FauxEnigo hit the ground with a sloppy thunk.
Enigo ran to the balcony, balancing on the bars to better aim over the side. When his opponent didn’t move, he let out a trilling cry of his old gang. “Damstrate! The ship is family – and no one messes with my family!”
From the roof, someone yelled, “Yo, Blood!”
Enigo looked up and to the left
Solero shot him three times in the chest.
Enigo let out one curse, then fell off the balcony.
Loreli screamed.
* * *
Smythe had just made it to the plaza when he heard Loreli’s scream. He took off in the direction from which it came.
The suite door suddenly gave way, and the two ladies ran to the balcony where they saw Loreli leaning over the railing and sobbing. Ellie also screamed, but Leslie grabbed them both and pulled them into the room. She ducked into the bathroom and retrieved the first aid kit Ellie had found and the three dashed down the stairs.
Rosien and Gel decided that even in a car, the scenic route was not the best decision, after all, and retraced their steps to find the wide avenue they’d originally used.
LeRoy kept running, but once again, he was the pursuer. He liked it better that way.
* * *
The first aid kit was a useless gesture. Enigo was dead.
Now of course, anyone who has read the blog or watched ST: TOS “Shore Leave” knows Enigo isn’t really dead, but for the sake of the story, suspend what you know and let yourself get immersed in the scene:
Loreli kneeling at the body, no longer screaming but in shocked grief. Tears run down her perfect face, not blotching her complexion at all. Her hands hover over his arm, his chest, his face, as if afraid to touch him. She bites back a delicate sob.
Ellie muttering denials as she checks his wrist, his neck, her tricorder, for any sign of life. Straus standing, dumbstruck, and thinking, “This is my fault. If I hadn’t imagined Don Juan, he wouldn’t have gone after Loreli and the LT wouldn’t have been on the balcony at that moment. It’s my fault. Oh, gods, this is not how I want to get bridge duty.”
Smythe thunders up the alley, slowing as he sees the bodies. Ellie looks up, cheeks tear-streaked and blotchy, and shakes her head. In the background, sad, tense music plays. Smyth crouches in front of the body. He presses a hand against his lips in an expression of guilt and grief. Since the captain wasn’t there, it was his job to emote the regret and self-blame of a commander losing a redshirt, after all.
Suddenly, Straus broke the iconic scene. “Sir!”
Solero and Barbie dropped from the rooftop. Solero raised his gun and Barbie lifted her ninja sword with a loud kia (the ninja war cry, not the car).
Smythe pointed his sonic screwdriver at them, and the two toppled.
As Straus cautiously approached the bodies, knife out and whip ready, Ellie and Loreli went to the First Officer. “How did you know that would work?” Doall asked.
“I didn’t. I simply wished it would.”
“And that’s exactly the point!” a stranger’s voice said from a convenient alcove. They turned to find a humanoid male in forest green velour robes with gold filigree, a daring fashion choice favored by too many unknown alien species. When the Impulsive crew turned weapons on him, he held up his hands in peaceable surrender. “Oh, that won’t be necessary. You see, we’re just realizing you don’t have a complete understanding of how this world works.”
“You take our wishes and innermost desires and somehow manufacture situations to make them reality,” Smythe said, because as ranking officer, he got to take credit for the thought work his people did. RHIP.
The man sputtered, his prepared speech apparently derailed. “Well, yes, but you don’t understand the limits. This is meant solely for your entertainment, and–”
“Entertainment? Limits? Your constructs shot my LT!” Straus yelled. She flung her hand back to point at the body, but it, FauxEnigo, and the two gang members were gone.
“What did you do with my LT?” She launched herself at the man, but Smythe caught her before she could bury her knife into his chest.
“Please calm down, and I’ll explain. You see, this is exactly what I’m talking about. We weren’t prepared for the more extreme and on occasion, dark, desires of your subconscious.”
“Like Don Juan?” Ellie said, glancing at the FauxEnigo who had heretofore been ignored by the grieving crewmen.
“Hey! I just thought he was some hot romantic guy, maybe a little…extreme…in his appetites. I didn’t want someone all slimy and rapey.”
“Of course not, but this is where conflicting desires came into play. Ensign Doall knew what the legendary Don Juan was really supposed to be like, and she also has a strong need to be right in all situations.”
“So, it’s my fault he’s all slimy and rapey?” Ellie exclaimed. “I’m the reason Enigo got killed?”
From behind them, a familiar voice said, “Vero! And if I had really died, I’d be pissed.”
Enigo stood before them, whole, clean, and wearing a Kevlar vest and multiple projectile weapons, bandoliers and a couple of grenades over his uniform. Hanging on his arm was Barbie, dressed in tight leathers and loose weaponry and staring at him with a besotted smile.
“Enigo!” Ellie ran to him and hugged him. Then she stepped back and smacked him on the arm. “How could you scare us like that?”
The other ladies had similar urges, of course, but Enigo was Straus’ superior officer, and Loreli, even in the throes of grief, was too much a professional to show such blatant favoritism. She would find a quieter time to tell him of her great relief.
He gaped at her, then laughed. “It wasn’t my idea. I thought I’d legit bought it. Damn, that hurt, then everything went black, and then I woke up and was totally healed. Except for the scars. I kept those.
“The scars are amazing,” Barbie oozed, caressing his chest over the Kevlar.
“And the young lady?” Smythe asked.
“Oh, right! Sir, meet Barbie 57. Time runs differently underground. I was all healed and making my way up when I heard flamenco music coming out of this little cantina, and there they were. Dance halls are neutral territory on the Hood, so I went in for a drink and, well.”
“Solero is good in a fight,” Barbie concluded, “but when it comes to dancing, he’s got nothing on Enigo.”
“I’m suave like a jungle cat, right Vixen?”
Barbie made a playful growl in reply.
“So you see,” the alien caretaker said in conclusion. “Everything turned out all right in the end, and we’re recalibrating our systems to better account for the wilder variations of the human mind. In fact, with a brief orientation, there should be less confusion.”
“Confusion?” Smythe cocked a brow derisively. “Resuscitated or not, a valued member of my crew was killed.”
Enigo jumped to the caretaker’s defense. “Well yeah. I shot zombies, did a heroic rescue, died a romantically tragic death… Plus, I stole my rival’s bae. All in what, a couple of hours? Best shore leave ever!”
If the members of the away team thought they were done gaping for the day, they were mistaken. They all stared at Enigo, jaws dropped.
“The only thing left on my wish list is payback on that Solero for killin’ me. Please, sir? Can I stay a little longer?”
A roar of an engine interrupted their discussion, and a ZAT (Zombie Apocalypse Truck, for those that have forgotten the mention in Episode One) trundled up the alley. A long, thick pseudopod bearing Gel’s head stuck itself out the driver’s side window. “Here you are! Look what I found. And the controls are all made for Globbals. Can you believe it?”
Rosien jumped out of the passenger side and took in the Chief of Security and his impossibly proportioned apocalyptic eye candy. “Did we miss something?”
Ellie pulled her aside to explain while Enigo and Barbie went to admire Gel’s vehicle and discuss the weaponry.
Smythe took the mom
ent to approach the unusually quiet Loreli. “Are you all right, Lieutenant?”
She nodded, but her skin was paler than usual. “I will be. This has not been what I’d consider fun.”
She cast the caretaker one of the darkest looks Smythe had ever seen from her.
The caretaker gave her a sad smile and a bow. “My apologies, my dear. We were addressing your primary desire to improve the morale of Lieutenant LaFuentes.”
“That’s so you!” Barbie cooed.
The caretaker continued. “But perhaps now we can find something more suited to your needs?”
This seemed to mollify the Botanical, but Smythe addressed the Caretaker sternly. “I’ll want certain guarantees in place. Lieutenant LaFuentes’s race is an especially, psychologically hardy, when it comes to death and injury, but I will not have my crew dealing with PTSD from a shore leave excursion.”
“Of course, of course. Shall we discuss this with your captain?”
A low bwak! echoed off the stone walls of the building. Everyone went alert. Even Barbie drew a nine mil from her holster.
A seven-foot Calusian Brown rounded the corner, a triumphant LeRoy Jenkins riding its back, reins in hand.
“LeRoy!” Straus exclaimed. “You did it!”
“Yeah!” LeRoy hopped off the bird and walked it to the gathering security team. “I caught this monster chicken and made her my hen. Yaaaaa!”
“Yaaaaa!” the redshirts shouted back.
“Yaaaaa! Then I’m going back and making her demon brood my dinner. Yaaaaa!”
“Yaaaaa! Bar-be-que!”
In a rare display of emotion, Smythe pinched the bridge of his nose. “Perhaps we should get to discussing limits with my Captain. Unfortunately, our comms are inoperative.”
“Yes, unfortunately, that was part of LaFuentes’ fantasy. He has an unusually strong will. We’ve had to recalibrate our systems twice to compensate. They should be fine, now. But please, let’s discuss this in more hospitable surroundings.”
“Sir?” Enigo said. “Solero is still out there, and by now, he’s regathering his gang…”
Smythe waved one hand indulgently. “All right, Lieutenant, but some restraint, please? Not all wishes should be granted.”
“No problemo! Who wants to kick zombie and Crip butt?” he asked the room at large.
LeRoy answered by mounting his fowl and shouting his own name. Gel revved his engines.
“Could I just go shopping?” Rosien asked timidly.
Straus smiled. “You know, I think my tastes for danger run a different way.”
“Do they?” A suave dapper man leaned stylishly against a wall. He wore a gray suit and an even grayer tie. “I’d like to hear more.”
Leslie smiled and sauntered toward him. “Perhaps over lunch?”
“I think that could be arranged.” He slid his hand around her waist. His grip tightened lightly on her whip as they strolled away.
Enigo rolled his eyes. “Loreli? Doall?”
Loreli shook her head. “I think I’d prefer to join the commander and learn more about these people.”
“Of course.” The caretaker waved his hand down the alley. “This way.”
From a blue box a few feet ahead of them, a tall man with a red fez and a facial tattoo said, “Oi, Smythe, maybe when you’re done with the caretaker, you’ll have time for an adventure in time and space?”
Inside, Smythe’s inner child squealed and did a little dance, but aloud he said, “Of course – but an adventure in time, please. I have adventures in space every day.”
It was a line he’d practiced in his mind since he was a plebe at the Academy, and he was thrilled to find it rolled off his tongue with such droll casualness. But when the Doctor tossed him the key to the TARDIS, he almost lost his composure.
“Just make a wish,” Doctor 34 said, then stepped into his blue police box. With a VWORP VWORP, which according to the comics is the official way to write the TARDIS sound – don’t blame me – he and the box disappeared.
Smythe cleared his throat and indicated for the caretaker to continue on.
That left only Ellie standing alone, backpack still on her shoulder, uncertain what to do next.
“Well, Doall?” LaFuentes said to her. He jerked his head at the ZAT, and Gel revved the engine invitingly.
“Me?” Doall blinked. “I dunno. I’m not really a fighter…”
“Come on!” Ninja astrophysicist flamenco dancer Barbie cajoled. “I believe in you!”
“Yeah. Just don’t wish me dead again, and we’ll be fine.”
“Well, okay.” As she clambered in next to the squealing and clapping Barbie, she asked Enigo, “What do you know about jungle cats?”
“Ai, chica, we had National Geographic in our library.”
“Strong, suave and smart, too. Isn’t he just wikadas?” Barbie sighed, then said, “Ooo! I love your outfit!”
Gel hit the gas, and they tore down the cobbled streets, a man on a chicken racing along behind.
“LeRoy Jenkins!”
* * *
Captain’s Log, Supplemental
After some cordial discussions and the creation of a brief training video, Commander Smythe and I feel comfortable allowing our crew to make use of the shore leave planet. The Caretakers, as we’ve dubbed them, are really a remarkable people. A species of pure thought who inhabit the vastness of the nebula, they are nonetheless aware of the corporeal creatures that traverse it at a much slower pace. Out of kindness and sheer neighborliness, they took it upon themselves to create this rest stop and take great delight in watching us play. We’ve taxed their systems a bit – LaFuentes, in particular – so we decided to allow the current team to remain and complete their leave time in order to “work out the kinks.” In the meantime, the medical and mental health teams have set up a rotation, taking into account stress levels and varying interests in order to make it easier for the Caretakers to accommodate us without too much trouble.
I’m heading down to Teleporter Room one to meet the party as they return to get a first-hand report before I head out myself.
Captain Tiberius wore a flannel shirt and waders and held a pole in one hand and tackle in the other. His floppy hat had a variety of flies stuck in it along with a pin of a fish jumping out of a map of Texas. The Transporter chief gave his captain a single cursory glance before deciding the better part of valor was to tend to his equipment.
“My mistress sees our comrades and desires their destruction and rebirth,” he intoned.
If that sounded odd to the Captain, then he, too, chose the better part and ignored it. “By all means, zap them up.”
A moment later, the away team appeared on the teleporter pad. Ensign Rosien, dressed in a flaring skirt and white heels, her hair perfectly coifed and make-up immaculate, picked up her bags and strutted to the transporter console. She handed Chief Dour two slips of paper.
“The items at these coordinates need to be ‘ported to the botany lab. The boxes at these should go straight to my room. Thank you!” She gave the captain a smart nod and strode out.
Lieutenant LaFuentes looked ragged, dirty, bloody, and absolutely elated. He had a rose tucked behind his ear.
“Best shore leave ever, sir!” he hooted as he all but bounced off the pad. Minion Gel O’Tin followed behind, less energetic and a little splotchy, but also seemingly content. Ensign Jenkins, too, seemed bedraggled by pleased; he wore a necklace of chicken bones and was still sucking on a chicken leg.
Ensign Doall dragged herself behind them. Her hair was a mess despite it being tied into a tight ponytail. She, too, was smudged with dirt and blood and a bruise darkened her cheek.
“It was…interesting,” Doall offered. “It certainly stretched my horizons.”
“Doall held her own, Captain. Not bad for an ops officer,” LaFuentes said.
Doall gave him a look that was at once proud, weary and What-the-hell-was-I-thinking? “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir. Request permission to go to S
ickbay?”
Jeb gave her an understanding smile. It took a special kind of crazy to volunteer for one of LaFuentes’ training exercises. He could hardly imagine the real deal. “Granted.”
“Thank you, sir.” She made her slow way from the room. He thought he heard her say something about her childhood being ruined.
“How about you, Straus?” Enigo asked. “Enjoy yourself?”
Straus was again in her mended uniform, but there was nothing regulation about the dreamy smile on her face. “Oh, my horizons were stretched as well. With your permission, sir? Ellie! Wait up!”
Smythe was next off the pad, having delayed to rearrange the crown of gold leaves on his head and make sure his toga didn’t reveal anything, as well as to give the other characters a chance to get their lines in. “Nova of a time, Captain. Simply brilliant!” he said.
“Maybe you should change into uniform before reporting to the bridge?” Jeb suggested.
“Right. Fantastic time, sir. I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”
“How about you, Loreli?” Enigo asked the last person to walk off the teleporter pad. “You missed all the fun.”
Like Straus, Loreli had returned to her standard uniform, including issue shoes. Her demeanor and color had also returned to normal, which Jeb was glad to see.
“Hardly, Enigo. I had some fascinating conversations with the Caretakers, and they were kind enough to show me their true form and give me some insight into their lives as pure thought. It will make a fascinating paper.”
Enigo shrugged. “Well, when you finish that paper, see me. I think you need a few more lessons in self-defense. You can’t depend on those frond spikes of yours to get you out of every situation.”
“Later,” Jeb told her. “What you just did, Lieutenant, is called ‘work,’ so you’ll be walking those feet back down to the planet and rooting them into some rich, planetborn soil. The Caretakers told me about this lovely quiet stream. Gentle breezes, lots of fish.”
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