“Turkey’s in!” yelled Lili as she banged shut two of the oven doors. She sat down for the moment.
Craig walked in. “You wanted to see me?”
“Yeah,” she replied, “let’s see if we can pass off some of the replicated food today.”
“For Thanksgiving?”
“Well, why not?”
“Yeah, okay. We can make raw vegetables.”
“Crudités.”
“Crudities.”
“No, silly, crudités!” she enunciated.
“I can’t speak French at all,” he went over to fiddle with the replicator.
“Ah, well, you see, I am half-French.”
“O’Day is a French name?”
“No, Ducasse is.”
“Ah, I see. Well, Willets is Willets – we’re just English or something, I dunno. Do you want me to make shrimp?”
“Sure, but maybe later. It’ll be a few hours before the turkey’s done. Maybe let’s start with a nice pumpkin purée.”
“Are we running out of turkey?” he asked.
“Well, it’s only a finite supply. I do hope you can make something taste a bit like turkey. I hear they’re going to go back to Amity and try to bring down one of those big guys.”
“Procul,” he clarified, “we voted on the names, remember?”
“Yeah, the procul. I guess Andy and some of the other Science folks will check it out. Maybe they’ll hand me the leftovers. Procul stew, anyone?”
“I dunno,” he mumbled.
Will walked in. “Do we have pie yet?”
“Nothing yet,” she reported, “I’ll make pumpkin soon; I just wanted to get my bearings.”
“Okay, and let’s make a pecan pie, all right?”
“Sure thing, Will. Do uh, do you think we’ll get any of that procul beast to try to cook it?” she asked.
“What?”
“The procul. I understand they’re going to probably shoot one tomorrow and then it’ll be analyzed.”
“Aren’t those things poisonous?” asked Will.
“I think only the little clam guys – er, malostrea – are, sir,” explained Craig.
“Huh. Well, Miller or whoever analyzes them had better be certain. We don’t want to be poisoning anyone.”
“Of course not,” Lili looked over at Craig, “Ah, pumpkin purée! Let’s see how that tastes before I start making pies. Grab a spoon, Will.”
=/=
The chow line started early. It was all Lili could do to keep up. Brian came over. “Here, let me help you.”
“Oh, you’re a lifesaver! There are rolls in the warmer; could you refill the basket and maybe get more clean plates?” She turned back to serving before even waiting for him to acknowledge her instructions.
Plates piled high with turkey, chestnut stuffing, mashed potatoes with the skin on, cranberry sauce, asparagus with slivered almonds, carrots with an orange and dill sauce and, of course, gravy. Side salads were heaping, as bowls of lettuces, tomatoes and walnut halves were topped with gorgonzola cheese and vinaigrette, or just vinaigrette if a diner was vegan or keeping kosher.
Captain Archer abandoned the captain’s mess and entered the cafeteria. He got in line with the others but they parted and let him get to the beginning of the line. “No, no,” he insisted, “I’ll just wait,” he stood at the front of the line but let others pass ahead of him.
Then Tracey and Oscar arrived and he called her over. “You first,” the captain commanded.
“Me?”
“You’re eating for two, right?”
“I can still wait to eat, captain!”
“I know,” Jonathan stated, “I just wanted to do a little something for you, okay?”
“Okay. Will you be okay with a Latin mass?” asked Oscar.
“I’ll try,” Jonathan told them, “we even have a special communion host for you.”
“No wafers?” asked Oscar.
“I made you something,” Lili explained, “I understand that it just needs to be blessed and then you’re good to go. After all, wasn’t the bread in the Last Supper matzoh anyway?”
“Probably,” allowed Oscar, “uh, more of the dark meat, please.”
“You got it.”
=/=
Captain Archer disappeared back into the captain’s mess after being served. He waited for Tripp and T’Pol to join him.
“This is such a curious holiday,” she opined, “It is not religious, yet it has some of the earmarks of faith.”
“That’s true,” Tripp confirmed, “we didn’t pray before meals, except on Turkey Day. I guess we just wanted to really express our gratitude.”
“Is the slaughter of the turkey necessary?”
“Well, not really,” Jonathan explained, “I bet some of the crew didn’t have turkey on Thanksgiving before, um, before. You’re not the only vegan crew member.”
“True, but it seems to be a necessity for many of them. What will they do when there is no more turkey?”
Jonathan stopped in mid-bite. “I guess we’ll just improvise.”
=/=
Sandra was sitting with Lili’s roommate, Sophie, and a bunch of other single women, not too far from a table that was packed with male MACOs. The cafeteria was really crowded, as people had brought in extra chairs, and some of them were seated on desk chairs or Bio Lab stools or the like. She complained, “It’s like cheek by jowl in here. A little too much togetherness.”
“I think the night shift is here,” Sophie buttered a roll, “I wonder who’s flying the ship.”
“It’s on auto,” Ingrid quipped, “Or maybe the Xindi are driving.”
“Don’t say that,” Sandra seethed, “they give me the creeps. Not unlike some others.”
“Do tell,” Sophie pressed.
“Well, it’s just that some people are just, oh …” her voice trailed off.
“Oh, don’t mind me;” said Rex Ryan, one of the MACOs, turning around and eavesdropping. “I’m just here for the scenery.”
“Aren’t you, like, married or going out or something?” asked Victoria.
“Me? Ha, no.”
“I dunno where I got that idea, Ryan,” Shari sniffed.
“I suppose I could,” Rex suggested, “marry you, or Sophie, or maybe Colleen, eh?”
“In your dreams,” Sandra replied sharply.
“’Scuse me, Miss I’m Too Good for you. Ladies,” he turned back to his friends.
“What was that all about?” asked Tara.
“He thinks he’s God’s gift,” Sandra complained, “they all do. But then there are the others. You know, they wouldn’t know what to do if you waved it in their faces.”
“Virgins?” asked Ingrid.
“Probably,” Sandra sneered, “I mean, get a load of,” she lowered her voice a little, “Shapiro over there. Pining for what’s-her-face. That ship has sailed, Bub! He, like, he was ridiculous. And that’s not the worst of it.” She pointed at Ethan, who was sitting with Andrew and Shelby and trying, unsuccessfully, not to stare at Karin.
“Well, you talked about the Brit,” Sophie nodded, “sheesh. Totally closeted.” They all murmured agreement, seemingly knowing, as Malcolm got to the front of the line and didn’t hear them.
“Uh, are the potatoes made with milk?” he asked Lili.
“And butter, too, sorry. But hang on a second.” She disappeared in the back for a moment, and returned with a plain baked potato on a little plate and a small ramekin.
“Don’t tell anybody,” she whispered to him, dumping the potato on his plate.
He smiled and took the little ramekin – it had the odds and ends of bacon in it – and dumped its contents over the potato. “You always know the right thing. You’re rather good at your job.”
“I try. Remember – tell no one.”
“Understood, and I thank you.”
=/=
Back at the single women’s table, they were still looking Malcolm over. “Man, that waitress! She’s in for a surprise, eh?” Victoria quipped, and they all laughed.
“You don’t have to live with her,” Sophie complained, “she talks in her sleep. Constantly.”
“What does she talk about?” Tara asked.
“Guys,” Sophie revealed, “I mean, she must be the most frustrated dried-up old spinster there is! And then when she’s awake she covers it up and talks about food. Again, constantly. So boring.”
“We should switch,” Sandra suggested, “I’m living with Haddon, the Queen of the Dykes. See her over there, with Masterson? He’s another one in for a surprise, eh?”
MACO Frank Todd turned around this time. “And what do you have to say about us?”
“You?” Sandra looked him up and down. “You might be good for something. But you’ll have to get in line. This stuff’s rarer and finer than your turkey dinner, Soldier.”
“Actually, I hear you give it away. A lot,” he said.
“You want some o’ this?” she laughed, “Well you can’t get any.” She turned back to her friends and they all joined her in laughter.
He turned back to his table for a second, ready to finish eating, and then thought better of it. “Rex, pick up my tray. And yours, too. In fact, everyone, pick up your trays,” he said to the other MACOs – Woods, Moreno, Brown and Forbes.
“What are you doing, man?” asked Forbes.
“Something that shoulda been done a long time ago,” Todd replied. He got up.
He clambered up until he was standing on the table. He was already tall, and had to stoop slightly so as to avoid hitting his head on the ceiling. Everyone stopped what they were doing and quieted down, even the women at Sandra’s table.
He spoke, loudly projecting. “My name is Franklin Thomas Todd. And while it is nobody’s goddamned business, except for the people I care about, and who care about me, I want you all to know that I am a gay man. I don’t hide. I am not ashamed. I am who I am, and being gay is as much a part of me as having a tattoo on my bicep, or brown eyes or being from Europa originally.”
He cleared his throat a little before continuing. “I say this to tell others, don’t be afraid, and don’t be ashamed. And I say this to tell some that their rumors and their speculations, they might be wrong. And they are hurtful so much of the time. We are grownups, are we not? Then let’s start acting like them. Let’s put aside these childish whisper games and act like men and women. Let’s remember that we are MACOs, or we are Starfleet, and we are all members of the NX-01’s crew. And we should be acting like the pride of the fleet, and not some middle school.”
He stood there quietly for a second. “I am hearing slurs about people. I am hearing innuendo. I am hearing anger and thoughtlessness and nastiness. I am hearing haughtiness and pettiness. I am hearing people who are being divisive, when we should be pulling together with even more strength and caring than we were before. There are some people here, it’s true, who probably won’t find somebody. But we don’t have to go around rubbing their noses in it, or treating them like pariahs. Today is Thanksgiving.”
He didn’t even hear the swish of the door opening between the cafeteria and the captain’s mess. Jonathan, Tripp and T’Pol had apparently heard, and had opened the door so as to hear him better.
“Today is; it’s a day when we’re supposed to be coming together as, as people. We’re supposed to be kinder to each other. We don’t have to love each other, although I think a lot of us will. I hope everybody finds some peace even if they don’t find love. And I hope we can be kinder and sweeter to each other, from, from now on. Because I hate what I’ve been hearing. And I don’t ever want to hear it again. You wanna talk that way? Then you shut up about it whenever I’m in the room. Because I do not want to hear it ever again.”
He caught his breath and caught the captain’s eye. Jonathan slowly started applauding. Most of the rest of the crew joined in, although not all of them. Sheepishly, Frank got off the table. Lili came over and wiped down the table with a rag. “Hang on a second,” she told him.
She disappeared into the back and brought out the two kinds of pies. “First choice of dessert for a very brave man.”
“I’ll, um, I’ll take the pumpkin, thanks.”
=/=
In the hallway after dinner, Frank walked away as fast as he could. He hated being the center of attention. That was not his job; he was there to take orders, and not to give them, at least at that stage of his career. But he had had all he could take, and more.
“Todd!” he heard his name again, and spun around.
“What?”
“I just wanted to tell you that I appreciate what you said.” It was Dave Constantine.
“Yeah, um, thanks.”
“It’s ‘cause I am, too, and those women, they, they’ve made it hard to just come out and be done with it. They make it seem like it’s wrong, like it’s just another bit of fodder for their jokes and their, what did you call that?”
“Whisper games.”
“Yeah, good expression. I, um, tell me more good expressions. I’m sure you’ve got a thousand,” Dave stammered.
“You asking me out?”
“I guess I am.”
“On one condition.”
“Name it,” Dave said.
“That we are open about this. We don’t have to do public displays but I want people to know that we are together. That we might hold hands sometimes, or stuff like that. That we are, um, together.”
“You got it,” Dave tentatively held his hand out. Frank took it, and together they walked down the hall of the NX-01.
=/=
David Constantine’s Personal log, November twenty-fifth, 2037
Life has changed, and for the better.
I don’t know if Frank and I will be long-term, but it’s, it’s a good thing. He is one helluva brave fellow. There is nothing sexier than openness and honesty, than telling the naysayers to go to hell and have a good day while doing it.
He’s a good kisser, too.
=/=
Victoria Dietrich’s Personal log, November twenty-fifth, 2037
I can’t believe I was suckered in by that. It was wrong, what we were saying, and doing. Frank Todd is right – we’ve been acting childishly. No more. At least, no more of that will come from me.
I want to get past that, and go beyond it. It’s time I began looking for a fellow. I don’t want to be just running and giggling and pointing fingers as if was eight years old again. I want to be in love, or at least be close to that.
=/=
Malcolm Reed’s Personal log, November twenty-fifth, 2037
I have to say, I am a bit grateful for Private Todd’s speech today. I know he was speaking for the gay men and women on the ship, but he could have been speaking for any of us who have been victims of the vicious rumors.
I feel better about things but I still don’t feel confident. I don’t know how I shall get that back. That part is nowhere near as easy to reclaim. But I am hopeful.
=/=
William Slocum’s Personal log, November twenty-fifth, 2037
It looks like no one even noticed that most of the white meat turkey was replicated. Willets is really working out well.
As for vegetables, the replicated potatoes were good, as were the almonds. We had to sliver them, but that made for a better presentation anyway. It all worked out for the best. There was also very good pumpkin purée although I think it was a bit more like sweet potato purée. It may need a little adjusting.
The private’s speech today gave me pause. I don’t pass on the rumors but I don’t squelch them, either. I think that’s a part of this. People like me need to start actively telling the rumormongers to shut their traps. I know Lili does. I’ll start doing that as well.
And speaking of her, I need to somehow figure out a way to get through to her. She only sees me as her boss. How can I get her to see that I am a lonely man?
=/=
Sophie Creighton’s Personal log, November twenty-fifth, 2037
Sandra is right; we should switch roommates. I’ll put in a request and see if I can move in with her and leave the chatty waitress behind. Pain in my tail!
And that speech – sheesh! I half expected swelling strings behind that big galoot of a private. I bet he and Reed went off riding into the sunset, or maybe the Major. And then to do – gross! Things I don’t want to think about. It’s unnatural, is what it is.