Something Completely Different...

I won't be posting anything political today, not because there aren't a lot of juicy subjects in the news -- such as the growing revelations about China's complicity in creating and releasing the Covid-19 virus -- but because I've been posing political articles for weeks, and I think everybody (including me) could use a break.  So anyway, fans have been asking me for years to write the novelization of "Banned From Argo", so I did.  I couldn't get it published with the company that does the professional Star Trek books, nor with any of the fanzine publishers (who are an endangered species these days), so I archived it on the Archive of Our Own site.  But the layout there was miserable, and none of the fans knew how to find it.  So, dammitol, I'm going to serialize it here.  Enjoy!
                                                                                       --Leslie <;)))>< 

BANNED FROM ARGO   by Leslie Fish

                Prologue

 

 

FROM:                                                         TO:

Captain James T. Kirk                           Starfleet Command Headquarters                  

USS Enterprise     

                                      San Francisco, USA, Earth

                                                       Stardate 9810.20                                    

Dear Sirs:

            I realize that the regulations of the Federation Charter forbid censorship of any informative or artistic material, other than what is strictly required by state or military security.  Still, I must protest the common promulgation of a particular song, called “Banned From Argo”, which has been making the rounds all over this quadrant.  This song is scurrilous, libelous, slanderous, verges on the obscene and is derogatory to my ship, officers and crew.  Hearing this piece of tripe sung in every spaceport bar from here to Alpha Centauri is damaging to crew morale, and has caused more than one barroom brawl.

            Is there anything that your Morale Office can do to suppress the damned thing?  Can’t you at least find someone you can slap with a lawsuit?  I can assure you, there’s good legal grounds for a slander case;  the whole song is completely untrue, and totally misrepresents the  situation on Argo.

            Please respond soon.

                                                                               Sincerely,

                                                                          Capt. James T. Kirk

1.

When we pulled into Argo Portin need of R. &  R.

             Our crew set out investigating every joint and bar.

             We had high expectations of their hospitality,

             But found too late it wasn't geared for spacers such as we.

        

            “Argo station to Enterprise.  Docking ETA in five minutes,”  said the professionally cheerful voice from the speakers.  “Have a nice day.”

        "Enterprise standing by."  Kirk jabbed the cut-off button on his chair's arm, then stretched until he heard is neck-joints crackle.  "It'll be a long five minutes," he added to himself.            

            Spock heard.  “I assume, Captain,” he said, raising one elegant eyebrow,  “that  we should prepare for a humanoid stampede in the direction of the transporter room within four minutes and 47 seconds.  Should I inform Security?”

            Kirk relaxed in his chair and grinned at his First Officer.  Vulcans were supposed to have no sense of humor, but Spock could be wonderfully sardonic at times.  “I suspect,”  Kirk answered, “That Security will be first in line.  We’ll probably have trouble keeping even a skeleton maintenance crew on board for the next two weeks.”

            “But sir,” Lt. Commander Scott commented from his seat at the Engineering console, “We’ll no’ need a maintenance crew after the first three days.  D’ye no’ remember?  Yon station will be gi’en the ship a complete inspection, overhaul an’ fumigation treatment.  Thot means no one but a few engineers an’ a transport officer will be on board.”

            “Of course.”  Kirk rubbed his forehead.  “I really had forgotten that.  We’re all overdue for rest-and-recreation.”

            “Especially efter dese lest two mont’s,” Lt. Chekov muttered darkly from the Navigation/Gunnery console.  “If I nefer see enother Romulan again, it will be too soon.”

            “Wait a minute.”  Lt. Sulu looked up from the Navigation board.  “If the ship’s going to be fumigated, I’ve got to move my plants.”

            Lt. Uhura, just pulling the communications module from her ear, didn’t hear him.  “I’ve heard,” she purred, “That shore-leave facilities on Argo are excellent.  There’s supposed to be an old-fashioned market square in the groundside port city.”

            Just then the turbolift doors whispered open, and Dr. McCoy stepped onto the bridge.  “How much longer, Jim?” he asked, strolling up to the captain’s com-chair.  “We’ve got 435 overworked crewmen straining at the leash, downstairs.”

            “Just a few more minutes, Bones,” said Kirk, frowning at the viewscreen.

            “Three minutes and fourteen seconds,” Spock dutifully reported.  “That is, if the portmaster’s estimate is correct.”

            “Doctor McCoy,” Nurse Chapel’s voice sounded from the open-intercom speakers, “Do you have the exact location of that pharmaceutical company you wanted me to visit?”

            McCoy rolled his eyes and glanced toward Uhura, who duly patched him through to Sickbay.  “I left the note on my desk-pad,” he grumbled.  “What’s the rush, anyway?  We’ve got two weeks’ leave.”

            “Just checking.  Out.”  The speaker chirped as the connection closed.

            “That girl works too hard,” McCoy muttered to no one in particular.

            “We’ve all been working too hard,” Kirk smiled.  “Thank whatever powers that be, Starfleet rerouted us to Argo instead of sending us all the way back to Starbase Twelve.  Let’s hope this planet can give us the rest we need.”

            “The facilities are reputed to be excellent,” Spock volunteered.  “The planet Argo, more particularly Argus A-4, was one of the first extra-solar colonies founded after Humans achieved stardrive capabilities.  Originally settled by wealthy entrepreneurs who wished to maintain a lifestyle which was fading from Earth’s culture by the 22nd century, its society is based on manufacturing and interstellar trade.  Despite a rigorous adherence to a culture of classic ‘propriety’, the port city does contain extensive entertainment zones.”

            “Aye, ‘propriety’!”  Scott swiveled his chair around to face the bridge.  “Yon means just wha’ ye think it does.  Let’s hope the entertainment zones are extensive enou’ – an’ a wee bit livelier than they were the last time I came by this way.”

            “I would not presume to define your tastes, Mr. Scott,” said Spock, arching an eyebrow again.  “Argo Portusually caters to the local merchant trade, rather than Starfleet vessels, and I would have no data upon which to base an opinion.”

            “No?  Weel, I’ll say ta the rest o’ ye, if ye find night-life in Argo Port Citya bit too dull, come look me up at the Hotel Avalon, for thot’s where I’ll be.”

            Just then the Communications console beeped again.  Uhura hastily pushed buttons.  A blandly polite official face appeared on the viewscreen.  It was the port secretary.  “Please enter the docking area and proceed to the coupling gantry,” he said.  “Welcome to Argo, Enterprise.”

            Everyone but Spock replied with a spontaneous: “All right!”

            Sulu’s fingers danced on the Helm controls, aiming the ship precisely into the station’s dock.  “High time,” he almost sang.  “Now we’ll have a shore leave that planet won’t forget!”

            He didn’t know how right he was.


(To be continued)