***Requisite Disclaimer Section***
No Star Trek characters were harmed during the writing of this story.
All characters contained herein, with the exception of Lieutenant Roberta Lazarchic, are the intellectual property of Paramount Pictures, or whoever bought them last.
If you let me play with them, I'll be nice, and put them back when I'm done.
I have no money, so don't sue me, m'kay?
Criticize away, but please, be gentle. It's my first time.
________ ________ ________ ________
Paradise, the Final Frontier
or All Trekkies Go To Heaven
When I regained consciousness, the first thing I noticed was the strangeness of the light. There was no obvious source; it seemed to emanate from the walls. I was lying on some sort of bed; there was a large panel on the wall over the bed, with lights and indicators, but no labels that could be seen from my position. The concerned face of a statuesque, uniformed blonde peered down at me. She reached for the wall and I heard a click as she apparently pressed a button.
"Doctor, come quickly! She's coming out of it!" She turned back to me, and I heard a whooshing sound as a door slid open and a craggy-faced middle-aged man hurried into the room.
"Now, just lie still and let me check you out!" he ordered in a gruff voice, but concern was deeply evident in his strangely familiar blue eyes. I complied, and remained motionless as he moved what seemed to be a small, metal salt shaker over me. It emitted a soft, whirring whistling sound. Where had I heard that sound before?
As I lay there, I suddenly remembered a truck - a really big truck. I had been driving my dad's 1978 Buick Le Sabre down US Route 20 through Madison, Ohio, and was nearing the end of the 105 mile trip home.
With less than 2 miles to go, I was almost to my turn at Townline Road, which ran between Madison and Perry, the barely-on-the-map town where my family had lived since I was 11 months old. I had been on my way home from college, when an eighteen-wheeler heading the opposite way hit a patch of black ice and swerved into my lane, barreling toward me. My last thought before the blackness enveloped me was, "Dad is gonna kill me if I wreck this car."
Lying there, noisy salt shaker above me, I felt fine, but I was convinced that I had died; it was unfathomable that I had escaped that out-of-control rig. I thought, "Dead people feel no pain," so, barely moving, as not to draw attention, I tried to pinch my leg as a test of my desperate hypothesis. The results of my experiment caused me to flinch. So much for that theory. Maybe dead people do feel pain?
I remained unconvinced. Surveying the immediate area, I pretended not to panic. I knew I was dead, but this couldn't possibly be Heaven. I couldn't explain it, but my surroundings were strangely familiar. Suddenly, it came to me. I had a new hypothesis, and it was utterly ridiculous.
"Doctor? What happened? How did I get here?" I demanded to know. He smiled at the nurse and then at me. A gentle, wide grin, starting with those baby blue eyes, and gradually taking over his entire demeanor; When this man smiled, it was with his entire being! I felt better already.
"How much do you remember? What can you tell me about the accident?" he inquired.
"Accident? You mean the truck DID hit me? I can't remember. I think I passed out before the collision." As I said this, their expressions grew very concerned.
"Truck? Miss, the only collision you've had was with a bulkhead when you were thrown by that explosion in Engineering," the doctor told me.
That single statement confirmed my second, impossible hypothesis. I was in the sickbay of the starship Enterprise! Heaven is Star Trek? I started babbling, and I'm sure I sounded like an idiot.
"But doctor, I'm not supposed to be here. Don't you understand? I was on my way home from Grove City College for Christmas, and a truck hit me. A tractor-trailer was coming at me head on! I should be dead! How can I be here?"
I struggled, knowing they were thinking I'd gone out of my mind, as they fought to keep me on the diagnostic bed. Nurse Chapel handed Dr. McCoy an instrument I recognized. Ooooh, no you don't!
"Put down that hypospray, Doctor, I don't need a tranquilizer. I'm perfectly healthy! I just don't understand. How did I end up on the Enterprise?" I ceased struggling in an attempt to convince them I was in control of my faculties, but Doctor McCoy went ahead with the tranquilizer. I wasn't too upset about it: I'd always wondered how that hypospray felt, anyway. Not too bad....
When I awoke, I was considerably calmer. Nurse Chapel was still at my side, looking very worried. I figured I was here for the long haul, so I thought I'd better find out who I was supposed to be in this drama. Feigning amnesia, which wasn't completely inaccurate, I asked her my name, and why I was on the starship. I decided not to mention the truck again, or that I was supposed to be dead.
"Why, you're Lieutenant Roberta Lazarchic, of course, and you work under Chief Engineer Scott. You're here for the same reason as the rest of us....the five-year mission to explore the galaxy," the nurse explained. "You really don't remember?"
"Of course, I know about the mission," I said, "it was always my dream, my fantasy to be a part of the crew of the Enterprise. But no matter how real it seemed to me, it was only a television show."
"Well, I certainly hope you decide I'm real." I looked up at the sound of the familiar, masculine voice. With that impish grin, it was unmistakably Captain James T. Kirk!
"Captain Kirk! I can't believe it. This all seems so real! But-" I was interrupted by what sounded like a boatswain's whistle. A voice came from the intercom.
"Bridge to Captain Kirk." My eyes opened wide: that was Mr. Spock, the Vulcan First Officer. I finally accepted the fact that I was, indeed, on the Enterprise, and that Christmas in Perry, Ohio was now officially out of the question. Mom and Dad would definitely be ticked off.
"Kirk here. What is it, Spock?"
"Captain, sensors are intermittently showing another ship of a size comparable to ours in the vicinity. There is a high probability it is the Romulan ship that fired upon us earlier. I would suggest your immediate presence on the bridge."
"Be right there. Kirk out," he said, then punched the intercom button. Over his shoulder, as he strode toward the door, he told me, "I hope you'll be back with us soon. We may need all the help we can get," and he was gone.
I turned to Nurse Chapel. "I'll be all right, now. I think I'm beginning to understand."
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
To everyone's surprise, and my own amazement, Mr. Spock had been wrong. The other ship, as it turned out, was merely another Starfleet cruiser, similar to the Enterprise. Nothing more was seen of the Romulan vessel. Go figure; Spock makes mistakes, too.
The medical staff concluded that I had, as a result of a concussion, lost my memory. Doctor McCoy, though, was slightly puzzled.
"Darnedest case of amnesia I ever saw," he told Kirk and Spock, "She remembers everybody's names, remembers her way around the ship, knows all the details of the ship. All she seems to have forgotten is how to do her job. The tests I have given her show that she no longer has any capability in the field of Engineering. She scored zero in comprehension. It would be futile to attempt to re-educate her in that area."
"Any suggestions, Doctor?" the Captain inquired. "Mr. Spock?"
"Her aptitude in life sciences seems to be above average," Spock replied. "She knows the fundamentals and shows considerable potential. I believe Lieutenant Lazarchic could be trained as my assistant. Since we are scheduled to be on a routine patrol for a somewhat extended period of time, my regular duties will be at a minimum. I would welcome the opportunity to act as her mentor."
After consideration, Kirk agreed to Spock's idea. When Christine Chapel relayed the news, I was elated, and she seemed a bit jealous. It would not have been obvious, though, to someone who was not aware that she was secretly in love with Mr. Spock.
I knew that I would be in a unique position. For years, I had been a Star Trek fan. I had read every Star Trek book I could lay hands on, watched every original episode at least five times and knew these people inside and out: how they thought, what they felt. Knowing that I would be living and working with them, especially with my favorite character, Mr. Spock, was both a dream come true and a potential disaster. It was going to be interesting, but I would have to be very careful of what I said. I could barely wait until they let me out of Sickbay, so I could get started living my fantasy.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Excerpt from Personal Log, Lieutenant Roberta Lazarchic:
I really do enjoy my work. It's just that sometimes it is SO frustrating to work with Mr. Spock. He is SUCH a perfectionist, and all of my work must meet with his standards. "Is this the best you can do, Lieutenant?" Once in a while even he makes a mistake, but I guess I'm supposed to ignore them and act as if it never happens. This five year mission feels like it will never end, and I can't remember a time when I wasn't working for Mr. Perfect Pointy Ears. It's as if I had no life before I came here.
When is Starfleet going to do something about these uniforms? How can I be expected to do my job when I'm constantly wondering if my butt is showing or if I snagged my pantyhose? And go-go boots? Come on, now....whoever designed these outfits must have some serious issues with women.
I know we're supposed to pretend we don't notice these things, but that new ensign on the bridge has a sweet, if slightly crooked, smile, and seems very nice, though a bit uncomfortable around the female crew members.. I think he said his name is Chekov. I wonder if he has a first name? He tries to be so serious and impress Mr. Spock. Maybe he wants my job! He can have it.
I have been seriously thinking of asking for a transfer to another department, possibly the library-history section. I love reading about history. Twentieth-century American history is my favorite. It has always been my fantasy to live in a small town in Northeastern Ohio, during the end of the twentieth century. There was this little town called Perry, with only about 5,000 people. Doesn't that sound like a perfect size? And I've read about a nice, little private college in western Pennsylvania that I would have loved. Grove City College...don't you just love that name? So peaceful. But I must be realistic. It is, after all, only a fantasy, just a dream. You know how dreams are. They never come true.
The End
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
This section was going to be a preface, but I thought it might be better to say these things afterwards.
I offer this short story, my first, and only, attempt at writing anything resembling fanfiction. If I get a lot of "this stinks" comments, it may be my last! It was born of that mother, necessity, as an assignment for a creative writing course in college. We were to write about our idea of heaven or hell, and it could be serious or humorous. Guess what I picked. (I wrote about hell for another assignment; all I will say is that it involved William Shatner) The main character in this story is me, using my given name (Roberta) and my maiden name (Lazarchic) which was the name I went by in college.
I had been a Star Trek fan since age 10, and by 1983, not only had I acquired a copy of just about every Trek-related book in existence at the time, but I had read every one of them at least three times. (My last count was way over 100, but I stopped buying them in 1988). During our freshman year of college, my roommate and I had a Star Trek party for the other girls in our section of the dorm. Somewhere in my house, there are pictures of me with a Spock haircut, temporary black hair dye, plastic pointed ears, upswept eyebrows, wearing a black-collared blue velour shirt with taped-on Enterprise insignia. I didn't bind my breasts, so I had that androgynous Spock look. I know, I can't believe it either. I'm hoping I find those photographs before my children do, so I can burn them.
The senior student who graded our papers for the creative writing class had been a fan since the show first aired in 1966, so I decided that when I die, I'm going to that big ol' starship in the sky. Yes, I knew it was a no-fail, guaranteed "A" paper from the moment I decided what to write!
However....this is not the story in its original form. I have, in my humble opinion, learned a bit about writing in the years since my sophomore year at Grove City College, and the stilted storytelling reminded me exactly WHY I never wrote any more fiction. Yikes. I had to go over it, insert adjectives, adverbs, a bit of humor, and re-write entire paragraphs before I could even think of letting anyone see it. I'm sure someone will tell me if I failed miserably in making it interesting.
Oh, and about that selective amnesia: when I wrote this, I was severely failing some of my Engineering courses, which led to a change of my major from Chemical Engineering to Mathematics. Dad had talked me out of my first choice, Archaeology, long before.
No Star Trek characters were harmed during the writing of this story.
All characters contained herein, with the exception of Lieutenant Roberta Lazarchic, are the intellectual property of Paramount Pictures, or whoever bought them last.
If you let me play with them, I'll be nice, and put them back when I'm done.
I have no money, so don't sue me, m'kay?
Criticize away, but please, be gentle. It's my first time.
________ ________ ________ ________
Paradise, the Final Frontier
or All Trekkies Go To Heaven
When I regained consciousness, the first thing I noticed was the strangeness of the light. There was no obvious source; it seemed to emanate from the walls. I was lying on some sort of bed; there was a large panel on the wall over the bed, with lights and indicators, but no labels that could be seen from my position. The concerned face of a statuesque, uniformed blonde peered down at me. She reached for the wall and I heard a click as she apparently pressed a button.
"Doctor, come quickly! She's coming out of it!" She turned back to me, and I heard a whooshing sound as a door slid open and a craggy-faced middle-aged man hurried into the room.
"Now, just lie still and let me check you out!" he ordered in a gruff voice, but concern was deeply evident in his strangely familiar blue eyes. I complied, and remained motionless as he moved what seemed to be a small, metal salt shaker over me. It emitted a soft, whirring whistling sound. Where had I heard that sound before?
As I lay there, I suddenly remembered a truck - a really big truck. I had been driving my dad's 1978 Buick Le Sabre down US Route 20 through Madison, Ohio, and was nearing the end of the 105 mile trip home.
With less than 2 miles to go, I was almost to my turn at Townline Road, which ran between Madison and Perry, the barely-on-the-map town where my family had lived since I was 11 months old. I had been on my way home from college, when an eighteen-wheeler heading the opposite way hit a patch of black ice and swerved into my lane, barreling toward me. My last thought before the blackness enveloped me was, "Dad is gonna kill me if I wreck this car."
Lying there, noisy salt shaker above me, I felt fine, but I was convinced that I had died; it was unfathomable that I had escaped that out-of-control rig. I thought, "Dead people feel no pain," so, barely moving, as not to draw attention, I tried to pinch my leg as a test of my desperate hypothesis. The results of my experiment caused me to flinch. So much for that theory. Maybe dead people do feel pain?
I remained unconvinced. Surveying the immediate area, I pretended not to panic. I knew I was dead, but this couldn't possibly be Heaven. I couldn't explain it, but my surroundings were strangely familiar. Suddenly, it came to me. I had a new hypothesis, and it was utterly ridiculous.
"Doctor? What happened? How did I get here?" I demanded to know. He smiled at the nurse and then at me. A gentle, wide grin, starting with those baby blue eyes, and gradually taking over his entire demeanor; When this man smiled, it was with his entire being! I felt better already.
"How much do you remember? What can you tell me about the accident?" he inquired.
"Accident? You mean the truck DID hit me? I can't remember. I think I passed out before the collision." As I said this, their expressions grew very concerned.
"Truck? Miss, the only collision you've had was with a bulkhead when you were thrown by that explosion in Engineering," the doctor told me.
That single statement confirmed my second, impossible hypothesis. I was in the sickbay of the starship Enterprise! Heaven is Star Trek? I started babbling, and I'm sure I sounded like an idiot.
"But doctor, I'm not supposed to be here. Don't you understand? I was on my way home from Grove City College for Christmas, and a truck hit me. A tractor-trailer was coming at me head on! I should be dead! How can I be here?"
I struggled, knowing they were thinking I'd gone out of my mind, as they fought to keep me on the diagnostic bed. Nurse Chapel handed Dr. McCoy an instrument I recognized. Ooooh, no you don't!
"Put down that hypospray, Doctor, I don't need a tranquilizer. I'm perfectly healthy! I just don't understand. How did I end up on the Enterprise?" I ceased struggling in an attempt to convince them I was in control of my faculties, but Doctor McCoy went ahead with the tranquilizer. I wasn't too upset about it: I'd always wondered how that hypospray felt, anyway. Not too bad....
When I awoke, I was considerably calmer. Nurse Chapel was still at my side, looking very worried. I figured I was here for the long haul, so I thought I'd better find out who I was supposed to be in this drama. Feigning amnesia, which wasn't completely inaccurate, I asked her my name, and why I was on the starship. I decided not to mention the truck again, or that I was supposed to be dead.
"Why, you're Lieutenant Roberta Lazarchic, of course, and you work under Chief Engineer Scott. You're here for the same reason as the rest of us....the five-year mission to explore the galaxy," the nurse explained. "You really don't remember?"
"Of course, I know about the mission," I said, "it was always my dream, my fantasy to be a part of the crew of the Enterprise. But no matter how real it seemed to me, it was only a television show."
"Well, I certainly hope you decide I'm real." I looked up at the sound of the familiar, masculine voice. With that impish grin, it was unmistakably Captain James T. Kirk!
"Captain Kirk! I can't believe it. This all seems so real! But-" I was interrupted by what sounded like a boatswain's whistle. A voice came from the intercom.
"Bridge to Captain Kirk." My eyes opened wide: that was Mr. Spock, the Vulcan First Officer. I finally accepted the fact that I was, indeed, on the Enterprise, and that Christmas in Perry, Ohio was now officially out of the question. Mom and Dad would definitely be ticked off.
"Kirk here. What is it, Spock?"
"Captain, sensors are intermittently showing another ship of a size comparable to ours in the vicinity. There is a high probability it is the Romulan ship that fired upon us earlier. I would suggest your immediate presence on the bridge."
"Be right there. Kirk out," he said, then punched the intercom button. Over his shoulder, as he strode toward the door, he told me, "I hope you'll be back with us soon. We may need all the help we can get," and he was gone.
I turned to Nurse Chapel. "I'll be all right, now. I think I'm beginning to understand."
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
To everyone's surprise, and my own amazement, Mr. Spock had been wrong. The other ship, as it turned out, was merely another Starfleet cruiser, similar to the Enterprise. Nothing more was seen of the Romulan vessel. Go figure; Spock makes mistakes, too.
The medical staff concluded that I had, as a result of a concussion, lost my memory. Doctor McCoy, though, was slightly puzzled.
"Darnedest case of amnesia I ever saw," he told Kirk and Spock, "She remembers everybody's names, remembers her way around the ship, knows all the details of the ship. All she seems to have forgotten is how to do her job. The tests I have given her show that she no longer has any capability in the field of Engineering. She scored zero in comprehension. It would be futile to attempt to re-educate her in that area."
"Any suggestions, Doctor?" the Captain inquired. "Mr. Spock?"
"Her aptitude in life sciences seems to be above average," Spock replied. "She knows the fundamentals and shows considerable potential. I believe Lieutenant Lazarchic could be trained as my assistant. Since we are scheduled to be on a routine patrol for a somewhat extended period of time, my regular duties will be at a minimum. I would welcome the opportunity to act as her mentor."
After consideration, Kirk agreed to Spock's idea. When Christine Chapel relayed the news, I was elated, and she seemed a bit jealous. It would not have been obvious, though, to someone who was not aware that she was secretly in love with Mr. Spock.
I knew that I would be in a unique position. For years, I had been a Star Trek fan. I had read every Star Trek book I could lay hands on, watched every original episode at least five times and knew these people inside and out: how they thought, what they felt. Knowing that I would be living and working with them, especially with my favorite character, Mr. Spock, was both a dream come true and a potential disaster. It was going to be interesting, but I would have to be very careful of what I said. I could barely wait until they let me out of Sickbay, so I could get started living my fantasy.
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
Excerpt from Personal Log, Lieutenant Roberta Lazarchic:
I really do enjoy my work. It's just that sometimes it is SO frustrating to work with Mr. Spock. He is SUCH a perfectionist, and all of my work must meet with his standards. "Is this the best you can do, Lieutenant?" Once in a while even he makes a mistake, but I guess I'm supposed to ignore them and act as if it never happens. This five year mission feels like it will never end, and I can't remember a time when I wasn't working for Mr. Perfect Pointy Ears. It's as if I had no life before I came here.
When is Starfleet going to do something about these uniforms? How can I be expected to do my job when I'm constantly wondering if my butt is showing or if I snagged my pantyhose? And go-go boots? Come on, now....whoever designed these outfits must have some serious issues with women.
I know we're supposed to pretend we don't notice these things, but that new ensign on the bridge has a sweet, if slightly crooked, smile, and seems very nice, though a bit uncomfortable around the female crew members.. I think he said his name is Chekov. I wonder if he has a first name? He tries to be so serious and impress Mr. Spock. Maybe he wants my job! He can have it.
I have been seriously thinking of asking for a transfer to another department, possibly the library-history section. I love reading about history. Twentieth-century American history is my favorite. It has always been my fantasy to live in a small town in Northeastern Ohio, during the end of the twentieth century. There was this little town called Perry, with only about 5,000 people. Doesn't that sound like a perfect size? And I've read about a nice, little private college in western Pennsylvania that I would have loved. Grove City College...don't you just love that name? So peaceful. But I must be realistic. It is, after all, only a fantasy, just a dream. You know how dreams are. They never come true.
The End
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****
This section was going to be a preface, but I thought it might be better to say these things afterwards.
I offer this short story, my first, and only, attempt at writing anything resembling fanfiction. If I get a lot of "this stinks" comments, it may be my last! It was born of that mother, necessity, as an assignment for a creative writing course in college. We were to write about our idea of heaven or hell, and it could be serious or humorous. Guess what I picked. (I wrote about hell for another assignment; all I will say is that it involved William Shatner) The main character in this story is me, using my given name (Roberta) and my maiden name (Lazarchic) which was the name I went by in college.
I had been a Star Trek fan since age 10, and by 1983, not only had I acquired a copy of just about every Trek-related book in existence at the time, but I had read every one of them at least three times. (My last count was way over 100, but I stopped buying them in 1988). During our freshman year of college, my roommate and I had a Star Trek party for the other girls in our section of the dorm. Somewhere in my house, there are pictures of me with a Spock haircut, temporary black hair dye, plastic pointed ears, upswept eyebrows, wearing a black-collared blue velour shirt with taped-on Enterprise insignia. I didn't bind my breasts, so I had that androgynous Spock look. I know, I can't believe it either. I'm hoping I find those photographs before my children do, so I can burn them.
The senior student who graded our papers for the creative writing class had been a fan since the show first aired in 1966, so I decided that when I die, I'm going to that big ol' starship in the sky. Yes, I knew it was a no-fail, guaranteed "A" paper from the moment I decided what to write!
However....this is not the story in its original form. I have, in my humble opinion, learned a bit about writing in the years since my sophomore year at Grove City College, and the stilted storytelling reminded me exactly WHY I never wrote any more fiction. Yikes. I had to go over it, insert adjectives, adverbs, a bit of humor, and re-write entire paragraphs before I could even think of letting anyone see it. I'm sure someone will tell me if I failed miserably in making it interesting.
Oh, and about that selective amnesia: when I wrote this, I was severely failing some of my Engineering courses, which led to a change of my major from Chemical Engineering to Mathematics. Dad had talked me out of my first choice, Archaeology, long before.