Today's Special

by Darrel W. Beach
May, 1997


Chapter 3

	The mess hall was starting to get crowded.  Tom guessed that if 
Neelix was using garvola in all of his cooking, chances were fairly good 
the entire crew had been subjected to its side-effects.  Between the 
increasing pressure of his headache and the fierce rumblings of his 
stomach, it was becoming more difficult to concentrate on a plan to remove 
the garvola from Neelix's repertoire as his body fought to obtain the herb.
The fragrances coming from Neelix's kitchen were in his opinion sickening, 
yet strangely compelling.  He couldn't be sure what the Talaxian had made 
but he surmised that the garvola was the reason why he was salivating.
	"Neelix, what is that smell?" he choked out when he got close 
enough to the head of the line.  He could see a gray sludgy mass burping 
noisily on the heating element.  "You don't expect me to eat that, do you?  
I feel bad enough already."
	The cook eyed the lieutenant testily.  "For your information, Mr. 
Paris, that Golgoth broth was prepared for that very reason.  There have 
been a number of people coming in today complaining of illnesses of one 
kind or another.  My broth is chock full of nutritional and remedial needs; 
I suppose you could call my version of your chicken soup."
	Tom couldn't picture that oil-coloured goo being anything close to 
chicken soup.  He also didn't want to take the chance that the cook had 
added the herb to the broth - it certainly wouldn't be helping many people 
if he had.  "Thanks anyway, Neelix, but I think I'll pass.  Come to think 
of it, I'm haven't got much of an appetite right now," he lied.  "Have you 
got any fruit or something simple I could munch on?"
	"Well, I suppose I could toss up another swamp salad for you.  I 
still have some of that salad dressing left over -"
	"Dressing won't be necessary, Neelix," Tom cut him short.
	"Oh," he quipped with surprise.  "Are you sure?  The salad won't 
have much character without the dressing."
	"A plain salad will be just fine."
	Neelix shrugged and fetched out the containers to prepare the 
salad.  Tom breathed a quiet sigh of relief, knowing he'd just made a 
narrow escape.
	He ate his lunch quietly, ignoring the odd looks from Harry, 
B'Elanna and the others.  The salad seemed incredibly bland to his palette, 
but he wasn't sure if that was another side-effect of the garvola.  His 
body wasn't appreciating being denied its needs; his stomach groaned and 
churned in an unsettling manner.  Tom thought more than once as he chewed 
on the leafy greens that he would become ill.  Three quarters of the way 
through his hands began to shake so much he could barely lift the fork to 
his mouth safely.
	"Tom, are you feeling all right?," a suddenly worried Ensign Kim 
asked.  "You just turned white as a sheet."
	"I've felt better," he quipped, feeling his stomach turn 
somersaults.
	"Come on, let's get him to Sickbay," Torres instructed.  "If he's 
coming down with something, I sure don't want to catch it."  Tom refrained 
from making a comment for fear of making an unpleasant mess on the floor.

	"Doctor, we have a patient here for you," B'Elanna announced as the 
trio entered Sickbay.
	"How fortunate for me, then," he remarked caustically.  "Please 
tell me it's not just a headache.  I've already had forty-seven officers 
come in today complaining of headaches.  My talents as an expert physician 
are being severely under-utilized."
	"See for yourself," she grunted, ignoring the hologram's grousing 
and hoisting the pilot onto a biobed.  "Let us know if you find anything we 
should be worried about."  She strutted out of the medical bay to return to 
duty, dragging a reluctant Harry Kim with her.
	Tom was laid out on the biobed, his hands still twitching 
involuntarily.  His face was paste-white and moist with perspiration.  The 
Doctor began a routine scan, analysing the incoming data on his medical 
tricorder.  Unfortunately, the information he was receiving was 
incongruous; there was no indication of viral infection and his white blood 
cell count was normal, yet he was definitely exhibiting signs of illness.
	"Mr. Paris, could you tell me what symptoms you're experiencing at 
the moment?"
	"Queasy stomach...headache...hands shaking...can't see 
clearly...feel weak, tired," he panted out.
	Kes returned from lunch to continue her role as medical assistant.  
"Hello, Doctor," she announced placidly.  "I'll be running those sequencer 
tests you asked for."
	"If you don't mind, I'd like you to assist me with Mr. Paris 
first," he replied, motioning her to the biobed.
	She finally noticed the lieutenant lying there.  "What happened?  
Is he okay?"
	"Frankly, I don't have sufficient information to answer either of 
those questions."
	Their discussion was abruptly halted by the snarling of Tom's 
stomach.  "Uh...I don't mean to break up the party...but could one of 
you...get me to the head...before I do something we'll all regret?"
	Kes calmly rushed him to the lavatory where he could expel the 
partially digested remains of his lunch.  It was a horrible experience; 
Tom's entire upper body trembled as he leaned over the bowl.  He hadn't 
even had hangovers this bad.  Once spent, he shakily got to his feet, 
freshened himself up at the sink and shuffled back to the biobed, Kes 
guiding him at his side.  The Doctor performed another scan for safe 
measure.
	"This is quite unusual," the hologram uttered.  "Mr. Paris appears 
to be suffering from Angosian flu, but there's no sign of the virus in his 
system.  However, I am detecting an imbalance of neurochemicals in the 
thalamic and hypothalamic regions of his brain."
	"If there's something interfering with the normal functions of 
those areas, that certainly would account for the symptoms of Angosian 
flu." Kes diagnosed.
	"Yes, my thoughts exactly.  Unfortunately, there's no indication of 
what's causing that imbalance."
	Tom moaned feebly.  "Hungry...so hungry...need food...."
	"What?  Fifteen minutes ago you were complaining of an upset 
stomach," The Doctor argued.
	"I'll take care of him, Doctor," Kes placated, smiling.  The 
hologram had been making great strides in his efforts to be regarded as an 
equal member of the crew, but he still had difficulty with the subtleties 
and nuances of human behaviour.  "Tom, would you like me to get something 
for you from Neelix's kitchen?  He might still have some leftovers from 
lunch."
	The lieutenant suddenly became agitated.  "No!  No leftovers...no 
garvola..."
	Both observers exchanged a look of alarm.  "Kes, what do you know 
of this garvola?"
	"It's a herb plant we harvested a couple of weeks ago, but Neelix 
only started using it in his cooking the other day.  He thought the crew 
would appreciate a new change, and everyone does seem to enjoy it.  I think 
it's added a new dimension to his recipes."
	The hologram cocked an interested eyebrow at her comment.  "You've 
ingested it as well?"
	"I doubt there isn't anyone left on the ship who hasn't, except 
you."  She seemed to realize a little too late what she had said.  "I'm 
sorry, Doctor, I didn't mean to say it that way."
	"Don't worry, Kes," he assured her.  "After all, I'm just a 
hologram; I don't require nutritional supplements.  However," he added, 
pointing to the patient, "I'm afraid that Mr. Paris does.  Please prepare a 
hypospray to include an appetite suppressant as well.  After that, I'd like 
to run a scan on you as well to see if we can isolate this garvola."
	Kes moved to prepare the hypospray.  "But I feel fine, Doctor."
	"If you've recently consumed any of Mr. Neelix's tainted dishes 
there's a possibility I can identify it and how it reacts with the 
digestive process.  Besides, we don't know exactly how this herb influences 
a person when ingested - it may simply substitute itself with the 
neurotransmitters without altering overt behaviour.  You may feel fine, but 
when the garvola wears off you may feel as Mr. Paris does now."
	"I hadn't thought of that," she admitted.
	"Don't fault yourself; we can't all be incredibly gifted doctors," 
the hologram reasoned, training his tricorder on the Ocampan.  "Sickbay to 
Neelix."
	"Neelix here.  What can I do for you?"  The Talaxian's voice 
sounded harried and distracted.
	"Mr. Neelix, I require an item from your menu that contains 
garvola.  Please prepare a sample and deliver it to Sickbay at your 
earliest convenience."

	On the bridge, Captain Janeway noticed the feeling of hunger slowly 
rising in the pit of her stomach.  Considering lunch was only two hours 
ago, the sensation puzzled her - after all, she thought she had eaten a 
fairly hearty meal.  *Well, I don't suppose it would hurt to get a snack.*  
"Commander, you have the bridge."  She strode to the turbolift with a 
slight smirk creasing her profile.  There were times when she really 
enjoyed having the captain's prerogative.
	Ensign Kim fought hard to keep his concentration at Ops.  For the 
last half hour he attempted to ignore the pangs of hunger, much as he did 
the entire hour before lunch this afternoon.  He so badly wanted to trek 
down to the mess hall for a nosh, but he couldn't leave his station without 
a legitimate reason.  Briefly he thought about going to Sickbay to get 
something for his headache, but after hearing the gripes of The Doctor he 
didn't want to upset him further.  Still, he could just *say* he needed to 
go to Sickbay - would it really hurt anyone if he didn't actually go?  
"Sir, permission to leave the bridge to go to Sickbay."
	"Nothing too serious I hope," Chakotay prodded.
	"No, sir, just a headache, but I sure could use something for it."
	Chakotay considered the request for a moment.  A headache wasn't 
exactly the direst of emergencies, but business was a little slow on the 
bridge for the time being.  "All right, go ahead, Mr. Kim, but be quick 
about it."
	"Yes, sir.  Thank you, sir," the ensign chattered, breaking for the 
turbolift.  Maybe Tom was right after all; a little white lie, placed at 
the appropriate times, were absolutely harmless to all parties involved.
	Tuvok was aware of the empty feeling in his stomach as well, but he 
stayed his post.  It was illogical to be experiencing such a condition: he 
had fulfilled his nutritional requirements for the afternoon and he had 
more than adequately satiated his hunger as well.
	Neelix was growing befuddled over the peculiar activity passing 
through the mess hall that afternoon.  The lunch crowd had been steady and 
heavy for nearly two hours.  The entire menu had been cleaned out after 
ninety minutes, leaving him to scramble to find a replacement menu.  
Ultimately he was forced to make up another swamp lettuce salad, using up 
the remainder of the garvola salad dressing in the process.  The awaiting 
diners were enervated but nonetheless cranky about having to wait in line 
for longer than was necessary for a mere salad, particularly when there was 
the one portion The Doctor had requested sitting out in plain sight - a 
request that was bizarre in itself, since he was sure that holograms didn't 
eat real food.  Protests over who should be entitled to the reserved meal 
ensued.  In the end, the disgruntled diners grudgingly accepted his 
profoundest apologies at being unable to provide a timely meal.
	He barely had time to clean up the galley before officers began 
drifting in for a mid-afternoon snack.  That was unusual in itself, as they 
rarely bothered to do so before despite his encouragement at the onset of 
his tenure on *Voyager*.  Almost everyone who came in seemed rather 
uncomfortable, casting furtive glances about the room to check that no one 
there would recognize the fact that they weren't working.  Only Captain 
Janeway was forthright enough in her inquiries, but it only stood to reason 
that by being the highest ranked authority on the ship, she didn't have to 
explain her actions to anyone.
	Even more unusual was the nature of the snacks they requested.  It 
didn't matter what he found for them as long as it had garvola in it.  They 
didn't outright say it, of course - it was usually hidden by remarks like 
"there's something missing" or "it doesn't taste quite right" - but 
ultimately it always led to the herb.  He figured that the crew would 
eventually seek for a new experience now that they had been saturated with 
garvola, but obviously he had made an error in judgement.  His biggest 
concern now was the supply situation: the heavy use of the herb was 
depleting the stock more rapidly than he had anticipated.  At the current 
rate of consumption the garvola plants would be completely exhausted in 
less than three weeks.