Fate Needs a Push

Part 6: Scent of a Smoker

"I'm having trouble capturing the exact scent of second-hand cigarette
smoke for this program.  The computer keeps asking me for chemicals and
I don't know the first thing about that.  I'm an English major, for
Christ's sake."  Randie stopped pacing and turned around to face Seven.
 "I'm really grateful for your help, I mean, I didn't think you'd
actually want to come and help me out with this.  I'm sure you get sick
of people asking you for favors, what with you being so smart and all."

"Actually," Seven said, relaxing her stance, "Most people are
reluctant to ask for my assistance."

Randie's eyebrows shot up in surprise.  "Really?"  She wandered around
the holodeck for a moment.  "What, is it because these Borg people you
used to hang with really pissed a lot of people off?  Did y'all ever
try to, uh, assimilate Earth?"

Seven looked away, uncomfortable with the subject but unable to resist
the innocence of Randie's question.  "Several times," she said quietly.

Randie turned her head a little.  "I assume it never worked?"

"Correct."

"And you're not Borg anymore, right?"

"Correct again."

"So what in the hell is everyone so worked up about?  I mean, you're
not with them anymore, you're a human being now, and a pretty cool one
at that . . ."

Seven turned back to Randie and raised her eyebrow.  "Cool?"

Randie sighed.  "I get so sick of explaining this word to everyone.
It means you're, uh, nice, um, interesting, I like hanging out with
you, I like you, you're cool.  I mean, for only having known you for
three weeks, I think you're pretty cool."

"Given those definitions," Seven said, relaxing even more, enough for
her hands to drop from behind her back, "I believe you are `cool' as
well."

Randie's face turned red and she smiled a big, honest smile.  "Really?
 You mean that?  That's the nicest thing you've ever said about me."

Seven smiled a faint but sincere smile, and then turned around to the
archway, where she began to call up Randie's program.  "Oh, no need for
that," Randie said to Seven.  "Computer," Randie called, "Show Seven
that holographic smoke."

A column of faint smoke appeared before Seven.  She seemed intrigued
by it, circling around it and poking her hand in every now and then.
"I am impressed that you were able to program smoke."

"Well, it's not perfect yet."  Randie approached the smoke and stood
next to Seven.  "Go ahead," she said, "Lean in and take a whiff."

Seven gave Randie an uncertain look, but Randie nodded that it was
okay, so Seven poked her nose into the holographic smoke and inhaled a
little.  After she had leaned back and thought for a moment, she
commented, "Interesting.  Very foul, and yet strangely intoxicating.
But I don't understand what you wish me to do with this."

"It's not right, something's wrong, and I know you could figure it
out."

"I have no basis for comparison.  There are no real cigarettes on the
ship."

Randie reached into her shirt pocket and produced a small, white paper
cylinder stuffed to the brim with tobacco.  Out of her pants pocket
came a transparent green plastic device filled with butane.
"Computer," Randie said, "Shut off the fire suppression system in
holodeck 2."

"How did you become aware of the need to shut off the fire suppression
system?" Seven asked Randie with surprise.

"The hard way, believe me."  Randie put the filter end of the
cigarette to her lips and flicked the metal flint at the end of the
lighter.  Sparks flew, and with the hiss of the butane pump the flame
glowed, small and defiant against a ship with a frighteningly sensitive
fire system.  Bringing the flame up to the tobacco end of the
cigarette, Randie inhaled deeply, sinking to the floor and rolling her
eyes upward as she exhaled.  "Aaahhh," she breathed with a large, goofy
grin on her face.  "That's the stuff."

Seven walked over to Randie and crouched down in front of her.  "Where
did you manage to obtain one?  The replicators will not produce them."

Randie looked at Seven mischievously.  "I smuggled a few out of
sickbay when the Doctor wasn't looking.  I had Naomi Wildeman distract
him for me.  She's such a cute kid and he's such a sucker for cute
kids."

Seven leaned into the path of the smoke emanating from the real
cigarette, but as soon as she inhaled she was consumed by a coughing
fit.  "I don't . . . *hack* . . . understand . . . *cough* . . . how
you can . . . *hack* . . . breathe such poisoned air."

As Seven stood back up, Randie followed her, patting her on the back
as Seven coughed.  "What doesn't kill you makes you stronger, I guess."

"Computer," Seven said as her coughing died down, "Increase the carbon
monoxide content of the smoke by five more parts per thousand, and
decrease the ash by ten percent."  Seven turned back to Randie.  "That
should be sufficient."

"I don't get it," Randie said in confusion.  "The real thing makes you
gag, but the fake stuff doesn't do anything to you.  Why?"

"Because of the toxic content of second-hand cigarette smoke, with the
safety protocols on, the holodeck will only replicate the sight and
smell of the smoke.  The smoke will never actually reach your lungs."

"What a rip-off," Randie said, taking a few more drags off of her
smoke.  Having smoked it down to the hilt, Randie put her butt on the
floor.  "Computer," she said, "Put a level one force field around the
butt."  Blue sparks shimmered around the cigarette butt, and Randie
looked at Seven wistfully.  "You know, that always reminds me of the
time my friends and I put a CD in the microwave oven for five seconds.
Computer, drain the air out from inside the force field."  Almost
immediately, the cherry on the cigarette turned dark, and the trail of
smoke ceased to flow upwards.  "Computer, take down the force field."
Randie stooped down and picked the butt up off of the floor and
pocketed it.  "I'll recycle this later."

Seven had a perplexed look on her face.  "CD in the microwave oven?"

"It's a long story, especially if you don't know what a CD or a
microwave oven is."  Randie and Seven were about to leave the holodeck
when Randie stopped suddenly.  "Hey," she said, turning to Seven.  "No
one is scheduled to come in here for another half an hour.  You wanna
try out my program?"

"I don't see why not," Seven said.  "What does it involve?"

"Well, we're in Dallas, Texas in 1998, and we're at this dance club
called the Village Station.  Now, it's moderately crowded in here, and
the music's pretty loud and fast . . ."

"That is not a problem."

"You're sure you won't get overstimulated or something?"

"Quite."

"Maybe we should go change first."  Randie started to lead Seven out
of the holodeck, but after looking at herself and Seven a few times,
she stated, "Never mind, there's no time, you look fine anyway.
Promise you'll try to have fun."

"I will try," Seven said with uncertainty.

"All righty then.  Computer, run program Village1, music rotation
alpha."

Seven had never been in such a dark place in her life.  Colored lights
were flashing in her eyes as she looked around the two-story building,
surrounded by people drinking, smoking, and pushing their way to the
dance floor in the middle of the club.  Behind her, some lean looking
men without shirts on were playing pool with a very mannish woman
dressed in plaid flannel.  Off in a corner a muscular man was dancing
on a platform nearly naked while a few other, older men gawked at him.
Directly to the left of Seven, two men were kissing rather
passionately.  The entire inside of the building was lined on all sides
by bar counters and the second-hand smoke swallowed her up like a mist
over a sea of heads and sounds.  Before Seven, the dance floor throbbed
with a mass of people, like a living being unto itself, bobbing to the
rhythm of "The Bomb" which was being blasted over the sound system.
Seven's eyes became wide and perspiration started to form in little
pearls on her forehead.  The lights and the rhythm swirled around in
her head, and she began to feel a little dizzy . . .

"Oh my," Randie said, taking Seven's hand, "We'd better get you
outside."

Randie led Seven past the pool tables and through the sliding glass
doors into the outside courtyard.  The air was cool and refreshing to
Seven as she sat down on one of the metal benches and tried to
re-collect her thoughts.  "What happened to me in there?"

"You got overstimulated.  That happened to me the first time I ever
went to a club too.  You walk in, you see all of the lights and feel
the base of the music vibrating your entire body, and you start to feel
like you might be sick.  Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

"But it should not have happened to me," Seven said between breaths.
"I am better equipped to handle such strong sensory input than the
average human being."

"Maybe it's something else then," Randie said.

The sliding doors opened and soon the two ladies were joined by the
woman who had been playing pool.  "Hey there," the woman said to Seven.
 "I couldn't help but notice you as you walked past the tables.  My
name is Jo and . . ."

Seven looked up at Jo and felt a wave of nausea wash over her body.
She saw Jo standing before her with dark hair and dark eyes, but those
were soon replaced with blue eyes and red hair and a smaller frame, and
in Seven's mind she could have sworn she was looking into the eyes of .
. . the sweating and shaking began again and immediately felt sick all
over.  "Computer, end program!" she shouted, and raced out of the
holodeck.

"Seven, wait up!"  Randie shouted after her, but as soon as she dashed
out of the holodeck doors, Seven had disappeared.  "Fuck," she muttered
to herself.  "Everything was going so well, too."