|
Star Trek TNG: Talent Show Part 1 of 3
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
[ From TrekoPhiles : If it's a Trek file, we have it. ]
@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%
%@ %@
@% The Talent Show @%
%@ %@
@% by Chris Pike @%
%@ %@
@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%@%
As soon as the turbolift doors opened Picard heard the music.
The other crewmen followed him out of the car and were hanging
back respectfully until he waved them ahead with a quiet,
"Please," whereupon they hurried off down the curving corridor
out of sight.
Picard strolled after them: simply being free to waste time was a
rare luxury to be savored. True, the Federation was currently at
peace (merci a Dieu) but the absence of major disasters seemed
only to breed minor ones. For almost eight months the Enterprise
had been rushing from one planet to another, delivering emergency
food to this planet, lending expertise to fend off a plague on
that one, showing the flag at yet another potentially
obstreperous one, and on and on.
Normally the Enterprise was able to follow at least loosely a
pattern of orbital stays at planets with extensive maintenance
and recreational facilities between periods of active missions,
but the constant stream of petty crises had put paid to that.
None of the crew had been able to take shoreleave in over a year.
In fact, with maintenance having to be done on a
catch-as-catch-can basis, many had been drafted to work
additional shifts providing extra hands and sweat to substitute
for the lacking drydock equipment. His was a good crew, but
overwork and boredom was hurting morale.
Picard paused at an opening to admire the transformation that
ingenuity had wrought. He KNEW this was the entrance to Holodeck
Five, but what he SAW was ten-foot marble columns twined with
garlands of greenery and flowers flanking the entrance to a
amphitheater. Since the programming of the Holodeck restricted
its contructs strictly to within its own walls, he knew what he
was seeing was real. Someone had fabricated those columns using
the heavy duty replicators down in Engineering, and then managed
to set them up here. Intra-ship beaming? Or anti-gravs and a
careful haul through an empty turboshaft? Either way, a tricky
job well done.
He stepped through the opening and surveyed the rest of the
transformation. A large semi-circular stage, capped by an ornate
gilded headpiece and complete with footlights and curtains, was
snugged against the far wall where he knew the secondary entrance
was located. Between it and the main entrance where he stood
were about two dozen concentric arcs of stone benches. Several
tiers of steps led down through gaps in the benches to the stage.
The Roman-esque flavor of the seating was in wild contrast to the
rather Victorian proscenium, but the over all effect was pleasing
none the less.
Judging by the swelling music, the action was building to a
climax. Picard spotted an empty aisle seat a couple of rows down
and slipped quietly into it. On stage twenty tap dancers had
formed themselves into a line. They were costumed all in gold
and the stage lights made them blaze as they began to strut and
kick in unison. Even before the last note the audience was
applauding as they cheered on their friends' performance. Just
as the red curtains swept closed Picard spotted the gold band
crossing the face of one of the men, almost unnoticeable amongst
all the other gleaming gold. "I didn't know Geordie could
dance," he said in surprise, as the house lights came up.
"Beverly had been coaching them, sir." The Betazoid accent was
unmistakable. He twisted around half-way, and found that seated
directly behind him were not only his Ship's Counselor but his
First Officer as well.
"I know, I saw her," Riker put in. "Once when I went down to
Engineering I came in on the entire shift kicking and bumping
into each with her perched on a catwalk, beating out the cadence
on the railing with a wrench." Riker chuckled at the memory. "I
must say, it's a good thing they got in some extra practice."
"Will, what is important is that they enjoyed performing," Deanna
reproved him.
"And the audience enjoyed it, too," said Picard. "This was an
excellent idea of yours, Counselor." He glance about at the
half-full theater. "A good turn-out, especially since Second
Watch isn't over yet."
"Nice that the Third Watch can see at least part of the show,"
Riker concurred. "They get left out of so much."
"I didn't miss Data, did I," asked Picard.
"No, sir. In fact, he's up next."
"Good. He especially wanted my opinion." Just then, as the
lights started to dim again, his communicator beeped.
"Acting Ensign Crusher to Captain Picard."
Picard tapped his badge and whispered into it, "Picard here."
"Incoming dispatch from Starfleet Central Comm."
"Blast it," Picard muttered. "The Curse of the Captaincy--"
"Is never seeing both ends of anything," finished Riker. "Let me
take it, sir. I'm sure it's just more official busy work, and it
means so much to Data."
Picard hesitated, glancing at the slowly opening curtain, then
said, "Thank you, Number One. Signal me if it is important."
Riker nodded then hurried up the aisle, passing a cluster of
newcomers filing in to take seats.
* * * * *
Riker skimmed the final screenful of text then keyed in his
official signature macro. "Wonderful thing, bureaucracy," he
murmured. "A 50k report from Starfleet Personnel informing the
Enterprise's captain that there have been no personnel changes
aboard the Enterprise worth reporting over the last report
period." He glanced up in time to spot the grin on Wesley
Crusher's face. With mock severity he added, "That doesn't mean
you can ignore any regulation, Mr. Crusher. Always remember,
they MAY be stupid regulations, but they are OUR stupid
regulations."
"Yessir," Wes said, with grin still intact.
"Now that that crucial paperwork has been dealt with, I believe
I'll catch the rest of the show -- unless you want to change your
mind, Wes? It's a shame for you to miss it all."
"Yes, sir, I mean, no, sir, I haven't changed my mind," Wesley
paused to collect his thoughts. "I am content to continue the
watch, sir," he stated formally.
Riker smiled understandingly. "You have the con, Mr. Crusher."
After a final glance around the bridge he strode to the turbolift
and left.
Wesley turned slowly and surveyed his domain. All the seats were
empty. The main screen showed an undistinguished starfield as
motionless as a painting. All the station screens showed near
blank, "situation nominal", read-outs except for the secondary
life-support one which had been dismounted. The most junior of
Chief Engineer LaForge's chiefs was sitting on the deck with the
screen in his lap, tinkering with its settings in a bored manner.
_Nothing_ at all was going on -- which, of course, was the only
reason he was in charge.
Still. He WAS in charge. Wesley straightened his tunic in
conscious imitation of his captain. If anything happened, he was
ready to react in an instant. He walked over to the Center Seat.
As the Officer of the Bridge, he had every right to occupy it.
For long seconds he stared at it, thrilling to the mere idea, a
chance to live out his most persistent fantasy.
And then his nerve failed him. With a sigh, he turned and headed
for his usual forward station.
* * * * *
Two Andorian women occupied the stage when Riker re-entered the
theater. Their act involved dozens of hoops that they tossed and
spun and juggled and exchanged in complex patterns. An
occasional hoop would elude their grasp and fly off the stage but
the nearest person would simply catch the errant ring and pass it
down until a crewmember in the first row could roll it back
across the stage to one of the performers. The act finally ended
with both women looking flustered but happy as the sympathetic
audience applauded loudly.
Riker looked around when the lights rose between acts. There had
been a good turnout before, but now with both First and Second
Watches free the place was jammed. He had planned to rejoin
Deanna, but from the number of people standing at the rear it was
obvious that his previous seat would have been long since filled.
It had been less than a minute but the lights were already
dimming again, so with a small shrug he leaned against the back
wall.
This time the curtain parted to reveal just a shallow stretch of
stage before a white inner curtain. Nothing was to be seen
except for a single thick cushion close to the left wing.
Nothing happened for over a minute and the audience gradually
became restless.
Finally a figure emerged from the wing. It was clad in layers of
colorful floor-length robes and its face was hidden in the shadow
cast by a pulled-forward hood. After walking to the center of
the stage and bowing deeply to the audience, it seated itself
cross-legged upon the cushion. Again nothing seemed to be
happening. The silence stretched out until the audience was taut
with tension -- and then it spoke.
"Gentlebeings. I am sure that all of you have heard of
Scheherazade." The voice was female, mellow and low pitched, but
carried clearly to the back of the theater. "She was a lowly
serving girl at the court of a great Caliph who, in order to be
assured of his wife's fidelity, each night married a virgin and
the following morning would have her executed. Hundreds of the
most beautiful young women in his kingdom had already met this
fate when the Caliph's eye chanced to fall upon Scheherazade.
"There was no way she could escape the deadly honor of a royal
wedding, but Scheherazade was not an empty-headed well-born girl
but an orphan who had had to make her way by her wits. Knowing
of the Caliph's fondness for stories she conceived a clever plan.
That night, after the Caliph had gathered the first fruits of her
loins, she begged to be allowed to tell him an amusing tale she
had heard. This story she related so well, and at such length,
that the cock crowed before the end was told.
"The Caliph decided to make a small exception and allow her to
live until the next evening so that he could hear how the tale
came out. As Scheherazade had planned, though, the end of that
tale was simply the beginning of another and so she was allowed
to live on to finish it in turn.
"And so it continued, for one thousand and one nights. By then
she had born the Caliph three fine sons and he had come to love
her. He demonstrated his trust in her perfect fidelity by
lifting her sentence of death and making her his sole wife for
the rest of his life. And that is the end of Scheherazade's
tale.
"At least as it is usually told.
The figure shifted slightly to face the audience more directly,
but still all that could be made out beneath the hood was a pool
of darkness. "What almost no one knows is that Scheherazade was
not just a clever woman, but a lusty one, not to be contented
with the perfunctory pleasures granted all too rarely by an
elderly husband more interested in hearing a tale than using his.
"As the years passed she took dozens of lovers, and sported with
them eagerly. Eventually her youth faded though, and her looks
with it, until the handsome young men she craved became hard to
attract and hold.
"To overcome this problem, Scheherazade once again turned to
spinning her tales. Many a young man found himself returning to
her rooms night after night to hear the end of an intriguing
story -- and Scheherazade felt herself amply repaid when the
young men would expend between her thighs the lust her racy tales
aroused.
"This is one of those Lost Tales of the Elderly Scheherazade:
|
|
