Vale hiked a thumb toward Troi. “My counselor says I work too hard. I needed a hobby.”
Seated, respectively, at the forward conn and ops consoles, Ensign Aili Lavena and Cadet Zurin Dakal exchanged amused looks with Lieutenant Rager, who stood nearby.
Bralik let the vapors from the open bottle’s neck drift toward her wrinkled nose. She made an approving face. “If you ask me, Commander, I think you’re just trying to play down the competitive aspect of this situation.”
“I wasn’t aware of any competition,” Vale said.
“Wasn’t the captain’s ‘Help Select Titan’s Dedication Plaque Motto Suggestion Box’ intended to be a competition?”
Vale shook her head. “I really don’t think so, Bralik. The captain just wanted to give everyone’s ideas a thorough hearing.”
“You’re only saying that because you want to soften the blow when you lose the contest,” Bralik said.
Troi couldn’t restrain herself from chuckling. “So you must think you have a much better chance of winning this ‘competition’ than Commander Vale does.”
“Damned right I do, assuming all the entries get evaluated fairly. Of course, I probably don’t stand as good a chance as youdo, Counselor. After all, I’m not sleeping with—”
“Okay,” Vale said, interrupting. Troi noticed that she and Jaza exchanged veiled, significant glances at that moment. “You don’t want to go there, Bralik, trust me. And another thing: I’ve read all the entries in this ‘competition,’ and yours didn’t exactly make our short list.”
Troi couldn’t get a reliable emotional “read” on Bralik, of course, because Ferengi brains were completely opaque to Betazoids. But she thought that the geologist looked genuinely wounded.
“Why?” Bralik asked.
Vale, too, was now having trouble holding back her laughter. “I’m sorry, Bralik. But ‘tip your waiter’ is not quite something I’d classify as a starship-worthy motto.”
Bralik shrugged. “That’s just because you Federation folk have a cashless economy. In the Ferengi Alliance, those are words to live by, believe you me.”
The turbolift opened again, this time disgorging engineering trainee Torvig Bu-kar-nguv, astrobiology specialist Kent Norellis, and Lieutenant Eviku, the Arkenite xenobiologist.
“I hope we haven’t missed the big unveiling,” Norellis asked, beaming at Vale and Troi.
Torvig waved one of his biomechanical limbs toward the bare spot on the wall. “Obviously not.”
“Then our wager is still on, Cadet?” said Eviku, tipping his long, swept-back cranium to the side as he regarded the Choblik engineering trainee.
“Our wager is still on,” Torvig said.
“Wager?”Cethente asked in a tinkling voice that sounded almost as though his rack of champagne glasses might have just learned to speak. “What have you and Mr. Eviku wagered on?”
Eviku’s eyes met Troi’s, and he flushed baby-blanket pink with embarrassment. “I know it’s not quite regulation, but I saw no harm in placing a small bet.”
Vale frowned. “A bet on what?”
“On the outcome of Captain Riker’s final decision regarding the dedication plaque motto,” Eviku said. Then he turned his piercing gaze upon the ostrich-like Torvig.
“Cadet?” Troi said.
“May I speak freely?” Torvig asked.
Vale smirked. “All right. But just this once.”
“I thought that Captain Riker might give preference to a motto written by a human author. Sir. That is the thesis of my wager with Lieutenant Eviku.”
“Because the captain is human?” Vale asked, nonplussed. “I don’t think you’re giving him enough credit, Cadet.”
“I understand, sir,” Torvig said. “However, your perspective is much the same as the captain’s, Commander. Thus you may have similar exosociological ‘blind spots.’ You, too, are human, after all.”
Vale nodded, a look of understanding crossing her face. “Ah. So you think Titan’s command hierarchy may have a built-in, systemic human bias.”
The Choblik seemed delighted to have been so clearly understood so quickly. “Yes, sir. Precisely, sir. I could not have said it better myself, sir.”
Eviku leaned forward, interposing himself between Torvig and Vale. “For whatever it’s worth, Commander, I took the other side of the wager. My thesis in this debate was that the captain would choose a nonhuman aphorism.”
Vale sighed. “That’s great, Mr. Eviku.” Under her breath, she added, “Remind me to put a special commendation in your service record for that.”
The turbolift shushed open yet again. Ranul Keru, Dr. Ra-Havreii, and Melora Pazlar—the latter leaning carefully on her garlanic wood cane—tried to step out onto the bridge. They all looked surprised to see the room’s aft portion so crowded.
“Whoa. What’s going on?” Keru said, still standing in the turbolift’s open doorway.
“The captain is evidently about to settle a bet for us,” Vale said, deadpan. “In front of an audience.”
“I think we still have room for a few more, Ranul,” Bralik said with a smirk. “Step carefully, though; it’s gonna be standing room only in here pretty soon. Start passing out those glasses, Cethente. I’ll pour the drinkables.”
“You know alcohol’s not allowed on the bridge, Bralik,” Vale said with a scowl, even as the Syrath got started distributing the glasses.
“Oh, snuff-beetle squeeze, Commander,” Bralik said, raising the bottle as though for inspection. “This is synthale, not Klingon warnog.”Cethente had frozen in mid-motion in a pose that made him look like some sort of garment rack—but not before he had placed glasses into the hands of Troi and Vale both. Troi looked toward the aft tactical station, to which Keru, Pazlar, and Ra-Havreii had retreated because there seemed to be so little room to stand anywhere else.
Troi sighed and shook her head as Bralik bulled ahead and began pouring the clear, sparkling liquid. Somehow I don’t think this is exactly what Will had in mind when he mentioned wanting a “quiet, dignified little dedication ceremony just for the bridge staff.”
The turbolift door opened once again. Dr. Ree stood in the threshold, his eyes nictitating rapidly in surprise at the crowd. “I think I’ll come back later,” he said. He took a single step backward and started to let the doors close in front of him. Bralik stepped into the aperture, which forced the doors back open. With her free hand, she grasped one of Ree’s forelimbs and drew him insistently onto the bridge, forcing everyone to move forward in order to make room.
Releasing the doctor, Bralik then emptied the bottle in her other hand and left it perched precariously on one of the railings. Troi reached out and grabbed it before it could get elbowed onto the deck, but the Ferengi appeared not to have noticed.
“So when is this party supposed to get under way?” Bralik said, consulting the small chronometer on her left wrist.
“Nobody planned a party!” Vale said. “This is the bridge!”
A door slid open, but this time the sound wasn’t coming from the turbolift. Troi turned toward the bridge’s forward section and saw Will and Tuvok stepping out of the captain’s ready room, almost in lockstep. Will was carrying a large, cloth-covered oblong object under his left arm. Tuvok wore a golden medallion that hung from a chain around his neck.
Will’s blue eyes twinkled with delight when he saw the crowd that had gathered. Turning to Vale, he said, “A party! Great idea, Chris.”
Vale’s mouth dropped open; it took a moment for her to gather her wits and muster a reply. “Thank you, Captain. Synthehol, sir. All part of the service. And we’ll be moving this little soiree to the crew lounge. Just as soon as you’re ready, of course.”
A smiling Bralik approached Vale, snatched the untouched champagne glass from her hands, and handed it to Will.
The captain grinned, raised the glass in a salute, then drained the small amount it contained in a single swallow. He handed the empty glass back to Bralik. “Drink ’em if you’ve got ’em, people. Computer, activate audiophile program Riker Zeta Four.”