|
"Calm Before the Storm" by Lady Rainbow Rating: PG-13 for innuendo. You meet one of Matt’s relatives in this chapter too, as well as another familiar face from the “normal” ENT universe. Thanks for the edit, Pesterfield. And I accidentally gave Colonel Hayes a demotion. Oops. It's fixed now. Three When Trip Tucker had planned Matt Hayes’s bachelor party, he’d wondered what Tellarite and Andorian males did the night before they married. Both Captain Shran and Captain Gral overheard the question and made suggestions. Apparently, there were plenty of constants in the universe, for their all-male parties consisted of lots of songs, lewd remarks, and plenty of alcohol of all varieties. “My brother is a warrior, and as such, he deserves the best,” Shran had said. “I will contribute as much Andorian ale as needed, and we will sing to his prowess in battle.” Gral was quick to jump in, with a pointed glare at Shran. “I will bring the vinna and the drums.” “Drums?” Trip asked, though his instincts screamed at him not to ask. “Of course. For the atmosphere. Tellarites find certain rhythms soothing and inspiring.” Travis Mayweather grinned at Gral and quipped, “Inspiring, huh?” “A man needs inspiration,” Gral answered primly, “especially on the eve of a bonding. Don’t forget the dancing girls.” Travis swallowed hard. AG Robinson choked on his drink and J.T. Daniels looked like he wanted to crawl under a rock. Phlox raised his eyebrows and asked, “Tellarites have dancing girls?” “Why, of course,” Gral shot back, squinting his tiny beaded eyes. “They are highly trained professionals, Commander Phlox, and respected by their male clientele.” “You might as well have Orions,” Shran muttered in disgust. “At least we are all in agreement of the appreciation of their physical form.” Jonathan Archer had stepped in before it degenerated into bickering between Gral and Shran. They’d made some creative compromises, but Trip was satisfied with what they had planned. Now he proudly surveyed his handiwork from the bar of the 602 club. “They know how to do a party,” Ruby said, from her safe perch behind the bar. When an overeager Tellarite had made a pass at her, she’d busted a bottle of cheap liquor over his furry head. From then on, the partygoers had left her alone. “Yeah,” Trip agreed. He noticed faint music over the loudspeakers. It sounded something like a cross between Egyptian and Jamaican music, but he couldn’t place it. “What do ya have playin’? Never heard it before.” “You wouldn’t have—it’s Andorian. One of ‘em told me it’s the soundtrack to one of their ...um...educational videos. Shran said he slipped a copy of it among Matt’s gifts over there.” She indicated the growing pile of gifts at one corner of the bar. Trip sighed, but at least it wasn’t the Tellarite drums. “‘Educational video’, huh. I’m not sure Hoshi would be thrilled at watching it.” “I dunno. According to the label, it’s supposed to be artfully done.” Trip gave her a look of stunned disbelief, then caught her wicked smile. “For God’s sake, woman, don’t scare me like that!” “Sorry, Trip, but you’re an easy mark.” She laughed and replenished his bourbon without being asked. “I can’t help but be curiousabout what Captain Gral gave him, though.” “As long as it ain’t a drum salute. I don’t think my poor head couldhandle that right now.” “Another round of ale!” hollered Captain Shran at the top of his lungs, interrupting their conversation. Trip thought his skin looked a bit more azure than usual. He banged his crystal mug on the table for emphasis. “Double for my brother, for maybe then he’ll come to his senses, eh?” “Better now than in the marriage bed!” added one of his men. “It’d be a bit late then!” Loud, raucous laughter erupted from the Andorian contingent, which included Shran’s second in command, Ralan, and the crew of Shran’s new cruiser, the Hanrii. On the other side of the room sat Captain Gral with a pack of Tellarites. Gral passed a wineskin to Trip and mimed pouring; Trip did so and knocked back a healthy shot of Tellarite wine. The alcohol hit him like a freight train and he staggered a little. “Whoa, isn’t my best man supposed to keep me from getting too drunk?” Matt Hayes asked. He put out a hand on Trip’s arm to steady him. Matt seemed sober enough, despite the powerful combination of Shran’s and Gral’s gifts. “I’m doin’ it, right?” Trip replied with a grin. “You’ve drunk Gral’s second under the table, and I think Ralan’s about to drop off to snoozeland in a minute, too. Lemme guess, ya asked Rosie to give ya an alcohol inhibitor before ya got here ” Matt grinned and sipped his Andorian ale. Rosie Arroyo was Columbia’s chief medical officer and unofficial “mother hen”. “Not giving away my strategies, Trip. We’ve got one hell of a party, huh?” “You can say that again.” Trip replied. He caught AG Robinson’s smirk from across the room and returned it. Next to him, J.T. Daniels sat next to Chief Engineer Phlox; Daniels was explaining some custom or another to the curious Denobulan, who appeared to be taking notes on a PADD. It seemed the cultural lesson wasn’t limited to Humans, Andorians and Tellarites. The door opened and Jon Archer poked his head in. He surveyed the damage, shook his head, and raised an eyebrow at the sight of Shran and Gral on opposite sides of the room. “Looks like I’ve come by in time.” “Get in here, Jon! Where’ve you been?” hollered Travis Mayweather. “We were wondering if you were gonna make it!” “Jonathan Archer, you devil!” Matt strode up to him and grabbed his hand. Jon laughed and pounded the younger man on the back. “I’m glad you didn’t decide to skip the party.” “And miss the Andorian ale and the Tellarite vinna? Are you kidding?” Jon slid onto one of the bar stools and looked over at Shran. “Hww’whe an’dhe s’loean ja’rhe na?” “No, pinkskin, I’m still sober,” Shran shot back. “My alcohol tolerance is better than most.” “Drink some of the gh’arli’vinna,” Gral yelled. “See if you’re standing after that!” “I refuse to drink the swill you call alcohol, Tellarite!” Shran shouted back with a wicked smile. “You didn’t bring anything stronger?” “Anything stronger would burn the antennae from your head, Shran, and the lining of your weak stomach!” Gral heckled back. “But perhaps later I can introduce you to opapah. My lady puts some in her digestive every night before bed, and the results are spectacular!” “I don’t need it, but you may need to slip some into my brother’s drink, just in case!” Matt glared mockingly at Shran, then deliberately turned over to where Gral was sprawled on the floor with his men. “How many cases can you spare, Gral? A dozen?” “I can spare you two dozen, if you need it!” Gral answered with a waggle of his thick eyebrows. “Not for me, Gral. For anyone else who needs it.” “So he says,” Shran snickered. “If you were an Andorian by blood, you’d have to prove your prowess in front of all the women and let them decide.” Gral groaned and held his stomach. “How humiliating. Not to mention that the cold would make you an icicle, and that would be impressive, eh?” The bawdy teasing continued, much to Trip and Jon’s amusement. “Do they realize they’re bantering with each other?” Matt whispered. “Shran and Gral, I mean? Last I heard, they were ready to kill each other.” Jon laughed and tasted his whisky. “Don’t point it out to them; they’ll deny it to their dying day. In any case, a bachelor party’s special in both of their cultures, just like ours. You put aside all rivalries for this joyous occasion.” Trip chuckled and went back to surveying the crowd. He wondered briefly how Vulcans celebrated marriages, then winced as he remembered one of Soval’s memories. Unfortunately, Vulcans aren’t exactly...themselves at the time. That led to thoughts about T’Pol, back on Vulcan. She was supposed to arrive early the next morning for the ceremony as one of Hoshi’s attendants. Trip found himself looking forward to seeing her again. It was strange, too, that Doc Reed wasn’t here, either. Malcolm sent word he’d be delayed on Vulcan and wouldn’t make it to the ceremony. Odd. I wonder what the deal is. He’s got a lot of weight at the Vulcan Medical Academy; why couldn’t they spare him for a couple of days? The door opened again and interrupted Trip’s thoughts. He turned to see a pair of young enlisted men hovering in the doorway, their faces a mix of polite fear and horror. They seemed barely old enough to have graduated from Starfleet training, much less to be wearing stripes. He recognized neither of them--were they from Headquarters? Then their gazes fell briefly on Shran on one side of the room, then Gral on the other, then the combination of Enterprise and Columbia crew near the bar. The hair on the back of Trip’s neck stood on end, although nothing seemed out of the ordinary. He’d learned to trust his instincts long ago. Ruby called out, “Sorry, fellas, you’ll have to come back tomorrow. Bachelor party in progress.” “Oh,” said one of the men, with a blush. “Sorry, we didn’t know there was something scheduled.” “That’s okay; I had it sprung on me, too,” she reassured them. The second man asked, “Ruby, can you suggest another place for us to go?” “The jazz club down the street. A lot of my usual customers are there tonight.” “That sounds great, thanks.” Again, they looked over at Trip with mixed apology and chagrin. “We didn’t mean to barge in on a private party.” Matt Hayes smiled and shook his head. “That’s all right.” “Thanks, Ruby. Thanks, Captain Hayes.” The two men left with a wave at Ruby and a nod to Trip. Trip raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Matt. The captain had a concerned look on his face. Major Nate Kemper inclined his head and Trip nodded. “Stay here, Matt,” Trip ordered. “Jon?” “I’ll let everyone know,” Jon replied. “If anything happens, we’ll be ready.” “C’mon, Nate. I got a bad feelin’ about this.” The two of them slipped out of the club. The young enlisted men in question had gone no further than across the street. Trip pressed himself against an alley wall, assessing the loiterers there. It looked no different than a typical Friday night, with people heading to late-night movies and bars. Yet there was tension in the air, witha sense of foreboding. Trip narrowed his eyes as one of the men indicated something with hand signals. They crossed the street at two different points, but instead of entering the club again, they positioned themselves around it. Nate was already talking into his communicator. Trip crept forward and saw a group of fifteen or so people charging down the sidewalks and commotion erupted at the back of the 602. “Get the hell out of my club!” came Ruby’s outraged scream. Two bodies went flying back into the street, and a third crashed through the window. The door flew open and one Andorian and one Human rolled out, both punching and kicking at each other. A Tellarite roared and tossed out another interloper with a stubby paw. “The aliens are beatin’ up Humans!” shouted a gruff voice, right on cue. “Get ‘em!” The gorge rose in Trip’s throat and he thought, It’s a set-up! A bar fight, at the famed 602 Club, involving Starfleet heroes and non-Humans. Heads would roll after this hit the newsvids. He cursed under his breath at the audacity of the plan. “Terra Prime,” Nate said grimly. “Gotta be them.” Trip nodded; both he and Nate had tangled with them several times before. Terra Prime was like a bad case of the flu: you beat it down once, but it always came back. “C’mon, Nate, we gotta secure the area.” “Right behind you, Trip.” They both waded out into the fray, being careful not to get entangled in the fights that had broken out. Trip noticed a brown-haired woman with a vidcamera at the street corner. She wore a headset and she dictated into it as the event unfolded. Damn reporters! Trip recognized her: Gannet Brooks, the “Face of the Earth News Network”. Travis Mayweather was going to have a fit when he found out she was here, for she and Travis weren’t friends anymore. Trip deliberately circled around her, out of her line of sight. Gannet seemed absorbed in her report, but he didn’t want her to see him coming. Someone jammed a camera in his face and its flash blinded him for a critical second. By the time the bright sparkles faded from his vision, the street corner was empty. Gannet Brooks had disappeared. “Damn it!” he swore. Starfleet Security hovercars began to pull up onto the curb and Nate flagged down a Security officer. A burly man whipped out a club and threw himself at Gral, but before the man could hit the Tellarite, Trip launched himself into the fray. “Pick on someone your own size!” he snarled as he grabbed the man’s arm. He ducked a wide swing of the club and drove his own fist into the attacker’s midsection. The air whooshed out of the man’s lungs, and a sharp tap from Gral put him down for the count. “I didn’t need your help, Tucker,” Gral rumbled, but it had a touch of humor. Security rapidly gained control of the situation, as they separated the fighters and dragged them off to separate transports. People watched in shock and anger, while vidcameras recorded every moment. Uniformed personnel chased the reporters and confiscated their equipment, but some of them, like Gannet, had already left. “Trip? You all right?” He glanced over his shoulder at Jon Archer. The older man nursed a bruise on his cheek, but seemed otherwise unharmed. “I’m fine, Jon. That’s a nasty one you’ve got there. Let’s get that looked at...” Jon shook his head and cast an angry gaze over the chaos in the streets. “Someone provoked Shran and Gral, then tried to force their way behind the bar. That was when all hell broke loose.” “I saw one of our old ex-friends,” Trip said through gritted teeth. “Travis’s old flame.” “Gannet Brooks, from ENN.” Jon groaned, but his eyes were hard emeralds. “It’ll be all over the tabloids by tomorrow morning, unless we do some damage control now. I’m heading to the Tellarite Consulate. Captain Gral?” “Yes, Diplomat, I go with you.” Jon nodded at Gral, then looked back at Trip. “Keep me informed on what’s going on.” “I will,” Trip promised, but Jon had already strode away with Gral in tow. He heard a woman’s voice, cold and commanding, over the fray, and just as he turned around, that woman stalked in his direction. Trip recognized her and visibly gulped at the MACO uniform. “Uh...” Trip managed a smile. “Hello,Colonel Hayes.” “Trip Tucker, you’ve really done it this time,” saidColonel Amanda Hayes. Her gray-silver hair was in a hastily arranged bun. The furious green eyes bore into Trip’s and he felt a shiver of genuine fear under a wave of self-righteous indignation. “Where’s my son?” “Right here, Mom.” Matt Hayes replied, but he sounded more embarrassed than hurt. He was supporting a woozy Shran around the shoulders; Trip immediately went and helped the Andorian on the other side, despite Shran’s slurred objections. “Pleased...to meet...uh, make...your acquaintance, mother of my brother,” Shran rasped. He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. Amanda Hayes raised her eyebrows at him, even as she motioned for the medics to help Shran. “Excuse me?” “Long story, Mom. And please don’t blame Trip this time. It really wasn’t his fault.” “We’ll have a talk...at Starfleet Security.” Her tone brooked no opposition. “Let the medics help your Andorian friend...and you—“ she glared at Trip, “—come with us. I want to hear what happened and take statements from everybody. Come along.” Trip sighed and glanced at Matt as they helped Shran to a stretcher. Shran looked at the colonel’s retreating back with a look of respect. “Matthew, I like your mother.” |
Like it? Hate it? Just want to point out a typo? Join the discussion now.
Disclaimer: Star Trek in all its various forms and its characters are the property of CBS/Paramount. No copyright infringement is intended by the authors of this site, which is solely for the purpose of entertainment and is not for profit. This site is owned by CX and was opened to the public in February 2008.