In the makeshift “courtroom” on board the Enterprise, Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock faced each other, not even a foot apart. Kirk’s expression.
was a repressed glower, underscored by a deep sense of betrayal. Spock’s face was, as always, impassive, but his eyes burned with the urgency of his mission and begged his captain to trust him.
“Jim—please! Don’t stop me. Don’t let him stop me.”
And, finally, Spock had succeeded in transporting his former captain, now disastrously disabled, to the planet Talus IV, where he could live out his life in the illusion of health and a whole body; and where he was reunited with Vina, who lived, herself, in the illusion of youth and beauty.
And Jim Kirk and Spock were at last able to talk things out, work things out, and resume their more-than-friendship with a new knowledge of just how far each would go for the other, and for others still, because nothing could force either of them deny their basic loyalty and sense of what was right; for this integrity was part of what made them who they were.
As for Pike and Vina….
Christopher and the Patchwork Playmate, after he was returned (by Spock's highjacking of the Enterprise) to Talus IV, were happily handfasted by the Talosian Triad, who had been swishing about in those silvery robes for some twenty years just for that occasion.
(The megacephalic three then reverted to their accustomed wear of denim overalls and gardening tools. They were pitting their scientific minds against the barrenness of their world in all its facets, including the agrarian.)
The newly-joined couple set up housekeeping in Snaggletooth Castle, whose deposed resident Ogre-giant had hastily packed up his extra fur breechclout and other dead animals and set off in a huff, plucking out the blades and spears run through him as he went and casting them by the wayside, and muttering darkly about going to stay with his cousin on Triskelion and signing up to work as a Training Thrall.
And every day Chris would doff his captain clothes and don a denim coverall and Vina would shed her buttercream silks and don a denim coverall and they would take a picnic lunch and the two horses (who refused to don denim coveralls) and ride out to the forest glade and spread the plaid blanket on the ground and have fried chicken and potato salad and chocolate cake and coffee and statins and feed the horses apples and carrots and lumps of sugar and glum together till nightfall until one day the Weird Forest Entity from Lost got lost and blew through the glade with a gale and a t-storm and Chris and Vina and the horses got the hell outta there. Gratefully.
Their evenings were a fireplace fantasy and their nights the heights of passion, except when Chris had Arcadian artichoke flatulence or Vina had PMS and muttered about How you left me when you saw I wuz ugly and went back to that ship and them wimmin and bumped him out of bed with her hump.
Then they got hobbies. Vina began Orion Slavegirl Dancing lessons and Chris took up Mittel Arabesque Costume- and Curtain-making at the local chapter of the Terran Silkworm Silkweaving Guild.
Their interests began to diverge. Vina was spending a lot of time in Intergalaxy Tea-and-Other Houses with her dancing-class buddy Marta and Chris was participating in a good number of Guildboy’s Nights Out.
After the fourth night-on-the-town in a month that Chris didn’t come home all night, Vina had all the castle locks changed and bought a dragon for the moat. When Chris did finally stagger down the rocky road from the village, she threw down his clothes from the battlements and told him they were finished, he was a betraying cad, her heart was broken, and she and Marta were going to live together in the castle.
Chris roared and ranted and called her distasteful names. Vina and Marta emptied the chamberpots on his head so he called them both some very inventive names and Marta a scheming anomalous castlebreaking bitch.
“Mark my words, she’ll lead you to perdition!” were his parting words to Vina, as he turned back up the rocky road to find his own happy perdition in a shady village pub drinking warpcoremakers of Scotty brand Scotch with a Klingon Ale chaser. (After three of these he would wax maudlin and cry in his ale remembering Number One.)
“Better her perdition than your forest glade!” was Vina’s spirited reply.
Vina and Marta conducted an idyllic existence at the castle, having sun baths on the battlements (after they scrubbed them) and doing each other’s nails.
However…one fine day—and it was, in fact, a very fine day, the weather was uber perfect—Marta said a dreadful, unforgiveable thing.
Marta said, “Let’s take the horses and go to the glade!”
Vina ran screaming down the castle corridors, scrambled over the half-descended drawbridge, fell in the moat, slugged the dragon on the snout when he mistook her for an enemy snack, pulled herself out and proceeded, muddy and mould-draggled, panting and wailing, down the rocky road to the village and into the pub,where she threw herself on the filthy stony floor before a rather discomfited Chris (“Who is this nutcase, anyway?”), declaring her guilt, her penetance, and her undying-yet-again love for him.
Having tired of his dissolute bachelor existence and seeing this opportunity to have an unpaid cleaner cooker washer duster sweeper bedslave and slipper-shiner, Chris didth consent to go to live in an humble abode with this chick who reminded him of someone, with a signed agreement for three nights a week out with the boys and a sleep-in till noon next day. An’ no bitchin’.
Time passed (it does that) and it came to pass (it does that, too) that Chris and Vina did grow and multiply, in that Chris got an ale-belly and Vina a belly too, several times (and later a good bit of hip as well) and lo there appeared various small copies (replacemenmts!) of Chris and Vina, cute as bug’s ears and pestiferous.
Marta reigned over the castle in splendid solitude; and at length became so utterly bored with sun baths, manicures, and take-out, that she decided to plant a vegetable garden. Then one day she had an illumination … plants.. green… Marta..green--?!! And with some slight inventiveness was able to give herself over to parthenogenesis.
And so the small cute pestiferous ones were joined by small green totally identical ones, and Tarsus IV was being repopulated.
Which was what the Talosians wanted anyway.
Another one fine day, the Enterprise came floating by.
Captain Kirk and First Officer Spock had long made peace over Spock’s Mutiny, as it came to be called. In fact, the tearing-off of splendid dress uniforms and the fantastic make-up sex was so enjoyable that every so often on star-mapping voyages or non-diplomat-carrying milk runs,when the ship was way too calm and Kirk was feeling feisty, he would lean over Spock at the science station and murmur, “Wanna play ‘Spock’s Mutiny’ after shift?”
To which Spock would inevitably reply, sotto voce , never taking his eyes from the blue-rayed viewer, “Captain, I believe you are referring to ‘Menagerie One and Two’.”
At which Kirk would snicker and go back to his comfortable captain’s chair and Spock would remain patiently bent over his hideously nonergonomic Bridge station, for which condition he continuously requests technological improvements in the interests of logic and the fact that Vulcans, also, get backaches. And Kirk continuosly puts him off in the interests of the view.
Since Pike had been restored to the Talosians and Vina, and the Great Enterprise Hijacking Caper had so confused Starfleet legal minds that the whole crew were on house arrest—on the ship—it had been temporarily ruled that Talos IV might be approached within medium-orbit distance in order to ascertain the conditions of the…populace.
(It was eventually ruled by ‘Fleet Court that the whole Talos clusterfuck could be considered an advanced scientific colonization experiment—which got everyone off the hook, although there-were some looks-askance at the illusion components. Colonies based on Altered States will always be suspect.)
In any case..as the Enterprise passed over the planet, scans showed a marked increase in the humanoid population. Further scans showed that the majority of the humanoid beings had measurements usually ascribed to humanoid offspring—in a word, children. A long look through the viewer, then a projection on the viewscreen, showed a numerous, heterogeneous group of small beings in constant movement on a hillock just outside the village, apparently supervised by two females, a blonde human and a green Orion, who were doing manicures between bouts of variously apostrophizing the young ones.
“Will you look at that!” exclaimed Kirk. “Well, Mr Spock, it seems your “half-breed interference” payed off this time. Everybody seems to be happy.”
“I will ignore your uncouth reference…Sir …and forbear to mention that my ‘interference’ is 99.856 positive in all cases.”
“Ah..yes, Mr. Spock. Where’s—ah there he is, out in the fields with those three—are those the Talosians? Can you imagine Chris Pike farming?”
“Seeing that there are only three surviving Talosians, we must suppose that those three are they. Further evidence may be garnered from the size of their hats.”
“And to answer your second question, if I had an imagination, I could most certainly envision Captain Pike farming—although I am not certain as to his feelings towards dragging the plow.”
“Yes, there is that….” Kirk murmured. “Anyway, they all look healthy. I’ll have Bones do a medical scan of the planet. They do look great though, overrunning that formerly dead world! And I like the denim overall thing—don’t those kids look cute as bug’s ears! And the green ones are the cutest!”
At this, Spock’s eyes slitted and he let out a low growl—not even replying to the reference of humanoid offspring’s similarity to insectoid auditory apparatus. He grabbed Kirk by the arm and with no effort at all dragged him rapidly towards the turbolift.
“Hey! Spock! SPOCK! Let go! What—“ all the while digging his heels into the Bridge flooring, or trying, to no avail.”
Finally, in the lift: “Spock! What the hell--!”
“Level five. Green…cute.*I* am green. *I* am ‘cute’.”
“You will not refer to green sentient beings other than myself, as being attractive.”
“Well, then I hope asparagus is not sentient…Spock, those are kids!”
“Oh—future competition, eh? Don’t worry Spock—they could never compete with you.”
At this point they were at the door of Spock’s quarters. The door whooshed open and Kirk found himself propelled inside.
“Computer, lights 30%. Lock doors, medical override only. How so?”
“You stated that ‘they’ could never compete with me.”
“Oh. Okay. Well….” With a sly grin, Kirk invaded Spock’s space, put his arms around him, and whispered,”You know I have an incurable weakness for pointed ears!”