Thanks to all for the kind reviews, and remember, to be considered for the venerable Dedicato Award, you must submit two and only two names. Of course, you are welcome to guess as many times as you like, as long as that number does not exceed three. :)

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Chapter 3 - Lily's Tiger

Approximately 31 hours and 17 minutes earlier, prior to the storm and the mission that left the crew very much within it, Enterprise entered orbit around the home world of their most recent First Contactee: the Trendarians of Trendar. The visit was more than social, however, as the ship's chief engineer had recently informed his captain of a somewhat serious problem.

"How'd it happen?"

"I'm not real sure," Trip said as he leaned against the jam of the ready room door. "The ones that were online - they're fine. I mean, they're as good as new. The four reserves, though... My only guess is the shielding."

"The shielding?" Archer asked.

"Yep. The workin' relays are shielded the same as the rest of the engine, but the reserves are just stored in a dampenin' container."

"So you think it had something to do with that ion storm?"

"It was that, or I don't know what," Trip continued. "I got Ramirez runnin' some diagnostics on the duds. It looks like it happened about four days ago."

"That puts it in the right time frame," Archer said. "Is there anything you can do with them?"

"Nope. They're shot," Trip said flatly. "Fused solid."

"Can you make some new ones?"

"Well, I think we can do everything but synthesize the itonium. We just don't have the facilities. That stuff's gotta be refined to somethin' like 99.99 percent."

"99.999743," T'Pol interrupted. She edged past the worried engineer and addressed the captain. "Ensign Sato has just reported receiving a transmission from a nearby star system."

"What kind of transmission?" Archer asked. "Did they hail us?"

"No, she believes that it was simply communications traffic."

"I hope yer gettin' ready to tell us they're post-warp..."

"Our sensors seem to suggest so," T'Pol noted.

Trip looked expectantly at Archer.
"Cap'ain, if they're post-warp, they'd almost have to have somethin' we could use..."

Archer considered both of his officers for a moment.
"How far?"

"Three light years."

"Have...Mayweather lay in a course," he ordered.

"Let's just hope they're friendly," added Trip.

The captain sighed and nodded his head; T'Pol agreed by slightly lifting her left eyebrow, after which she returned directly to the bridge.

***

The ever-prepared Malcolm Reed switched on his pen light, and the three men watched as the tiny beam cut a dreary path through the damp darkness of the cave. Although the storm had all but ended, they couldn't leave just yet, because...

"Phlox!" yelled Captain Archer.

He was quickly answered by his own voice bouncing in and amongst the cavern walls. The good doctor, however, did not respond.

"Samples, huh?"

"That's what he said, Cap'ain. I figured he was just gonna go poke around in the back there for a while. I didn't think he'd wander off, 'specially without a light."

"Perhaps Denobulans can see in the dark..." Reed wondered aloud.

Jonathan cupped his hands and yelled again with similar results.

"Alright, well... The storm's let up enough for somebody to run back to the shuttle pod. Malcolm, you're it. Trip and I will look for Phlox and-"

"Sir, may I suggest that we wait until we have reinforcements from Enterprise. Caves can be quite treacherous even with the proper equipment."

Expecting as much, the captain nodded.

"Thank you, Malcolm," he said. "Since you're the most experienced, uhh... spelunker, that's why I want you to go back - you know what we'll need if this turns into a full-fledged manhunt. I want you to contact the ship, get some help, and meet us back here. We're not going too far into this place with just your pen light."

"My pen light, Sir?"

"Your pen light, Lieutenant."

"Certainly, Sir."

Reed surrendered his trusty torch and again warned both men of the potential perils that awaited them deep within the cave. Trip mentioned something about him being an "old mother hen", then warned, "Don't let that bird get ya!"

The two exchanged a few more needling insults before the captain reminded the lieutenant of his mission, after which he added:

"Oh, and Malcolm... One more thing..."

"Sir?"

"On your way back to the pod, could you keep an eye open for Porthos?"

"Will do, Sir," he said, then he warily walked to the entrance, looked up, looked back, drew a deep breath, and bolted.

"And Travis!" remembered the captain.

Malcolm raised an arm in acknowledgment and quickly disappeared; Jonathan and Trip returned their attention to the unknown depths of the cave.

"Well, Cap'ain, how far ya think he got?"

"Phlox? Not too far. He's probably just has his nose buried in 'an exciting new fungus, hmm?'"

"Hey! That's pretty good!"

"Thanks."

***

An average-looking bird sat in an average-looking tree staring at what she assumed was a peculiar cousin. Two or three times removed, she hoped. Or maybe... Maybe he's not a cousin at all. No, no, I don't like this. Not one bit. Not at all. Not at all.

Silently she flew.

The odd-looking non-cousin did not see her, however, as he was thoroughly invested in the third nut of his meal...

"A regular beak-buster, this one, what?" he griped. "I'll have you yet, my pretty!"

On the other hand (and/or wing), he *did* notice the gangly beast who came running from the cave and promptly squawked out a friendly greeting. Obviously in a hurry, the creature politely paused for a moment and returned the salutation, although the tone was quite sharp.

"Ah!" thought the bird. "That must be the fellow's name! Buggerov! I rather like that!"

The bird squawked the name in tribute, at which point, Buggerov stopped dead in his tracks and waved.
The bird raised a foot in an attempt to mimic the fingered pose but gave up as Buggerov disappeared through the brush.

"I wonder if it's after that strange banana-creature?" the bird mused. "That could prove to be very entertaining!"

Torn between the nut and almost certain adventure, the bird weighed his attention between the two. Suddenly, however, the scales were irreversibly tipped as there was a bright blue flash from the general direction that both Buggerov and the banana-creature had taken.

The bird sighed, and, carefully placing the rugged nut down for later, he launched himself upwind and flapped back towards whatever might be happening at the weird rock, which, now that he'd thought about it for a while...

Perhaps it's just a hideously ugly ship...? Hmm... It couldn't be Trendarian, then, could it...? Hmm... And what about-? Ooo! Those were a lovely bunch of nuts! I'll have to remember that spot for later!

***

Travis Mayweather - pistol in one hand, communicator in the other - popped the hatch on the shuttle pod. (He wasn't about to let his imagination get the better of him.) Bravely, he leaned forwards an inch or two and glanced left and right at the drizzling outdoors. Somewhat satisfied, he hailed the ship again.

"Enterprise, do you read me?"

Enterprise did not.

Disheartened, he crouched in the doorway and stared blankly across the meadow. Suddenly, from the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of something - something outside the front window, bright yellow.

His heart racing, Travis darted to the shuttle's bow, where he ducked and leaned, desperately straining to see...

Nothing.

"No, no, no," he said to himself. "It's all in your head. Just because you think you heard something about 'aliens', doesn't mean that's really what she said."

The ensign sighed deeply and smiled at his inner logic.

I bet T'Pol would be proud of me! he thought. Well, in her own special way...

Almost instantly, however, his serenity evaporated: he heard a rustling sound from somewhere behind the pod.

"It's just a branch or something," he said to himself. "It could have been anything. I mean, if there really were aliens, they'd send down the other shuttle pod, right? Unless of course it's too dangerous to fly... Then they'd just beam us up, right? Unless the storm was too bad to... I, uh, wonder what Chef's fixing for supper... Yeah... Think about supper..."

Wound ever-so-slightly tighter by his own unsettling thoughts, the ensign nervously returned his attention to the open hatch and the field beyond. Unfortunately, he did so just in time to have his view completely blocked by a flaming-yellow, wide-eyed monster with dangerously white teeth that started to say something along the lines of: "I'm sooooooo glad-!"

Mayweather, of course, screamed and fired, blasting the creature back a good meter from the door as he frantically pushed the "close" button. The hatch sealed faster than normal (with his motivated assistance), and the ensign immediately collapsed against the opposite wall where he took a minute or two to relive the last 15 seconds of his life. His trip down Memory Lane was accompanied by his own heavy breathing, along with the full attention of a recently roused beagle.

"Oh God oh God oh God! What the hell was that?? Oh God! What did it say? What did it say?? Something like, 'I'm so glad to eat you...' Oh God! Gotta calm down... Gotta calm down. Seemed...seemed... familiar... Almost looked like... Noooo... Could it have been? Noooooo...! Could it?? Oh God!"

As he slowly got to his feet, Travis felt as though he was being watched. He could feel two eyes bearing down upon him - hungry eyes, piercing, peering deeply into his very soul, and-

"STOP THAT!!"

Porthos yapped in response but continued staring.

Still seriously jumpy, Travis cautiously leaned over and peeked out the window, at which point, his fear completely drained, only to be replaced by dread and regret (or "dregret ", as it's known on some worlds.)

He quickly reopened the hatch and rushed out into the light drizzle, just in time to hear his name being called from across the field. Travis looked up, then back down, and repeated this until Lieutenant Reed stood before him, breathless, demanding to know what happened, and who or what was *that*, and why did he fire, and poor Travis was completely dumbfounded until finally he managed to stutter out some kind of sense.

"I - I - I think I just shot...."

***

"Nansy Pickles!"

(21 hours and 49 minutes earlier...)

"On behalf of the Secretary of Tourism and Trendarian people...!"

(...the landing party was greeted...)

"Welcome to Trendar!"

(...by a very happy...)

"I'm sooooo happy to meet you!"

(...and very blonde young woman.)

Looking through the shuttle pod window, Trip was the first to notice her: she was exactly one step closer to the landing pad than would be considered prudent by most sentient beings. He mentioned this to Travis who adjusted and parked the shuttle about a meter to the far side of the large X. The hatch had barely opened before Ms. Pickles was upon them with the above-mentioned greeting. Dressed neatly in a yellow blouse and business skirt, she seemed completely oblivious to the fact that her enthusiasm was showing.

As Captain Archer took her hand (almost in self-defense), Nansy smiled brilliantly and bubbled like pink champagne. Jonathan stumbled a bit then righted himself and introduced the landing party in turn: Lieutenant Malcolm Reed (slightly annoyed), Lieutenant Commander Charles Tucker III (slightly amused), Ensign Hoshi Sato (slightly annoyed), and Ensign Travis Mayweather (slightly scared, but also slightly curious or "scurious", as it's known on some worlds.)

The captain was too busy being "The Captain" to be slightly *anything*, but deep down, he was with Trip. After the introductions were completed, Nansy clicked her heels and gestured like a game show hostess.

"If you'll all come this way!"

They followed her to a smartly decorated state room, wherein they received a class-A holographic tour of Trendar. The crew learned a great deal about Trendar's "rich and varied history!" They learned of Trendar's "vast and bountiful resources!" And they learned that Trendar had achieved warp capability "just five years ago!"

"Five years?" Trip gasped. "I'd a'never guessed that. Your designs must be way ahead of your technology..."

"Why thank you!" Nansy effervesced, at which point she began a thirty-minute monologue about the Trendarian affinity for stressing form over function, exclaiming, proclaiming, eyes wide with a perpetual smile that portrayed both agony and ecstasy (depending upon what the rest of her face was doing.)

Everyone was generally impressed with her presentation, Trip in particular. He was mesmerized, not at what she said but how she so very merrily said it, and after a short time, he began scheming up plans to get her on board Enterprise. His purpose was simple and pure: he wanted to see what would happen when Nansy Pickles met her true oppo-

"You'll have to come visit the ship," the captain said suddenly, interrupting both Nansy and the narrator. "We, uhh... couldn't pass up this opportunity, er, I mean, it's...only fair."

"I wouldn't miss it for the world!" Nansy beamed.

"Me either," Trip grinned, giving his captain a look that could only be described as adoring admiration.

Expanding on his opportunity to get a few words in edgewise, Jonathan Archer brought up the main topic of Enterprise's interest.

"Ms. Pickles, it seems that-"

"Call me Nansy!"

"..."

"...!"

"Uh... Certainly!" Captain Archer smiled. "Nansy, it seems that we've gotten ourselves into a bit of a pick-, uh, we've...run into some...mechanical difficulties, and I was wondering if you could help us."

"I'm sure the Trendarian people will do all that is within their power to assist you!" she chimed. "What seems to be the matter?"

"It's our reserve plasma relays," Trip jumped in. "We need some new ones or some high grade itonium..."

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" Nansy sang. "But I'm sure that Dr. Necessiter will!"

"Doctor Necess-i - uh... ?"

"Necessiter," Hoshi whispered.

"Very good!" Nansy lauded. "Yes, he's the Secretary of Technology!"

"When can we see him?" Archer asked.

"Let me check!"

She checked.

He was out to lunch.

"The Secretary will be back in about an hour. In the meantime..."

Never one for silence, awkward or otherwise, Nansy waded knee-deep into some more Trendarian trivia, driving Lieutenant Reed to Distraction, where he quickly changed trains and traveled to the opposite side of the state room. Once there, he desperately feigned interest in a 3D topographical map of the southern continent.

As they waited for the Tech-Sec to get back from lunch, Hoshi took it upon herself to try to get the woman to talk about something...anything...else.

"You must really love your job!" she passively aggressed. "How'd you, uh, get it?"

And, without missing a beat, the energetic emissary launched into her life story, many details of which have been deleted for the purposes of space-time.

Here are a select few:

* Nansy Pickles was born in Lily, the provincial capital of Trendar.
* She is a vegetarian for the first seven months of each year.
* Her favorite color is yellow.
* Surprisingly, she has only four pairs of shoes.
* Her boyfriend's name is Goff.
* She speaks seven different languages.
And...
* She is the daughter of a diplomat and a food stylist.

(As this last fact is somewhat germane to Ensign Sato's question, it will be expanded below.)

Soon after Nancy's fourth birthday, her mother, Rajina, was appointed ambassador to the northern province of Natalie, where she soon eased various political tensions and brokered several important trade agreements. In the meantime, her father, Oskar, came into his own in the advertising world as the preeminent primper of entrées and confections. His creations were seen in all the major food magazines throughout Trendar proper, and oddly enough, it was he who helped get Nansy assigned to the Department of Tourism through his posturing of a particularly attractive torte.

Two years prior to Enterprise's arrival, the Tourism Secretary's daughter became engaged to a fellow from Ipswych. In the market for any number of professional services, the Tourism Secretary's wife stumbled across the above-mentioned torte on the cover of the spring issue of Vanity Pharr magazine. Completely consumed by its elegance and beauty, she immediately went in search of the photographer in hopes that he would take the pictures of her daughter's wedding's cake. She soon found the man, Jym Stimple, who admitted his part in the cover but quickly confessed that is was the food stylist who had set the award-winning scene.

"Not just any stylist, mind you," Jym said. "Oskar Pickles."

The Secretary's wife blinked with indifference, but she nevertheless set out to find the fellow with the so-called magic touch. Ultimately, she tracked him down to his studio and rudely barged in, only to be quickly shushed by one of Oskar's assistants.

"Please!" the girl whispered. "He's meditating!"

The Secretary's wife was all foot-taps and eye-rolls until Oskar finally came bounding out of his dressing room and rushed towards the display table. She was about to give him what for, when she stopped herself, because, as she later explained to a friend, "There was just something about the man..."

"You call that a salad?" Oskar fumed at the prepared dish. He pitched a minor tantrum, then after a short, weary sigh, he attacked the bowl with a vengeance, his hands a' blur, arranging, rearranging, organizing, until even the tiniest crouton was just so.

A hush fell when Oskar finally stepped back, and the onlookers leaned in anticipation.

"Now," he said. "Now, take your damned picture!"

As he stormed off to his dressing room, the crowd collectively gasped, then broke into spontaneous applause as it bore witness to his creation.

Had there ever been a salad such as this?

The Secretary's wife was beside herself. Completely smitten by his sublime genius, she praised him to no end, and soon, the two got along famously to the point where, when the position of Assistant to the Undersecretary of Tourism opened up, she asked him if he knew of anyone who might like to apply for the job, wherein Oskar introduced the Secretary's wife, the Secretary, the province of Lily, and, indeed, the entire planet itself to the ever-smiling Nansy, who was currently smoldering at the feet of a highly-agitated ensign from Earth.

"I thought she w-was some kind of... of... monster..."

"Well..." Malcolm shrugged. "I don't know if I'd go that far."

Travis bent down to check her pulse, then he took her hand.

"It was the raincoat," he said. "It was just so... so..."

"So yellow?"

"I guess," Travis moaned. "I can't believe I just zapped her like that!"

"Don't be so hard on yourself," he soothed. "I almost shot her a couple of times myself yesterday..."

"What are we gonna do?" Travis whined. "Oh Lord..."

"I suppose we can start by getting her inside the shuttle," Reed said, grabbing her feet, then he thought for a moment. "You know, she's rather attractive when she's like this."

"Like what?"

"Unconscious."

"Oh."

As they wrestled her into the pod, the wind died down to nothing, the rain all but stopped, and there was nary a sound in the air, except perhaps for a faint - yet increasingly annoying - flapping noise.


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