The Prime Directive of Scrubbing

An unofficial Star Trek–inspired TurboStone comedy.

“Spock to Enterprise. The wormhole has brought me to Captain Kirk’s home planet.”

Earth turned slowly beneath the unfamiliar stars.

“The year is 2026.”

“Report, Spock,” Kirk replied. “What do you see?”

“A civilization of considerable technological promise. Global communications. Robotic manufacturing. Portable computing devices.”

Spock paused.

“And a man moving a rock back and forth.”

“For what purpose?”

“He is attempting to remove mineral deposits.”

“Is it working?”

The human stopped scrubbing, inspected the hard-water ring, and resumed with considerably greater hostility.

“He appears to believe that increasing his resentment will improve the abrasion.”

First Contact

“Come on, you little son of a—”

“Greetings.”

The human turned abruptly, holding a wet pumice stone.

“Jesus! How long have you been standing there?”

“Long enough to develop concerns.”

“About what?”

“Your civilization.”

The human looked down at the toilet.

“It’s mostly just this ring.”

“That is how these situations begin.”

Spock examined the mineral buildup with his scanner.

“You a plumber?”

“Science officer.”

“Do you know anything about hard water?”

“I am rapidly acquiring an opinion.”

A cordless drill sat nearby.

Spock regarded it, then the pumice stone.

“That device converts stored electrical energy into rotational motion?”

“The drill? Yeah.”

“And removing this deposit requires repeated abrasive motion?”

“Yeah.”

Spock looked from one object to the other.

The human waited.

“What?”

“I am attempting to remain culturally sensitive.”

The human switched the pumice to his left hand, managed two awkward strokes, and immediately switched back.

Spock touched his communicator.

“Enterprise. Requesting a developmental projection.”

“Military?” Kirk asked.

“Domestic.”

“How serious?”

“Potentially asymmetrical.”

Ninety Percent Right Arm

“Computer,” Spock said, “project human development through the year 2099, assuming continued manual mineral removal. Include toilet rings, hard-water stains, and pool scale.”

“Calculating.”

A holographic figure appeared.

Its right arm was immense. Enormous knuckles rested on the floor. Its left arm looked as though it had been added after the development budget ran out.

“Is that a gorilla?” Kirk asked.

“Not yet, Captain.”

Spock studied the projection.

“By 2099, the human species will be ninety percent right arm.”

“And the left?”

“The left arm will serve primarily as a towel rack.”

A small towel appeared hanging from it.

“Accessory added for clarity,” said the computer.

Kirk leaned forward in his command chair.

“Can they still operate a starship?”

“Only if all essential controls are on the right.”

“And if they need to turn left?”

“They will take considerable offense at the suggestion.”

Spock’s face remained entirely unchanged.

“As you can clearly see, I am deeply upset.”

There was a pause.

“I apologize for the outburst.”

“Take whatever time you need.”

“I have recovered.”

Behind him, the human adjusted his grip.

“Maybe if I come at it sideways.”

He changed the angle by approximately two degrees.

“Captain,” Spock said, “their natural development appears to be proceeding in a very small circle.”

The Forbidden Specimen

Spock opened a small case.

Inside rested a piece of equipment recovered from an unmanned cargo capsule near the wormhole. Its label identified it as TurboStone.

Enterprise records placed its arrival in this branch of human history in 2099.

The specimen had arrived seventy-three years early.

“Spock,” Kirk said, “tell me that isn’t what I think it is.”

“Drill-powered pumice, Captain.”

“Put it away.”

“The projected anatomical consequences—”

“Do not exempt us from the Prime Directive.”

“We must not interfere with the natural development of a civilization,” Spock recited.

“Precisely.”

A scraping sound came from the bathroom.

Spock remained motionless.

“You cannot introduce future technology merely because something annoys you,” Kirk added.

“I am not annoyed.”

The scraping continued.

“I must apologize for a second outburst.”

“Spock.”

“Captain.”

“Close the case.”

The human sat back on his heels and studied the ring.

“I’ll give it another twenty minutes.”

Spock slowly closed his eyes.

“I am prepared to face the tribunal.”

Rotational Assistance

“I may have an alternative,” Spock told the human.

“What is it?”

“Pumice, rebuilt for drill-powered use.”

The human examined TurboStone.

“Huh. Seems a little excessive.”

“You possess a machine that throws snow across your property.”

“Yeah, but that’s snow.”

“Understood. The distinction is profound.”

“My grandmother just used a pumice stone.”

“And her grandmother?”

“Probably the same thing.”

“A remarkably stable research program.”

The human turned the tool over.

“So this is a pumice stone drill attachment?”

“An admirably concise description.”

“And you came through a wormhole to show me?”

“I came through a wormhole to observe. Your bathroom has expanded the scope of the mission.”

The human reached for the drill.

“We will first consult the instructions,” Spock said.

“You’re from the future and you still read instructions?”

“That is how we arrived there.”

They reviewed the directions, checked the intended surface, and prepared the tool for wet use.

The drill began to turn.

Spock watched with the solemn attention normally reserved for an unstable warp core. The human worked on a small area, stopped, and inspected it.

“Well, shit.”

Spock opened his communicator.

“Enterprise. First contact has progressed to the traditional human expression of scientific discovery.”

“Which expression?”

“I will omit it from the formal report.”

An alert sounded.

“Temporal deviation detected,” announced the computer.

“What have you done, Spock?” Kirk asked.

“Introduced rotational assistance.”

“Recalculating human development.”

The projected right arm shrank. The left arm returned to a useful size. Its towel dropped to the floor.

“Bilateral proportions restored.”

“Well,” Kirk said. “That seems encouraging.”

“Secondary consequences detected.”

“Specify,” Spock said.

“The human now possesses additional discretionary time.”

Kirk sighed.

“What’s he doing with it?”

Spock returned to the doorway.

The human was sitting on the floor, entertaining a cat with a feather on a string.

“He has entered a recreational arrangement with a smaller species.”

“Who is in charge?”

The cat stopped. The human patiently adjusted the feather until it resumed playing.

“The smaller species.”

“Human independence remains unconfirmed,” the computer added.

The cat approached Spock and rubbed against his leg.

“Captain. The creature appears to be applying for diplomatic contact.”

“Permission granted.”

Spock administered one careful stroke.

The cat leaned closer.

“This mission has become significantly more complex.”

Hard Water at Warp Speed

The Enterprise shuddered.

On the bridge, a warning light flashed amber, then red.

“Scotty,” Kirk said, “report.”

“The warp-core hydrofilters are retaining calcified subionic particles. They’re backing up toward the secondary refraction manifold.”

“How long?”

“Before we lose propulsion, or before I start calling it something less polite?”

“The first one.”

“Sooner than I’d like.”

Spock listened from Earth.

“Are you informing me that the Federation’s flagship is experiencing… hard water?”

“Aye,” Scotty replied. “If ye’d like to put it in terms that make my engineering degree sound unnecessary.”

“Surely there is a backup cleaning system.”

“There is.”

“And?”

“He’s been scrubbing for forty-seven minutes.”

Spock looked toward the now-unoccupied bathroom.

“Captain. I recommend transporting the specimen aboard.”

Kirk hesitated.

“You’ve already altered one civilization.”

“Perhaps we should avoid allowing another to drift into the sun.”

“Transport approved.”

Eleven for the Federation

Engineering’s initial trial was promising.

Scotty reported that the deposit was responding, the hydrofilter was recovering, and he would appreciate it if nobody scheduled a disciplinary hearing until he had finished saving the ship.

Kirk turned to Spock.

“Can we manufacture additional units?”

“Not from the information available.”

“Have you contacted the inventor?”

“Yes. He has not divulged the manufacturing process.”

“Did you explain that we represent the Federation?”

“He replied that he represents TurboStone.”

Kirk considered this.

“Apparently,” Spock continued, “Earth’s inventor is exercising the Prime Directive on us.”

Uhura looked up from her console.

“I located a terrestrial supply depot. Designation: Amazon.”

“How many units?” Kirk asked.

“Eleven.”

“Eleven cases?”

“Eleven stones. For the entire Federation.”

Spock stood perfectly still.

“I must ask everyone to remain calm.”

“Nobody has said anything, Spock.”

“I was addressing myself.”

A message arrived from Engineering.

“Fortunately,” Spock said, examining Scotty’s report, “observed wear suggests the specimen’s useful life considerably exceeds the requirements of this particular hydrofilter application.”

“How considerably?”

“One or two should service our system for the duration of the five-year mission.”

Kirk relaxed.

“Then eleven is enough. Allocate two to the Farragut. Send four to spacedock. Keep two for Engineering and three in reserve.”

“An entirely logical distribution.”

Uhura’s console chimed.

“Spacedock is requesting six.”

“For how many vessels?”

She read the message again.

“None, Captain. They have a hot tub.”

Spock lowered his eyes.

“The Pool Scale Directive has spread.”

The Voices in the Stone

“Captain,” Uhura said, “before we distribute those specimens, there’s something else.”

She had noticed the signal while monitoring Engineering’s test: a faint repeating vibration, too structured to be ordinary tool noise.

She placed an amplified stethoscope against the dry, stationary TurboStone.

A tiny, impossibly cheerful chorus filled the bridge.

Kirk leaned closer.

“Is that music?”

“Yes, Captain. Millions of microscopic voices.”

“What are they singing about?”

“Initially, I thought peaches. I’m revising that interpretation.”

Spock passed his scanner over the stone.

Then he scanned it again.

“The individual pumice grains are not merely bonded.”

He adjusted the display.

“They are holding on to one another.”

“Alive?”

“And apparently very committed to the arrangement.”

Kirk turned toward Engineering.

“Stop the cleaning operation.”

Uhura raised a hand.

“Captain. They’re objecting.”

“To what?”

“Stopping.”

The chorus became louder.

“Are they frightened?” Kirk asked.

“No. Impatient.”

Spock listened, his expression growing no more animated than usual.

“Fascinating. They regard an eternity of sitting on a shelf as an intolerable existence. Abrasive work is their chosen purpose.”

“And they understand what happens to them?”

“Completely. They do not release one another. Their formation becomes smaller only as the working grains are worn away through contact.”

Kirk looked at the little stone on the table.

“We’ve been treating a civilization as equipment.”

“Yes,” Spock said.

“And distributing its population.”

“Yes.”

“To a hot tub.”

“That allocation has not yet shipped.”

Kirk rubbed his forehead.

“I imagine that distinction will be important at the hearing.”

A Request for Coordinates

Uhura isolated a pattern within the chorus.

The voices were not pleading for rescue. They were discussing destinations.

One group favored the warp-core hydrofilters. Another wanted to know more about the Farragut. A particularly enthusiastic section kept returning to pool scale.

“They’re choosing assignments,” she said.

“Can you ask whether they want to leave the formation?” Kirk asked.

Uhura transmitted the question through the contact speaker.

The response was immediate.

“What did they say?”

“The closest translation is: ‘Why would we let go?’”

Spock studied the grain structure.

“They consider the strength of their bond an expression of solidarity. Separation is neither necessary nor desirable to them.”

“But using them wears them away.”

“That is understood.”

“And doing nothing?”

Uhura listened for a long moment.

“They have a phrase for it. It translates approximately as ‘the endless cupboard.’”

The bridge fell quiet.

For once, even Scotty said nothing.

“They’re not asking us to preserve them indefinitely,” Uhura continued. “They’re asking us to let them do what they came together to do.”

Kirk approached the table.

“Can they hear me?”

“Through this.”

He leaned toward the contact speaker.

“This is Captain James T. Kirk of the Enterprise. We will not assign you to any destination without your agreement.”

The chorus softened.

“We have a damaged propulsion system. Another vessel has requested assistance. There are also several… domestic applications.”

A burst of overlapping voices answered him.

Uhura smiled.

“Captain, they’re requesting the coordinates of the nearest mineral deposit.”

Scotty broke in.

“Well, tell them I’ve got a hydrofilter down here that’ll give them something to sing about.”

The chorus erupted.

“What was that?” Kirk asked.

“A request for an encore.”

Spock carefully set down the stethoscope.

“We came here to establish contact with one civilization.”

He glanced at the image of the human and his cat, still visible on a side monitor.

“Our original estimate was conservative.”

The Tribunal

By the time the Enterprise returned to spacedock, the hydrofilters were clear and the warp core was stable.

The stones had selected their destinations. Two volunteered for the Farragut. Four chose spacedock. Two joined Enterprise Engineering.

The remaining three agreed to reserve duty, provided that “reserve” did not mean an indefinite stay in the endless cupboard.

Spock insisted that condition be recorded.

The tribunal convened the following morning.

“Commander Spock,” said the chair, “you stand accused of introducing advanced technology to a developing civilization.”

“Correct.”

“Without authorization.”

“Correct.”

“For the purpose of cleaning a toilet.”

“That description omits the broader implications.”

“Enlighten us.”

Spock presented the original projection.

The officials stared at the enormous right arm.

“Why is there a towel hanging from that one?” asked the second official.

“That is the left arm.”

“Good heavens.”

“Nevertheless,” the chair continued, “you altered an entire timeline.”

“I submit that the alternative would have been difficult to sleeve.”

The chair did not smile.

“Did you consider the consequences of humanity receiving this technology seventy-three years early?”

“Extensively.”

“And your conclusion?”

“They already owned the drills.”

The officials conferred in lowered voices.

“He does have a point about the drills,” said the second.

“That is not the issue.”

“My shower has developed a rather persistent—” began the third.

“We will discuss that after the hearing.”

The chair turned back to Spock.

“There is also the matter of your unauthorized distribution of sentient beings.”

“The individuals concerned selected their own destinations. Lieutenant Uhura has submitted their agreement.”

“Then why have three specimens been brought to this hearing?”

“They requested to attend.”

“On what grounds?”

Spock placed the amplified stethoscope against one of the stones.

A jubilant chorus filled the chamber.

The chair recoiled slightly.

“What are they saying?”

Uhura consulted her translation.

“They would like to know whether the mineral deposits in the ornamental fountain are part of the evidence.”

“The fountain?”

“They noticed it on the way in.”

The chair glanced toward the corridor.

“That fountain has been a maintenance problem for eighteen years.”

The chorus rose in pitch.

Spock folded his hands.

“They are requesting permission to approach the bench.”

Mission Report

Earth turned slowly on the Enterprise viewscreen.

Spock dictated his final report.

“The human species remains argumentative, resistant to change, and unusually attached to the phrase ‘I’ve always done it this way.’

“However, their upper limbs are now projected to remain approximately the same size.

“Engineering has restored full warp capability.

“And the Federation has established diplomatic relations with a civilization whose principal foreign-policy objective is the removal of mineral deposits.”

Kirk approached.

“And the tribunal?”

“Deliberations are ongoing.”

“Still?”

“The hearing moved to the ornamental fountain.”

“Any indication of a verdict?”

“The chairman has requested a larger shape.”

Kirk smiled.

“Any regrets, Spock?”

“One.”

“Which is?”

“I should have brought additional shapes.”

Uhura turned from her station.

“Captain. A message from Earth.”

“The inventor?”

“Yes. He says he’s making more.”

For the first time that day, Kirk looked entirely relieved.

“Inform the Farragut. And spacedock.”

“The message includes a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“He wants to know who placed a new order for eleven TurboStones on his website with a delivery address that just says ‘Space.’”

“I believe that would be me,” Spock said.

Kirk turned toward him.

“Space?”

“The address field did not accommodate precise orbital coordinates. I concluded that once the parcel cleared Earth’s atmosphere, we could beam it aboard.”

“And how did you expect him to get it out of the atmosphere?”

Spock paused.

“I selected expedited shipping.”

TurboStone — Pumice, rebuilt for the job.

For the humans of this timeline: TurboStone.shop.

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