"On Tandaris and Beasts of Burden"

[Guest Laarell]

Something was not entirely right with her Trill, and it made Laarell increasingly uncomfortable as she continued to turn over the fact in her little green brain.

 

It wasn't like Tandaris to, well, practically ignore her. They'd not even been having their usual "geek department head" lunches, nor were they... well, that could be expected, given the fact that he had been in a coma.

 

Then there was that whole business about the cryptic, downright bizarre end of their last conversation. It hadn't sounded like Tandaris. Hell, it hadn't sounded like anything any... healthy person would say. Gods help her, but she was starting to get worried about him.

 

It wasn't like she could actually bring it up to him, though... what would she have said? "Tandy, darling, I think you sound a little bit off." The man had been in a coma. What was he supposed to sound like? Maybe it would just take time for him to return to some semblance of normality. And she couldn't have really said anything to anybody else. Really, "Tandaris said that things are cold; is he fit for duty?" wasn't exactly the brightest-sounding thing that could leave her own mouth, and would more than likely result in Corizon twisting an ear at her, giving her a look, and possibly even growling something about her not being able to separate duty from pleasure.

 

Laarell frowned, mulling over the options in her brain. There wasn't much she could do; her usual remedy of "pounce" wouldn't likely solve anything (and that was more than likely her hyperactive libido advising her), and would potentially make things even more awkward. Talking to him about it would probably end up confounding her even more, and... Laarell sighed. There really wasn't much she could do.

 

She forced her thoughts away from the Trill, picking up a padd with some information about Theta Begani to take her mind off of relatively unimportant things, like her stagnating sex life. After all, figuring out feed ratios for a plethora of ungulates was such an interesting topic to take her mind off things. For a wry moment, she considered calling down one of the captain's yeomans to handle the minutiae. After all, the glorified little desert rat would have been better at figuring out how to allot goats than the computer-scientist, wouldn't she? The Orion giggled, sending along the the assignment. She expected a slightly sour reply; after all, the Xenexian probably had her hands full with Corizon's own increased workload, and wouldn't appreciate Teykier's attempts to load her plate even more.

 

Supply runs were always a little fun, though. It was nice to be playing cargo-hauler and bureaucratic Federation colonial overlord instead of getting shot at by overgrown arachnids, now and then. It was... quiet, which was good for more than a few reasons, and soothing to be figuring out how to coordinate with planetary civil engineers to set up better irrigation systems rather than trying not to get blown to hell and limping back to base. Not that she wanted to jinx it...

 

* * *

 

The stench. Oh gods, the stench. It smelled like the great marketplace of Condacin when it was more than forty-two degrees Celsius and there wasn't any wind to take away the smell. Cargobay four was just... awful.

 

O'd'yl glared as the mass of skittish, nervous, hooved mammals trampled through the cargobay. Then she mentally called down great curses upon the green... thing... that had assigned her to it. Did the commander not know she was busy? Did the commander think that she was just sitting around drinking coffee, and thought she'd assign some more work to clear up some more time for her own... off-duty antics. Did she think that just because her planet had similar creatures, she, a Xenexian of aristocratic birth, would have the slightest idea what to do with them? Odile huffed. Thank the gods she wasn't in the sciences department. She wouldn't have been able to abide being under the petty green tyrant's direct form of dictatorship.

 

She started as one... she thought it was called a g'h't or something in Standard... came up from the side, unseen, head-butting her in a search for food. Jumping back, she scowled at it. This was terrible. The animals didn't have a handler -- she didn't like to think of herself as their handler, even if she was -- and they were unruly, nasty creatures. Sidling over to a grain store-unit, she resigned herself to the idea of having to feed the things... which were swarming closer and closer.

 

Somehow, someday, the Orion was going to pay for this little stunt. One hand curled around the hilt of her knife (which she shouldn't have had, but she'd be damned if she was going into a... a... a zoo without it), and a sense of dark glee went through her. One day, Laarell would have to... pitch manure.

 

The thought was a very, very nice one.