DISCLAIMER: The Star Trek characters are the property of Paramount Studios, Inc. The story contents are the creation and property of Jacqueline Bielowicz and is copyright (c) 1977 by Jacqueline Bielowicz. This story is Rated G. It was originally published in Tal-Shaya #5.
Jackie's Mary Sue
Jacqueline A. Bielowicz
Kirk sat in his heaving chair, his hands clenched tightly on the arms and swearing under his breath. The ion storm had been rattling his ship for over ten ship hours and he was getting very sick of it.
"Mr. Spock, any idea of how much longer this thing is going to last?" he said bitterly.
"Affirmative, Captain," Spock replied calmly. "The storm is peaking now. Within 3.69 hours, the storm should be over."
Even as he spoke, a tremendous jolt ran through the ship and the lights dimmed. The entire crew kept a wary eye on the bulkheads as the sound of strain came from the hull. There was one brief moment when the world turned topsy-turvy and then settled with a sickening re-orientation. Kirk took a quick glance around the control panels, getting a superficial idea of the ship's status
"Captain, we have a problem down here!" Mr. Scott's voice from the intercom was bemused.
"What's the matter, Scotty?"
"You'll never believe it, sir. You had better come down to the transporter and see for yourself."
Kirk didn't waste a minute. "Spock, you come with me! Mr. Sulu, you have the conn."
The turbolift took an eternity, bucking the whole trip. Kirk and Spock hit the transporter room at a full run. Scott was standing behind the control panel, staring at the pad in wonder. Kirk and Spock followed his gaze, Kirk drawing a breath in surprise.
"The girl of my dreams," Kirk thought, fascinated.
She stood 5'4" and about 144 pounds. Her dyed red hair was tightly wound in wire rollers and her face was covered with a cool, light green masque. She was dressed in black maternity slacks (though she was not pregnant) and a red shirt with the sleeves cut off. On her size 8 feet were dingy tennis shoes. She was carrying dirty, greasy rags and her hands were soiled with black, smelly dirt.
"What the hell do you think you are doing? I have to have my oven cleaned before I pick the kid up from school!"
Only then did she seem to notice where she was. She looked around the room, shaking her head. "You could get your floors cleaner if you used Spic 'n' Span," she commented dryly.
"Scotty, what...?" began Kirk, unable to take his eyes from the vision on the dais.
"Well, Captain, I've never used it before, but if the young lady thinks it might work better, I'll
give it a try."
Kirk shot him a hostile glance. "I would rather that you explain how Miss...Miss..."
"*Mrs*. Stefen Transowitz. But, please, call me Frankie. Everyone does. Would you mind telling me where I am, who you are, what you want, and where is the ladies' room? If I don't get this junk off my face, I will have to use a hammer and chisel."
"I'm Captain James T. Kirk. You are aboard the USS Enterprise, though I don't know how you got here."
Spock, who had been running a systems check on the transporter, reported, "Captain, I believe I have found the problem. The ion storm has created some type of time-space displacement and Ms. Transowitz was pulled through to our ship."
Kirk, after discreetly directing the visitor to the head in the transporter room, joined Spock and Scott at the console. "Will we be able to return her??"
"Unlikely, Captain, since we will be losing the impetus of the storm."
"Good ... I mean, keep working on it, Spock."
Frankie came out of the head with the green masque and black gook missing, but her hands were dripping. "Did you turkeys know that your paper towel dispenser was empty? What a way to run a ship!"
"See to it, Mr. Scott!" Kirk ordered. Smiling broadly, he handed the woman a Kleenex from his pocket pack. "Would you like a tour of my ship?"
Not giving her a chance to answer, he whisked her out the door and tucking her arm through his, propelled her through the corridors. Within minutes, they were safely tucked away in his cabin.
"Do you believe in love at first sight, Frankie?" he whispered in her ear, carefully avoiding the rollers. "When I first saw you standing there, your beauty hidden by that masque, your courage in a strange place, your ready wit, I knew that my heart was lost. Just say the word and I will give up my ship for you. I will take you to a hundred different worlds, fill your life with wonder and glory. Say that you will be mine."
"I'm really flattered, er ... what did you say your name was again?"
"Right, Jim. Well, Jim, like I was saying, I'm really flattered, but I already have a husband and frankly, I just don't want to have to get used to another man's bad habits. I'm sure you're a real nice guy, but I'm just not interested. And for God's sake, will you straighten up? Do you want to become stoop-shouldered?"
Jim bravely bit his lip. "But we can still be friends, can't we?"
Kirk's door buzzer sounded and he muffled a curse, then answered, "Come."
Spock entered the room, standing just inside the door. "You are needed on the bridge, sir. Shall I continue Ms. Transowitz' tour?"
Kirk started to refuse, but Frankie exclaimed, "That would be fine. You run along, Jim. I'll see you later."
Kirk hesitated a moment, then bowing to the situation, left to return to the bridge. Spock took Frankie on a real tour of the ship, explaining each area fully. Their final stop was an empty rec room where Spock offered her some refreshment. She took hot tea with 2 sugars and enough cream to change the color and they seated themselves at a table.
Spock braced his elbows on the table-top, steepling his fingers before his face. "I trust that the tour was informative."
Frankie grinned at him. "To tell you the truth, Spock, I understood very little of what you told me. I never understood machines very well. But I like listening to you talk. You know, you have a very sexy voice."
"Speaking of sex, it is a little known fact, but every seven years Vulcan males enter a stage called pon farr. Normally, I just take a lot of cold showers, but since meeting you, I would be honored if you would bond with me."
She could only gape at him, then weakly asked, "Why me?"
"Your honesty, your sensitivity, your knowledge of Plantagenet history, they would add great joy to my life. And, please, don't let the fact that, if you don't bond with me I will die, influence you at all."
Swallowing hard, she replied, "Well, I'll be glad to do you a favor, but I'm afraid it can't be permanent. If I don't get home in time to get Stefen's dinner, he will be late for his night job."
"I am honored to hold you even briefly," he said with a soft leer on his face as he began removing his shirt.
"Spock, you have a hairy chest! I can't make love to a man with a hairy chest. I'm ticklish. Hairy chests always make me gigglel"
"Then we will giggle together," he answered struggling to remove his boot.
The door zipped open and Dr. McCoy strode in. "My God, Spock, are you like that again? It is disgusting how short the Vulcan year is. Besides, you know the rules. All new passengers must have a physical. Now get dressed and return to duty. I'll take care of Frankie now."
Gratefully, Frankie went with the doctor, leaving a heart-broken Spock. McCoy continued his grousing as they went to the sickbay.
"Personally, I'm beginning to think that 'seven year itch' of his is just a glorified line he hands out to susceptible women."
Frankie, panting a little from their speedy walk, mused, "Maybe you are just a little jealous of him, Doctor."
"ME !? Jealous of that pointy-earred...!?"
"Exactly. You're jealous of those gorgeous ears. But if you like then so well, why don't you get an ear job?"
McCoy was silent for about ten steps. "You are right. If the women would run after me like they do him, I would just die. How wise you are, Frankie, to cut right to the heart of the matter."
They entered a very crowded sickbay. McCoy roared, "What is going on here?"
A harried Christine Chapel rushed up to him. "Oh, Doctor, there has been an outbreak of some unknown ship-wide plague. The crew is dropping like flies and we have run every test in the book. There is absolutely nothing in our computers that seems to work. It looks like the Enterprise is doomed."
McCoy was stunned. "In fifteen minutes? Did you try...?"
"We tried that," a weeping Christine answered.
"We tried that too. There is nothing left."
"Did you try chicken soup?" Frankie interposed.
They both looked at her blankly. "That's what I give my kids every time they are sick and it perks them right up."
McCoy was openly doubtful. "Dispense it, Chapel."
"But, Doctor, it has never been used on a starship."
"Do it, Christine. This calls for desperate measures. We have no time to run tests."
The chicken soup was dialed up and administered to all patients. Within minutes, they were all sitting up, complaining of boredom. Frankie went around the wards, handing out construction paper and blunt-nosed scissors. Soon, all the patients were resting and busily cutting out funny shapes.
McCoy caught Frankie, wrapping his arms around her. "You did it! You are a miracle worker! Marry me. With you beside me, we can work together to open new frontiers in medical science."
Kirk and Spock came into the room just in time to hear his proposal. Immediately, all three men began arguing over who was going to get her, scuffling in the heat of the moment. No one noticed that Frankie had fallen to the floor until Spock stepped on her hand and she moaned. McCoy dropped to his knees, running his scanner over her.
"Bones, what is it?" Kirk was anguished.
"She is dying, Jim. The stresses of this time period are just too much for her."
Together, they lifted her and placed her gently on a bed. Chapel, tears running down her face, removed some of the rollers from Frankie's hair so her head would rest comfortably. Frankie lay with her eyes closed and her hands clasped over her breast.
"Doctor, am I dying?" she murmured softly.
"Yes, Frankie. I can do nothing to save you, my wonderful girl."
Kirk laid his hand across her clasped hands. "What will we do without you, Frankie? Don't leave us. We need you."
"Well, hell, Jim, I don't want to die. If you want to be of some help, tell this jive turkey to come up with a cure. I haven't even finished out this semester yet and the school certainly won't give me a refund this late."
She gasped as pain rippled through her tormented body. She struggled for air, fighting to speak one more time. " Remind Scotty ... of ... the Spic 'n...Span."
Her body slumped as the death rattle gurgled in her throat. Before their eyes, her body slowly disappeared and was gone. Chapel wailed and ran off to grieve in private. The three men stood staring at the empty bed, refusing to accept the fact she was gone. McCoy reached over to the stand and picked up three of the hair rollers.
"She is gone, gentlemen, and this is all we have left to remind us of the greatest person in all history."
He solemnly handed them each one roller, then turned and walked into his office and the comfort of the hidden bottle of Saurian Brandy. Kirk and Spock tightly grasped their mementos. Finally Kirk spoke brokenly,
"Come on, Spock. We have a ship to run. That is what she would want us to do."
Silently, the two friends returned to their empty lives as the ship lurched in the throes of the dying storm.