Captains Ledger: As per Federation protocol, the FMS Coastal Voyager is maintaining station in the Melancholy Nebula, awaiting Mindfleet instructions.
“Captain,” she chirped, peering at her console, “there’s a soft, fabric cylinder on my desk. Did you see someone come by my station this morning?”
Captain Amy didn’t look up from her padd. “Is it ticking, Joy?” she asked, getting to the only part of Joy’s story that might have any interest to the captain of a Federation mindship.
“No,” Joy said, tilting her head and poking the thing in her hand. “But it’s labeled ‘DYNAMITE!,’ and it has a cute little white fuse on the end.”
She tapped it lightly against the edge of her desk.
The bridge lights instantly shifted to a frantic, nauseous amber. A klaxon began to wail with the persistence of a toddler hoping for a snack.
“Warning!” the cool, detached voice of Five of Five, the A-5 security system, echoed throughout the ship. “Explosive threat detected at Communications Station. Initiating Level 4 containment. Suggesting immediate evacuation of all non-essential hope.”
Chief Engineer Anxiety’s face burst onto the main viewer, looking like a man who had just seen the heat death of the universe and was already halfway through a personal apocalypse.
“Captain! The A-5 system is reporting a high-yield incendiary device on the bridge! Confidence generators are redlining! I cannae bypass the alarm; the logic is locked in a feedback loop of pure terror!”
Major Reason adjusted his spectacles, his surprised eyebrows making a credible attempt to escape his face.
“Captain, I'm scanning the object now. While the labeling is indeed alarming, the chemical composition appears to be… eighty percent polyester fiberfill and twenty percent high-potency Nepeta cataria.”
“Catnip?” Amy, eyes beginning to narrow, finally looked up from her PCD’s text messages.
The medical bay doors slid open, and Dr. Downer shuffled onto the bridge, carrying a stack of digital death certificates.
“Did someone say ‘explosion’?” he asked. “I’ve already pre-filled the ‘Cause of Death’ forms for the bridge crew. I decided on ‘Ambushed by Whimsy.’ It’s a depressing way to go, but statistically, we were overdue for a catastrophe.”
“Nobody is dying, Doctor,” Amy said, rising. She crossed the bridge, snatched the red cylinder from Joy’s hands, and held it up. “This isn’t an explosive. It’s a memory jogger. It belongs to the Ambassador.”
She sniffed it once.
“Yep. It reeks of the ‘scent of 2026.’”
Right on cue, the Ambassador strolled onto the bridge; that's me, Ambassador Genome, and if you'd have been there, you would have marveled that I radiated the kind of calm typically reserved for people who are not currently under explosive-threat alerts.
“Ah, good,” I said to no one in particular, “I see Cadet Reginald has completed his diplomatic mission. He was feeling guilty about stealing your sparkly boot laces, Joy. I suggested he bring you a sort of peace offering. It's jokingly called a dynamite stick; it was Uma Maya's favorite toy back on Earth.”
“Ambassador,” Amy said, her voice dropping into its court-martial register, “Five of Five is currently calculating our survival rate at zero percent because your ferret is distributing cat toys on my bridge.”
A moment passed before she continued, “We do not have cats. We will never have cats. This vessel is a feline-free zone by order of the Federation, the laws of physics, and my personal sanity.”
Lieutenant Joy hugged the toy to her chest. “But Captain, Reginald has such a sweet soul. My PCD translator says he wants more furry peers to assist with Jefferies tube operations.”
“PCD?” Chief Anxiety yelped from the screen. “Is that what we’re calling Personal Communication Devices now? I haven’t finished the manual for the long version! You people can’t simply abbreviate my anxiety while I'm in mid-crisis!”
Amy ignored him and stepped into my personal space because she knows it's something that immediately puts me on the defensive.
“Nice try,” she said give me the laser eye. “But you should know this qualifies as cultural infiltration; it's a violation of Federation Directive Section F4, paragraph 2B. You’re trying to normalize cat culture on the Voyager. You want me to see a cat toy and think How charming instead of This is a violation of Federation protocols.”
I opened my mouth to deny any and all accusations. If I remember correctly, I was going to offer a Wodehousian defense involving the milk of human kindness, but Amy raised a hand.
“Here’s my deal,” she said. “You will cease this clandestine Operation Meow immediately, or I will assign you to a permanent post on 21st-century Earth, chasing film production crews in the Calabash Sector.”
I winced; Emotional pain, as I'm sure you know, is treated as physical pain in the Genome brain. “That seems… disproportionate, Captain.”
“However,” Amy continued, softening by about two percent, “I am prepared to offer a compromise. Each time we pass Moon City, you will receive a four-hour R&R window. You may visit the Federation animal shelters and conduct as much diplomatic feline outreach as you like.”
I felt my face light up. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier, I wondered. “Really? You’re willing to do that for me?”
“As long as you give up your obsession with having felines aboard the Coastal Voyager,” Amy said, turning back toward her chair.
“But you will undergo a Level-5 decontamination scrub before re-boarding."
"Okay," I said.
"If I find so much as a single stray whisker on your uniform, Five of Five has my authorization to classify you as a biological hazard, and you will be restricted from using the transporter for Sunday morning visits to Egret Cafe.”
Another moment passed, much like the first.
“Five of Five," she called in her commander's voice, "reset the alert level to zero. The ‘threat’ has been neutralized.”
Dr. Downer sighed a long, theatrical exhale. “Typical,” he mumbled. “Another morning saved by compromise. I don’t know why I bother to get out of bed.”
From the ventilation shaft above the science station, a small furry head appeared.
“Dook?” said Cadet Reginald.
I glanced up toward the ventilation grill. “Exactly,” I whispered, giving the ferret a discreet thumbs up. “Mission accomplished.”
Another moment passed, much like the first.
“Five of Five," she called in her commander's voice, "reset the alert level to zero. The ‘threat’ has been neutralized.”
Dr. Downer sighed a long, theatrical exhale. “Typical,” he mumbled. “Another morning saved by compromise. I don’t know why I bother to get out of bed.”
From the ventilation shaft above the science station, a small furry head appeared.
“Dook?” said Cadet Reginald.
I glanced up toward the ventilation grill. “Exactly,” I whispered, giving the ferret a discreet thumbs up. “Mission accomplished.”
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