Chicken Nuggets Taste So Good (Part 2 of 2)

Posted on 24 Jan 2025 @ 9:30pm by Petty Officer 3rd Class Yasmin Aquino & Lieutenant JG Hovar Kov & Chief Petty Officer Katja Becker & Petty Officer 2nd Class Donald Andrews & Petty Officer 3rd Class Isla Sheridan & EMH Mark X-C "Shirley"

2,600 words; about a 13 minute read

Mission: Episode 20 - Reconstruction
Location: USS Galileo-A - Deck 3, Counselor's Office
Timeline: MD 09, 2015 hrs

Previously on Chicken Nuggets Tastes So Good (Part 1)...

Hovar looked behind him and he saw another individual enter his office. Smiling, Hovar stood up, towering everyone, and he motioned for the rather large spread of chicken nuggets and sauces that filled the large table that Hovar had set up.

"Yes. There's regular nuggets, garlic and herb, spicy, some others and a few sauces to develop your own tastes. This is an informal event so no need to be formal. We are shipmates before any other rank."

Hovar then pointed to the other attendants to what was supposed to be Hovar's dinner, but it became a public event.

And Now, the Conclusion...

[ON]

"Right now it's just myself, Ms. Aquino, and the EMH who has graced us with her presence. May I get you a drink?"

Isla sauntered into the counselor's office as if she'd just been invited to a royal banquet. The faintest smirk played at her lips, perfectly calibrated to imply that she belonged, yet wasn't above poking fun at the very idea. The aroma of spices and fried decadence greeted her like an old friend.

"Ah, Chaplain, I see you've embraced the universal language of diplomacy: snacks." Her voice, warm yet noncommittal, filled the room as she took in the eclectic scene of Klingon, chicken nuggets, and an EMH looking as comfortable as a cat in a shower.

Without waiting for an actual invitation, she pulled a chair slightly askew - enough to suggest she was considering sitting, but not yet committed. "I came by to introduce myself," she added, the words rolling off her tongue with the kind of breezy charm that had gotten her out of more than a few scrapes in her less-than-sterling past. "Petty Officer Isla Sheridan, engineer, rogue juggler of malfunctioning systems, and aspiring connoisseur of… whatever you've got going here."

Hovar welcomed the new member of his dinner, Petty Officer Sheridan, and was observant of her behavior. On the one hand, she had already welcomed herself to his food. The Chaplain considered on making this a repeating event.

"Chicken nuggets. I developed a taste for them while I was on Earth during my youth. There's plain and spicy nuggets, garlic and herb, and as many sauces as I can remember. Sweet and sour, BBQ, a spicy sauce that seems to be Ms. Aquino's favorite. The EMH is here to grace us with her presence. Even though she is a hologram, she is still a shipmate."

The Klingon took a deep breath as he raised his arms in a welcome like gesture.

"We're all just hanging out, enjoying some chicken nuggets and whatever we can get on the side."

Yasmin, who was called out by Hovar for helping herself to his dinner and would be sure to bring her Philipine contributions next time, puckered her lips and pointed at the orange looking sauce.

"That spicy sauce, these garlic nuggets, it hits different."

It then dawned on him that while Hovar is a chaplain, he is also an officer, and she didn't want to take advantage of his kindness. Then, this was the first time in a long time that she had any kind of familial interaction with people, and she wanted everyone to have a good time.

Shirley's photonic green eyes narrowed at the irrational humanoid preference for capsaicin. "I must protest. 'Spice' as you call it, is detrimental to your physical well-being. It creates digestive issues along the GI track, internal pain and inflammation, heartburn, and will certainly contribute to Ulcerative colitis. Not to mention the acne, sleep disruption and epidermal flushing long-term consumption will produce."

"You're completely right there Shirley," Donald told her as he picked up several more for himself. "And yet whole wars were fought to control them and the places they grew."

"Well," Isla began, her hazel eyes twinkling mischievously, "if spice is the root of all bodily evil, I suppose humanity's obsession with it is just another testament to our endless commitment to self-destruction. Still, madam EMH, if wars were fought over it, I think it deserves a little reverence, don't you? A nugget's journey to greatness should be celebrated, not scorned."

She reached over, plucked a garlic-herb nugget, and popped it into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully as if she were weighing the meaning of life. "Personally," she continued after swallowing, "I think it's the perfect metaphor for Starfleet. Small, uniform, a bit over-processed, and more palatable when smothered in something that distracts you from what it really is."

A peculiar expression settled in the EMH's holographic features. This was one of the rare moments she occasionally encountered where humanoid metaphors escaped her comprehension despite her programming's most recently-updated cultural references. "Why would you want to be distracted from your mission and duty? Is there something wrong with Starfleet?" Shirley interpreted.

Hovar listened to everyone as he found a separate chair and got a drink, an Arnold Palmer to be precise. He enjoyed the conversation that was being had, and he did enjoy that this was a space where people can share a meal and enjoy themselves. The question of Star Fleet's ills did come up, and Hovar felt the need to contribute.

"Star Fleet shares the same vulnerability as the Romulans, the Klingons, and everyone else, be it their navies or their armies throughout history. The powers that be views everyone as ships or fleets, or platoons or armies. We lose our individuality, our passions, our desires, and we become part of the ship, and we are identified as such. There is no compassion for the fact that we are mortal beings with mortal vulnerabilities. From what I have experienced personally, this can come in all shapes and sizes, and everyone has their unique perspectives."

Isla leaned back, toasting Hovar with a nugget like it was the finest glass of bloodwine. "Couldn't agree more, Chaplain," she said, her smirk deepening. "Starfleet's a grand machine, and we're all just cogs. The trick is making sure you're a cog that occasionally squeaks - just loud enough to remind them you're not just another part of the furniture."

Hovar's glance at Isla was one of cheerfulness, thankful that he was able to have some kind of connection with the crew. It also demonstrated a look of mild concern,

"I'm new to Star Fleet so I lack your experience on the matter. I only know it from a philosophical perspective."

Yasmin then ate her last nugget, knowing that she shouldn't eat more to maintain height-weight.

"Not to offend you as an officer, but what senior officers don't realize is that they think that the bigger the cog, the more important it is. As NCOs who've been here a while, you will be amazed by how much the tiniest of little cogs can squeak for a long time before someone addresses it. Once's too late, the whole thing crumbles and every officer will have a surprised expression on their face as they have to explain themselves to the higher rank."

She looked at Isla as she smirked slightly,

"I don't know about you, but I've seen that one too many times to where I have to force myself not to smile."

Isla returned the smirk for a second before forming her expression into a veneer of thoughtful consideration. "Oh, you're preaching to the choir," she said with a tone that dripped with theatrical sincerity. "The great thing about being a tiny cog is you can see all the other cogs spinning madly around you, oblivious to the fact that one good nudge from below could send the whole contraption into glorious chaos. And the best part?" She leaned forward conspiratorially. "When it all comes crashing down, they still can't figure out which cog did it."

The double doors to Hovar's quarters hissed open and Katja strode in wearing confidence far better than she did the messy platinum waves that seemed to stick out in all directions. "I heard there were free nuggets about these here parts?"

Isla raised a nugget in salute as Katja entered, "Free nuggets and free wisdom."

Katja chuckled and dipped her head congenially at the others in attendance. "Free nuggets I can get behind...Free wisdom? Too late for me, I'm afraid."

Hovar glanced at the new partaker of his dinner and noticed one interesting thing, most of the people in attendance were NCOs! Then again, being surrounded by the backbones of the ship gave him a better insight than most officers. After all, he had heard rumors that NCOs should never be called Sir or Ma'am. Only useless people are addressed as such.

"Well Chief, I am sure that you could offer free wisdom to those who are but children in your eyes. I have heard that the wisdom of a Chief Petty Officer is to be deemed as gospel."

Katja chuckled and shook her head slightly at the Klingon chaplain. "Ha, L. T.! My wisdom came from the war. Not much of it is applicable here." Her pale blue eyes looked upwards as she considered her next words. "Hmm...I learned that it's never a good idea to fight an angry Klingon. So that's my free wisdom for you all." Turning her attention back to Hovar, Katja beamed at him with a humored smile.

Hovar laughed a little as she decided to go for the jugular of his Klingon biology as well as Yasmin, who couldn't help but to jerk his chain a little bit.

"I have yet to see this particular Klingon get angry at people, although he did get angry at a particular PADD when he was doing a class on our transfer over here."

Hovar narrowed his eyes, and then he cringed in shame as he knew exactly was Yasmin was saying.

"He was supposed to upload and present to us a presentation on crew resource management for us NCOs. He couldn't get it to work, and he accidentally deleted the presentation. He got so mad he broke the PADD with his bare hands, threw it on the floor, and then he stomped on it twice. He then spent the next half hour on a rant about how no NCO should do what he did to the PADD to any of the crewmen."

Donald chuckled as Yasmin spoke. "Oh I knew a few crewmen back at the Avondale yard who needed a good snapping in half and stomping on."

This was an absorbing conversation Shirley had silently listened to while comparing the stated psychological stereotype with those within her cultural database. She remarked, "Impulsive motor-cortex control is a well-documented trait of Klingons. Interestingly, it's not only been proven to be historically detrimental to their economic and military operations, but is also viewed with high regard in the Klingon Empire's societal structure. Klingons will 'challenge' each other over trivial matters, sometimes to the death, to simply assert dominance and control. A most archaic way of life."

"See? Out of the mouth of 'science!'" Katja replied with a good-natured laugh. "Why thank you, virtual doktor, for your insight, and for coincidentally having my back on this."

Hovar placed his head in his hands as he reluctantly cringed at the statements being said, in particular about the negative aspects of Klingon society. The priest then lifted his head opened his mouth while raising a finger to bring up a point, but then he closed his mouth just as quickly as the thought process, his nose exhaling whatever he was thinking about. He had the face of he wanted to present a contrast to the contrary, and he struggled to find the words,

"It is not archaic. It is just..."

Hovar paused, and then his finger went into his relaxed fist as it shook slightly, realizing that he wanted to defend the honor of the Empire, but he could not find the right word in the human tongue. It wasn't really just about finding the right word, it was trying to find the right phrase to use.

"An extreme form of conflict resolution and anger management, of which I will neither confirm nor deny that I have engaged in such activities in my youth."

A silent huff of disapproval emanated from the EMH which was only noticeable by the curt rising and falling of her chest. "Extreme is an appropriate adjective. I don't want to imagine the patient workload Klingon doctors and aides are subjected to on a daily basis resulting from these 'duels'."

Really bad memories of childhood flooded his mind as he recalled what he was told when he first started blade training.

"Our instructors told us that a cut is not a concern. Those wounds are our proof of training, so we don't bother our physicians with those. If our wounds are such that it requires a physician, we were told that our suffering had just begun. There is no such thing as bedside manner. It is, "this is what is going to happen, prepare yourself."

"Injuries are gonna happen sometimes, even in a totally safe training environment, some you walk away from with no trouble, some need a little attention, some you barely survive." Donald told them, though his own memory of the incident was unsurprisingly hazy he recalled what he'd been told about his own serious injury; scattering a chunk of the skull and brain matter on the deck of engineering.

Hovar looked around at everyone and he smiled warmly. This is what the Klingon thought chaplaincy was all about. Getting to know each other on an informal basis and be able to debrief about things over some chicken nuggets.

"Uh oh."

Hovar glanced at Yasmin, who had a guilty look on her face. Glancing down, Hovar found his dinner absolutely destroyed! The Klingon took a deep breath, as he realized that everything he ordered, all of the calories that he wanted to ingest, was spread out over the stomachs of the assembled company. All of the sides, all of the dips, everything was gone. His stomach began to complain to him as he realized he still had half a duty shift to endure.

Game over man!

"Well, thank you all for coming and enjoying the meal. I will try to have something like this being on the recreational rotation sponsored by my office. You can use the head to wash your hands and the like."

Shirley looked around at the aftermath of the mass-consumption on display then folded her arms over her chest disapprovingly. "Lieutenant Kov, it's one thing to indulge in unhealthy eating habits on occasion...another entirely to turn this 'meal' into a recurring event. As one of the ship's physicians - the most talented, I might add - I must remind you of the detrimental health effects this gorging will inflict on the rest of the crew. Peritoneal pain will be just the beginning, followed by metabolism spikes, uncontrolled weight gain, sluggishness--"

"Blah blah blah. We're all terminal, 'Shirley.' Something has got to kill us. In this moment, it might as well be chicken nuggets." Katja replied cutting off the EMH, thinking she rather have something a little stronger than nuggies to chip away at the grains of sands left in her hourglass.

[OFF]

--

EMH Mark X-C "Shirley"
Medical Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Tarin]

CPO Katja Becker
Medical Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Sera]

Chaplain [Lt JG] Hovar Kov
Chaplain
USS Galileo-A

PO3 Yasmin Aquino
Operations Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Kov]

PO3 Isla Sheridan
Engineering Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Vala]

PO2 Donald Andrews
Engineering Officer
USS Galileo-A
[PNPC Mimi]

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