Capt Kirk & The Curious Case Of The Creepy Redshirt Shen

[Sky Falls In Thunder]

Captain Kirk And The Curious Case Of The Creepy Redshirt Shen. follows the Devil In the DNA Part 3, Plomeek Soup For the Soul. It's in regards to Shaikatra.


I have a new headache, thought Kirk as he glared at the personnel file on his desk. He had an assortment of headaches to choose from as it was, but found his bounty seemed to have increased by one. There was the headache from paperwork, and the one from dealing with the Admiralty. Those started behind his left eye, quite distinct from the one which started in the bridge of his nose when Spock and McCoy were bickering. He had the feeling this one was going to rival the advanced category of headache he got when Spock and McCoy quit bickering with each other and ganged up on him instead. Being the captain of Starfleet’s flagship and its crew of over 400 people wasn’t all as simple as kissing pretty space princesses and neck-chopping hostile alien thugs despite what the holodramas insisted. If only things were that simple. I’d trade this mess for a nice simple brawl right about now, Kirk decided as he dug deeper into Security Rating Shaikatra Sote’s file. This isn’t going to be as easy as just knocking her off her sweet spot and onto her ass in hopes of getting her to pull her head out of it. I think this shen’s got Issues.

The Sweet Spot. Sometimes an officer or rating hit the single position or rank they felt perfectly secure and comfortable in. Maybe it was an assignment on a world which somehow clicked with them. Maybe it was one where their duties fit their strengths perfectly and let them shine without challenging them to broaden those strengths. Either way, the quarrelsome and creepy shen seemed to have found what she thought was hers, and had tractors locked on at full strength. Or so she thought. This one was going to be a bit more of a problem than the usual Sweet Spot Squatter though. Because the shen hadn’t just stumbled into an assignment she liked and decided to make herself at home for the next few decades, she’d been carefully managing every aspect of her career to put her right where she was. But Starfleet didn’t permit stagnation anywhere, much less on its flagship. Every officer and crewmen was expected to excel and grow, to lead, or to get the hell out of the way of those where willing to challenge themselves. Kind of like what you’re expecting the Admiralty to say to you sometime soon, isn’t it, Jimmy Boy? Particularly now you’re closer to the ending rather than the beginning of this five year mission… Kirk squashed the inner voice and tucked it away somewhere he could hopefully ignore it for just a little longer.

In terms of her assignments, he could just picture the spooky shen batting her eyes and saying “See? Isn’t this the place I can do the most for you while causing you the fewest headaches?” Except that wouldn’t fly in Starfleet, nor would it fly with James T. Kirk. He demanded all of his people put forth their best effort, not only for the good of the Federation, but for the rest of the crew themselves. Stagnation was not an option. If she wouldn’t show some progress, he’d have to ship her out to allow some other up and coming rating to advance to the best of their abilities.

Her test scores were all uniformly above average, a requirement for any berth in Starfleet, much less the Enterprise. But hers were just high enough to make her a plum for any commander who wanted a quality Security rating, yet not high enough to really make anyone think she was capable of more or try to encourage her to go to the Academy in pursuit of a commission as an officer. Not uncommon, but on a whim Kirk had actually browsed her test scores. In one category, she missed every 13th question like clockwork. In another, every 17th question. Often as not, the question she missed was far simpler than the ones preceding or following it. And the pattern continued through every category of the aptitude tests and entrance exams. Her written exams showed a level of meticulously crafted competence, but studiously avoided brilliance. Except for one optional topic: Federation Cultures and History. Particularly Earth history, of all things. During his second year in the Academy, Kirk had been assigned to teach Federation History to first year students and he quickly recognized her written work as the product of an intellect that wasn’t done justice by her test scores. In this one field her work was downright scholarly in depth and quality, yet witty and engaging and spoke of a passion for the subject and insight that was rather surprising in a non-human. He didn’t agree with all of her conclusions, but she did make some points he might have wished he had.

Kirk dug deeper, into her pre-Starfleet service record. She’d served with distinction in the Andorian Defense Force, and had attained a commission at an age young even among the militant Andorians. It hadn’t taken her long to qualify for transfer to the Imperial Guard… Just in time for the Imperial Guard to be stripped of its prestigious role as an elite special operations unit and relegated to a purely ceremonial, decorative function. Kirk thought about how he’d feel if he’d achieved command of the Enterprise just in time for it to be decommissioned and turned into a tourist attraction. To go from the proud few at the sharp end to standing at attention in a dress uniform all day for tourists to take pictures of would be heartbreaking for any soldier. Finally, she had no clan affiliation listed other than the ADF, which suggested she was an orphan or illegitimate (a rarity given that the logistics of Andorian reproduction took four to tango) and had been literally raised in the barracks, which would make the betrayal cut that much deeper. Well, that would explain the distrust for officers… for brass… that Giotto’s warned me about. It might also explain her determination to remain in the enlisted ranks. She had also just recently obtained Earth citizenship, although from what he could see of her travel orders she had yet to actually set foot on the planet. Her duty postings had conspired to prevent her from even taking any leave there, but she had been doggedly chewing on the citizenship red tape for at least a 2 years. Curious.

Moving on to commendations and reprimands, Kirk saw that she’d made a respectable collection of both despite her relative youth. There were some for truly conspicuous gallantry, the sort of acts guaranteed to win one a promotion whether one wanted it or not. Creepy as she might be, every commander she’d served under hated to lose her and Giotto had made it quite clear he had nobody he’d trust more, either on point or watching his back, (just not at cards). High praise from a security veteran with his experience. And then the down-side. Following each of those citations, there’d invariably been some incident requiring a reprimand that had prevented that promotion, or in one case had won her a demotion. A brawl here, a lewd comment to a visiting dignitary there, even one rather impressively orchestrated gambling ring which involved low stakes betting on romantic exploits among the ship’s officers. Kirk didn’t really want to think about that one. And then there was the collection of innocent spare parts which, could, conceivably, be assembled remarkably compact and efficient still.

Scotty had commandeered that for “safety purposes.”

There was one serious incident, a fight with a Sciences department officer at her last posting. After reading the official reports on the incident he found he couldn’t really blame her, although what it said about her temper did concern him. The short form was that the researcher had intentionally underplayed the risks of his experiment and the native fauna involved and had gotten two security ratings killed and three more badly injured. To compound his error, he’d had the poor sense to try to publicly justify his actions by stating that the additional data was far more valuable than “a couple of hick redshirts. Besides, that’s what they’re for.”

She hadn’t jumped him though; rather, she’d gotten in his face and baited him into throwing the first punch. Then she hurt him, slowly, methodically, and, according to the witnesses, while wearing an expression of unholy glee. She had delivered a rather comprehensive demonstration of pain-points and nerve strikes. It wasn’t so much a “fight” as it was a vicious little shen slowly pulling the legs of off an ice crawler, or whatever small creature is was that a maladjusted Andorian child would do horrible things to. She’d paused now and again to let him get in a swing, then resume the hurting. It was quietly agreed that the lout had earned his beating and his sickbay resignation saved Starfleet the embarrassment of having to publicly court martial a man who’d needlessly thrown away the lives of his shipmates in hopes of getting published... But she had left an experienced, commissioned officer weeping and helpless on the floor, an act not conducive to the smooth running of a starship. So she had been disciplined, but because he’d swung first and because he had caused needless deaths and had then made several crude and provocative statements about the her fallen team-mates before the memorial had even been held, she’d simply spent some time in confinement, lost 2 grades of rank, and had to spend a great deal of quality time in anger management classes. Given her record, (and her previous captains explicit request) it was nothing bad enough to get her drummed out of the fleet or shipped to a dead-end assignment guarding boxes of ration bars on some backwater depot somewhere.

Shaikatra’s billet currently was a senior security position, one of Giotto’s team leaders. She had private quarters even though she was a grade of rank shy of actually being assigned them formally. Again Kirk dug deeper into the files, wondering how she’d pulled that off.
While private quarters were the holy grail of enlisted ratings, reserved for specialists and senior NCOs, there had been a mutual agreement among the other security ratings to allow her a room of her own. The other branches quickly learned not to dispute that. A technician in the astrophysics department had demanded other lodging because she said that Shaikatra finished every sentence she said in quarters with the phrase “in accordance with The Prophecy.” Garov, the Tellarite ensign, had complained that she snored and was “gassy.” An engineering technician who bunked with her asked for reassignment to standard crew quarters because she insisted she could feel the shen staring at her in the night. Through the top bunk. There was some grumbling in the other departments, but everyone in Security was happy because she repaid them by pulling extra shifts or voluntarily taking “shit details” normally beneath her rank. Another curiosity. People often traded favors and pulled strings to get private quarters, but Shaikatra approached the project like a military campaign.

Discipline issues and quirks aside, at the end of the day it came down to the fact that the shen had willingly, unflinchingly risked life and limb to protect his people on numerous occasions. And in doing so she’d left a respectable quantity of dark blue blood soaking into the soil of alien worlds. On some of those occasions, Doctor McCoy had to really hustle to earn his paycheck and put her back together again. Giotto was right, she was going to be a handful… but Kirk owed it to her to protect her, even from her own stubbornness. He jabbed at the intercom and paged Commander Giotto. While he waited for the Security Chief’s arrival browsed some of Shaikatra’s historical essays, this time focusing on one which discussed the use of period literature and music as a means of social analysis. He recalled that Bones had told him Shaikatra had given the gawky Augment girl a book of Rudyard Kipling’s stories, and he also remembered that Kipling was more known in military circles for his military verse and social commentary than for his tales of talking animals.

It should seem like I’ve got part of this little personnel puzzle solved, but it just feels are some extra pieces that I just can’t find. I’m missing something. The quarters I get, but tanking aptitude tests, winning write-ups to counter promotions? The Sweet Spot or class prejudice is just too convenient of an explanation; she’s going way beyond simply providing a calculated display of mediocrity. Plenty of enlisted personnel had scholarly talents and aptitudes yet choose to serve rather than pursue them professionally. Being a history buff wasn’t going to cause anyone to badger her into leaving Security to transfer to research, so why so much effort to hide her light under a bushel? And how does she manage to creep everyone but Spock out? She’s not hostile, but it seems like she can selectively project an aura of spookiness with the flip of some mental switch. Still, like all Starfleet personnel she had been evaluated for psi talent by experts, and they came up with goose eggs. Tricks of body language? A naturally talented at cold reading marks? Witchcraft? And however she does it, why does she bother?

His musing was interrupted by the arrival of Commander Giotto. The man looked tired; Kirk knew everyone in security was pulling long shifts to fill in for those who’d volunteered to bolster the Avalon’s depleted compliment. “Barry, when are you going to get some sleep?”

The Security Chief grunted as if to keep himself from saying “about the time you do, Captain” and took a seat in the chair Kirk gestured to. “When we’re back at the Yard with the Avalon I’m planning on taking a week’s leave just to sleep. ‘Til then, well, I’ve gone with less. We’re rotating the long shifts so nobody gets two in a row, but you know how it is, sir.”

Kirk nodded. He knew Giotto was pulling at least an extra shift almost every day to ensure all of his people got some rest. And he knew that short of a direct order, he wasn’t going to stop. Still, they weren’t in a siege or running fight, so tedium was really the greatest threat to efficiency and alertness at the moment. In friendly and known space Kirk would have authorized a temporary reduction in manning of some of the less critical stations, but with a cargo of repatriated kidnapees and a crippled ship to nurse along, he just couldn’t take that risk.

“So. About the incident in the transporter room. What do you think?”

Giotto looked Kirk in the eye without flinching. “Crewman Shaikatra was right, sir. Taking the time to explain what she saw would have been a mistake. The girl was in an absolute panic, and that Vulcan doctor was going to lose it if the girl did. Belaying your order was the appropriate action.” One of the things Kirk liked about Giotto was that when his people fouled up (which was rarely), he was on them like ugly on a mugato. But when they were right, he’d stand up for them against anyone, be they a planetary commissioner, Starfleet brass, or his own captain.

“I think your right about that, Barry. You saw the doctor in the briefings. The fatigue, visible expression of worry, stress, and even a smile or two. Doctor T’Shia’s not only physically exhausted, but she’s a full Vulcan Healer and that means she’s a high end touch-telepath who’s been spending months treating the psychological harm done to a couple dozen brutalized women and keeping that poor, scared Augment girl from going to pieces. Her own control was being pushed to its limits, and I added to the girl’s panic by greeting them with a room mostly full of heavily armed human males. Things could have gone very wrong, but your crewman prevented that.”

“Captain, you had no way of knowing we weren’t getting another Khan. As for preventing the situation from going south of cheese, yes, that was all Shaikatra, although Garov picked up in it pretty quick too. She spotted right off that the girl wasn’t the problem. Said ‘oh, the most she’d have done was peed a little and tried to hide in the corner.’ But she said that when Ensign Saunders started to step onto the platform, the kid started to panic and that Doctor T’Shia suddenly had… and I quote “that particular non-expression Vulcans get when you’ve convinced them the only logical thing to do is to kick your ass up between your antennae.’ I don’t want to know how or why Shaikatra pissed some Vulcan off enough to learn that one. “
Kirk grunted. There were a couple of times when he’d been on the receiving end of what happens when a Vulcan lost their emotional control. “Grinning rage tornado made of fists” pretty much describes the experience. The doctor might be petite, but she’d still be markedly stronger than the average human. And Kirk suspected that in defense of her patient, she’d fight very, very, dirty.

“That brings us to the problem. She’s earned a commendation. Anyone can follow orders… but knowing when to contradict a flawed order or having the moral courage to disobey an unlawful one are qualities Starfleet can’t afford to lose. The last thing we need is some future Kodos or Garth of Izar who’s crew will later say “I was just following orders.” So. She gets a cookie. And what happens when our quarrelsome shen gets caught doing too good of a job?”
Giotto expression became pained. “She gets into fights. Or gets caught in bed with some diplomat’s son, daughter, or spouse. Or spouses, depending on the race. She’s been getting more creative. Captain, I don’t know how much longer I can run interference for her. Bureau of Personnel has been sending me nastygrams about her. Starfleet wants her to shit or get off the pot. Either clean up her act and start moving on up the ladder again, or they’re probably going to refuse her next re-enlistment. On the ground and in the heat, she’s one of my best people, but this is one area she can’t see clearly, sir. I can’t seem to get through to her on it.”

Kirk nodded. Normally, a wise captain allowed his department heads to handle all but the most extreme internal matters and personnel problems, but with Giotto’s blessing it was now appropriate for him to get involved. The fact that Giotto was asking for help said something about the intensity of the Bureau of Personnel’s nastygrams and how much of a priority he placed on keeping the shen on board the Enterprise. “I’ll see if I can get through to her, Barry. Odd bird, though, isn’t she? Does she always speak Standard English rather than relying on the U-Trans?”

Giotto nodded. “Speaks it, swears in it, and has mastered of the slang, both modern and vintage. Even when she thinks nobody’s listening. I encourage everyone on my team to pick it up so we can communicate if something ever interferes with our translators, but she had it down before getting here. Gets downright flustered if a human draws a blank on one of her historical references too. It’s like she’s not just studying to be an Earther, but studying to be the very best one she can. She’s also even been saving up almost all of her leave to finally visit Earth, takes just enough to bust up the odd bar on this or that Starbase we visit.” Giotto shifted, clearly a little uncomfortable with discussing the deeply personal matters of his team. “Captain, the way she talks, she reveres Andoria’s traditions and history, but modern Andoria is dead to her. She clams up on the subject and turns on the Spooky China Doll Stare if anyone pursues the issue. But Earth? She’ll go on for hours, like the big guy from that old book talking about the rabbits, except with more eloquence. It’s like she’s not just shopping for a place to visit or retire to. In her mind, Captain, I think she’s made Earth an idealized sort of ‘home’. Maybe even Heaven.”

Kirk chewed that over for a long moment. “Maybe that’s why she’s not visited yet. She’s got more leave piled up than I do. Like she’s afraid it won’t live up to her expectations, or that she won’t fit in…” That was the sort of insecurity and sense of isolation that could possibly explain the shen’s sassy and brash demeanor as well as the bizarre career throttling. “Barry, I’ll do what I can to get through to her. I don’t want to lose her any more than you do. For all her faults, she’s taken good care of my people, she’s… bled for them… and she’s one of mine whether she feels it or not. Now. How are our other guests doing?”

Giotto passed him a data slate. “Better. No concerns from a Security standpoint, really. The Augment girl is no trouble at all barring the odd unforeseen panic attack here and there. She’s becoming quite the extrovert all things considered, now she looks at your shoes when she talks to you. Ms. Romanova’s been pestering me on qualifying some of ‘her girls’ on phasers. Seems a lot of them have re-thought the Novy Pskov stance on self-defense and personal arms.”

Kirk took the data slate and made a few notations before signing the authorization. Romanova’s home colony of Novy Pskov had seen an increase in immigration from the perhaps too-civilized core worlds, and the most recently elected government had forbidden it’s police and militia from carrying anything other than stunners, barring an executive order by the planetary commissioner and a vote by the planetary council. The official stated position, Romanova had spat, was that “We wish our colony to represent civilized humanity.”
“Would it have made any difference with those Augments, Barry?”

Giotto’s eyes glinted with just a touch of anger. “For the girls snatched by those long-range transporters, no. But when the Augments did a full on raids of those homesteads, it might have. A little, anyway. Captain Granger’s report indicates that their numbers were low so they really couldn’t have maintained the raids as long as they did if each strike cost them even just a man or two. Except they got away scott-free every time. We know from Admiral Archer’s encounter with Augments way back when that stun doesn’t work well on Augments works, further supported by the Avalon’s encounter with them. They could soak up a lot of stunner fire, and they moved too fast to get more than a couple of licks in. Trying to fight them off with stunners must have felt like being stuck using water balloons against Klingon Marines or a pissed off Horta. I know we’re not supposed to judge different colonies’ rules, captain… but I can’t blame her for being pissed, Captain. She lost a lot of family and friends. And then… what happened to her after…” Giotto shook his head to dispel that train of thought.
“Give anyone willing the proper safety, maintenance and use training, Barry. Just run each name by Doctors McCoy and T’Shia to make sure they’re emotionally fit for this sort of thing, given what they’ve just been through. I don’t want any “accidents” by some poor girl who’s not thinking clearly. And see if we can arrange other self-defense training they want while they’re our guests. It can’t hurt to bolster their confidence and self-esteem. Starfleet is supposed to be politically neutral when it comes to the internal laws of Federation planets, so we’re going to comment on those policies. But… I… wouldn’t mind seeing a purely tactical evaluation of the effectiveness of stunners in dealing with ‘alien pirates,’ based strictly on the non-classified data that’s going to be publicly available anyway. I suspect Ms. Romanova’s militia experience will make her a fine consultant on the matter, so be sure to see that she gets a copy when it’s finished. Something tells me she’ll find some interesting things to do with it.”

A faintly malicious eagerness flickered across the Security Commander’s face. Tatiana Romanova’s determination to go home and “take those bastards who kept us helpless and run them out of their palaces” was well known by now. At times he feared Chekov would be wrapped up in her revolutionary fervor and try to re-enact one of those old Eisenstein films he keeps trying to get everyone to watch. There was little doubt that she’d make life very unpleasant for certain politicians with her colony’s planetary elections coming up in less than a year. Just enough time for her to wade in and raise hell, not enough time for people to forget about the attacks or be distracted by some political legerdemain.

“Oh, Ensign Garov has some pretty tangy verbiage on that already, Captain. I think I’ll put him on the job. He’ll be up for Lieutenant soon, so another monograph will be a useful addition to his record. The Professional Development weenies just love that sort of thing.”

Kirk smiled inwardly at Giotto’s choice for the project. A positive Tellarite critique was more scalding than plasma fire, and this report would be anything but. After hearing what the kidnapped homesteaders had been put through Kirk was looking forward to seeing those who contributed to the disaster squirm. Kirk could respect a sincere pacifist, he found the writings of Surak to be both moving and inspiring… but dying for ones beliefs was one thing, while insisting other people also die for your beliefs was quite another. Kirk had seen too many lives thrown away by leaders more concerned with maintaining their smug sense of moral superiority than ensuring the safety of their people.

Starfleet would require highly detailed classified reports and probably wouldn’t spread the word Augments were involved, but a ship’s captain also had a responsibility to inform local populations of potential threats and to provide such information and training as was necessary to help the locals prepare for them. Novy Pskov boasted of its “transparent” government, so they surely wouldn’t mind if the non-classified version of Garov’s report were submitted and posted via open public channels.

“Just remember to let me read that before he publishes, I want to be sure we don’t spill any beans that Starfleet Intelligence would…” Kirk was interrupted by the chirp of Giotto’s communicator. Even as he was flipping it open, the intercom buzzed.

“Captain Kirk, sir, this is Ensign Rickert at the Security Watch Desk. You instructed us to notify you if there was any sort of incident with the Augment. Apparently she’s involved in some sort of emergency in the Officer’s Lounge. No further information yet, sir, but there are calls going out for Security and a Medical team. Teams have been dispatched.”

“On my way. Kirk out.” Kirk replied even as Commander Giotto was heading out the door, calling Garov and Shaikatra to the scene via his communicator. A good move, both were able to interact with the girl without making her feel threatened. If the kid was flipping out, they were more likely to be able to talk her down than anyone other than the Vulcan doctor, and unlike her, they were just off duty and not in an extended period of healing meditation. Kirk found himself struggling to keep up with the longer-legged security chief as they literally raced for the turbolift. Giotto had an annoying habit of “accidently” getting in front of his captain in situations like this. Granted, it was proper procedure, but Kirk wasn’t a “wait and let Security sort it out” sort of captain.

Once they were in the turbolift Giotto crowded the door so he would have a head start when they arrived. Kirk fumed silently but knew it was a waste of time to argue with him. Moments later they arrived at the proper deck and were again pelting down the corridor with Giotto bellowing “make a hole!” while assorted crewman plastered themselves against the bulkheads to get out of the way. As they reached the Officer’s Lounge on the leading edge of the Enterprise’s saucer section, the doors whisked open and Giotto failed to make the turn as his left foot shoot out from under him, sending him sliding into the bulkhead with bone jarring force. Without time to stop or change course, Kirk was forced to vault over the fallen Security chief and hope for the best. He landed in a crouch, ready to attack or defend and tried to take in the situation.

The Officer’s lounge had been thoroughly trashed. It looked like someone had set off a respectably sized explosive charge under the buffet that had been laid out for the evening’s improvised concert. Trays drinks and platters of appetizers had been scattered in all directions, spattering the walls and even ceiling with various drinks, dips, sauces, and chutneys. An ensign in Services was sitting in the middle the floor holding a towel presumably filled with ice to the side of his head while another was trying unsuccessfully to extract a pair of frantically kicking blue legs from a tangle of folding chairs, tables and music stands. Had some powerful alien entity created a giant version of Spock’s kalto set and sent it forth to devour unfortunate redshirts, this is pretty much what it would have looked like. As Kirk stared in bafflement, a rather forlorn slice of roast beef slid down the transparent aluminum of the floor to ceiling windows gracing the forward hull. Kirk was momentarily gripped by a strong and inexplicable case of deja-vu.

Turning to help Giotto up, he saw another fuss in the rear starboard corner of the room. The Augment girl and Doctor McCoy where in a tangle on the deck. Ensign Saunders was waving a phaser about uncertainly as McCoy tried to wave him off. The girl was lying with her face pressed into the corner, her right arm wrapped around a stanchion and she was squirming and working her feet like she was trying to burrow through the deck. Her left arm was locked around McCoy’s waist and was squeezing hard enough that his face had gone to an alarming shade of purple. He was pushing uselessly at her arm in an effort to draw enough breath to swear properly, but he did manage to gasp to Saunders something that sounded like “Put…. thing…away…. Idiot.” Perversely, the sense of deja-vu grew even stronger. Seeing Kirk, McCoy began gesturing wildly at the windows. Garov and his security team picked this moment to come barreling in, Giotto and Kirk had to scramble to get out of their way.

Great. The last thing we need to do is panic her more, Kirk thought. She might break my doctor in half. “Saunders! Get over here and help me with Shaikatra. Garov, help the doctor. And someone find out where that medical team is.” With that, Kirk and Giotto moved to give the Augment girl as much space as they could. Garov surveyed the scene and scratched his chin for a moment before clumping over and sitting on the floor in front of McCoy. He took the Sky’s upper arm firmly in both hands and planted his feet on the bulkhead to either side of the purple faced doctor. With a grunt, Garov leaned back and began pulling but was unable to break her grip. He did however, loosen it enough for McCoy to suck in a few whooping gasps of air.

“Panic… attack… ‘gora… ‘gora… phobic.. Stupid… damn thing…”

Kirk realized what had happened and bolted to the controls that would bring the shutters down, closing off the view of a rather magnificent nebula. He then turned to tangle of furniture and its prisoner. The shen was barefoot and soaking wet and embedded to the waist in the collapsed stack of furniture. Kirk tried to step in behind her to help pull her out and almost caught the heel of a blue foot in his groin for his troubles. “Crewman! Knock it off! We’re going to get you out of there, but you’ve got to hold still for a second!” The legs quit kicking. Kirk moved forward and examined the mess. The first thing that struck him was that the rather nice azure legs went all the way up to a startlingly pale… tan lines? Blue lines? Do Andorians tan? How does that even work? With an effort Kirk hauled his sensors north of the Neutral Zone and tugged the sodden uniform skirt down, giving the shen back at the least a scrap of her dignity. Gesturing for Saunders to start pulling furniture from the top of the pile he took hold of the trapped crewman’s hips. The crewman became very still, and a moment later he heard her muffled voice from the depths of the wreckage.

“Is it Friday already?”

The Andorian crewman was not just wet, but slippery and wet. Kirk couldn’t help but note that she smelled strongly of sandalwood and jasmine, a combination that worked rather nicely with her alien biochemistry. A glance back towards the entrance of the lounge showed what he’d missed before… a trail of bare, wet foot prints and spatterings of suds which explained Giotto’s fall. She must have been in the middle of a shower and the security call had gone out when she was lathered up. Come to think of it, her quarters were on this deck, and the sensitivity of Andorian hearing would have rated her a water shower instead of sonic. She had probably paused only long enough to grab her uniform and had pulled it on as she careened down the corridor. Huh. Must have been quite a show.

Saunders and the Services personnel were trying to pull individual pieces of furniture off of the top without making the entire pile collapse, making the entire rescue more like a giant-sized game of pick-up sticks, with Shaikatra shouting assorted curses and incomprehensible bits of instruction when the pile shifted.

“NoNoNoNOOO YOU’RE PINCHING IT Aiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee” Her voice became a keening howl that was frightfully painful. The shen started bucking and spasming which only made things worse. As Kirk tried to hold her still Saunders jammed an arm into the mess down by where he guessed Shaikatra’s head to be. The keening relented, and Kirk suddenly staggered back as the shen came loose from the tangle. Hitting a patch of suds he would have fallen himself but for the quick reflexes of Giotto who was able to catch him. Shaikatra was a mess. Her eyes were shot blue from shampoo running into them, and one antenna was bent and listing at an odd angle. To her credit she was still clutching an equipment belt with its phaser and ice knives. Kirk cringed inwardly… he knew enough about Andorian physiology to know that an injury to an antenna was about like getting a low yield disrupter blast to the groin while simultaneously getting a sudden and catastrophic inner ear infection. She was gasping and staggering in circles holding one hand to the injured organ while the other scrubbed frantically at her eyes. Meanwhile, the medical team had arrived and were debating what tranquilizer to use on the panicked Augment girl.

“Get me over… I can… I can help… get me to…” Kirk guided the unsteady but insistent shen over to the crowd in the corner. Rather than trying to pull Sky loose, Shaikatra simply climbed on top and wiggled her way to the corner until she could press her cheek against the side of Sky’s head. Kirk didn’t know if it was the tranquilizers, or the shen’s efforts, but gradually Sky’s grip relaxed enough for Doctor McCoy to be pulled free. The doctor lay on the deck gasping for a minute, then started prescribing a cocktail of medications for the terrified Augment. Garov helped Shaikatra to her feet and guided her back to Kirk. As the medical team began the process of pealing Sky loose from the stanchion, Kirk held Shaikatra steady while Giotto searched for an undamaged chair. Shaikatra’s blue-shot eyes met Kirks, her face the expression of someone having a sudden moment of complete clarity.

“She will fall… she will fall into forever…” Then the injury to her antenna must have caught up with her because she grabbed Kirks shoulders in an effort to remain upright. “Captain… I… oh… oh… oh no…”

Graduation, Kirk’s inner delinquent chimed in happily as he knelt next to the heaving Andorian, holding her hair. The second night of that rolling graduation party. That was going about like this right when those girls from the judo team showed up.

Later, after Kirk had showered and changed into a clean uniform he made his way to Sickbay. He found McCoy to be relatively unharmed, although the doctor was moving a bit gingerly. Kirk could hear the Augment girl snoring loudly in her cubicle, and Shaikatra a few beds over apparently trying her damndest to keep up with her.

“Bones, how is everyone?”

McCoy’s face took a particularly sour expression. “Fine. No thanks to me. When I heard we were dropping out of warp for Scotty to swap in some new parts he’d fabricated for the Avalon, I had the brilliant idea of taking Sky to the lounge. Thought it would be nice to show her, well, to show her the sky and all that for the first time. She stared at it for about long enough to start to perceive the depth of things… then she panicked. Kept saying that she would “fall into forever and be lost. I should have seen this coming; she spent her whole life hiding in some bunker, after all. I screwed up, Jim. Anyway, things went downhill from there. She’ll be ok, once she sleeps off the dosage of tranquilizers we had to load her up with. She’s got one hell of a tolerance, Jim. The load we had to put in to her would put a normal person in a coma.” McCoy led Kirk over to where Shaikatra was sleeping.

“I managed to save the antenna, so I’ll only have to put up with her for a day or two instead of a couple of weeks. Captain, I need your authorization for something. Seems she’s got some sort of hereditary pigmentation disorder. Drops for her eyes, and she’s been using a topical to protect her skin. When we brought her in she was more upset about people seeing that than her bent antenna. Sometimes a genetic condition’ll carry some cultural stigmas, I guess. I think I can come up with a systemic treatment that’ll eliminate the need for that topical, but the regs list that sort of thing as technically being a cosmetic procedure so I’ll need your ok. It’ll do a better job of protecting her from ultraviolet light, and it’ll stop her from badgering me to help her get ‘all those hard to reach places.’ Shouldn’t be any significant side-effects, and I’m keeping her on light duty for the next few days anyway.”

“Go ahead, Bones. And be sure to put down that she’s forbidden from any more Full Contact Interior Decorating. So how are you doing?”

“Ribs are pretty sore, but I’ll live. Biggest injury was to my ego. Jim, if she tries to conquer anyone, you just tell them to run into the middle of a nice big room. Going to take a while for her to get over the agoraphobia. Another item for the grocery list. We’ll start gradually working her up to larger spaces, but it’ll take time.”

“Ok, Bones. I’ll let you get back to work.” Kirk headed to his quarters, considering the problem of his irascible and generally spooky Andorian crewman. Technically, she’d created a safety hazard by traipsing barefoot through the corridors of the ship leaving a trail of slippery suds, but her heart was in the right place and he was certain the embarrassment of the day’s events were discipline enough. Kirk recalled an idea floating around Starfleet regarding carpeting the decks of starships. There were practical advantages to the idea, but Kirk felt it would make the ships feel more like flying hotels than ships of exploration. Next, they’d be wanting to put paintings and potted plants in the corridors, maybe a day-care or something… He waved the thought aside and returned to the issues at hand. Pieces of the Shaikatra puzzle were starting to drift together in his mind. Settling into his desk, he called up a historical file accessible only to a select few, the captains of vessels named Enterprise. After entering the proper authorizations, he got a cup of coffee and began sorting through Admiral Archer’s personal logs from the old NX-01’s early missions.

Shaikatra found herself back in the Officer’s Lounge where Doctor McCoy was leading a mostly Tellarite string section in a rather enthusiastic if discordant rendition of the Tennessee Waltz. Commander Spock stood to the side, solemnly ringing a cowbell every time McCoy swore. The lighting was gentle and the smell of magnolias filled the air. In the center of the room Captain Kirk and Sky were dancing a simple box-step. Sky was leading, which was for the best because try as he might, Kirk couldn’t see his own feet for the skirts of his lovely emerald ball gown. Wow. Doctor McCoy must have really broken out The Good Stuff for me, a distant part of Shaikatra’s mind decided. The rest of her mind, however, determined that part of her was pretty boring and told it to shut up. Shaikatra began digging happily through the piles of tribbles, because what the hell, there has to be an accordion in here somewhere.