Legacy Volume 2

  • First Published July 2007

  • 202 pages

  • Four stories

  • Ten articles

  • Four interviews

                          Victoria Clark


                          Darien Duck

                          Dovya Blacque

  • Cover by Virginia Sky

  • Interior art by Ivy Hill, Acidqueen, Virginia Sky, Marianne Mueller

  • Managing Editor:  Jenna Sinclair

  • Associate Managing Editor:  Kathleen Resch

  • Associate Editor for Art—Liz

  • Associate Editor for CD Database—Linda W.

  • Associate Editor for Conventions—Robin Hood

  • Associate Editors for Fiction—Jenna Sinclair and D’Anne

  • Associate Editor for the Internet—Lyrastar

  • Associate Editor for Interviews—Kathleen Resch

  • Associate Editor for Letterzines—Dorothy Laoang

  • Associate Editor for Zines—Carolyn Spencer 

Legacy Volume 2


Contact Jenna at [email protected] if you want to order two, three, or four zines to obtain a price. 
You save on postage by ordering multiple zines. 


$27 U.S. Priority

$31 Canada and Mexico

$33 Outside the U.S. not Canada or Mexico

$119 All five Legacy zines to the U.S. Priority

$133 All five Legacy zines to Canada or Mexico

$147 All five Legacy zines Outside the U.S. not Canada or Mexico

Want to read some of the zine before you decide whether to buy it?  Sort of like picking up a book in the bookstore and flipping through the pages, it's a good way to discover if this zine is the right one for you.  Just click on the links below to be transported into the special K/S world created by that particular author….



PEOPLE LIKE US by Kathy Stanis
TRIAL RUN by Elise Madrid
by Robin Hood
IN THE TEMPLE by Jesmihr

LETTERZINES: INTERSTAT 1977-1978 compiled by K.S. Langley
CONVENTIONS: K/S CON IN THE EARLY 80s an interview with Nancy Kippax
ZINES: 1986: IT WAS A VERY GOOD YEAR by Jenna Sinclair


From People Like Us by Kathy Stanis

Kirk sat on Spock’s bed, the bed he’d fantasized about more than once. He sat among Spock’s personal effects as his first officer packed for their shore leave on Vulcan.

Just sitting still felt like a luxury. Their last mission, a run-in with Orions threatening a beautifully primitive planet, had wrung him out physically, mentally and every other way. Spock’s offer of R and R at his home was just the thing he needed.

“What’s this?” he asked, picking up a bottle with Vulcan writing on it.

“Hair product,” Spock said, and held out his hand for the bottle.

Kirk handed it over. He leaned against the headboard and smiled at Spock.

What? the Vulcan eyebrow and tilt of head asked.

“So that’s your beauty secret.”

Spock lowered his gaze, continued stowing various items into his case.

Kirk enjoyed trying to embarrass his Vulcan, but only in private, of course. If not to embarrass him, to chip away at the Vulcan veneer, to get Spock to open up, which he’d been doing since Day One. And doing a pretty good job of it, if he did say so himself.

He would never have been sitting here four years ago, or even one year ago. It was a rather intimate thing, after all, to be watching Spock pack. There was the stack of neatly folded regulation underwear right on the bed, and at the bottom some colorful and silky items. Maybe a little too intimate to ask about those.

But damn—four years of side-by-side exploring, of soldiering and battling, experiencing the bizarre and the mundane, being bored and suffering bureaucracy. And he’d almost died at Spock’s hands at that Koon Ut place on Vulcan. He’d witnessed his first officer in the throes of a very illogical compulsion, then been party to Spock’s very illogical joy that he had not killed his captain. If they didn’t have an intimate friendship by now, then they never would.

But intimate friendship was one thing…and Kirk was thinking way beyond that.

Spock straightened up from his packing. “Did you come here for some purpose other than to observe me packing?”

The bed was now clear and Kirk stretched out his legs. “Yeah,” he said. “What should I pack? Will I need anything dressy, or swim trunks, or what? You haven’t given me much to go on. I only know I’ll probably wish I had an environmental suit. I don’t know how you could have lived there, in that heat.”

“You do not have to spend time outdoors if you do not wish to.”

“I bet it’s pretty nice at night though, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is. A nocturnal life is quite suitable for desert dwellers such as Vulcans.”

“So what should I bring? Are you going to take me someplace fancy?”

“As a matter of fact, yes, I did have something…special in mind. But you look quite acceptable whatever you are wearing.”

“Thank you, Spock.” Kirk shifted on the bed. “Do people on Vulcan wear blue jeans?”

“Yes, Jim. Your planet’s influence has reached even backwaters such as Vulcan.”

“Sorry, Spock. I wasn’t implying anything.”

Spock’s eyes held that beautiful, private smile…and Kirk thought it time to get up off the bed. He stepped into the main room as Spock placed his travel bag near the door.

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From Trial Run by Elise Madrid

“It has been our way since the time of the beginning.”

And so it must always be?

“For you to do this would bring dishonor, not just to this family but to Vulcan.”

Why is it dishonorable to seek my own path?

“A place has already been found for you.”

But it will not be MY place.

“You cannot refuse; I forbid it.”

Spock raised his head. He had kept it bowed as he listened to Sarek’s diatribe, the one he had known would come once he informed his father of his plans to join Starfleet. He had not been disappointed.

Sarek stood just inside the doorway. His displeasure, his disapproval, would not be easily read by another. But Spock had been on the receiving end of both too many times to be fooled by the placid expression his father wore. There would be no victory here; all Spock could hope for was an uneasy truce.

“I have already been accepted by Starfleet. Would you have me go back on my word to them?”

“You gave something which was not yours to give. I am sure Starfleet will be most cooperative in releasing you from your contract once they have been made aware of your situation.”

“To which situation do you refer? That I am to be denied the right to pilot the course of my own life?” Spock clasped his hands behind his back, not wanting Sarek to see how little control he had over them. The tremors, slight though they were, he told himself were due to the anger he had often had trouble controlling; there was, after all, nothing to fear. “I had hoped…I had thought you would see the logic in my leaving, you who have been witness to so much that proves my place is not here.”

“You would let those who deny you are Vulcan drive you from your home? Your birthright? I thought I had instilled greater courage in you.”

Spock almost flinched. Since persuasion had clearly not worked, Sarek was using Spock’s own insecurities against him. Now, not only was he not a true Vulcan, he was also a coward. Behind his back, his hands clenched into fists. “I do not fear Vulcan, Father. I fear losing that part of myself which is Vulcan.”

“You speak in riddles.”

He shook his head in that slight movement that had always marked him as not all Vulcan. “You cannot understand what it is to be both Vulcan and human. My biology is both, yet neither. My mind battles against itself, one thought in direct contradiction to the other, and my body hungers for that which no Vulcan’s would.”

“So, you go to Earth to assuage that hunger?”

“No!” Spock bit his lower lip. “No. I do not understand these urges, any more than I understand the thoughts that crowd out the logic I have been taught is the true way. But I will not learn to understand any of this here. I need to comprehend who and what I am.”

“You are Vulcan. And you have it within you to control these aberrations of thought…and appetites,” Sarek added, distastefully.

It was no use. Sarek would never condone his leaving. “I am leaving, Father. Do not try to stop me.”

Sarek gazed at him for long minutes. Finally, he spoke. “You may leave when you wish. I no longer have a son.”

Spock concentrated on his father’s footsteps as Sarek turned and walked away. When all he could hear was his own breath, drawing in and out in a regular and unruffled rhythm, he walked over to the tall wardrobe in the corner. Opening the doors wide, he pulled out the large valise at the bottom and began to pack.

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From Twenty Thousand Leagues by Robin Hood

The commodore standing before them was impressive. James Kirk took a chance and whispered to his first officer. “Have you ever seen a more…majestic woman than that?”

Amused, although not obviously, Spock answered just as quietly. “There have been a number of priestesses that come close. However, I must concur, Commodore T’Rett does her homeland proud.”

“Proud,” McCoy snorted. “She’s got legs up to here!” He gestured hand to chin.

The movement of his hand caught the attention of the object of their discussion, and she turned sharp eyes upon them.
“You talk? Most interesting. It is seldom that crew does.”

Kirk stiffened military straight.

She smiled at his response. “Only…what is the Terran word? Ah, yes…teasing. I was apprised that you have a ‘sense of humor.’”

McCoy smiled.

The piercing gaze turned slowly toward him.

He swallowed but said nothing. Maybe he would sink into the floor. Nope, didn’t happen. He stood there as if expecting execution.

She waited a long moment, then spoke. “I was waiting for you, Doctor, to…put your foot into your mouth.”

Kirk dipped his head to hide his smile.

She caught the movement. “Was that not the correct expression?”

“Aye, ma’am,” Kirk snapped, straightening. “Absolutely.”

“Gentleman, please sit.” And with that the two meter plus Andorian seemed to melt into her chair.

She waited until they were seated. “You have received your orders.”

They all nodded.

“Good, now I will explain those orders.”

Kirk sat forward.
“The Dreenen and their world are important to the Federation.” At their questioning faces, she added, “They are well-qualified to join the Federation if for no other reasons than their intelligence and peace-loving characters.”

They waited.

“They have asked for a contact from Starfleet. The fact that they know of us, and are able to contact us, requires that we comply with their request.”

Kirk’s head moved in approval: a new mission, his life’s blood. His eyes brightened as all three men paid even closer attention.

“The Enterprise has been chosen for this mission.”

Again, Kirk nodded. Of course they’d been chosen.

“What do you know of the Dreenen?”

Kirk turned to McCoy and waited.

The doctor nodded slowly. “I haven’t heard much about them, a water world if I remember correctly.” He looked to her for confirmation.

“Excellent, Doctor. Only I had any knowledge of them on my entire staff. What else do you know?”

“There’s something else, a, ah, major upheaval in their lives, a ritual or….” He stopped, looking stumped.

“Excellent, Doctor. Details concerning that…ritual are what we need you and your crew to collect.” When she saw questions form on Kirk’s face, she continued. “As well as their acceptability into Starfleet. The Dreenen appear to be benign, with great intelligence, and since they are so different in their life style, we need a much closer study of them.”

Spock finally spoke. “Will their world present many difficulties?”

A faint smile crossed her face. “I wondered who would be the first to ask.” She waited a long moment, watching their expressions before announcing, “There is no land above water on Dreena.”

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From In the Temple by Jesmihr

She rolled the nappeq furs up tightly and secured the bundles with heavy twine. Tyll kept predicting that spring would come any day now, but there was no sign of it this night. She doubted that tomorrow would be any less frigid. In the week she had spent here in this desolate retreat, she had learned that the early morning air held all the kindness of honed steel against one’s skin. The heavy nappeq pelts would offer some protection—for the short time that such protection would be necessary.

Placing the furs on her bed, she began to take stock of the rest of what she planned to bring. There would be very little to load onto the sledge in the morning. Enough food for one person, for one day. A flask of drinking water. The hypo and the vial—essential elements not to be forgotten. And….

Her dark eyes flickered to the velvet pouch that lay among the other items on the bed. She picked it up, even though she had checked it and rechecked it several times throughout the week. For a long moment, she studied the soft blue material of the bag, gripping it tightly enough so that she could feel the hard outlines of what lay within. Finally she drew the pouch open and pulled out its contents.

They were beautifully crafted. But then, they should be: they had been horrendously expensive and had cost almost the entirety of the remains of her carefully hoarded cache of credits. Holding them up in the light of the fireplace, she turned them to and fro, smiling slightly as their crystalline surface came to life in the orange blaze. “You are lovely,” she whispered, as she slid one of the glinting crystal hoops over her hand so it could encircle her slim wrist. “You could be worn as jewelry.” Her countenance grew sober at the thought, and with a tiny shiver she removed the gleaming ring and put it back in the bag with its three companions. No, these exquisite things had not been created to be decorative—far from it. But it was best, she thought, not to contemplate their true purpose until it was necessary for her to use them. Until tomorrow.

Working with resolute efficiency, she packed them, along with the food and the hypo, into a single small satchel and took it over to a chair next to the door. She would carry the water flask against her skin, she decided, to keep it from freezing. As for the furs, they could be loaded tonight. It would make for one less thing to think about in the morning, when she would need to concentrate on the journey and on the task that she needed to accomplish.

She grabbed her parka, pulled the heavy garment over her head and then took up the rolls of fur. The door creaked against the cold when she opened it and a hostile gust of wind lashed at her cheeks and her hair. “If this is spring, then I’d hate to see winter,” she muttered, clutching at the opening of her parka to draw it more tightly about her neck. “Of all the nouhha-forsaken shit holes I’ve been in, Ruchba 6 is the shittiest,” she informed the stingy sliver of moon that cast its bleak light overhead. “Whatever possessed him to come here I’ll never know.”

She shrugged and started to trudge over the groaning snow. No matter, she reminded herself. He was here, and so was she, and that was all that mattered. Tomorrow she would go up to him and convince him to accompany her. And then…. Her eyes narrowed, only partly because of the searing wind. And then….


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From Letterzines: Interstat 1977-1978 compiled by K.S. Langley

The debate over K/S continued in INTERSTAT, a long-running, stand-alone digest-sized letterzine, published from November 1977 to 1991, edited by Teri M. Excerpts are quoted in part, not in whole; they are not reproduced in their entirety. They are not copyedited; they stand as written. Notes from the author or editor are in brackets [ ].

INTERSTAT #1—November 1977

[The only mention of K/S in this issue is a comment in Jean Lorrah’s review of the ST novel Price of the Phoenix, during which she says “…Marshak and Culbreath have fashioned a book out of the themes of fandom rather than the hackneyed plots of old TV shows. The Kirk/Spock relationship is an important element (and there’s even a wink at the K/S ‘relationship.’)”]

INTERSTAT #3—January 1978

Karen B. wrote:
    “Fan fiction writers have degenerated to the point of illiteracy. Their characters have the morals and vocabulary of gutter rats. Demeaning the characters in perverted and/or sadistic behavior, homosexuality included, has no redeeming social or literary value. Several of these futile attempts at placing thoughts on paper consist of no more than plotless sexual fantasies drawn out in tiresome, explicit detail. Cannot these erstwhile authors raise their standards of communication to a redeemable level?

    There is a distinct difference between a general zine (Showcase, Stardate: Unknown) and an adult zine, (R&R, Rigel). However, one should not confuse an adult story with one dealing with homosexuality. If you publishers insist on inundating the reader with this kind of material, at least have the courtesy comparable to Alternative and state what sort of writing your zine carries and allow the purchaser discretion. In point: Obsc’zine does not warn that their stories deal almost exclusively with homosexuality. Contrariwise, Alternative states in print on the flyer that this is the content. Surely having written the story you cannot be ashamed to admit to in on a flyer…or would you?”

INTERSTAT #4—February 1978

M. L. D. wrote:
    “…The Trek writers, whatever their ages, are not growing, not learning the fundamentals of a story teller; you expect teenage girls to write sex fantasies, adolescents are obsessed with fornication (that’s the way nature intended it for the continuation of the species) but by the late twenties the brain should have taken precedence over the glands, and writers should have discovered that humans long for love and an understanding of what they are, far more than they do for sex—yet, I’ve run across little that is aimed any higher than the reader’s navel. Whatever happened to plots, and characters, and Roddenberry’s dictum that the form be used to comment on the problems and idiocy of modern life? Whatever happened to the purpose of fan ‘zines—to help young writers polish their craft in preparation for professional careers?…The liplicking reviews alone are enough to turn a real fan off. Trek writing is descending to the point where it is fit only for giggling adolescents (maybe it should be labeled not to be sold to anyone over 16).

Rebecca H. wrote:
    “…in response to Karen B’s—comments on adult zines—Obsc’zine does not deal almost exclusively with homosexuality. Admittedly, they had more than I cared for in issue #1, but issue #2 had only two or three short stories on the subject. I do feel, like Karen, that the editors should have warned us in the flyers that we were getting gay material. I’m all for zines advertising exactly what they are. But, I believe this sort of oversight is just that, and is not intended to sell zines under false pretenses. Perhaps, too, some editors wish to give the readers some surprises. I like to, and there’s really nothing wrong with that, as long as the surprise is not a nasty one. Especially in the adult zines, we need to know what we’re getting before we plunk down the money, simply because some of the stories are offensive to some people.…”


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From Conventions: K/S Con from the Early 80s an interview with Nancy Kippax

Nancy Kippax is the co-editor of the hurt/comfort gen zine Contact (along with her sister Beverly Volker). Although she is not a K/Ser and did not print K/S per se in the zine, Nancy was friends with many of the earliest K/Sers. In the seventies and early eighties, the group of people who were interested in the Kirk-Spock or the Kirk/Spock relationship had common ground and often interacted. Here Nancy talks about the earliest K/S “convention.”

K/S Con was a unique gathering, and one that elicits my most fond memories. For those who may not know much about it, I’ll try to put down some info for the unenlightened. Don’t ask me about the years, because I’m lousy at that sort of thing. I believe it went on for five years, perhaps six in the early ‘80s.

It didn’t start out to be a “slash” con, but I think it gradually evolved into that. Another example of the burgeoning movement toward the sexual component of the relationship. The con was the brain child of a combined contingent from the Washington D.C. area and one from the Baltimore bunch. In Washington, there was Carol F., Susan K. J., Ginna L., and Merle D. In Baltimore there was Bev Volker, me, and Martha B. as primary coordinators. We dreamed up the idea, Ginna provided the location, and we were off. Ginna lived in a rural part of a Washington/Maryland suburb, in the guesthouse of a large estate with a huge old vacant house. This main house had something like seven bedrooms on two floors, a huge sunken living room, a mostly working kitchen (the cooks constantly cursed the old stove), two basement levels, and something like five bathrooms, any and all of which didn’t work. There was a fireplace in the living room which we were never allowed to use for fear the whole place would burn down! Backstory was that the current owners had the place up for sale, but it was such an old white elephant that it was highly unlikely that anyone would buy it. It would need about the purchase price again in repairs to get it livable. But it was perfect for our needs. K/S Con was essentially a giant weekend long pajama party for serious fans of the Kirk/Spock relationship, as it was then called.


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From Zines: 1986: It Was a Very Good Year by Jenna Sinclair

Mary stood on the sidewalk in front of a candy store, with her nose pressed against the glass, trying to get as close to the tempting treats displayed as she could. In her hand was just…a nickel. Well, all right, it was a blank check. But which candy to buy? Well, okay, it wasn’t actually candy she was looking at, because Mary was a fully-grown adult female human, and she was interested in, um, a bit more than chocolate. She wanted Kirk and Spock. In compromising positions if at all possible.

But the year was 1986, and there were so many K/S zines in the window that she was getting a little cross-eyed looking at the dizzying display of male pulchritude: boy, did the K/S artists know how to draw or what? Thirty-six zines coming out in 1986 alone! Wow!

Mary had just discovered K/S six months before, and after the ground had stopped shaking, she had bought every single zine she had found stashed discreetly under the dealer’s table at the convention where her whole world had been turned upside down. She’d read those zines—in the dead of night. And then while eating dinner. And then on the bus on the way to work—until they were tattered and she’d memorized some passages (You are my chosen one, Spock whispered.) Now, she needed to buy some more zines to feed her habit.

Wait, that sounded like she was addicted. Mary took a step back from the storefront and noticed how her breath had fogged the glass. She reached up and rubbed at it with the sleeve of her shirt, so that she could clearly see the glint in Kirk’s eye again. This was not an addiction. It was….

It was a necessity. Filled with determination, Mary marched into the store.

And stopped in front of the rotating rack that presented five, count ‘em, five K/S novels, all newly published. Oh, yeah, she loved novels. The author could really drag Kirk and Spock through the wringer in…the author could fully develop the romantic relationship between captain and first officer in a novel. There was The Price of Freedom by Jean Lightfoot. But there wasn’t any art on the cover. Hmmmm. Mary picked it up and flipped pages. Be still her heart!—interior artwork by The Southern Cross! And plenty of it. Oh, geez, the picture of Jim and Spock kissing in the very beginning…. Angie had told her what this novel was about: Spock is kidnapped and addicted to a drug that levels all moral choices. Of course, Kirk will do anything to get him back. There was no way Mary could miss with this one, and she already knew that this Lightfoot woman, whoever she was, was a dynamite writer. Mary looked around and saw shopping carts. She’d better get the big one. Into the cart the first novel went.


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From The Internet: A Taste of Armageddon by Lyrastar

Your humble associate Internet editor once confessed to a sadness that during the early 1980’s, she was unable to discover K/S zines at Star Trek conventions, although she now understands that they were almost certainly there. Said Jenna, “Of course. We wanted it that way.”

In the earliest years of K/S the fear of discovery and being shut down by Paramount ran deep. Operating underground seemed the most prudent choice. Through the years of this Legacy project, we see K/S creeping slowly and tentatively further out into limited view to reach more potential readers—from hotel rooms, to under dealer tables, to on the table but with explicit covers concealed—but always with fear that the next bit of exposure would be too much, attract the attention of the controlling corporations, and result in The End of All Things.

None of those changes approach the change in magnitude of visibility of Kirk/Spock fiction appearing on the World Wide Web. As Miss Manners—Judith Martin—wrote, “You can hardly go more public than putting things online. We used to use the phrase ‘shouting it from the rooftops’ to indicate going public, but you could shout yourself hoarse, put it in the newspapers, announce it on television, and still not reach a fraction of the potential audience….”

To make matters more unnerving, print Kirk/Spock fandom had been a close—at times, even closed—community. The active participants knew most of the others at least by name. These stories online were appearing from outside sources, and the element of the unknown added to the concern.

And the online posters did have very different attitudes as to the level of exposure that K/S could tolerate. Not only were the online stories not hidden from general access, but they were actively promoted in general Star Trek forums or sites of other tangential interest such as Nifty Erotic Stories Archive—nifty.org—where it seemed that flaunting of K/S might make it vulnerable to attempts to shut it down.


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