One
More Saturday Night
TOS Ensemble, Parody [PG13]
by Greywolf the Wanderer
greywolf @ finestplanet.com
"Dammit, that does it!" Leonard McCoy slammed the padd
he'd been reading back into the pile on his desk, and stalked out of his office.
"Chris -- hold down the fort, would you? I'm gonna go give that damned Vulcan a piece
of my mind. Garcia's the third Science Department crewman I've treated for nervous
exhaustion just this week. The man's a damned slave driver!"
Nurse Chapel blushed a rather becoming shade of pink. "Well, Doctor, you know Mr.
Spock has been, ah, well, a little stressed this week... I mean, what
with the Captain and all... You know...."
McCoy stopped dead in his tracks. "Damn, Chris -- you're right. Aw, hell. Now how'm I
gonna fix things this time?" He'd forgotten all about last weekend.
Last weekend, of course, had been the first round of Commodor Stocker's Charity Ball and
Drag Auction, for the benefit of StarBase 11's Widows and Orphans' Fund -- in other words,
the commissary's booze budget. And Pavel Chekov, having set his sights on a certain
starship captain, had brought down the house with an authentic period costume and
rendition of "I Only Have Eyes For You". Ever since then, Pavel had been keeping
company with Jim -- and Spock had been putting the Science Department through hell. As if
that wasn't enough, Sulu was moping and sulking as well, over having been dumped for the
Captain. Bones ran his hands through his already disorderly hair and poured himself a shot
of the good stuff. Think, McCoy... Call y'self a southerner? C'mon, now, git goin'!
Ah-ha. He had it. He tossed back his shot, blinked and smacked his lips, and headed for
the mess hall, having verified via the computer that Spock was currently there.
Not just Spock, he saw when he got there, but Sulu, Nyota -- hell, most of the day shift
bridge crew, with the notable exceptions of Kirk and Chekov. Though Spock had transferred
himself to the night shift the day after the charity ball. For purely logical reasons, of
course, he had insisted. McCoy had just snorted. Yeah, right.
The Vulcan was sitting alone at a table in the corner, ignoring a rather wilted-looking
salad while he read some boring physics text or other. Sulu was draped mournfully over the
piano, while Nyota tried to cheer him up by playing some good old-fashioned barroom
honky-tonk. It didn't seem to be helping the helmsman much, but Bones had always enjoyed
that kind of music. Now he caught her eyes, signaled silently for her and Sulu to join
him, and sat himself down across the table from Spock.
The Vulcan flinched, almost imperceptibly, and McCoy realized that Spock hadn't known he
was there. Whoo-ee, this was worse than he'd thought. Spock favoured him with what from
anybody else would have been a sulphurous glare, and said, "What do you want, Doctor?
I am rather busy at the moment, as you can see..."
McCoy cut him off in mid-sentence. "Bullshit, Spock. You're sulking, and we both know
why."
Spock's eyebrow rose, and if looks could kill, the doctor would have been toast -- burnt
toast, at that. "Vulcans," the science officer intoned loftily, "do not sulk,
Doctor."
"Oh, they don't, huh? Well, you coulda fooled me..."
Now it was Spock's turn to cut him off. "Not a particularly difficult task, as a
rule..." At which point Sulu and Uhura arrived, leaving both men glaring silently at
one another.
Finally Uhura sighed, and reaching for the order padd, tapped on it for a moment. Soon
enough Donal the steward brought over a self-heating flask and four tiny cups. She
gestured towards the flask. "Sake, gentlemen. Drink up, it's good for you."
Sulu went first, smiled, then poured for the others as well. "Mmmm... This is good,
Nyota..."
Uhura smiled. "Well, let's just say, Donal owes me a favour or two. This is private
stock, not the regular slop." She drank from her own cup, and sighed happily.
"Now, Doctor -- what's all this about, hmm?"
McCoy had downed his first cup, discovered he liked it, and poured himself another. Spock
was still cautiously sipping at his first, but his expression showed that he found it, as
he himself might have said, "not unpleasant".
McCoy leaned back and stretched, hearing his neck pop. "Well, Uhura, we have a little
problem here. More precisely, these two have a problem, if you catch my drift.
And it occurred t'me -- this weekend bein' round two of the Ball an' all, that maybe we
should help them fight fire with fire..."
Uhura grinned wickedly and poured herself another. Donal reappeared briefly, to exchange
the now-empty flask for a full one. "Doc -- I like the way you think. You're evil and
conniving, and I do like that in a man."
McCoy bowed slightly, and grinned right back. Sulu and Spock exchanged almost identical
perplexed looks. They even looked a bit alike, with their black hair, olive/tan skin and
high cheekbones.
Uhura cleared her throat. "Now Hear This, you two. You've been sulking and pouting
for almost a week now, and has it gotten either of you anywhere? No. And Spock, if you run
any more 2am sensor calibration drills, you'd better hire a bodyguard. It really isn't
fair to take this out on the crew..."
The Vulcan had the good grace to look slightly abashed, as he poured himself a second cup
of sake. "I... see," he murmured. "In other words, Miss Uhura, you are
reminding me that they are only human, as it were..."
McCoy snorted sake and choked; Sulu, grinning fiendishly now, whacked him on the back.
Uhura smiled her very best demure cat-that-got-the-cream smile, and said, "That's
right, Mr. Spock, shugah." That set Sulu to choking; Uhura didn't appear to notice,
just forged calmly on. "Listen, honey -- I know you, and I know the Captain; this
whole thing'd blow over in a minute, if we just gave him the right stimulus." Despite
himself, the Vulcan found he was leaning closer to hear what she had to say. "Now
listen up -- Hikaru, I need your help here. I think you have just what we need in
your closet..." And she whispered into Sulu's ear for a moment.
"Oh. My. God." Sulu shut his mouth with an audible snap, then grinned brightly
enough to dazzle half the people in the room. "Oh, yeah -- that'd do it, all
right. Wow. Uhura, you're a genius, you know that?" And he, in turn, leaned over and
spoke quietly to Spock for a moment.
Slanted black eyebrows shot up, and a look of frank surprise crossed the Vulcan's lean
face. "I see..." Spock murmured. "Fascinating. I... had not thought of
that..."
"Well," grinned McCoy, "that's why you got us dirty-minded humans around,
Spock -- we do think of that." He polished off his sake, and poured another.
"All right, y'all, let's get busy. We've only got two more nights to put this
together, and it has to go right the first time." All four heads bent together, as
the long-suffering Donal brought them yet another flask of sake...
-----///-----
The StarBase 11 auditorium was crowded tonight. Everyone was there. Rumour had it the show
would be a knockout -- the second round always was. Folks were dressed to kill. There was
enough gold braid on display to sink a battleship, McCoy grumbled. He himself was wearing
his dress uniform, but he'd flat refused to fasten the collar. Dadblasted thing could
choke a man t'death, if'n he wasn't careful...
The front two rows of seats were reserved for those who would be bidding tonight. Kirk was
there, along with Commodore Stocker, Captain Hunter of the Border Patrol, Commodore
Mendez, and officers from half the ships in the sector. Pavel, of course, was backstage --
and Spock was nowhere to be seen.
A few rows back, Scotty, Sulu, McCoy and Uhura sat together, passing a silver flask back
and forth and amusing themselves by critiquing the kiss-ass style of the various officers
below. At the moment, Stocker was winning for sheer brass ballsiness; Captain Hunter on
reverse points, since she never kissed up to anyone -- and Kirk was leading, in
Uhura's pithy words, for "having the cutest tushie..." All four Enterprise
crewmen had that cat-that-got-the-canary look about them, a certain smug awareness of
knowledge not shared by the others in the room. McCoy was plain old grinnin' like a damned
fool.
Gradually the lights grew dim and the babble of the audience quieted down. The first act
was about to begin.
A single spotlight came up, to reveal a being kneeling in the center of the stage. Music
began, a twanging, tinkling piece, reminiscent of classical Hindu or Cygnan music. The
kneeling form slowly straightened, revealing slender hips and the slightest swell of
breasts, a striking mixture of human and feline. Long blond hair, loosely drawn back into
a simple tail. Ice-blue eyes, sharp nose and high cheekbones -- and whiskers, and furry
pointed ears... Her body, under her scanty veils, was likewise softly furred. And as the
music swelled and grew, she began to dance.
Bids were already coming in, along with whistles and war-whoops from the audience. Sulu
leaned over, and whispered to the others, "That's Ilya Nikolaievitch, Hunter's
second-in-command. He does this every year, and she always outbids the rest of them."
He grinned, noticing Uhura's faintly sweating face and slightly parted lips.
"Mmmm, he's gorgeous, Hikaru..."
Sulu licked his lips. "Yeah, I know -- but he's claimed -- and Hunter's a
helluva lot faster with a blade than I am."
Sure enough, at the end of the dance it was Captain Hunter who walked up and claimed the
gorgeous feline, and led hir away, bright eyes gleaming. Several of the more intoxicated
commodores pouted, but no-one was crazy enough to challenge Hunter. The last guy who'd
done that was still pissing through a tube, according to the gossip vine...
None of the next few were as striking as Ilya Nikolaievitch, though all four Enterprise
crewmembers got a good chuckle out of one young redheaded lad, who had done himself up
like some mythical Vulcan temple dancer from before the Reformation. Mendez finally won
the bidding for that one, his fleshy face leering evilly as the two of them walked away.
Uhura, passing the flask to McCoy, grinned and murmured, "Don't look now, chilluns,
but that boy's gonna be sore tomorrow!"
"Ah'd say from the look on his face, he's countin' on it, darlin'!" purred the
doctor, really getting into the spirit of it now -- not to mention, the spirits in
Scotty's flask...
There followed several more dancers, and then an intermission. Scotty went to refill his
flask at the bar. Uhura went to "freshen up" -- actually, to stop in backstage
and make sure their friend was ready to perform. She had promised to look him over one
last time, just to be sure.
She came back right as the intermission ended, and to the curious looks of the others, she
told them, "Ooh, honeys, he is gorgeous! Mm-hm! He is absolutely going to
knock them dead!" All four exchanged evil grins and thumbs-up gestures, and
the silver flask made the rounds again.
The two front rows were almost half empty now, but the remaining bidders were getting
rowdier by the minute. Catcalls, howls, wolf-whistles -- they were carrying on like
drunken cadets at their first Red Tag party. Scotty leaned forward a moment, then elbowed
McCoy. "Look, Doctor -- yon's Admiral Morrow himself, and at least three sheets to
the wind. D'ye see him?"
"Yeah, Scotty, Ah shore do. Ah wouldn't want to light no matches down theah right
now, no suh. Betcha could run a shuttlecraft just off'n his sweat!" The doctor was
slurring his speech a little, his breath redolent of bourbon and mint from his own recent
visit to the bar. But Scotty understood him just fine.
"Aye, I daresay ye could, at that. Och, I hope he doesnae spoil things, now."
Now it was Uhura's turn to purr. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that, boys. I
think it'll work out just fine." And that was all she would say, though they plied
her with liquor and ever more extravagant bribes...
And then came a piece of music that Sulu recognized, for it had been part of his
contribution to this endeavour -- a classical Japanese piece, for the most part, but with
some modern influences as well. Once more the spotlight came up, to show a tall dark
figure shrouded in a black velvet cape, its hood too deep to see inside.
Donal the steward popped up in front of the stage, bowed with a great flourish, and
announced, "And now, ladies, gents, officers all, may I present, from the mysterious
East, from the land of red sand and hot sun, the ethereal and enchanting... Miss
Tora-chan!! Let's have a real warm welcome for the lady!" Uhura nodded at him, and he
vanished gratefully into the shadows. McCoy couldn't help wondering just what
favour he owed Uhura... He reminded himself not to ever end up on her bad side, then
turned his attention back to the stage.
The black cape was tossed aside, and there stood revealed the fruit of their frenzied
labour of the last two days.
Standing with her back to the audience, the figure began to sway, very slightly at first.
Her movements were smooth, sensuous, almost hypnotic. Her dress was cut very low in the
back, though a high collar encircled her throat. Sulu leaned over and whispered to Uhura,
"Hey, lookitthat -- she did shave, after all!"
"Well of course -- I just reminded her what was at stake here," replied a
grinning Uhura. "She can always grow it back later..."
Long straight blue-black hair was artfully arranged atop the dancer's head, with a single
flowing fall of it draped over one shoulder. The dress fell almost to the floor, but as
she finally began to turn, the audience could see that it was slit clear up to her
hipbones on either side, revealing enticing glimpses of slender legs clad in gold-dusted
black stockings. On her feet were geta, the traditional wooden shoes, adding yet another
couple of inches to her height.
McCoy leaned forward, whispering, "That your dress, Sulu?"
Sulu blushed a little. "Well, in a way, yeah. It's a cheongsam; some of my ancestors
wore ones pretty much like that. But we put this one together from scratch, so it'd fit
right -- she's too tall to wear any of my things... The fabric's mine,
though."
The front of the dress was actually quite modestly cut, a high-necked, short-sleeved,
simple drape of elegant dark green silk brocade, with a pattern of golden tigers and
silver bamboo woven into it. It perfectly complemented the dancer's slender build, her
narrow hips and small breasts. She swayed and spun a little faster now, showing off those
marvelous legs and her feline grace, managing to put a tempting swing of her hips into
every step.
Her face was calm, beautifully painted. Her lips were jade-green, her eyeshadow silver and
green. Elaborate ear-cuffs, with cascades of tinkling dangles and delicate gold chain,
served to further emphasize the sweeping curves of her pointed ears. Her arms were bare
but for clashing golden bangles; long green nails tipped the slim and graceful hands.
Uhura caught the others' attention. "Hey, check it out -- look who just got hit by a
truck!" She pointed, and they saw Jim Kirk, his mouth hanging open, looking
thunderstruck. When the dancer swayed a little closer and fluttered those incredible
eyelashes at him, he looked as if he was about to faint dead away. The board lit up, and
bids began to pour in.
The four conspirators exchanged high-fives and identical evil grins, and the silver flask
made the rounds again.
Finally it was down to Admiral Morrow and Captain Kirk, furiously trying to outbid each
other. The song ended and Miss Tora-chan froze, one long, slender leg extended, toes
pointed right at Jim Kirk.
Then Kirk visibly gritted his teeth, leaned over, and whispered in Morrow's ear. An
incredulous grin appeared on that worthy's pudgy face. The discussion was brief but
animated, ending unexpectedly when Morrow hit a key and dropped out of the bidding.
Grinning even wider, the Admiral smugly pocketed a vidtape cartridge Jim had just handed
him.
The captain of the Enterprise rose, held out his hand to Miss Tora-chan, now clad once
more in her velvet cape, and the two of them left together, cheered raucously on by the
rather intoxicated members of the day-shift bridge crew.
And so it was that when Miss Natasha finally came swishing onstage in her old Earth
clothes ("NorthAm circa 1965 -- god knows where she got them" said Uhura), the
only real bidder by the time she finished was the leering Admiral Morrow, who had simply
priced everyone else out of the market. She gulped, but gave in with good grace,
considering.
"Serves her right, the little slut," growled Sulu, as the Admiral led his
hapless prey away. Bones, on the other hand, was preoccupied. He would have given a goodly
number of credits to know just what had been on that vidtape. Legend had it the Captain
possessed one of the few copies of the events at A Certain Party, involving a certain
Vice-Admiral and a canine admirer...
-----///-----
Two days later the conspirators met again, for sake and celebrations. Scotty had joined
them -- although he wasn't in on the beginning of it, anybody who carried whiskey that
fine was definitely welcome anytime, as McCoy observed.
Sulu reported that Pavel had finally come slinking home the previous day, grumbling and
moping and walking rather bowlegged. When asked, he had said of the Admiral, "That
man is a Cossack!" Sulu's grin as he told his partners in crime was very
smug and self-satisfied.
McCoy hoisted a cup of sake and drank it down, and informed them all that the Captain and
the First Officer had taken three days leave, and no-one had seen them since. "When
he gits back on duty, that ole boy's gonna be so tired he won't even look at
anyone else -- I gave Spock a whole bottle of that sandalwood massage oil..." That
brought on another round of evil grins, as they all remembered the stories of sandalwood's
effect on Vulcan nervous systems.
Uhura sighed happily. "All's fair in love and war, isn't that what they say?
Gentlemen -- it was a pleasure waging this campaign with you. I offer a toast, to our fair
captain, may he never stray again!"
"A toast!"
"Aye, a toast!"
"Hai! A toast -- O-captain-san!" Sulu poured them all one last round. "And
to Miss Tora-chan -- long may she sway!!"
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