Ensign Doz Finch - The Dog on the Moon
Doz Finch
((Commercial Promenade, Deep Space Nine))
She had found herself at the front of a large crowd of alien tourists. Some were tall and bony, and a few were short and hairy, while others had flickering antennae, extra eyes and even the occasional and classic pointed ear. They had all been listening to a meek Bajoran talk about the various different rooms, staircases and bulkheads that they had passed during their tour along the winding and echoing promenade, his voice as thin as the wiry hair on his head—a head that, incidentally, kept tilting to the side, seemingly weighed down by an oversized earring that dangled from his desperate lobe.
She didn't know if his monologues had been from a script or entirely from memory, but what she did know was that they had been about as exciting as watching milk curdle. Stood beside her was a squadron of Andorians, complaining about how they should have spent their time at the recreational ice sculpting event on the upper deck, instead of having wasted it on the tour, and opposite to them on her other side was a stoic Vulcan pressing her fingertips together with so much force that she half expected them to snap at any given moment.
Tour Guide: And so… here in this very spot there was… for a time at least… one of the stations first bureaux where one could exchange one's credits, and latinum, and other… less frequently used, and… generally less valuable… forms of currency, so that one could go about one’s day and purchase the things that one, well… desired most in that moment...
She leaned into the Vulcan with a whisper.
Finch: I had a nasty run in once with an exchange bureau representative. Oh yeah, it’s true. On Ferenginar. ::Shaking her head:: Steer clear of them when it comes to swapping your credits, that’s my advice.
T’Plai: I do not foresee any immediate reason for why I would find myself in need of a Ferenginar exchange bureau.
Finch: That’s what I thought as well, until it actually happened. Enjoying the tour?
T’Plai: It is most…
Finch: I’ll say it for you, love. Boring! ::grinning:: Hello, I’m Doz.
T’Plai: T’Plai.
Andorian: ::Hissing:: We don’t want to hear about exchange bureaus! This is ridiculous! What about the command centre!? The prison cells!? You are wasting our time with this nonsense!
Tour Guide: Uh, the, ehum, necessity for exchange bureaus here at Deep Space Nine was… in some political and, ehum… economical sense… most needed for those visitors who…
T’Plai: What brings you to Deep Space Nine, Doz?
Finch: Good old and well overdue shore leave. Very needed after what we’ve just gone through, let me tell you. ::She cachinnates, shaking her head:: Don’t ask, T’Plai. All I’ll say is that I’ll be sleeping with my eyes open from now on.
T’Plai: That sounds most illogical… however I will, as you Humans say, take your word for it.
She gave the Vulcan a wink, and turned her attention back to the wispy man and his painstakingly long soliloquy on the history of exchanging currency in the very spot they stood in. Behind him, through the strange vertically placed windows, she could see thousands of stars, like little crystals on a black lake. She almost disappeared into it, as the man's whirring voice began to blend in with the ship's own melody…
…until the sound of swishing metallic feet pierced through the serenity, in the form of a four legged robot, erratically charging through the crowd, violently (and perhaps triumphantly) interrupting the tour. As it soared through them, she and T’Prai moved out the way, watching in confusion.
Stranger: Get that robot!
She gave it no second thought; as quick as a zip, she was gone from the crowd, chasing after the robot alongside a stranger, her grey hair pushed backwards in the onslaught of swooshing artificial air. The robot weaved through yelping groups and crowds, upending stalls along its path for Doz and the stranger to dodge and jump over, her ears filled with the noise of its oddly mechanical scurry. As her heart pumped inside her chest like the drums of a marching band, and her lungs squeezed and released with each pant, she did all she could to keep up the pace, her small body shuddering rigidly along like a jittering videotape; it was only when she caught sight of its tail, did the memory come flooding back to her.
((Flashback: Many years before - Main Engineering, USS Marigold))
The Denobulan Chief Engineer, Zeeza, along with Finch and Norström stood in front of a central table upon which a dirt-covered robot lay sprawled on its side, scattered specks of silver glinting under a spotlight from above.
Zeeza: Hmm. Curious thing.
Norström: Not a thing, Chief! Look at it. Four legs, a tail. It’s a dog!
Zeeza: One made of composite metals, apparently.
Finch: Are you thinking what I’m thinking, Zee?
Zeeza: Extendable receiver, with a light-emitting diode housed in a thermoplastic radome…
Finch: …Retractable titanium wheels…
Zeeza: It's basically textbook.
Finch: You’re definitely thinking what I’m thinking.
Zeeza: There is no doubt about it.
Norström: Well!?
Finch: It’s a rover.
Zeeza continued to stare at the robot, her thin lips pressed together in silent rumination, whilst Murphy, amazed but also perplexed, scrunched his face up.
Norström: A rover!? Out in the middle of nowhere, on a random insignificant moon? ::a pause:: But why?
Zeeza: Why indeed.
Finch: Doing a bit of scientific research, maybe? Gathering a bit of information…looking for minerals?
Norström: Or sniffing them out?
Finch: Maybe it was doing a bit of digging?
Norström: Looking for a bone?
Finch: On a moon, Murph!?
Norström: Maybe it thought the moon was a tree?
Finch: Well it obviously barked up the wrong one then!
As they both burst into sonorous laughter, Zeeza, faintly grinning, continued to examine it.
Zeeza: The casing is rudimentary and nothing all together special, but its inner configuration is a lot more interesting. ::peering into its belly:: Do you see that?
Finch: Batteries. Totally inert, do you think? Good to no-one?
Zeeza: Not necessarily. Scan its inner shell for anything that may indicate a power source.
She squeezed her lips together and crossed her eyebrows seriously, taking a tricorder from the table in front of them, quickly performing a scan of the robots inner shell.
Finch: Here we are… oh, you’ll like this, Murph. Radionuclides.
Norström: Aha! That means we can save it! But hang on—it's a bit dangerous for us to be around it then, isn’t it?
Zeeza: No, no. You can't back away now. Pets are for life.
Finch: ::Assuringly:: There’s only traces of it, Murph, it’s barely there. The thing’s obviously been offline for, well...
Zeeza: I would say many decades.
Norström: ::Tutting:: So he was out there all that time—cold and alone.
Zeeza: Alone perhaps but not cold.
Finch: That's right, because of its thermogenic power system. But I wonder what happened to it? A malfunction, maybe?
Norström: Sounds like you that, Doz. Malfunction’s your middle name, isn’t it?
Finch: I’ll malfunction you in a minute! ::waving the scanner::
Norström: Ahh!
After giving Murphy a playful swipe, and pretend daggers, they both turned their attention back to Zeeza, whose pensive contemplation always gave off an air of mystique, her brilliant brain conjuring up something always worth hearing.
Zeeza: I think I can bring it back online.
Finch: Fantastic! What do you need?
Zeeza: Time and resources…yes, time and resources. I’ll find the time, Doz, if you can get the resources together.
Norström: And me? You’re not going to leave an electronics specialist out of this, are you? It would be a crime if you did.
Zeeza: You have the most important task of all of us, Mister Norström.
Norström: Really? ::smiling:: And what task is that?
Zeeza: To come up with a name for it.
With a resounding and delighted smack of the table, Murphy heartily laughed, overjoyed that Zeeza had agreed to help bring the robot back online. And Finch, grinning from ear to ear, could only laugh along with him. It was going to be a challenge, particularly doing it under the nose of Gepe Grasa who so often loathed people and their passion projects, but if they could bring that robot back to life, then they surely had to try.
((Present day: Commercial Promenade, Deep Space Nine))
Her chest was tight as she continued on with the chase, and the robot, not fazed in the slightest, carried on with its tireless marathon of the promenade, until it reached a wall that it couldn’t get past, spinning itself around in what could visually have indicated a panic, if not for its wagging mechanical tail that seemed to say otherwise. Doz, now clutching her chest for breath, exhaling a wild mixture of laughter and squawks, stopped in front of it, not letting it out of her sight.
The stranger who had gotten stuck behind a gaggle of Bolians, finally came to a stop at her side, in a breathless eddy of his own.
Stranger: Good, you cornered the thing.
Finch: The...thing? ::she said, catching her breath:: Four legs, a tail… no, it’s not just a thing. ::She stood to her full height with a satisfied sigh:: Look at it. It’s a dog!
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