Chapter ONE, part four

When all of the guests had departed, leaving only T’Alyen, Dayton, Branfield, and the hostesses, Doc Medici, the Chief medical officer, walked in, glanced over his shoulder after the soiled combatants. “Jesus, Jer, what on Earth’s been going on down here?”

“What the Hell does it look like?” growled the first officer in disgust. “The grandaddy of all pie fights, of course. And I’ll bet you anything you like that blasted Anderson had a lot to do with it.”

“No bets,” grinned the CMO as he knelt beside Dayton and began to probe and manipulate her hip. “I’d loose for sure. . . You know, I think that woman hates your guts -- oh, excuse me, Ms. ---?”

“T’Alyen,” replied the Vulcan as she held Dayton’s shoulders firmly.

Medici, left with no opening, concentrated on his task, with the result that before long, the dislocated joint snapped back into place, bringing forth a yelp from the ensign. Said the CMO, “You’ll be spending the night in sickbay, child, and then three days off your feet.”

“Aw, Doc!” groaned Dayton. “I’ll miss everything!”

“Consider yourself fortunate,” commented Branfield, more calmly now. “No doubt you’ll have more visitors than you’ll know what to do with.”

“I kind of doubt that,” grumbled the girl as she was helped onto the newly arrived stretcher. “Will you come visit me, T’Alyen; tell me what’s going on?”

The Vulcan considered briefly, then said, “I shall see what can be arranged, Shirley.”