======= TSU: Internal Troubles ======= By Robin Lawrie robinl@s054.aone.net.au www.home.aone.net.au/what4 Sept, 1998 TSU, [R] sticky fingers, staple guns, no rooting. Heather Cook has made a big effort in recent days in catching up on her feedback giving. I would like to acknowledge this endeavour. Disclaimer: The events in this story are untrue. Not even the characters are real. Don't believe a word of it. Any similarity between a certain Blue Dress and Heather's Blue Dress is purely co-incidental. ======================================= The young woman arrived on the brownstone step of the Admin Building, blinking into existence like everyone else who slips into the TSU continuum from Outside. She straightened her lovely blue dress, adjusted her high, black strappy shoes and fiddled with the business card in her purse. But she couldn't put it off for ever. She had a date, er, appointment with the President. She pushed the heavy, metal clad door open and ventured into the cool dark interior. ******* 'Shut the friggin' door!' 'Oh. Sorry.' She quickly turned and shoved the door shut with her foot. She peered into the ill lit gloom of the lobby trying to locate the person belonging to that whiskey tenor voice. 'Hello? Um, I'm here to see the President? I'm her new intern, Heather.' Low chuckles. 'A little over dressed then, aren't you sweety?' 'I was told to wear this.' She smoothed a hand down her front. 'It's like a uniform for interns.' 'I bet it ain't wash and wear.' A shadow loped down the spiral staircase. The scritch scritch of claws on marble approached her. Heather glanced anxiously towards the exit. 'Well, actually, I don't think it comes off at all.' She jumped as a cold wet nose pressed against her ankle. The cold wet nose sniffed its way up her leg. She felt hot breaths against the back of her knee. 'And you are?' 'Greywolf, ma'am. At your service. My turn on the roster of faculty to meet and greet new hot sexy boys and babes who wanna visit with Auntie.' 'OK, well, I guess I better be going then.' 'You smell great. Really nice.' The nose became a raspy tongue. 'And you taste nice too.' 'Hey! Mind the stockings! They're new on today.' She tried to pull away but felt two heavy paws land on her shoulders and a hot breath against her ear. Her right shoulder pad grew warm with drool. 'OK, missy. I guess you can go. Upstairs second on the right, then left, past the firestairs, turn left at the water fountain, and through the door marked "Fuck Off". Can't miss it.' With one last wet lick of her ear, the weight lifted from her shoulders and Heather heard the scritch scritch of claws tapping down the hallway. 'What an odd person. But nice, in a doggy kind of way,' she murmured. She brushed at her shoulder and felt dampness. 'Damn! The mongrel drooled on my new dress! On for five minutes and already stained.' She straightened her shoulders and marched up the steps. ******* At the top of the stairs, was a table covered with a long white tablecloth, two chairs and a large tool box. She was about to walk straight past when the sound of giggling came from under the table. 'Hehehe! Go, on. Do it! ' 'No! It's your turn.' <*snap*> 'Owowowowowow! Oooooo, good shot.' 'Thanks Cam.' Curious, Heather lifted a corner of the table cloth and peeked underneath. A scantily clad, thin woman in knee high combat boots, and a tall, hunched, red headed guy were busy playing... with their staple gun. 'Hello?' 'Hey Cam! Looky here! Fresh meat.' The woman snatched up the tool and reached a sticky, bloodstained hand out for the crisp blue hem of the dress, trying to drag her prey in under the table. 'Get her, Sofie! You go, babe!' 'No! Wait! Let me go! I'm here to see the President!' Heather tugged hard on her dress and managed to snatch it away from the pale grasping hands. 'What the hell are you doing down there anyway?' The woman pouted, her bottom lip sticking out professionally, it being highly trained in the art of pouting. 'She doesn't wanna play with us Cam. How can I get my advanced degree in Staple Gun: Uses and Misuses, if I haven't got anybody to play with me?' The pout deepened. Heather was impressed. Despite the certain knowledge of pain and permanent damage she could feel herself edging closer, back to the table. 'I'm sorry, Sofie. I just don't have time to play today. I'm off to see the President. I'm her new intern.' Using her great powers of observation, Heather noticed the "I Fuck Scaley Love Monkeys" badge on the ripped tight black t shirt. 'Perhaps I could schedule a private interview with Ms Gifford's tailor and we could...' 'Garak! You could get me Garak?' 'For a private consultation. Perhaps an hour?' 'Can I come too?' Cam piped up. 'Well, sure, but...' Heather smiled, but didn't back away quickly enough as Cam reached out and dragged her down for some major tongue and lip action. He finally released her, then noticed the state of his hands. 'Oops.' He wiped them roughly on his camo pants. 'Sorry. You, um, get a bit messy when Sofie's got her staple gun. It's just,' he groaned a little, 'kind of exciting. You understand.' Sofie grinned and whacked Cam on the shoulder. 'Hey, we're going to see Garak! Thanks lady. What's your name again?' 'Heather. Heather Cook. New intern to the President.' Heather blanched at the smelly damp patches on her arms from Cam's sticky fingers. More stains! What would the President say? She flicked the table cloth back into place and walked away. After two steps, she stopped and turned. 'Sofie?' The cloth lifted. 'Yes?' 'Why are you under the table?' 'It's a table? Damn! The other new woman told us it was our new office. Shit!' She scowled and Heather could tell it was a well practised, professional scowl. She decided to leave quickly. ********* Just past the firestairs, Heather noticed an open office door. She had seen no one else since leaving Cam and Sofie under the table, and felt more than a little bit lost wandering the empty, echoing, corridors of power. Maybe the person in the office could offer her a nice cup of tea, a plain biscuit and some new directions to the President's office. She tapped on the door frame. 'Hello? Anyone home?' 'Come in! Come in! Sit down! Get yourself a throw pillow. Want a drink? Smoke?' Heather walked into the richly furnished office, past the mural of McCoy, Picard, Sisko, Dax, Bashir, Kim, Chakotay, Torres, and Kes frolicking on a Maxfield Parrish world, and the unusual windowless window treatments. The woman looked familiar. 'Sorry, but are you President Gifford?' 'Fuck no! I'm her sister Debra. I heard what a laugh Weasel Girl was having playing King of the Heap here at TSU and wanted a piece of that action, not that I'm without Trek qualifications myself having been a writer of some pretty damned good treksmut in the past and occasionally getting back to it when I can tear myself away from those two gorgeously slashy Sen boys, and who wouldn't, I mean they are *so doing it* every fucking episode that you'd be absolutely mad not to have a go at writing some hot old, poking action with Jim and his little buddy, but enough about me, well for the next minute or two at least, and we can talk about you and that god awful dress you've had the misfortune to wear today. So. What's your name?' Heather wondered how this woman could speak without breathing, and vaguely recalled the special technique used by Australian aboriginals when playing their didgeridoos. They breath in through their nose at the same time as blowing out their mouths. 'I'm Heather Co...' 'Heather Cook the new intern for the Pres? Damn I should have guessed it by the dress. I see you've already met,' she leaned closer and studied the stains, 'hmmm, Greywolf, Cam and is that Sofie? Damn it that woman stole my staple gun! How can I get the drapes finished if I can't... never mind. Ruth is waiting to see you and I can tell you right now that lateness is not a virtue round here, why only the other day when...' 'Look, I'm sorry but I better get going.' Heather edged for the door. It didn't look as if Debra had a kettle or indeed any biscuits apart from a rather suspicious looking plate of dark chocolate brownies on one side of her desk and an untouched bowl of potato chips on the other side. Her ears were hurting. It was time to go. 'Yeah sure, I can understand that but if ever you want to drop by and have a little chat and tell me all about yourself and we can have a little drink, you do drink don't you, cause we new gals have to stick together because from what I hear of the Regent and his...' Heather managed to close the door quietly. She could still hear that familiar SoCal drawl humming nineteen to the dozen as she turned left at the water fountain. ******** "FUCK OFF" The ornate brass lettering gleamed in the reflected light from the fake flaming torches. In fine print underneath were the words "Office of the President, Ruth Gifford". 'Not a very welcoming thought,' Heather mumbled. She took a deep breath and rearranged her head, trying to get in tune with her new boss and the way of things. 'Um... she's a busy woman! It seems the President likes her personal space. Why should she bother with the administrivia of campus life!' Now she smiled. That was better. Nothing like two or three good rationalisations before lunch. She knocked on the door. 'Come!' Ruth looked up from her desk. Very quickly, she hid the stack of county tax forms and parking approvals, and reached for her heavy flogger and dog eared copy of LeatherLife. A girl's got an image to maintain after all. 'Hi. You must be Heather. Nice dress.' 'Er, yeah. Thanks.' 'Sit down! Drink?' 'Do you have any iced tea?' Ruth paused in the act of reaching for the scotch bottle. 'Tea? Iced Tea? Do *I* have any *iced tea*?' Heather eyed the dank stone walls, the chains and smoking torches, the neat array of "tools" and gleaming selection of leather goods (and we're not talking handbags). Oops. Had she made her first mistake? She pursed her lips and decided a show of character was in order. 'Yes. Please.' Ruth smiled and suddenly the office didn't seem half as scary. She flung open the door to the cleverly concealed bar fridge and grabbed the large jug of translucent brown liquid. 'I fucking *love* iced tea!' In minutes the two women had settled down in the corner on the overstuffed black leather lounge, and were sipping from frosty tall glasses of tea and chatting. '...but you still haven't told me what my duties are.' 'Look Heather. You're the Intern! As such, you,' Ruth waved her hand vaguely, slurping a dribble of iced tea onto Heather's blue dress. '... you "intern", you know. Do stuff that interns do.' 'And that is?' Ruth sighed and fiddled around under her leathers. She pulled out a creased scrap of paper. She unfolded it and handed it over. 'Here's something my sister knocked up. It'll do for now.' Heather read aloud from the rumpled sheet. 'Intern, wearing a blue dress, plus other duties as assigned.' She turned the paper over. 'That's it?' 'It'll do for now. Now take that and go find yourself an office somewhere.' Ruth waved her towards the door, already eyeing the LeatherLife mag and the lovely set of brass buckled cuffs on the cover. 'Bye! Nice to meet you! See you later!' The door closed on the new TSU Intern. She looked at the paper. She looked at the deserted hallway. She looked at her blue dress. '"Other duties as assigned." Gee I hope I don't do anything inappropriate by mistake,' she murmured. 'Well, first things first. An office, a phone and a drink, but not necessarily in that order. And I better contact Garak about his appointment with Sofie and there's the President's iced tea supplies to get in and...' With the steady tread of a woman on a mission, Heather set off down the hall to start her internship at TSU. *************