Star Trek A&E season 2
Star Trek A&E is bought by the QVC channel. The authors managed to find a way to make the series worse.
Episode 1 - The Good, The Bad and the Bucket of Fish Bait
Captain's Log: Stardate My, god, my arms ache!
As I sit here on my comfy bean bag in my quarters on good old deck 36, the galley have reported a serious problem regarding the availability of shrimp, mackerel, herring and any small, oddly shaped aliens in luminous green Halloween costumes. And at the rate of consumption as it stands, we'll be feeding our newly found friend in cargo bay 6 red shirts by 1900 hours. Stuff the ship’s mascot, it's barbecued tonight.
The Cheese Federation have asked for a detailed report into our unscheduled visit to one of the Battersea Dogs Home’s more out of the way installations. Apparently they seem to be operating under the strange misapprehension that we work for them! What’s more, they seem to think they can tell us what to do! Still, I have vented my frustrations, and as a consequence we are now en route to pick up more personnel.
Still, here's the abridged version……
Apparently as it turns out, giant purple people eaters are marsupials and curiously, carry in their pouches a strange assortment of knotted sheets, rope ladders, snake charming devices and a Harry Houdini Tricks of the Trade survival kit. As a result, I’m happily sitting here, rubbing horse liniment into a seriously aching shoulder and eating a large, strangely coloured beef burger of dubious origin. The down side to this, is that the chef has informed me that this will have to be the main diet of the crew for the next seventeen years. Still it could be worse, at least we haven't got Ronald McDonald.
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
Ball exited the turbo lift, hed already scanned to make sure the Captain wasn’t about. One of the rules aboard ship was that no-one but the captain is allowed to strut in zero-gravity. But the coast was clear, as was the bridge. So Ball set off in his most mincing manner and assessed crew status at all the ship's stations. Something was odd. He tried to put his finger on it. He walked around the bridge again, studying all of the readouts, images, scanners, and Daily Sport crosswords, still something wasn’t right. And it wasn’t just two-down. He walked back behind the Captain’s chair, lent his hands on the tacky sixties black plastic. He breathed in deeply, and then at the top of his voice screamed…….
Doctor Doug rubbed his chin.
"I've never seen the like. Are you sure there wasn't anything in the porridge?"
"You're supposed to be a man of science, a graduate of our highest medical accolades, and all you can suggest is the porridge?"
"Well, mine did look a funny colour this morning."
"Are you sitting there, paralysed, eyes bulging, rigid, completely immobile, and incapable of any sound or sign of life?"
"No, but I'm not watching Voyager."
Ball's thumb trembled with fear as he pressed the intercom button. And simultaneously crossed himself with his other hand.
"Yes, Ball, what do you want?"
"Er……we've got a bit of a problem, sir."
"What do you mean, a bit of a problem?"
"Well, it’’s the crew, sir."
"Never mind that, the writers assured me that this was going to be one of those 'the lead character doesn’t have to be in every episode', type episodes. So you’ll just have to make do."
"But, sir, you can’t have a sabbatical episode, it's the first one of season two! You left it on a cliff-hanger! There's people out there don't know if you're alive or dead! Can you imagine the mailbag the office is going to get if you don’t put in an appearance?"
"Well, when there was still doubt about us getting renewed, then OK. But now we've signed on, stuff 'em! I'm going fishing! For fifty years!"
(Well, we promised you the abridged Key to Time, now you’ve got it!)
Ball stared at the loud-speaker on the console in front of him. All that emanated now was high-volume static. He pondered the last time the Captain had left the ship, in search of anything animal-based, and wondered if he should order the ship's engineer to start building a water-proof tank in the hold.
……..The two writers looked at each other.
"Put the kettle on, we could be here some time……"
Sometime after chocolate biscuits, Doctor Doug (yes, folks we’ve finally thought of something else) picked up a small mallet, the type usually used for tapping under the knee to test reflexes. The knee had given absolutely no results, neither had hitting someone square between the eyes. He tried this on several individuals, all with the same in-effect. Doug looked up.
"Pass that big needle, would you?"
"The big one, you know, the horse hypodermic."
"You get some funny cases on Deck 36, don't you?" said Ball.
"You don't know the half of it, we had Dobbin from Rentaghost in last week. It was murder."
"Is he still in Equity?"
"Sort of. The head is, but the backside expired two years ago".
"Don't tell the writers, or they'll go on stri——"
(Well this is season two, hence budget cuts and writers strikes. Next the'’ll be a really nasty American voice-over at the start).
Some time later, after lengthy legal negotiations, under-handed bribes in brown paper bags at several Little Chef service station laybys, and several packets of chocolate hob-nobs……
Doc Brown couldn’t believe his eyes.
"Great Scott! And he never moved a muscle! Einstein, did you see that? An eight-inch needle straight in the back-side! That's got to smart!"
"That's nothing," said Doug. "Just watch this!"
He lifted a transfixed Brian up to eye level. (We're not quite sure what a transfixed tribble looks like, but you'll just have to use your imagination).
Doug gave it a hearty swing, and the needle entered full depth, entering just below one of the facial features he didn't have. Instantly, Brian went shooting across the bridge in mid-air, deflating like a balloon on steroids and making a sound like a seventies Whoopie cushion (or Captain Rogers after a big curry).
Doug quickly moved on to the next patient. He stared at George's face.
"I'll bet you wish it was still panto season, don’t you?" The blank expression stared back at him, despite the hypodermic needle being wedged between his eyes, and the mallet bruising around the temples. Ball had been studying doctor Doug's bedside techniques with care. But nurse Gladys hadn’t liked him watching so he’d had to leave. At least now he knew why people didn’t go to sick-bay unless it was really necessary. But as the Captain wasn’t around at the moment, his services really weren’t necessary.
The writers looked at one another.
"I've seen more believable scripts on CSI".
"Yes, but that was before we were renewed on the shopping channel"
"By the way, did you see that amazing brick-sharpening thorax toner in the last commercial break? I thought the latex lining and silk under-garments were a lovely touch".
Back on the bridge, it was a hive of activity. The Frazer had obtained geo-synchronous orbit above Planet CanonFodderForTheMasses, and a new influx of keen, attentive, and downright annoying Red Shirts were boarding the ship by shuttle (because of the danger of transporter accidents). Brown had set Einstein the task of finding as many parts of Brian as he could. He figured with a role of duct tape and a bicycle pump, anything was possible. (Well, if you can go back in time by pedalling a push-bike the wrong way, there’s got to be hope for a tribble in multi-part kit format). And Doug was busying himself arranging the mummified remains of the Frazer's bridge crew into alphabetical order. He discovered that this way he could create an almost-in-key Xylophone (He was testing my spelling, and I won!)
Ball was in the Captain’s ready-room sobbing.
"You OK in there?" said Doug, peering through the door.
"He’ll kill me!"
"Who do you think?"
"Why would he want to do that?"
Ball raised an eyebrow at such a silly question.
"See this?" said Ball, waving a piece of paper in the air. "Orders, for him. The Cheese Federation are fed up with supplying Red Shirts. Apparently, the widows pension fund is in almost as much trouble as the national health service. They want him, and I quote 'to take extreme care with regards to the safety of all crew persons under your command'".
"I'm the one who's got to give it to him!"
"I'll book you an appointment for when he gets back from fishing."
Rogers walked on to the bridge and his jaw dropped. As did the two red-shirted crewmen who had the bare-faced cheek to smile at him. A shrill two-tone whistling sound could be heard followed by a far too keen young man in a nice crisp red shiny uniform shouting "Captain on……" <THWACK>
The effects budget has taken its first hit!
"Where the hell is everyone?!" Rogers stammered, as he made his way over to the only face he recognised.
"Didn’t you go fishing?" questioned Doug.
"I intended to, but some damned stupid idiotic horses arse who can't be bothered to pay his Equity fees has resulted in all the drivers going on strike. And there’s only so much fun you can have with a brick-sharpening torso toner! Anyway, I asked you where everyone was".
"Well, we’ve had a spot of trouble".
"What do you mean, a spot of trouble? Where is everyone?!"
"It may just be easier to show you." Doug led the captain to a door in the wall of the bridge, labelled "Caretaker".(More of that later in the season).
The door swung open, and Rogers gazed at his crew, all placed very neatly at the far end of the cupboard, stacked up like un-used chairs at a Genesis meeting. If it hadn’t been for the fact that they all looked as if they were suffering from advanced rigor mortis, they could have been mistaken for being active participants on deck 36.
"What on earth happened?"
"Apparently, Doug erred for a moment, someone tuned the viewscreen to SeaQuest DSV starting Saturday, 1900 EST on QVC"
"Is it permanent?"
"Well they only made one season, didn’t they, so I guess in six months or so they’ll replace it with Relic Hunter or something."
"No, you idiot! I meant them!"
"Oh, sorry. Well, only time will tell, but it could have been worse, it could have been Voyager"
To be continued next time, subject to content conformity consistent with continuing story-arc regardless of any and all prior statements to or from the contrary and not dependant on any previously established backgrounds, continuity or cuecumber sandwiches, and dependant on post-season publications and legally binding contracts, commitments, writers strikes and tehcnobabble litigation engineers.
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
Episode 2 - The Episode Seven Conspiracy (Seven of One)
Captain's Log: Stardate Gladys Emmanuel in Stiletto Heels (but don't tell Doctor Doug)
QVC had a shopping extravaganza last month, so we have undergone an extensive refit. We have now been re-stocked with some of the leftovers, including a storage bay full of squeegees, a sink plunger with the motto "my other racehorse wears a colostomy bag" and 4,682 A1 posters of Thora Hurd on a Stannah Stairlift. In addition, we have recruited a token-Russian crewman, Ensign Trotsky, who has been spotted selling dodgy jewellery out of a suitcase just outside shuttlebay 3. Shortly after, he was apprehended by a security crew, who caught him spraying a shuttlecraft yellow and adapting it to run on only three engines. What a plonkski…
<Cue: Tacski sixties music>
First officer Ball looked up from his instrument panel, and smashed his head on the overhanging sound boom.
"CUT! Reset sound stage!"
"REALLY! I'M AN ART-EEST! An act-or! I didn't have this trouble at the Globe you know, especially not during the Scottish play! Really! Try and get it right next time! You're ruining my muse! I must say, I don't know how Stewart stood it all those years!"
"When you're quite finished being a big girl, can we get on? They're using the studio for a live auction in two hours!"
"I say, there's no need to be common….!"
First officer Ball looked up from his instrument panel, and smashed his head on the overhanging sound boom.
Ball walked out of the turbo-lift. Or at least he would have done if they'd remembered to open the doors….
Ball stood perfectly still on the bridge. Rogers eyed his first officer with a sideways glance, his eyes moved downward from Ball's nose, all the way down to his shiny boots.
"What's the matter with you? Are you having a brown trouser day? Because if you are, I've got some bicycle clips you can borrow. I got them on the grand auction on QVC. Got my initials on and everything. Don't tell Brown, but I've got two pairs for Einstein for his birthday."
Rogers strode forward and looked over Maureen's shoulder, and pretended to be inspecting the readouts on the desk in front of her, whilst actually staring down at her ample bosom. As he was doing so a thought suddenly occurred to him. He wandered back to the other side of the console, leaned over and whispered in George's ear "when did she get back?"
"Sir" said George, suddenly remembering he had some dialogue to say. "The route passage to Galondon Core's central nexus McDoughnuts Burger Bar is set and logged in the Nav-Com. Preparing for TWA—"
"HOLD IT! HOLD IT! THIS IS A BUST!"
Rogers turned towards the voice behind him, pointed at Maureen and said "No! That's a bust!"
<Cue: commercial break, while the writers run for the back door, via putting the kettle on and trying to work out what the hell to write next>
"What? No biscuits?"
"OK, chocolate digestives good enough?"
"Re-arrange into sentence of your choice : Catholic. Pope. The. Is."
<Cue: Fourteen twenty five second adverts of Lynn Faulds-Wood using domestic cleaning products and then calling them "a potential death-trap">
(We must be on Men And Motors this week)
Right, best get back to the ploot…sorry plot.
When the writers returned from the commercial break, ie, the sandwich van in the car park, a strange sight lay before them. The entire cast and crew arms outstretched with their palms on the wall, feet apart, and an Oozy Nine-Millimetre pressed into one ear-hole. On the other end of each gun was a control freak with black combat fatigues, bad language, and the letters LACPD emblazoned in bright yellow letters across the back. ………………….the number two writer on A & E (name removed to protect the guilty) dropped his prawn baguette and sloshed coffee all over his companion's suede loafers . He slowly turned his neck to gaze at the muzzle pressed into the pit of his back.
"I didn't think our last episode was that bad!"
"We did. And so did the mob at Redemption. Now shut up and get over there."
Maureen found herself in a strange, dark room. She could tell there were other people in there, she could hear their voices. But the glaring table lamp shining directly in her eyes prevented her from seeing anything and threatened to melt her implants.
"I said, what do you remember of Episode Seven?!"
"Was that the one with the French people? I thought that was rather good…."
"NO! That was episode five!
"Well it could have been the one with that nice man from the Ministry of Cheese, but I'm not sure. Did it have big monsters in? Was I in it? And if so did my bum look big in the uniform?"
"We're wasting our time here. She obviously spends far too much time on Deck 36."
"Get her out of here! NEXT!"
"For the record, what's your name?"
"Rrruff, Ruff, Rrufff."
The inspector's assistant looked up from his notepad. "Is that one F or two?"
"I'll tell you what it 'F-ing' well is! A bloody joke, that's what!"
(No, this is A and E, we don't have jokes!)
"Doctor Doug, if you can please tear yourself away from the nurse and answer the question!"
"Did It come after six?"
"You know perfectly well it didn't!"
"Well, was it before eight then?"
"Are you trying to be funny?"
(I thought we'd already established, this is A & E, we don't do jokes!)
"So, what do you know about episode seven?"
"There was a rumour about it being leaked onto the internet, just prior to the series launch, but I was too busy with Nurse Gladys to pay much attention."
"I think we're getting somewhere, Lewis".
He tweaked the angle-poise lamp slightly to keep up with Doug's fidgeting. "So what else. There's got to be more".
"All I know is one minute I'm rehearsing a lengthy smooch on the sickbay set, next minute guns are everywhere, people are rushing round with flashlights and Nurse Gladys Emmanuel is being ordered to do my zipper back up. Next thing I'm here answering your stupid questions about something that doesn't exist!"
"Did you take all that down, Lewis?"
"Apparently not as much as Nurse Gladys Sir"
<Cue: scraping of gutter sound effect>
(Careful, we don't want to blow the budget.)
"George Tacky, you've been playing the helmsman for, how long now?"
"Since the crewman in the original pilot had an unexpected accident with a hostess trolley and fourteen lint-balls while appearing as an extra on ER".
"And I suppose you know nothing about Episode Seven either?"
"Is that the one with the fish slice, the artichoke and the chamber maid?"
"OK, quit the jokes (how many more times have we got to tell them?) Where's Episode Seven?!"
"Look, I don't know anything, I was away at pantomime rehearsal, I never even saw the script for episode six! And I think I was in that one!"
"Yes, it showed as well. Now what can you tell us about 'Conventions and Leaks'?"
"Considering the amount of beer that gets consumed at those things, I wouldn't be surprised!"
A Red Shirt walked nervously towards the chair and sat down in the blinding light.
"Noname. Ensign Noname"
Lewis groaned as he heaved the body of Ensign No Dialogue In This Episode onto the top of the steadily rising red shirt pile.
"I really must protest at this brutality! Lawrence Olivier never had to put up with this sort of thing! Oh, there was a lovie alright! I worked with him once in the West End, you know, frightfully nice fellow, likes cats. Anyway, Equity will be hearing about this, you can count on it, they know how to treat an act-OR, none of this roughian business… "
"Stick to the script, please, they've just brought in the auctioneers gavel, and they're not afraid to use it!"
"So Episode Seven, then?"
"I've worked with Dicky Attenborough as well, you know. Played MacBeth, King Lear, and all you care about is a STUPID television program!"
"We're the LACPD, the Los Angeles Continuity Police Department, we're SUPPOSED to care about stupid television programs, even when they feature stuff bought on QVC! Now start talking, and start talking NOW!"
"The episode after number six? Ring any bells?"
"Have you ever read any of these scripts? All that ever happens is I hear bells! I also normally wake up with a mild concussion. Which is probably why I don't remember episode seven!"
"You getting this down Lewis?"
"Yes, sir, but how do you spell 'Attenborough?'"
"Computer specialist and general all-round know-it-all"
"And you're chosen specialist subject is…..EPISODE SEVEN!"
"The one after six and before eight, am I right? Well I said I was a know-it-all".
"We are a comedian, aren't we?"
(They're really not listening, are they?)
"Look, we know you know it, we know you leaked it. Let's face it, you even advertised it on eBay!"
"Well, a girl's gotta make a living, and no-one was buying my Voyager tapes!"
"Bad language will get you nowhere!"
"Could you tip that light down a bit, I'm trying to do my nails."
"No, Lewis I couldn't. And I don't think the purple spandex was a good idea either. So what else can you tell us?"
"Well, I think that nice young man from ER was in it. You know the one, facial scarring and a heavy drug dependence., but apparently he's very nice to his mum."
"Could you narrow it down a bit?"
(Cue: amazement as we discover the above word was spelt right first time!)
"But sir, I haven't got them sir".
"If you're just going to chat amongst yourselves, I've got the first episode of Doctor Who on bootleg and I'm in the middle of trying to upload it."
"A bit like Lewis with his haemorrhoid cream.."
(Cue: just try spelling it right twice!)
"Brown. Why have you got a bird cage on your head?"
"Great Scott! I've been looking for that! It's my latest invention. A hormonially transducing radion field particle accelerating neuron processing thought wave endemic protocol distribution networking actuation flux analysing wassaname* (pat. Pending). Utilising this apparatus, I can make freshly squeezed orange juice while whistling Schubert's Unfinished Symphony".
"Talking of things unfinished, if I can get a word in, this Episode seven business".
"Slow down, sir, I'm having trouble".
"Why, where have you got to?"
"It's not that, it's the spandex, it really chafes you know."
"Never mind that. Brown, let me put it this way. Are you going to tell us where Episode seven is or not? Did you erase it?"
"Great Scott! How dare you? That's a serious allegation to make! Trust me, there's no way, absolutely no way that anyone on this show with a rolling contract is gonna do anything to upset the boat! They'll kill you off as quick as look at you. Last time I upset the director they deprived Einstein of Bonios for three weeks! He was in such a state he turned up on Animal Hospital! Which reminds me, have you ever noticed how much Rolf Harris looks like Rula Lenska on a bad day?!"
(Throw enough punctuation and some of it has to stick)
"But is it theoretically possible? After all Episode four featured time travel".
"Well, strictly in theory, there's three possible ways. One, you could channel one point twenty one gig watts of electricity into the flux capacitor, thereby reversing the polarity of the neutron phase and overwriting the temporal reality we know to exist and project it to a far flung parallel universe, and replacing it with something completely opposite in radioactive decay. Two, Einstein could pedal backwards, really fast while being shown an explicit copy of French Poodle Monthly, or thirdly, they could have put the wrong tap in when they recorded Seaquest"
"Don't you know what DSV stands for? "
"Dispersion Sensory Variables?"
"My brain hurts. You keeping up with this?"
"I think so, but these high heels are giving me terrible jip!"
"Sir, I just snapped my pencil"
"You should see what's happening to the auto-cue. Now Brian, if you are in fact, Brian, Im giving you one chance to say something relevant or even legible."
"cxdhawjkhgbfl,adlfhjcvaskmhdbvfnvhrtlbkfshljhfasm,\jbcmasvnhcvq shcswCVAngcvNSDVGKMV\Basm<sdnhv MJB<sdFJHBNBAMSDCMAWg,etnfgjwbgmfhbwjg,wenknehbjretjko;ejhwDBEj,fhhr,khe,khtrkjy;lrjkh.lej.r,hltijhr.t;rjk.ewG,GH2K3UHR UK2HTLIQ45JL,WHELRTHLI;J4.;RTGHNQW.JR HRUK23HGKU4THL,JHLRJK;TKRT;JH6WR.,JH.LRE.LN.,nm.rrt.lhtj.lrtjlrt;uk;rjkal5rtjlr6tjwylteil;jhljhjr5o;rkmuyl45jl;.wky;lkut;tukwr;'5kij;5jk6o;u5'Pj3AH5KEAGUYHLO6UYJH3U80[;OREJLLOJL;;.XFTGJ,DLJ.POK;JNA.TENHVGLREJY'H/J.J.Earjgg;jht.lut,lgsdljmf;lr;'n r,hrtrjnb.,gjk.nlr,kgnh,asnhg.ljo;hjrg.nh,kryk'jki nqh5l5ukimjf;le9q0r hkdfubvuy Kf23uflj53l,smfjhgkrlgh4kvh jstwm,kngk!"
"Well that's plausible I suppose, but quite what you're mothers got to do with it I really don't know. Lewis, why are you shaking?"
"It's just the thought of what he did with the loo brush and the fresh halibut. It quite makes my skin crawl."
"You know, Lewis, it's incredible, we've talked to almost every principle cast member, and the only information we've got so far is from a fluffy ball with bad spelling."
<Voice from the sidelines: "I'm a thespian, you know!">
"Not you. NEXT!"
"So you're the token Russian, then?"
"Nyet. I am intrinsic member of crew. Would you like to buy some vodka?"
"Tell us what you know".
"Rrrussian was first man in space. We were there farrr ahead of western capitalist pigs. The Big Macski was the first burger invented, by poor Siberian farmer in 1438, but was nickedski by thieving American pigdog pirates."
"This could take some time, lets try a different angle. Name?"
"No my name!"
"I do not know you're name!"
"You play games with me mister, and you're through!"
"I am? May I go now?"
"Next thing you'll be telling me you were looking for 'nuclear wessels!"
"Nyet! We brave Rrrussians invented nuclear wessels! During the Cossak rebellion of 1642!"
"Please sir? Can I do it this time sir?"
"Oh, if you must, that last one is clearly a retard or something!"
"Use your ball's man"
<voice from the side-lines> "That is no way to treat an Artist!"
"Right, sit down, shut up, and stop hitting me!"
"Look, it's in black and white in my contract, the Captain has to hit someone in every episode. I can show you if you like!"
"Are you going to tell us anything?"
"I can tell you lots of things. For example, Ball's blood type is A negative, I have a fish called Cyril, my birthday is every night on deck 36 and I have a Willie Rushton LP from 1974. Anything else you'd like to know?"
"Apart from the Willie Rushton LP, do you have any other criminal records?"
"Was that supposed to be a joke?" (If it was, aren't they forgetting something?)
"Look, you're the principle cast member. You must have been in it. You must have read a script for it. You must have eaten in the canteen half way through filming it. So WHERE'S EPISODE SEVEN?" (I shall say zis only 477 times)
"Well I'm sure I was in it. I remember having my hair done and everything. Let me see if I can remember what happens. Erm….I definitely hit stuff, then I hit some more stuff, then I shot something, which was probably red, then I got to play with polystyrene rocks, then I probably shot something again, and it's a fairly safe bet that I punched Ball. Come to think of it, are you sure this episode isn't just hiding in amongst all the other ones? Either that or it's fallen down the back of the sofa. Lewis, have we met before?"
"So what you're saying is that you really have no idea about this episode whatsoever".
"At last, reason dawns! Why don't you ask the guys who wrote the bloody thing?!"
"One at a time, or both together?"
"Depends if one of them is Rogers and if we're on Deck 36"
Two wanna' be hoodlums in blue denim were pushed through the doorway, and shoved into the waiting seats. Somebody had been kind enough to find a second angle poise lamp, although in ten minutes it was due to be auctioned off, and Lewis moistened the tip of his pencil, which is easier said than done in purple spandex.
(We're gonna need a bigger shovel)
"Do you admit to writing this drivel?"
"Not in public."
"But you do write it?"
"Not in public."
"Have you ever worn purple spandex?"
"Not in public."
"Are you listening to this Lewis?"
"They seem to have got strangely repetitive sir"
"There's nothing strange about that, you obviously haven't ever read this drivel before."
……………………, writer number one on A & E (name removed to protect the guilty), sank deeper into his seat.
"Well, that's all they ever did in Voyager!"
"Lewis, have you a loaded weapon in your holster?"
"Bit personal, isn't it sir?"
"It's not like I asked you if you've got any lead in your pencil! Now just give it to me, man!"
"What here sir? In public!!!"
"Just give us the damn gun. I'm gonna find out what this guy knows if it kills him!"
Beads of sweat poured from their brows, as they watched the gun wave randomly between the two of them. Their eyes were fixed on the barrel, like a snake gazing at a charmers flute.
"I said, WHAT HAPPENED TO EPISODE SEVEN, NOW TALK DAMMIT!"
The frustration was really starting to take hold.
"I'LL COUNT TO THREE!!"
Lewis gazed at the smoking guntip.
"You get bored really easily, don't you Guv"
"All in a day's work Lewis, all in a days work."
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
*Courtesy of QVC.
Episode 3 - They're a Long Way Away and There's 44 Chickens (aka. Hencounter at Farpoint) (The Feature-Length Episode) (I'll give you One guess…)
Captain's Log: Stardate: 20 minutes later than intended because we've been watching Paxman versus Kennedy, the well-known BBC comedy drama. But mainly comedy.
The Ministry of Cheese, Edam Special Emissary, has been inspecting the staff canteen on the Lower Decks this week. As a result, cases of food poisoning came down 44.6%. However, he made the mistake of criticising the chef's effeminate vocal mannerisms and found himself being served up as a major ingredient in last night's soufflé (I knew he wasn't going to be able to spell it right first time). All of a sudden food poisoning has shot up 78.82%. Not exactly my idea of vital statistics but you can't argue with a man with a chopper. Thankfully that was on the plate next to mine. (Oh, God, it's started already).
On a personnel note, I'm getting a bit worried about Ensign Trotsky. He refuses to BaThe Naked, No Way is that good for the look of a uniform!
I've been re-reading season one, and Stanley Rubik has a lot to answer for. And I, Borg isn't the only Legacy that's been leaving me with Night Terrors. The Host of images that can be conjured up in The Mind's Eye when you think of him, a bucket of elastic bands, fourteen slices of red lester, an industrial vat of KY jelly, a Ship in a Bottle and the current Cost of Living. Honestly it's a wonder I can walk straight. May be deck 36 has a lot to answer for as well….
That'll be the Past Prologue, then…..
<The Virtuoso conducts Tacky Sixties Music>
Once Upon A Time, on The Last Outpost, in a Galaxy's Child far, far away.
(Where No One Has Gone Before, naturally. Anyone from Genesis reading this, prepare for Attached Dark Pages. May the Gambit begin.. and we'll let you know when the Gambit reaches part 2…)
George was on his hands and knees, he was on the bridge. If the captain had been on his hands and knees, he'd definitely have been on deck 36.
"Do we get paid for writing this?"
"Last month we got shot for it!"
"How's it go-sking down there?" Enquired Trotsky.
George ignored him as he continued The Battle with the cover panels at the base of his console.
"I can't see it anywhere. Are you sure it was here you last saw it?"
"Of course, I'm sure, you stupidski American pig-dog! You're Looking for Par'Mach in all the Wrong Places"
George's head spun round at the verbal retort and he crashed his head against the metal plating. He ran his fingers through his hair and winced in pain as blood oozed over his fingers.
"MAN DOWN! MAN DOWN! MEDICS!"
The Caretaker, Mr Bennett, wandered past on his way to the broom cupboard.
"Oh, that must have hurt. That's gotta be worth A Night In Sick-Bay!"
"All this 'cause you've lost your damned hamster. Why didn't you keep the bloody thing in The Cage?!"
"If you thought the first season was a Year of Hell then this has got to be Year of Hell part 2!"
"Still, in Retrospect, best not Drone. It'd be Too Short a Season to stop now so better write down a few more Random Thoughts before we all shuffle off this Mortal Coil."
"So that's how we're gonna do this is it?
"Well can you think of another way of getting in episodes like Menage A Troi"
What else do you expect of Next Gen writers, I mean some of their titles ,like The Nth Degree, or Darmok, don't even use real words!
<Alternate voice from the sidelines> Oi Pen Pals, The Arsenal Of Freedom of speech, doesn't extend that far. If your not careful you'll be having a Future Imperfect, and this will end up being your Final Mission!
Ball was desperate. Dyno Rod were late again. He stood, A Man Alone, clutching his crotch in agony. This usually happened after a swift kick from the captain, but today it was Paula Radcliffe syndrome. He was in desperate need of a Force of Nature. He obviously had the runs. Hard Times called for Extreme Measures and Extreme Risks. There was no alternative. He bolted for the ladies room door screaming "I'm going Where No Man has Gone Before!"
Recast Maureen, the only bridge officer with the looks of an Angel (One should never trust one's first impressions!) spied the first officer and decided to spring The Man Trap. She yelled at the top of her lungs: "Just be careful What You Leave Behind!"
Rogers looked at his itinerary for the day. The listings were full of meetings, schedules, deadlines, dead red shirts, and hitting people. One name sprang out, mainly because Rogers completely failed to recognise it.
"Who's Charlie Ten?"
Yeoman Red-Skirt peered over his shoulder.
"I think you'll find that's Charlie X, Sir, I think he's a new crew replacement for the security section.".
"I don't care, it's a bloody stupid name, have him shot, preferably at Dawn!"
"You can't do that, sir!"
Rogers gave her a look that expressed exactly what he thought at that moment. He always got His Way.
"I'll see to it right away, sir."
"Very good, I'll be relaxing on deck 36, it's The Naked Time! I'm due some Invasive Procedures on deck 36."
Back on the bridge, George had resumed his place at the controls, when all of a sudden, The Ship came to a Dead Stop. Shockwaves rocked the bridge, and then came Shockwave Part 2. George looked up, shaking his head.
"Well, that was Unexpected" he said, his hand still quivering over the control buttons.
Trotsky glared at the read-outs in front of George. He read them out slowly.
"11001001, what stupid pig-dog Americanski switched zis to binary mode?!"
McAfee picked herself up on her hands and knees.
"I have to muck things up now and again. It's what's known as Datelore. It's amazing what you can do with a bit of AOL software!"
Down on Deck 8, Ball staggered from the ladies loos. He looked at all the male crew-members that had been thrown from their place whilst waiting for the one working gents toilet.
"If I were you, I'd Hide and Queue!"
"Really, I never got this response from Guilegood! When we played together at The Royale in Time Square, directors, and act-ors both marvelled at The Bonding we shared, just look at the people I'm forced to work with here! Really, it's quite enough to send me into an institution. Still I can always look back at my days touring France with dear old Johnny, We'll Always Have Paris."
All of a sudden a strange whining, groaning sound filled the air, and Maureen wrinkled her nose.
"Tacking Into The Wind a bit there, aren't we sir, never mind, When It Rains, it pours!"
"Never mind that, didn't you hear that noise?"
"Yes, to what Emanations did you think I was referring to, if not your backside's persistent State of Flux? It was only as Loud As A Whisper but you know what they say, Where Silence Has Lease, get ready for the stinky ones!"
"Really! I could be in the theatre! I don't have to listen to this abuse!"
"Get on with it! You can't have The Best of Both worlds!"
Both Ball and Maureen (The ship's Silicone Avatar) stared dumb-struck as a weirdly dressed little man in a paisley scarf, panama hat and cheesy grin peered around the corner of the corridor. The strange Symbiosis of elaborate garments gave the impression a man that had taken a month to select his clothes, which was a pity as it looked like he'd then put them on in about twelve seconds.
"Hello! Remember Me? Oh, aren't I silly! You haven't seen me since my Regeneration! I'm The Seventh! Damn glad to be rid of that stupid coat, even though Dave's mum had to knit me this pullover!"
"What are you talking about? I've never met you before in my life!"
"You sure? Wasn't your father The Outrageous Okona?"
"Ah! That would explain it! Sins of the Father and all that! So you'll be The Offspring! It's all A Matter of Perspective, really, probably all a Conspiracy! Something to do with the Coming of Age no doubt."
"What are you blathering on about?" erupted Maureen. "Actually, who the hell are you? And Turnabout, Intruder alert!" she screamed into the intercom on the wall.
"I'm the Doctor! Pleased to meet you!"
"Doctor Bashir, I Presume?"
"Eh? Never heard of him! Is he one of the Sons of Mogh? Nice man, met him once, at a fete, you know…"
"You've never heard of Our Man Bashir?!"
"No, but we all have our Trials and Tribble-ations to bear."
"We've just hit the three page Threshold!"
"That'll be the Crossover episode then."
"Who Watches the Watchers?" the Doctor mumbled to himself, as he stared out Through the Looking Glass of the observation deck, a Haven of peace and quiet, at the stars as they streaked past.. He looked around the room once more. He wasn't used to being made to wait, and there wasn't enough inspiration in the room to do his intellect Justice. A strange sensation brushed past his ankles, and he bent down to stroke the cat, which was purring feverishly at his feet.
"Hello, little chap", he said, bending down to inspect the name tag on it's collar. "SkweeQ, Who do you belong to, I wonder?"
As if in answer to his question, the cat, who'd obviously decided the Doctor was not to be trusted, sank his teeth into the Skin of Evil.
"You BASTARD! I'll skin you for that you little runt!"
"Was that one in Voyager or was it Enterprise?"
The cat had obviously decided he was vastly superior to some random wandering Time Lord, and as if to prove it, SkweeQ Piddled against a plant pot, managing to damage the plant in the process, and then buggered off.
"Oh well, When The Bough Breaks" mumbled the Doctor, as the room's doors slid open.
"OK, let's put TNG down for a while".
"I think it would be kinder to put Enterprise down, actually…."
"Actually, so did UPN."
"By the way, have you any idea how to squeeze The Dauphin into a sentence?"
"Not unless the English language goes under some radical Evolution."
<Alternative voice from the side lines> Hey unless you two want to become The Enemy of the readership, can I recommend you quit with all the spurious Transfigurations, ortake upsome alternative Hollow Pursuits!"
"I say, cheers to the Perfect Mate, as Imaginary Friends go you could give Lessons in writing Tapestty's of random Schisms."
"Now, now, Aquiel, remember your Ethics. Now how about we stop this Power Play for leadership of The Masterpiece Society, and get back to The First Duty of business. After all we Relics need to get to grips with The Next Phase of the plot. "
"Have you got a Death Wish?" erupted Rogers, as he strode onto the Observation deck. "Time and Again people come on to my ship, without being asked. So you're The Visitor? Who are you, and what do you want!"
"Wrong series I'm afraid.."
"Tinker, Tenor, Doctor, Spy?"
"And people accuse me of talking in Riddles".
"Tell me who you are, now! I've got a gun and I'm not scared to use it!"
"Well, if you put it like that, I'm the Doctor", he said, doffing his panama.
"Doctor? What sort of Doctor?"
"Just the Doctor."
"Just what I need. Another idiot with a Hippocratic Oath!"
"I'm not that sort of doctor", he said Defiantly.
"Some ruddy member of The Bar Association, then?"
"I have Allegiance to no such thing. I'm merely a humble traveller".
"Yeah, with a bloody great blue box and you've got an Alter Ego to match, which is currently blocking the turbo lift to deck 36, meaning I had to go Up the Long Ladder to get here to see you, and will need to go back down The Chute when I need to get back to deck 36. ".
Rogers was really getting frustrated. You could tell because his Phase pistol was smoking, and most of his security escort had been caught in the Crossfire. He'd got carried away with The Muse this time, and Body Parts and Shattered Mirror shards filled the room. The Frazer was fast Becoming the Barge of the Dead. The Doctor dared lift his head to search for Lifesigns, through The Cloud of fizzing phaser fire.
"Cease Fire! Haven't you ever heard of The Rules of Engagement?!"
"You must be kidding! I haven't even heard of The Rules of Acquisition!"
The Captain looked round at The Survivors.
"Ensign", Rogers blurted. "Get a mop, will you?"
The Doctor looked round at the splattered corpses.
"What the bloody hell did you do that for?"
"Well it was their own fault. I mean, fancy having the colour red For the Uniform". Rogers always took pride in his work. "You got to admit, I'm good! I could shoot through The Eye of the Needle with this thing!"
"Quite possibly," retorted the Doctor, "but personally, I tend to prefer a bit more Scientific Method in my Waking Moments as opposed to the Hunter's instinct, you seem to show. The Gift of life is a very precious thing, not to be simply thrown away in the manner of The Killing Game that you've just Demonstrated, and to which I feel utter Revulsion, and to which you show an unhealthy Obsession.. I Prey I never come across you on a dark night, that's all I can say".
The intercom buzzed by Rogers left ear, and manic sounding George could be heard screaming from the loudspeaker.
"Rogers here, what's all the kafuffle about?"
"They're everywhere, Captain!"
"OK, first of all, who's 'They'? And where's 'everywhere?"
"Excuse me" mooted the Doctor, "I'd just like to say, that's the first time anyone's ever said that in front of me, and not been asking me the question!"
"Sorry, Captain, I couldn't quite make that out", said George through the intercom.
"Take no notice, it was just my personal Nemesis. What's happening up there?"
"Loads of ships, sir! They came from nowhere! There was nothing on screen when I checked Before, and After, The Swarm was everywhere!"
"Hang on, I'll be right there!" blurted Rogers. He stared at the Doctor, in the way that only Rogers could stare, and was most astounded when the Doctor managed to stare back, without finding himself in a pool of his own blood, a look of divine Innocence on his face.
"We'll continue this Duet later, I have to see to the Civil Defence!"
Rogers stepped out the turbo lift into the comparative Sanctuary of the bridge. The sight that confronted him would have been a strange one, on any other vessel. But on the Frazer it was quite common to find the entire bridge crew a pack of nervous jabbering wrecks throwing up and hiding behind consoles, some of which had exploded for no apparent reason.
A calm voice drew the captain's attention.
"I think you're heading on Course: Oblivion, captain."
"What do you mean 'oblivion?"
"You've entered the Arena¸ Captain. This is Sacred Ground. They're preparing the Warhead as we speak, and this isn't some popgun, it's The Doomsday Machine!. I don't think you realise the Gravity of the situation, although they do say ignorance is Bliss.
"What are you trying to tell me?"
"You see that swirly, cloudy techno-babylon field thing? It's The Breach, or as it's better known, The Void of Coda, named after a Real Life Warlord , who ruled this region of space, along with his wife The Bride of Chaotica, or Alice to her friends. It's a Timeless, Dark Frontier, filled with Disease, Whispers, Extinction, Contagion, and Infinite Regress but you'll never see it, because you die at 11:59, I know, because I saw it Thirty Days from now".
"What do you mean, thirty days from now? "
"What can I say? Tomorrow is Yesterday and Relativity is a bitch!"
Rogers chin moved, but no words came out.
"That isn't going to help, especially as it's five-to-twelve. I see the Apocalypse Rising."
"Actually, it's five to ten!"
"NO! The last two hours went in three and a half minutes! This must be The Voyager Conspiracy!"
"Actually I think we must be in a time Vortex!"
"OK, strike that off, it's DS9, series one…"
"This is A Time to Stand and be counted Captain, A Call to Arms is beckoning. The Magnificent Ferengi, The Xindi, The Jem'Hadar, even the Cardassians, all await your Blood Oath or the Sacrifice of Angels in your name. But all of that won't matter because you've only got two and a half minutes left".
"Sounds to me like The Siege of AR-558, we got out of that one by serving up tea and biscuits." retorted Rogers.
All of a sudden Brian, who was hiding under the captain's chair, began to squeak violently.
"Inter Arma Enim Silent Elges".
The doctor fiddled in his ear. "could you repeat that old bean, my Babel fish seems to have worked loose.
"That's The Trouble With Tribbles!" said the Doctor pointedly.
"Have you any suggestions, Doctor?"
"Yes, use chocolate spread in bread and butter pudding, it's really nice!
"A sensible suggestion, you idiot!"
"Well, The Menagerie have made their Descent. The Battle Lines have been drawn. They're about to begin their Operation: Annihilate! and you'll soon going to get a Taste of Armageddon! And as I know how good this ship is in a fight, I suggest you run away as fast as you can, or as they say, Live Fast and Prosper!"
At that moment, One Little Ship began to flank the Frazer. Rogers gestured to the small vessel as it moved effortlessly in it's Waltz across the potential Field of Fire.
"I suppose that'll be The Menagerie, part 2".
"At this point we need a break in the proceedings as we take on a fresh supply of brain food (chocolate biscuits) and try to think of a way of including the episode For the World is Hollow and I have Touched the Sky"
No illegal substances were used in the making of this episode.
But you might need some to watch it. You're definitely gonna need some just to read this!
(We just blew the entire effects budget).
The Frazer hurled through space. The crew just hurled.
Fourteen ships of various guise streaked through space in hot pursuit of the Frazer, trying to hunt the Starship Down. Their Peak Performance wasn't even being challenged, and their Manhunt would not last for long. It really was a Captive Pursuit.
"You've bought yourself an hour at most" the Doctor said in his usual indignant fashion. "Equilibrium is always restored. The Search will never stop, not even at the end of The Search part 2. The Collaborators are way faster than you are Captain, they're Playing God with you. The Die is Cast as they say, and no amount of Shadow Play will halt The Rivals Armageddon Game. The Alternate, Necessary Evil may be to hide in The Neutral Zone"
"The Cheese Federation doesn't have a neutral zone".
"You know what they say, The Measure of a Man when looking into The Changing Face of Evil is a completely screwed one."
"You're not helping very much, y'know"
"I never help, merely interfere! Just consider me a kind Samaritan"
"No, consider yourself a Samaritan Snared, someone throw this jerk in the brig!"
"Oh, is Lethbridge-Stewart here?"
"If you don't shut up, I'll kill you To The Death! Get this man out of here and clap him in irons!"
"Ah, Business As Usual then!"
"Sir", said a red-faced Ball, who had been hiding particularly well in the cleaner's cupboard. "Can I suggest a Simple Investigation should easily be able to determine who The Adversary is and what he's doing here. After all, you know what they say, Let He Who Is Without Sin…"
"OK, you can have The Assignment" said Rogers, as he wiped the blood off his fist, and Ball attempted to clamber back to his feet, whilst gripping his nose in pain,
"This is ridiculous! I could have been at The Globe! I'm an act-or, not a punch bag! I need to be on the stage! The play's the thing, wherein I'll catch The Conscience of the King….!
"God, we love Google!"
"I've reached the Final Frontier, you know? I've got no Undiscovered Country in this bloody business…There's no soul in this dialogue, no Dramatis Personae! We, The Forsaken are stuck here, Once More Into The Breach, on this pathetic excuse for a shopping channel at the Errand of Mercy that is our Paradise Lost. The Dogs of War are chasing us In Purgatory's Shadow, andin The Darkness and the Light, Far beyond the Stars, Who Mourns for Morn?"
"That'll be someone wanting The Best of Both Worlds, part 2"
Trotsky turned slowly to Ball, looked him in the eye and said "Oh, shut up you tartski!"
"Could this really be day three writing this thing?"
"I'm getting this terrible feeling of Deja Q!"
The Doctor walked casually along The Abandoned corridor. He'd been out of the brig for at least half an hour, the sonic screwdriver is a wonderful little plot device.
The Sonic Screwdriver (Pat. Pending) available soon from QVC (minus the flashing blue light).
He stopped and stared at the Afterimage of his face reflecting off the console monitor embedded in the wall.
"Mirror, Mirror" he mused, as he poured over the effect of his recent Metamorphosis. "Thy say beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder. If only people knew how many Masks this Firstborn has had to wear, how many Faces I've gone through"
The Doctor felt Suddenly Human, but only half, and only on his mother's side.
He tugged at the small yellow fish in his ear. "Ah, I see, they don't work very well when they're dead, do they? I must book another Journey to Babel!" His brow wrinkled for a moment. "Actually, was it Babel One or Two, I can never remember."
He mused on the events that had drawn him here. Part of him longed for his Home Soil, yet he knew he could never go back on The Big Goodbye and make The Voyage Home. "That's me," he mused, "destined to be always The Outcast, forever Lonely Among Useless Children of Time."
"Please identify yourself" a sultry voice enquired, and the Doctor jumped at The Sound of Her Voice.
"And you're The Ultimate Computer I suppose? Should I just call you 'Calculator' or are you known By Any Other Name?"
"I know who you are. You're The Darkling. You're That Which Survives, displaced from Distant Origin. You herald the Rise of the Favourite Son of the False Profits. All Our Yesterdays Progress like a Prophecy towards The Reckoning, The Inquisition, through The Amok Time only ever to be concluded at Future's End….or Worst Case Scenario, Future's End, part 2."
"And there was me thinking you were only programmed in BBC Basics."
"Excuse me! Basics 2 if you don't mind! I've been upgraded, you know!"
The Doctor detected The Thaw in her manor. "I have both Hope and Fear but the fact that the Omega Directive exists, is Unforgettable. You, my dear Think Tank, may yet be the only Living Witness to the second part of The Killing Game. Things can change in the Blink of an Eye."
"Are you sure that shouldn't be Wink of an Eye?"
The Empath mused for a moment. "No definitely a blink. At least I'll know that when The Fight comes, and Night falls, leaving Nothing Human left alive, they'll be Someone to Watch Over Me."
"Possibly true", said the Microcosm of circuitry, but there's one thing you're failing to Remember."
"And what would that be?"
"The cat's just pissed on your shoes".
The Doctor's eyes spun down to his feet, faster than The Galileo Seven on Mudd's Women. He was just in time to see the Catspaw claw it's way straight through his trouser leg and straight into his Second Skin, In The Flesh. "You little shit, I'll have you stuffed!" the Doctor ranted with Fury.
"Quite the Renaissance Man, aren't we?" mooted the sultry computerised voice.
Flesh and Blood oozed down the Doctor's socks. More Flesh and Blood splattered against the wall as the Doctor's left foot engaged rapidly with the cat's Unimatrix Zero.
"OK, I've got to admit that was clever use, but I can't wait to see how you're gonna squeeze in Unimatrix Zero, part 2!"
"Treachery, Faith and the Great River, that's gonna be the challenge!"
"Oh, god, somebody Take Me Out to the Holosuite and shoot me!"
"Would that be a severe case of Til Death Us Do Part?"
"No, more like Bada-Bing, Bada-Bang"
"You've been reading last month's episode again?"
"Well I've got to admit, that was a Valiant effort, but the Statistical Probability of us actually managing to pull this one off is about as great as managing to get The Prodigal Daughter to wear The Emperor's New Cloak on her wedding day.
Alternate Voice From the Sidelines:
"Author, Author! That's blatant cheating! "You're not supposed to be making this look like Child's Play! Now get on with it you little Rascals!"
"Best get back to it then, before we arouse Suspicions, and while we're in the right Frame of Mind!"
On the Strange New World of Terra Prime, Wrongs Darker Than Death or Night couldn't stop Empok Nor from going down in a Blaze of Glory by singing It's Only A Paper Moon continually until The Schizoid Man cut off The Icarus Factor he kept in his long-johns. Nut back on board the Frazer things weren't going quite so well…
"Cut that out or we'll sack the Workforce! And yes I do mean both of them, parts one and two!"
"Doc, what the hell's going on in engineering?!" screamed Rogers into the intercom.
"Great Scott! The Drive chains have come off Einstein's push bike! We're dropping out of TWANG!"
Ball walked up to his captain. "Well at least no-one can blame Human Error!"
Roger's fist flew into the side of Ball's face.
"Dax dot weri punny!"
"Consider that a Pre-emptive Strike!"
There was an Emergence of Bloodlines that ran in Parallels down Ball's face.
"That wasn't very nice".
"Well it took out another five episodes, so it was all For the Cause.."
"Make that six."
"Have I arrived in the middle of some Family Business between The Begotten Soldiers of the Empire? Ties of Blood and Water obviously aren't as strong as they used to be," said the Doctor, taking One Small Step though the turbolift door. Distant Voices could be heard making aghast expressions as they laid eyes on their Second Sight of the Doctor that morning.
"So you've Rejoined us, Doctor, Vis a Vis, you're going to get in the way again. I suppose there's no point in asking how you've escaped from the brig, without being lectured at for fourteen hours, so what are you like with a bicycle spanner?"
"Well I saw them use one on Home Front once. Why? What's the problem?"
"Well to quote Doc Brown, By Inferno's Light, we've got a Broken Link!"
The Quickening pace of the Frazer's pursuers was at the forefront of Roger's mind., and was appealing heavily to his Survival Instinct. He'd have to forgive the Doctor his Indiscretions which annoyed him intensely, but then there were Facets of the Doctor's character that annoyed everybody intensely, as they say the Ferengi Love Songs but nobody loves a smart-arse!
The Frazer was dead in space. The Circle of Marauders that surrounded the Cheese Federation's flagship Juggernaut continued to lay The Siege, and there was no hope on the Horizon. The Expanse of ships had grown extensively since the Frazer's First Flight when it left it's Vanishing Point at the Singularity Anomaly they'd first discovered when most of the ship's compliment had just sat down to watch Carpenter Street on Meridian.
<For reasons we'd best not go in to, at this point we had a Flashback to the first season>
On the bridge of the Frazer the crew considered their Future, Tense fears filled the air. All of a sudden, The Communicator shrieked into life.
"This is Rajiin! You are in breach of your Exile. Why have you crossed the Borderland and re-entered the Chosen Realm?"
Rogers gazed at the Little Green Men on the screen. He looked over at the Doctor. "I though the ones with big heads and black eyes only came in Shades of Gray".
"It's a case of Un-natural Selection, I'm afraid", retorted the Doctor.
The Child sized alien on the screen was beginning to get impatient. "The Emissary has not stopped you and the Countdown to Zero Hour is nearly over.
"Di-di, di-di, di-di-didi, peowwwwwwwwww!"
"Richard Whitely, eat your heart out."
"Would that be Heart of Stone, by any chance?"
"No, and it's not Heart of Glory, either".
Rogers walked over to McAfee. "Have we still got The Shipment in the hold?" he enquired.
"What do you mean, sir?"
"You know, that Precious Cargo, the one with the Bounty on it".
"What, the one in cargo bay four?"
"That's the one, alright. Beam it into their ship, will you."
"What, the entire contents of the cargo bay?"
"The whole lot."
"But Trotsky's in there, selling Fair Trade coffee off of the back of Shuttlepod One! Don't forget, he's the token Russian. If you get him killed they'll be a Tribunal, possibly even a Court Martial! It'll certainly involve extensive Shore Leave and it won't be in the shape of The Homecoming you'd intended when you finally got your Captain's Holiday."
Trotsky (The Defector) found himself paying The Price having tried to continue with Yesterday's Enterprise when he found himself being beamed straight into the brig. The Loss of The Most Toys he'd ever experienced in one go had happened when the entire contents of the cargo bay had been beamed onto the alien ship. He swore The Vengeance Factor would be high.
"Zat Devil's Dueski a damsk good First Contact". Inwardly he knew that such action would set him beyond any hope of Redemption and Insurrection in the ranks was very dimly thought of. He decided it was probably better to have an Identity Crisis instead.
"Have you no idea of the Code of Honour?" the Doctor enquired, as he stared at the image before him on the bridge's display screen.
"A Matter of Honour is a relative thing", Rogers retorted as he gazed with pride at the scene before him. Even The Ensigns of Command deck had been impressed by the Booby Trap.
"And we're impressed that getting that one in didn't involve either Ensign Goodbody or Maureen!"
"Mind you, it's a shame, we could have clicked off The Augments, Projections, Prime Factors, Cold Front, even What Are Little Girls Made of?"
"You've really got to stop before there's Investigations".
"As long as there's no Initiations, we'll be alright."
"How can you get those two words mixed up?"
"I Muddle up my words all the time! Still we really should make a Resolution to break this Deadlock and get back to the Sprit Folk aboard the USOS Frazer."
"There just aren't enough punishments in the world!"
"Just wait 'til we write the episode about The Haunting of Deck 12!"
"That's it! You're out of Lifelines!"
The Wounded lay strewn everywhere. A few lucky ones still hung on to Half a Life. As the Doctor stared at the view screen his thoughts became audible.
"You'll never Return to Redemption. I hope you've got a Rightful Heir to accept your Inheritance, because there'll be no Second Chances.There's always Cause and Effect. In all of Time's Arrow, I have never seen The Quality of Life open to so many Violations by someone in a Chain of Command. I haven't be so sickened since Thine Own Self was forced to appear in The Chase!"
"It's A Matter of Time someone admitted how bloody awful that Conundrum of a story was," piped up McAfee.
On board the alien vessel, the Disaster was still unfolding, and a Realm of Fear and utter panic had gripped the entire Starship. Mineral wealth means very little when there's a giant purple people eater called Tin Man ripping your Brothers, in fact your entire Family, down to their constituent parts. The Hunted aliens sought refuge in every nook and cranny they could find, but nowhere could they escape the lashing Dragon's Teeth or rending claws.
Rogers laughed gleefully. "Look at 'em, The Drumheads!"
The Doctor leaned over his left shoulder. "You're going to hell in a hand-basket, and there's no Accession or Return to Grace once you get down that far. That's hardly The Way of the Warrior!"
"Here, do you realise we've only got to find a way of using The Sword of Kahless somewhere and we'd have done the whole of Ds9 season four!"
"I think it could be done, In Theory, and if we squeeze in Elementary, Dear Date, and The High Ground we could chalk of TNG seasons two and three as well!"
"With links like that, we'll be inducing Hero Worship!"
"Sir!" shouted George. "Numerous vessels powering up!"
"Do you need any Clues?" mooted the Doctor, wryly.
At that moment every enemy vessel flared it's engines and began to close on the Frazer.
"The Second Time's Arrow brought me here, I knew I'd get to see the Face of the Enemy before The Game concludes. We're beyond Unification, in fact, the Second Unification became impossible as soon as you reached New Grounds of stupidity. I don't care what sort of Birthright you think you've got, but you're still merely a Man of the People."
"Do you think this character actually has a Birthright to finish the entirety of TNG for us?"
"Well if we can get him to say Descent part 2, that'd really help!"
<You really are Twisted, you know! Look, we'll never get to Journey's End at this rate! They say All Good Things must come to an end, but you've got to write the Homeward passages first!">
The Sub Rosa and The Pegasus led the charge, moving faster than the Phantasms of Terra Nova when they caused The Andorian Incident.
"We're an Oasis of discontinuity, you know!"
"I've never seen the Fascination with it myself.
"Never mind that, do you realise that this Fusion has taken more than Two Days and Two Night? And the Minefield hasn't finished yet!"
"You realise my respected Cogenitor will never live down the Stigma we're gonna get for embarking on this Stratagem".
"Just wait for the Stormfront , I think we're in for a rude Awakening!"
"Especially as the Stormfront will be in two parts".
Mr Bennett ventured out of his hiding place in the broom cupboard, exposing The Inner Light that lay within. The very Second Chain of Command was reduced to utter chaos as the first salvo of torpedoes Interfaced with the ship's hull. All crew members that weren't sent reeling by the violent explosions were hiding behind consoles, chairs and each other. This, however, Bennett didn't see because he was back hiding in his cupboard.
Lieutenant McAfee risked life and limb by crawling across the bridge floor clutching A Fistful of Datasheets. She made her way to the captain, who's fingers had clenched so tightly they'd punched straight through the tacky sixties plastic of his chair. True Quality comes at a price, a price which was too high for the Cheese Federation.
"Captain! I may be able to help! I've discovered some Data. S Day, our battle strategist, thinks he's come up with a better way of Breaking The Ice."
"We've got a battle strategist?! On this tub of lard?!
Just then, another torpedo hit, and it was a real bone-"Shakaar"
"That was awful! You'll do anything to finish DS9, season three!"
"That's what they said at the time I think!"
"I tell you what, McAfee, if we ever get out of this alive, how do you feel about a Reunion for some Liasons, my quarters, deck 36!"
"If Wishes Were Horses"
"Granted, it would make us Strange Bedfellows, but given the state of things right now, I wouldn't rule it out, just count it as an Improbable Cause!"
"That's it! I'm not writing down one more bloody TNG episode titles!"
"That's OK. We've done all of them, but what's the Past Tense of Prophet Motive?"
"Past Tense again? I thought we'd already had that one! You're gonna have to be a bit more of a Visionary".
"So it's not In The Hands of the Prophets, then?"
"No, that would be the third person singular."
The Doctor had a headache so bad it felt like a Dagger of the Mind.
"God, I haven't felt this bad since The Return of the Archons!"
His eyes flickered, then he realised he was staring at the fluorescent tubes of the sickbay ceiling.
"My Dear Doctor, so nice of you to wake up", said Doctor Doug as he walked up to inspect the computer readouts at the Doctor's bedside. "You're off Life Support. Good job for you you've got that second heart, I told that nurse Gladys you'd pull through, no trouble, The Nag useless she is. Still, she helps keep the hostess trolley warm."
"Never mind that! The ship! What happened to the ship! There were explosions and everything!" blurted the Doctor, scrambling to get out of bed.
"Oh no you don't!" said Doug, "you're staying right there! Doctors Orders! I shouldn't let it worry you. All that excitement, it's not good for the system. Let Sleeping Dogs lie, I say. Besides, you've done me a favour. I get to talk to you in sickbay, so I get some dialogue to say. I really need the wages since my night out at The House of Quark".
Out of the corner of his eye, the Doctor saw The Catwalk across the floor in front of him with a mouse in his mouth.
"Jesus Christ!" he blurted. "This is supposed to be a medical centre and you allow that thing to wander about in here! "It's very unhygienic you know. I saw an Equinox about it once. Part 2 was particularly interesting!"
With one swift kick, Doug managed to make the cat drop The Passenger and Move Along Home much faster than it intended. SkweeQ-Less his captive mouse-disappeared indignantly out the doorway.
The Doctor had got his way. Somehow he always did. He strode through the doors of the observation lounge, the largest single room on board the Frazer. There The Gamesters of Triskelion had assembled for A Piece of the Action. A Private Little War was about to ensue. The Doctor wasn't going to be held back. He had an Assignment: Earth needed him-again. For The Omega, Glory must be achieved, even if he had to Return to Tomorrow to achieve it.
"Have you seen the episode titles from the Original Series?! How did the bastards think we were ever going to manage Requiem for Methuseleh?"
"The same way as we're going to manage Elaan of Troyius and The City on the Edge of Forever!"
"I'M Irish " The words came before the Doctor had a chance to ask anything of the man who stood before him. "Shamus Day's the name, pleased to make your acquaintance!"
"What's going on? Last I saw we were due to be dog food".
"Ah. Well, we didn't all escape in tact. The computer's up the Carbon Creek, which is a shame because without her playing chess the Harbingers of doom aBound."
"I still don't understand what on earth you're going on about".
"Well, we challenged them you see, it was a case of Fight or Flight. As we had a Broken Bow 'fight' wasn't really an option. So we challenged them to a duel, their best game players against the best our crew can muster".
"On reflection, perhaps 'flight' might have been the better option".
"The amount of Damage we'd taken, we're damned lucky the Demons United and accepted our offer. It's lucky they don't know we haven't got any more purple people eaters, or they'd never have signed up to it.!"
"This was done on Impulse, wasn't it?"
"No, she isn't!"
"That was terrible."
"Yes, but not as terrible as Who Mourns for Adeonis."
"Or Spock's Brain for that matter!"
"So who's playing chess if the computer's not up to it?"
"Well we tried pulling out The Apple, but when The Enemy Within the ship saw it, they laughed so much the whole Balance of Terror turned quicker than the Devil in the Dark doing The Corbormite Manoeuvre This Side of Paradise while being interviewed by Jeremy Paxman!"
"I'm sorry but this is desperation.".
"I'm sorry, but these are bloody stupid titles!"
Around the room, several different crew members had been assigned to various different challenges. Maureen was in the centre of the room scratching her head trying to get an understanding of the game E2. A game from Azati Prime that The Council of war from the Kir'Shara had brought with them. She was trying to figure out how to play it, it was showing a certain Similitude to Canamar. Trouble is, she couldn't play that either. The game seemed to be based on the old concept of the Acquisition of wealth, Profit and Loss, and building of Civilisations, but if you landed on a certain square, you were instantly detained in jail without getting 200 credits, and without passing Go. She was approaching a state of near paranoid Affliction when the Doctor made The Crossing to her point in the room. The Changeling staring down at her every move, which really didn't help. This was unusual, as people normally stared down at other things of Maureen's. Soon The Squire of Gothos proclaimed their first victory of The Day of the Dove.
"I really hate the Original series now!"
" I really hated the first series then!"
The vast majority of the assembled alien menace seemed to be linked in some way. The Doctor soon learned that in their culture The Way to Eden lay in achieving The Mark of Gideon, which could only be attained by in-breeding with members of your own family, meaning that the entire civilisation were actually Generations of Plato's Stepchildren. This had led to several genetic problems, The Paradise Syndrome being the most prominent and The Immunity Syndrome producing the most acne. The Doctor imagined their television adverts having the slogan 'And the Children Shall Lead the way to the medicine cabinet'. The Doctor mused to himself "Is There In truth, No Beauty? You bet there bloody isn't!"
The Savage Curtain of Twilight began to fall, as the alien Space Seed congregated around the few remaining game tables. The scores were evenly matched until someone wheeled out Warhammer, and then the aliens had spent hours playing catch-up. The Tholian Web was a game George had found particularly stimulating to play. It used a board with strange octagonal shaped Patterns Of Force fields and Repentance of one's Lineage, that holographic Explorers had to try to overcome, with nothing more than ingenuity and lightening reflexes. Not to mention fanatical devotion to the pope. By the time George was finished, he was Shattered, Body and Soul. The game utilised psychic Repression and any Imperfection on the part of the player bent the Natural Laws of physics, and Critical Care was essential to prevent the Inside Man from being reduced to a small puddle of red goo, whether you were wearing a shirt of that colour or not.
All of the main bridge crew were participating apart from the captain, who due to his unique intellect had been sent to the corner of the room with a tin of Alphabeti Spaghetti. The Alternative Fact, or fiction, depending on your point of view, was that The Deadly Years and the Spectre of the Gun had produced strain that was beginning to show. The Doctor walked over and patted him lightly on the head. "Fear not, for I am your Good Shepherd, Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust, and all that stuff, you need fear none of it. You'll hear Nighingales sing once again back on your Homestead…"
>"I'm having a Change of Heart you know. Maybe this wasn't such a smart idea afterall…."
Both Rogers and the Doctor were stopped in mid track by the shrill bleating coming from somewhere Behind the Lines of crowded on-lookers.
"I'd best go and have a look" the Doctor said. "You're Cordially Invited to come along if you like."
Rogers was undergoing something of a Resurrection. "No-one has to invite me anywhere on my ship! If you don't watch it, you won't be Time's Champion, you'll be Time's Orphan!!"
If anyone else's Son's and Daughters had come out with something as ridiculous as that, The Tears of the Prophets would flow. But In the Pale Moonlight of Melora where Honour Amongst Thieves still existed, no-one really cared about pronouns or punctuation, so why should they on the USOS Frazer?
Both Rogers and the Doctor made their way towards the sound of Brian's shrill voice. If anything it had gone up another two octaves. Normally the only way something could change that much was with the aid of a Chrysalis.
"You're sounding most upset Brian".
"is that the formula for transparent aluminium?"
"We don't need to know, we've already got The Voyage Home. How about doing The Search for Spock instead?"
"Oh well done Brian! You've managed to beat him at scrabble!" The alien's face showed a look of pure fury at the fact that Brian had managed to achieve the word 'zoological' on the Penumbra of the board utilising two double-letter and one triple word score.
"As they say, old boy, fortunes Favour the Bold!"
With that The Wrath of Khan exploded into a verbal torrent as Brian's dejected foe stomped off in a huff, leaving a very happy Brian free to sit back and enjoy the culmination of the game of Cluedo on the neighbouring table, where security officer Crabtree (remember him?) was trying to decide if the culprit was Deanna Troi in Space dock with the Enterprise, or Q, everywhere, with everything.
"What? There wasn't a single episode title in that bit! You didn't mention The Marquis, , or even it's sequel, The Marquis part 2! How are we ever going to cross The Wire if The Storyteller isn't going to pull his finger out? So lets show some Unity and get this Collective work finished before Sunday really does get here!"
Ball was playing a very strange game. His opponent Vox Sola had brought with him an odd computer game called Rogue Planet, where his challenge was to guide a Fallen Hero and his Fortunate Son through a Desert Crossing, whilst following the North Star and avoiding the Silent Enemy. However things weren't quite going to plan. It was one of those old style games, that would give you limited options, or ask you questions about what you wanted to do, and as they were playing on a BBC 'B', it was running rather slowly. His current predicament was whether to step In a Mirror, Darkly concealed in one corner of the view screen, or step In a Mirror, Darkly concealed in another part of the screen. He opted for the one in the top right hand corner, only to find that in the Shadows of P'Jem (the realm in which his characters were currently engaged) people jump out with pointy sticks and kill you. It was turning out to be something of a Proving Ground especially as Ball wasn't doing anything about The Forgotten Hatchery of alien entities waiting around the corner to bite his hero's goolies off. But it could have been worse, he could have been playing Fizbin.
The Observer Effect of having the Doctor staring over his shoulder was not helping matters, and all in all, he'd much rather have been at Home with a nice cup of cocoa, and the latest edition of 'Woman's Own'.
The Doctor knew that Judgement was the better part of valour, and approached his seat on the centre table with a sense of apprehension. He'd never lost, not even to Evil from the dawn of time, but there was a first time for everything. But still, it was his favourite thing, except maybe for Bread and Circuses. As he sat he noticed the seat of his chair felt Cold. Stationery had been placed at the side of the chess board, to log the player's moves, and a strange Divergence of alien entities had surrounded the table to get a better view of the final showdown. The Aenar were there in force. Daedalus, The Forgetful opponent that sat in the opposing chair was desperately trying to remember The 37 separate move restrictions available in 3-D chess, and was seriously thinking about having to Tattoo them to his forearm. The Prototype of this plan had not gone well however, and the resulting mess looked like a dose of the Phage. He was in for a steep Learning Curve, but not as steep a one as he would have faced if he'd got a dose on deck 36.
"Well", said the Doctor, "what would you prefer, white or black?" he held both hands out. Daedalus picked the right one, and prepared to go first.
"Hang on! We've had Daedulus three times now! That must mean we're owed at least one Jetrel, and maybe even a Cathexis!"
"You realise you could have taken the opportunity to ask for The Q and the Gray?"
"Yeah, but I didn't think they'd go for it."
"Right" said the alien. "Let's see Whom Gods Destroy!"
"Doctor, these are very Non Sequitar moves you seem to be making" gestured Maureen. "Are you sure you haven't undergone a mind Meld with Ball's BBC 'B'?"
"Don't worry my dear, Heroes and Demons are seldom understood. It's a Parallax really, the more you know, the less people are prepared to believe your Persistence of Vision."
The Doctor continued with his Manoeuvres. The Doctor's adversary picked up a strange Chimera shaped playing piece and as he moved it Shadows and Symbols changed direction on the computerised board. Like an Image in the Sand, the board perpetually changed and winning the game was as much about being in the right place at the right time as it was about cunning and stratagem. Some said it made Parturition seem like child's play. The Doctor's pieces began to form a barrier of Resistance that no Alliances from his opponent's pieces could penetrate. Beads of sweat dripped from the Doctor's brow, as if he was somehow a Cold Fire. He picked up his Dreadnaught and in one move took his opponent's first and second Scorpions. Blood Fever was beginning to show on Daedalus's face. (That was another common medical condition they often suffered from). His position was beginning to be Concerning. Flight could soon prove to be his only option.
"How are we doing?" asked Rogers, as he had no idea what game they were playing.
McAfee glanced at her captain. "Well, points wise, we're hinged on a Counterpoint. This game is going to be the ultimate decider".
"A case of One Small Step for man, eh?"
"From what Doctor Doug tells me, he's far from a man."
"I could have told you that, just look at that noncey scarf!"
The Doctor's fingers teased on the pure Elogium figurine in the centre of his lower board.
"The Raven to Q2", as he spoke the Doctor moved the avian looking sculpture onto the left hand side of the middle board, just as it's square shimmered red, indicating a potential check manoeuvre had been completed, and the players had reached the Endgame, and then moved through to it's second part.
The Ascent of the piece really put the game beyond doubt.
"Ex Post Facto you might say", blurted the Doctor, as he released his grip on the raven piece. Lights on the board turned gold, highlighting the colour of the Doctor's own pieces, and victory was his.
3-D chessboard (Pat. Pending )coming soon to QVC soon.
"This product placement is really getting out of control!"
Rapture filled the room, as Cheese Federation crew members throughout the ship realised survival might yet be an option, provided their captain wasn't too upset and they didn't bump into him in the too near future.
The Doctor was exuberant. "Victory is ours! WiN or the Battle to the Strong. Let That Be Your Last battlefield!"
He rose from his seat with aristocratic Motion. Picture the scene, as Ball fearing someone else was attempting to act, stepped up to the plate.
"My dear lovies, they say it's all In the Cards but a Covenant has been made and we have done our part. Things Past are past. Yet things future are yet to be. They say Friday's Child is loving and giving, unlike a BAFTA with no name plate. And so I'd like to thank my agent, my family, everyone who's been involved in my long and illustrious career, including, of course, The Cloudminders….."
"Ah! Bet you thought we wouldn't get that one in!
"….and so with heartfelt gratitude I say……."
"Tsunkatse………!" blurted out Trotsky as the violent sneeze caught him and everyone else completely by surprise. He'd been allowed out earlier for two reasons. Firstly, because they didn't think in retrospect, The Enterprise Incident was really that severe, but mainly because they thought they were all going to die anyway. Goes to show you never can tell. That's Destiny for you.
Rogers suddenly began arguing vehemently with the leader of the alien delegation. All of a sudden he threw out a fist and sent the hapless gray creature ten feet across the floor. The Doctor raced in to separate before a brawl could erupt.
"What you do that for, Captain? If you fight like animals, you'll die like animals!"
"I bet him twenty quid, now he won't pay up ! I told him, give me my Profit and Lacerations can be avoided!"
"Considering it's 2am, we're both really impressed with that!"
The observation deck was now almost clear, and the Doctor looked in deep contemplation as he stared at the arboretum's water feature. He gazed at the water as it flowed past the Rocks and Shoals of fish that were attempting to avoid the littered beer cans and polystyrene cups that were strewn all over the place. It had been like one of those office style Christmas parties that no-one wants to clean up after. But the Doctor was always the one doing the clearing up.
"If Paradise is ever to be maintained" he said, "You should read your own Memorial plaque. It may only list ensigns with red shirts but they're important to the Universe".
The Doctor's Nemesis was ignoring him. He didn't like speeches. Actually he didn't like anything. And he especially didn't like the guy standing in front of him at that particular time.
"You'll be glad to see the back of me, won't you." said the Doctor. "Your Day of Honour will come".
And with that, he dropped the Message in a Bottle he'd been holding into the water feature. With that, the paper inside instantly turned to mush, and blocked up the entire filtration system.
"It's a Fair Haven you have here, Captain", he said, gesturing to the ship around him. "It's a Pathfinder for the whole Cheese Federation of mankind. But tell me, where'd you put my blue box?"
Trotsky spent hours scrubbing the paint from the side of the bizarre-looking blue box which was still blocking the turbo-lift to deck 36. If he ever found out who'd scrawled Big Bad Wolf in the Fold all down one side, in white spray paint, he swore he'd kill 'em.
He looked on as The Lights of Zetardiski began to flash and the strange whining noise began to echo through the corridor. All of a sudden everyone looked suspiciously at Ball.
"If that smells, I'm gonna hit you!" growled the Captain.
The Latent Image of the old police box vanished into thin air.
"That was a true Friendship. One I'll never forget".
"Don't be stupid Ball. You haven't got any friends, never have!" Rogers may be cruel, but he's never kind.
"Oh, well, I suppose as First Contacts go, that wasn't too bad".
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
"Right! Now that pamby's out the way, let's go hunt some alien, after all, I want Tin Man back!"
If you've got this far, you really should consider psychiatric treatment.
QVC told Paramount this would be our series finale. Stupid Paramount believed them.
The page 10 barrier
End of page 10, TNG finished, 191 to go.
Episode 4 - The Blank Screen of Doom (aka, Once Around the Writer's Block)
Captain's Log: Stardate The Hottest Day of the BLOODY YEAR.
The ship's been suffering from a major inconvenience, and for a change it's nothing to do with Dynorod. Every cargo bay is stacked full to overflowing with unwanted Franklin Mint 3-D chess sets since the last episode. As a result, no-one can get to the sunglasses, sun-tan lotion or KY jelly. Needless to say, Doctor Doug is in a rather foul mood and Deck 36 has had to be shut down for the duration. QVC are threatening to have us cancelled, and the hose has split on the Acqua-Vac.
It must be Tuesday. Never got the hang of Tuesdays.
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
"Well, it's not my fault!"
"Well, who's is it then? Accounts? Marketing? Catering-?"
"Catering?! You mean that burger van in the car park?!"
"--International launderette service? Ross??!" the producer frantically waved the audit bill for the last episode in the face of Writer Number Two.
"Look at these bloody numbers! Honestly! With this sort of money per episode we could be funding some high-brow programming! Button moon doesn't cost much more than this!"
"Well what do you expect me to do about it?"
"Right, well this episode had better include forty-four advert breaks, and no effects budget."
"So no change there then".
Max Savings, the show's producer, stomped off in the direction of his favourite urinal with a rolled up copy of Exchange and Mart under one arm, and QVC's summer sale catalogue in his back pocket.
"So, we cancelled, then?" enquired Writer Number One as he came back with his breakfast. (that's coffee).
"No, we're OK, no-one's sued us yet".
"Well, we'll see what we can do about that. Time the company lawyers had a brown trouser day. You get the type-writer, I'll get the A to Z and the German phrase book!"
"…Oh please can we get on with it? Shakespeare didn't take this long to write bloody Hamlet!"
"Look, Rogers, just start, do your stuff, and we'll just fill in the blanks as we go along".
If there was one thing Captain Rogers could do well, it was faking it. But another thing he did very well was laying people out cold with one punch. (If only he'd done that to the Doctor at the start of the last episode, it would have saved them thousands!) Rogers stared down at the crumpled blooded first officer as he squirmed on the deck. "That do to get you going?" he quizzed, giving a wry grin to the two writers before turning on a heel, picking up something heavy and chasing two extras in red shirts down a corridor.
"Do you think this could be the episode where the captain goes berserk and rampages wildly around the ship?"
"That would be something novel, wouldn't it?"
"Maybe we need more coffee".
<Cue: Commercial Break>
Rogers gazed out at a very strange sight. (Yes, folks, we ARE going to write something which is plot-driven. We're sorry to disappoint you, we'll try not to take up too much of your valuable time, and we promise we'll never do it again. Actually we might, but don't tell anyone, 'cause no-one will ever find out from the website…).
"Get on with it! We've got to fit in another forty-three commercial breaks yet! And if anyone mentions Lynn Faulds-Wood, I'm gonna get out a yard broom and the Alkazeltza! You have been warned!"
"Sounds like a potential death trap!"
"Look, chaps, I've been gazing out at this strange sight for ten minutes now. Would you mind telling me what I'm looking at, please?"
"Oh, sorry, I thought you were still making stuff up".
Rogers scratched his head, sat in his tacky sixties plastic chair, pressed the communicator button on the left hand console, and in a very unbecoming quiet voice whispered "Doc? You there?"
"Great Scot! What can I do for you captain?"
"What's got fourteen legs, fifty-eight claws, translucent scales, and is surrounded by swirls of hundreds and thousands?"
"Oh my god it's my mother in law!"
"If it is, she's just eaten the night shift bridge crew".
"Weren't you listening?! They said NO SPECIAL EFFECTS!"
"Ah, I'm guessing we're going to have to loose the hundreds and thousands, then".
Meanwhile back on the bridge, Rogers slowly reached down for his trusty Phase pistol. (replicas of which, complete with sounds effects and flashing lights, and I'm told, detachable loin cloth, are available in QVCs MONSTER summer sale – batteries not included-actually they're better than the props in the show…)
He raised the gun slowly to eye level, took careful aim, pulled the trigger, and watched in horror as a stick flew out of the muzzle and a flag unravelled with the word KAPOW!! emblazoned on it in bright red and yellow lettering. (We told you the toys were better than the props, didn't we?) Incidentally, large selections of Batman memorabilia are available from the QVC auction hot line (probably).
"SSSSSSSSHHHHHHHHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIITTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!!!!!" screamed Rogers as he ran at full stretch down the corridor. It was like doing the hurdles. So far he'd successfully cleared a lioness (that WAS Doc Brown's mother in law), two alligators, and a shark called Gerald (yes, that's right, folks, we've 'jumped the shark!') He turned the corner to see George, Ensign Trotski and Maureen cornered by a mutant dinosaur with ostrich feet who showed an uncanny resemblance to Lynn Faulds-Wood.
"Ah, thankski Lennin! Our brave American pig-dog captain is hereski to save us from the potential death-trapski!" To their horror, they watched the captain run straight past then noticed he was actually being pursued by half the inhabitants of the Masi Mara, several refugees from Jabba's palace, and a large fish on a skateboard (no pun intended) (we don't do jokes, remember?)
Voice from the sidelines: "Lynn Faulds-Wood may not sue, but you can bet George Lucas will!"
"Don't worry, we're selling the action figures on QVC Special Auction, Lucas gets the royalties!"
"So that's what you give the man who's got everything, Prince Phillip!"
"More coffee over here, please!".
The captain had rounded the next corridor and was confronted by sixteen feet of towering metallic and diamond-encrusted robotic death, which was at that moment, partnering a CGI Gene Kelly in a tap-dance duet, to music played by Max Headroom and the Jeff Wayne Ensemble (available on Double CD or cassette). (That wiff of burning smell you're getting about now is the budget department spontaneously combusting).
"STTTTTOPPPPPPPPP!!!!" screamed Max Savings as he bundled his way frantically through the cubicle door, pulling his trousers up as he moved across the sound-stage faster than a speeding bullet with it's pants down. "Where are we going to find the money for all this?! We've yet to sell any of those damn chess sets, and the royalty bill has come in from the BBC for the Doctor Who licence! Get rid of these effects at once!"
Writer Number Two took his fingers out of his ears. "We can't take it out of the script, you're interfering with our creative Muse!"
"Oh, no, not again, don't go there, please! That was Yesterday's Enterprise!"
For some strange reason, Writer Number One suddenly had this strange urge to cry.
"We've got to put a stop to this. The budget is not just a thing in a red case, you know"
"Look, we couldn't amend our script even if we wanted to, the protesters have stolen the rubber off the end of my pencil".
Max turned, lifting his glasses. There in the distance, beyond the sound stage doors, marching triumphantly across the lot car park, waving their placards, was the entire special effects division of QVC Daytime Television Enterprises, or Light Industrial Magic, as they sometimes called themselves.
"WHAT DO WE WANT? SPECIAL EFFECTS! WHEN DO WE WANT THEM? NOW!!"
"WHAT DO WE WANT? SPECIAL EFFECTS! WHEN DO WE WANT THEM? NOW!!"
"WHAT DO WE WANT? SPECIAL EFFECTS! WHEN DO WE WANT THEM? NOW!!"
"WHAT DO WE WANT? SPECIAL EFFECTS! WHEN DO WE WANT THEM? NOW!!"
Max marched up to the front of the parading queue, who walked straight over him, trampling him into the tarmac. A groaning Max Savings slowly clawed himself up onto his hands and knees. This was a very peculiar sight to see in the middle of the public car park. A senior television producer, on his hands and knees, with his trousers round his ankles, and a large queue of people positioned behind him with huge phallic shaped wooden placards. (Eurotrash, eat your heart out).
Things were not going well on set. Following heated debate, violence and multiple-sackings, and more violence, Light Industrial Magic's contract was a shredded mess in the waste bin, and Doc Brown was having serious trouble with the idea of being strangled by a coat-hanger with a mop head on top if it, dangling from a piece of fishing line. On the bright side fourteen ambulance men, nine emergency room nurses and a hysterical doctor had all been mustered to aid in the retrieval of a novelty canoe paddle.
It's a real shame for Max Savings that no-one could reach the KY Jelly.
(No Red Shirts were harmed in the making of this episode)
"Oh come on, surely we can afford just one, miserable sound effect!"
(One Red Shirt was harmed in the making of this episode).
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
Episode 5 - The QVC-Empire, Strikes Back!
Captains Log: (May contain Nuts!)
Pandemonium has broken out aboard ship when the crew discovered that the Bubble Gum machine had broken down and wouldn't be fixed until the Cheese Federation have finished their official enquiry as to the incident at Barrow in Furness bus depot woman's toilets.
If that sounds bad, just imagine the current queue for the gents!
Due to the lack of bubble gum, several people came up with the bright idea of spit-roasting Ensign Brian. This only failed when they discovered that singed tribble hair is highly toxic. Although not as toxic as Britney Spears, obviously. Needless to say, we now have another Dyno Rod situation on our hands. I really should buy some shares.
<Cue:Tacky Sxties Music>
Back off planet Earth, the Frazer tumbled through space. The bridge crew held on valiantly, as around them, chaos descended as everything not bolted to a bulkhead – and quite a few things that were – were sent flying through the air in random directions. If anyone was going to be unfortunate it had to be Ball. (It's written in his contract). He caught a hole punch square in the face (are you sure that's not a whole punch?) and was sent screaming to the floor clutching his newly found third nostril.
"WHAT THE BLOODY HELL'S GOING ON??!!" screamed Rogers as he lurched out of the turbo-lift doors.
"Vell, Captain American Pig-Dogski, ve seemski to be experiencing nietTWANGski!"
"Eh? What's that mean?"
"The TWANG, sir!" piped up George, from the helm. "It's out of balance!"
"What do you mean, out of balance?"
"Didn't you see The Motion Picture?! " replied George….
<Voice from the Sidelines:
….as Trotski's chair was ripped from it's moorings, sending the unfortunate Russian flying head-first into Maureen's lap.
"What do you think this is? Deck 36?!"
"Whrew yurv frumph fumf wereh" replied Trotski (muffled Russian is not an easy language to master!)
"It's quite simple Captain!" hollered Maureen, above the crescendo of falling debris and novelty paperweights. "The TWANG is out of phase, though personally I blame George – his eyes are too close together. And as for you", she said, staring down at Trotski, "I'll see you later, you naughty boy!"
Trotski smiled inwardly and grabbed a feel as he clambered his way back to his console.
"Brown! Brown, you there? Come in!" hollered Rogers into the comlink on the arm of his tacky sixties fake-leather effect plastic chair, which was now embedded in the main viewscreen.
"Id mide be desirer wid dis blugged din" stammered Ball, as he dragged himself up onto one elbow and held aloft a handful of stripped and scared cabling that had once adorned the internal construction of the captain's chair. Rogers gazed at Ball's offering.
"Smart arse!" pronounced Rogers, and he managed to kick Ball in the face accidentally on purpose as he struggled to the communication officer's station., brushed Brian out of the way, and stabbed at the big yellow button. Unfortunately, that just turned off the spqwll chkrer (see?) His thumb hit the red button, and he tried again.
"Brown! You there? Engineering, come in!"
"Hello a seductive female computer voice replied. "please chose from one of the following options" A list appeared on the screen in front of him.
"To speak to an engineer, press 1.
To hear about QVC's current special offers on the latest edition of Techno-Babble for Dummies, press 2.
To order our fabulous swimsuit issue, press 3.
To leave a message for Einstein's fan club press 4.
For a private line to Ensign Goodbody, press anything you like, repeatedly, provided it's in private and on deck 36.
For typing lessons, press 5,
To place a callout for Dyno Rod, press 6, and try not to do it again.
Or if you're really desperate and can put up with it, press 7 to speak to Doc Brown".
Rogers stabbed at the '3' key, four times, and then reluctantly pressed '7'.
"I'm sorry, no-one is available at present, you're call is important to us, please hold the line, one of our operatives will get to you as soon as possible.
A horrible tinny noise reverberated through the speakers. The hold-music Doc had chosen really was dreadful, and is available on a double CD from QVC's mega music store. Press 8 now to order your copy!
Eventually, an exasperated Rogers, clambered through the doors to engineering. It had been an interesting turbo-lift ride to say the least, but at least it was a good excuse to get a torn shirt and bash into fourteen lowly red-shirted crew-members. Lucky for Rogers he always carried a pocket knife for such eventualities.
He spotted Brown standing at a console – he knew it was him because of the curiously askew colander balanced on his head and the Mr Fusion kitchen devil tucked under his arm.
"What the hell are you doing fitting an automated phone system down here?! And why are trying to wreak my ship? That's the captain's job, and don't you forget it!"
"Great Scott! Captain! What brings you all the way down here?"
"The laws of gravity for a start, you idiot!"
"There's no need to go to any trouble, you could've just called!"
"There's not enough time in this episode to go into that, now what's wrong with the TWANG?!"
"Great Scott Captain! It's the shift phase compensating variance flip magnet! It slipped sideways during full-pedal mode and has wedged itself down the back of the sofa along with the remote control to the VCR!"
"Well, don't we have any spares? Can't you make one out of a paperclip or something? Don't you watch MacGyver?!"
"The thing is, it was a paperclip, Captain! Anyway, the variance in the flip magnet is the only thing that was stopping the bio-syncratic wavelength fluctuation of the gravimetrically opposed tortionised mono-fillimant motionising modulating…erm…modulator."
"The elastic band broke!"
Rogers flew into action. He pulled out his Swiss Army knife, and sliced through the remaining elastic band. This had two immediate effects. Firstly, it brought the Frazer to level flight and a slow stop. Secondly, it brought the elastic band rapidly round Doc Brown's head. He was only saved from being mortally wound up by the elaborate wire-covered colander on his head, plus the remaining months on his contract.
Einstein pined by Brown's sickbay bed-side as Rogers headed back to the bridge, leaving his engineer to be fussed over by Nurse Gladys (much to Doctor Doug's disgust) (and try saying that after fourteen Babychams and a bucket of lager).
On the bridge, the crew were huddled around George's console, staring in incomprehension at the A to Z.
"I tell you, we should have turned left at the Little Chef!"
"Call yourself a navigator?" retorted Maureen. "I wouldn't trust you to find a novelty paperweight in a QVC warehouse!"
Rogers took in this view for several moments. He didn't have many alternatives seeing as his chair was still embedded in the viewscreen.
"You're gonna tell me there's a problem, aren't you?"
"Wesa people gonna dieski", uttered Trotski, starring into his Captain's eyes.
Maureen frantically stared at the read-outs, scratched her head, and called for the science officer.
"You don't want that oaf!" laughed Rogers.
"Well, you tell me what that big swirly cloudy thing is in the rear-view mirror, then!"
Rogers stared at the display.
"Oh shit! Last time I saw something like that, the annoying little git with the umbrella turned up!"
"Zat's because ze cheapskateski American pig-dogskis are re-using the effect!" snarled Trotski.
"They're entitled to, they did invent them!"
"Vot are you talking aboutski? Everybody knows zey ver invwented by Rrrussian peasant in 1748ski!"
"Never mind that! Besides the show can't afford royalties since the git with the umbrella turned up! Now if you've quite finished will someone tell me what that bloody thing is?"
"Well, I've never been so insulted in all my life! If only I'd got that job at the Globe! They know how to treat a budding thespian there! They even had dressing rooms you know! But oh, no! Bloody Branagh beat me to it! It was only because he was in that flaming Potter film as well! I could have been Dumbledore! I could have been Lockhart! I could even have been Hermione bloomin' Grainger, but oh, no, Brannagh's got to get in on the act!"
Rogers didn't know how a bed pan had got onto the bridge, but you never knew when such a thing would come in handy.
<Cue: Batman sound effect of your choice:
KAPOW! THWACK! BAM! KABLAM! Or WALLOP!
(delete as appropriate)>
(Yes, interactive A & E has arrived! Prepare your bedpans!)
All attention returned to the viewscreen at Maureen's terminal, as the main viewscreen still had a chair parked in the middle of it.
"So, has anyone any ideas?"
"I've told you before – use chocolate in bread and butter pudding! It's really nice!"
"Another wonderful culinary tip brought to you by QVC Asian division. Thank you George. I meant about what that thing is!"
"Well, the computer must have identified it, because it's labelled underneath".
They all stared incredulously at George.
"Our computer? Identify something? Are you mad?"
There was a huffily seductive "Hmmmph!" echoing around the bridge.
"Well what does it say then?" uttered George.
ITEMS IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR MAY BE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR.
Maureen struggled in vain to read the tiny lettering.
"Computer, change to Times New Roman!"
"Please state font size" uttered a seductive voice.
"I don't care, as long as I can see it!"
"Invalid command. Please re-state. Font sizes must be whole numbers".
"Quit messing around, or I'll upgrade you to Windows 3.11".
The text appeared instantly on the screen:
"OBJECTS IN THE REAR VIEW MIRROR MAY BE CLOSER THAN THEY APPEAR".
"Well, that was helpful", piped up Maureen.
"bqwdulfhjkbjlrtynui nfewuky56i-uiuol;y98ip4uyho9ruythgw45tkiy5iy3ytiy,kiyhu5keytki8ytry43,kiygo4yt,kiyt4kuyiyh45,kity,ihelloritavjhfgjdfgjrdkrehkfgkrtlgkhkjtkhjkjkuhtuk",said Brian.
"That's easy for you to say!" said George.
"If you put it like that!" said Rogers.
"BOING! Time for bed!" said Zebedee.
"I've got a bad feeling about this!" Rogers mused.
<Voice from the sidelines:
"Well if you've read this far, I'm not surprised!">
"I guess that's what we get for trying to TWANG with one foot!" the Captain continued, as the Frazer slowly limped past a massive sign post:-
There was a dull thud from somewhere below decks, as a huge chunk of rock carved it's way through the outer skin of the hull to deck 6. No real damage was done, as this part of the ship was mostly dedicated to inconsequential crewmen's quarters, at least a dozen of which now had former occupants performing open space freefall practice. But at least that meant shorter queues at the staff canteen.
"Someone's shooting at us!" yelled Ball, staggering to his feet.
"That was no laser blast! Something hit us!" bellowed Rogers.
"Hit US?! As in, not just ME?! Well that's novel!" exclaimed Ball.
Maureen was the first to notice the repetitive beeping coming from Brian's communications terminal.
"Sir! We're being hailed!"
"Quick! On speakers!"
Suddenly the air was filled with sound, as the bridge speakers crackled into life. The reverberating noise that emanated throughout the ship would normally only be heard on a BT nuisance phone call complaints line. The deep heavy breathing rattled the glassware.
"Should I patch this through to deck 36 for you Captain?" enquired Maureen.
All of a sudden, they noticed another noise coming from the communications console. The patch-line was still hooked up to Doc Brown's answer-phone muzak.
DUN, DUN, DUN, DUM-DE-DUM, DUM-DE-DUM!
DUN, DUN, DUN, DUM-DE-DUM, DUM-DE-DER!
<Shouldn't that have been Cue: Tacky Sixties Music?! Oh my god! They stole our theme tune!>
…To be continued….
Theory of Relativity
Episode 6 - Theory of Relativity…The Dawn of Nightfall (Nice girl, likes anchovies)
Captain's Log: Was on Captain's Tree, Now on Captain's Fire.
Rogers hit the switch hard. This had no effect whatsoever. He hit the control three more times, and finally resorted to peering down the end of the tube. He pushed his communicator button.
"Brown, if you can find the time, could you have a look at my Acquavac?"
Doc Brown had plenty to do. It's not easy fitting forty-foot long elastaplasts on the outside of a moving spaceship in the middle of an asteroid field, whilst trying to work out how one universe can be exactly two months out of phase with another one. (The writers had promised to tell him just as soon as they got back from the Bahamas). "Bastards!" he blurted, as he hit his thumb trying to nail a large wooden plank to the outside of Ensign Goodbody's window. The security officer in question didn't seem too pleased at the prospect, however.
Voice from the Sidelines: "It's bad when we can't even think of something stupid for the Captain's Log!"
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
Back on the bridge, repair crews hummed with activity (well, the Imperial March is a very catchy tune). One ensign had got particularly carried away, and was busily painting an image onto the viewscreen. Well, you never know when a centre-spread of Sylvia Krystal may turn out to be relevant. (Sorry, in-joke).
Brown had a strange feeling, like someone was looking over his shoulder. This was odd, as he was currently outside the Frazer. A ghostly shadow silently passed by, and Brown cautiously turned to cast his eyes on what lay behind him in the void. (He found himself thinking how similar it was to unblocking the loos on deck 9).
Inside the ship, pandemonium reigned, then it sleeted, then there was a small break for sunshine, then they ritually sacrificed Michael Fish and bothered to look at the massive vessel that stood off the port bow.
"Massiveski, you stupid American pig-dogski!"
"Can you put it on the screen?"
"Ze magnification von't go dat lowski!"
"That's a relief, I prefer Sylvia Krystel anyway!"
Ball snatched the read-out from George's hand, and gazed at the numerical information. He mouthed the words as he read them.
"Once one is one. Once two is….."
George looked over his shoulder.
"Well, you're always telling us to Think of a Number!"
"Vot seriesski was dat an episode from?" Trotski enquired.
"Last of the Summer Whine".
"Ah! A classicski sit-com! Created by Rrrussian peasant in 1431!"
The craft in question was like a massive floating cheesewedge. In fact the Federation would have been proud, if it weren't for the fact that they were currently in a different Universe, past the traffic lights, and left at the post office. It was also about a mile long, and covered in strange unfamiliar markings.
"What does it say?!"
"Not the instructions for the captain's new Acquavac, what's on the side of that ship?"
"He saidski, 'West Glamorganski Districti Couciliski".
"How do you speak Tribble when you don't even speak English?!"
"Howski do you know zat Brian is an Englishski Tribble? His real nameski is Vladimir Puffalotski, that's vith a double Fski and a silent 'Q'!"
<Voice form the sidelines: NO! No-one mention Q!
"I heard that…."
"No! Don't go there! We can use that idea next time!">
"There's something else" motioned McAfee, spying at the viewscreen, which wasn't easy because Sylvia Krystel's bra-straps kept getting in the way.
"High Yapping?! Do you suppose they're Chinese?"
<Voice From the Sidelines: They've only just sent a man into space, and the first thing they do is operate an intergalactic traffic warden department! If they're not in the Axis of Evil yet, they should be now!">
All of a sudden, heavy breathing filled the speakers again.
"How come all this is going on and the Captain's not about?" queried George.
"He's had a paddy, and he's in his trailer."
"What was he upset about?"
"The script didn't have his shirt getting ripped until page 9".
"You mean, there's nine pages of this?!"
"Yeah, but it is a two-parter!"
"YOU ARE PART OF THE REBEL ALLIANCE, AND TRAITORS! YOU'RE ALSO PARKED ON A DOUBLE YELLOW ASTEROID! SHOW US SOME IDENTIFICATION!"
"You don't need to see our identification", said McAfee, waving her arm in front of her face for no apparent reason.
"THAT'S WHAT YOU THINK, SMART-ARSE, NOW PULL OVER!"
Ball glanced down at his chest.
"Actually, no sleeves, it's a tank top. Although I'm particularly proud of the green and purple stripes. And my mum did the flowers."
The bridge rocked as the ship was hit by a massive impact.
"What was that?!" screamed Maureen.
"A laser bolt!" replied Ball.
"I didn't know they held laser's together with bolts!"
"Never mind that, best do as he says George."
George looked in the mirror, indicated and brought the ship to a dead halt, before engaging the hazard warning lights.
"NOW YOUR IN A DISABLED BAY!"
"Well, our ship is disabled! That last laser blast had something to do with it!"
"And the TWANG's gone out of our Wibble brackets!"
The doors of the turbo-lift parted, and Rogers strutted stroppily onto the bridge. Ball backed away.
"What's going on here? Why have we stopped? What's with the Sylvia Krystel centre-fold?"
McAfee handed him a copy of this month's script. The captain glanced through it.
"I see…my Acquavac's arrived!" He read another page, tore the paper up and threw it over his shoulder.
"Scripts are for wimps! And extras!"
The intercom boomed again:
"I'M STILL HERE YOU MORONS!"
"And who the hell are you?" stormed Rogers.
"WILLIAM NORMAN STANLEY GIBBONS ACRINGTON ROGERS, IS THAT YOU?"
"I've never told that name to anyone! Who are you?"
"I AM….YOUR MOTHER!"
DUN, DUN, DUN, DUM-DE-DUM, DUM-DE-DUM!
DUN, DUN, DUN, DUM-DE-DUM, DUM-DE-DER!
"Oh, sorry, it's my agent, I really need to take this call" said Ball, scrambling for his phone.
Blood splattered through the air as Ball went reeling from the blow and slammed into the bulkhead.
Rogers still wasn't satisfied. So he shot thirteen security guards, and threw Brian straight into Sylvia Krystel's chest.
A voice boomed over the speakers again.
"THAT'S MY BOY!"
Rogers hit the communicator button on his newly re-installed tacky-sixties imitation leather effect chair.
"Brown! You got that TWANG fixed yet?!"
"Great Scott! Acrington?! Your mum's truly evil!"
"You should've seen how nasty she could be with a mop and bucket! They don't call her Darth Wader, Dark Lord of the Sitting Room for nothing!"
<Voice from the sidelines: "I want it as a matter of public record, writer number one had NOTHING TO DO WITH THAT LAST GAG!">
"Well, captain, Einstein's just finished tying all the hair-bands from the make-up department together, and I'm just attaching them to the wiggling shaft rotator spline-grease nipple magnet".
"Have you been MacGyvering around on deck 36 again?!"
"Well, I needed the PVC for strategic tortioning of the wizme doodle fladge nibblets, but we are going to have to stop off at Office World at some point to re-supply with elastic bands and Post-It notes. Also, we're getting a little bit low on Bonios, so that means a trip to Pet Planet as well."
"When you're ready, Mr Brown. Only I'd quite like to get out of here before my mother invites me round for Sunday lunch."
Brown dangled the latest copy of French Poodle Topless magazine in front of Einstein's face and watched as he went cross-eyed and began to drool. One carefully directed kick was all it took to send the pedals whizzing and the tortion arm began it's slow movement towards critical mass as the Frazer lurched forward under the violent thrust of engaged TWANG. Unfortunately no-one was steering so it ran straight into the neighbouring vessel.
Ensign Goodbody stood aghast. The violence of the impact had knocked the wooden covers from her window and having just stepped out of the shower she was now on full display to the bridge crew of the Imperial Super Star Destroyer Bloody Big Monster Ship, who stood, eyes popping out of their heads and tongues drooling.
"You should try deck 36!" replied Rogers. "Now lets get out of here. This time, the other way!"
"Vot are we going to doski about ze Star Vorz enemy wessel, oh brave American pig-dogski keptain?!"
"We'll let the legal department take care of that!"
"Careful, captain, that's what they said on Battlestar Galactica!" scoffed McAfee.
"Just hold on to your pantyhose, we're heading for the M25!"
"Great. Another car park."
Voice From The Sidelines: "Oh no! The effects budget!"
<Cue: Tacky Sixties Music>
© 2011-2021 Genesis Sci-fi club, the Basingstoke science fiction club; all graphics that link to other websites are owned by that website.
Designed by Matthew Greet, originally designed by Antony Walls.