EPISODE CLXXXII - HOLIDAY COOKING WITH HANNIBAL LECHTER




Sgt. Stauch awoke in a dense, primeval forest beneath a large elm, its leaves tinted with the amber hues of autumn.  A creek flowed passively a few feet away fresh and clear and cool.  Stauch sat up feeling a warm breeze against his cheek, rustling his hair, and he inhaled the sweet, country air appreciatively.  A monocled white rabbit hopped out from under the nearby foliage, it's soft pink eyes resting curiously on the sergeant.

"Sammy Davis, Jr. is my close, personal friend", the bunny proclaimed in a surprisingly deep voice.  "Sometimes we shower together, along with Bucky Beaver."

"Oh", Stauch replied, surprised with the almost normalcy of conversing with the long eared rodent, "that's nice.  Cleanliness is very important, after all."

The rabbit nodded, wagging his prehensile tail enthusiastically.  "You and me both, bub", he remarked discontentedly.  "Tony Orlando only had that one big hit."

"Uh, I don't quite follow", Stauch admitted, finding it difficult to concentrate on the rabbit's dialogue.

"Do-do-do doodoo doom doom, do-do-do doodoo doom doom", the rabbit crooned, swaying in time with his own rhythm. "Ice, ice baby.  Vanilla ice, ice baby..."

It was then that Stauch noted the almost imperceptible, yet disturbing strangeness of his surroundings.  "This has to be a dream", he whispered to himself as the vision wavered before him.

The rabbit ended his tune abruptly, unzipped his fur, and let it fall to the ground.  At the same time, he reached into the bushes nearby and produced a Nadblaster automatic plasma rifle.  When the sergeant's eyes focused again, he saw that the bunny suit had really been an elaborate disguise, and that the all too familiar form before him was distinctly Wyzenhymer.

Stauch reached into his boot for his survival knife, pulling out a flying squirrel in a aviator's cap instead.  He shrieked and tossed the varmint to the ground, his widening eyes coming the rest on the wily Wyzenhymer's weapon.

"Die Space Fleet scum!!", the nose less biped screamed, yanking the trigger.

Stauch screamed and threw himself to the right, but felt the searing energy projectile pass through his middle.  He rolled over on his back struggling to sit up, but found his body unresponsive.  The diminutive Wyzenhymer hopped up on his chest, placing the tip of his gun in the sergeant's nostril, smiling as the life leaked out of his victims body.

"Jim Neighbors has a pet reindeer", it said as it's finger tightened once more on the trigger.

Stauch sat up abruptly, bathed in sweat, nearly falling off of the gurney he was occupying in sickbay.  Pushing aside the sedative induced fog of his mind, he peered cautiously around the room taking in his surroundings.  He relaxed somewhat until his frantic gaze set upon a man sitting in a nearby chair.  "Who're you?", Stauch demanded, feeling as though he were speaking through a mouthful of cotton.

"I am the Chief Psychological Officer, Sergeant", the dark haired man replied, looking up from the book he had until now been making notes in, "Dr. Billoway."

"Is this real?", Stauch managed after pulling a large, white wad of cotton from his mouth, "or am I still dreaming?"

"What do you think?", the doctor answered, cocking an eyebrow curiously.

"I don't know, damn it", the sergeant returned agitatedly, "that's why I'm asking you!"

The doctor didn't reply.  "Interesting", he muttered, making an entry into his notebook.

"What am I doing here?", Stauch inquired, getting a hold on his emotions.  "What do you want with me?"

The psychiatrist stood, taking a step toward the bed.  "I was asked to come and speak to you as you were a bit delusional when they brought you to sickbay."

"I was hit on the head by an android", Stauch commented dryly.

"Ah", Billoway responded, "and how did you come to this conclusion?"

"Because I was hit on the head by an android!!"

The doctor scribbled in his book again.  "I heard you muttering about a rabbit with a gun before you woke", he said in a detached tone, "and something about Tony Orlando..."

Stauch chuckled mirthlessly.  "That was just a dream."

"Yet you claim that getting his in the head by, what was it...", he checked his notes, "an android, really occurred."

The sergeant shook his head miserably.  "Are you trying to imply that my encounter with the android didn't actually happen, and that, somehow, I gave myself a head injury?"

"Is that what you think?"

"No!", Stauch attested, "I know what happened.  It's you who has the problem with my story."

"I never said that", the doctor put in soothingly.  "I'm simply attempting to understand whether you are able to differentiate between your dreams and reality."

"Well, I can", the sergeant confirmed irritably.  "Is that all you needed?"

"Is it?", Billoway countered.

Stauch stared at the indifferent face of the analyst.  "Yes doctor, that's it.  Now can I go back to work?"

"Do you want to?"

Stauch didn't answer, but reached for his clothes instead.  He gave the doctor a meaningful glance.  "A little privacy, please."

"Certainly", Billoway replied, stepping out and pulling the curtain closed behind him.  He stepped out into the corridor, scribbling in his notes, and began walking back to his office.  Before closing the book, he reached into his jacket, withdrawing a red pen and circled the word "whacko".