Getting to the Nevada
Feb 22, 2005 16:59:30 GMT
Post by fthelev on Feb 22, 2005 16:59:30 GMT
The promenade deck on Deep Space Nine was pretty crowded. Frek had been told this was not uncommon on the station. The week leave on Bajor had turned out pretty well. His anti-grav jet powered skis turned out to work as planed, more or less. Perhaps he should have surveyed the area before conducting his test, but he had no reason to assume the hill slope would end in a fifteen meter drop into, fortunately, a pond. It was the end for his skis though.
He checked the time. He has agreed to meet Melain at the docking pylon at three. They both had been assigned to the USS Nevada and Frek had arranged transportation for them. Upon arrival he hadn’t got the chance to do some sightseeing on the station and decided to return from the planet surface a day earlier.
He still had almost forty-five minutes to go. It would give him enough time to get a decent haircut, it had been too long for too long. He quickly spotted a barber shop. He didn’t see anyone, but the shop seemed open. He sank down in one of the chairs and closed his eyes. It didn’t take too long before he heard someone approaching from behind. Probably the barber. Frek opened his eyes.
One glimpse in the mirror made jump back to his feet immediately.
A huge Klingon stood behind the chair.
A nasty grin on his face and scissors and a comb in one hand. With the other he forcefully pushed Frek back into the chair.
The Klingon barber growled and moaned something. Perhaps his universal translator didn’t work; perhaps his parents simply never taught him how to talk. Anyways, this could never be good.
“Uhm, haircut,” Frek tried carefully in the most friendly way he could imagine. It was clear the Klingon wouldn’t let him go until he had done some cutting. Frek preferred it to be his hair and not his throat.
“hai-quh?!” the Barber tried to repeat and roared with laughter.
Frek swallowed and nodded. There wasn’t much he could do. The door was too far away, he would never make it. The Klingon would’ve caught him before he even got up.
Another series of grunt and growls emerged from the Barber. You know the sorts. The kind of unfriendly sounds the Klingons tend to use all the time. That’s how they talk. Strange manner of communication, but then again, Klingons were always a bit off. Or at least so Frek thought.
The Barber covered the mirror and tended to work. Frek could only hope the damage wouldn’t be too severe.
Half hour later the Klingon was finished. With a triumphant look on his face he removed the cover from the mirror and made encouraging sounds. It sounded like vomiting cows. Frek swallowed and slowly opened his eyes. His hair stuck out to all directions and had transformed from its original, beautiful white colour to bright pink with yellow streaks. With tremendous effort Frek managed to put a smile on his face and nodded approvingly.
“Hu,” the Klingon barber said and shoved the bill under Frek’s nose. It was almost as horrifying as what the Barber had done to his hair. He didn’t argue about it. Arguing with this guy probably was the same thing as hitting yourself with a brick.
Glad to be away from the Barber, Frek hastened to the docking pylon. The transport and Melain were supposed to be waiting for him there. He could hear some people laugh and snort behind his back. But the Barber had taken quite some time and he really didn’t have the time to go into the matter at the moment. At the end of the corridor he could see Melain already waiting.
One look at his hair and Melain opened her mouth to say something.
“Not a word,” Frek said with a menacing voice. He put down his bags and sighed.
“What kind of transport is it?” he asked. He had booked the passages, but the only information given to him was that is was freighter. The only vessel scheduled to leave for Starbase Assailant within two weeks.
Before Melain could reply airlock hissed and opened before them. A familiar scruffy member of the transport, of unknown origin, appeared. It gave the two lieutenants a grin, showing a row of teeth that were in desperate need of a toothbrush and a dentist.
“Luggage,” it grunted. It made its usual nasty sound and spat against the wall. A trail of green slime trailed to the floor, inevitably pulled down by the stations artificial gravity.
“Oh no,” Frek wailed, “This is the same transport that took me to the Conqueror.”
He looked at Melain desperately. “This is definitely the worst day ever.”
<<tag Melain>>
An hour later they were on their way to Starbase Assailant and the Nevada.
He checked the time. He has agreed to meet Melain at the docking pylon at three. They both had been assigned to the USS Nevada and Frek had arranged transportation for them. Upon arrival he hadn’t got the chance to do some sightseeing on the station and decided to return from the planet surface a day earlier.
He still had almost forty-five minutes to go. It would give him enough time to get a decent haircut, it had been too long for too long. He quickly spotted a barber shop. He didn’t see anyone, but the shop seemed open. He sank down in one of the chairs and closed his eyes. It didn’t take too long before he heard someone approaching from behind. Probably the barber. Frek opened his eyes.
One glimpse in the mirror made jump back to his feet immediately.
A huge Klingon stood behind the chair.
A nasty grin on his face and scissors and a comb in one hand. With the other he forcefully pushed Frek back into the chair.
The Klingon barber growled and moaned something. Perhaps his universal translator didn’t work; perhaps his parents simply never taught him how to talk. Anyways, this could never be good.
“Uhm, haircut,” Frek tried carefully in the most friendly way he could imagine. It was clear the Klingon wouldn’t let him go until he had done some cutting. Frek preferred it to be his hair and not his throat.
“hai-quh?!” the Barber tried to repeat and roared with laughter.
Frek swallowed and nodded. There wasn’t much he could do. The door was too far away, he would never make it. The Klingon would’ve caught him before he even got up.
Another series of grunt and growls emerged from the Barber. You know the sorts. The kind of unfriendly sounds the Klingons tend to use all the time. That’s how they talk. Strange manner of communication, but then again, Klingons were always a bit off. Or at least so Frek thought.
The Barber covered the mirror and tended to work. Frek could only hope the damage wouldn’t be too severe.
Half hour later the Klingon was finished. With a triumphant look on his face he removed the cover from the mirror and made encouraging sounds. It sounded like vomiting cows. Frek swallowed and slowly opened his eyes. His hair stuck out to all directions and had transformed from its original, beautiful white colour to bright pink with yellow streaks. With tremendous effort Frek managed to put a smile on his face and nodded approvingly.
“Hu,” the Klingon barber said and shoved the bill under Frek’s nose. It was almost as horrifying as what the Barber had done to his hair. He didn’t argue about it. Arguing with this guy probably was the same thing as hitting yourself with a brick.
Glad to be away from the Barber, Frek hastened to the docking pylon. The transport and Melain were supposed to be waiting for him there. He could hear some people laugh and snort behind his back. But the Barber had taken quite some time and he really didn’t have the time to go into the matter at the moment. At the end of the corridor he could see Melain already waiting.
One look at his hair and Melain opened her mouth to say something.
“Not a word,” Frek said with a menacing voice. He put down his bags and sighed.
“What kind of transport is it?” he asked. He had booked the passages, but the only information given to him was that is was freighter. The only vessel scheduled to leave for Starbase Assailant within two weeks.
Before Melain could reply airlock hissed and opened before them. A familiar scruffy member of the transport, of unknown origin, appeared. It gave the two lieutenants a grin, showing a row of teeth that were in desperate need of a toothbrush and a dentist.
“Luggage,” it grunted. It made its usual nasty sound and spat against the wall. A trail of green slime trailed to the floor, inevitably pulled down by the stations artificial gravity.
“Oh no,” Frek wailed, “This is the same transport that took me to the Conqueror.”
He looked at Melain desperately. “This is definitely the worst day ever.”
<<tag Melain>>
An hour later they were on their way to Starbase Assailant and the Nevada.
