Distant Shores - Marco Palmieri [37]
“I could increase the number of drills per month,” Tuvok said, though, to the Vulcan’s credit, Tom sensed a dubious note in his voice.
“Not exactly what I had in mind,” the captain said. “I think we need something a little more…” She lifted her hands in an open, welcoming manner. “… distracting.”
“Ah!” Neelix said and leapt up out of his seat. “My suggestion!”
Captain Janeway set her hand on the Talaxian’s shoulder and gently shoved him back into his seat. “Yes,” she said. “Several weeks ago, Mr. Neelix proposed we might have a talent show, not only for entertainment’s sake, but as a way to get to know one another better. For example, how many of you know that our Mr. Kim is a fine clarinetist?”
Everyone at the table raised his hand.
“All right. Bad example. How many of you know that Tuvok writes-if I’m any judge-very fine poetry?”
All eyes turned to Tuvok, who was-if such an emotionally laden word could be used-glaring at Captain Janeway. No one raised his or her hand.
“There you are!” the captain said. “I expect that this is only the tip of the iceberg, too. Who knows what other talents and common interests crewmen might share?”
“This all sounds fine, Captain,” Tom said, “but if this is Neelix’s idea, then why doesn’t he just run with it? I can’t help but think that your bringing it up during staff meeting doesn’t mean, uh, something…?”
“Very astute, Mr. Paris,” the captain said. ” ‘Something,’ indeed. I have concerns that if the crew doesn’t see senior staff supporting this initiative, then they might not treat the event with the respect and enthusiasm it deserves.”
Ah, Tom thought. Now I know where that premonition of creeping dread began.
“So,” B’Elanna said, her rising voice tracing a parallel path to Tom’s spiraling panic. “You’re ordering us all to be in the talent show?”
Captain Janeway rocked back on her heels in what Tom considered to be a convincing parody of surprise. “Ordering you to be in the talent show?” she asked, though she was not able to completely suppress a smile. “Of course not. I’m strongly suggesting that you participate in some fashion. As my old dance instructor used to tell me, not everyone can be the dying swan. Somebody has to pull the cord that opens the curtain.”
“That was your job?” Tom said, unable to resist the urge to ask.
“No, I was the dying swan,” the captain said. “But that doesn’t mean I didn’t appreciate the cord puller.”
Tom did manage to suppress the urge to ask, “And her name was…?” It was a long walk home, after all.
“So,” the captain said, clapping her hands. “In conclusion, I expect to hear every one of you has found some way to participate, either onstage or behind the curtains. Does anyone of you think that’s too much to ask?”
Tom warily studied the faces around the table, their expressions ranging from delighted (Neelix) to amused (Chakotay) to neutral (Tuvok-surprise!) to simply dubious (Harry, the Doctor) until he settled on the expression he expected most closely mirrored his own, which, surprisingly, was B’Elanna’s. Her expression said simply, Kill me now. Please.
“So, Harry,” Kes said settling into the seat across from his, “what do you plan to do for the talent show?”
Three days had passed since the staff meeting and this topic had come up on several occasions, which meant that the captain’s initial goal had been satisfied: the crew was interested. The only problem was that no one had told Harry what they planned to do, but only asked him what he planned to do. Apparently, Captain Janeway’s requirement that the senior staff participate had circulated.
“Hi, Kes,” Harry said as he set aside the padd he had been skimming. “I haven’t decided. I might just ask Neelix if he needs a hand with the stage. You know… paint some backdrops or help with lighting.”
“I don’t think Neelix will need much help with either of those things. Tom has already volunteered to program the holodeck to create any scenery or lighting effects we’ll need.