42

THE PICNIC - Kate Sheridan

"You've gone home with me before," Kirk complained. Spock stood in his captain's office area, stiffly erect in his formal at ease stance. He didn't say a word.

"I know this won't be like the other two times when it was just us and my mom, but you don't have to go to all the functions."

"I have several articles to write on my recent observations from the Carinae system."

"You know you can get that done and still go with me," Kirk pleaded.

THE COOKIE JAR - Carol Turner

Damn! Again. I, fucking got caught again. With my fingers on the complete button o the replicator pad, I feeleyes on the back of my neck and turn. Bones. Just what I needed two weeks before the annual physical and seven pounds to lose. I smile. Try to anyway. Swallow

heavily. "Ah, hi, Bones. Am I in your way?"

"Don't you try that, hi, Bones, with me. Just what the hell do you think you're doing?

Eating? And what, may I ask? Shall I just complete that and see what shows up on the plate?

Would it be carrot sticks?"

Shit! "Not unless the computer's not working right." Okay, change the subject. "Have you seen Spock?"

"Nice try, Jim. Don't change the subject. I don't know where the elf is. You're here so he should be showing up any second."

Right on cue in walks my elf. "Hi, Spock."

CHAMPAGNE WISHES - Cordelia Smith

The sight was enough to cause the patrons of the Wooly Rhino to take note and speculate excitedly among themselves. Spock sat in a booth that was enclosed with extensive lattice work.

An attached placard proudly announced that the lattice and surrounding tables were genuine faux-wood. Plants of similar pedigree attempted to block views and pretended to provide privacy. The attempts failed, leaving the elegant, cool Vulcan jarringly out of place in an establishment more accustomed to a boisterous and sex-minded clientele.

THE DIVER - Carolyn Spencer

High atop the rocky promontory the naked diver stands, a white sentinel caught between red earth and red sky.

Wind tosses long black strands of hair across the sharp angular planes of his face, licks against the top of the chest, beats accusingly on the back, a thousand small whips to flay him open to the sky.

Red sand, spewed up from the desert's floor, from the wind's erosion in the eternal battle between dissolution and renewal, rises between his bare toes threatening to engulf his feet and for the briefest moment the diver sees himself sinking down as the sand climbs, down through the rock, down to the heart of this world which had spawned him.

A BEACH TO WALK ON - J.S. Cavalcante

The demon cackled, its voice echoing eerily through the empty corridor. "Your ship. I've got your ship. It's mine!"

On his knees on the floor, James Kirk struggled. His hands were bound behind is back, elbows and wrists tied cruelly together. He tightened his stomach muscles, tried to force his legs to respond so he could stand. The deck heaved, bucking him off like a horse. His right shoulder and hip slammed into a bulkhead. Corridor lights flickered, then switched over to a pulsing reddish glare.

SAY MY NAME - Shelley Butler

Gary Mitchell was bored. Lying in a sickbay bed instead of standing on the bridge of the Enterprise was not his idea of a good time. He was bored. Actually, he wondered if this boredom might even follow him to the bridge. It would probably be the same old routine up there, anyway. Star charting, planet mapping, soil analysis, in- depth research into the sex life of Aucturian amoebas. This is not what he joined Starfleet for. This is not what he had in mind when he followed Jim Kirk on board the Enterprise.

POETRY

COVERS

ART

July 1995