It was Happy Hour over at Quark’s. Some of us take Happy Hour seriously, and so it was with me, as I sat down at the bar and ordered up a pint of Guinness with a Tribble Sweat chaser. My usual, as it were. I was hanging around waiting for the Doctor to show up when Woof strolled up to the bar and ordered a root beer and prune juice chaser. I looked at him quizzically.
“Prune juice, it’s a Warrior’s drink,” he said, as if to answer whatever question I was about to ask.
“I was wondering about the root beer. That stuff is banned everywhere outside of Federation space.”
“I know, that’s why I drink it.”
“Come again?”
“Because it is so bubbly, it reminds me of the Federation…happy and cheerful.”
“Ah.” I focused on my Guinness, decided it was time for a second round, so I swigged it down and followed it with the shot of Tribble Sweat. I caught Quark staring at me, and remembered to NOT slam the empty shot glass down on the bar. He hates that.
Quark came over, bearing a second round, and said, “Did you hear who’s coming to DS9?”
“Who?” I asked.
“Kern.”
“Woof’s brother?” I queried.
“My name is Worf!” responded Worf, slamming down the tankard of root beer. Quark winced.
“Easy, my ears!” Quark admonished Worf. At least I wasn’t the only one to irritate Quark that way.
Now, of course, I was wondering what would bring Kern out here. It certainly wasn’t the root beer. Or the prune juice. So I turned to face Worf and find out more, or at least kill some time. Besides, the Doctor, which ever one was on station at the time, had yet to show up.
“What brings the prodigal brother to DS9?”
“He is coming on a diplomatic mission for Martok, commanding the newest ship in the Klingon Fleet.”
“You mean Kern got to command the newest battlecruiser?”
“Yes.” Worf didn’t look happy. “Why did they have to name it after ‘HIM’?” He really didn’t look happy. In fact, he looked like he had just learned that the latest battlecruiser had been named after Jean-Luc Piccard, Knight-Commander of the Order of the White Flag. That’s the kind of look I would have had that been so. But I knew for a fact that this latest battlecruiser was named for one of the greatest heroes of the Empire, helped beat back the Romulan Empire in the early days when the Rommies had expansionist plans. So, I decided to play dumb.
“‘Him’ who?”
“You mean you haven’t heard?” Worf asked. Quark leaned in closer, as if he needed to with those oversized ears of his, so as the better to hear Worf with.
“No. I was out near Bellatix, waiting for a Super Nova. I’m getting tired of using Wave Torpedoes. What should I have heard?”
Worf looked rather stressed as he formulated his answer. “Kern is in command of the IKV Ronald Reagan,” he finally stammered, then quickly slugged down his prune juice.
Quark grinned. I signaled that he should get Worf another root beer, or perhaps a ginger ale. Something soft like the Federation.
“And Kern accepted command of it. Didn’t even think twice about the name. How could he!” Worf howled. He grabbed the tankard of root beer, drained it in a mighty gulp. “I thought I raised him right!”
“You did the best you could, Worf, and Kern is a fine Warrior, and he’ll do great things with his new command,” I said to him. “Besides, it’s not like they named it after Admiral Kirk, or that poser, Captain Surrender himself.”
“Captain Surrender?” Worf looked puzzled.
Then I remembered that he has always been a poser himself, a Feddie want-to-be, dressing in their pajamas and calling them uniforms. “You know, Piccard. Every time he encounters an enemy, he runs up the white flag.”
Quark, more perceptive than I sometimes am, ducked for cover. I realized my mistake a moment too soon, however, my surfer’s reflexes kicked in and I easily avoided Worf’s fist. The Doctor, on the other hand, who had finally showed up, didn’t.
The Doctor, his long, curly locks of brown hair flying, hit the deck with a mighty thud. Worf, realizing he missed, became very distressed and apologetic as he offered his hand to the Doctor, helping him back to his feet. “I am so very sorry, sir,” Worf stuttered, “I was attempting to hit the Kahuna, and, regrettably, I missed.”
“So I see. Here, have a jelly baby,” the Doctor proffered his bag of jellies to Worf.
Worf looked at the bag with suspicion, reached in and plucked out a jelly baby, sniffed it, then stuffed it in his mouth and made short work of it, gulping it down. “I think I need some more prune juice,” Worf muttered and turned his back to us.
“Well, not so much as a thank you. That’s Klingon manners for you.” The Doctor complained, tossing his knit scarf back over his left shoulder.
“Well, at least he still has some of his heritage,” I whispered to the Doctor.
“Ah, well, in that case,” the Doctor paused, collected his thoughts. “So, you want to see how the TARDIS handles in some really wild surf, eh, Kahuna.”
“That would be fun. If the TARDIS is all it’s cracked up to be, should be a blast. And after we get some surfing in, maybe we can use it to go get some grub at Milliway’s.”
“Milliway’s? My, that does sound like a good way to end a day of surfing. Ah, Kahuna, I can see we’re going to be great friends. What say we get an early start. I’ll meet you at Starbuck’s first thing in the morning, right after I get my morning Raktajino. Sound good?”
“Work’s for me.”
Surfing with the Doctor in the TARDIS. I love it when a plan comes together.
Kahuna
