The low hum of voices greeted McCoy's ears as he entered the assembly hall. He glanced at a piece of actual paper affixed to the wall near the door. "Tryouts today. (Play to be announced)" was written in blocky blue script.
Leaning his back against the wall, he watched the crew members, who were clustered in small groups all across the room. Nervous laughter echoed on his left from a young woman who clutched a PADD in her hands, while the two male officers standing next to her were nodding and assuring her. One put a hand on her shoulder, and she closed her eyes, relaxing.
To his right, a young officer finished singing a lively tune, much to the delight of his friends, who applauded profusely. He bowed with a flourish, dipping low to the ground, only to be bopped on the head by one of his "admirers", who was brandishing a rolled-up paper that appeared to be another poster. The singer responded to their boisterous laughter with a mock scowl. He smirked as McCoy, but the doctor looked away.
Some crewmen sat on the floor, studying PADDs and making notes, while others looked as though they were going to fall asleep. McCoy felt a tap on his shoulder and turned around. "Hey, Chekov."
"Doctor. I thought it vas you." The navigator took a sip from his bottle of ice water and smiled. "Are you going to read for one of the roles?"
McCoy held up his hands palms out. "Oh, no, I'm not here lookin' to nab a part. Just watchin', is all."
"Too bad. You'd be a shoo-in." His features drooped. "Myself, I'm not so sure. Last time, I wound up being an understudy to an understudy." His cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
McCoy put a hand on Chekov's shoulder and squeezed. "Don't be so negative, kid. I'm sure there's a role out there with your name all over it."
"Think so?" Chekov crossed his arms.
"I know so." McCoy pointed over his shoulder at the sign. "Hey, you heard anything about what play they're doin'?"
"No, sorry." Chekov shook his head. "Personally, I'm hoping it's Chess," he replied, smiling again.
McCoy chuckled. "Well, I guess it's too early in the year for The Nutcracker." He cast his gaze towards the stage at the front of the room as the curtain swished open. Nyota Uhura stepped through, looking out over the crowds. She worried her lip with her front teeth. Some of the officers noticed her, and nudged their friends, who stopped talking and looked up at the stage, expressions anxious.
Seeing their agitation, she shook her head. "Sorry, everybody. Auditions won't be for a few minutes." Disappointment echoed through the crowd, but they quickly recovered and returned to their earlier conversations. Chekov nodded at the doctor, then headed over to a group of crewmembers that were huddled together watching something on a PADD screen.
Uhura stepped down off the stage and crossed the room, stopping to speak with some of the would-be performers.
"Uhura." McCoy waved a hand in the air.
She slowly walked towards him, studying his face. "Uh oh." Uhura frowned. "Did I miss an appointment or something?"
McCoy sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Relax. You're good. 'Sides, even if'n you did, I've got better things to do than chase you down myself. And I could always ring ya," he added, tugging on his earlobe. "I'm here for another reason." He tilted his chin at the stage.
"Tryouts?" She smiled. "Watching or auditioning?"
"Watching. I'm a doctor, not-"
"-not an actor," she finished, holding one hand up in front of his face. "I know, I know." She thought for a moment. "What about behind the scenes? You could paint the scenery, or work with the stage crew, or-"
"Well, I can't guarantee anything. You know I've got a busy schedule. And I can't postpone a surgical procedure just to paint yellow daisies on a canvas." McCoy chuckled, looking down at his watch. "But I had a few moments left over on my lunch break, so I thought I'd come on down here and watch a bunch of grown men and women make fools of themselves."
Uhura poked him in the arm. "Be nice." She waved her hand at the gathered crew. "Look how excited everybody is. These productions are a real morale booster. And some of them are actually really good." She pointed at a stocky officer in the corner of the room. "Remember Hendorff, what a great Maujer he made when we did Hinnes' Frevid in Pallion last winter?"
"Yep. But as I recall, that role was written for an old man, and it only had three lines."
"So? He was onstage for most of the show, and I thought he played the role with feeling."
"I'll give you that." McCoy winked. "Still wish I'd brought a gong, though." She raised her hand to poke him again, but he blocked her attack, and she lowered her hand. He snuck another glance at his watch. "Say, shouldn't ya be getting started yet? It's almost a quarter of the way through this shift's lunch hour."
"Huh? Oh, no. I'm not judging the auditions." She looked down at her hands. "I was just bringing Spock some lunch. And waiting my turn," she added, grinning. "He told me not to expect a good part just because he and I…" She waved one hand dismissively. "I don't know, he's kind of paranoid about avoiding the appearance of favoritism. Since we work in different departments, it's not that big an issue anymore, but-"
"Hold on a minute," McCoy interrupted. "Spock told'ja not to expect…is he-" He stopped talking abruptly as the curtains opened again, and Spock stepped out onto the stage, garnering the attention of the waiting auditioners. "Spock is judging the auditions?!" He watched as Spock summoned the young singer to the stage. With an impish wink at his buddies, he headed behind the curtain with the Vulcan.
Uhura gave a lopsided smile. "Yeah. Surprised me, too. Since Burnside transferred to Deep Space Station H-19 six months ago, nobody else seemed interested in taking the reins. Until now, that is."
"Didn't think he had blood in his veins, let alone the theater in his blood." McCoy rubbed his eyes. "Where are they going anyway?"
"Backstage. The auditions are private." She shrugged. "Don't ask me why. Maybe he thought it would help the performers be less self-conscious."
"They're gonna have to get used to it sometime," McCoy scoffed. "Listen, if there's nothing to see, I'm going back to sickbay." He turned around and headed for the exit. "If'n I wanted to see a bunch of people stand around and yap, I'd-"
"Hey, Doc!" He turned his head to see the singing officer peering through the curtain. "Spock wants to talk to ya!"
"What about?"
"I don't know." The officer shrugged, gripping the curtain with one hand. "He just said to call you, Doc." With a swish of fabric, he was gone again.
"Tell him I'm coming." McCoy turned to the communications officer. "If you'll excuse me, Uhura." He moved through the crowd and strode up onto the stage, ducking behind the curtains.
The backstage area was darkened, and he nearly tripped over a coil of rope. "Spock? Turn the lights on. I can't see a fool thing." He felt around with his hands until he touched a computer panel and pressed the switch. Illumination filled the area surrounding him, causing him to squint. "What is this, the bat cave?"
"Back here, Doctor."
McCoy followed the sound to the corner of the room. Spock sat at a table which was split evenly down the middle between clutter and order. "Well, well, if it isn't the Phantom of the Opera." The messy side of the table was piled high with an assortment of props and costumes, while the neat side, Spock's side, held a lunch tray. McCoy smiled at the half-eaten bowl of macaroni and cheese, obviously Uhura's idea. A glass of frothy orange liquid sat next to it, along with a smaller bowl of vanilla pudding topped with cherry syrup. "Now, what was it you wanted to-"
Spock reached for a stylus with one hand and began making notes on a tablet. "I will be with you shortly."
"But I-"
Spock held up one hand. "Please, Doctor. I need quiet to concentrate."
"All right." McCoy clasped his hands behind his back, eyes closed. He stood like that for several moments, occasionally glancing up at the Vulcan. Spock continued making notes on his tablet, studying McCoy as he did so. "What are you working on?" No answer.
Finally, Spock set down his stylus and tented his fingers. "Excellent."
"Huh?" McCoy walked over to Spock's side and tried to read what he had written, but it was all in Vulcan. "I'm a little confused. What just happened?" He leaned on the table.
"Congratulations, Doctor." Spock extended one hand towards McCoy. "Your audition was successful."
"What audition? I was told you wanted to speak to me."
Spock frowned. "Mr. Riley informed me that you wanted to audition for the production, but that your work schedule would not permit you to do so later this afternoon. Apparently, he was misinformed." He raised an eyebrow and looked over his shoulder to a door that Riley had presumably exited through before returning his attention to McCoy. "I take it then, that you do not wish to participate after all?"
McCoy held his hands apart as though he was wringing someone's neck. "When I get my hands on that scamp-" He sighed. "I know Jim's never gonna let me hear the end of this, but…as long as I'm here…why not?" He stretched his arms upward in the air. "I don't have anything prepared, but-wait. You said I already got the part. Haven't done nothin' yet."
"On the contrary, Doctor. Your performance was exemplary." Spock stood up from his chair and walked around McCoy, studying him. "I could see you as Rinak the warrior, bold and triumphant. Or perhaps Yuthi-mir-akal, the wandering scholar."
"Oh, is this a Vulcan play?" McCoy touched the tips of his ears. "Can you just see me with pointed ears? I could even do my own make-up," he chuckled. "Must be an awful lot of parts in the show if you can just stand there and ace the audition."
Spock reached into a box of memory tapes and handed McCoy two of them. "Why don't you read through the script and learn the songs now? That will make your task easier when we begin rehearsals."
"Songs?" McCoy accepted the tapes. "I hafta sing, too? You might change your mind about giving me a good part when you've heard my voice." He pointed to his chest with one thumb. "I may not sound like a rusty gate, but I'm not exactly an Irish tenor, either."
"Trust me, you will not have to concern yourself with that." Spock nodded at the tapes. "You may want to be seated before you read the title, however."
McCoy pulled out a chair from the table. "I don't know why you'd-" He looked at the label on the tape as he sat down. "Contemplative Silence: The Musical." He dropped into the chair limply, one hand fanning the tapes. McCoy glared at Spock. "The musical."
"Yes."
McCoy tossed the tapes onto the desk and leaned forward. "Funny thing about a musical is…ya need music. You know, sound. That thing you're so all-fired anxious to eliminate." He flopped backwards in his chair. "So tell me, what? Do they all stand around on stage in the darkness, unmoving, for two hours? Who in their right mind would waste two hours of their lives staring at a bunch of nobodies doing nothing in the noiseless nothingness?"
Spock shook his head. "Hardly. There are several dance numbers as well." Before McCoy could open his mouth to protest, Spock continued, his brow furrowing. "Perhaps it would be best if you set aside your thespian ambitions until the next production."
McCoy rubbed his forehead with one hand. "That'll be easy, seein' as how I didn't have none to begin with." His eyes twinkled. "How 'bout I work in scenery, instead?" A wry smile curved his lip. "Wouldn't be that hard. Way I figure it, all I hafta do is throw a big bucket of black paint on a piece of canvas." At the downturn of Spock's brows, he added, "Be sure an' save a ticket for me, too. I could use a good, long nap."
Spock studied McCoy. "For someone who has an appreciation of historical events, I expected you would be more interested in this particular musical."
McCoy frowned. "Why?"
Spock tented his finger together again. "It is based on a true story."
McCoy's chair toppled underneath him, sending him crashing to the floor.
