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by Greywolf the Wanderer

This is what happens when ya leave a bored asthmatic wolf next to a computer all weekend... ;-) ObDisclaim: ParaBorg owns 'em; I'm just playin' with 'em. Archive fine, but keep my name and disclaimer attached, nies? Captain Hunter and Ilya Nikolaievitch belong to Vonda N. McIntyre. No infringement intended... Rated PG13 for cussin' and cross-dressin'... On with the show...

"Dammit, that does it!" Leonard McCoy slammed the padd he'd been reading back into the pile on his desk, and stalked out of his office.

"Chris -- hold down the fort, would you? I'm gonna go give that damned Vulcan a piece of my mind. Garcia's the third Science Department crewman I've treated for nervous exhaustion just this week. The man's a damned slave driver!"

Nurse Chapel blushed a rather becoming shade of pink. "Well, Doctor, you know, Mr. Spock has been, ah, well, a little stressed this week... I mean, what with the Captain and all... You know...."

McCoy stopped dead in his tracks. "Damn, Chris -- you're right. Aw, hell. Now how'm I gonna fix things this time?" He'd forgotten all about last weekend.

Last weekend, of course, had been the first round of Commodore Stocker's Charity Ball and Drag Auction, for the benefit of StarBase 11's Widows and Orphans' Fund -- in other words, the commissary's booze budget. And Pavel Chekov, having set his sights on a certain starship captain, had brought down the house with an authentic period costume and rendition of "I Only Have Eyes For You". Ever since then, Pavel had been keeping company with Jim -- and Spock had been putting the Science Department through hell. As if that wasn't enough, Sulu was moping and sulking as well, over having been dumped for the Captain. Bones ran his hands through his already disorderly hair and poured himself a shot of the good stuff. Think, McCoy... Call y'self a southerner? C'mon, now, git goin'!

Ah-ha. He had it. He tossed back his shot, blinked and smacked his lips, and headed for the mess hall, having verified via the computer that Spock was currently there.

Not just Spock, he saw when he got there, but Sulu, Nyota -- hell, most of the day shift bridge crew, with the notable exceptions of Kirk and Chekov. Though Spock had transferred himself to the night shift the day after the charity ball. For purely logical reasons, of course, he had insisted. McCoy had just snorted. Yeah, right.

The Vulcan was sitting alone at a table in the corner, ignoring a rather wilted-looking salad while he read some boring physics text or other. Sulu was draped mournfully over the piano, while Nyota tried to cheer him up by playing some good old-fashioned barroom honky-tonk. It didn't seem to be helping the helmsman much, but Bones had always enjoyed that kind of music. Now he caught her eyes, signaled silently for her and Sulu to join him, and sat himself down across the table from Spock.

The Vulcan flinched, almost imperceptibly, and McCoy realized that Spock hadn't known he was there. Whoo-ee, this was worse than he'd thought. Spock favoured him with what from anybody else would have been a sulphurous glare, and said, "What do you want, Doctor? I am rather busy at the moment, as you can see..."

McCoy cut him off in mid-sentence. "Bullshit, Spock. You're sulking, and we both know why."

Spock's eyebrow rose, and if looks could kill, the doctor would have been toast -- burnt toast, at that. "Vulcans," the science officer intoned loftily, "do not sulk, Doctor."

"Oh, they don't, huh? Well, you coulda fooled me..."

Now it was Spock's turn to cut him off. "Not a particularly difficult task, as a rule..." At which point Sulu and Uhura arrived, leaving both men glaring silently at one another.

Finally Uhura sighed, and reaching for the order padd, tapped on it for a moment. Soon enough Donal the steward brought over a self-heating flask and four tiny cups. She gestured towards the flask. "Sake, gentlemen. Drink up, it's good for you."

Sulu went first, smiled, then poured for the others as well. "Mmmm... This is good, Nyota..."

Uhura smiled. "Well, let's just say, Donal owes me a favour or two. This is private stock, not the regular slop." She drank from her own cup, and sighed happily. "Now, Doctor -- what's all this about, hmm?"

McCoy had downed his first cup, discovered he liked it, and poured himself another. Spock was still cautiously sipping at his first, but his expression showed that he found it, as he himself might have said, "not unpleasant".

McCoy leaned back and stretched, hearing his neck pop. "Well, Uhura, we have a little problem here. More precisely, these two have a problem, if you catch my drift. And it occurred t'me -- this weekend bein' round two of the Ball an' all, that maybe we should help them fight fire with fire..."

Uhura grinned wickedly, and poured herself another. Donal reappeared briefly, to exchange the now-empty flask for a full one. "Doc -- I like the way you think. You're evil and conniving, and I do like that in a man."

McCoy bowed slightly, and grinned right back. Sulu and Spock exchanged almost identical perplexed looks. They even ooked a bit alike, with their black hair, olive/tan skin and high cheekbones.

Uhura cleared her throat. "Now Hear This, you two. You've been sulking and pouting for almost a week now, and has it gotten either of you anywhere? No. And Spock, if you run any more 2am sensor calibration drills, you'd better hire a bodyguard. It really isn't fair to take this out on the crew..."

The Vulcan had the good grace to look slightly abashed, as he poured himself a second cup of sake. "I... see," he murmured. "In other words, Miss Uhura, you are reminding me that they are only human, as it were..."

McCoy snorted sake and choked; Sulu, grinning fiendishly now, whacked him on the back. Uhura smiled her very best demure cat-that-got-the-cream smile, and said, "That's right, Mr. Spock, shugah." That set Sulu to choking; Uhura didn't appear to notice, just forged calmly on. "Now listen, honey -- I know you, and I know the Captain; this whole thing'd blow over in a minim, if we just gave him the right stimulus." Despite himself, the Vulcan found he was leaning closer to hear what she had to say. "Now listen up -- Hikaru, I need your help here. I think you have just what we need in your closet..." And she whispered into Sulu's ear for a moment.

"Oh. My. God..." Sulu shut his mouth with an audible nap, and then grinned brightly enough to dazzle half the people in the room. "Oh, yeah -- that'd do it, all right. Wow. Uhura, you're a genius, you know that?" And he, in turn, leaned over and spoke quietly to Spock for a moment.

Slanted black eyebrows shot up, and a look of frank surprise crossed the Vulcan's lean face. "I see..." Spock murmured. "Fascinating. I -- had not thought of that..."

"Well," grinned McCoy, "that's why you got us dirty-minded humans around, Spock -- we do think of that." He polished off his sake, and poured another. "All right, y'all, let's get busy. We've only got two more nights to put this together, and it has to go right the first time." All four heads bent together, as the long-suffering Donal brought them yet another flask of sake...

The StarBase 11 auditorium was crowded tonight. Everyone was there; rumour had it the show would be a knockout -- the second round always was. Folks were dressed to kill. There was enough gold braid on display to sink a battleship, McCoy grumbled. He himself was wearing his dress uniform, but he'd flat refused to fasten the collar. Damn' thing could choke a man t'death, if'n he wasn't careful...

The front two rows of seats were reserved for those who would be bidding tonight. Kirk was there, along with Commodore Stocker, Captain Hunter of the Border Patrol, Commodore Mendez, and officers from half the ships in the sector. Pavel, of course, was backstage -- and Spock was nowhere to be seen.

A few rows back, Scotty, Sulu, McCoy and Uhura sat together, passing a silver flask back and forth and amusing themselves by critiquing the kiss-ass style of the various officers below. At the moment, Stocker was winning for sheer brass ballsiness; Captain Hunter on reverse points, since she never kissed up to anyone -- and Kirk was leading, in Uhura's pithy words, for "having the cutest tushie..." All four Enterprise crewmen had that cat-that-got-the-canary look about them, a certain smug awareness of knowledge not shared by the others in the room. McCoy was plain old grinnin' like a damned fool.

Gradually the lights grew dim and the babble of the audience quieted down. The first act was about to begin.

A single spotlight came up, to reveal a being kneeling in the center of the stage. Music began, a twanging, tinkling piece, reminiscent of classical Hindu or Cygnan music. The kneeling form slowly straightened, revealing slender hips and the slightest swell of breasts, a striking mixture of human and feline. Long blond hair, loosely drawn back into a simple tail. Ice-blue eyes, sharp nose and high cheekbones -- and whiskers, and furry pointed ears... Her body, under her scanty veils, was likewise softly furred. And as the music swelled and grew, she began to dance.

Bids were already coming in, along with whistles and war-whoops from the audience. Sulu leaned over, and whispered to the others, "That's Ilya Nikolaievitch, Hunter's second-in-command. He does this every year, and she always outbids the rest of them." He grinned, noticing Uhura's faintly sweating face and slightly parted lips.

"Mmmm, he's gorgeous, Hikaru..."

Sulu licked his lips. "Yeah, I know -- but he's claimed -- and Hunter's a helluva lot faster with a blade than I am."

Sure enough, at the end of the dance, it was Captain Hunter who walked up and claimed the gorgeous feline, and led hir away, bright eyes gleaming. Several of the more intoxicated commodores pouted, but no-one was crazy enough to challenge Hunter. The last guy who'd done that was still pissing through a tube, according to the gossip vine...

None of the next few were as striking as Ilya Nikolaievitch, though all four Enterprise crewmembers got a good chuckle out of one young redheaded lad, who had done himself up like some mythical Vulcan temple dancer from before the Reformation. Mendez finally won the bidding for that one, his fleshy face leering evilly as the two of them walked away. Uhura, passing the flask to McCoy, grinned and murmured, "Don't look now, chilluns, but that boy's gonna be *sore*, tomorrow!"

"Ah'd say from the look on his face, he's countin' on it, darlin'!" purred the doctor, really getting into the spirit of it now -- not to mention, the spirits in Scotty's flask...

There followed several more dancers, and then an intermission. Scotty went to refill his flask at the bar. Uhura went to "freshen up" -- actually, to stop in backstage, and make sure their friend was ready to perform. She had promised to look him over one last time, just to be sure.

She came back right as the intermission ended, and to the curious looks of the others, she told them, "Ooh, honeys, he is gorgeous! Mm-hm! He is absolutely going to knock them dead!" All four exchanged evil grins and thumbs-up gestures, and the silver flask made the rounds again.

The two front rows were almost half empty now, but the remaining bidders were getting rowdier by the minim. Catcalls, howls, wolf-whistles -- they were carrying on like drunken cadets at their first Red Tag party. Scotty leaned forward a moment, then elbowed McCoy. "Look, Doctor -- yon's Admiral Morrow himself, and at least three sheets to the wind. D'ye see him?"

"Yeah, Scotty, Ah shore do. Ah wouldn't want to light no matches down theah right now, no suh. Betcha could run a shuttlecraft just off'n his sweat!" The doctor was slurring his speech a little, his breath redolent of bourbon and mint from his own recent visit to the bar. But Scotty understood him just fine.

"Aye, I daresay ye could, at that. Och, I hope he doesnae spoil things, now."

Now it was Uhura's turn to purr. "Oh, I wouldn't worry too much about that, boys. I think it'll work out just fine." And that was all she would say, though they plied her with liquor and ever more extravagant bribes...

And then came a piece of music that Sulu recognized, for it had been part of his contribution to this endeavour -- a classical Japanese piece, for the most part, but with some modern influences as well. Once more the spotlight came up, to show a tall dark figure shrouded in a black velvet cape, its hood too deep to see inside.

Donal the steward popped up in front of the stage, bowed with a great flourish, and announced, "And now, ladies, gents, officers all, may I present, from the mysterious East, from the land of red sand and hot sun, the ethereal and enchanting... Miss Tora-chan!! Let's have a real warm welcome for the lady!" Uhura nodded at him, and he vanished gratefully into the shadows. McCoy couldn't help wondering just what favour he owed Uhura... He reminded himself not to ever end up on her bad side, then turned his attention back to the stage.

The black cape was tossed aside, and there stood revealed the fruit of their frenzied labour of the last two days.

Standing with her back to the audience, the figure began to sway, very slightly at first. Her movements were smooth, sensuous, almost hypnotic. Her dress was cut very low in the back, though a high collar encircled her throat. Sulu leaned over and whispered to Uhura, "Hey, lookitthat -- she did shave, after all!"

"Well of course -- I just reminded her what was at stake here," replied a grinning Uhura. "She can always grow it back later..."

Long straight blue-black hair was artfully arranged atop the dancer's head, with a single flowing fall of it draped over one shoulder. The dress fell almost to the floor, but as she finally began to turn, the audience could see that it was slit clear up to her hipbones on either side, revealing enticing glimpses of slender legs clad in gold-dusted black stockings. On her feet were geta, the traditional wooden shoes, adding yet another couple of inches to her height.

McCoy leaned forward, whispering, "That your dress, Sulu?"

Sulu blushed a little. "Well, in a way, yeah. It's a cheongsam; some of my ancestors wore ones pretty much like that. But we put this one together from scratch, so it'd fit right -- she's too tall to wear any of my things... The fabric's mine, though."

The front of the dress was actually quite modestly cut, a high-necked, short-sleeved, simple drape of elegant dark green silk brocade, with a pattern of golden tigers and silver bamboo woven into it. It perfectly complemented the dancer's slender build, her narrow hips and small breasts. She swayed and spun a little faster now, showing off those marvelous legs and her feline grace, managing to put a tempting swing of her hips into every step.

Her face was calm, beautifully painted. Her lips were jade-green, her eyeshadow silver and green. Elaborate ear-cuffs, with cascades of tinkling dangles and delicate gold chain, served to further emphasize the sweeping curves of her pointed ears. Her arms were bare but for clashing golden bangles; long green nails tipped the slim and graceful hands.

Uhura caught the others' attention. "Hey, check it out -- look who just got hit by a truck!" She pointed, and they saw Jim Kirk, his mouth hanging open, looking thunderstruck. When the dancer swayed a little closer and fluttered those incredible eyelashes at him, he looked as if he was about to faint dead away. The board lit up, and bids began to pour in.

The four conspirators exchanged high-fives and identical evil grins, and the silver flask made the rounds again.

Finally it was down to Admiral Morrow and Captain Kirk, furiously trying to outbid each other. The song ended, and Miss Tora-chan froze, one long slender leg extended, toes pointed right at Jim Kirk.

Then Kirk visibly gritted his teeth, leaned over, and whispered in Morrow's ear. An incredulous grin appeared on that worthy's pudgy face. The discussion was brief but animated, ending unexpectedly when Morrow hit a key and dropped out of the bidding. Grinning even wider, the Admiral smugly pocketed a vidtape cartridge Jim had just handed him.

The captain of the Enterprise rose, held out his hand to Miss Tora-chan, now clad once more in her velvet cape, and the two of them left together, cheered raucously on by the rather intoxicated members of the day-shift bridge crew.

And so it was, when Miss Natasha came swishing onstage in her old Earth clothes <"NorthAm circa 1965 -- god knows where she got them" said Uhura>, the only real bidder by the time she finished was the leering Admiral Morrow, who had simply priced everyone else out of the market. She gulped, but gave in with good grace, considering.

"Serves her right, the little slut," growled Sulu, as the Admiral led his hapless prey away. Bones, on the other hand, was preoccupied. He would have given a goodly number of credits to know just what had been on that vidtape. Legend had it the Captain possessed one of the few copies of the events at A Certain Party, involving a Certain Vice-Admiral and a canine admirer...

Hmmm... Maybe he could pursuade Spock to make him a bootleg copy... He knew damn well Jim would've kept the original.

Two days later the conspirators met again, for sake and celebrations. Scotty had joined them -- although he wasn't in on the beginning of it, anybody who carried whiskey that fine was definitely welcome anytime, as McCoy observed.

Sulu reported that Pavel had finally come slinking home the previous day, grumbling and moping and walking rather bowlegged. When asked, he had said of the Admiral, "That man is a Cossack!" Sulu's grin as he told his partners in crime was very smug and self-satisfied.

McCoy hoisted a cup of sake and drank it down, and informed them all that the Captain and the First Officer had taken three days leave, and no-one had seen them since. "When he gits back on duty, that ole boy's gonna be so tired he won't even look at anyone else -- I gave Spock a whole bottle of that sandalwood massage oil..." That brought on another round of evil grins, as they all remembered the stories of sandalwood's effect on Vulcan nervous systems.

Uhura sighed, happily. "All's fair in love and war, isn't that what they say? Gentlemen -- it was a pleasure waging this campaign with you. I offer a toast, to our fair captain, may he never stray again!"

"A toast!"

"Aye, a toast!"

"Hai! A toast -- O-captain-san!" Sulu poured them all one last round. "And to Miss Tora-chan -- long may she sway!!"