Living Hell Is the Best Revenge

COPYRIGHT 2005 Jungle Kitty

Star Trek and its characters are the property of Paramount. This not-for-profit piece of fan fiction is not intended to infringe on that ownership. The author's copyright applies only to the creative content and her original characters.

 



Listening to the music that marked the end to another adventure, Kirk smiled with the satisfaction of a man who has faced destiny and defeated it. Again.

This had been a tough one. It couldn't be resolved in the usual hour (with time out for commercial breaks) or even a two-parter filled out with clips from the cutting room floor. But resourceful as ever, Kirk came up with a solution and summoned his top officers to his quarters.

"I'm a doctor, dammit, not a...script doctor," Bones sputtered after Kirk explained his plan.

"Doctor, calm yourself," Spock interjected, cocking an eyebrow simply because he hadn't yet done so that day. "The captain's solution is the only logical answer. If Mr. Scott can calibrate the warp drive to allow such a journey..."

"Aye, I'll manage. I'll have to recircuit the trisonic plot adapter--"

"Captain, I'm receiving a message from Starfleet Command." Uhura's lovely face appeared on the monitor. Kirk stepped up smartly, giving her an eyepopping view of his crotch. "We're ordered to proceed to the next episode, best speed."

"Please check again, Lieutenant. Isn't there some sort of interference?"

"No, sir."

"A busy signal?"

"No, sir."

"Perhaps you spilled a diet soda on the console..."

"Captain, there's nothing wrong with communications!" Uhura snapped.

"Oh, but there is, Lieutenant!" Kirk shifted his weight to re-emphasize the prominence, er, seriousness of his intent. "I think if you'll check the script--"

"I'm writing as fast as I can, dammit!" Bones growled.

"--you'll find that the message was garbled."

"Here!" Bones held up his padd to the screen.

"Oh, yes, I see. Captain, communications are down."

"I'll put Mr. Scott on it...later." He turned to the three men. "Well, gentlemen, are we agreed?"

"Aye, sir, if I can just finish spewing some more technobabble--"

"No time for that, Scotty! Just turn off the Canon Compensator, crank up the Prime Directive Dampers, transfer all power to the Kirklight and follow me."

"All right, Jim, the script's fixed. I'll have Nurse Chapel distribute the revisions to everyone."

"I hope you included something for Mr. Chekov to scream about, Doctor. He has a pay-or-scream clause in his contract."

"What are you, a Vulcan or a producer? Don't worry about it. He'll scream. I'll give him a pop-rocks enema if that's what it'll take."

"Please, Bones," The captain shuddered. "Don't mention rocks."

"Sorry, Jim."

After that, it had been simple. A quick trip through the Guardian of Forever (in an Enterprise shrunk to the size of a Christmas ornament--another of Mr. Scott's miracles) back one hundred years, where disguised as network suits, Kirk and Company had strong-armed Archie and his Pals--

"Hey, the name's Archer!"

Whatever. They'd strong-armed Archer and his pals into annihilating the entire Peepius system. With the marshmallow-demon race destroyed, Kirk had ordered the Enterprise (his Enterprise, the real one--what do you think the O in TOS stands for?) to return to the program already in progress.

"She wouldn't dare violate canon," he explained as he settled into the command chair.

"Captain, history has shown that after a writer has attained a certain level of recognition, no amount of canon can stop her."

"Spock, you said my solution was logical."

"Jim." McCoy placed a sympathetic hand on his captain's arm. "This is television."

"But not as we know it," Spock added. "If you will recall, just last week I laughed and Nurse Chapel had pink hair. In this universe, canon is more flexible than the laws of physics. Even if the writer in question accepts the non-existence of peeps, she still has--"

"KEPTIN! LOOK!" Chekov's voice was hoarse from screaming. He squirmed uncomfortably in his chair because...well, you know.

Kirk took a few steps toward the screen. Stunned at the sight, he stumbled backward and tripped over a sound cable.

"No...It! can't! be!"

Mr. Scott pointed a trembling finger at the screen.

"There be hortas! And tribbles! And PEEPS!"

"Oh my," Kirk murmured.

Everything faded to black...

 



AUTHOR'S NOTE: The author referred to in this story isn't me, honest! It's someone else, someone who has tortured Kirk with hortas, tribbles and peeps, doing much MUCH worse things to him that I would ever think of and...Oh, all right, it's VENTURA! You can find her wonderful stories at Ventura33 Fanfiction.

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