A Special Assignment
(Note: I was looking through some of my old notebooks from years ago, found this, and thought it was quite funny. So, here it is...)
Starfleet decided there was something fishy about the space-hippies. Something fishier than usual, I mean. As a result, they gathered together a handful of admirals, a scientist or two, and a diplomat, to figure out what to do.
The oldest, and highest ranking, admiral cleared his throat. "Now," he began, "for some reason we have decided something fishy is going on with a certain faction in the federation, and yet all of our normal agents are busy and unavailable."
He paused.
"We could ask the Enterprise," someone piped up.
The Admiral closed his eyes. Five seconds earlier than the last time. That put the farthest up at 30.5 seconds. He opened his eyes. "Brilliant idea," he said, wondering privately if perhaps they were beginning to rely on their flagship too much.
He played virtual cricket under the table with his aide while the rest of the meeting dragged on, with the inevitable result that, after much bickering, the Enterprise had been voted for unanimously as the best ship for the job.
"But sir—" Kirk began, gesturing helplessly at the Admiral through the viewscreen, "we aren't anywhere near Earth."
"You'll have to get here by Monday," the Admiral said.
"That's impossible!" Kirk exclaimed in dismay. (Starfleet seemed to be choosing the Enterprise for missions all the time now—even if it wasn't what she was supposed to be doing. Did they care that the crew was charting scientific anomalies and making a new First Contact practically every week? No. It was just 'come back here, we need you to clean up a spill on the floor.')
"Yes sir," Kirk said, trying to remember where he's put the special armour he used for giving Scotty bad news about his ship.
The Admiral was having a long day. It had started with an interminable meeting on a foregone conclusion, went straight from that to paperwork to lunch with a boring pair of delegates, trying to explain orders to a yelling Captain Kirk, and now…
"The computer said what?"
The analysts stood side by side, clearly uncomfortable. "We checked it six times sir, we thought there must be come mistake, but…" The man shrugged helplessly.
"You're telling me the smartest computer in the Federation thought Spock was the best person for the job?"
A few nodded heads.
"Science-Officer Spock?" (There couldn't be another one, could there?)
More nods.
"Does it know he's a Vulcan?"
"Sir!" the right-hand analyst drew himself up. "This is the smartest computer in the Federation! It has access to every known bit of information on every known being in the galaxy! It's named Mycroft 1000!"
"So you're saying it does know," the Admiral said with a sigh. He wished they would go away. He was beginning to get a headache.
"Well?" McCoy asked. "What is it?"
Kirk and Spock exchanged glances.
"I know all about the Secret Assignment. What I wanna know is, which one of you is going and what are you dressing up as this time?"
"I am going," Spock said, as Kirk explained, "space hippies."
"…what?" McCoy was dumbfounded.
"Pleze, Keptin, let me go as well!" Chekov said, getting up. "I hav dyed my hair for the occasion!"
"I'm going too," Sulu said.
"Not without me," Uhura put in.
"I am going to be the one accompanying Spock," Kirk tried to order over the clamour.
"Can I come?" a random yeoman asked.
"Well if you're going, I'm coming with you," McCoy decided.
"I am not sure if that is wise—" Spock said feebly.
The Admiral stared over his desk at what looked to be the entire Bridge Crew of the Enterprise, and then some. They were wearing outrageously pastel clothing and even stranger hairstyles, and many of them were carrying instruments.
"First of all, I only asked for Spock," the Admiral said. "And second of all, what are you wearing?"
"Clothing," Chekov said.
"Really?" the Admiral's aide asked under his breath.
"I still don't notice anything fishy," Kirk thought glumly, surrounded by partying crewmen. They had seized the chance for some unofficial Shore Leave, and even Spock was acting out of character. Though he was supposed to be in disguise.
Kirk sighed.
A beautiful woman sat down next to him. "Are you all right?" she asked.
"Now I am," Kirk answered, forgetting his troubles and looking into her eyes.
The Admiral hadn't heard from the Enterprise Crew for three weeks. Meanwhile, the fish had been caught, and the flagship was supposed to be on a mission. They were in the middle of yet another frantic search when what looked like a band of pirates came through the door.
"We surrender!" a man yelled, putting up his hands.
"What?" Kirk asked, looking around in confusion.
That was it, the Admiral thought, looking at the terrifying sight of the greatest crew in the galaxy. He was resigning. Tomorrow.
.
.
.