Title: Backwards and In High Heels

Author: Jungle Kitty

Contact: kittyjungle@earthlink.net

Series: TOS

Posted: 4/20/2004

Codes: Various characters including real people, humor

Rating: PG

Feedback: Yes, please.

Archive: ASC and WWOMB yes, all others please ask.

Summary: A few years back, a question was asked on ASC: "What if Kirk had been female?" It's taken me a long time to get it written but here's
my answer.

Thanks to Wildcat for a beta beyond excellence and hugs to all who responded with encouragement when I needed it and were patient when I had to keep saying, "Not yet."

The Star Trek characters and universe are the property of Paramount and Viacom. This not-for-profit parody is not intended to infringe upon that. Other acknowledgements and disclaimers appear at the end of the story.



BACKWARDS AND IN HIGH HEELS
(c) 2001-2004 Jungle Kitty


FOREWORD by Mitzi Heatherton-Cugat, television historian

Over the years, Star Trek's place in the history of television has been well-documented with much attention being given to its two pilots, "The Cage" (which the studio passed on) and "Where No Man Has Gone Before" (which the studio approved, thus initiating what would become a cultural phenomenon of almost unparalleled breadth and endurance). However, although another unsold pilot, filmed after "The Cage" but before "Where No Man," has long been rumored, there has been no proof that it ever existed. That is, up until now.

The diaries of Gene Roddenberry's assistant, Miss Julie Morgan, long believed to have been lost in a fire, were actually in the possession of her niece who graciously allowed me to review them. The revelations within those pages were so astounding that I would have been tempted to believe I was the victim of an elaborate hoax, were it not for the actual film footage I recently discovered among some home movies at a celebrity garage sale.

Unfortunately, I awoke one morning to find a Gorn's head in my bed resting among the ashes of what had once been the long-lost diaries and home movies. This act of intimidation occurred shortly after I had shared my discovery with a certain television producer who believes the history of Star Trek doesn't matter and even if it does, it's his now. Coincidence? I'll let you be the judge of that.

In any case, I felt that the story of the lost pilot must be told even though I no longer had any evidence to support it. Therefore, to disguise the story's provenance and to protect my bed linens from further indignities, I have resorted to the only venue that offers any protection to one who would reveal a disturbing truth. I speak of course of fiction.

None of the names have been changed because no one would be fooled by a *roman a trek* so why bother? Besides, I consulted my good friend Jungle Kitty and she assured me that the fan fiction is in such a gray legal area that she, I, and everyone portrayed herein will be dead long before that question is resolved. She was also kind enough to take on the task of actually writing the story. I believe she has some experience as a
writer, but in fairness to you, dear reader, I must point out that what you are about to read--although true to the spirit of the actual events --does contain certain inaccuracies. Ms. Kitty refers to these exaggerations and untruths as "artistic license" (and apparently, artists are expected and even encouraged to be licentious), but I wish to state for the record that said inaccuracies are hers and hers alone. Send her as many Gorn heads as you wish; I'm sure she has closets-full already.

So now it is my privilege to share with you the long-rumored story of the second captain of the Enterprise and her--yes, *her* only adventure. Let us join this beautiful and tempestuous commander as she casts off the undeserved label of 'urban legend' and takes her rightful place in entertainment history, boldly going where no man has gone before...

Backwards and in high heels!




LOS ANGELES, 1965

After taking the corner on two wheels, Julie brought the Mustang to a screeching halt and hopped out, leaving the car parked diagonally in the driveway with one tire resting in a flower bed. Her blonde hair flying out of a french twist, she ran up the walk to the bungalow's front door and rang the bell. After waiting less than two seconds, she rang it again.

"Gene! Gene!"

When there was no response, she pounded on the door, which flew open on the first impact.

"Gene, are you home? I have big news--"

She found him sitting in a large chair in the living room, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, intent on the television.

Oh, no, she thought. Still?

Three months ago, the DesiLu executives had passed on his pilot for a revolutionary series about space exploration. As his assistant, she knew that all his dreams had been tied up in the project and she hadn't been surprised when he withdrew from the Hollywood scene, but she'd assumed it was a temporary measure, to give himself time to recharge his creative energies. She'd never expected that his brilliant mind would turn to something else, something that would draw him away from the world he loved, something so shameful that he no longer even left the house, preferring to sit behind closed curtains, nearly slobbering in ecstasy over the lowest entertainment television could offer.

Daytime soap operas.

Well, she thought angrily, maybe this news will be just the thing to snap him out of it.

"Gene," she said, shaking his shoulder. "The studio called. They're still interested in Star Trek!" She stepped in front of the television and almost shouted, "They want you to do another pilot!"

"Shhhh, Julie, wait for a commercial!" He waved her away. "They're just about to reveal the identity of David's father--"

"Gene, this is important!"

She turned off the TV and placed herself between it and the man in the chair.

"Now listen to me, Gene. It's practically a miracle that they're giving you a second chance. I've read through all the notes they gave us and I know you can deliver what they want. They don't like Number One--"

"Number what?"

"--and they don't like Spock. I think you can get away with keeping one of them, just cut it down to a small role. I checked with Jeffrey Hunter's agent and he's not available--"

"Could we please turn the TV back on?"

"No." She began pacing as ideas came bubbling out of her. "I think Hunter's other commitments are actually a stroke of luck because the studio thought he was too wooden. They hated the scenes where he talked about not wanting to be the captain of the ship. They said people don't want to watch a show about someone who hates his job. It's too much like real life. So they want someone who likes being on this adventure, someone with a little humor, someone with warmth and charisma and...Gene? Gene?"

She looked around and found that while she'd been rhapsodizing about the new pilot, Gene had left the room. Hearing voices down the hall, she followed the sound into the bedroom and saw her boss seated on the edge of the bed, staring at the television screen where an elaborately coiffed blonde was addressing her brawny companion.

"Please understand, Dirk, I wanted David in my world, not yours!"

The camera moved in for a closeup of the blonde, who managed to hold her anguished expression for the three seconds it took the music to build to a fitting climax. As the screen faded to an image of a windswept shore, a soothing male voice announced, "This concludes today's episode of--"

Sighing heavily, Gene went to the television and turned down the sound.

"That woman's a real piece of work, isn't she? Keeping a man away from his son for all those years. Poor Dirk."

Julie yanked the plug out of the wall.

"Gene, listen to me! Star Trek! Remember Star Trek? Your big dream? It's not dead! The studio wants you to do another pilot!"

He looked at her with a confused expression. "Star Trek? They want another pilot for Star Trek?"

"Yes! And this time I know you can give them what they want." She sat down on the edge of the bed and flipped open her steno pad. "I've still got the notes from last time. Their main objections had to do with the story--too cerebral--and the characters--'not anyone TV viewers would care about' is the way they put it. Now Gene, I know you've got tons of stories in you and if we can just put a little more emphasis on the characters, make them likable and interesting and--"

"Yesssss." He went to the window and slowly opened the draperies. "Yes, characters that the audience will keep coming back to, characters who never lose their appeal, characters whose lives are exciting! Glamorous! Dangerous!"

"Yes, Gene, yes!"

Suddenly energized, he began moving around the room, jabbing his hands in the air as he spoke. "Get this down, Julie! First off, I want a lot more medical stuff in the show. More scenes in sickbay. And nurses, lots of nurses! And for the head nurse, a sad-eyed, beautiful blonde. Her name is..." Chewing his lip, he snapped his fingers impatiently. "Caresse! Yes, her name is Caresse."

"C-H-R-I-S or K-R-I-S?"

"No, not Chris! Caresse! C-A-R-E-S-S-E! And she's sad because her fiance was a brilliant scientist who disappeared while exploring a remote part of the galaxy and she joined Starfleet to search for him. So she's searching, searching, always searching, hoping to find...Thorne! Dr. Thorne Korby! Of course, eventually they do find him on a planet full of robots, beautiful female robots, and one big, ugly, male robot named Rock."

"So is the show about the nurse now?"

"No, no, she's a minor character. But I think we need a lot of women on the ship. Let's see, what else could a woman do on a starship?"

"She could--"

"She could run the switchboard! Perfect. So we have a beautiful girl at communications--"

"Is she blonde and sad-eyed, too?"

"No, she's warm and voluptuous and...black!"

"Her name is Black?"

"No, she IS black. And her name is...let's see, um, Mahoganee? No, no, Sienna! Cameo! No, that's no good, It needs to be exotic and a little dangerous and...Taboo!"

"Her name is Taboo?"

"Yes, Taboo! My God, I'm a genius! With a name like that, who cares what she does! Now Spock, Spock. I need to do something with Spock."

"Well, if he's the one you're keeping, I think he should fade into the background, at least for the pilot--"

"No, no, that was the problem! He wasn't out front! He wasn't alien enough!"

"He had green skin and pointed ears."

"But no mystery. This time, he'll have mystery. He's still a, a, a...What did we call it? A Venusian?"

"Vulcanian."

"Right, but now he's only half-Vulcanian. The other half is human so he's at war with himself--"

"Oh, Gene, I like that!"

"I do, too. And there's a blacksheep half-brother who'll turn up later. And he's got some strange sexual kink."

"Gene!"

"Oh, Julie, don't be such a prude! We'll come up with something that will get past the censors but everybody will know what it means. Maybe his ears could glow when he sees a pretty girl."

"That's gonna cost."

"Right, right, scratch that. Maybe a forbidden romance...Taboo! Spock and Taboo! What could be more forbidden than that? They can be on a little spaceship, just the two of them, and it crashes on a barren planet where they're transported backwards through time into the stone age. And as they struggle to survive, they're drawn closer together and they discover their hidden passion."

"So is Spock the lead now?"

"Don't be silly. The captain is the lead and--"

"I had an idea for the captain, Gene. Why not a woman?"

"What?"

"A woman. A strong, intelligent woman but charming and with a little bit of humor--"

"Yes, yes, I think you're on to something, Julie. A woman. A strong, ambitious, power-hungry woman who will stop at nothing as she claws her way to the top."

"That's not what I--"

"No one will stand up to her except her handsome young executive officer. Mitchell. Commander Slate Mitchell. And every time they argue, there's this sexual tension between them. But Mitchell rebels against her and she maroons him on a deserted planet where he dies. And then she realizes he was the only man she could ever love and that makes her more of a bitch than ever. I'm thinking Joan Crawford, Barbara Stanwyck, someone you'd be *afraid* to go to bed with. But young and beautiful. Tight skirt, very high heels, shoulder pads."

"Gene--"

"Now she needs an enemy..."

"I think the costume is the enemy."

"That's good, Julie! Now you're thinking! An alien that disguises itself as her uniform and takes over her mind! Are you getting all this down?"

"Yes, but--"

"We still need an enemy who can threaten her on a more personal level..."

"What's more personally threatening than mind-controlling underwear?"

"A man. A man who knows that underneath it all, she's still a woman. See, she doesn't have a man so she's trying to become one and he understands this."

"Can he explain it to me?"

"Even though he's an alien, they were lovers once but now they're on opposite sides as war sweeps the galaxy. His name is Blade!"

"That doesn't sound very alien."

"Put a K in front of it."

"Kay Blade? I don't think so, Gene."

"Not Kay Blade. K'Blade. With an apostrophe. And spell it weird."

"How's this?" She held up her pad and displayed the words

Alien ex-lover K'Blaighde

"Good! Make a note. All alien names should have strange spellings and harsh sounds like Gak and Kahuck and Chuft--"

"Names that sound like a cat coughing up a fur ball. Got it."

"--and there's a handsome young ensign, just assigned to the ship. Dante Garrovick. He's the son of her former commander, Rake Garrovick, the only man she ever loved--"

"I thought Mitchell was--"

"--and she can never forgive herself for his death. It was a horrible death--"

"Smothered by alien fur balls?"

"Good idea, Julie! We can't use it for Rake's death but maybe later if we do a comic episode...Now back to the captain. She has a nephew--"

"Is all this going to be in the pilot?"

"Yes! All of it! Well, no, probably not. Some of it's backstory, maybe we can--Good God, Julie, just get it all down, I'll sort it out later! It's not like we're writing the Bible. Now she has this nephew--"

"Name?"

"Corky. Corky Crusher. He's her sister's son--"

"Name?"

"Skye with an E. Skye died when their planet was invaded by these horrible alien creatures that attach themselves to your spine and cause excruciating pain. But the boy survived so the captain--"

"Name?"

"I'm brainstorming here, Julie, stop interrupting. The captain rescues him but no one knows that he's really *her* son, fathered by Skye's husband--"

"Name?"

"Stag. Stag took advantage of her years ago when she had amnesia and Corky was the result. So the captain takes Corky in and gives him a home on the starship--"

"A kid on a starship?"

"He's not just any kid. He's very intelligent, a genius even, more than a genius, he has super-telepathic powers that he got from those aliens and now he has strange eyes, silver or something like those kids in 'Village of the Damned.'"

"That's gonna cost."

"Don't talk to me about cost! Everyone on the ship is afraid of Corky but the captain takes him in and--"

"GENE! What's the captain's name?"

He stopped swooping around the room and stared at her, a strange light in his eyes.

"Kirk. Captain Jamocha Kirk."



part 2

Four weeks later, Julie sat at the back of the control booth studying the latest headshots submitted by the talent agencies. The director, Tom Winston, was at the control board, staring at a wall of monitors. On the set below, three women dressed in futuristic nurse's uniforms were posing provocatively, oblivious to the unceasing construction activity all around them. With the soundfeed turned off, the booth was a relatively peaceful refuge from the hammering, drilling, and shouting that grew ever louder as the deadline approached. In less than twenty-four hours, "Star Trek: All My Aliens" would begin shooting and the frenzy of activity did nothing to dissipate the growing tension. They had a budget, a set, crews both in front of and behind the camera, but no captain.

The door flew open and the quiet in the control booth was shattered. Without looking up, both Tom and Julie said, "Close the door" in a tone that indicated they'd given this reminder several times already.

"Sorry," said Jay Fitzpatrick as he sat down next to Tom. "Julie, casting says they've got some more captains coming over in five minutes."

"You better pray someone fits the bill or we're going to put one of you in a miniskirt."

"Not me. The Director's Guild won't allow it," Tom replied. "And besides, Jay's prettier."

"True," Julie agreed. "It would be a big promotion for you, Jay. From assistant director to captain of the starship."

"Thanks, but I'd rather look at girls in miniskirts than be one."

"Then look at this." Tom pointed at one of the monitors. "Julie, you want to check the nurses?"

"I'm sure Gene has given them all a thorough examination," she replied and went back to sorting through the headshots.

Tom flipped the switch on the microphone. "Nurses, face left, please."

The nurses turned and Tom tapped his pen against the control board as he studied their profiles.

"I thought this was supposed to be 'Wagon Train to the Stars,'" said Jay. "It looks more like 'Tits in Space.'"

"That's the subtext," Tom replied.

"Those--" Jay reached up to the monitor and cupped the brunette's most noteworthy assets. "--are not subtext."

"I know but that's our story and we're sticking to it." He leaned into the microphone. "Nurses, face front, please!"

The women struck new poses in the direction of the camera.

"What do you think of the hairdo on Chalice?" Tom asked.

"Which one's Chalice?"

"The redhead."

"Are you sure? I thought she was Chastain."

"No, Chastain is the brunette."

"Then who's the blonde?"

"She's uh..." Tom leaned into the microphone. "Blonde nurse! Who are you playing?"

The young woman stepped forward, trying not to stagger under the weight of her mountainous bouffant.

"Cherish," she said.

"Cherish?" Tom looked down at his clipboard. "That's not even on the list."

Tucking the photos under her arm, Julie went to the two men and showed them an updated call sheet.

"There," she said. "The censor made us change it."

With a weary sigh, Tom drew a line through the objectionable name and penciled in "Cherish" as Julie left the control booth.

"That censor's crazy!" Jay called after her. Turning to Tom, he added, "I think Cherry's a lovely name."

***

Julie squared her shoulders as she approached the trailer that Gene had commandeered as his office. Since the female captain had been her idea, he had agreed to allow her some input into the casting but that had been the last thing they'd agreed on. Everyone she liked wasn't bitchy enough for him and everyone he liked had "evil temptress" written all over her. Just an hour earlier, they'd nearly come to blows over Joan Collins.

"But, Julie, she's a name! Do you know how lucky we'd be to get her?"

"Gene, I can't imagine anyone following her into outer space. Hell, I wouldn't follow her into the ladies room. The crew of the starship has to love her, they have to trust her, she has to have warmth!"

"She can do warmth, I promise you." Gene turned and waved to the woman lounging in the director's chair. Smiling broadly, he called out, "Miss Collins, you can do warmth, can't you?"

"How hot do you want it, darling?" the devil in the blue dress purred.

"See?" He beamed at Julie.

"No, Gene. She can play Jamocha's evil cousin Alexis or Hitler's girlfriend when we do the time travel episode but she cannot play the captain."

While Gene broke the sad news to Miss Collins and consoled her in his office for forty-five minutes, Julie had called a dozen casting agents and begged them to send over more potential captains. Now the new arrivals were lining up near the trailer and she gave them an encouraging smile as she approached.

"Thank you for coming by on such short notice, ladies. Our producer, Mr. Roddenberry, will be--"

"All right, who have you got for me?" Gene stepped out of the trailer, eagerly rubbing his hands together.

"Harry Mudd's office just sent these ladies to read for us."

"I hope one of them is our captain or we're going to have a very tough time when we start shooting tomorrow morning. Now let's see."

A stylish woman with soft, red hair stepped forward and shook his hand firmly.

"Hello, Mr. Roddenberry," she said, her Southern accent rolling softly over the syllables of his name. "I'm the captain of your spaceship."

Julie looked the woman over carefully. She was on the small side, no more than five-five. Her simply cut dress drew no attention to her figure, which Julie's keen scrutiny told her was probably a wise choice. The colorful scarf draped around her throat further served to draw attention away from her body and up toward her face, which although not exactly attractive was nonetheless striking in its warmth and intelligence.

You put yourself right out there, Julie thought admiringly, without waiting for Gene to come to you. Good move. You might just be the one.

She turned to Gene and her heart sank as she saw that he, too, had drawn a quick conclusion about the woman.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear," he said as he removed his hand from hers. "You're just not right for this part."

"How do you know, Mr. Roddenberry?" she replied. "You haven't heard me read yet."

"No, but we're looking for someone to play the captain of a spaceship." He put his arm around her waist and led her toward the exit. "You're just a little too feminine. We're looking for someone stronger."

"I can be strong. How's this? Take your hands off me or I'll knee your balls right through the roof of your mouth. Was that strong enough for you?"

Everyone within earshot had turned to watch the exchange and Julie saw that she wasn't alone in marveling at a woman who could lecture "Hotrod Roddenberry" into a corner. And all without raising her voice. Or her knee.

"I know what you're looking for, Mr. Roddenberry," the woman continued. "You're looking for a gross caricature of a woman to make some idiotic point about powerful women being unattractive or a woman having to give up her femininity if she's to be regarded as a figure of authority. Well, shame on you. And shame on any woman who lets you do that to her. Good day, Mr. Roddenberry."

She turned on her heel and left the set. Julie looked around at the gaping crew and realized that she was letting the moment of destiny slip past.

"Don't do a thing until I get back!" she snarled at Gene as she shoved the stack of photos into his hands.

She ran out to the parking lot and saw the woman hurl her handbag into the passenger seat of a convertible.

"You! You, Miss--"

The woman took a moment before she turned to Julie. Then she patted her hair into place and smiled calmly, giving no indication of the anger to which she'd subjected her purse.

"Daphne Howard," she said.

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Howard. I'm Julie Morgan, Mr. Roddenberry's assistant. Was that for real back there or were you auditioning for the part?"

Miss Howard cocked her head. The gesture was both sly and ingenuous, and Julie decided they'd found their captain before she even heard the equally artful reply.

"Which answer will get me a reading, Miss Morgan?"

Ten minutes later, the captain of the Enterprise was signing her contract.

***

The next day while Daphne was being rushed through costume fittings and makeup checks, the company shot around her as best he could. By noon, the costume designer wasn't alone in the urge to scream, although he was the only one who did so.

"Oh, God! Get her out of that miniskirt! NOW! NOW! NOW!"

"Oh, thank you!" Daphne gasped as she took his hand. "I've been trying to tell them all morning that the captain wouldn't wear a miniskirt."

"She would if she had the legs for it, honey. TRELANE! I need more gold fabric!"

As his young assistant scurried out, the costume designer paced around Daphne, sighing and tut-tutting.

"If I may, Claudio--" Daphne began.

"It's Mr. Marcus to you, dear. Only pretty people get to call me Claudio. TRELANE! Where is that giggling twit? I'm thinking a bias cut might work although...DAMN! What was Gene thinking of when he hired an actress with bad legs and no ass?"

"Perhaps the same thing he was thinking of when he hired a rude, foul-mouthed costume designer," Daphne replied.

"Look, dear, don't get huffy with me or it's back to the miniskirt."

Trelane returned, carrying a bolt of gold velour. "They want to know when she'll be ready to shoot!"

"I'd gladly shoot her right now," Claudio muttered. "And why the hell is she wearing combat boots? High heels. I was very specific about that. Black leather boots with high heels."

With a regal toss of his head, he stormed out of the room. Eyes shining, Trelane gushed, "Isn't it exciting?" and ran after his boss.

Daphne turned to the costume mistress and said, "Mrs. Eymorg, is it realistic for the captain to dress like a dominatrix?"

The woman took the pins out of her mouth and lit a cigarette. "It's the future, dear. Be glad they used all the silver cellophane on the nurses."




part 3

"Well, Julie, this is it. The big day."

Julie looked over at Gene as they entered the studio screening room. During the four weeks they'd spent in post-production, editing the film and adding special effects, his mood had swung wildly from joy to despair, touching every base in between. Today, despite his air of enthusiasm, she knew that he was nervous. If the studio executives didn't buy this version of Star Trek, she was afraid his spirit would be permanently crushed.

"I'm sure they'll love it, Gene. The new pilot really shows the essence of everything this series can be--ground-breaking, thoughtful, entertaining. You'll see. They won't pass on it again."

"If it is all those things, Julie, it's mostly due to you."

"And Daphne Howard."

Gene harrumphed uncomfortably. "Yes, Miss Howard. Of course."

"We're going to win today, Gene."

"Julie, a no-win situation is a possibility that every television producer may face."

"I don't believe that, Gene, and neither do you. Not one man in a million could do what you've done...produce a TV show. A hundred decisions a day--hundreds of jobs staked on you making every one of them right."

Gene, suddenly puffed up with confidence, made his way down to the four men who would decide the fate of Star Trek.

"Julie, that was great," Tom said as he came up behind her. "Did you make that up?"

"Some of it. Mostly it came from a fortune cookie."

"Let's hope that cookie knew what it was talking about."

They settled into two seats at the back of the small theatre as a man in a sharp-cut suit boomed, "Well, we're all here, Gene, and eager to see what you have to show us. So why don't we all take our seats and have a look-see, hmmm?"

The lights went down and Tom squeezed Julie's arm as stars began trailing across the screen. The music began with a single eerie note as a softly accented voiceover set the scene.

"Space...the final frontier..."

***

In the building next door, a "green room" had been set aside for the Star Trek actors to wait for the decision. Trying to look casual, they were milling about and devouring the buffet as fast as they could, with Grace Lee Whitney being the notable exception. She was too excited to eat but not too excited to talk.

"Isn't this great? Gosh, I hope the show is picked up. I've never played a nurse before. Nurses are smart, right? I mean, they've gone to school and everything. I've never been invited to one of these before, have you?"

"No, but I'm not arguing with it," replied Gary Lockwood who was torn between wanting to get her into bed and wishing she'd shut up.

"Did you see the champagne?" DeForest Kelley asked as he breezed by, English muffin in hand. "It's the good stuff. Do you think anyone would mind if we opened it early?"

"It might be bad luck," said Leonard Nimoy. His voice was still a little hoarse from shouting his lines all through his performance as Spock. He hoped the studio would spring for a voice coach or he'd be mute by mid-season. That is, if the show were picked up. "We'd better wait until the studio says yes to the pilot. Don't you agree, Daphne?"

He turned to the woman whose performance had transformed the entire show.

"Oh, why, yes, I think we should wait. But you don't really think they'll pick it up, do you? After all, there's already an outer space show on another network."

"Gene's assistant seems very positive about our chances," Nichelle Nichols said. "No one is supposed to know this, but Desi Arnaz himself looked at some of the rushes and was very impressed."

"What?"

"That's right," Jimmy Doohan piped up. "I hear it's in the bag."

"Daphne, are you all right?" Nichelle went to her and took her arm. "You look like you're going to faint."

"I think I'd better sit down for a minute."

As Nichelle led Daphne to small sofa in the corner, George Takei murmured, "You don't think she's pregnant, do you?"

"God, I hope not," replied Nimoy. "This is the first shot I've had at a regular paycheck in months."

***

In the screening room, Julie leaned forward to watch the captain's first entrance. She remembered how upset Daphne had been when she'd received the last minute changes right before they began shooting the scene.

"Mr. Roddenberry!" she had accosted the producer. "It says here that Mr. Spock kisses the captain."

"Yes, that's right. He kisses all the women."

"But--"

"That's his character, Miss Howard. As a half-Vulcanian, he's in a constant state of emotional and sexual turmoil."

"But--"

"PLACES! PLACES, EVERYONE!" Jay hollered as he walked through.

"But, Mr. Roddenberry, doesn't it seem, well, ridiculous for an officer to kiss his captain hello?"

"Look, sweetie, I'd love to stand here and explain it to you, but we'll be on overtime if we don't shoot this right now. So get up on the transporter platform and do the scene, all right?"

Daphne had taken her place and now, as Julie looked up at the screen, her pulse raced with anticipation and anxiety. She thought the scene was great and she'd even managed to convince Gene of that, but now it had to stand on its own.

As the captain materialized on the platform in a shimmer of gold, Julie felt a shiver of pride. That shimmer--expensive and difficult to get just right--was worth the hour-long argument with Gene who had originally wanted a puff of smoke.

Onscreen, the captain stepped down to the main level where she was greeted by her first officer, played by Gary Lockwood at his lazy, arrogant best.

"Welcome aboard, Captain."

"Thank you, Mister...?"

"Mitchell, ma'am. Commander Slate Mitchell. May I present the senior staff? Ship's surgeon Dr. Remington McCoy, engineer Storm Scott, physicist Lancelot Sulu, and science officer Spock. If you'd care to sign the log, ma'am..."

He handed her a clipboard and as she signed, Spock stepped forward and shouted, "I HEARD ABOUT YOUR EXPLOITS AT THE BATTLE OF SPACEPORT CHARLES, MA'AM! I WAS MOST IMPRESSED!"

"Thank you, Mr. Spock."

"I'M LOOKING FORWARD TO SERVING UNDER YOU, MA'AM!"

As he put his arms around the captain and moved in for the kiss, she raised the clipboard and rapped him on the forehead. Luckily, the movement was big enough and surprising enough that no one noticed the Vulcanian's ears flying off. Nimoy, ever the professional, turned away from the camera and hunched down as if in pain.

"I'm afraid, Mr. Spock, that if you want to us to have a successful working relationship, you'll have to deal with my mind and not my lips. Now if you'll excuse me, I have a starship to run."

The doors opened and shut--ssst! ssst! (inexpensive but wonderfully effective)--as the captain left the transporter room.

"A star is born," Tom whispered.

***

Back in the green room, the newborn star turned to the wall as she pressed a phone to her ear.

"Mudd's Women," a voice chirped. "Tops in Talent."

"This is Daphne Howard. I need to speak to Harry."

"Oh, Daphne, I hear you're wonderful in the outer space thing. We're all so excited for you!"

"Put Harry on!"

"I'm sorry, Harry can't be disturbed. He's trying to find two girls to play saxophone and bow fiddle for a gig in Florida. Do you know anyone?"

"Don't talk to me about Florida, Evie! This is an emergency! I have to talk to Harry NOW!"

***

Twenty minutes into the show and Julie could feel the growing excitement in the screening room. She'd been right! They were ready for a woman in a position of authority! Thank heavens for Daphne. What Julie hadn't managed to slip into the scripts, Daphne had improvised, and with the budget constraints, there was rarely time for retakes. Between them, they'd created a complicated and appealing female character. It was truly a television first and now, as they watched Mr. Spock drag the beautiful stowaway into the captain's quarters, Julie was practically bouncing in her seat.

"Now, my dear, what's your name?" the captain asked.

"Mary Smith," the frightened young woman replied.

"SHE TOLD ME IT WAS JONES, MA'AM!"

"Well, Miss Smith or Miss Jones, you have illegally stowed away aboard my ship."

"I had to! You don't know what it's like at home! I wanted to see the galaxy! I'm tired of being--being--"

"STATE WHAT YOU'RE TIRED OF BEING!"

"Mr. Spock, please," the captain said. "Now what's so horrible at home, dear?"

"I'm nothing there! I'm just supposed to sit around and look pretty and never go anywhere or do anything, unless the son of the one of the board of directors wants me to, and if I say I'd rather read a book, Daddy gets so angry and says, 'Zephyr, if you--'"

The young lady gasped, realizing her mistake too late.

"Zephyr?" Jamocha repeated. "Are you Zephyr Cochrane, runaway heiress to the Cochrane Industries fortune?"

"Oh, please don't send me back!"

"Well, Miss Cochrane, I--"

"CAPTAIN! I SUGGEST THAT MISS COCHRANE STAY ON!"

"In what capacity, Mr. Spock?"

"I'M SURE I CAN FIND DUTIES FOR HER IN MY QUARTERS!"

Jamocha eyed him coolly.

"I'm sure you can. Very well, Miss Cochrane, you can remain on board...as my yeoman."

"VERY GOOD, MA'AM, I'LL--huh?"

"Yes. I think it's awfully strange that I don't have anyone to keep my reports in order, don't you, Mr. Spock? It's the perfect job for a bright, ambitious young lady like Miss Cochrane. And if it works out, Zephyr--may I call you Zephyr?--if it works out, maybe you'll be promoted."

"CAPTAIN, I MUST PROTEST! I AM A VULCANIAN!"

"Yes, Mr. Spock, I know all about Vulcanians and their need for constant attention from beautiful women. But it would be ridiculous to take a young girl who has shown initiative and courage by leaving a home where she isn't being allowed to develop her full potential and turn her over to an alien twice her age to be his personal geisha. I'm sure it's illegal and if it isn't, it should be. I intend to take it up with the authorities. In fact, Miss Cochrane, that's your first assignment. Call the Commander-in-Chief and ask him if Mr. Spock is allowed to keep a concubine in his quarters. You're dismissed, Mr. Spock."

"BUT--BUT I--"

"I said dismissed, Mr. Spock!"

***

"What are you talking about, get you out of it?"

"That's right, Harry!" Daphne growled into the phone. "Get me out of it! They're saying it's going to picked up by the network!"

"I can't get you out of it, there's no way out of it, it's a one-way option. Theirs."

"What are you talking about? Who gave them that?"

"You did. You signed the standard contract."

"Harry, you don't understand! My whole life is a mess because of this! Janice knows something is up--"

"Janice? Who's Janice?"

"Janice Lester. My friend from acting class. Don't you remember? She was very upset at not getting this part. It was sad really--she kept crying and saying, 'I'll never be the captain. Never be the captain.' So I went to the audition to prove to her that they wouldn't recognize talent if it bit them but I didn't think I'd get the part! How can I tell her they hired me? She has no self-confidence anyway and if she finds out that I'm a better woman than she is--"

"You're not making any sense."

"Just get me out of this! Because if you don't, I'm going to go in there and tell them--"

"Tell them what? That you've been making fools out of them? We're talking major fraud here. You can't do it. You gotta find a way to make it work."

***

Meanwhile in the screening room, all eyes were glued on Captain Kirk, who had just entered sickbay and was about to take another giant leap for womankind.

"What is going on here, gentlemen?" she asked.

"Captain, I'm questioning this nurse about the allegations she's made," Dr. McCoy replied. "Now, Miss Cherish, are you sure your assailant looked like me?"

"Yes, Doctor. It was you!"

"THAT IS IMPOSSIBLE! THE DOCTOR WAS WITH ME AT THE TIME!"

"Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy, have you lost your minds?" Jamocha put herself between them and the startled nurse. "I can hardly even believe what I'm seeing! This unfortunate young woman has been sexually assaulted and now she's being interrogated by two men, one of them the accused!"

"I--I--I never laid a hand on her, Daphne--I mean Jamocha! It was an alien who beamed aboard...or something...I think...it could be..."

"That doesn't matter! You're the accused, and I want some security men in here right now to confine you to your quarters. And yes, maybe we will learn that we have an alien intruder aboard who looks just like you, and if that should prove to be the case, I'll declare a red alert, no, make that a double red alert, and we'll hunt him down and string up him by his shape-shifting badoobies, but in the mean time, I don't want you anywhere near this poor, traumatized woman."

Daphne had delivered the lecture with such heartfelt indignation that Julie had been moved to tears the day it was filmed. Now, she raised her hands to applaud but before she could do so, she became aware of someone kneeling down beside her chair.

"Excuse me, Miss Morgan," the projectionist whispered. "I've got bad news."

***

Panic-charged adrenaline pumped through Julie's veins as she and Tom emerged from the executive building.

"Then we're agreed, right?" she said. "I'll get the actors and you--"

"No, we're not agreed! I think we should tell Gene."

"Tom, if it was just a matter of telling Gene, I'd say yes. But he's sitting with the Desilu programming executives! Do you want them to know that the pilot they're watching doesn't have an ending?"

"It *has* an ending! The film is just temporarily misplaced. Can't we ask them to take a short break while we look for it?"

"No! We'll look like screw-ups and no one buys a pilot from a bunch of screw-ups. Tom, they like what they're seeing! I could feel it. We can't risk destroying the momentum! With a little bit of luck and a lot of hustle, we can make this work! NOW GO!"

***

Daphne's knuckles were white as she clutched the phone. "Now, listen, Harry, I don't care what it takes--"

The door slammed open and Julie rushed into the green room.

"Attention, everyone! We have an emergency!" she shouted. "The film of the last scene has been misplaced so we're going to run down to the set and do it live!"

"Live? We can't do that!" Doohan howled.

"Yes, you can. You have to. One or two of you have had theatrical training, haven't you?"

"I was in a school play once," Grace said cheerily.

"There you go! Luckily the costumes haven't been put into storage yet so--"

"Are the executives coming down to the set to watch us do the scene?" asked Kelley.

"No, we're going to broadcast it directly into the screening room. They'll never know the difference. Now quick, quick like bunnies! You have seventeen minutes to get into costume! Dress uniforms for the captain's birthday party!"

"But my ears take over an hour to put on!" Nimoy cried.

"Leonard, just stick 'em on the best you can. Now get going!"

For a long moment, Daphne stared at the telephone in her hand. She could hear Harry squawking, "You can't tell them! Do you hear me? DO YOU?"

She hung up the phone and went to Nimoy and Kelley, whose stunned expressions explained their immobility. Linking her arms in theirs, she pulled them toward the door.

"Daphne, are you smiling?" Kelley asked. "You can't be happy about this!"

"Well, gentlemen, we all have to take a chance. Especially if one is all you have."



part 4

"I dunno," the young security guard said as he eyed Julie suspiciously. "I'm not supposed to let unauthorized people onto the set."

"But it's not in use and we need it! Please listen to me. This is an emergency. You have to let us use that set!"

"Why don't you use your own set?"

"It's been disassembled and put in storage until they approve the pilot. And this one is the right size and shape, and it's available!"

"I dunno. If this turns out to be some bullshit prank, it'll mean my job. I can't take that kind of risk."

Julie glanced down at the name sewed into his shirt.

"Mr. Kyle, this is television. Risk is our business! That's what TV is all about. It's why we're on this lot!"

Swept along by Julie's inspiring rhetoric, the guard cried, "You're right! By God, there's a television show at stake here!"

"Yes! A *one-hour* television show! Now if you could please unlock the door..."

As he began sorting through his ring of keys, Julie turned on her walkie-talkie. "Tom? We've got it. The guard is opening the door now. Any luck rounding up a crew?"

"Man from Uncle was knocking off early. Their guys volunteered to help us out. I guess they miss live television."

"Well, who doesn't?" Kyle asked.

"Mr. Kyle, the door, the door!" Julie pleaded.

He inserted a key into the lock. "Nope, not this one."

"Tom, what kind of luck is Jay having with props?"

"Not a lot. I told him to use the champagne from the green room. You know, to make it look like a party."

"Good thinking! And Tom, when you get here, give a bottle to the security guard at the door. Over."

"That's real sweet of you," Kyle said as he tried another key. "What kind of show did you say it was? Science fiction? Like Twilight Zone, right? I loved that show. You know, I had an idea for a script about an alien who steals a man's brain and uses it to run a radio station on Mars--" Another key went into the lock. "Here we go!"

As the door swung open, Julie rushed past him and called back, "Sounds great, Mr. Kyle! Write it up and send it to Gene Roddenberry!"

***

As the screen was filled with the image of the Enterprise approaching the galactic core, the sharp-cut suit nudged Gene and jerked his head toward the back of the room. barrier

"It's Desi," he whispered.

"Desi *Arnaz*?"

"Shhhh! Don't look, you idiot!"

"Desi Arnaz. Watching *my* pilot. If he likes it..."

"...you're in like Flynn."

As a tingle crawled up his spine, Gene whispered reverently, "Desi Arnaz."

But his moment of rapture was cut short as the bridge of the Enterprise came up onscreen and he felt a sudden urge to invoke a stronger deity.

"Oh God."

"Miss Cochrane," the captain began as Zephyr handed her a cup of coffee. "It seems silly that you do nothing but wait on me. I think you're ready for some more responsibility. Why don't you sit down by Mr. Mitchell--"

With a smile that was simultaneously lecherous and smooth, Lockwood turned to the young woman and patted his thigh.

"Uh no," Jamocha continued. "On second thought, go sit with Lieutenant Taboo and learn about communications. Then when you're ready to take over there, she can go learn about engines. In fact--Mr. Mitchell and Mr. Kelso, switch places."

By now, most of the cast had grown accustomed to Daphne's extraordinary improvisations so the navigator and pilot responded, "Aye aye, ma'am" and obeyed as if she really were the captain.

"Now that I think about it, this is the perfect time for everyone to learn something new. Attention, all hands! This is the captain. I want everyone on this ship to be cross-trained in at least two other things. Over and out."

Nimoy, determined not to lose a single one of his lines, stomped down to the captain's chair.

"YOU HANDLED THE KLINGON COMMANDER MOST EFFECTIVELY, T'OOTSIE!"

Jamocha took a thoughtful beat and then said levelly, "Mr. Spock, I have a rank. It's not T'ootsie or Sweet'ee or T'hy'la. It's captain. C-A-P-T-A-I-N. Captain. Do we understand each other?"

Gene had desperately wanted to cut the scene, but it would have left the episode short by nearly a minute and they couldn't afford another expensive shot of the core writhing as it was penetrated by the starship, so he took what comfort he could in reminding himself that at least he'd been able to cut the part at the end where Nimoy looked into the camera and said, "Gene, I can't act with this."

***

While what remained of the film continued running for the executives, the actors stormed the only available dressing room and began shoving each other away from the mirrors as they frantically applied makeup. Any makeup.

"Do I have lines in this scene?" asked Kelley. "I'm pretty sure I have lines. Don't I make the toast? I can't remember all that. Is it all right if I just sing 'For she's a jolly good fellow'?"

"I don't know," replied Lockwood. "How's your singing voice?"

Mrs. Eymorg wheeled in a rack of clothing, pushed aside two of the nurses and began calling out names.

"Sulu! Mitchell! Remember--no smoking in costume, people!"

"You're smoking," Takei pointed out.

"That's 'cause they're *my* costumes. Taboo! Scotty! Kirk! CAPTAIN KIRK!"

"Oh dear, it's the wrap-around," Daphne said as Mrs. Eymorg handed her a green dress.

"Sorry, hon, the gold one is ripped. I knew I shouldn't have let that Trelane kid put these away." As Daphne ducked behind a screen, Mrs. Eymorg took a blue tunic off the rack and yelled, "SPOCK!"

"In the corner." Lockwood sauntered out the door, glad he was so good-looking he didn't need makeup.

Nimoy was indeed in the corner, frozen with fear and very close to curling up into a catatonic ball. Nichelle took his costume from Mrs. Eymorg and went to the unhappy actor.

"Leonard." She knelt down and touched his hand. "Leonard, here's your costume."

"Ears..." he mumbled. "Gotta have ears..."

"I'll help you with your ears. Now where are they?"

Nimoy's lip trembled as he held out his hand to reveal two rubber pointed ears resting in his palm.

"ACTORS, THIS IS YOUR FIVE-MINUTE CALL!" Jay's voice boomed out of the loud speaker. "FIVE MINUTES TO PLACES."

"All right, Leonard." Nichelle kept her voice firm but couldn't do anything about her shaking hands. "First the left and then the right. There. You're a perfect Vulcanian."

"Glue..."

"We don't have time for glue."

"But they'll fall off!"

"No, they won't. Just stand very still."

"Can't do that...Vulcanian...very animated...highly emotional! SEXUAL TURMOIL!"

"Well, um..."

Daphne, who had taken a seat nearby and was tugging on her left boot, leaned over and said quietly, "Leonard, I know it's a breach of etiquette to direct a fellow actor but if I may...?"

"Yes, anything! Please!"

"Have you considered taking your character in a different direction?"

***

"How much time do we have left?" Julie asked as she sat down next to Tom in the control booth.

"Three minutes to places," Tom replied, adjusting the vertical hold on one of the monitors. "I just realized something. How are we going to know when to cut in with the live feed?"

"Jay's working on getting us sound from the screening room. Jay, have you got it yet?"

"All set, Julie." Jay crawled out from under the board. "And now--direct from screening room three--we bring you Staaaaaar Trek, already in progress."

He flipped a switch and Daphne's voice filled the room.

"...I'm going to crawl through this vent and find the central power control."

"But, Captain. Jamocha. You might be killed." Lockwood's tone warmed seductively. "And I think I'm in love with you."

"You're not in love with me, Slate Mitchell..."

Despite the tense situation, Julie, Tom, and Jay couldn't help grinning at each other as they remembered how Daphne had turned an inappropriately romantic moment into yet another display of the captain's professionalism.

"...If anything, you're in love with yourself. I suggest you take that up with Dr. Adams in your next treatment. Now unpucker your lips and help me into the vent."

As the audio of the captain's journey through the duct system played on, Julie looked at the monitor and saw a small crowd of strangely dressed people milling about the set, apparently very excited to be there.

"Tom, who are all those people?"

"Extras. Jay found them and Mrs. Eymorg dressed them." Then he added under his breath, "More or less."

"But who are they? Where did they come from?"

Tom pretended to search for his headset.

"Well," Jay began uncomfortably. "The ones in starship uniforms are guys I know from around the lot. And the ones who look like aliens are...visitors."

"From what planet?"

"The game show planet," he mumbled.

"What?"

"They were waiting to get in to 'Let's Make a Deal.' I picked the ones that looked kind of outer-spacey--and they're really excited to be in a TV show--"

"I'll bet."

"Mrs. Eymorg slapped on a few bits of shiny fabric and some headgear and..." He stopped, swallowed, and added with a tentative smile, "They did their own makeup."

"Julie," Tom said gently, "it's a big set. We needed to fill the space."

After taking a moment to get her emotions under control, she looked Jay in the eye and said, "Jay, you're wonderful." Tearing up, she squeezed his hand and turned to Tom. "You're *both* wonderful. In fact, I think the three of us make the best team--"

"Save it, Julie," Tom interrupted. "Here come the actors."

***

In the screening room, Desi Arnaz frowned as Captain Kirk hoisted herself back into the vent, carrying the now-unconscious guard's phaser.

"You wanted to see me, Mr. Arnaz?" Gene whispered as he approached.

"She picked up the gun?"

"It's a phaser, sir."

"I don't care what you call it. I don't like women with weapons."

"The actress improvised that."

"It's not good. I'll tell you what's good. Wearing a fancy costume and pretending to be a pony--that's good. Opening a bin and lots of funny things fall out--that's good. You understand what I'm saying?"

"It's a difficult concept, sir."

"We learn by doing, Roddenberry."

***

"Spread out, people! This is a bigger set than you're used to!" Leaning into the control booth microphone, Tom ran through the setup at a break-neck pace. "Aliens and new crewmen, fill in wherever there's an empty space! You have no lines and no business, understand? Just look at whoever's speaking and don't call attention to yourselves. Nurses, I want you on the stairs! Chalice, stand at the top--step back when the captain comes in. Cherish, go up a couple more steps! Lockwood! Get away from the champagne!"

"Where are we supposed to be?" Nichelle asked.

"The captain's birthday party!"

"But that was in her quarters!"

"Not anymore. And you have a new line. Camera One--we'll open with a closeup of Taboo. Nichelle, you say, 'Isn't the shuttlecraft hangar decorated beautifully for the captain's party?' Then Camera One, pull back to reveal the whole crew--"

"--in the foyer of the Beverly Hillbillies' mansion," Jay added with a snicker.

Julie shushed him. "It will be all right. They're hanging drapes, see?"

She pointed at one of the monitors just as a swath of red velvet unfurled along the back wall and hit the floor with a heavy *foomp*!

"--Camera Two, you'll give me a medium shot of Dr. McCoy as he says-- where's McCoy? MCCOY!" With one eye on the set and the other on the clock, Tom was talking faster with each passing second.

"I'm stuck in these goddamn curtains!" came the muffled reply.

"Get him out of there! The rest of you, raise your glasses when he finishes the toast. Then Daphne--are you there, Daphne?"

"Right here, Tom." Daphne poked her head out from behind the wall at the top of the stairs.

"Good. Then you step forward and--"

"Ten seconds, Tom," Jay said.

"We're counting down! Daphne, just wing it!"

"Oh! Well, yes, of course." She smiled sweetly and stepped back behind the wall.

As Tom put on his headset, Jay picked up the phone, dialed, and said, "Are you ready to receive our signal?"

Julie took over at the microphone. "Five, four, three, two, one..."

***

Wide-eyed with wonder, Lieutenant Taboo turned to Storm Scott and said, "Isn't the shuttlecraft hangar decorated beautifully for the captain's party?"

"Camera One, pull back," Tom said. "And Camera Two on Dr. McCoy."

The doctor cleared his throat and began singing in a quavering voice, "For she's a jolly good fellow..."

As the rest of the cast joined in, Jay whispered into the phone, "Hold on, I want you to repeat that." Grinning, he held the phone to Julie's ear. "It's the guy who ran the M5 cable into the screening room for us. Buddy of mine. Listen."

"--unbelievable timing. There wasn't even a break between the end of the film and the beginning of your broadcast. I don't think anyone even suspects they're watching a live scene!"

"Thanks, Riley! We owe you." Jay hung up the phone.

Julie gave a thumbs-up to Tom, who nodded his acknowledgement as he instructed Camera Two to move in closer on McCoy.

"So let's all raise our glasses to our guest of honor, Captain Jamocha Kirk." The doctor held up his glass, glanced down at the words written on the palm of his hand and added, "We're all looking forward to serving under you for many years to come."

"Camera One, pan the crew and then up to the captain," Tom said.

"Thank you, Dr. McCoy, what a lovely speech." Daphne stood at the top of the stairs smiling at those gathered below. "I can't tell you all how deeply moved I am. I never in my wildest dreams imagined that I would be the recipient of so much genuine affection."

"I can't believe she still remembers her lines! What a trouper!" Julie whispered.

Daphne pursed her lips for a moment before she went on. "It makes it all the more difficult for me to say what I'm going to say. Yes, I do feel it's time to set the record straight."

"That's not in the script," Jay said. "Julie, she's going up!"

"It's all right. If she's forgotten her lines, she'll cover it. She's a pro."

"Camera Two, give me a wide shot of the party. Camera One, stay with the captain."

"You see, I didn't come here just as a starship captain, I came to settle an old score. You all know that my father, Beauregard Kirk, was a Starfleet officer who was convicted of murder, but what you don't know is that he was framed by a mad scientist who programmed a computer to make it look like Commander Kirk was a heartless killer. He was drummed out of Starfleet, so he took to gambling and lost all his money in a game of fizzbin."

"Fizzbin?" Jay repeated.

"Camera Two, get me some reactions!" Tom ordered. "No, not those reactions! Find someone who doesn't look confused!"

Camera Two closed in on Lockwood who had made his way back to the champagne, apparently nonplussed by Daphne's latest hijacking of the script.

"Good," Julie said. "He's giving her credibility."

"I have a feeling that's gonna take better acting chops than Lockwood's got," Jay muttered.

"My mother," Daphne went on, "the lovely Miss Savannah Lee of the Jupiter Lees, took to drink and one night, she staggered out onto the dunes and fell through a rip in the fabric of space." Her voice shook a little and even Jay was moved by the understated display of emotion. "Her poor, shattered husband vowed to build a new life for himself and his daughter, and they left this galaxy seeking peace and solitude.Unfortunately their ship went off course and when they crash-landed on a desolate planet, he died and his young daughter was split into twopeople in a bizarre transporter accident."

"This is great!" Julie exclaimed as she started taking notes. "We could run for years on this stuff!"

>From Tom's perspective, the captain's mind-boggling revelations would have worked much better if the other actors hadn't been so dumbfounded that they'd forgotten such basics as 'don't bump into the furniture.' As it was, the only significant difference between the professionals and the amateurs was the absence of fear on the faces of the aliens and anonymous men in red shirts.

Despite the sea of blank stares around her, Daphne soldiered on. "The aliens of that planet took pity on the two orphaned children and sent one to be raised by a tribe of gentle space-faring Cherokee. They kept the other with them and raised her as one of their own, even teaching her their mystical ways."

She began moving down the stairs and Tom ordered Camera One to follow.

"But her one ambition in life was to be a Starfleet officer like her father before her--" Reaching the halfway point, she smiled at Cherish. With a little shriek, the nurse stumbled away, obviously terrified that proximity might make it necessary to participate in Daphne's strange, new world. Unruffled, Daphne shifted her focus to encompass all the party guests.

"--so she returned to Earth and studied and worked and studied some more until she was assigned to this very starship. And she knew she had to speak out wherever she saw injustice and inhumanity." She scanned the crowd and reached across the banister to Kelley. "God save us, you do understand that, don't you, Dr. McCoy?"

"Camera Two, closeup on McCoy."

"I--I--I never laid a hand on her," Kelley stammered as he backed away.

With a snort of disgust, Tom ordered Camera Two to get off McCoy and onto anyone else.

"Yes, you did," Daphne scolded, "and she was shunned by all the rest of you, too. In fact, you wouldn't even call her by her name. To you, she was just 'Number One.'"

"Hey, wasn't that in the last pilot?" Jay asked.

"Shh! I'm trying to follow this," Julie said.

"You and me both."

"Camera One, move in closer on the captain."

"But despite your hostility, she sacrificed herself to save all your lives from a time-traveling super-human tyrant who had acquired a device that was worse than anti-matter, it was--it was--p-p-PROTO-MATTER!"

"Super-human tyrant...Proto-matter...Brilliant!" Julie murmured as she scribbled.

"And when she defeated that tyrant by taking a full blast of radiation to protect this very ship, afterwards you all just dropped her off at a starbase without a word of thanks and then you went on as if she'd never existed. But she was deeply deeply deeply deeply loved by her brother."

"Brother?" Jay asked.

"From the transporter accident!" Julie snapped.

"Oh, of course."

"And it was this brother who was with her when she died and to whom she transferred her soul the way the aliens had taught her. And as he held her broken lifeless body in his arms, he swore that he would follow in her footsteps and and and and and and just just just--"

"She's running out of steam!" Jay said.

"No, she isn't. She's--she's building up to something. Just just just just just stay with her."

"I don't think we have any other choice. Camera One, hold steady."

"--just just just owe it all to her! But on her terms."

"Oh God, here come the terms," Jay said in a voice of despair.

"*As a woman.*" Daphne held for a beat and then lifted her chin a little higher. "And just as proud to be a woman as she ever was. For I'm not Jamocha Kirk--" With a curious half-smile, Daphne peeled away her false eyelashes. "--daughter of Beauregard and Savannah Lee Kirk. No, I'm not."

She removed her wig and threw it to the ground, revealing to all that the dilithium magnolia of the USS Enterprise was in reality--

"A MAN!"

The shocked cries from the ensemble covered the three screams from the control booth but didn't quite obscure the sound of two boom mikes colliding and a wall giving way as Doohan fell against it. But even such contextually valid reactions were eclipsed by the dizzying camera work that suddenly panned the soundstage ceiling, a half dozen yards of red drapery, and Yeoman Cochrane's bosom before settling shakily on Granny's kitchen, where Mrs. Eymorg sat smoking.

"Camera Two, give me a wide shot! Now!" Tom demanded, suddenly grateful that most of the actors had their backs to the camera since they'd dropped their characters along with their champagne glasses. "Camera One, get back on the captain!"

"Oh God oh God oh God..." Julie moaned.

"I'm James Kirk," the captain declared in a strong, deep voice, "her long-lost brother, the other half of her true self. I'm James Kirk, who left behind a promising career as medicine chief to search for his sister while working as an intergalactic playboy and superspy."

"Camera Two, go to Chastain."

"Which one's Chastain?" the camera man's voice crackled from the speaker.

"Brunette! No, redhead! Whichever one hasn't fainted!"

"I'm James Kirk, who learned of his sister's horrible treatment at your hands while on a secret mission to steal a formula that could make a starship invisible. I'm James Kirk, who stands before you as the keeper of his sister's spirit and who has finally vindicated her good name, and I'm not sad or vengeful, but proud and lucky and strong enough to be the woman that was the best part of my manhood. The best part of myself."

It was a full three seconds before Tom could recover himself enough to call for a shot of someone other than the captain, whose earnest portrayal of pride, luck, and manly strength threatened to burst the edges of the screen.

"Camera Two, go to--go to--" He frantically searched the scene, finally picking out one of the few people who was facing front and playing something other than 'gaping astonishment.' "Go to the red shirt downstage right!"

The camera closed in on Mr. Kyle, who scratched the back of his head and observed to no one in particular, "This is one nutty starship."

"Amen to that," Tom muttered. But he couldn't let the show end on such a staggeringly ironic understatement--from a nameless security guard, no less!--so he summoned all his courage and optimism and directed Camera One to a tight shot of Spock.

As the camera moved in, Nimoy, somehow aware that this was his moment, carefully turned three-quarters front and raised his right eyebrow.

"Now that's acting," Jay murmured.

"Camera One, hold...and fade." His energy and creativity depleted, Tom looked to Julie. "Roll credits?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Why not? I just hope my name's misspelled."

***

In the screening room, Desi Arnaz, hands on his hips and his face dark with anger, slowly turned toward Gene.

"Roddenberry, you got a lot of splainin' to do."



EPILOG--FOUR MONTHS LATER

"What'll you have, dear?" Pad in hand and pen at the ready, the waitress shifted her weight from one hip to the other.

Julie shook her head. "Just a Coke right now. I'm waiting for someone."

With a long-suffering sigh, the waitress went back to the kitchen. Julie moved closer to the window and scanned the street. Seeing a familiar face--but not the one she was expecting--she half-rose in the booth and rapped on the glass.

'Me?' the man outside mouthed.

She smiled and waved him in.

Moments later, the former Daphne Howard stood in front of her, hands in his pockets, smiling awkwardly.

"I didn't think you'd ever want to see me again."

"I didn't. But--well, sit down. How have you been?"

"Out of work."

"I'm sorry. We didn't blackball you, you know."

"I know."

"That would have required telling people about what happened and the studio wanted the whole thing hushed up."

"It's so reassuring to hear that the best performance of my career can't even be talked about."

In the long silence, the waitress returned with Julie's Coke.

"Ready to order?"

"Do you want something?" Julie asked.

"No, thanks."

The waitress glared at them both and left.

"I'm glad I saw you standing out there," Julie said. "I've been wanting to tell you something. They've asked Gene to do another pilot."

"What kind of show?"

"Star Trek."

"What? They went for it?"

"Kind of. They wanted some changes--"

"They always do." He sat back, now relaxed and confident. "Who's playing the captain?"

"William Shatner."

"Oh." He slumped unhappily. "Well, yeah, I can see that. I saw his 'Alexander the Great' pilot--he looked pretty good in a skirt."

Rolling her eyes, Julie said, "The captain is a *man*."

"A man? Awww, Julie. That's so predictable. A man."

"America isn't ready for a cross-dressing captain."

"Jamocha wasn't a cross-dresser! She was a woman played by a man! Like in Shakespeare's day."

"Unfortunately, Elizabethan groundlings were more sophisticated than the average TV viewer."

"I can't believe this. After all that work! I was very proud of what I did as Jamocha. I really felt I understood her."

"I know, and I think it was a wonderful performance. And I think you should know--" Her eyes lit up. "--so did Desi Arnaz."

"Really?"

"He had a few criticisms, but up until Jamocha turned out to be a man, he really liked her."

"Then why aren't you going with that?"

"Lucille Ball vetoed the idea. She said TV already has a wacky redhead."

"She thought Jamocha was *wacky*?"

"Well, you have to admit that last speech was a little over-the-top."

"Over the top? That was great acting! It was honest, it came straight from the gut, it was--"

"Oh, come on! An accident that splits someone into two people? A dying woman transferring her soul to her brother? Space-faring Cherokee?"

"Okay, so maybe it could have used a little editing, but it could work."

"Not all in one episode."

"It's science fiction!"

Laughing, Julie conceded to his logic. "All right, all right, it's perfectly plausible. I'll make sure Gene uses every bit of it. Right now, I'm more concerned about you."

"What about me?"

"An actor as talented as you are shouldn't be out of work. I wonder..."

"What?"

"Well..." She thought for a moment as she twirled her straw. "I just heard about a project that I think you'd be right for. It's a movie about a young man just out of college. He's searching for direction and--"

"Wait a minute. I heard about that. He gets involved with an older woman, friend of his parents, right?"

"Yes."

"I saw the call sheet. They want a good-looking, Ivy League type. I'm all wrong for it. Definitely. All wrong. Definitely, definitely wrong."

"Listen to me. You convinced Gene Roddenberry, Desi Arnaz, and everyone on that lot that you were a woman. An extraordinary woman, capable of commanding a starship. You can play any part you set your mind to. Make your agent submit you for it. I've got a feeling about this. It could be your big break."

"Well...all right. I'll give it a try. Thanks, Julie."

Julie found herself enjoying his smile. It was warm and playful, and she suddenly felt at ease in a way she hadn't since...well, since the last time she'd had coffee with Daphne.

"Listen," she said, "I wonder if--"

There was a rap on the window and both looked out to see a young girl pressing her face to the glass.

"Oh, here's my niece! She and her mother are having lunch with me. They're visiting from England. Would you like to join us?"

"Thanks, but I think I'm going to go talk to my agent."

"Good for you. Give my regards to Harry."

As he left the coffee shop, he passed Julie's niece on her way in.

"Have a nice lunch with your aunt."

"Oh!" The girl stopped and stared at him. "How did you--?"

He just smiled and kept going.

"Aunt Julie," the girl exclaimed as she slid into the booth. "I think I just met a psychic!"

Julie laughed. "The man in the doorway?"

"Yes! He knew I was having lunch with my aunt."

"He wasn't a psychic, he's a friend of mine. Where's your mother?"

"She dropped me off. I think she didn't want me to see her trying to park the car. She keeps trying to drive on the left. She's quite dangerous, you know."

"Everyone here is dangerous on the road. That's part of our charm. So what do you think of California so far?"

"It's very different from home. Lovely weather and all but..."

"Yes?"

She was still young enough to pout and she did. "My autograph book is still empty. I haven't seen a single film star."

"You just spoke to someone who will be a star very soon."

"Who?"

"My friend. The one you thought was a psychic."

"What's his name?"

To her great embarrassment, Julie realized she still didn't know Daphne's real name. Oh well. She felt certain that she'd see it soon enough on a movie screen.

"Aunt Julie?"

Seeing the eager curiosity in her niece's face and thinking of the future that Daphne had envisioned, Julie reached across the table and patted the girl's hand. "Jeanne-Louise, he's the woman I'd most like you to be when you grow up."

"Whatever does that mean?"

"Anybody ready to order yet?" the waitress interrupted.

"Yes, please," Jeanne-Louise replied. "Tea. Earl Grey. Hot."



[The End]


ADDITIONAL ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS: This story was inspired not only by Star Trek, but also the movie "Tootsie," written by Larry Gelbart, Barry Levinson, Elaine May, Don McGuire, and Murray Schisgal, and produced by Columbia Pictures Corporation, Delphi, Mirage, and Punch Productions. No copyright infringement is intended, only affectionate tribute. On more thing--it would be wrong wrong wrong if I failed to acknowledge the delightful and inspiring performance of Dustin Hoffman in that movie. His portrayal of both "Dorothy Michaels" and "Michael Dorsey" ranks high on my list of favorites. I only wish I could have worked in the part where he shoved the mime.