Paint and Powder

A Star Trek anthology by Andrew Joshua Talon

DISCLAIMER: This is a non-profit fan based work of prose. Star Trek: The Next Generation, Deep Space Nine, Voyager et al are the property of CBS Television, and creation of Gene Roddenberry. Please support the official release.

Aftermath of "Trials and Tribble-lations, written by Dramatic Spoon

"They're in everything!"

"Terok, screaming at us will not solve the problem, We are doing what we can."

"I can feel them crawling around my ducts!"

"We are doing what we can, as we can," Sisko finished, "If it will satisfy you, you can see how the effort is going, but do not bother my staff. This is a delicate operation."

"Urgh."

"HEY! O'Brian!"

Terok Nor appeared in the engineering room.

"Terok, this is not a good time. The Tribbles have gotten into some very delicate machinery-"

"I KNOW!"

"And I'm working very hard to monitor the situation and make sure we do not suffer something catastrophic!" O'Brian glared at the AI, "Is that satisfactory?"

"...Yes," she meekly replied and vanished.

"They found another roomful," Kira grunted.

"Hrm."

"It's like someone is trying to stock them for something."

"I would imagine there would be a market for endangered species."

"Major. Constable." Terok greeted the two as she appeared.

"Station."

"Terok. If you're here to bother us, we're still clearing the spaces."

"Can't you just turn on the fire suppression systems that O'Brian installed?"

"It doesn't reach everywhere and for that to work we would need to evacuate and remove machinery."

"Poison?" Bashir wrinkled his nose, "Are you asking me to gas the Tribbles?"

"YES! It's taking too long! Do you know what it's like to feel them crawling in your-"

"That would take weeks to figure out the proper method! Testing, then the evacuation..."

"Evacuation?"

"Well, we're not going to leave the station occupied if we're going to flood it with poison. The evacuation would take who knows how long, we'd have to pack up the most valuable items, check everyone to make sure they aren't bringing any Tribbles with them. Then after the station is gassed, there would be the clean up, checking to make sure we got all of them, and-"

The door slide open as Jadzia pushed a sobbing Worf in.

"What happened?"

"I-"

"I have failed. Long have the Klingons sung of the Great Tribble Hunts, how they slaughtered them, how they fought for honor and glory and..."

Worf placed his face in his hands.

"So many. So...small, so fluffy..."

"...Is the Klingon ok?" Terok asked.

"Probably not."

"..."

"Ah, Terok Nor, is there something I can help you with?"

"...Why is this the only room on the station not filled with Tribbles, Garak?"

"Well, you know," Garak shrugged, "One of the things you learn as a tailor is how to keep pest out of your...most important areas."

"..."

"Quark!"

Terok materialized in the bar. Tribbles sat in every corner, filling the dabo tables, chairs and every nook and cranny they could.

"They've eaten all the Kanar! They've eaten my Romulean Ale, the Kanar, the Prune Juice, the only thing they haven't touched is the Root Beer!" the Ferengi screeched, "What am I going to sell now?"

Terok turned to look at the only other person in the room: Morn sat at his stool, a half-empty cup in hand.

"...Morn, are you ok?"

Without a word, Morn picked up a Tribble and placed it in his mouth. Terok stared at him in wide-eyed shock as the Lurian slowly chewed and swallowed.

Poor Terok Nor...