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Spock supposed, if there was any positive aspect to this situation at all, that the Captain’s decision to not quell the crew’s over enthusiastic response to ‘movie night’ had, in this very specific case, paid dividends.
They were supposed to be on leave. Nyota had insisted that they would not wear their uniforms, and that they would attend a dining establishment on the planet’s surface for a meal made with, in her words ‘real food’. Spock had therefore worn a set of robes that were appropriate to the weather and his partner’s desire to ‘dress up a little’ and attended the designated time and place.
So had many others of the crew, as the designated time and place was bordering a night market (Spock could see post dinner shopping in his future, and had reluctantly admitted to himself that Jim had been right to suggest bringing along a couple of small, foldable bags for her purchases). Even McCoy had been down there, clearly waiting for someone to join him at his table (fortunately not in the same restaurant Nyota had chosen). None of them had expected the extremist organisation to take the market and bordering businesses hostage.
All of the crew present had obeyed the extremists orders docilely, while also using the ‘ships signals’ (hand gestures and certain body postures) to communicate with each other. This method of communication had been developed by the attendees of movie night in enthusiastic response to an Andorian film in the ‘spy’ genre, where that very same system had been used to ‘win the day’. Security had started it, the lower decks joined in, and the Captain had not insisted that the development of the ‘language’ cease when it had penetrated Spock’s science labs.
They had a plan to thwart the extremists, now all they needed was a distraction, preferably one that would not prompt violence. Several people had volunteered to play at food poisoning, but before that dubious idea could be brought into play, there was a clang at the far end of the market, and then two sets of drunken footsteps.
Not that you could tell the footsteps were drunk from the sound of them. It was the voices of the two men that owned the footsteps that revealed their drunken state, raised as they were in highly unfortunate song.
“Och ye canny push yer granny off a bus!”
And then the owners of the voices staggered into view, arms around each others shoulders, free hands waving bottles wrapped in paper bags, as was the custom on this planet for those who purchased alcohol and took it off premises. The Captain and Chief Engineer of Star Fleet’s flagship, flushed with drink and merrily belting out the worst song Spock had ever had the misfortune of hearing.
“Och ye canny push yer granny off a bus!”
Even the extremists were too startled to do more than stare as the two men weaved obliviously past the rows of seated people. In his peripheral vision, Spock could see McCoy turning a very unattractive shade of red as the Captain and the Chief sauntered unsteadily along.
“Och ye canny push yer granny: cos she’s yer mummy’s mammy…”
All eyes were on the two men (Spock was ashamed to admit that this was exactly the distraction they’d needed but they were all too stunned to make proper use of it) as they staggered up to the middle of the square, where a large amount of explosives was sitting.
“Ye canny push yer granny off a bus!”
The last line of the song was delivered triumphantly, and just as the extremist leader was about to step forward and do something, probably painful, to the two singers, phaser bolts shot out from various vantage points around the square, taking the extremists down as the Captain and the Chief poured the contents of their bottles onto the explosives, which promptly dissolved.
Spock moved with the rest of the crew to take down the few extremists that hadn’t been stunned. In the confusion that followed (Enterprise security and med teams swarming the market to take custody of the extremists and treat any injuries), Spock found himself standing next to a sober Captain Kirk, who was coordinating with planetary authorities. The discarded bottle had, upon inspection, proven to have been containing a mixture specifically designed to render the explosives inert, and not alcohol. It had been a clever ruse, Spock could admit that.
“Nice distraction, eh Mr Spock?” and there was the Chief, equally sober, tricorder in hand from where he’d been checking the residue of the explosives were properly inert.
“It was certainly unique, Mr Scott,” Spock agreed, and won a chuckle for his diplomatic response. As plans went, it had been a masterful execution, no matter that McCoy was now upbraiding the Captain for his ‘damn fool risk taking’.
It took four cycles of meditation to get the so called tune out of his head though.