Crackerjack {Star Trek The Next Generation fan fiction}

Chapter 2

After a couple of hours of walking, there was a marked increase in lights. “Now we’re talkin’,” Geordi said. 

There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance. “We should find shelter,” Wesley said. 

More walking got them into the heart of what appeared to be a fairly large city, but they were both too tired to pay much attention to their surroundings, and didn’t even bother to try to find out where they were. 

Then they found a park, with a large open building that had lots of steps but seemed to not be occupied. Their echoing footsteps told them that the floor and stairs were made of some sort of stone. They mounted the steps and got onto the floor and leaned next to what was some sort of statue. It was not very comfortable, but it would have to do. Geordi put on the sunglasses and Wesley tucked the visor into the duffle bag. Sleep came easily. 

=/\= 

There were voices, and those woke Geordi and Wesley. Wesley blinked a few times in the morning light, and it took him a moment to figure out where he was. 

The building had Greek columns in front, and was made of stone – granite, perhaps. Everything was rather squarish. There was an enormous statue of a seated, bearded man. “It’s, uh, Geordi, this is the Lincoln Memorial.” 

“Huh. Then we’re in Washington, DC.” 

There had been a bit of thunder earlier, and the rain finally came. “I’ll see if I can get us some food,” Wes said, “uh, wait here, okay?” 

“I got nowhere else to go.” 

Wesley ran out into the downpour. He looked around a little to get his bearings, and then saw a small café. He jogged over to see if it was open. It was a small lunch counter. A cook was frying up pancakes. Perfect. 

He ran back toward the Memorial and, just as abruptly as it had started, the rain shower stopped. 

While Wesley was investigating, Geordi stood near the open entryway. Sensing that the rain had stopped, he put his hand out, palm up, in order to check. 

And into his outstretched palm, someone dropped a couple of coins, and they clinked. “What?” he called out, “Excuse me, you dropped something.” 

But whoever had given him charity was long gone. He stood there, a little dumbfounded and another, heavier coin was pressed into his palm. Nonplussed, he blurted out the only word that came to mind, “Thanks.” 

Wes returned. “There’s like a little diner; it’s not far. Hey, you got forty cents.” 

“These people must think I’m a panhandler,” Geordi said, “this is a strange time.” 

“Well, they probably think they’re being kind. Anyway, take my arm and we’ll get some breakfast, all right?” 

They walked together, a bit slowly, for they were both unused to walking like that. They got to the lunch counter and Wes opened the door. 

The proprietor looked at both of them and frowned. “We don’t serve his kind here.” He pointed to a sign on the wall that said Whites Only. 

“He uses the same money that you and I do,” Wesley protested. 

“And I don’t care if he is the color of money. You can stay. But he’s got to go.” 

Wes stood there for a second, stunned. 

“What’s the problem?” Geordi asked. 

“I, uh, I’ll tell you when we get outside.” Wes guided his friend out of the little café. “Can I ask you a question, Geordi?”