Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek. I'm just engaged in stealing it for my own purposes.
Meredith: Well, yeah, it could be worse. But it could be better. Anyway, just trying to explain why chapters may not be as frequent. And I'm sorry, I don't actually know what songs Spock is listening to. He guards the CD player pretty jealously. Spock singing along would be funny. Couldn't quite make it fit though…too bad.
EmpressLeia: Thanks for the "Are we there yet?" suggestion! As you will see, that did manage to fit in!
Ruanek: Thanks, I intend to! (Keep it up, I mean.) Glad you enjoyed.
Keridwen: Always nice to be of service. Although you know, I'm a writer not a doctor. (couldn't resist ^_^) I will accept payment in chapters, sounds like a good deal!
Finally, the plane ride. I refuse to be held responsible if anyone dies laughing. Try not to do that, people, okay?
Part Fifteen:
Onto an Airplane
An hour or so later (the flight was delayed a second time), Kirk, Spock, McCoy and Jones finally boarded their plane, newly equipped with bags beamed down by Scotty. Their first impression upon boarding was of that well-known airplane smell.
"What is that smell?" Kirk asked, frowning. "Smells like…upholstery or something."
"Maybe all planes smell like this," McCoy said dubiously. "They have recirculated air."
"The Enterprise has recirculated air," Kirk pointed out.
"I didn't say it was circulated very well."
"Ah."
The group inched their way down the decidedly narrow center aisle, checking seat numbers. They located their seats partway back, over the wing. Row 17, Seats A, B, C & D, D being across the aisle.
Kirk, at the front of the group, paused outside the row. For some reason he had a bad feeling about that window seat, situated directly over the wing as it was. He was at a complete loss to explain it, but he was certain he didn't want to sit there. "Anybody else want the window seat?"
"If no one else is interested, I will take the window, Captain," Spock said.
"It's all yours, Spock," McCoy said.
Spock moved past Kirk in the aisle, and entered the row, seating himself next to the window. Kirk entered next and sat next to Spock, followed by McCoy on his other side. Jones, at the back of the group, took the seat across the aisle. While the seating arrangements seemed basically satisfactory, the seats were not.
"There's practically no leg room," McCoy complained.
"Not to mention elbow room," Kirk agreed. "Think it's supposed to be this tight?"
"I don't know, and I'm afraid to ask. We'd look like real idiots if this is normal."
"That's true."
"All the other seats look just as cramped, and no one else is complaining. We better stay quiet."
"All right. So…how long is this flight anyway?" Not having been very interested in the mission, Kirk had taken a decidedly brief look at the details. He was beginning to regret that.
"About four hours."
Kirk was somewhat taken aback. "Four hours? We must be going halfway around the planet!"
"Only about two thousand miles. And keep your voice down, Jim!" McCoy cautioned.
"Two thousand…they really are primitive," Kirk muttered.
Further conversation was cut short by the flight attendants coming into the aisles to explain the safety features; the locations of the exits, the seat cushions to be used as flotation devices in case of a water landing, how to use the gas masks that would drop from above if necessary, and so on. None of these things were altogether reassuring to the Starfleet officers. They were old pros at flying in space, but somehow flying through the air in an airplane didn't seem particularly safe. The flight attendants eventually finished with the safety precautions, and said that take-off would be shortly.
* * *
Twenty minutes later:
"I wonder why we're still sitting here," Kirk said.
"No idea," was all McCoy could say by way of explanation.
"So, are we almost there yet?" Jones asked.
Kirk looked at him. "We haven't gotten off the ground yet!"
"Oh." Jones considered this. "But are we almost there?"
* * *
Ten minutes after that:
Take off finally began, one of the stewardesses explaining that they had had to wait for the runway to clear. Apparently it was at last clear. The flight attendants warned everyone to fasten their seatbelts, put up their trays, and stow carry-on bags either under the seats in front of them or in the overhead compartments. And then it finally went.
The first sensation was one of movement and vibration, as the plane turned and barreled down the runway. The movement picked up speed as the roaring sound increased, and was accompanied by a sort of humming noise. The vibration turned to a jostling, the roaring grew louder, and then there was the feeling of being pushed back into their seats as the plane left the ground. The heavy feeling pushing them into their seats abruptly changed to a feeling of almost weightlessness, which just as quickly went back to the feeling of heaviness. That bounced back and forth for the next few moments, completely without any apparent rhyme or reason.
After three or four minutes the flight started to settle somewhat. The humming had passed, though the roaring continued unabated (as it would for the rest of the flight), and the jostling had settled into only an occasional bump. Mostly they felt at the correct weight, though the heaviness or lightness did turn up for a few seconds at a time, still for no clear reason. It would be another ten minutes or so before the flight really smoothed out.
McCoy took a breath. "These people need inertial dampeners."
"Badly," Kirk agreed, also feeling somewhat breathless.
"You're telling me," Jones said, looking at least green as Spock.
"Oh no." McCoy rummaged through his bag again, and handed Jones a different pill. "Take one of these, for motion sickness."
"Thanks," Jones said.
"So now we just sit here for the next four hours?" Kirk asked.
"I hope you brought a good book," McCoy said as an affirmative.
* * *
Hour 1:
"So…are we almost there?" Jones asked.
"No. There's three hours left," Kirk said, trying valiantly to keep a grip on his frustration levels.
* * *
Hour 1.5:
An hour and a half into the flight, the meal was served. Beverages had been brought around early on, and had been found fairly satisfactory. Alcoholic beverages were extra money, but any amount of soda, water, and several other drinks was available free. Consequently, the group had fairly high hopes for the lunch. Until it came around anyway.
Lunch was described as being "picnic." In other words, a sandwich, potato salad, and some cookies wrapped in foil, all contained inside a cardboard box. Stated in that way, it doesn't sound bad. It was worse. The sandwich was mostly bread (and not very good bread), with rather cheap lunchmeat on it. The only topping was mustard, if you happened to like mustard. The potato salad tasted passable, if watery and plain, but certainly not gourmet. The desert was actually quite edible. It's hard to ruin chocolate cookies. [A/N: Above is the only non-fiction section of the story. That's exactly what they served. Blech.]
McCoy tried one bite of the sandwich. "They call this food?"
Kirk opted not to try it. Spock, being a vegetarian, also did not eat the sandwich.
Jones had a slightly more positive reaction to the food. "The sandwich is pretty bad. The potato salad's okay though."
"You can have mine," McCoy said, handing the small tub to him.
"Likewise," Kirk said, doing similar.
"Thanks," Jones said, willing to eat three tubs of the stuff. He was the only one.
"Enjoy," Kirk said sarcastically.
"Oh, I will. By the way, are we almost there yet?" Jones asked.
Kirk regretted handing his potato salad to Jones. If he still had it, he could hurl it at him. He had to content himself with simply saying, "For the eleventh time, no!"
* * *
Hour 2:
Jones was filling less chipper than earlier. In fact, he was feeling pretty rotten.
"Say, you feel all right, Ensign?" McCoy asked, concerned.
Jones swallowed hard. "I don't feel at all right. My stomach seems to have lost track of where it belongs…"
McCoy frowned. "That motion sickness spill ought to be working still."
"I don't think it's the motion, I think it's the potato salad." [A/N: To avoid being sued for slander, no one I know of actually got food poisoning. I wouldn't be surprised though.]
"Oh. Yeah, I can see where that could possibly give you food poisoning." McCoy hunted through his apparently bottomless medbag and came up with yet another pill. "Try one of these."
"Thanks," Jones said. "And are we almost there yet?"
"NO," Kirk said, heartily wishing he had something, anything, to fling at Jones.
* * *
Hour 2.5:
The cramped seats were staring to take their toll. Actually, they'd been taking their toll. It just took a couple hours for it to get really aggravating.
"You know, I had more room in the turbolift, I think," McCoy commented.
"I believe you," Kirk said sincerely. "What do you think of the seats, Spock?"
The Vulcan had remained nearly silent for the last two hours, and did not seem inclined to break the streak. "Not right now, please. The song currently playing has a most remarkable intermingling of the guitar and keyboard music."
Kirk and McCoy looked at each other, and mutually decided that there wasn't much you could say in response to that. Jones, however, did not seem to be hampered by any form of speechlessness.
"Are we—"
"NO!" McCoy and Kirk chorused together.
* * *
Hour 3:
The cramped seats continued to be a problem.
"My legs are killing me," McCoy griped, trying unsuccessfully to stretch his legs out. "My aches have aches."
"At least you've still got feeling in yours," Kirk complained.
"Speaking of getting out of these chairs, are we almost there yet?"
Kirk sighed. "Ensign, if you do not cease asking that question, you may never be there!"
Jones wisely decided not to comment.
* * *
Hour 3.5:
They were reaching the end of their patience levels towards the plane with amazing rapidity. Extended time there had not led to any fondness.
"I may never complain about the transporter again," McCoy groaned.
"Of that I have serious doubts," Kirk countered. It would take a lot to make Leonard McCoy reconcile with the transporters.
"Not for a couple days anyway."
* * *
Hour 4:
Arrival at their destination was imminent. Landing, however, was not.
"The captain informs us it will be necessary to circle for a time before we will be able to land," one of the flight attendants announced brightly.
There were muffled groans from the Starfleet officers.
"Um…does this mean we're not there yet?" Jones asked. "Are we there yet?"
"No! We're. Not. There. Yet!" Kirk was quite certain that if they did not land soon, he was going to crack and have a nervous breakdown. "Say Bones…haven't you got anything you could give Jones to make him be quiet?" he asked quietly.
McCoy seemed shocked. "Why Jim! That would be an abuse of power!"
"I know. So have you got anything?"
"I can't, I'm a doctor, not a…I don't know, a something. I won't give him anything though. It's against my principles."
"Are you sure we're not there yet?" Jones asked once again.
McCoy groaned. "On second thought…" He rummaged into his bag, coming up with still another bottle of pills. "Here. Take one of these."
Jones frowned. "What is it?"
"A sedati— Er, never mind, just take it!"
Jones did, and spent the next hour staring dreamily out the window.
* * *
Hour 5:
After circling for an hour, it seemed they were finally going to land. And not a moment too soon, either. Jones' sedative was wearing off already, and Kirk was certain he was about five minutes from strangling him.
Landing was actually quite similar to take-off, only not so bad. The same sort of jostling and heaviness/lightness, but in lesser degrees. And then there was a bump and they were finally back on solid ground. It was, however, another ten minutes before the plane taxied to wherever it was supposed to be and stopped moving. It was at that point that the passengers were finally allowed to remove seat belts.
Kirk and McCoy staggered to their feet. Jones stood up much too quickly and bumped his head against the overhead compartment. Spock stood up with careless grace, apparently unbothered by the cramped quarters.
"Let's get out of here, and fast," Kirk said.
A quick exit was not to be had though. The passengers crowded into the aisle, slowly inching towards the single exit door. The Starfleet officers were, unfortunately, fairly near the back. Disembarking looked to take quite some time.
"This is a barbaric way to get off a plane," Kirk said with certainty. "Now wouldn't it make sense to have two doors, at either end of the plane? Why, it would be logical even. Don't you think so, Spock?"
"Please, Captain, the drum solo is starting."
It was about fifteen minutes before they managed to struggle to the exit door. The flight attendants were standing by the door seeing the passengers off.
"Did you have a pleasant flight?" one stewardess asked cheerily.
"No. It was terrible, but I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt and believe it was as pleasant as you're able to make it, under the circumstances," Kirk said politely, then continued down the exit ramp.
The flight attendants looked at each other. "What a strange thing to say!" one said.
Out in the airport, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy grouped together near the gate.
"All right," Kirk planned, "we'll find a secluded spot, call Scotty, beam out of here—"
"We can't, Jim," McCoy said.
"Why not?"
"We lost Jones somewhere."
Kirk looked around. Sure enough, Jones was not in sight. "Now how did we lose Jones? He was right behind us I thought!"
McCoy shrugged. "We must have gotten separated trying to get off the plane."
"All right, so we'll wait for him."
Jones straggled out several minutes later, looking a bit the worse for wear.
"Ensign, what happened?" Kirk asked, surprised.
Jones shrugged. "I got trampled," he said matter-of-factly.
"That's terrible!"
"Not the first time it's happened to me."
Kirk shook his head. "All right, fine. Now let's get out of here."
"Sorry, Jim. We have to pick up our bags first," McCoy pointed out.
Kirk sighed. "And I thought stealing the cloaking device was a dangerous mission!"
* * *
They did eventually get a hold of their bags, though that was another half hour as they had to wait for quite some time. And then, finally, they managed to beam up. And for once McCoy did refrain from complaining about having his molecules scattered across the system.
* * *
The next morning, they had a report to write. With that in mind, Kirk and Spock were in the briefing room, deciding exactly how to describe the mission to Starfleet.
"One word," Kirk said, lounging in a chair at the head of the table, "'Absolutely dreadful.'"
"That is two words."
"Fine. Put 'dreadful' and send it."
"Don't you think Starfleet expects something more complete, Jim?" McCoy asked, entering in time to catch the last sentence.
"Probably," Kirk admitted. "About time you got here, Bones. Where's Ensign…" He shook his head. "Never can remember that kid's name."
"Jones. And he's…not feeling too well," McCoy said uncomfortably, taking a seat.
"What happened to him now?"
"Well…remember how he had the headache and I gave him a pill for that? And then he had motion sickness and I gave him a pill for that? And then he got food poisoning from the potato salad and I gave him a pill for that? And then you got tired of hearing him ask if we were there yet and I gave him a pill for that?"
"Yeah, I remember. So what?"
McCoy shrugged uncomfortably. "Turns out I overdosed him a little."
"Bones! Don't you think you ought to be careful of that?!"
"I am, Jim, you know I am. He's got low resistance. Anyway, he's pretty much fine now physically, except he thinks he's having a nervous breakdown."
Kirk blinked. "Is he? Having one?"
"No, but he somehow got the idea he is. He'll be all right in a day or two."
"Well, if you say so. Right now, we've got a report to write."
"How's that coming?" McCoy asked.
"We have already written much of the basic report," Spock informed him.
"Yeah, although I still think we could sum it up as 'terrible.'"
"I believe you suggested 'dreadful,' Captain," Spock reminded him.
Kirk shrugged. "Take your pick."
"Anyway, what's left to write?" McCoy asked.
"Primarily, our recommendation."
"Recommendation?" Kirk repeated. "What recommendation?"
Spock looked at him sharply. Well, as sharp as Spock ever gets. "The recommendation that was the purpose of this entire mission."
Kirk tried to remember just how much of the mission directive he'd read, and concluded it had been about two sentences. "Okay, so I missed that part."
McCoy apparently had done the same. "Me too. Or else you two got a different written directive."
"Our recommendation," Spock said patiently, "regarding the efficiency of the airport system and whether it would be feasible to emulate it for plans regarding civilian passage between planets."
Kirk and McCoy both sat bolt upright.
"They want to emulate that for interplanetary travel?" McCoy said, incredulous.
"I believe I just made that statement."
"They couldn't. They wouldn't," Kirk said decisively.
"There is no reason why they would not, assuming we turn in even a moderately favorable report."
"I'll tell you why they wouldn't. Because if they try it I'll…I'll defect to the Romulans!"
"I'll go with you, Jim," McCoy said fervently.
"And you can put that in the report, too!"
Spock considered. "That is most illogical. But it does provide an excellent reason why they would not."
Well, Jones really had a great day, didn't he? Next chapter won't be any better for him. [laughs evilly] Chapter 16 will be up as soon as I can manage it! (Lack of time here, homework to deal with now. Sigh…)
One last note:
Remember that line near the beginning, where Kirk had a bad feeling about sitting in the window seat over the wing? (Since I took the time to put it in I want to draw attention to it.) Anybody want to guess why that is? It's Shatner-lore not Kirk-lore, but you still might know. That's the only hint, that it's about Shatner. Anybody with a guess put it in the review which you will be writing, of course. ^_^ If you get it right…you don't get anything but I'll be impressed. (Hey, I'd send you to the Enterprise if I could, but I'm severely limited in that regard.) If no one gets it I'll explain next chapter.
Cheerio, all! I hope you found it a jolly good show!