Chapter Text
“The planet has a climate similar to that of an old Earthen Beach,” S'Chn T'Gai Spock commented, informing the crew of the details as he observed the place. “Overall, Captain,” he adjusted his hold on the Communicator, “It is not an awful place to be stranded.”
“Well, that’s good to hear, Spock–” Jim sighed, frustrated with the situation, “– but do you have any ideas on how to get back? Can you get the shuttle working?”
“I believe that the parts I need could be found on this planet, yes.” Spock reasoned, taking another look at the boardwalk he’d spotted. “However, it will require disguising myself to blend in, and, given the seemingly capitalistic nature of the society, very possibly getting a job in order to afford said parts.”
“Right, okay.” Jim continued, more worried than he sounded. “Any timeframe on this, Spock?”
“It… may take a while. Keep trying to repair the ship, and I will keep trying to fix the shuttle.”
“Yes, of course.”
“I will keep in touch, Captain,” Spock replied, trying to ease Jim's worries. He hoped the rest of the crew didn’t notice the tone he used. Far, far too soft for a Vulcan. “For now, I'll try to stay inconspicuous.”
“Good luck, Mister Spock.” One of the other crewmen said, and he recognised them as the engineer who caused the transporter malfunction.
“Thank you.”
Flipping shut his communicator, S'Chn T'Gai Spock quickly realised it may just be surprisingly easy to hide himself here.
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The beings of this planet were humanoid, certainly, but had many distinct differences. If not for this planet being pre-warp, Spock would've loved to have gotten as much time here as possible. Of course, he was breaking the prime directive by being here at all, and had never intended to be.
A shuttle crash is a reasonable exception, I suppose. He thought, as he admired his new clothes. They were stolen, but it's not like he had much choice in the matter.
They were simple and fairly similar to what others seemed to be wearing. A Hawaiian shirt, basic shorts, and a few other bits and pieces from his uniform he'd altered slightly. He looked like an Earthen tourist. Everyone here seemed to have that sort of look about them, though, so he assumed it would be fine.
He didn't bother disguising his ears. It seemed that there were many different alterations in physiology here, and his ears were certainly not the strangest. He'd seen several people with extra limbs walk by, and could swear he'd seen a few with ears similar to those of Vulcans.
Spock wandered the town for a while, unsure where to start. He needed money and somewhere to sleep.
(Well. He could technically sleep in the shuttle if need be, though it certainly wasn’t the safest option. Or he hoped it wasn’t, at least, because that would indicate something very unsettling with this environment.)
Still, it seemed a job was a top priority. This place was definitely Capitalistic, with trinkets and foodstuffs for sale at every corner, and for prices he could not fathom. (Though this currency was probably very different to any he’d known.)
Wandering around, Spock thought about what jobs he'd be fit for. A great many, especially in this environment.
…Then he thought about what would hire him quickly.
Eventually, he stumbled upon a restaurant called “The Krusty Krab.”
On the window of the crab trap-shaped, nautical-themed building, a sign read:
“The Classic Krabby Party: Reimagined.
Try the Krabby Vegan Burger today! Only $11.99!”
Spock realised it didn't have a hiring sign. But he walked in anyway, trying his luck.
“I just can't do it, Mr Krabs!” Cried out a young man, with a level of dramatization that the Vulcan had thought only persisted in Shakespearean plays. “I can't cook a veggie burger! It isn't right! It isn't… a Krabby Patty!”
“Geez, Boyo.” A red-haired man, presumably the aforementioned Mr Krabs, sighed at the worker. “If I'd known you'd have taken it like this, I wouldn't’ve come up with the damned thing.”
“So–” The cook sniffled and looked up at the red-headed man. His eyes were bright blue and sad, but flickered into something more hopeful. “So you won't fire me?”
"No, no.” The boss gave the young man a reassuring shoulder pat, which –despite the fact that his hands seemed almost claw-like– seemed to work wonders. Spock reasoned that this kind of thing happened frequently, especially judging by the fact that none of the customers even batted an eye. “I wouldn't fire you, you're the only thing makin’ me any money around here.” The boss's gaze turned to the man working the cash register, who leaned back and read an arts magazine.
“But–” he continued, gaze not leaving the man at the register. “-we have the stock for a few good weeks of Veggie patties. So someone's gotta cook ‘em, and it ain’t gonna be me.”
“Please, Mr Krabs, I can't, I keep burning them…” The young man mumbled quickly, voice equally as dramatic as before. The boss didn't turn his gaze back to him.
“Oh no.” The older man at the register threw down his magazine and sat up straight, allowing Spock to see that he was one of the members of the species who had four legs. “No. I'm not doing it! Get Pearl to, she's the reason you made the stupid burger in the first place!”
“Me daughter has a job at the mall now, Mr Tentacles. Makes more than what I pay you.” The boss crossed his arms.
“Patrick, then!”
"You really think I’m lettin’ him in the kitchen again?” The boss seemed both angry and amused at the suggestion, shooting a glare at the younger worker. “The boy didn’t even know grease could catch fire.”
There was a pause as the cashier tried to think up another name.
“No other recruits ya want to try and draft?”
Before the cashier could reply (with what, to Spock, seemed very likely to be a defeated “no”), the Vulcan jumped in with his own suggestion.
“Perhaps you could hire someone new temporarily, until you run out of the stock.” his interruption seemed to be received well, so he continued. “I myself am looking for work.”
“Hm.” The boss looked him over. The other employees seemed anxious about the proposal. “Alright. Let's see if you can cook.”
Spock followed the man into the kitchen, the younger employee in tow.
He took the quick second to analyse these people better.
The younger employee was short, and strawberry blonde, and wearing far too formal clothes for this job (if the other two were any bar to judge him by), excluding the cartoonish sailor's hat bearing the restaurant logo.
The boss, Mr Krabs, wore more casual clothes and had a mane of bright red hair.
The other employee, Mr Tentacles, wore mint green pants and an orange shirt, seemingly without much concern for the workspace.
“‘Ere she is.” Spock refocused his attention as Mr Krabs slapped an appliance. “And she’s the only grill we got, so ya better not break ‘er. Or I’m billin’ ya."
After being handed a “veggie patty” from the blonde employee, Spock attempted to use a grill that seemed, to him, countless years out of date and almost entirely obsolete. Somehow, he managed to leave the food unburnt. Then he was asked to add the toppings to it, and was so carefully instructed by the younger employee that it would have been almost impossible to fail.
“Hm.” Mr Krabs took a bite of the burger. “Not bad. You’re–
“Wait!” the blonde interrupted. “You don’t work for Plankton, do you?”
The boss waited for a reply.
“Plankton?” Spock let his voice convey confusion. “... Being truthful, I have no idea what that means. I’m new in town.”
The boss nodded. “You think he’s telling the truth?”
The young man smiled and nodded back, clearly convinced.
“Right. Yer’ hired, then.”