The Amazing Stories (Star Trek) by unknow

Author:unknow
Language: eng
Format: azw3
Publisher: Pocket Books/Star Trek
Published: 2002-09-13T00:00:00+00:00

A Night at Sandrine’s

By Christie Golden

STARDATE 50396.2

The cool, briny scent of the sea floated through the damp air. Mist clung to the stone buildings and made the cobblestone of the old streets slick with moisture. The golden glow of lamps gleamed faintly through the fog to guide the wanderer home, and as he opened the door, the welcoming sounds of laughter and music wafted out to greet him. All was warmth and good humor here, especially tonight.

He stood in the doorway, savoring the moment. Yvette was performing “La vie en rose,” her red mouth curving about the words and quivering ever so slightly. Smells of smoke from the crackling fire, of perfume and of good food made him smile. Though a woman owned the establishment, in a sense, this place truly belonged to him. Whatever their rank outside these doors might be, he knew: Sooner or later, everyone came to Sandrine’s.

He adjusted his fedora and brought the cigarette to his lips. The tip flared orange as he inhaled, and—

“You’re puffing your carrot.”

“What?” Lieutenant Tom Paris was startled out of his reverie by the sound of B’Elanna Torres’s voice.

The half-Klingon chief engineer grinned up at him. “Your carrot,” she repeated, indicating the carrot stick he held in his hand. She mimed bringing it to her lips and inhaling from it. “You were doing this?”

Paris felt himself blush. “Oh. Guess I just got caught up in the moment.” Deliberately, he popped the vegetable into his mouth and crunched on it.

And a hell of a moment it was. Captain Janeway had yielded to Paris’s request for an old-fashioned party in the holodeck, specifically program Paris 3—a French bistro called Chez Sandrine. Voyager was presently traveling through a very long and very boring stretch of the Nekrit Expanse, and Paris had capitalized on the crew’s restlessness. Together with Neelix, the self-appointed “morale officer,” they had convinced Janeway that a party was just what the doctor ordered.

Taking it a step further, Paris had suggested it be a costume party. Most had agreed. Tom saw fedoras and trench coats, suits and canes, and uplifted hairdos and hats with netting—all right out of Earth’s mid-20th century.

“Yes!” exclaimed Harry Kim as he sank the eight ball. He looked very young and innocent in tweed trousers, crisp white shirt, and red suspenders. Gaunt Gary, the resident pool shark Paris had recreated, feigned resignation.

“Pay up.” Harry extended his hand as Gary sighed and handed over a fistful of holographic money.

Paris knew what was coming. “Rematch? I’d like to get some o’ that green stuff back,” said Gary.

“Oh, you bet, but I’ll just take your money again,” enthused Kim, already racking the balls.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” sighed Paris, shaking his head as he moved toward a small table by the fire. “He ought to know better. Gary’s gonna fleece him.”

“You know,” said B’Elanna, slipping into the chair opposite Paris, “I’m surprised Chakotay agreed to this, after your last adventure with gambling.”

“Ah, Chakotay’s not so tough. Neelix and I swore that all the gambling proceeds would go right back into the replicator to provide some decent food for the party.

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