Part XIX: Hoshi
I looked at the leash in my hand. It took everything, such as counting to ten in all the languages I knew--and that was really a lot--not to give it back to Captain Asshat and tell him where to shove it. Preferably where the sun doesn't shine.
Communications Officer. Repeat after me. Communications Officer. Duties: Telling aliens not to shoot us, we bruise easily, stuff like that. Duties do not include: finding out people's favorite foods, getting said favorite food from a temperamental chief who was none too pleased about have to rush his creation--my miso soup has since then been, wait for it, too salty--and carrying the damn thing all the way down to the armory located on the other side of the ship. What is it about male bonding that has to be done over shiny guns and big torpedoes? Couldn't they bond over a nice plate of lasagna in the mess hall, next to the kitchen?
Never mind, I probably don't want to know. Where was I? Oh, yes, and duties almost certainly do not include walking your damn quadruped, no matter how cute wittle Porthos is, yes he is, so cute...ahem.
"Trip was going to do it, but somehow," Captain Archer paused dramatically, giving me the eye, "he said he'd rather be in the second shore leave group."
Like it was my fault Trip didn't want to come down with our group...damn him for being wise enough to not be on the same planet as me. Had yet to cross off 'seek revenge on Trip' from my to-do list, although had checked off some rather risqué items I wrote down in fun--having done them with Lieutenant starch-in-my-pants Reed. Well, I'll have you know, he isn't all that stiff-upper-lipped when you prep him enough, and starch isn't the only interesting thing in his pants.
Okay, WHY was I thinking about this? Must stop making crass, though truthful, comments in head. You are what you think, and I most certainly am not interested in Malcolm Reed's pants. I wear pants too and trust me, they're pretty uptight as far as clothing goes. Skirts on the other hand, are much more mellow.
"Hoshi? Hoshi!"
Hm. Had confused intrepid Captain with inner dialogue and the resulting strange facial expressions. Must assist before the Captain's head collapses.
"Yes sir, I'll be happy to walk Porthos," I answered brightly. I hoped he was blinded by my sincerity.
"Thank you, Hoshi, I knew--" The little boy smile. Damn it. He just tossed it out like cookies. The good kind, with frosting in the middle.
"Save it, sir, for something more important." At least he managed to look abashed. "Something that had better not involve cake."
And with a little exit flounce that would have made Ambassador Soval weep with envy, if Vulcans even have tear ducts that is, my little companion and I headed toward the park.
Now I really can't blame Porthos for what happens next. He's just a dog, a happy little beagle. If I was a dog who hadn't seen another animal besides humans for some months, I'd have gone a little crazy when I spotted a fellow quadruped. I should have just paid more attention...and worn running shoes.
There I was, strolling in the park, contemplating the meaning of my existence, when Porthos spotted an alien squirrel, right smack in the middle of our path. It might as well have been holding a placard that said 'chase me', it was that full of attitude.
Well, attitude or no attitude, Porthos wasn't going to let it get away with it. It's just that, I would have liked a moment's notice before he went running off with me at the other end of the leash. That tiny cute cuddliness? Obviously a total facade, given that I was the one being yanked off my feet. Who was in control here?
As I stumbled after him, hanging on for dear life, I realized that, like Captain Archer, I was the one on Porthos' leash, not the other way around.
"PORTHOS!"
The alien squirrel scrambled up a tree. A tree that was like any other tree in the park but for the man that was lounging under it. Guess who? No really, I insist. If you guessed wrong, I completely understand. I mean, really, isn't it some sort of statistical impossibility for the two of us to meet yet again under such circumstances?
Statistics lie, apparently. Why was I not notified of this fact?
Yes, it was Malcolm Reed, with a myriad of emotions flashing across his face. First, confusion. Poor guy, I woke him up from his nap. Something told me it was a sorely-needed nap given the recent...uh...events. Second, alarm. Little dog was rushing right at him, yanking a disheveledcommunications officer along at ramming speed. I'm sure he's just more accustomed to women approaching him at a slightly less frantic pace. Third, indecision. Either he could stay exactly where he was and act as my pincushion, or I was going smack right into the tree.
Boy, after all I'd done for him, I figured he'd better stay where he was.
He didn't move an inch. Sigh. I had got tears in my eyes, really.
Tactical alert! All hands, brace for impact!
Oof-mmm!
Magnetic lips. That was the only way to explain it. Is there anyway we can polarize them like the hull plating so they kind of repel instead of attract? Or better yet, arm ourselves with those shield things everyone seems to have except us, because frankly, 'shields up' is always going to sound a lot better than the 'polarize the whatever'.
All right, enough of that. Hands where I can see them and step away from the armory officer.
Uh, no.
Huh. It seemed that alien squirrels do climb up alien trees in the same circular pattern as earth squirrels. And in chasing that blasted vermin around the blasted tree, Porthos had effectively tied us around the tree with his leash in the few seconds it took us to recover from our lip lock. Lovely.
"So..." I would have nonchalantly tapped my foot if I had been able to move it. Then again if I had been able to move my feet, I would have turned around and run like the devil himself was after me. The devil of lust, full of evil, bad lustiness that reduces formerly lustless communication officers into lusty hula dancers.
"Ensign..." Oh how he tried. How we both tried. It wasn't really his fault that while our minds were demurely against doing the horizontal lambada for all them perfectly reasonable reasons, our bodies were saying, 'Let's shake and bake, people!'
"...Nice weather we're having," he continued lamely, as if we weren't tied together on a tree, chest to chest, hip to hip. The weather?! I kept telling myself it was the effort that counts.
And THEN it started to rain. That's right, boys and girls. Rain. Big fat drops of watery goodness. I'd just like to say for the record that I wasn't the one who jinxed us. That I wasn't the one who chose to comment on the otherwise glorious weather.
Now let's recap. Not only were we still tied together, we were now wet. Again, for the record, my shore leave attire was perfectly respectable...when dry. At this point, it just looked like I got up that morning, rolled around in some red paint, and left the house looking like I had nothing on but paint. Cold paint.
How is it that I was the one left out in the cold while Malcolm felt like he was a human heater? I leaned instinctively closer and inevitably observed a strange movement.
"Malcolm."
He opened his eyes and blinked incredulously at me as if he couldn't believe I was there, the way I was. "Yes?" he asked carefully, as if he wasn't sure I was real.
"It's twitching."
I've never seen a man's neck turn red so fast. That had to be a world record. "What...I...It..." he stuttered.
"Your face is twitching."
"ARRRGHHHHHHH!" He threw his hands up and all but said 'heaven help us'. "Porthos!" The captain's dog was standing right in front of us, wagging his tail, looking so smug that it made me wish I had given him some bad cheese. I was sure he thought it was amusing to tie two completely professional individuals up to see if sparks would fly. As if. I'd show him.
Malcolm, in the meantime, went into his commando mode. He pointed at Porthos, index finger and all. "You. Turn around, run the other way, run now!"
Tail. Still wagging.
All right, no help from the dog. Malcolm turned to me. "You. Let's try to get the leash loose. It can't be tied on that tightly." What did he know? He wasn't the one with the ropes cutting into the circulation around his legs!
"You sure?"
He seemed to be on the verge of epilepsy. "Yes, of course I'm sure! Why the bloody hell not?!"
"All right." I was only asking because...well, because...
Malcolm's eyes went wide as I wiggled against the restraint... which unfortunately, involved wiggling against him. Wet wiggling.
If I were a man, I'd have been totally turned on. Hell, I'm a woman and I was turned on at that moment. No, Hoshi, concentrate, must get ropes loose. Then jump the man.
That's right. I'd given it a lot of thought in the ten seconds I was wiggling wetly against the armory officer. The moment we got out of this predicament, we were checking into a room and getting this out of our system. It was for the good of the people. Namely, Malcolm and me. Then maybe, just maybe, the powers that be would stop putting us in these ridiculous situations. I was through being the butt monkey of sadistic sex crazed power out there and I was sure Malcolm felt the same way. Although if I'd verbalized all these thoughts to him, I'd probably use more sophisticated words.
Something like, "Let's shag, baby." What? He's English!
YAHA! Success! Of course you couldn't tell from the way we were still pressed up against each other. In some remote corner of my mind I heard Porthos barking. It vaguely reminded me of something I was supposed to show him because of the way he so evilly tied us together... What was it? Restraint? Control? Professionalism?
Oh whatever. He's just a dog. What does he care? I had more important things to do.
"Malcolm...Let's--"
"--shag, baby."
We were SO not going to come out of our room that day. Or the next. Maybe even the day after.
"Ahem." Hmm, that didn't sound like Malcolm. Or Porthos. The tree maybe? Squirrel? Damn it, damn it, it's the captain.
There was that voice inside my head again. The one that's always saying, "Kill, kill, kill!" With a British accent? I used to think it was the devil but maybe I was telepathic and could read Malcolm's thoughts.
"Captain," we said in unison. No, we didn't sound pissy at all.
Captain Archer blinked at us. I thought he looked a bit scared there for a minute.
"Trip said he just received a distress signal from a space station not far from here. I'm afraid we're going to cut shore leave short."
"Of course," we replied. I gestured ahead. "After you, Captain."
"Uh, yes, ahem." He set off slowly, and turned around intermittently as we made our way to the shuttlepod. He probably thought we were going to hurt him or something. Which was very insulting. We have rules to follow; we only do things in a professional, orderly manner.
We'd have to get Trip before we could even begin on him.
I looked at the leash in my hand. It took everything, such as counting to ten in all the languages I knew--and that was really a lot--not to give it back to Captain Asshat and tell him where to shove it. Preferably where the sun doesn't shine.
Communications Officer. Repeat after me. Communications Officer. Duties: Telling aliens not to shoot us, we bruise easily, stuff like that. Duties do not include: finding out people's favorite foods, getting said favorite food from a temperamental chief who was none too pleased about have to rush his creation--my miso soup has since then been, wait for it, too salty--and carrying the damn thing all the way down to the armory located on the other side of the ship. What is it about male bonding that has to be done over shiny guns and big torpedoes? Couldn't they bond over a nice plate of lasagna in the mess hall, next to the kitchen?
Never mind, I probably don't want to know. Where was I? Oh, yes, and duties almost certainly do not include walking your damn quadruped, no matter how cute wittle Porthos is, yes he is, so cute...ahem.
"Trip was going to do it, but somehow," Captain Archer paused dramatically, giving me the eye, "he said he'd rather be in the second shore leave group."
Like it was my fault Trip didn't want to come down with our group...damn him for being wise enough to not be on the same planet as me. Had yet to cross off 'seek revenge on Trip' from my to-do list, although had checked off some rather risqué items I wrote down in fun--having done them with Lieutenant starch-in-my-pants Reed. Well, I'll have you know, he isn't all that stiff-upper-lipped when you prep him enough, and starch isn't the only interesting thing in his pants.
Okay, WHY was I thinking about this? Must stop making crass, though truthful, comments in head. You are what you think, and I most certainly am not interested in Malcolm Reed's pants. I wear pants too and trust me, they're pretty uptight as far as clothing goes. Skirts on the other hand, are much more mellow.
"Hoshi? Hoshi!"
Hm. Had confused intrepid Captain with inner dialogue and the resulting strange facial expressions. Must assist before the Captain's head collapses.
"Yes sir, I'll be happy to walk Porthos," I answered brightly. I hoped he was blinded by my sincerity.
"Thank you, Hoshi, I knew--" The little boy smile. Damn it. He just tossed it out like cookies. The good kind, with frosting in the middle.
"Save it, sir, for something more important." At least he managed to look abashed. "Something that had better not involve cake."
And with a little exit flounce that would have made Ambassador Soval weep with envy, if Vulcans even have tear ducts that is, my little companion and I headed toward the park.
Now I really can't blame Porthos for what happens next. He's just a dog, a happy little beagle. If I was a dog who hadn't seen another animal besides humans for some months, I'd have gone a little crazy when I spotted a fellow quadruped. I should have just paid more attention...and worn running shoes.
There I was, strolling in the park, contemplating the meaning of my existence, when Porthos spotted an alien squirrel, right smack in the middle of our path. It might as well have been holding a placard that said 'chase me', it was that full of attitude.
Well, attitude or no attitude, Porthos wasn't going to let it get away with it. It's just that, I would have liked a moment's notice before he went running off with me at the other end of the leash. That tiny cute cuddliness? Obviously a total facade, given that I was the one being yanked off my feet. Who was in control here?
As I stumbled after him, hanging on for dear life, I realized that, like Captain Archer, I was the one on Porthos' leash, not the other way around.
"PORTHOS!"
The alien squirrel scrambled up a tree. A tree that was like any other tree in the park but for the man that was lounging under it. Guess who? No really, I insist. If you guessed wrong, I completely understand. I mean, really, isn't it some sort of statistical impossibility for the two of us to meet yet again under such circumstances?
Statistics lie, apparently. Why was I not notified of this fact?
Yes, it was Malcolm Reed, with a myriad of emotions flashing across his face. First, confusion. Poor guy, I woke him up from his nap. Something told me it was a sorely-needed nap given the recent...uh...events. Second, alarm. Little dog was rushing right at him, yanking a disheveledcommunications officer along at ramming speed. I'm sure he's just more accustomed to women approaching him at a slightly less frantic pace. Third, indecision. Either he could stay exactly where he was and act as my pincushion, or I was going smack right into the tree.
Boy, after all I'd done for him, I figured he'd better stay where he was.
He didn't move an inch. Sigh. I had got tears in my eyes, really.
Tactical alert! All hands, brace for impact!
Oof-mmm!
Magnetic lips. That was the only way to explain it. Is there anyway we can polarize them like the hull plating so they kind of repel instead of attract? Or better yet, arm ourselves with those shield things everyone seems to have except us, because frankly, 'shields up' is always going to sound a lot better than the 'polarize the whatever'.
All right, enough of that. Hands where I can see them and step away from the armory officer.
Uh, no.
Huh. It seemed that alien squirrels do climb up alien trees in the same circular pattern as earth squirrels. And in chasing that blasted vermin around the blasted tree, Porthos had effectively tied us around the tree with his leash in the few seconds it took us to recover from our lip lock. Lovely.
"So..." I would have nonchalantly tapped my foot if I had been able to move it. Then again if I had been able to move my feet, I would have turned around and run like the devil himself was after me. The devil of lust, full of evil, bad lustiness that reduces formerly lustless communication officers into lusty hula dancers.
"Ensign..." Oh how he tried. How we both tried. It wasn't really his fault that while our minds were demurely against doing the horizontal lambada for all them perfectly reasonable reasons, our bodies were saying, 'Let's shake and bake, people!'
"...Nice weather we're having," he continued lamely, as if we weren't tied together on a tree, chest to chest, hip to hip. The weather?! I kept telling myself it was the effort that counts.
And THEN it started to rain. That's right, boys and girls. Rain. Big fat drops of watery goodness. I'd just like to say for the record that I wasn't the one who jinxed us. That I wasn't the one who chose to comment on the otherwise glorious weather.
Now let's recap. Not only were we still tied together, we were now wet. Again, for the record, my shore leave attire was perfectly respectable...when dry. At this point, it just looked like I got up that morning, rolled around in some red paint, and left the house looking like I had nothing on but paint. Cold paint.
How is it that I was the one left out in the cold while Malcolm felt like he was a human heater? I leaned instinctively closer and inevitably observed a strange movement.
"Malcolm."
He opened his eyes and blinked incredulously at me as if he couldn't believe I was there, the way I was. "Yes?" he asked carefully, as if he wasn't sure I was real.
"It's twitching."
I've never seen a man's neck turn red so fast. That had to be a world record. "What...I...It..." he stuttered.
"Your face is twitching."
"ARRRGHHHHHHH!" He threw his hands up and all but said 'heaven help us'. "Porthos!" The captain's dog was standing right in front of us, wagging his tail, looking so smug that it made me wish I had given him some bad cheese. I was sure he thought it was amusing to tie two completely professional individuals up to see if sparks would fly. As if. I'd show him.
Malcolm, in the meantime, went into his commando mode. He pointed at Porthos, index finger and all. "You. Turn around, run the other way, run now!"
Tail. Still wagging.
All right, no help from the dog. Malcolm turned to me. "You. Let's try to get the leash loose. It can't be tied on that tightly." What did he know? He wasn't the one with the ropes cutting into the circulation around his legs!
"You sure?"
He seemed to be on the verge of epilepsy. "Yes, of course I'm sure! Why the bloody hell not?!"
"All right." I was only asking because...well, because...
Malcolm's eyes went wide as I wiggled against the restraint... which unfortunately, involved wiggling against him. Wet wiggling.
If I were a man, I'd have been totally turned on. Hell, I'm a woman and I was turned on at that moment. No, Hoshi, concentrate, must get ropes loose. Then jump the man.
That's right. I'd given it a lot of thought in the ten seconds I was wiggling wetly against the armory officer. The moment we got out of this predicament, we were checking into a room and getting this out of our system. It was for the good of the people. Namely, Malcolm and me. Then maybe, just maybe, the powers that be would stop putting us in these ridiculous situations. I was through being the butt monkey of sadistic sex crazed power out there and I was sure Malcolm felt the same way. Although if I'd verbalized all these thoughts to him, I'd probably use more sophisticated words.
Something like, "Let's shag, baby." What? He's English!
YAHA! Success! Of course you couldn't tell from the way we were still pressed up against each other. In some remote corner of my mind I heard Porthos barking. It vaguely reminded me of something I was supposed to show him because of the way he so evilly tied us together... What was it? Restraint? Control? Professionalism?
Oh whatever. He's just a dog. What does he care? I had more important things to do.
"Malcolm...Let's--"
"--shag, baby."
We were SO not going to come out of our room that day. Or the next. Maybe even the day after.
"Ahem." Hmm, that didn't sound like Malcolm. Or Porthos. The tree maybe? Squirrel? Damn it, damn it, it's the captain.
There was that voice inside my head again. The one that's always saying, "Kill, kill, kill!" With a British accent? I used to think it was the devil but maybe I was telepathic and could read Malcolm's thoughts.
"Captain," we said in unison. No, we didn't sound pissy at all.
Captain Archer blinked at us. I thought he looked a bit scared there for a minute.
"Trip said he just received a distress signal from a space station not far from here. I'm afraid we're going to cut shore leave short."
"Of course," we replied. I gestured ahead. "After you, Captain."
"Uh, yes, ahem." He set off slowly, and turned around intermittently as we made our way to the shuttlepod. He probably thought we were going to hurt him or something. Which was very insulting. We have rules to follow; we only do things in a professional, orderly manner.
We'd have to get Trip before we could even begin on him.