Beach Party - Part 1 of 4: Aloha

Party Beach Visitors’ Complex, Crescent City, Sherman’s Planet, Stardate 50401.14:

The sun blazed down unrelentingly onto the wide stretches of white sands lapped at by the blue-green ocean along its uneven edges. And Alpha Squad’s Engineering Cadet Tori Emoto stepped out from under the shade of the Promenade, drew back her locks of bleached hair, looked up at the sun and beckoned challengingly to it, declaring loudly, “Come on, you big bright bastard, do your worst!”

Unseen by her, Medical Cadet Peter Boone snuck up and pressed a hypospray into her arm, making her curse and draw back as he returned the instrument to the medical kit slung under his arm. He was a tall, muscular, pale-skinned human male with short-cropped cornfield-blonde hair, Bermuda shorts and shirt. “It will do its worst to you, Tori, without the proper anti-UV treatments.”

“You already gave me a shot of your crap onboard the ship!”

“No, I tried to, and you threatened to shove my head up my ass.”

“Oh, yeah. Well, it’s pointless to give me anything; Asians don’t sunburn.”

“That’s a fallacy. We all will, even Urad… we have only one exception here.”

As if in illustration, Science Cadet Stalac slithered up to them, the large lump of fibrous orange-brown rock seemingly gazing out onto the vista before them, the voder unit in the Starfleet combadge bolted to his side expressing satisfaction. “Mmm, that ocean has some tasty salt and magnesium deposits in it. I could pack on the kilos here.”

Behind him, the huge grey form of Security Cadet Urad Kaldron stepped out into the light and dropped their paraphernalia at his sides, his pachydermoid body hugging a gigantic orange T-shirt purchased in one of the Promenade shops. He clapped his giant hands together in delight. “How wonderful, Comrades! Food, sun, food, sea, food, surf, and a big music concert tonight! With food!”

“You forgot to mention the food,” Stalac pointed out helpfully.

“And I must try my hand at some surfing while we’re here!”

“Surfing?” Peter echoed warily. “Uh, are there any surfboards strong enough to carry you? No offence.”

“None taken, Comrade! My people bodysurf; we are very buoyant in the water! It’s quite a sport on Hroch, though my parents never let me try. They thought I was too small to handle it.”

“Small?” Tori smirked.

“Indeed,” Urad confirmed without irony, twisting his two-hundred-kilo body around and making the tails of his T-shirt swirl. “I am considered the Baby of the family.”

Peter glanced down, bemused. “Buddy, weren’t you wearing shorts earlier?”

“I was, but I found them too restrictive.”

Tori bent down, peeked more boldly under his T-shirt and guffawed. “He’s shirtcocking it! Winnie the Pooh style!”

Urad harrumphed. “My otherwise-impressive genitals remain tucked away in my inguinal pouch! No one could possibly object!”

“Zir’s gonna kick your ass,” Peter warned.

“Why? Stalac’s not wearing anything!”

The Horta rotated in place to give the approximation of facing his friends. “Yes, but in my defence, I’ve got a killer bod that demands to be displayed in all its glory.”

“Dude,” Peter urged Urad, pointing back to the changing rooms in the Promenade.

Urad’s wide muzzle creased into a grump, as he picked up his bag, turned and returned inside.

“And when you’re in there, find out what’s keeping Zir and Her Ladyship,” Tori called in after him. “What are they doing in there, buying up the shop?”

*

In the changing rooms of the Promenade’s premiere fashion swimwear boutique, Dr Goldfoot’s Bikini Machine, Flight Ops Cadet Astrid Michel tapped her foot impatiently. “Come along, Fearless Leader, we’ve only got three days of Shore Leave, I don’t want to spend most of it in here.” The tall, shapely human female with skin the colour of polished walnut leaned closer to the booth. “Unless you want me to come in and help you-”

“No!” came the taut reply.

Beside Astrid, one of the shop’s holographic staff, a gaunt, ash-haired, distinguished-looking human in a smart suit, leaned in as well, his cultured, unctuous voice dripping. “A most sublimely appropriate choice you’ve made for your chartreuse friend, Ms Michel.”

“Thank you, Fritz, I must agree.” Astrid peered behind the curtain again until an Orion curse sent her away. “I was just checking to make sure you had it on the right way!”

The hologram drew closer now, asking aloud, “Does Miss require assistance with her maillot de bain femme?”

“I don’t know what that is,” declared the voice behind the curtain. “But I know if you come in here, I’ll fry your programming!”

The hologram stepped back. “Your associate seems rather irascible, Ms Michel, if I may be so bold.”

“I know, Fritz, I know: apologies. Why don’t you go fetch me another one of those marvellous Betazed espressos of yours, and give us girls a few minutes alone?”

“Delighted to be of service.” He made a popping sound by slapping his open palm against his mouth, and vanished.

Astrid stepped into the booth. Command Cadet Zir Dassene stood there in her fetching violet one-piece swimsuit, trying to avoid looking at herself in any of the surrounding mirrors, her arms folded across her chest. “Get out!”

Astrid held up her hands. “Truce, Fearless Leader, Truce! I’m not here to bust your chops!”

“‘Chops’?” The Orion woman grunted. “Another human expression.”

“Yes, we are delightfully creative, aren’t we? But I’m not here to tease.” She perused Zir. “You look lovely, Darling.”

Zir ground her teeth. “I feel so exposed in this little thing.”

“‘Little thing’? There’s enough material there for four of my bikinis. In fact, there’s more material there than on the regulation Starfleet Academy swimsuit I know you would have had to wear to qualify for Phys Ed, and you wore that without a protest.”

“Not without a protest,” Zir clarified glumly, her eyes dropping to her flip flops. “And not without the Stares. The Ogling. The Remarks and the Jokes.”

“Yes,” Astrid replied, more soberly now. “Men, especially those our age, can be as subtle as sledgehammers-”

“Not just the men. The women, too. And I don’t mean the women who prefer other women. I mean the ones who think my very existence is some sort of... threat to them.” Now she looked up. “I have to work twice as hard as everyone else to receive the same amount of respect… and I’m called a tightass. But if I try to enjoy myself, I live up to everyone’s base expectations of Orions. I… I can’t win.”

Astrid took it in, nodding with what seemed like genuine sympathy. “No. No, Darling, you can’t win. All through your life, they will be out there: the Unqualified. The Undeserving. The Unworthy. The ones who think they have the right to judge others.” She reached up and rested her hand on Zir’s forearm, gently easing it out of its taut position. “But you can’t get rid of them, or silence them. They will talk. You can’t change that, or them.

But you can choose to not let it diminish how you live your life.” She reached up and touched Zir’s face. “You have every right to get out there and enjoy yourself, and to Hell with what others think or say.”

Zir looked back, seeking some tease, some flippancy. Her previous interactions with Astrid could more accurately be labelled clashes: the human, the daughter of the Martian trillionaire Charles Michel, never failed to flaunt her family’s breeding, money and status, not to mention her own personal beauty and charms – all of which were considerable, Zir had to admit. She supposed she would be equally proud as an Orion rainbow bird too, given all that.

But lately, Astrid was showing signs of bonding more with the rest of Alpha Squad, offering support to the others, and showing what the humans liked to call esprit de corps.

“Well,” Zir concluded finally. “I suppose I could give it a shot.”

Astrid beamed. “That’s our Fearless Leader. And then tonight at the concert, we’ll find you a dance partner.”

“No. I don’t dance. It’s a stereotype that Orion women can dance. I dance… goofy.”

Astrid laughed – as the hologram poked his head around the curtain, wide-eyed and grinning. “Would Miss be interested in a sarong to go with her swimsuit?”

“STROKE OFF!”

*

Finally assembled, Alpha Squad made their way to a busy part of the beach, seeing some of the other cadets and crew from the Surefoot there, and probably other ships in the Thirteenth Fleet, all of them taking a well-deserved break after the momentous events of the past few days.

Astrid led the group, stopping in a small unoccupied space. “This is perfect.”

Zir kept her towel hanging down across her front, glancing around from under her sunhat. “It’s a bit crowded here. We won’t get any peace and quiet.”

“If you want peace and quiet, go to a monastery.” She pointed around them. “There’s the volleyball nets, and there are the bars, and over there’s the surfboard rentals, and there’s the buffet tables-”

“I’m convinced.” Urad dropped the umbrella, deckchairs and other goods he was carrying for the group and headed for the buffets, leaving big footprints in the fine white sand.

Astrid turned back to Zir, grinning. “And people can come up to us and offer their thanks for our part in saving the stolen children and ending the Battle of Sherman’s Planet.”

Zir blushed a darker than usual shade of green. “They don’t have to do that. We were only doing our duty.”

“Yes, Darling, you lead with that Humble act, that’ll get the men stirred up.” She glanced at Peter, who was looking over at some broad-shouldered men in amazingly-tight briefs. “Most of them, anyway.” Then she pointed at her squadmate and declared with a loud realisation, “You’re a virgin!”

Peter turned back to her in horror, flushing and glancing around in case anyone heard. “Astrid, what the hell-”

The girl was grinning as she drew up to him, clasping him by the shoulders. “Of course you are! Why didn’t I see it before now? It’s so obvious!”

He lowered his voice, still looking around, though no one seemed to hear. “It’s not obvious! I mean, I’m not a- shut up!”

But Astrid seemed to ignore him. “What a golden opportunity for you to get your first Bumpers Call with a guy! With my help, of course.”

Peter swallowed, looking thoroughly flustered. “I’m not- I don’t need-” He looked pleadingly over at Zir.

Zir stepped up now; she knew more about him than the others did, even knew that before he realised he was gay, he had been with a woman… and ended up with a young daughter, back on Gault. But it never occurred to her that while he might have decided on his orientation, that didn’t mean he had any practical experience with it. “Leave him alone, Astrid. We’re just here to relax and have fun.”

“Of course, Fearless Leader, of course.” But then she snaked an arm around his and turned him back to the men he was looking at earlier, pointing to each of them in turn. “He’s straight, and so’s his friend, so don’t waste your time with them. The Tandaran’s a possible, and the Bolian, but being a nurse you know you’ll want to be careful of their bodily fluids. The Andorian is definitely gay-”

Tori was laying out her towel on the sand, but now stopped and watched the display with amazement. “How the hell can you tell all that?”

Astrid turned her head and looked at the other girl over her sunglasses. “I’m a pilot, I have an unerring sense of navigation. Especially regarding the Bone-nanza on display here. I can help you too, Gearhead.”

Tori grunted. “I’m here for the Music Festival.”

“Indeed,” Stalac agreed. “It seems a most impressive line-up: the Swanky Modes, the Mosquitos, Jabberjaw and the Neptunes, the Impossibles, Jem and the Holograms, Josie and the Pussycats, the Groovy Goolies-”

The girl blew a raspberry. “They’re all Meh. You’re forgetting the One, the Only, the Immortal... David Meowie.” She smiled to herself.

Zir was setting up the Squad’s umbrella as she noted the change in Tori’s tone, and recalled hearing the name mentioned by Captain Hrelle during a staff lunch. “The Caitian David Bowie tribute act? What makes him so One, Only and Immortal?”

“Our Gearhead’s nethers ache for him,” Astrid informed them, taking a moment to enjoy Tori’s extremely profane denial, before resuming analysing the surrounding men, finally pointing Peter towards a group of surfers. “Him. The one with the ponytail. Definitely He-centric. Go for him, go right up and tell him you’re interested in him. You will not be disappointed, I promise you.”

Zir almost intervened… until she saw the agreement on Peter’s face.

Beside her, Stalac was fidgeting; it took a second for her to realise he was making a spot in the sand for himself. “Hey, Zir, cover me up completely, get some children to build a sand castle on top of me, and when you give the signal, I’ll emerge and scare them to death!”

Zir looked at her best friend. “You’re a fiendish little bastard when you want to be, do you know that?”

*

Urad was piling on the hot dogs and hamburgers on a plate that was small but thankfully sturdy, when he saw an assembly of people just beyond, and a series of old-fashioned barbells and weights. His curiosity got the better of him, and he went to investigate… eating from his plate along the way, of course. Closer, he could see some sort of holographic scoreboard, and public address systems and recording equipment, and finally he found someone official-looking. “Excuse me, but what’s going on?”

The human female started, obviously not having encountered a Hroch before, before recovering quickly. “Weightlifting competition. The winner gets five bars of gold-pressed latinum, and the title Strongest Person on the Planet.” She blinked, glancing at his arms. “Interested in trying for it?”

Urad grinned. The money meant nothing to him. But to come away with such a title… “Where do I sign up?”

*

Having cast off his Bermuda shirt, shorts and flipflops, leaving himself in just his swimming trunks, Peter felt extremely exposed as he approached the dark-skinned, muscular, intensely handsome human male waxing his ornately-decorated surfboard. Astrid assured him that this one would be interested.

He was confident in her sensibilities… not so confident in his ability to keep it together without melting into a puddle, or just exploding like a warp core. Go on, man, he urged himself. Walk right up to him and introduce yourself. You’ve faced wounded crewmen and vicious Klingons and evil spider robots and why are you just standing there like a statue it’s gonna get weird it’s gonna get-

“Are you okay?”

Peter blinked. “Huh?”

The surfer had a broad smile beneath a mass of sable hair ponytailed behind him. “Are you okay? You look lost.”

“Lost? Me? No! I know where I am.” He chuckled nervously as he held out his arms. “I’m right here, see!”

“So you are,” the surfer agreed jovially. “I’m Brad, by the way. Brad Avalon, Third Engineer, USS Featherwind.”

Peter nodded, struggling to find the right words. “Peter Boone, Medical Cadet, USS Surefoot.”

Brad beamed. “The Surefoot? The Heroes of the Hour! And a Sabre-class starship like us! It’s a pleasure to meet you!” He drew up, offering his hand.

Peter accepted it, amazed at the size of it around him – oh my, he was like some god made flesh! – before catching his breath and glancing around. “Nice, uh, waves, they got here.”

Brad nodded. “Yeah, they were ankle busters this morning, but now they’re cresting to the Max. Total Teahupoo, you know what I mean?”

“Totally,” Peter lied, nodding.

Brad looked at him and grinned again. “You’re a virgin, aren’t you?”

Peter flushed. Was he wearing a sign or something?

“You’ve never surfed before,” Brad clarified. “You wanna learn?”

“Yeah!” Peter lied again. In truth, he had a cursory interest in it. Following the events of the Striga and his Away Team mission, he had given much thought about the things he wanted to do before he died, and he supposed learning to surf might be in there. Somewhere.

Not necessarily as high on his list as finally getting hot and sweaty with someone as attractive as this man before him now. But it was somewhere.

*

In the distance, Astrid took a final glance at her squadmate and smiled with satisfaction. Go get him, Farmboy.

Then she continued along the Promenade, away from the souvenir shops and bars and other haunts of the hoi polloi, and towards the Marina, where quieter establishments awaited, places lacking cheap bar prices and tacky Polynesian paraphernalia. 

She chose one, relishing the break from the sun and heat of outside, and strode up to the bar, pressing her thumb on the credit reader and relishing the attention she received from the other patrons as she asked the bartender, “Excuse me, you wouldn’t happen to have any bottles in stock of the Domaine Parantoux? Genuine, not replicated, of course.”

She watched the young human stare at her dubiously, fully expecting her to be one of the masses who wandered in inadvertently – but saw the flash on the retinal cap on his right eye, as he was fed data from the credit reader regarding Astrid’s identity. Then he straightened up. “Good day to you, Ms Michel! Such a pleasure to have your company here! Unfortunately, there is none of the Parantoux in stock, but perhaps we could offer you a glass of the Montrachet?”

Astrid made a sound as if considering if it was worth the step down from her original request – in truth, she never expected this place to have any Parantoux, it was just her means of establishing her credentials, and she couldn’t afford a glass nowadays anyway – and then nodded graciously. “I’m sure that will do. May I have a table upstairs?”

“Of course, of course!” He turned to another member of staff and barked, “Ready a table outside for Ms Michel!” As the other flunky raced off to comply, the bartender smiled at her again. “Would you be dining with us, Ms Michel?”

She noted with amusement how loudly and frequently he referenced her name for the benefit of the other patrons. “We’ll see. Perhaps some appetisers, so I can have a sense of the quality of your kitchens?”

“But of course, Ms Michel!”

She smiled, turned and strode upstairs to the balcony levels, barely giving the flunky a chance to step back from the hastily-prepared table, and she sat down, enjoying the elevated view of the Marina, and the rows of yachts and catamarans tethered, the sea walls keeping back the stronger waves pounding the beaches nearby. Seconds later, a crystal glass with dark scarlet wine was set beside her.

She looked out onto the vista before her… and pretended that this was not an illusion, this fawning and attention and regard. She only received a tiny fraction of this type of treatment during her time in Starfleet, and only from those fellow cadets and officers who heard her name and background and assumed it was real-

“Astrid Michel?”

She looked up into the dark eyes of an older, handsome human male with dark skin and swept-back black hair matching the plain dark sober suit he wore. Believing him to be the Maitre’d, she smiled up and confirmed, “Yes, Mister-?”

“Javier Salazar. Of the Salazars of Alpha Centauri?” His tone suggested she would recognise the familial connection.

As a waiter drew up and set down a plate of caviar and hors d'oeuvres, Astrid looked up at the older man, offering a neutral, “Do I know you? You seem familiar.”

“Yes. We met, actually, briefly years ago, at that Fundraiser Gala on Luna for the survivors of the Ghensik War. My family’s table was near the Michels’.” He chuckled. “Appropriately enough for the venue, there was no atmosphere to be had.”

“Ah yes, the Fundraiser. I remember.” That much was true: she was nine or ten, and bored silly with the whole affair, and while she couldn’t remember Salazar, that didn’t mean anything; she had been a child, and so much had happened in the years since. “I must admit, I didn’t expect to meet someone like yourself all the way out here.”

He smirked. “Yes, well, my family sent me out months ago to secure a rather lucrative shipping contract for quadrotriticale from the Sherman government, but then the War erupted, and Mother insisted I stay and protect our investment.” Now he chuckled. “Though I’m hardly a formidable defence against the Klingon hordes, compared to the might of Starfleet in orbit.” He indicated the other chair at her table. “May I?”

Astrid had almost made up an excuse to refuse his request. It was one thing to sit alone and allow others to see her and talk about her as if she was still part of her old life. It was another thing entirely to have someone from that old life, however peripherally, back.

Still, it wasn’t as if this guy would know the truth. And he may be able to fill her in on some missing details. “Of course, Mr Salazar.”

“Thank you.” As he took the seat, a waiter appeared, setting down a tray of canapés and hors d’oeuvres, and the man took the opportunity to say, “Aldebaran Whiskey, please.” Once alone with Astrid again, he focused on her. “Such a pleasure to meet someone with breeding out here. And all it took for it to happen was a War… and of course, you joining Starfleet. I’m amazed that your father let one of his children embark upon such a dangerous career.”

Mention of the man tightened Astrid’s expression, but she softened it immediately afterwards. “Charles Michel might prefer his children close and in cushy positions, but he also respects those with the resolve to follow their own paths.”

“Indeed. Have you seen much of your family since joining?”

“Sadly, no, our paths keep… not crossing.”

“Well, I ran into your brother Philippe last year, at the Delos 5000 Rally, with his new solar yacht.”

Astrid straightened up some on hearing Philippe’s name. “Really? Tell me more.”

*

Despite her initial determination to lie there under the sun and get the most out of being away from the starship and on a real planet, it was only an hour before Tori gave up – from boredom, rather than heatstroke. Zir and Stalac, however, didn’t seem to have a problem… but at least they didn’t object when she asked to have a look around, ostensibly for information on the best places to be for the concert that evening.

She was genuine in doing that – she wanted an ideal view of them, especially David Meowie, the Caitian Sensation, and No, she was not infatuated with him, no matter what that prissy clothes rack Astrid thought. Tori just appreciated his talent. And his tail-

She was back on the Promenade when a growling mechanical sound caught hers, and every other pedestrian’s attention. And then she and the others parted waves, as six figures on hoverbikes rode up on the Boardwalk, their machines making a loud, annoying collective sound like old-fashioned gas-combustion engines.

Tori watched in disbelief as the group, humanoids of many different races but all clad in shiny black leather jackets, trousers and boots, drove past everyone, ignoring the regulations against vehicles on the Boardwalk. Tori saw one woman trip and fall in her effort to avoid getting knocked down, and Tori rushed up to assist her, before storming off after the gang, her flip flops slapping angrily against the wooden slats of the Boardwalk.

Luckily they didn’t go far, stopping at an ice cream parlour and lining their hoverbikes in a circle that prevented patrons from entering.

Tori stopped for a moment to examine the bikes – Yoshiwara 950s, maglevs, fusion batteries, but with attachments to produce the sound of ancient motorcycles, though they were definitely risking a full burnout by abusing the inertial dampeners – before sliding between two of them to enter.

The interior of the parlour looked like an old-fashioned Terran establishment, all shiny chrome, red leather booths and seats, a colourful music machine in one corner and a fan with wooden blades spinning languidly overhead. And here, the half-dozen leather-clad figures sat or lounged about, sipping carbonated drinks in tall glasses with straws, snapping fingers to the old-fashioned music.

Tori stared in disbelief. They caused such a public ruckus, threatening people’s safety, just to come here and get sugar rushes from soft drinks? Outrage drove her to exclaim, “What the hell do you bozos think you’re doing?”

All heads turned to her, as an older member of the group, a swarthy humanoid male with a broad chin, mop of black hair and thick lips swaggered up to her, sneering. “Having fun, Baby Doll. What’s it look like?”

He was trying to appear intimidating. She could definitely see that. Just his superior size alone should have been enough for her. Except that he couldn’t help but remind her of her family’s pet chihuahua growling when being told to get off the couch. “It looks like a pack of overgrown toddlers in sweaty clothes acting like meatheads, that’s what!”

He glared at her… before chuckling, his speech patterns remarkably like characters in the old Terran videos the Squad had been watching of late. “I like you, Baby Doll. And when Buzz Bixmyx likes somebody…” He pointed a leather-gloved finger at her. “They stay liked.”

Tori blinked, not quite sure if this was some sort of performance art piece. “Do you know you could have seriously hurt someone driving the way you did?”

He shrugged. “Hey, if you snooze, you lose. It’s Survival of the Fattest out there.”

She blinked again, as Bixmyx’s friends chuckled. “It’s ‘Fittest’, not ‘Fattest’.”

Now he made an Oohing sound, looking around. “Hey, guys, looks like we got a Brain here!”

Tori grunted. “Yeah, and I’m feeling kinda lonely right now. Where the hell did you clowns come from anyway?”

Bixmyx made a theatrical wave to the window, indicating the outside. “We rode in from the Crossroads of Infinity, on the Edge of Chaos, through the Highway of Eternity-”

“And where the hell’s that?”

“Sigma Iotia. We came to see the Horror.”

“What the stroking hell’s ‘The Horror’?”

Bixmyx chuckled. “You haven’t heard of the Horror of Party Beach? It’s a sea monster! A hundred metres high! It lives in the ocean just out there!” He leaned in, as if imparting a secret. “They say the Klingons phonetically engineered it years ago and dropped it out there as a Doomsday Weapon-”

“‘Genetically engineered it’,” She corrected. “And that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And what are you gonna do if you see this alleged Horror?”

Bixmyx stuck out his chin and made a fist with his leather-gloved hand. “We’re gonna ride out and rumble with it, and show it that we own Party Beach!”

She blinked. “No, that’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Now, as a representative of Starfleet, I’m ordering you to get those bikes off the Boardwalk before I contact the local Constabulary!”

Bixmyx stared at her… and laughed. “You got sass, Baby Doll.” Then he reached out to take her chin between his thumb and forefinger, and moved in as if to kiss her. “Buzz Bixmyx likes that in a chick-”

She reached up, grabbed the right pressure points in the palm of his hand, and twisted until the biker yelped in pain and dropped to his knees. His friends reacted in shock, but otherwise did nothing to help him, as Tori leaned in and snarled, “Listen, Pick N Mix, I’m not a Baby Doll, or a chick! Now get those bikes off the Boardwalk! Slowly and safely and quietly! Got it?”

She released Bixmyx’s hand, and he gasped, clutching his injured appendage, flexing his fingers, as she departed, calling back, “Meatheads!”

As the door closed again, Bixmyx watched her disappear, finally knowing what love felt like: longing, but also with a lot of pain.

Part 2 of 4: Hang Ten