Categories > TV > Star Trek: The Original Series > Star Infinity
October 10, 3301
Picard-Kirk, Rona, and Larry are camping at Yosemite for the latter's 50th birthday. It has been a week and two days since the Enterprise returned to drydock, and the crew is on leave while repairs to the ship's port hyperwarp nacelle are underway. It is nighttime, and the trio sit around a campfire with a pot of beans suspended over it via a spit.
Rona sits with her banjo behind her, fiddling with her cylindrical marshmallow dispenser.
"Happy birthday again, Larry! Joyeux anniversaire, mon ami!" Joshua slaps Larry on the back.
"Or as my father might say, 'S dnem rozhdeniya.' He also likes to claim that birthdays were 'inwented' in Russia, the silly man," Rona giggles.
"Merci and spasibo! Thank you!" Larry smiles, nodding at them for each word.
Rona grows frustrated with the marshmallow dispenser. Unfortunately, a marshmallow pops out of it and lands in the fire. Rona utters a curse word in another language.
"Rona!" Larry blurts.
"What did she say?" Picard-Kirk asks.
"A Romulan expletive equivalent to the 'F-word' when used in non-sexual contexts."
"I'll have you know that I was using an ancient Vulcan expletive!" Rona clarifies.
"Well, excuse me! Most Romulan languages are based on Vulcan ones, you know," Larry retorts.
"Isn't that like cursing in Latin?" Picard-Kirk wonders.
"If I want to curse in dead tongue, then by golly, I will curse in dead tongue!" Rona shouts.
Picard-Kirk holds up his hands, "All right! All right! Calm down!"
Rona crushes the marshmallow dispenser with her bare hand and throws it on the ground, "Screw it! I'm just gonna pull one out of the bag, and put it on the stick!"
"That sounds vaguely dirty," Larry opines.
"Shut up, Larry!" Rona pulls a marshmallow out of the bag, puts it on her stick, and begins toasting it.
"Did we bring any graham crackers or chocolate?" Picard-Kirk wonders.
"I don't think so," Larry answers, picking up a bowl with a spoon and putting beans in it with a larger spoon. Picard-Kirk mischievously purses his lips as he watches Larry. He notices this, saying, "Go ahead and say it, Josh! I know it's just killing you!"
"Bourbon and beans: an explosive combination!" Picard-Kirk claps and laughs; Larry and Rona roll their eyes.
"Besides, we didn't even bring any alcohol! Remember what happened last time!?" Larry queries.
Eight days ago, Picard-Kirk, Rona, and Larry were at a tavern not far from where the former lives.
Rona sipped her drink, "Ah, real alcohol, no amount of that fake synthehol stuff can beat it."
"This is one of the few taverns around here that will serve real alcohol," Picard-Kirk said. Larry spun the liquid in his glass.
"Are you gonna drink that or what?" Rona asked.
"Eventually, maybe, I dunno. You know that I'm not that much of a drinker."
"One won't hurt you," Rona finished her drink, "Oh, I feel woozy."
"Already? What about that 'tough Vulcan physiology'?" Picard-Kirk wondered.
"Recall that I am half-Vulcan."
"See? She is just like her father: a lightweight," Larry said.
"Hey—! Oh, what the hell, he's right. Anyhow, if you're not gonna drink that—" Rona took and downed Larry's drink. She then fell on the floor with a loud thud. Everyone in the tavern turned to look at them.
Larry sighed, shook his head, and quietly muttered, "Every time—every damn time . . ."
Back in the present, Larry tries the beans, "Blech! These beans taste terrible!"
Rona finishes toasting her marshmallow, "I told you not to replicate them and to instead pick some real beans!" She then takes the toasted marshmallow off her stick, begins eating it, and promptly spits it out, "Yecch! And I should have known better than to trust that shady merchant! Not only did they sell me a faulty marshmallow dispenser, but—" she then shouts the same ancient Vulcan expletive toward the sky.
Picard-Kirk leans toward Larry, quietly asking, "What's up with her? She seems rather—"
"She has had a really bad day," Larry answers. He then whispers in Picard-Kirk's ear, "I think her 'monthly visitor' may have reared its ugly head."
Rona begins pelting Larry with marshmallows.
Larry flinches, "Crap! I forgot about her superior Vulcan hearing!"
"I'll show you a 'monthly visitor'!" Rona yells, throwing a marshmallow with each word.
"Enough quarreling! Let's sing a song," Picard-Kirk suggests.
"Are you gonna sing 'Happy Birthday' to me?" Larry wonders.
Rona gets her banjo, "No, Larry, isn't it obvious? We're gonna sing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat'."
As the trio sings and Rona plays her banjo, the Morgan Freeman hologram, wearing a mobile emitter, who has been creepily watching them from the shadows, speaks, "That concludes this adventure, or rather misadventure, of the crew of the starship Enterprise. What is the moral of this story? Beats me, but God help us should there be more of them. This is Morgan Freeman, signing out."
Picard-Kirk, Rona, and Larry are camping at Yosemite for the latter's 50th birthday. It has been a week and two days since the Enterprise returned to drydock, and the crew is on leave while repairs to the ship's port hyperwarp nacelle are underway. It is nighttime, and the trio sit around a campfire with a pot of beans suspended over it via a spit.
Rona sits with her banjo behind her, fiddling with her cylindrical marshmallow dispenser.
"Happy birthday again, Larry! Joyeux anniversaire, mon ami!" Joshua slaps Larry on the back.
"Or as my father might say, 'S dnem rozhdeniya.' He also likes to claim that birthdays were 'inwented' in Russia, the silly man," Rona giggles.
"Merci and spasibo! Thank you!" Larry smiles, nodding at them for each word.
Rona grows frustrated with the marshmallow dispenser. Unfortunately, a marshmallow pops out of it and lands in the fire. Rona utters a curse word in another language.
"Rona!" Larry blurts.
"What did she say?" Picard-Kirk asks.
"A Romulan expletive equivalent to the 'F-word' when used in non-sexual contexts."
"I'll have you know that I was using an ancient Vulcan expletive!" Rona clarifies.
"Well, excuse me! Most Romulan languages are based on Vulcan ones, you know," Larry retorts.
"Isn't that like cursing in Latin?" Picard-Kirk wonders.
"If I want to curse in dead tongue, then by golly, I will curse in dead tongue!" Rona shouts.
Picard-Kirk holds up his hands, "All right! All right! Calm down!"
Rona crushes the marshmallow dispenser with her bare hand and throws it on the ground, "Screw it! I'm just gonna pull one out of the bag, and put it on the stick!"
"That sounds vaguely dirty," Larry opines.
"Shut up, Larry!" Rona pulls a marshmallow out of the bag, puts it on her stick, and begins toasting it.
"Did we bring any graham crackers or chocolate?" Picard-Kirk wonders.
"I don't think so," Larry answers, picking up a bowl with a spoon and putting beans in it with a larger spoon. Picard-Kirk mischievously purses his lips as he watches Larry. He notices this, saying, "Go ahead and say it, Josh! I know it's just killing you!"
"Bourbon and beans: an explosive combination!" Picard-Kirk claps and laughs; Larry and Rona roll their eyes.
"Besides, we didn't even bring any alcohol! Remember what happened last time!?" Larry queries.
Eight days ago, Picard-Kirk, Rona, and Larry were at a tavern not far from where the former lives.
Rona sipped her drink, "Ah, real alcohol, no amount of that fake synthehol stuff can beat it."
"This is one of the few taverns around here that will serve real alcohol," Picard-Kirk said. Larry spun the liquid in his glass.
"Are you gonna drink that or what?" Rona asked.
"Eventually, maybe, I dunno. You know that I'm not that much of a drinker."
"One won't hurt you," Rona finished her drink, "Oh, I feel woozy."
"Already? What about that 'tough Vulcan physiology'?" Picard-Kirk wondered.
"Recall that I am half-Vulcan."
"See? She is just like her father: a lightweight," Larry said.
"Hey—! Oh, what the hell, he's right. Anyhow, if you're not gonna drink that—" Rona took and downed Larry's drink. She then fell on the floor with a loud thud. Everyone in the tavern turned to look at them.
Larry sighed, shook his head, and quietly muttered, "Every time—every damn time . . ."
Back in the present, Larry tries the beans, "Blech! These beans taste terrible!"
Rona finishes toasting her marshmallow, "I told you not to replicate them and to instead pick some real beans!" She then takes the toasted marshmallow off her stick, begins eating it, and promptly spits it out, "Yecch! And I should have known better than to trust that shady merchant! Not only did they sell me a faulty marshmallow dispenser, but—" she then shouts the same ancient Vulcan expletive toward the sky.
Picard-Kirk leans toward Larry, quietly asking, "What's up with her? She seems rather—"
"She has had a really bad day," Larry answers. He then whispers in Picard-Kirk's ear, "I think her 'monthly visitor' may have reared its ugly head."
Rona begins pelting Larry with marshmallows.
Larry flinches, "Crap! I forgot about her superior Vulcan hearing!"
"I'll show you a 'monthly visitor'!" Rona yells, throwing a marshmallow with each word.
"Enough quarreling! Let's sing a song," Picard-Kirk suggests.
"Are you gonna sing 'Happy Birthday' to me?" Larry wonders.
Rona gets her banjo, "No, Larry, isn't it obvious? We're gonna sing 'Row, Row, Row Your Boat'."
As the trio sings and Rona plays her banjo, the Morgan Freeman hologram, wearing a mobile emitter, who has been creepily watching them from the shadows, speaks, "That concludes this adventure, or rather misadventure, of the crew of the starship Enterprise. What is the moral of this story? Beats me, but God help us should there be more of them. This is Morgan Freeman, signing out."
THE HUMAN FARCE IS JUST BEGINNING
THE END
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