The BLTS Archive - Clearance To Depart --- Disclaimer: Star Trek stuff owned by Paramount, natch! Me just globfly. 10-26-02 --- "Hey, LaForge!" Not him again. Here he comes. Why didn't I take the other corridor? "Yes, sir?" "How many fromitz boards did you order?" "Seven thousand, Captain. You can see on my requisition for ... " "No, I'm not looking at yours. Here's the one Commander Riker wrote. He said we only needed 700 fromitz boards. Why wasn't your inventory accurate? Been hitting the sauce lately, huh, Geordi? Well, I understand. We all need to let loose once in a while. But I'll be checking up on you." "Captain, I ... " "Now I'm going to have to call Admiral Lowlitank and try to explain why I suddenly need more fromitz boards. Don't worry about it, LaForge, we all make mistakes. I'll cover for you." He leaves. I don't know what to say. Instead, I go to my office and open my diary. "Dear diary: Captain Johnson proves once again that he is a complete asshole. And that he is totally whipped by Commander Riker." I check my requisition form; it calls for 7000 fromitz boards. Then I check what Riker actually sent to Starbase Supply: he left out a zero. We got only 700 fromitz boards. But I get blamed. Figures! "Next time, cc the supply officer with all my requisitions. Captain Picard had Riker on a short leash. Now with Captain Johnson, Riker is free to be his P'Tak self! End diary." What's the source of the disgusting symbiosis that Riker and Johnson have? They bring out the worst in each other, to all the officers but especially to me. Sure, they were old friends at the academy. They were assholes there, too, from all accounts. Under Captain Picard, Riker had to suppress the assholey part of himself. Not any more. My communicator beeps. "Data to Geordi." Data. The only worthwhile ingredient anymore in my blasted life. "Hi, Data." "Should I prepare anything special for tonight?" Thoughts tangle inside my head: what I *should* do versus what I *need*, somehow, to do. I finally speak. "No, Data. I have some ... research ... to do ... in the holodeck." There's a pause before he answers. Even poor, ingenuous Data must know that I haven't been telling the truth about all the "research" I've been doing lately. He's not saying anything, though. Innocent until proven guilty. And Data's not likely to go for the proof; it would hurt him too much. He'd prefer not to know what I have going. "As you wish, Geordi. Data out." 1700. I'm done in Engineering. Prgdlznrp shows up to take over, and I brief him on what's been going on, tell him to watch out for Johnson, but my mind's not really on the briefing; I have to get out of Engineering! I make for the holodeck area. Oh, it's really not so bad, I tell myself; it's more innocent than Data might think: no actual affair, nothing overt. Just ... an obsession, I guess you'd call it. "Computer. Security code alpha lamba 429. Unlock LaForge 9w87r." "Program completed. Enter when ready." The computer doesn't know or care about my feelings or Data's feelings. It just saved the program like I told it to. It'll open the same program every day from now till Antares freezes over, if I ask it to. Good ol' computer. As the doors open, I can smell the cloying scent of white cake and decaying vanilla ice cream. I enter. It's Captain Picard's going-away party. Or, I mean, Admiral Picard. He's accepted a post at Starbase Juniper. Nobody knows I saved the program after everyone was gone. The refuse is just the way we left it, just the way HE left it. I see his plate, with cake and frosting on it, a puddle of melted ice cream. He wasn't the type to eat sweets, or to mingle with the crew. But, just this once, he relented. He came among us, to let us say goodbye. I see his glass, a centimeter of icky, pink punch in the bottom. I pick it up and taste it. It was *his* punch, Captain Picard, my Captain. The one who brought me onboard when I was just a green Lieutenant, jg. He helped me to understand that I could be so much more than a weird pair of eyes. At first, he used me for the VISOR, just as everyone else had. But gradually, he came to realize that I had other talents. That I wasn't just "the guy with the weird eye-thing." And he guided me, began to promote me, even talked me up with the Admirals, I think. Although I don't know for sure. He helped me. I helped the ship, and helped him in so doing. Sometimes I'd get a bit too close to him, too familiar. Nothing broad or brash, but maybe ... friendly. And he'd slap me back. "That will be all, Mister. Dismissed." Oh, how I loved it when he snapped at me that way! He knew how to control. He didn't have to pretend with sardonic little jokes and what passed for wit among clods like Riker. Picard had control. Picard *was* control. I bend down to pluck a twirl of purple ribbon off the floor. We threw ribbons and balloons everywhere when the Captain walked into the holodeck. Even though he had already suspected it was a party. He had come anyway, let the ribbons and balloons and confetti sprinkle over him. This morning, I gave Johnson my report on the warp-core maintenance. Seems as though Riker had somehow gotten a hold of it first, though, and sent it to Johnson. "So, you're all done with what you're done with, huh, LaForge? Your prowess continues to amaze me." He laughed along with Riker -- always laughing, those two, so smug. I can see the hideous, cynical smile on Johnson's small face. He's small; he makes Riker small too. I wish I had the guts to space them both. I think this was the ribbon that stuck on Captain Picard's commbadge, when the cascade of ribbons and balloons and confetti fell from the ceiling. I walked up to him and plucked it off. "Excuse me, Captain," I had said. And then my fingers accidentally brushed against his chest as I took the ribbon. I remember how hot he felt through the thin fabric. How hard his muscular chest was. I sit down on his chair, the punch cup and the ribbon in my hands; rude images intruding from a couple days ago ... Ensign Bambi had just finished her report to me when Johnson walked in. He ogled her from behind as she left my office. "Check it out, LaForge -- what a fox!" I picked up the warp performance chip that he needed, hoping he'd leave as soon as possible. But he just leered at me, his eyes space-cold. "I *know* you look through her clothes all the time with that X-ray vision of yours, don't you?" I really didn't see that coming. "Captain, with all due respect, I ... " "Oh, yeah, I forgot, you're ... " and he held out his arm. And then he lowered his hand, the motion excruciatingly slow -- of course I knew what was coming -- until it dangled limply from his wrist. He put his other hand on his hip and executed a clumsy pirhouette. He giggled, the bitter look on his face as usual. "But the sight of Bambi's ass and tits, ain't that enough to convert even a nancy like you?" He grabbed the data chip out of my hand. "I know he x-rays her all the time!" he mumbled to himself on his way out. "Quit thinking about him, Geordi, quit thinking about that shit! You're here to ... " To what? Why *am* I here? To talk to myself? My eyes start to tear up. This is ridiculous! I see the plate, my real Captain's plate, with a big piece of cake still on it. Captain Picard was never much for cake. I reach out and take a bite, savoring the sickly-sweetness. He had touched it. I close my eyes; in tasting the cake, I've made the time right and the mood right. The image comes, the memory that I need. I'm back in the shuttlepod, as I was months ago -- it seems like years, now. Shuttlepod 03. I'll never forget the smell of his cologne as he gets in with me. We're going to inspect the outer hull, really just a formality, since my team already inspected it. But the Captain likes to look at his ship, and so do I. I'm proud of the job my team does maintaining it, for him. We have to wait for departure clearance from the Shuttlebay Deck Officer. I've completed the launch checklist. The Captain adjusts his safety field; as he moves, I get another whiff of cologne. Very slight, but wonderful. Heady. I start to feel hot. Captain's sitting less than a meter from me. I say something to him, small talk, anything so I can look at him; I get a glance of lean thigh and nipple as he says something back. Something about duranium. Imagine, a word like "duranium" sounding sexy -- impossibly sexy. But it does. I'm sweating now, just a little. And getting aroused. I have to fight it so it won't show. This is ecstasy, just being alone with my Captain, so close to my Captain! I bite my lip and take a deep breath. The atmosphere of the shuttle is charged with sex. Can he sense it, too? Or is it just me? Urges begin: I should jump up and kiss him, straddle him; no, can't think about that! What would he do if he saw that I had a hard-on? The air in the shuttle is so thick, he *must* be able to sense it! But what if he doesn't ... I know he has Beverly ... forget about Beverly ... Luckily, at that second, we get clearance to depart. I concentrate on flying. *Really* concentrate on flying. But was the timing actually that lucky? What if I would have jumped up and straddled him ... --- I'm alone of course, in the holodeck, coming all over my hand and the frosting on it. The Captain -- Admiral -- is still with Beverly, on Starbase Juniper. That's where he belongs. He never would have gone for it, and what about Data? It would have hurt him so, and, of all people, Data doesn't deserve to be hurt. "Computer, end program and delete." --- The End