STAR SICK: The Original Generation

The night had been rough. Captain Clerk almost never slept well, but having to leave his mildly villainous brother stranded — again — was nerve-wracking, and for a guy whose nerves tend to stay in a constantly wracked state, it meant another long night of playing Tetris until his eyes could no longer stay open… which happened around 4:48am, coming within 6 minutes of his all-time record.

Still, Clerk had never been late to a shift in his life, and today was no exception, though it took 2 cans of Red Buranga® to make it happen.

Stepping off the elevator onto the Bridge, he moseyed on over to Lt. Whatsisname, who was already busy doing… whatever it was he did all day.

“I’ve just had the strangest dream, Lieutenant,” he muttered.

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Hey everybody. This isn’t really an episode, but… I had decided I was ready to end the blog, but wanted to have one last episode to wrap things up. Unfortunately, I kept putting off writing it until I no longer felt up to it. I almost left it as it was, but didn’t want that sudden ending be the last word. On the other hand, I wasn’t fully enthused about the series finale I had planned. So, in lieu of a “proper” end to the blog, here’s an outline of what the last episode was going to be. Thanks for reading. I hope you’ve enjoyed the story. Maybe someday I’ll do a sequel.

Captain’s Blog

Captain, we’re out of ideas.

Clerk grabs a book. Why, we have tons of ideas! Charlie Y, Spock’s Spleen, Yet Another Gorn Fight, etc.

Then I (author) enter the story and argue with the crew.

Set phasers to kill! Maim! Slice! Dice! Tickle! Nothing works.

Sorry guys, the blog’s over.

So that’s it?

Well, I was gonna have Clerk wake up and this episode be a dream.

Yeah, that would have been bad.

Could be worse. Could have been a two-part episode stretched out over seven seasons.

“Banished?” Clerk asked. “Oh, you mean how I saved your neck by dropping you off here, where the Romulans couldn’t get to you? They’re still upset over the drain-clogging scam, you know.”

“I was handling the situation just fine, man. I didn’t need your help.”

“Whatever. You called me, crying, because they had you holed up on Rutabaga III in a penal colony. I’m starting to regret having volunteered to respond to the extradition request.”

Lionel leaned back against the wall again, and took another sip of his root beer. Suddenly, he felt a strange tingling sensation. He looked at the can, and to his shock, he saw he was drinking the one he’d marked for his brother. His eyes widened and he turned a little pale.

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