Disclaimer: Star Trek is Paramount's. Not mine. But you knew that.
Sorry it's been awhile…but here it is finally. And so long as you're reading my author's note (I assume you are) and I therefore have your attention, might I recommend you investigate "The Stars Trek Through Xanth"? I think you would all enjoy it…but anyway, here's Chapter Thirty-Nine.
Chapter Thirty-Nine:
Calendars and…Problems
Somewhere aboard the Enterprise:
"Hey Bones!" Kirk called down the corridor, "Do you realize what today is?" [A/N: Today being May 22nd, since that's when I'm writing this and it might even be when I post it.]
McCoy blinked. "Um…no. Can't say that I do," he said warily.
"Are you sure?" Kirk persisted. "Maybe you should guess."
"That's okay, Jim, maybe you should tell me."
Kirk shrugged elaborately. "If you insist. Today's National Maritime Day."
"Gee…"
"Also, it's UN International Day for Biological Diversity. Have you ever noticed how diverse we are around here?"
"Maybe in passing…"
"Wait, the best is yet to come," Kirk promised. "In Canada it's Immigrant's Day, in Yemen it's National Day, and in Sri Lanka it's National Heroes Day. I don't know what any of them are about particularly, but nevertheless it's fascinating to know."
"Fascinating," McCoy said, his tone of voice somehow failing to convey any fascination.
"And also, it's Lawrence Olivier's birthday," Kirk continued.
"That's wonderful to know. Is that all?"
"Yes, for today. But there's two really good ones tomorrow." Kirk grinned. "Tomorrow is Morning Radio Wise Guy Day, and…best of all…World Turtle Day."
McCoy stared at him. "World…Turtle…Day."
"Exactly."
There was silence for a moment. "Let me guess," McCoy said finally. "You bought a calendar, and now you're out for revenge."
"Something like that," Kirk agreed.
"Well. I'll admit the fourth Thursday business was a little over the top, but let's not belabor the point—"
"Do you really want me to tell you that this is National Dog Bite Prevention Week?" Kirk asked pleasantly.
McCoy looked pained. "And the pancakes. They were a bit much. But there's no reason we can't move on."
"All right," Kirk agreed. "But I'm going to be ready for you for the rest of the year, right up until New Year's, when you're bound to want to sacrifice a goat."
"Why in the galaxy would I want to sacrifice a goat?"
"Isn't that what people do on New Year's?"
"Well, maybe. But where would we get a goat?"
"That would be the easy part. Just send Jones for goat cheese, and see what happens."
"You're terrible, you know that?"
"Yeah," Kirk agreed. "Anyway, I'm supposed to be going to the bridge right now."
"I'll go with you. I haven't bugged Spock yet today."
"Bones!"
"What?" McCoy said innocently.
Kirk shook his head, smiling, but didn't answer. They continued down the corridor a ways, and then they encountered the actual plot of this chapter. Kirk paused, frowning.
"Do you hear something?" he asked.
"Hear something?"
"Yeah. A faint noise."
McCoy concentrated. "A sort of…mewling sound?"
"Yeah, that's it."
"And not really one solid sound, but many small ones together?"
"Right, right."
"Kind of high-pitched?"
"Exactly. Hear it?"
McCoy shook his head. "Sorry, Jim. Don't hear a thing." Kirk gave him a look. "Well, maybe I do hear something," McCoy relented.
Kirk stepped close to the wall. "I think it's from back here. Now how can we find out what…" He looked down the corridor. Ten feet away was the hatch of a Jeffries Tube. "There."
Kirk walked down the corridor. "Perfect. There's got to be a way from here to over there from inside this tube. Help me get it open."
A spark of mischief stirred in McCoy. He shook his head. "Sorry, Jim, but I can't let you do that."
Kirk blinked. "What?" he said, in rather the tone he would have used had McCoy suddenly announced he was a Romulan spy.
McCoy held back a grin, and managed to look reasonably solemn. "I'm strictly forbidden from allowing you to climb into any Jeffries tubes, remember?"
Kirk frowned. "No."
"After you went climbing around in there with Jones and Simmons," McCoy explained patiently. "You distinctly told me to never, under any circumstances, let you go into any Jeffries Tubes ever again. And if you ever tried to I was to tie you up, shoot you, do something to stop you."
"It's all coming back to me," Kirk said ruefully. He was half-amused in spite of himself. "How about if I just look, but don't climb?"
"Fair enough," McCoy agreed. "Here, let me give you a hand with that hatch."
"No, I think I've got it…" Kirk gave a final wrench to the hatch positioned slightly above his head, and it opened up.
And out plummeted a flood of giant brown balls of fur. They poured out in a great wave over Kirk's head, and within moments he was shoulder-deep in them.
"Why," Kirk asked plaintively, "didn't I see this coming?"
McCoy, to his credit, tried hard not to laugh. He managed tolerably well, snickered only twice, regained full composure, and then picked up a tribble that had rolled near his feet. He stroked it absently, noticing that it was by far the largest tribble he'd ever seen. And he'd seen a lot, some large, some small. This one was giant, and heavy. Probably twenty pounds or so. But then, all the tribbles were that big, at least.
Kirk, meanwhile, stood, buried in the tribbles, gazing meditatively and unhappily into space. The odd tribble rolled out every few moments and plopped down around him. Kirk ignored them.
"We need a maintenance crew," Kirk said finally.
"We do," McCoy agreed, idly smoothing the tribble's fur.
"We should have Engineering look into the other Jeffries Tubes," Kirk continued in monotone.
"We should," McCoy agreed, noting that this tribble's purr was louder in proportion to its larger size.
"A general alert may be necessary," Kirk went on.
"Might be," McCoy agreed, wondering if the tribble's trill was also louder. No Klingons around to allow for experimentation.
"We should go to the bridge," Kirk concluded.
"We should," McCoy agreed, and started down the corridor. After six steps he realized Kirk wasn't following. He turned back. Kirk hadn't moved. "Aren't you coming?"
Kirk's face twisted. "I can't."
McCoy blinked. "You what?"
Kirk pushed futilely at a tribble or two. "These things are heavy. And there's hundreds of thousands of them. I can't get out."
McCoy tried not to laugh. He didn't succeed quite so well this time.
Kirk glared into space. "It isn't funny, Bones."
"Of course not," McCoy agreed, doubled over the tribble with laughter.
"It isn't at all funny."
"No," McCoy gasped, catching his breath. With a supreme effort, the laugh lessened into a grin. "What do you suggest I do?" he asked politely.
Kirk gave him a Look.
"I suppose I could start pulling tribbles away." McCoy strolled around the pile, gazing at it speculatively. "Or I could go find help." He glanced up and down the empty corridor. "Or I could sell tickets."
Kirk was not pleased. "Great. I've got a first officer who thinks he's a computer, and a doctor who thinks he's a comedian."
"You poor, poor man," McCoy said sympathetically.
"Bones, get me out of here," Kirk appealed.
McCoy shook his head. "Not until you solemnly promise to turn up on time for your next medical exam."
"That's blackmail!"
"Yes," McCoy agreed, patting the tribble.
"I refuse!"
McCoy shrugged. "Suit yourself. How much do you suggest selling each ticket for?"
Kirk decided he'd been a bit hasty. He considered the matter carefully. "I could make it an order."
"I'd ignore it," McCoy said comfortably.
"I could court-martial you," Kirk suggested.
"Theoretically," McCoy agreed, with all the unconcern of a man who probably deserved several court-martials and would never be brought to trial on any of them.
"I could though."
"Except that you'd have to get out of the tribbles first."
"Got me there," Kirk admitted.
"I don't see that you have many options, myself."
Kirk sighed. "You know this is blackmail, right?"
"Of course," McCoy said cheerfully.
"All right." Kirk surrendered. "I promise."
"Solemnly?"
Kirk nodded grimly. "Solemnly."
"Now, was that really so difficult?" McCoy asked.
Kirk glared at him.
McCoy shrugged, set down the tribble, and went to work digging Kirk out. Between the two of them it didn't take too long.
"Now what?" McCoy asked.
"Now we go to the bridge. And sound red alert."
* * *
They eventually wound up in the briefing room. Kirk, Spock, and McCoy did, that it. The rest of the crew was out scouring the ship for more tribbles.
Kirk was pacing back and forth, and hoping that that one batch of giant tribbles that had fallen on him was the only one.
Such was not the case.
Spock was sitting at one end of the table, and checking the reports that were filtering in from all parts of the ship. He was not pleased with what they had to say.
"Captain, I believe this problem may be greater than originally supposed."
Kirk groaned. "I don't want to know."
Spock nodded, and continued checking reports. Kirk went on pacing. This lasted for roughly a minute.
Then Kirk, tired of waiting, said, "Well?"
Spock glanced at him. "Yes?"
"Aren't you going to tell me?"
"You clearly stated that you did not wish to know—"
"I meant—oh forget it!" Kirk glared at McCoy, who was looking far too amused for the circumstances, and then turned back to Spock. "Give it to me straight. Tell me how many tribbles we have running loose."
"Tribbles are not anatomically designed to allow for running."
Kirk was having a difficult day. It had been going downhill ever since National Turtle Day. He turned a Look on Spock, who continued.
"The trouble involving tribbles seems to be growing exponentially. The problem, however, is not the number."
"When has the trouble with tribbles been anything but their number?" McCoy demanded. "They're totally harmless except in amount."
"Not any more," Spock said gravely. "Kagon's genetic engineering seems to have had quite fascinating effects.
"All right," Kirk said, resigned. "Let's hear it."
"The Mess Hall and the bridge are reporting giant tribbles."
"Well sure. So what?" McCoy asked.
"Rec Room Three, however, is reporting flying tribbles."
"Flying tribbles?" Kirk had trouble adjusting to the idea.
"Tribbles with wings," McCoy murmured.
"Actually, they seem to be defying gravity without the aid of wings," Spock interjected.
"Well that makes me feel better," McCoy snapped. Spock did not bother asking why.
"Security has a different report. They are reporting fanged tribbles."
"Fanged tribbles?!" Kirk dropped into a chair. "That's too much, way too much."
"Engineering is reporting in as well."
"Wait, don't tell me. Tribbles with legs?" McCoy suggested.
"Fluorescent tribbles," Spock deadpanned.
Kirk stifled a groan. McCoy stifled a grin.
Spock continues. "The arboretum is reporting finding tribbles in their pond."
"Swimming tribbles," Kirk murmured dazedly.
"They seem to have fins and gills."
"Swimming tribbles…"
"Are there any more?" McCoy demanded.
"Only one. A certain Ensign Jones reports tripping over an invisible tribble. I believe there are excellent odds that that can be put down to mere paranoia, however."
There was silence for a moment.
Finally: "How did this happen?" Kirk asked slowly.
"I have a theory," Spock said immediately.
"Of course you do," McCoy said sourly.
"I suspect that the effect of the Klingons' genetic engineering has been greater even than they planned, perhaps due to the tribbles natural prolific tendencies. They most likely began with one large tribble. It was above Mr. Scott's weight limit, and so was not picked up. As the tribbles bred, they spread throughout the ship. The genetic engineering, however, was still at play, and soon different colonies of tribbles had evolved with impressive rapidity."
"And so we're left with a lot of mutant tribbles," McCoy concluded. "Delightful."
"That is not the word I would use," Kirk snapped.
"So now what?" McCoy asked.
Kirk shrugged. "Beats me."
McCoy blinked at him. "That's your answer? What kind of answer is that?
"That's the answer I can afford to give when the writer's planning to end the chapter in two lines. Heightens the drama and gives her time to figure out what to do with fluorescent tribbles now that she has them."
This chapter almost didn't happen. I wrote the first half, write up until Kirk solemnly promised, and then got stuck. I had to go back and change the holidays at the beginning, they were originally for April 25th. That's how long I got stuck for. So I was figuring I'd scrap the whole thing. And then in a conversation with my friends last week, the phrase "fluorescent tribbles" came up (I'm not sure how, they're non-Trekkies). And I had to finish the chapter just so I could use that one phrase. : )
Let's see…does anyone even remember what they wrote? I doubt it. Well, I'll be brief. Feel free to skip to the Review button.
PearlGirl: Hope you're happy! Kirk's the proud owner of a calendar now. : )
Alania: I don't know why I enjoy animals on the Enterprise…but I do.
Silverfang: The Queen of Humor? I'm flattered.
Unconventional Conversationalist (wow, that's a mouthful): Not only can I not identify that song, I have never heard of it…sorry. I dunno about Rocky Horror Fest, but going to the movies would be amusing.
Ms. Vegeta Black: Jones mixes everything up. That's why he's Jones. : )
Blynneda: I know St. Patrick's Day is Irish. I'm Irish. Not that you'd have any way of knowing that, as the only name you all know me by is Barsoomian. Is the point here that Kirk and McCoy are Scottish names? Because they sound kind of Irish to me. And it is the same area of the world. And I just wanted the joke anyway. And in the other chapter, McCoy only admitted to being wrong because he was in the right just then, and gloating.
Psyche: Have I mentioned that you finally threw me off with the name change? I was actually, literally thinking, "Who's Psyche, I should look her up." And…it was you. You are far too confusing.
Emp: Y'know, I don't think you ever told me about the end of the school year story.
Grace: What else would you name a pig?
A.M.: Yeah, I don't know why McCoy even bothered with the ears…maybe because the thought made me laugh.
Beedrill: No, I did not know about normalcy and normality…the random things people know astounds me sometimes. I include myself in that statement.
Taskemus: Once again: I don't know why there's animals. There just are. Hmm…Everyone going crazy. An interesting thought.
Wedge Antilles: Whew…nothing like flooding my inbox. Thank you though. I won't even try to respond to everything…One thing though: Kirk can't kill Jones. I think the rest of my readers would kill him. Or me.
Saurons Twin Sister: [smacks head] I never e-mailed you. Yes, you can use Jones, just don't kill him. Y'know what, I'm gonna go e-mail, hang on…okay, I feel better.
Nenya: Funny, if I ever have a black cat, I'm gonna name him Surak too.