Strange New Worlds 8

by Dean Wesley Smith

  “A tribble can sleep under my bed?”

  “It could if we had one.”

  “Oh. Can we get one?”

  He chuckled. “We’ll have to ask Mommy about that.”

  One day Fluffytail was playing outside with his friends, and when he came back to his room, his tribble wasn’t on his pillow where he’d left it. He looked under his bed, but his tribble wasn’t there either.

  Fluffytail looked everywhere for his tribble. He looked in his brother’s room. He looked in cupboards and behind his grandmother’s favorite rocking chair. He looked inside the cookie jar—his tribble loved fresh chocolate chip cookies—and even in the back of his closet under his galoshes—his tribble loved dark spaces too.

  He looked everywhere he could think of but he couldn’t find his tribble anywhere.

  It was gone!

  But a tribble couldn’t just walk out the door. Tribbles have no legs. It took Fluffytail’s tribble a long time to go where it wanted to go. Even his grandmother didn’t know where his tribble could be.

  He knew there was only one explanation.

  Someone had stolen his tribble!

  “It got stolen?”

  “Looks that way.”

  “Oh. I hope it’s okay.”

  “Me too.”

  Fluffytail knew how much his friends loved his tribble. They played with it and cuddled it and made it purr. They all wanted one of their own. And now his tribble was missing.

  One of his friends must have stolen it!

  “You’ll steal it! Leave me alone! You’re just waiting for me to die so you can have it all to yourself.”

  Sudden and visceral, the memory took Tom by surprise. It came complete with the stench and sour taste of too many sick and un-washed bodies in too small a space. It came with the banging of metal pounding on metal, the wet slap and crack of clubs striking flesh, with the screams of the injured and the dying.

  The prison cell he had shared with Harry Kim.

  Fear rushed over him in a sick wave. Light-years away, another lifetime ago now, it didn’t matter. In that instant, the prison was as real to him as his daughter’s bed.

  He heard his own voice, his sick, weak voice. He heard himself accuse Harry of stealing from him and wishing him dead. Harry, who had risked his own life to keep him alive.

  Even now the memory made him cringe.

  “Daddy?”

  He must have stopped talking. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Daddy just needed to catch his breath. Are you getting tired yet?”

  Miral shook her head.

  “Want to hear the end of the story?”

  “Yes. What happens to the tribble?”

  He shook the vision away. It had no place in a child’s fairy tale.

  Fluffytail didn’t want to think that one of his friends could steal his tribble. Friends didn’t do that to each other, and his friends were very, very good friends. But he worried about his tribble. He was scared he might not ever see it again.

  He decided to go see each of his friends and ask if they had his tribble.

  Merrylinn Manykitts hadn’t seen his tribble. She looked sad when he asked, and she didn’t invite him inside for a cookie. Merrylinn always invited him inside for a cookie.

  Suziebeth Sweetiekins didn’t know where his tribble was, and neither did Petiepete Poppintop. They looked sad too and said they probably couldn’t play with him tomorrow.

  When he left Petiepete’s house he had to go home. Daddy said always to be home before dark. He didn’t want to make his daddy angry.

  His yellow house didn’t feel quite as much like home without his tribble. The chocolate chip cookie his grandmother gave him to cheer him up didn’t taste quite as sweet. He really missed his tribble. He missed his friends.

  When his daddy came home from work, Fluffytail didn’t meet him at the door like he always did. Instead he stayed in his room, curled up into as tight a ball as he could on his bed. He didn’t hear his daddy open his bedroom door. What he did hear was his tribble purr.

  His daddy must have found it!

  He was so happy he almost forgot to ask where his daddy found the tribble.

  His daddy said he took the tribble to the doctor for a checkup. His tribble was happy and healthy, and Daddy apologized for making him worry. His daddy said he thought he might worry more if he knew his tribble had to go to the doctor. His daddy promised never to make him worry like that again.

  He felt really bad that he’d asked his friends if they’d taken his tribble. He knew he’d hurt his friends’ feelings.

  Fluffytail apologized to all his friends and they all said they forgave him. Even so, his friends didn’t play with him as often as they did before. They didn’t share their lunches with him as much as they used to. This made him sad too because he loved his friends as much as he loved his tribble.

  His daddy asked him one night why he was still sad. When he told his daddy what he had done, his daddy said all he could do was apologize. His daddy told him if his friends were really his friends, they would forgive him someday.

  Sure enough, one day Merrylinn asked him to walk her home from school. She didn’t ask about his tribble and he made sure not to mention it. When they got to her house, she invited him inside for a cookie.

  Chocolate chip. His favorite.

  By the time he finished, Miral had fallen asleep. He scooted out from under her and laid her down gently on the bed. She turned on her side without waking up, and he pulled the covers over her. He hoped her bad dreams would stay away for a while now.

  He didn’t go back to his own bed. Instead he took a cup of coffee into the spare bedroom they had converted into an office. He recorded most of his stories here late at night. He wanted to enter the story he had told Miral.

  He just couldn’t make himself dictate the first word.

  Harry Kim.

  Tom hadn’t thought of Harry in months. Since Voyager’s return to Earth, the two of them had drifted apart. They still talked to each other occasionally, saw each other even less. That damn prison cell. He wondered how much of that had to do with what happened when they were both in prison.

  He had been sick then, so sick he didn’t know what he was saying half the time. He’d never allowed himself to use that as an excuse. Even sick, even dying, how could he have accused his best friend of wanting him dead?

  He had apologized to Harry after it was all over. He still remembered the look on Harry’s face. He had accepted the apology, said he understood, but Harry’s expression let him know the acceptance was conditional. He’d hurt Harry deeply. He could see it in his eyes. He’d tried to apologize later, kept wanting to apologize until Harry’s eyes held the same sparkle of friendship and adventure they’d always had before.

  No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to get that back. Eventually Harry told him to quit apologizing, and he’d been angry when he said it.

  He’d given up then. He’d done all he could do. The rest had been up to Harry.

  Or had it? Had he been waiting, like Fluffytail, for Harry to take the next step? Was that even the right thing to do?

  Maybe it wasn’t Harry who needed to let the past go.

  Instead of dictating the fairy tale, he called up the last adventure story he’d written. Now that he looked for it, he could see the theme of betrayal underlying the main story. He closed that program and opened another. Betrayal, again. In story after story he’d been writing about his experiences in the prison without even knowing it.

  “Okay. If I’m going to write about it anyway, maybe I should just write the damn thing.”

  He didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until he saw his words appear on his terminal. He’d turned the dictating function on and forgotten about it.

  At least it was a start.

  He’d write this story, no matter how personal, no matter how painful. When he was done he’d call Harry. And this time, he wouldn’t expect him to finally accept his apology like some sort of te
st. It was long past time to leave all that behind.

  You May Kiss the Bride

  Amy Sisson

  mar·riage (mar´ij) n. 1 the state of being married; relation between husband and wife; wedlock; 2 the act of marrying; wedding

  “You did what?” B’Elanna demanded, forgetting to whisper.

  “Shhh. I only told Harry,” said Tom. “I want him to be my best man. You have to have a best man even if you’re eloping. To be a witness.” He stopped talking as two engineering crew members walked by, and then went on. “Besides, he promised not to tell anyone.”

  “Harry? You’ve got to be kidding. He can’t keep a secret.”

  “Of course he can,” Tom said.

  Just then, the door to engineering opened and Commander Chakotay walked in. B’Elanna jumped away from Tom with a guilty expression, and began studying the nearest console intently.

  “As you were,” Chakotay said with a smile. “I was planning a surprise inspection this afternoon, but I could probably be talked out of it as long as I get to give the bride away.”

  B’Elanna gave Tom a look. “Harry won’t tell anyone, hm? We better go tell the captain before too many more people find out.”

  “Oh, the captain knows,” Chakotay said. “She’s the one who told me.”

  The door slid open once again, revealing a beaming Neelix.

  “And how’s the happy couple today?” Neelix said. “Already deep in wedding plans, I’m sure. Anything I can do to help?”

  “Well…” Tom said weakly.

  “Now then,” said Neelix. “I’ve taken the liberty of doing a little research on human and Klingon wedding traditions. Fascinating! Will the lovely bride be wearing a white wedding dress, or the traditional red Klingon warrior gown? If you can’t make up your mind, I did see a stunning pattern in the database with red and white diagonal stripes—”

  “Neelix!” Tom and B’Elanna said together. They looked at each other and B’Elanna went on. “Actually, Neelix,” she said carefully, “Tom and I weren’t planning to have a formal ceremony. Just the captain and maybe the senior bridge crew.” She glanced at Tom again. “And of course you, Neelix.”

  “And I’m sure you’ll want Naomi as a flower girl,” said Neelix. “Perhaps Samantha could be the matron of honor. They would look so beautiful in matching mother-and-daughter gowns!”

  Tom sighed. “Neelix, please tell me you haven’t said anything to Naomi about this.”

  “I may have mentioned it in passing,” Neelix said. He looked back and forth between Tom and B’Elanna. “Of course, if you don’t want her…I’m sure she’ll get over her disappointment. Eventually.”

  B’Elanna put the back of her hand to her forehead in a gesture that Tom knew meant she was struggling to control the more Klingon aspects of her personality.

  “Of course,” Neelix went on, “it would be a shame for the rest of the crew to miss out on such a special occasion. They’ve been stranded here in the Delta Quadrant for so many years, missing the weddings of their friends and families back home…”

  “Morale officer, huh?” said Tom. “Maybe you should be called the ‘guilt officer.’ ”

  “Now, you just relax and I’ll take care of everything,” said Neelix.

  wed·ding (wed´in) n. a) the act or ceremony of becoming married, b) the marriage ceremony with its attendant festivities.

  “Ah, Seven,” said the Doctor. “You’re looking lovely today. Are you ready to attend your first wedding?”

  “Yes, Doctor. Although I do not understand why people are expected to wear uncomfortable clothing for social gatherings.”

  “It’s a wedding, Seven! A special occasion, something to be remembered! Besides, your dress doesn’t look that uncomfortable.”

  “The dress is sufficient,” Seven admitted, looking down at the deep blue, formfitting gown she wore. The hemline of the dress was made of several separate panels that swirled around her legs in a becoming manner. “The Delaney sisters helped me choose it. But I do not understand why they insisted upon these shoes. They are most uncomfortable.”

  “Well, they do look a little…impractical, but hopefully they won’t keep you from catching the bouquet,” the Doctor said.

  “They are going to throw plants at the wedding?” Seven asked with raised eyebrows. Her tone expressed her disbelief that human customs could really be as ridiculous as they sounded.

  “The wedding bouquet, Seven—B’Elanna’s flowers. It’s been a tradition for hundreds, perhaps even thousands of years. After the ceremony, the bride throws her bouquet and the unmarried women try to catch it. It is said that the lucky woman who gets it will be the next bride.”

  “The male crew members will begin courting the woman who catches the bouquet? I suppose they wish to seek the mate with the most physical prowess, but—”

  “Don’t take it so literally, Seven,” the Doctor said. “It’s just a tradition. But if it helps you to think of it as a friendly little athletic competition, by all means.”

  “Sometimes I think I will never understand human social customs,” Seven said as she and the Doctor exited sickbay.

  cha|os (ka´äs) n. extreme confusion or disorder.

  As the mess-hall doors opened, the soft background music gave way to the familiar strains of a Mendelssohn march. Captain Janeway smiled as Naomi preceded Chakotay and B’Elanna into the room and toward the temporary dais set up in front of the windows. Naomi wore a simple white dress and carried a bouquet so big that the exotic red and white flowers almost hid her face. B’Elanna carried a small matching bouquet, but chose to wear her dress uniform instead of a gown.

  “I am not appropriately dressed,” Seven whispered to the Doctor as the small procession moved past them. “The Delaney sisters and I are the only guests out of uniform. And you,” she added disapprovingly.

  “Shhh,” said the Doctor. “I think my tuxedo is very distinguished. Besides, they’re about to start.”

  Janeway waited until B’Elanna took her place on the dais next to Tom, and then looked past them to address the guests.

  “Performing a wedding ceremony is one of a captain’s most enjoyable privileges,” she said. “We are here today because Tom and B’Elanna have invited us to witness and share in their decision to formally join their lives together. But before I go any further,” she said, eyes twinkling, “if there is anyone here who has just cause to object to this marriage, speak now or forever hold your—”

  “AHHHHHHHFFSHEWWWWWWWWW!”

  Janeway stopped dead and looked at Tuvok in consternation, as did everyone else in the room. The sound with which he had just erupted sounded like a cross between a Tarkalian war cry and a tragbeast’s death howl.

  “Tuvok?” said Janeway.

  “Ummm, bless you?” ventured Naomi, tilting her head straight back to peer up at the Vulcan, who stood just behind her.

  “Pardon me, Captain,” said Tuvok with as much dignity as he could muster. “Please proceed.”

  Janeway merely raised her eyebrows and went on. “Tom and B’Elanna have written their own vows for this ceremony. Tom, B’Elanna, please join hands.”

  B’Elanna turned to hand her bouquet past Naomi to Samantha Wildman.

  “AHHHHHHHFFSHEWWWWWWWWW!” As Tuvok sneezed a second time, Naomi threw up her arms to protect herself, sending B’Elanna’s bouquet flying back over her and Tuvok’s heads. Startled, Seven of Nine lunged forward, somehow managing to catch and hang on to the bouquet even as she crashed into the Delaney sisters. All three fell to the floor.

  “Owww!” came from the bottom of the pile. “I think you broke my wrist!”

  “I did not intend to damage you,” Seven said. “Doctor, I thought you said the bride does not throw the bouquet until after the ceremony?”

  The Doctor opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. “Perhaps I should escort the three of you to sickbay, although I do hate to miss the ceremony,” he said. “I brought my holocamera—”

  “D
octor!” came a wail from the pile of begowned limbs.

  “Yes, of course,” the Doctor said quickly. The three women began to disentangle themselves. Harry stepped off the dais and held out a hand to allow Seven of Nine to pull herself up.

  “I am undamaged, Doctor,” said Seven of Nine as she stood. “It will not be necessary for me to go to sickbay.” She looked at Ensign Kim. “Are you courting me, Ensign?”

  “What?” said Harry.

  “Seven,” the Doctor said. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind taking a few snapshots for me.” He held out the holocamera.

  “Very well,” said Seven. The Doctor ushered his two charges toward the door as his tuxedo shimmered and was replaced by his blue uniform. The guests murmured as they turned back toward the bride and groom.

  “That’s my Harry,” Tom said in a low tone as his best man returned to his side. “Always trying to rescue the damsels.”

  “Shut up,” said Harry.

  “Captain,” B’Elanna said. “Maybe we should—”

  “B’Elanna!” Tom said. “You’re not backing out now, are you?”

  “No, Tom, I just—”

  “Let’s proceed,” Captain Janeway said with a smile. “That’s an order, Lieutenant. I’m still your captain, even if this is your wedding.”

  “Aye, Captain,” said B’Elanna, apparently reassured.

  They all jumped at Tuvok’s sudden intake of breath.

  “Mister Tuvok, perhaps you should report to sickbay as well,” Janeway suggested mildly.

  “Yes, Captain. I apologize for the disturbance. I do not understand what the problem is.”

  “Maybe you’re allergic to the flowers,” Naomi called after the departing Vulcan.

  “A very logical hypothesis, Naomi,” Janeway said. “Now then. Tom and B’Elanna have written their own wedding vows. Tom, B’Elanna?”

  The couple turned toward each other and joined hands. Tom took a deep breath. “B’Elanna,” he began. “I never imagined I could be this lucky—”

  A blare of music erupted from every corner of the room.