Stardate 6122.3. Christmas Eve.
While awaiting orders from Starfleet, the crew of Enterprise decided to relax and spread some holiday cheer. Uhura took it upon herself to put up some decorations around the ship, such as wreaths and mistletoe.
"Merry Christmas, Mr. Spock," Uhura cooed, as the First Officer arrived on the bridge.
Spock turned toward her, a blank expression on his lean face. "I fail to see why you would say such a thing to me, Lieutenant."
Uhura tilted her head, chuckling a bit at his confusion. "Uh, well, tomorrow is Christmas, sir. I was just wishing you a Merry Christmas."
"Tomorrow is Monday; the 25th day of December; the 12th month of the year. I see no difference between Christmas Day and any other day of the year. We eat, we rest, and we work diligently. We have our duties. I cannot see the logic in...what are you doing now, Lieutenant?" Spock raised a curious eyebrow as he noticed the Christmas decorations adorning the computers.
Dr. McCoy and Scotty entered, each holding a cup of sparkling golden-brown liquid.
"Hey, Uhura, you gotta try this bourbon," McCoy said.
"Drinking on duty, Doctor?" Spock asked.
McCoy frowned, lowering the cup from his lips. "We're not on duty now; this is our Christmas break. Besides, can you think of a better time to drink than the holidays?"
Scotty poured a small cup of bourbon for Spock. "Go on, give it a try. It's from me own private stash...I call it Mr. Scott's Moon: Aged in Space."
"No, thank you. I must decline," Spock said.
"It won't turn you into a puddle of slime on the floor," McCoy grumbled.
"Doctor, the benefits of consuming alcohol are outnumbered by the cons. Consuming alcohol can lead to life-long addiction, making it difficult to perform your duty and even do menial tasks. Large quantities of alcohol have been known to cause cancerous neoplasms, particularly of oral and pharyngeal region. Alcoholism becomes so severe that occasionally-"
"Alright!" McCoy barked. "You made your point, now get off it."
"I am only looking at the logical aspect of this, Doctor," Spock continued, relentlessly. "I am genuinely concerned for the welfare of this ship, and for your personal health as well. Alcoholism is a disease."
"So are you."
Uhura sat down in her chair and made a wreath out of vibrant green branches and bright red berries.
"Spock, you have no Christmas spirit," McCoy barked.
"Maybe this will help," Uhura said, placing her wreath on top of Spock's head.
The sight of emotionless, deadpan Spock wearing a Christmas wreath on his head was hilarious. The crew couldn't stop giggling.
Then Captain Kirk walked onto the bridge. He did not look happy.
"Okay, everyone," he said, a dark frown on his face. "The party is over. I just received orders from Starfleet."
The Captain seated himself, as the crew went back into working mode.
"We have received a distress signal from a unexplored planet, not very far from our current location," Kirk explained, with Spock standing by his side.
"What is the name of the planet, Captain?" Spock asked.
Kirk looked at Spock, and then looked away. "Spock, I can't discuss anything with you while you're wearing that ridiculous wreath on your head."
Spock touched his head and realized (with slight embarrassment) that he had not removed the wreath yet. He snatched it off his head and apologized to the captain.
Kirk sighed, and continued with the instructions. "This planet is known as Hrrym. Mr. Spock, can we a get visual?"
Spock logged into his computers and pulled up the planet information. A gigantic picture of a brown and white planet appeared on the monitor.
"Temperature is 23.0 °F but oxygen is like that of Earth. Population unknown."
"Cold planet. We'll have to bundle up, I suppose," Kirk muttered.
Scotty came over and held out his bottle of bouborn. "Shall I pour ya glass of this, Captain? A few swallows should warm ya up, should it be much too cold on Hrrym."
Kirk looked at the wine bottle. He became angry.
"Who said you could bring your drinking and carousing in here, Mr. Scott? I don't want to see that booze anymore. Take your precious bouborn and get off my bridge." Kirk said this calmly, but with obvious disgust.
The room fell silent. The humbled Scotty clutched his bottle and lowered his eyes.
"I'm terribly sorry, Captain. I don't know what possessed me to behave like such a bloody fool."
With those words, the Scottish officer collected all the cups and took everything away.
Dr. McCoy confronted Kirk, his blue eyes shining with gentle concern. "Jim, are you okay?" he whispered.
"It's nothing, Bones."
"Are you sure? You don't look well."
Kirk glanced up at the doctor, looking more sad than angry now.
"I was hoping Peter could come and see me this Christmas," Kirk sighed.
"Your nephew?"
Kirk nodded. "Yes, but he came down with a terrible flu and so he can't come. He became ill after Thanksgiving and he's getting worse."
"Oh...I see," McCoy said, sadly. He knew that little Peter was Captain Kirk's last surviving relative.
"I'm worried about him, Bones."
McCoy put a comforting hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Look, here's an idea. Maybe we can transport Peter here, on the Enterprise. I can care for him myself. At least then you could be with him."
Kirk shook his head. "I talked to his nurse. He can't be moved at all."
"I...I'm very sorry." McCoy didn't know what else to say. It pained him to hear such sad news.
Spock approached them. "Have you arranged the landing party, Captain?"
"What? Oh, yes," Kirk cleared his throat and regained his composure. "You, Dr. McCoy, and myself. That is all."
The threesome went down to the transportation room where Scotty was waiting.
"Beam us down, Mr. Scott."
They took their frozen stances and in a moment, the figures faded away in glittery sparkles.
Cold was the first thing they felt as they materialized in the strange new world. Hrrym appeared to be the Gobi Desert. Gray sky and brown sand. Miles and miles of vast nothingness...only desert. This was odd, because the weather was freezing. Silence except for the ghostly howling of the wind.
"Crap!" McCoy cussed, as he hugged himself and shivered uncontrollably.
"I-I forgot about t-the jackets," Kirk groaned, hunching over to stay as warm as possible.
The captain's and doctor's teeth chattered loudly, like tap dancing shoes on a stage. Spock didn't even wince from the chills.
"Scotty, beam down those jackets before we freeze our balls off!" McCoy shouted at his communicator.
The coats arrived immediately, and the party of three could now continue their mission in comfort.
They split up and went in different directions to cover more ground. No sign of life on this desolate planet, but somebody must have sent that distress signal.
Kirk's cheeks and nose became swollen and pink from the chilly air. He zipped the jacket up to his chin as he trudged on through the soft sand.
He grabbed his communicator to check on how Spock and McCoy were doing.
The wind gradually picked up, carrying grains of sand through the desert. The sand specks scurried around Kirk's boots as they journeyed across the dry ground. Kirk thought nothing of this, until flurries consumed the air and the wind became harsh. He stopped and looked around. The playful flurries became an endless blanket of sand racing across the desert surface. The already gloomy sky turned considerably darker.
"Oh great," Kirk muttered. He knew what was happening.
No shelter in sight, he lay down on the ground and covered his head with his jacket.
The sandstorm came raging through the bleak world with full fury, smashing against the defenseless Captain Kirk. The sharp grains burned through the fabric of his uniform, wrapping him in a dark cloud of dust and sand particles. It was critical that Kirk kept his face protected, or else the sand could pour down his throat and suffocate him.
He lost his communicator, and soon Kirk himself was lost within a pile of ice-cold sand.
