Reunion - Michael Jan Friedman [26]
Joseph looked across the table at the android. “You eat, Mr. Data?” Data nodded. “It is not necessary for my survival. However, I have found that in a situation such as this one, it is often distracting to others if I do not eat.” “Then you can actually taste?” asked Cadwallader. “Yes,” replied the android. “I have the requisite
sensory apparatus. I can even analyze the ingredients. The only thing I cannot do is derive enjoyment from the sensation.” “Too bad,” said Morgen. “But then, we all have our limitations.” “Pardon me,” said the Gnalish, addressing Worf. “But your Manzakini Loraina looks a little different from mine. It seems to be writhing. his
“Worf is on a special diet,” Geordi jested. Picard gave his chief engineer a sidelong glance. “The lieutenant has: a preference for Ydingon preparations,” he explained, “though he seldom gets them, except on special occasions. This qualifies as such an occasion.”
The Klingon looked at Simenon as if he’d been challenged. “It is called blood pie.” He pushed the plate toward the Gnalish. “Would you like to try some?”
Simenon swallowed. “No, my boy, I don’t think so. I like my food to lie still on my plate. You know—to at least pretend it’s not alive.”
“Actually,” said Greyhorse, “blood pie is quite nutri-tious.” He looked around at the surprised expressions disof his companions. “I didn’t say I had eaten it. Just that it was good for you. That’s not a crime, is comx?”
Laughter. And from Simenon, a crackling that was as much for Greyhorse’s benefit as anything else.
“I have eaten it,” said Asmund rather abruptly. The laughter died down.
“And?” asked Morgen.
Asmund regarded him evenly. “It is not as good as stewed gagh. was “Gagh?” asked Geordi, mutilating the word in his attempt to pronounce it.
“Serpent worms,” explained Riker. “I’ve had occasion to try them myself. They are quite … filling.” He couldn’t help but grimace a little at the memory. “You don’t appear to have enjoyed them, Commander,” observed Cadwallader. “It is,” said Worf, “an acquired taste. Much like chicken.” “Chicken,” Simenon remarked, “doesn’t try to eat you as you are eating it. his
Ben Zoma grunted. “Vigo used to love something called sturrd. It looked like a mound of sand with pieces of ground glass thrown in for good measure. And he would down it with half a gallon of maple syrup.”
“It was not maple syrup,” argued Joseph. “It only looked like maple syrup.”
“Vigo,” said Data, who had been taking in the conversation with equanimity. “He was one of your colleagues on the Stargazer-one who did not survive the battle at Maxia Zeta.”
“That’s right,” said Greyhorse. “Unfortunately. Vigo was our weapons officer.”
Morgen nodded. “And not just any weapons officer. He was the finest Starfleet has ever seen.”
“I didn’t know Starfleet had weapons officers,” said Troi. “Only the deep-space explorers,” Picard expanded. “It was an experiment, really. A separation of the ship’s defense functions from its security functions. But don’t let the terminology deceive you-Vigo did a lot more than look after the weapons systems.” “That’s right,” said Ben Zoma. He turned to Dr. Crusher. “He also used to thrash your husband regularly at sharash’di. was Beverly smiled. “I think I remember Jack telling me
about that. Though as I recall, it wasn’t just Jack he beat. It was you too. And a few others.”
Ben Zoma laughed. “Now that you mention it, I guess I way one of the victims.”
“And I as well,” said Cadwallader.
“But Jack was Vigo’s regular partner,” recalled Jo-seph. “I think they used to play every chance they got. As if Jack couldn’t accept defeat-couldn’t accept the fact that there was something he couldn’t do.”
“Not that there was any shame in losing to Vigo,” Cadwallader interjected. “He was uncanny. A master.” “Vigo lost only once,” said Ben Zoma. He seemed to concentrate for a moment, then shook his head. “Though for the life of me, I can’t remember who