All Hail The Gary
Posted on Thu Mar 6th, 2025 @ 8:45pm by Lieutenant Adrianna Baciami
1,779 words; about a 9 minute read
Mission: Stars Around the Well
The congregation had gathered in Cargo Bay 3, a space repurposed for the most sacred of ceremonies. Crates of engineering supplies had been pushed aside, replaced with makeshift pews arranged in a careful semi-circle. At the centre, upon a raised platform draped in crimson fabric, sat ‘the Gary’. The tribble, round and unassuming, pulsed ever so slightly with breath.
Lieutenant Henshaw stood before it, arms raised in reverence. The dimmed lighting cast eerie shadows across the bulkheads, while a rhythmic hum, the sound of dozens of voices in hushed unison, filled the room. “The Gary provides,” Henshaw intoned, his voice thick with conviction.
“The Gary provides,” the followers echoed, their heads bowed.
Ensign Patel stepped forward, carrying a small, ornate dish filled with replicated grains. With the precision of ritual, she knelt before the platform, extending the offering towards the sacred fluff. The tribble chirped, a soft, contented trill that sent shivers down the spines of the assembled devotees.
“The Gary has accepted our offering,” Henshaw proclaimed, and a ripple of relieved sighs swept through the congregation.
Lieutenant Brenner, still clad in his standard-issue uniform but with the sleeves rolled up in defiance of regulation, stepped forward. “I have sinned,” he admitted, voice thick with shame.
A murmur ran through the group. Confession was rare, but necessary.
Henshaw nodded gravely, “Speak your truth without fluff. Speak, and let the Gary judge you.”
“I... I almost used the tribble containment protocols,” A sharp intake of breath from the crowd, “I doubted the Gary.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Even the Gary seemed to vibrate with mild discontent.
“The Gary is merciful,” Henshaw finally said, “but mercy is not without expectations. You will spend a shift in silent contemplation, tending to the replicator filters, so that you may know the burden of your doubt.”
Brenner bowed his head, “I accept. All hail the Gary.”
A long moment passed, and then the Gary trilled once more. The tension lifted instantly, and murmurs of praise swelled in the room.
“All is well,” Henshaw declared, “the Gary has spoken.”
As the service neared its end, the congregation remained kneeling, their hands outstretched towards the Gary, their whispered devotions blending into the soft thrumming of the ship’s life support systems. Henshaw, eyes closed, muttered the final benediction.
“We leave this place in the fluffy wake of the Gary, carried by its wisdom and mercy.”
“The Gary guides us,” the others murmured in response.
A final, reverent silence hung in the air before the congregation began to rise, their movements slow, as if reluctant to leave the presence of their sacred being.
But then…
The doors to Cargo Bay 3 hissed open.
Ensign Lucy Johnson stepped inside, clutching a PaDD, her expression caught somewhere between exasperation and resignation. The congregation turned to her, eyes wide, their expressions ranging from guilt to defiance. Lucy exhaled through her nose, stepping forward with quiet authority. “Alright,” she said, her voice firm but measured, “that’s enough.”
Henshaw straightened, face carefully blank, “we are in the presence of the Gary. Show some respect.”
“Yes,” Lucy said, rubbing her temple, “I know. Because ‘the Gary’ is my pet tribble.” She marched up to the platform, scooping the soft, oblivious creature into her hands. The Gary chirped happily.
“The Gary chooses where it belongs,” someone muttered from the back.
“No, ‘the Gary’ is a tribble,” Lucy countered, cradling the fluffball like an errant child, “a tribble that has done this before, and frankly, it’s getting old.”
A nervous murmur rippled through the congregation. Henshaw opened his mouth, but Lucy cut him off with a single raised finger.
“I don’t care how enlightened you think you are, or what divine wisdom you think Gary has imparted this time,” she held the tribble up to eye level, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Garibaldi Von Fluffwitz, we talked about this! Naughty boy. Bad tribble.”
The tribble trilled.
“No, don’t you ‘chirp’ at me. You started another cult, didn’t you?”
Silence.
Lucy sighed. “Right. This ends now. Everyone, come on, go back to your posts. Cargo Bay 3 is no longer a temple. Gary needs his dinner, a nap and some time to think on the chaos he has caused.”
There was a long pause, but something in Lucy’s no-nonsense stare cut through even Henshaw’s fanatical resolve. One by one, the congregation dispersed, muttering to themselves as they shuffled back to their duties.
As the last of them exited, Lucy turned back to the tribble in her hands. “You are an absolute menace,” she told it, shaking her head, “no more cults, or else they'll take you away.”
The tribble vibrated contentedly.
Lucy narrowed her eyes.
“…I mean it.”
***
Lucy Johnson had done her best. She’d locked Gary in his terrarium, secured the lid, and placed it on the highest shelf near her bunk on the lower decks. For extra precaution, she’d left a note on the glass that read: "No cults."
But, as she should have expected, it hadn’t been enough.
Cargo Bay 3 was dimly lit once more, its bulkheads echoing with hushed reverence. The congregation had returned, more devoted than ever. Henshaw stood at the front, arms raised, his face alight with zealous joy. “The Gary has returned!” he declared.
A chorus of gasps and murmurs filled the room as the small, round tribble sat atop its crimson-draped platform, pulsing gently with each breath. No one had seen how it had escaped. No one questioned it.
“The Gary chooses to be with us,” Henshaw continued, his voice thick with conviction, “though he was taken, though he was caged, the Gary has risen victorious!”
A ragged cheer swept through the congregation. Some fell to their knees, others clutched their hands to their chests, eyes brimming with the sheer glory of the moment. “We have been tested, my brethren! And the Gary has found us worthy of his tutelage.”
A single, glorious chirp rang out, echoing in the cargo bay.
The room erupted.
Some wept openly. Others prostrated themselves before the platform, whispering blessings to the sacred being. Someone had even replicated a new offering dish, now filled with the highest-quality grains that the ship’s replicators could produce.
Just as the ritual was reaching its fever pitch, the doors hissed open again. Lucy stormed in. Her gaze flickered from the makeshift altar to Gary, who sat there, perfectly round, perfectly content.
“For Gawd’s sake,” she muttered.
Henshaw turned, undeterred, “You see! The non-believer returns! Yet the Gary welcomes all and the Gary will forgive you.”
Lucy ignored him, storming straight to the platform. She grabbed the Gary with both hands, holding him up to eye level. “This has got to stop,” she hissed.
The tribble chirped.
“Oh, don’t even try that with me. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
Henshaw took a reverent step forward, “The Gary chooses its path. The Gary–”
Lucy whipped around, holding the Gary under her arm like an unruly loaf of bread. “No, ‘the Gary’ does not choose! The Gary is a tribble! And you are Starfleet officers! Do you hear yourselves?!”
Silence.
Lucy clutched Gary tightly, her patience running on fumes. She had tried reasoning. She had tried orders. She had even tried physically removing Gary from their grasp.
Nothing had worked… again.
The congregation had merely waited, knowing that the tribble would find a way back to them. And now, once again, here they were– prostrating themselves before a sentient ball of fluff, whispering praises, acting as if they hadn’t all been through Starfleet Academy and learned about cognitive biases and mass hysteria.
Lucy let out a slow, measured breath, then turned back to face the gathered believers.
“Alright,” she said, gripping Gary under her arm. “Since no one’s listening to me, how about we get someone involved who will make you listen?”
Henshaw, still standing tall with the fervour of the truly converted, merely raised an eyebrow, “the Gary’s will cannot be denied.”
Lucy smirked, “uh huh. Well, let’s see how the Gary’s will holds up against Lieutenant Baciami.”
Silence.
The name settled over the room like a live plasma grenade. All of the lower-ranked officers visibly flinched. Others exchanged nervous glances. Even Henshaw, zealot though he was, hesitated, “that... that won’t be necessary.”
Lucy’s smirk widened, “no? Because I’m pretty sure she’d love to hear about this. She used to be in Intel, after all. And I’ve heard she’s got ways of making people back down. Even when they don’t want to.”
Someone in the back gulped audibly.
Lucy took a deliberate step forward, lowering her voice, “and you know what they say about her, don’t you? About what happened to the last guy who crossed her? Intel covered it up, obviously. But they say the body was never found. That Jason Frankley guy– he just vanished one day!”
Henshaw’s eyes flickered, doubt creeping in at the edges of his faith.
“I mean, maybe it’s just a rumour, maybe he just transferred,” Lucy continued, shrugging, “or maybe it’s not. You wanna find out?”
A nervous shuffle ran through the congregation. More than one person started edging towards the door.
Lucy exhaled dramatically. “Look, I don’t want to call her. I really don’t. She may take Gary away. But if I have to explain to her why half the ship is worshipping my pet tribble, I’m making sure she knows exactly who started it– and it wasn't me.”
Henshaw paled.
He turned to the others. “Service is concluded,” he announced quickly, “go in peace and have a fluff filled day.”
The believers didn’t need telling twice. The room started to empty in record time, leaving only Lucy and a few others standing there, the Gary still tucked under her arm.
She looked down at him, sighing. “You’re going to get me kicked out of StarFleet,” she muttered.
The tribble chirped.
Lucy narrowed her eyes, “no. No more cults.”
The tribble vibrated innocently.
She didn’t trust it for a second.
She turned to leave– only to pause and glance down at the tribble in her arms.
“…And you? You’re getting double lid security.”
The tribble trilled, utterly unbothered.
As Lucy left, the remaining congregation remained frozen. Then, slowly, Henshaw took a breath. “The Gary will endure,” he murmured.
The others nodded solemnly.
“The Gary will endure,” they whispered back.
And though they left the cargo bay for now, none of them doubted that their sacred one would return again.
All hail the Gary.
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