A Bad Day for Shore Leave

"So, what are you planning to do today?" asked Lugmilla once Sumati had ordered a cup of tea.

The ensign glanced across at Halvorsen before answering. It wasn't as if she was going to do anything illegal or against regulations, but she didn't want to broadcast it, either. "Oh, this and that," she said vaguely, "I haven't really thought about it that much."

"This is your first real shore leave, isn't it?" asked Sh'ree, "since the Academy, I mean."

"Uh, yes, yes it is."

"Well, you'll find it goes quickly enough. I'd make some plans, if I were you. It's not as if we're somewhere where you can just relax and admire the scenery. On a planet, it can be different."

"Where you always insist on going somewhere freezing cold," butted in the Tellarite.

"If you're talking about that last trip, that's hardly fair - five Celsius is not cold!"

"Well, it doesn't apply here, anyway," broke in the human science officer, who evidently knew Tellarites well enough to see that a protracted argument was brewing, "and I'm sure there's entertainment around."

"I'd avoid the nightclub," said Sumati, as her tea arrived, "I hear it's a bit rough. At least, it seemed that way when I passed it earlier."

Halvorsen looked over at her, gave a little sniff, and frowned disapprovingly. The smell of whatever the Nausicaan had been drinking must still be on her clothes! It wasn't strong, but it was probably just about detectable. The security officer probably thought she'd been drinking the stuff herself, although hopefully her obvious sobriety counted against that.

The conversation continued, going nowhere in particular. The chip was almost burning a hole in Sumati's pocket. How could she get away? At this rate, she was going to be invited to join them somewhere else, and then what would happen to her real plans? Shore leave was rapidly turning into a complete disaster. It could only be worse if...

"Ha! Starfleet weaklings! Are those your ideas of drinks? Pathetic! And you, blue-skin, what kind of warriors are your people supposed to be, hanging out with these pieces of detritus!"

It was him. He was back again – the scar-faced Klingon. He had a different friend with him this time, and the female officer she had seen earlier was nowhere in sight.

Sh'ree clenched her fist, and half-rose from the table, but it was Halvorsen who held out a warning hand towards her, then rose herself to stare into the Klingon's eyes. Sumati had to admit, the blonde woman was tall, and with scar-face being rather squat for his race, the security officer was actually able to stare him straight in the eye.

"This is supposed to be neutral ground," she said coolly, "so if you're looking for a fight, we'll have to disappoint you. I'm sure your own captain has told you the same."

"You're just scared I'll whip your skinny ass."

"I'd leave, if I were you."

Sumati gulped down the last of the tea as the others began to square off against each other.

"Good plan," muttered Lugmilla, leaning across to her, "let's find somewhere else." Seeing that Sh'ree was already backing up Halvorsen, she turned to the geeky looking science ensign, "coming?" He shook his head, focused on the coming confrontation, and the Tellarite shrugged. "Suit yourself."

Once again, Sumati found herself beating a hasty retreat, this time with Lugmilla at her side. If there was really going to be a fight, Halvorsen and Sh'ree should be more than capable of handling themselves, and they wanted to be nowhere near when it went down.

"This place seems rougher than I thought," said the Tellarite woman once they'd reached the safety of a nearby corridor entrance.

"Well, it doesn't sound like they are actually fighting yet," said Sumati, "thankfully. But I know what you mean. Although I think that particular Klingon is just looking to cause trouble. Oh, look, here comes station security. Better make ourselves scarce."

"So," began Lugmilla, a short while later, "what were you actually planning on doing? And don't say you didn't have a plan, because I could tell that wasn't true."

The ensign sighed, "actually, I was just trying to get to the holosuites. Haven't been able to find them yet, though."

"Ah, well I have a PADD," said the Tellarite, smiling, "so let's see." She took the small item out of her pocket, and poked it a few times. "We're pretty close... just down that way."

"Oh, right. Thanks!"

"You're welcome." The other woman looked at her suspiciously, dark brows furrowed, "but we do have a holodeck on the ship. The point of shore leave is to go somewhere different." Sumati shuffled her feet, unsure of what to say, but apparently that was enough to give her away. "Ah," said Lugmilla, "yes, I noticed that about our holodecks, too."

"You did?" Somehow she couldn't see the squat, snouted lieutenant in that way.

"I am a single adult... Well, I'm guessing you don't want me to join you." She pointed again, "down there, and round the corner. I'll see you later."

Sumati grinned, "thanks! You're a star." It seemed the first piece of good fortune she'd had all day.

---***---

"There will be no problem using my own program?"

"Of course not," replied the Ferengi, "we pride ourselves in giving our customers exactly what they want. If you'll just authorise the transaction?"

She did so, relieved that at last, the day's obstacles seemed to be over. The chip was still in her pocket, and ready for use in the holosuite she had just booked.

It contained an erotic holonovel, a historical story set in the early nineteenth century, about an innocent young woman courted by two equally eligible, but contrasting, bachelors. The reviews had said that the plot was engaging and full of twists, with well-rounded characters, plenty of period feel and, most importantly for today, some very steamy sex scenes.

That, of course, was one of the things about holonovels. In almost any other medium, whether traditional text novels or two or three dimensional cinema, the writer could, if they wanted to, gloss over the erotic elements. They could describe them only briefly, or use camera angles, lighting, or simple editing to leave much up to the imagination. A holonovel, in which, by its very nature, you had to experience everything the heroine did, had no such luxury. You either left it out altogether, perhaps put in some dialogue to imply it had happened off-screen, or... you went the whole way. Clever camera angles just weren't an option.

It was so much better than the largely emotion-free holo-porn that the Ferengi were likely to serve up. She couldn't, of course, finish the whole novel today, and, like most holonovels, you were supposed to experience it chapter by chapter anyway. But she estimated, from the suggested timing guidelines, that she could get through all of the initial scenes at the country house, and then complete the episode in which, from what she gathered, the feisty young heroine comprehensively lost both her innocence and her virginity. (To which of the dashing young aristocrats, she had no idea – that would be the thrill of playing through it).

The rest could wait for another day, another shore leave.

"Thank you," she said, as the Ferengi owner completed the transaction. "Which holosuite is it?"

"Oh, it's not available yet," he said, trying to look innocent, but, given his race, failing horrendously.

"What?" growled Sumati, a hard edge creeping into her voice.

Her tone evidently registered, and the Ferengi began talking rather more rapidly. "They're all booked up at the moment. If you'd got here just a little bit earlier, there would have been one, but somebody just beat you to it. You've just bought a slot in, let me see... five hours' time. Don't be late. And no refunds! First Rule of..."

"Five hours?!"

"Well, yes, you see, they're..."

"Actually, on second thoughts, I don't want to know. But if it's not ready in five hours, I will wring your neck, understood? I'm sure there must be a Rule of Acquisition about it being hard to make profits when you've just been strangled."

He nodded, backing off and muttering something that sounded like "one hundred and twenty five."

Could this day get any worse? Sumati stormed off, fuming to herself. Even a delayed start like that would leave her enough time, but what was she to do for five hours? Apart from anything else, she was going to need sleep before then, if she didn't want to nod off before Lord Whatshisname got naked.

She was seriously beginning to wonder if she would still be in the mood by the time she did manage to start. But at least she did have a booking, and the Ferengi was unlikely to give up her slot if he wanted to keep his reputation. She just had to find somewhere to spend the meantime.

One of her few lucky breaks in a day of disasters was her discovery that, less than a hundred metres beyond the holosuite complex was a small hotel. It wasn't the most expensive on the station, but it didn't look like a rat-hole, either. All she had to do was rent a room, take a lie-down, set an alarm, and be back at the holosuite on time. Given the short distance, for once, that shouldn't prove an obstacle. And, no matter her worsening mood, she was damned if she was give up after having gone this far.

The hotel was managed by another Ferengi, who appeared rather flustered when she arrived. Perhaps she just looked sufficiently fed up that he sensed he might be in trouble. She booked a room, and then reached for the console to make the transaction before pausing, her finger above the screen.

"You're not going to tell me you're booked up, are you?"

"No... no..."

"You do have rooms available, now? For the night?"

"Yes, yes, no trouble!" He looked a bit confused at her questions, but at least it was hard to see what else could go wrong at this point.

Apart from an asteroid strike on the station, which she really hoped wasn't likely.

"Good," she said, thumbing in the key, "so which room is it?"

"Ah, right, yes... yes... I've got it here somewhere." He fiddled through a set of electronic keys, somehow having difficulty finding the one he was looking for. Goodness knew how, since some of them had a green 'available' tag actually glowing on them.

Sumati lost patience, reached over and grabbed the nearest green tag. "This one...?"

"Uhhh..."

"It says 'available'."

"Then, yes, yes, that's free. I mean, available, not 'free'... pardon my language. You still have to pay for it."

"I just have paid for it."

"Yes, yes, yes, go right on through. Or..." something seemed to occur to him, "perhaps I should just check something... could you...?"

Ignoring him, Sumati strode off down the corridor into the hotel. What had got into the little weasel? Whatever it was, it wasn't her problem.

She found the door, checking the number against the key, and pressed it into the lock pad. The door slid open and the little light turned red for 'booked'. So the room had been available. Good. Finally, things had stopped going wrong.

Sighing, she stepped inside, and thumbed the light switch as she door slid shut. The room remained in blackness, and she stabbed at the switch again. Nothing. She was about to let out a loud expletive when she felt herself suddenly grabbed from behind, and cold, sharp steel pressed against her throat.

"And now," said a deep voice right by her ear, "...you die!"

---***---

Sumati froze, petrified. She could feel the sharp blade pressed against her skin, a muscular arm wrapped about her shoulder, and warm breath on the back of her neck. The moment seemed to drag out as she waited, helpless, for her assailant to finish her off.

Instead, the knife was pulled away rapidly, and she found herself pushed away violently.

"You are not Patrick O'Leary!" shouted the deep voice, angrily.

She had had enough. Every single thing was going wrong today! Couldn't she even get a lie-down in peace? She span around on her heels, and finally vented her frustration.

"No I'm bloody well not! What the hell do you think you're doing, jumping people in their hotel rooms? What the fuck is this? I've been threatened, cheated, nearly beaten up – twice – and now you're trying to murder me because you think I'm some man I've never heard of? This is insane! You're insane! How the hell does anyone get any peace around here?"

"You are not Patrick O'Leary," said the man, more insistently this time.

Sumati slapped him.

It was only then that the nature of her assailant fully sunk in. He was a Klingon warrior. She had just slapped a Klingon warrior. Holding a drawn blade.

Fortunately, he seemed as shocked as she was, staring at her in amazement, his eyes wide in the near darkness. He put a hand up to his face, where she had just slapped him, and held it there for a moment, in apparent bemusement.

Then he let out a short booming laugh. "Lights!" he called, and the room was suddenly illuminated.

"Well met... Starfleet," he said, apparently seeing her uniform for the first time. "Few would have the bravery for that." He grinned, "but perhaps you should not strike me again. That might be... unwise."

The Klingon stood over two metres tall, with the muscular build typical of his race. His skin was pale tan, somewhat lighter than her own, and his hair black and shoulder length. He was, she estimated, a young man, not much older than herself, his beard neatly trimmed into a goatee. Aside from the knife, he appeared to be unarmed, although she doubted that would make much difference should she decide to attack him again.

"What... what are you doing in here?" she managed, trying to keep her voice steady, but not really succeeding.

He thought for a moment before giving a brief snort and then, to her relief, thrusting his wicked looking blade back into the sheath at his belt. "I seek to rid the galaxy of Patrick O'Leary," he said, as if this explained everything.

"So why were you hiding in my room?"

"This is not your room. It is mine."

She held out the electronic key with its little tag, now glowing red to signify that the room was occupied. "No," she told him, her voice calmer now, but still with an angry edge to it, "I don't think so."

He looked at the small device, and then swore. "P'takh of a Ferengi! That key was not for you." He began to pace the room angrily. "O'Leary was to meet me here. He was to be given that key, thinking that this was a meeting to arrange a deal. And then to meet his doom, like the coward he is."

Sumati recalled with horror how she had practically snatched the key from the hotel owner, ignoring his own apparent confusion. What had she just blundered into?

"Who is he?" she asked, unable to think of anything else to say.

"An arms dealer and traitor. He has been arming, shall we say, undesirable elements, raiders and insurgents who have harmed the Klingon Empire, and your own Federation, too. You should want him dead as much as I do."

"Perhaps I would, if I had heard of him." She doubted that was the case; the Federation did not believe in the death penalty, and neither did she. But it seemed best to humour the man.

He nodded, apparently satisfied with her remark, "I had planned to assassinate him myself, to claim the glory of removing his stain from the galaxy. He is a coward and an outcast; he did not deserve to die a warrior's death. A slit throat and an ignominious end, that is what he should face."

"You still think he's coming?"

"No," said the Klingon, shoulders slumping slightly, "not now. He is late already, and now you have the key to the room. These rooms are sound-proofed; he could not even knock on the door if he wanted. Although I suspect, given his lateness, that he has somehow got wind of my scheme, or at least fears that the meeting is not genuine. I do not believe he will arrive now. I have failed."

It wasn't her problem. "Well, if you don't mind, I'll leave," she told him, eyeing him carefully to see his response.

She needn't have bothered; he just wearily waved his arm in the direction of the door, not even bothering to look at her. Still walking slowly, in case he became violent again, she went up to it, and thumbed the key in.

Nothing happened. She tried it again. Still nothing.

She turned to look at the Klingon, and he stared back at her this time, as if suspecting a trick. "Why do you not leave?" he asked, accusingly.

"The door won't open. The key isn't working."

He frowned, and then suddenly strode to the door, pushing her out of the way, and pressing his own key to the lock. It worked no better than her own.

"The lock... does not work!" he said, spitting out the words.

"Yes, I know. Why not?"

He remained silent for a moment, and then let out a shout that almost made Sumati jump. "That damn Ferengi!" he shouted, "he has betrayed me! I shall wring his scrawny neck. He must have trapped me in here while O'Leary made his escape from the station! The room is locked from the outside. We are trapped here!"

Sumati said nothing. Not for the first time, she reflected that her day had managed to take a turn for the worse when it seemed that it had already reached its nadir.

The Klingon pounded on the door, shouting to be released, and explaining in graphic detail what he would do to the hotel owner as soon as he got out. Sumati doubted that this was going to be an effective method of persuasion. She waited until he got bored, leaning up against the door, panting with frustration.

"It's sound-proofed, remember?" she told him, "even if he wants to let you out so that you can disembowel him, which I doubt. Why don't you let me try?"

"And what good can you do, human? You think your voice is louder than mine?"

"No, but I'm an engineer. Perhaps I can get the lock open."

"Oh."

He stepped out of the way. Soon she had the panel off, and with the warrior fuming behind her, got to work on the circuits. Soon, however, she had to admit defeat, rolling back onto her haunches. "If I had my PADD..." she said, "but there's nothing I can do here without tools."

"So we are trapped?"

She turned to look at him, "you said he's already late. So won't your friends be coming to look for you soon?"

He looked down at the floor, suddenly sheepish. "They do not know I am here."

"What?"

He glared at her, "you think I asked permission for this? Of course not, it is my own plan! My Captain does not know where I am. She thinks I am simply on shore leave. They will not miss me until I fail to return to the ship."

Sumati filed away the 'she' for future reference, but instead said, "so how long will that be?"

"Twelve hours. Unless your people look for you first."

"Not in that time. I'm supposed to be on shore leave, too. You're seriously telling me we're stuck here in this room for twelve hours?" He didn't reply, just yelled, and kicked the wall. She felt like doing the same; her holosuite booking would be long gone by then, and there wouldn't be time left for it, anyway.

Sighing, she got to her feet. "Nothing else for it, then," she said, and thumbed her communication badge. "Ensign Chennapragada to USS Endeavour. Requesting beam out."

Silence.

She looked at the Klingon. "Sound-proofed and communication proofed?"

He nodded. "I imagine most people renting these rooms do not wish to be disturbed. It is a Ferengi hotel."

"Just great..." she muttered, seeing any chance at a real shore leave finally vanish into nothingness.

Who knew how long it would be before she got the chance at another one? She threw herself onto the bed, rolling over onto her back and thumping her head against the pillow in frustration. She stared up at the ceiling as she heard the Klingon stomping about and occasionally kicking the wall. At least he wasn't taking it out on her, she supposed.

She lay there for a while, completely out of ideas. Twelve hours locked in a smallish room, with only a pissed off alien warrior for company. She would rather be fixing the plumbing in the officer's head.