Beach Party of the Mind
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Comments, praise, questions, and criticism are more than welcome.
WARNING: This story contains umbrella drinks.
PART 1
Captain's Log, Stardate one-one-one-one-point ... one.
We are leaving the Malibu system, having delivered the necessary drugs, er, medical supplies to the colony on Malibu 5. I can't help wishing I'd had an opportunity to beam down and personally check the shipment, not to mention the facilities on the Malibu Colony. Tristan Adams, the Recreational Director, has always been a personal hero of mine.
Kirk clicked off the tricorder and handed it to the waiting yeoman, unable to stop himself from imagining her on a beach at sunset wearing a thong bikini. He shifted in his seat, adjusting himself as best he could without actually using his hands. Noticing a small frown on Dr. McCoy's face, he leaned across the left arm of his chair and said in a low tone, "Have you ever visited the Malibu Colony, Bones?"
"No, I haven't," McCoy responded grumpily, "but a vacation is still a vacation, Jim. Sooner or later, it's time to go home."
"No, no, Bones." Kirk waved a hand in gentle dismissal. "I've been to several beach resorts since they started following Adams' methods. They used to be more like penal colonies than resort colonies, but now..."
"Excuse me, Captain," Uhura interrupted. "We're receiving an urgent message from the Malibu Colony."
"Thank you, Lieutenant." He turned to the armrest comm unit. "Kirk here."
In response, he was struck directly in the face with a large quantity of sand.
"Oh, damn!" came a laughing curse from the comm. "Sorry, did we get you? I knew I should have moved away from the volleyball game, but you know how it is. When the babes are playing, it's hard to--WhooOOOOooa! That hadda hurt! You okay, lil surfer girl?"
Coughing and brushing the sand out of his eyes, Kirk turned once again to the comm, this time keeping a careful distance.
"Malibu Colony, this is Captain James T. Kirk of the starship Enterprise. You sent out an emergency hail."
"Yo, Kirk, how's it hanging? I'm Tristan Adams." His voice sounded lazy and unworried, despite the fact that the message had gone out on an emergency channel.
"Mr. Adams," Kirk responded with some surprise.
"Oh, dude, don't call me mister. Brings me down. It's Tris. Dig it?"
"Yes, I, er, dig it. How can we help you?"
"Well, this is like a total bummer, man, and I'm blushing all the way down to my sandals, but one of our vacationers seems to have fallen into that crate of suntan lotion we beamed up so could you bring him back? If it's not too much trouble. He's a really mellow dude, name's ... Van ... something or other .... yeah, Van. He's supposed to play the bongos at tonight's luau."
"Jim," McCoy said quietly, "something isn't quite right about this."
After giving McCoy a puzzled look, Kirk said, "Stand by, Malibu." He muted the comm and said, "Well, Bones?"
"I don't trust him. This phony suntan lotion story and...well, I can't believe they don't have more than one bongo player down there."
Kirk nodded and reactivated the comm, only to be hit by a faceful of cold salt water.
"Woooo HOOOOOO!" Adams shrieked. "Kirk, you back? Talk fast, man, I'm gonna catch a wave any second!"
"Well, Tris, this is a little embarrassing," Kirk said, accepting a towel from the yeoman, "but regulations require that I investigate how someone came to fall into a crate of suntan lotion. To complete the report. You understand."
"Cool, man, way cool. Love to have you at the luau. I gotta lot of hot little beach babes here who'd love to catch your wave."
"Yes, I think that's the best way to handle it."
"Fabuloso, Cap! Catch ya later. Oh, uh, Kirk? Don't bring a lot of herberts with you, ya dig? They'll just bring the party down."
"Waaaaay out. Hey, gotta go! A kick-ass wave with my name on it is headin' this way. Yeah, baby, bring it on! Yeah--yeah--oh SHIIIIIII--"
Kirk's hand came down hard but didn't hit the comm quite quickly enough and the splash from Adams' wipe-out hit him full force. Seeing that Bones had gotten a good soaking as well, he decided it was worth it.
Walking briskly to the turbolift as he toweled off, he said, "Mr. Spock, tell Mr. Tanzer to find someone in his department with surfing experience and have him meet me in the transporter."
Kirk stopped at his quarters to slap on some insta-bronze and change into cut-off shorts, a Hawaiian print shirt, and sandals. After stuffing several condoms and a collapsible bong into his hip pocket, he left his quarters, displaying a smile of eager anticipation and singing Let's go surfin' now, everybody's learnin' how, come on a safari with m e under his breath.
When he arrived at the transporter room, he found Spock and Scotty waiting at the control console.
"Ah, Cap'n, I envy you a few hours on the Malibu Colony," Scotty said regretfully.
"Don't worry, Scotty, I'll bring back pictures."
He looked over at Spock and although the Vulcan said nothing, Kirk was sure that he was jealous, too. Who wouldn't be?
As he took his place on the transporter platform, a young man stepped out of the shadows and stood next to him. Kirk froze, unable to take his eyes off his new companion. Medium height, medium build, brown hair flopped casually over his forehead, a full, pouty mouth, and young with a capital Yuh. Kirk's eyes lingered over the promising basket in the itsy, bitsy, teeny, weeny, Speedo ocean-blue bikini and when he finally dragged his eyes upward to the youth's deliciously smooth chest, he saw the Starfleet insignia perched proudly just above his left nipple.
"Ensign Pavel Chekov, sir. Ship's Cabana Boy," he introduced himself and Kirk blinked twice in dazed response. "Ve've met."
"Yes, I remember," Kirk murmured uncomfortably, turning to face front.
"The Oceanography Department's veenie roast on the beach last summer? You viped out vile riding a curl and ven you came out of the vater, I helped you get the sand out of your--"
"Yes, I remember!" Kirk snapped.
At the console, Spock raised an eyebrow. "Is there a problem, Captain?"
Kirk hesitated for a moment and then stepped off the platform.
"You tell Tanzer," he said in a tight voice, "that he better check out as the best assistant I ever had."
Upon materializing on the Malibu Colony, Kirk found himself blinking into the sun and standing on warm, soft sand. Shading his eyes, he saw that he and Chekov were about twenty feet from the ocean. The waves were indeed kick-ass and there was a large coterie of surfers riding them with seeming effortlessness. Over the sound of the breaking surf, he heard breathy voices singing, Aruba, Jamaica, oo I wanna take ya... He noticed Chekov swinging his hips in time to the music as he snapped his fingers and shook his hair in the gentle breeze.
Turning in the direction of the greeting, Kirk saw a well-built man wearing colorful baggies running toward them, accompanied by an amply endowed young woman clad in the skimpiest of string bikinis. They both had blonde hair, his curly and pulled back in a pony tail and hers swinging loose and long as she ran.
"Kirk, right?" the man said as he came to an abrupt halt in front of him.
"Tristan Adams!" Chekov cried. "You are my hero! Ever since I vas a little boy surfing on the Black Sea, I have dreamed of meeting you! May I get you a drink? A clean towel? Perhaps--"
"Whoa, whoa, man! Chill out! Lemme guess. Cabana boy, right?"
"Oh yeah, he's definitely a cabana boy, isn't he, DeeDee?"
DeeDee giggled and nodded enthusiastically.
"What's your name, Cabana Boy?" Adams asked.
"Ensign Chekov, but perhaps you vill call me Pavel," Chekov said, cozying up to Adams.
"Sure, Pavel. How about if you run up to the snack shack and bring me a long-neck?"
"Oh yes, Tris! I vill be happy to bring you a long-neck!"
He ran up the beach, his feet flinging up sand in all directions.
"Cool. So my man Kirk, pull up some sand and--"
"Tris," Kirk interrupted, "before I do anything else, I have to check in with my ship."
"Oh yeah, right. Yeah, you guys like to do it by the book, don't you?"
"Gotcha. DeeDee, you got my remote?"
"Sure thing, Tris." Coyly untying a string that held up the small swatch of white fabric covering her left breast, she unhooked the small control unit that she carried there and handed it to Adams. "Could you?" she asked as she moved in close to Kirk and held out the now limp shoulder strings.
As he tied the strings at the back of her neck, she leaned into him until her round breasts were pressing against his chest.
"Darn this sand!" she pouted, shifting from side to side. "I can never keep my balance!"
"If you think you're going to fall, you can just grab on to me," Kirk responded gallantly.
"Okay, Cap, I've turned off the force field," Adams said. Seeing Kirk's expression of concern, he continued, "Hey, man, I'd like this place to be wide open, really, but the force field acts sorta like an ozone layer. And it keeps out the losers that hang around the edges of the system. Go ahead, call your ship."
As Kirk started toward the ocean, he called back to Adams, "I need a little privacy." He strode into the water and when he reached a point where the waves brushed his thighs, he waited until he saw a large wave about to break and then flipped open his communicator.
"Spock h--AAARGH! Snrf rghhh b-b-brgglllrrrr!"
Grinning widely, Kirk listened to Spock coughing and sputtering for several moments.
"I'm sorry, Spock, I wasn't thinking. Are you all right?"
"Well, duh. You thought it was pretty damn funny when it got me."
"Your eyebrows quivered in that bust-a-gut way. Both of them."
"Yes, indeed. I've met Mr. Adams. He's going to show Ensign Chekov and me around. I'll check back in four hours. Have you found our stowaway yet?"
"McCoy here, Jim. I've got him in sickbay. He's suffering from a mild case of cocoa butter poisoning, but he'll be all right."
"Acknowledged, Doctor. Kirk out."
As he flipped the communicator shut, he heard a piercing scream and ran up the beach to where Adams, DeeDee, and Chekov stood.
"What happened? Is everyone all right?"
"Yeah, we're cool, man," Adams replied as he waved his long-neck beer in Chekov's direction. "But the Sandcastle Kid here just freaked."
"Chekov?" Kirk gave him a quick once-over. The ensign didn't even look mildly perturbed.
"I'm the ship's Cabana Boy, sir. It's my job to scream hysterically and gratuitously from time to time."
"Da, it is." Looking down at the sand, he muttered, "Read the regs, vy don't you?"
With sudden ingenuousness, Chekov replied, "I vas asking if I could get you a margarita, Keptin."
"Keptin, you brought me down here to help you in the inwestigation by bringing you drinks so--"
"That's one of the privileges of being a captain. People offer you drinks but you don't have to take them."
"Well, Tris, I have to say that the Malibu Colony has everything," Kirk said as Adams led them past the guest cottages that clustered around a luxurious spa.
"You've certainly--" Kirk stopped abruptly as they cleared a stand of sea pines.
Trampolines. The section of beach was lined with trampolines. With girls on them. Bouncing. Girls bouncing on trampolines. Scantily clad, shouting at each other and holding hands as they bounced and bounced and bounced...
Beach baby, beach baby, there on the sand from July to the end of September-er-er-- the singers wailed.
"Keptin, vould you--" Chekov began tentatively.
"Yes, I would like a margarita!" Kirk rasped, his throat suddenly very dry. "Make it a double!"
Double...double...double D...bouncing bouncing bouncing...
As Chekov hurried away, Kirk jumped down off the boardwalk and walked zombie-like toward the action on the trampolines.
"Oh, Annette!" Adams called as he followed Kirk onto the beach. "Bring us a couple of beach chairs, babe!"
A voluptuous brunette who had been standing near the trampolines picked up a couple of light-weight canvas chairs and brought them over to Kirk and Adams.
"This is Annette. Annette, Jim Kirk," Adams said as they sat.
"Hi," she simpered, patting her bouffant into place.
"Hello," Kirk replied, noticing that her hair wasn't her only pleasingly outsize attribute. "Do you ever go on the trampolines?"
She laughed. "I used to, but now I'm much too busy."
"Annette came here for a two-week vacation and stayed on as a swimming instructor," Adams explained. "And a very fine one."
"Yes, I can see that," Kirk said.
Annette knelt in the sand next to Kirk's chair. "Maybe I could give you a lesson sometime, Jim."
"Annette," Adams said. "Who's that wahine in the french bikini?"
"Oh, that's Barbara Ann. She just got here yesterday. She's from the East Coast."
"Ahhhhh. Do you know many girls from the East Coast, Jim?"
"Yes, I do. They're hip. I really dig those styles they wear."
"And the Southern girls--" Adams rumbled provocatively.
"They knock me out when I'm down there."
"Where are you from, Jim?" Annette asked.
"Oh! I'm a midwest farmer's daughter myself."
"That really makes me feel all right."
"Oh, the Northern girls!" Adams pointed at a pair of leggy twins with long white-blond hair and then whispered to Kirk, "The way they kiss! They keep their boyfriends warm at night." His face took on a distant, wistful expression as he murmured, "I wish they all could be--"
At that moment, the air was pierced by an hysterical and gratuitous scream as a strawberry margarita was thrust into Kirk's hand.
"Your drink, Keptin," Chekov said curtly.
"Oh, look!" Annette wailed. "Your umbrella is upside down!" She fished the soggy paper umbrella out of Kirk's drink. "And it doesn't work! That's no good."
"No, that isn't very good, is it? Chekov, I need another umbrella for my drink." Kirk turned to Annette and began licking the pink foam from her fingertips.
"Coming right up, Keptin," Chekov snarled and stomped off.
"That cabana boy of yours is a little on the surly side, if you don't mind my saying so," Adams said. "I think he could use a good spanking."
"Probably, but I'm not going to give it to him. I'm much more interested in--" Kirk turned his gaze on Annette. "--swimming."
"Well, come on!" she squealed as she grabbed his hand and dragged him to his feet. "There's a pool right next to the trampolines!"
Round round get around I get around yeah get around oo-oo I get around, the singers shrilled.
An hour later, cool and refreshed, Kirk followed Annette as she crawled under the boardwalk out of the sun.
"Isn't this nice?" she said. "So dark and private."
"Yes, it's wonderful," he said, settling close to her.
"You know, Jim," she whispered as she ran her hand over his chest. "I was a little sorry to see what a good swimmer you were. I was hoping you could use some mouth-to-mouth."
"I can always use some mouth-to-mouth."
As they kissed, a breeze carried the music to them.
I'm picking' up good vibrations, she's givin' me excitations...
"Jim, would you mind if I took off my top? These strings are chafing."
She reached behind her neck and moments later, two glorious bronze globes were displayed.
"AHHHHHH!" Chekov screamed as he peered down at them through the planks of wood. He quickly joined them and said, "How is the inwestigation going?"
"Chekov, I thought you were going wind-surfing."
"I couldn't get my sail up, Keptin."
"Why am I not surprised?" Kirk muttered as he tried to think of a way to get rid of his unwanted cabana boy. "Chekov, why don't you..." He looked up and down the beach and spied a small grass shack near an outcropping of boulders. "Why don't you investigate that shack?"
"No, don't go there!" Annette shrieked.
"It's um, private. Tris doesn't like people to go in there. He, uh, he keeps lots of important records in there."
"Records? Records having to do with shipments of suntan lotion?"
"Come on, Chekov, I think we'd better investigate the records shack."
"Jim, no! Don't go in there!" Annette cried as she ran after them. "I was just going to take off my bottom!"
PART 2
As they approached the small shack, Kirk turned to Chekov and said sternly, "Chekov, this would not be a good time for a gratuitous scream, do you understand me?"
"Yes, Keptin. Perhaps you vould like--"
"It's not a good time for a margarita either."
"Jim, please don't!" Annette whimpered.
Standing at the door, Kirk pressed his hand to its rough surface and although the door didn't move, the wood responded with a creaking moan.
"Who's there?" a rough, slurred voice called.
"Shut up! Let me handle this!" said a new voice, this one harsh and authoritative.
"I'll be right there, man! Just gotta tidy up."
Kirk pressed his ear to the door and heard the sounds of scrabbling movements accompanied by frantic whispering.
"Shit, man, hide the stuff! No, not there! Stop laughing, this is serious!"
Moments later, the door opened, revealing Tristan Adams, smiling and pushing his hair back. A haze of sweet-smelling smoke wafted out from behind him.
"I'm sorry, Tris, I tried to stop them," Annette burst out.
"It's cool, Annette, it's cool," Adams said. "There's no reason that Jim and Pavel shouldn't know our little secret. Come on in, dudes. Annette, why don't you check on the food for tonight? Get Rhonda to help you."
"All right, Tris. And I'm really, really sorry."
Adams patted her on the ass and she left them alone.
Once Kirk's eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he saw that the only furniture in the room was a large stereo system and an inflatable plastic lounge chair. A man he had never seen before was lolling in it, his hands folded innocently in his lap.
"This is Moondoggie," Adams said. "Moondoggie, meet Jim and Pavel."
"Awesome," Moondoggie mumbled.
Ignoring him, Kirk turned to Adams. "Tris, what's--"
"AHHHHH!" Chekov screamed again. "Keptin, I am not screaming gratuitously! I know vat this is!" He beamed with pride. "It is a sugar shack."
"A sugar shack is a place vere--" Chekov continued.
"I know what a sugar shack is, mister. I'm just surprised that you do."
"I know my profession, Keptin."
"You are so right on, Pavel," Adams said. "But this sugar shack is a little different. Or at least it was supposed to be. But it didn't really work the way we were hoping."
"What were you hoping it would do?" Kirk asked.
"Well, sometimes people come to Malibu who don't really know how to mellow out. You know, they're uptight, into schedules, worrying about when they have to go home. So this was supposed to relax them."
"Yes, Keptin," Chekov chimed in. "I'm not familiar vith this particular setup but Tris has just described standard sugar shack technology. Adjustment of tension levels is a common resort procedure."
"But you say it didn't work," Kirk said.
"Man, you are just determined to bring me down, aren't you?" Adams said amiably. "You see that lava lamp?" He pointed to an obelisk-shaped fixture hanging from the ceiling. "It's controlled from over here."
Following Adams as he went to the other side of the room, Kirk saw that what he had thought was a stereo system had only two controls.
"This dial turns it on and off and this one adjusts the intensity," Adams said.
"But what does it do?" Kirk asked.
"When someone sits in the chair and focuses on the lava lamp, they're more relaxed. Open to suggestion. Watch."
Adams powered up the machine and turned the other dial slightly.
"See, Keptin?" Chekov said. "Moondoggie's face is blank."
Kirk didn't really see a difference, but before he could say anything, music began playing softly and Moondoggie's expression was transformed to one of undiluted happiness.
"Moondoggie, this is Tris speaking," Adams said. "You will enjoy yourself here on the Malibu Colony. You won't get stressed out by thinking about work or responsibilities. Don't worry, be happy."
"Be happy," Moondoggie murmured serenely.
Adams turned off the machine. "See, Jim? Nothing here to be worried about."
"It seems very effective for something you say doesn't work."
"Well, this is how Van got into trouble. He used it without supervision. Total bummer."
"Yes, bummer," Kirk said thoughtfully.
"So now you've seen my sugar shack. Why don't you just enjoy the rest of your time here? Go to your rooms and rest until it's time for the luau. I'll send one of the girls to get you."
"Spock, shouldn't you be up on the bridge?" McCoy drawled as he poured them each another shot of bourbon.
"Doctor, I will reveal something to you. Maintaining standard orbit is, as you humans would say, 'no big trick.'"
"Ah! So why'd you come down here?"
"I wished to learn more about Van."
"Van? Oh, Van. Well, there's not much to learn. Like I told the captain, cocoa butter poisoning is very easy to treat."
"I am not interested in cocoa butter poisoning. I find him...fascinating. Would you object if I tried to speak with him?"
McCoy leaned back and put his feet up on the desk as Spock approached the still figure on the biobed. After examining the diagnostic panel, he turned to McCoy, frowning.
"Doctor, are you aware that these readings indicate a total lack of brain activity?"
"Doctor, you have reached a new level of incompetence. Perhaps if I meld with him, I can reactivate his mind."
Spock pressed his fingers to the man's face as McCoy called in an exasperated voice, "Spock, there's no point in--"
McCoy rolled his eyes and tilted his pen to once more watch the grass skirt fall off the hula girl.
"I am Spock...I am Van...We are one...Vock...or San...We are...Voxanne...Uhhhhhhhhh...Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhh..."
McCoy slumped in his chair and poured another shot. When Spock finally broke away from Van and staggered back to the desk, McCoy handed him the drink, which Spock knocked back in one swallow.
"Doctor!" he gasped. "There was nothing...nothing there...no evidence that anything was ever there."
"What did you expect, Spock? He's a surfer."
"Chekov," Kirk said as he walked into Chekov's room unannounced. "What did you think of Annette?"
Not bothering to conceal his irritation at the interruption of his epi-ensign depilatory procedure, Chekov said, "I thought she vas wery beautiful."
"I vas unavare there vas such a thing."
"I've been talking to some of the staff. Almost all of them came here as guests and stayed on. And they're not being paid."
"Vell, Keptin, under such pleasant vorking conditions, I doubt that I vould expect to be paid either."
"I want to check out that sugar shack again."
"Keptin, you are going to get us both thrown out! I don't vant to miss the luau!"
"We won't get caught. Trust me, I'll get you back in time for the luau."
As Kirk settled into the lounge chair, he looked over at Chekov, who was examining the controls a bit too intently.
"Are you sure there's no danger?" he asked.
"I hope not. I mean, I don't think so, Keptin."
"You've worked one of these before, haven't you?"
"Not exactly. As a cabana boy, my relaxation techniques are not automated."
"Yes, sir. I have alvays been good vit my hands."
"All right, let's try it anyway. Just give me a simple suggestion."
At the controls, Chekov watched Kirk lean back into the chair and look up at the lava lamp. Turning the machine on, he heard a pleasant hum and as the lighting changed to purple strobing, he saw the dancing lava bubbles reflected in Kirk's eyes. He turned the intensity dial to its lowest setting and a whispered chant of Don't worry, be happy crept in.
Watching Kirk intently, he said, "You're horny!"
Then he turned the intensity down and waited.
"You know, when we get through here," Kirk said, "I'd like to locate and bang a beach bunny somewhere."
"Keptin! I made you think that!"
"I doubt that, Mr. Chekov. I've been thinking that since we got here."
"Try it again. Give me another suggestion, something completely preposterous, something we can both be sure of."
Chekov once again turned up the dial and began speaking in an intimate whisper.
"Last summer...at the veenie roast...ve met...ve did the tvist... I suggest now that it happened differently... You ordered a drink from me and told me to bring it to your cabin... Ven I got dere..."
Laughing softly, Kirk dimmed the lights in his quarters and turned up the sound on the stereo system. He briefly closed his eyes to listen to the words.
`Well, it's been building up inside of me for oh I don't know how long...'
Then he turned to the tempting Russian canape that had just entered his cabin. He accepted the drink and licked his lips before taking the first sip. Then he took the umbrella out of the glass and twirled it seductively.
"Yes, Keptin, I know. And it vorks."
Chekov's hand brushed his as he took the tiny embellishment and Kirk felt a pounding thrill course through his veins.
"See?" Chekov said. "The little arms go up and down."
"Yes, I see that," Kirk said, moving closer to Chekov.
Suddenly, he could stand it no longer and he swept the cabana boy into his arms.
"Keptin! Please! My reputation! After all, this is the first drink I've ever served you!" He turned his head and said coyly, "Of course it vould be different if you...tipped me."
Kirk roughly grasped Chekov's shoulders and growled, "Is that what you want? A great big tip?"
"Vell, yes." Chekov sounded a little bewildered. "I am a cabana boy."
Kirk shrugged and reached for his credit chit. "All right. Will a hundred do?"
"For a start," Chekov said, exhibiting his most kittenish pout.
"Don't worry, baby," Kirk echoed the soothing lyrics.
Caught in the memory that Chekov had created, Kirk didn't hear Adams saying, "Thank you, Pavel. I thought I might have a little trouble getting him in here."
Nor did he hear the genuinely hysterical scream from the startled cabana boy as Moondoggie pulled him away from the controls.
And he was only peripherally aware of Adams' voice, gently continuing the seductive scenario.
"You love Pavel, Jim. You can't live without him."
"Pavel! Bring me a margarita!"
"The pain, the loneliness, the thirst. Only Pavel can relieve it."
"Drop your communicator on the floor, Jim."
"The pain increases if you don't obey me, Jim. Drop the communicator."
Sobbing, Kirk lifted the cover on the communicator.
"What are you reading, Uhura?" Sulu asked as he spun idly in the pilot's chair.
"Hmmm?" She looked up from fat paperback novel. "Oh. It's the latest Jackie Collins."
"How can you read those? Don't you know there's no such person as Jackie Collins? It's a franchise. Those books have been written by a committee for at least two hundred years."
"You should talk. How many times have you read that X-Men comic book?"
"Graphic novel, if you don't mind."
Suddenly a desperate cry came from the communications board.
KIRK -- TO -- ENTER -- PRIIIIIIISE!
Uhura reached across the board, squeezed out a dollop of lotion from the dispenser, and began rubbing it into her hands.
"Aren't you going to answer that?" Sulu asked.
"And get a mouthful of Bain de Soleil? No, thank you."
COME IN, EN -- TER -- PRIIiiiiizzzzz...
"He sounds like he's in trouble," Sulu said.
"He'll get out of it," Uhura replied, turning a page. "He always does."
"If it bothers you, I'll mute it."
As she reached for the button, an earsplitting shriek filled the bridge.
NOOOOOOOOOO, TRIS, NOOOOOOOOOOOO!
"He's very good about keeping to schedule."
"But, Uhura, it doesn't sound gratuitous."
Uhura set down her book and listened to the screams with increasing alarm as she thought of the sweet-faced boy who did such a beautiful job of painting her toenails. Suddenly, the woes of rich, young, beautiful, sex-addicted Dunselline von Luxor seemed trivial.
"Oh my god, I think they really are in trouble!" She tossed aside her book and swung into action. "Mr. Spock to the bridge! Emergency! Mr. Spock to the bridge!"
PART 3
Kirk woke to the sound of Chekov's pleading.
"Pavel, for years I've loved you..."
"No, Keptin, Tristan Adams did this to you."
"Don't you remember? Ve vere in the sugar shack--"
"Bring me a margarita, Pavel."
"No, Keptin, no! He took the controls avay from me! Don't you remember? Keptin, remember!"
"The night was so exciting, your smile was so inviting..."
"No, Keptin! Not that! Remember the sugar shack! The lawa lamp! The music! The pre-disco era lighting!"
Kirk rose slowly from the bed and moved toward Chekov, a strange look in his eyes. Chekov's concern changed to confusion, then nervousness, and finally fear as Kirk backed him up against the dresser. Just as Chekov was about to surrender, Kirk reached past him and slammed his fists against the wall.
"WHY! ... isn't there a vent?" Kirk demanded.
"Yes, a vent! If there was a vent, you could crawl through it and shut down the force field."
"Vell, perhaps they don't need heat or air conditioning. The climate is perfect."
"Damn!" Kirk paced the room in agitation. "There must! be! a way!"
"Pavel, as your commanding officer and very generous sugar daddy, I order you to never scream gratuitously in my presence again."
"Keptin, I have an idea! I could pretend to be a member of the staff! Then I could turn off the power!"
Kirk stared at him for a long beat and then a slow smile lit his face.
"Pavel!" He put his hands on Chekov's shoulders and shook him happily. "Pavel, that's brilliant! But can you do it? If you're discovered..."
"Keptin, I am a Starfleet cabana boy. I vill do vatever is necessary."
"You realize, Pavel, that you may have to make love? To a woman?"
"Yes, sir! I am avare of that."
"Have you ever made love before? To a woman?"
"Vell, no, not vithout a wery large gratuity, but I'm sure I can manage. I vill find one who has masculine characteristics. Hairy and flat-chested."
"I don't think there are any hairy, flat-chested women here, Pavel."
"Don't vorry about me, Keptin. Cabana boys have vays of dealing vith these things."
Chekov perched his charming butt on the window sill, looked in both directions, and hopped out. No sooner had he left than the door to the room slid open, revealing Moondoggie and another beach bum.
"Time for another treatment?" Kirk asked as he stepped into place between them.
"No, man, we were wondering if you'd like to go for a ride in our new dune buggie," Moondoggie replied. "NOT!"
Laughing raucously, Adams' henchboys accompanied Kirk back to the sugar shack as the muzak screeched, But you can come along with me 'cause we gotta lotta things to do now, and we'll have FUN FUN FUN--
"Excuse me! Excuse me!" Chekov called as he ran down the hall toward a dark-haired young man.
"Uhhhh, yeah?" The young man turned to him and Chekov's heart turned over at the sight of utterly mindless male beauty.
"Thank you. I vas vondering--"
"Keanu? That is a most unusual name."
"It's uhhhhh Hawaiian. It means uhhhhhhh uhhhhhhhh ... it means one-who-can't-act."
"Yeah. Pavel's a pretty weird name, too."
"It is a proud old Russian name," Chekov bristled. "It means 'vun-dimensional caricature.'"
"Excellent," Keanu nodded his head and grinned crookedly. "So how do you like it here, Pavel? Pretty cool, huh?"
"Yes, it is wery cool. Keanu, can you help me? I need a voody."
"A what? Ohhhhhh, oh, a woody. Yeah. Tough luck, dude, I think they're all checked out."
Keanu's eyes moved slowly from side to side as he thought about that.
"Ohhhhhh! Yeah, a woody. Yeah." He laughed. "Cabana boys' supply room. Third door on the left."
"Thank you, Keanu. And may I say, you are wery aptly named."
Keanu cocked a friendly finger in Chekov's direction and then turned and walked away, his head bobbing loosely to the refrains of "I Like 'Em Big and Stupid."
"Tris, wait!" Kirk said as Moondoggie pushed him into the lounge chair. "What's the point of this?"
"Economics, Jim, pure and simple. A place like this doesn't run itself. It takes a top-notch staff and that's expensive. Do you know how much it used to cost to stay here for a week? More than you make in a year. Consequently, my clientele consisted mainly of rich people. And rich people are notoriously unattractive. I'm a sensitive man, Jim. They're were bringing me down. I wanted young, beautiful people around me. Unfortunately, young, beautiful people can almost never afford to stay at resorts like this unless they're the guests of old, ugly people and then they're not free to enjoy themselves the way they were meant to. So ... I invented the Malibu device. Your cabana boy was right, it is based on a common vacation technique. But I added certain enhancements that allowed me to, ahhhh, invite some very beautiful young people to stay on after their vacations as members of the staff."
"Unpaid, of course." Kirk had to shout to make his voice heard over the strains of "Wastin' Away Again in Margaritaville."
"And they don't object because they've been victims of brainwashing."
"Victim is such an ugly word, Jim. I prefer 'mindless lackey.'"
"Is that what you had in mind for Van? Is that why he fled?"
"Who? Oh, Van. God, no. Did you see those acne scars? He's a guest and one that I won't regret saying goodbye to. He really did fall into that crate, just as I told you. Surely you can see the benefit of this, Jim. Since I don't pay the staff, I've been able to lower my rates to the point where the galaxy's most gorgeous marketing trainees and wannabe underwear models can afford to spent two weeks a year here. And when a position opens up, I just look around the Colony for a likely candidate. My staff is happy, Jim, surely you can see that. And you will be, too. Now don't worry, you'll still have a command. I think you'll enjoy being the captain of the Malibu Colony's yacht. I can't wait to show her to you, Jim. You'll love her. The Sloop John B is top of the line in every way."
Clutching the tablet of Wonder Wood he had gotten from the cabana boys' supply room, Chekov scanned the beach for the third time. The captain had been right. There were no hairy, flat-chested women here. Perhaps he could find an older one with too much jewelry. That would at least remind him of his training at the Academy's Special Services department. He had managed then--
He turned and saw a short, smiling girl, wearing a bikini that was somewhat more modest than the others he'd seen on the Malibu Colony. She was bouncing happily which caused her two blonde pigtails to dance in the wind.
"Vat an unusual name. Is it Havaiian?"
"I know." She crinkled her nose cutely. He noticed that all her words were accompanied by shoulder shrugging or head bobbing. "I've been watching you all day. You're cute."
"Are you a member of the staff?"
"Yes! Well, I just started a couple of days ago. I'm still in training."
"Easy! But Tris says it's going to take a lot of work. Right now, I'm too perky. But as soon as I shed these pesky morals, it's Bimboville for me!"
"Yeah, I can't wait." She took his hand and squeezed. "Can I ask you something?"
"I've been noticing that you switch your v's and your w's. So I was wondering--how can you pronounce your own name? I mean, shouldn't you say Pawel Chekow?"
Stunned, Chekov stared into a face brimming with innocent curiosity.
"Bozhe moi, you are right! My accent has been inconsistent all these years! I am so ashamed!"
"Ohhhh, I've made you sad. I'm sorry. Would it help if you banged me?"
"How kind of you. Yes, that vould help. Just let me take this pill." He quickly swallowed the Wonder Wood tablet. "It vill make me think that you are hairy and flat-chested."
"Oh. Well, if that's what you want," she said happily as she spread her beach blanket, swaying to the rhythm of the guitars and a syrupy voice singing, There's a summer place where it may rain or storm...
...yet I'm safe and warm, for within that summer place...
"Pavel?" Kirk said, still half-dreaming as he reached toward the smooth skin and dark hair of the person bending over him.
He sat up and looked around. He was back in his room and the long rays of the setting sun were splayed across the floor. He turned back to Annette and said, "Annette, you have to help me. You can't let this go on."
"The brain-washing. Don't you understand? Adams is holding all of you here against your will and making you like it. You're slaves!"
"No, Jim, you're wrong. Tris is doing something very important--providing a vacation resort for young, beautiful people. People like you and me, Jim! You know what a burden beauty can be. Yes, you can have anything you want but only when it's given to you by people who have wealth! Why shouldn't there be a place where the truly beautiful people in the galaxy can relax and enjoy themselves, without being kept by trolls and hags whose ugliness diminished the beauty of the jewels with which they adorn themselves? This is the only way! And if a few--and only a very few, Jim--if the sacrifice of a few make this life possible for all the others, is it so much to ask?"
"Yes, it is, Annette. And you know it. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here with me."
He pulled her into his arms and kissed her until the force of his passion swept over them like a huge, foaming wave, dragging them under and sending them tumbling into a sea of boundless desire.
...and the sweet secret of that summer place...
"Ohhh, Pavel, that was wonderful."
"Yes, it vas surprisingly pleasant. Thank you."
"So now vill you tell me how to shut off the force field?"
"Well, sure, I'd be glad to, except..."
"I don't know how to turn it off. I'm not training to be a maintenance bunny, you know."
"Oh." Crestfallen, Chekov squirmed uncomfortably. "I guess I should have asked you that before ve, uh... I'm wery sorry, Gidget. I hope you're not upset that I used you that vay."
Chekov smiled and gave her an affectionate peck on the cheek. "I must say, I think your training is going splendidly. You vill be a full-fledged slut in no time."
"Oh, gosh, thanks, Pavel! And I'd like to help you, I really would. I wonder..."
"I wonder if She would know the answer."
"The goddess of the waves. She's supposed to know everything."
"The goddess of the vaves? Er, wawes? Oh, now I am so confused! Vy did you have to use that vord?"
"I'm sorry, Pavel," she moaned sympathetically. Then she suddenly returned to her perky self and grabbed his hand. "Maybe the goddess can help you with your accent, too. Let's go ask her!"
Standing in front of the transporter platform, Spock congratulated himself on how well he was concealing his impatience from Mr. Kyle. Since Uhura had summoned him to the bridge, he had repeatedly recalibrated the phasers, hoping to punch a hole in the colony's force field, which had inexplicably powered up immediately after the captain's last message. Finally, realizing that nothing could be done until the captain found a way of contacting them once more, he had come to the transporter so that he could beam down the instant the word was given.
Startled, Spock turned and saw McCoy standing on the transporter platform. How had he gotten there without Spock hearing him come in?
"Indeed not, Doctor. What are you doing here?"
"I'm beaming down with you," McCoy smirked and set his beachcomber's hat at a rakish angle.
Spock raised a dismayed eyebrow. Not only was the hat large, loud, and extremely ugly, it was also the only article of clothing the doctor was wearing.
"Like that?" He cast a baleful glance at McCoy's medkit, which the doctor held discreetly in front of his genitalia.
McCoy gave a jaunty grin which only caused Spock to frown more deeply.
"Now don't get all wound up, Spock. We'll split up as soon as we get down there. God knows I don't want anyone to think I'm with a sulkin' Vulcan, not with all those luscious beach babes around. So you can go find Jim and throw a bucket of cold water over him and whoever's 'helping' him escape while I start the..." He chuckled. "...medical examinations."
By the time Chekov and Gidget reached the stretch of beach that was the home of the goddess, the sun was a perfect half-circle on the horizon, throwing sharp splashes of orange and gold across both sky and sea.
"Stand right here, Pavel," Gidget said, pulling him close.
"No. She doesn't like short people."
"Wait for the music. Listen. Do you hear it?"
Pavel concentrated and for a moment, he heard nothing but the wind, the waves, and the cries of the seabirds. Then slowly the music crept in, so subtle in its gently insistent rhythm that he couldn't have said exactly when it had begun.
Together, they stood side by side, listening to the haunting melody repeating over and over and feeling the tug of the slow, primitive rhythm.
"That's how you summon her. Come on, count! One...two...three..."
"Four...five...six..." The music was building now as unseen instruments joined in the invocation.
"Seven...eight...nine..." Together they chanted, their voices becoming louder with each beat yet they could barely hear themselves over the wall of sound.
The goddess rose slowly from the sea, backlit by the setting sun as she walked towards the beach. Chekov saw only the outline of her figure but even that was enough to stop his breath. Graceful, curvaceous, sultry...he felt she was coming for him and only for him. And he knew that any man who saw her would feel the same.
Finally, she was close enough for him to see her face and her beauty hit him with a force that knocked out the breath he had been holding. Eyes the color of the Caribbean, checkbones as high and proud as the cliffs that rose from the Mediterranean, mouth as wet and succulent as a fruity ice cream drink. When she stopped at the water's edge, he saw her golden corn rows shining and heard the beads that adorned them clicking softly.
"Her name is Bo," Gidget whispered. "I think it's short for Bolero."
PART 4
"Why have you summoned me?" Bo said and Chekov thought her voice was the sound of his every want being met all at once.
She sounded a little tired and almost bored. Chekov hoped his problem would prove interesting enough for her. He swallowed and tried to think of the words that would move her.
"I--that is, my keptin and I--ve, uh..."
Bo tossed her head and sighed petulantly.
"Pavel wants you to turn off the force field," Gidget said bluntly.
Bo stared at them, her mouth hanging open.
"If you vould, please, Miss Bo," Chekov added.
After a tense moment, Bo smiled enigmatically.
"Force field?" She said the words as if they were new to her. "You came to ask me to turn off the force field?"
She began pacing in the shallows, happily splashing the water up. Chekov thought he would die at the sight of the lucky drops slithering down her long, bronze legs.
"No one has ever before thought to ask me a technical question! It's always, 'Bo, is this a good hairstyle for me?' and 'Bo, how can I get this spot under my chin to tan?' and 'Bo, should I get a nose job?' By the way, the answer to that last one is always yes."
"Then you'll do it?" Chekov gasped.
"Hmmmm. I don't know. I mean, I want to, but I've never been very mechanical, you know? The force field. That sounds complicated."
"Bo, please!" Chekov cried. "It's wery important!"
"Yes, Bo, it's urgent!" Gidget added.
"Ummmmmm, I dunno," Gidget said. "Pavel, why is it so important?"
"The life of a wery great man is at stake!"
"Oh, men!" Bo shook her head impatiently. "They all think they're great, and they always think their lives are at stake. And I thought you were going to be so original."
"What's so different about him? And make it quick, I'm supposed to have a pedicure in ten minutes."
"He vorships vomen like you, Bo, as no man ever has. He has made love to thousands of vomen and each of them vas glad of it," Chekov said in a voice that didn't quite sound like his own. He felt himself being filled with courage and determination and a sense of purpose. He knew he would never scream gratuitously again. "He is the strongest man I have ever known, and yet he can be made veak by the sight of a beautiful voman. He hungers for vomen and they hunger for him in return. He is the greatest lover the galaxy has ever known or ever vill know."
"James T. Kirk?!" Bo screeched. "James T. Kirk is here? On the Malibu Colony? Oh, shit! I don't have a thing to not wear!"
"Yes, Bo, yes! He is here and he needs your help! And trust me, he von't care vat you're not vearing."
Taking a deep breath (the sight of which almost threw Chekov into apoplexy), Bo raised her arms, turned her face to the sky, and cried, "May the force field not be with you!"
Suddenly the sun exploded into a million fiery shards and a harsh wind roared across the beach, driving Chekov and Gidget away from the shore. As the earth trembled, they stumbled into the shelter of the trees and huddled together until the tumult had ended. Raising his head, Chekov thought he saw Bo, golden and shimmering as she stood motionless in the shoals but then the sun dipped below the horizon. He blinked to refocus his vision and saw that the beach was dark, quiet, and empty.
"Oh, shoot!" Gidget said. "We forgot to ask her about your accent!"
Startled, Kirk and Annette looked up at the sound of the door opening.
"Who are you? Who said you could come in here?" Annette demanded as she pulled the sheet up over her naked body.
"Spock, you have the worst timing of any first officer in the Fleet," Kirk snapped. "I'm sorry, Annette, I have to go."
"Jim, you won't hurt Tristan, will you?"
"No, Annette, but I have to put a stop to what's going on here."
He pulled his clothing on angrily and strode out the door, followed by the tall Vulcan who had intruded upon them. Pulling the sheet more closely around herself, Annette stood in the doorway, watching them retreat into the distance and listening wistfully to the sparkling repartee that had won them galactic renown.
"You always come in when I'm right in the middle of doing someone!"
"No, I was doing very nicely, thank you."
"Earlier, I could have used some help. And I'll probably need help in the not very distant future. But right at that moment, no. No, Mr. Spock, I did not need help."
When Kirk and Spock found Tristan Adams, he was slowly backing away from the bevy of angry females who surrounded him. As they made their way down the beach towards him, they heard the petulant demands.
"Connie's stuck in the tanning booth and we can't get it open!"
"I can't get WMMM Easy Listening Soft Rock anymore!"
"Calm down, everyone, just calm down," Adams called over their cries.
"Do you have a problem, Tris?" Kirk said as he joined him.
"This is all your fault, Kirk!"
"I wish I could take credit but I think that goes to my cabana boy."
Everyone turned and saw Chekov and Gidget clambering over the rocks. Presenting himself before Adams, Chekov said staunchly, "Yes, I, Pavel Chekov, ship's Cabana Boy, have defeated you, you over-tanned cossack!"
He puffed his chest proudly and kicked sand in Adams' face.
"Vit the help of my friend Gidget, of course," he added.
Gidget stepped happily into Chekov's embrace.
"Chekov!" McCoy called as he ran to join the crowd. "Are you all right?"
"Good. Glad to hear it. Will you get me a daiquiri?"
"Of course, Doctor. Come, Gidget. Vat color umbrella do you think the doctor vould like?"
Smiling, Kirk watched the young couple head toward the snack shack.
"And now, Mr. Adams," he said, "we're going to shut down your sugar shack and all these people can return to their lives. The lives they choose for themselves!"
He gestured grandly and was a bit taken aback at the blank stares from the beach bunnies.
"Captain, perhaps it takes time for the Malibu effect to wear off," Spock said.
"Of course, that's it," Kirk said.
"No, Jim, that's not it at all," Annette said quietly as she put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "I tried to tell you earlier but you couldn't hear me over your speech about individual freedom. You see, almost none of these people were recruited using the Malibu device. They wanted to stay and the fact that Tris couldn't pay them didn't make the situation any less appealing."
The beach bunnies nodded and murmured among themselves.
"In that case, Captain," Spock said, "perhaps I should repair Mr. Adams' power generator. If someone could show me where..."
Two of the girls stepped forward, coyly stroking the fur on their bikinis as they smiled an invitation to Spock. Chucking one of them under the chin as he slid his hand around the other's waist, he allowed himself to be led away.
"See, Jim, they choose to remain here," Annette said. "And so do I."
"Annette." Kirk took her hands and pressed them to his chest. "You can't stay. This--this isn't a life! It's a vacation and those aren't meant to last forever. There's a whole galaxy out there for you."
"No, Jim. There's a whole galaxy out there for you . But I've been here for nearly thirty years and I like it."
"Nearly thirty years? That's impossible! You're no more than 22!"
"No, Jim, I'm fifty-seven standard years old. You see, my people don't age as quickly as you humans do."
She pushed back her shining black hair to reveal two elegantly pointed ears.
"I came here from Vulcan twenty-seven years ago. I had a good life there. I was a princess, I was married to a young man who had a promising future in the diplomatic corps, I even had a son. But when I got here and met Tristan, I wanted to stay. I've found my paradise--my Sha-ka-ree."
"She was one of my first hires, Jim," Adams said, "and the only one that I still pay."
"Good," McCoy mumbled. "Maybe you can explain it to me later."
At that moment, the muzak resumed and the crowd realized that the power had come back on.
"Ah, Mr. Spock," Kirk said to his approaching first officer. "I see you were able to make all the necessary repairs."
As they returned to the now happy crowd on the beach, Gidget said to Chekov, "I guess this is goodbye."
"It doesn't have to be," he said.
"Does that mean you want me to wear your pin?" she asked, fingering his insignia.
"No, Gidget," he said as gently as he could. "None of the guys go steady. It vouldn't be right to leave your best girl home on Saturday night."
"Oh, Pavel, then this really is goodbye. Now that Tris has to pay everyone, I don't see how a ship's Cabana Boy could afford to visit here."
"Maybe a rich old fart vill bring me here sometime."
"Then you'd be his plaything, not mine."
"True." He gazed into her trusting eyes. "Perhaps--perhaps ve could have a threesome."
"Oh, Pavel! Do you think we could?"
"It is something to hope for."
"Kirk, I still think you'd have made a damn fine captain of the Sloop John B," Adams said as Kirk and his men stepped into formation.
"Thanks, Tris, but I'm very happy with the ship I have."
"Are you sure you won't reconsider?" Kirk heard a soft voice say.
He turned toward the ocean and suddenly it seemed as if the sun was shining brightly once more. A beautiful woman was walking slowly toward him, barely disturbing the waves with her steps. He went to her and took her hand as she stepped onto the beach. Gazing into the depths of her blue eyes, he felt as if he should recognize her, as if he had been searching for her his entire life.
"Don't you get bugged riding up and down the same old strip?" she asked.
"Yeah, Jim," McCoy chimed in, his arm around a very healthy looking young lady, "we ought to find a new place where the kids are hip."
Suddenly Spock was at Kirk's side with a maintenance babe on each arm.
"Captain, we have been on neutral zone patrol for an extended period."
"Gentlemen, no," Kirk said as he turned regretfully to Bo. "My buddies are me are getting real well-known."
"But the bad guys know us," McCoy argued.
"They leave us alone," Spock said. "It would be logical to stay."
"Just a little bit longer," McCoy added.
"Please please please please tell me that you're going to," Bo whispered as she smiled at Kirk and held up a tiny blue paper umbrella.
Taking the umbrella and twirling it slowly between his fingertips, Kirk said, "I guess it wouldn't hurt if we went to the luau." He flipped open his communicator. "Kirk to Enterprise."
"Enterprise here." Uhura's voice sounded a bit distant and wary.
"Lieutenant, I'm authorizing shore leave for the entire crew. Tell them to start beaming down immediately."
"But, Captain," Uhura protested, "if we all beam down, who will beam us back up?"
Kirk smiled a question at Bo, who put her mouth close to his ear and purred, "I'm sure I can manage."
"It's taken care of, Lieutenant," Kirk said into the communicator. "Everyone is to attend the luau. That's an order. Kirk out."
Down the beach, someone had already built a bonfire and Kirk could hear the happy shouts as a keg was rolled out. As the officers of the Enterprise strolled toward the party, each accompanied by at least one beautiful partner, they heard the soft strumming of ukeleles as a tall, dark-haired man in a fringed white suit begin singing.
Dreams come true in blue Hawaii
And mine could all come true
This magic night of nights with you.
Click here to send comments... please!
Moondoggie and Gidget belong to Columbia/TriStar Studios.
Annette, Keanu, and Bo belong to themselves.
Elvis, as Colm Meaney said in "The Commitments," is God.
"Surfin' Safari" - Brian Wilson/Mike Love
"Kokomo" - John Phillips/Mike Love/Terry Melcher/McKenzie
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"Dave's Not Here" - Cheech and Chong
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"I Like 'Em Big and Stupid" - Julie Brown
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"Blue Hawaii" - Ralph Rainger