Disclaimer: Don't own Star Trek, am too busy stressing over finals to think of some clever way to not own Star Trek.

Beedrill: (this will be long) 21: Oh yes, wonderful vacation, lol.  You don't find Spock building a sand castle funny?  Ol' pointy-ears sitting there in front of a little sand castle with a plastic pail and shovel?  No?  Oh well, to each their own.  18: Yes, it was pure silliness.  Silliness is fun.  And am I really that mean to Jones, that he'd be better off dead?  I don't think so…if so, heaven help Caprice (or whatever her name is).  And you haven't even read this chapter yet, heh heh…  Jones'll be in minor trouble in the next couple chapters because those are already planned, but I'll try to ease up on him after that.  Do something nice, give him a promotion, or a girlfriend, or a first name, or something.  15: I hate planes.  Hence those chapters.  But Kuwait Airlines sounds much worse than Austrian Airlines.  12: I knew I shouldn't've said that.  I would put you in the turbolift if I could.  I would put me in the turbolift if I could.  9: Say great all you like, I won't complain.  ^_^  7: Thank you!  I think you're the first to acknowledge the rhyming disclaimer!  1: I try.

Hanakin: Hmm, Thanksgiving is coming up…must see about that.

Trekker-T: LOL, spoon fight…oh my, that's got to be use-able somewhere…

Caprice: Hanging bat-like, eh?  That must look interesting…lol.

Emp: Hmm, what do you know, Kirk did say three to beam up.  Fortunately, I can explain that.  It was a Freudian Slip.  Kirk's conscious mind knew there were actually four to beam up, but he would have been more than happy to leave Harry behind, so it was his subconscious at work, causing him to say "three" rather than four, completely unconsciously and without intent to do so.  Yep.  Or else I'm just used to typing three to beam up.

Keridwen: It was definitely devious…and where is the next chapter?  Well?

Blynedda: What makes you sure the pun was unintentional?  Maybe I carefully crafted that…okay, so maybe it was totally chance and I never noticed it till now.

Off we go again…poor, poor Jones.  Really, I mean it!  Although on the other hand…he is a red-shirt.  What else can he expect?  Well, enough babbling, onto the chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

The Unfortunate Ensign Jones

The Enterprise is in orbit around another planet, a Federation world, complete with a fully equipped Starfleet judicial system.  Three guesses why they're there.

Kirk strode into the Mess Hall, positively beaming.  "This is a beautiful day!" he announced to the room in general.

Most of the crewmembers present smiled, nodded, and went on with their meals, figuring that if the captain thought it was a beautiful day, well, that was just great and didn't in any way involve them.  They were right, too.  There was one person present, whose business it wasn't either, but who figured he might as well make it his business.

"Beautiful day, he?" McCoy commented.  "I hadn't noticed any weather changes."

Kirk grinned, and took a seat across the table from him.  "We're in space.  A vacuum.  No weather."

"I know that and you know that but good luck telling it to Spock," McCoy drawled.  "He was doing something just the other day with cosmic storms and spatial winds.  Illogical but sensible person that I am, I naturally asked how exactly there can be wind without air.  He, of course, launched into a long explanation that, I suspect, would have gone over the head of the average Vulcan, which tells you exactly how much I followed—"

"Can we get back to it being a beautiful day?" Kirk interrupted.

"Oh, yeah, sure," McCoy said amiably.  "So why's it a beautiful day?"

Kirk grinned.  "Harry is off my ship!  Gone!  Kaput!  Over!"

"Heeey!  It is a beautiful day!"

"Like I said," Kirk said, faintly smug.

McCoy had a thought.  "You do mean, of course, that you turned him over to the Starfleet facility on the planet, right?"

"Well sure.  What else would I mean?"

McCoy shrugged.  "I don't know, you've had that look the last few days every time Harry came up."

Kirk frowned.  "What look?"

"You know, that look."

"No, I don't, what look?"

"That one that says, 'Don't get near me and an airlock at the same time, I'm not accountable for my actions.'"

Kirk laughed.  "Oh come on!  I'm not going to start randomly tossing people out airlocks!"

"Just Harry."

Kirk nodded.  "Just Harry."

How serious he was will not be known, as further conversation was cut off by the intercom.

"Captain Kirk, please report to the bridge.  We're receiving a call from the Starfleet station on the surface."

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other.

"You don't think they're trying to give Harry back, do you?" McCoy asked apprehensively.

"If so, we're leaving at high warp," Kirk said grimly.  "And I don't care what Starfleet says!"  He stood up, and stepped away from the table.  "You want to come?"

"Sure, I'm done eating anyway.  And hey, if they are trying to give Harry back, I can give them a long explanation about how that would be extremely negative to your mental condition."

"Gee, thanks."

*  *  *

On the bridge, they found out that no one was trying to give Harry back.  Thankfully.  However, the actual cause of the call was hardly pleasanter.  It seemed there was a civilian trying to file a complaint.  And for some reason, the Starfleet station felt this was Kirk's problem, and was relaying the call.

Kirk did his best to seem polite.  Though why he should have to deal with some civilian's complaint, he didn't know.  He was a starship captain, not a deskbound commodore, and as far as he could see any complaint from this planet was completely out of his jurisdiction.  "Is there a problem, Ms…?"

"Schroedinger," the woman on the viewscreen said firmly.  "And yes, there is a problem."

"I see.  And that problem is?"

"Well.  Can you imagine what happened to me today?"

"Why don't you just tell me?" Kirk said blandly, wishing she would just state her complaint and stop bothering him.

"I was sitting in my living room, minding my own business, when not twenty minutes ago a man fell through my ceiling.  And I believe he belongs to you."

Dead silence on the bridge of the Enterprise.

Kirk recovered his voice after a moment.  "A…someone fell through your ceiling?"

"Yes.  And he seems to be a member of your crew.  He identifies himself as Ensign Jones."

And suddenly everything became clear.  "Never heard of him," Kirk said immediately.

This statement was followed by a sudden pain in Kirk's ankle.  McCoy had kicked him.  "Jim!" he hissed.

"Well," Kirk said, relenting, "maybe the name does sound vaguely familiar."

Another, rather battered, figure limped into view on the screen.  It was Jones.  "Hi, Captain, Doctor," he said, waving feebly.

"Ensign," Kirk said, resigned, "what have you done now?"

*  *  *

It took a while, but they finally got Jones beamed back aboard the ship, and convinced Ms. Schroedinger that Starfleet would pay for the damages to her roof, so consequently she really didn't need to sue.  That done, the destination was Sickbay.  Jones was already there, having been beamed directly.  McCoy was naturally needed, and Kirk was determined to find out just what Jones had been doing on a roof.

Walking down the corridor towards Sickbay, McCoy noticed something.  "Jim," he said, eyes narrowing, "stop limping."

"Sorry, I was viciously attacked," Kirk said calmly.  If anything, he increased the limp.

McCoy rolled his eyes.  "Oh come on, I didn't kick you that hard."

"Says you," Kirk returned.

McCoy watched him for another minute.  "You realize, of course, that I kicked your right leg.  Yet it seems to be your left leg you're favoring.  Remarkable."

"Transposition of pain?" Kirk suggested hopefully.  Clearly, though, the jig was up.

McCoy nodded, smug.  "Must be something like that."

Kirk stopped limping.  It didn't pay.  They were at Sickbay by then anyway.  Inside, Jones was sitting on a biobed, looking much the worse for wear.  He was someone who would definitely be limping.  Legitimately.  McCoy got a scanner, and went to work checking him.  Kirk leaned against the wall, and studied Jones.

"All right, Ensign, I want you to explain this to me slowly and clearly," Kirk said.  "Why were you on a roof?"

"I was chasing a squirrel, sir," Jones said promptly.

Kirk and McCoy looked at him.

"A squirrel?" Kirk said.

"Yes, sir."

"Why?"

"It stole my walnuts."

Kirk blinked.  McCoy checked his scanner, and had to conclude that, contrary to what it sounded like, Jones had suffered no brain damage.

"Why don't you…tell us the whole story, okay?" Kirk said faintly.  It sounded like it would be quite a story.

"Well, I had five hours leave.  So I saw a few of the sites in the city, and then figured I'd take a walk through this big park I'd heard they had.  I went to the park, wandered for a while, real nice place.  Then I got to feeling kind of hungry, so I bought a bag of walnuts off a vendor.  Cost me ten credits too, but that wasn't so bad because I'm really very fond of walnuts.  So there I was sitting under a tree eating the walnuts, when this squirrel comes along.  And he saunters up to me bold as anything.  And I figured I'd get out of his way, because I've heard about squirrels and diseases, you know.  Unfortunately, I left my bag of walnuts on the ground, and the squirrel grabbed them up and took off.  Well, I wasn't going to let it get away with that, so I chased after it.  I was keeping up with it pretty good, too, chased it all the way out of the park until it got onto that residential street.  And then it went up on the roof.  And I sure wasn't going to let it get away after all that, so I climbed up after it, and, well, the roof wasn't quite as strong as maybe it should have been and I fell through.  So that's pretty much the whole story."

"Ensign," Kirk said slowly, "next time a squirrel steals your walnuts…buy a new bag!  Don't chase it!  Consider that an order!"

"Yes, sir," Jones said.  "Assuming there is a next time, I mean.  D'you think I'm gonna pull through, Doctor?"

"Oh, I expect so," McCoy said dryly.  "You were pretty lucky.  Your worst injury seems to be that you fractured your left tibia, and I'm fairly certain there's a minor crack in your femur.  Also, you seem to have wrenched your Latissimus Dorsi."

"That sounds terrible!" Jones exclaimed, alarmed.

McCoy looked at him.  "It's a broken leg and a twisted back, Ensign."

"Oh…"

Kirk grinned, amused.  "You know, Bones, in your own way, you can be almost as bad as Spock."

McCoy looked pained.  "Please, Jim, I hope not.  Anyway…you've got bruises all up and down your back, but the spinal cord is fine.  It's all pretty easily fixed.  Then there's this black eye…"  McCoy paused, frowning at the scanner's results.  "Well that's odd, this is healing already.  Did you have the black eye before you fell?"

"Oh yeah, that.  I got that a day or two ago.  I had an accident with a mango," Jones said matter-of-factly.

Kirk and McCoy looked at each other.  They mutually decided not to ask how exactly one gets a black eye from a mango.

"You know, those mangoes can be vicious," Jones commented.

Captains do not laugh at junior officers; it is strictly frowned upon, Kirk told himself firmly.  Even so, he had to look at the ceiling for a moment.  McCoy was paying very close attention to his scanner results.

"Well, you ought to be all right in a day or so," McCoy said, after a minute or two.  "Probably have to spend the night in Sickbay though.  Want your usual bed?"

"Sure, might as well if no one's in it."

"He has a usual bed?" Kirk asked, surprised.

"He spends a lot of time here," McCoy said dryly.  "A LOT of time."

"I don't know, I don't spend that much time here," Jones protested.

"Spend more time than I do," Kirk observed.

"He practically spends more time than I do," McCoy said.

"Aw, that's not true," Jones protested further.

"No, but it almost is," McCoy said firmly.  "And I've been meaning to mention that to you.  Ensign, have you ever considered looking into a, well, a less dangerous line of work?"

Jones shook his head.  "No, sir!  Danger is just part of the job, and risks…well, risks are our business!"

"You know, he is right about that," Kirk agreed.  "Because when man first looked at the stars—"  There was another pain in his ankle.  He concluded it would be best for everyone involved if he just stopped talking.

McCoy went on.  "Risks are one thing, getting yourself nice and dead is something else."

Jones thought about it.  "Well, yeah, I guess so.  But I've always wanted to be a security guard, so I guess I'll just stick with it anyway."

"There's lots of other jobs though," McCoy continued.  "Like…a janitor maybe."

Jones grimaced.  "I don't think that would be a good idea."

"Why not?" Kirk asked curiously.

"Well…my uncle's a janitor, and I helped him one summer…spent the next two weeks with my leg in a Regenitor."

"You broke your leg mopping floors?"

Jones shifted uncomfortably. "Well, I got a little mixed up, and I wasn't looking where I stepped, and I got my foot stuck in a pail of water.  So then I was hopping around trying to pull it off, and, well, the floor was all soapy, and well…it was pretty bad, I don't think janitorial work is gonna do it for me."

Kirk was looking at the ceiling again.  McCoy coughed a few times.

"Ahem, well, maybe a janitor wouldn't be best.  How about…farming maybe?" McCoy suggested, casting around for something that seemed generally risk-free, at least in terms of injuries.

Jones frowned.  "Bad idea.  I've been on a farm once, and it didn't go well."

Don't ask him, don't ask, Kirk tried to mentally project to McCoy.  Unfortunately, Spock was the telepathic one, so it didn't work very well.

"Maybe I shouldn't ask, but what happened to you on a farm?"

"I was maybe ten, with the Pre-Academy Program, Security Division.  And we went on a lot of field trips, I don't know what a farm was s'posed to teach us but we went there.  And it was okay at first, but then I sat on a cow."

Kirk made a sound vaguely like "Mmph" and McCoy was struck with a sudden coughing fit.

Jones looked from one to the other.  "We were supposed to be riding the ponies, but I got a little confused," he tried to explain.  "The cow didn't like it much." He had a puzzled expression.  "I don't really remember what happened after that…"

McCoy had a very firm grim on the edge of the biobed, was very carefully looking at anything but Jones or Kirk, and trying to recite polyatomic formulas to keep himself in a controlled state of mind.

As for Kirk, he was very much aware that if he didn't get out fast all would be lost.  "I'm going to go…uh, back to…uh, to…uh…to the...bridge!  Yes, the bridge!"  He nodded, practically shaking with suppressed laughter.  "Uh…carry on…"  He barely made it out the door, completely forgetting to limp.

Jones watched him go, frowning.  "That's a little weird."

"Deserter," McCoy muttered.

"What?"

"Nothing," McCoy said quickly, and then made the fatal error of looking directly at Jones.  The resulting mental image of Jones falling off a cow, arms flailing, was too much.  "I'm going to…go check these results.  In my office.  Be right back."  He left in a hurry.

Jones shrugged.  "Guess I'll tell 'em about getting bitten by the chicken another time."

*  *  *

Spock was walking down the corridor, en route to his quarters, having completed his shift on the bridge.  He came upon Kirk, who was leaning against a wall and laughing very, very hard.  Spock nodded.  "Captain."

"H'lo…Spock," Kirk said, trying to catch his breath.

Spock studied him for a moment.  "Something is amusing?"

Kirk nodded.  "Jones sat on a cow," he explained, and went into another stretch of laughter.

"Ah."  Spock nodded again, and continued on his way.  If the Captain wanted to laugh about cows, it was not any of his business.  Although on the other hand, if there was no actual reason for this hysteria, it could be a bad indication of the Captain's mental state.  Perhaps it would be wise to bring the matter up with the Doctor, who no doubt would know if cows were generally considered to be funny.  Consequently, he changed course slightly, and entered Sickbay.  He passed Ensign Jones, who informed him that Dr. McCoy was in his office.  Spock knocked, and, after being told to do so, entered.

McCoy was sitting at his desk, looking calm but slightly out of breath for no visible reason.  "Something I can do for you, Spock?" he asked.

"Yes.  Please explain what, if anything, is amusing about cows."

McCoy turned mauve.  "Cows!" he gasped out, and then nearly fell out of his chair as a new surge of laughter hit.

Spock considered this a sufficient answer to his question.  Clearly cows were, in some sense, humorous.  Or else everyone was somewhat unstable.

Heehee…if anyone really wants to know where the cows came from I'll explain, but…it's pretty far out there.

Next chapter should be up Wednesday or so, if I don't die of stress from my finals (last final on Tuesday, wish me luck.  And leave a review!)