The makeup artists were at work, chatting away despite the ungodly hour of the morning. Two were doing Vulcans and had only been there half an hour or so. One was doing a Cardassian and had been there since long before the other two had gotten out of bed. Another was later yet and was getting things ready for the easy Humans who would be coming in later. Of the three actors present, two were firmly asleep in their chairs, but one of the Vulcans was chatting brightly.

            “Yes, it’s my first job on the show. I don’t actually care that I’m no more than set dressing. It’s quite an honor to be part of it.”

            “A lot of the actors say that,” his makeup artist said, delicately applying a latex ear.

            “Well, you know it’s not everyone who gets to be a Vulcan,” the Vulcan said with a deep chuckle.

            “It’s not everyone who gets to put the ears on a Vulcan,” she smiled back.

            “No, I suppose not.” He grinned as if he knew exactly how she felt about it. “Speaking of which, I was kind of hoping to meet Michael Westmore. I’m a big fan of his makeup designs. He creates so many different roles. What an imagination! I know it’s asking a lot, worming my way in to meet the makeup supervisor, but do you know whether it would be possible?”

            She paused, spirit-gum in hand. “I could get you in. He’s not a hard man to track down. No problem.”

            “Really?”

            “Yeah. You’re a nice guy. Maybe you can do me a favor one of these days.”

            “I sincerely hope I can.
            “Say, what’s your name, anyway?”

            A child-like grin crossed his face. “My name is Jarod. Jarod Crusher.”

            “No way!”

            “Well, it’s better than Jarod Worf.”

            “Yeah, it is. Hey, kids! Did you hear this guy’s name?”

            Soon jokes were flying around the makeup trailer at the Vulcan’s expense, he laughing and making as many as anyone else. Presently the call came. “On set! Starfleet extras on set!”

            Jarod Crusher rose. “That’s me.” He pulled off the voluminous bib from around his neck, revealing a grey, black, and blue-green uniform with lieutenant’s pips. “Medical Officer V’Lan at your service.”

            “V’Lan?” his makeup artist asked, admiring him. He really did look like a Vulcan.

            “They didn’t give me a name in the script, so I made one up. Good, solid Vulcan.” He flashed them a smile and the Vulcan salute. “Mene sakhet ur-seveh.”