DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Paula Smith and is copyright (c) 1976 by Paula Smith. This story is Rated R. Originally printed in Menagerie #9, 1976, boojums Press.

What Henoch Did

Paula Smith

"They're gone," said Dr. Mulhall regretfully.

"Yes," Captain Kirk replied, stepping down onto the captain's level of the bridge. "Sargon and Thalassa are -- well, let's say they've shuffled off this mortal coil." He lowered himself into his chair and gazed thoughtfully at the screen, while Dr. McCoy slid around the command seat to join Spock on Kirk's right. "They'll never be our teachers, never show us the wonders they knew," Kirk continued. Turning to the doctor, "They were so advanced, Bones, so far ahead of us, it's incredible. So advanced, I can't even -- grasp -- the memories Sargon left me."

"I felt the same way, Captain," Mulhall put in. "I remember the things Thalassa did in my body, but I cannot understand -- grasp -- her personal thoughts."

"All that knowledge, lost," Kirk mused sadly.

"Well, I'm just happy that you're not lost," McCoy said acidly. "And just to make sure you're not, I want to run a check-up on the three of you. Right now!" He shoved Kirk from the chair and herded him, Mulhall and Spock to the elevator.

"Doctor, I believe you enjoy the role of martinet," Spock commented, while Kirk directed Lt. Uhura to take the conn.

"Except when I get a lot of backtalk, you part-time, pointed-eared corpse. March!" McCoy pushed at Spock's back with his fingertips and grabbed Kirk by the upper arm, dragging him along.

"You know, Mr. Spock, I agree with you. He definitely seems to be enjoying himself," Kirk said, giving in to the doctor. Dr. Mulhall ducked her head to suppress her smile, and the four crowded into the lift.

* * *

"Well, considering that your bodies have been operating at a metabolic rate equivalent to that of a hungry shrew for four days, your minds have been encased in these plastic spheres, and two of you were dead for a while, you're all in pretty good shape," said McCoy dryly, checking off the test results, as Kirk, the last examined, jumped from his perch on the table. "Mentally, physically, and -- begging your pardon, Spock -- emotionally."

"Except that I have no knowledge of the events of the past four days," Spock objected.

McCoy pursed his mouth and stared out over the slate into the middle distance. "Mmmyess. You took the scenic route getting back to your body."

"Imprecise, Doctor, but essentially true. When Sargon and the Captain passed each other when Sargon finally exited his body, and when Thalassa and Dr. Mulhall exchanged consciousnesses for the last time, they acquired the aliens' memories of their bodies' actions in the passage."

Mulhall nodded. "That is correct."

Spock folded his arms and continued. "But I passed Henoch only once--going into the sphere, so I was unable to warn you of Henoch's intentions. Hence, I know nothing of what has occurred to my body the past four days. Captain, Doctors," Spock glanced at each of them in turn, "while in my body -- what did Henoch do?"

"Well, he did the same things the others did," McCoy said, shrugging. Then asked, "Didn't he?" when Kirk and Mulhall looked at each other doubtfully.

"Well, he didn't work on the androids with us very much. He was in the labs most of the time," Kirk said slowly from behind his hand.

"He talked with Thalassa alone a few times, when he tempted her to keep my body," Mulhall thought back. "But he didn't help much in the actual construction of the androids. He was usually in the labs. I suppose he was in the labs. Wasn't he?"

"I don't know," said Kirk, dumbfounded.

Spock looked troubled. "Captain, with your permission, I should like to be free to trace 'my' actions of the recent past. May I be exempt from duty until I complete my investigation?"

"Certainly," Kirk replied, dismissing the Vulcan with a wave of his hand. Spock left.

"Doctor, may I return to my post now?" Dr. Mulhall asked, sidling toward the door.

"Same here, Bones." Kirk strode towards the exit. McCoy stopped him. "Captain, can you say a minute? You can go, Doctor, if you want," he said to Mulhall, who nodded in thanks and left.

"What is it, Bones?" asked Kirk.

McCoy folded his hands behind his back, looking uncomfortable, and did not meet the Captain's eyes. "Well, it isn't too important, and I didn't want to say anything earlier because the condition was pretty slight and fading even as I examined him--"

"Doctor, get to the point," Kirk interrupted impatiently.

"Well, according to the monitors -- and maybe it was even an effect of that metabolic agent, I don't know -- but I'd say that in the past few days Spock had been -- 'aroused'." With the last word, McCoy stared at the captain significantly.

Kirk stared back deadpan. "'Aroused'?"

McCoy nodded idiotically. "'Aroused'."

The captain shut his eyes and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Then finally he spoke. "Bones--"


Kirk looked up worriedly. "What do you suppose Henoch did do?"

* * *

Spock went directly to his state room from the Sickbay, repeating over and over in his mind the Vulcan blocking technique, trying to cut off the residue of Nurse Chapel's undisciplined mind from his thoughts. He managed to contain the last of the unruly, emotional impulses satisfactorily just as he stepped out of the elevator at Deck 5. The next bit of business, he decided, was a shower; apparently, Henoch didn't bathe as often as Spock preferred. Then he would meditate, and incidentally bring his metabolism back to normal. His senses were behaving most irregularly. For instance, Spock thought as he entered into his quarters, the room smells extremely musty. It is unlikely that Henoch could have caused such a pronounced odor simply through a short inhabitation, therefore my olfactory nerves must be out of balance, most likely because of the metabolic catalyst.

Spock went directly to the tiny bathroom, making his way past unidentifiable debris on the floor by the dull light of the firepot. Whatever Henoch had done, he had not been neat about it; Spock's methodical soul was offended.

In the cramped head, after he had dialed on the lights, the Vulcan's attention was diverted from the odd items of grooming and dress slopped in and dangling from the opened sink, to the bright red words scrawled on the mirror, apparently with lipstick. It read: "There was a young girl from Sol III / Who was raped by a Vegan E.T. / The result was quite horrid / All tail and no forehead / Three legs and a purple goatee."

Spock stared for a moment at this indication of how Henoch had spent at least some of his time in the Vulcan's body, then he turned around abruptly and began undressing for the shower, intending to deal with the poem later. He folded his uniform neatly onto the commode, set his boots beside it, stepped into the shower stall, and turned on the infrasonic waves. The grime and old cells powdered on his epidermis as usual, and flaked off as rapidly as ever, but Spock perceived a distinctly not normal stinging sensation up and down his back. He peered over his shoulder and saw scratches--long, green, shallow, fingernail-shaped, undeniable scratches--criss-crossing his shoulder blade and extending, as far as he could tell, down to and across his buttocks. With un-Vulcan haste, he snapped off the sonics, scrambled out of the stall, nearly tripping, and scrutinized the welts on his back with the aid of the versified mirror. The question to be answered, of course, was who had done it. Spock was almost afraid he might find out.

But determined to find out more exactly just what Henoch had been doing, Spock, still undressed, wandered out into the main room. There, by the combined lights from the bathroom and firepot, the room was seen as a shambles. A decade tapes littered the table, clothes were strewn all about, the chess structure was lying to one side on the floor; Spock picked it up -- and discovered the chess pieces had been cemented to the boards ... in an illegal position, too. He set the stand on the table resignedly and looked into the sleeping area. Odd things draped his artifacts, odiferous trash was piled in a corner, and the bed was hidden beneath a messy bundle of sheets. In human terminology, Henoch had been a real slob. Spock propped his fists on his hips, deciding where to start the clean-up.

The bed giggled.

As the oversized pile of sheets humped about, Spock regarded the coming apparition with an even-for-him dead expression. The covers peeled back as a black, pretty, but unfamiliar face poked out from the pillow end and smirked lewdly. Her frizzy black hair formed a rumpled halo as she slid out from under bed-clothes, tugged her red chiffon nightie into place, and stalked Spock, who was still just standing there naked, in a manner the first officer understood to be a part of the human mating sequence. She was very short and had to stretch in order to wrap her arms around the back of Spock's neck. Even as she did, she quickly swarmed up his body, twining her legs about his waist, getting a better hold on his neck, and planted a big, wet kiss on his mouth. "Henoch," she breathed into his ear, "I've been waiting for you."

"Miss," Spock, at a loss, began, trying to unravel her various hammerlocks and not doing too well, wincing as she fluttered her tongue in his ear. "Miss, this can only lead to our mutual disappointment."

She jerked back and looked at him puzzledly. Spock, barely maintaining their common balance, explained, "I am not Henoch."

The woman's eyes popped in astonishment, and she gasped out, "Oh, Mister--Mister Spock?! Oh, I'm so sorry!" as she scrambled down from her perch. "I-I don't know what to say. I-I mean, I'm sorry!" She shot a guilty glance at Spock's pubic area, hastily looked away, and stammered, "I -- well, we -- the crew, I mean -- all knew that Henoch was -- supposed to -- uh--" She couldn't help peeking at the Vulcan's anatomy again, which led Spock to surmise that their communication would be greatly enhanced if he put some trousers on.

Still stammering her apologies, his unexpected boarder followed him halfway to the bureau, then spun around and ran back into the bedroom to snatch up her uniform. Spock turned up the lights in the main room; he got a spare tunic and pair of trousers out of the drawers and began dressing. While he was pulling on the pants, the young lady, clutching her blue tunic to her front, tried to sneak past him to the door. "Ensign," he called out, for he noticed the lack of braid on the sleeves, and she stopped.

"Parham, sir. Technician Second Class Josilyn Parham," she said nervously, pressing her blue tunic even closer to her chest. "I work in the Biophysics lab, sir."

"Ensign Parham, you are then aware of Henoch's action while inhabiting my physical being," Spock said calmly, his dignity restored with his clothes.

Parham dipped her head. "Yes, sir. Which one was that?"

Spock came as close as he ever got to exasperation. "No, Ensign. What are all the things Henoch did while he, so to speak, wore my body?"

"Uh--" The little technician's scared eyes shifted rapidly between the science officer and the door. Spock turned and walked to the desk. "Ensign," he said gravely, "I would be appreciative if you were to stay and tell me of Henoch's deeds during the past few days. I have no memories at all of that time. You are apparently conversant with his affairs--" here Parham choked "--and could help me a great deal. You may put your uniform on, if you like," he finished generously.

"Y-yessir," Parham stuttered and hightailed back into the bedroom. Spock philosophically turned to the scattered tapes, picking up several of the square plastic slabs, but finding on them no clue to their content.

"One thing I do know," came the ensign's voice from behind the grid separating the rooms, "Henoch spent a lot of time recording things. And once he said he was going to do something dedicated to you -- to the real you, y'know -- I guess to say what he's doin'." There were various rustles and thumps as she changed clothes.

"Indeed," Spock answered. He slid the tape in his hand into the view slot. The screen did not light up, but from the speaker came his own voice reciting, "The handsome young natives of Venus / Have a three foot retractable penis / The women of Earth / All contend for--" He shut it off.

Spock stared at the viewer, then sat down and advanced the playback mechanism on the tape while Parham returned from behind the wall, combing out her hair with her fingers. This time he hit one in the middle. "--She knew many stunts / With the two of her cunts / For instance, with one, she could sing."

"Oh, heh, you found the limericks." Parham smiled sheepishly, her teeth bright against her dark skin.

"Limericks," Spock stated flatly, not taking his eyes off the viewer.

"Oh, yes, Henoch could make up a limerick just like that--" she snapped her fingers. "Henoch was a really strange john." She shook her head.

"He wrote the one on the mirror, I presume?" Spock raised his right eyebrow at Parham.

"No, he wrote it, but Jani Morriera put it on the mirror. That was the night we--" She broke up in a fit of giggles.

"The night you did what, Ensign?" Spock prompted.

"The night we -- he -- we sacrificed a laboratory rat to Yag-Suggoth, the Toilet God!" She finished the sentence in a rush and dissolved into a series of burbles, snorts, and high-pitched squeaks that was evidently poorly suppressed laughter. "Henoch was the High Priest. Oh, you were funny!" She broke down again at the memory.

Spock shut his eyes for a moment. Then he began pushing through the tapes, saying, "One of these must be the tape you mentioned." He grabbed one at random and switched it with the first one.

"A nympho named Katie McManus / Had a very good time on Uranus--" Spock hurriedly advanced the tape. "--This powerful tonic / Made his farts supersonic / And blasted--" And again. "--On her tits was the price of her tail / For the sake of the blind / Just above her behind / Was the same information in Brai--" He pulled that tape out.

Parham was calmer now, but still grinning to see her ranking officer so confounded by his own voice. She chortled and said, "Then there was the time you set fire to Yeoman Hendly's uniform -- she wasn't in it -- and wouldn't give her any other clothes, so she had to sneak back to crew country half-naked." She guffawed. "She's still madder'n a castrated Klingon at you for that."

"Ensign Parham," Spock said painedly, trying another tape ("The natives of Sirius B / Excrete--"), "That was not I. Please remember that."

The Terran immediately sobered. "Yessir. I'm sorry. I-I will." There was silence broken only by the tapes clacking in and out of place and chattering their ribald versicles. "The lecherous men of Altair / Fuck sitting up straight in a chair--"; "The lovelife of Regulan creatures / Has several curious--"; and "A near-sighted woman named Dinah--"

Finally Spock pulled out the last tape ("To fuck in freefall--") without finding anything he considered useful. "I believe I have a sufficiently accurate general idea of what Henoch did in my absence; the details are not relevant. However, Ensign, are you acquainted with any pertinent incidents? And how many people knew of Henoch's activities?"

Parham looked down and scraped her left boot slowly. "Well, there were only -- about ten of us that fooled around with him... There was nothing else ... except where you -- I mean, he -- almost drowned."

Spock raised his eyebrow again. "Indeed? What had happened?"

Parham spoke very reluctantly. "Well, we were all swimming and y-- he ran into the poolroom wearing his boots but otherwise -- uh -- unclothed, screaming--" She faltered. Spock waited.

"--Screaming, 'I am the bastard King of England!' Then he fell in and couldn't swim and we hadda haul him out, that's all. Sir." She fell to inspecting her nails.

"I see. That will be all, Ensign," Spock announced, standing up.

The tech backed up. "If I, or any of the other girls -- or -- or -- Roger -- think of anything--"

"I don't believe that that will be necessary, Ensign. You may go." She nodded briefly and scurried out.

Spock surveyed the wreckage of his habitat and sighed mentally. He would have a lot to meditate about. Among other things, he hoped the chalked Vulcanur obscenities could be removed from the wall completely. Slowly, he walked over to the firepot and gingerly picked off the red and the blue panties draped over it. He straightened the art objects on the shelves, noting with vague dismay that one was sticky, and rearranged the loose bed covers. A bound book was revealed on the floor; he picked it up and read the title without surprise. The Kama Sutra. However, serving as a bookmark at pages 108-9 was a tape labeled "To Commander Spock, in the event of his return."

Spock pulled out the tape and quickly walked to the viewer. He slid the tape into place and sat down as the viewer lighted up this time, with a tiny simulacrum of himself at his desk. "Commander Spock," the image began, "whose body I have borrowed, whose face I wear." Henoch appeared to be a perfectly normal Vulcan.

"Perhaps my plans for tomorrow will fail, and I will be unable to keep this body. If so, if you do regain your physical self, I imagine you would appreciate an account of my stay. I suppose I would owe you that much; this is a very good body. So I will tell you just what I am doing, and intend to do, with it as succinctly as I can."

He paused, then grinned ferally and began reciting, "There once was a Vulcan named Spock--"