There are women coming to the Enterprise! Travis Mayweather proposes a friendly competition with his friends – whoever gets the girl first wins.
But then the winner gets more than he bargained for, and learns just how much he can take.
How much can you tolerate?
A Star Trek Fan Fiction By
J. R. Gershen-Siegel
PG-13- Parents Strongly Cautioned
Some material may be not be appropriate
for children under 13
This is a fan written work
The copyrights & trademarks of Star Trek are owned by
Paramount Pictures, CBS Corporation and their licensee, Pocket Books. Any attempt to sell or rent this book should be reported to the copyright owners for their action
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First pdf online edition 03/01/2011
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"I can't finish this," Hoshi Sato said, staring at the ruined remains of a hot fudge sundae.
"Ugh. I can't eat any more, either," Tripp Tucker said, "Why'd you have to have that for your birthday?"
"C'mon, it was my birthday! Can't I be Queen for at least one day?" she asked, smiling.
"Maybe we can give it to Porthos," Travis Mayweather suggested.
"That would be unwise," T'Pol said, checking her PADD, "Chocolate is evidently toxic to canines."
Lieutenant Malcolm Reed came over, "I see the party is winding down. Sorry I couldn't get off shift earlier."
"That's all right. But there's still a ton of ice cream. Do you want some?" Hoshi asked.
"No, thank you," he said.
"C'mon!" she wheedled. Reed reddened slightly, "You don't need to lose any weight," she said.
"Hmm. All right. Just a very small amount," he said, taking a little vanilla.
"C'mon, if you're in, you're in all the way," Tripp said, bringing over the dish of hot fudge sauce.
"Oh, my," said Reed, "All right. But only a little and I mean only a little," He tasted it tentatively, "Oh, that is rather delightful," He took more.
The cramping started later. It got so bad that Malcolm went to Sick Bay.
"Ah, what seems to be the trouble?" Dr. Phlox asked when he arrived.
"This damned condition I've got," Malcolm said, "The inoculation you gave me is wearing off."
"Well, you're not supposed to test out its efficacy by bending things so far that they break," Phlox fussed and got a new shot ready.
"I don't, I don't love these shots," Malcolm admitted.
"This will not hurt, Lieutenant. Just a small. Ah, there."
Malcolm winced slightly, but it was the cramping that hurt more.
"Ah, and an analgesic for the pain. And no more dairy products for at least twenty-four hours," Phlox scolded.
"Yes, I suppose you're right," Malcolm allowed, "I suppose I succumbed to a spot of peer pressure."
"Really, Lieutenant, you're well aware that you've got lactose intolerance. Say no politely to dairy products and you'll see a lot less of me."
It was the morning shift, next day.
Hoshi said, "Captain, there's a message coming in from Starfleet. It's Admiral Gardner."
"On screen," said Jonathan Archer.
"Jonathan! Thank you for agreeing to host the Nereid Medical Academy's Immunology resident rotation on such short notice," said the Admiral.
"Yes, well, Phlox was rather insistent that we help the program. I know he'd love to teach a bit, and never gets a chance to," Jonathan said, "It's just a few students, right?"
"Five, plus their instructor will be with them, but only for the first week. For the other three weeks, you'll just have the residents."
"Very well. Names?" asked Jonathan.
"Students are," the Admiral paused to check a PADD, "Blair Claymore, Pamela Hudson, An Nguyen, Will Owen and Mark Stone. Instructor is Bernie Keating-Fong. Make sure to call them all 'Doctor'. Vulcan ship Ti'Mur will rendezvous with you tomorrow."
"Very well," said Jonathan.
"Oh and Jonathan, some sort of entertainment is customary."
"Entertainment? Isn't being on a starship entertainment enough?"
"This is a pilot program. Very high protocol, beloved by the Powers That Be. And Stone is the son of, well; I don't have to tell you who his mother is. So find some way of being extra accommodating. A party of some sort is good," said the Admiral.
"I bet the Vulcans aren't throwing them a party." Travis said under his breath as he piloted the Enterprise.
Jonathan smiled a little, "A party it is. We'll have Chef whip up something, uh, interesting and use the Observation Lounge. Thanks. Archer out."
Hoshi closed the communications link.
"Festivities?" T'Pol arched an eyebrow, "These are serious students."
"Phlox will run them ragged, I'm sure," Jonathan said, "They'll probably need a party. Travis, lay in an intercept course for the Ti'Mur. Warp Two."
Later, Travis sat down with Malcolm and Tripp in the cafeteria, "Did you try the beets? Are they any good?" he asked Malcolm.
"A bit ... messy," Malcolm said.
"Hmm. I'll pass. Y'know, I had an idea," Travis said.
"That can be dangerous," said Tripp, "Pass the salt, please."
"Those med school students? There are, I'm figuring, three of them," Travis said.
"Didn't the Admiral say there were five students?" Malcolm asked.
"Yes," admitted Travis, "but three are women."
"And?" asked Tripp.
"So I was thinking. A little friendly competition. A game! There's three of them. And three of us," Travis said.
"Go on," Tripp prompted.
"I haven't looked at pictures. Has anyone?" Travis asked, breaking a breadstick. The others shook their heads, "Good. We draw straws. Uh, breadsticks. Short stick picks first. Then draw again, short stick picks second."
"What are we selecting?" Malcolm asked, dabbing his face with a napkin.
"Which lucky lady we go after," Travis said, "There's An, Blair and Pamela."
"You said this was a game. Anything other than, ahem, connecting that would be what we'd, um, be striving for?" asked Tripp.
"Well, that's the bonus," Travis said, "The objective is, whoever gets the girl first wins. And the prize is the other two cover for the winner whenever that's necessary, during these four weeks."
"Gets the girl?" Malcolm asked, "What sort of proof are you looking for? I mean, I think it's a bit more mature to be discreet about such things."
"Nothing graphic," Travis stated, "Just a kiss will be fine. We'll take each other's word for it. Anything more and you're on your own."
"Hmm. Could be fun," Tripp said, "These girls aren't too young, are they?"
"No, they're medical residents," Malcolm said, "Mid-twenties or older, I suspect."
"Are we agreed?" Travis asked, grabbing breadsticks, "Draw first, Reed."
Malcolm took a stick, "Long one."
Tripp selected, "Ah, the short one."
"Looks like you get first dibs," Travis said.
"Then I pick Pamela."
Travis took the short stick back and one of the long ones, "Fifty-fifty shot, Malcolm."
"I am unlucky in love," Malcolm said, showing the long stick.
"Then I pick Blair," Travis said, "Looks like you get An."
"Very well. And in the event of a tie?" asked Malcolm.
"I think we'll all be too, ahem, busy to worry about that," Tripp said, "Oh, hi, Hoshi, wanna join us?"
The subject was quickly changed to Tripp talking about docking with the Ti'Mur.
They were standing at attention, in the hallway by the docking port. Hoshi, Travis, Tripp and Malcolm were to the right. To the left, opposite them, were Jonathan, T'Pol, Dr. Phlox and security Crewman Deborah Haddon.
"What should we do if, erm, one of 'em turns out to be, uh, not so attractive?" Tripp whispered.
"Be a gentleman," Malcolm said.
"Maybe a kiss will be a thrill for her. It's just one kiss. Hey, you never know," Travis added. Hoshi elbowed him.
There was a sound of docking clamps engaging. The door opened, and out stepped Vulcan Ambassador Soval with a middle-aged woman who appeared to be of Asian extraction. She was short and slender, with a dark French braid flecked with a little grey. She smiled as she entered the hallway.
"Looks like that's An," Travis said. Hoshi giggled a little.
Next came a young Asian man, with a Caucasian man with looks that could only be described as smoldering, followed by some Vulcans. Hoshi gasped.
Travis touched her arm, "Hoshi, you're drooling."
"Huh?" she smiled.
Then a dark-skinned man, also very young. Hoshi gasped again, "Is this a medical program or a modeling program?" she whispered as more Vulcans filed in.
Dark brown hair, worn down, straight, past her shoulders. White, light skin, with just a small smattering of freckles on her nose. Short skirt. Matching short jacket, showing off her waist. Green eyes. Big smile at all three of them.
"Please be Blair. Please be Blair," Travis whispered.
Hoshi elbowed him, harder this time, "Travis, you're drooling."
"C'mon, that's gotta be Pam," Tripp countered quietly.
"Oh. My. God," Tripp whispered.
Travis just stared.
Malcolm squeaked out, "My."
Honey blonde hair, back in a French twist that was coming undone a little. Her skin had a slightly golden cast to it. Blue eyes. Lips, painted, dark reddish-purple lipstick. Matching long nails. Leather vest, held together with dozens of little hook and eye closures that held her in and raised everything. Lacy top under the vest, short enough to show her navel as she walked. Long, tight denim skirt that swished as she walked, slit opening up to show her calves as she moved. Tiny little black leather boots with oh so high stiletto heels. Black leather choker around her neck.
While she walked by, she raised her left hand in front of them to brush a stray wisp of hair from her face. Matching black leather bracelet. And no rings on that hand. She smiled very, very slightly, and then looked them up and down, her eyes lingering for just a second about a meter above the floor.
"Whoa," Tripp said as soon as she'd safely walked by, "Just as good going as coming."
Malcolm let out a breath.
"The blonde?" Travis asked.
"Please, you're talking about the future Mrs. Tucker there," Tripp said.
"Well, well," Malcolm said, "There's a thumb on the scale there. Still, I could get to know An a bit better, I suppose."
Hoshi started laughing, then whispered, "An means Sky in Vietnamese."
"And?" Travis asked.
They were shushed as Jonathan spoke, "I'd like to welcome you to the NX-01. We're pleased to have you here with us. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer, this is First Officer T'Pol and our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Phlox. The remainder of our Bridge Crew," he indicated, "Communications Officer Ensign Hoshi Sato."
"Hiya," she said.
"Pilot Ensign Travis Mayweather."
"Hello," Travis said, grinning.
"Commander Charles Tucker, Engineering."
"Call me Tripp."
"Armory Officer Lieutenant Malcolm Reed," Malcolm nodded, "And this is Security Crewman Deborah Haddon, who will be showing you to your quarters."
"I am Dr. Bernardine Keating-Fong," said the woman with the French braid, "But call me Bernie, Captain. Allow me to present my students. First is Dr. An Nguyen. He attended the University of Exeter for undergraduate, and ..."
"Oh. An is a man's name?" Travis asked Hoshi quietly.
"Yes. You should have asked me," she said, smiling, "Now, listen. I wanna find out about my future husband. Whichever one of them he turns out to be."
"Oh. So sorry," Travis said a mock apology.
"And this is Dr. Mark Stone, he attended Johns Hopkins for both undergraduate and Medical School," continued Dr. Keating-Fong, "And next is Dr. Will Owen," she indicated the dark-skinned man, "who comes to us via The University of Western Sydney for undergrad and Oxford for Medical School," she paused for a second, "Now for the ladies."
"This is what I'm waitin' for," Tripp said, "C'mon Blondie."
"To my left is Blair Claymore, who attended UCLA undergrad and Harvard Medical School," she indicated the brunette.
"She's very pretty," Hoshi said.
"Yes, but the other one knows it," Tripp said.
"I bet she's stuck up," Travis whispered.
"Let's be professionals now," Malcolm whispered.
"And last, but not least," Dr. Keating-Fong said, "is Dr. Pamela Hudson," That same slight smile as before. Dr. Keating-Fong continued, "She spent her undergraduate years at Dartmouth College and attended Harvard Med School with Blair. I'm sure we'll all get to know more than that about each other as we go along."
"I'm sure you're all a bit tired," Jonathan said, "Crewman Haddon, if you please," They left.
Hoshi said, "I've got, uh, I'd better go to the gym. For a week. See ya."
It was just the three of them. They walked a little bit.
"Y'know," Travis began, "it hardly seems fair."
"Oh?" Tripp asked.
"Seems like we should change the rules of the game," Travis continued.
"You just want your mitts on my Pammy," Tripp said.
"No, it's just not fair to Reed here," Travis said.
"Oh, I'm all right," Malcolm said.
"No. It's not fair," Travis insisted, "Unless you, uh, go for an older woman."
"I'd be all right with her, I think, but she's got on a wedding ring. Did you not notice?" Malcolm asked.
"Huh. Guess not," Tripp said, "And, you're right. It is not fair. I'm not, uh, thinkin' with the right piece of equipment right now. How would you change the game? Keeping in mind it should be fair to all of us, even though it turns out there's only two of 'em."
"Hmm," Travis thought for a second, "No assignments. We each go after both of them. No one gets first crack or anything like that. You try, you succeed. Or you strike out, and someone else gets a shot. Be persistent if you like. Same measure of success and same prize, all right?"
"All right," said Malcolm, "And I appreciate your changing the rules for, for me."
"'Course, Buddy," Tripp said, "But keep your mitts off Pammy. She's mine!" he laughed.
Travis's dream that night was a lively one. He knew it was a dream, for a lot of reasons, but mainly because he was piloting the shuttle. This was not odd in and of itself, except that he was stark naked. He had two passengers, Pamela and Blair. He put the shuttle on auto. The two women got up and approached him. They were both wearing little outfits like he'd seen on Orion girls. Filmy, flimsy, leaving little to the imagination. They hadn't spoken before, so his mind produced voices for them, from the female singing duo, The Sweet Cupcakes. Blair sounded like Annie Sisko. Pamela sounded like Tanya Chekhov. Pamela spoke first, "Are you sure we're safe here, Travis?" He just nodded. "I mean, we don't want anything to bump into ... anything," said Blair, "At least not unintentionally." She leaned over a console and he could clearly see how well her skirt fit her. "You said we'd be stuck here for ... hours," said Pamela. "Y-yes, I did," Travis said. "I can only think of one thing to do. But there's only one of you and two of us!" Blair complained. "That never stopped you before," Pamela said. "Ladies! Huh, lots to go around," Travis said. Blair said, "Help me get this off." He lifted her tiny top off her head. Pamela took off her own top. He tore off their skirts, which shredded and melted in his hands. They were all over him, and he could tell a little bit about who was who, by following blonde or brown hair, both short and long, or pale skin or golden. They outdid themselves with sound.
He eventually woke exhausted and sweaty, alarm screaming in his ear, "Whoa," he sat up, talking to no one, "I hope the real thing's half as good."
He knew it was a dream, for a lot of reasons, but mainly because he was piloting the shuttle. This was not odd in and of itself, except that he was stark naked.
He had two passengers, Pamela and Blair.
He put the shuttle on auto. The two women got up and approached him. They were both wearing little outfits like he'd seen on Orion girls. Filmy, flimsy, leaving little to the imagination.
They hadn't spoken before, so his mind produced voices for them, from the female singing duo, The Sweet Cupcakes. Blair sounded like Annie Sisko. Pamela sounded like Tanya Chekhov. Pamela spoke first, "Are you sure we're safe here, Travis?"
He just nodded.
"I mean, we don't want anything to bump into ... anything," said Blair, "At least not unintentionally." She leaned over a console and he could clearly see how well her skirt fit her.
"You said we'd be stuck here for ... hours," said Pamela.
"Y-yes, I did," Travis said.
"I can only think of one thing to do. But there's only one of you and two of us!" Blair complained.
"That never stopped you before," Pamela said.
"Ladies! Huh, lots to go around," Travis said.
Blair said, "Help me get this off."
He lifted her tiny top off her head. Pamela took off her own top. He tore off their skirts, which shredded and melted in his hands.
They were all over him, and he could tell a little bit about who was who, by following blonde or brown hair, both short and long, or pale skin or golden. They outdid themselves with sound.