Captain's Log, Stardate 4160.6:  A landing party has beamed down to PeEpsilon, the largest of Pe's Experimental Earth Planetoids, where some peculiar mutations of the livestock pose a risk not only to the colonists there, but on all dozen worlds of the PEEP system.  We have begun fauna collection for analysis, but have no findings to report so far. 

"That should make a good specimen."   Kirk nodded as Sulu plucked up a plump chick neatly flocking in a row of six. It sported fluffy pink feathers, a pointed tail and a single horn protruded from the middle of its forehead.  It barely made a peep when lifted, but seemed content to sit on its generous stomach and be cradled.

There was an ominous—though for a teaser, not entirely unexpected—rumble in the distance.  Kirk jogged off with the camera focused squarely on his backside. 

Looking like it was the first acting job he had ever landed, Technician Pecker sat bloodied in a pile of rubble with yellow debris carefully stuck onto his jumper in long streaks down the panels.

Showing alarmingly little concern and equally little deductive insight, Kirk delivered his line.  "What happened?"  However, he struck a charming pose.

"I took a tumble into some kind of yellow goo."  Pecker held his right hand in what one would think would be a most awkward position.

"Return to the ship.  Report to sickbay."  

So much for the first job.   Kirk hated anyone else's drama stealing his screen time.

"Yes sir."  Pecker pulled out his communicator.  "One to beam up."  In a moment, he was gone.  As it should be.

In the transporter room Scotty didn't like what he saw.  "That acted like a burnout."  Due to the seriousness of the situation, he walked away from the components and stared at the wall.

"Seems all right now."  Technician Wussie pushed some gizmos around on the console.

"Just to be sure, better check the Proton-Electron Energy Piling.  That goo may ha'e caused a malfunction.  Or tooth decay!"

"Yes sir."  Wussie trotted off to get a tool.  Or something.

"Captain Kirk ready to beam up."  Scotty swore.   They could edit it out in post-production--like usual.  That ass-shat always had to elbow in wherever the camera was.

"Yes sir."  Dutifully, he moved to the controls.  Safety first, that was his motto, unless the captain's life was involved.  Regardless of what could be direly wrong with the transporter—and, as always, taking pains to conceal his right hand—Scotty energized.

Kirk had never felt so virile, so utterly manly, so good. He virtually leapt off the transporter pad.   "Scotty!"

Scotty didn't like what he saw--that certain, indiscriminate twinkle in Kirk's eye.  That certain even more indiscriminate bulge elsewhere. 

Hastily, Scotty backed up against a wall.

Kirk shrugged it off.  There were plenty of fish on the starship.  Never one to be discouraged, Kirk bounded into the corridor and, with some effort, nearly into Janice Rand. Oh, yes.  Things were looking up, indeed!

"Oh, Captain!  You startled me."  Janice peered through lashes nearly as long as his.  She needed mascara, though; he didn't.  Ha!  Kirk 1: Rand 0.

Using his body as a cage, Kirk trapped her against a bulkhead, oh so carefully not touching her anywhere.  "I think you'd better call me Jim," he intimated.  He wiggled his pelvis just below the camera lens and thusly out of the scope of the censors.

"Oh."  The light dawned.  Sometimes Janice was very glad that she had gone into space.  And dyed her hair blonde.  And gotten the boob job.

"But not here.  It wouldn't be...proper."  Kirk looked her up and down, in a way that was delightfully improper.  "You don't mind if I...come to your cabin later, do you Janice?"

Her ears pricked up.  She knew it!  All that chatter about he and Spock had to be bull peep.  Poop. 

"I'll bring the wine!"  She almost gushed.  Ten months, one week and three days on this rust bucket without any action aside from Sulu's fuzzy mitten plant.  Hell, she could have had a baby in that time, and all she'd gotten was mitten-burn in an uncomfortable location and a couple bouts of aphids.  It seems that in one of the ironies of the century, the Captain's yeoman is considered off-limits—most especially by this captain—up until now. 

"Make it a small bottle," said Kirk.  "I don't intend to leave you any free time for drinking, and I disapprove of waste."  With another shake of the pelvis that would have sent most 1967 censors to the ICU, with chest pains Kirk let her go—for now.

All by itself, the transporter hummed into life.  Slowly, a man-sized glob quivered yellow, pink and purple to coagulate on the pad.  It took form and structure, even hair (well, a toupee), a command uniform, and boots.  When it whirled around to face the empty room with its beady little black eyes, it looked almost normal save for the puffy, pink belly sagging out from under the edge of the gold shirt unable to constrain its girth.

It laughed a sort of sugary, goofy guffaw.  "Peeeeeep!"

McCoy should have thought more of it, he supposed, but in his own defense, he'd had his mind on Pecker's hand.  Not that he would have minded a hand on his pecker, but that was a story for another rating.

Or his pecker in the boy's...  No, best no to go there either, damn Hippocratic Oath and all.

"I said 'give me the candy!'" Kirk had burped (more peeped, really).  McCoy had just brushed it off and gone on with his work.  After all, it's not like the captain had tried to get booze on the job or anything worth mentioning.  It was kind of weird, though: Jim wasn't generally a bon-bons in mid-day kind of guy.  So as an afterthought, he'd called Spock.

Couldn't hurt, he'd decided as he'd gone back to contemplating the sweet, soft, comforting curves of Pecker's hand.   Spock was always...up for a reason to go to the captain's cabin.  Alone.

"Is there something I for you captain?"  Spock looked so hopeful and the emphasis in that cadence could not have been accidental.  Nor the timing of Kirk having freshly emerged from the gym...avec sweat and sans shirt.

"Like what?"  Jim batted those eyelids, stuck out that chest, and made as if to undo his pants.  Chippendale 2269 could have taken a lesson and come out ahead.   "Come on, Spock, I know that look."  Kirk tossed his tone into the Mae West, "Come up and see me some time" contralto range.

Spock felt dizzy and sat down, trying to remember why he was here.  The worst part was that Kirk probably did know that look.  On his Earth, the birds, the bees...  They had to make chicks and peeps, right?  But Vulcans did not speak of such things.

Spock cleared his throat.   "Doctor McCoy said you were acting like a wild man, demanded sugar." 

"Sugar?  In this body?  Are you crazy?"  Kirk rippled his abs and Spock had to rapidly readjust himself in his seat or risk the parlous effects of the Vulcan Death Rod.

"Then if you will excuse me, captain, I do...elsewhere." Soon! Spock reached for every bit of his biophyiological control, tugged his shirt as low as he could as he could and stood. 

Kirk looked smug and played with his towel some more as if working an audience were part of command schooling—which it probably was. "I'll tell McCoy you were properly...disturbed."

"Captain."  Spock nodded and fled for the nearest restroom.  He locked the door behind him and gave thanks that Surak was currently too dead to be observing his abysmal loss of, amongst other things, control.

"He denied it?"  McCoy sounded incredulous.  "Sugar high or not, it's not like Jim to lie.  Are you sure you heard him right?  Maybe you were so busy looking at his—"

Whee-whoo!  "Scott to Mr. Spock.  I'm in the transporter room. We've got a problem here."

"What is it, Mr. Scott?" Spock asked, the relief in his voice was evident.  A full scale Klingon invasion would have been a more welcome topic of conversation than the previous.

"Is it the transporter?"  McCoy jumped up to the comm unit, his voice frantic.  "The temperature on that planet gets down to 120 below at night!  What about the rest of the landing party?"  He bounced from heels to toes and back again like a southern prima donna on a Mountain Dew high.

"Ah, calm down doctor; that's easy.  We sent shuttles for them an hour ago.  Who do ya think writes these scripts?  Idiots?  Still, I think you oughta see this for yourselves."

Reaction shots exchanged, Spock and McCoy dashed out the door towards the transporter room.

We beamed up this animal."  Scotty opened a crate where a rooster strutted and preened.  Not so terribly unlike... (Well, that isn't the point and isn't very nice either, so we'll skip it.) "Then a few minutes later, this duplicate beamed up."  Scotty pointed into a cardboard box where a yellow marshmallow chick just sat there in all its bloated glory and stared with beady eyes up through a cellophane cover. "Except it's not a duplicate. It's some sort of puffy, sugary opposite.

"What if that should happen to a man?" 

Ominous music played.  Horrified, they exchanged significant reaction shots.  Spock and McCoy tore off down the corridor to the captain's cabin.

McCoy hit the medical override.   The door slid open and light from the corridor spilled in to the darkened cabin to catch a pair under the sheets going at it like Easter bunnies.

From his position spread-eagled on his back, Kirk saw them first.  He nudged Janice above him to let her know they had an audience. "Janice!"

Janice spat and spun, recognizing the interrupters.  "Mr. Spock!"

McCoy gaped. "Janice!" 

"Bones!"  Kirk waved them away

"Captain!"   Spock sounded scandalized.

"Uhhhh!" Kirk's eyes rolled back.  "Janice!"

"Mr. Spock!"  McCoy tugged hard at Spock's arm.

"Janice—"  Spock moved in with a predatory growl.



"Uhhhh!"  Kirk's body relaxed.  He gave a happy smile. "Janice—" 

"Mr. Spock!"





Janice jumped up, her mascara smeared and yellow goo dripping from the corner of her mouth.   She wrapped a sheet around the more generous parts of herself toga style, thus instigating the idea for "Who Mourns for Adonis" and giving Thesis the easiest paycheck he had ever made.   From the area of her legs, more gobs of yellow goo dripped onto the deck.

"Thank you Yeoman. You may go."  Spock shot her the Vulcan Death Look.

Rand sidled by with a victorious smirk.

"Slut," Spock hissed under his breath.

"Fag," She sneered back.







"T'Tramp!" Spock pulled her hair.

"Fairy!" Janice pulled his ear.

"Girls!"  McCoy had turned on the light and stood pointing into the room.  Under the other sheet, a lump snored in an unhealthy, wheezy, peepy, stridor. 

"I don't understand."  Janice stared at the lump in confusion.  "When I met him in the corridor he was—"  She made a compact gesture with her hands. 

She dropped her head in despair.  "I don't know.  I was horny.  I'd had wine.  It was dark when I came in.  Maybe I overlooked some things—"

"It's been know to happen," McCoy soothed.

Spock strode over to the bunk and whipped the other bed sheet up and off.  Janice screamed and fell into a dead faint.

From the doorway, McCoy only caught as flash of something pink, corpulent and fleshy jiggling to sit up before Spock blocked his view. 

Spock looked from under the sheet to Jim's waking face, then to McCoy at the door.  "There is only one explanation:  We have an imposter aboard."

"What's happening to me?"  Kirk reached a hand down to feel himself, and then looked around, confused.

"As far as I can tell, you seem to be rapidly losing your sex appeal."  Spock turned away.  Some things were too much even for Vulcans to bear.

"Do you have a point, Mr. Spock?"  McCoy asked as he helped Rand back to her feet, sneaking only the slightest professional peak under her toga, just to make sure she didn't have any bruises...anywhere.

"Only putting my expert observations to good use.  About your...double, Captain: however different in temperament, this imposter seems to have your knowledge of the ship.  Where would you go to elude a mass search?"

"The galley."  Kirk said immediately.  "Refrigerator.  The big ones."

"No doubt," said Spock drolly.  "Please get dressed.  Well dressed.  We will begin on the engineering decks.  How would you like to organize search parties?"

Kirk shook his head.  "Only you, Mr. Spock.  I don't want anyone else to see me...vulnerable like this."  His face morphed into pleading pain.  His eyes reached out.

Spock glowed happily.  His eyes reached back.  Soft music played.

"Oh, for the love of Pete!"   Rand made a disgusted noise and left in a huff.

It wasn't hard to track him down.  He kept stopping to admire himself in all the full length reflective surfaces.  Peep!Kirk saw him first and tried to fire, but his belly got in the way.  Fit!Kirk grinned and raised his weapon, but Spock was already behind him—ready and poised for action—and took him down to the deck. 

"Good going, Spock!"  Peep!Kirk tried unsuccessfully to pull his shirt down and trotted over to where Spock and the double lay...coiled...together.  Intertwined.  Twisting.  

Peep!Kirk's face narrowed—as much as it could.  "Spock?  Spock, not now.  This isn't the time for that sort of business.  Just take him to sickbay. And for God's sakes, take your hand off of his...thing.  In a way that's my...thing you've got there too."

Spock stood and tossed Fit!Kirk over his shoulder, with one hand on his ass—just to stabilize him, of course.  "If I seem insensitive to what you are going through, Captain, please understand, it's the way I am."   He moved his palm to cover a little more of Kirk's ass cheek.  It was--logical, better stability and all. 

Ah, but there was that pesky Vulcan Death Rod beating him in the groin again.  Spock wondered if he could apply for hazard pay for this.

"I think we'd better bind him."  McCoy already had the restraints out.  He kept them with the stirrups, the latex, the lubricants, the dilators, the blades, ...

Spock licked his lips.  "Yes, bind him," he murmured under his breath.

"All right."  Peep!Kirk rummaged through the cabinet for truffles. He liked the strawberry kind especially.

Fit!Kirk bucked and rocked against the bed making all manner of indecent suggestions.

"I don't want to take him back." Peep!Kirk mumbled with his mouth full as he finished off the first box.  "He's like a wild animal, and he doesn't even like chocolate!"  Soul deep despair dripped from every word.

McCoy tried to be helpful.  "It's not really cocky, Jim.  It's just human nature to like hard bodies.  Without him you wouldn't be the star.  You couldn't."

"What do I have that he doesn't?" Kirk rummaged again.  He was only half listening to the psychological advice.  Mostly he wanted chocolate.  There should be some of those little candy covered malted eggs from Altair IV....

"You have your charm and charisma."

"Not enough."

"Ain't that the truth," Scotty interjected from somewhere off-screen.

"You'll have a certain appeal with viewers with body habitus issues."

"Will it get me more fan mail than him?"  Peep!Kirk tossed his head toward the Spock

"More than pointed ears and emotions begging to be nurtured?  Are you kidding?  Do Denebian slime devils fly?"

"Not good enough.  What else?"

"A multiple movie contract."

Peep!Kirk munched malted eggs and considered.  "Hmm.  For how much?"

McCoy whispered in his ear. 

"Not bad.  Maybe I don't have to take him back."

"The other is the one with all the sex appeal."  Spock spoke from across the room.  "No curvaceous yeomen, no more green dancers, no more tinfoil bikinis, no more bed scenes on cloud cities.  From now, on you'll be lucky if you are given an interlude with T'Pau over coffee and stewed prunes."

The four looked at each other.  That settled it.  Regardless of the danger, he had to take him back.

Peep!Kirk went to lift the imposter.  His mallow arms quivered and gave way.  Spock pushed him aside.  "I'll do that."  He licked his lips.

"Your hands, Spock! Watch the hands!" The other three all warned at once as Spock went for a ...unique hold.

Spock sighed.  Sometimes humans were more fun when neck-pinched.

In the transporter room, Spock passed Fit!Kirk over. For a moment he stood there with the two Kirks...pressed against the two Kirks....close against the two Kirks.  The music changed to sacchariny romance.

Spock raised a hand to Kirk's face.  "Captain, if this doesn't work—"

"Understood, Mr. Spock, from the both of us."  In close-up soft-focus, the two Kirks shed a single tear.

Then Spock moved to the transporter console and energized the beam. The Kirks disappeared, a single Kirk appeared, and then it was time for the next well, after the trailer, that is.

"Captain, I regret to inform you that Yeoman Rand has requested a transfer."  Spock thrust the PADD in front of Jim's nose with the deal all signed, sealed and delivered but for captain's signature.

Kirk regarded him quizzically.  "I wonder why?" 

With a subtle movement, Spock nudged the PADD a micrometer closer.  "I believe she was unduly traumatized by the recent regrettable events."

"That's funny; she didn't seem traumatized."  Jim scratched his chin with his thumb.

"She was very, very traumatized."

"She asked for my phone number and cabin key."

"It was a delayed reaction.  Trauma is like that sometimes."  Spock pressed the stylus into Jim's palm.

"She gave me this just a little while ago," Jim puzzled.  He pulled a red lace thong out from his sleeve.  Based on the size, the intended wearer was indeterminate.

Spock leaned down and forced a tense whisper.  "Let me make this perfectly clear, sir: it's me or that skanky slut. This ship...and the officers' bunks aboard her...are not big enough for the two of us."

Kirk looked up.

Spock straightened back to his most erect.  "If you will pardon my Vulcan, Captain."  He reemphasized the signature line of the PADD with a fingertip.

Kirk took it and signed with his typical swishy flourish.  He paused as he passed it back, and crossed his legs for a most masculine pose.  "Spock, is there anything you want to tell me?"

Spock gave Jim his most enigmatically blank stare. "Not a peep, Captain."

Under his long lashes, Kirk shot back The Look: the one which had been responsible for hundreds of surprisingly accurate alien baby headlines across scores of newly-charted planets.

Spock dropped his eyes down to Kirk's...Easter basket.  "Although I am gratified to hear that the intruder is back inside.  Inside a man is a most...satisfactory place to be.  Don't you agree? "

Kirk leapt up from the command chair so fast he nearly ripped his pants.  He took the steps to the lift in a single bound. "Come on, Mr. Spock.  Let's go...mind the store."

Spock practically ran after him.

April 2006