Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft - The Legend of Miniature Timothy
Carter Schimpff
(( Outside the Grand Cultural Enrichment Theater – Ferenginar ))
The theater looked less like a place of art and more like a building that had been surgically converted from several souvenir stands. Gilded latinum filigree adorned every column, eave, and frieze. Over the grand entrance, a scrolling electronic banner in violently-festive red and green blinked:
THE GRAND PREMIERE OF A CHRISTMAS CAROL
A Heartwarming Tale of Fiscal Triumph
Roy Bancroft approached the entrance with the wary gait of a man walking headfirst into a prank, the collar of his overcoat flipped up against his neck to drive away some of the slashing rain.
Just outside the entrance, Natasha Cole leaned against a railing, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the blinking banner overhead.
Bancroft: ::winking:: Still think this is a good idea?
Cole: Response
The two stepped through the massive double doors and into the theater’s atrium. Immediately, they were swarmed by Ferengi ushers in red velvet vests who offered them things like ‘headsets for authentic Earth-accent translation’ and ‘limited-edition peppermint-scented earplugs’ for various sums of latinum – all of which, Roy was sure, were extortionate.
Cole: Response
Roy declined all of their offers and stepped up to the nearest attendant.
Bancroft: Pardon, is there a coat check?
Attendant: Two slips of latinum.
Roy frowned, but fished two slips out of his pocket and handed them over. The attendant grinned widely and gestured six meters to the left, where a small alcove sat beneath a glittering sign:
COAT CHECK
5 Slips of Latinum
Bancroft: ::dryly, to Nat:: I think I just got charged for asking a question.
Cole: Response
They entered the theater proper – a vast, gilded space that smelled faintly of laminate glue. Rows of seats were arranged around a gaudy golden stage. A holographic display hovered above the proscenium arch, shimmering with the words:
A Christmas Carol
(Adapted from ancient Earth tradition by the Ferengi Association of Cultural Appropriation and Profitability)
The lights overhead twinkled as the two of them took their seats, and Roy flipped open his ‘Official Playbill’ (for that’s what was inscribed on the front of the document) and began reading aloud to the both of them in a low voice.
Bancroft: ::squinting:: Okay. According to this, Ebenezer Scrooge is being played by ‘Zibol the Magnificent,’ a Ferengi actor renowned for his award-winning performance in Guess Who Touched my Latinum.
Cole: Response
Bancroft: Bob Cratchit is being played by… ::eyes narrowing further:: a Romulan named S’Vek. Claims to be a former member of the Tal Shiar turned method actor. There’s a footnote that says ‘may improvise.’
Cole: Response
Roy raised an eyebrow at her question and moved his finger further down the rows of text until he found the correct entry.
Bancroft: I’ll be – you’re absolutely right, Nat. Tiny Tim is being played by a Klingon. And, apparently, not just any Klingon. He’s the reigning champion of 'Babies and Bat’leths', Ferenginar’s most popular child-gladiator reality show.
Cole: Response
He flipped the page of the Playbill again.
Bancroft: Oh, this is fantastic. The Ghost of Christmas Present is played by… a Ferengi in gift wrap. Because they misinterpreted it as ‘ChristmasPresent,’ no space. There’s a large bow involved.
Cole: Response
The lights dimmed. A single spotlight illuminated center stage, where a Ferengi narrator stepped forward wearing a powdered wig and holding a scroll that unrolled all the way to his feet.
Narrator: ::clearing his throat:: Once upon a time, in the chilly fiscal year end of old Earth, there lived a man of vision. A paragon of efficiency. A hero of profit, maligned by fools and freeloaders alike… Ebenezer Scrooge!
The crowd – mostly Ferengi – erupted in thunderous applause. A spotlight hit stage right, where Scrooge entered, cackling and draped in sparkling gold robes.
Scrooge: Bah! Humbug! Altruism is a pyramid scheme!
He pointed accusingly at the audience as he spoke.
Scrooge: You lot! Are you maximizing your quarterly profits? No? Then you deserve your misery!
The set was a baffling hybrid of Dickensian fog and Ferengi luxury. A holographic cityscape flickered to the rear of the stage, occasionally glitching between Victorian London and ‘sunset on Risa.’
Scrooge sat himself behind a ‘desk’ – or, at least, that’s what Roy would have called it. In reality, it was an enormous latinum slab on stilts.
Scrooge: ::gleefully:: Three more evictions today! Glorious.
Suddenly, the prop door to Scrooge’s ‘office’ slammed open – a full beat too early, Roy judged – and a cloaked figure stalked just outside the spotlight trying to follow him.
The figure peeled back his hood to reveal the pointy-eared face of Bob Cratchit. His outfit was mostly era-appropriate, save for the disruptor holster peeking out beneath his waistcoat and a vial of something chartreuse hanging from his belt.
Bob Cratchit: ::voice low, conspiratorial:: Esteemed Auditor Scrooge… I require one additional solstice cycle of personal absence. My son, Miniature Timothy, is… undergoing recalibration.
He said it as though he was confessing to high treason.
Scrooge: ::enraged:: The only thing you’ll be recalibrating is your retirement plan, Cratchit! Request denied!
Bob Cratchit: I anticipated this. ::loudly:: Activate contingency protocol five!
He stepped to the side of the stage, tugged at the curtain dramatically, and gestured as if summoning someone from the wings.
A beat passed.
Then, from stage left, a burly Klingon youth in a ragged Victorian smock hobbled into view. He wielded a comically undersized cane and glared at Scrooge with the seething intensity of a boy whose first word had been ‘betrayal.’
Tiny Tim: ::waving too-small cane:: DEATH TO SCROOGE!
Bancroft: ::whispering to Cole:: Is he… going to assassinate Scrooge?
Cole: Response
Bancroft: ::sipping his overpriced fizzy kelpwater:: God bless us. Every one.
TAG/TBC!
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Lieutenant JG Roy Bancroft
Medical Officer
USS Artemis-A
A240205RB1