Elvis "Does" Vulcan
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Back in the early 90's, Gail Manfre wrote a spoof on Star Trek VI  that appeared in a series of THE SHATNER FILES newsletter. I contacted Gail and asked permission to add the story to our site. I received a big, yes! So here it is in its entirety. Enjoy!!






"Correction Captain dear, Stardate 8476.02—"The newly computerized captain’s logbook whirred back to him.

"Oh please," captain Kirk sighed. "I had enough of you and your thingamabob malfunctions in the last movie. I don’t need this—or you, ‘Captain’s log!"

"Temper, temper Captain. Do you wish to continue?"

"Negative. I’ll use my command porta-log."

Kirk settled down into his new captain’s chair, finally resigning himself to the feel of this module. "Now if I had some coffee…"

"Poof!" A cup of steaming hot coffee materialized on his left armrest.

"What in the devil…"

"Problem, Captain?" Spock’s baritone wafted across the bridge.

"I miss my old chair, but I must say this one has some, ah, interesting features!"

Jim Kirk punched the green button on the other armrest and continued with his usual daily log entry. "STARDATE 8476.01… The ENTERPRISE has been ordered to retrieve cargo from Starbase 39 in the Gamma Sigma Sector, near the Romulan Neutral Zone. Not even I have been informed regarding the content of our ‘cargo’. ETA one hour, ten minutes."

Dr. McCoy attempted to join Spock and Kirk on the bridge, but the lift doors slid barely two feet apart when it halted.

"Doesn’t anything work on this damn ship?"

"Sorry, dear." The elevator computer voice responded. "I’m not the engineer, I only provide the transportation."

"Just what I need Jim, a saucy computer. I thought Mr. Scott just fixed this damn thing."

"Well, don’t look at me, Bones. I’m only the captain!"

Mr. Spock left his science station to stand next to Jim Kirk. He was most curious about the ENTERPRISE’s new orders and he was determined to ascertain the contents of the packages they were to pick up…

"Why has Command failed to divulge the nature of our mission, Captain?"

"I guess Admiral Nogura is playing close to the vest."


"Yes Spock?" Kirk and McCoy exchanged exasperated glances.

"Why would Admiral Nogura wear a vest and how will playing with such an archaic form of attire aid in fulfilling our mission?"

"Bones, you field this one. I’ve already had a useless argument with my updated Captain’s Logbook."

Dr. McCoy wagged his finger at Spock. "Search those green-blooded brain cells of yours. Do you remember you formerly had a sense of humor?"

"Was the captain joking, Doctor? I see. I believe the appropriate response is: ha, ha, ha. Will that suffice?"

"Forget it, Spock. Those campfire marshmallows have obviously had a bad effect on your thinking cap. Jim, I’ll be in sickbay if anyone needs me."


"Yes, Captain."

"Station. I have had enough with laughing Vulcans to last me several lifetimes. I believe that I need some recreation. Take the comm., Spock. I’m headed for the Officer’s Gym—"

Commander Uhura just managed to stop him before the lift doors squeezed shut.

"Priority One message incoming, Captain. For your eyes only."

"Pipe it through to my cabin on Deck Five."

"Captain," Mr. Spock interrupted. "Your quarters are located on Deck Six, Section Four."

Kirk shrugged and looked heavenward. "Lord, whatever did I do to deserve this!" He sprinted into the elevator and ordered it to Deck Six.

FOR CAPTAIN’S EYES ONLY began the Starfleet Top Secret Missive: "ENTERPRISE is ordered to rendezvous with the transport vessel USS WORTHY by 2100 hours. Stardate 7486.03. Contents of said cargo contain the chrono-frozen body of one mid-twentieth century pop singer officially known as Elvis Aaron Presley. YOU ARE TO HANDLE SAID ITEM WITH EXTREME CARE AND CAUTION UPONRECEIPT OF SAME AND YOU ARE TO PROCEED WITH ALL AVAILABLE SPEED TO VULCAN." These last words were capitalized for added emphasis. "Additional instructions will be encoded to you as needed. Nogura, Admiral, Commander, Starfleet operations."

"Not another cryogenic surprise!" Kirk uselessly moaned as he hailed the bridge to tell Mr. Sulu to alter course for the rendezvous with the USS WORTHY. "Life is certainly rough for us Valhalla heroes…"

Commander Uhura swung her long, dark and beautiful legs away from her communications console. She was in a blue funk because she had been looking forward to spending some time with Scotty on her last shore leave, but the Chief Engineer still had to perform more necessary repairs to the transporter after the Klingons most recent attack on the ENTERPRISE – on the other side of the Galactic Barrier. Perhaps they’d experience something just as interesting as their previous outing in this adventure. I hope so… I’ve had about enough of this jive communications console; I want to brush up on my fan dance routines. She absentmindedly began humming "Moon Over Rigel 7" to herself while double checking the console.

The captain punched his personal wall-com. "Kirk to Sickbay. Bones, prepare a medical team and sickbay for receipt of cryogenic material."

"Material… as in body?"

"Affirmative. And, Bones, security will be tight. I’ve already informed Chekov about special procedures. Kirk out."

The captain then summoned both McCoy and Spock to Deck Six.

"Gentleman, please sit down. What I have to tell you I don’t quite believe. Brandy, Bones?"

"Ya’ll got any Tennessee whiskey?"

"Yes. Here is our Altarian mineral water, Spock."

"Most considerate of you, Captain."

"Spock, we’re off duty. Please call me Jim."

McCoy motioned for silence. "Let’s not get into that discussion again, shall we? On with the show, Captain, I’m all ears."

Kirk sighed. It was going to be a very long session…

"THE ELVIS PRESLEY??" McCoy roared with laughter. "You were right, Jim; I don’t believe it!"

"The captain wouldn’t lie regarding a Starfleet special mission, Doctor." Spock wryly noted.

"Well, I say Poppycock, and as for you, you bi-pedal seed eater…"

"Gentlemen, please! Spock, will you enlighten us about Mr. Presley’s life?"

"Elvis Aaron Presley was born in Tupelo, Mississippi in 1935." The Vulcan steepled his fingers as he continued. "Skyrocketed to stardom in 1965 – old earth-style calendar – noted hits were "That’s All Right momma" and "You Ain’t Nothing But A Houndog." Allegedly died from cardiac arrest induced by a drug overdose on August 16, 1977…"

"Allegedly, Spock?" Kirk questioned.

"Captain, you have already stated that the USS WORTHY has the frozen body of Mr. Presley, did you not?"

"Spock," Jim said while cleaning up the Saurian brandy that he had spilled over his red uniform jacket, "what are the chances of Dr. McCoy reviving Presley?"

"The odds are surprisingly good, sir. Only 325,676.875 to 1."

"ONLY 325,676.875 to 1!" Bones shouted. "Have you taken leave of your Vulcan senses? The man’s physical condition at death was pitiful! And in those medieval times, the medical field wasn’t exactly well-versed in the art of cryogenics!"

Spock nodded. "Agreed, Doctor. Nevertheless, we have been ordered to revive Mr. Presley. Captain, are you not what is known on Terra as a ‘rock-and-roll fan?"

"Y—yes. I did like Presley’s music."

McCoy glanced at the Vulcan First Officer. Mr. Spock was definitely turning green around the gills, and Bones was utterly determined to discover the reason.

"Okay, spill it! And don’t pretend that you don’t know what in blazes I mean!"

"You are very perceptive, Doctor. I am somewhat apprehensive at our destination. Why would Commander order us to deliver Mr. Presley to the Vulcan Academy of Science? If Mr. Presley can be successfully ‘resurrected’ my home planet would not exactly be a…hospitable environment for him."

"The point is well taken, my friend." Kirk failed to conceal his smugness as he spoke. Any 20th century person who could be revived 250 years later would be shocked, at the very least, upon being greeted by a group of pointy-eared, green blooded, logical to the max aliens."

"What’s so damn funny?" Bones inquired much later after Spock had retired to his own privacy and after tossing back three more shots of Tennessee whiskey.

"Don’t you get it? ‘Elvis the Pelvis’ Presley loose on a world comprised of emotionless Vulcans? It’s definitely not a match made in heaven, Bones…" Kirk suddenly dissolved into a giggling fit.

"Jim, ya’ll really got to stop drinkin’ that Saurian brandy. It’s addlin’ what’s left of your gray matter."


Captain’s log: "…We have arrived at our final destination, Spock’s ‘point of origin’, Vulcan. The Science Academy brain trust is currently debating two theories regarding Mr. Presley’s revival. Should they gradually raise his body temperature over the next 18 hours or should they jump start him…wait, computer, that’s a joke. Delete that last remark."

"Yes, precious."

Even Mr. Spock cocked his head at the amorous diminutive. "From dear to darling to precious in less than 3.75 minutes. No small wonder that the Starfleet grapevine deems you as the ‘Space Stud’."

James Tiberius Kirk’s visage changed from alabaster to grey to yellow to scarlet in nanoseconds. He quickly regained his composure, but this euphoria was short-lived when he attempted to continue his log entries.

"Precious…space stud...," the computer interrupted him. "I am discontinuing operations at this time for internal repairs…"

The blue light dimmed and finally faded out on his armrest. Rather than futilely bang his fist on the console, Kirk gave the conn to Sulu and ordered Spock to begin overhauling the computer system.

"Guess I’ll check on the resurrection progress at the Academy…LT Rand, one to beam down. Destination, Vulcan Academy of Science."

"Yes, sir."

When he felt his atoms reforming on Vulcan, he found himself in the foyer of the Director’s Office. The receptionist politely informed him that he would shortly be escorted to the Revival Chamber by the Director herself, T’pana.

"Greetings, Captain Kirk. I know that you have been monitoring our latest project, the Terran, Elvis Presley. Please follow me."

As they descended into the bowels of the Science Academy, through six levels of phaser-hewn granite, Kirk grew quite apprehensive. Would he find his rock’n roll idol’s faculties completely restored? Would Elvis rotate his pelvis clockwise or counterclockwise? And more importantly, would he be wearing his infamous blue suede shoes?

T’pana nodded. "Your questions will be duly answered in 5.5 minutes, Captain. And no, Mr. Presley is not attired in ‘blue suede shoes."

"Major disappointment," Kirk murmured.

"Silence, please." One of the Vulcan technicians ordered. "Final revival countdown is commencing."

All eyes, and ears, were attuned to the platinum receptacle resting at a 45 degree angel on the examination platform. Steam rolled upward from the coffin as the interior atmosphere met the warmer air of the laboratory, and Presley’s face and upper body were momentarily obscured.

"…three, two, one." T’pana finished the countdown. "S’enthen, please institute tactile stimulation immediately."

The Vulcan male scientist stepped forward and began prodding Elvis Presley’s still dormant form with a small metallic pointer. Kirk glanced at his chronometer, anxious that the Vulcan would elicit some kind of response…

Suddenly, one of Presley’s eyelids twitched and fluttered open. His head snapped back; he shrugged his shoulders as if attempting to remove a great weight from them. Then he shook both of his arms and tested moving his legs. The "King" looked up and noticed four pairs of elongated ears and five pairs of eyes boring into his own.

"Lord…have mercy!" Elvis intoned as he donned his trademark sunglasses. "This does not look like Graceland. Where in holy hell am I, ya’ll?"

"Please Mr. Presley, welcome to Vulcan." T’pana raised her right hand in the usual Vulcan greeting.

"Ya’ll need to see a doctor, m’am. Your fingers are locked kinda funny. Where is this…ah, joint, uh, what’s that you call this place?"

"Vulcan, in the star system Epsilon Eridani, 3.76 light years from Earth."

Presley frowned and appeared to be momentarily startled. "Ya’ll mean…this isn’t a Las Vegas Casino and this isn’t even Earth????"

T’pana sighed. "Correct, Mr. Presley. Now, if you will clam yourself, we will begin cultural reassimilation..."

"Now wait a damn minute, folks. Ya’ll are kinda cute with those weird kinda ears, but I don’t want no reass…reass…"

Two of the Vulcans had entered the laboratory and were attempting to affix restraints on his arms.


"Did you have to do that?" Kirk sadly noted as the Vulcan guards used the ancestral nerve pinch on both of Presley’s shoulders.

"Unfortunately, your fellow Terran was becoming quite irrational, Captain. It appears that we will have to revise our reassimilation schedule."

Kirk stepped between the Vulcan guards and the unconscious Presley. He adopted the classic John Wayne heroic stance before addressing T’pana. No one was going to mistreat his musical hero, not even well-intentioned, non-violent Vulcans!

"T’pana, please. We’re dealing with an intergalactic treasure here. The ‘King’ was beloved by mega-billions of adoring fans, and yours truly was one of those loyal legions. Perhaps some time spent with Terrans would better serve both science and humanity – all 96 known types of humanity."

The female Vulcan arched her left eyebrow and then left Kirk to briefly confer with her colleagues. When they returned less than 3 minutes later, their faces betrayed no indication of their decision.

"You have presented a most logical argument in Mr. Presley’s favor, Captain Kirk. We have agreed to permit Mr. Presley 48 hours aboard the ENTERPRISE in your custody. We will inform Starfleet Command of our decision."

"Thank you, T’pana, you will not regret this." ("I hope…" Kirk sheepishly added to himself.)

"Bones," Kirk spoke into the laboratory ‘com, "please beam myself and the King of Rock ‘n Roll immediately. We have work to do."

"You mean we have to baby-sit a 249 year old pop singer for the next two days, Jim? I’m a doctor not a parent! Wait a minute what am I saying! I am a parent. Never mind. Must be the Tennessee whiskey…"

Jim Kirk ignored his feeble protestations. "If you have a better idea now’s the time to yell, Bones. Spock was correct; Vulcan is no place for the "King!"

Leonard H. McCoy threw up his hands heavenward. "Lord, have mercy! We’ve all taken a dive off into the deep end. The ENTERPRISE will never be the same…"



"The new ENTERPRISE is still misbehaving, and I am now faced with the task of reassimilating The King of Rock ‘n Roll into our century. Drs. McCoy and Chapel have been quite busy re-educating Mr. Presley in the language, arts and sciences and he is currently being examined by the staff psychologist.

End log.

"Mr. Spock, you have the conn. I’m on my way to check on Mr. Presley’s progress."


‘Yes, Spock?"

Mr. Spock swiveled around in the new and more comfortable command chair to face his friend. "Please be careful. The turbolift is still-not quite operational."


Jim Kirk bounded into the turbolift with his usual morning vigor and was determined to keep his good joie de vivre even when the computer announced, in calm tones, to "hold on."


The captain found himself violently thrust against the left, and then the right side of the lift by the G and centrifugal forces caused by the lift’s mad dash through the ship. He glanced up at the deck indicator and was astonished to discover that it was flashing.

"Deck 1,101, Ladies’ Lingerie. Deck 1,056, Paramilitary Exercise Equipment. THE KING OF ROCK ‘N ROLL memorabilia, Deck 1,612…"

The lift continued to whirl upwards and then abruptly began falling down, down, down; finally Kirk’s frantic pounding on the elevator lever appeared to work. The turbolift glided to a gentle halt and the doors opened to reveal…

…he was in space…at least; our beloved Captain seemed to be. Outside the lift’s perimeter, heliotrope, gold and puce variegated clouds occasionally obscured the stars. Lightening flashed all around him, but didn’t touch the lift. Then Kirk noticed the Starship USS RELIANT floating in the distance and he heard a vaguely familiar voice call out to him… "NO, YOU CAN’T RUN AWAY, KIRK…WITH MY LAST BREATH…"

"YE GODS!!! Not Khan again! Don’t you ever give up?" Kirk shouted into space. "Besides, I’ve heard all that before, Ricardo! Go back to Fantasy Island…"

The USS RELIANT proceeded to explode and just when he thought the shock wave from the explosion would assault the lift, the doors whirred shut. "D-d-deck 3-3-301." The computer announced as it descended to Deity only where…

"No, wait…please don’t open the doors…"

Too late, he wearily thought. Captain Kirk peered through his hands which were shakily covering his face. Buildings and superhighways materialized before him. As the scene came into complete focus, he saw automobiles discharge noxious fumes in the atmosphere. "Obviously late 20th century Earth," Kirk mused. "Wait a minute, I recognize this place. It’s Los Angeles!’

The Captain decided to poke his leg from the lift and was forced to immediately withdraw it as a police vehicle flew by, narrowly missing his foot. Kirk noted an emblem on the right front door which read: "L.C.P.D." Two police officers emerged from the car and proceeded to fire their guns at a fleeting man. The younger of the two policemen called the other "Hooker."

"Uh-oh, I remember that TV show. Acting wasn’t very good; leading man, I forgot his name, handsome, but couldn’t…" Suddenly, the lift began to tremble, and Kirk was thrown to his knees. "I oughta book you for practice," growling baritone echoed in his ears.

"Okay, okay, I retract the statement. Stop! Stop! Close the doors!! EVERYONE’S A MEDIA CRITIC!!! PLEASE CHANGE THIS PICTURE, Mr. TV REPAIRMAN!!!"

Mercifully, the lift obeyed orders and once again, he was off, this time laterally moving throughout the ship. "Or maybe," he mused aloud, "I’m dreaming this…"

"No, dear, and I’m not just making this up, either."

Kirk grimaced. "Well, ask a stupid question, get a stupid answer!"

"Here we are dear space stud. Deck 70. O.E.C. 1996. And keep your eyes open Captain You’ll miss all the fun!"

"This is your idea of fun, computer? Who programmed you, schizoid Klingons?? The Gamesters of Triskelion, perhaps??? Oh, well, I may as well go with the flow…"

"I’ll never tell, dear…"

Meanwhile, back on the bridge—Mr. Saavik was reporting to captain Spock that Captain Kirk never arrived in sickbay.

"Scan turbolift for life signs." Spock tersely ordered.

"Acting, Mr. Spock. Indiscriminate life signs. Wild fluctuations in temperature and gaseous content."

"GASOUS CONTENT?" Mr. Scott yelled. "In my turbolift? It canna be, lass!"

"Clam yourself, Mr. Scott. Obviously, the scanner is malfunctioning."

"No joke, Captain Spock." Saavik coolly retorted.

"That’s what you think, you green-blooded son of a bitch!" the computer drunkenly shouted to the startled bridge crew.

"Bogus prat!" Scotty exclaimed. "I’ll get right on the computer repairs, Mr. Spock. And I’ll need Mr. Saavik’s help."

"Agreed, Mr. Scott. And Mr. Scott?"

"Aye sir?’

"Get the lead out, will you? The captain’s life is in jeopardy!"

Captain James T. Kirk sat on the floor of the turbolift, cradling his head in his arms. He refused to believe what the computer was showing him: a "city" shrouded in darkness, factories spewing gases into the already polluted sky, people hustling home from their jobs at the end of the day. The turbolift seemed to swing toward the blighted part of the city, which revealed a 1,000 foot tall cathedral, in ruins, looming over the despair that seemed to hold the inhabitants in its thrall.

He overheard voices discussing someone who was waging a personal war against crime…who performed his daring do only at night…Kirk was about to again beg for mercy to restore the last ragged remnants of his sanity when a dark figure swung into view and landed directly in front of him. It was a man attired in a black costume, with the figure of a bat emblazoned in yellow in the center of his chest. The 6-foot "bat" moved toward him and pressed a button on his belt…

"I know I’m gonna to hate myself for asking," Kirk sighed, "but who are you?"

"I want you to do me a favor, Captain Kirk. Tell all of your friends about me. I’m BATMAN!!!" As the Batman prepared to hurl one of his bat grapples at Jim Kirk, the Captain finally managed to jam the doors shut.


The turbolift continued with its energetic imitation of warp drive, gyrating in time with the beat to Elvis Presley’s "Jailhouse Rock," "That’s All Right Mama," "Little Sister," "Burning Love" (the captain especially appreciated this tune) and "Hurt…"

Kirk clung for dear life to the lift controls. "If I survive this rock concert, I’m gonna throw a party—in the ship’s brig—for Presley. And as for you, computer dear—"


"Captain…take it easy…"

Kirk rubbed his hazel eyes with the back of his hands. "Bones…it is you, isn’t it???"

"Of course I’m me, Jim. I’m a doctor, not a figment of your imagination! Now just lie still. You’ve a nasty concussion, the result of that excursion in the turbolift."

"Bones, now I feel the same about the turbolift that you feel about the transporters. What a ride… Say, how is Elvis?"

"Severely depressed, Jim. Maybe when you are feeling better, you can talk to him. He really admires you."

"THE KING LIKES ME??? Guess I must have been living right after all Bones. I feel better already. Where is he?"

Kirk knocked on the doors of Mr. Presley’s private quarters, hoping that "The King’s" emotional condition wasn’t as dire as Bones described it. Back in Iowa, he considered himself to be Presley’s Number One fan…

Elvis Aaron Presley was somberly dressed in black, his clothes curiously devoid of any decoration…not a sequin or silver or gold stud was in evidence…his sideburns were white and Jim could see streaks of silver throughout "The King’s" locks.

"Ah…you wished to speak with me, Mr. Presley?"

"Captain Kirk…mah ole’ buddy! Have a seat, cap’n! Am I glad to see a fellow human!!"

Kirk decided to make ‘The King’ completely at ease by shedding his uniform jacket and pushing up the cuffs of his sweater.

"Elvis, just take one hour at a time. Dr. McCoy is a competent doctor, and…"

Presley stomped his feet. "I don’t need no doctors, you dig man? I only want to rock ‘n roll the way I used to. I also want to see some green stuff rollin’ into my pockets, ya’ know what I mean?"

"But, Elvis, we no longer use money. We have Federation credits, which are deposited into the fiduciary institution of your choice."

"Oh yeah, I forgot…Dr. McCoy and that pointy-eared friend of yours, Spock, tried to tell me about that stuff...WHAT AM I GONNA DO, CAP’N KIRK??? I’m so lost…Can I get me a guitar so’s I can play some music?"

"I think that can be arranged, yes. Perhaps a little female companionship would help?"

Presley’s face immediately brightened. "You really dig, Captain Kirk, ole buddy. Ya’ll must be a country boy at heart."

As he was riding in the newly repaired (and silenced) turbolift back to deck Six, Kirk snapped his fingers. "I have the perfect lady friend for "The King!" LT Muffy Chipps. She is a real Elvis freak…"

"Computer," Kirk called out as he emerged from the shower. "Personnel records on LT Muffy Chipps, brown hair, blue eyes, wonderful buns…"

"Yes, dear."

Captain Kirk threw up his arms. When would the computer cease referring to him as "dear?" When would he stop asking himself stupid questions??"

"Working, Captain dear. Subject is Muffy Jean Chipps. Born 23.75 years ago on Terra. Current assignment, Assistant Social Director, Psychology Department, USS ENTERPRISE. Fetishes: displays an unusual fondness for ancient 20th century yellow sticky pads, a/k/a ‘post-it’ notes. Hobbies: older Terran males (thankfully, I’m not the running…Kirk wryly noted…) and Elvis Presley."

The computer sighed. "Do you wish me to expound further, dear?"

"No, DEAR, I’ve had quite enough, thank you. I think that I’ll visit LT Chipps in her quarters. She’s going to love her next project!"


LT Muffy Jean Marie Chipps nodded glumly into her bathroom mirror. Although a young, energetic visage greeted her, she could only see herself as a lonely, scholarly and myopic psychology major who was desperately searching for a subject to complete her doctoral program.

"If only I could find a man! Okay, mirror, I know that sounds chauvinistic, but I just love men. Most of the male species aboard this ship believe that I just want to analyze them! If I could simply guess…look beyond my frumpy exterior, they’d find…"

She was unable to complete her sentence as her door announced that Captain Kirk had arrived.

"Y-yes, Captain! Is anything wrong with Mr. Presley? Can I help?"

Jim glanced at the interior of her quarters. Everywhere, there were piles of hardcopy, softcopy, and ever present Post-it notes. The yellow items adorned her walls, the Spartan furniture, and, for all he could surmise, probably served a quite unusual duty in the lavatory…

Calm yourself, LT Muffy, I mean, LT Chipps." Kirk pulled her close to him, in a fatherly way. "As a matter of fact, Mr. Presley has been rather down in the dumps lately. Bluntly speaking, Lieutenant, we have 29 hours left to rehabilitate Mr. Presley, or it’s the Federation Funny Farm for him."

"OH NO, CAPTAIN, you can’t let that happen!"

Kirk’s voice became terse. "That’s the situation, Lieutenant. I need your expertise. We must begin working now!"

"I want to help "The King," Captain." Muffy slammed her fist into her other palm. "I say, go for it!"

‘The King’ of Rock ‘n Roll was on his knees in a private cubicle located in the rear of sickbay. Kirk and Chipps overheard him praying for divine guidance to rejuvenate his career.

"…and lord, if only you could see the way to send me a female companion, I would be so inspired…"

Kirk stifled an urge to giggle. "So, ‘The King’ was very human, after all…" "Excuse me, Mr. Presley, I have someone here I’d like you to meet, Muffy Chipps, this is Elvis Presley."

Elvis’ blue eyes lit up. "Ya’ll are a mighty fine piece of work, little lady. Ya’ll say your name is ‘Muffy’?"

"Yes, sir," Muffy’s hands were clasped firmly beneath her chin as she gazed adoringly into ‘The King’s’ eyes. When she finally gathered sufficient courage to step closer to her eternal idol, Presley jumped back a country mile.

"Hey, little lady, when I get to know ya’ a little better, ya’ll can handle the merchandise, you dig?"

Kirk eyed the obvious electricity between the two and said aloud to no one in particular: "I’ll leave you two alone…"

The Vulcan Ambassador to the Federation, S’eys S’ons’ dour visage assaulted a rather jovial Kirk in his command chair.

"But, Mr. Ambassador, in the interest of humanity, we believe, as supported by Dr. McCoy’s psychological report, that Mr. Presley would be better suited if he were to be assigned to a humanoid settlement."

"Please have Mr. Presley ready to meet with the Vulcan Science Research Section at 1200 hours. S’eys S’ons out."

McCoy crossed his arms over his chest. "You’re gonna hand Presley over to those logical yahoos, just like that?"

"Why, Bones, I thought that you knew me better than that!"

Mr. Spock arched his right eyebrow. "Captain, what are you plotting now?"

"Spock, Bones, Mr. Saavik, I promise that Mr. Presley will definitely impress the Vulcan scientist in more ways than one. Come on, we have less than one hour to accomplish our mission."

They apprehensively entered the turbolift.

"Deck Seven, please." Mr. Spock said softly.

"Yes, Captain, sir!"

"It’s a miracle!" Bones wryly intoned.

"No, doctor," the lift computer replied, "I’ve finally been potty trained."

Kirk finally giggled. "Spock, did Mr. Saavik repair the computer?"

"Affirmative. I shall have to speak to the lieutenant about her-sense of humor…"

"If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it." Kirk and Bones chorused.

As they stepped from the now complacent turbolift, their steps disturbed the mountain of Post-it Notes which had fallen from LT Muffy Chipps’ uniform. They arced into a golden halo around their feet and then unceremoniously descended to the lift floor.

"LT Chipps certainly has a fixation for those Post-it Notes."

"Indeed, yes, doctor," said Spock’s baritone voice. "That is probably the best reason why Captain Kirk selected the lieutenant to…assist in his rehabilitation."

"Come again?" Bones looked confused.

Kirk chuckled. "What Spock means, Bones, is that LT Chipps’ fascination with those Notes are but a symbol of a deeper, more complex fixation with THE PAST: more specifically, with ELVIS PRESLEY!"

"And we all know that ‘The King’ was quite a lady-killer in his time, uh, Jim?"

"Precisely." Kirk and Spock responded in unison.

Bones sighed. "Well, our time is up, gentlemen. The Vulcan Ambassador wants Presley delivered to his embassy in 30 minutes exactly."

Captain Kirk looked smug. "And I intend to obey that command to the letter, Bones."

"I hope LT Chipps is a fast worker." Bones darkly muttered.

Kirk donned casual clothes after taking a sonic shower in his quarters. He patted Elvis Presley’s personal, written invitation to "a happening" at the Vulcan Embassy at 2000 hours this evening. How ‘The King’ convinced the Vulcans to permit him to stage such a show was beyond anyone’s belief.

He joined Bones and Mr. Spock in the audience in the Vulcan Embassy atrium 15 minutes before the scheduled concert.

Bones was aghast over Spock’s attire. "You call that comfortable clothing?"

Spock was wearing loose fitting black, silk pants, and a forest-green jacket with tight collar which made him appear even more stiff and formal than ever.

"I did not have time to conduct research in the ENTERPRISE ‘s files regarding proper uniform for attendance at a rock concert.

"You’re supposed to have FUN, you Vulcan idiot, don’t you remember?"

"I remember your earlier tampering with the computer concerning the social etiquette involving Terran style camping, doctor. ‘Marshmelons, indeed!"

"Gentlemen, please, the concert is starting," Kirk shushed them.

Ambassador S’ons wafted onto the "stage" and gave a brief introduction to the "Terran Elvis Aaron Presley," whom he noted, was renowned as a "popular" musician three centuries ago. Without further ado, he mentioned for the ENTERPRISE orchestra to cue Mr. Presley.

After the first eight bars of "Also Sprach Zarathustra," Kirk imagined that he was dreaming. But when two spotlights converged in the center of the stage, he knew that he was going to witness a miracle…

Elvis Presley bolted, nay catapulted, onto the granite floor and then froze in various karate positions as a strobe light played over his figure. He wore a purple satin, tighter than tight jumpsuit that literally looked poured onto his trim frame. The jumpsuit was studded with rhinestones, rubies, emeralds, diamonds and a few Kirk did not recognize. Despite their well-ingrained reserve, one or two Vulcans in the audience gasped. Otherwise, silence reigned.

‘The King’ sensed that this was indeed, a difficult crowd to "win over" and proceeded to gyrate his hips, lips, eyebrows, and whatever appendages he possessed in unison with "You Ain’t Nothin’ But A Houndog." Unperturbed by the still deafening silence, Presley spun around to the left side of the stage and sang directly to the Vulcan Ambassador Emeritus himself.

"That’s All Right Mama," "Don’t Be Cruel," "Are You Lonesome Tonight" (which he directed to the female Vulcans whom he finally noticed) rolled tenderly from those velvet lips.

Finally, the USS ENTERPRISE female crew members (and a good number of males, including Captain Kirk) jumped up and down when he began to croon "Jailhouse Rock." His voice was raw and savage, and no one, not even the superficially passive Vulcans, could mistake the naked message in his eyes…

When Presley paused briefly to drink some water, Kirk glanced around to gauge the Vulcan’s reaction. The majority of them looked appalled as only Vulcans can, with raised eyebrows and parchment toned expressions, but, there, in the back of the audience, a small group of red-robed Vulcans were actually SMILING!

"Spock," Kirk whispered. "Do you recognize the insignia those devotees are wearing?"

"Affirmative, Captain. Those people are the followers of K’htut, the ancient Vulcan Goddess of War and Pleasure."

"War and Pleasure, Spock?" Bones joked.

"Yes, the two most abhorrent antithetical things in Vulcan philosophy. For a time, Sybok was a devotee himself. That is why my erstwhile brother failed; he surrendered totally to his animal passions."

"Oh, really?" Bones grunted. "As if Vulcans never surrender themselves to any passion??? What about pon-farr? You’ve been smoking Marshmelons, Spock, not consuming them!"

After Presley ended his concert, the K’htut followers, much to the venerable Vulcan Ambassador Emeritus and his group’s horror, rushed the stage and proceeded to almost divest ‘The King’ of his clothing. This time, the K’htut devotees had gone one pon too far…

S’eys S’ons thrust his hands inside the large silk sleeves of his robes. "Captain James T. Kirk, it is the official opinion of the Vulcan Governing Council that you remove Mr. Presley from our planet immediately, if not sooner! He is a most…disturbing influence!"

Kirk muttered sotto voce after noting that the Vulcan’s normal pale chartreuse complexion had become eggplant colored. (So much for the renowned Vulcan restraint…these cats certainly don’t dig music!)

He flipped open his communicator. "Mr. Scott, please beam up Mr. Presley as soon as humanly possible—is his adoring fans can restrain themselves from genuflecting in his presence."

"Aye, sir."

"All in all, Captain, I believe that your reverse psychology worked rather well." Spock glanced admiringly at his friend.

"Thank you, Mr. Spock. I do appreciate the fact that my efforts were both noticed and given justice."

Kirk called out to his com to allow whoever it was that had just pressed his door button to enter his quarters. In strolled a pair of glowing, grinning humans, a/k/a Elvis Presley and LT Muffy Chipps.

Presley spoke first and constantly pumped Kirk’s right hand while he did so.

"…an’ I want to heartily thank ya’ll for what ya’ll did for me, for us, I mean. Me an’ the lieutenant, I mean, Muffy are gonna get hitched."

Spock arched that famous right eyebrow. "Not completely unexpected. Congratulations are in order, I believe."

Kirk couldn’t help himself from appearing smug. "Good luck to the both of you, Mr. Presley, Muffy. Where are you considering establishing a residence?"

"Wrigley’s Pleasure Planet, Captain." Muffy blithely responded.

To everyone’s surprise, Presley hugged Kirk. However, when Jim attempted to return the favor, Elvis rapidly retreated.

"Hey, cap’n, ya’ll my friend, but…"

"WE KNOW!" Bones sighed. "Don’t wrinkle the material; you’re The King!!!"

Much, much later, our three epic heroes were sharing alcoholic beverages (at least Kirk and Bones were) as Jim reminisced in the lavishly furnished Officers’ Lounge about his lifelong fascination with "The King."

"I am certainly going to miss him, Spock."

"As will I, Captain. And before you question my sanity, gentlemen, permit me to state that I discovered Mr. Presley to be rather…unique."

The computer then informed the trio that it was past their bedtimes, and, as they boarded the lift from the Officers’ Lounge for the ride to their respective quarters, the lift computer began softly humming "Love Me tender."

"Shall I have Mr. Saavik initiate another round of repairs, Captain?" Spock asked.

"No, I kinda like it, Spock." Jim dreamily responded.