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"Oopsy Daisies"
Rating: PG Keeping The Beat (5) Archer leaned back in his chair, watching aliens outside the quarantine door. “How long has it been, Cap’n?” Trip asked. “I don’t know but if you ask again I’m confining you to your quarters for the rest of your life, Trip,” Archer answered. “Not even Navta gets this bad.” Trip let his head fall back against the wall. Lieutenant Porter and Ensign Lowes sat on the bench across from Trip and Archer. Lieutenant Porter had his eyes closed and his arms crossed tight across his chest. Ensign Lowes leaned forward on the table at the back, laying his head on his arms and watching the aliens outside. “Captain Archer,” a voice said on the COM. Archer looked at the view monitor. He smiled at the alien when it appeared. “Admiral,” Archer said. “We’re sorry we had to detain you like this.” “It’s okay. I’d rather not make your people sick,” Archer said. “Thank you for your understanding. Doctor Quarz said it’s going to be another four hours before you can be released. Would you like some food and drink?” “Please,” Archer said. “I’ll have them bring it right away. Again, I apologize. This ‘common cold’ as you call it, could prove fatal if any of our people catch it.” Ensign Lowes sat back, out of the line of sight of the view screen and made a scowl at the screen. Archer said nothing. “We understand. Really.” The screen went black again. Archer smiled, looking down. “This is as bad as being stuck in a shuttle pod with Navta,” Archer said. “Why’s that?” Trip asked. “Let’s see…you’ve asked how long it’s been four dozen times, after the third transmission Ken can’t let a transmission pass without making a face at it, and David here is…asleep.” “Not asleep, sir,” Lieutenant Porter said, smiling, “I’m studying all those notes I tattooed on the inside of my eyelids for college and Starfleet tests.” “My first away mission in almost nine months and what happens? I get stuck in Decon because I’ve got the sniffles!” Ensign Lowes complained. Trip sighed, looking out the door. “Be nice if that window was even real.” Archer laughed, shaking his head. “Trip, stop whining.” “I’m not whining!” Trip protested. Archer laughed a little louder. A slot opened and a drawer opened with four trays with bowls of noodles, glasses and chopsticks. Trip stood up and moved the trays to the table at the back. The three sat down around the table, silently starting to eat. “Tastes like…beef,” Ensign Lowes said. “They don’t have cows, Ensign. They don’t eat meat,” Trip told him “I know, but it tastes like beef. Doesn’t yours taste like beef?” “Naw…oddly it tastes like chicken and noodles,” Trip said, poking at the items in the bowl. “My tastes like lobster and noodles,” Lieutenant Porter said before scooping another bite in his mouth. “Perhaps it’s supposed to change flavor to whatever you want it to be,” Ensign Lowes said. “That’d be a feat,” Trip said. They fell silent, eating the rest of their meal in silence. Archer finished and went back to his spot by the monitors that showed the space station promenade. Trip moved to the bench at the back and laid down, staring up at the ceiling. Lieutenant Porter sat back down on the opposite bench, going back to his relaxed position. Ensign Lowes cleared the table of the trays and bowls and put them back on the drawer. As it started to close, he reached out and snatched his chopsticks up. He walked back to the table and sat down in a chair. He licked them clean, tossed them in the air, caught them and began tapping them on the table. Archer glanced at him, but said nothing. Trip turned his head, watching him. He reached down, unzipped a pocket on his uniform and pulled out his harmonica. He sat up, resting the heel of his shoe on the edge of the bench and began playing to Lowes’ beat. “Now all I need is my guitar and we’d rock!” Lieutenant Porter laughed. A male alien face appeared on the view screen. “What is a guitar?” “It’s a musical instrument.” “Describe it.” Lieutenant Porter looked up a moment and then answered, “It is described as a flat-bodied stringed instrument with a long fretted neck and usually six strings that are plucked with fingers or a pick. The pick’s usually a synthetic makeup, but I’ve used wood and bone before. My dad gave me my great-grandfather’s ivory picks. Those are beauties.” The man looked down and then disappeared. “That was different,” Archer said, smiling at Lieutenant Porter. “Guess we’d better not say too many bad things,” Lieutenant Porter joked, laughing. Several minutes passed and then the drawer opened again. On it laid a banjo and two picks. The alien appeared on the view monitor again. Trip and Ensign Lowes broke off, staring at the instrument. “That’s the closest we could come to this instrument you described,” the alien told them. “It’s a banjo! Wow. I haven’t seen one of them in years.” “You know how to play the shawsh?” “Yeah.” Lieutenant Porter picked up the instrument and the two picks sitting next to it. “It is one of our technicians. He plays in an orchestra with an organization he attends.” “Tell him thanks,” Lieutenant Porter smiled at the view monitor. The alien smiled in return. “He will be listening so you had best not play it poorly.” Lieutenant Porter laughed. He rested it in his lap, taking the neck in his hand, and checked that it was tuned. Then he picked up the beat with Trip and Ensign Lowes. The men passed the time by playing a variety of songs they knew or made up. |
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