"PLEEZE, sair!!! I only vant to serve you, your majesty!!!"

Pavel Chekov dove to the floor and raised his hands like a beseeching child. He stared up at his captain in a manner that anxious puppies often took to brutal masters.

Kirk stared at his navigator in startled confusion. He took a step back from the young man, unsure.

"Pardon me, mister, but just what are you talk-"

"Exactly ten minutes and fortyfive seconds ago, you dismissed me from the bridge, sair. I LIVE to serve you, Master Kirk, and I vish for you to forgive whatever blunderous ill I have commited to deserve your dissapproval." Chekov paused to take a breath and Kirk took the moment to interrupt.

"Ensign," he said, tightly, "On your feet, please." This was beginning to look like a juvenile joke, borderline insubordination, and Kirk would not have it. Chekov was on his feet immediately, at attention. His gaze was downcast and much to Kirk's suprise, tears rolled from the almond eyes and puddled boldly down his cheeks.

"I only vish to serve you, your majesty," he croaked, his voice thick with despair.

"Mister Chekov," the bewildered Captain sputtered, disturbed by the young man's open weeping,

"What IS the meaning of this??"

"FEAR NOT, CAPTAIN!! I WILL DISPOSE OF THIS WORTHLESS PEASANT!"

A tall blur of blue darted past Kirk and knocked Chekov to the ground with a battle cry.

"Spock!," Kirk shouted, "Mister Spock!"

Then, thinking quickly, James gathered himself in the most kingly manner he could and boomed,

"SPOCK, I COMMAND YOU TO STOP AT ONCE!"

As if stunned by a type II phaser, Spock froze in place, his hands still clutched around Ensign Chekov's throat in a less than passionate embrace.

"I COMMAND YOU TO RELEASE THAT ENSIGN!"

Finding the magic words, Kirk watched as Spock's hand snapped open as if it had been holding a sponge of acid. Chekov dropped heavily to the floor with such a thud that Kirk winced. Spock stepped over the body as if it were a pile of Zebulon Bat waste and stood calmly at attention.

Captain Kirk strode over to the intercom, unnerved but keeping a stable facade towards the homicidal Vulcan.

"Sickbay,"

he said sternly into the grate.

There was a fumbling over the com system as if a number of overanxious fingertips had attempted to press the button at once. The link crackled to life and McCoy's voice could be heard faintly,

"Back! Back, you bloodsucking brainless fools! He wishes to me! Me, I say!"

"Bones," Kirk called into the speaker, beginning to feel a few beads of sweat prickle at his cold brow.

"I am RIGHT here, sir, at your immediate service," the craggy voice over the com replied, "as soon as I remove these DAFT, OVERZEALOUS-"

"Bones! I am up here on Deck level Three, Ensign Chekov has been...uh...disciplined and requires some aid. Thank you." Kirk closed the circuit and clamped a hand over his face. Being a captain called for loyalty but this, this was a bit much for the ego. Something strange was happening and he did not like it one iota...

"Captain, are you functioning?"

The Vulcan's serene voice startled Kirk back to the moment. It sounded as if Spock had finished a long meditation rather than a beating of an innocent underling.

What's going on here? Kirk wondered.

"I'm...heading to my quarters, Mister Spock, to...uh...uh..."

"Recuporate from the strain of responisiblity?," Spock offered, and Kirk greedily, gratefully took the bait.

"Exactly! Exactly, Mister Spock! Now if you'll excuse me..."

Kirk turned on his heel and half ran down the corrider toward his room. At least ten crewman bowed as he galloped past, and three others begged for forgiveness from their most dedicated sire. Kirk realized that he had just ordered a rest period for the members of the bridge nearly fifteen minutes ago and all of them were pleading to be placed back on duty. Ignoring their requests, Kirk unlocked his chamber and dashed inside, hoping to think on this calamity, contact Starfleet Command, and solve this problem before his ship plunged into a worshipping, loyal, loving, deadly chaos!