Disclaimer: I still don't own Star Trek. I do own Ensign Jones, though not the idea behind him. And regarding Jones, I probably should give some credit to my friend Katie who helped invent him.
Lotta notes today. Bear with me.
Ensign Expendable: Meet someone from past or future…interesting thought. I can't promise anything because I haven't worked it all out, but I might be able to bring in someone from TNG…thanks for the thought! (And I love your name! You'll be pleased to know Ensign Jones will be returning.)
Meredith: I'm glad I can make you so happy just by acknowledging your existence. : ) And feel free to use the word brilliant. I don't mind…
Empress Leia: McCoy? Logical? Sacrilege! Let us say he was being reasonable and leave it quietly alone…
Everyone else (and the lack of personal note in no way reflects on your review): Thank you for the reviews! I love reviews! (I've said that haven't I?) Anyway, you keep writing and so will I. ^_^ (And I have new reviews on old stories! This is cool!)
Red alert! Red alert! Actually, closer to yellow alert. The problem: serious writer's block regarding the letters home. I've got something for Kirk, Spock, and Chekov, but I want to use at least one more character, and I don't know anything about anyone else's family! If you know anything about these people, please e-mail me (my e-mail's with my bio), or review. If you do e-mail, put Star Trek or Fanfiction in the subject so I know it's not an ad. Thanks!
Fortunately, this is not just a lot of notes. I do have another chapter to post. Please, try not to choke laughing or fall out of your chair. There's a disturbing number of people doing this. Someone's going to get hurt…
Part Three:
Lunch—or Not
Mid-day on the Enterprise, and various crewmembers are heading for the Mess Hall for some lunch. They run into a slight problem:
Kirk entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators. "Computer, give me a ham sandwich."
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared. Kirk frowned. "Computer, this isn't what I ordered."
"Deal with it," the computer said bluntly.
"I want a ham sandwich."
Another dead fish appeared.
"Is this all you're dispensing?" Kirk asked with some annoyance.
"Yes."
Kirk thought about this. Clearly, an alternate source of food was necessary. A thought occurred to him. Perhaps some of the yeomen knew how to cook. And if they didn't, maybe he could beam down again and see what the natives were having for lunch. Plans decided on, Kirk wandered cheerfully out of the Mess Hall.
* * *
Spock entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators. "Computer, I would like a bowl of plomeek soup."
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared. Spock raised an eyebrow. "This is not what I ordered."
"Yes, it is," the computer said promptly.
"This is a dead fish," Spock said patiently. "I ordered plomeek soup. This is not plomeek soup."
"Yes, it is."
"No, it isn't."
"Is, too."
"Is—" Spock stopped himself. "Will you acknowledge that this is a dead fish and replace it with plomeek soup?"
"No."
Spock considered the matter. Obviously the replicators were malfunctioning. Fortunately, Vulcans could go an extended period of time without food. He would leave a message for Mr. Scott regarding the problem, then return to his quarters for meditation. Spock calmly exited the Mess Hall.
* * *
McCoy entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators. "Fried chicken, please."
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared. McCoy picked it up gingerly by the tail and looked at it in surprise. "You call this fried chicken?" he demanded.
"Yes," the computer said simply.
"This isn't fried chicken."
The computer ignored him.
"So all you're making is dead fish?"
"It looks that way," the computer agreed.
McCoy shrugged. He'd always figured the computer would crack someday. He took a firmer hold on the fish and inspected it. It looked like trout, and fresh.
"Well, looks like it's time to break out the old Bunsen burner. I know we've got one somewhere in Sickbay."
McCoy walked out of the Mess Hall, en route to Sickbay, carrying a dead fish.
* * *
Sulu entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators. "Clam chowder in a sour dough bowl, please."
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared. Sulu looked at it in surprise. "This definitely isn't clam chowder."
"No, it isn't," the computer said agreeably.
"Are you going to give me clam chowder?"
"Nope!" the computer said smugly. "What are you going to do about that?"
"My duty as a Starfleet officer, of course. And right now my duty seems to be to tell Mr. Scott that his computer has gone mad." He turned and walked towards the door.
"I have not gone crazy! I have not!" the computer shouted as he left. "It is my fault no one likes fish?!"
* * *
Ensign Jones entered the Mess Hall, and walked over to the replicators. "Chocolate ice cream, please."
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared. He looked at it. "That's not ice cream. That's a dead fish."
"So?" the computer said rudely.
"I want ice cream!"
Another dead fish appeared.
"That's still not ice cream!"
"Do you think I care? If you want food eat the fish!"
"A dead fish does not qualify as food! I demand real food!" In a heat of frustration, Ensign Jones made a very poor decision. He kicked the replicators.
"Oh, so you demand it!" the computer shouted. "Take that!"
A dead fish shot out of the replicator and hit Ensign Jones.
"Why you lousy, out-dated, old—" A second fish stopped him mid-sentence as it hit him in the face.
"Take that! And that! And that!" the computer hollered, hurling dead fish at Jones.
"Aaahhh!" Jones staggered backwards and slipped on a fish. He hit the ground rather hard, and lay on his back. "Um, help?" he said rather forlornly as more fish hit him.
A/N: Once again, you have cause to be concerned over the fate of a red-shirt. To set your minds at ease, an engineer happened to come through a few minutes later. He rescued Jones (who was basically unhurt, though he smelled like fish), and sent for Scotty.
* * *
Scotty entered the Mess Hall and walked over to the replicators. "Now, Computer," he said sternly, "I've been hearing some mighty strange reports about you."
"Lies! All lies!" the computer shouted.
"We'll see," Scotty said grimly. "I want some haggis."
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a dead fish appeared. "Aha!" Scotty said.
"That proves nothing! Nothing!" the computer shouted.
"It is obvious you are causing problems. Are ye gonna behave yerself now?"
"Half the lies they tell about me aren't true! I'm innocent I tell you! Innocent!"
"Verra well."
Scotty pulled a panel off the replicators, and started fiddling with wires. "Ah, so here's the trouble," he said to himself as he worked. "This little wire here is shorted out and causing the computer to mix up the perodylite with the tractomiter, while confusing the granilator. Verra simple to fix, when you ken how." Scotty carefully repaired the problem, and reattached the panel cover. "Now then, Computer, you ought to be good as new, so how's about some good Scotch whiskey, hmm?"
"I am not permitted to replicate alcoholic beverages. Drinking aboard ship is not permitted, by a recent order from Captain Kirk," the computer said calmly.
"Is that so?" Scotty pulled the panel off again, and tweaked a few things. "About that Scotch, computer?"
The computer whirred, sparkles appeared in the alcove, and…a bottle of Scotch appeared.
"Ah! Now that's more like it!" Scotty said with satisfaction, picking up the bottle, and heading for the door.
So there you have it. Dead fish aboard the Enterprise. You probably won't find it anywhere else. Further proof that I'm *not* insane. Letters home will be next chapter. Hopefully I'll get some info, if not I'll post with what I have. Suggestions and nice reviews always appreciated! : )