"Going against logic is . . . . . is not logical".
"Oh that is the great thing about being human, Mr. Spock. Because of our skills of being illogical we will have the element of surprise against the Klingons."
"Scotty -- what is our status?" Looking up from his console, sweat dripping down his chin, Scotty rolled every "r" he could with, "Total output energy capacity down to twenty-seven percent. I can divert some power from support systems to the torpedo tubes for our last shot at those devils".
"Make it so, Scotty"
"Lieutenant Uhura, contact the commander of the Klingon vessel, politely ask him to surrender.”
Lt. Uhura stood up and yelled, "Enterprise to Commander Casak on the Klingon vessel, do you surrender?"
Across the field Commander Casak stood up just high enough to show his head above the plywood board stuck in the sand hill protecting his crew. "Ain't no way. We'll destroy you all before this day is done!" Turning to his crew, Casak yelled "Let's blast 'em". All three boys stood up and let fly a volley of dirt balls at the boards in front of the Enterprise’s sand pit shifting it as the left side of their protective hill collapsed.
Mr. Spock, without emotion stated, "That was a hard hit Captain, our shields are down to ten percent efficiency. We have severe damage to our port bow."
"Our last torpedo is ready, Sir," Weapons Specialist Ryan whispered in my ear. I looked down in the bottom of our pit at the projection weapon -- a two by four sunk at an angle in the sand, and a loop of inner-tube band nailed to the board, then at W.S. Ryan holding a red plastic mixing bowl filled with a huge wad of mud.
A shadow fell over Ryan; I couldn’t quite comprehend which of the crew wore beige house slippers. My mother stood there with her fists propped on her hips. “I swear Abigail K. Snyder how many times do I have to call you to help me with supper?”
Suddenly the air was filled with shouts and exclamations colliding with each other: Noooo! You can’t leave now! It’s not dark yet! We can’t stop we are at the best part! Rats! S…! Not nowwww!
Mom turned and sent out a glare that melted the alloyed steel of both ships. Immediate silence crashed over the field with everyone staring at me. Chocolate colored sweat slid down Ryan’s mud smeared face, Gloria’s communication stylus was shaking, and Steve was biting his bottom lip. My eyes came to a rest on Mark to whom I said, “Mr. Spock you have the com.”
Hooking my thumbs into my back pockets, I trudged home behind my mother.
This beautiful story draws on characters which, of course, remain ©CBS/Paramount
"Oh that is the great thing about being human, Mr. Spock. Because of our skills of being illogical we will have the element of surprise against the Klingons."
"Scotty -- what is our status?" Looking up from his console, sweat dripping down his chin, Scotty rolled every "r" he could with, "Total output energy capacity down to twenty-seven percent. I can divert some power from support systems to the torpedo tubes for our last shot at those devils".
"Make it so, Scotty"
"Lieutenant Uhura, contact the commander of the Klingon vessel, politely ask him to surrender.”
Lt. Uhura stood up and yelled, "Enterprise to Commander Casak on the Klingon vessel, do you surrender?"
Across the field Commander Casak stood up just high enough to show his head above the plywood board stuck in the sand hill protecting his crew. "Ain't no way. We'll destroy you all before this day is done!" Turning to his crew, Casak yelled "Let's blast 'em". All three boys stood up and let fly a volley of dirt balls at the boards in front of the Enterprise’s sand pit shifting it as the left side of their protective hill collapsed.
Mr. Spock, without emotion stated, "That was a hard hit Captain, our shields are down to ten percent efficiency. We have severe damage to our port bow."
"Our last torpedo is ready, Sir," Weapons Specialist Ryan whispered in my ear. I looked down in the bottom of our pit at the projection weapon -- a two by four sunk at an angle in the sand, and a loop of inner-tube band nailed to the board, then at W.S. Ryan holding a red plastic mixing bowl filled with a huge wad of mud.
A shadow fell over Ryan; I couldn’t quite comprehend which of the crew wore beige house slippers. My mother stood there with her fists propped on her hips. “I swear Abigail K. Snyder how many times do I have to call you to help me with supper?”
Suddenly the air was filled with shouts and exclamations colliding with each other: Noooo! You can’t leave now! It’s not dark yet! We can’t stop we are at the best part! Rats! S…! Not nowwww!
Mom turned and sent out a glare that melted the alloyed steel of both ships. Immediate silence crashed over the field with everyone staring at me. Chocolate colored sweat slid down Ryan’s mud smeared face, Gloria’s communication stylus was shaking, and Steve was biting his bottom lip. My eyes came to a rest on Mark to whom I said, “Mr. Spock you have the com.”
Hooking my thumbs into my back pockets, I trudged home behind my mother.
This beautiful story draws on characters which, of course, remain ©CBS/Paramount
