9 1/2 Inches


By Britta

"That's not accurate, Tom," B'Elanna smiled as she said it and sat down across from him.
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"It is so, and you know it." Tom frowned at the padd he held in one hand.
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She took a sip of her coffee. "It's not regulation."
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"Fuck the regs! I see no reason to fill this out in the first place." Tom was in a pissy mood; he hated paperwork with a passion.
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B'Elanna smiled again and leaned toward him. "Look at it this way, Tom: if you don't fill out the form correctly, Chakotay won't see what a big dick you have."
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Tom perked up. "Chakotay gets these reports?"
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"Mm hmm. He is the only one who sees the personal personnel stats, if you know what I mean."
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"And he insists we use metrics?"
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"Absolutely."
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"But why?"
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"He doesn't have a good grasp of the old-style measuring system. If he saw nine and one half inches, it wouldn't have nearly the impact you'd want."
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Tom looked at her, decided she was probably telling the truth and changed his entry to read twenty-four centimeters. "Think this will go over better, maybe pique his curiosity, and get me a date with him?"
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B'Elanna looked at the padd and nodded. "It should certainly help, but don't think your numbers are the most impressive." She stood and drained her cup. "He comes in at twenty-six."
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"How the hell do you know that?" Tom sounded jealous even to his own ears.
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"I'm the Chief Engineer, and I know the exact size of every piece of equipment on this ship."

THE END

Comments? Suggestions?
E-mail me at Britta