Eating Spock Would be the Most Moral Choice

Queen Rhet-Yule-An had never felt so attracted to anything in her entire life. Intelligence was incredibly attractive, but…but…how did this human have such impeccable, pure and flawless hair? Jim Kirk's perfect hair was too good to let go. Too good for this world. She had to have him. Even as a pet. She looked at him across the table: That gold, sparkly command insignia logo seemed to wink at her in the dim mood lighting she had so hurriedly arranged. The lack of arms was a bit weird, but the hair made up for it.

She had to have him. Which meant she had to make sure she was the most attractive being on Yalsiki, otherwise this fine prize would certainly leave her.

Meanwhile, Jim Kirk was becoming a little unnerved at how this alien woman was staring at him, unblinking and silent with no expression for what seemed like minutes now. But he wouldn't let that cut through his smoulder. Number one James T. Kirk tip for a successful trade talk: Perfect The Smoulder.

"Excuse me, for just one moment Captain, oh my Captain." The Queen gave what she hoped was a dainty smile, but to Jim was just a relief from what seemed like eternal staring.

"Of course." He gave a dashing smirk, then proceeded to suck nutrients from the nourishment-pot like a vacuum cleaner. Perfection.

Queen Rhet-Yule-An dashed to her lavish chambers and unveiled the old Queen's Telepathic Reflector.

"Oh Telepathic Reflector on the wall, who has the best intellect of them all?" She flicked her bright green hair. It always told her the same thing, but she just needed to hear it.

"Queen Rhet-Yule-An, you are intelligent, thus fair indeed, but the newcomer Spock has taken the lead." No. No! That bowl cut would haunt her mind until its bearer was dead. Hideous, hideous bowl cut.

"Servant!" Her small, spiderlike maid crept in. "Fetch me a Hunter. I want this Spock's heart!"

Meanwhile, Jim turned to the King in the dining hall, smoulder and intense eyes blazing. The King promptly fainted.

Commander Spock was frolicking among the grass and flowers and wildlife like a free and happy Vulcan. Which meant rigidly standing there, staring at tricorder readings. A cloud of flies buzzed in the background. Or was that Mccoy telling him he was unemotional? He did not care. They were both equally irrelevant. What he did notice, however, was that the insects were not biting, although equipped for it, and were swarming about him. Fascinating. Perhaps it was his blood composition?

A rustle in the foliage. A large animal, by the tricorder reading. He whipped out his phaser as fast as suk sakal Jim had whipped out his genitalia at a previous Jaegerbomb Tuesday (or for Spock himself, Chocolate Tuesday). Which was at an astounding velocity, even if Spock did think so himself. The creature was a Yalsikian Hunter; covered in brown fur and howling like Lieutenant Thomas Riley singing an Irish melody for the two hundredth time (Spock had counted) through the ships coms that one time. It missed him by approximately 6.5 inches which was, by a great coincidence, also the size of Jim's genitalia. Not that he had been really paying that much attention or anything. It had just been…scientifically fascinating.

In the second it took Spock to break out of that fond memory, the creature turned, foaming mouth and all, toward the Vulcan. He pointed his phaser straight at the beast. The weapon crackled like the thousands of chocolate wrappers Spock had dug himself out of in said previous Jaegerbomb Tuesday and did not affect the Hunter at all. Fascinating, Spock thought as he was tackled to the ground by what seemed to be a mountain of fur. He did not let the minor clawing affect him too much as he set his phaser to maximum. In fact he could have yawned, if Vulcans expressed tiredness in a herd mentality. What he did register was the animal stabbing a blade of some sort into the upper left side of his chest before the phaser blast disintegrated his assailant.

While Commander Spock was being ripped into green-tinged shreds, Doctor Mccoy had found himself a little abandoned cottage. Quite homely really, for an alien planet. It had several small beds that looked like they had not been used in decades, and a kitchen that somehow made him just really want to cook a hearty, old-fashioned roast dinner. Ahh, but he couldn't tempt Jim like that. That kid had to lose 3lbs! And, as the Head Surgeon, he should also probably try to put an end to Jaegerbomb Tuesday before it went terribly and predictably wrong. He was surprised all – most – of the redshirts has survived so far. Well, he was actually surprised they still had redshirts left. Apart from Scotty and Uhura of course, but even Scotty had died at least once. Mccoy made a mental note to keep an eye on Uhura. Just as this thought passed, his communicator bleeped.

"D…ter Mcc..y, Med… …gency! Co-ordin…. 2-3 b.. 7-6." If Uhura was the emergency, he was probably going to hurl himself into the sun from sheer predictability of the situation. There was always some goddamn off ship medical emergency or landing party trip or something. Muttering incomprehensible obscenities to himself, Doctor Mccoy rose and started to run toward the co-ordinates.

"My god man!" Seeing two redshirts standing over a bleeding Spock was actually going down in his Medical Log as a moment in history. Opposite day much. The Vulcan was lying, covered in scorched brown fur and green blood, with a knife protruding out of where his heart should have been if he were human.

"He should be dead!" Kiley the redshirt was kneeling beside Spock's prone form, tears pouring down her face. Well, it could be worse. He could be alive. Some sort of sandfly buzzed around them.

"Come on Ensign, we all know Spock doesn't have a heart." Mccoy stabbed his commanding officer with a compound to stop the bleeding, then stabbed him with shock treatment and stabbed him with an anaesthetic just for good measure. Stabbing fellow officers with hyposprays was his vibe. He then peered up at the two redshirts, eyebrow gaining dangerous height. Yeah, yeah, he knew Spock's biological heart was actually much lower on the far side of the left ribcage, but these twerps could be forever be dazzled by the myth of Heartless Spock. "Did either of you call the Enterprise?"

No wonder redshirts had a high mortality rate. Stupid-asses. One of them pulled out a communicator, shaking as the formidable eyebrow reached terrifying new heights.

"Kiley to Enterprise." The thing crackled and then literally crumbled. Sandflies buzzed out in a small swarm.

"Dammit!" Mccoy checked his own phaser and communicator, but they had been eaten too. His medical equipment seemed safe in the bag, however. "The palace is too far away. I found a cottage not far from here."

Well, he shouldn't really move a patient in this condition, but it was Spock. This piece of elvish bowl-cut wouldn't die if you cut his head off and played baseball with it. Of course, he'd never tested that theory. But space was a wonderful death-filled place. Perhaps one day it would give him the chance.

"Well help me pick him up! Dammit, I'm a doctor, not a stretcher!" Oh look, there they were again, stranded on a goddamn alien planet with no communication with the Enterprise. Mccoy swore if this happened again, he was going to stab himself in the face with a hypospray. And then he was going to stab Jim with a hypospray, because that was just fun.

"Mccoy, what should we do!" Ensign Kiley cried as they lugged Spock's fat Vulcan ass through the woods. "We have no contact with the Enterprise, no food, no water and Commander Spock…"

"Now don't you worry kiddo." The Doctor had never thought he'd be wandering on a woodland walk with Spock in his arms. "There's water at the cottage, and if we get hungry, well Spock isn't looking too good anyway."

"Doctor, how can you say that?" She looked lovingly down at that logical and slightly dead face. Well it's not as if it would be entirely cannibalistic. If they were going to eat anyone, Spock would be the most moral choice.

"Ahh, I'm kidding with ya kiddo, Spock likes annoying me too much to die on me." Maybe he should make Spock eat salads too. Those Vulcanian buttocks felt as if they were made of lead. The other redshirt opened the cottage door, and they hauled the Commander onto the table.

"Now Kiley, you're gonna be my Nurse." Another thing he never thought he'd do was violently rip Spock's shirt off. Today was full of the unexpected. "You! Other redshirt. Go run to the palace and tell Jim what's happened."

If the asshat listened or not, he didn't care. He had a patient. Mccoy took out his laser scalpel and wiped the green blood from around the knife. It was only a body cavity for Vulcans, so no organs to piece back together.

"Ready Nurse?" She nodded, and he yanked the thing out. Spock squelched in a logical tone, but didn't do much else. "Here y'are."

Mccoy handed her the bloody knife, then lasered that bastard up.

Hope you liked the chapter! :D If you did and feel like leaving me a comment or a fav\follow I will love you c:

Site I use for my Vulcan: /vld/

Inspiration for Jaegerbomb Tuesday: post/109902238045

I can't remember which episode Jim had to lose 3lbs of fat in, but I find it funny.