an actual meal or (far more importantly) coffee. Giotto wiped a hand over his face. If he was going to skip sleep to get maintenance's job done for them, the least they could do was give priority to getting some caffeine flowing.
A sudden sneeze caught him and Sam noted the fur covering his sleeves as he reached for a tissue. He sincerely hoped he wasn't developing an allergy to tribbles. Even after they got all the little furballs off the ship it would probably be weeks before they managed to clean up the mass of hair that had been shed quite literally everywhere.
Giotto blew his nose and caught a faint sound as he finished. A little trilling squeak. Apparently his office wasn't entirely tribble-free.
He scanned all the visible surfaces, but since he kept things fairly uncluttered there weren't many places for it to hide in plain sight. His shelves were unoccupied and the ventilation system was the first thing they'd cleared (by painstakingly sectioning it off one piece at a time with the hull breach seals). That left the floor. He got down on his hands and knees to peer into the spaces under his desk. There, in the far corner, wedged into a tiny gap near the safe, was a black tribble with gray-tipped fur - near perfect camouflage for that hiding place.
Giotto pulled it out and put the sneaky little hairball on his desk. "Nice try, buddy, but you've got to go too."
The tribble made a distinctly disgruntled warbling noise.
Against his better judgment, Sam picked it up. Tribbles had a tranquilizing effect on humans (and Vulcans too, even if Spock refused to admit it) and Giotto was already far too tempted to close his eyes and doze off. However there was just a chance that that soothing effect might alleviate the pounding headache that the available drugs were not helping. After eating almost their entire supply of non-opiate painkillers, not to mention all the other trouble they'd caused, at least one tribble owed him some relief.
He stroked it with two fingers, murmuring "yIHHom lo'laHbe'" when it started its ingratiating cooing routine.
Useless little tribble. After today, Sam had a new appreciation of why 'yIH' featured in so many Klingon insults...
During the Border Wars, his unit had played a deadly game of cat and mouse with a detachment of Klingons in the tunnels of Matarus – until surface bombardment had caused the passages to suddenly collapse, leaving the surviving foes trapped in adjacent chambers. Once they'd seen to their wounded and worked out that they couldn't escape (or get at one another), they'd begun trading threats and then insults. As the hours passed, it had turned into a competition and finally into a strange sort of camaraderie with each side teaching the other the kind of expressions that were never covered in basic language classes.
Starfleet forces had arrived first to dig them out and the Cmdr. Jorle had been amazed (and a little appalled) to find his missing troops laughing while trading profane jibes (and occasional plaudits for particularly good ones) with the enemy.
Sam had never had a talent for languages, but somehow those lessons in how to cuss like a Klingon had stayed with him. Klingonese was rich in expletives and there was a long tradition of resorting to 'curse warfare' when blood could not be shed. In fact, since the current detente had (thankfully) suspended the threat of actual warfare between them, when he'd spoken to the Klingon XO about the altercation in the station bar, the subcommander had called him a 'soft beardless bloodworm'. Giotto had had the pleasure of taking him aback with 'yIH ngaghwI' QIp'. Korax had clearly not expected a human to know that one.
Sam smiled and let the purring tribble rest against his stomach as the throbbing in his temples began to subside. Tribbles were trouble, but not entirely useless - something the crew of the Gr'oth would soon learn…
.
Giotto drifted awake to the sound of voices.
"…if you ask me we should find a way to keep that one," Jenkins was saying. "Anything that can take the Chief down without a fight is worth hanging on to."
"Shhh," McCoy whispered. "The man's barely slept in two days. If you can get that last one without waking him, it'll save me havin' to order him to go to bed."
"No problem," Dan chuckled. "Considering how long we've been without coffee, it's a miracle he's not in a coma."
Oh really? Sam continued to feign sleep until he sensed Dan reaching for the tribble and then swiftly grabbed a wrist.
There was an annoyed 'dammit Sam!' from McCoy, but a very satisfying 'GAH!' from Dan.
Giotto cracked an eye. "Try pulling the pebble from my hand while I'm actually asleep, Grasshopper, and someone will end up in a coma."
"And that would be better than a heart attack?" Jenkins widened his eyes as he snatched his wrist back. "Holy crap!"
'Holy crap' – Sam almost laughed. He'd obviously neglected a vital part of his Second's education. "yIH mu'qaD qaq law' mu'qaDlI' qaq puS."
Jenkins' eyebrows rose in baffled query.
Giotto held up the tribble which wriggled and let out a chittering squeak in protest. "A tribble curses better than you do."
McCoy guffawed and Giotto grinned and placed the tribble into Dan's hand. "Don't worry, we'll work on it."
AN: Saphura also suggested doing Tribbles, but I was holding off thinking I had to reboot Errand of Mercy first. However that episode is so full of stupidity that I didn't know where to start. Therefore, since in the alt timeline both Federation and Klingon fleets were both devastated by Nero, I'm postulating that they've come to some other sort of temporary accord.
In the original episode, Korax was the Klingon who goaded Scotty into slugging him. According to Worf, beardless was a serious insult among Klingons. The least vulgar way to translate yIH ngaghwI' QIp would be roughly 'idiot who mates with tribbles'.
I originally considered writing the reboot to let Giotto prevent the bar fight by taking Korax up on his attempt to engage in curse warfare, but my Klingon isn't that good (if anyone sees any glaring errors, please let me know).
yIlaD 'ej yIchov (read and review - Klingons don't say please)
