Episode 82
Prologue
“The time is
zero five hundred hours.”
The computer’s
perky voice abruptly pierced the silent air, immediately waking Alan
Christopher from his dreamy slumber.
Even though the computer wasn’t officially classified as a sentient
entity, Alan couldn’t help but think that it took some perverse pleasure in
waking him from his sleep—because it sounded way too happy given the
early hour.
But instead of
hopping out of bed to begin his day, Alan pulled the warm covers over his head
and hoped that some magical spirit would allow him to forever melt into the
flowery sheets. And he held onto this
hope for a good thirty seconds, before the computer presented him with yet another
wakeup call: “The time is zero five
hundred hours and thirty seconds.”
Again, the
stridently pleasant voice failed to inspire Alan from the covers. He only grumbled at the summons, and then
dug himself deeper into his warm, comfortable domain; a very large part of him
was content to remain there all day—and in light of the recent Romulan crisis,
he certainly deserved a day to sit around and laze. But the computer would hear none of it, and would tirelessly
pester him to arise until he finally complied with the order. Thus, Alan tossed aside his blissfully warm
covers and rolled out of bed like an Alverian cave sloth after a long
slumber.
He sat perched
on the edge of the bed for a moment, desperately fighting his better judgment,
which insisted he return to the warm sheets. For a moment, Alan almost dove back into the pillow, but the
sound of Cleo’s pathetic meows kept him awake.
The little cat
meandered around Alan’s feet, gently rubbing his face against the bed and
Alan’s leg before carelessly flopping onto the floor. He rolled around for a moment before springing to his feet and
launching onto the bed. “Meow!”
Alan glanced
briefly at Cleo, and then to the crinkle of empty sheets on the opposite side
of the bed. “Didn’t Erin feed you?”
The cat
promptly seated himself beside Alan.
“Meow!” he insisted, peering upward with a totally pathetic kitty gaze.
Alan
smiled. “I guess not,” he mused, gently
running his fingers through Cleo’s soft fur.
The two of them sat silently on the bed for a moment longer while Alan
contemplated moving his legs—and the rest of his body—toward the replicator. Typically, Alan made such decisions in a
matter of seconds, but this early in the morning, even the simplest of tasks
required some serious brainpower—but before his sluggish brain could get around
to processing that request, the bathroom doors slid apart amidst a whoosh of
steam.
Erin spent a
moment fixing her hair at the sweltering threshold, and then emerged into the
main living chamber with a wide smile on her face. She playfully tossed her uniform’s jacket onto one of the chairs
near the replicator and then sat down beside Cleo on the bed. “Good morning!” she chirped.
The pleasant
tone nearly made Alan’s head implode.
He grunted some sort of guttural greeting and then rolled back onto the
bed. The sudden movement struck terror
into Cleo, and the cat darted away at the speed of light. Alan, however, was still moving quite
slowly. “I hate mornings…”
And if Erin
actually cared, she showed no sign of it.
She swiftly curled up beside Alan, grinning pleasantly. “So… do you have anything you want to say to
me?”
As he
considered the question, a monstrous yawn briefly parted Alan’s lips. “I’ve got a bad case of dragon-breath,” he
grumbled, suddenly realizing the utterly unpleasant taste in his mouth. It was like something died in there
overnight…
Erin quaintly
backed away. “Anything else?”
she prompted.
“Are you done
in the bathroom?” In light of his
dental situation, the response was immediate—but moments later, Alan’s sluggish
brain kicked in, and he realized that Erin was probably pining to hear
something else. Unfortunately,
that which has been said, cannot be unsaid…
…and Erin’s
grin faded away. She slowly climbed off
the bed and strolled over to collect her jacket from its resting place. “Don’t forget to do your hair,” she said. “I’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Right,” said
Alan wearily. He remained motionless
for a moment longer, waiting to hear the doors hiss open and closed before
sliding off the bed—and the moment his feet hit the floor, it dawned on him.
Moving with
speeds that almost seemed unnatural, Alan bounded across the living area—again
striking fear into the panicky Cleo—and nearly clipped the still-opening doors
as he stormed into the corridor shouting “Happy Birthday!”
Alas, his
efforts were too little, too late; Erin was already long gone. The day was still young, and already,
Alan had managed to screw it up. He
sighed, and meandered back inside his quarters. “This is going to be a long day…”