Pamela's entrance music
They were standing at attention, in the hallway by the docking port. Hoshi, Travis, Tripp and Malcolm were to the right. To the left, opposite them, were Jonathan, T'Pol, Dr. Phlox and security Crewman Deborah Haddon.
"What should we do if, erm, one of 'em turns out to be, uh, not so attractive?" Tripp whispered.
"Be a gentleman,” Malcolm said.
"Maybe a kiss will be a thrill for her. It's just one kiss. Hey, you never know,” Travis added. Hoshi elbowed him.
There was a sound of docking clamps engaging. The door opened, and out stepped Vulcan Ambassador Soval with a middle-aged woman who appeared to be of Asian extraction. She was short and slender, with a dark French braid flecked with a little grey. She smiled as she entered the hallway.
"Looks like that's An,” Travis said. Hoshi giggled a little.
Next came a young Asian man, with a Caucasian man with looks that could only be described as smoldering, followed by some Vulcans. Hoshi gasped.
Travis touched her arm, “Hoshi, you're drooling."
"Huh?" she smiled.
Then a dark-skinned man, also very young. Hoshi gasped again, “Is this a medical program or a modeling program?" she whispered as more Vulcans filed in.
Dark brown hair, worn down, straight, past her shoulders. White, light skin, with just a small smattering of freckles on her nose. Short skirt. Matching short jacket, showing off her waist. Green eyes. Big smile at all three of them.
"Please be Blair. Please be Blair,” Travis whispered.
Hoshi elbowed him, harder this time, “Travis, you're drooling."
"C'mon, that's gotta be Pam,” Tripp countered quietly.
"Oh. My. God,” Tripp whispered.
Travis just stared.
Malcolm squeaked out, “My."
Honey blonde hair, back in a French twist that was coming undone a little. Her skin had a slightly golden cast to it. Blue eyes. Lips, painted, dark reddish-purple lipstick. Matching long nails. Leather vest, held together with dozens of little hook and eye closures that held her in and raised everything. Lacy top under the vest, short enough to show her navel as she walked. Long, tight denim skirt that swished as she walked, slit opening up to show her calves as she moved. Tiny little black leather boots with oh so high stiletto heels. Black leather choker around her neck.
While she walked by, she raised her left hand in front of them to brush a stray wisp of hair from her face. Matching black leather bracelet. And no rings on that hand. She smiled very, very slightly, and then looked them up and down, her eyes lingering for just a second about a meter above the floor.
"Whoa,” Tripp said as soon as she'd safely walked by, “Just as good going as coming."
Malcolm let out a breath.
"The blonde?" Travis asked.
"Please, you're talking about the future Mrs. Tucker there,” Tripp said.
"Well, well,” Malcolm said, “There's a thumb on the scale there. Still, I could get to know An a bit better, I suppose."
Hoshi started laughing, then whispered, “An means Sky in Vietnamese."
"And?" Travis asked.
They were shushed as Jonathan spoke, “I'd like to welcome you to the NX-01
. We're pleased to have you here with us. I'm Captain Jonathan Archer, this is First Officer T'Pol and our Chief Medical Officer, Dr. Phlox. The remainder of our Bridge Crew," he indicated, "Communications Officer Ensign Hoshi Sato."
"Hiya,” she said.
"Pilot Ensign Travis Mayweather."
"Hello,” Travis said, grinning.
"Commander Charles Tucker, Engineering."
"Call me Tripp."
"Armory Officer Lieutenant Malcolm Reed,” Malcolm nodded, “And this is Security Crewman Deborah Haddon, who will be showing you to your quarters."
"I am Dr. Bernardine Keating-Fong,” said the woman with the French braid, “But call me Bernie, Captain. Allow me to present my students. First is Dr. An Nguyen. He attended the University of Exeter for undergraduate, and ...."
"Oh. An is a man's name?" Travis asked Hoshi quietly.
"Yes. You should have asked me,” she said, smiling, “Now, listen. I wanna find out about my future husband. Whichever one of them he turns out to be."
"Oh. So sorry,” Travis said a mock apology.
"And this is Dr. Mark Stone, he attended Johns Hopkins for both undergraduate and Medical School,” continued Dr. Keating-Fong, “And next is Dr. Will Owen," she indicated the dark-skinned man, "who comes to us via The University of Western Sydney for undergrad and Oxford for Medical School,” she paused for a second, “Now for the ladies."
"This is what I'm waitin' for,” Tripp said, “C'mon Blondie."
"To my left is Blair Claymore, who attended UCLA undergrad and Harvard Medical School,” she indicated the brunette.
"She's very pretty,” Hoshi said.
"Yes, but the other one knows
it,” Tripp said.
"I bet she's stuck up,” Travis whispered.
"Let's be professionals now,” Malcolm whispered.
"And last, but not least," Dr. Keating-Fong said, "is Dr. Pamela Hudson,” That same slight smile as before. Dr. Keating-Fong continued, "She spent her undergraduate years at Dartmouth College and attended Harvard Med School with Blair. I'm sure we'll all get to know more than that about each other as we go along."
"I'm sure you're all a bit tired,” Jonathan said, “Crewman Haddon, if you please,” They left.
Hoshi said, "I've got, uh, I'd better go to the gym. For a week. See ya."
It was just the three of them. They walked a little bit.
"Y'know," Travis began, "it hardly seems fair."
"Oh?" Tripp asked.
"Seems like we should change the rules of the game,” Travis continued.
"You just want your mitts on my Pammy,” Tripp said.
"No, it's just not fair to Reed here,” Travis said.
"Oh, I'm all right,” Malcolm said.
"No. It's not fair,” Travis insisted, “Unless you, uh, go for an older woman."
"I'd be all right with her, I think, but she's got on a wedding ring. Did you not notice?" Malcolm asked.
"Huh. Guess not,” Tripp said, “And, you're right. It is not fair. I'm not, uh, thinkin' with the right piece of equipment right now. How would you change the game? Keeping in mind it should be fair to all of us, even though it turns out there's only two of 'em."
"Hmm,” Travis thought for a second, “No assignments. We each go after both of them. No one gets first crack or anything like that. You try, you succeed. Or you strike out, and someone else gets a shot. Be persistent if you like. Same measure of success and same prize, all right?"
"All right,” said Malcolm, “And I appreciate your changing the rules for, for me."
"'Course, Buddy,” Tripp said, “But keep your mitts off Pammy. She's mine!" he laughed.
Travis's dream that night was a lively one.
He knew it was a dream, for a lot of reasons, but mainly because he was piloting the shuttle. This was not odd in and of itself, except that he was stark naked.
He had two passengers, Pamela and Blair.
He put the shuttle on auto. The two women got up and approached him. They were both wearing little outfits like he'd seen on Orion girls. Filmy, flimsy, leaving little to the imagination.
They hadn't spoken before, so his mind produced voices for them, from the female singing duo, The Sweet Cupcakes. Blair sounded like Annie Sisko. Pamela sounded like Tanya Chekhov. Pamela spoke first, “Are you sure we're safe here, Travis?"
He just nodded.
"I mean, we don't want anything to bump into ... anything,” said Blair, “At least not unintentionally." She leaned over a console and he could clearly see how well her skirt fit her.
"You said we'd be stuck here for ... hours,” said Pamela.
"Y-yes, I did,” Travis said.
"I can only think of one thing to do. But there's only one of you and two of us!" Blair complained.
"That never stopped you before,” Pamela said.
"Ladies! Huh, lots to go around,” Travis said.
Blair said, “Help me get this off."
He lifted her tiny top off her head. Pamela took off her own top. He tore off their skirts, which shredded and melted in his hands.
They were all over him, and he could tell a little bit about who was who, by following blonde or brown hair, both short and long, or pale skin or golden. They outdid themselves with sound.
He eventually woke exhausted and sweaty, alarm screaming in his ear, “Whoa,” he sat up, talking to no one, “I hope the real thing's half as good."