Chapter 3

Bacon Repairs and Richard Basehart

"Captain's log, supplemental: after being taken away from the planet's surface, Spock, Dr. McCoy, and I have found ourselves stranded on the Satellite of Love, a spacecraft orbiting above Earth. The year: 1994. The inhabitants: one human named Mike Nelson and four robots. Their involuntary mission: watch awful movies sent by the deranged Dr. Clayton Forrester from the planet's surface. Meanwhile, my team and I are endeavoring to find a way back to our own time, to the Enterprise. The elusive Gypsy has yet to be found, but I find myself in the engine room, looking over the generator. It appears to be malfunctioning, though as of now I cannot tell wh-Oh, for crying out-Spock, get over here!"

Kirk lowered his recorder as he found the problem, both disgusted and amazed. Spock, who had been roaming the corridors in pursuit of Gypsy, heard his Captain's call and noting the irritated tone entered the engine room.

"Captain?" Spock's eyebrows went flying under his bangs as he saw what the Captain held in his hands: the digital switching module with bacon strips covering places that had been damaged.

"Will you just look at this? No wonder the satellite is falling apart; with repairs like this-it-" forcing himself to calm down, Kirk finished, "It merely boggles the mind, Mr. Spock."

"A most...unusual method in repairs," Spock agreed.

Throwing the piece aside after peeling off the bacon, Kirk asked, "Any luck finding this so-called 'Gypsy'?"

"Negative, Captain. I have not yet searched every room of the satellite, but she does seem to sequester herself away quite well. Unless of course-"

"Nelson was lying?"

"I see no logical reason for him to do so, Captain."

"Did it ever occur to your brilliant Vulcan mind that maybe the 'crew' here aren't too concerned with logic?" inquired McCoy, who walked in to the engine room in just enough time to hear the last of the exchange between Kirk and Spock, giving him the opportunity to berate Spock on the topic of his beloved logic.

"It did occur to me, Doctor," Spock admitted.

"They're a damnable troupe, Jim," groused McCoy. "The closest thing they have to a sickbay is a tiny room with a half-empty box of 'Flintstone' band-aids and a jar of leaches. That's right: leaches. Now, I know 1994 is a looong time ago for us, but they stopped using leaches after the Civil War!"

Shuddering to dispel this mental image, Kirk addressed his CMO. "Have you had any luck finding this Gypsy?"

"No luck at all. I agree with you, Jim; I think Nel-whatshisface made up this Gypsy!"

"Did someone say my name?" A voice that sounded like a male falsetto caused the three to jump followed by another jump when they laid eyes on the speaker. Her large, purple head resembled that of a vacuum cleaner on steroids, an image heightened by the long, thick black tube serving as her neck and body. In the center of her head sat a round yellow light, which appeared to serve as a crude eye.

"Are you...Gypsy?" asked Kirk once he recovered from the surprise.

"Yes. Um...may I help you? Have the Mads sent you as replacements for Mike, Tom, and Crow? I just saw them head into the theater ten minutes ago...so I don't think they know if they have been laid off..."

"No, we haven't been sent as replacements. We were sent here...accidentally."

"Oh! That's a shame. Oh, well! Nice talking to you!" She turned to leave.

"Wait!" Kirk went forward, holding his hands out. "Mr. Nelson said you control the ship's higher functions. Maybe you can help us."

"I'll certainly try. Are you sure you weren't sent here on purpose? I just like to double check."

"We are certain, Madame," said Spock, coming forward. "We are not from your time. We are endeavoring to return. It will probably require your expertise, however. Would you mind very much leading me to your data bank system? I should very much like to analyze it." He raised a polite eyebrow.

If Gypsy could blush, she would have. "Oh, my...no one's ever called me 'Madame' before...or talked about my expertise...oh... you're about as gentlemanly as Richard Basehart." Along with blushing, Gypsy would have very much liked to bat some eyelids. What a nice, deep voice this pointy-eared man had! What nice manners! "I'm not used to star treatment...I feel so inadequate."

"Well, don't they treat you nicely here?" McCoy said, warming up to this gentle giantess.

"Oh, yes! Well, Mike's very nice. Tom and Crow are too, I guess. I just don't really get them."

"Get them?" asked Spock.

"Tom cries and sings a lot, and Crow sometimes panics while making sandwiches," explained Gypsy.

"In...deed," murmured Spock, rather at a loss for a response. Therefore, he decided the most logical route would be to return to the problem at hand. "I am Commander Spock. I would be very pleased to have your assistance now, if I may."

"Oh, certainly," Gypsy said, fighting down giggles of anticipation. All by herself with this striking stranger... true, nobody would ever replace Richard Basehart, but this Spock was very charming. "The data system and all the ship's logs are over on the other side of the engine room. This way...Mr. Spock." Spock followed Gypsy's lead, leaving behind an amused Kirk and McCoy.

"Even before she was born Nurse Chapel had imitators," remarked McCoy.