Ensign Wesley Crusher and the Attack of the Ficus Dwellers

I'm not entirely sure about this one but am feeling gutsy...these sagas were funny when I started them in 1992, but I'm woefully out of practice!
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Stardate 48556.3

You did WHAT to my ficus???

After configuring the precise chemical makeup for his culinary sciences final, Ensign Wesley Crusher was dismayed to find himself with flattened soufflé and a failing grade.  Apparently having the correct number of properly beaten eggs is no match for a random phaser blast from a trigger-happy Cardassian tactical officer.  The Academy would not be pleased.  Anyway, upon feeding the soufflé remnants to Data’s cat Spot, Wesley decided it was time to employ his up-and-coming 25^th-century-grade nanite experiment to cooking since the advent of replication obviously hadn’t relegated the fine art/science to ancient history.  Why didn’t somebody come up with a “cook-check?”  The need to spell correctly had been eradicated all the way back in the 20^th century, after all.


Dr. Beverly Crusher's Ficus

Little did our intrepid Ensign know that his food failure and corrective nanite attempt was being closely watched by his mother’s ficus: or more accurately, being watched by the in-dwellers of said ficus.  It seems that upon eating Wesley’s ill-begotten soufflé, Spot had proceeded to “fertilize” the potting soil therein (thereby answering the age-old question of whether or not beings in the 22^nd century and beyond do, in fact, poop) in a very unsightly and badly-scented manner.  Oh, the humanity.  It was in this moment of such rude violation and disrespectful treatment that the Ficus Dwellers made their vengeful presence known.  “Aha!” the Ficus Dweller Leader shouted.  “You, Giant Biped, shall remove this travesty from our midst lest we attack thee with our poison-tipped vibro-spears of doom!  Grrr!”



Angry Ficus Dweller



Arggh.  Of course Wesley couldn’t hear him.  The leader was 2 inches tall.  It was due to this unfortunate difference in species height ratio that the left side of Wesley’s body suddenly began to shake uncontrollably.  The Ficus Dwellers had made their vibratory presence known and launched hundreds of tiny vibro-spears from multiple leaf layers of Dr. Crusher’s prized ficus into the unsuspecting Ensign’s skin.  Oh, the humanity.  The handful of experimental cooking nanites in Wesley’s left hand went shooting toward the tree.  Of course, being microscopic and all, the Ficus Dwellers couldn’t actually see the mechanical entities headed their way.  They instead continued to vibro-spear the hades out of poor Wesley until he lay in a stunned convulsional heap on the floor.  Oh, the humanity.

The Ficus Dwellers having taken a respite from their justified--though invisible--onslaught, Wesley had a chance to recover.  After reviving himself with a cup of “Tea. Earlgray. Hot.” he put on his special super-sensitive, sight-and-sound-enhancing device to aid in locating all of the wayward nanites.  What he found instead was of the astonishing.  Hundreds of mini-people were shaking mini-spears in his general direction and shouting about the sudden unleashing of Devil Gnomes upon their plant populace.  Sure enough, several nanites were digging in and out of the potting soil and attempting to make fire for the performance of their cooking duties but were unable to do so due to the lack of dry ingredients. 

The "Devil Gnome" as depicted in The Ficus Dwellers'
Book of Barely-Believable Legends

Other Devil Gnome incarnations



Their deviousness knows no bounds


“They’re nanites,” Wesley said patiently.  “Not Devil Gnomes.”

“They’re gnomes!”

“Nanites.”

“Gnomes!”

“NAN-ITES!”

“GNOM-MES!”

Exasperated with the inability of this species to communicate effectively, concisely, and with an English accent, Wesley decided that the best way to solve the problem was to relocate his mother’s ficus plant to an alternate location.  After consulting Data for any known ficus havens in nearby galaxies, Wesley discovered one suitable option for ficus relocation and proceeded to lock coordinates for transport.  His mother would be far from pleased, but it had to be done.  “Greetings once again, Miniature Ficus People.  I’m going to transport you and your potted plant to a ficus-friendly, gnome-free planet.  Do not throw additional things at me.”

The relocation was conducted successfully, and Ensign Wesley Crusher was overwhelmed by the personal satisfaction of aiding an interstellar species in need.  He was also overwhelmed by the maternal mandate that he now pass a horticulture sciences course AND take charge of her relocation to a mother-friendly planet of gnome-free day spas.

Oh, the humanity.