No Lemons Were Harmed

[Tachyon 0]

“No Lemons Were Harmed During the Making of this Log”

June 28, 2154

Lieutenant Dave Grey

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Man, he felt like a woman. He had trouble shaking the feeling even now; it clung to him like a second skin, a second identity. He had been in the Orion slave girl disguise for so long that the motif had sunk into him. It was not that he missed it—oh no, Dave was quite glad to be rid of the disguise—but that he could notice the difference so acutely. Being able to wear more clothes was nice though.

 

Not surprisingly, Enterprise looked a lot like Challenger. Its science lab was a bit more existent than Challenger's, and its protein resequencer managed tea better than Challenger's ever could Grey had broken—er, helped to repair—it almost two years ago.

 

The ride was smooth and rather uneventful so far, and for that, Grey was grateful. After all that they had been through in the past weeks, he was glad to return to Challenger and finally resume “life”. He wondered how Robin had fared in her tasks—successfully, no doubt; he had absolute confidence in his cousin. He wondered what had become of Captain Moore and his important mission to the Klingon homeworld. So much had happened that Grey would welcome a chance to just catch up, but for all he knew Starfleet had another mission lined up for them and ready to go.

 

Grey sat in Enterprise's science lab. It was a good place to sit, because it reminded him of Challenger, more home to him than any set of quarters could be. The familiar hum of the science lab symphony orchestra was soothing. The lighting was never too high nor too low, but just the right level to relax.

 

“I don't know,” he said aloud. “I just don't know.”

 

Enterprise had a movie night, and he wanted to go watch, so he got up and hit the button to open the door. When he crossed the threshold, however, Grey lost his footing and suddenly his face had a rendezvous with the floor. Stunned, he sat up and looked down at the floor just in front of the lab door.

 

There was a lemon sitting right there.

 

Grey said, “Well, that was unexpected,” and picked up the lemon with half-hearted interest. He stood up—no permanent damage—and headed down the corridor. He considered detouring to the galley. How did one peel a lemon anyway? Grey had never been good at it—for some reason lemons were not very peelable to him. He just failed at the part of life that involves peeling lemons.

 

But hey, at least he had read Agatha Christie.