Title: The Ensign and His Red Shirt
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: the Bridge crew
Summary: Crack!fic, most likely. Jim’s crew knows how to avert disaster in every situation.
A/N: This started with a simple line about Jim’s face (after I looked at a gorgeous portrait of Chris Pine), veered into strange territory then hurled itself right off the cliff of sanity. My apologies! Several allusions to TOS.

James T. Kirk has a face others would kill for. It shouldn’t be surprising then that someone did, in fact, try to kill him for his face.

When asked his opinion, Chekov shuddered. “Do you know of the Cookie Monster? Da, it vas like that—only with faces.”

Commander Spock refused to comment on the matter. In lieu of answering even a single question, he called the ship’s security for removal of all unauthorized personnel from Deck B.

Click.

A man turns the now-silent recorder over in his hand. “Is that all you have?” he asks.

“Yes, sir.”

Disgusted, he drops the recorder onto the table. “It’s not enough for a story, Rodriguez. We need more details. Hell, we need more drama if we’re to make a dime!”

“I don’t know what a dime is, sir.”

The man waves away the comment. “It’s an old sayin’.” Thoughtfully, he unearths a large cigar, lights it, and sticks it in the corner of his mouth. “Now,” the man continues, “what else do you got? A love affair?”

“Sir…?”

A fist comes down on the table. “Anything involving Kirk, damn it! Brightest, youngest captain in the whole god-damned ‘Fleet, and you want to sell me a story about face-munching monsters? Bah! Klingons are scarier—and our political enemies. Now that’s a story worth printing!”

Rodriguez hesitates, reaches into his jacket pocket and finally presents another recorder. “I made other notes, sir, about a… Gorn?”

“Gorn?” puffs the man around his cigar. “What’s a Gorn?”

“It looks like, um, a giant lizard. An alien forced Kirk and the Gorn into a contest.”

The man squints one eye. “You saying Kirk fought Godzilla?”

“It wasn’t that large, sir.”

“Bah.” The man shifts in his chair, unhappy. “What else?”

“I-I don’t really h-have anything else…”

“We planted you on that ship six months ago, and you didn’t get a single good story? Damn it, Rodriguez! What the blast were you doing?”

Rodriguez straightens slightly, affronted at the implication that he was lazy. “Surviving, sir.”

That gave his boss pause.

“You put me in engineering.” Rodriguez pauses. “They wear red shirts, sir.”

The man takes his cigar out of his mouth. “What are you going on about, son? I enlisted you for janitor duty.” He chuckles, pleased with his brilliance. “Haha, nobody hears more than a janitor!”

Rodriguez looks surprised. “But… but, sir… I was told to report directly to Engineering. How could someone mistake a janitor for an engineer? ” His eyes un-focus as he relives a horrific memory. “I-I don’t understand. I almost died down there, several times!”

Grimly, the boss rises from his chair and puts a firm hand on Rodriguez’s shoulder. “I understand perfectly. We’ve been found out—somebody on that ship knew who you really were.”

Rodriguez pales.

“And that,” the older man finishes, “bodes ill for the poor soul we just sent as your replacement.”

~~~

“Ensign.”

A man, bright-eyed and fairly grinning to be aboard the Enterprise, stills in the middle of a corridor and half-turns at the unspoken command. A Vulcan shadow looms over him. Spock deftly produces a PADD from behind his back and examines its screen. “State your name, ensign.”

The young man does so, not faltering once for he has been well-trained in the art of espionage.

The Vulcan’s eyebrow lifts as his PADD displays the ensign’s orders . “Most interesting.” Whatever else he might have said is interrupted by a hailing of “Mr. Spock!”

The Enterprise’s Chief Engineer joins them. “Mr. Spock, the Captain’ll be looking for you shortly. He’s had his fill of tinkering in my department.”

“Your warning is appreciated, Mr. Scott.”

Scotty, as nicknamed by the captain, nods. “I’ll be heading back now—och, who’s this?”

Spock holds the engineer’s eyes for a moment. “A new transfer. Uhura notified me of his arrival.”

“Ayyye.” The ensign is given a critical once-over by Mr. Scott. “I suppose he’s been… assigned?”

“It seems there was a computer error. His assignment manifest is blank.”

“Sir?” the ensign blinks, uncomprehending.

“Ah, a most unusual occurrence, Mr. Spock. Have ye fixed the error yet?”

Spock quickly inputs something into the PADD. “I believe Mr. Chekov would be better suited to address the error than I as he designed the program. Ensign,” he says without looking up, “you are to report to the Engineering department.”

The ensign—that is, the reporter—looks confused. “Engineering?”

Mr. Scott beams. “Welcome to the team, lad!” He doesn’t wait for a response and steers the young man in the direction of a turbolift. “We’ll swing by Requisitions to pick up your uniform. How do ye feel about the color red?”

Spock watches the ensign follow Mr. Scott, not unlike a lamb to the slaughter. His attention is diverted when a cheerful voice from the opposite direction calls his name.

“Captain?” The science officer turns to his approaching superior and also acknowledges the captain’s companion. “Mr. Sulu.”

Sulu nods. “We’re headed to the Bridge, Mr. Spock.”

“As am I,” Spock says, tucking his PADD against his side.

“Great. I’m certain Bones is tired of sitting in the Captain’s chair by now” is Jim Kirk’s response.

Spock makes no comment about McCoy being left in charge of the Enterprise. Experience has taught him the value of silence.

Jim continues obliviously as they traverse the corridor, “Have you seen Scotty, Spock? We had plans to take a look at the specs for Daystrom’s new M-5 protocol, and he suddenly remembered something he had to pick up.”

“I did encounter Mr. Scott several minutes ago,” Spock admits. “He appeared to be en route to Engineering.”

Sulu’s eyes sparkle as he slips into the turbolift beside Kirk. “Then he must have found what he was looking for.”

Spock nods ever-so-slightly in Sulu’s direction. “We must assume he did.”

Sulu smirks.

Jim is bemused. “Am I missing something?”

“No, Captain,” the pilot assures him.

Jim tells the lift to take them to the Bridge. “There are times,” he says, looking neither left nor right, “that I am smart enough not to ask.”

“A wise course of action, sir,” Spock murmurs.

The lift opens onto the Bridge and an irascible McCoy. “I have more important things to do, Captain, than to play seat-warmer for you!”

“Of course, Bones,” Jim replies, unperturbed. “Dismissed.”

Muttering under his breath and giving the appearance of preoccupation, Leonard McCoy vacates the chair and skirts along the upper level of the Bridge. As he detours by Spock’s console he wants to know, asking in a low tone, “Did you get ‘im?”

Spock diligently skims his computer screen. “The matter is taken care of, Doctor.”

McCoy glances at Kirk, who is listening intently to a report from Chekov. “Good. Keep me apprised.”

“Affirmative.”

Uhura catches McCoy’s eyes as he departs for the lift and smiles briefly. Thereafter she annouces somewhat loudly to the man in charge, “Captain, we have a message from Starfleet.”

Kirk swivels to face his communications officer, eyes alight. “Priority?”

“One, sir.”

The suppressed excitement on his face sends a chill along every human spine on the Bridge. Spock, for his part, merely accesses the message, reads it, and relays the coordinates to Chekov’s station. “Captain,” he intones from his seat, “should we proceed?”

“With all due haste, Mr. Spock.” Kirk presses the button on the arm of his chair that routes communication to one of his favorite departments. “Bridge to Engineering.”

“Scott here.”

“Command has a new mission for us. We’ll need all hands on deck, Scotty.”

“Got the ‘red alert’, Capt’n?”

Kirk doesn’t answer. He doesn’t need to.

“Aye” comes the amused sound of Mr. Scott’s voice. “Don’t you worry, sir, we’ve got you covered. We’re well-staffed doun here!” The Chief Engineer cuts communication then, mid-maniacal laughter. In the background someone had been saying, “Sir, is this the sonic screwdriver?”

Chekov looks at Sulu. Sulu glances back at Uhura. Uhura sighs and makes a resigned face at Spock. Her fingers are already flying across her keyboard, composing a discrete message to Sickbay that forewarns of disaster.

Kirk gives the command to set them in motion. “Warp factor four, Mr. Sulu!”

Thus off they go—the Enterprise, her crew, and an ill-fated reporter in his brand new red shirt. What happens to him is an unfortunate story that never makes it to print… nor for any of the red-shirted reporters who are to follow in his footsteps. Rodriguez will become the sole survivor to tell the tale and, quite wisely, he will never say a word of what really happens aboard a starship.

-Fini

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