Author Note: And once again, a thank you for the lovely reviews. A few clues, I believe, are in order for the Dedicato name-guessing. He's male, I'm female. Neither of us have named anything in this piece of fiction after ourselves ie: neither or us are called Nansy or Natalie etc.

That said, enjoy chapter 8. . .
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Chapter 8: All the eddy-cation in the universe. . .

"Alright, children, who can tell me the second rule in the Code of Social Conduct? Ferenna?"

"The second rule of the Code of Conduct is to be extra nice to everyone around you, especially aliens, because they can't help it if they're ugly."

"Excellent, Ferenna! Now, who can tell me the first part of the seventh rule? Shirn?"

Wafts of voices drifted through the window of the Claudia Detention Centre where, in the West Wing, two Starfleet officers sat docilely (well, docilely isn't quite accurate, but it fits the desired image...) in Detention Room One-C.

The room itself was not that bad; it was of a decent enough size for the two of them to be able to move around with minimal discomfort; the wide pink-stained glass window allowed lots of sunlight to come in, and the decor inside was both imaginative and well-applied - of course, this assumes that the designer hired for the job was, say, three years old with acute attention deficit disorder and a peculiar twitch in the painting arm.

Malcolm Reed and Hoshi Sato sat on bright yellow poufes in one corner, the latter with a blank expression on her face, and the former with a set scowl on his.

They had both taken to half-closing their eyes in Room One-C so as not to be blinded or nauseated by the never-ending swirls of luminescent pink, lilac, yellow and orange that followed each other around each of the four walls (and the ceiling, and the floor, and the door...), and every so often one or the other of them would make a single acerbic comment or short, brief conversations before resuming the unspoken pact of silence.

"Did you hear that?" Malcolm asked eventually.

"Hear what?" Hoshi asked in reply, for all intents and purposes looking as though she was fast asleep.

"That," he said. "Who on earth decided to put a bloody school next to somewhere like this?"

"Wouldn't know," Hoshi replied nonchalantly. "Ask the architect."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Malcolm replied darkly.

However, before Hoshi could form any kind of response, the bright yellow door swung open to reveal one of the brightly-bedecked sergeants who had conducted the Starfleet officers' questioning. "Lieutenant Reed?" he asked in one of the most nasal voices either human had ever heard. "If you could come back with us, we've got a few more questions to ask, then you and you accom- friend are free to go."

Malcolm continued to scowl as he was led down fuschia corridors and into the contrastingly drab, grey questioning room that he had been in before. He continued to scowl as the sergeant sat down opposite him and began to ruffle his paperwork yet again. He contin... well, he threatened to erupt when the opening question was:

"Once again, Mister Reed, where were you at the exact moment Ms Pickles was assaulted?"

He would later be at least fairly proud that the scowl never left his face once.

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"I could have sworn this wasn't the way we came in."

In the near-darkness of the, there was an exasperated sigh. "Cap'n?"

"Yeah?"

"Never, ever try takin' us through caves again."

"Why not?"

A third voice. "Commander Tucker's request is quite legitimate, Captain. Although I must admit that I had not been previously aware that underground cave networks could go so much further underground."

Another sigh. "I appreciate the input, Phlox, but not this time, okay?"

The second voice piped up again. "Hey, Ensign, how much further have we got left ta go?"

"Just another twenty metres, sir."

A small pause, unless anyone watching (or listening) counted the sounds of seven or eight men scrabbling along loose rock faces and trying not to trip (too many times) over small boulders, rocks and other stone-like appendages that happened to be sticking out of the passage's walls and floor.

"Y'know," the second voice said presently, "I was just wonderin'."

"You were wondering what, Trip?"

Small pause. "Y'think we missed anythin' goin' on outside while we were down here?"

There was a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort. "I doubt it, Trip. Let's just get out of here."

"Don't lead the way, Cap'n!"

"Very funny."

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In the Millicent Mercy Hospital on Natalie II, a number of patients from the kiddies' wing had heard about the alien being treated in Bethany Wing under armed guard. In fact, most of the people in the hospital had heard about it, but the Trendarian youngsters were the only people brave (or perhaps foolish) enough to actually go take a peek.

"He's..." A small girl with both arms in (pink and yellow) slings tried in vain to find the word she knew existed but couldn't quite recall (well, she was only six, and her older brother had always been the brainy one of the family).

A boy next to her snorted, dislodging the bandages that wrapped up part of his left ear. "He's ugly."

"Yeah!" the girl exclaimed. "That's what I meant!"

A slightly older girl on her other side leaned a little further up against the Trendarian version of the glass partition. She pointed. "What's that?" she whispered.

As one, the whole gaggle of children leaned against the glass equivalent, trying to figure out what exactly this new eyesore was, or could possibly be. Eventually, the first little girl answered the question. "I think that's his hair."

A collective "Eeeeeeeeeeewwwwwwwwww!" rose up from the gaggle.

Inside the room, Travis Mayweather was unaware of the spectator sport currently entering its second round just the other side of the wall. Had he been aware of the children, he would have probably been more than a little BLEEP-ed off about it. As it was, however, he had to settle for trying to make conversation with the doctor and two armed personnel who had been assigned to "contain" him (the fact that he was strapped to the hospital bed apparently didn't make the blindest bit of difference to Millicent's deprived security staff).

So far, he had gathered the following facts:

-- Doctor Glynis Necessiter was the sister-in-law of the Secretary of Technology, Iambard. She was born on Natalie, and had moved to Natalie II upon graduating from the Juliette School of Medical Thinkers, Doers and Pragmatists.

-- Security Guy 1 wasn't much of a talker.

-- Security Guy 2 wasn't much of a talker, either, but occasionally he called his phase gun "Marella", and whispered to it/her in loving, tender tones.

At one point, the technician in charge of adapting medical equipment to properly monitor aliens had come in. Travis had taken to her immediately, namely because she had calmly told Doctor Necessiter, Security Guy 1 and Security Guy 2 to get out while she worked on the biomonitors because she didn't like to work with an audience.

She had introduced herself rather curtly as Merinda Ervens, and had then proceeded to attack one of the machines hooked up to Travis. However, before he could protest about the fact that he could probably die if she did something completely outlandish to the equipment, Merinda had begun to huff and puff (although she did not blow the hospital down).

"I can't believe this (she began). I was top in my class at Eloise Tech School. I worked for Haarvie Shaltmore himself when his cousin from the next star system along came here for nose correction surgery. I work for important people! And they expect me to demean myself to this..."

Complaints notwithstanding, she completed the work in a good amount of time, and finally (and grudgingly) allowed the medic and security staff (not forgetting Marella) to come back in. She then flounced off down the corridor amidst dark comments about having to make sure an alien was kept alive.

The junior sport taking place outside had reached the semi-finals by this time as well, with the two-slinged girl and another little boy with something stuck up his nose currently trying to see who had the most to say about the "poor, poor alien". They had decided to take pity on the alien for the simple reason that anybody that ugly couldn't possibly have had a happy life.

Back inside...

Doctor Necessiter's beeper beeped (well, it would hardly chirp...) and she read the message.

"Meriweather," she began."

"Mayweather, ma'am."

"Excuse me?"

"My name. It's Mayweather. May. Weather."

"Fine, whatever. You've been granted bail, Meriweather."

"..."

"Once you've been given a clean bill of health, you're free to go, providing you stay at least thirty metres away from Nansy Pickles at all times."

Travis didn't trust himself to say anything to that, so he remained silent.

Instead, he asked: "Who granted the bail?"

Necessiter said nothing, but instead she indicated the room's door with her head. Twisting his head around as far as the restraints would allow, Travis caught a brief glimpse of his benefactor before the muscles in his neck made him turn back again.

Perched on top of the door, Brim Plumpy chirped.

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A few hours after Travis was escorted from Millicent Mercy by Security Guy 2 and Marella, the nasal sergeant poked his head around the door to Detention Room One-C in the Claudia Detention Centre. After escorting both detainees to the questioning room once again, he explained to them that their bail had been granted, and that they were free to go. The proviso was that they remained at least thirty metres away from Nansy Pickles and Goff Pugh at all times.

Strangely enough, neither alien had anything to say about that, although the sergeant noted with interest that a small muscle had begun to twitch in the male lieutenant's cheek.

Eventually, though, the female ensign spoke up. "Who was it?" she asked.

The sergeant said nothing, but instead indicated the door to the questioning room with his head and motioned for the both of them to remain silent. Listening intently, they heard another nasal voice.

"Are you sure you can keep these two under control sir? After all, there's not telling what they're capable of... and that scrawny fellow has already admitted to an obsession with weaponry."

There was the briefest of pauses, during which Malcolm bristled with irritation.

Then, "Very well, if you're sure. They're in the questioning room now."

As Malcolm and Hoshi waited for their... well, their benefactor to arrive, there came from the other side of the door the most unmistakable sound, one that promptly caused the scowl to return to the armoury officer's face.

It was the sound of flapping.

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Two hours later. . .
"Me?" Brim squeaked. "You came all this way to find me? Well, I must admit to being more than a little flattered, but I don't understand why."

Everyone was back in the meadow where everything had started. Shuttlepod Two sat sedately in the middle of the field, while a slightly battered and bruised Shuttlepod One was balanced at a somewhat precarious angle against a boulder closer to the cave network that could, in another timeline, have cost Captain Archer his Eagle Scout Orienteering badge (something which, incidentally, a young Malcolm Reed had excelled at).

There had as yet not been any kind of exchanging of experiences or anecdotes; indeed, a large amount of mutual embarrassment meant that many of the... finer details of the away mission would likely make it no further than respective personal logs, if that far at all.

But all of this is getting off the point. Which is...

Trip sighed patiently. "We're outta itonium," he explained to the confused Chalopian. "We were caught up in a plasma storm and most of our reserves were rendered useless. We were told that you might be able to help us."

"Me?" Brim bashfully covered part of his beak with a wing. "Commander, I hardly see how I would be able to help you in the matter."

"But the Trendarians said you were the most experienced engineer in this system," Trip persisted. "You gotta be able to help us."

Brim peeked over the feathers. "After today, I would be most willing to assist you in any way I could," he said sincerely. "However, there is just one small problem I think you may have overlooked, Commander."

"An' what would that be?" Trip asked.

Brim fluffed his feathers. "I have no idea what itonium is."

Trip was dumbfounded (and the rest of the crew was not much better). "But... I... you... No," he said, disbelievingly. "We had it on damn good authority that you would be able to help us."

"I am most sorry," Brim replied, "but -" He broke off. "One moment, please," he added, flapping up and around the bush he was perched on.

"What is it?" the captain asked, speaking for the first time.

For a few long moments there was no response. Then the Away Team were greeted with the quite unmistakable sound of... well...

"I apologise," Brim said, resurfacing from behind the bush. "It would appear that those damned nuts have finally worked their way through my system."

Nobody said anything (although mentally they were seeing plenty enough...).

A few seconds later, Trip's nose picked up something. "Cap'n," he said a little apprehensively, "you smell that?"

"Smell what?"

Trip floundered. "It smells like Engineerin'," he said.

As one, everybody with the exception of Brim (who had no sense of smell) sniffed hard.

"There's definitely something," Hoshi said after a while.

"This is bullshit," one of the crewmen muttered under his breath, but not so quietly that Trip didn't hear him.

"No," the chief engineer said slowly. "Birdshit. That's it!"

He pulled out a scanner and walked behind the bush to where Brim had done his "business", the rest of the two Away Teams watching him with varying degrees of scepticism. A few seconds later he called out again. "Cap'n... you're gonna want to see this..."

Jonathan walked around the bush and looked down at the readout on Trip's scanner. "Well," he said. "I'll be damned."