Who Indeed?
"Ladies and gentlemen, if you'll excuse me, I'm going back to the bridge to relieve Mr. Spock. It's past time for his meal break. As always, it's been a pleasure sharing dinner with you. Have a good evening." With those words, James T. Kirk, captain of the Enterprise, stood up, picked up his dinner tray, and left behind his bridge crew.
The captain and his officers often ate their evening meal together, sitting and talking, sharing the day's events in a way that only those who experienced the daily tedium and terror of starship duty could appreciate. This mission had been particularly bothersome. The Enterprise and its crew were in their seventh week of continuous patrol of the Neutral Zone. In all that time, they had not encountered anything, either natural or artificial, that was noteworthy. Tedium was definitely winning over terror. And a bored crew was a dangerous crew.
It was becoming increasingly difficult for the officers of the Enterprise, people who shared genuine respect and affection, to think of a single interesting thing to say to one another. Possibly that's why the conversation on that particular day took such an odd turn.
"How does he do it?" wondered Lieutenant Sulu, perhaps not realizing that he had spoken out loud.
"How does he do what, Hikaru?" inquired one of his dinner companions.
"Have any of you ever noticed the captain's hair looking anything but Academy perfect?"
"What are you talking about, Hikaru? Have you been breathing space dust?" asked a bemused sounding Ensign Chekov. He was used to Sulu's quixotic sense of humor and suspected that this was going to be yet another one of his elaborate gags.
"Think about it, Pavel," Sulu answered. He was not smiling. "We've been out on patrol for over six weeks now. No offense meant, Pav, but you're starting to look pretty shaggy around the ears. Nyota just pins her hair back, and the Doctor has Christine cut his hair. I know because I asked her. I suspect that Mr. Spock's hair wouldn't dare grow without his permission. But Captain Kirk always looks perfect. Do any of you wield a scissors?" No one answered. "So, who do you suppose cuts the captain's hair?"
Perhaps it was a measure of their boredom, but the friends sitting at the mess table listening to Hikaru Sulu did not immediately throw their meal trays at him. He had actually given them something new to think about.
Mr. Scott, whose graying locks also showed the lack of a ship's barber, chimed in.
"Ah, lad. I'll wager it's the doctor. If I remember my history correctly, barbers were often doctors in the olden days. We know that the captain's a student of history. I'll bet it's Leonard who cuts the captain's hair."
As if on cue, Leonard McCoy, chief medical officer of the Enterprise, entered the mess and sat in the seat so recently vacated by Captain Kirk. Assorted grins and a chuckle from Lieutenant Sulu greeted him.
"What's the joke? he asked. "Is it something I said, which would be pretty hard, since I haven't said anything yet?"
Sulu, taking the bull by the hair, so to speak, plunged ahead.
"Dr., do you cut the captain's hair?" he asked, trying to look as innocent as possible.
McCoy, who had just taken a sip of his coffee, swallowed hard as he simultaneously tried not to laugh and spit the coffee out of his mouth. A tiny stream of brown liquid escaped and trickled down the side of his chin. Lieutenant Uhura leaned across the table and wiped the errant coffee from the doctor's face.
"You people must be bored out of your minds. Whatever made you ask that question?"
"Do you, Doctor?" Sulu persisted.
"No, Lieutenant, I do not." The doctor wasn't sure whether to be indignant or amused. He settled for a bit of both.
Sulu explained.
"Think of it, Doctor McCoy. We've been out here for weeks. I need a haircut. Chekov needs a haircut. Nyota just keeps piling hers higher and higher. We know that Christine cuts your hair. Mr. Spock never seems to need a trim, but we just figured that he doesn't allow his hair to grow while on duty."
At that the doctor snorted, sending another stream of coffee down his chin. Uhura just threw her napkin at him this time.
Sulu continued.
"Doctor, you must have noticed that even after all this time on patrol the captain looks like he just stepped down from a barber's chair. So the question is: Who cuts the captain's hair?"
The doctor shook his head. "I don't suppose you want to just ask him?"
Sulu colored. "No, sir. Do you?"
Dr. McCoy shook his head with a grin. "Not unless I want to have my head chewed off. Of course, that way I'd never need to have that treacherous, gossiping head nurse of mine cut my hair again. Besides, I'll bet his yeoman, Rand, cuts Jim's hair."
Sulu shook his head.
"No, sir. I asked her. Since he never seems to need a haircut, she's never been able to volunteer. She said that she'd be 'thrilled' to cut his hair, but he's never asked her to."
Everyone at the table rolled their eyes as they thought about just how thrilled Janice Rand would be to cut her captain's hair, or do just about anything else for him that he'd let her do.
Mr. Scott interjected that Sulu seemed to have way too much time on his hands, and if he wanted to find something more seemly to occupy his time, his 'wee bairns' had some warp coils that could use recalibrating. The entire table laughed as Sulu turned a distinct shade of pink.
The doctor looked up to see the first officer enter the mess for a late evening meal. It was Spock's custom to eat with the captain if possible. If not, he clearly preferred to eat alone. McCoy watched as the Vulcan took a tray and went to the food slots. There he chose his meal, nodded to the bridge crew, and sat down at a small table by himself. Spock's table was close enough to the other officers that Dr. McCoy was able to talk to him without getting up. The mood of his tablemates must have infected McCoy, or perhaps he was just unable to resist another opportunity to tease his frequent verbal nemesis.
"Oh, Mr. Spock?" he asked, the picture of innocent curiosity. Spock looked up wearily, suspecting that he was about to be the butt of yet another of the doctor's jokes. The doctor continued. "Perhaps you could answer a question that has been plaguing our colleagues. I suppose this might go under the category of undefined duties required by the commander of a starship."
The Vulcan looked at the doctor, cocked his right eyebrow, and answered.
"I shall endeavor to answer your question to the best of my ability, Doctor. Please proceed so that I may finish this meal sometime before my next duty shift."
McCoy had a moment's pause. Did he really want to put the Vulcan on the spot before the command crew? Yes, he did.
"Mr. Spock, we have been on patrol for some time."
Spock interjected. "Six weeks, one day, four hours, twenty-three minutes...."
All second thoughts vanished as the doctor experienced a wave of annoyance at Spock's precision.
"As I was saying, we've been out here for a while," the doctor growled. "Most of us have needed to have our hair cut. Except you, of course. You probably meditate your hair follicles into compliance." The doctor glared at his fellow officers who were vainly trying to keep from laughing. He turned back to the first officer and resumed his query. "Here's the question, Spock. Jim never seems to need a haircut either. So, who cuts the captain's hair?"
The Vulcan's left eyebrow joined its companion beneath Spock's hairline. He seemed to stare at the doctor as if he could not believe that he had just heard.
"Have you all nothing better to do than to speculate about the captain's personal business?" he asked. His tone was as cold as the feeling in the pit of Lieutenant Sulu's stomach, who was beginning to realize that his idle question could cause them all a lot of trouble.
"Dr., perhaps we should just drop this," Sulu whispered. The rest of the uncomfortable officers at the table nodded in agreement. But McCoy just couldn't seem to back down when it came to a confrontation with Spock.
"Nonsense, Sulu. I'm sure that Mr. Spock will be able to help us with our question. Won't you, Mr. Spock?"
"Doctor, this is an unseemly and improper question for the CMO to be asking. I simply cannot remain here and continue with this conversation. Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I suggest that you engage yourselves in a more appropriate line of inquiry. I would not like to have to report this topic of conversation to Captain Kirk."
Spock stood up. Clearly his meal was over. The officers at the adjoining table looked embarrassed and uncomfortable, since Spock had made it clear that they had stepped over the line. Most of them had their heads down, unwilling to look at their companions. Perhaps it was only serendipity that caused the doctor to look up before Spock had completely turned his back. That's why he was able to catch the two words Spock seemed to be repeating softly to himself as he left the mess.
"Who indeed?"
The End