First off, I should mention that we are interrupting our regularly-scheduled broadcast.  Rather than experiencing the exciting face-off between Spock and the Professor, I have something else.  In the past week or so, both Lenny and the Shat had birthdays, so I figured I'd write a semi-relevant story.  Incidentally, for those of you collecting trivia about me, my grandma's birthday is apparently the same day as Shatner's.  As odd as it sounds, this association will probably make me remember both birthdays for years to come.

Oh, yes, the Gilligan's Island story will return!  It may be delayed; it's actually taking me longer than I thought it would.  If it is possible to be both a procrastinator and a perfectionist, at the same time, that's me.

                                                Spock vs. Birthdays

            Sometimes, humans can be a real pain.  Metaphorically speaking, of course.  By some means, Captain Kirk had discovered Spock's date of birth; more specifically, that the date in question was fast approaching, and was intent on acknowledging it in a very…human fashion.

            Generally, personal business was not brought up in senior officers' meetings, but Kirk defied tradition in this case.  This did not surprise Spock, as the captain was prone to such rebellious acts; however, the fact that Spock himself was the subject of this variance disturbed him.

            "So, Mr. Spock's birthday is next week, and I thought it would be nice to have a party," Kirk announced to those remaining in the briefing room.  In between the familiar faces of Sulu, Chekov, Scotty, Uhura, and McCoy were sprinkled several extras who may or may not show up again.

            The news prompted a pleasant, but muted, response.  Pleasant because, obviously, everyone loves parties, especially when they provide some change in the humdrum routine of deep space exploration.  Muted because, well, this was a Vulcan birthday party.

            McCoy was grinning.  "You wouldn't believe the amount of planning that went into this!  I had to pick up ten cases of Roxovian goose feathers at Starbase 12!"

            Spock favored him with quirked eyebrow and a wary eye.

            There was a murmur at the far end of the table, as the officers recognized the true meaning of this event:  they were invited to a party.

            Kirk smiled at Spock's reaction.  "We were going to throw a surprise party, but we thought it might alarm you."

            "…And we wouldn't want to do that!" McCoy added, unable to repress the goofy grin.

            Spock glanced aside at the others officers, who were involved in their own separate conversation about how few parties they had.  "Am I expected to be in attendance at this gathering?"

            McCoy's grin faded.  "You've gotta be kidding me."  He turned to Kirk.  "Is he for real?"

            Spock opened his mouth to answer McCoy, no doubt with an in-depth discussion of reality and perception, but Kirk cut him off.

            "Well, yes, Spock.  It's your party."

            "I did not request it," Spock protested bluntly.

            Kirk hesitated and slowly nodded.  "No, you didn't, but the point is that your friends are celebrating this…er, achievement of yours."

            Spock could have been taunting them.  Surely, he knew what birthday parties were?  "It is an achievement that I have lived up to this point in time, which happens to correlate with the date of my birth?" he commented dryly.

            Kirk hesitated again.  "Well…yes."

            "Oh, give it up, Spock!" McCoy interrupted impatiently.  "You're the guest of honor, the man of the hour, so you're coming!  Whether you like it or not!"

            "I see," Spock said.

            McCoy and Kirk exchanged satisfied glances.

            "Then it's settled," Kirk said.

            McCoy smiled mischievously.  "I hope you like cake—unless that's not very Vulcan."

            "It is not," Spock replied shortly.

            "Cake?" Kirk said in mock disbelief.  "No one eats cake anymore!  Birthdays are celebrated with plomeek soup!"

*   *   *

            "I think something went wrong with the icing," McCoy said, wincing at the tub of thick, sticky, gelatinous frosting sitting beside the dry cake.  Several people had already attempted to spread the gooey mess onto the cake, to no avail.

            "I'll say," Kirk agreed, lifting the spatula from the container—with some difficulty—and creating an elastic strand of ooze.

            "Who came up with this recipe, anyway?" Sulu asked.

            "It's not fit for human consumption," Chekov added.

            "I think it was Scotty," Uhura said.

            There were murmurs throughout the group.  Of course, an engineer.  Well, what can you expect?

            They were so preoccupied by the icing they did not immediately notice Spock's presence among them.  Spock said nothing to attract attention to himself, but attention arrived quickly nonetheless.

            "What are you wearing?" Kirk asked incredulously.

            Spock, apparently already having observed his faux pas, retained his dignity with logical grace.  "Unless you are experiencing difficulty with your vision, it should be quite obvious that I am wearing my dress uniform," he said, almost haughtily.

            McCoy released a bark of laughter.  "His dress uniform!" he announced to no one in particular.

            "I suppose it's a bit late, but formal attire was not necessary for this occasion," Kirk said, biting his lip.

            "Thank you, Captain," Spock replied, proving that Vulcans can, indeed, express sarcasm.

            "I hope you didn't have your heart set on cake, Spock, cause that's a bust," McCoy said.

            "I did not have my heart set on anything, Doctor," Spock said, standing stiffly.

            Kirk smiled.  "That's right, Bones, you're forgetting cake isn't a Vulcan way to celebrate."

            McCoy nodded in exaggerated realization.  "Ah, yes.  So, how do Vulcans celebrate birthdays, Spock?"

            "They do not."

            "Ouch," Kirk grimaced.

            And then the small talk and party games commenced.

            The doors burst open, at least as much as sliding doors can burst, and a small party of Klingons with disruptors charged into the room.  Obviously, this small party had nothing to do with the considerably larger party they were at present disrupting, nor are Klingon parties any more enjoyable than Vulcan parties.

            Everyone stopped dead—metaphorically speaking, so far—and stared at the Klingons.

            "We're taking this ship!" one of them, presumably the leader, bellowed.

            Kirk scowled.  "There are only five of you.  We outnumber you in this room alone."      

            "Do you doubt our strength?" the Klingon shouted, aiming the disruptor at Kirk.

            Kirk put his hands up in an reassuring pose.  "No, no!  Of course not!  But I can't help but question precisely how you intend to take control."

            The Klingon didn't even hesitate.  "We have soldiers patrolling every vital section of this ship!"

            Spock interceded.  "This is not a vital part of the ship.  This is a birthday party."

            "A what?" the Klingon yelled, annoyed.

            Kirk stepped closer to the table on which the cake sat and added, "Oh, I'm sure you must celebrate birthdays.  Perhaps with CAKE!"  And he lifted the tub of icing and threw it at the group as hard as he could.  The icing splattered out of the container and into the face of the head Klingon.  He howled in fury, but was unsuccessful in his attempts to wipe the mess off his face.

            Meanwhile, Sulu and Spock eased along the left flank, Chekov and McCoy on the right, to engage the unoccupied Klingons in combat.  Due to the element of surprise, they were able to avoid being immediately killed by disruptor fire, but were still forced to spend the next five minutes struggling with the ferocious warriors in a dramatic battle involving furniture, food, and, in one instance, a boot thrown across the room.

            Spock took care of his foe quickly with a nerve pinch, but the others were not so lucky.  It didn't take long for McCoy and Chekov to be overwhelmed, left on the floor with black eyes and broken bones (no pun intended).  This, of course, is nothing to be concerned with because it's the future and medical technology is really good.

            Finally, with the help of Kirk and some good ol' fashioned fisticuffs, the Klingons were subdued (unconscious), and the Enterprise crew were left standing around trying to figure out what to do with them.

            "Is everyone all right?" Kirk asked.

            "Well, now that you ask, no," McCoy called from the floor.

            Kirk walked over to the wall intercom.  "Kirk to Bridge.  Are there any Klingons taking over the ship?"

            There was a long pause.  "Uh…no, sir.  Why do you ask?" came the response, from an young-sounding voice.

            Kirk looked around the room at the disarray.  Tables were overturned, shirts were ripped, disruptor burns scarred the walls.  "Just curious," Kirk replied.

            "That's a relief!" the voice, cracking with anxiety, responded.

            And then, for no immediately apparent reason, ducts in the ceiling opened and dumped out masses of feathers that whirled and floated in the air before finally resting on every surface in the room.  Everyone, except the security officer hiding under one of the still-upright tables, was covered in feathers.

            Kirk brushed himself off.  "What the hell was that?" he demanded.

            Scotty entered then, with an enormous grin on his face.  "Happy birthday, Mr. Spock!" he called to the Vulcan, who was barely recognizable in his white feathery coating.

            Kirk stared at Scott.  "Was this your doing?"

            Scott nodded happily.  "I rigged the ceiling ducts so we'd have some confetti.  It was supposed to release the feathers right as you sang 'Happy Birthday.'  Did I have the timing right?"

            Kirk continued to stare at Scott.  "No.  Your timing was not exactly right.  Where did you get such a ridiculous idea?"

            Scott took a step back, as if backing off from the entire concept.  "Oh, it weren't my idea!  It was the doctor's!"

            "Bones?!" Kirk said, as everyone turned to look at McCoy, who was still lying on the floor, cradling his left arm.

            McCoy looked up at the others.  "Hi," he said.

            "What purpose were those supposed to serve?" Kirk asked.

            "I was thinking ahead!" McCoy protested.

            "Hey, that's a Klingon!" Scott exclaimed, looking at the small party within the larger one.  Then he looked around, apparently just noticing the disorder under all the feathers.

            Kirk looked down at them as well.  "Yes.  Five Klingons."

            Everyone was quiet for a moment.

            "Well," McCoy murmured from the floor, "it looks like they've been tarred and feathered!"

*   *   *

            "…And then the Klingons showed up.  No one figured it out until later—apparently some over-excited security officer left the shields down and ignored the alert," Kirk recorded into his log.  It was later, on the bridge, after everything had been taken care of.

            "Well, what do you expect, really, when virtually all our senior officers were at the party?" McCoy grumbled.  His physical wounds were taken care of, but his emotional scars from the attack remained.

            "I don't recall you suggesting we leave a ranking officer on the bridge," Kirk retorted.  "Maybe you could've stayed."

            "And miss a party?" McCoy replied with a grin.

            "So, I'm sorry your party got ruined, Mr. Spock," Kirk said.

            Spock raised an eyebrow.  "I see.  The Klingon incident was not a scheduled activity," he said dryly.

            "You know, Spock, you haven't told us how old you are," McCoy inserted with an expectant grin.

            Spock turned his eyebrow on the doctor.  "It depends entirely upon which planet you are counting from.  For example—"

            McCoy shook his head vigorously.  "Okay, never mind.  I guess I don't need to know."

            They was a pause.

            "If nothing else," Kirk admitted, "you must say this was a memorable birthday."

            Spock nodded.  "Perhaps we should avoid such a gathering at my next birthday."

            "Not a bad idea," Kirk conceded.

            McCoy crossed his arms, wincing at the lingering pain in his left shoulder.  "Amen to that, brother."

This was perhaps the most action-packed story/episode I've ever written!  Makes you wonder why I don't do it more often, don't it?

More exciting stories coming soon!