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Technical Difficulties

Chapter 21: Of Dinners and Douches

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Bones' very first impression of President Zherne was terrible.

Of course, Bones didn't think well of anyone the first time he met them, especially on a planetside mission. He was always inclined to think them sloppy, sickly, and selfish bastards, especially if he could catch telling signs of unhealthy habits. Bones had always had a particularly good knack for spotting patterns in the way people walked and talked that gave away a great deal about their health, mental state, and social status.

It came as natural as breathing for him to take one look at President Zherne and instantly decipher all three. And simultaneously hate his guts.

Zherne had his privileged flock parade into the meeting room before him, all of them dressed in some sort of ornate cloth. Bones leaned in, peering at it.

The starched white cloth the Zanabares wore was sliced into thick, stiff strips and carefully molded around their bodies in three-dimensional patterns, the strips bouncing from the surface of the skin and winding together in intricate knots. He wondered if the stiff, knitted cloth was held up by some sort of wire; the way it was suspended, it looked like it was floating in an anti-gravity chamber. The texture vaguely reminded him of paper mache projects he had done as a kid. The hair was done up in the same way as the dress, loops curving back to the head and twisting together. It was all the same color – a striking, silky black. The effect was shocking – they looked like a row of carefully designed sculptures. He'd never seen anything quite like it.

Just like their clothes, their faces were also a stark white, painted with thick and smooth make up. He could make a comparison to Princess Amidala, but some ancient two-dimensional movie character's make-up didn't really come close to the elegance and detail of this design. Their eyes were firmly cast onto the floor, so Bones could see their eyelids were painted a deep black with small but distinct red flourishes creasing over the edges of their brows onto their foreheads.

All of their eyes were red.

The red paint dancing around their red eyes obviously meant something, but fuck if he knew what. He made sure to memorize the complex pattern it formed. Maybe it had something to their neural pathways? Maybe their ocular perception? Bones was definitely going to grab one or two of them later to talk about it. Not to mention scan the shit out of them with his medical tricorder.

The procession formed a line with their downcast eyes, lowered brows, and hands tightly held together in one fist that came up and touched their foreheads. Obviously they were in a state of supreme deference. Bones wondered if they were being humble because the Federation was there or if they did that everywhere they went. He couldn't tell. He glanced at Jim, who was grinning at the display. Jim always did love getting introduced to new cultures, and this entrance sure was beautiful, like some sort of elegant dance.

The meeting room was large, but more and more and more Zanabarians kept on waltzing through the door. The group continued to fill up the room with graceful, muted movements.

Suddenly, the procession broke in half, the curtain of dancers parting. They all began sliding into shrinking spirals, spreading out and finding their own niches, until they had all frozen in place like statues in a garden. They had left a zigzagging walkway through their ranks that led to the faraway entrance.

Through that entrance came five men that had, incredibly, exceedingly more intricate apparel than the others. Bones was guessing that these five had particular sway and significance. They were definitely higher on the social food chain, anyway. They looked douchey enough.

The five stepped in the same slow and deliberate manner that the initial entourage had, flowing in and out of a V formation until they reached the mouth of the path before Kirk and his Starfleet officers.

There, the five wove together into a multifaceted display of perfect synchronization of movement. Back and forth, they pushed and pulled at each other without touch or sound, each one slowing their movements down and down, slower and slower, lower and lower. They made a half-moon pattern on the floor. Once their knees sank onto stone, they froze with the rest of the procession.

For a moment there was silence.

Then Bones heard the smart click of expensive shoes. He knew instantly that it was President Zherne. He tried to look for him in the crowd of the mystical train of the entourage, but the zigzag of a line spanned the whole goddamn depth of the whole goddamn room. He could only see the barest glimpse of movement in between the folds and loops of the Zanabares dress. A smidgen of black here, a sharp outline of a pointed shoulder there.

As President Zherne wove his way through the path through the frozen dancers, Bones caught more and more fleeting glimpses of him through the maze of people.

Finally, he stepped in direct sight of all of the Federation's highest-ranking flagship officers.

Zherne was powerfully built, his shoulders wide and filled out in his black, modern suit that contrasted with the traditional robes of his entourage. As he passed them, the Zanabares procession began to once again train into dispersing spirals, lining up against the back wall.

He didn't so much as walk as he did parade from one step to the next. Zherne's gait was forceful and assured while smooth, even, and carefully premeditated. His chin was square and jutted from his face in resolution, or, as Bones would like to call it, pigheadedness and over-aggression. He looked straight at them, his blood-red eyes shooting them with an intense look and astonishing color. Zherne had minimal paint on his face, but he had particular emphasis on his red brow markings and black eyelids. He was, Bones grudgingly conceded, very handsome with his sharp red eyes, cut jaw, and carefully crafted goatee. No wonder he was president; Zherne practically oozed competence, charisma, and command.

The five men stood as Zherne passed and flanked him one by one, until Zherne was leading their intricate dance forward once again. Zherne didn't even glance behind him.

He stopped right in front of Kirk with cool pretension. His five flanks halted with him, framing him like the outstretched petals of a blossoming lotus with their smooth and delicate poses.

"Captain Kirk," said President Zherne.

That was it. Bones only zeroed in for a grand total of ten seconds of face-time before he'd had enough. This guy was a total douchebag. Now, Bones may not have had the most empirical of evidence, but he would bet some damn good alcohol on these three facts about this Zherne character: Zherne was fit as a horse, an arrogant son of a bitch, and powerfully domineering. Bones was getting severe control freak vibes.

Bones couldn't wait until this was over already. He fucking hated away missions.

Zherne held out his hand for a Federation handshake. Kirk took Zherne's hand in a strong yet careful grip.

"President Zherne, I presume," replied Kirk politely. "I apologize for the delay in our meeting. That was quite a beautiful entrance, if I may."

Zherne grinned, all his sharp teeth visible. "Thank you, Captain. We Zanabarians take pride in our time-honored traditions."

"And, it seems, for good reason." Kirk gave a sharp smile back.

Their hands couldn't have parted quickly enough. Bones didn't even catch the movement before both their hands were back at their sides.

Jim motioned to the rest of his team. "This is my First Officer Spock, this is my Chief Medical Officer Bones, that is my Chief Engineer Scott, my First Helmsman Lieutenant Sulu, and my First Navigator Ensign Chekhov. They're the best of my crew."

"I am pleased that you would bring along such esteemed officers, Captain." President Zherne indicated the throng of hundreds of Zanabares that lined the room. "This illustrious entourage is of the most esteemed members of the Court." He turned to his flank. "These are the Five Heads of Congress, each of whom represents a branch of the pentapublic."

Kirk saluted. They all touched their clasped hands to their painted foreheads in silent response.

Then Zherne got down to the political mumjo-jumbo. "Captain James Tiberius Kirk, Zanabar welcomes you and all that you have to offer. You speak not only for yourself and not only for your crew, but also for your Federation of Planets, just as I, President Zherne, humbly receive you here on behalf of not only my government but also on behalf of all the Zanabares people. Here in the presence of the Multitude of the distinguished Court, and under the watchful gaze of the Five Heads of Congress, do I hold myself to the oath of harboring you and all of your people whom you protect and revere until you see fit to depart, under the condition that you and your people do no intentional harm and see fit to honor our customs. Do you, Captain Kirk, accept the oath I offer in order for a most satisfactory partnership between our people and by extent our cultures?"

Kirk didn't even blink. "I gladly accept your oath, President Zherne."

Zherne barely tilted his head in approval. "I thank you for your trust in me and all I have to offer. My oath that I have made will be held to me by the Multitude and by the Five Heads, in all of their grace and wisdom. May the Multitude of the Court depart in full knowledge of the truth of both our words and go forth ready to upkeep the Crown's honor in both its general purpose and action, and may the Congress settle and observe the smallest twitch of my thoughts to keep me to my oath most devotedly in sight of gods and men."

The Court then began to file out, each move precise and fluid. The five Congressmen remained, still etched beside Zherne in their immaculate poses.

Then it was only Kirk and Zherne, with five goons each.

Kirk struck first with a smile. "Well, now I feel like we should have brought a fruit basket."

Bones was surprised that Jim even knew what a fruit basket was.

Zherne was stone-faced. "That dance was the traditional Zanabares way of presenting an oath of hospitality and peace, at the most reverential and sanctified level." Then Zherne's lip curled up in a playful smirk, a cold spark of humor shining in his eye. "No fruit baskets necessary, Captain. You and your officers are my personal guests; believe me when I say, Captain, no effort would be too small to cater to any of your whims."

Kirk raised an eyebrow. Bones' eyes twitched with the effort against rolling them dramatically at the high vaulted ceiling. Zherne was already trying to bribe them? Really?

Thankfully, Kirk started talking before Bones popped a vein. "Mr. President, we would be happy to accept sleeping quarters and meals, but my men here are quite self-sufficient otherwise. We would not want to take advantage of our honored place here by exacting extravagance from you or your people."

Zherne gave a brusque nod. "Of course, Captain." The humor slowly faded away from his sharp eyes, but the smirk remained. He pulled a thin touch screen PADD out of his breast pocket. "Here is a rough planner for your convenience. It has the times of our meals, public and private transportations, and all entertainments throughout the capital Zhigligar. It also has the times of our political talks installed. Feel free to do any activity on the list in between our talks. It also has a complete atlas of the planet, in case any of you were to lose their way."

Kirk took the PADD. "Thank you for putting this together, Mr. President. We'll be sure to use it wisely."

They shook hands again. This time it took longer for them to pull apart. Bones could see Kirk trying to splice and dice Zherne down into tiny pieces with his eyes alone for the entire handshake.

Then Zherne and the five Heads took their leave, and left Kirk alone with Bones, Spock, Scotty, Sulu, and Chekhov. Kirk watched until the door had completely snapped shut.

He took a second to give all his officers a look that Bones and all the rest of them knew meant, We're being spied on right now so don't say anything straight out. Actually, if we weren't being spied on right now I would be disappointed in Zherne; I mean, all that evilness and cunning and this is the best he has to show for it? Not spying on the Starfleet flagship officers who are all huddled together in one room after attempted bribery? This wouldn't have even gotten started if he was that dumb. I mean, come on.

Bones might have been reading too much into that look, but he was generally pretty damn right when it came to Jim. Bones returned skillfully with a nuanced eye-roll and a jaundiced half-smirk. Jim smirked back at him.

Then Kirk flicked the PADD on and started studying all the complied information. "Now, let's see, we have dinner in a few hours. I was thinking we could go around town, see some sights, buy some souvenirs, drink some alcohol, that kind of thing." Maybe even do a little spying of our own. "You guys down? My man Scotty?"

"Aye!" Scotty had already installed stealth recorders into everyone's communicators, so coverage and quality of reconnaissance wasn't an issue. "Goin' oewt an th' taewn, Ah'll taeyke that ordaer, sir!"

"Chekhov?"

"Da, Keptan. Eet soundz wery enjoyable." Chekhov had global trackers set on each one of them, just in case on of them were to, oh, say, get lost. The trackers would send a steady pulse of their location to the Enterprise directly when activated.

"Mr. Sulu?"

"Sounds awesome! Let's do it!" Sulu had programmed thirty or forty new maneuvers into the Enterprise just in case it needed to rain down on key Zanabares sites, avoid planetside fire, or dip in close for an emergency rescue. Not to mention he had brought along a stash of specialized weaponry concealed in his carry-on.

"Bones?"

"Yep, sure, city, the sights, the food, the women, just fine." Bones had packed enough medicine in his carry-on medical case to raise a small army of the dead. You know, just in case. And he had a small but effective selection of poisons somewhere in there, too, though those were perhaps a bit more tightly packed than the rest.

"And you, Mr. Spock?"

Spock had done a huge amount of preparation for the political talks with Jim as well as coding various computer hacks and viruses that could leech into the Zanabares global wireless system to get more information. "Affirmative, Captain."

Jim just gave him a look.

"The planetside activities listed on this planner have a high probability of inducing large amounts of endorphins." Spock said stiffly. "It would indeed be quite the… 'fun, frolicking adventure,' Captain."

"Great!" Jim grinned. "Everyone's on the same page here, then."

He slipped the PADD into his pocket.

"Let's fuck shit up, gentlemen."

((()))

"Fun, frolicking adventure, Captain," Bones grumbled. "City, sights, food, women, just fine, Captain. Fucking pony rides. Riding a living fucking carousel. Really reminds me why I signed up in the first place. Never thought I'd get here. Living the goddamn dream. Living the goddamn Starfleet mission statement."

Jim snorted against his will. "Bones, they're not ponies, okay, they're zhkites, and they look like elephants. Completely different animals."

"Same fucking difference. Four goddamn legs. Dressed up in red goddamn ribbons. Riding 'round in a goddamn circle."

"Except for the whole fact that, oh, I don't know, zhkites are the size of a whale and we're miles into the Zanabarian desert."

"Dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor, not a four-year-old girl in a pink cowgirl costume," Bones snarled at his revered Captain while gripping white knuckles on the reins of their shared zhkite, towering over the savannah. "I ain't got no time for this away mission stealth horseshit."

"Ha, see, Bones, when you get angry your comebacks are just pure gold. You know what, maybe I should start writing them down. For posterity's sake."

Bones shot a look over his shoulder. "I know yer grinnin', kid. Shut cher face up."

Jim sniggered. "Now you really do sound like a cowboy, pardner – "

Bones could swear later that he'd just lost control of the reins. It'd be a complete accident… But before he could properly execute his newest plan to make Jim fall to his death, Jim grabbed his shoulder and whipped him to the side.

"Bones," Jim whispered. "I see something." Bones glanced back at him. He'd jammed his binoculars into his face so hard the eyepieces were bound to leave bruises, completely focused on something on the right.

Bones looked that way. All he saw was an endless desert. He looked back over to the left, where he could still see the edge of the Capital. Nothing but sand by his count. Back to the right. Sand, sand, more sand.

But wait – Bones started to see something too. Just on the horizon. It looked like… Bones narrowed his eyes against the harsh sun's glare. It looked like some sort of haze or dustcloud or… Or something cloaked by an energy shield.

"Jackpot," breathed Jim.

Bones paused. "Gettin' the goddamn pony ride still ain't worth it."

"Aw, Bones, you know you love it."

Bones tugged on the reins. He turned the alien pony elephant thing around and got her walking back to the left, where he could still see the Capital cityscape on the far horizon.

"Know what I'll love? Some goddamn alien alcohol. Get me to a goddamn bar, Jim."

Jim sighed. "You'll end up drunk and scanning every patron and trying to force them all to sign treatment forms, won't you."

Bones didn't respond.

"Yeah, nailed it."

"Goddammit, Jim, I swore an oath."

"Well, why don't we put that to the test. Let's meet up with Spock, see how he's doing with his zhkite."

If looks could kill. If only.

"Hahaha, Bones, try to contain your bloodlust there. All right, really. I'm calling the team together. We found something, I don't trust sending that information over the radio, let's meet up in person, et cetera. Head this pony back over to the ranch, cowboy."

Bones grumbled but complied as Jim whipped out his communicator and sent out the general recomm signal.

Thirty minutes later, everyone was kicking back shots in a Zanabarian bar.

"So," Sulu said, "after Pavel had already half-way fallen off, the elephant thing - "

"Zhkite, Hikaru, zhkite," Chekov corrected.

" – the zhkite went crazy. I tried to get it back under control with the reins, but nothing worked, and Pavel was thrown off."

"Feefty meeters – feefty meeters!"

"It was more like twenty, actually."

"Who eez ze nawigator heere?"

"Hey, I have an impeccable gauge for distances." Sulu crossed his arms, miffed. "I played darts, and fenced, and now I'm flying a starship! I have excellent depth perception!"

"Da, da, Hikaru," Pavel patted his shoulder. "But yet eet vas feefty meeters." This did little to assuage Sulu's wounded ego.

"Fuck the meters. You all right, there?" Bones asked, glaring eyes honing in on Chekhov for an assessment. His fingers itched for a medical tricorder.

"Da, da," said Pavel airily. "Hikaru leep off ze zhkite like angel, unt caught me beefore I hit ze grund."

Sulu perked up again, squirming, with a flustered look on his face. "Yeah, I caught him. We hit a dune instead of the rocks, and I think we got off easy with only a couple bruises."

"Well, good on ya, Lieutenant. Saves me some trouble." Sulu and Bones clinked glasses. "Bottoms up." They both knocked back their glasses.

"Fifty meters would be an illogical estimate from the height and girth of the zhkite," noted Spock. Chekhov was pointedly not listening, instead idly sketching a mysterious animal resembling an elephant (or a platypus, depending on how you looked at it) on the nearest napkin - along with some motion vectors and complex physics equations.

Spock drew out a pen of his own and began neatly sketching on his own napkin.

One quick formula with one graph. "I calculate ten to forty meters at most."

He pushed it over to Chekhov, who frowned as he read it.

Then Chekhov brightened up. "Ah, Meester Spock, you haff forgotten vun wariable."

Spock stiffened. "Impossible." Bones may have sniggered. Spock may have shot him a nasty glare disguised as a blank look.

Scotty leaned over to take a look, snatching the napkin away from Chekhov. He and Jim looked over it. "Ah dunno, lad, th' science is sound t' me."

"Same," Jim said with a lazy grin. "So tell us, Mr. Chekhov, which variable is Mr. Spock missing?"

"That of ze zhkite's trunk!" Chekhov declared. "Eet's trunk threw me feefty meeters!"

Everyone laughed incredulously. Well, except for Spock, who generally refuses to laugh, no matter the time or place.

Spock turned to confirm this, raising one eyebrow. Sulu nodded his head. "Yep, the thing grabbed him and threw him off. Literally threw him off. I'm telling you, it went crazy."

Jim's brow furrowed. "When you say crazy…" He glanced towards Sulu, then Spock. "What kind of crazy?"

Sulu spun his glass on the table under the crown of his fingers. "I'd have to say the mindlessly violent kind of crazy."

"Was there a trigger?"

Sulu frowned. "None that I saw. Maybe Pavel falling halfway off?"

Jim's theories were crashing into each other all of a sudden, and his fingers came up to brush across his lips. "Hmm," is all he said as his eyes clouded in thought. Spock's forehead creased the slightest fraction, as well.

"Was there any previous inclination in the zhkrite that hinted at violence?" queried Spock.

"No."

Jim started tapping his fingers rhythmically on the table. Again, "Hmm," was all he said.

"What are the specified coordinates where the incident occurred?" Spock slid a blank napkin over to Chekhov, who grabbed his pen and wrote them down.

Bones poured himself another shot. "Count me out of the conspiracy-fest here. I'm trying to enjoy my goddamn alcohol. Scotty, another shot?"

"Aye!" Scotty beamed as he tipped his glass forward. Bones poured to the brim. "Ta."

"Don't mention it. Sulu? Chekhov?" Both of them nodded. "Jim, you too busy for another glass or two?"

Jim held up his shot glass towards Bones without even looking over, forehead still creased in deep thought.

"And I won't even ask Mr. Chocolate Milk over here if he wants a shot. Spock?" Bones swore he saw Spock's eyelid twitch.

"This is sufficient," said Spock neutrally. "As you should already well know, Doctor, with your studies of Vulcan physiology."

"Oh, long time no see, Mr. Hob-goblin."

The glares that shot between them nearly cut the fabric of space-time, they were so sharp.

"Whoa, there, gentlemen," cut in Sulu. "Can't have our senior officers end up accidentally killing each other."

"Vell, eef it vas me, I vould pay to see vho von."

"Pavel. You're not helping."

"Vell – vhich do yoo think vould vin? Hmm? Vat, no answer? Scotty?"

"Aye, er. Hard t' saey. Ah think Ah'd choose the good Doctor here, as hae's been waerkin' in the field o' medicines an' healin' arts. Wager 'ee knows a thing or two abaewt takin' men apart, an' quick-like. An' 'ee's treated Mr. Spock many a time, so."

"Wise choice," said Bones. He lifted his glass towards Scotty.

"Hikaru? Come on, come on, eweryvune's choosink."

"Hmmm, well, since I've been put on the spot… I'd have to go with Spock. Sorry, Doctor. He's a lot faster and a lot stronger."

"A most logical hypothesis, Lieutenant Sulu."

"Shut yer trap, Spock, or this hypothetical death match might suddenly turn into a live experiment," snapped Bones.

Spock innocently sipped on his chocolate milk. "Experimentation should be encouraged by the scientific and medical communities, should it not, Doctor?"

Bones muttered darkly under his breath, glaring, until Scotty knocked his arm and said, "A wee shot for t' furth'rance o' medical science, then, Doctor?" Even Bones couldn't quite keep a grumpy face on in the wake of that onslaught.

"Spock." Jim's sharp voice suddenly cut in.

The whole table turned to look at Kirk.

He downed his shot in one smooth motion, setting the glass back down on the table with a muted clink. "Send Uhura these coordinates." He picked up the napkin. "Also include these - " He scribbled down another set of coordinates. " – and be sure that everything is in code."

"Yes, Captain."

"And Scotty."

"Aye."

"You didn't happen to bring along anything… interesting with you planetside, did you Scotty?"

"Aye," Scotty beamed. "Aye, a wee number o' thaengs."

((()))

"Hey Uhura, why the hell does everything on this planet start with the letter Z?" Jim complained into his communicator.

There was an indignant huff on the other end. "This is why you called me? I'm a little busy here, Captain. With very important tasks to do that someone has just assigned me. "

"No, seriously, I want to know. What's up with the Z's?"

Another huff. "Did you not read my linguistics report on Zanabar?"

"I did, actually, but I may have skipped over actually learning the native language. Someone can be busy too, you know."

Uhura was silent for a second, leading Jim to believe she was rolling her eyes. "Well, Captain, in the native Zanabarian tongue, all nouns are required to start with the letter Z. It separates them from their verb and adjective forms."

"Huh, so every noun starts with Z. All names, too?"

"Yes, since names refer to people, and people are nouns." Jim heard some beeping and buzzing in the background. Uhura was definitely multi-tasking here.

Jim thought for a second. "Is there any noun that doesn't start with Z in their native tongue? Any exceptions?"

Some more beeps.

"Uhura?"

"…I'm thinking."

"Well?"

"There aren't many non-translatable words outside of noun names – " The beeps stopped. "Pentapublic. But that comes from Greek. It's Federation influence from when Colony XI landed."

Jim's eyes popped open. "Anything else? From the colonists? Anything else in the pentapublic?"

"Yes, all of the points on the pentagon, actually; the Conglomerate, Constitute, Court, Congress, and Crown. Oh, and the Crown's Cabinet. Those are all words straight from Standard, even by the native pronunciation."

"So. There is no actual Zanabarian word for any of those, huh…"

"…And why exactly is this call still continuing to bore me? Don't you have a formal dinner with the Crown President in ten minutes?"

"Oh, yeah, there is that. Gotta go – thanks for the lowdown, Nyota!" Jim smirked and hung up before Uhura could snap at him for using her first name. He slid his comm. into his pocket and stood up from his desk, pushing his chair back with the backs of his legs. He crossed his arms for a moment, and contemplated the web of notes and sources spread before him. The papers completely obscured the desktop from sight, with some crawling up onto the wall behind the desk, and some even spread out on the floor.

Everything was heavily encoded, of course. Jim had made up this particular shorthand himself when he was a kid for solving complex problems, and it always served to help him sort his ragingly fast thoughts into something intelligible. Especially when he couldn't just word-vomit it all out because some tricky alien bastards were listening to every scratch of his stylus and every creak of his chair.

Suspicions were swirling around in his mind, and instead of blurting them all out he pinned them down with code. He would usually keep on brainstorming until the web had run its course, but for now he had a dinner to get to.

Still, Jim thought as he glanced down once more at his notes, it felt unfinished. It would probably bug him all throughout dinner, knowing that he could be putting the pieces together much faster instead of wasting energy sucking up to Zherne. The only bright side – the dinner might be another opportunity to collect more data…

Spock was getting impatient and worried. Jim could feel it. He was taking too long to meet up with the others.

Jim sighed into a small smile. His hands slipped into his pockets as he strolled to meet his team.

"Took you long enough, Jim," complained Bones when Jim stepped into sight. "We're probably gonna just make it by the skin of our teeth."

"Yeah, yeah," Jim dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Empires will fall, the party don't start till I walk in, all that stuff. Let's get this show on the road, huh? I want to keep all the skin on my teeth intact."

"Give a smartass an inch," muttered Bones as he grumpily trudged after the group moving quickly down the hall. "But give a smartass a captaincy…"

((()))

Bones' mood didn't improve with dinner. In fact, it got marginally worse, if that was possible. He didn't get drunk enough earlier in the bar for this. Seriously, the sniping between Jim and Zherne – shallowly disguised with political correctness, of course – was driving him up the fucking wall. It was like watching over-zealous cadets in Fleet debates all over again.

Need Bones remind anyone ever that he hated away missions with a fiery passion of a thousand suns? This politico bullshit was a serious contender for one of the worst things Bones had to put up with in Starfleet, and this was head-to-head with space diseases and that fucking space pollen.

At least the food was okay. Bones stabbed at his meat moodily with his fork. Some type of roasted alien duck or something. Tasted pretty good, if you were the type that liked mysterious, probably-not-anything-like-duck duck.

His dress-shirt collar was still too tight and Bones was now contemplating taking one of his heavy medals off and sticking the pointy pin into his eye, but he'd still been to away mission dinners before that had been much worse than this. There were no aimed phasers, no poisoned food – Bones had made sure of that with a hidden medical tricorder in his pocket – and so far, no actual verbal threats from their probably totally evil host.

Jim was going on about some story that had happened on the Enterprise this one time or another, obviously trying to get Zherne to buddy up and tell some stories of his own, when Bones' communicator went off. Loudly. Beep-beep beep, bee-bee beep.

Fuck, he thought he put that goddamn piece of shit on silent. And the goddamn thing just kept on fucking beeping. Bee-bee beep, bee-bee beep.

Flustered, his hands scrambled for his pockets, trying at least to smother the buzz with one hand and trying to pull the comm. out with the other.

Bee-bee beep.

"Fuck," he swore under his breath. He finally got the goddamn thing out of his pocket and turned it off.

But it still kept on beeping! Bee-bee beep, bee-bee beep. Bones' eyes bugged out and he stared at the evil thing beeping in his palm. It was clearly off. Why the hell did it keep beeping?

Bee-bee beep, bee-bee beep.

Bones could feel his face heating up. He didn't even want to know how people were looking at him. Goddamit, and in the middle of the first fucking dinner meeting with the President.

The whole table had fallen silent, no doubt staring his way judgmentally.

Bones was gripping the fucking beeping thing from hell really fucking tightly when Scotty plucked it out of his fist, turned it over, and in two seconds flat ripped the battery right out of it.

The beeping stopped.

"Sorry abeaw' tha'," said Scotty, addressing the rest of the table with a bashful grin. "Malfunctionin' communicator. 'S all set to rights."

The dinner conversation started up again with a murmur.

Scotty sat down again, right next to Bones. He twirled the comm. in his fingers before pressing some buttons, putting the battery back in, and turning it on.

Bones held his breath.

It didn't start beeping again.

"Phew," he breathed out. "Thank God for you, Scotty. Need someone who understands these blasted things around."

"T'weren't no trouble, Doctor," beamed Scotty.

After that, dinner didn't seem so torturous. Went by pretty quickly, actually. Even Jim trying to razz him after dinner about the comm. didn't really bother him.

((()))

Back in his guest quarters, Bones scanned over tomorrow's schedule on his PADD. The first diplomatic talk would happen at around 1300 hours after a sightseeing lunch. Then another dinner with the President. Then a tour of the penta-public.

That meant the morning would be free. Maybe tomorrow Bones could follow up on the red-eyes thing that the Zanabares had going on. He was still curious about the whole red eye paint thing from the opening ceremonies.

Bones stripped off his shirt and shucked his pants before heading into the shower. He hummed a little as the hot water blasted against his back. It'd been a while since his last shower with actual water, instead of just a sonic one. He scrubbed his hair, cleaned up. It felt nice getting all that sand out from earlier, when they were at the mercy of sandstorms out in the desert.

He stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist before heading for his suitcase, still humming Sweet Home Alabama.

There was an embarrassed squawk from a corner of the room.

Bones whipped around, grabbing his medical tricorder and pointing it at the intruder.

It was only Scotty. Bones lowered the tricorder. Like it could have done anything, anyway.

Bones sighed into a smile. "Hey, Scotty," he said. "Need somethin'?"

"Er, ahm. Aye?" Scotty fumbled around for his PADD. "Jes' wonderin' if ye'd laike t' grab some Zanabarian sandwiches tomorrow mornin' t'gether. Jes' t' see what thair laike. Faewnd sum places tha' seem brillant."

Bones thought about his tentative plan to study the red eyes phenomenon. That could wait. "Sure thing, Scotty."

"When's a good tahyme?"

"Hm, how about nine hundred hours?"

"Aye, Ah can do tha'."

It was a date.

Bones grinned as Scotty left. He typed it into his PADD as "sandwiches with scotty" and got into his pajamas.

He was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

He was so out, he didn't notice his door issuing open. He didn't hear their footsteps approach his bed or see their hands reaching for his communicator. And he definitely didn't see Slistastostas leaving the room.

((()))

END PART 21

To be continued…

((()))

Author's Note: This chapter was a doozy. But I'm back in business! Sorry for the long wait. It's the start of an entire arc, here on Zanabar. Hopefully the wait was worth it, idk. The action hasn't started yet, of course. Just wait, it's gonna be AWESOME! I guarantee it.

It's hard to present an entire alien race and their culture in one chapter, so I decided to split it up. Don't judge me, it's hard to make a whole culture up okay. I have more respect for the Star Trek writers and their weird alien races than I did before.

Also, I haven't seen Into Darkness yet! I'm studying abroad right now in Japan and they're really strict about illegal downloads and streaming here. I don't want to get screwed over. So that movie isn't going to impact my story yet. Not until I see it. Also I'm jealous of all of you who've seen it already. :(

Live long and prosper. And review too, that would be nice! :D