“NO! Please don’t tell me that’s a Klingon!”
“Hi guys,” said a perky young gal that looked like Frenchy, the beauty school dropout from Grease. “Have a seat. Becky and I will have you looking like Klingons in no time.”
“I’ll get you for this,” Ox growled as Becky began lathering his face with viscous putty.
Forty-five minutes later we stood in front of full-length mirrors.
Ox, with his robust two hundred and twenty pound body actually bore a striking resemblance to the famous Worf.
Me, not so much.
With my hundred and forty-five pound frame, I looked more like Chester from Gunsmoke on a bad hair day.
“That’s the best we can do with what we had to work with,” Frenchy declared. “You guys will fit right in.”
Not exactly a ringing endorsement, but if we blended in with the other Trekkers at the auction, that would be enough.
I had to admit that when I put on one of the authentic costumes from the series, it was a thrill.
As we walked into the auditorium where the auction was to be held, Ox whispered, “I feel like an idiot.”
“Look around,” I replied. “Everyone else is in costume.” I pointed to three guys standing by the bar. “Even the Cardassians are here.”
That got Ox’s attention. “The Kardashians! Those gals with the big butts? Where?”
“No, the Cardassians. They are an extraterrestrial, warlike species from the Alpha Quadrant. They were introduced in the Next Generation series.”
I could see that Ox was disappointed.
At that moment, two other Klingon wannabes walked up to us.
“NugneH,” one said, saluting.
“Beg your pardon,” Ox replied, bewildered.
“That’s Klingon for ‘hello’,” the second guy said with disgust. “Guess you guys aren’t really into it. Let’s go find some real fans, Gowron.”
The first guy looked at Ox, “Hab SoSlI Quch!”
As they walked away, the second guy said, “Gowron just said that your mother has a smooth forehead. That’s an insult in case you didn’t know.”
“Unbelievable!” Ox muttered. “Is there really such a thing as a Klingon language?”
“Absolutely!” I replied. “Some guy published a book called The Klingon Dictionary. It sold over a half-million copies. Charles Dicken’s Christmas Carol was even translated into Klingon.”
Ox just shook his head.
Then I spotted a crowd gathered around an exhibit - the centerpiece of the evening’s festivities - the captain’s chair from the Starship Enterprise.
It was beautiful.
The captain's station was a single chair on a slightly raised platform in the center of the bridge. From this location he could issue commands, receive reports, watch the main viewscreen, speak to the crew and personally control and override command functions. The controls were in easy reach on the arms of the chair.
“So this is it?” Ox muttered with disdain. “Some poor sap is going to spend a half a million bucks for this?”
“You just don’t get it,” I replied. “For seventy-nine episodes, Captain Kirk commanded the Enterprise from this chair. He explored the universe, fought battles with aliens, navigated asteroid fields --- all from this chair! This the holy grail for any Star Trek fan.”
“You guys are nuts!”
Just then I felt a tap on my arm.
“Walt. Is that you?”
I turned and faced Jack Crawford, aka Captain Jean-Luc Picard, in full dress.
“I wasn’t sure if that was you. The girls did a remarkable job in make-up. So what do you think?” he said, pointing to the chair.
“Magnificent!” I replied.
Ox just grunted.
“We’ll be starting the auction soon. We have guards at all the exits. Have you spotted anything suspicious?”
“Not a thing. We’ll keep our eyes on the crowd. Hopefully everything will go as planned.”
Ox and I split up, taking positions at opposite ends of the room.
Minutes later, Jack Crawford took the podium.
“Ladies and Gentlemen and Star Trek fans, thank you for coming this evening. This is the moment you have been waiting for. In just a few minutes we will open the bidding for this remarkable piece of Star Trek memorabilia, but before we begin, I have a surprise. We have a special guest. When he heard about the auction and that the proceeds were to be donated to Children’s Mercy Hospital, he just couldn’t stay away.
“Please welcome Captain James T. Kirk, Mr. William Shatner!”
The crowd responded with thunderous applause as Mr. Shatner strode into the room in his captain’s dress uniform.
“Thank you for the warm welcome. It’s always a pleasure to meet and greet Star Trek fans.”
He looked wistfully at the chair to be auctioned. “I can’t begin to tell you how many hours my butt spent in that chair. Needless to say, it was a big part of my life. I hope the fan with the winning bid will take good care of her. This is truly a piece of television history.
“As many of you know, I have been a spokesman for Priceline, a company designed to get you stuff for the cheapest price. Tonight, I am hoping for just the opposite. Since the proceeds are going to support the kids at Mercy Hospital, I urge you to open your hearts and your wallets. I will start the bidding at two-hundred and fifty thousand!”
A roar went up from the crowd.
Jack Crawford returned to the podium.
“Thank you, Mr. Shatner. I’m now going to turn the mike over to the auctioneer from Sotheby’s who has volunteered his time and talents for this event.”
Initially, the bidding was spirited. A half-dozen costumed fans enthusiastically raised their paddles at the urging of the auctioneer. As the bid grew higher, disappointed Trekkers dropped out until there were only two left.
Jack Crawford stepped up beside me. “How ironic is this?” he asked. “The final two bidders represent the two cultures that were constantly at war.”
A slender figure with pointed ears raised his paddle. “Four hundred thousand!”
“That’s Valdore, the Romulan,” Crawford whispered.
His competitor, also sporting pointed ears raised his paddle. “Four hundred and twenty-five thousand.”
“That’s Sarek, the Vulcan. They, like their respective cultures, are bitter enemies. Almost every auction comes down to a bidding war between these two.
Valdore glared at his nemesis. “Four hundred and fifty thousand.”
Without hesitation, Sarek raised his paddle and returned the glare. “Four hundred and seventy-five thousand.”
The room grew deathly silent as everyone awaited Valdore’s response.
The Romulan threw down his paddle in disgust.
Hearing no further bids, the auctioneer spoke, “The bid is four hundred and seventy-five thousand. Going once --- going twice --- last call --- Sold! --- To Sarek, the Vulcan.”
As the crowd applauded, Valdore stormed out of the room.
Crawford stepped up to the mike. “Thank you all for coming and a special thanks to Mr. William Shatner. The proceeds from this event will help thousands of children. Please drive safely to your homes.”
Then, he raised his hand, split his fingers and said, “Live long and prosper.”
The audience responded in kind and began to disperse.
Crawford motioned for Ox and me to join him by the captain’s chair.
“A little bird told me that you might like to have a moment in the chair,” he said with a smile.
I nodded, a silly grin on my face.
“Help yourself. Sarek has a van waiting at the loading dock. His men will be here in a few minutes to load the chair. You might as well enjoy yourself until they get here. Would you mind staying with the chair until it’s loaded and on the road?”
“We’d be happy to,” I said, easing into the chair.
I closed my eyes and for a moment I was commanding the Enterprise.
“Take her out, Mr. Sulu. Warp 5.”
I opened my eyes and Ox was staring at me in disbelief.
“What!” I said indignantly. “Don’t you ever just let yourself go and pretend?”
Before he could answer, a shapely gal with big boobs and pointy ears threw herself into Ox’s arms.
“Help me!” she groaned.
Ox was taken by surprise. “Wha --- what’s wrong. How can I help?”
The Vulcan lass gazed into Ox’s eyes, “Pon farr. I need you!”
I tried to suppress a laugh without much success.
Ox looked at me in bewilderment.
“Pon farr,” I replied. “It’s a Vulcan thing. Every seven years they become sexually aroused and if they don’t mate, they will die. Looks like this gal’s life is in your hands.”
“Get away from me!” Ox muttered, shoving her away. “I’m married!”
The Vulcan bimbo stalked off giving Ox the finger.
Ox was just regaining his composure when two beefy guys with a four-wheeled dolly strode into the room.
Reluctantly, I slid out of the chair. My brief fantasy was over.
We watched as the two men loaded the chair onto the dolly and followed them onto the loading dock where a U-Haul van was waiting.
Carefully, they wrapped the chair in pads and lashed it securely to the side of the van.
“How cool is that?” I said, noticing the number on the rear door of the van.
“What?” Ox asked.
I pointed to the number. “1701. NCC-1701. That was the registry number of the Starship Enterprise.”
“Oh, good grief,” Ox muttered. “I’ll be so glad when this gig is over.”
After the taillights of the van disappeared in the distance, we turned and made our way back up the hallway from the dock.
As we passed a closed door, we heard a muffled groan.
“That doesn’t sound good,” Ox said. “We’d better take a look.”
Ox opened the door and reached for the light switch. In the far corner of the room sat three figures bound and gagged. One of them was Sarek.
We quickly cut them free and removed the duct tape from their mouths.
“It was Valdore!” Sarek sputtered. “They surprised us. They have the chair, don’t they?”
I nodded.
“Damn! I knew the Romulan bastard was evil, but I didn’t think he would resort to this!”
“Any idea where they might take the chair?” Ox asked.
“Not really,” Sarek replied. “The fool has a private collection second only to mine, but its location is a closely guarded secret. I have heard that he lives somewhere up north.”
“If no one can see it or enjoy it, then what’s the point?” Ox asked. “I just don’t get you guys.”
“Our cruiser is not far away,” I said. “They haven’t been gone long. If he’s headed north, he’s probably going either I-29 or I-35. Maybe we can cut them off.”
As we ran to the cruiser, I radioed the precinct, gave them a description of the van and hoped that we could cut them off before they left the city.
“Head for the bridge,” I said as Ox fired up our old Ford.
The Christopher Bond Bridge spanned the muddy and treacherous waters of the Missouri River. Once past the river the Interstate Highway split, with I-35 heading northeast to Des Moines while I-29 headed northwest to Omaha.
If they reached the split, our chances of finding them would be slim.
I breathed a sigh of relief when the radio crackled and I heard, “We’ve sealed both ends of the northbound lane of the Bond Bridge. There’s a U-Haul van on the span. We think it’s our perp.”
When we arrived at the south end of the bridge, it was just our luck that Officer Dooley was there.
“Wow! Klingons! Where did you guys land your Warbird?”
“Cut the crap, Dooley,” I said. “What have we got here?”
“Take it easy. Don’t get your tunic in a wad. We have them sealed off at both ends. Unfortunately they have automatic weapons so any direct assault could be dangerous. Oh, something else --- they’ve got this chair thing balanced on the edge of the bridge.”
“What? You’ve got to let me through!”
“Not without --- Oh, here comes the captain now. He’ll have to give the okay.”
“Walt, Ox. You made good time,” the captain said.
“Captain! I have to talk to them. They’re threatening to throw the Enterprise Chair into the river.”
“Walt, let’s get real. That chair is the least of our worries right now.”
“Tell that to the guy that just shelled out a half a million bucks for it,” I replied. “Look, they asked us to help with security. The least we can do is try. They can’t go anywhere. What do we have to lose?”
He thought for a minute. “I guess it couldn’t hurt.” He motioned to Dooley. “Let them through.”
We drove the cruiser toward the van and stopped when one of the goons pointed an automatic rifle in our direction.
Valdore was standing by the edge of the bridge balancing the chair on the rail.
Ox and I stepped out of the cruiser.
“Hah!” Valdore shouted. “Klingons! I should have figured that the Federation would send barbarians to do their dirty work.”
“Valdore, what are you doing with the chair. Surely you wouldn’t destroy it. It’s part of our heritage.”
“If I can’t have it, then neither will Sarek. I would rather see it destroyed than in the hands of that Vulcan.”
“So you throw it in the river,” I replied. “What then? You’re sealed off at both ends. This can’t end well for either of us.”
“Then I guess that we have a stalemate, don’t we, Klingon?”
“What do you want, Valdore?”
“I want off this bridge and I want my chair. If I don’t get what I want, blood will be shed and the chair will be gone.”
“Let me talk to my captain,” I replied.
“Any ideas?” Ox asked as we headed back to the cruiser.
“The Kobayashi Maru,” I muttered. “This is just like the Kobayashi Maru!”
“What in heaven’s name are you talking about now?” Ox asked, exasperated.
“It was part of the Star Trek Academy’s training program. It was simulation that was programmed to be unwinnable. No matter what the cadet would do, he either died, lost the Enterprise or lost the Kobayashi Maru with all its crew.”
“Why would they create a program like that?” Ox asked.
“To see how the cadet would react under pressure when faced with the possibility of death. No cadet ever defeated the program until James T. Kirk came along.”
“So how did he win?”
“He cheated! And that’s what we’re going to do!”
I got on the radio to the captain. “Sir, is the Coast Guard with us on this?”
“Yes, Walt. They’re standing by.”
“Then I hope they have one of those net things they use to catch suicide jumpers. If they do, have them maneuver silently under the bridge and be ready to catch that chair.”
“What then?”
“Then I have an idea. I just hope it works. When I give a hand signal, send cars toward us with lights flashing.”
As we headed back toward Valdore, Ox looked at me questioningly, “Is this going to be another one of those ‘drop your guns or I’ll shoot you with my toy phaser’ things?”
“It might be something like that,” I replied.
“Oh, crap!”
“Valdore,” I said with as much bravado as I could muster, “I’m afraid that my people are not willing to negotiate. We both must do what we have to do.”
“That’s unfortunate, my Klingon friend. I had hoped for a better resolution to our problem.”
Just then, I saw the shadow of the Coast Guard Cruiser slip under the bridge. I raised my hand and immediately patrol cars approached from both directions.
“This is the m
oment of truth, Valdore. Are you really going to selfishly destroy a piece of the Enterprise?”
“You leave me no choice,” he replied. I winced as I saw the precious heirloom topple over the side. I hoped that the Coast Guard had made the catch.
“So now what?” he asked. “As you can see, I am prepared to do whatever I must do.”
“What happens next is up to you,” I replied. “Before you make a decision, you might want to take a look at the river below. I didn’t hear a splash. Did you?”
I saw the puzzled expression on his face. He went to the edge and peered over. I assume that he saw his precious chair safely tucked away in the Coast Guard net.
“You Klingon bastard! You cheated!”
“Here’s the thing, Valdore. You have lost the captain’s chair. Are you still willing to give up your life for a lost cause?”
“What if I am?” he replied, his face red with rage. “Are you willing to die as well?”
“Valdore, you’re a Star Trek fan. Think back to the scene in The Wrath of Khan where Spock is on one side of the glass facing death and Kirk is on the other. Do you remember Spock’s words? ‘Logic clearly dictates that the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few’. I think that applies here. I’m ready to die if you are!”
“Just then, a helicopter rose above the bridge flooding the van, the two goons holding the guns and Valdore in a bright beam of light.
“Kill them!” Valdore shouted.
The two goons looked at each other, laid down their weapons and raised their hands. “You guys are stark raving mad!” one of them said. I ain’t ready to die for no damn chair.”
Valdore slumped to the ground and sobbed.
Ox and I both heaved huge sighs as officers cuffed the three and led them away.
“The guy was right, you know,” Ox said. “You are one crazy son-of-a-bitch! How did you know those guys would cave in?”
“I didn’t,” I replied, “but I knew Valdore wouldn’t. I figured that if I could convince the muscle that we were both crazy, they might have second thoughts. Think about it --- two guys in the middle of a bridge --- one with pointy ears and the other with a ridge in his forehead --- fighting over a chair! It worked on you, didn’t it?”
“You have no idea!”
CHAPTER 8
Lady Justice and the Lottery Page 5