DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Paula Smith and Carol Lynn and is copyright (c) 1975 by Paula Smith. This story is Rated R. Originally printed in Grup #4, 1975.
CAROL'S fershlugginer STORY
(Original Editor's Note: It is actually about time somebody did this number. Ghu knows your favorite Vulcan and mine has been in rut so damn many times, and the consequences remained unsuffered so long that this story was inevitable.)
"Jim," said Dr. McCoy, leaning over the captain's desk. "How far are we from Vulcan?"
Captain Kirk looked up from his reports. "You don't mean..." McCoy nodded meaningfully. "But the last time was only--" Kirk objected.
"Five and a half, almost six years, Jim. His cycle may not be all that regular. Besides, Spock said it was at *most* every seven y ears." The doctor took a chair at the side of the desk.
"Bones, are you sure?" Kirk leaned over the desk to McCoy.
"Yes, I'm sure. He's been acting jumpy as hell for the past week, and I called him in for an examination." McCoy sighed. "The same readings as the last time, Jim. You've got to get him to Vulcan."
Kirk sat silently, staring past the doctor, his jaw clenched. "McCoy," he said at last, "this mission has sent us farther into the galactic center than ever before. Out here, in unknown territory, our maximum warp is four. It would take us more than a month just to be back to the Federation boundary." He looked at the doctor without expression. "We can't do it."
"Then Spock is dead," McCoy answered grimly and folded his arms.
"No," Kirk emphasized softly. "Bones, I'll do what I can do." He leaned his head on his left and, pinching his brow.
McCoy stared down at him for a moment, then abruptly left his chair. At the door, he halted. "Jim--"
Kirk waved him off. "I know. I know. I'll do everything I can, Bones." At that, McCoy left.
Kirk switched on the intercom. "Bridge, this is the captain. Lt. Uhura, have Mr. Spock come to my quarters." He settled back to wait for the Vulcan.
Shortly, the door signal buzzed. "Come," called the captain and the door slid back to admit the first officer. Spock strode to the center of the room and stopped.
"Yes, Captain?" His voice was thicker than normal.
Kirk rose from his chair and walked over to the Vulcan. He studied his friend's eyes, unusually widened, noticed his too fast breathing. "Spock..." he began, placing one hand on his shoulder. The first officer turned his face away. "Spock," Kirk repeated, more insistently. "What can I do to help?"
"Sir?" Spock straightened.
"McCoy told me," the captain replied gently.
Spock hesitated, then mumbled, still avoiding Kirk's eyes, "There is nothing to be done."
Pushing on Spock's shoulder, short and hard, Kirk brought Spock's face back around to him. "There is *always* something that can be done, mister," he said sharply. Then, more gently, "Always another alternative." He waited for his friend to answer.
"I know of none," Spock replied at last, his voice weak. Kirk dropped his hand from the Vulcan and turned away.
The captain wiped his dampening hands on his cheeks, exhaled through his fingers. Then he dropped his hands and bowed his head. "Spock," he said slowly, "I am willing ... to fight ... to challenge you ... again. If that will help." Kirk swallowed, hoping to settle his contracting stomach.
"*No*, Jim," Spock said, startled. Kirk turned his head around. The Vulcan spoke more loudly, with conviction. "I will find a -- third way." Lifting his head, Spock walked out of the room.
As the door zipped shut, Kirk sighed deeply in relief and collapsed into the chair at the desk side.
* * *
"Christine." Nurse Chapel set down the vitro culture she had been classifying, spun around to see Mr. Spock standing in the entryway of the laboratory. "May I speak with you privately?" he queried.
"Well, of course, Mr. Spock," Chapel replied, her fingers fluttering at her hair. She snapped the recorder off. "Is there anything I can do for you?" she asked eagerly.
Spock stepped slowly into the lab, his hands folded in front of his diaphragm. Staring at the floor half a meter to the nurse's right, Spock began, "Christine. Once you said -- that you were in love with me. At that time, I could not re-- return your feeling." Keeping his head down, he paced before the nurse. "But now, I find that -- I need you, Christine. I need you to--" he forced out the words, "love me." He stopped and looked up at her. "Do you still want me?"
"Oh, Mr. Spock," Chapel cried, tears building in her eyes. "Oh, Mr. Spock," and she flung her arms around his neck, her tears pouring now, onto his tunic.
"'Spock' will suffice, under the circumstances," he suggested, hesitantly touching a yellow curl.
"Do you *know* how long I've dreamed of this?" Chapel sobbed.
"Yes. Six point nine seven standard years," he answered gently.
Chapel pulled her wet face away from his chest, blinking. "Oh, Mist-- Oh, Spock!" and collapsed back onto him.
"Come." Spock encircled her with one arm and started to the door.
Chapel pushed herself away in confusion. "R-right now? But -- but we aren't married yet! The Captain has to--"
"Christine." Spock withdrew his arm from her torso and cradled Chapel's face in his hands. His eyes changed, his voice hoarsened. "Know that thou are now *my wife* and so shalt remain til thy death or mine. I have said this to thee." His face came closer to hers. "And now, my wife, attend. I need thee."
Chapel shrank out of his hold. "Of course, Spock, I'll be right along. Just a minute to change, and I'll be right with you," she stammered, backing up until she hit the lab table.
Shuddering, Spock pulled himself back into Federation reality. "Certainly, Christine," he answered calmly, tugging his tunic straight. "I shall await you in my quarters." He held out his right hand, the index and middle fingers extended. "Be quick. Please."
Hesitantly, Chapel stretched out her hand and laid her two fingers across his. "Yes. I will be with you -- I mean, *thee* -- soon, my -- my husband." She smiled happily at the last words, then her chin began to quiver. Spock quickly turned away and exited.
"My husband," Chapel repeated huskily, her tears falling faster. "Oh, Spock--!" Clumsily, she dabbed at her flooded eyes. "You *do* love me!"
* * *
"Spock?" Chapel called uncertainly from the doorway of the first officer's stateroom. There was no answer, but she went in anyway, trailing a black, lacy short negligee draped over one arm. Then she saw him, sitting silently before his firepot, oblivious to her presence. He was naked. Carefully, she laid the nightdress on the desk and tiptoed toward him from behind. "Spock?" she whispered lovingly, laying her hands on his shoulders. Spock twitched violently, loosing the tension that supported him. He stood up and away from the chair, staring at her with open hunger. His penis was thick and distended, larger than Chapel had ever seen it in medical examinations. And it swelled even more as she watched. His entire pelvic region pulsed and grew a richer, deeper green.
"I'll -- I'll go change now," Chapel stammered, turning away. Her throat was very dry; she swallowed what saliva she could. As she reached for her gown, Spock stalked toward her, whirling her about with one hand, tearing at her uniform with the other. He kicked her legs out from under her and she fell heavily to the floor. Spock dropped on top of her. He rent the uniform from neck to skirt, laid it back and ripped off her underwear. "Please be gen--" Chapel gasped as Spock rammed himself into her. She tore and bled.
Kneeling between her legs, Spock shoved his hands under Chapel's buttocks and lifted her in order to fit the angle of her vagina more closely to him. The nurse whimpered as he pounded farther and farther into her. "Open your mind!" he commanded, his eyes unfocused, stretching one hand to her temple and digging in with his fingers. He slammed his penis in even harder; Chapel felt it swell again within her. "Open your mind!" Spock swung his other arm to your head. "OPEN YOUR MIND!"
Chapel grabbed onto his biceps. "I'm *trying* to," she cried, shifting under his groin to relieve some of the terrible pain. Above her, Spock's white-circled eyes burned fiercely; his gritted teeth showed. Then, suddenly, there was a painfully hot flood of fluid that seared her from inside and along down her bruised labia; she shrieked and Spock fell heavily onto her.
In the ensuing quiet, Chapel could hear her own heart labor loudly. She struggled out from under her motionless lover, tottered into the bathroom and retrieved a wet towel. With it, she swabbed herself and Spock clean. She drew one of his arms over her neck and dragged him to and into bed. In a moment, she had stripped off the shreds of her uniform and pulled on the negligee; then she dropped onto the bed alongside Spock, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
* * *
When Chapel awoke, the dulled cramp in her womb was drowned a little by a little sun of knowledge in her mind. Spock was hers! Propping herself up on one elbow, she regarded him tenderly. Next time he would be gentler, she knew. Not that he had really meant to hurt her this time. Her hand hovered over his limp, unmoving body. "So long as ye both shall live," she whispered and set her hand down lovingly on his chest.
He was cold.