Posted by David
on May 23, 2012 in Upside-down Hippo
| 5 comments
Here are the results of my Facebook request for blogging ideas. I think I got all of them, so don’t say I never did nothing for you.
“Mr. La Forge, meet me in my ready room.”
Captain Picard’s voice tore Geordi’s attention away from the mirror in his quarters. Ordinarily, a blind man would have no need of a mirror, but Geordi La Forge, Lieutenant Commander on the U.S.S. Enterprise, was no ordinary blind man; the fashion-forward VISOR riveted to his temples allowed him to “see” across a variety of invisible spectrums. This was of little use in this moment, however, as he still could not tell if his VISOR clashed with the color of his uniform. “Aye, Captain,” he said to the air with a sigh. This was a mystery for another time.
In the turbolift, he encountered Counselor Troi, an empath and well-known intergalactic busybody. “Geordi, I sense that you are troubled,” she said. “Are you still upset about the ‘Dawson’s Creek’ finale? I told you, that was hundreds of years ago. All of those actors are now dead, even that girl with a monkey face who married into a cult.”
Geordi sighed for the second time in two minutes. He was on a roll. “I know, I know. It’s just . . .”
“What is it, Geordi?”
“I just wish I could see if I look good in this uniform, that’s all. I know it’s fashion forward, at least that’s what they tell me in Flatulent Culture Quarterly . . . but I can’t even tell what color it is!”
Counselor Troi studied him for a moment. “I think we are going to need to work this out in therapy, but for the moment, I can tell you that your uniform is yellow.”
“Is this the season that I wear the yellow uniform then?”
“Apparently so,” decided Counselor Troi. “Well, actually, I wouldn’t say yellow exactly. It’s more of a mustardy color. A very robust yellow if there ever was one.”
Geordi sighed. “Please don’t say robust anymore, Deanna.”
“I’ll see you in therapy, Geordi,” she replied as the turbolift came to a stop and the doors whooshed open.
Counselor Troi meandered down the hall, feeling things—not with her hands, anymore, not since that uncomfortable lecture from Captain Picard, but with her brain. As an empath, she was not only in touch with her own emotions, but with everyone else’s, as well. “I am bothered that he has a uniform and I don’t,” she concluded after a moment. “This is not my season to have a uniform.”
Just then, a nearby door slid open, revealing the Second Officer, Commander Data, and the ship’s Horrible Child, Wesley Crusher. They were exiting the holodeck, leaving the program running. Deanna could see traces of greenery and hear the lively chirping and howling of a thriving rainforest; a large insect of some sort sought the liberation of the corridor but evaporated as it left the purview of the holo-emitters.
“And that was essentially the driving geopolitical force of early twenty-first century Earth,” Data was saying. The android was clearly in tutor mode and managed to sound both pompous and bored. Wesley, on the other hand, seemed stricken. His confusion and horror washed over Deanna like the humidity of the rainforest behind him. “But . . . but . . . what was that thing? I mean, the man was bad enough, but what was that thing in the raft?!? Didn’t he know it was behind him?”
“Perhaps Counselor Troi will be able to soothe you,” said Data, spotting her. “I didn’t realize you were so vunnerable or I would have chosen a different lesson for the day.”
“Counselor Troi has another appointment right now, actually,” said Deanna. “And it’s pronounced vulnerable!” Then she went to Ten-Foeward (I mean Ten-FORward) and ate a chocolate sundae. She had heard that obese was the new sexy and wanted to get a head start on next season’s style.
Elsewhere on the ship, Captain Picard was enjoying afternoon tea in his ready room. “Enjoy it while you can,” he told himself, taking a sip. “Lieutenant Commander La Forge will be here in a moment, and then it’s back to business.”
And what a business it was!
“Did I hear you have been keeping sloths on the Engineering deck, Mr. La Forge?” he demanded a moment later, not even offering Geordi any of the steaming Earl Grey.
Geordi had expected a lecture about wearing the wrong fashion-forward uniform this season and was taken off guard. “Well, yes, sir. But let me explain…”
“Mr. La Forge,” began the captain harshly. Then he paused, got a grip on himself, and began again using a tone of enforced calmness. “Mr. La Forge . . . we were all very patient with you when you knitted woolen socks for everyone last season, even if the colors clashed with our uniforms something dreadful. We all put up with it when you started spelling acupuncture with two c’s—and believe me when I express exactly how irritating that is. (And by the way, we had to restrain the ship’s acupuncturist from killing you.) But sloths on my Engineering deck? Do you even know how to take care of them? Do you know how to train them, for goodness sake?”
Geordi was silent.
“Hmm? Do you, Mr. La Forge?” prompted Captain Picard. “Do you know how to care for and train a sloth? Your response may pertain to an animal sloth or even a human sloth.”
Geordi sighed again. Four for four. “Yes, Captain, I do. Here’s how.”
[Never] To Be Continued