Trek It!

By Robert T. Jeschonek

If you love spaced-out treks, this is your chance to own a galaxy of them in one giant collection. For the first time anywhere, you can buy the entire Trek It! series by award-winning Star Trek author Robert T. Jeschonek. Trek It! includes all seven volumes in the series for one great price: Trek This!, Trek Off!, Trek Fail!, Trek Script!, Trek Script 2, Trek Novel!, and Trek You! This omnibus edition also includes exclusive bonus material that you won't find anywhere else! Trek It! covers the full trek career of Robert T. Jeschonek, who won the Grand Prize in the Strange New Worlds competition and wrote official Star Trek fiction in the realms of the original series, The Next Generation, Voyager, and even New Frontier. Enjoy a universe of articles, behind-the-scenes tales, TV scripts, short stories, an online serial, and a novel, all celebrating a starry saga much like a certain trek we know and love. Don't miss this one-of-a-kind collection of seven books plus exclusive bonus material for one low price.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pie Press Publishing
• Release date: May 22, 2012
• ISBN: 9781465801159

Robert T. Jeschonek

Robert T. Jeschonek's short stories have appeared in anthologies published by DAW (a science fiction and fantasy imprint of Penguin), several Star Trek anthologies published by Pocket Books, and in numerous print and online magazines. He has also written stories for DC Comics and a Twitter serial called "Shave." For more information, please visit him on the web at www.thefictioneer.com. He lives in Johnstown, Pennsylvania.

Book preview

Trek It! Part One:

Trek This!

A Parody Tribute To Past and Future Treks

"I have a creation in mind. Baldy smiled as he forced Red's sword back with his own. The creation of a bloody stump where thy head 'twas once affixed."

Red shook as she struggled to press back Baldy's blade. "Thou wilt not takest my head nor my kingdom! Mine knights shall repel thy foul rebellion!"

Red tossed her fiery scarlet tresses and gazed across the castle's throne room. Her knights, as expected, fought Baldy's troops with savage grace, easily triumphing over superior numbers.

Baldy leaned forward, torchlight gleaming on his hairless scalp. "Thy knights wilt beg to surrender once my dragon gets done with them!"

Dragon? said Red.

When Baldy laughed, his sonorous voice boomed through the throne room. Have a look, thou fallen queen! E'en now, he charges forth upon the battleground!

Suddenly, a new figure burst into the chamber, spinning a huge, curved blade in one hand and a blazing torch in the other. Within seconds, he had Sir Beardnik and Sir Mannequin both at bay, scrambling to fend off his blindingly fast assault of steel and flame.

He breathes fire, does he not? Baldy said with a chuckle. "He couldst massacre any traditional dragon any day of the week."

As Red watched, Dragon roared and struck a mighty blow with his sword against Sir Beardnik, driving him to the floor. At the same time, Dragon lunged at Sir Mannequin with the flaming torch, barely missing his expressionless face.

Red ached to run to the aid of her knights, but she had to give her full attention to Baldy. He was inches away from killing her--and, therefore, taking her throne and kingdom.

Yield! said Baldy, pressing harder with his sword.

Red gathered her strength and surged forward, breaking her sword free and sending Baldy stumbling backward. How many times do we have to do this? How many times is enough?

Baldy regained his footing and unleashed a flurry of strikes with his sword. "Art thou weary of this conflict, then?"

Red parried his every thrust and slash. I take the kingdom, you take it away, I take it back, you take it away again. Who wouldn't be weary?

I promise, thy fight shall be brief. Baldy grinned, then called out over the clash of steel. Four-Eyes! Hast thou captured the Princess yet?

Yes! said Baldy's ally, Four-Eyes the wizard.

Red locked her sword with Baldy's and looked toward the voice. She saw Four-Eyes, complete with magic all-seeing spectacles, holding the kingdom's dark-haired princess in a bear hug.

The hug didn't last. As Red watched, Princess stomped on Four-Eyes' foot. With a shout of pain, Four-Eyes released her--and Princess plunged both elbows into his sides.

"I mean no!" said Four-Eyes as he doubled over.

We shall not surrender, my queen! Princess scooped up a fallen soldier's sword and ran to Sir Beardnik's side. In thy name, we shall defend this blessed kingdom of Ni!

And then what? With a surge of angry might, Red forced Baldy's sword away and shoved him to the floor. "Do it all again, only I get to be the rebel leader, and Mannequin's the king?"

Mannequin ducked Dragon's swooping torch, then popped back up and cocked his head to one side. Didst someone die and makest me king?

Enough! Red hurled her sword to the stone floor with an echoing clang. "I say 'tis time for a change!"

I'm with thou! said Sir Beardnik, punching his sword skyward. "Let us maketh that change, fellow lords and ladies!"

"And dragons," roared Dragon.

Wait! said Red. "Let's make sure we're on the same page before we..."

Her sentence went unfinished as the castle and everyone in it flashed out of existence.

*****

When Red opened her eyes, she found herself staring at someone's shiny purple tights.

Looking up, she saw that the tights belonged to Beardnik. On his chest, he wore a silver number--a wildly stylized one framed in a lemon yellow oval. His eyes looked out from a purple domino mask, and a yellow cape fluttered about his shoulders.

His hands were planted on his hips as he smiled down at her. Foiled again, eh, Doctor Calamity?

Only when Red looked down at herself did she realize that she was wearing a costume, too--black tights with a red letter C on the chest.

So now she knew what change had come over them. No longer were they heroes and villains in shining armor making war in the Middle Ages.

Now, they were super-powered heroes and villains in tights and capes, making war in the twentieth century.

In other words, more of the same.

Listen, said Red. We have to talk.

Before Beardnik could reply, twin beams of crackling bright blue energy struck his chest. The beams hoisted him off his feet and hauled him forward, whisking him away from Red at a high rate of speed.

Turning, Red saw Four-Eyes, howling with laughter as blue beams from his eyes reeled in Beardnik. "How do ya like my tractor vision?" With that, Four-Eyes snapped his head and shut off the beams, sending Beardnik flying across the street.

Beardnik cried out as he collided with a truck, hitting the trailer with such force that it flipped over on its side.

While brakes screeched and cars skidded to avoid the wreckage, Four-Eyes strolled over to Red. One down, three to go, he said, patting the big, gold G on the chest of his green tights. Thanks to the incredible Gazer.

This wasn't the change I had in mind, said Red. It's good versus evil all over again.

Four-Eyes took her hand and helped her up. "But you're evil this time."

Red held on to his hand and gazed into the glowing, pearlescent eyes behind his horn-rimmed goggles. This can't go on forever, she said. Please help me make it stop.

Sure, Doc. Four-Eyes' smile turned into a gleeful sneer. Just as soon as we conquer the world, all right?

Before Red could say another word, Four-Eyes spun and unleashed twin blasts of energy from his eyes, one yellow, one red. The beams splashed against the riveted ankle of a scowling robotic monstrosity--Mannequin, plated with bronze metal and grown to over five times his normal height.

Surrender. The rampaging robot's words boomed like dynamite explosions, one after another. In the name of the Fleet of Heroes, I command you!

Fat chance, Metallico! Four-Eyes tweaked knobs on the sides of his goggles and charged toward the giant robot. Blazing rays of white energy lashed from his eyes as he ran, scorching a path across Mannequin's shin.

Mannequin's head tipped to one side. It is true that my mass has increased, he said, "but I would hardly say that I am fat."

With that, Mannequin bent down and scooped up Four-Eyes in one giant fist. As Mannequin lifted him high in the air, Four-Eyes continued to fire a rainbow of energy beams from his goggles in every direction.

"Strangely enough, I now find myself curious about the human experience of being overweight. You might say that I am hungry to fatten myself up at this moment." Mannequin opened his metal mouth wide and raised Four-Eyes toward it. Even as Mannequin's monstrous yellow tongue rolled out, Four-Eyes kept firing away with his optic beams.

Then, Mannequin dropped him on his tongue, reeled him in, and closed his mouth.

Red glared and rubbed her temples. Normally, she would have run to her teammate's aid and used her power to free him. In fact, she still felt the urge to lose herself in the game...but the drive to break the cycle of violence was stronger.

Turning, Red saw another chance to change the pattern. Two familiar figures faced her--Princess and Dragon. Both wore identical navy blue costumes with orange gloves and boots. Each costume had a huge orange letter on the chest--T for Princess, W for Dragon.

You're under arrest! said Princess, her long, black locks flowing in the breeze.

By the Fleet of Heroes! said Dragon.

Then, the two of them shot their fists in the air. Their knuckles crashed together with a mighty crack and a flare of golden light.

Thunder Twin powers...reactivate! they both said at the same time.

Taking the form of a saber-toothed tiger! said Princess.

And the shape of a hurricane from Hell! said Dragon.

Red stepped back as the two began to shift into the new forms their powers had created. Their bodies flashed and swirled and transmuted, endowing them with monstrous new potential.

And then, a giant, reptilian foot plunged down and crushed them both.

Shielding her eyes from the sun, Red gazed upward, climbing the glistening green scales of the skyscraping creature ever higher. It had the body of a Tyrannosaurus Rex, only ten times as massive as a Tyrannosaurus should have been. When Red's gaze finally reached the head, she saw that its face was human, its features recognizable.

Its scalp utterly bare.

It was Baldy, transformed into the most enormous monster on the battlefield.

"Cower before Baldzilla! Baldy's voice blasted through the city streets like the roar of an erupting volcano. Bow down before your master! The lizard-king lives!"

Suddenly, Red had had enough. Anger roiled inside her, churning and burning and gathering steam.

Stop it! she said, shouting up at Baldy's towering new form. We need a change!

Baldzilla swung his mighty arm through the middle of the Empire State Building. Break it so! He plucked Metallico like a toy from the street and hurled him into the stratosphere.

Listen to me! Red stomped up to Baldy's giant toe and punched it. This isn't how we're supposed to be!

Enrage! said Baldzilla as he hauled back his enormous foot and kicked Red out of the city. Spinning, she shot beyond the skyline, swiftly shrinking with distance, disappearing over the horizon.

Baldy howled with triumph, shattering every window in town with his deafening bellows. That was when Red demonstrated her true super-power.

She was a human boomerang. Throw her away, and she'd come right back, stronger than ever.

Baldy wasn't looking when Red flashed back over the horizon and swooped across the city toward him. He was so busy trumpeting his victory that he didn't know she was about to plow into him at hundreds of miles an hour.

That was why Baldy didn't even try to swat her aside. She hit him in the head like a missile, then leaped away as he started to sway.

Baldzilla crashed down like a toppling redwood, knocking down rows of buildings like dominoes. Smoke and dust billowed into the air, then settled around his fallen, colossal bulk.

Red darted over and landed on his titanic snout. As I was saying, it's time we made a change.

I agree, said Baldy.

We need to put an end to this meaningless conflict, said Red. We need to get back in touch with our true natures.

I couldn't agree more, said Baldy, just as everything around them winked off like the blown-out candles on a birthday cake.

*****

The next thing Red knew, she was gazing into the glittering darkness of space.

Quickly, she realized that she was looking at a huge video screen. Turning away from it, she looked in the opposite direction--and instantly felt a sense of great ease.

This wasn't like being in a castle, or a super-hero streetfight, or a pirate ship or World War I or an Old West town. This was different. This felt right.

This time, she had awakened aboard a spaceship.

Red took a deep breath of the sweet, cool air and ran her fingers over the smooth, white bulkhead. One word came to mind as she looked around at the spacious room--all curves and light and polish--in which she'd appeared.

Home. Beardnik said it with a roguish grin as he walked past.

Yes. Red nodded and drifted around the circular perimeter. Her memory was hazy about many things, but this much was crystal clear. Home it is.

Three chairs rested in the middle of the room, facing the video screen. Baldy, now wearing a red and white jumpsuit instead of Baldzilla scales, sat in the chair on the far end. Princess, in a blue and white jumpsuit, sat in the center seat and crossed her legs--then met Baldy's gaze with a frown. Without a word, they got up and switched places.

As soon as Baldy's bottom hit the center seat, he released a deep sigh and visibly relaxed.

We have been here before. As Mannequin said it, he gazed at the multicolored lights blinking on a low-mounted control panel. Why does this make me think of...a litter box?

"But where is the battle? Dragon stomped across the carpet, then jumped back as a door slid open in front of him. Tentatively, he crept through the doorway, looking hard in every direction. There is a very strange water-breathing creature in a glass tank, he said from inside. Perhaps this hideous lifeform is the threat I have been seeking."

This place isn't about battle. Four-Eyes slid his hand along a gleaming, wood-grained rail arching over the three center seats. Not always, at least. Isn't that right, computer?

Affirmative, said a woman's voice that seemed to come from all around the room.

Dragon leaped through the doorway from the side-room, glaring fiercely. "Did I just hear the voice of an enemy?"

Everyone laughed.

This is what I've been trying to tell you, said Red. When was the last time we stopped fighting?

Well..., said Mannequin, and then he cocked his head to one side. It seems I cannot remember.

Neither can I, said Beardnik, but it feels like forever.

We've fought so long, we've nearly forgotten who we really are. Red stood between Baldy and Princess and took their hands. We're forgotten how to be friends. More than friends. Her heart pounded as she looked around at all of them. "Family."

Oh, puh-leeze. Suddenly, a new voice, a man's voice, filled the room. Somebody get me a barf bag.

A flash of light exploded in the middle of the room. Red let go of Baldy and Princess' hands and turned.

Immediately, Red recognized the new arrival. He wore a huge red hat and long black robes brocaded with gold. The look on his face was one of undisguised contempt.

The name that came to mind was Royal Pain.

"I don't believe you people. Royal Pain planted his red-gloved fists on his black-robed hips. Are you really this limited?"

Baldy slowly rose from his center seat and approached Royal Pain. Of course, said Baldy. I should have known this was your doing.

"I gathered up your souls after you died. I even made a soul for the toy soldier here." Royal Pain jabbed a finger in Mannequin's direction.

Mannequin tipped his head and stared. "Earth religious traditions mention a demonic entity who gathers the souls of the dead. He is sometimes referred to as Satan."

"So is he." Four-Eyes hiked a thumb over his shoulder at Royal Pain.

"I saved you from oblivion, said Royal Pain. In honor of our long...what's the word? Relationship?"

Nightmare, said Beardnik.

Disaster, said Four-Eyes.

Infection? said Red.

Association. Royal Pain smiled grimly. "In honor of that, I brought you here, to my continuity. I gave you the power to reshape reality, to create endless new roles and adventures.

"I gave you the chance to create something different, to feel something new. Royal Pain shook his head. And again and again, you end up in the same place.

Here. Royal Pain spread his arms wide. On the Good Ship Lollipop.

Baldy rubbed the back of his neck and looked pensive. How long? he said. How long since we've been...gone?

I brought the last of you here twenty years ago to the day, said Royal Pain. At least as you understand time...which is about as well as an amoeba understands chess.

That depends, said Beardnik. Is it a giant space amoeba?

And we're not meeting your expectations? said Baldy.

My expectations...yes. Royal Pain shrugged. My hopes, no. Light flared around him again, and when it subsided, he was wearing the same kind of red and white jumpsuit as Baldy. "In our many--interactions--during your lives, I thought I saw a glimmer of potential. Freed of your physical encumbrances and given the proper encouragement, I thought that maybe, just maybe, you could make something of yourselves.

But you're too attached to your past lives. You keep gravitating to the same cheap props and spandex and special effects. Royal Pain waved his hands as if he were chucking the lot of them out an airlock. "You've been a real buzzkill, if you know what I mean."

No, said Mannequin. I do not.

"Neither do I, but I like the kill part." Dragon growled and sneered.

Baldy tugged on the front of his jumpsuit to straighten it. If we've been such a disappointment to you, he said, why not send us back?

Royal Pain sighed. Believe me, I wish I could. Clasping his hands behind his back, he paced across the floor. "Even I have limits. If I sent you back, you would be dead."

Maybe death would be better than endless, meaningless conflict, said Princess.

"Yes! Today is a good day to... Dragon stopped, frowned, and shook his head hard. What am I saying? I do not wish to die!"

Red stepped forward. Maybe there's another alternative.

Royal Pain stopped pacing and stared at her. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't you be lancing a boil or something?"

Think bigger, said Red.

Royal Pain's head swiftly expanded to ten times its original size. Done and done.

Give us more, said Red. "Give us a real challenge. Spreading her arms, she turned in a circle. Why do you think we keep coming back here? What do you think this place is really about?"

Red punched Royal Pain in the arm. "Challenge, she said. And the challenge must fit the challenger.

Now that you've made us more than we were, the challenge we face must be greater. Red met Royal Pain's gaze and focused all her will on getting through to him. "And what was the challenge we faced in our past lives? The universe itself."

Royal Pain glared, and for a moment, Red worried that her plea might backfire. Then, the glare melted into a smile of fiendish inspiration.

The universe, eh? Royal Pain nodded. Maybe you're onto something. With that, he cupped his hands together, and they started to glow.

What are you planning? said Baldy.

A new challenge, said Royal Pain. "How would you like your own universe?"

Who wouldn't? said Beardnik.

To what end? said Baldy.

Leave it to you to look a gift horse in the butt. A patch of inky shadow and glittering cloud swirled in Royal Pain's hands. "Look, are you happy with the current universe? With everything in it?

"Why not try to do better? Royal Pain parted his hands, and the swirling patch of light and dark grew bigger. Why not design a more perfect universe, a universe you can believe in?"

"I like it. Beardnik approached and gazed into the swirling patch. But why haven't you done this yourself?"

"Who says I haven't? Royal Pain rolled his eyes from side to side and nodded slowly, encompassing the universe around them. But seriously, he said, it takes special souls to make something truly worthwhile."

We know all about that, said Red, throwing her arms around Beardnik and Baldy's shoulders.

The rest of the group converged on Royal Pain, gathering close to watch the expanding sphere of a newborn universe pulse and swirl between his hands.

Well? Royal Pain sounded annoyed. "Are you going to do this or what?"

Of course. Red slid a hand into the swirling sphere. Who else is in the game?

Beardnik followed her lead. Deal me in.

I'll play a hand. Four-Eyes reached into the sphere after Red and Beardnik.

I'm feeling lucky, said Princess as she added her hand to the mix.

Mannequin also reached into the growing matrix. I will sweeten the pot.

"I will raise you all," said Dragon as he plunged his hand in after the others.

That left only one of them on the outside.

What are you waiting for? said Royal Pain. "Why must you always be difficult?"

Baldy stared into the glittering, whirling sphere. "This will take all of us?"

Yes, you spit-polished nincompoop! said Royal Pain. "As you well know, it takes seven stars to make a new creation."

Baldy smirked. Then by all means, he said, let's put all our cards on the table!

With that, he plunged both his hands into the newborn universe.

And a blinding flash of light engulfed them all.

*****

One trillion years later...

Quillid Fason opened the window of his spaceship, the Prisenter, and stared into the twinkling white distance.

The sweet, fresh air of outer space caressed the ever-changing flickerflesh of Fason's face as he frowned. He had hoped that sticking his head out the window might give him new insight...but looking directly at the star patterns seemed to be no more helpful than looking at them on a viewer inside the ship had been.

The Prisenter was still lost.

Suddenly, his copilot, Angla Runch, popped up beside him. As bad as their situation was, she still had a big smile on her shimmering, kaleidoscopic face. Some of the greatest discoveries happen when people are lost, you know.

We're the first of our kind to travel in space, said Fason. If we get lost and don't return home, they might never send out another ship. It could mean the end of space travel for our people.

Think positive, said Angla. We're still alive, right? The ship was knocked off-course by a flock of stargeese, but it wasn't damaged, was it?

That's true. Fason heard the melodic cries of stargeese echoing in the reaches of space, mingled with the chiming, booming songs of solar whales and the howls of racing warp-dogs.

We have enough supplies to last a while, right? said Angla. And when those run out, we can harvest star-manna and wild ambrosia from passing asteroids. So what's the worst that can happen?

We stay lost forever. Fason gazed into the whiteness of space, watching the multicolored gem-stars glitter and flash. We'll be doomed to wander forever, drifting through the endless universe without a home or reason to live.

That won't happen, said Angla. We'll find our way.

Fason sighed as he watched the unfamiliar constellations dance around them. You really think so?

It'll all work out. Angla patted his back. "After all, they're looking out for us."

Who's that? said Fason.

Angla pointed a finger at a bright violet star that was off to one side and far away. There's one of them. She moved her finger to another star, a blue one, that was up a little higher. And there.

Next, Angla pointed at a green star, and a pink one. Another and another. A gold one and a silver one. There and there. Finally, she showed him a red one, glowing warm and serene in a distant corner of the ivory sky. And there.

Fason scowled, eyes darting between the stars she'd pointed out. I don't believe it. All along, he'd been looking right at them, but he was used to seeing them from his homeworld. Now that he was deeper in space, seeing the stars from a different angle, the constellation they formed was nearly unrecognizable.

Except to someone like Angla, who saw things from a different point of view all the time.

It's them. Fason put an arm around Angla's shoulder and gave her a squeeze. The Seven Great Stars.

They'll take care of us, said Angla. They'll guide us home.

Yes. A single tear slid down Fason's flickering cheek. They always do.

*****

Star Trick:

The Slow-Motion Picture

Frglsnit, korfu kindar mikt! snarled the angry Pingpong leader, strangling several bridge crew as he spoke.

Mikar filok singlak DOM! shouted his first officer in reply, quickly ducking beneath his station as the commander approached.

The commander was shocked. A furious growl echoed deep in his throat. DOM? DOM? Meenork Tiktac! Grok!!! Without hesitation, he drew the meat cleaver hanging from his belt and hacked the first officer to shreds. DOM?! He then went on a rampage, systematically severing the heads and bodies of the remainder of his bridge crew.

As a new crew shuffled fearfully onto the bridge, the Pingpong leader again turned to stare at the viewscreen. On it appeared the cause of the leader’s anger, a huge, black thundercloud floating ominously through space. The cloud rumbled fiercely, and incredibly huge lightning bolts arched from its hovering dark body. Framed against its imposing, powerful bulk, the other two ships of the Pingpong Imperial Fleet resembled tiny, bald trubbles from Charmin’s Planet. The cloud was terrifying, and made even more so by the huge, nasty grin stretching across its malignant surface.

Laftrak mikle martor scrapple, muttered the leader, turning from the screen to his new first officer. Ecuador scritch scratch rubik smurf?

The first officer gulped audibly, slowly tightened his safety helmet, and answered the leader’s question. Porker fallout miktar scoobydoo. Dom-dom-dom.

Enraged at his answer, the leader whirled, booted him in the teeth and casually threw him out a porthole. He then turned to his weapons officer, who had already scrambled hastily underneath his station.

Parsley haddock disco nixon, he commanded, pointing to the cloud displayed on the screen. Sweathog!

At his command, twin beams of concentrated water spurted outward from the massive squirt-cannons mounted on the ship. Their target, the enormous thundercloud, simply hovered in space, awaiting the beams’ arrival, its immense, morbid grin growing noticeably wider.

Kaymart, mumbled the Pingpong leader, rubbing his hands together nervously, using them to pummel several engineers insensate. Kaymart roebuck... He anxiously watched the viewscreen, where the deadly Pingpong squirt-beams had almost reached their target.

Then, suddenly, just as the beams were about to strike, the cloud’s grinning maw began to open up. When the beams finally reached the cloud, they were swallowed up by its enormous, cavernous excuse for a mouth. The sight of the massive, monstrous cloud-lips closing behind their all-powerful squirt-beams reduced the Pingpong crew, already quaking in fear from their commander, who was starting another tantrum, to blobs of quivering jelly.

When the cloud’s mouth opened again, displaying for all to see its massive, shining bridgework and horrendous overbite, the Pingpong crew, whatever was left of it after the commander finished his rampage, lapsed into senseless whimpering. This time, the cloud had opened its maw in response to squirt beams fired from the other two vessels of the Pingpong fleet. Again, it swallowed up the beams, but this time it also began moving; swiftly, it overtook the Pingpong craft, and within a split second, had effortlessly devoured them as well.

For a moment, all was silent on the sole remaining Pingpong ship; then, terribly, ominously, a piercing, disgusting belch rang out over the vessel’s audio amplifiers. On the screen, the huge, amorphous cloud/thing slowly licked its lips.

Dom, stammered the Pingpong leader, exhausted after having decapitated and castrated his entire crew in a final fit of fury. Brahms kraft endive septic dom. Dom. For an instant, he looked defeated, beaten, and broken. Two of his three ships were gone, his crew was dead, and the smiling cloud was again advancing on his lone vessel. Tears welled in his eyes. Then he was freaking again, ripping angrily with his bare hands into the bleeping, sputtering control panels filling the bridge, kicking in the viewscreen, tearing out huge sections of the walls with his teeth.

*****

Commander Blanch, we are receiving a top priority message, reported Lootenant Biltwell, communications officer of the deep space station Epsilot Deadwood. It’s from the Pingpongs sir.

Commander Blanch, Deadwood’s captain and standup comedian, whirled around in utter shock, tripping over an extension cord and ramming his skull into a bulkhead in the process. The Pingpongs, Biltwell? The last time they called us was to make ugly faces at the Fodderation Council. The blackguards, they hung up when they couldn’t transfer the charges. Blanch snarled in remembrance. Oh well, put it on the screen, Lootenant.

Biltwell flicked a switch and the viewscreen on the Deadwood’s bridge flared to life. On it, a pattern of lines appeared, straight, vertical lines of varying thickness which filled the entire screen and marched across it in a continuous flow. For a moment, Blanch stared, flabbergasted at the mysterious signal playing across the viewscreen. Then, realization hit him, and he quickly moved to deliver a swift kick to Biltwell’s control panel. The lines disappeared as soon as Blanch connected, and the screen filled with an image of a Pingpong bridge.

Blasted vertical, sputtered Blanch, checking his boot for smudges. I thought it was a new Pingpong code.

Biltwell grimaced, partly at Blanch’s stupidity, and partly from the pain her left foot, which he was standing on. Commander, I’m picking up an audio signal, but I can’t understand it. It’s in Pingpong sir, and since we don’t have a Pingpong dictionary...

Blanch nodded, recalling how, only a week before, the Pingpong dictionary, subtitled 1001 Curses for Every Occasion, had been banned by the Fodderation Nice Language Commission.

How are we going to translate this, Commander? asked Biltwell querulously, gently shoving Blanch on the floor to remove him from her foot.

My dear Biltwell, replied Blanch condescendingly, slowly struggling to his feet, all you have to do is read the uni-language subtitles at the bottom of the screen. Blanch reached for a chair to sit down on, tripped over another cord and tumbled unceremoniously into the engineering console.

Biltwell, this time embarrassed at her own stupidity, blushed a deep crimson. How silly of me, she stammered, swiftly turning her attention back to the viewscreen in an effort to conceal her mistake. Commander, this is from the captain of the Pingpong cruiser K’rud. He says that a massive...would you like expletives deleted, sir?

Blanch, sprawled awkwardly on the floor after slipping on a crew-member’s skateboard, nodded in approval.

He says that a massive, uh, cloud has entered Pingpong space. It’s already...eaten...several of the ships under his command. The..., Biltwell blushed again, embarrassed this time by the Pingpong’s choice of descriptive adjectives. ...thing...is about to swallow the K’rud as well, sir. Suddenly, the screen went blank. Biltwell gasped. Correction, sir, the K’rud has already been swallowed.

For a long moment, the only sound on the bridge was the distant thud caused by Blanch’s header down the inter-deck stairs.

Unaware that her commander had clumsily exited the bridge, Biltwell resumed speaking. Commander, we have one final transmission coming in from the K’rud. It reads 'The cloud is heading for Earth. Ha Ha Ha.’ Biltwell slumped back in her chair, shocked, confused, and wondering where Blanch had disappeared to.

What a day, she muttered disgustedly. Not only is Earth about to be destroyed, but now I’m working into my coffee break.

*****

A hot wind gently stirred the sands of the blistering Sulking desert. Spook, roasting in his heavy, ceremonial robes, wished he were elsewhere, anywhere but in the blazing heat of his home planet, waiting for the know-it-all Sulking Masters to approach. Boy did he hate those three show-offs. They were the three wisest beings on all Sulking, possessing most of the knowledge in the universe, and they never hesitated to let everybody know it. Spook, himself not exactly a pushover in matters intellectual, felt like dirt around the Sulking Masters, and the three boobs never let him forget it.

Oh zitpop, exclaimed Spook suddenly, catching sight of several figures in the distance. Here come the snobs now.

Indeed, the figures approaching Spook were the Sulking Masters. Clad in black caps and gowns, the traditional attire of Sulking intellectuals, the three Masters were the picture of dignity, intelligence, and high-salary jobs. On their chests, each master wore the inscription T’non, T’lal, T’sil, the ancient Sulking slogan which roughly translates Brains R Us. On their right hands, each wore a beautiful, glittering ring, inlaid with precious gems and bearing the sacred words Class of '26. Truly, the elderly Masters were awe-inspiring.

As they neared, Spook’s blood pressure rose. For ten long years these three slave drivers had tutored Spook in the Sulking ritual of Kallmenerd. They drove him mercilessly, day after day, forcing him to study the ancient rites, to engage in grueling tests of physical endurance, to take a bath every Saturday night. Still, after ten years, Spook hadn’t attained the final goal of Kallmenerd, he hadn’t driven away his emotions and achieved total sarcasm. Total sarcasm, that was Spook’s goal and the goal of all Sulkings; before its conversion to the philosophy of sarcasm, Sulking had been at war. Now everybody just sat around calling each other names and insulting one another, and Sulking was finally at peace.

Shortly, the three Masters, T’Smart, T’Smarter, and T’Smartest, had reached Spook, and stood before him regally. Spook gave them the proper greeting, thumbing his nose and sticking his tongue out at each one, and received the Masters’ traditional response, the ancient Sulking razz. Then, one of the Masters, T’Smartest, spoke.

Spook, you stinking idiot, you lousy bum, you spineless worm, you have stupidly blown it. Here we are, spending ten of the best years of our lives trying to make you a sarcastic son-of-a-crud, and you flunk your final exam. Now you’ll never attain Kallmenerd, you twit.

Spook glowered fiercely. Well excuuuuuuuse me, miss perfect. Pardon moi for imposing on you like this. These past ten years haven’t been a bed of roses for me either, sister.

Face it Spook, said T’Smartest, you just don’t have what it takes. You’re inferior, unteachable, weak and have very bad breath. Also, you’re being distracted by something. What is it, you flake? Your thoughts, give them to me or I’ll break your neck.

Spook submitted to T’Smartest’s request, and soon the Master had initiated a Sulking mind-mold.

T’Smartest, probing Spook’s thoughts, began speaking slowly. Spook...your brain to my brain...your thoughts...Spook, I have found it...the distraction...I sense great pain...waves and waves of searing piercing agony...pain...pain...pain.... T’Smartest grimaced, overwhelmed by the sensations flowing through the mold. You are in pain...

That is because your finger is in my eye, O' oafish one," replied Spook angrily.

T’Smartest, heavily embarrassed but not about to show it in front of Spook, expertly covered over her mistake by applying the ancient Sulking stomach pinch to his gut. Spook, stunned by the pinch and still smarting from the finger in his eye, dropped to the ground like a ton of thermo concrete. However, aided by his years of arduous physical training and a sudden, driving urge to punch T’Smartest’s lights out, he quickly recovered and stumbled to his feet.

Once Spook was again standing, T’Smartest began speaking. Spook, you are truly a boob. You have no resistance to the stomach pinch, none at all, and besides that, you’re gaining weight. Ashamed, humiliated and looking for a good place to lay into T’Smartest, Spook lowered his head. Before you so gracefully collapsed, though, I did learn one thing through the mind-mold. Something calling itself T’Jerk is summoning you. Its telepathic cries are part of the distraction which caused you to flunk Kallmenerd. The other part appears to be a young brunette at the temple snack bar named T’Fox.

Spook, now ready to beat T’Smartest into pulp, stood fuming before the Sulking Masters. Your mother sucks slime slugs, he shouted furiously, in a last-ditch attempt to save face.

Obviously unimpressed, the Sulking Masters turned and walked away. Hang it up, loser, was the last Spook heard from them before they disappeared over a sand dune.

'What now,’ thought Spook, 'what do I do? I can’t stay on Sulking, I don’t have a job, I failed Kallmenerd, and the Science Academy hates my guts. Where do I go? Where can a failure like me fit in? Who would accept a clumsy, stupid, worthless dolt like me?’

Then, the answer suddenly dawned on him. There was only one place in the universe he could go...

*****

The U.S.O. Enterprunes floated majestically in her drydock. She glinted with metallic luster, gleaming, sparkling sunlight reflecting off her newly polished surface, her recently refurbished structure, the huge, shining sidepipes newly installed along her hull. The Enterprunes was indeed a sight for the very sore eyes of Captain Quirk; he had been separated from this ship, from his ship, for too long. The old feelings again began to well up within Quirk, the old feelings of starlust, of awe, of spacesickness and heartburn. He brimmed with joy, hope, and anticipation of beautiful new Enterprunes crew members to replenish his little black book.

Finally, spoke Quirk softly, breathlessly. After ten long years, she’s mine again. He shook his head in wonder and tears streamed down his face, tears caused partly by strong emotion and partly by the strong breath of the totally drunk Chief Engineer of the Enterprunes, Mr. Splot, who was speaking directly into Quirk’s face.

Ach, mon, sputtered Splot tipsily, as Quirk grabbed for a nearby oxygen mask. Ow’d ye e’er do it? Splotty belched, smacked his lips, and took a long draught from the gallon jug of scotch hanging from his neck. "Ow’d ye e’er get th’ Enterprunes away from Cap’n Snicker?"

Quirk, again breathing regularly after ten minutes of inhaling oxygen, turned to look out the front window. The tiny shuttle in which he and Splotty were traveling was moving closer and closer to the Enterprunes, and Quirk’s view of the huge ship increased every second. Well, Splotty, he answered, carefully maintaining a safe distance from the inebriated engineer, you’d be surprised at the power and persuasiveness, the influence and strength, the inspiration and effectiveness of a single, profound, well-placed financial reimbursement. Quirk took a deep breath, proud of his impressive, lengthy explanation.

Bribed the suckers, huh? Splotty nodded in comprehension and put away another bottle of Slurrian brandy.

Quirk, embarrassed by the ease with which the soused engineer had translated his meaningful speech and thinly-disguised cover-up, quickly and subtly changed the subject. How 'bout them Yankees, Splotty? Is there life after death? How many angels can dance on the head of a pin?

Splotty, thoroughly confused by Quirk’s tricky verbal maneuvering, plucked a large flask of Rombian gin from the left hip pocket of his coveralls and drained it thirstily. Already forgetting his captain’s words, and presence, he then began belting out a rendition of My Bonny Lies Over the Ocean.

Quirk, hastily taking control of the shuttle from his shnockered companion before it could collide with the drydock, cast a quick, confused look in the engineer’s direction. "This bum is going to get the Enterprunes ready to save the Earth? he muttered questioningly, as Splotty lapsed into a drunken heap on the floor. Quirk sighed, mumbled a quick Ours is not to reason why," and turned to the front window. Through the window’s tinted glass, the Enterprunes loomed impressively. Quirk was awed and humbled by the sheer size and beauty of the newly redesigned starboat; the massive, gleaming fenders, shining headlights, and double-belted whitewalls nearly overwhelmed the vessel’s returning captain.

She’s a trim craft, said Quirk admiringly. I saw the plans for her refitting. New, faster engines, sleeker, more aerodynamic structure, more powerful weaponry and deflectors, Jacuzzi... Quirk’s voice trailed off in amazement.

Splotty emerged from his drunken stupor long enough to stammer Aye, dinna och nessie, toss down another fifth of brandy, and yank the curtains off the front window to use as a blanket. Then, he was out like a light, sprawled on the shuttle floor with the thumb of his right hand lodged in his mouth and a jug of Slurrian brandy at his side.

As Splotty subsided into restless, intoxicated slumber, Quirk began guiding the shuttle into docking position with the Enterprunes. Slowly, carefully, he maneuvered the tiny craft toward the docking bay mounted on the Enterprunes’ starboard side; the obsidian darkness of space between the shuttle and the massive starboat was pierced only by the flashing neon signs mounted above the dock, one labeled U.S.O. Enterprunes, the other NO VACANCY. As Quirk moved his shuttle closer to the dock, he could see that it had already been activated; its small, magnetic ring was pulsing in preparation to receive the shuttle, and two large hand-shaped grapplers had been ejected. When Quirk’s shuttle came within range, the two hands began closing around it, their long fingers gently guiding it towards the docking ring. Then, the shuttle made contact, the airlocks between it and the Enterprunes engaged, and the doors at the rear of the shuttle swooshed open.

At last, whispered Quirk, his heart beating furiously. I’m home. Quite over-dramatically, he walked to the shuttle’s airlock, then stepped slowly through its open door. The first thing the captain saw in the Enterprunes’ interior was the corridor wall into which he clumsily tripped.

Wasn’t there ten years ago, muttered Quirk, rubbing his nose in pain, turning from the wall and subsequently stumbling into a nearby soda machine. "Boy, the Enterprunes has changed over the past ten years," he mused painfully.

Quirk, slowly recovering from his jarring entrance, then began to take in the sights. He moved his head slowly from side to side, and his eyes were frozen in an unbelieving, wide-eyed stare as he drank in the view. Unfolding before him was a long corridor, lit by crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling, decorated with intricate, luxurious tapestries, and carpeted with plush, crimson velvet. Classical concertos by the masters wafted lightly from hidden speakers and the faint scent of delicate perfume found its way to Quirk’s nostrils. The corridor was beautiful, like something out of a Rigellian pleasure palace; Quirk was overwhelmed. Then he turned from the 3-D holo-painting into which he had inadvertently rammed his face, and saw the real Enterprunes corridor.

Ah, sighed Quirk, again at ease amidst familiar surroundings. This is more like it. Indeed, the corridor now before him was closer to Quirk’s recollections of the Enterprunes; the walls painted in tacky orange and pink, the fluorescent green cement of the floor, and the lighting fixtures composed of lone, bare hundred-watt bulbs all aroused Quirk’s memory of the original Enterprunes. Though it all glistened and shined from the Enterprunes’ recent refurbishing, it still was the Enterprunes, and as such stirred up strong feelings within the captain’s breast. Quirk recalled nostalgically the many valiant battles this ship had weathered, the numerous heroic quests she had carried him through, the countless women she had guided to his arms. 'Truly,’ he thought, 'this ship has been good to me.’ 'Very good,’ he added, remembering several rather voluptuous female passengers.

Then, suddenly, Quirk’s reverie was shattered by an approaching belch. Whirling, the captain saw the belch’s source, Splotty, crawling slowly out of the airlock. The blitzed engineer still clasped a bottle of Slurrian brandy in his right hand, and around his shoulders hung the drapes from the shuttle’s front window, drapes he had been using as a blanket.

Dinna ken, cap’n, slurred Splotty drunkenly. Begorra. Then he again drifted asleep, and collapsed on the corridor floor.

Poor Splotty, murmured Quirk pityingly, trapped in the clutches of the demon rum. On second thought, he reconsidered, remembering that Splotty was to maintain the Enterprunes during its coming critical mission, poor me! Then the gallant starboat captain strode away down the corridor, his destination...

*****

...the bridge. Quirk’s heart once more beat wildly at the sight of this place where he had spent so much time. He was yet again overcome with emotion and nostalgia, and remembrances of past glories once more seeped up from the nooks of his mind. Many were the courageous feats he had engineered from this control center, many were the life and death decisions he had made here, and many were the chicks he had so eagerly chased around this circular room. Unconsciously, Quirk began singing Mem’ries, light the corners of my mind....

However, before he could reach the second verse, Quirk was abruptly interrupted by a shout of Captain! from across the bridge. Angry that his singing debut had been cut short, Quirk turned in the voice’s direction. He was greeted by the voice’s beautiful owner, Yoohoora!

Indeed, the dark-skinned beauty facing Quirk from her communications console was none other than Lootenant Yoohoora. Originally communications officer of the Enterprunes, Yoohoora had, in the ten years since the end of the ship’s five month mission, found galaxy-wide success as a singing star. Her group, Lootenant Yoohoora and Hailing Frequency, had rocketed to the top of the charts almost instantly after its creation, and its songs, like Distress Signal, Subspace Love, and Homing Beacon Baby, had practically become household tunes.

Welcome home, sang Yoohoora liltingly. We’re glad that you’re back aboard/Welcome home...

Welcome ho-o-o-o-o-o-me, echoed Yoohoora’s three-girl backup group, who had accompanied her onboard the Enterprunes as a publicity promotion for Hailing Frequency’s coming galactic tour.

Quirk, obviously reveling in the attention being showered upon him, stood for a moment in silent rapture. Then, another shout of welcome sounded from the other side of the bridge.

Captain Quirk! This shout, Quirk discovered after quickly whirling to face its owner, belonged to none other than Lootenant Wreckov, the Enterprunes’ navigator and token Russian.

Wreckov! responded Quirk, his face lit with pleasure at the sight of his old friend. How are you comrade? After a moment, however, when Quirk began taking in Wreckov’s appearance, his look of pleasure rapidly vanished. Pavel Wreckov, he scolded belatedly. What in Klingon have you done to yourself?

Indeed, the Lootenant Wreckov greeting Quirk in no way resembled the old Wreckov Quirk had known so well in the past. This Wreckov was clad in a collared pullover shirt which sported a small alligator emblem where the Starfeet insignia usually went, a pair of baggy khaki pants and nonregulation shoes of the docksider variety. Quirk was absolutely flabbergasted at this unusual dress, and was even more shocked when Wreckov again spoke.

"My name is no longer Pavel Wreckov. I am now known exclusively as Lootenant Biff Wreckov, navigator and social director of the Enterprunes."

Quirk was stricken speechless; not a word emerged from his shocked mouth until he realized he was losing his scene. Then, seeing a great opportunity for an over-dramatic speech, he began again to speak.

Wreckov, do those clothes express the true nature of mankind? Do they show, in some small way, the millions of years of constant struggle and sweat through which man has lumbered to reach this plateau of peace and advancement? Do they show the primal core of man’s being, of his...

Quirk’s speech was suddenly ended, just as the bridge crew was starting to catch some heavy z’s, when another of his old crewmembers stepped forward to offer a greeting.

Hello, Captain, said the Asian crewman, breaking Quirk’s lengthy dissertation and awakening most of the dozing bridge crew.

Oh, muttered Quirk, ticked off at this intrusion into his latest attempt at scene-stealing, Lootenant Lulu. How nice to, um, see, uh, you again.

Peace brother, proclaimed Lulu. Would you like a flower? Have you found the way of the Great Bird of the Galaxy? Would you like to donate to my church?

Once more, Quirk was stunned by the changes which had appeared in his crew since the end of the Enterprunes’ last mission. He hardly recognized Lulu now, though the Lootenant had been his close friend and helmsman for five months. The Lulu who now stood before Quirk wore not the familiar uniform of a Starfeet officer but rather a full-length, dark-brown monk’s robe. His head was shaved completely bald, and around his neck hung a simple gold medallion. Clasped in his right hand was a small bunch of flowers, and in his left were several tracts extolling the glories of his new-found religion, the Cult of the Great Bird.

Lulu, Lulu, Lulu, spoke up Quirk, recognizing another opportunity to overact. What have you done with yourself? Why have you joined a cult? Whatever happened to the Lulu I used to know, the wimp who didn’t know right from left, white from black, Coke from Pepsi? How did you get this way?

Lulu smiled in blissful remembrance. "Well, Quirk, after the Enterprunes’ last mission, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I went on the pro fencing circuit, but lost a few fingers and dropped that. Then I hooked up with FTD for a while, hoping to exploit my knowledge of botany, but I delivered an Antilean man-eating violet to the Sulking ambassador instead of a 'Tickler’ bouquet, and quickly lost that job. Then I got desperate, turning to jobs no one else would take, like politics, talk-show hosting, and acting. Finally, though, I became enlightened through a holovision commercial and joined the Cult of the Great Bird of the Galaxy. All it took was my sworn, eternal allegiance, a vow of undying fealty and a money order for $1.85." Lulu again smiled and inhaled deeply from the flowers in his hand.

Oh, boy, muttered Quirk in exasperation. Slowly, he looked around the bridge at his crew, at Yoohoora with her three-girl backup group, at Wreckov in his preppie outfit, at Lulu, the newly converted cultie, who even now was offering pamphlets to a passing engineer. How would Quirk ever manage to whip this sorry bunch into shape, how would he be able to defeat T’Jerk, and better yet, how could he get a promotion out of this fiasco?

Quirk’s heart was again starting to beat wildly, when, from the comlink mounted on his command stool, a hailing bleep sounded, followed by a message.

"Attention, all you cats out in Enterprunes land, spoke the voice from Quirk’s comlink. This is rockin’ Lootenant Slyle beamin’ at ya’ from transplurter control. Quirk, I humbly request that you bop-a-loo-bop down here and rap with our new guest. He is zappin’ in here even as we jive, brother."

Quirk was stunned. His heart again beat wildly in his chest as he replied to the message. Wait a minute, he stuttered perplexedly. This isn’t in the script. I’m supposed to fight with Snicker first, and then meet McClod. What’s going on here?! Quirk reeled dazedly about, blindly stumbling into an engineering console and shorting out power for half the ship. Was there a last minute rewrite? Have we changed movies? Is this 'Kingdom of the Spiders’? Quirk fell to his knees a broken man. Why is Slyle here? He’s not in this movie! Where’s Spook? Where’s my mommy?! He screamed helplessly.

Slyle’s voice again echoed from the comlink. Hey, cool it Quirk baby. There’s no sweat here, bro. This is a spoof, remember, not a real flick. This scene’s goin’ down for laughs, man, not freakin’ drama, and nobody, but nobody, counts scenes in the ha-ha biz. You dig this groove, blood?

Quirk stopped sobbing, and a semblance of order appeared on his tear-streaked face. Oh, he comprehended, slowly struggling to his feet. But you’re still not supposed to be here.

But I should be, bucko. Enough a’ this patter, dudes, just rock on down here and lay some language on you-know-who. In the meantime, Slyle paused for an instant and the sounds of buttons being pushed filtered over the comlink. Slyle here is gonna lay some heavy tunes on you cats. Slyle’s voice slowly faded from the comlink and was replaced with lilting music.

Quirk, still rather confused, staggered dizzily off the bridge and into the turbo pole shaft. Taking the pole in his hands, he shakily stepped off the landing leading from the bridge, shouted the command Transplurter room, and began rapidly sliding down the pole. Within seconds, the turbo-pole, that incredibly swift and modernized device used for transportation throughout the ship, had whisked Quirk to his destination. When he reached the landing for the transplurter room’s deck, the turbo-pole’s advanced, state-of-the-art stopping mechanism, a net, suddenly shot out from the walls of the shaft and caught Quirk squarely within its mesh. Slowly, his heart again beating wildly from losing his breath, Quirk crawled along the stopping net and onto the transplurter deck’s landing, and before long found himself at the door to the transplurter room itself.

After speaking the proper top-secret code words, Open sesame, and seeing that the door didn’t scuff his boots when it swished open, Quirk entered the transplurter room. The last thing he heard before suddenly and unexpectedly slipping into unconsciousness was a cry of Fore! and a swooshing whistle of air near his head. The last thing he saw was a standard Starfeet golf ball plowing through the air towards his face.

The next thing Quirk heard, as he pushed aside the darkness which had descended over his senses, was an old and very familiar voice; the first thing he saw was an even older and more familiar face. As his mind and vision cleared, Quirk saw the possessor of both voice and face examining him intently, and suddenly realized just who it was.

McClod! shouted Quirk joyfully, pleased at the sight of his old friend and confidant. Bobo McClod!

Sho’ nuff, Jambo. How y’all doin’? I hope that there practice drive didn’t hurt too dang much.

Quirk simply nodded in reply. It felt good for the Enterprunes’ captain to see this companion from the past; Quirk and McClod were very good friends during the ship’s original mission, and together with Spook they had become famous as the 'Enterprunes triumvirate.’ To Quirk at this moment, though, McClod was an island of stability amid a sea of change; unlike the others from the old crew -- Lulu, Yoohoora, Wreckov, Slyle -- Dr. Bobo McClod was essentially his same grizzled self. Almost.

Unquestionably, it was McClod, the cynical, crotchety old doctor who had assisted Quirk in so many heroic missions and shore leaves in the past. However, there were subtle changes inherent in Bobo’s visage; his eyes were a bit more crinkled at the corners, his hair a little whiter, and on top of his head he sported a visored cap emblazoned with the words Bob Hope Invitational - 2433. Quirk also noticed that slung around Bobo’s shoulders was a golf bag and clasped in his right hand, a putter. The doctor was clad in par-fours, a casual shirt and button down sweater, and looked for all the universe to Quirk like a seventy-year-old, second hand Arnold Palmer.

Well, Bobo, groaned Quirk, rubbing his head and slowly struggling to a sitting position. What have you been doing with yourself?

McClod smirked crustily. "Wa’ll, Jambo, after the ol' Enterprunes mission, ah moseyed on home and decided to play a li'l cow-pasture pool. Y’all know, golf, he added in response to Quirk’s grimace of puzzlement and confused eye crossing, the official sport of doctors. Now I’m on the pro-circuit -- Masters, Pebble Beach, Beta Gamma Four, Bing Crosby -- or rather, Bobo’s voice shifted to a low growl, ah was on the pro-circuit till you-all had me rounded up and throwed up here!"

"I simply requested that Starfeet gently and subtly deliver you onboard the Enterprunes, no big deal."

McClod laughed grimly and furrowed his brows in anger. No big deal? Gently and subtly?! Jambo, Starfeet sent half a battalion 'a infantry equipped with full taser weaponry and photon cannon and yanked me right outta the middle 'a the Doctor’s Invitational. Ah was one undah pah, too.

I’m sorry, Bobo, muttered Quirk as he pulled himself to his feet. Starfeet has a way of exaggerating things. Quirk dusted himself off and checked his makeup. I do need you though, Bobo, now more than ever. We’ve got to save the Earth, and you’re the most qualified doctor in the service to help accomplish this critical mission. Besides, no one else would be caught dead serving on this jalopy.

Bobo hesitated for a moment, broke his putter over one leg, gritted his teeth and responded to Quirk’s plea with a hearty handshake and nod of the head. Ah-right Jambo. Y’all got yuhself one doctor and bartender. McClod turned and crankily thudded out the door. Damn Yankee, was the last thing Quirk heard from the doctor before the door swished shut behind him.

Almost immediately after McClod left the transplurter room, a hailing bleep sounded over the intercom. Slyle, who was standing nearby kissing Yeowoman Rant, discontinued his activity with the pretty young female and answered the bleeping device.

Hey hey Quirk, spoke Slyle after receiving the message. You is wanted on the freakin’ bridge baby. Some new chick just came in and brother Wreckov thought you’d like to scan her data. Said she’s a foxy hunk-a carbon Quirk-o.

Quirk, already annoyed by Slyle’s disc-jockey jargon, which the Lootenant had obtained after serving as an announcer on Starfeet radio, suddenly started yelling angrily. No, No! I’m supposed to fight with Snicker first, then meet Iliac, and then meet McClod! I don’t care if this is a spoof, it should still follow the script. Quirk glared at Slyle, who was again sucking face with Rant. And another thing...let go of my Yeowoman!

Just then, the door of the transplurter room opened and a large, very rotund rogue entered. Upon seeing Quirk, the jocular man’s mouth curled into a smile and his eyes lit with recognition.

Quirk was stunned and his heart beat wildly in shock. Hairy Muck! he shouted confusedly. But you were never in this movie!

Ah, but I should have been, chuckled Muck heartily, running up to the transplurter platform and mounting one of its beaming disks. Well, sorry I can’t chat, Quirk 'ol boy, but I really gotta fly. Chow. Muck vanished in a shower of transplurter energy.

Quirk, his eyes glazed over in blank confusion, wandered slowly to the door. McClod..., he mumbled dazedly, a mindless smile plastered upon his lips, ...Slyle...Iliac...wrong script...Muck...bridge. Help, police. The door swished softly shut behind him.

*****

After a hasty trip up the turbo-pole, Quirk again strode onto the bridge. True to Wreckov’s message, Iliac stood there, beside her helm station, all 36-24-36 of her. Every male crewman on the bridge was also by Iliac’s helm station and the sounds of heavy panting and drooling filled the air.

What a woman! whispered Quirk admiringly to himself. Indeed, Iliac was beautiful, with shimmering blue eyes, inviting crimson lips...and a head of long, dark hair which hung flowingly all the way to the bridge floor. Strangely, the provocative hairiness of her head only seemed to enhance Iliac’s attractiveness, and together with the pharaoh-gnomes continuously emitted by her Builtan body served to turn all males within a five-mile radius into raving, drooling wolves.

Not even the dignified, gallant Captain Quirk was spared the effects of Iliac’s beauty. Within five seconds of Quirk’s entry onto the bridge, his tongue was lolling crazily out of his mouth, his eyes were dilated and bulging out of their sockets, and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. Seeing an opportunity to put the make on a hot fox, Quirk strode purposefully forward, pushed away the other crewmen fawning over Iliac, and seductively whispered his most original and effective lines.

Come here often, baby? What’s a nice girl like you doing on a ship like this? What’s your sign?

Iliac, obviously extremely impressed by Quirk’s macho come-on, turned quickly and provocatively booted him in the rump. Knocked off-balance by Iliac’s entrancing beauty and the sheer brute force of her kick, Quirk gracefully crumpled to the floor.

Well Lulu, whispered Quirk as his Asian helmsman helped him up. "Once again I have