Captain Kirk and his crew are set for Gamma Hydra Five-oh-Five, perhaps the most boring voyage during the five-year mission. But much to the bridge crew’s surprise, Starfleet retains a Captain’s clause that allows Kirk to impose the most unusual training session. No, this isn’t the Kobiashi Maru. It’s worse. It’s Captain Kirk’s Playtime. And if you’re on the Enterprise Bridge, you gotta play!
Captain James Tiberius Kirk sat on his throne, the center seat of the bridge, aboard the Starship Enterprise. Regal, strong, tough, Kirk embodied the qualities of the finest captain in the fleet. His crew was busy with routine tasks while on route to Gamma Hydra Five-Five. They performed their duties admirably, as usual, Kirk thought. But something was amiss. Kirk sat there, with his right leg wagging like a bored child gazing into the wide open view screen, a lookout to the stars. Those boring, goddamn stars.
Uhura had taken the night off as no communications officer was needed for this mission. The long, boring trek to Gamma Hydra Five-Five was a shoe-in. Still, Spock found some busy work as busy, smart Vulcans often do. Scotty worked alongside Ensign Smits on some radiation levels they found disconcerting. The boys – Sulu and Checkov – obediently fulfilled their posts like dutifully Starfleet officers; clicking buttons, turning dials and occasionally looking at the screen to make sure their ship stayed on the straight and narrow.
But Kirk. Kirk just kept wagging his foot like an impudent child, unhappy with the present state of affairs. And as each moment passed, he found it harder and harder to gaze at the passing stars on the view screen. The Captain was bored and everyone knew it. They hoped he would leave his captain’s chair and, in turn, leave them to the carry out their routine tasks.
“Okay,” Kirk said, clapping his hands. “Everyone. Stop what you’re doing. We’re going to play a game.”
“A game captain?” Sulu said, arching his back enough to make little side-eye contact with Kirk. This can’t be happening, Sulu thought. Not again. Not again!
“Yes,” Kirk shot back, “A game. I’m bored and we need to liven up.”
Sulu shot a desperate glance to Checkov who in turn looked back at Kirk with a curled lip that spoke to mild traumas that resulted from bored Captains. Scotty kept working as if he didn’t hear anything; just flicking his buttons, looking at the viewscreen and hoping his command status as Chief Engineer meant he didn’t have to play this sordid, little game. He glanced over to Spock, the only other commanding officer, to see if he kept working too.
Kirk clapped his hands again. Much louder than the first. “I said stop what you’re doing. We’re playing a game and that’s final.”
“But Captain,” replied Scotty, “You canna expect me to get the radiation formula just right if I we don’t modulate the – .”
“Scotty,” Kirk retorted, “How much more time do you need?”
“A couple of hours at least.”
“This’ll only take a couple of minutes. You’re playing.”
Scotty sighed. Kirk motioned him to come over. Scotty shot a “Daddy please don’t make me” look. Kirk kept motioning his hand, giving Scotty, “Don’t make me ask again” look. But then Spock turned off his instruments and turned to the Captain. It was official. This was happening. Scotty complied therafter.
“What are we playing, Keptin,” asked Chekov, “Is it Fizbinn?”
Sulu gulped. He knew it wasn’t. Rather, it was a game – if you want to call it that – called Captain’s Playtime. Some grueling ad hoc training session commanders imposed on their crew during dull moments on a mission. They were usually painful if not downright humiliating.
“Gentleman,” Spock finally cut in, “The Captain has given us a direct order.”
Kirk, bemused, slid to the edge of his seat. Readying for some hot-trilithium fun. Both Sulu and Checkov finger-clicked on some hard, multi-coloured buttons and turned to face Kirk with the most stoicism they could muster. Scotty and Ensign Smits joined in.
“So, we’re going to play,” Kirk contorted his face in the way only Kirk could do, an exaggerated flex of muscle with sweat and dramatic eye-work pointing upwards as if suffering from a hard case of Memory Alpha breakdown. His fingers entangled together, tightly, like a contortionism gone bad in some deranged zero-gravity holodeck. Sulu stretched his spine to the limit, anticipating the worst, while wondering why this time-honoured tradition wasn’t slated for some desperate retrofit.
“Vulcan musical chairs,” Kirk finally said.
Spock raised his eyebrows, as if half-curious and half-irate over his commanding officer’s cultural insensitivity.
“Captain,” Spock explained, “There is no such thing as ‘Vulcan Musical Chairs’”.
The bridge crew shifted in their seats. If Spock’s pre-game strategy wasn’t on par, then the rest of them would be forced to endure Kirk’s playtime. And Vulcan musical chairs sounded…painful.
“Nonsense,” Kirk said, “It’s Vulcan-inspired not Vulcan-made. It’s really quite simple, everyone gets up…”
Everyone looked to Kirk with helpless, innocent eyes.
“Everyone gets up,” Kirk insisted.
They got up, one at a time, with Spock standing the most stoic. Sulu rubbed his hands as if stoking the competitive wit needed to win the game. Chekov gawked at them all for being so weak-willed to follow along with this charade. The finest ship in the fleet! Scotty and Smits stood solid, ready to take on their rest of the bridge crew if necessary.
“I’m going to clap my hands,” Kirk said, “There’s five of you and everyone is going to rotate around three chairs with the last two remaining fighting for the chance to stay in the game.”
“Explain Captain,” Spoke said slowly, “What do you mean by “fighting”?”
“Sir,” Sulu interjected, “Are you suggesting that the remaining two give each other the Vulcan nerve pinch to see who wins?”
Kirk smiled.
“Well that canna be Starfleet regulations, Captain!” Scotty yelled. “Not even for Playtime!”
“Captain,” Spock straightened, “I must protest-”
“Nonsense!” Kirk rebuked, “You’re all grown men. Who can’t take a little muscle strain for a few days or more?”
Sulu desperately shot a glance to Spock. He returned it with Chekov looking down with his eyes half-closed. He played this game before. It was brutal.
“Get into positions!” Spock yelled aloud, “That’s an order!”
Spock, Sulu and Chekov placed three chairs in front of Kirk. Standing in front of Kirk, the men gathered their wits, their hands behind their back in casual business style. Kirk looked at them. My men, he thought with a smile. I love my men. Then back to the game:
“Okay, ready?” Kirk said.
“Ready,” they replied.
Kirk drew his captain hands close and finally clapped into a steady, but slow beat. He grinned with pride. A commanding officer and his well-trained crew in a desperate battle for a seat on the bridge. His bridge. This is going to be awesome!
Instantly, everyone circled around the captain in true Starfleet form. Their arms extended and their eyes fixed on their prey; each poised to fight for to stay on the game. Knowing that the last two would be forced into a painful Vulcan duel they wouldn’t forget for another many stardates.
Kirk’s clapping quickened.
The men circled each other with greater gusto, some wide-eyed, like Ensign Smits, obviously new to Playtime. He was the first to break a sweat. The officers were going to pulverize him. He’s just a wee bit Ensign who got on the ship a month ago.
Kirk’s clapping got even harder, faster even somewhat maniacal. Never had the crew seen Spock so focused since the Pon Farr debacle with Jim. Vulcans never lost Playtime. They were skilled competitors. This was written on Spock’s stoic, ruthless face.
Then, it stopped. The clapping ended. The men rushed for a seat. First, Spock. Then Scotty. Then Chekov. Only Sulu and Smits remained.
In a half-beat, Sulu raised his finger and squeezed hard against Smits’ right shoulder. Smits winced hard with both wrists gnarled tight until his eyes rolled to the back of his head. Smits clumped to the floor. The onlookers gasped in quiet except for Scotty who glared at the sight.
But Sulu stood tall. Not saying a word. He did what he had to do and everyone knew it. It was Playtime. Everyone looked at each other, as if counting the bodies for some scorecard. Kirk grinned. Happy, but disappointed too. Sulu was indeed a force to contend with. Smits, on the other hand, had a lot to learn.
Kirk maintain his mischievous glare towards his helmsman as Smits climbed back to his original seat by engineering. He lowered his head to the console, shook it for a second and breathed rhythmically to reduce the pain.
Scotty gave Kirk a double-shot of disgust. Well, Jim, lad, he thought, Aren’t you a brutal bastard.
“Okay,” Kirk said, “Once again. Remove a chair and let’s start again. It’ll be over soon folks. You’re doing great.”
The men got up. Spock removed one of the chairs leaving only two this time. Kirk clapped again, slowly, while the men circled around each other for the fight. Scotty, now inspired to win, glared at the Vulcan, thinking he could take on the leader of the pack. Spock, on the other hand, remained cold and decisive. Not a single shred of sympathy for Chief Engineer Scott.
The clapping got louder, harder, more maniacal. Just like last time. Smits glared at Captain Kirk. The captain stopped clapping. Smits pivoted to the men.
Only Chekov and Scotty remained. Chekov lunged for the engineer who, in turn, quickly countered the shove. The two men locked in battled, circled each other as if in stellar tango for their lives. Chekov got his shoulder! He winced hard, summoning more strength to his pinch. But Scotty summoned a darker energy within him, reserved only for those special Starfleet moments where death was a dish best served cold on the other bastard’s replicated plate.
Chekov fell, screaming in panic. Scotty stood tall, barely able to keep himself standing. Sulu looked up to Spock and gulped as if pleading to the Vulcan to show him mercy when his time would come. Kirk winced at the sight as if perturbed by Chekov’s girlish scream. He looked away. Chekov finally wrestled himself up, heaving hard, trying to restore whatever manliness he just lost to the Chief Engineer. Chekov sat meekly beside Smits, unaware of Kirk’s smile beaming from the command chair. Nice kids, Kirk thought. Room to grow though.
“Well gentleman,” Kirk said, “And then there were three.” He gestured the numbers with his fingers, got ready to clap again until –
“Captain, might I suggest –” Spock tried, but Kirk motioned him to silence.
“Remove a chair,” Kirk intoned with one finger now, “That’s an order.”
The men got up. Again, Spock removed a chair. But for a moment, Kirk got distracted. He looked to the viewscreen, half-concentrating on the stars and half-remembering past Playtime moments. The memories could last forever.
Kirk brushed it off. Hardened his face. Clapped again. Hard. With gusto. The men sighed. Got up. Chekov looked on as did Smits. The rhythm picked up. With force. The men positioned themselves for battle. The clapping happened faster now, harder and maniacal again, but with purpose now. Until. It stopped!
Scotty fell right down on the seat. In a split second, Sulu screamed for his life, frozen in his Vulcan death embrace with his back arched tight and his mouth gaping open with only tiny strands of saliva to speak of the man he was once was. The Vulcan squeezed the consciousness out of him coldly, methodically with a tinge of pity for such mere human mortals.
Kirk and the rest looked on with interest. It’s never the same when it happens to someone else. The Vulcan nerve pinch was a special kind of pain none would soon moment.
The turbo lift opened. A young black woman in a bright red Starfleet tunic walked in, stopped and gasped aloud. It was Uhura. She stared at the seemingly lifeless body of Sulu now in Spock’s arms. A saddened Scotty looking pleadingly at the men nursing their aching shoulders and ego from the brutal game.
Playtime, Uhura shuddered. Why didn’t I stay home? She made a hard detour to her station pretending not to notice Kirk.
Sulu regained consciousness and staggered towards Smits and Chekov. Kirk shot a rueful looked on Uhura. Thinking about it despite her looking busy clicking buttons and making scans like the boys had.
Scotty grimaced menacingly, Now you’ll leave her alone if you slimy little space-turd. If ya know what’s good for you.
“Spock…” Kirk said, contritely.
The two men got up. Kirk grimaced to himself. Wiped his face of sweat, especially his nose. This was getting intense for him on so many levels. He loved his crew so much. They were the best in the fleet. So strong. So proud. Willing to die and play for him. By why couldn’t he tell them how much he loved them? Why? He pursed his lips. Nevermind that now, he though.
Kirk raised his hands to clap again, then –
“Sir,” Spock said, “Enough. This is not logical.”
Spock grabbed Scotty by the neck. The chief engineer shrieked as if in paralytic shock, his eyes weakening to the pain spreading throughout his body. It slumped into the chair, half-unconscious. Numb. The game was over. Spock walked over to Kirk. With hands behind his back, he faced Jim Kirk: Friend, Captain and so much more.
“Sir,” Spock said calmly, facing Kirk directly, “We have played your game. The men have been defeated. You have proven yourself to be an able command officer. I respectfully ask that we be allowed to return to our duties.”
Kirk thought about it a moment. He gave a hard smile. I would have won over you, you Vulcan bastard. I would have won you over.
Kirk straightened up in his chair. “Spock,” Kirk said, “Log into our records that the bridge crew has successfully passed their unplanned training session and are fit for duty as observed by the ship’s Captain. And that I lov- ”
Kirk froze. Spock waited. Then, “Captain?”
“Never mind. You…you’re good at what you do. I like you. All of you.”
Kirk fell into his chair, a little embarrassed. Spock moved back to his seat as did the rest of the bridge crew.
“But note a slight reflex delay in the engineer,” Kirk said to Spock, “I think we can use a little improvement there Scotty.”
Scotty’s cold gaze fixed hard on his instruments, “Aye Captain. I’ll run a few more diagnostics on the Chief Engineer while we’re at it.”
Smits gave a slight sideway glance to Scotty, noticing the engineer tacitly ignoring what Kirk has just said. Meanwhile, the rest of the crew broke out into laughter, especially Uhura who shot a happy look to her beloved Captain Kirk. Relieved.
Kirk sunk back into his command chair. A big smile in his face. He did love them, y’know, each and every one. Now back to work.
Edited for brevity on August 14th 2020. M