From drewry@roanoke.infi.net Tue Mar 23 14:04:41 1999
TITLE: Whiney, Scrawny Hirogen (an adaptation of "Tawny Scrawny Lion")
AUTHOR: original story by Kathryn Jackson; adapted by Laura Taylor (drewry@roanoke.infi.net)
RATING: G
SERIES: VOY
SUMMARY: What's the way to a hungry Hirogen's heart? Through his
stomach, of course.
DISCLAIMER: Paramount owns Star Trek, blah blah blah. "Tawny Scrawny
Lion" is a publication of Little Golden Books.
ASC & Marlissa OK to archive; all others, please ask first!
This is what happens when I waste time by cleaning my son's room :-)
Enjoy!
Laura
*****
Once there was a whiney, scrawny Hirogen who could never get enough to eat.
He hunted Vidiians on Monday...
Klingons on Tuesday...
Borg on Wednesday...
Ferengi on Thursday...
Kazon on Friday...
and on Saturday, Talaxians!
And since he caught and ate everything he hunted, that Hirogen should
have been as fat as butter. But he wasn't at all. The more he hunted,
the scrawnier and hungrier he got.
The other aliens didn't feel one bit safe. They stood at a distance and
tried to talk things over with the whiney, scrawny Hirogen.
"It's all your fault for running away," he whined. "If I didn't have to
hunt, hunt, hunt for every single bite I get, I'd be as fat as butter
and sleek as satin. Then I wouldn't have to hunt so much, and you'd
last longer!"
Just then, a spunky little Starfleet captain came warping through the
sector in a shuttlecraft, looking for a way home. All the big aliens
looked at her and grinned slyly.
"Captain," they said. "Oh, you lucky captain! We appoint you to talk
things over with the Hirogen."
That made the little captain feel very self-important.
"What shall I talk about?" she asked eagerly.
"Any old thing," said the big aliens. "The important thing is to go
right up close."
So the spunky little Starfleet captain warped right up to the big hungry
Hirogen and counted his ribs.
"You look much too scrawny to talk things over," she said. "So how
about supper on Voyager first?"
"What's for supper?" asked the Hirogen.
The little captain said, "Leola root stew." That sounded awful to the
Hirogen. But the little captain said, "Yes, sir, my five fat
lieutenants and my four fat ensigns are making a delicious big leola
root stew right now!"
"What are we waiting for?" cried the Hirogen. And he went warping away
with the little captain, thinking of ten fat Starfleet officers, and
looking just as jolly as you please.
"Well," grinned all the big aliens. "That should take care of
Whiney-Scrawny for today."
Before very long, the Hirogen began to wonder if they would ever get to
Voyager. First, the spunky little captain kept stopping to pick up
dilithium and coffee and all sorts of good-smelling supplies. And when
her cargo bay was full, what did she do but land on an M-class planet!
"Wait a bit," she said. "I want to catch a few fish for the stew."
That was almost too much for the hungry Hirogen. For a moment, he
thought he would have to eat that one little Starfleet captain then and
there. But he kept saying, "five fat lieutenants and four fat ensigns"
over and over to himself. And at last the two were on their way again.
"Here we are!" said the Starfleet captain, pulling into the shuttle bay.
Sure enough, there was Voyager, with a big pot of leola root stew
bubbling over an open fire in the messhall.
And sure enough, there were nine more fat, merry little Starfleet
officers standing around it!
When they saw the fish, they popped them into the stew, along with some
mushrooms and herbs. The stew began to smell very good indeed.
And when they saw the whiney, scrawny Hirogen, they gave him a big bowl
of hot stew. And then they scurried about so busily, that really, it
would have been quite a job for that tired, hungry Hirogen to catch even
one of them!
So he gobbled his stew, but the Starfleet officers filled his bowl
again. When he had eaten all he could hold, the captain gave him a
giant mug of coffee.
And when the coffee was gone--the whiney, scrawny Hirogen wasn't scrawny
any more! He felt so good and fat and comfortable that he couldn't even move.
"Here's a fine thing!" he said to himself. "All these spunky little
Starfleet officers, and I haven't room inside for even one!"
He looked at all those fine spunky little Starfleet officers, and wished
he'd get hungry again.
"Mind if I stay awhile?" he asked.
"We wouldn't even hear of your going!" said the Starfleet officers.
Then they plumped themselves in the Hirogen's lap and began to sing
Klingon opera.
And somehow, even when it was time to say goodnight, that Hirogen wasn't
one bit hungry!
Back to his ship he went, through the soft starlight, singing softly to
himself. He curled up in his bed, patted his sleek, fat tummy, and smiled.
When he woke up in the morning it was Monday.
"Time to chase Vidiians!" said the Hirogen.
But he wasn't one bit hungry for Vidiians! What he wanted was some more
of that tasty leola root stew. So off he went to visit Voyager.
On Tuesday he didn't want Klingons, and on Wednesday he didn't want
Borg. He wasn't hungry for Ferengi on Thursday, or Kazon on Friday, or
Talaxians on Saturday.
All the big aliens were so surprised and happy! They dressed in their
best and went to see the spunky little Starfleet captain.
"Captain," they said. "Oh, you wonderful captain! What in the world
did you talk to the whiney, scrawny, hungry, terrible Hirogen about?"
The spunky little Starfleet captain jumped in the air and said, "Oh, my
goodness! We had such a good time with that nice, jolly Hirogen that I
guess we forgot to talk about anything at all!"
And before the big aliens could say one word, the Hirogen came warping
up to Voyager. He had a cargo bay full of dilithium for the fat
Starfleet lieutenants, and a string of fish for the fat Starfleet
ensigns, and a big pot of coffee for the spunky Starfleet captain herself.
"I came for supper," he said, shaking hands all around.
Then he sat on the soft grass, looking fat as butter, sleek as satin,
and jolly as all get out, all ready for another good big supper of leola
root stew.
--
=====
"Ever since I was first read to, then started reading to myself, there
has never been a line read that I didn't *hear*. As my eyes followed the
sentence, a voice was saying it silently to me. It isn't my mother's
voice, or the voice of any person I can identify, certainly not my own.
It is human, but inward, and it is inwardly that I listen to it. It is
to me the voice of the story or the poem itself. The cadence, whatever
it is that asks you to believe, the feeling that resides in the printed
word, reaches me through the reader-voice."
Eudora Welty
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