DS9 - Still more cheesy tropes
Apr. 14th, 2014 08:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
seikilosTitle: 30-Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge - 11. Meet in a Dream
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 942
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: When a telepathic virus strikes DS9 in Julian's first week on the station, he couldn't be more excited--specially when he begins receiving the speech of one of the station's most notorious residents.
Author's Notes: This is another one I had to rewrite because I was dissatisfied with the way I had initially handled the trope. (Tbh it's another trope that, uh, pretty much does nothing for me.) The second attempt preceded to turn into one of my favourite fics of the challenge. Season 1 Julian, you are an adorkable mess.
Life out on the frontier—no, no, he shouldn't put it like that, lest Major Kira catch him. Life on DS9 (much better) was proving to be every bit as much of an adventure as he'd hoped. Not even a week since he'd arrived—six days, in fact—and already half the station had been stricken with some sort of . . . telepathic disease. The afflicted were either broadcasting everything they said aloud or receiving it from someone (or several someones) else. It had probably originated in the Gamma Quadrant, was simply fascinating, and fortunately, as far as anyone could tell, was harmless.
The worst case he'd seen was Nurse Jabara, who apparently had the entirety of Quark's chattering in her head, poor woman. He'd relieved her of duty and sent her to her quarters with a hypo of ambizine so she could knock herself out until a cure was found. That left them short-staffed at the infirmary, but Julian was positive his team could rise to the challenge.
He himself was a receiver, thankfully of only one person's speech. Whoever they might have been, they were clearly a mutterer, and just as clearly displeased about something. Not that it bothered him—on the contrary, it was rather cosy. The speaker had a pleasant voice despite his irritation and, well, no one in the infirmary was speaking very much in case they were a transmitter (or a rare receiver-transmitter). If it weren't for the disease, he would have found the silence highly distracting.
As he tried to work out a cure, he also tried to discover the identity of his . . . companion, he supposed. Initially, it was difficult—the man only spoke in snatches or, occasionally, swore. But then he got his first sentence:
It's beyond me how Starfleet could wear this many holes in their uniforms in six days. I'm beginning to think they're made out of gauze.
Julian's mouth dropped open. "It's the spy!"
Dr. Rawat looked up from the computer model they'd all been constructing. ". . . Sorry?"
"That's whose voice I've been hearing—it's the spy's!" Julian explained as he fought the urge to roam around the infirmary in excitement. "I'll have to pay close attention in case he contacts one of his, um, contacts."
"What's he been talking about?" Nurse Bevar asked.
"Well . . . sewing. But I'm sure he'll let slip important information if I just keep listening!" he added quickly.
"Yes, sir." Nurse Bevar went back to her work.
It was a tricky thing to balance, listening for clues indicating a threat to the security of the station and coming up with the cure for a brand new alien disease, but if anyone could manage it, he could—and he did. By the end of the evening, he and his team had solved the puzzle and had tracked down everyone who had been affected.
He left curing himself almost to the very end, in case his adversary let slip anything at the last minute. Dr. Rawat volunteered to be the one to administer the medication to the spy when he arrived, and though the older man seemed to find something amusing about his investigation, Julian accepted his offer all the same. It wouldn't do to let the spy know he was on to him.
He kept himself tucked away in the next room and replicating more hypos when the spy came to the infirmary for his shot of the cure. It was a disorienting experience to hear the spy's responses to Dr. Rawat doubled inside his head, but what was most jarring of all were his words just before Dr. Rawat administered the hypo:
To the person who's been listening to me all day: I'm afraid our connection will be severed here. I hope I wasn't too tiresome, and I apologise for any impolite language you might have heard in a moment of frustration. Please don't think too poorly of me.
He very nearly emerged from his hiding place right then to assure the spy that he entirely understood, but he forced himself to stay where he was. Showing himself now would be blowing his cover, or . . . something like that. Whatever it was, he didn't want to do it.
"I'm ready now, Doctor."
Julian heard the hiss of the hypo, and then—his mind was alone. It was an unpleasant sensation, surprisingly so. He could hear the spy talking to Dr. Rawat in the next room, but it wasn't enough; he strained to have the voice back inside his mind as well.
He picked up a hypo and dosed himself with the cure as Dr. Rawat finished up with the spy. There was no sense in keeping himself ill and contagious if there was nothing left to learn.
He stepped out of the room and went to the entrance of the infirmary in time to watch the departure of a grey-skinned man with black hair, dressed in a surprisingly colourful outfit. (He'd been expecting something all black, possibly involving leather.) Hemade certain to monitor him until he was out of sight past the curve of the promenade.
He'd just have to find another way to keep an eye on the spy, it seemed, one that didn't involve the man unconsciously broadcasting his every word. Perhaps he would casually stop by his shop in a day or two and pretend to take an interest in what he had on offer. It would be a more sporting—and frankly more exciting—way to conduct his surveillance.
Decided, he smiled and walked back into the infirmary. The game was afoot, and he couldn't possibly be more excited to play it.
Fandom: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Gen
Rating & Warnings: G
Words: 942
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.
Summary: When a telepathic virus strikes DS9 in Julian's first week on the station, he couldn't be more excited--specially when he begins receiving the speech of one of the station's most notorious residents.
Author's Notes: This is another one I had to rewrite because I was dissatisfied with the way I had initially handled the trope. (Tbh it's another trope that, uh, pretty much does nothing for me.) The second attempt preceded to turn into one of my favourite fics of the challenge. Season 1 Julian, you are an adorkable mess.
Life out on the frontier—no, no, he shouldn't put it like that, lest Major Kira catch him. Life on DS9 (much better) was proving to be every bit as much of an adventure as he'd hoped. Not even a week since he'd arrived—six days, in fact—and already half the station had been stricken with some sort of . . . telepathic disease. The afflicted were either broadcasting everything they said aloud or receiving it from someone (or several someones) else. It had probably originated in the Gamma Quadrant, was simply fascinating, and fortunately, as far as anyone could tell, was harmless.
The worst case he'd seen was Nurse Jabara, who apparently had the entirety of Quark's chattering in her head, poor woman. He'd relieved her of duty and sent her to her quarters with a hypo of ambizine so she could knock herself out until a cure was found. That left them short-staffed at the infirmary, but Julian was positive his team could rise to the challenge.
He himself was a receiver, thankfully of only one person's speech. Whoever they might have been, they were clearly a mutterer, and just as clearly displeased about something. Not that it bothered him—on the contrary, it was rather cosy. The speaker had a pleasant voice despite his irritation and, well, no one in the infirmary was speaking very much in case they were a transmitter (or a rare receiver-transmitter). If it weren't for the disease, he would have found the silence highly distracting.
As he tried to work out a cure, he also tried to discover the identity of his . . . companion, he supposed. Initially, it was difficult—the man only spoke in snatches or, occasionally, swore. But then he got his first sentence:
It's beyond me how Starfleet could wear this many holes in their uniforms in six days. I'm beginning to think they're made out of gauze.
Julian's mouth dropped open. "It's the spy!"
Dr. Rawat looked up from the computer model they'd all been constructing. ". . . Sorry?"
"That's whose voice I've been hearing—it's the spy's!" Julian explained as he fought the urge to roam around the infirmary in excitement. "I'll have to pay close attention in case he contacts one of his, um, contacts."
"What's he been talking about?" Nurse Bevar asked.
"Well . . . sewing. But I'm sure he'll let slip important information if I just keep listening!" he added quickly.
"Yes, sir." Nurse Bevar went back to her work.
It was a tricky thing to balance, listening for clues indicating a threat to the security of the station and coming up with the cure for a brand new alien disease, but if anyone could manage it, he could—and he did. By the end of the evening, he and his team had solved the puzzle and had tracked down everyone who had been affected.
He left curing himself almost to the very end, in case his adversary let slip anything at the last minute. Dr. Rawat volunteered to be the one to administer the medication to the spy when he arrived, and though the older man seemed to find something amusing about his investigation, Julian accepted his offer all the same. It wouldn't do to let the spy know he was on to him.
He kept himself tucked away in the next room and replicating more hypos when the spy came to the infirmary for his shot of the cure. It was a disorienting experience to hear the spy's responses to Dr. Rawat doubled inside his head, but what was most jarring of all were his words just before Dr. Rawat administered the hypo:
To the person who's been listening to me all day: I'm afraid our connection will be severed here. I hope I wasn't too tiresome, and I apologise for any impolite language you might have heard in a moment of frustration. Please don't think too poorly of me.
He very nearly emerged from his hiding place right then to assure the spy that he entirely understood, but he forced himself to stay where he was. Showing himself now would be blowing his cover, or . . . something like that. Whatever it was, he didn't want to do it.
"I'm ready now, Doctor."
Julian heard the hiss of the hypo, and then—his mind was alone. It was an unpleasant sensation, surprisingly so. He could hear the spy talking to Dr. Rawat in the next room, but it wasn't enough; he strained to have the voice back inside his mind as well.
He picked up a hypo and dosed himself with the cure as Dr. Rawat finished up with the spy. There was no sense in keeping himself ill and contagious if there was nothing left to learn.
He stepped out of the room and went to the entrance of the infirmary in time to watch the departure of a grey-skinned man with black hair, dressed in a surprisingly colourful outfit. (He'd been expecting something all black, possibly involving leather.) Hemade certain to monitor him until he was out of sight past the curve of the promenade.
He'd just have to find another way to keep an eye on the spy, it seemed, one that didn't involve the man unconsciously broadcasting his every word. Perhaps he would casually stop by his shop in a day or two and pretend to take an interest in what he had on offer. It would be a more sporting—and frankly more exciting—way to conduct his surveillance.
Decided, he smiled and walked back into the infirmary. The game was afoot, and he couldn't possibly be more excited to play it.
