TITLE: The Convalescent Syndrome
AUTHOR: MikeJaffa
SYNOPSIS: Tag to TOS 2 x 18 “The Immunity Syndrome:” Where was Mr. Sulu? Mr. Chekov catches up with him on Starbase 6
DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is owned by Paramount Pictures. I am making no money off this fic.
AUTHOR’S NOTE/WARNING: This is a product of my Silly Muse after rewatching “The Immunity Syndrome” on Paramount Plus. Do not eat or drink while reading this fic. Blame Long Covid brain fog if you don’t find it funny.
8
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8
Ensign Pavel Chekov paused just inside the entrance to Starbase 6’s lounge. The place was crowded with officers and crew from the base and ships that had put in. Chekov wondered if he was up to this. Although Doctor McCoy had given the crew a clean bill of health after the *Enterprise’s* encounter with the giant space amoeba, Chekov still felt run down. He supposed he would get a drink and then return to the ship if he didn’t find anyone to talk to.
A voice called, “Pavel! Over here.”
Chekov looked in the direction of the voice and saw Hikaru Sulu waving from the bar. A month earlier, a subspace telescope orbiting a gas giant in an uninhabited solar system had gone offline. The desk jockey at Starfleet who had been charged with juggling the telescope’s repair with conflicting priorities and ship missions had remembered that in addition to being the *Enterprise’s* main helmsman, Mr. Sulu was an expert mathematician and software engineer, and had been in the *Enterprise’s* math department before being transferred to the bridge and taking his usual place at the helm. And so it was that Captain James T. Kirk had received orders loaning Sulu out to the ad hoc team dispatched to repair the telescope. The plan had been for Sulu and the *Enterprise* to go their separate ways and rendezvous at Starbase 6, assuming the telescope repair didn’t take longer than had been estimated. Chekov had not seen his shipmate for three weeks.
Chekov brightened slightly and nodded back. Sulu turned to the bartender for a moment, then turned back with two glasses in his hands. He nodded for Chekov to follow. Chekov made his way through the lounge’s patrons to meet Sulu at a booth.
As they sat and Sulu put their drinks down, Sulu said, “The *Enterprise* just get in?”
“A couple of hours ago,” Chekov replied. “You?”
“Got in last night. I found my temporary quarters and I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I just got up. I’m having a liquid late breakfast until I’m back on ship time, and I don’t care what the doc says.”
They sipped their drinks.
Chekov said, “So, Mr. Sulu, how did the mission go?”
Sulu took a deep breath. “Mr. Chekov, if I didn’t mind the thought of Temporal Investigations giving me a four-man colonoscopy, I would steal a scout ship, go back in time with a slingshot maneuver around a star, and tell my younger self not to minor in math and computer software at Starfleet academy. I think I may be the only man in the Federation who knows how to count!”
“So it was a software issue like Starfleet said?”
“No! No! You know what it was, Mr. Chekov? An ice crystal the size of a hair mite going a gazillion meters per second hit the sweet spot on an exterior electrical connection and caused a static electric discharge that fried a third of the station’s neural network. Eight-hour spacewalk to replace the affected components and reboot the telescope.”
“Ooh! I hate long spacewalks, Mr. Sulu. I can see why you are so cranky.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Starfleet didn’t have a ship to take us all the way, so we ended up moving ourselves and our spare parts to a merchant ship and doing the telescope repair from it. I had my own cabin, which was nice…until the hatch closed. The heat didn’t work the first night. I had to fix the thermostat myself. The sonic shower kept connecting itself to the entertainment system and blasting me with heavy metal music. That was an interesting sensation, I gotta tell you. And the cabin next to mine was occupied by a Deltan couple. Guess what they were doing all night every night? I think I’ve slept a total of an hour over the past three weeks! And yes, you guessed it, the ship is literally named the S. S. *Patience.* You’ll find its picture in the library computer under ‘irony.’”
“None of the other Starfleet officers would trade with you?”
“No, none of them wanted my cabin. Can’t imagine why.”
“Did you go to the ship’s captain?”
“He’s a Tellarite.”
“I see. Better to suffer.”
“They say it’s good for the soul. But the mission was a success. That’s the important thing. The telescope is back online, and the science division is very happy.” He sipped his drink and smiled. “So, Mr. Chekov. How’s the *Enteprise?* Did she behave herself while I was away?”
“Mr. Kyle doesn’t have any major injuries, Mr. Sulu.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
“Not really. Same crap, different star systems. Although just before we got to starbase, we were almost eaten by a giant space amoeba that had destroyed a solar system and the USS *Intrepid.*”
Sulu chuckled. “Well, you’re here, so I guess the captain found a way to give it indigestion.”
“You could say that, although we almost didn’t get out alive.”
Sulu began to realize that Chekov wasn’t kidding. “Wait—you’re serious!?”
“Deadly serious. Didn’t you hear?”
“No. I told you, I’ve been asleep since I got here.”
“Well, as they say in Moscow, that is how I spent my summer vacation.”
“I see.” Sulu sipped his drink. “You know, now that I think about it, those Deltans were very gracious and made me breakfast every morning…”
THE END
AUTHOR: MikeJaffa
SYNOPSIS: Tag to TOS 2 x 18 “The Immunity Syndrome:” Where was Mr. Sulu? Mr. Chekov catches up with him on Starbase 6
DISCLAIMER: Star Trek is owned by Paramount Pictures. I am making no money off this fic.
AUTHOR’S NOTE/WARNING: This is a product of my Silly Muse after rewatching “The Immunity Syndrome” on Paramount Plus. Do not eat or drink while reading this fic. Blame Long Covid brain fog if you don’t find it funny.
8
8
8
8
Ensign Pavel Chekov paused just inside the entrance to Starbase 6’s lounge. The place was crowded with officers and crew from the base and ships that had put in. Chekov wondered if he was up to this. Although Doctor McCoy had given the crew a clean bill of health after the *Enterprise’s* encounter with the giant space amoeba, Chekov still felt run down. He supposed he would get a drink and then return to the ship if he didn’t find anyone to talk to.
A voice called, “Pavel! Over here.”
Chekov looked in the direction of the voice and saw Hikaru Sulu waving from the bar. A month earlier, a subspace telescope orbiting a gas giant in an uninhabited solar system had gone offline. The desk jockey at Starfleet who had been charged with juggling the telescope’s repair with conflicting priorities and ship missions had remembered that in addition to being the *Enterprise’s* main helmsman, Mr. Sulu was an expert mathematician and software engineer, and had been in the *Enterprise’s* math department before being transferred to the bridge and taking his usual place at the helm. And so it was that Captain James T. Kirk had received orders loaning Sulu out to the ad hoc team dispatched to repair the telescope. The plan had been for Sulu and the *Enterprise* to go their separate ways and rendezvous at Starbase 6, assuming the telescope repair didn’t take longer than had been estimated. Chekov had not seen his shipmate for three weeks.
Chekov brightened slightly and nodded back. Sulu turned to the bartender for a moment, then turned back with two glasses in his hands. He nodded for Chekov to follow. Chekov made his way through the lounge’s patrons to meet Sulu at a booth.
As they sat and Sulu put their drinks down, Sulu said, “The *Enterprise* just get in?”
“A couple of hours ago,” Chekov replied. “You?”
“Got in last night. I found my temporary quarters and I think I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I just got up. I’m having a liquid late breakfast until I’m back on ship time, and I don’t care what the doc says.”
They sipped their drinks.
Chekov said, “So, Mr. Sulu, how did the mission go?”
Sulu took a deep breath. “Mr. Chekov, if I didn’t mind the thought of Temporal Investigations giving me a four-man colonoscopy, I would steal a scout ship, go back in time with a slingshot maneuver around a star, and tell my younger self not to minor in math and computer software at Starfleet academy. I think I may be the only man in the Federation who knows how to count!”
“So it was a software issue like Starfleet said?”
“No! No! You know what it was, Mr. Chekov? An ice crystal the size of a hair mite going a gazillion meters per second hit the sweet spot on an exterior electrical connection and caused a static electric discharge that fried a third of the station’s neural network. Eight-hour spacewalk to replace the affected components and reboot the telescope.”
“Ooh! I hate long spacewalks, Mr. Sulu. I can see why you are so cranky.”
“You don’t know the half of it. Starfleet didn’t have a ship to take us all the way, so we ended up moving ourselves and our spare parts to a merchant ship and doing the telescope repair from it. I had my own cabin, which was nice…until the hatch closed. The heat didn’t work the first night. I had to fix the thermostat myself. The sonic shower kept connecting itself to the entertainment system and blasting me with heavy metal music. That was an interesting sensation, I gotta tell you. And the cabin next to mine was occupied by a Deltan couple. Guess what they were doing all night every night? I think I’ve slept a total of an hour over the past three weeks! And yes, you guessed it, the ship is literally named the S. S. *Patience.* You’ll find its picture in the library computer under ‘irony.’”
“None of the other Starfleet officers would trade with you?”
“No, none of them wanted my cabin. Can’t imagine why.”
“Did you go to the ship’s captain?”
“He’s a Tellarite.”
“I see. Better to suffer.”
“They say it’s good for the soul. But the mission was a success. That’s the important thing. The telescope is back online, and the science division is very happy.” He sipped his drink and smiled. “So, Mr. Chekov. How’s the *Enteprise?* Did she behave herself while I was away?”
“Mr. Kyle doesn’t have any major injuries, Mr. Sulu.”
“Anything interesting happen?”
“Not really. Same crap, different star systems. Although just before we got to starbase, we were almost eaten by a giant space amoeba that had destroyed a solar system and the USS *Intrepid.*”
Sulu chuckled. “Well, you’re here, so I guess the captain found a way to give it indigestion.”
“You could say that, although we almost didn’t get out alive.”
Sulu began to realize that Chekov wasn’t kidding. “Wait—you’re serious!?”
“Deadly serious. Didn’t you hear?”
“No. I told you, I’ve been asleep since I got here.”
“Well, as they say in Moscow, that is how I spent my summer vacation.”
“I see.” Sulu sipped his drink. “You know, now that I think about it, those Deltans were very gracious and made me breakfast every morning…”
THE END
