Frug is a Four Letter Word
Or
Never Drink the Punch at Brent’s
by Astra <astraplain@yahoo.com 


"I don’t beleeeeve this!"

Gates slumped back against the rickety headboard of 
the narrow bed, feeling it give slightly.  She 
immediately sat forward again, trying to avoid the 
stench of unwashed linens.  Her nose wrinkled and she 
looked unhappily at the filthy floor.  At least the 
bed wasn’t *that* bad.  

She surveyed the small dingy room again, needing all 
of thirty seconds to study the locked door (she’d 
tried it repeatedly), the single bare light bulb 
suspended from the ceiling by a chain and the bed.  
The walls were covered with peeling gray paint that 
might have once been white.  A board fastened high up 
on the opposite wall might cover a window.  Next to 
the bed was an exposed pipe and some broken enamel 
making her suspect there had once been a sink.

"Great accommodations.  We’re dealing with a real 
class act here."  She ran her fingers through her 
unkempt hair, trying to tame it.  "I hope it’s not 
one of those trek freaks."

*****

She was in that room a long time, alternating between 
furious pacing and controlled yoga, where she tried 
taming her concerns and fears.  Finally, exhausted, 
she lay back on the bed and let her mind wander.  
"How the hell did I get into this in mess?"

*****

John was out of town visiting relatives with Jack but 
she’d had to stay behind for a guest shot on some 
sitcom.  Brent was celebrating the great reviews he’d 
gotten for his new movie and had invited her to a 
party at his place.  It turned into a reunion as most 
of the people there had worked on TNG.  She’d ended 
up staying much later than she’d planned and having 
far more of Brent’s special punch than she ought.  
There was still a low level buzz in her head even 
now.

She’d been one of the last people to leave, and Brent 
had really wanted her to stay over and sleep it off.  
She’d refused and gratefully taken Patrick up on his 
offer of a ride.  She could come back for her car 
tomorrow.

They were enjoying the ride, catching up on each 
other’s exploits and telling "SO tales" when Patrick 
swore under his breath and turned the wheel hard.  At 
the same time, a brilliant white light shone through 
the rear window nearly blinding them.  The car 
skidded onto the shoulder and stopped, leaving them 
both a little breathless.  Seconds later a pickup 
truck whizzed by, clipping the left rear of the car 
and pushing it even farther off the road.  The truck 
never slowed.

They sat silently for a moment, looking at each other 
and trying to breathe again.

"Are you all right?"  Patrick asked her, laying a 
gentle hand on her arm.

"Yes.  Yes. I’m fine.  Are *you* all right?"

"Just angry.  Come on, let’s get you home."  He 
pressed the accelerator, but the car didn’t move.  
One of the tires was stuck.  Swearing again, he threw 
open the door, unclipped his seatbelt and left the 
car.  Then he noticed how close the rear of the car 
was to the road.  He called into his companion.

"Gates, you’d better get out of there, we’re too 
close...  Then he saw the lights.  High, bright, big 
vehicle.  Probably a tractor trailer.  "Gates, get 
out.  Now!"

She’d spent 6 years pretending to take orders from 
this man.  This time she obeyed without thinking.  
"Throwing open the door, she pressed the seatbelt 
clip.  Stuck.   She tried again.  Stuck.  

"Patrick how do you...  With a click the belt was 
released.  "Never mind." She quickly stepped out of 
the car.  He was a few feet away, reaching for her 
when she fully realized the danger of the situation.  
She took a step away from the car, hearing the sound 
of the approaching truck all the way into her bones.  
Another instant, and the vehicle was moving past 
them.  The driver swerved to miss them at the last 
minute, just tapping the car as it went past.  The 
force spun the car clockwise. The edge of the car 
door caught Gates on the hip, and knocked her off 
balance.  With a cry she fell, striking her head.

And then everything faded. 

*****

There were hands on her, shaking her awake, and she 
lashed out before she was awake enough to stop 
herself.  Her hand connected with rough, warm skin.  
Eyes snapping open, she sat up.  "What the ???"

"Forgive me.  I only wanted you to have your super 
while it  is hot."

Gates stared.  "Oh god, this is a dream.  This is a 
dream."

The *person* stared back, studying her.  Beverly 
frowned at the "thing."  It was short, with orangy 
brown skin and huge ugly ears.  Really huge ugly 
ears.  Waitaminute.  She shook her head.  That looks 
like one of those little toads.  What were they 
called?  Linguini?  Fettuccini?  Yep. Definitely a 
star trek freak.  This was not going to be fun.  
Unless...

"What do you want?  Why am I here?"

"Your vehicle was damaged, you were hurt.  We rescued 
you.  Now we own you."

Gates stood, dwarfing the little cheesy -alien-of-
the-week.  "Look, kid, TNG is over.  We do the 
occasional movie, but I don’t have to live this any 
more.  *THIS IS NOT STARTREK*"  She took a breath, 
trying to calm herself, then continued.  "And I am 
Not A Doctor!!  I’m an actress!  I’ve played 
Shakespeare.  I’ve played a bimbo.  I am an 
actress!!!  Got it?"

The alien had retreated several steps during her 
outburst and now it moved forward again.  "Eat 
something, Dr Crusher.  You’ll feel better.  I will 
be back to check in on you later."  And he was gone, 
the door sliding shut and locked with an audible 
click.  Gates threw herself back on the bed with a 
sign.  She eyed the tray, weighing how hungry she 
really was, then decided to sample something.  It was 
bland but edible.  Before long the plate was empty.  

Setting the tray on the floor, she sat cross legged 
on the bed and tried to understand what was 
happening.  "Okay, I had a little to much of Brent’s 
concoction last night.  I’m dreaming.  Or maybe I’m 
hallucinating.  I remember hitting my head after that 
truck hit us.  That’s it.  I’ve probably got a 
concussion or something."  She leaned back against 
the wall and closed her eyes.  "I must’ve hit my head 
pretty hard to dream this up."

She was like that for a long time, leaning against 
the wall, her mind drifting.  She opened her eyes 
again much later not sure if she’d actually slept.  
She felt a bit foggy and had the start of a headache.  
It took her several seconds to realize she wasn’t 
alone.

"Awake at last."  The little man leered at her, his 
tongue practically hanging out.

"Who are you?"  She demanded.  Then she realized it 
was another one of those toady big-eared creeps.  *Oh 
great it’s a convention.  If I have to hallucinate 
about past acting jobs, why couldn’t I pick Marker?  
At least that was set in Hawaii.*

"I am DaiMon Frug.  And you are my prisoner.."  He 
leaned forward and touched her hair.  "You will bring 
me a great deal of latinum."

Gates rolled her eyes.  John really needed to take 
her on vacation soon.  She smacked the hand away from 
her hair.  "Okay, look, I am not your prisoner.  You 
are a figment of my over-tired imagination and I will 
wake up now."  With exaggerated movements she closed 
her eyes and pinched herself.  Slowly she opened her 
eyes.  No change.  Damn, she was worse off than she 
thought.

"Okay, look.  Maybe this is a joke."  She raised her 
voice.  "Come on Spiner.  Stop this now and I’ll let 
you live."

The Ferengi was getting tired of this woman’s 
ravings.  He dropped the bundle of clothing he was 
carrying onto her lap.  "Enough talking, wo-man.  Put 
that on.  I will be back for you in five minutes."

Gates watched him go, then looked at the clothing 
he’d dropped on her.  "You’ve got to be kidding.  
There is *no way* I am putting this on."  She studied 
the thing.  It looked like a dress.  A short dress, 
with colorful green and blue swirls and a little 
keyhole cut out in the front just below the neckline.  
Ew, it felt like cheap polyester.  She tossed it on 
the bed, then noticed the matching panties.  "Spiner 
you’re a dead man!  This is way past getting even for 
the sheep I put in your bedroom last month!"

The door opened again and the DaiMon entered.  "Would 
you stop shouting??  You’re giving me a headache.  
Now get dressed."  

And Gates suddenly saw the weapon in his hand.  It 
wasn’t the futuristic star trek prop she’d expected.  
Instead, it was a very real looking gun.  Suddenly 
the dress didn’t look all that bad.  "Okay, okay.  
Get out of here and I’ll change."

"Do it quickly, or I will be forced to remain here 
and watch."  The little toad made a face.  "And I 
just ate."

"Yeah, well you’re a real beauty queen yourself. Get 
out."

The little creep hurried out again, and Gates sighed.  
Weirdoes.  Boy her subconscious was working overtime.  
She really hoped she’d wake up soon, or that she’d 
catch a glimpse of the person behind this.  She was 
still trying to decide if she was awake and the 
victim of a very bad joke or unconscious and having a 
nightmare when the Ferengi scampered in again.

He studied her as if she were a bug.  The dress was 
sleeveless with a square neckline, tight at the top 
and flaring into a full skirt that fell to mid-thigh.  
She was grateful for the panties because, well, she’d 
been so busy lately that the laundry hadn’t  gotten 
done and she was down to her ugly old cotton undies.  

"Now put those on."

She looked down and saw the boots on the floor.  She 
picked the up.  Go- go boots.  Too weird.  She sighed 
and sat on the bed.  Her head was really pounding now 
and she was starting not to care about the bizarre 
situation she was in.  If she was sleep or 
unconscious, she’d wake up soon.  If she were awake 
and this was one of Brent’s jokes, she’d kill him.  
Maybe then she’d get more lines in the trek movie.

Something cold pressed against her arm and she hears 
a hiss.  "What the..."  There was a sudden warmth in 
her arm rapidly spreading out from where the metal 
gadget had touched her.  She kicked out at the DaiMon 
and watched him stagger back.  She stood, reaching 
out to grab him when she caught sight of her arm.  
"What the hell?"  Streaks of green were showing on 
her arm, moving rapidly over her skin, changing it’s 
color.  She looked at her other arm, then her legs.  
All turning green.  She grabbed the big-eared man by 
the shirt front, forgetting the weapon he held.  

"What did you do?"

"My contract is for an Orion slave girl, not a human.  
So, I’m 'fixing' the merchandise.  You look better in 
green anyway."  He pulled out of her grip, took a 
step back and raised the weapon to stop her from 
touching him again.

"What do you mean ‘contract."

"I’ve got a dealer.  Very rich, not too bright, like 
all hu-mans.  Wants to open a nightclub.  Needs 
dancers to ‘entertain’ the customers.  Your shuttle 
just happened to be nearby.  Saves me all the trouble 
of tracking down an Orion ship and then stealing one 
of their slave girls.  More efficient and much less 
dangerous."  He smiled, exposing his rows of sharp 
teeth for the first time.  "I’ll be long gone with my 
money by the time your stupid Federation tracks you 
down.  Then it will be his problem."

"But I’m..."

The Ferengi raised his hand to stop her.  "Enough 
talking.  You’re giving me a headache."  He motioned 
with the weapon.  "Time to meet your new owner."

Gates studied the weapon for a moment, trying to 
decide just how risky it would be to give this guy a 
swift kick where it’d really hurt.  The door opened 
and another Ferengi entered.  So much for that idea.  
She’d just have to wait.  Reaching down to the bed 
she bundled up her clothes.  They were her favorite 
jeans, after all.

They walked through the dim dirty corridors of what 
the Ferengi called "his ship."  It could have been 
any poorly kept building as far as Gates was 
concerned.  At last they reached the "transporter 
room" and climbed onto the transport platform.  Gates 
kept waiting to hear Jonathan yell "cut."  Instead, a 
shimmer of silver surrounded her, and she suddenly 
felt like she was floating.  After a few seconds, 
everything went white.  It seemed like minutes before 
the brightness faded and she could see again.

"Whoa."  She managed to say before loosing her 
balance and falling.  She felt carpeting against her 
skin, and then felt hands on her arms helping her 
stand. "Whatwasthat?"  She managed to ask.

"What’s wrong with her?" a different voice demanded.  

"Nothing, nothing.  She hit her head earlier, and 
she’s been a bit disoriented.  She’ll be fine in a 
few minutes." 

Gates finally managed to focus.  She thought her 
vision was still blurry, but finally realized that 
the room she was in really was that color.  Or should 
she say *colors.*  A riot of color surrounded her, 
splashing the walls, floor, ceiling and furniture.  
Making the matter worse was the dizzying pattern of 
strobe lights and rotating mirror balls.  It took her 
a moment to pick out the people in the room.

The DaiMon was in a heated discussion with a middle-
aged, overweight badly dressed human male.  The 
second Ferengi was standing beside her with a weapon 
pressed into her side.  "Move."  He commanded, 
directing her towards a door.  She went, still 
feeling a bit foggy.  

The went down a hallway and then she was shoved into 
another room.  She heard the door slide shut and 
lock.  "Oh well, at least it’s cleaner than the last 
room."  She looked at the huge pillows on the floor, 
and then noticed another door  leading to... "Thank 
goodness, a bathroom.  With a shower."

Not really caring how much weirder this would get, 
she found a towel, undressed and stepped into the 
shower.  Maybe she could wash that green stuff off.  

When she finally emerged, the room was filled with 
steam, but she was no less green, and her headache 
hadn’t gone away.  She wrapped the towel tightly 
around herself and wandered into the outer room.  
Then she realized her clothes were missing.  She 
frantically tossed pillows around looking for them.  
Nothing.  At last she noticed the small hole in the 
mirror on the wall.  Examining it, she discovered it 
was a closet.  Sliding back the mirrored door she 
studied the clothes inside, all variations of the 
dress she’d had on earlier.  "I know retro is in, but 
this is too much."  At last she selected the pink and 
white one and got dressed.

She sat down at the pillow and frowned at her green 
skin.  It was the same color all over - she’d 
checked.  At least her hair was still it’s normal 
color.  Gates thought about this a while.  Then she 
thought about food.  She was hungry.  Funny, she 
couldn’t ever remember being hungry in a dream 
before.  He thought were interrupted by a knock at 
the door.

"You decent in there?"  a voice asked, and then to 
prove it didn’t matter one way or the other, the door 
opened and the man she’d seen earlier entered.

"Oh good, you cleaned yourself up.  Must be clean for 
the customers."  He handed her a bag.  "There’s not 
much time before we open so I just brought you a 
burger.  Eat up and then I’ll show you around."

Gates sniffed at the sandwich.  Smelled like a 
burger.  With a shrug she devoured it and the fries 
that were also in the bag.  The man stood there 
staring at her while she ate.  When she was done, he 
took her hand and hauled her to her feet.  "Come on.  
I’ll show you your stage."

The went back into the main room.  This it was 
brighter, with no flashing strobes.  She was able to 
look around.  Her escort pointed out the bar, the 
dance floor, the private booths encased in glass.

"And this,"  he gestured, smiling, "Is where you will 
dance for the audience."

"This" was a cage big enough for her to stand up in. 

"Go on, try it out."

"No way."

"What?"

"I said, ‘no way.’  Look, I don’t know what kind of 
sick idea you’ve got in mind, but I’m not getting 
into that cage.  Clear?"

The man was furious.  "Look sweetie, I paid good 
money for you.  I need a dancer.  You’re it. Now get 
in there."  And with a shove he propelled her into 
the cage and slammed the door.  He yelled "Take her 
up Shorty," and the cage began to rise off the floor 
until it was suspended a good 3 meters off the floor.  
He chuckled at the stream of threats his new "girl" 
was shouting.  Damn but he liked’em feisty.

*****

Much later the cage was lowered and Gates was allowed 
out.  She was exhausted and her feet were sore from 
the non-stop dancing.  She discovered rather 
unpleasantly that the bars of the cage carried enough 
of an electrical charge for her to receive a nasty 
shock through the soles of her boots every time she 
stopped dancing.

That night she was too tired to even think of trying 
to escape.  

*****

When she finally woke the next morning she was 
starved.  She was still in that ridiculous pink dress 
from the previous night, having only taken the time 
to remove her boots before collapsing onto the 
pillows to sleep.  She went to the door and tried it.  
Locked, of course.  Absolutely fed up with the 
absurdity of the past day, she started pounding on 
the door and yelling.

After five minutes of this the door was wrenched open 
and the middle- aged nightclub owner barked "What?" 
at her.

Something snapped, and Gates looked at the man, ice 
dripping from her voice.  "What?  You want to know 
What?  Look, whatever part of my subconscious dreamed 
you up is not my concern.  Or if this is just a 
bizarre joke, I don’t know and I don’t care.  I want 
out of whatever this is *now*!"  and with a speed 
that surprised both of them, she dropped the man with 
a well placed foot to the groin.  He made a small 
*whoooof* sound and dropped like a rock.  Without 
looking back, she stepped over him and marched out of 
the room.

She crossed through the nightclub and was on her way 
towards what was obviously the main entrance when she 
met up with Jonathan, Brent and Michael.  They were 
in full star trek regalia.  She gave them all one 
killer look, complete with raised eyebrow and brushed 
past, continuing for the door.

"Dr Crusher, you are green."  Brent spoke, "Where are 
you going?"

"Home, Brent, as you already know, and cut the Dr 
Crusher crap."

"Beverly?"  This time it was Jonathan being funny.  

"Cute Jon, keep it up and you’ll be my height."  

The three men exchanged confused looks.  "Maybe she’s 
been drugged?"  

"Doctor."  This time it was Michael.  

She turned towards them doing a slow burn.  "Look you 
clowns.  This is not funny.  Whichever one of you 
planned this whole gag is going to regret it *deeply* 
for the rest of his life if you don’t *cut it out*.  
Now."

"We came to rescue you."

"Well you’re doing a *really* poor job of it.  Now 
let’s get out of here."

The trio exchanged glances again, then moved towards 
her restraining her gently.  One of them said, 
"Enterprise, four to beam up."  And the world was 
swallowed by that brilliant white light again.

*****

"I’m afraid I had to sedate her, sir.  She was 
raving.  But as you can see I did manage to return 
her skin tone to almost normal.  In a few days the 
tint will be gone completely."

"I see.  Thank you Alyssa.  What about the Captain?"

"The sedative has worn off but he is still 
disoriented.  Dr Selar has ordered him to remain in 
Sickbay for observation for the next 24 hours."

Gates was drifting, dimly aware of conversations 
around her.  Her arms and legs felt heavy and her 
eyelids refused to open.  She relaxed and tried to 
understand the voices around her.  Something about 
dimensions shifting, changing places with your double 
in another place and time.  God, even in her dreams 
she couldn’t get away from technobabble.

It seemed like a long time that she lay there, just 
listening.  She’d seen Patrick when she’d first 
"beamed aboard" as they’d called it, and had tried to 
go to him.  But Michael had restrained her.  This 
whole thing was too strange, and to top it off, she 
was still hungry.

She was sleeping when she heard Brent again, standing 
beside her, one hand on her arm.  He was saying 
something about making the transfer, and then she 
felt that tinglebuzz and knew she’d see the white 
light again if only she could open her eyes.  

*****

"Ooowwwwwwwww."  That hurt.

"Gates?"  

She opened her eyes slowly, ready to punch out the 
next person who though this was star trek.  She was 
relieved to be looking into the concerned eyes of 
Patrick.

"Slowly.  Sit up slowly.  You hit your head."  He 
helped her to sit up.  Only then did she realize she 
was in a hospital room.

"What happened.?"

"Don’t you remember?  We were in a car accident."

She suddenly noticed the scrapes and bruises on his 
face and the bandage on his one hand.  She reached up 
and gently touched his face.  "Are you all right?"

His smiled.  "Yes, but I was knocked out for a while.  
I had the damnedest dream."

She sat up a little "Really?  What about?"

He looked embarrassed.  "Nothing, too many star trek 
conventions lately, I guess."

"I had one too - a weird dream.  Must be all the 
rumors of the new movie."

He laughed.  "Could be."  He took her hand.  "I’m 
really sorry about what happened.  I tried to call 
John, but there was no answer and no answering 
machine."

Gate’s eyes drooped,  "That’s okay.  No sense 
worrying him.  I’ll be out of here in no time.  
Right?"

Patrick kissed her cheek.  "Right."  He straightened 
up and took her hand in his.  "Tell you what.  You 
rest up, get all better, and when you’re out of here 
I’ll take you out dancing.  I heard there’s a new 
place - really retro, 60’s decor and everything.  
They’ve even got those cages that the women dance 
in."

He broke off as he watched his friend go pale.  She 
looked decidedly green.  "What?  Don’t tell me you 
don’t like that stuff.  Not when you dress like 
this."  And he reached down and held up that 
pink/white dress with matching go- go boots.

To this day he doesn’t understand why she screamed.

:::end:::