Frug is a Four Letter Word

"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 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 supper 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 sigh. 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 too 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 them 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 asleep 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 heard 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.

They 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 its 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. Her thoughts 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."

They went back into the main room. This 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 thought 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:::

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