Title: Don't Panic

Author: T'Prillah

Codes: TOS, S/Mc, PG-13, humor, parody

Author`s Note: This is a cross-over--- Star Trek meets "The Hitchhicker's Guide to the Galaxy." So obviously this is farcical. And yes it's S/Mc slash, eventually.

Disclaimer: No starships were harmed in the making of this fic. I do not own Star Trek. I do not own the "Hitchhiker's" series. Written with apologies to Douglas Adams. No money was made on this. If TPTB in both fandoms still wish to sue me for compensation, then please take my attack cat as payment. Please.



0600 hours. Thursday morning. Doctor Leonard Horatio McCoy didn't feel very well this particular morning. As he pulled himself out of bed he remembered hazily that the night before, he had gotten drunk. Very drunk.

The Enterprise was currently on a routine mapping mission. That meant nothing exciting was happening, nor would it for at least three weeks. The crew was bored. Very bored.

A case of boredom such as this on a long boring evening called for a celebration of nothing in particular in Kirk's quarters. It was a party of three: Kirk, Spock (who was bored too) and McCoy.

After games of chess and poker and even fizzbin had all been exhausted, the night needed something much more exciting. A drinking game was called for. McCoy decreed that every time Spock raised an eyebrow, they took a shot of booze. It happened twenty-seven times last night (mostly deliberately). Twenty-seven times, Kirk and McCoy (and they presumed, also, Spock) each drank a shot of highly potent Romulan Ale, straight from a bottle from McCoy`s stores hidden specially for nights like these. That's right. Romulan Ale. Thems were the `McCoy' rules.

McCoy couldn't remember how he'd even made it back to his quarters. But obviously he had. He'd woken up naked, half on the bed, half off, tangled up in the bed sheets; an angry red line dancing around his wrist.

He staggered over to the toilet for a pee.

And heard a buzz.

`Oh..God..!' he thought as a groan escaped his lips. `Now my head is buzzing! Please God! I promise! I am never drinking another drop as long as I live.'

The buzzer sounded again. Insistently. After a while he realized it wasn't in his head after all. It was his door signal. McCoy flushed the toilet, threw on some boxers and a robe and opened the door. "Yeah? What is it?"

"Good morning, Doctor McCoy!" The damn voice emanating from the red shirt with one gold stripe was entirely too chipper.

"Do you have any idea what time it is?" McCoy growled.

"Indeed I do, Sir." The red shirt smiled intently, staring straight at the lock of hair sticking up from McCoy's head.

McCoy grimaced. "You'd better have a damned good reason for standing at my door this morning, Lieutenant."

Lieutenant Jackson, assistant engineer to none other than Lt. Commander Montgomery Scott, (a fact that he was proud to brag to anyone that would listen) did have a damned good reason for being at McCoy's door that morning. He'd been assigned the honorable task of widening the deck 5 conference room. The conference room that was located right next door to McCoy's quarters.

The lieutenant patiently explained to McCoy, with an aggravatingly wide smile plastered onto his face, that the doctor needed to vacate immediately, so they could start tearing down the bulkheads. McCoy's quarters was smack dab where the new section would be located.

"But these are my quarters!" McCoy whined.

"Yes sir, they certainly were."

"But I live here."

Lt. Jackson consulted his datapadd. "Yes sir, it says right here. Doctor Leonard--"

"Give me that!" McCoy ripped it from his hand. Sure enough, by orders of Captain James T. Kirk. That couldn't be right.

McCoy threw the datapadd back into the lieutenant's fumbling hands. "I don't give two shits if the orders came from Rear Admiral Nogura himself," he huffed. "These are my quarters, and I'm not leaving. You can go to hell." He walked over to his bedchamber and lay face down on his bunk. "This is a bad dream. This is all just a very bad dream. Please, God, I promise never to drink again. Please make them all go away."

The lieutenant followed McCoy into the bedchamber. "I'm afraid, Sir, that you've got to accept it!"

McCoy groaned and flipped over onto his back. "Say that quieter if you value your life."

"You must leave now sir. The conference room must be widened. You must vacate these quarters immediately."

"At 0600?"

"Yes sir."

"Tell me, WHY in God's name, must the conference room next to MY cabin be widened. Why not some other conference room? On some other level at some other time? On some other ship perhaps?"

"The Babel conference will be taking place on board the Enterprise in two days, sir. You were aware of this."

"Was I? This is the first I've heard of it."

"There was a meeting."


"Yesterday. At 1400"

"Yesterday at 1400, when I was in the middle of surgery? On Ensign Chekov`s leg?"

"I believe so, Sir."

"So I couldn't be at that meeting. The meeting about the demolition of my OWN quarters."

"I guess not, Sir."

"But that's crazy."

"Sir, this has been in the planning stages for 6 months."

"Oh, Yeah," McCoy realized. "I did hear something to that effect. But it's not like I took it seriously. You guys in Engineering hadn't exactly gone out of your way to call attention to the plans or anything."

"The diagram was on display, Sir."

"Yeah," sighed McCoy, "but I had to go down to the bowels of engineering to locate it--"

"That IS the display department, Sir."

"With a flashlight."

"Well, we did have a report that the lighting was inoperative in that section."

"So was the turbo lift, apparently," grumped McCoy. "I had to take the goddamned ladder down there. In the dark. I'm afraid of the dark. Nobody's been down there in ages. I could swear there was a spider sitting on my shoulder." McCoy shuddered at the memory. He didn't care for spiders, either.

"Well you did eventually find it, didn't you Sir?"

"Yes," agreed McCoy. He flung his arm over his head. "It was behind an old computer, next to the main warp core, in a disused office with a sign on the door: `Beware of the killer sehlat.'"

Lt. Jackson tutted as he glanced around. "Your quarters are not very pleasing to the eye, Sir. I must say. Not decorated very well, are they. Smells a little in here, too, like feet. It's also a little on the small side. Not very officer-like."

"You, shut up and get out and take your goddamn cocky attitude with you. You're not tearing down my cabin. I happen to like it."

"You'll like the new conference room."

"Piss off."

"Sir, am I to understand that you refuse to leave?"

"That's right. If you want my quarters so badly, you`ll have to work THROUGH me."

"Doctor McCoy?"


"Do you have any IDEA how much DAMAGE our brand new `Bulkhead Removal Phaser' would suffer if it were to touch you and ultimately disintegrate you?"

"How much?"

"None at all, Sir."


Pointy ears loomed into McCoy's field of vision. He'd hadn't heard the doors open. "Spock!" Now the first officer would make this wet behind the ears engineering tech see some reason. "Am I ever glad to see you!"

"Doctor are you busy?"

McCoy scowled as he lay sprawled out on the bunk, clad in his robe and boxer shorts and nothing else, from where he'd been arguing with the engineering lieutenant and the engineering lieutenant's assistant now standing there clutching the BRP (Bulkhead Removal Phaser). "No," McCoy said sarcastically to the first officer. "Whatever gave you that idea?"

"Excellent, Doctor McCoy, then you can join me for breakfast in the officer's lounge."


"We must talk."

"So talk. I'm listening," said McCoy.

"And eat. It is logical that we talk and eat."

"Logical, huh?"

"We shall go to the Officers' Mess on this level."

"Spock, listen! This damned engineer wants to disintegrate my quarters!"

"I do have a very good reason for it," interjected Lt. Jackson.

"You shut up!" snapped McCoy.

"Well," said Spock. "The Lieutenant will not be able to disintegrate your quarters while you are not present to complain."

"He can't?" asked McCoy.

"I can't?" asked Jackson.

"No, you cannot. It is entirely against regulation."

"It is?" The engineer frowned at his datapadd.

"Doctor, you must accompany me to the officers lounge immediately. I must discuss with you a matter of great importance."

"But what about my quarters?"

"What about your quarters?"

"Spock. Weren't you listening? He wants to disinte--"

"And you say he is unable to do so, due to your presence on your bunk?"

"That's right," said McCoy.

"Certainly one can come to some sort of an arrangement with the Engineering department."

"But, you're the first officer. Can you just order them to stop?"

"I cannot. I have no jurisdiction in that area."

McCoy sighed. Loudly. "Sweet Jesus, Mary and Joseph--"

"Lt. Jackson," said Spock.

Jackson looked up. "Yes Mr. Spock? Has the doctor come to his senses yet?"

"For the record, let us assume that he has not."

"What?" asked McCoy.

"And?" asked Jackson.

"And," said Spock. "If one can assume that McCoy WILL be here, lying on his bunk in protest, then it follows that you do not actually need him to be present."

"Huh?" asked Jackson's assistant.

Spock reiterated: "If you take it as read that McCoy WOULD be here, you would not actually NEED him here. He and I will go to the officer's mess for 30.2 standard minutes while you wait here. It is logical."

"It is?" both McCoy and the lieutenant answered.

"Flawlessly," replied Spock. "So if you will, please come over here to the doctor's bunk and lie down. Doctor McCoy and I shall return in exactly--"

"Hmph?" asked Lt. Jackson.

"I am sorry," replied Spock. "I have not made myself perfectly clear. You must take the place of Dr. McCoy while he and I are gone. Or there will be nothing to stop the BDP(Bulkhead Removal Phaser)."

"What the hell are you talking about, Spock?" McCoy voiced it this time, though Lt. Jackson and his assistant looked equally puzzled.

"Lemme get this straight," ventured the lieutenant. "You want me to lie there--"


"On the bunk--"

"I believe I said that."

"Instead of Doctor McCoy."


The engineering lieutenant tilted his head. "So if I lie down here in place of the doctor, you will take him to the Officer's Mess."

"Your hearing is in perfect working order, Lieutenant. Do we have an agreement?"

"I guess so, Sir."

"Come, Doctor McCoy. Time grows short. We do have an agreement with the lieutenant."

"Spock?" asked McCoy. "Shouldn't I put a uniform on first? I am a little underdressed."

"It is early. I am certain no one will notice."

McCoy got up and followed Spock out of the quarters. In the corridor, he jerked his thumb back. "Can we trust that kid?"

"We can trust him for as long as necessary."

"How long is that for?"

"Twelve point eight minutes. Come doctor."

In the Officers' Mess on deck 5, Spock and McCoy stuck their diet cards into the food replicator. Seconds later out popped their respective breakfasts. Spock handed McCoy an additional card. "Have a drink, Doctor."

"What's this?"

"Hair of the dog that bit you, as you would say," Spock explained.

McCoy shrugged and stuck the card into the slot. It came up with a nice large glass of very blue Romulan Ale.

"Romulan Ale? At 0600?"

"Incorrect," Spock replied. "It is closer to 0700. 0645.32 to be exact."

"Spock, Romulan Ale isn't exactly something you'd drink at this hour, especially not before a duty shift!"

"I insist," said Spock. "Consider it an order."

McCoy sighed. "Well if you put it like that." He grabbed the glass out of the replicator, stuck it on his tray and sat down across from the Vulcan. "Not exactly legal either," he grumbled under his breath. "Where'd you get this card?"

"Drink your drink, Doctor," Spock replied.

"Fine," McCoy smirked. "You don't have to order me twice." as he downed the glass he gazed coolly around the room. The other officers were in the middle of their morning stupors. "You're right Spock, nobody has noticed me only wearing my robe and boxers. Very astute. Though the deck is a little cold on my bare feet."

"One might have put a pair of slippers on."

"You're the one who said that time was growing short!" McCoy had said that a little too loudly. Loud enough for a Lieutenant-Commander from the Life-Sciences section to overhear. The Lt. Commander turned around to Spock and McCoy.

"Time grows short? Why?" asked the Lt. Commander.

McCoy glared daggers over at the nosey Lt. Commander. Spock replied: "Time grows short because the Enterprise shall be destroyed in less than ten point two standard minutes."

"Destroyed?" asked the Lt. Commander. "Oh..Well, it's a nice day for it," he turned to his companion, a Lieutenant Jones. "Isn't it a nice day for it, Jones?"

"Oh yes. It certainly is," replied Jones.

"Destroyed?!" McCoy sputtered. "Destroyed?! The Enterprise? With all of us on board? Are you out of your Vulcan mind?"

"If it was destroyed," said Jones. "It would certainly get me out that physical I have scheduled for 1100 hours."

McCoy gripped the edge of the table, seething. "Destroyed?! And you're doing nothing about it? Spock!"

"Calm yourself Doctor. We are doing something. Here, quickly, have another drink," replied Spock.


"Muscle relaxant. You are going to need it."

At that moment a large hum sounded from far away. McCoy stood up. "What the hell is that?"

"Do not worry. It has not started yet."

"Oh good." McCoy sat back down.

"They are merely disintegrating your quarters," Spock replied, calmly.

McCoy jumped up and ran out of the Officers Mess and down the corridor. Spock followed him.

"My GOD! They've disintegrated my quarters!" McCoy screamed.

McCoy's humble cabin was no more. Instead, a bright, gleaming new and much larger conference room stood in its place. With new chairs and pretty plants and everything. McCoy stood staring at it in shock. "Oh my God!"

"Well," said Spock. "They did have their orders from Captain Kirk."

"Yes, but where am I going to sleep from now on? What about all my belongings? My books, my toothbrush, my skull statues, my plants?"

"Are you serious Mr. Spock?" Jones had joined them in the corridor, staring at the gleaming new conference room. "Is the Enterprise really about to be destroyed?"

"Indeed I am serious, Mr. Jones," Spock replied. He checked his tri-corder. "In five point three minutes I would estimate."

"Wait," said Lt. Jackson. "We learned about this at the Academy. In case of imminent destruction, we're supposed to lie on the deck with a paper bag over our head. Isn't that right, Jones?"

"Should we do that, Mr. Spock?" asked Jones.

"If you wish, you may."

"Would it help?" asked Jackson.

"Not at all," said Spock.

"You barbarians!" McCoy shouted to the now multiplied engineering staff milling around. "I'll have you court martial-ed all the way down to the Academy! I'll have you scheduled for a complete physical each and every day, complete with rectal exams and blood work, and on top of that I'll appoint you, Lt. Jackson as my main guinea pig for all my medical experiments, instead of Chekov--"

The red alert sounded. Uhura's voice came through: "Mr. Spock to the bridge please, Mr. Spock to the bridge please--"

"--and another thing!" McCoy bellowed. "I'll slip all of you something in your food that'll turn your pee bright pink for a month--" McCoy stopped and turned to Spock. "Red alert. We're in red alert."

"Very perceptive Doctor," Spock replied. He grabbed McCoy's arm and pulled him down the corridor.

"Spock, I'm out here in my robe and boxer shorts! That`s against regulation!"

"Affirmative Doctor; cannot be helped."

"Where are we going?"

"To the transporter room."

"Not to the bridge? But you're being summoned!"

"No time," said Spock. "Come, Doctor."

As Spock dragged McCoy to the transporter room an alien voice suddenly sounded on the loudspeakers:

"To the crew of the Starship Enterprise. This is Commander Kor, of the Klingon Bird of Prey, Tal'zor. As you might have been aware you have been caught in a neutral zone. Although it's a Neutral zone by your description only. Hah! It is actually a Klingon Zone. Yes, we are fully aware it isn't marked. So, as you might NOT have been aware, we have been planning to develop this sector of Klingon space. Our plans for redevelopment require the building of a hyperspace expressway and regrettably, your starship is right in the middle of that proposed route. As a result, your starship has been slotted for immediate demolition. The process will take less than two of your Earth minutes. Thank you for your time."

In the transporter room, McCoy yelled out to the speaker. "Hey! We're not stationary! It's not like we're on a planet for God's sake! We could actually MOVE out of the way!"

"They cannot hear you Doctor," Spock said as he operated the transporter controls.

"Spock? Has everyone gone mad? Are you all out of your goddamned minds? They're gonna destroy us! Isn't Jim gonna do something about this?"

Before Spock could answer him, the loudspeaker sounded again: "Ohhhh please. Stop your whining. There's no use getting upset about it now. You were politely contacted hours ago, and you've had plenty of time to lodge any formal complaint. It's too late now."

Spock opened his mouth to once again speak but the loudspeaker sounded once again: "What do you mean hailing frequencies weren't open? I'm sorry, but if your communications officer can't even pick up a simple call, then that's your problem. Energize phasers."

"Wait!" McCoy yelled out from the transporter pad. "The Organian peace treaty! What about the Organian peace treaty?!"

But there only was a terrible, ghastly silence.