The Vulcan:" A Parody

The Vulcan A parody;
Written by Lawrence V. Hults II and based on the Edgar Allan Poe Poem "The Raven"
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Once upon a Beta-shift dreary, while I pondered weak and weary,

Over many a quaint and curious log of forgotten Lore-

While I nodded nearly sleeping, suddenly there came a beeping,

As if someone gently beeping, beeping at my quarters’ door.

" ‘Tis a visitor," I grumbled, "beeping at my quarters’ door-

Only this, and nothing more."

Ah, distinctly I recall it was while orbiting Beta Mal,

And each replicator spat its coffee upon my quarters’ floor.

Eagerly I wished the morrow; -vainly I had sought to borrow

From my personal logs full of sorrow- sorrow for the lost Lieutenant Moore-

For the rare and radiant maiden whom the manifest names Lieutenant Moore-

Nameless here forevermore.

And the beeps and chimes sounds form the computer’s horn

Thrilled me- filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;

So now that, to still the beating of my bionic Heart, I stood repeating:

" ‘Tis some visitor entreating entrance at my quarters’ door-

Some late visitor entreating entrance at my quarters door;

This it is and nothing more."

Presently my person grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,

"Sir," is said, "Madam, or hermaphrodite, your forgiveness I implore,

But the fact is I was sleeping and so unexpectedly you came beeping,

And so unexpectedly you came beeping, beeping at my quarters’ door,

That I wasn’t sure that I had indeed heard you" -here I opened wide the door;-

Corridors there and nothing more.

Deep into that corridor peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,

Doubting, dreaming dreams no humanoid ever dared to dream before;

But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,

And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, "Lieutenant Moore!"

This I whispered and the computer murmured back, the word, "Lieutenant Moore!"-

Merely this and nothing more.

Back into the bedroom turning, all my imaginings within me burning,

Soon again I heard a beeping something more incessant than before.

"Surely," I said, "surely that is something at my portal entrance;

Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore-

Let my bionic heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;-

‘Tis a malfunctioning sensor and nothing more."

Open her I flung the entrance, when without any a Klingon-like penitence,

In there stepped a stately Vulcan of the saintly days of Kirk.

Not the least obeisance made; not a klingon minute stopped or stayed he;

But, with mien of lord or lady, squatted upon my quarters’ floor-

Squatted upon a rug of Kahles just affront of my quarters’ door-

Squatted, and sat, and nothing more.

Then this alabaster man beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,

By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance he wore,

"Though thy robes be torn and messy, thou," I said, "art sure no Crusher, Wesley,

Ghastly grim and ancient Vulcan wandering from the late-shift bore-

Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Manifest Officer’s door!"

Quoth the Vulcan, "Nevermore."

Much I marveled this ungainly man to hear discourse so plainly,

Though his answer little meaning- little relevancy bore;

For we cannot help agreeing, that no living human being

Ever yet was blessed with seeing a Vulcan upon his quarters’ floor-

Humanoid or entity upon the rug affront of his quarters’ floor,

With such a name as "Nevermore."

But the Vulcan, sitting lonely on the garish rug, spoke only

That one word, as if his person in that one word he did outpour.

Nothing farther then he uttered; not a robe flap then he fluttered-

Till I scarcely more than muttered: "Other friends have meditated before-

On the morrow he will leave me as my Hopes have beamed before."

Then the Vulcan said, "Nevermore."

Startled by the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,

"Doubtless," said I, "What he utters is his only Federation Standard store.,

Caught from some unhappy kind whom unmerciful Disaster

Followed at warp 8 and followed at warp 9 till his hail one burden bore-

Till the Romulans of his own Hope that pathetic burden bore Of "Never-more.’"

But the Vulcan still beguiling all my sad person into smiling,

Straight I drifted an anti-grav seat in front of Humanoid and rug and door;

Then into the nylon sinking, I betook myself to linking

Fancy into fancy thinking what this ominous Vulcan of Kirk-

What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous Vulcan of Kirk

meant in evoking "Nevermore."

This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing

To the man who’s icy eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;

This and more I sat devining, with my head at ease reclining

On the seat’s nylon lining that the replicator’s-light spewed o’er

But whose nylon lining with the replicator’s-light spewing o’er

She shall press, ah, nevermore!

Then, methought, the air grew denser, mis-aligned by some unseen sensor

Poured by sweet vents whose perfume wafted upon the floor.

"Wretch," I cried, "thy Captain hath lent the- by these transporters he hath sent thee

Leave me- leave me and take from me my loggs of Lieutenant Moor!

File, oh file and delete these kindly loggs of the lost Lieutenant Moore!"

"Prophet," I said, "thing of evil- prophet still, if Vulcan or Romulan!-

Wether transporter sent, or wether temporal wake tossed thee here without warp-core,

Spartan, yet all undaunted, in this quarter’s room enhanced-

On this carpet by Horror haunted,- tell me truly, I emplore-

Is there- is there bones in sickbay?- tell me- tell me, I emplore!"

Quoth the Vulcan, "Nevermore."

"Prophet," I said, "thing of evil!- Prophet still if Romulan or Vulcan!

By the multi-verse that warps above us- by the Captain we both adore-

Tell this entity with sorrow after strife if, within the fabled after-life,

It shall clasp a security maiden whom the manifest names Lieutenant Moore-

Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the manifests name Lieutenant Moore."

Quoth the Vulcan, "Nevermore."

"Be that our sign of parting, Vulcan or Romulan!" I shrieked, upstarting-

"Get thee back into the wormhole and the Beta Malian shore!

Leave no IDIC as a token of that lie thy person hath spoken!

Leave my loneliness unbroken!- quit the rug upon my floor!

Take thy robes out of my heart, and take thy form from off my floor!"

Quoth the Vulcan, "Nevermore."

And the Vulcan, never fitting, still is setting, still is sitting

On the garish rug of Khaless just afront of my quarters floor;

And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,

And the replicator-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow upon the floor;

And and my person from out the corridor that lies outside of the floor

Shall be lifted- nevermore!