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The local sheriff’s office is as stark and sleek as every other building on Mrennenimus XIV, all plain white stone and polished glass. The inside’s just as tidy, well-organized, with two oblong desks on either side of the wide open space and spherical filing cabinets around all the walls. Three space-black people, about Leonard’s height but half his weight, bustle swiftly about, passing around paperwork and pointing at holographic screens and adjusting the many monochromatic ribbons on their quilted white uniforms. Despite their humanoid bodies, it’s all distinctly alien, and Leonard, not for the first time, half wishes he’d stayed on the ship. Shore leave on friendly planets is always welcome. But there’s such a thing as too alien, and he doesn’t adjust as easily as some of his more adventurous peers. There are too many unfamiliar shapes in the room. The optical-illusion liminal-space wallpaper is killing his eyes. He feels like he’s getting too old for exploration.
But he’s never too old to mercilessly tease Spock, so he sucks up his discomfort and approaches the nearest local. They blink their three pupil-less eyes at him, and he greets through the Universal Translator, “Doctor McCoy, nice to meet you.” At least it’s a polite planet. Too polite. There’s not a single speck of graffiti or litter anywhere outside, because anything bad, rude, childish, even silly, can merit jail time. At least only jail time. No harsher punishments. That time ends when a “more civilized” individual shows up to vouch for the criminal and swear they’ll never re-offend. Leonard has no idea what he’s done to be blessed with that honour, but he suspects Jim’s still stuck in the alien’s giant spiral stone maze and thusly out of com-range. Spock must’ve thought to call him first. He’d still tease Spock, but not as vehemently as Leonard will. Then again, while Jim’s never overtly childish, hardly rude, he can, at times, enjoy a good joke, and even that’s illegal on Mrennenimus XIV. The alien in front of Leonard reaches out to poke his stomach, right over his belly-button, which, if he correctly remembers the briefing, is the local equivalent of a handshake. Leonard can’t bring himself to poke them back but explains, “I’m here to collect a Mister Spock.”
In a garbled, high-pitched whine of a translation, the Mrennenimian worker answers, “We have that one. Do you swear on your aunt and your aunt’s aunt that he will not joke again?”
Leonard, having no aunts but delighted to hear Spock’s crime, agrees, “Absolutely.” It’s an effort to stifle his smile—he can’t risk laughing and being accused of comic behaviour himself. It should’ve been easy for Spock. Smiles are so hard-won with him. Leonard’s mind is already reeling, trying to guess what joke he made, probably some inane pun or logic loop that no one in their right mind would consider funny. But the locals have a different definition of funny, and the person in front of Leonard drops all their paperwork directly onto the floor before spinning on their heel and marching down the hall. Leonard quickly follows, unsure if they’re headed to a real corridor or one of the many walls painted to look like one.
It’s real. They make good time down one hall, turn left into another, right onto a third, a fourth, and then a final row of glass doors with closet-sized plain rooms behind them. Out of the odd thirty, three are filled, two with pitch-black perpetrators and one with a lone pop of colour. Spock’s science blue tunic looks as garish in the monochrome space as Leonard’s does. Jim, golden and radiant, must be standing out everywhere he goes. Leonard’s guide points to a singular button on the wall next to Spock’s cell, explaining, “This will release the perpetrator. I will leave you now to administer stern admonishment; you may leave when finished.”
Leonard says, “Thanks,” and uses up all his will power stifling a smirk. The alien doesn’t seem to notice. They spin again and leave, disappearing down the bend. The other aliens are seated on the respective floors of their cells and stay silent. There are no screens, monitors, signs, or any decoration. Just the white walls, doors, buttons, and prisoners. No cameras visible. So, as soon as he’s left alone, Leonard lets his grin go.
For the most part, Spock doesn’t react. He stands exactly as he was, all rigid posture with his arms folded behind his back, a perfect fit on Mrennenimus. But there’s an ever-so-slight twitch in his brow that Leonard treasures. He can’t believe he’s not just allowed, but expected, to admonish Spock. Terran Christmas came early.
Folding his arms over his puffed-out chest, Leonard drawls, “Well, well, well, what do we have here... a naughty Vulcan, huh? And here I thought this planet was right up your alley.”
Spock starts, “I possess no a—” but cuts himself off. Leonard can hear the rest: he has no alley. It’s not quite a joke, just the usual either genuine language barrier or Spock being difficult on purpose. Either way, Spock seems to deem it too silly to say in their current location. He corrects, “A human idiom, I take it.”
“You know what I mean,” Leonard quips, dead sure that Spock does. “These people are so serious, they’re practically computers—isn’t that what you strive for?”
Of course Spock can’t let him have anything and answers, “Hardly.” If they were back on the ship, in the safety of Jim’s magnanimous reign, he’d probably go into great detail on the nuanced differences between logical Vulcan ideals and humourless computers. But he’s in jail for joking, so he doesn’t. Leonard’s trying to memorize the sight and plans on telling every single crew member exactly who violated the logic laws first. To his knowledge, there are no other Enterprise people in Mrennenimian prison. All the humans have behaved. Spock couldn’t. He’s too silly.
When Spock offers nothing else, probably determined to give Leonard as little material as possible, Leonard prods, “So what’d you get busted for? What joke did you tell?”
Spock’s frown tightens—maybe he was hoping the sheriffs wouldn’t disclose the specifics of his criminal record. He tries, “That information is hardly prudent.”
Leonard snorts. “I’ll say it is! C’mon, what was it? Was it something... r-IDIC-ulous?” He’s sure to put emphasis on the Vulcan principle, and Spock’s brow knits together. It must be torture for him.
“Doctor—”
“You gonna tell me?”
“I have no intention of repeating my mistake. However, you must—”
“What, you Vulcan’t say?” Leonard can’t help a chuckle, not so much at the pun but Spock’s face, which, in its restrained Vulcan way, looks both horrified and desperate to stop Leonard from doing exactly what he came to do. It’s glorious. “Did you say something too pointed?” He winks, gesturing at Spock’s ears, like Spock’s not thoroughly used to Leonard’s ear-related jabs.
Sounding strained, Spock repeats, “Doctor—”
Leonard hears the silent plea but is having way too much fun to stop. “Did you tell them the one about the Vulcan, the Andorian, and the Klingon that walked into a bar? The Klingon asked the Andorian, ‘why so blue?’ And the Vulcan answered—”
A Mrennenimian appears around the corner so fast that Leonard nearly jumps. They march straight to him, while Spock dryly tells him, “The building is audio-monitored.”
Leonard splutters. “Wait, what?” The alien opens another cell. “No, I didn’t mean—I was just trying to guess what his joke was—”
The Mrennenimian gestures at the empty cubby right next to Spock’s, droning. “You have violated the Mrennenimian penal code. Please enter your respective prison cell, where you will remain until claimed by a more responsible individual. You will have eleven minutes to reflect on your crimes before you may make your first call to said individual.”
Leonard opens his mouth, closes it, and protests, “I wasn’t joking, I was just trying to guess—” The Mrennenimian gestures harder. “Look, it’s not like we’re in public! You can’t just—” They can. They do.
Obviously unamused, the alien firmly points with both arms into the cell. Leonard’s cell. Leonard has half a mind to make a break for it. Except Spock’s already accepted his fate with grace, and if Leonard took off, he’d never hear the end of it.
Unable to look at Spock’s face, Leonard trudges into his cell. The Mrennenimian taps the button outside, and a glass screen slides snugly into place. Leonard can see into the trim hallway and the empty cell across from him and nothing else. He’s surrounded by three white walls that would drive any decent human mad in a matter of hours. His only solace is that he can’t see Spock, who’s probably feeling supremely smug.
As the Mrennenimian struts off, Leonard grumbles, just in case, “Smugness is an emotion.”
Spock answers, “I should have called Jim.”
“Called him what?”
From out of nowhere, a loud speaker announces, “Doctor McCoy, you have initiated known joke structure. Your reflection time has been extended to seventeen minutes.”
Leonard groans, only slightly relieved that Spock doesn’t laugh.