Benton walked with Sitto up to the bar in the Virgo's forward mess hall. Lazarus Kox came up to them from behind the counter as they sat down. He slung a bar towel over his shoulder as he said, "what'll it be, gentlemen?"
"Hasperat salad," answered Sitto. "And a root beer," he amended.
"Water," said Benton.
"Lieutenant, I'm glad there's only one of you," said Kox with a wry smile. He disappeared back in the kitchen area for just a few seconds, then emerged with a tray carrying a plate and two glasses. He set the tray in front of the security men. "Enjoy, gentlemen," he said.
Sitto picked up the tray and said, "Thanks, Laz." He headed for a vacant table near the windows of the mess hall. Benton followed him.
The two yellow-clad men sat. Sitto said, "Did I ever tell you it's nice to have you back? Even though you were never really gone?
"No, Sitto," said Benton.
"Well, it is," said Sitto. He dug into his plate of hasperat salad, while Benton quashed his hunger with one of his little blue nutrition pills and his glass of water.
"Did I ever tell you about the case of the sealbird smugglers?" asked Benton.
"No," said Sitto, reluctantly. He knew a painful story would follow.
Benton started, "We were having problems with poachers who were smuggling baby white sealbird fur. The poachers would club the defenseless baby sealbirds repeatedly until they were dead, and then sell the white fur on the interstellar fur market.
He paused long enough to take another sip of water, then with a bit more pride in his voice, continued, "In the end I finally managed to insinuate myself into one of the poachers' hunting parties."
"So what happened?" asked Sitto.
"Well, I was clubbed repeatedly, Sitto."
"Oh." Sitto rolled his eyes.
Just then, Benton felt something bump against his leg under the table. Whatever it was was nudging his knee. Benton smiled at Sitto. Strange. Some form of humanoid social interaction I have not encountered yet? But Sitto didn't seem to be paying attention. He had just stuffed his last forkful of salad into his mouth. Slowly Benton bent down to look what it was that was brushing against him under the table.
"Spot!" Benton plucked his pet tribble Spot from under the tabletop, where Spot had been sticking like a wad of old chewing gum. He placed Spot in the center of the table between himself and Sitto.
"I was wondering when you were going to turn up again," chided Benton. "Why is it I only see you when you are unable to find junk food on your own?"
Spot chirped a reply. He trolleyed over to Sitto's plate, but hasperat salad leftovers were not to his liking, much too spicy. Spot trundled over to the edge of the table and chirped for attention.
"What?" said Benton. "Oh. Here you go." He picked Spot up and placed him on the deck. "Now, don't get into any trouble. Try the bar!" called Benton after the retreating Spot.
Spot headed across the deck towards the rear of the mess hall. He maneuvered between walking feet and sliding chairs. There was no reasonable explanation as to how Spot had avoided being squashed underfoot long ago. Maybe it was because he was half-glommer and could take care of himself better than a normal tribble could.
Spot scootched his way past a table where two young woman officers were sitting and talking.
The one with short, dark brown hair was saying to the one with long, curly auburn hair, "I know what it is. I'm an idiot. I meet this guy, he's like no one I've ever met before..." At this she paused and sighed wistfully.
Auburn-hair nodded knowingly and sighed as well. They both looked into their drinks.
Brown-hair continued, "You know what I mean? Warm, caring, sensitive, the kind that really rips your guts out. And right there... RIGHT THERE... I should have known. There should have been this big anti-proton sign flashing in ten-lightyear-high letters, 'Francesca, you're about to make a complete fool of yourself!' I mean, just who the heck does he think he is? Coming around here with that dopey looking grin, saying things like, 'Good morning, Francesca,' 'How are you today, Francesca?' 'Thank you kindly, Francesca.' Like I'm supposed to just take that? And the minute you let him get to you, you can't sleep, your skin starts to break out, and the next thing you know you're wandering around the decks in the middle of the night singing show tunes at the top of your lungs!"
Brown-hair stopped short, having realized she was becoming seriously unglued. She looked quickly around to see if anybody was staring, and tried to compose herself. "Do you have any idea what that feels like?"
Auburn-hair nodded knowingly and sighed again.
Spot moved on.
He finally made his way to the bar along the back wall. He started making his way up the vertical side of the bar when he suddenly started levitating! He floated up a few feet, then over a foot and finally downward to settle gently on the surface of the bar counter.
There was a humanoid face looking down on him and smiling. Spot looked back at the humanoid.
The humanoid continued his scrutiny for a few more seconds, then stood back a little and scratched his head. After another few seconds he said, "I wonder if you taste as good as live cats?"
Spot was appalled! He reared back and hissed and screeched. He tried to make his way back to the edge of the bar as fast as he could. He suddenly wished he had more glommer blood in him. If he had, he would already be out the door in the nearest turbolift headed for the furthest part of the ship. But as it was, he was condemned to the snail's-pace crawl that normal tribbles traveled at. He was doomed!!!
Just then, a second humanoid being replaced the first. His hand came down on Spot. Spot cringed at the touch. This was it! The giant hand lifted him off the bar top, through the air and down into some sort of pink box.
But wait! Spot smelled something familiar, something he craved above all other things in the universe!
JELLY DOUGHNUTS!
"Eat up, little friend," said Dweezle. Dweezle smiled a friendly smile.
So did Spot.