From: SomeGod <psychon@oocities.com> Date: Tue, 19 Aug 1997 00:35:43 -0700 Subject: USS CHESAPEAKE: Reception - Nightmare Incarnate
MD 14.1958
Scene: Lounge
Something terrible was going to happen. He knew it was. Facing the
table with the drinks and small snacks next to the window with the
large, red curtains, Ensign Ozwald O'Graeach was busy ignoring everybody
else and munching his way through a selection of crunchy little snails.
He thought he remembered them from Artus I, but he had passed that
planet rather quickly, which was his preferred mode of transport. At
least when pursuit by a bunch of angry religious fanatics with big
guns. But that was a different story.
He gulped down another glass of Anduvian Basparko, a drink that could
make you more drunk than a pissed rhino in less than two glasses, or
have no effect on you whatsoever. There was never any guarantee that
just because you didn't get pissed on it yesterday you could take more
than a glass today. In fact, you could be guzzling Basparko all day
without any effect, have a quick snack, drink one glass and suddenly be
able to discover interesting things on the bottom of tables.
Right now it was not having any effect at all. Which was not the
desired outcome. What he really wanted was to be as far away from here
as possible. Say, halfway across the galaxy, and then turn left.
Clarissa had tried to talk him out of his fears, and arranged a meeting
with the counselor - which he missed - and pointed out that the
Corellians were not at all snakes, despite certain physiological
features. She had read him the physiological details, and he knew them
by heart. Or rather cortex. Which was the problem. Like all brains,
his, too, consisted of a reptilian, a mammalian and a neo-mammalian
brain, with the neo-mammalian brain containing the cortex that took care
of thinking and planning, and the other brains being responsible for
fight or flight. And, like all beings of human intelligence, Oz had
been using his neo-mammalian brain to deal with the world. His cortex
had told him that fairies were nice, that cute fluffy things could not
hurt you and that being brave and couragous was a manly thing. Of
course, after the fairies had turned out to be aliens looking for
specimens, the cute fluffy things ate his friend and he'd watched a
brave and courageous man being hacked to bits, his lower brains had
taken charge, and, once in power, never really released it again. After
all, he had been a small child at that time.
Maybe if he changed drinks...If he couldn't be somewhere else
physically, maybe if his mind went somewhere else...
"High Duchess Livia." a yeoman announced from the door.
Nearly everyone in the lounge, and all of the Starfleet officers
turned.
Catherine took the opportunity to mumble some polite thanks to Mister
Coltair, then quickly made her way to the bar, trying hard not to appear
as
though she were fleeing.
Oz, on the other hand, *was* fleeing. Or at least trying to. Usually
when afraid his body would simply run away, and he had learned not to
interfere. His body knew what was good for it, and that was usually
being as far away as possible from the thing that wanted to eat him.
In this instance, however, his feet did not move. Could not move. He
watched the duchess enter, gracefully, and his blood seemed to freeze.
His hair stood on end, all over his body, and every muscles refused to
move, including his eyelids.
He watched her enter. Gracefully. Gracefully like a snake, he thought
panicky.
She opened her mouth, her tongue flicking out, like a snakes tongue.
*Snake ! Snake !*, he thought, then forcing himslef, as Clarissa had
told him, to remember the things she had read him from the physiological
file. *Tongue: Slimmer and longer than a humans tongue, but not
forked, is an atavistic remains from the earlier evolutionary stages
when the Corellians would suck water from long-stemmed plants. This
long tongue gives the Corellians their typical hissing which will be
masked by a universal translator.*
It did not help. It still looked like a snakes tongue.
He watched her move. Gracefully. With precision, with civilized
elegance. Civilized, hah ! So she wasn't scaly, unlike the Corellians
he had met before -*scales developed as a sunblocker as their diet does
not permit the combination of melanin. Only 5% of Corellians have
scales* - but she still looked like one. Especially those eyes. Large,
yellow, and not blinking. *Corellians do not blink due to a dark moving
film of moisture that cleans and moistens their eyes. This gives them a
spiralling appearance, but does not hinder their sight at all* Nice to
know that *they* didn't have problems with it.
He watched her move. Gracefully. Determined. Deliberate. As if
waiting for her prey to move. Oz stood still. He wanted to run.
Wanted to hide. But he could not move his body.
Finally she walked out of his sight. It took some time, but finally
his body relaxed, and he could blink and swallow again. *Mayhaps I
ought to see the counselor one of these days.*, he thought. Mayhaps.
Sidling slowly behind the curtain and on the floor, Oz began to
shiver. *Okay, get a grip on yourself, for crying out loud !*, he
thought. *Or you'll just attract attention ! Okay, I can't leave, but
if I get rip-roaringly drunk they have to ask me to leave. And if I get
drunk I might not worry so much.*
MD 14.2040
Derek spotted Mr. O'Graeach, who was apparently having a wonderful
time. He smiled a bit. Ever since Anne had told him of their encounter
six
days ago, he had wanted to meet the eccentric FCO himself.
"Good evening, Mr. O'Graeach," he said, flashing his most
friendly
smile. "I'm Derek Fielding, assistant Chief Science Officer."
Fourty minutes, and several glasses of a variety of drinks had done
their share to relax the FCO a bit. In fact, Oz was having quite a nice
time. He had chatted with a few fur balls from the Lower Decks, had
danced a bit with an alien squid type thingie and was still trying to
figure out just where the twelve strips of latinum had come from which
he found in his breast pocket. And the strange black box which had
ended up in his trouser pockets.
Oz held his hand out and smiled drunkenly. "A pleashure, M-m-m-mister
Fielding. You're the guy w-w-working for Anne Murray, ain'tchya ?"
"I am, yes.", Derek confirmed. Oz nodded and for a moment could not
stop the motion, so he had to reach up and catch his nodding head in two
hands.
"I've met 'er. Sh-he ish a very nische w-w-woman. Hick. Even sho she
ish a bit nutsh, but -", Oz mumbled, then realized he was talking and
chewing simultaneously. For a moment he stopped both, trying to figure
out what to do, then swallowed and continued, " - she actually cared.
Hick. Och, this bloody stuff ain't working. I'm shtill as shober as an
Irish Virgin." Oz was using an idiom from his childhood time, around
480 AD, when Christianity had not really reached those green and
pleasant lands and the Old Gods were celebrated with pleasures both of
the wine and the flesh. He had always thought that he would probably
have liked growing up around that time.
"I would say it's working quite well.", Derek pointed out.
"I'm shtill shtanding, right ? So it'sh not working !" Then another
thought managed to reach his brain. "Heh, 'ow come I ain't seen Anne
yet ? She's alright, ain't she ?"
"She - um - asked me to take over for tonight. She was not feeling
very well.", Derek said, trying not to lie.
"No kiddin' ? Could I do that as well ? Send my assistant ?", Oz
asked keenly.
"I don't think it's that easy.", Derek smiled amused.
"Oh, bugger it.", Oz's face crumpled.
"You are not enjoying the party ?", Derek asked surprised.
"Oh, the pary's fine, it's the guests that are the problem. Every time
I see one of those Corellians I can't move, and every time I see those
lawyers I check my pockets.", Oz glanced over to one of the miners and
put his hand in his pocket. Now just how did this silver spoon get
there ? He could not remember taking it. Keeping on talking as if
nothing was amiss he continued, "Besides, I don't really care for this
music. I really wish we had some proper Zygartian Rock. Excellent
musicians, those Zygartians, even though their lyrics stink."
"I never heard of them. Whereabouts is their planet ?"
"Och, somewhere in the Gamma Quadrant. I think. About 14.5 lightyears
away from a small black hole."
Derek noticed that O'Graeach had lost his slurring speech, although he
was still not very sure on his legs.
"What are you drinking ? It smells very interesting.", the aSciO
asked.
"'tis ? It's a Corellian drink, made of fermented bug and grub
juice.", Oz said. "It's quite interesting. And have you tasted those
pinkish green little biscuits ?"
Derek nodded. "They tasted - odd. Nice but odd."
"They're a speciality of this system. They are made out of some sort
of fly type thingie. If you look closely you can still see how they
squeezed them into a biscuit shape.", Oz said happily, crunching away on
it.
<Tag, you're it.>
NRPG:
All: Sorry I haven't been posting, RL has been a bitch and my mail
system broke down. So suddenly I got hundres and hundreds of messages
to download...You know how it is. Anyway, I'm back !
I incorporated a few features of the Corellians. So, yes, O'Graeach
*has* met them, and though they may not look like snakes he certainly
perceives them as such.
Love,
Fabian
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