Stardate, oh wait, that’s pajama boy talk.
The Duras Sisters are having problems keeping up with the demand for the latest entry in their line of wave making torpedoes, which I decided was a good thing as I needed a break and with that in mind, put into port at DS9 and headed down to Quark’s place.
I was on my first round of Guinness when I heard Quark say, “Oh, oh, here comes trouble.”
I looked around and spotted a grizzled old warrior in a battered battle armor stroll in. He looked like something dredged up from the time of Kahless and ready to head for Stovakor; his long grayed hair with two small braids framing his scarred face; The ridges on his forehead were strongly pronounced, and looked capable of beating down Kor in a head butting contest. As he approached, I asked who he was.
“That’s Thunder Jack,” Quark responded, his voice betraying a level of great concern, and he looked a bit nervous. “The meanest musher in the galaxy,” he added in response to the blank look on my face.
“Thunder Jack?” I asked, still confused.
“Yeah, he got struck by thunder.” Quark said.
“Three times,” Rom whispered.
“Come on now, no one has ever been struck by thunder!”
“He has.” Quark said, definitively. Rom nodded enthusiastically in agreement.
The old warrior reached the bar and boomed in a commanding voice tinted with gravel, “Tribble Sweat, and make it a triple!”
Quark quickly placed a large flagon in front of Thunder Jack, and filled it to the brim with 100 Feddies Tribble Sweat, and quickly scittered away.
“What are you staring at?” Thunder Jack growled at me.
“Just surprised to see you here is all.”
“Hmph. Bet you don’t even know who I am, do you boy?”
Okay, he had me pegged.
“I know who you are, boy. You’re that hot shot surfer they call Kahuna.”
Now I was surprised that this battle-scarred warrior knew who I was, and embarrassed that I had never heard of him.
“Okay, you’ve got me. I really don’t know who you are,” I confessed.
“That’s what I thought. You ever hear of the Rua Pentherod? The biggest, longest, toughest targ sled race in the galaxy?”
Okay, I’ve heard of it, but never followed it. Rua Penthe is a penal colony on a space going iceberg.
Thunder Jack continued, “I’m a six time winner, although it’s been a while since the last time I won. Plan to change that this year, and make a come back. Got me a new sled team, including the best lead targ I’ve ever seen. I think I may have another good six wins left in me, maybe more. What do you think?”
“I’d say you were right.” He certainly looked tough enough to outlive
just about anybody I knew.
He lifted his cup in a mock salute, drained it in one mighty gulp, slammed the empty upside down on the bar with a mighty boom so loud that it shook the place, and had Quark covering his ears in response to the sonic blast that reverberated throughout the bar. I was beginning to understand why they called him Thunder Jack.
“If you were Klin enough, instead of being some surfer dude, I’d suggest you get yourself a team and try your hand at it.” He looked me up and down with his studied eye. “But then, maybe you aren’t up to, unlike Captain Gremmie of the Bat Guano.” He looked at his now empty cup, turned towards Quark and hollered, ” Quark! My cup is empty! How about a refill!” He then turned back to me as Quark hurried over to give him a refill, “sometimes I wonder just what kind of place he’s running here. Let’s a guy go dry like this!” He flashed a toothy grin at me.
“So, Gremmie is entering into this sled race, eh.” This had to be a joke, Gremmie couldn’t surf his way out of a wet paper bag. The thought of him handling a team of targs was a bit too surreal for me to believe.
“Yeah, incredible to think, ain’t it! Sure you don’t want to give it a try? I even know a trainer who’d be available to get you started.”
“I take it mean you would be available.”
“Oh, not me. I’m racing. Going to win it, too. Why, my new lead targ, Dubya, has tremendous power. We’re talking fur-wheel drive, four on the floor and ready to roll. No, no, I was going to suggest you talk to Bwanna. He used to be quite good. Or so I’m told.”
I looked at Thunder Jack incredulously, “Bwanna?”
“Yeah, you know, that old witch doctor. The one who’s set up shop next to Starbuck’s with the lousy raktijeno.”
“You’re serious. Bwanna was in the Rua Pentherod?”
“Yep, he’s a five time winner of some award or t’other.” He slugged down his second flagon of Tribble Sweat, and once again slammed the empty upside down on the bar with a thunderous clap. “Tell you what I’m going to do. Offer me dinner over at Tunok’s Grill, and I’ll get you set up with Bwanna as your very own mushing mentor. What do you say?”
Okay, what else could I say. He as much as challenged me to do this, and no good Klingon Warrior ever backs down from a challenge. It’s a matter of honor and duty. Besides, one needs to do something other than surf every now and again.
“Okay, you’re on. Meet you at Tunok’s Grill at 19:00 hours?”
“You’re on. Tunok’s for some fresh kill and grill, with large amounts of Blood wine. See you there.”
With that, Thunder Jack rose up from his barstool and headed for the door, presumably to make arrangements with Bwanna to teach me about targ sledding. What have I gotten myself into?
Kahuna
