Rumination.

Theran Jos was super good at it, which was like winning an award for being really good at tripping and hitting your head on the floor. Replaying the same conversations over and over again, picking apart every nuance, judging every little thing he said, and the other person said, every hidden bit of meaning, every little thing that went wrong.

Which was stupid, because they were coming back from a medical conference, the worst casualties were a bottle of 2336 Romulan ale and the inside of a holotoilet. Theran hadn’t even embarrassed himself in front of anyone from Starbase Bravo.

No, he had done much worse. He had lost an argument to his rival. One sh’Reen Foster. An Andorian orphan raised by a human, and a man that Theran, in a fit of drunken cavalier arrogance, decided to challenge one evening at a casual medical party, only to find out that the Andorian with the odd accent was not only a brilliant surgeon but a Starfleet officer who pulled rank on him.

Whoops.

And he was at every medical conference Theran had attended since then. And every single time they ended up verbally sparring. Unfortunately, Theran only won such arguments when he was sober, and sh’Reen was incredibly good at picking his battles while Theran was drunk. He played the latest debate over in his mind one more time, trying to come up with a better, wittier comeback – and if that would really matter when he was on a runabout headed home.

“You think that’s a problem?”

Theran was jostled from his self-destructive reverie to see Nurse Novana looking at a flickering light panel, her holo-romance novel in her lap and a faintly irritated expression on her face.

“Naw.” Chief Donahue shook his head from the cockpit. “I’ll just put in for maintenance once we hit Starbase Bravo.”

Donahue was the most engineering oriented medical personnel Theran had ever met, and he was responsible for keeping the majority of the specialty systems in sickbay running. Theran wasn’t surprised he was also the best pilot among them. “I’ll trust you, Chief.” The neurosurgeon smiled, and leaned back in his chair, glad for the momentary distraction from his ruminations.

Sadly, the conversation died down with Chief Donahue’s reassurance, and Theran was left to return to his ruminations. Or he was about to return to said ruminations if something hadn’t dropped upon his head and rolled down his back.

It didn’t hurt. Far from it. It felt like a fuzzy little ball, and he heard a mild squeak. “What th-“ the neurosurgeon shot upright and started to feel behind him, only to pluck a little ball of fluff from the chair behind him.

It cooed encouragingly at him.

“Is that a tribble?” Nurse Novana’s eyes lit up with delight.

Theran allowed himself a moment where his mouth lolled agape. It most certainly was a tribble, and he knew precious few people allowed to travel with tribbles inside the Federation.

One of them being his very own rival; sh’Reen proudly liked to state that he was in possession of a tribble breeding license. For medical science purposes. And apparently bragging rights.

Still, there was no use in being paranoid.  Not yet. He looked towards Nurse Novana and offered the ball of fluff out to her. “It most certainly is a tribble, want it?”

“Oh, I love them, they’re so soft!” she reached out to draw it into her hands and cuddle it as it purred. “But how did they get onboard the shuttle craft?”

Theran looked to Osran, Osran looked to Donahue, Donahue eyed Osran and Novana, and then for a moment everyone looked towards Lieutenant Sovel, and came to an immediate and silent consensus that the elderly Vulcan researcher would be the last person in the galaxy to clandestinely smuggle tribbles on board. That left the illogical bunch casting suspicious glances around the shuttle.

Osran was the first to speak. “I didn’t do it!  I need my promotion and moving tribbles is illegal without a liscense. I wouldn’t put my career on hold for a ball of fluff no matter how cute it is.”

Donahue might have called Osran out for being the first to speak, but the Capellan’s story tracked. “Don’t look at me. The last thing I want is the nightmare of cleaning tribbles from shuttle conduits.”

Eyes fell to Novana who was petting the tribble gleefully. She looked up and sputtered for a moment. “I wouldn’t know where to get one!  I love them, sure, but I can always pet them in sci lab 66.”

That, too, tracked. Novana spent some of her down time helping take care of the critters in lab 66 and had done so for the past two years. Slowly eyes fell on Theran.

“I don’t want tribbles.” He put his hands up in front of him as if to block suspicion. “But I’m worried…”

“Worried about what?” Donahue queried as the viewscreen started to fuzz over and then snapped back on. Slowly it seemed everyone started to worry.

Drawing in a breath Theran tried to figure out exactly how he wanted to explain this. “I’m worried that someone may have hidden some tribbles onboard as a … practical joke.”

“Practical joke?” Osran turned, eyes wide at Theran. “Seriously?”

Osran knew full well that Theran was a sociable sort, doing most of the heavy party lifting for the majority of the surgery department. But he wasn’t privy to the practical jokes that medical officers played against one another.

Already standing from his seat, Theran’s antennae curled forward, trying to block out the hum of the engines and listening for the coo of any more potential stowaways. “Yeah. I might have gotten into a verbal sparring match with a tribble breeder.”

Chief Donahue snorted a laugh, even as he adjusted course and the viewscreen flickered again. “Verbal sparring match, huh? We you sober?”

“I was not.” Theran admitted with a rueful snap. His antennae riveted towards one of the relay panels and he pointed to the wall. “There. Something in there.”

Osran scrambled up, all too eager to see what crazy stuff they might uncover as he helped Theran remove the wall panel.

And there, inside, was a pile of pulsating, cooing fluff. And a petri dish sized container that probably once held grain. “Many somethings.” Osran snuck his hand inside. “Hey, there’s a note on this dish!  Want me to read it?”

“No…” Theran intoned pleadingly, as everyone else in the shuttle – including Sovel – said yes.

Outvoted.

Grinning, Osran cleared his throat. “Dear Theran. I’m guessing you don’t remember my trick for preventing tribbles from breeding. Just like you don’t remember claiming you were the best neurosurgeon in the quadrant, and the others couldn’t hit the broad side of a starship with a laser scalpel. Here’s a present to jog your memory. Love, F.”

“He likes you.” Novana surmised.

“I doubt it.” Theran groaned looking in the junction. “They’re looking for more food and chewing on everything.”

“That’s what they do.” Novana murmured, still petting her chosen tribble. “They don’t have eyes, so they explore with their mouths.”

Apparently in the world of a tribble everything could be broken down into ‘food’ and ‘not food’ with decisions made through the simple act of chewing on everything you could get your mouth on.

Donahue huffed from the cockpit. “Then get them out of there!”

Osran was already pulling tribbles out by the handful, but Theran placed a hand on his bicep. “If they come into the main cabin, they’ll probably find more food and keep breeding.”

“But the note said there was a trick to prevent them from breeding.” Osran countered. “And we can’t let them keep chewing. If they chew through the nav sensors we might end up in Tholian space before we reach Starbase Bravo.”

“I think I can keep us mostly on course, thank you very much.” Donahue called from the front. “That said, don’t let them chew the nav sensors.”

Failing systems or a living area that was full of tribbles?  Decisions, decisions. Osran looked to Theran and Theran shuffled from foot to foot, wishing for once he had kept his big stupid mouth shut.

Novana wandered towards them, cradling one tribble against her neck. “We have a stasis pod. We delivered the botanical samples in it. We could put the tribbles in there.”

“Novana, you’re a genius!” Theran beamed, his antennae flaring in pride. “Let’s do it!”

The pod was chilly, and the tribbles squeaked as they were deposited in one by one. “Get that one back there!” Theran craned one antennae as he boosted Osran up to fish the last few tribbles from the back crevices of the relay junction.

And finally the cooing stopped. They swept with their tricorders. Once. Twice. A third time.

And finally when they were sure that all tribbles has been placed in the pod, Novana sealed it up. Sensors read that several of the tribbles were ready to give birth, and likely within minutes of opening the pod the amount of fluff would increase exponentially.

Theran collapsed back into his seat and sighed. “Alright, so what do we do with a stasis pod full of tribbles when we get back home?”

“Really nasty surprise gift for a Klingon you don’t like?” Donahue offered with a smirk.

Osran huffed at that while Donahue snickered at himself and the reaction. Novana looked up from her holo-romance and smiled sweetly. “I might be able to ask Lieutenant Barlowe in the Sci Labs if they can take on some more tribbles. I bet he’ll say yes.”

Theran perked up, Novana for the win, again! “That would be great, Novana! If you could?”

Her expression was angelic, his eyes sparkling. “Sure!  In return, Theran, can you introduce me to your fun tribble breeding friend? I’d love to meet him!”

Some of the color drained from Theran’s face, but the Andorian raised on Risa had enough social graces to keep the smile plastered to his features. That sounded like … a fitting punishment. “Sure, I can. I’m pretty sure he’ll be on base for next month’s medical conference.”

“Excellent, I’ll send a missive off to Barlowe and make a note about the conference!?” Novana settled back with a radiant smile and Theran let out a long slow breath and wondered if this would finally be enough for him to learn to stop being the irresponsible party guy at every conference.

Maybe it was all worth the tribble.