The Best Kind of Assistance

Posted on Thu Oct 13th, 2016 @ 4:25am by

Mission: Mission 2 - Contagion
Location: Hydroponics Bay
Timeline: MD 03 :: 1420 Hrs
1351 words - 2.7 OF Standard Post Measure

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Sometimes at 2359 hours a Bolian needed to eat. The mess hall on this sorry excuse for a cruise liner (this was, undoubtedly, the worst cruise he'd ever joined) reported itself to be closed, and the doors resisted his efforts to pry them open. Possibly, they were rusted shut. He couldn't be sure. Regardless, after rummaging through the ship's directory, he found a suitable alternative, one that would hearken back to his people's hunter-gatherer days.

The hydroponics bay was a cornucopia of... Well, he wasn't entirely sure. Plants, yes. Absolutely. There were thousands of them. But not all of them looked edible. In fact, the first fruit pod he'd plundered turned out to be horribly bitter, even to his cartilaginous tongue. Several other things he'd found to be mostly edible, and those he'd stuffed into his pockets. Now, he decided to step back and take a survey, hands on hips, looking very carefully over the whole assortment of plantlife and wondering what sort of gardener cultivated a garden without putting the important accessibly up front, like tomatoes and such. Maybe whoever kept this garden was a Vulcan. That would explain the lack of berries and other actually delicious items.

"Hold! Don't touch that one!"

A normal day in the hydroponics bay consisted of Humili shouting that at least three times at different instances (and to different people). Most seemed to get it the first time, choosing to take a step back from the plants that were about to gnaw their heads off. She assumed that this Bolian, like the others, was here because (gasp) the ship had a hydroponics bay? And it was being used!?

She emerged from the back (where the edible produce was hiding), giant pair of goggles affixed to her head as she stomped over (it was the galoshes, really, making it difficult for her to walk in, honest) to the hapless man. Pointing out the oversized, vibrant blue and orange flower in front of him, she launched into an explanation. "That's a rare hop harvester from the Bajoran homeworld, brand new strain once they found out what Terrans were making their ales from. They're great, but they also like eating people if people get too close. Also I think she's ornery, because I've had to repot her from her home for this little adventure."

"Oh, I see," Olsam said, nodding. And then he reached for his Polarized Phase Blaster MK IX from Dai-Matsa Consolidated, also known as 'the PPB' or 'the Mark Nine.' He'd bought it off a passing merchant after learning that the ship was not, in fact, a cruise liner heading for Risa, but, rather, something of a privateer with lurking criminal elements on board. The PPB was carried as a matter of personal safety, and, while he'd never expected to use it on a plant, his lack of hesitation showed he was more than willing nonetheless. Taking aim at the lower stem, he said, "It's not a pair of shears, but it'll do."

The space between them closed faster than the Bolian could blink, and Humili moved to snatch the blaster from him. "Don't do that!" she hissed, frowning in disapproval. She felt like a schoolteacher herding a bunch of ravenous wolves away from the rabbits. "I need her alive and not harmed to help produce the most essential of all ingredients to create my brew. Who are you, coming down to my hydroponics bay and wrecking havoc on my garden, anywho?"

"I'm Dr. Olsam Mott," Olsam said, then switched to something of a high-pitched whine, "and I'm hungry."

Humili removed the goggles from her eyes to get a good look at the Bolian. In her fair share of cuisine-related lifetimes, she had encountered many of the blue-skinned race, mostly on the opposite end of a judgement table. Or as a rival. Olsam was no exception to the food-loving people, but his demeanor still managed to flabbergast the Trill. "... Hungry? And you came down to the hydroponics bay instead of the mess? Don't we have a chef making food? The bay's dangerous."

"That fat Tellarite," Olsam began, ignoring his own proportions while referencing the ship's chef, "told me I'd eaten my daily allotment of food already. Whoever heard of such a thing? 'Daily allotment of food.' I have caloric requirements! I even tried to prescribe myself more food, but the woman has no respect for the medical profession. She's just a squat, odious little troll who's hoarding all the food for herself."

"That fat Tellarite has been enforcing the on board food allotment since I arrived on the ship." Humili crossed her arms against her chest, a bemused smile playing on her lips. "As I can only grow a certain number of produce within the bay. If we can, by some miracle, manage to get the single replicator in the ward room to begin to do what it's supposed to, then the restrictions may be lifted. Until then..." She looked Mott up and down. "I could be convinced to let go of some of the edible fruits in exchange for your assistance."

Olsam looked from Humili to the vegetation and back again. He seemed astounded that they were growing their own food out of necessity rather than luxury. He'd known from his conversations with the ship's engineer that replication for non-industrial purposes was off limits; apparently, dilithium crystals, deuterium, and anti-deuterium were too costly to allow for massive energy drains like replicators. But, he'd never have guessed they were in such dire straits that they needed to actually grow things to eat.

"What sort of assistance? Do you need drugs?"

"Drugs?" Humili narrowed her eyes at the Bolian. He was peculiar, that much was certain. "Oh no, not drugs. Actual help. As in, heavy lifting... helping me care for the plants. Easy work, for a doctor. You said you were a doctor, yes?"

"Yes, I am a licensed and certified Starfleet physician," Olsam said, emphatically stating every word as if his credentials were under direct fire. "But, um..." He licked his lips and looked around. "I have a bad back, you see. I can write you a doctor's note if you like. So... I'm not so sure about this heavy lifting. Do you have any light lifting I could do? Harvesting? Do you have any harvesting work? I'm pretty good at that. I could pick a lot of..." He turned to look at the plants and then gestured randomly to one laden with what appeared to be fruit. "...that."

"I've got a machine that does most of my harvesting for me," Humili stated, though made no gesture to show him where it was. Stroking her chin, she looked him up and down, evaluating potential harvesting ability verses other tasks she had for someone with back issues. "... I suppose you could. Maybe. So long as you promise not to eat everything in sight. We have to ration it out for the others as well."

"Ration," Olsam slowly repeated, like it was a word he was learning for the first time. "Okay. You just give me a list of what to pick, and I'll pick it. And you can pay me in food."

"Consider it done." PaDDs and note-taking objects were scarce on the Rose, but that fact didn't stop the Trill from agreeing. She would have to find another way to communicate what she needed with him. "... Oh, and you definitely will not need that phaser. I'm not going to have you harvesting from the humanoid-eating life forms until you're better acquainted with them. Or they of you."

Olsam gave her a quizzical look and then followed her gaze down to his hip. "Oh! Right. My weapon. That's not for the plants, it's for the other people on this ship. I mean, have you seen some of these people? It's like an Orion cantina."

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Olsam Mott, M.D.
Ship's Doctor
SS Mary Rose

Humili Planitia
Hydroponics Operator
SS Mary Rose

 

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