Taurik and Icheb were waiting outside of Quark’s. The young Vulcan was stoic like all of his kind but Icheb had begun to get impatient.
“Where is he? This was his idea, you know. I have a paper on Interspecies Mating Compatibility due tomorrow and I still have about six hours of Kirk’s personal logs to go through.” The ex-Borg sounded mildly peeved.
“I’m sure Lt. Nog has a valid reason for being late. Since he has not communicated with us, it is probable he will join us soon,” Taurik replied. Even as he said this Nog came rushing up.
“Sorry, guys, but I had to fill a replacement order for self-sealing stem bolts. Seleya used an awful lot of them making repairs in that alternate universe we were in.” Nog was his usual twitchy, excited self. “You know it’s practically suicide to leave port without stem bolts on board.” The other two young men nodded solemnly in agreement.
“So what is this miraculous drink you wanted to share with us, Nog?” Icheb asked.
“C’mon,” he replied, leading them into the bar, “It’s a Hu-mon drink called ‘root beer’,” he chattered over his shoulder. “My uncle keeps it in stock for when I visit. You guys are gonna love it!” Icheb and Taurik exchanged raised eyebrows as they followed him through the doors into the busy establishment.
Taking a seat near the dabo tables, Nog waved at his Uncle Quark. As the others were sitting down Quark walked over.
“Hello, Nephew. What can I get for you and your friends?”
“Root beers all around, Uncle, and keep them coming!”
Quark glanced at Taurik and then back at Nog. “Are you su-, I mean,” he grinned widely, “Of course, Nephew. Coming right up.” At the bar Morn overheard and chuckled into his drink. Quark went to get the refreshments.
“So, Icheb,” Nog asked, “What brings you out here to DS9?”
“Well,” he replied, “I’m taking Academy extension courses under Seven of Nine’s tutelage for my first couple of semesters. I wanted to see more of the Alpha Quadrant. Captain Chakotay gave the crew shore leave on Bajor and I decided to visit Lt. Taurik. I hadn’t seen him since he transferred from Voyager to your old position in the Command Center here at Deep Space 9.” Quark interrupted Icheb at this point with their drinks.
“Here you go, boys. Drink up!” he said, placing the root beers in front of them. He had a particularly evil grin on his face as he walked away and Nog’s eyes followed him in a puzzled fashion. Shaking himself loose from his reverie he turned back to his friends. Holding his drink up, he said,
“To friends both near and far!” The boys clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.
“That is quite good,” Taurik commented, taking another drink. “It reminds me of a tea we have back on Vulcan.” He drained his glass and signaled Quark for another. Quark quickly hustled over with the replacement.
Nog asked Icheb, “So what do you think? Do you like it?”
Icheb replied, “The taste is quite pleasant. It reminds me of a candy Naomi Wildman once gave me called lic…” He trailed off as he realized Nog had stopped listening. Instead, he had turned in his seat to gaze at the bar.
“Why is my uncle staring at us like that?”
Icheb turned towards the bar himself. The Ferengi bartender was polishing glasses and watching them openly. He had a wicked smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes. Confused, Nog and Icheb made eye contact and then turned back towards Taurik…who wasn’t there. On the table, in front of his chair, sat his two empty mugs. Icheb’s glass was also empty, adding to their confusion. Nog’s was just plain gone. As they began to look about for the young Vulcan an indignant female squeal cut through the air.
“You creep! Who do you think you are!” They followed the outburst to the far side of one of the dabo tables and then stopped in surprise. Taurik stood there, nonchalantly draining the last of Nog’s root beer. One of Quark’s vivacious dabo girls stood confrontationally in front of him, her hand rubbing her derriere. The gamblers had all stopped what they were doing to watch. Taurik set the now-empty glass on the dabo table. Then he reached out and tweaked one of her breasts.
“Those are really quite magnificent, you know,” he said in a conversational tone of voice. The girl’s free hand shot out and slapped his face with a “Crack!” that could be heard throughout the bar. It didn’t seem to faze Taurik.
“Quark!” the girl screamed in rage. A half-dozen Ferengi waiters materialized out of thin air and attempted to swarm Taurik. They looked like big-eared squirrels assaulting a tree. Vulcans, even ones as young as Taurik, were notoriously strong and the first Ferengi flew off between the support posts holding up the second-floor walkway into the darkness at the edge of the gaming area. The second tried to grab Taurik’s right arm. A moment later he was sliding face first through the stacks of latinum slips on the dabo table. Icheb and Nog just gaped at their friend. The third waiter landed on a table clustered with glasses of bloodwine. The Klingons who got splashed were not amused. They began to drunkenly rise. About this time, Taurik began imitating a marching band, bellowing out John Phillip Sousa.
“Ba-da da da da , Da-dum bom bom bom!” The fourth Ferengi cleared three meters horizontally through the air, removing two of the four angry Klingons from the field of play. Another Ferengi had climbed up to Taurik’s shoulders and received a neck pinch for his troubles. Taurik flung him almost straight up in the air and he landed draped across the second floor banister, unconscious. Then he cradled the final waiter like a baby and chucked him up to join his companion.
“It’s the Flying Ferengi Brothers!” he exclaimed. The dabo girl had been dodging humanoid projectiles and was caught off guard when Taurik clasped her to his chest. “You are stunningly beautiful, dear lady,” he told her in a mild voice.
“Let me go you animal!” She attempted to beat on his chest, but to no avail. The two drunken Klingons shoved Nog and Icheb aside in order to get at Taurik, roaring out half-intelligible battle cries. Clenching the helpless dabo girl in his arms, Taurik nimbly leaped to the top of the dabo table.
“Come, my lady, away! Let us flee these uncouth savages!” He began to hopscotch from table to table, dodging the poorly-aimed grasps of the Klingons. Patrons began grabbing their drinks and abandoning their seats.
Nog and Icheb picked themselves up off of the floor in time to see Taurik spring off of the last table and slide across the floor to the bar. He came to a halt with his back against it, facing the approaching Klingons. He gave the struggling dabo girl a passionate kiss and then twirled her out of his arms into Morn’s lap. Morn didn’t seem to mind. The patrons formed a half-circle behind the two Klingons, eager to see what was coming. With a wild, almost playfully savage look on his face he beckoned the drunken warriors to approach.
“Come on, you scurvy dogs! Have at you then!”
The Klingons were toasted but even in their alcoholic haze they could tell there was something odd about this particular Vulcan. They paused their advance and looked at each other. Victims screamed. Victims begged. Victims ran away. Taurik chose that moment to snatch Morn’s drink and fling it in their faces. Enraged beyond belief, they charged him. Using some form of Vulcan martial arts, he dodged their attack and helped them on their way. They completely missed Taurik when they leaped but they did manage to take out five or six glasses, a decanter of Romulan ale, and Quark as they flew over the bar. The dabo girl screamed, several on looking patrons flinched from the flying glass and Morn took a bottle from behind the bar, opened it and drank. To Nog’s eyes he seemed like the only one in the room with his priorities straight. That’s when station security came flying through the door and dog piled Taurik. It took six of them to subdue him.
Julian Bashir was kneeling down treating Taurik in his holding cell when Nog came into Security. The Vulcan looked bleary-eyed and hung over. Nog cleared his throat and Bashir glanced up at him before giving Taurik a hypospray of something.
“Is he going to be alright, Doctor Bashir?” Nog seemed very worried indeed. Bashir continued his ministrations for a moment more before answering him.
“He’ll live. He was very lucky.” Bashir sounded even more patrician and condescending than he usually did. Nog started to smile. “What were you thinking, Nog?” The smile vanished.
“But I didn’t do anything!” he wailed. Bashir stood up and folded his arms, waiting. “All I did was treat him to a root beer! And he even drank mine,” Nog added as an afterthought. Now he was starting to look a bit cross.
“I’m not surprised,” commented Bashir, “The first one probably hit him pretty hard.”
Nog was confused. “Are you telling me he got drunk? But there’s no alcohol in root beer!”
Bashir nodded his head. “Quite right. However, just as alcohol is indigestible to humans, sucrose is indigestible to Vulcans. And, also like alcohol in humans, sucrose goes straight to the receptors in a Vulcan’s brain.”
“I see what you mean, doctor.” Nog said. “Um, what’s sucrose?”
Bashir sighed. “Sugar, Nog. Vulcans get drunk on sugar.”
Nog looked down at Taurik, thought for a few moments and then looked back at Bashir.
“Is that why root beer tastes so good?” he asked Bashir. “It’s got sugar in it?”
Bashir covered his face with his hand and sighed once again.
“Where is he? This was his idea, you know. I have a paper on Interspecies Mating Compatibility due tomorrow and I still have about six hours of Kirk’s personal logs to go through.” The ex-Borg sounded mildly peeved.
“I’m sure Lt. Nog has a valid reason for being late. Since he has not communicated with us, it is probable he will join us soon,” Taurik replied. Even as he said this Nog came rushing up.
“Sorry, guys, but I had to fill a replacement order for self-sealing stem bolts. Seleya used an awful lot of them making repairs in that alternate universe we were in.” Nog was his usual twitchy, excited self. “You know it’s practically suicide to leave port without stem bolts on board.” The other two young men nodded solemnly in agreement.
“So what is this miraculous drink you wanted to share with us, Nog?” Icheb asked.
“C’mon,” he replied, leading them into the bar, “It’s a Hu-mon drink called ‘root beer’,” he chattered over his shoulder. “My uncle keeps it in stock for when I visit. You guys are gonna love it!” Icheb and Taurik exchanged raised eyebrows as they followed him through the doors into the busy establishment.
Taking a seat near the dabo tables, Nog waved at his Uncle Quark. As the others were sitting down Quark walked over.
“Hello, Nephew. What can I get for you and your friends?”
“Root beers all around, Uncle, and keep them coming!”
Quark glanced at Taurik and then back at Nog. “Are you su-, I mean,” he grinned widely, “Of course, Nephew. Coming right up.” At the bar Morn overheard and chuckled into his drink. Quark went to get the refreshments.
“So, Icheb,” Nog asked, “What brings you out here to DS9?”
“Well,” he replied, “I’m taking Academy extension courses under Seven of Nine’s tutelage for my first couple of semesters. I wanted to see more of the Alpha Quadrant. Captain Chakotay gave the crew shore leave on Bajor and I decided to visit Lt. Taurik. I hadn’t seen him since he transferred from Voyager to your old position in the Command Center here at Deep Space 9.” Quark interrupted Icheb at this point with their drinks.
“Here you go, boys. Drink up!” he said, placing the root beers in front of them. He had a particularly evil grin on his face as he walked away and Nog’s eyes followed him in a puzzled fashion. Shaking himself loose from his reverie he turned back to his friends. Holding his drink up, he said,
“To friends both near and far!” The boys clinked their glasses together and drank deeply.
“That is quite good,” Taurik commented, taking another drink. “It reminds me of a tea we have back on Vulcan.” He drained his glass and signaled Quark for another. Quark quickly hustled over with the replacement.
Nog asked Icheb, “So what do you think? Do you like it?”
Icheb replied, “The taste is quite pleasant. It reminds me of a candy Naomi Wildman once gave me called lic…” He trailed off as he realized Nog had stopped listening. Instead, he had turned in his seat to gaze at the bar.
“Why is my uncle staring at us like that?”
Icheb turned towards the bar himself. The Ferengi bartender was polishing glasses and watching them openly. He had a wicked smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes. Confused, Nog and Icheb made eye contact and then turned back towards Taurik…who wasn’t there. On the table, in front of his chair, sat his two empty mugs. Icheb’s glass was also empty, adding to their confusion. Nog’s was just plain gone. As they began to look about for the young Vulcan an indignant female squeal cut through the air.
“You creep! Who do you think you are!” They followed the outburst to the far side of one of the dabo tables and then stopped in surprise. Taurik stood there, nonchalantly draining the last of Nog’s root beer. One of Quark’s vivacious dabo girls stood confrontationally in front of him, her hand rubbing her derriere. The gamblers had all stopped what they were doing to watch. Taurik set the now-empty glass on the dabo table. Then he reached out and tweaked one of her breasts.
“Those are really quite magnificent, you know,” he said in a conversational tone of voice. The girl’s free hand shot out and slapped his face with a “Crack!” that could be heard throughout the bar. It didn’t seem to faze Taurik.
“Quark!” the girl screamed in rage. A half-dozen Ferengi waiters materialized out of thin air and attempted to swarm Taurik. They looked like big-eared squirrels assaulting a tree. Vulcans, even ones as young as Taurik, were notoriously strong and the first Ferengi flew off between the support posts holding up the second-floor walkway into the darkness at the edge of the gaming area. The second tried to grab Taurik’s right arm. A moment later he was sliding face first through the stacks of latinum slips on the dabo table. Icheb and Nog just gaped at their friend. The third waiter landed on a table clustered with glasses of bloodwine. The Klingons who got splashed were not amused. They began to drunkenly rise. About this time, Taurik began imitating a marching band, bellowing out John Phillip Sousa.
“Ba-da da da da , Da-dum bom bom bom!” The fourth Ferengi cleared three meters horizontally through the air, removing two of the four angry Klingons from the field of play. Another Ferengi had climbed up to Taurik’s shoulders and received a neck pinch for his troubles. Taurik flung him almost straight up in the air and he landed draped across the second floor banister, unconscious. Then he cradled the final waiter like a baby and chucked him up to join his companion.
“It’s the Flying Ferengi Brothers!” he exclaimed. The dabo girl had been dodging humanoid projectiles and was caught off guard when Taurik clasped her to his chest. “You are stunningly beautiful, dear lady,” he told her in a mild voice.
“Let me go you animal!” She attempted to beat on his chest, but to no avail. The two drunken Klingons shoved Nog and Icheb aside in order to get at Taurik, roaring out half-intelligible battle cries. Clenching the helpless dabo girl in his arms, Taurik nimbly leaped to the top of the dabo table.
“Come, my lady, away! Let us flee these uncouth savages!” He began to hopscotch from table to table, dodging the poorly-aimed grasps of the Klingons. Patrons began grabbing their drinks and abandoning their seats.
Nog and Icheb picked themselves up off of the floor in time to see Taurik spring off of the last table and slide across the floor to the bar. He came to a halt with his back against it, facing the approaching Klingons. He gave the struggling dabo girl a passionate kiss and then twirled her out of his arms into Morn’s lap. Morn didn’t seem to mind. The patrons formed a half-circle behind the two Klingons, eager to see what was coming. With a wild, almost playfully savage look on his face he beckoned the drunken warriors to approach.
“Come on, you scurvy dogs! Have at you then!”
The Klingons were toasted but even in their alcoholic haze they could tell there was something odd about this particular Vulcan. They paused their advance and looked at each other. Victims screamed. Victims begged. Victims ran away. Taurik chose that moment to snatch Morn’s drink and fling it in their faces. Enraged beyond belief, they charged him. Using some form of Vulcan martial arts, he dodged their attack and helped them on their way. They completely missed Taurik when they leaped but they did manage to take out five or six glasses, a decanter of Romulan ale, and Quark as they flew over the bar. The dabo girl screamed, several on looking patrons flinched from the flying glass and Morn took a bottle from behind the bar, opened it and drank. To Nog’s eyes he seemed like the only one in the room with his priorities straight. That’s when station security came flying through the door and dog piled Taurik. It took six of them to subdue him.
Julian Bashir was kneeling down treating Taurik in his holding cell when Nog came into Security. The Vulcan looked bleary-eyed and hung over. Nog cleared his throat and Bashir glanced up at him before giving Taurik a hypospray of something.
“Is he going to be alright, Doctor Bashir?” Nog seemed very worried indeed. Bashir continued his ministrations for a moment more before answering him.
“He’ll live. He was very lucky.” Bashir sounded even more patrician and condescending than he usually did. Nog started to smile. “What were you thinking, Nog?” The smile vanished.
“But I didn’t do anything!” he wailed. Bashir stood up and folded his arms, waiting. “All I did was treat him to a root beer! And he even drank mine,” Nog added as an afterthought. Now he was starting to look a bit cross.
“I’m not surprised,” commented Bashir, “The first one probably hit him pretty hard.”
Nog was confused. “Are you telling me he got drunk? But there’s no alcohol in root beer!”
Bashir nodded his head. “Quite right. However, just as alcohol is indigestible to humans, sucrose is indigestible to Vulcans. And, also like alcohol in humans, sucrose goes straight to the receptors in a Vulcan’s brain.”
“I see what you mean, doctor.” Nog said. “Um, what’s sucrose?”
Bashir sighed. “Sugar, Nog. Vulcans get drunk on sugar.”
Nog looked down at Taurik, thought for a few moments and then looked back at Bashir.
“Is that why root beer tastes so good?” he asked Bashir. “It’s got sugar in it?”
Bashir covered his face with his hand and sighed once again.
