Convalescence and Frustration
by El Gringo Loco

* * * * * *

I'd been on the Enterprise for about two weeks. And though still weak, I was feeling quite a bit better than when I arrived. I still wasn't allowed out of bed without help. And, not that I'd have gotten far without my cane, which for some reason they hadn't returned, I wasn't allowed to leave the sickbay at all.

Still, I wasn't totally bored, as they'd given me access to their library computers. And I spent a fair amount of time either reading, watching old movies, or listening to music through an earpiece. I'm sure they kept a log of everything I looked at. And I was locked out of anything written or recorded beyond a certain date, so as not to pollute the time stream, they said. I could see their point. Now, I'm not a gambling man or really into sports. But the temptation to peek at the next few years' financial pages and a few minor things like World Series and Superbowl scores would be almost irresistible. And one rather painfully taught lesson I remembered from childhood was; the best way to resist temptation is to avoid it in the first place.

I'd learned a few days ago that the being I'd clobbered beaming into my home was a Ferengi. A member of a misogynistic alien race that worshiped profit. And that I'd killed him. They kept this from me at first for fear of worsening my condition. I hadn't intended to kill him. Just incapacitate him long enough for the constabulary to come and get him. But it seems that I'd caught him in the transporter beam when he was most vulnerable. The cane went though his still forming skull and halfway into his brain, killing him instantly.

When Lt Worf came to take my statement I told him, "A loathsome looking creature unlike any I'd ever seen was invading my home. I'd felt my life was in imminent danger and acted accordingly. As far as I was concerned, whatever happened to him as a result was his own damn fault." Judging from his expression I'm pretty sure he agreed with me. I know the captain did, as he ruled my actions excusable.

But the affair didn't end there. Supposedly on behalf of his family, the Ferengi Alliance was demanding either me or compensation. It seems that they vacuum dessicate their dead, place the resulting granules in petrie dish type containers and sell them to whoever will pay. Which, as I was told by Commander Riker, is exactly what they wanted to do to me. I didn't like the sound of that, not even a little bit, and told him so. But he assured me that the captain had already refused their demand for extradition.

But, as it turned out, there was a simple solution. It seems that collectors of old earth artifacts abound in the 24th century. I'd cashed a check the day before this mess began and had been given new bills. To me, it was operating cash. But to them, 300 old earth currency in near mint condition was a rather valuable collectors item. I wound up giving Riker my ATM card and told him how to use it. And in the end, I found that a couple hundred dollars in brand new 20's, most with consecutive serial numbers, made those money grubbing Ferengi some very happy little creeps. They even offered to buy more if I could get them.

I had to think about it. I didn't want to owe Riker any favors. But I figured that I was likely to need local currency at some point. So after a bit of market research, he again raided my ATM. I sold the rat faced creeps some 400 dollars in new 20's for ten strips of something called gold pressed latinum, a bit over half its market value each. Which, as it turned out, was a fair amount of money. I exchanged some of it for the federation credits they used on the ship. Then after offering Riker a small commission, which he politely refused, I had the rest put in a shipboard account, receiving their 24th century version of a debit card in return. Counselor Troi became a regular visitor. I'm told that she's a rather patient and compassionate woman. But what I remembered of her from the series screamed at me not to trust her. Not the least of these were her empathic abilities, which clashed with my perhaps prudish belief that what goes on in my head is a private, invitation only affair. Another was her romantic relationships with Worf, Riker and Dr. Crusher; otherwise known as the security chief, prosecutor, and my doctor. With that combination, there was just no way.

Guinan was a different story. Unlike the others, she was neither ships company nor was she on the prosecution team. I believed her when she said her visits were unofficial. Quiet and, if you'll pardon the expression, down to earth, she had a way of making you want to talk. Still, there was something mystifying about her. And I had this feeling that there was a great deal more to her than met the eye.

Maybe it was simply her incredible age. I can't imagine living 100, let alone 700 years. But it might be different with an entire galaxy to explore. And at one time I would have envied her the opportunity. As a child I dreamed of rocketing thru the universe with the likes of Buck Rogers and Flash Gordon. I remember the shock of Sputnick. Next were a dog named Laika and a chimpanze called HAM. Following in their paw prints were the first human astronauts Yuri Gagarin and Alan Shephard. They were courageous men who truly went where no man had gone before. Fifty odd years later we take space flight for granted. But I remember hearing President Kennedy challenge us to land a man on the moon by the end of the decade. And I remember the day it happened.

No, I wouldn't want to live 700 years. But in some ways age and old memories give Guinan and I something in common. The worlds we knew as children no longer existed. Hers fell to the Borg and mine to evolution. But the bottom line is the same. And as I look around me, my mind just boggles at another 300 years of progress. Despite my initial reluctance, I find myself wanting to trust this ancient being, for she is the only one here that might have the capacity to understand.

Dr Crusher and I haven't spoken much since my court appearance. She'd come in and run her tests or whatever. But it's clear that behind her polite professional demeanor lies a dark cloud of hurt. As my doctor I have to trust her. As a Starfleet officer I can't. And unfortunately, to my alleged mind, the two sides of her are inseparable. And I don't think either she or I knew how to break thru the impasse. I could offer her an apology for what I'd said at the hearing. But it would be meaningless, because the feelings I'd expressed that day were honest. And despite assurances from the captain and others, I just couldn't shake them.

There's an old saying about not judging someone without walking in their moccasins, It does make a difference. While onboard the Enterprise I was beginning to see her crew as real people. And whether they are or not, the transporter beam that brought me here sure was. To me, it was a childhood fantasy turned into a nightmare. To them it was home and I, a man from the 20th century, was an anachronism.

Returning from a lunch, Judge Stone ordered the courtroom television monitors turned on. He then announced, "The court again calls El Gringo Loco."

The monitors came to life with the image of a bespectacled grey haired man wearing what appeared to be a dark blue hospital robe seated calmly at a table. Again flanking him were Dr Crusher and Counselor Troi. Behind them were two armed men flanking what all true trekkies, and most casual viewers, would recognize as the Great Seal of United Federation of Planets. After identifying all present, the court turned to Mr. Mason.

"Mr. Mason, during his last appearance this defendant was obnoxious and even threatening. Never has anyone in this court come so close to being cited for contempt without being so charged. That he wasn't is due only to the possibility that his judgment was impaired by necessary medication. But I warn you and your client that a repeat of this prior performance will not be tolerated. Is that understood, Mr. Mason?"

"It is, your honor."

The judge then turned to me. "El Gringo Loco, Do you understand?"

"I do. And I have a request, your honor."

"What is it?"

"I ask that the record clearly indicate that the medication you just referred to was prescribed for physical rather than psychiatric illness."

"Granted. Anything else?"

"Yes, your honor. I ask the courts permission to act as my own attorney."

"Are you, in fact, an attorney?"

"No, your honor."

"Have you any training in law?"

"No formal training, your honor. But I have done a fair amount of reading and studying it on my own."

The judge leaned forward. "I'm curious as to why?"

Memories of my youth flooded back. "I credit an older uncle who was a member of the bar. He taught me a bit about contracts and precedent as a child. As I got older he introduced me to case law. I found it fascinating and still do from time to time."

"Interesting. But I take it you never pursued legal studies or took the bar?"

"No, your honor."

"I'm curious as to why not."

"The reasons were personal, your honor. But I will say that I discussed them with that same uncle and he approved."

"Fair enough. Alright, I'll consider your request. But under your present circumstances I'm not comfortable granting it at this time."

"I understand, your honor. But begging the court's indulgence, I have another."

"What is it?"

"I ask that the prosecutor be directed to recuse himself due to a potential conflict of interest."

"What conflict?"

"A close personal relationship with Counselor Troi; a sensitive, and member of my treatment team. Under other circumstances I'd ask that a restraining order be placed against her as well. But I don't believe one would be enforceable under the circumstances."

Judging by Riker's expression, if looks could kill I'd already be buried. "Your honor. Any relationship I might have with the counselor has no bearing on this man's case. And as for any restraining order, the counselor is performing her duties as a Starfleet officer. And this court has no jurisdiction over Starfleet personnel performing their duties aboard ship."

The judge scratched his head. "Counselor, do you have anything to add?"

"Yes, your honor. Our chief medical officer asked me in my professional capacity as ships counselor to make an assessment of this man's state of mind. And to monitor any changes therein that might be relevant to his case. I have endeavored to do so despite the patient's lack of cooperation. Under Starfleet regulations my report is considered confidential. As such, it cannot be released to anyone other than authorized medical personnel without the patient's consent, or a direct order from either the ship's captain or a court of appropriate jurisdiction."

"Thank you, Counselor. To the best of your knowledge, has the commander seen your report?"

"No, your honor."

"Is he authorized to do so?"

"I've been given no such orders."

"Thank you, counselor."

The judge then turned back to me. "I will consider your request regarding the commander. But as the both of you have pointed out, I have no jurisdiction over shipboard personnel acting in accordance with their duties. You, on the other hand, I do have some jurisdiction over. And this isn't the first time we've heard about your lack of cooperation. I will be sending a request to the appropriate personnel asking for an assessment of your state of mind. You will either cooperate fully or be held in contempt. Is that clear?"

"It is, your honor. And I object -"

"Overruled. Court will recess for ten minutes."

The screen in the sickbay conference room went dark. Based on what had just happened, my fears were confirmed. We were playing against a carefully stacked deck. And our opponents were holding all the aces. But, while difficult, it is possible to build a winning poker hand out of deuces and threes. And I now knew that that's exactly what we had to do. Looking to either side of me, I could see that the counselor was fuming. I heard Worf's voice telling the doctor, "You should have let him die." The doctor silently shook her head. And I wondered if she were having regrets about saving me.

What happened next surprised me as the counselor stepped in. "She couldn't do that, Worf. Not even if she wanted to."

"With all due respect, counselor. Some lives aren't worth saving. And his is one of them."

"Why not his? He didn't ask for this. I think the problem is that he's seeing himself as our prisoner. And he isn't about to cooperate with his captors anymore than a Klingon would."

Worf growled back, "A Klingon would die before letting himself be captured."

I'll take your word for it. But suppose that same Klingon were accused of a crime. Wouldn't he want a fair trial?"

"Of course." By his expression I knew she'd hit a nerve.

"So would a Betazoid. And, that's all I hear him asking for."

When the screen lit up again the judge asked Mr. Mason if he was ready to proceed. "Begging your honor's indulgence, but in view of the defendants earlier request I must respectfully decline."

"I'm not sure I can accept that, Mr. Mason. In fact, I want both you and the commander up here right now."

A wave of speculation ran thru the courtroom. At the bench, Judge Stone spoke softly, but with anger apparent in his words. "Mr. Mason, you were appointed by this court to represent all of the defendants in this case. Those wishing to retain private council have that privilege. But, unless the defendant does so, or I grant his request to represent himself, you will do so. Is that clear?"

"Your honor, the defendant is clearly uncomfortable with my representation. Might I suggest that the court reconsider his request? Or that he be allowed time to retain other counsel."

"I understand your position, Mr. Mason. But I can't very well order a mental assessment and grant him permission to represent himself at the same time." Then turning to Riker the judge asked, "Commander. Would it be possible for him to contact another attorney from the ship?"

"I'm afraid not, your honor."

"Then I'd say you're stuck with him, Mr. Mason."

"I understand, your honor. But assuming the commander could arrange it, I would like the opportunity to speak with him privately."

"Seems reasonable to me. Commander?"

"I'll see what I can do."

"Good. In the meantime we will proceed. Mr. Mason, you're on."

Clearly unhappy, Mr. Mason returned to the defense table, ruffled his notes, then turned to me. "It would seem that for the moment we're stuck with each other. So for openers, would you please tell the court when you first started reading fan fiction?"

"I'm not sure exactly."

"Then to the best of your recollection?"

"I think it was sometime around mid March of 1996."

"I'd say that's plenty close enough. And have you read it ever since?"

"From time to time, depending on what else I had going."

"Now, would you please tell us when you first become aware of the television show Hogan's Heroes. Approximately will do."

"That would be the summer of 1965 during the run up to its first season."

"That's longer than some of your co-defendants have been alive. What is it about the show that's held your interest for so long?"

"Quite a few things."

"Could you be a bit more specific?"

"Well, one thing that stood out was the great job the producers, Bing Crosby Productions as I recall, did of mixing comedy with drama."

"And that made it stand out?"

"Most shows of the day; yours, for example, were one or the other."

"You remember my show?"

"Mr. Gardner made you unforgettable. Though I could wish it were Mr. Burger on the other side."

"He was a good man."

"Objection, your honor. These questions are irrelevant to the matter at hand."

"Sustained. Mr. Mason. If you have a point please make it. Otherwise move on."

"My apologies, your honor," Then to me, "El Gringo Loco is Spanish for the crazy gringo is it not?"

"Yes."

"Do you speak Spanish?"

"I do."

"Why would you decide to use something like that as your sign in name?"

"I though it was catchy and distinctive."

"Is that the only reason?"

"No. But the other might seem kind of silly."

"I'd like to hear it anyway."

"If you must know it reminds me of a certain Mexican restaurant."

"You named yourself after a restaurant? And what pray tell did they call themselves?"

"El Pollo Loco. They did all their cooking over mesquite. And their half spit roasted chicken with ear corn and frijoles negro was a meal to die for."

"I'm sorry, frijoles negro?"

"Black beans."

Again Riker stood up. "Your honor, please."

Wiping the drool from his mouth the judge sighed. "That may sound delicious, Mr. Mason, but it's making me hungry. And I hardly see its relevance to the case."

"My apologies, your honor. I was merely trying to establish the origin of the defendants sign in name."

"You've done that. Now, move on."

"Yes, your honor. Now El Gringo, you were called because of the number of reviews you've left in the various fandoms. Why do you leave them?"

Here it comes. "It depends a lot on the story. I believe in encouraging creative effort."

"I see that you sometimes offer plot suggestions posed as questions."

"I do that sometimes."

"Why is that?"

"The authors sometimes ask for them."

"But not always."

"No."

"Objection your honor," I was really starting to hate the sound of Riker's voice. "The witness is being evasive."

"Sustained. The witness is instructed to answer each question as completely and concisely as possible. You may continue, Mr. Mason."

"Your honor, would it be possible for me to have a few moments alone with my client?"

"Not easily, Mr. Mason. Under the circumstances, that would involve calling a recess and clearing the court." That said, he turned to the screen and called on Dr Crusher. "Doctor, given your patient's condition, would it be possible to bring him to the courtroom?"

"I would strongly advise against it, your honor. Given his current condition, there's at least a 50% chance that our transporter beam would kill him."

"Whoa." The judge sat up in shock, "I guess we can scratch that one. Doctor, that space you're in. Is it big enough to hold, say, 50 people?"

"I'm afraid not, your honor. It's a small conference room intended for 10 people, 12 at the most."

"I understand, Doctor. We'll be recessing for the day shortly. Would it be possible for you to stay on the line for a bit afterwards?"

"It should be, your honor."

"Thank you, doctor. Counselor, I'd like you to stay as well." Leaning back he took a long deep breath. "Mr. Mason, would you object to continuing the defendant's testimony at another time?"

"I think that might be wise, your honor."

"Commander?"

"I have no objection."

"Good. I'd like the two of you to stay for a brief conference. El Gringo Loco, your testimony will continue at a later date." Picking up the gavel he announced, "Court is adjourned.". Then he banged the gavel so hard the handle snapped and the head went flying. Sighing as he sat staring at the broken handle, he said, "Somebody find that thing."
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