Spock is reviewing the latest batch of flagged replicator requests as part of his many duties as Science Officer. There are thousands of these every day, and an ensign sifts through them, marking anything out of the ordinary for further review.

There is one from Chekov that makes Spock raise an eyebrow by one 32nd of an inch since he doesn’t immediately understand its intended usage. It appears to be possibly medical, so he shows it to Doctor McCoy.

“Spock, you idiot, it’s a pelvic floor exerciser. Don’t you damned Vulcans ever have trouble in that area?” McCoy berates him, and then, seeing the infinitesimally blanker look than normal on Spock’s face, adds. “No, I don’t suppose you do. Damned robots.”

Spock changes the title of the item to reflect McCoy’s description, flags it as ‘No further action required’, and moves on to more important matters.

McCoy, meanwhile, is intrigued by the design of the device and uses his replicator to make one for himself.

All of the replicators on the USS Enterprise can show a list of the top ten latest requests in either the ‘Foodstuffs’ or ‘Other’ categories, and the two entries for ‘Pelvic massager’ raise it to near the top for the day.

By the end of the morning, fifteen have been made, putting it in the number one position and triggering many crew members’ automatic notifications.

By the next day, over two hundred have been made.

Captain Kirk has little time for replicators other than to produce his favorite meal, as taught to him by his beloved Grandfather, Wilbur: peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. It took him a long while to persuade the replicator in his cabin to make them just right, but now that he has, he sees no reason to eat anything else, despite Bones’ repeated nagging.

Kirk is on the bridge since they are just about to enter the disputed territories marking the border between Federation and Klingon space. There have been repeated sightings of Klingon warbirds in the area, and the Enterprise has been tasked with running a sweep to check them out.

“Uhura, keep a close watch for any Klingon transmissions.” He instructs her but doesn’t hear her normal, efficient ‘Aye, sir’ in response.

He turns around and sees that her eyes are shut, her head is back, and she appears to be humming to herself and smiling faintly.

“Uhura!” he shouts, and she opens her eyes and looks around, confused. She sees him glaring at her and looks embarrassed.

“Yes, sir?” she asks, obviously not having heard a word that he’d said.

“Keep a close watch for any Klingon transmissions,” he repeats testily, making a mental note to bring the incident up at her next appraisal.

“Aye, sir,” she says in her more normal, efficient tone, but she still appears to be fidgeting in her chair.

“Chekov, take us to warp factor one,” Kirk orders curtly, and, when he again receives no response, he gets up and goes over to the helm.

Chekov is staring into the distance, and there is a sheen of moisture on his upper lip.

Kirk licks his index finger and sticks it into Chekov’s ear, eliciting a satisfyingly horrified response from his helmsman.

“Warp factor one when you’re quite ready, Mister Chekov.”

“Aye, sir. Sorry, sir.”

Kirk looks around the bridge, and almost all of his officers appear at least distracted, and many appear to be in a state of blissful near-catatonia.

He takes the turbo lift down to medical and goes to enter McCoy’s domain, hissing “Shhhsh” at the door to open it and wondering, for possibly the millionth time, why someone had chosen that as the command to open and close the doors on Federation starships.