Enterprise Christmas Party (Part One)

As I'm sure you're aware, due to the high level of entries (over 30), the party is being extended to seven consectuive days.

We have a fine array; thank you everybody for sending them all in.

Now, without further ado, we'll let the guests start coming in...

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Firstly, we have Curmudgeon with:

Admiral McCoy’s ancient visage glared at me from the viewscreen. “No, I can’t come to the Enterprise Christmas party, consarn it,” he grumped.

“Christmas parties! On starships!” Dr. McCoy was on a roll again; I’d have to wait him out. “In my day we didn’t have Christmas parties on ships; we had to be ready to go into battle at any moment against the Klingons! We sure didn’t put ‘em charge of Security, I can tell you that.”

I made a mental note to tell Lt. Worf that Admiral McCoy wished him a Merry Christmas.

“And what in tarnation are you even doing on a starship, boy? You’re not Starfleet.” McCoy harrumphed again. “Guest Quarters! Is the Enterprise a starship or a cruise ship?” I knew the answer to that one, and so did my friend Bee. She’d been showing pictures of her latest real cruise to anyone who’d look. She’d been lamenting that there was no midnight buffet on the Enterprise just the other night. I thought Bee might get along well with McCoy; they’d both lived in Georgia.

“Leonard,” I finally broke in, “I thought you liked the Enterprise.”

That got him. He misted up almost immediately. “Finest ship in the fleet, son, whether A, B, C, D or E. Down to Z if they get that far.... say, did they ever put pointy ears on that robot fella?”

Sometimes Dr. McCoy would have rapid changes of topic as well as mood. Since he was over 140, we all felt he was entitled. “You mean Commander Data?” I asked.

“I know who I mean, boy, doggone it. Damn it, Curmudgeon, I’m a Doctor, not a personnel file. They shoulda put pointy ears on that feller a long time ago.”

I made a mental note to tell Mr. Data that Admiral McCoy wished him a Merry Christmas.

“Alright, Leonard, I’m going to go then. I’ll miss you at the party.”

“Sure, sure, sure.” McCoy waved his bony hand dismissively, but as he was turning away from the screen, he suddenly looked back. “You be sure to say hello to that cute gal doctor they got. She’s a mighty fine dancer, you know. Mighty fine.” The screen went blank.

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Later, at the party, after I’d conveyed Dr. McCoy’s holiday greetings to Worf and Data, I stopped to chat with Captain Picard.

“Thank you for inviting me to the party, Captain.”

Picard looked elegant in his dress uniform, but he seemed a bit distracted. “Yes, Happy Christmas, Curmudgeon,” he said, but he was looking over my shoulder toward the big double doors to Ten Forward.

A Borg drone approached with a plate of hors d’oeuvres. Nothing looked particularly appetizing and I waved it away. Picard also declined. The drone just stood there for a minute, whizzing and buzzing and nodding it’s head from side to side. Then it abruptly whirled and was gone.

“Very nice party, Captain,” I said, but Picard, though still next to me, seemed miles away.

I was just beginning to wonder why this might be so when three Borg drones, each carrying a tray, approached from 12, 4 and 8 o’clock, each one whizzing and buzzing and clanking a little louder than the next. I was so startled I almost didn’t see Seven as she stepped between me and Picard.

The drones thrust their trays out for inspection. Picard barely noticed them. He barely noticed Seven. He was distracted indeed.

“You’d better take something from one of them, Locutus,” said Seven. “They have been ordered to serve you hors d’oeuvres.”

Picard barely glanced at the trays before waving them off. I looked a little longer – but I took a pass as well. The drones, still at 12 and 4 and 8 o’clock, buzzed and whirred a little louder and some servo units on their extremities began opening and closing and making noises like a dentist’s drill in a nightmare. Their heads nodded left and right, then left and right again – and then they all spun on their heels and walked off in the directions from which they’d come.

“Merry Christmas, Seven,” I stammered. She was still wearing that elf costume and it looked wonderful on her. She eyed me coldly. “Christmas is irrelevant,” she said, “and you will be assimilated immediately if you don’t stop looking at me like that.”

I blushed; I did not realize that I had an inappropriate look on my face. I am a married man, after all. I muttered a farewell to them both and went in search of Ellee Seymour to talk about something safe, like politics.

I last caught sight of Picard, still staring at the doors of Ten Forward, as 12 Borg drones moved in on him in a circle, each with a tray extended.

It was then that the doors hissed open....

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Next, we have Danny Bailey ....

We stood on the transporter pad. A tall dark hair man in a red uniform smiled with a lovely woman at his side… Another man walked forward and extended his hand….

"Welcome to the USS Enterprise, I am Commander Data, this is the first officer Commander Riker and this is Deanna Troi. We hope you enjoy your stay…. Um… Mr. Danny Bailey and…. I am sorry it says significant other… I guess there was an error…" The young man stated…

I looked at Remy and smiled…

"Non, non… I am son ami." Remy smiles…

Commander Data looks puzzled and Ricker stands up straight and takes Miss Troi's arm…

"This is Remy Lebeau. This isn't going to be a problem?" I asked…

Deanna smiles and Riker clears his throat, "No not all, you will find we are very open- minded in the 24th century…"

I hear Commander Data ask in a whisper, "What are we being open- minded about?"

Deanna giggles as Riker whispers back, "Ask the Captain later."

Remy and I go to the Party.. We find a lot of different people there… We wave to the Professor and a few more…

Taking a table to the side, I smiled as I watch Remy trick a lot of people into a game of poker… Including Commander Riker. Several of the men I could see would be losing their wallets and their uniforms tonight. Miss Troi saved Commander Riker of that embarrassment…. Though Remy did win a trombone.

"Aw, its Mr. Bailey correct?" Picard smiled…

"Yes, Miss Ishikawa's protégé. Remy, This is our host Captain Jean Luc Picard." I began the polite introductions when Remy smiled…

"Bonjour Captain… Comment allez-vous?" Remy inquired…

The Captain lit up and began speaking French back… Asking where in France Remy was from because he couldn't quite distinguish the accent… Remy replied that he wasn't French but from Louisiana…

Because it is impolite to come empty handed I gave my Christmas gift for the Enterprise a bottle of real French champagne. The Captain was quite happy and after offering us each a glass of wine from his family vineyard Remy and I sat in a dark corner…

I looked up, "Mon Ami… Do you think anyone will see?"

Remy smiled evilly, "Who cares if they do…"

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The next guest at the party is Eleanor with:

Mac, more formally known as Admiral Grace MacKenzie (retired), was
approaching her 135th birthday, had entered retirement, and was in a
very, very bad mood. The day had begun with the on-board dental
hygiene program failing and she had a piece of ginger root stuck
between two of her back teeth. The replicator had duly produced a
small hand-held device but with it came an error message that there
was an unknown piece of data in the code and its performance could
not be guaranteed. She held the lightweight device in her hand,
looked at it thoughtfully, and decided she would rather face down a
dozen enemy vessels in her shuttle than put that anywhere near her
teeth. She had then wasted half a morning trying to work out how to
instruct the replicator to produce a low-tech and very ancient
solution called floss. It had given her fizz, froth, foam (26
different varieties and colours), medieval hemp rope, nautical sail
cording, and several different kinds of embroidery thread. She was
losing patience. Just as she was about to vent her verbal rage on
the computer a further error message appeared. She knew what to do,
having been out here in the shuttle now for some weeks with this
highly unreliable computer. She distracted it. She asked it to give
her a detailed account of Starfleet history, using the Intelligence
Service's own records, for a random date. Despite her retirement,
she did a little work now and again, and the service made sure she
had access. She sat back in her seat and stretched her stiff
joints. As the program ran silently through a silly number of
totally insignificant events, she watched the patterns on the screen,
more aware of it as an art form than a data stream. Abruptly, the
screen froze. The data simply said, 'Party: Captain Jean-Luc
Picard... then part of the data was missing. An interesting tile
pattern of dots appeared where the words should have been. She told
the screen to read out. Nothing happened. Then a voice said,
'because of this meeting between (unintelligable) and
(unintelligable) it is thought that the protracted conflict that had
caused one of the greatest disasters of the era (and then the voice
became blurred). As Mac sat there, thoroughly puzzled, all the
lights went out and the little shuttle, built by her eccentric boss
to look like one of the first Earth space shuttles, was plunged into
total darkness. Uncertainly, a single emergency light came on, and
there was nothing but utter silence.

"Networking!" She muttered. "The whole understanding of history
comes down to networking!" She sighed, and began to rummage for
the emergency back up systems control panel hidden just beneath the
console, and the tool kit she kept handy in the little compartment to
the right of her seat that most pilots used for their own personal
hologram chips and emergency chocolate. But the fact was, she was
consumed with curiosity. Who met whom at that party? And was the
crisis ended or begun? And why is her computer acting up? And, as
her hand found the tool kit and nothing else, where had she put her
chocolate?

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Here with his cape, is Count Wolfgang Dracula



The Holidays can get lonely so I was glad to be invited to the Christmas Party on board a starship… I know that Captain Picard and the Federation is about Diplomacy so being a Count of high stature for the Worker Caste of the Planet Drakulon, I had considered to come in the traditional attire befitting of a Drakulonian delegate…

I have so often been accused by Pantha and others that it makes me look like Napoleon… I do not think so… I am much more handsome than that paranoid Frenchman… I knew him well that is just how long I have lived… Personally I think he got his fashion design from us Drakulonians…

Well that is the past and I am heading to the future… I took one last look in the mirror and decided that though I am a Drakulonian Count, with an ambassadorial rank here on Earth I would wear something else…

When I beamed up the man before me was almost as pale as I and seemed confused…

"I am sorry, seems we have beamed up the wrong person… We were suppose to beam up… Count Wolfgang Dracula a Drakulonian Ambassador…" The pale one said

I pulled down the beard, "And so you did my boy… Just thought I would get into the spirit."

"Oh then my apologizes Count, I am Commander Data… Welcome aboard and to the Xmas Party." Mr. Data took me to the Party…

I saw many friends and a lot of new faces… I entered the room, "HO HO HO HO…… MERRY MERRY XMAS!"

I waved as I walked around handing out pieces of Drakulon peppermint candy sticks. Sadly I made the mistake to smile at a little boy named Alexander who after seeing my fangs ran to get his fathers weapon…

"Don't worry father I will slay the Vampire!" He yelled… Lt. Worf was kind enough to explain to him that I was a Drakulonian not a Vampire, well not exactly and not evil….

Toward the end of the night I watched all the couples dancing and kissing under a magic ceiling of mistletoe… I sighed…

"Blood Wine?" I turned to find a lovely woman looking at me…

"Is it fresh?" I asked

"Well, in the future we learned how to use synthetic blood for those who have been injured but we do have a supply of fresh human blood just incase. Doctor Crusher was kind enough to let me bottle some for our Drakulonian guest." She smiled… "and I learned from the famous Drakulon that invented fermentation to make.. real blood wine."

"Well then my fine lady pour us both a glass." I grinned…

"Well I will stick to Klingon Blood wine." She winked…

"Bedalvolo … tell me how can a young woman as yourself know the infamous Drakulonian … Count Vlad slayed him oh too long ago.." I inquired…

"I am not as young as I look, My name is Guinan." She smiled…
She spent most the party, tending bar, keeping my grandson and his friend out of the booze and fighting with Q, in between talking with me…

I waited until the Party was over… everyone had left and then when there was no one to serve, Guinan and I danced….

"You little imp, never say I didn’t do anything for you." A voice called from nowhere.

"Q!" Guinan sighed as we looked up and saw that a small bit of Mistletoe had returned over our heads… I smiled… "If I may?"

We kissed and wished each other a Merry Xmas….

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Lastly for today, we have Ungaman



"Oh, C'mon dad! This could be fun!"

I frowned at the look of several golden, red and green ribbons hanging around the transporter pad. The officer at the station welcomed us and gave me a PADD painted in green and red, with a little bell hanging from one of the corners. My 7 years-old son headed to the tranporter station, touched several buttons and with some vivid light on his eyes, looked at me saying:

"wow! what does 'Transportation in transit. Are you sure you want to erase the buffer?' means?"

I turned pale and quickly grabbed him from the shoulder. Offering a "I'm-so-sorry-for-the-inconvenience" smile to the officer, we both moved outside the bay. Time to find Ten-Forward.

I really tried to follow the directions recorded on the PADD. I must say that it was really annoying to see a toon of Cap. Picard dressed as Santa popping-up every time I managed to get the right corridor... and to see a toon of Seven popping-up saying something about assimilation if I keep getting lost... my son asked me why she was still wearing for Halloween... I'll wait for him to meet her in person.

Now I'm impressed. As the doors at Ten-Forward hissed open, a incredible large crowd of people was already in place, cheering, laughing, drinking and... hmmm... I thought Deltans were stick to their Vow of Chastity while on-board a Federation vessel... never mind.
I tried to spot Geordi and share some insights about engineering. After all, Starfleet engineers tend to bond almost instantly.

I was wrong. As soon as I spotted him, I saw his face turning pale, then red in anger. I shook my head in surprise. I turned to look at my son and... he wasn't there anymore! I gasped for some air when I realized he was making a mess with some musical instruments and several Borg drones where after him.

"Excuse me! errr... would you excuse me please!!!... that.. that's my son" I tried very politely to call for the drones attention. One of them looked at me and told me with a very creepy and menacing voice

"This human tried to reduce the efficiency of our instrumental. He will be placed on a stasis chamber. Resistance is futile"

Perhaps that would be a good idea... but no... I prefer to struggle with this drones instead of my wife. After several minutes I managed to get my son back, no without my promise to
them to have a talk with their Manager and see if we can arrange some musical interlude on the Discovery, the vessel where I serve. Hmmm... hope Cap. Waltas wouldn't complain about that.

***********

Well, that was really odd. Romulan ale and Klingon food don't mix well. My son turned green at the smell and look of the several dishes on the table. I managed to eat a slice of...
can't remember the name... never mind. I see Seven calling for everyone's attention. She announced that the Strolling Bones will start playing soon, after they were really sure of
having re-aligned their equipments. I wonder how much missaligment could be done for my
son?

ZAP! FUZZ! BANG!

One of the drones collapsed onto the ground, spewing smoke and sparks from all of his body. His nano-probe tubes still attached to one of the... guitarrs? The crowd turned at me and I shrugged. Two strong pair of arms grabbed me and carried me in front of Seven. She looked at me, pointing to the one drone that was being attended on the ground.

"His connection with the Collective had been severed. You will take his place" She told me. Before I could reply, she gave me the weird guitar. "You will comply. Resistance is futile"
Nodding in direction of my son, who was now surrounded for several guys wearing yellow. By judging their glances, they were not engineers for sure.

Well... this is going to be a very long evening...

* sigh! *

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That was the first day of the party; more to follow tomorrow...