There is a place... in the farthest reaches of the galaxy. A bar. A place where people from all ships and eras come for a drink and a story. A place where the barkeep is friendly, everybody knows everybody else and the drinks flow like Tarkalian Tea. This magical place is known as The Ensign's Table.
Episode One - Ensign Harry Kim
"Need to see some ID, buddy," came a gruff voice from the other side of the regester.
"Huh?" came the reply of a puzzled Ensign Harry Kim.
"You look a little young," said the bouncer. "I have to see some ID of the FBABC will be up my ass like a bad Klingon Par'Cha rash."
"The FBABC?"
"Set a phaser on kill and zap me in the head," the bouncer said, rolling his eyes. "Are we going to play 20,000 questions? The Federation Bureau of Alcohol Beverage Control. Now, either show me some ID or take your happy ass out the door. Now come on, you're holding up the line."
Ensign Kim dug around in his pockets and produced his Starfleet Identification Data Padd. The burly bouncer stared intently at the padd, carefully scrutinizing every detail. He rubbed his bald pate with his hand and gave the ID back to Ensign Kim. "Jesus," he said, sympathetically, "a twenty-eight year old Ensign. Feel sorry for you buddy." The bouncer asked Kim for his hand and stamped a holographic "Over 21" stamp on the back of his hand, which became three dimensional in the blacklight.
"Could be worse," came a voice from behind Ensign Kim. Harry turned around and noticed Ensign Travis Mayweather of the Enterprise NX-01. "I served aboard Enterprise for ten years. Fought off the Xindi invasion spheres, helped bring about a Vulcan Logic Uprising, and I was one hell of a pilot. Ten years I served that ship, and at the signing of the Coalition charter, I was STILL an ensign."
"Boo-hoo," said the bouncer, "ID."
***
Ensign Kim stared around the bar in wonder. The whole bar complex was roughly 2500 square feet, with the bar taking up one wall. Dozens of Starfleet uniforms from all eras sat at the bar, all guzzling some syntheholic beverages or other. All along the wall was every conceivable kind of alcohol imaginable, surrounded by flashing neon lights advertising all sorts of alcoholic beverages.
Ensign Kim sat in an empty stool at the bar, staring intently at the bartender, who kind of looked like a cross between the Ferengi barkeep he had words at on DS9, the Enterprise-D bartender, Guinan, and an old Earth actor named Ted Danson all rolled into one hideous, but strangely attractive form.
"What'll it be, Mr. Kim?" the barkeep asked.
"How do you know my name?" Harry asked, startled.
"I read it on your Federation Identification Data Padd," the barkeep said, pointing at the padd that Harry still held in his hand.
"Oh," Harry said, putting the padd back in his pocket. He exhaled sharply, scanning over the ample and abundant supply of liquor. "I don't know. There's so much to choose from. I'm not much of a drinker, myself. In fact, I'm not exactly sure how I got here. Where is this place? How are all these Starfleet personnel here? I thought I was in the Delta Quadrant."
"You still are. You can thank your friend Tom Paris. He knew you were on edge from not getting promoted, and he thought you could use a night of good drinking and a good lay. So he booked you passage here."
"I'm still not sure where here is." Harry said, puzzled.
"Where we are is not important," the barkeep said, looking around at the increasingly crowded bar. "What is important is that you're taking up my valuable time. Valuable time that could be put to better use talking to PAYING customers."
"Oh, right," Harry said. "Sorry. Let me get a glass of..." Harry scanned the tap. "Guiness."
The barkeep took a glass down from an overhead shelf and poured the Guiness, while Harry set down a bar of gold-pressed latinum. The barkeep set the beer down on a coaster, which featured the mission patch of the old MACO squad from the NX-01 Enterprise.
"What's this?" the bartender asked, looking at the latinum.
"Payment for the drink," Harry replied, sipping the Guiness, wincing and staring at the glass.
"I know it's payment, but the question is, 'What the hell is this?'" The barkeep slammed the bar down. "We only accept Cardassian lekks and Federation Issue Credits here."
"How am I supposed to have Federation Issue Credits? I'm stuck in the frigging Delta Quadrant. Have been for years."
"Not my problem," the barkeep said, taking Ensign Kim's drink back as Harry was about to take another sip. "Here's something that you can afford." The barkeep set down a glass of ice water.
Harry sighed loudly and stared at the ice water. "Can I at least get a lemon?"
"Lemons are .5 Federation credits each," the barkeep informed him.
"Nevermind," Harry said, taking a drink of the ice water.
"I'll talk to Mr. Paris about loaning you some lekks or credits," the barkeep said. "Or else your trip here is going to be a waste of both my time and your time. I know the girls upstairs sure as hell don't take gold-pressed latinum."
"The girls upstairs?" Harry said, looking up at the second floor balcony, where a Klingon, a Gorn, a Ferengi, and a Breen woman were waving at Harry, smiling and blowing kisses at him.
"You can look, but you can't play without the correct currency, the barkeep warned. "This is a brothel, not a free buffet.
Harry decided he'd have to ask Paris for a loan. If he could only figure out how to get back to Voyager. As Harry searched around for an escape route, another ensign sat down beside him. An ensign wearing a purple jumpsuit.
"Hey, buddy, it could be worse," Ensign Travis Mayweather said. "The time I'm from, we don't even HAVE the kind of currency that's accepted here. Shit, I don't even know what the hell a Federation or a Cardassian is."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Next week: Ensign Kim continues searching for an exit from The Ensign's Table while the bar continues to fill. Meet Ensign Pavel Chekov next week, only on... The Ensign's Table!
Episode One - Ensign Harry Kim
"Need to see some ID, buddy," came a gruff voice from the other side of the regester.
"Huh?" came the reply of a puzzled Ensign Harry Kim.
"You look a little young," said the bouncer. "I have to see some ID of the FBABC will be up my ass like a bad Klingon Par'Cha rash."
"The FBABC?"
"Set a phaser on kill and zap me in the head," the bouncer said, rolling his eyes. "Are we going to play 20,000 questions? The Federation Bureau of Alcohol Beverage Control. Now, either show me some ID or take your happy ass out the door. Now come on, you're holding up the line."
Ensign Kim dug around in his pockets and produced his Starfleet Identification Data Padd. The burly bouncer stared intently at the padd, carefully scrutinizing every detail. He rubbed his bald pate with his hand and gave the ID back to Ensign Kim. "Jesus," he said, sympathetically, "a twenty-eight year old Ensign. Feel sorry for you buddy." The bouncer asked Kim for his hand and stamped a holographic "Over 21" stamp on the back of his hand, which became three dimensional in the blacklight.
"Could be worse," came a voice from behind Ensign Kim. Harry turned around and noticed Ensign Travis Mayweather of the Enterprise NX-01. "I served aboard Enterprise for ten years. Fought off the Xindi invasion spheres, helped bring about a Vulcan Logic Uprising, and I was one hell of a pilot. Ten years I served that ship, and at the signing of the Coalition charter, I was STILL an ensign."
"Boo-hoo," said the bouncer, "ID."
***
Ensign Kim stared around the bar in wonder. The whole bar complex was roughly 2500 square feet, with the bar taking up one wall. Dozens of Starfleet uniforms from all eras sat at the bar, all guzzling some syntheholic beverages or other. All along the wall was every conceivable kind of alcohol imaginable, surrounded by flashing neon lights advertising all sorts of alcoholic beverages.
Ensign Kim sat in an empty stool at the bar, staring intently at the bartender, who kind of looked like a cross between the Ferengi barkeep he had words at on DS9, the Enterprise-D bartender, Guinan, and an old Earth actor named Ted Danson all rolled into one hideous, but strangely attractive form.
"What'll it be, Mr. Kim?" the barkeep asked.
"How do you know my name?" Harry asked, startled.
"I read it on your Federation Identification Data Padd," the barkeep said, pointing at the padd that Harry still held in his hand.
"Oh," Harry said, putting the padd back in his pocket. He exhaled sharply, scanning over the ample and abundant supply of liquor. "I don't know. There's so much to choose from. I'm not much of a drinker, myself. In fact, I'm not exactly sure how I got here. Where is this place? How are all these Starfleet personnel here? I thought I was in the Delta Quadrant."
"You still are. You can thank your friend Tom Paris. He knew you were on edge from not getting promoted, and he thought you could use a night of good drinking and a good lay. So he booked you passage here."
"I'm still not sure where here is." Harry said, puzzled.
"Where we are is not important," the barkeep said, looking around at the increasingly crowded bar. "What is important is that you're taking up my valuable time. Valuable time that could be put to better use talking to PAYING customers."
"Oh, right," Harry said. "Sorry. Let me get a glass of..." Harry scanned the tap. "Guiness."
The barkeep took a glass down from an overhead shelf and poured the Guiness, while Harry set down a bar of gold-pressed latinum. The barkeep set the beer down on a coaster, which featured the mission patch of the old MACO squad from the NX-01 Enterprise.
"What's this?" the bartender asked, looking at the latinum.
"Payment for the drink," Harry replied, sipping the Guiness, wincing and staring at the glass.
"I know it's payment, but the question is, 'What the hell is this?'" The barkeep slammed the bar down. "We only accept Cardassian lekks and Federation Issue Credits here."
"How am I supposed to have Federation Issue Credits? I'm stuck in the frigging Delta Quadrant. Have been for years."
"Not my problem," the barkeep said, taking Ensign Kim's drink back as Harry was about to take another sip. "Here's something that you can afford." The barkeep set down a glass of ice water.
Harry sighed loudly and stared at the ice water. "Can I at least get a lemon?"
"Lemons are .5 Federation credits each," the barkeep informed him.
"Nevermind," Harry said, taking a drink of the ice water.
"I'll talk to Mr. Paris about loaning you some lekks or credits," the barkeep said. "Or else your trip here is going to be a waste of both my time and your time. I know the girls upstairs sure as hell don't take gold-pressed latinum."
"The girls upstairs?" Harry said, looking up at the second floor balcony, where a Klingon, a Gorn, a Ferengi, and a Breen woman were waving at Harry, smiling and blowing kisses at him.
"You can look, but you can't play without the correct currency, the barkeep warned. "This is a brothel, not a free buffet.
Harry decided he'd have to ask Paris for a loan. If he could only figure out how to get back to Voyager. As Harry searched around for an escape route, another ensign sat down beside him. An ensign wearing a purple jumpsuit.
"Hey, buddy, it could be worse," Ensign Travis Mayweather said. "The time I'm from, we don't even HAVE the kind of currency that's accepted here. Shit, I don't even know what the hell a Federation or a Cardassian is."
TO BE CONTINUED...
Next week: Ensign Kim continues searching for an exit from The Ensign's Table while the bar continues to fill. Meet Ensign Pavel Chekov next week, only on... The Ensign's Table!
