Author Note: Sod the apologies about tardiness, it's happened again. So. Again a heartfelt "thank you!" for all the reviews and comments received. However it is my sad(?) obligation to inform you that we will be returning to regular three dimensional fanfiction for the time being… it was definitely a good idea, but I have not the amount of patience to do it myself.
Also, one final note: the august Dedicato's still up for the taking if you feel lucky!
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for the sake of reader clarity, the censoring of nansy pickle's... more colourful language will continue to be in effect until further notice. thank you.
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Chapter 6: Fisticuffs and the Squeak of Things To Come...
The odd-looking bird - for pedantry's sake, he should really henceforth be known by his proper name, so shall we begin again?
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Brim Plumpy was having the time of his life. Not only had he finally managed to catch up with Mister Buggerov and his companions, but he had also managed to stumble (or flap...?) across Nansy Pickles and the other Trendarian she was with (he had yet to decide whether this was a blessing or a curse).
Also - and in his opinion this was probably the best part of the whole situation at talon - Buggerov was silent. A first time for everything...
Brim raised a salutary wing towards the small, pale-skinned companion of Buggerov. "Thank you, my lady," he said to her.
She smiled.
"I had begun to ever give up hope of that man quenching his sound."
She grinned, and then tapped a few more times into the device she was holding, then nodded towards him.
"Now," he continued, "shall we have that fight then, hmm?" Had Brim had the same limb-like appendages the others were possessed of, he would have rubbed his hands together in glee. However, all he had at his disposal were a pair of wings, which he hence waved around over his head (this motion has much the same effect in Chalopian society as the aforementioned hand-rubbing exercise, so...).
Beneath him, Buggerov scowled up at him, while the as yet unknown Trendarian swallowed nervously as he stretched out his arms behind him, knuckles audibly cracking in the tense silence. Nansy grinned viciously.
"Can't we just try and... be nice about the whole thing?" the pale companion of Buggerov asked everybody. "I'm sure there's really no need for a fight to be -"
"Actually," the unnamed Trendarian said nervously, "there is. Section Four of the Trendarian Code of Social Conduct, Sub-section Ninety-Eight, Paragraph Seven-B, Line Thirty-Seven states that a challenge issued by a man whose woman has been wronged should be upheld unless mitigating circumstances can be shown to have happened at the time of the incident where the wrong was committed."
Everyone, including Brim, stared at him.
"Er, Goff," Buggerov started nervously. "Your... woman was not... wronged. Ah... nothing actually happened to her."
"You BLEEP-ing shot me, you ghlything -" Nansy was interrupted by 'Goff' placing his hands on her shoulders, saying something that couldn't be heard by anybody else in the motley group assembled. However, she continued nevertheless, although she was no longer shrill; instead, it seemed, she had begun favouring the cool, collected approach to insulting. "I'd BLEEP-ing say that was enough BLEEP-ing reason, you sorry son of a BLEEP."
Before anything else could be said, however, there came from about Buggerov's person the most intriguing (well, it was to Brim) sound of something chirruping. He held up a hand to forestall any more comments from anybody else and withdrew from a part of his uniform a rectangular mechanical device, which he flipped open.
"Go ahead," Buggerov said into it.
"Sir, we've found the doctor and the others, although it's going to take us a while to get them out," a new voice said. "It seems that the captain led the three of them further down into the cave network than we had originally anticipated. The other guys and I have our work cut out."
"Understood, Ensign," Buggerov told the voice. "Reed out." He flipped the device shut, and Brim realised in that instant that the man's name was in fact Reed. But it made no matter. Buggerov seemed to suit his temperament much better than that of a stick.
"Paradise my arse," he muttered quietly, but not so quietly that it couldn't be heard from the tree. "So," he added, speaking at a normal volume again.
Brim was tempted to add, "So what?" but managed to restrain himself, deciding it would be best not to, given the situation at hand (wing).
"Didn't you say mitigating circumstances?" the female asked Goff, clearly in some kind of attempt to forestall any violent occurings.
Goff nodded.
"Well," she continued, "Nan... uh, Ensign Mayweather here was alone and cut off from his... colleagues during a fierce storm. The limited communication he had had with us involved mention of what he interpreted to be... some kind of... some kind of hostile being. And when Ms. Pickles... approached his position, he reacted in the only way that could have been expected of him."
There was an expectant silence in the clearing.
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Iambard tested his chair.
There was nothing.
He tried again, wiggling from side to side, sending both himself and the wheeled chair almost halfway across the highly polished wooden floor.
Still nothing.
Well, thank goodness for that.
Deciding instead for the safer route, Iambard got up off the chair and walked over to his desk (incidentally, made of the same shiny former tree as the floor) and pressed the intercom button.
"Jooly," he said. "Has there been any word from those Sunflitter people yet?"
"Sir?"
"The sunflitter people," Iambard said impatiently. "You know, those people with the hideous blue jumpsuits." No style. No sense of style whatsoever.
"Starfleet, sir," Jooly told him through the intercom.
"What?"
There was a tinny sigh. "Never mind, sir. What about them?"
"They went off to find that damned Plumpy fellow this morning. Has there been any word from them yet?"
"If there has been then I'm not aware of it."
Iambard sighed. "Find out what's happened to them," he said impatiently. "Any means necessary."
"Yessir." The intercom went dead.
Iambard retrieved his chair and sat back down behind the desk again.
It squeaked.
Iambard sighed.
He reached for the intercom again.
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"Cap'n?" Trip's voice sounded out of the murky gloom. "Uh, Jon?"
"What?"
"Tell me if I'm bein' facetious here, but we aren't gettin' any nearer to the cave entrance."
Pause. "We're going in the right direction," Jonathan said, sounding annoyed.
"Doc, you got anythin' ta say?"
"No, not at all, Commander," Phlox said, sounding happy enough with the situation. "In actual fact I'm quite enjoying myself. I haven't had a workout this rigorous in quite some time."
"That wasn't exactly the idea, Doctor," the captain said wearily.
"Nevertheless," Phlox continued, "I can't help but wonder what would happen if I introduced some of these insect creatures to a Sickbay environment." His tone was wistful, and implied many possibilities of epidemics of buggy proportions to the chief engineer's mind.
"Maybe another time," Jonathan said forcefully, but before anything else could be said, the three men were temporarily blinded by an unnatural light source coming from somewhere up above them.
"Captain?" a male voice called down, and Trip recognised it as belonging to Crewman Miller. "Commander, Doctor? Is that you down there?"
"What're you doin' up there?" Trip asked him.
Miller sighed, the sound echoing around in the small space. "We're here to find you, sir. Uh, sirs. According to scans we took, you're all going deeper into the cave network." He paused for a second. "I have to let Lieutenant Reed know we've found you."
Back down on the cavern floor, Trip couldn't help himself, and looked in the general direction of his oldest friend. "Told you so."