Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 0428.07. We’ve been on the planet’s surface for weeks now, and the situation remains unchanged. The crew is badly in need of R&R and I’ve got a headache.
“Captain, the Admiral is calling. He’s requesting your report.”
“Put him through to my quarters, Youth-Hurrah. I’ll take it there.”
“Admiral Kirkwood, it’s good to see you again.”
“You, too, Kirche. Well, let’s have it.”
“Admiral, we’ve done our best, but these people are very resistant. Lieutenant Youth-Hurrah managed to captivate a few of the younger inhabitants, but their parents sent them all running for higher things. Mr. Checkbook’s idea of innovation was to turn his aphaser! setting to kill, but even that didn’t aphase! them. Lieutenant Sue-Lue keeps asking if I need any help, and First Officer Spark lies in the fetal position in sick-bay, getting fat on plomeek soup, trying to realize his creativity!
“Jim, Jim…. Put all that aside for now. I have an offer for you. I want you here with me, on my personal staff. Whaddya say?”
“Leave my ship? But Admiral, don’t we already have a shortage of captains in the trenches, so to speak?”
“That’s the beauty of it, Jim. You’ll still be in command, but you’ll be supervising junior officers who‘ll be running the Enterprise, the Constitution, and the Reconciliation.”
“That’s quite a change, Admiral. Can I think about it?”
“Sure, Jim. No pressure. Take your time. I’ll call you back this afternoon. Kirkwood out.”
“Jim, what brings you to sick bay?”
“Dry Bones, ya got any more of that plomeek soup?”