The BLTS Archive - If You're Goin' To San Francisco
by J. Juls (jjuls@tbc.net)

---

"Ve are looking for nuclear wessels.  Nu-cle-ar ... wwwessels."  The
passersby only glared at him for a moment before moving along.  An
armed man, probably a law-enforcement officer, gazed at him in
suspicion through dark eye coverings.

Pavel didn't see anyone else in the street, so he sought help from
Nyota. "Why isn't my universal translator working here?"

"What do you mean?"

"You can't tell because we speak the same dialect.  But it doesn't
work right with *them*!"  Pavel stabbed a finger toward a nearby
pedestrian, who made some type of one-fingered gesture back.  Pavel
stared, wondering whether these people had some form of sign language.

Suddenly, all the ground vehicles started to make a ferocious racket.
He saw the same hand gesture from several of the drivers as well.
Pavel and Nyota retreated to the relative safety of the pedestrian
path as the freed vehicles roared past.  "It's transposing all my v's
and w's, and it makes other letters sound funny.  This dialect should
be very familiar to the universal translator; even I know something of
it.  I can't understand the malfunction."

Nyota shrugged.  "My translator works just fine.  Maybe I'll ask the
next person."  She cornered a woman who looked more friendly than
most.  "Excuse me, Miss, we're looking for some nuc ... for the naval
base."

The woman paused.  "Ummmm, I think it's across the bay.  In Alameda."

At least that woman had spoken to them.  It had to get easier from
here. Pavel went to Nyota to consolidate their progress.  "Okay, we
have to go to Alameda.  Where is that?"

"Hmmm, I know I went there once while I was at the Academy."

"So, how do we get there?"

"There should be a transporter station right over ... oh."

"Yes, Nyota.  It should be that easy.  But, unfortunately, we are in
Earth of the past.  Why were those people so uneasy when I asked about
the nuclear vessels, anyway?"

"I don't know.  It must be some peculiarity of ancient humans."

Pavel pondered.  The Admiral had given them fifty dollars.
Apparently, that was a significant amount of currency in this time
period.  It had to be more than enough to get them to Alameda, if they
could find some form of mass transit.  He wondered whether mass
transit existed in this era -- here was someone else, a young man.

He approached.  "Excuse me, sair.  Do you know how ve might get to
Alameda?"

The pedestrian paused.  He seemed like a normal enough human, for this
era, anyway.  His hair was long and greasy, and he wore an outfit
seemingly made from the skin of a dead animal.

"Uh, yeah, dude, you have to go to the BART station.  See, you go down
here about two blocks, and ... "

Pavel looked the way the young man was pointing.  He barely felt
something touch his chest, maybe an insect.  He saw Nyota step toward
him.  "Stop! Pavel, he's taking your ... "  The young man pelted off
and shoved his way into the crowd.

Nyota ran past Pavel at full tilt, trying to catch the thief, but he
had disappeared into the burgeoning crowds of this uncivilized city.
Nyota stopped short.

"Now what are we going to do?"  she wondered aloud.

---

They walked for a time.  Pavel was embarrassed about losing their
money, the only currency that this unsophisticated time afforded them.
But Nyota said that she didn't blame him.  After all, they were not
used to such barbaric planets!  And who would have thought, on *Earth*
of all  places, that it would be so bad?  Clearly, their history
classes at the Academy had been inadequate.

It was Nyota who noticed it first -- the small building with a
hand-lettered sign on the door:

"Blue Oyster Club Amateur Nite Tonite You Keep All Tips"

Great!  This was probably some type of restaurant where they needed
waitstaff to serve the oysters.  Pavel knew he could be a waiter, and
Nyota could probably do okay as well.  Apparently the management
needed workers, so they had made an "amateur night" to try out new
help.

"Hmmmm, amateur night.  I know we could do that."  Nyota looked to him
with renewed hope.  Perhaps they wouldn't have to disappoint the
Admiral after all!  They went inside.

***

"Well, you're a little bit old, but ... okay.  We'll put you on as
opener. But, are you sure you want to?"  The apparent owner of the
place, a well-muscled man with a face hardened by years of sun, spoke
to Pavel.

"On?  You mean you don't vish us to vait tables?"

The man glared at Pavel.  Nyota rushed to the rescue.  "I'm sorry
about my friend, sir.  He got his tongue caught in a ... mechanical
rice-picker." Pavel smiled a wicked grin at her for her cleverness.
Not everyone knew about the rice-picker excuse, guaranteed to work on
primitive Earth.  She continued.  "We thought the sign was for waiters
and waitresses.  But it's for ... a performance of some type?"

The man rolled his eyes.  "Yeah, it's for exotic dancing.  So you
might want to leave while you still can."

Pavel was confused.  He didn't know what the term "exotic dancing"
meant, but they did need the money, so if there was any way ...

"Exotic dancing will be just *fine*, sir!"  Nyota practically squealed
with joy.  "It's my specialty!"

So she knows what it means, but why is she so excited -- oh, no, she
doesn't mean ...

"You?"  The man stared at Nyota, then glanced at Pavel, as if trying
to decide on the lesser of two evils.  Then he raised his arms to the
sky in supplication.  "Okay, I give up.  Whatever.  Be ready to start
at eight-o'clock sharp."

Pavel didn't have time to figure out what the man's problem was,
though, because he was obsessed with a mental image that he didn't
want.  In shock, he let Nyota usher him outside while he thought about
... the  fans.

Ever since that ill-fated shore leave on Vargus III, where she had
bought them, Uhura had become obsessive about her fans and her
fan-dancing.  It had apparently started with private sessions in
Captain Spock's quarters, with accompaniment from the captain on his
Vulcan lute.  Soon they had moved the proceedings into the rec room
for all the crew to see.   Certainly, ten years ago or more -- when
Nyota had boasted a firm, youthful figure -- the show would have been
a boon to him and to the whole crew.  In fact, Pavel was momentarily
swept away as he remembered his first week aboard ship, masturbating
to thoughts of Nyota in her red miniskirt and black, black go-go
boots, turning to address Captain Kirk,  "Hailing frequencies open,
sir," with her ample, pouty lips.

He shook himself.  Now, the sight of her nude gyrations was
disturbing, to say the least.  Yet she persisted; and Captain Spock,
alone among the crew members, didn't seem to mind.  But wait!  Surely
she hadn't brought  ...

Nyota whipped out her automatic folding fans from under the lapel of
her uniform; the fluffy feathers danced in the light sea breeze.  "I
thought that since we were coming here, and Scotty said we should
expect any situation, I figured I'd be prepared ... "

"Oy vey!"

---

1959 hours.  Almost show time.  Nyota stood with Pavel in front of the
stage with her uniform halfway unsealed, no sweater underneath, all
the better to whip it off when the time was right.  Men crowded around
behind them.  Pavel gave Nyota a quick peck on the cheek.  "Good luck,
Nyota."

She beamed at him, not looking at all nervous.  "Thank you, Pavel."

The owner walked onstage.  "And now ... "  His microphone started to
feed back.  He tried again.  "And now, gentlemen, the lovely ...
Ni-ota."

Nyota ascended the stage steps to a smattering of applause, which died
down immediately when the audience saw her.  Loud, obnoxious music,
similar to Klingon opera, started to play.  Pavel had to fight the
instinct to cover his ears.

Sure enough, Nyota didn't do much teasing at all before she whipped
her top open, hiding herself behind one of the fans.  As Pavel had
feared, the crowd didn't seem too receptive; he could hear them
grumbling in tones too garbled for his translator to receive.  A man
shoved through the crowd behind him, and *his* voice was indeed
audible:  "Rotten tomatoes!   Get yer rotten tomatoes here!  Step
right up, step right up!  Only two dollars!  Thank you, sir!  Two
dollars!"

Pavel studied the expression on Nyota's face, the only part of her
that he really wanted to see.  Clearly she could tell that things were
not going as she had expected.  She had whipped off her bra by now, so
she began to slow her fan action, allowing brief glimpses of pendulous
breast tissue.  One rotten tomato whizzed only centimeters from her
left ear.  Some of the patrons must be drunk already, Pavel realized.

Nyota unsealed her pants and started to ease them down behind a fan of
quivering, teasing feathers.  A rotten tomato found its target this
time, albeit on her right elbow.  She soldiered on.

This was too much for a chivalrous fellow such as Pavel to tolerate!
He leaped onto the stage to stand in front of his fellow crewmember.
At least he could protect her from the rotten fruit, whose smell was
beginning to taint the air of the small club.  "Stop!  I vill not ...
I vill not allow this to proceed further.  Sairtenly you must have
some respect for this honorable voman, who is ... "

Surprisingly, the taunts and rotten tomatoes had stopped, to be
replaced by laughter and a few scattered plaudits.  "Okay, baby,"
someone shouted. "You're kinda old, but I could get into it."  Several
shouts of "Yeah"  and general agreement came from all around.  "The
military thing -- I  like it," someone commented.

Now Pavel really didn't understand what was going on.  He took their
comments to mean that they wanted him to help Nyota to strip.  With a
tentative motion, he slowly knelt to help her remove a boot.  Nyota
looked down at him, seeming miffed.  "I'm only trying to help," he
told her. Nobody else could hear him anyway, with all the music.

She relented, lifting each foot in turn to allow Pavel to remove her
boots. He tried to do it in the sexiest way he could, gyrating his
hips in time to the music.  Oddly, the audience seemed to be
responding to his motions! Every time he swayed, he heard a yip or
wolf whistle from the audience. Strange!

With Nyota's boots now off, Pavel stood.  He watched Nyota lowering
her trousers further, and there were no panties underneath.  He seemed
to be caught like a targ in landing lights, staring at her nether
regions.

Until the crowd started to boo again.  "Show us some skin, baby!"
someone yelled.

"Skin?"  But Nyota was now practically naked.  Pavel looked into the
darkness of the crowd, poleaxed, until a realization struck him.  "Oh,
you mean ... me?"

Then it all became clear to Pavel.  This was a time period before the
Federation Decency Act, the law sponsored by John Ashcroft XII which
had mandated that all Federation citizens be heterosexual.  And do it
in the missionary position with the lights off.

Pavel suddenly felt released!  Free!  He strutted and shimmied.  He
tarted and teased.  He stripped down to his thong and would have done
more, but if he had he wouldn't have anywhere to store the growing
wads of cash that were being lovingly tucked under its elastic.  Some
of the guys were even handing bills to Nyota, just to win Pavel's
affection.  So he grabbed the still-dancing Nyota around the waist and
started bumping and grinding, dry-humping her behind.  He was actually
having a great time, and it looked like Nyota wasn't quite so upset,
now that the crowd's attitude had changed. All too soon, the music
stopped.

"Gentlemen!  The lovely Ni-ota and Friend!"  Pavel saluted with aplomb
the wild applause as they skipped offstage.

Backstage, Nyota didn't look very happy, but Pavel comforted her.
"You were the one who found this place, Nyota.  And it was your idea
to bring your fans along."

"I guess so."  She sighed.  "But I can't believe I didn't
realize ..."

"Me neither."  He stared off for a moment, lost in thought about how
different his life might have been ... .  Then he clasped his hands,
drawing himself up.  "I think that's about enough for today, don't
you?"

Nyota ran a hand over her face in fatigue.  "Yes, it was an
interesting ... adventure.  But I have to get home."

"Okay, let's see ... Computer, end program."  The club disappeared, to
be replaced by a small black room covered in a yellow grid pattern.

"Amazing," Nyota sighed.  "Scotty and his team continue to work
miracles!"

They walked over to gather their clothing and dressed silently, deep
in thought.  Pavel imagined what this technology could mean -- they
wouldn't have to waste their time with that stupid Kobayashi Maru test
anymore.  The cadets could go through the whole thing with holograms
instead.  Not that it mattered to him; he was transferring to the
Reliant in a few weeks.  But poor Nyota, Hikaru, Leonard, all of them
-- they shouldn't have to spend their time in such a manner.

When they were both dressed, Nyota uttered the magic words, "Computer,
exit."  And sure enough, the plain door sighed open, revealing the
stark Starfleet HQ wall covering right outside what had been their
fantasy world.

"Do you think this will ever be declassified?"  he asked Nyota as they
left.

She blinked as if getting her bearings in the humdrum world again.  "I
think it ... oh, Scotty!  Fancy meeting you here!"

"Did you like our little invention, lass?"  Scotty flashed all his
teeth in a playful smile.

"Well, Scotty, the hardware is certainly amazing," Nyota admitted.
"But the software ... "

"You know that nothing like that could ever happen," Pavel told him,
before they walked down the hall and out into the refreshing gray fog
of San Francisco.

---

The End