(CAPTAIN’S LOG: STARDATE 8475.99…)
"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."
"Captain?"
"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."
"Spock?"
"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.
"HEY!!! WHAT GIVES? I’M ELVIS PRESLEY, PEOPLE!!
YA’LL AIN’T FANS, ARE YOU??? I’M THE KING, YOU DIG!!!! JUST LEAVE ME
ALONE…DON’T WRINKLE THE MATERIAL…ZZZZZTTT!"
"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…"
CAPTAIN’S LOG, STARDATE 8480.04…
"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."
"Captain?"
‘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."
"Understood."
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."
"WHAT THE DEVIL?"
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.
"YEAH, AND I’M THE ARMIS MAN, FELLA!! GET A LIFE!"
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.
