"Who?"
Malcolm's accent was more marked than usual, Trip noted with a grin. His nostrils were flaring with disgust, another sign of his acute displeasure.
"I was sure you'd want to meet him, Lieutenant," Hoshi protested demurely. "Him being English too."
Lieutenant Reed's glare suggested that if she'd indeed thought any such thing, it had been a miscalculation of truly astronomical proportions. "I assure you, Ensign, there are a virtually unlimited number of things that I would prefer to be doing with my free time rather than waste it watching a talentless, effeminate so-called 'singer' masquerade as 'entertainment'. As I understand it, this person retired some years ago after an extremely brief and far from exemplary career. I absolutely fail to understand why he should have decided to resurrect it at this moment in time, and quite frankly if all I'm going to hear from every female member of the crew for the next fortnight is brainless babble over this Ian bloody Westbury, I'll probably shoot the moron the minute he comes on board, in sheer self-defence!"
"Soundin' a mite jealous here, Loo-tenant," Trip interjected with a sly twinkle.
Malcolm bestowed on him a freezing stare that couldn't have been bettered by one of his own phase cannons, and gave him to understand that he was not even the least bit jealous of the excitement engendered by the anticipated treat. Even, his demeanor implied, if Hoshi was one of those who were guilty of mentioning the hated name at every opportunity, and one of the worst of the number who were displaying a reprehensible inclination to make Eeee! noises at the prospect of actually meeting the star in person.
If Trip had been in the habit of adapting classical quotations in order to make a point, at this point some appropriately modified variation on 'Methinks the lady doth protest too much,' would have been forthcoming. As it was, he contented himself with a knowing grin before tucking into his pasta.
"At least I can count on one of the officers keeping a sense of proportion," the tactical officer grumbled, picking up his PADD. "Perhaps T'Pol will give me a game of chess while everyone else on board is out of their senses."
Hoshi shook her head so vigorously that her ponytail flew. "Didn't you hear her when we were talking about it yesterday? She's coming too, she said it would be – what did she say, Em?"
"'A valuable insight into one of the more obscure aspects of Human sub-culture'," the Armory Gamma-shift head produced with a grin. "Estás solo, Patrón!"
Her department head somehow contrived to produce an expression of incredulous disgust that was more concentrated than all of its precursors put together. "I don't believe it!" he said bitterly. "The one person on board I'd counted on to uphold the standards of civilised behaviour, and she's going to flock along with the rest of the sheep. Well, don't expect me to be there going 'baaa' with the rest of you. I shall be in my quarters, improving my mind. And don't even think about trying to talk me around." With which awful pronouncement he rose and stalked out of the Mess Hall, the image of a man whose every cultural standard has been outraged.
Freed from the oppressive presence of so much resolute indignation, the small group gathered around the table were free to give their enthusiasm full rein.
Possibly the female members of it were the more enthusiastic. However, such an occasion was so momentous that it was even capable of inspiring excitement in the younger, male members of the crew. Travis was one of these. He was beaming at the prospect.
"He's a total legend!" he said now, for the dozenth time. "It's such a shame the band just decided to retire. Nobody ever knew why. Their debut album was awesome!"
'Fierce Blue Ascot' were a band who had belonged to a 'revivalist' genre, dedicated largely to recreating the music of past eras. 'Ascot' had specialized in the music of the late 1900s – the 1980s, specifically – and had garnered rave reviews for their accurate recreation of the mood and sound of the time, insofar as could be gleaned from the video recordings that had survived WWIII and the subsequent conflicts before humanity finally came to its scattered senses. They had been notable chiefly for the outrageous appearance and behavior of their 'front man' Ian Westbury, whose persona was such that he appealed equally to young people of both sexes and induced in their elders the profound sense that the world had gone to hell in a hand-basket.
Fortunately for the peace of mind of the older generation, the band's professional existence had been brief. After that popularly acclaimed debut album, they had released a second – to equal raptures – and then abruptly announced that they were retiring. The girl members of the band were occasionally seen in various venues, but Mr. Westbury himself had vanished. Impassioned pleas from his many fans had failed to elicit any information regarding his whereabouts or current status, and in time his memory had faded somewhat. Revivalists sighed nostalgically when the evergreen 'Under The Moon' was played, and it was widely held that their chart-topping cover of 'Leave Me To Bleed' had been a classic of the genre, but Fierce Blue Ascot and their two albums sank gradually into legend.
And good riddance to bad rubbish, said some.
The younger members of the crew of Enterprise were not among that number, so when during one of their rare visits to Jupiter Station for revictualling and upgrades the captain had announced out of the blue that they were to be favored with a special one-off performance by the band while they were in dock, the news was met with incredulous delight.
The excitement was heightened by the degree of secrecy that was to attend the occasion. One of the conditions attached to the performance was that all knowledge of it was to be kept from the music press – at a guess, the reclusive star did not want a resurgence of the hysteria that had characterized his band's brief period of fame. The crew, it seemed, were to be privileged with a private performance.
Quite how or why this had come about, nobody seemed to know. Even Captain Archer appeared slightly baffled. He had evidently not been among those caught up in the revivalist frenzy, and although even he had heard of the band, he'd had to be 'filled in' on the importance of the event by his helmsman. T'Pol had listened in too, looking austere, but on discovering that Trip was among those who intended to grace the occasion with his presence, she had evidently reversed her original decision that it was not a facet of Human civilization from which she was likely to gain any particularly useful insight.
However, it was now a settled thing. For good or ill, the concert was scheduled for the following evening, and some of the shuttles from the station had begun to bring over the minimal PA system that would be required for the event. It was to take place in cargo bays 4 and 5, which were fortunately empty – in the course of preparing the ship for the next part of the voyage they would be filled, but right now they were available for any use. They were two of the largest storage areas the vessel contained, so there would be ample space for the concert – after all, only the crew were invited – but perhaps the additional work entailed in issuing security clearances for the sound and lighting crews had been one reason for Lieutenant Reed's ire. He had certainly hovered irritably around the area while the staging was being set up, and complained that the power drain might affect the test figures for the latest armory simulations. Eventually Trip had sent him away, soothing him with the promise that the power flow would be modified suitably. Not, however, before teasing him that it was no use hanging around hoping for an autograph, because the star hadn't gotten there yet.
Apparently the head of the Armory was not 'hanging around hoping for an autograph', although as he stalked away he muttered that there was a portion of his anatomy that Trip might like to autograph. At least, that was the gist of the suggestion as his senior officer overheard it.
The scene was set. The crew was in a fever of anticipation – at least, most of them were. Even those who had little or no interest in the revivalist end of the modern 'music scene' had caught the bug, and were looking forward with varying degrees of anticipation to being present at so momentous an event.
All reviews received with gratitude!