Vows

“Ugh,” I said softly. “I hate those things.”

“You signed a commission in Starfleet and you hate transporters?” First Officer Stevenson said, stepping off the transport platform onto the USS Geronimo.

“It’s not like they beam you a few times before you sign the paperwork,” I retorted. “I’d no idea.”

“Happy faces, crew,” Captain Ryan said. “We want to show our hosts our our appreciation!”

“Appreciation is a shuttle ride,” I grumbled, following him off the platform.

“Buzz!” cried a man wearing a Command-gold shirt with the sleeve piping of a Starfleet Captain. “Welcome aboard!” Captain Cree, of the USS Geronimo, stepped out from behind the transporter controls and embraced Captain Ryan in a warm hug. “It’s so good to be together!” he exclaimed.

“The walls,” I noted softly to Shandra, “are purple.”

“Shh,” she said. “We’re probably in enough trouble.”

“Ah, yes,” Cree said, overhearing her. “You kind of are. We definitely appreciate you meeting us here to return that medical module. I’m… ah, I’m kind of afraid we need to take you,” he added, gesturing to Adam Stevenson, our engineer-slash-medical-officer, “into custody pending a hearing on the module’s… recent history.”

“Hey!” I objected, stepping forward.

Shandra grabbed my shoulder. “We talked about this,” she said.

“And then you made me de-weld the medical module,” I muttered.

“It’s fine,” she said firmly. “It’s in their shuttle bay, now.”

“And we thank you for that,” Cree said. “And as we discussed, we just expect to have a quick hearing in the briefing room later today, and we can clear all this up. From what I understand, there’s been no real harm, just a bit of a… misunderstanding.”

“It’s fine,” Adam said, stepping forward. “If you gentlemen,” he added, gesturing to the two red-shirted security guards, “could lead the way?” They nodded, one leading the way out of the transporter section and the other falling in behind him as they escorted him to what I presumed would be the brig.

“It’s a very comfortable brig,” Cree assured us, leading us out as well. “We’ve just gone through a refit, and we’ve got all the comforts and upgrades of a Constitution II-class ship. Just a bit smaller,” he added, grinning. “Are… are you coming with us?” He stopped, looking at Shandra. She was kneeled down on the deck, picking at the flooring with one finger.

“Is this… carpet?” she asked.

“Um…” Cree said slowly, “yes? It’s everywhere, really. What do you guys use?”

“Scuffed linoleum,” I said. “Remnants, actually, from a do-it-yourself warehouse.”

“Where there’s not doubled-up deck plating,” Ryan added.

“Obviously,” I agreed.

“Ah,” Cree said. “So, um, you guys want to see the bridge?”

“I didn’t bring a rosary,” I said.

“Stop,” Shandra said. “Yes, please, that’d be wonderful.”

Cree led us down the corridor to an oh-so-functional turbolift, which carried us to an oh-so-sparkling bridge that, I swear to you, was straight out of a Starfleet recruiting brochure. As we walked into the bridge, the officer sitting in the command chair leapt up and shouted, “Captain on the bridge!” Nobody else made a move. “At ease,” Cree said, somewhat redundantly in my opinion. They seemed pretty much at ease. A tall, lean woman with long, raven-black hair walked over from an observation station. “This is Captain… well, soon to be Captain Cree,” he said, grinning like an idiot.

“How can there be two Captains on a ship?” I asked. “I thought that was like, critical mass, and it’d all explode.”

“I’m actually commanding an embarked mission,” the woman added.

“She’s technically referred to as Commodore to avoid confusion,” Cree added. “We’re getting married.” I blinked several times, probably enough to alarm him. “We’re technically still on a shakedown cruise after the refit,” he explained. “So they sent us to pick up the medical module from you guys, and then I’m taking some time off to get married. To her,” he added, gesturing awkwardly at the gold-shirted woman. They both smiled.

“Is there a bar on board?” I asked.

“Seconded,” Shandra said. “Also, what’s the procedure regarding Adam? I want to make–“

A Klaxon started blaring. The bridge lights dimmed, accentuating the flashing red panels set into the wall. Dramatic, I felt, but absolutely the opposite of “hey, shit’s wrong and you need to pay close attention,” which is kind of what I’d personally have expected in an emergency. This felt more like a, “hey, let’s have a cool and relaxed attitude toward impending doom, and maybe a nice glass of Merlot.”

“Report!” Cree shouted, running toward the command chair. Man Cree, that is, not woman-Cree-to-be. Hell, this was going to be tough to write about later.

“Incoming ship,” the officer at the security station responded. “Hostile configuration, no identifier.”

“Raise sh– oh, right,” Cree said, his voice trailing off.

“What?” Shandra asked.

“Shields are one of the things we found aren’t working so well after the refit,” he explained.

“On it,” I said, running to the side of the bridge where the shield controls would sit.

“No,” he said, “they moved them. Over here,” he pointed. To the opposite side of the bridge.

“Well, there’s your problem,” I muttered reversing course and diving under the console.

“Um,” said the red-shirted Engineering officer sitting in that position. “You can’t–”

“Hush, you,” I said, pulling a ‘driver out of my coveralls pocket. “If you hadn’t just locked up our real engineer, this’d already be faster.”

“Incoming transporter carrier,” the Security officer yelled. Useful chap. The telltale fairy-chime of a transporter beam sounded throughout the bridge.

“Shit,” Ryan said.

“Buzz?” The voice was female, moderately deep, and husky. I’d recognize it anywhere.

“Black Amy™?” I said from under the console. I started extracting myself. This was bound to be good.

“Shit,” Shandra said.

“Look,” Amy said, “I don’t want any trouble, I just–“

“SHIT!” Ryan cried.

“What?” Amy said, looking bewildered.

“Trouble. I mean, tribble.”

“You didn’t,” Shandra said.

“The red one?” I asked.

“What?” Cree said, confused.

“Yes,” Ryan said, his face a mask of worry.

“You did,” Shandra said.

“Shit,” I added.

“WHAT?!?” Cree yelled.

“I brought you a tribble as a present,” Ryan said. “A rare red one.”

“ON A STARFLEET SHIP?” Cree screamed. Ryan nodded dejectedly. “WHERE?!?!?”

“I lost it,” he said quietly. I started to laugh, but tried to hold it back, resulting in a huge snot-wad spraying out of my nose and into the console I was laying under.

“URK!” Cree responded.

“I NEED A TOILET,” Black Amy yelled at the same time. She’d moved over to Captain Cree and pulled a wicked-looking knife on him, even as he tried to put her into a chokehold.

“What?” Cree said, wrestling with her.

“I thought you’d sold that tribble,” Shandra told Buzz.

“TOILET!” Amy yelled.

“Wait,” Shandra said, turning to where Amy and Captain Cree were now fighting over possession of the knife. Still on the deck, I pulled my knees up and enjoyed the show. “is this…?”

“YES.” Amy yelled.

Shandra pointed to the side of the bridge. “There’s one in the ready room,” she said.

“Not anymore,” Cree said. “It’s one floor down,” he added, pointing at the turbolift. “But you can’t–“

Amy broke free, pulled his phaser from his hip, stunned him it, ran toward me, hauled me upright, drug me toward and into the turbolift, and said, “I’ll be right back.” Once we were in the lift, she said, “take me to a toilet.” I complied. She had a lot of knives, plus the phaser. Turbolifts aren’t so “turbo” when they’re only moving one floor; it took a solid five seconds for it to come to a stop and for the doors to slide open.

“There,” I said, gesturing to the left. “Just past the transporter section, make a quick left.” She nodded and ran. I keyed the turbolift back to the bridge. The doors whooshed shut, and I felt the lift move. But the doors didn’t open. “Um,” I said. “Hello?”

“Don?” I heard from outside the doors.

“The doors won’t open,” I said loudly.

“That’s been a problem,” I heard Commodore will-be-Cree – the gold-shirted lady who hadn’t been stunned – say. “Don’t try to pry them open, they’re delicate,” she added.

“Isn’t this a warship?” I muttered. “Why are things delicate?” Then, in a louder voice, “can someone share with me exactly what the fuck is happening? I think I broke the elevator.” I heard a squeaking behind and above me. Looking up, I saw a small red tuft of fur squeezing into the wall panels. “Shitballs on a stick,” I said, just as the ‘lift doors wooshed open. I leapt onto the bridge. “So, what’s happening?”

Shandra was sitting on the deck, her head in her hands. “It’s Amy,” she said.

“Yes,” I said. “I noticed.”

“She’s part Betazed and part Klingon,” she said.

“Fascinating,” I said, “and I definitely am going to need a diagram of how that works at some point,” I noted, “but what does it have to do with right now?”

“You know how Betazeds have a cycle?” I blinked. I did know, but it involved gross organism things. “Never mind” she said. “Amy has a cycle too, but it’s different.”

“Different how?” I asked.

“About every three years she needs to vomit,” Shandra said. “Copiously. She usually drinks beforehand to justify it.”

“Why in the name of all that’s holy would she do it here?” Ryan asked.

“It’s probably the refit,” the Commodore said. “The toilets are beautiful on this ship. And also, obviously, the shields aren’t working. You didn’t leave her alone down there, did you?”

“I–” I got out, as the turbolift doors whooshed again.

“The bathrooms were beautiful,” Amy said, emerging from the ‘lift. “That one’s going to need to be replaced,” she added.

“I’m sure they can cl–“ Ryan started.

“No. Replace it,” Amy said. “I apologize for the intrusion,” she added. “I–“ and she stopped. She was staring at the console station I’d recently been laying under. She walked over, looking at the console surface, cocking her head from side to side. Without saying a word, she pulled a small cloth from somewhere on her person, and began vigorously rubbing at the gloss-black surface of the console.

“Oh-kay,” I said.

“Minor OCD,” Shandra said, stunning the pirate with as phaser she’d probably picked up from the stunned-Cree. “Probably spotted a fingerprint.”

“I did recommend against gloss surfaces,” the Commodore said. “Is she going to be a problem?”

“We should probably get Adam to look at her,” Shandra said. “On the Troll..”

“We don’t have a medical module,” Ryan reminded her.

“We’ve a competent medical staff,” the Commodore said.

“Let Adam look at her in the medical bay, then,” Shandra said.

“Adam’s in detention,” the Commodore reminded us.

“Stow it, sister,” Shandra said. “We all know what that’s about. You guys have your medical module back, it’s completely intact, we’ve definitely kept all the drugs, and nobody wants to fight about this.” The two women looked at each other for a moment. Shandra lowered her phaser. The two stepped closer, and then embraced.

“I’ll get him out,” the Commodore said. “Just to make sure she’s okay. And your pirate is invited to the wedding,” she added.

“Wait,” Amy said, turning from the now-grease-free console, “there’s a wedding?”

“That one,” I said, pointing to the smiling Commodore, “and that one,” pointing to the Captain, who was just beginning to rouse. “I also suspect there’ll be a review of security procedures at some point.”

“Indeed,” Cree said, rubbing his temples. “We’re just on a shakedown cruise,” he muttered.

“I’m assuming there will be Romulan Ale at this wedding,” I said.

“And cake,” the Commodore confirmed.

She was correct. There was Romulan Ale, and peanut butter-and-jelly flavored cake. None of which got onto the ship’s pristine carpeting. The wedding itself was beautiful – Captain and Commodore-but-really-Captain Cree exchanged simple vows on the bridge of the ship, surrounded by a small contingent of officers and the Troll crew. And Black Amy. After getting more than a few sidelong looks, Amy beamed herself back to her ship and left; the rest of us were offered a tour of the ship, and had a wonderful time. Hours passed before I realized I hadn’t seen Captain Ryan.

“Buzz is missing,” I said quietly to Shandra. Leave it to Starfleet, I thought, to wait until they had him in their clutches to blame him for–

“Is he?” she asked, smiling. She turned to watch the Crees, embracing and looking at each other as if they were the only two bipeds in the universe.

“Ah,” I said.

Or at least, that’s how I remember the story.