Well, that was mildly exciting. Hope it helped the ratings.

“Captain,” said Lt. Kato, fiddling with the device in her ear, attempting in vain to make it feel reasonably comfortable. “There’s a message coming in for you from Fleet Headquarters. On a private channel.”

Clerk sighed. The last thing he needed was more bad news.

“I’ll answer it in my quarters,” he said, getting up out of his seat. If some bigwig is going to gloat over our imminent demise, I’d at least like to be comfortable.

====

Settling in on his couch with a bottle of Fleetade®, Clerk finally turned on the monitor in front of him.

“Clerk here.”

The never-quite-smiling face of Admiral Placãrd appeared on the screen, sitting comfortably in his office, sipping on a hot beverage of some sort.

“It’s about time you answered, Jimi. I was beginning to think you’d taken a look at the Caller ID and made a run for it.”

“Well, I wasn’t exactly excited about a private message from the Headquarters, especially after the day I’ve had. But you know I’ll always take your calls, sir.”

“Still keeping bees, eh?” Placãrd said as he listened to the constant buzz in the background. “I’d hoped you’d have given that up long ago.”

“Oh, I can’t give that up. Those bees are the only things on this ship that even come close to obeying my orders.”

Placãrd nodded his head. “I can understand that. I kept fish myself. That is, until the food supplies ran out while we were on a long-range mission.”

Clerk’s nervousness at speaking to his mentor just kicked up a notch.

“Say,” the Captain said, trying to change the subject. “What’cha drinking?”

“Oh, come on, Jimi. Do you really have to ask?”

“Sorry, sir, I was just–”

“It’s chamomile tea.”

I’ll never understand you, Admiral. One of these days I’ll give up trying.

“So,” the Admiral said, changing his tone of voice to that dreaded Serious Tone. “I’ve heard about your ratings problem.”

“Yeah, I imagine it’s all over the news by now.”

“Well? What are you doing about it?”

Clerk shrugged. “To be honest, we haven’t had much time to even think about it. While we were having a meeting to discuss it, we had a Red Alert due to a Space Cloud.”

“One of those black market dealer ones?”

“Yeah.”

Placãrd put down his empty tea cup. “Oh. I can’t stand those things. A bit interesting, but that won’t help you out here. You need something bigger. Especially because this is your season finale.”

“I know, I know. If you’ve got a suggestion, I’m all ears.”

Placãrd smiled somewhat mischievously. “Two words, mon petit capitaine.” Pause for dramatic effect. ”Time travel.”

An ancient Earth device called a “light bulb” came on over Clerk’s head. Time travel? Of course! Why didn’t I think of that? I can’t believe we’ve made it through this many seasons without any time travel!

Seeing his protégé’s visage light up, Admiral Placãrd continued. ”That’s probably the best you can do on short notice. Anything else will require too much planning, and probably a bigger budget than you’re working with.”

Clerk became confused. “Well… what do we need for time travel? I mean, that sounds pretty big, in and of itself.”

“Not at all. It’s pretty commonplace in the Fleet. You know that, Jimi. The Secondprize has a Time Travel Department, I’m sure. In fact, if I recall correctly, Lt. Rosemary Crony is the person in charge. She’s proven time and again to be one of the best time travel experts the Fleet has to offer.

Thank you, Admiral J. L. Placãrd, the ever-ready punster.

====

Within the hour, Captain Clerk, Lt. Whatsisname, and Lt. Cmdr. Cecil made their way together to the Time Travel Department area, which was located in an office across from the portrait studio.

“Greetings, Captain. How can I help you?”

“Well, Lt. Cr–”

“Rosemary, if you please.”

She’s her mother’s daughter, alright. Ugh. That reminds me. I need to setup my next appointment.

“Sorry,” Clerk continued. “We are getting ready for a time travel mission, and we need to get going ASAP.”

“Okay…” Lt. Rosemary said skeptically. “What’s the mission?”

“Higher ratings.”

Rosemary sighed loudly. “Not again,” she said under her breath.

Clerk, Whatsisname, and Cecil all looked at each other in confusion.

“So… you have no set destination?”

“Well,” Clerk stammered. “I’ve probably got a few time periods I’m interested in, but I hadn’t actually picked one out. I figured we’d just go for whichever one is easier, or, maybe, whichever one will get us the best reaction.”

Rosemary crossed her arms and frowned.

“What?” said Clerk.

“Never mind. So what’s our Chief Engineer doing here?”

“IF THISSSSS ISSSSS GOING TO BE ANY SSSSSTRAIN ON MY ENGINESSSSS, I NEED TO KNOW!”

“Fine. Whatever. So… this is for ratings?”

“Yes,” Clerk replied. “We recently got put on notice. If we can’t get ratings up, we’re at risk for cancellation.”

“I’m assuming the letter-writing campaign didn’t pan out?”

“We’re trying other options at the moment.”

Rosemary turned around and began pacing around her office. “Well, time travel is a tried and true old standby. Many a great episode has been–”

“Let’s cut to the chase,” Clerk butted in. “What do we need to do and how does it work?”

She shot a piercing glance his way. “Well, the standard method is pretty simple: we slingshot around whatever star is nearby, at Warp Factor 8.8, and the time travel circuits take care of the rest.”

“Time travel circuits? What do you mean?”

“They’re what puts you in a specific time period. Otherwise, you just wind up somewhere at random. But… I wouldn’t recommend doing any time travel right now.”

“Why not?” Whatsisname asked.

“These are brand new circuits, and we haven’t had time to fully test them. Technically, we could try it now, but I would strongly advise against it. It’s not safe until we do more tests.”

“Well,” Clerk replied, “the problem is, we don’t have time for any testing. It’s already the season finale, and we’re going to have to do it now if we’re going to have any immediate impact.”

“It can’t wait?”

“I really don’t want to risk cancellation. We have to take action immediately.”

Rosemary sighed again. “May I log an official complaint?”

“Noted in the Ship’s Log, Lieutenant,” said Whatsisname, looking up from his clipboard.

“Just set it for a couple of centuries back and see what happens,” Clerk said with a shrug. “I mean, come on. Wherever we wind up, I’m sure we’ll probably wind up meeting somebody cool anyways.”

Lt. Rosemary had to hold back the urge to facepalm.

“So… can you get on that?”

“Right away, sir,” she said disapprovingly.

“Cool! Let’s go, guys.”

Clerk, Whatsisname, and Cecil turned and left the Time Travel Office, ready to get going.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Rosemary shouted down the hall.

====

“Attention, everyone, this is your Captain speaking,” Clerk said over the ship’s intercom. “We are embarking on a time travel mission, which will be totally sweet and will get us out of this low-ratings situation for sure. So, stay calm, keep your arms and legs inside the starship at all times, and get ready for the episodes of your lives!”

“All stations report go for launch, sir.” Wharf said, looking up from the Security Station’s display.

“Good. Helmsman, engage time circuits.”

“Time circuits engaged.”

“All righty,” Clerk said a little nervously. “Take the first star on the left, and… go for it!”

“Going for it at… Warp 1… Warp 2… Warp 3…”

The room got tense as the helmsman continued his count.

“Warp 4… Warp 5… Warp 6…”

The star in front of them filled the screen. Clerk wanted to change the channel, but he lost the remote a few weeks ago.

“Warp 7… Warp 8… 8.1… 8.2… 8.3… 8.4…”

Does everybody do this every time they do time travel? Seems kinda tedious.

“8.5… 8.6… 8.7… 8.8!”

The stars blurred around them as the Secondprize launched into Time Warp for the first time since Captain Bobby February retired…

TO BE, LIKE, TOTALLY CONTINUED, Y’KNOW…

Captain Clerk stood silently and watched the reddish blob slowly move across the main screen. Several minutes passed, with the Bridge Crew nervously looking around, wondering when he was going to say something… like, I don’t know, an order or whatever.

“So… it’s a cloud,” he finally said, puzzled. “Why is this a big deal?”

“Well, it wasn’t on the weather forecast for this stardate, for one thing,” replied Commander Klaa’ck. “It just sort of came out of nowhere.”

What is it with Space Clouds, anyways? I mean, seriously?

“Is there somebody we can consult on this?”

“I’ll call Stellar Cartography. They’re the experts.” Lt. Whatsisname said as he sat down at his station.

Minutes later, Ensign Rondo (and his entourage) showed up, crowding the Bridge so much, Clerk expected the Fire Marshall to show up at any minute.

“Hello, Mr. Rondo. What do you know about this cloud?” Whoa. The hype is legit. Those are ridiculously cool shades.

“Yeah, Cap. So, we’ve, been, like, checkin’ it out, and, like, it’s all weird and stuff,” Rondo began, occasionally stopping for one of his aides to take his picture. “It’s not, like, one of your, like, typical Space Clouds or whatever. We’re thinking, like, is this one of those sentient dealies or something like that? I mean, this bad boy’s not charted, like, anywhere, man. And, like, scanners, are, like, totally telling us it’s all, like, unidentifiable and stuff.”

I’ve finally met the man who makes me wish I was talking to Jenkins instead. “So, what are you saying, is it a living creature? Some kind of intelligent life form, the likes of which we’ve never seen before?”

“Yeah dude, I, like, totally just said that.”

“Okay, just making sure.” I could really use an interpreter right about now.

“Ensign Rondo,” Klaa’ck interrupted. “Do you think this Space Cloud is any danger to us?”

“Aww, dude, I’ve got, like, no idea. I mean, like, we can’t even tell what it is.”

“Yes,” Clerk spoke up. “but have there been any reports of its activity or presence anywhere?”

“I can answer that, Captain,” Whatsisname said. “There are a few messages coming across the wire about cancelled yard sales, and–”

“Right, I knew that already. I mean is it attacking anything, or communicating, or showing signs of intelligence?”

“Well, yeah,” Rondo interrupted. “That’s, like, what these things do, man.”

“So it’s attacking?”

“No, I meant, like, the other two.”

“Well, Ensign, you gotta, like, be specific, dude.” Oh no. Now I’m talking like him.

“Captain!” Ensign Tolstoy shouted from the navigator’s console. “The cloud has seen us! It’s turning around and heading this way.”

“Red Al– oh, wait, we’re already there.” Clerk turned to the communications station. “Um… Kato, open a channel to… uh… to the cloud.”

“Captain, I don’t think Space Clouds are equipped with communications arrays.”

“Cloud is 10,000 miles away!” Tolstoy updated.

“Aren’t we using kilometers by now?” the Captain replied, confused.

“Sorry, sir! Cloud is now… 11,650.87 kilometers away!”

“Ensign,” Whatsisname said. “10,000 miles is 16093.44 ki–”

“I’m aware of that, sir.”

“Then why did you say–”

“Because it’s moving towards us. 9813.14 kilometers now.”

By now, the Captain had moved over to Tolstoy’s station. “Um… isn’t it ‘moving toward us’?”

“The two are interchangeable, sir. Really, it’s local dialect that usually dictates which is appropriate.”

“Are you going to correct all of us, Ensign? Since when were you so educated?”

“Since I graduated from the Academy with a 3.93 GPA… sir.”

Yeah, but is that a metric GPA?

“Anyways… it’s 2194.77 kilometers away now, and it appears to be slowing down.”

“Thank you, Ensign.”

“Sorry about the backtalk, sir.”

“No worries. All you did was up my percentage. Now 99.99767% of my crew have backtalked me. It’s no big deal.”

“Who’s the lone holdout?” asked Whatsisname.

“Jed Jenkins,” Clerk replied. “But he wouldn’t disrespect me to save his life.”

“Cloud is now stopped, sir,” said Tolstoy. “Range… 1750 kilometers.”

“Okay, so we’re face-to-face with a Space Cloud,” said Clerk, never afraid to overstate the obvious in the heat of the moment. And I have no idea what to do.

“Captain!” came a voice (and a honk) from the Science Station.

“Yes, Ensign Kazoo?”

“Sensors indicate the cloud is sending signals our way!” Honk.

“What kind of signals?”

Kazoo perused his screen again. “Sir, it’s an ancient Earth code… Morse, I think it’s called!” Honk.

Ancient? I used it last week to keep Klaa’ck from knowing what I was trying to tell Flüshaht during last night’s Monopoly® game.

“You mean the secret dealmaking you were doing?” Klaa’ck said unexpectedly.

“What is–wait a minute!” Clerk said, turning to his First Officer. ”You can read my thoughts?”

“Yes, sir. I do have some limited telepathic abilities.”

“Since when?”

“Since always, sir. Comes standard with being part-Vulcan.”

Still in shock from the discovery, Clerk turned back to Kazoo. “So what is the cloud saying?”

“It’s trying to offer us a good deal on a used antimatter inverter.” Honk.

“Tell it we’ve already got like a dozen or so of those on board. Thank it, and ask it if it would get out of our way.”

“Yes sir.” Tap tap tap tap honk tap tap tap tap tap honk tap tap tap…

It was at this point that Captain Clerk discovered that time noticeably slows down when you’re standing there listening to a clown do Morse code.

“Okay, Captain. Message sent!” Honk.

“Thank y–” Clerk couldn’t even get the sentence out before the reply came back. Ensign Kazoo fed the response through the computer.

“Sir, it’s pretty insistent that this is a deal we can’t pass up. And it’s apparently also ready to slash prices on some phaser rifles as well.” Honk.

Is it even legal to sell those?

“Captain,” said Whatsisname. “I don’t think we’re going to get anywhere with this thing. I’ve dealt with this kind of cloud before.”

“And you didn’t say anything before?”

“Well, it’s unpredictable with these clouds. When you see one, you never can tell if it’s going to attack you, offer you friendship, or attempt to sell you questionable merchandise. It’s a crap shoot, really.”

“What would you suggest we do, Lieutenant?”

“Morse code isn’t going to do us any good. We need a form of communication that’s more… persuasive.”

Clerk and Whatsisname slowly turned their heads toward the half-Vulcan in the room.

“Captain, if you think I’m going to mind-melt with that thing to make it go away, you’re off your rocker.” said Klaa’ck.

“Well, Off-My-Rocker just so happens to be my middle name. Do it.”

“No, according to Fleet records, your middle name is E–”

“Hey!” Clerk interrupted. “You’ve already used up your backtalk quota for the day, Mister! Now get to melting! That’s an order!”

Resigning himself to his fate, Klaa’ck rolled his eyes and sighed. “What should I tell it?”

“Tell it it’s under arrest for selling illegal merchandise, and to wait over at Sigma III for the authorities to arrive.”

“Yes sir,” Klaa’ck said, stretching out his hand dramatically, and beginning to concentrate.

Clerk finally sat down in his Big Comfy Chair and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Stand down from Red Alert,” he said. “Lt. Kato, notify the Fleet that we’ve got another unlicensed arms dealer on our hands.”

“Yes sir.”

Naturally, this meant a Senior Staff Meeting had to be called.

Once everybody got there — and Lt. Kato was searched for projectiles — the meeting began… and Clerk had to drop the tsar bomba on everybody.

“Guys, I’m gonna cut to the chase on this one, I–”

“Oh, please, please… can’t we have at least one lame joke beforehand?” Dr. Flüshaht sarcastically interrupted.

Clerk sighed. “As I was beginning to say, I have just received a Priority One message from Fleet Headquarters. It would seem that our ratings have been considerably low of late, and that we are in danger of… being canceled.”

Everyone gasped.

“What?” asked Lt. Whatsisname. “How can we get canceled? We’re going on way better adventures than a lot of the other ships in the Fleet. I mean, if the Trepidatious can stay on the air, surely we can.”

“Yeah, but the Trepidatious has pretty much moved over to the Comedy genre, so they’re doing pretty well, actually,” Clerk replied.

“Why do you think we’re having so much trouble?” asked Commander Klaa’ck.

“Well…” Clerk said with a sigh. “I’d blame our timeslot, but you can never be sure when it comes to stuff like this. Look, I’ll be upfront with you guys: I was given almost no details at all. It was like a 30-second message. Just ‘you’re on the verge of being canceled, try to do something about it, have a super day’ and that was pretty much it.”

“Should I go ahead and get the letter-writing campaign started?” Yeoman Rind asked, already looking up the form letters.

Ugh. Not more paper. ”No, that won’t be necessary just yet. We’re not canceled now… we just have to really step up our game and try to get our numbers up.”

“Well, the season’s almost over,” Whatsisname said. “So we should have some time to get our act together during the break.”

“That’s what I’m counting on,” Clerk replied. “We’ll have to have a two-pronged attack: brainstorming on good ideas and increasing our promotional efforts.”

“Increasing it from zero, eh?” Flüshaht interjected.

“Isn’t there some some sick person somewhere you could be treating?”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

Walked right into that one. ”But we’re going to have to come up with something pretty quickly if we’re gonna stay in business. We don’t want to waste time. We’ve got to get the creative juices flowing now, and get an idea or two to start off with so we can get started on the mandatory Focus Group testing. And you know how long that can take.”

“How about soliciting ideas from the crew?” asked Whatsiname.

Clerk shuddered a bit, but did his best to hold it in. “Hold off on that for now. I’d like to see if we can come up with something first.”

Lt. Wharf raised his hand. “Not to be rude, Captain, but you’re dealing with Senior Officers who had trouble with planning last year’s bake sale.”

“You just had to bring up the bake sale didn’t you?” said Rind, folding her arms.

As murmurs began to rise, Clerk raised his hands and spoke up over the noise. “Hey, hey. We all played a part in botching the bake sale, okay? No single one of us is to blame, and it’s best that we just forget it. Let’s focus on the here and now, alright?”

Wharf slid down in his chair as the other officers quieted down.

“Come on, guys,” the Captain continued. “Surely one of us has an idea. Like… go searching for wherever our Ship’s Counselor is, or… I don’t know… having Communications Officer auditions. I know this is short notice, but we gotta get started on it ASAP. I mean, if we at least have some sort of starting point, we’ll be able to–”

Whatsisname chimed in. “There’s always rigging the transporter. You can really get a lot of mileage out of transporter mal–”

“Only if we can get ourselves a new transporter operator. That robot–”

“Artificial life form,” Whatsisname interrupted.

“–robot, CUL8R, scares me to death. I don’t trust him around that thing when it’s working properly. I don’t even want to think of what he’d do if it were tampered with somehow.”

Suddenly, a loud alarm began to sound. Clerk began looking around to see where it was coming from.

“What is that?” Clerk asked.

“That’s the Red Alert, sir,” said Rind.

“Oh. I didn’t even know we had one of those.”

“Of course we do,” the yeoman answered. “All ships have one. We’ve just never had to use ours.”

Maybe that would explain the low ratings.

I mean come on, even I don’t get food as good as you guys are requesting.

Just as he was reaching for his Tricorder for his ritual marathon of Tetris, he suddenly remembered: The Attic. That mysterious place on Deck -12 that few know about and even fewer talk about… although Dr. Flüshaht seemed to refer to it like it was common knowledge. The list of decks only mentions its name, not giving any description. How bizarre.

Yeah, I totally need to check that place out… tomorrow.

Two weeks later, when he finally remembered it again, Clerk took the elevator up to the top of the ship, finally ready to see the pinnacle of those decks that had mysteriously appeared all those episodes ago. Sure, it was probably full of some kind of storage units or something, but at least he will have finally seen it. With a name like “The Attic” it couldn’t be that exciting.

The doors opened to reveal a sight the Captain wouldn’t have anticipated in a million years: a small room, dimly it, with “The Attic” in neon letters hanging on the wall, and, at the other end, a line of velvet ropes in front of a very nice looking door.

In front of those velvet ropes, there stood… a bouncer.

“May I help you?” the bouncer asked.

Still in shock, Clerk stood there and just stared for a moment.

“May I help you?” the bouncer asked again.

“Uh… um…”

“Would you like to enter?”

“Uh… yes! That’s exactly what I want.”

“Name, please.”

“Excuse me?”

The bouncer rolled his eyes. “I said, name, please.”

“You don’t know who I am?”

“I don’t care who you are. Rules are rules. Name, please.”

Who does this guy think he is?

“I’m James Clerk, captain of–”

“One moment. Let me check the guest list.”

Too confused to raise a fuss, Clerk stood there and waited as the bouncer checked his tricorder.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t see your name on the list. I’m afraid I’m can’t let you in.”

“What do you mean you can’t let me in? I’m the captain of this ship!”

“Mm-hmm. Sure you are.”

“How can my name not be on the list?”

“I don’t make the list, sir, I just enforce it.”

Clerk stood there, flustered, trying to think of how there could possibly be a place on board his own ship that he wasn’t allowed into. Then it hit him.

Oh yeah! My security override! That should work!

“I’m sorry to have to interfere with your function on this ship, my good man, but I’m going to have to use my personal security override to get in.”

The burly doorman didn’t budge.

“I said–”

“I know what you said. That only works on automated security measures, ‘Captain’. I am not automated.”

Defeated, Clerk stepped off to the side of the room to rethink his strategy. Of all the unbelievable things that had happened on the Secondprize, this took the cake. And just when he thought things couldn’t get any more unbelievable, he heard a voice from behind…

“Hay, Cap’m! What’re you doin’ up here?”

Of all the words the Captain could think of to describe Jed Jenkins, ”welcome” was not among them. But then again, maybe he could make sense of all this. However, before Clerk could begin to ask, he saw the bouncer nod his head and unlatch the end of the velvet rope.

“Good to see you again, Mr. Jenkins,” he said.

“Hay dude! How’s it goin’?” Jenkins said as he started towards the door. He stopped and turned around when he saw that Clerk wasn’t following. “You ain’t goin’ in, Cap’m?”

“No, Jed, I’m–” he paused as he began to turn red with embarrassment. “–not on the guest list.”

“You ain’t? Huh. Reckon that’d be why I ain’t never seen ya up here. Well, come on in, Cap’m!” Jenkins turned to the bouncer. “Don’t worry, fella. He’s with me!”

The bouncer nodded again. Speechless, Clerk joined Jenkins at the entrance. Jed slapped him on the back.

“Yer gonna love this place, Cap’m!”

The door opened in front of them, and Clerk’s jaw dropped. The room was shaped and laid out just like the Bridge, only bigger, and all around people were sitting, talking, and so on. In front was a gigantic screen, on which played various visualizations, from laser-like abstract shapes to random video clips to bright flashing colors, while Andorian techno music played loudly in the background. Instead of things like science and communications stations, there were decorations and dispensers of various refreshments. On top of all that, the room looked as if it were lit with glowsticks.

“So this… is The Attic?” he finally managed to utter.

“Yep,” said Jenkins. “Most exclusive club on the ship. Nigh on impossible to get an invite. I mean, I’m only here ‘cos I’m the only one who knows how to fix the strobes and all. Don’t worry, Cap’m. I’ll make sure yer name’s on the list b’fore we leave, so you won’t have trouble gettin’ in next time.”

“Thanks… uh, I appreciate it.”

“No probl’m, sir! Happy to help ya out! Ennyways, you go on and mingle. I gotta get ta repairin’ the sound system. They keep playin’ the bass too loud, and they done gone and blown the speakers again. See ya!”

And with that, Jenkins was gone and Clerk just stood there, still in a daze.

213 were complaints about the lack of Standard Operating Procedures;
117 were complaints about the presence of Standard Operating Procedures;
152 were complaints about the meal plan for ensigns;
84 were filed under “Miscellaneous Complaints”;
143 were suggestions for new video games for the arcade;
17 were requests for confirmation that Commander Klaa’ck was going to stay on the ship, unlike all the First Officers before him;
and one was just a note asking if “that Jimmy fella” was still the Captain.

Yeoman Janet Rind made sure that Captain Clerk read every single one. Even the one that came from the Downloadable Doctor.

Since the entire crew couldn’t fit in one Conference Room — not even 15B — the majority of them had to watch via closed-circuit TV. This actually made Clerk feel a bit less anxious, since he managed to haggle his way into having one of the smaller rooms be the “main” one where he would be located. It also provided an opportunity to sell tickets to seats in the better locations.

The total profits amounted to 2475 Fleet Credits.

====

“Good evening, everyone,” Clerk began, shuffling a few of the papers in his hands. “I am told that overall, this new procedure has been going well Fleet-wide. Complaints, suggestions, requests, and so on, have all been handled in an efficient and amenable fashion, and as far as I know, only two people have been fired as a result of any particular item.”

“And one resignation,” said Lt. Whatsisname.

“Right. Anyways, I’m fairly confident that all will go smoothly as we work through this together. I am obligated to inform you that yes, I have read every single item that has been brought to my attention.” And believe you me, Janet wouldn’t let anything slip past me. ”My yeoman and Director of Operations have both been instrumental in getting this first round taken care of for tonight.”

Rind stood tall and beamed.

“Though I must say,” the Captain continued, “with all due respect, I am at a loss as to some of these complaints. Take this one, for example. It’s from the Downloadable Doctor. I mean, really? I’m being taken to task by software? I understand what it says here about being a ‘virtual crewmember’, but I could say the same about the elevator, really. I have talked with Fleet Command endlessly about the distinction between software and artificial intelligence, and I really think that case is settled. It just doesn’t apply here. And, for what it’s worth, the irony of having received a hard copy grievance from a virtual entity is not lost on me.”

“Thank you, Captain,” Dr. Flüshaht said, standing up to leave.

“Huh? For what?”

“My grievance has been resolved. I’ve been fighting him — I mean it – for weeks over seniority. And software can’t have seniority over a crewmember! Regulation 77-D, paragraph 22 says so.”

“So, Doc, are you satisfied with this resolution?” Whatsisname asked.

“I am.”

“Great! Issue resolved. Thanks for being on board with this, Captain.”

“But…”

“You see how easy this is?” Rind whispered to Clerk.

Rounds of applause could be heard throughout the ship. Fourteen other people marked their complaints Resolved as well.

Now almost completely confused, Clerk fell silent. Lt. Whatsisname (who was working as Master of Ceremonies) picked up the slack.

“Well… uh… anyways, we managed to cancel out a lot of these by countering a request for something with a complaint about its existence. I think what we really need here is to just revise our Operations and Bylaws Handbook and be done with it.”

A smattering of groans ensued.

“We do apologize for any inconvenience. Oh, and ensigns: filet mignon? Get real.”

====

The evening continued this way, and finally — after what the chronometers said was only three hours, but Clerk was sure was two weeks — the majority of grievances and suggestions were addressed, and Clerk was becoming physically ill just because of his proximity to all these stacks of paper.

“Thank you, everyone, for your participation,” Whatsisname said in conclusion. “We are excited at making this ship a better working environment for all. This new process makes everything much easier. I move that this meeting be dismissed.”

“I second,” came the response from Commander Klaa’ck, who was more than ready to go, having asserted — seventeen times – that he was on permanent assignment.

“Meeting adjourned.”

The remaining crew stood up and left, except for Clerk and Rind.

“What just happened here?” the Captain said, still in a daze.

“Would you like an email or hard copy transcript?” Rind said as she stood up and walked out.

“Yes, Jenkins. What’s going on?”

“Well, Cap’m, I’m done with the installation of all these paper facilities… but, uh, I’s wonderin’, where’s all a-this paper s’pposed ta come from?”

Please don’t use the word facilities ever again. ”Well, I was wondering the same thing myself. We’re trying to figure that out at the moment–”

“Oh really? Who all’s there?”

“Don’t worry about it, Jed. Just make sure all the kiosks are installed and working properly. We’ll worry about the paper. Clerk out.”

That left the call from the doctor, which continued to assert itself, reminding the captain to renew his search for the instructions on how to change his ringtones.

Sigh. No getting out of this one. ”Hello Doc. What’s up?”

The gruff voice of Dr. Boycenhart Flüshaht snapped back immediately. “The joke is ‘What’s Up, Doc?’, lamebrain! If you’re going to make a bad joke, you should at least have the decency to do it right.”

“Uh, I wasn’t making a joke. I was just–”

“Anyways, I’m calling to let you know you’re late for your annual check-up. So get down here pronto or–”

“Alright, alright. I’m on my way. Clerk out.”

“We’ll see what we can do about the situation, sir,” Whatsisname spoke up.

“Right. Go and see the Accounting Department while you’re at it. I’m sure we probably still have an item in the budget for paper supplies.”

“Yes sir.”

====

“See, Captain? That wasn’t so bad. It’s like you think I’m gonna poke you with needles or something. You really need to get over your phobia of medical exams. I mean, you’ve finally been scheduling appointments with Lt. Ethel, which I think is great, and–”

“No, it’s not that. Well, not this time. I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“I suppose you’re gonna want to talk to–”

“There’s been this new regulation passed through Fleet Command, which involves more crew-to-captain communication–”

“But I really don’t have the time for–”

“And all-crew meetings where complaints and issues are brought up–”

“You know, I have other patients–”

“And as if that’s not enough, everything has to be submitted via hard copy, and we don’t even have any paper.”

“Look, Captain, I– wait, did you say we don’t have any paper?”

“Yeah. Klaa’ck checked the ship’s inventory. There’s none at all.”

“Ah, what does he know? We got tons of the stuff. You just have to know where to look.”

“Like where?”

“Deck -11. I’ll bet that’s why it didn’t show up in the inventory. Probably still doesn’t have the ‘new upper decks’ cataloged. The deck’s packed to the gills with the stuff. Can’t even open the door for all the paper that’s up there.”

“Oh yeah,” Clerk said, stroking his chin. “I remember that when I was doing the inspection with Admiral Nezbomb. We gave up at that point. We didn’t even go to the top floor.”

“You mean The Attic.”

“Yeah, that’s right. It was late in the day, and we were really tired. Never got back to those decks.”

“Well, if paper’s what you want, then that’s where you want to go.”

“The Attic?”

“No!” shouted Flüshaht. “Deck -11!”

“Oh, right. But we’ll have to figure out how to get the door open.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of something. Now get out of here so I can get my last couple of exams in.”

====

Clerk, Klaa’ck, and Whatsisname got into the elevator, ready to see what awaited them on Deck -11.

“Alright, let’s go up to the Paper Aisle,” said Clerk.

“The what?” the elevator asked.

“You know, the paper– oh, never mind. Deck -11, please. I forgot that elevators don’t have well-defined senses of humor.”

“I’ve got a sense of humor, alright. I just don’t like bad jokes.”

“You know, I can still–”

“Captain,” Whatsisname interrupted. “We really need to get going. There’s the you-know-what that’s due by the end of the week.”

Don’t remind me. ”Just take us to -11, please.”

The elevator giggled as it began its ascent.

Sure enough, as soon as they got there, the doors wouldn’t open. It took all three of them pulling, but after about a half hour, they managed to pull them open far enough for several reams to fall into the elevator.

“Flüshaht was right,” Clerk said, out of breath. “It really is packed to the gills. Well, I guess we can start taking loads down to the Storage Area for processing…”

“Hey!” exclaimed the elevator. “I’m no dumbwaiter!”

“Well, you’re certainly not a waiter.”

“Why you–”

“Captain,” Klaa’ck interrupted. “The easier thing to do would be to use the transporters to beam the paper into the proper locations. I’ve got a list I wrote up just now of destinations, and a schedule of which transporters can be used at what time, for optimal distribution.”

“Good plan, Commander. How quickly can we get this distributed?”

“According to my calculations, about four hours.”

“Alright, let’s do this,” Clerk said, as he heard the elevator somehow breathe a sigh of relief.

With the paper being routed to its proper destinations, Clerk now had only one thing to worry about: the all-crew meeting.

Lt. Commander Georgie “Rainbow” LaGrange hit the side of the recorder with the palm of his hand a few times. The lights finally came on.

“You better not have erased all my entries like you did last month.”

The lights flickered a bit as LaGrange double-checked the list of files. He was relieved to see that everything was still there.

“I am never buying a second-hand voice recorder from a Ferengi ever again.”

Taking a deep breath, he pressed RECORD and began.

“Well, as usual, I have no idea what stardate it is because of how the Gorn tell time, which you think I’d have learned by now. All I can say is, I’m glad they gave me an alarm clock that was already set.

“I can’t believe it’s been almost two seasons since I started here. I’ve really gotten to know everybody fairly well, and it seems like they’ve gotten used to me being here. And yet… still… it never fails that at least five times a day I have to answer the question ‘What’s that thing over your eyes?’ and I have to tell them, ‘I’ve been blind since birth, so I wear the latest in Fleet medical technology: an ocular hair barrette that allows me to see just fine, but with vertical lines in front of everything.’ I could pretty much answer the question in my sleep. Well, a lot of times, I do, since they typically get it in a couple of times before I’ve had my morning coffee.

“Sigh. At this point, I’m starting to think that they’re asking it just to annoy me. That, along with ‘your haircut is soooo 80′s.’ I don’t even know what that means.

“Sorry I haven’t done an entry in so long. I’ve been really busy. I finally managed to fix the problem with their matter-antimatter regulator software, which I’d been working on for like six months. Had to re-program the entire system in Visual Basic on a 386 computer running Windows 3.11. Glad my minor in Ancient Programming Languages is finally paying off. If only my advisor from the Academy could see me now…

“How this ship even functions at all is beyond me. One thing is for sure: I will never say another bad thing about Zefram Cochrane ever again. (Or was that Eddie Cochran? I slept through most of Engineering History) Anyways, whoever it is, I’m sure he’d be sick to his stomach if he saw what passes for warp engines on this hunk of metal.

“I think we’ve managed to find something resembling a ‘typical day’, if such a thing is possible on a Gorn ship. I get up, go to the Engineering Department, get written up both for being late and for being early (one of the quirks of having two managers), I try to figure out how to keep a ship running with equipment my grandfather would have found outdated, I dodge the typical ‘what do humans do?’ questions, I work overtime, I get written up for working overtime, then I go to bed. At least they’re not going around calling me ‘Rainbow’. I knew I should have gone with a different title for my books podcast. I really miss doing that, though. Maybe I’ll find a better recorder and do some, if I ever have free time again. I should email the captain about that…

“…that is, if they’d ever check their email. That’s at least one thing that’s better about being Chief Engineer here. 99 out of 100 times I check my inbox, there are no new messages. That’s a real breath of fresh air, for sure. But when I do get any messages, they’re filled with all these cryptic words like IKR, SMH, ROFL, IRL, and so on. I’m assuming that’s part of their native language slipping in. Like I don’t already have a hard time understanding a thing they say. At least they don’t type all the SSSSS sounds that they pronounce.

“Last week, one guy said ‘our captain can beat up your captain’, to which I sarcastically replied, ‘Well maybe we should set that up sometime. I hear there’s a desert planet around here that’s great for that sort of thing.’ That did not go over well. He picked me up by my uniform and nearly ripped it to shreds.

“Which reminds me… I’m really wish I’d brought more uniforms with me. The ones I have now are about to fall apart, altercations notwithstanding. They’ve offered me some of their metallic aprons, but up until now, I’ve declined. I might as well take them. It’s not like I have any dignity at this point anyways.

“At any rate, that’s pretty much it for another day in the life of the… SSSSSURRRGGGGHHHHKKFFFFPP– ahh, I still can’t pronounce it. I’m starting to think it’s just not meant for the human tongue. I guess I’ll just keep on calling it the Gornucopia. Whenever they’re not around, of course.

“This is the worst job on the worst ship with the worst working environment I’ve ever encountered. And yet with all that, the food here is excellent. That’s at least one thing these Gorns have gotten right.

“I think I’m starting to like it here.”

====

Admiral Mike Nezbomb, armed with both Efficiency Optimization and a flair for the dramatic, sustained the pregnant pause for a barely-tolerable, near-record length of time before continuing. His recently-acquired genial demeanor belied the cruelty he knew very well he was inflicting on his audience (and their subordinates).

“Now we all know that hard copies are a pain, but after careful study and review, we all had to concede that they’re reliable. I mean, take, for example, the crew of the U.S.S. Trepidatious. The entire crew hasn’t checked their email in over 5 seasons because of the email virus they got from a Bajoran hacker, who to this day, is still anonymous. With hard copies, you don’t have that problem. So, in the interest of making things easier, quicker, and safer, we decided that this is the best interdepartmental solution for all your communication needs. We realize, of course, that the storage, distribution, production, and processing of this communication medium will have to be worked out on an ship-by-ship basis, but we are confident in all of you that you’ll be able to figure out something.”

The Bermuda shorts were a ruse. Ye Olde Nezbomb is back.

The group of Starship Captains all sat in shock, eyes focused on the antiquated torture device that Admiral Nezbomb was still holding up. They barely had time to process what he had said before he dropped the second bomb on them.

“Anyways… starting now, all grievance-airing, suggestion-making, and so on, are to be done this way. Specific regulation formats are being sent to your ships as we speak. We were initially hesitant to go back to this method of communication, but the results of our battery of Focus Group tests have assured us of its tenability. As a result, we are including, as part of this new mandate, a required quarterly all-crew review of current and past issues. We’re going to kick off this initiative by requiring all ships to hold their first review within a week.”

“Party’s over, Jimi,” Captain “Golden” Arches whispered to Clerk.

“What party?” Clerk sarcastically whispered back.

====

In shock, pulse racing, and mildly depressed, Clerk made his way back to the Secondprize that afternoon, wondering how in the galaxy he was going to deal with this. Papyrophobia aside, this meant all-crew meetings. Now it wasn’t that Clerk hated his crew — far from it — it’s just that he is never comfortable in meetings that involved more people than he had digits. Plus, he’d always felt that dealing with incoming communiqués from crewmembers was his yeoman’s job, which is why he assigned her to check his email in the first place. However, since Janet Rind held the firm belief that a captain should always check his own email… well, that explains why Clerk’s inbox has 121,417 unread messages.

There was nothing he could do about it, of course, which meant that he had to turn his thoughts to more practical matters, such as where all this paper was going to come from.

He grabbed his communicator. “Clerk to Bridge.”

Lt. Whatsisname answered. “Yes, sir?”

“Get Commander Klaa’ck and meet me here in my quarters.”

“Is it Canasta Night again already?”

“No, this is business-related, I’m afraid.”

“Aye, sir. We’re on our way.”

Minutes later, Clerk’s two right-hand men — er, humanoids — were sitting at the Captain’s table, listening to the soothing sound of bees buzzing in the background.

“I’m sure you all know about the new regulation enacted at today’s Brunch,” he began.

“Yes, sir,” said Whatsisname. “We’ve got the formats all entered into the computer, and Jed Jenkins is currently overseeing the installation of paper-dispensing kiosks all over the ship.”

“Good,” the Captain said with a sigh. “Well, then there’s just one question I have right now… where are we going to get this paper? I was under the impression we were running rather low on the stuff.”

“Fleet Command isn’t going to provide it?” asked Klaa’ck.

“No, they said we were supposed to handle it ourselves. It’s every ship for itself. Do you know offhand what we’ve got, or how much, or where it would be?”

“Let me check.”

Klaa’ck pulled out his tricorder and launched the “Supply Levels” app. Clerk and Whatsisname waited in expectation as the First Officer tapped and tapped at the screen, looking through the various categories and listings. Then he frowned.

“What is it?”

“Captain, I’m afraid I have bad news. It would appear that there are no known stocks of paper anywhere on board, according to the ship’s databanks.”

“Well, that’s gonna make things terribly inconvenient.”

Captain Clerk put on his nicest uniform (which only ever gets worn to these brunches) with a smile, a deep breath, and, it must be said, a little lingering nervousness. Sure, he’d gotten used to these things for the most part, but old neuroses die hard (and Clerk’s really only take vacations). Plus, not every captain is as chummy as Captain Johnny “Golden” Arches — there are always the Feltys and the “Old School” Nezbomb wannabes. This time, however, Clerk was prepared with a fresh bottle of Klonipin, after finally relenting and calling Lt. Ethel at the last moment.

He was pretty sure he heard her weep for joy upon hearing him ask to schedule an appointment.

Strolling down the hallway of Commodore Matthew “Matt-Dogg” Doubledecker Memorial Hotel and Convention Center, Clerk met up with Admiral Placãrd, who was one of the only Admirals still invited to these gatherings.

“Ah, good to see you, my dear Jimi,” Placãrd said with a smile. “You’re actually a little early for a change.”

“Yeah, Janet’s been setting all my alarms even earlier lately.”

“Is she still doing the… uh…”

“Periodic 2am alarm just to keep me on my toes? You know it.”

“Some things never change. I remember her doing that to me when she was my yeoman.”

“I hear that’s become standard training at the Academy now. They’re even calling it ‘The Rind Method’ if I recall correctly.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” Placãrd said, glancing around. “If it is, it certainly wasn’t at my suggestion. I still wake up at that hour randomly to this day, despite whatever sleeping pills I’m on. Anyways, I was meaning to ask you: I haven’t seen Captain Safeway yet. She never misses these things. Do you have any idea what’s going on?”

Clerk rolled his eyes and sighed heavily. “Yeah, I heard from her. She called earlier to tell me she couldn’t make it because she’s on the other side of the galaxy or some such nonsense. Like it’s going to take 70-some-odd years to get back and blah, blah, blah. I’ll tell you what, that woman will come up with any excuse.”

“Attention, please. Attention, please. The Captains’ Brunch will begin in five minutes.”

“We’d better get a move on,” said Placãrd.

====

The Brunch started off well, despite the now ritual heckling of Clerk in which he has to recount — again – the story of how he got his nickname, though it wasn’t as bad this time since he has gradually become desensitized to it. The food was on par with previous Brunches, though everybody in attendance lamented the lack of Kzinti Danishes.

Once everybody had had a good while to chatter, Admiral Nezbomb — fresh from his lengthy galaxy-trotting vacation — stood at the lectern at the front of the room to make an announcement. While he wore the shirt part of his uniform, he was still in his Bermuda shorts and flip-flops, though nobody said anything, what with his being the senior officer in the room (and, perhaps, some residual fear of a return of his old self).

“Good morning, everybody,” Nezbomb began. “As much as I don’t want to interrupt everybody’s good time, we do have one Important Official Item of Business to discuss.” Moans and groans came from scattered locations in the room. “I know, I know. But we gotta do at least one of these things, or we can’t call it an official function. Regulations are regulations.”

Captain Arches raised his hand. “This isn’t about the proposed uniform redesigns, is it?”

“No, not this time. All the top brass are still arguing over whether or not to make the command color Red. Why they want to switch it with Gold, I’ll never know. Anyways… this is about a new regulation that’s going into effect immediately, concerning the communication of complaints, suggestions and other issues from crewmembers to officers. We’ve been concerned about effective inter-crew communication for months, what with all the complaints we’ve received about the email system. A lot of captains don’t read theirs, certain ships have perennial connectivity issues, and with all the other emails we all get, they’re easy to miss.”

I hope this means email-checking is going back to being optional.

“So, as a result, we’re all going back to–”

To every Captain’s horror, Nezbomb reached into his binder, then pulled out and held up the one thing everybody was afraid he was going to hold up… a sheet of paper.

“–hard copies.”

Dealing with the transporter operator.

Despite the Fleet’s latest advances in android technology, of which Commander Datum was not a particularly good example, the resident transporter operator was an actual robot. No fake skin, no attempt to emulate human functions, just a bipedal hunk of metal. With a lisp. His name was CUL8R, and his perennially-rusted exterior was at least mostly covered by his uniform.

Clerk and company walked into the transporter room, in a hurry because they only had about five minutes until the meeting.

“Five to beam down, CUL8R.”

“Yeth thir. Thix to beam down. Thith ith at the entranth on the wetht thide, right?”

That was west, wasn’t it? ”Yes. That’s correct.”

“Coordinateth thet in, thir.”

“Energize.”

In a flash of light, CUL8R disappeared from the room, leaving everybody on the transporter pad.

“Um… thir?” said a nervous robotic voice via communicator. “Thorry thir. I mixthed up the thwitcheth.”

“And you know Fleet Regulation 86, paragraph vii outlines strict penalties for leaving one’s post without authorization,” Shen chimed in.

“One more stunt like this and I’ll have your hard drive formatted,” Clerk said as he walked over to the console.

====

Once everybody was safe and secure in Negotiation Room A-116, they all sat down at the table, Clerk and the landing party on one side, and Otto and his two cohorts on the other side.

“I guess we should all introduce ourselves,” Clerk suggested.

“Fair enough. As you know, I am Otto.”

“My name is Mattik,” said the individual to Otto’s right.

I could have guessed that one.

The other masked cohort kept silent, sitting there bashfully, head lowered a bit.

“Well?” Clerk asked. “What’s your name?”

“I’m Benny.”

“Now, tell me about your crew here,” Otto said, gesturing towards the Fleet Officers facing him.

“Naturally, I’m Captain Clerk. To my left is my Yeoman, Janet Rind, and our Chief Intelligence Officer, Shenanigans. To my right is my Security Chief, Wharf, and Ensign Rann Dome, one of our finest Redshirts.”

“And who’s this clown?” Otto said, pointing to the door.

“Huh?”

Clerk turned around to see Ensign Kazoo standing alone at the door.

“What are you doing here, Kazoo?”

“I thought this was the Botany Survey Mission.”

“No, this is the Hostage Negotiation Mission.”

“I’m in the wrong episode, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, sorry.”

“Okay, I’ll beam back up right away.”

Turning back to Otto, Clerk began. “Now, let’s–”

Immediately Otto banged his fist down on the table and began to shout. “WE WILL REQUIRE TWO OF YOUR SHUTTLES AND 10,000 FLEET CREDITS!”

“Whoa, whoa, hold on there, guy. We–”

“FURTHERMORE, WE WILL NEED THE SECURITY CODES TO–”

“Dude! Enough shouting! Let’s keep this civil.”

“You think that we’re going to give up such a great mind so easily?”

“Well, I guess not…” Clerk replied. “But I don’t think you realize what–”

“SILENCE!”

Sighing in exasperation, Clerk stood up. “Guys, you can just keep him for all I care.”

“What?” exclaimed everybody else in unison.

Rind jumped up and pulled Clerk aside. “Shhhhh!” she whispered. “You can’t just say that.”

“Look, I’ve about had it with this whole deal. I’m tired, I haven’t had supper yet, CSI: Qo’noS is on, and it’s Jenkins. Do we really want to go through all this for–”

“Somebody you recently described as a ‘valuable member of our crew’?”

You picked a fine time to start listening to me. ”Fine,” Clerk replied. “But only because–”

“Alright then. Now shut up and get to it.”

Clerk bit his tongue to keep himself from letting out a sarcastic “Yes sir!”

“Now that we are negotiating again,” Otto continued. “I must tell you that if we do not get what we ask for, within 24 hours, we will execute your beloved Admiral!”

“Listen, he’s–”

“Cap’m! Cap’m!” shouted Jenkins. “Don’t let em kill me, Cap’m!”

“He’s not an admiral!”

Otto sat there silently, blinking. “Excuse me?”

“He’s just our maintenance guy. His name is Jed Jenkins, and the only brush with greatness he’s ever had is sweeping out our conference rooms.”

“Your bluffing will not work, Captain. I know who he is.”

“Seriously, you guys.” Clerk broke out a couple of photographs with bios attached. “This is Admiral Horace J’henkins, and this is Head of Maintenance Jed Jenkins. Guess which one you have tied up over there.”

Perusing the photographs, Otto whispered to Mattik. “We seriously need to work on our intelligence. This won’t fly with–” Otto stopped as soon as he realized Clerk could hear him. “Ahem. Well… uh… I guess we can… let him go…”

“That’d be great,” Clerk said flatly.

Everybody got up as Benny went over and untied Jenkins. As his landing party made their way to the door, Clerk stood face-to-face with Otto and Mattik.

“Are you guys from the Fleet Foreign Legion?”

“What?” Otto exclaimed. “No! No, no, no…”

Mattik joined in, “No, no!”

Otto leaned in close and said in a deep, low voice, “No.”

“Listen here, you twerps,” Clerk said, pointing his finger right in Otto’s face. “Get out of here right now before I report you to your superiors.”

“Yes, sir… uh, Captain. Sir.”

“And work on your tactics. I’ve got redshirts that could have negotiated better than that.”

====

With Jenkins finally freed, the landing party beamed back up to the ship. Finally, Clerk could get back to asking Jenkins if he could fix the DVR on the Bridge.

“Where to next, Captain?” asked Ensign Tolstoy, pleased as punch to be in the navigator seat.

“Back to Venetian IV. The Brunch is tomorrow morning.”

“Yes, sir!”

Moving binders, technical manuals, and CDs to clear his seat, Clerk began.

“I’ll forego the roll call this time since we’re in a bit of a pinch. Let’s get down to business. What information have we been able to get on these guys?”

“Not much,” Lt. Whatsisname replied. “Since they were masked and all, it’s impossible to ID them, and nobody on Venetian IV seems to have any leads on any suspicious activity. But really, we need to call Shenanigans on this one. Since he’s our Chief Intelligence Officer, I’m sure he’d be able to dig up more info.”

“Yes, but it’s crowded enough in here already. I don’t think we could even fit him in here. Good call, though. I’ll talk to him when we’re done here.”

“What I wanna know is, how did they get past Security? And how come no Intruder Alert went off?” Dr. Flüshaht chimed in.

“Beats me,” said Lt. Wharf. “I mean, we had every station manned. Even our new guy, Ensign Siryessir, was working a shift.”

“Is that that unfortunately enthusiastic Ensign I had in Orientation a while back?” asked Whatsisname.

“Yeah, that’s probably him. Won’t stop talking for a minute.”

“My condolences.”

“Gentlemen, gentlemen,” Clerk interrupted. “We’re getting off track. Obviously, they’re skilled at sneaking in, but it appears their intelligence is very lacking.”

“What do you mean?” Whatsisname asked.

“Well… if they’ve been tracking down Jed Jenkins for months, with orders to kidnap him immediately, you know that somebody has no idea what they’re doing.”

“And they called him an ‘officer’,” Kato spoke up. “I mean, he’s just Head of Maintenance. It’s not like he’s an admiral or anything.”

“Wait a minute…” said Clerk. He paused in thought, then snapped his fingers. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?” asked Whatsisname.

“They must have gotten him confused for ol’ Admiral J’henkins!”

“Who?”

“Admiral Horace Q. J’henkins… the first captain of the Secondprize. He got promoted years ago, but was said to be a man of extreme talent and verisimilitude.”

“Veri-what?” asked Kato.

Commander Youlla leaned in and whispered. “It means he was always keeping it real.”

“Oh.”

“He does seem like a logical choice for a kidnapping target,” Commander Klaa’ck said. “I will say it’s a bit of a stretch for their intelligence to be so poor as to garble his identity this much, but I suppose I can see how it could happen. Though I will say you are correct in that it reflects very poorly on their research skills.”

“No kidding,” replied Clerk. “These guys are a shoo-in for Intelligence Flub of the Year, that’s for sure.”

“So… what are we going to do?” asked Whatsisname.

Clerk shrugged. “I dunno.” Rind elbowed him hard. “I mean, we, uh, should… do… something to get him back.”

“You did already say we would meet them there,” Whatsisname said.

“Are you suggesting we negotiate with these guys?” Flüshaht asked. “We need to just get a fix on him when we get there and just beam him out.”

“Can’t do that,” Clerk replied. “Transportation shields are standard with negotiation spaces. It’s part of why the fees are so high.”

“Additionally, Doctor,” interjected Klaa’ck, “it stands to reason that if their intelligence is this faulty, they may also be lacking in negotiation skills as well.”

“Though they were able to get onto the ship very easily,” said Wharf. “And I sincerely apologize for–

“Don’t beat yourself up, Wharf,” said the Captain. “With everybody coming and going for Convention Week, it’s entirely possible they came on unnoticed during all the hubbub.”

“Well, is this the plan then, sir?” asked Whatsisname. “Play their game?”

“Yes, I guess we have to,” Clerk said with a sigh. “After all, he is a valuable member of the crew.”

“How magnanimous of you to say so, sir. I’m impressed,” Rind said with a straight face.

A beep suddenly sounded. Flüshaht suddenly started elbowing his way to the exit.

“What was that?” asked Clerk.

“It’s my beeper,” Flüshaht replied. “I’m needed in the Dispensary. I’m guessing you don’t need my expert advice anymore?”

“Um, I guess not, but what’s the–”

“They changed the name again. Some bozo at HQ somehow thinks Dispensary sounds ‘more positive’ than Sick Bay. I just feel sorry for the kid that’s been hand-painting these signs every time.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah, we don’t need you here. See you later.” Turning to Rind, Clerk whispered, “What else did I miss in this morning’s email?”

“I sent you a summary. It’s in your inbox.”

Natch. “Well, if there’s nothing else, then the meeting’s adjourned. Set course for Stevia II.”

Clerk stopped the recording and handed the recorder over to Yeoman Rind, who promptly took it to the Podcast Room for publishing.

“Now that you are done with your little diary, Captain Clerk, can we talk now?” the main masked man, who was still on screen, said after a pause and a sigh.

“Yes, we can,” the Captain said sardonically. “Let’s start with why you’re calling in the first place, and why you’re concealing your identity.”

“One thing at a time, dear Captain. As for the purpose of the call, I’m sure you’re quite aw–”

“Hey, just a second.” Clerk interrupted. “Your voice sounds really familiar. Have we met?”

“No! Of course not. But we will soon, that is certain.”

“Okay, just checking. I thought you might have been one of my–”

“AHEM! I’m sure you’re quite aware that something from your ship is missing.”

“Someone, yes.”

“Yes, of course. I–”

“Show a little dignity, man.”

“Can we get on with this?”

“Fine, fine. Do your spiel.”

“Sigh. Well, you’ve nearly ruined it, now, Captain. I can’t even get a word in without you interrupting me.”

“It’s against our ship’s bylaws to let important sentences be finished on the first try.”

“What?”

“Just kidding. Go on.”

Wishing he could reach through and punch the captain on the screen, the masked man took a deep breath to regain his composure, and continued.

“As I was saying, I’m sure you’ve noti–”

“You already did that part.”

“I did? Oh, right. Ahem. We have been searching out this individual for months, and tracked him down to your ship. We were on orders to kidnap him immediately…”

I can’t imagine why. What would anybody want with Jed Jenkins? His extensive knowledge of comic books, maybe?

“…and make a deal with you, if you wish to get him back.”

“That’s it?”

The villain looked about as surprised as one can look under a mask. “What do you mean, that’s it? We just kidnapped somebody and are holding him at ransom!”

“To get what you really want.”

“Precisely.”

Clerk shifted in his seat a bit and stroked his chin. “So… why didn’t you just get what you wanted in the first place instead of kidnapping somebody and then bargaining? You guys are way overdoing this. You could have saved a lot of trouble here.”

“Well… uh…”

As his masked nemesis looked around nervously, Clerk continued. “I don’t mean to be insulting, but this is actually kind of a dumb way to do it. Unnecessary effort, in my opinion. I mean hey, around here, we don’t even always take the necessary effort, much less anything unnecessary.”

“So you run a tight, efficient ship?”

“No, we just never get anything done.”

“Ain’t that the truth.” Rind muttered under her breath.

“Getting back to why we’re here–”

“If you insist.” Clerk interjected gleefully.

Pounding his fist, the masked villain pointed at Clerk. “You’ll regret this mockery!”

“Mm-hmm.”

One of the henchmen leaned in to his leader and whispered to him, “Happy place, sir. Happy place.”

Another deep breath. “Getting back to why we’re here, we have your beloved officer here, and if you want him back, we have readied a time and place for in-person negotiations.”

Aww, do we have to?

“Now, we will not discuss the price just yet, but we do intend to get paid handsomely for his return.”

Why? He’s not handsome.

“And like you have said, we too are busy men. Well, some of us are.” he said, glaring at the henchman to his left. “So we want to get this over with as soon as possible. Ergo, if you want to see your beloved Admiral back, meet us at Stevia II in two days.”

“Two days? That’s as soon as possible?”

“Well, uh… we… have… stuff… to do…”

“Suit yourself, man, but, we’ve got nothing going on tonight. The poker tournament’s been cancelled, the cable’s out again, and Venetian IV isn’t exactly Excitement Central.”

“Yeah, but, we’ve already got the space rented out, and it’s non-transferrable. The deposit we had to pay was enormous.”

“I know, right? Negotiation spaces are way too expensive these days.”

“You’re telling me. This is our third kidnapping this month, and we’re really feeling the pain.”

“Alright, then,” Clerk relented. “See you at Stevia II in two days.”

“That’s right.”

“And can we please have a name to call you by? All I’ve got is the masked man or something like that.”

“You can call me… Otto.”

“Alrighty, Otto. See you in a couple of days.”

“Yes,” Otto said, immediately ending the transmission.

The ensigns love it because they get better food during this period of time.

The Secondprize was now in day 3 of its week-long stay at the planet, which was half botanical gardens and half hotels. “Come for the gardens, stay at the hotels!” read the advertisements, which were everywhere. Why they spent so much time and money advertising for a place you’re already at always eluded Captain Clerk.

The downside to being at such a place at such a time was that people were coming and going at a far greater rate than usual, which is a nightmare for security (as if security wasn’t a nightmare already). It’s all too easy to let a few people slip through the cracks. So easy, in fact, that most people, upon seeing an unfamiliar face, begin introducing themselves and the ship. It gets really embarrassing when one does that to somebody who’s served on the ship for several years.

====

Jed Jenkins sat at his desk, tinkering with a few random parts, and probably forgetting to do something far more important. The excitement of the last few days — or the last few weeks, really — had exhausted him. The spacewalking trip, thrilling as it was, really threw him for a loop. So, there he sat, with a worn-out screwdriver and a stripped screw, when he heard a knock on the door.

“Oh, is the doorbell broken again? I jest fixed it last week.”

“Ahem. Sorry,” answered a muffled voice.

The doorbell rang.

“Come on in!”

Two masked figures entered the room and raised phasers toward Jenkins.

“Well, I tell ya. Ain’t a day goes by that somebody don’t need phasers recalibrated. Hand em over.”

“These work just fine, Mr. Jenkins.”

“Well then why are… hey, wait a minute…”

====

“You know I’m going to have to write this down in your permanent record,” Yeoman Rind said to Captain Clerk as the two walked into the Maintenance Area.

“I know, I know… for once I’m actually volunteering to go see him. Laugh it up.”

“Believe you me, I will,” she said, giggling.

“Well, I’m glad one of us is amused, because I–”

Clerk stopped in his tracks. He looked around, worried.

“What’s wrong, Captain?”

“Something’s not right.”

“Looks fine to me.”

“No, no… it’s too clean. I’m going into his office.”

Clerk walked in to find the room unoccupied. It, too, was abnormally clean.

“Rind, get in here!”

“What is it, Captain?”

“Look around. Same cleanliness as outside.”

“Bizarre. Either somebody unauthorized has been in here, or he finally got some of his redshirt ensigns to actually do some work.”

“Right. We’ve got to find out who’s been in here, and fast. If they’re willing to clean up the Maintenance Area to get what they want, they could be up to almost anything.”

“Yes, sir… but shouldn’t we look for Jenkins first?”

Touché. ”Computer?”

Chirp.

“Where is Lieutenant Jed Jenkins?”

“Beats me. He’s nowhere on the ship.”

“Since when?”

“About a half-hour ago, last I checked.”

“Did you see what happened?”

“Sorry, sir, I didn’t. I nodded off for a second.”

What? How do– sigh, better not ask. ”Has anybody else been in here recently?”

“Yeah, a couple of guys. Nobody I knew, though. They were wearing masks anyways, so it’s not like I could tell by looking at them.”

Just when the Captain was faced with an already inexplicable situation, now it was made even more so. Who in the universe would want to kidnap Jed Jenkins? Clerk didn’t have long to ponder it, however, as the intercom came on.

“Bridge to Captain Clerk.”

“Clerk here.” I miss Ensign Tolstoy already.

“Urgent incoming message for you on the main screen.”

“I’m on my way.”

Clerk and Rind arrived on the Bridge to be greeted by a trio of masked figures on the screen: one front and center, the apparent leader, plus two standing in the back.

These must be the guys crazy enough to kidnap Jenkins. And look at those masks. Eek.

“Captain Clerk, I presume?” the main masked man asked.

“You’d like to think so. And to whom am I speaking?”

“Yeah, um… that’s not something I’m giving away.”

“Well, could you remove your mask, then? I’d like to at least see who I’m talking to.”

The apparent villain started to remove it, but then realized what he was doing, and quickly stopped. “No dice, Captain. You’re not going to get to me that easily!”

“Looks like you have me at a disadvantage.”

“That’s the general idea.”

“So, I’m assuming you’re after something. When are we going to get down to business? I’m a busy man.”

“Whenever you’re ready, Captain Clerk.”

Things were going pretty much as expected… until Clerk saw an entire family of clowns walking around.

“Let me guess,” he said under his breath to Rind.

“Yep. That’s Ensign Kazoo’s family.”

“So… they’re all like that? I thought he was just wearing make up on his own. So, like, is that their skin? Are they an alien race? I never really–”

“No sir, they’re from a human colony. I forget where. It’s a cultural thing, apparently. Everybody on the planet wears that stuff.”

As the family excitedly made their way over, Clerk said one last thing:

“You need to stop me when I start asking questions, Yeoman.”

“Hi Captain!” Kazoo exclaimed. “This is my family! Here’s my dad, Bongo…”

Bongo honked his horn.

“…my mom, Wazoo…”

Honk.

“…and my younger brothers, the triplets, Yahoo, Bobbo, and Chad.”

Three honks in unison.

“Well, I must say… It’s a pleasure to meet you all. So, where are you from?”

“Barnumia! It’s a colony on the south side of Baileya Prime!” Honk.

Everything makes sense now. Everything I’ve ever seen finally makes sense.

Before Clerk could fashion a response, he noticed a series of loud thumps, accompanied by screaming in Klingon, and a commotion centered on an unseen person on the other side of the room.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to this.”

The Captain walked over to the vending area to find an old, extremely senile Klingon (in full battle armor) threatening the soda machine with a cardboard tube. He kept swinging and missing, thus making himself even angrier. The Klingon continued to stagger around until…

“What dishonor is this?”

Clerk turned around to see his First Officer, Klaa’ck, keeping as cool as possible while letting some of the ol’ Klingon Battle Rage build up.

“Dishonor? The Mighty Laa’ck has never committed a dishonorable deed in his life!”

“Until now!”

This must be some sort of routine. Hope it breaks the senility rage.

“Tell me, Mighty Laa’ck, did the soda machine strike first?”

“It did, but it has not defeated me!”

That does it. Next year, we’re screening the visitors.

“Well, Mighty Laa’ck, defeat it in combat, so you will not lose your dignity!”

“Yarrrrrr!” yelled Laa’ck as he turned to face the soda machine again, continuing to swing, miss, and stagger.

“So…” Clerk said as he stood beside Klaa’ck. “Is this your father?”

“No. My father is Staa’ck, the Great Ambassador. This is my grandfather, the Mighty Laa’ck.”

“This may sound out of the blue, but did you happen to have the nickname ‘Barrel’ as a kid?”

Klaa’ck actually looked kind of surprised. “Why yes… how did you know?”

“Call it an educated guess.”

The pair, along with everybody else, continued to stand and watch. After several minutes, Clerk finally spoke again.

“So… should we stop this at some point?”

“Yes, eventually… but it’s best to let him tire himself out first. Prevents it from happening again for a while.”

“End it too quick, and it kicks in again?”

“Precisely.”

I’m beginning to regret what I said about how you can never have too many Klingons around.

Like many people, Clerk doesn’t handle uncomfortable silences well. And yet, it’s not easy to engage in small talk while a “Great Warrior” is fighting a vending machine in front of you. And losing.

“I thought your father was coming,” the Captain finally got up the gumption to say. “Could he not make it?”

“Sorry, sir, but he was detained at the Andorian Embassy. He sent Grandfather here instead, to my mother’s relief and my chagrin.”

“How does she put up with this?”

“We have the necessary meds at home. Regrettably, they were not included in his luggage.”

Senile, battle-hardened, and off his medication. I couldn’t raise the stakes if I tried.

“Captain!” Lt. Whatsisname said as he hurriedly walked up to Clerk.

“Yes, Lieutenant. What is it?”

“Some of the guests are asking if this sideshow costs extra.”

Clerk and Klaa’ck looked each other in the eye.

“Yes,” said Clerk. “20 extra credits each. 10 for children.”

“Aye, sir!”

As Whatsisname walked away to collect the money, Clerk turned back to Klaa’ck.

“Fifty-fifty?”

“Sounds fair.”

Another thirty minutes passed, and the old war hero finally exhausted himself. As the guests made their way out, Whatsisname reported to the Captain that he had collected over 1100 credits.

Klaa’ck finally got a hold of his grandfather and brought him over for a proper introduction to the Captain.

“Captain, may I present to you my grandfather, Laa’ck.”

“You may call me General,” the gruff-voiced Klingon sneered.

Clerk got even more nervous. “Pleasure to meet you, General.”

“Can you believe this kid?” Laa’ck said as he elbowed his grandson. “Takes me to all these functions and never lets me do anything. Model of a stone drag, he is. Must be the Vulcan in him. I told that son of mine, don’t ever get mixed up with–”

“Grandfather! Our personal business is none of the Captain’s.”

“I guess you’re right, for a change. Fine. Get me back to the guest room so I can take a nap.”

The two walked away, leaving Clerk alone and speechless. Just before they exited the room, however, Laa’ck stopped, then proceeded to whack Klaa’ck upside the head as hard as he could with the cardboard tube.

“And get a haircut, you hippie!”

Standing in front of the break room’s replicator, Clerk braced himself for whatever grief this thing was going to give him.

“I’d like some tea.”

“What kind of tea would you like, Captain?”

Already, he’d run up against a question he wasn’t prepared for. “Um… hot?”

“Confirmed. What blend would you like?”

0 for 2. Should I have studied for this? ”I have no idea. What kinds are there?”

“I am programmed to replicate any of dozens of popular blends that have been produced, such as Earl Grey, Irish Breakfast, Green tea…”

Well, there’s always the Admiral’s old favorite. ”Alright, I’ll have an Earl Grey.”

“I’m sorry, Captain, but that blend is not currently available.”

Of course not. ”Irish Breakfast?”

“Nope.”

“Green tea?”

“No.”

“Well, what do you have?”

“Tea is currently unavailable right now.”

Sigh. “Fine. Look, I’ve got to get to a meeting, pronto. Just give me a black coffee and don’t burn it this time.”

====

Beverage in hand, Clerk entered the conference room and set up shop at the Willie T. Biker Memorial Lectern. He wasn’t looking forward to this particular meeting, and having already had trouble with both the shower stall and the replicator, his day was already off to a rough start. All eyes were upon him, which only served to exacerbate his anxiety.

Not that that was anything out of the ordinary.

“Okay, ladies, gentlemen, and Commander Datum, I’m sure you’re all still giddy from your simultaneous vacations. Just so you know, I’ve closed that loophole. From now on, no more than two Senior Officers can be on vacation at any given time. We nearly fell apart while you guys were gone, what with Severe Crisis after Severe Crisis hitting us.” Clerk sighed as he continued to shuffle papers. “But I digress. The main point of this meeting is attendance.”

He turned to Lieutenant Kato, who immediately threw a plush cube at him.

“Kato, I know that I told you to attack me at any time, to keep me on my toes–” he stopped as the second cube hit him directly in the face.”–Yes, that. That was a joke, Lieutenant. You can stop now.” Unfortunately, he didn’t get the sentence out fast enough to stop the third pitch. “I’m serious, now. Stop.“

Lt. Kato slouched in her chair slightly and pouted.

“I realize that since the navigator seat was vacant, I pulled you away, but that left us with an Ensign in charge, and I need you back there.”

“Fine with me. I hate doing that anyways.”

Lt. Whatsisname raised his hand. “Since that vacates the navigator position, does that mean I have to go back?”

“No, you’re doing too good a job as Director of Operations.” Then a lightbulb went off. “Oh! I know! Ensign Tolstoy has been begging to do that job you loathe so much, Kato. Mind if I take him from the Communications Department and put him there?”

“That’s cool,” she replied with a shrug. “I can always get a redshirt from Security who’s realized what he’s gotten into.”

“Anyways,” Clerk said as he turned back to Whatsisname. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, Lieutenant, you’ve been doing so well that I’ve decided to put in for a promotion for you. Admiral Nezbomb is supposed to take care of that when he gets back from vacation.”

“Thank you, sir!”

“You’re welcome, Lieutenant. You’ve earned it.”

Now I’ll have to think of something to call him besides Lieutenant. Maybe I should, dare I say it, learn his name at some point.

Lieutenant Wharf raised his hand. “Can we address the fact that Commander Datum hasn’t set foot on the Bridge since he got back?”

Clerk rolled his eyes. “Thank you, Mr. Tattle-Tale. I was just getting to that. Datum has been working with the newly-discovered Stellar Cartography Department on a special project, but now that that’s just about finished, he’ll be back.” He turned to the perpetually bummed-out android. “I’ll especially need you around since you’ve taken Ensign Kazoo under your wing.”

“Yes, sir,” came the lightly gloomy reply.

“Next, I’d like to speak to Lieutenant Dux…” Clerk looked around and did not find the Ship’s Counselor anywhere in sight.

Clearing his throat, Lt. Commander Shenanigans spoke up. “She’s out on an assignment to Regular I.”

“Again? Why do I never get notified of these things?” Clerk did a double-take when he realized who it was he was talking to. “What are you doing here? You weren’t–”

“Well, I am Chief Intelligence Officer.”

“Yes, but that’s not a Senior position. Thanks for the tip, though. You are dismissed.”

After the doors closed, Clerk let out a sigh of relief. “Last thing we need is Shenanigans all up in here.”

Everybody else in the room groaned. Clerk smiled. That was how he knew he was doing his job properly.

“Finally, I wanted to address the fact that although Lt. Kato is back at the Communications station, we still don’t have a Senior officer in that division. How that happened, I don’t know.” Seems like I never know how any of this happens. ”We will be looking to have somebody to fill that position soon. And before you ask, Kato, no I’m not promoting you. You know you have to stay in your position at least six months before you can be promoted. Fleet’s rules, not mine. Now, does anybody have any questions?”

Seeing as nobody wanted to be there to begin with, nobody wanted to volunteer to prolong the experience.

“Alrighty then. Meeting’s over. Try not to gang up on the donut shop all at once.”

Captain Clerk took his place among the officers in the dimly lit conference room, waiting for Klaa’ck to arrive. Of course, the First Officer had only been told that “he was needed in Conference Room 22B at 8pm”. Six weeks, of course, is not long enough to learn the idiosyncrasies of the Secondprize‘s crew, and that the fewer details you are given, the more concerned you should be about what you’re being called to do.

The only thing that Clerk was concerned about, however, was whether or not Klaa’ck’s fight-or-flight response (which for Klingons does not include the “-or-flight” part) would overrule his Vulcan Emotion Blocker.

Klaa’ck finally arrived at the conference room, and was immediately taken somewhat aback by the fact that the lights didn’t immediately turn on when he entered.

“This is odd,” he said. “They must be malfunctioning. Computer…”

“Surprise!” the partygoers exclaimed as the lights suddenly turned on.

Other than slightly clenched fists, there was no measurable response from Klaa’ck.

Well, he’s not in Attack Mode, so we’re doing good so far.

“What is the meaning of this?” Klaa’ck finally said after a few moments of silence.

“It’s… a party!” Clerk said nervously. “We’re celebrating your having set the record for longest tenure of any First Officer aboard the Secondprize. To be honest, we were wondering if this day would ever get here. We’ve been hoping for several seasons now that we’d find the right guy, and we couldn’t be happier that it’s you!”

Logic dictates that at this point, Klaa’ck should inform them of his new assignment, but in evaluating the situation (in particular the excitement level of everybody else in the room), he felt it would be dishonorable to do so.

“Well… I suppose I can join in the festivities.”

====

The thing about potlucks on starships is that you never know what people are going to replicate. Nobody is limited to what’s local — one has an entire universe of possibilities. When Lt. Whatsisname suggested a potluck-style party (rather than the usual catered parties usually put on by Fleet officers), Clerk was understandably concerned. But since everybody agreed that Andorian, Illyrian, and Ba’ku cuisine were all out of the question, he finally agreed to it. The ship’s bylaws were appropriately amended.

“So… how does it feel to make history here?” Dr. Flüshaht asked as he sauntered up to Klaa’ck, who, of course, was duty-bound not to have either a good or bad time.

“Why do you ask questions which you know I can’t answer in any reasonable fashion?”

“Because I like to mess with people, Commander. That’s what I do.”

“As well as treat them for illness.”

“You say that like they’re separate activities.”

“Attention, everyone! Attention!” Clerk said via microphone from the front of the room, surrounded by a group of officers with forced smiles on their faces. “We’re going to sing a song in Commander Klaa’ck’s honor now.”

Once he gave the signal, the ad hoc quintet began:

“For he’s a jolly good Vulcan,
and also a jolly good Klingon,
so he’s a jolly good fellow,
which none of us can deny!”

Whether or not anybody but the Captain actually thought the song was a good idea was never really known. Nevertheless, the necessary level of applause ensued (that is, enough to where Clerk stopped saying “One more time!“). After the song’s conclusion, Clerk walked up and threw his arm around his First Officer, who mentally reminded himself of Fleet Regulation #41, which specifically forbids body slamming a starship captain upon reception of a side hug.

“Klaa’ck!” Clerk exclaimed. “It’s so good to have you here with us. I must say, I was skeptical at first, but you’ve gone far and above the call of duty!”

“And I must say it has been an honor to serve with you.”

“What, it’s not anymore?” Clerk said, laughing. “You joker! Well, let me know when it becomes honorable again! If you’ll excuse me, I’m gonna get some more punch. Would you like some more?”

“I’m fine, thank you.”

“Coolio. Back in a minute.”

Klaa’ck sighed. He never liked human parties. The total lack of weaponry left him with nothing he was socially equipped to do.

====

A couple of hours passed, and the party was finally winding down. Clerk stood up again with the microphone. “No, no, it’s not a song this time. I just wanted to remind all of the Senior Officers that we have a mandatory meeting at 9am tomorrow in the Main Conference Room on Deck C. Every one of you is required to attend. No exceptions this time. Thanks.”

The Captain stepped down, and the rest of the room’s occupants breathed a sigh of relief.

“Look, Jenkins, just focus, okay? We’ll get through this. Red is positive, black is negative. Do it and come back in.”

“Cap’m, I’m ’bout ta burst here!”

Sigh. ”Come on, man… doesn’t your suit… uh… account for that sort of thing?” At least Clerk still cared about how he worded things at this point.

“Naw, sir, this is one a-them old school types. I’ll stain it if I–”

“Look, I will personally help clean up if anything happens, if you’ll just focus and get this done.” I can’t believe I’m saying this.

“Hoodie to Secondprize. Hoodie to Secondprize. Do you copy?”

There were many things that would have helped the situation at this point, but a call from the other ship’s captain was not one of those things.

“Take it, Wharf. I’ve got to–”

“Understood, sir. Hoodie, this is Security Chief Wharf. How may I assist you?”

Turning back to his Problem of the Day, Clerk was surprised to find that Jenkins was done and headed back to the airlock.

“Jenkins? Are you–”

“It’s alright, Cap’m. I figgered I never really use this stupid suit ennyways, and it was just takin’ up room in mah storage unit. I’ll just zap it once I git in.”

“Good man, Jenkins. Thanks for coming through for me.”

“No problem, Cap’m!”

Whew. Wow. That’s, like, the easiest crisis ever.

“Wharf?”

“Captain, I’m in the middle of–”

“I’ll take over. I need you to turn off the security alarms in the airlock.”

“Why?”

“Because Jenkins won’t think to do it.”

“Huh?”

“Don’t ask. Just do it.” With that, Clerk walked over to Wharf’s station, and Wharf walked away in sheer confusion. ”Hey there, Felty! What’s shaking?”

“It’s Valentine, Clerk, and Captain at that. We’re not at the Academy anymore.”

“Eek. Did they give you a Medal of Stuckupitude when you graduated? Man… just saying hi. What–”

“Is your officer still having trouble doing something as simple as attaching jumper cables?”

“What? No. He’s done. Just a… fluid problem. Temporary. All done. Ready for charging.”

“Fluid problem? I don’t get–”

“Never ye mind, Captain Felty. Just begin charging. I gotta go. Holla atcha later, bro. Clerk out.”

Head held high, Clerk strutted out of Engineering. Rind attempted to stop him, but he put up his hand and said, “Uh-uh. Not tonight. Crisis solved. I’m going to bed” without even slowing down. The yeoman decided that decorum was best here, and said nothing.

She also decided that kicking the trash can next to her fell under the definition of decorum.

====

After spending the night charging, the Secondprize was finally able to get going, and Captain and crew set out once again for Deep Space Seven-Eleven. The Hoodie followed close behind for a few parsecs just to make sure everything was okay, of course. Just before separating, Captain Valentine thought about asking Clerk again about the “fluid problem”, but decided against it, remembering that not once in the entire time they’ve known each other has he ever been able to get a straight answer to any question.

Valentine, as a result, was the last person to believe Clerk had been given his own starship.

The next four days were fairly uneventful, which allowed everybody to relax a bit, and gave Clerk and Safeway plenty of opportunities to go on plenty of things that were totally not dates. They did come close, however, during one outing at the bowling alley, but an emergency call from the Bridge managed to remove any date-like properties the evening had to offer… which was just fine with both of them.

Safeway never packed lightly, so upon arrival, Clerk and a few redshirts took a couple of hours getting her luggage moved over.

“Thank you so much for helping them out, Jimi, but you know you don’t have to do any of this yourself.”

“Well, yeah, I know… but…” Clerk stammered. “I just… thought I’d help. I mean, it’s not like I’m doing this because–”

“Oh, of course not! I know you wouldn’t.”

“Of course.”

The redshirts rolled their eyes in unison.

“So, Kathy… what’s this new mission you’re going on?”

“I’m getting a new ship. It’s called the Trekker. Lamest name for a starship if I’ve ever heard one. We’re going to track down some missing shuttle or whatever. Sounds kinda boring, really.”

“I thought after your last assignment, they weren’t gonna give you command of any more–”

“They never proved that, and you know it.”

“Still saying it was the doctor’s fault, eh?”

“Of course it was,” Safeway was trying hard to keep from getting too upset at this point. She took a deep breath. “That’s why I specifically asked for only a Downloadable Doctor this time. I’m taking no chances.”

Now I remember why I broke up with you. ”Well, hope it goes alright for you. Try not to have too much fun without me around.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Jimi. I’m sure it’ll be all gloom, despair and agony without you.” Her Sarcasm Engine had come back online for the first time in a couple of weeks. It felt good.

“Alrighty then. Anyways, I’ve got to get back to strange, new worlds and all that. You know how it is.”

“Why are you off exploring the galaxy? From what I hear, you haven’t even fully explored your own ship yet.”

“Just a couple floors on the top I skipped in the last inspection. We’ll get to them eventually, I’m sure.”

“Uh huh.”

“Much as I’d like to stay and argue with you, I’ve got to get back to the Secondprize. I’ve just received word about something going on that I must attend. Give my regards to that French guy.”

Clerk exited as quickly as he could. The moment he’d been waiting for since he first became a captain had finally arrived…

Coffee in hand, Captain Clerk stood in the upper deck of Engineering, staring at a monitor trained on Jenkins, who was still in the process of suiting up.

“No, no, no, you put that tab in the back of — wait, that’s not right — you tie this up with some cable ties, and…”

“You do know how to do this, don’t you?” Clerk said, irritated.

“Well, yessir, I b’lieve so.”

“Alright, well, I’m gonna leave you to this. Let me know when you’re ready.”

“Okey dokey, Cap’m!”

“Clerk out.”

Some nights a quadruple expresso just isn’t enough.

“Captain,” Wharf said as he approached the station. “We’ve just received word from the Citation. They’re ready for the connection procedure. How’s Jenkins coming along?”

“I think we could have invented and manufactured a space suit in the time it’s taken for him to get it half put on.”

“So… we’re ahead of schedule?”

“Next thing you know he’s gonna have the wiring re-done in the Zoo Maintenance Area like he’s been saying for four seasons now.”

As Clerk refilled his coffee mug, the airlock attendant called.

“Captain! Jenkins is ready. The connection on his radio is a bit shaky, so he asked me to let you know.”

“Roger that.”

“No, I’m Nigel. Roger’s off today.”

Do other captains deal with this? Or do they just send them all to me?

“C…pt….n…can….y….h….r….m…?” a crackly voice spoke over the intercom.

“Just barely, Jenkins. Can you boost your signal?”

“Ok…h….w….it….oh….h…..lo….s….lik…..I…..d…dn….p…ug…… Hay Cap’m! Can you hear me now?”

“Clearly.”

“Yeah, I fergot ya gotta plug the mic in manually.”

They have automatic ones? ”Glad you’re coming through. Nigel told me–”

“Nigel? I thought it was Roger.”

“Apparently Roger’s off tonight.”

“Ohhhh…. that would explain why — WHOA!”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“Cap’m! This is SOOOO COOOOL! I fergot how much fun this is!”

“Well, okay, but let’s focus on–”

“Cap’m! There’s a UFO out here!”

A what??

“Oh wait, never mind. It’s jest one uh them shootin’ stars or whatever. Whew buddy… it’s so perty out here, Cap’m! I mean, ya could just–”

“Focus on the mission, Jenkins. We need this done ASAP.”

“Right, right, Cap’m. Sorry. I’m getting to the power port now.”

“Captain?” Nigel or Roger asked.

“Yes?”

“Do… you need me anymore… ‘cos if you can hear him…”

“No, go on. You–”

“Thanks!”

Clerk could practically hear whoever it was sprint out of the airlock area.

“SSSSSIR!” Cecil yelled from the lower deck. “ISSSSS JENKINSSSSS READY YET?”

“I think so. He said he was nearly to the power port.”

“IT’SSSSS ABOUT TIME! THE ENGINE’SSSSS SSSSSPUTTERING! WE NEED IT HOOKED UP QUICK!”

Dude, nothing happens quickly with Jenkins. ”He’s going as fast as he can, Cecil.”

Gorn sighs are a strange sound, and this was the first Clerk had ever heard.

“SSSSSHOULD I JUSSSSST TAKE A NAP WHILE HE WORKSSSSS ON THISSSSS?”

“Cap’m! Cap’m! Hay Cap’m! Hay–”

“Yes, Jenkins, I hear you. What’s going on?”

“Can we talk in private?”

“Um… I’m in Engineering. An open space with lots of people around. I don’t think I can–”

Wharf handed Clerk a headset. “Would this help?”

“Everybody will still be able to hear my half of the conversation.”

“That’s fine,” Jenkins butted in. “I jest need my half private.”

Just when you begin to make a little sense, you take it away and make it worse. ”Okay… plugging it in now.”

“Got it?”

“Got it.”

“Um… Cap’m…” the grave concern in Jenkins voice caused the color to leave the Captain’s face. He’s broken something. He forgot a vital part. The port’s not compatible. His life support is running out…

“What’s wrong?” Clerk asked as quietly as he could.

“I forgot to go to the restroom before I headed out here, and –”

“YOU WHAT??”

“I know… I’m worried ’bout it too, Cap’m, but I dunno if I can concentrate on this!”

It was Wharf’s lightning-fast reflexes that prevented a hole from being punched in the console.

Clerk knew he wasn’t going to win this battle. Janet Rind had 20 years of yeoman experience, and she wasn’t going to back down now. She had dealt with far more obstinate captains than him to give up this easily. None of his excuses worked: “I’m doing a crossword puzzle”, “Lt. Ethel says I need more ‘quiet time’”, “Oh, come on, they’re not gonna be here for another three hours”, nothing. He was defeated, and he knew it.

He finally emerged from his room in a slightly higher state of dishevelment than normal, but Rind was unfazed.

“I hope you’re not looking for sympathy, Captain, because I’m fresh out,” she said in her time-tested deadpan.

“Well, pity, really,” he replied, in a futile attempt at a comeback. “But whatever, let’s get it started.”

====

The engine room was abuzz with activity as they prepared for the Citation‘s arrival. Reely O. Riley did his best to coordinate the effort, but felt like cat-herding would have been more productive. It didn’t help that this was the normally-scheduled time for the Engineering computer system’s virus scan, the ship was way overdue for an oil change, and the on-duty staff consisted of a Gorn, a Klingon, and six or seven redshirts.

Clerk and Rind stepped off the elevator and surveyed the scene.

Not as bad as I imagined, really.

“Captain!” Riley yelled as soon as he saw him. “Glad you’re here. We’re just about ready for the jump off!”

This is “just about ready”?

“Cecil’s been working his tail off prepping the battery attachments, Ka’ppaa’ck has been minding the virus scan and software calibration–”

“Ka’ppaa’ck?” Clerk asked.

“Yeah, the new guy we–”

“I know who he is… I just thought he was only here for that one meeting.”

“Well, he came down here and started actually working on stuff, and he’s been a real help to us, so we figured we’d keep him,” the Chief Assistant Engineer said, gesturing toward the server room. “It’s a good thing too. He’s been the first guy down here to know how to do maintenance and upgrades on the computers.”

“Riley, that’s what the IT Department’s for.”

“Yeah, but they’re afraid of us. Even before we had a Gorn heading the department, they declared Engineering a Demaintainized Zone. Ka’ppaa’ck here has actually even opened lines of dialogue with them. Our first summit meeting is next month.”

“I’m impressed. Looks like he’s a keeper.” Can’t have too many Klingons around anyways.

“SSSSSIR! GLAD YOU’RE HERE!”

“What’s going on, Cecil?”

The Gorn engineer was a little out of breath, but otherwise his usual hyperactive self. “WE’VE JUSSSSST ABOUT GOT EVERYTHING SSSSSET UP, BUT THERE’SSSSS ONE THING THAT’SSSSS HOLDING USSSSS BACK!”

“What’s that?”

“WE NEED SSSSSOMEBODY TO PUT ON A SSSSSPACSSSSSESSSSSUIT AND GO OUTSSSSSIDE TO DO THE ACTUAL CONNECTION! WE CAN’T DO THAT FROM INSSSSSIDE THE SSSSSHIP! AND NOBODY HERE HASSSSS ANY EXPERIENCSSSSSE WITH SSSSSPACSSSSSEWALKING!”

Not much of a demand for it these days. What a shame. ”And I don’t suppose you can? I mean, I hate to ask you, especially because of–”

“OH THAT’SSSSS NOT A PROBLEM SSSSSIR! IT’SSSSS JUSSSSST THAT THISSSSS ISSSSS SSSSSOMETHING THAT WASSSSSN’T COVERED IN ANY OF THE SSSSSERVICSSSSSE MANUALSSSSS! IT’SSSSS BEEN HARD FINDING SSSSSOME INFORMATION ON IT!”

Just then, the Head of Maintenance walked in. Clerk did his usual recoil.

“Hay there, Cap’m!”

“Hello, Jenkins. What are you doing here?”

“Aw, I was jest makin’ the rounds with the cleanup crew. What’re y’all up to?”

“WE NEED SSSSSOMEBODY TO GO OUTSSSSSIDE IN A SSSSSUIT AND ASSSSSISSSSST WITH THE JUMP OFF! BUT NOBODY HERE KNOWSSSSS ANYTHING ABOUT IT!”

Jenkins’ face lit up. “Aw, well I used to do that all the time back when I served on the Hoodie. We had to jump that thing off ’bout ever other week.”

All these years, and we’ve finally found a use for Jenkins. ”So, are you up for it?”

“Sure thing, Cap’m! I still got my own personal suit and everthing! Lemme go ‘n get it real quick!”

In an instant, Jenkins was gone.

“Well, problem solved there,” the Captain said. “Clerk to Bridge.”

“Bridge here.”

“Any word on the Citation?”

“The charges have been dr– oh, you mean the ship,” Tolstoy said nervously. “Yes, they just called us. They’re 15 minutes away.”

“Good. We’re almost ready for them. Jenkins is suiting up for spacewalking. Gimme a buzz when they’re here. Clerk out.”

“You know you have to let him back in,” Rind gently reminded the Captain.

Sigh. “I know, I know…”

Commander Klaa’ck sat back in the Big Comfy Chair and mulled over Whatsisname’s question. It didn’t take long to come up with a logical answer. He answered confidently, given the statistically probable outcome of the theoretical mission.

“RePete.”

Whatsisname smiled, and started again. “Pete and RePete beamed down to a planet. Pete was a redshirt–”

“Lieutenant,” Klaa’ck interrupted. “You have already told me that part of the story. It is not logical for you to say it again verbatim, especially since I responded to your query.”

Just then, the elevator doors opened and Captain Clerk emerged.

“Captain on the Bridge!” Klaa’ck stood and announced, only to be met with confused stares from everybody else in the room.

“Relax, Klaa’ck,” said Clerk. “These guys aren’t used to protocol.”

Snickers ensued as the Captain made his way across the Bridge to the Ready Room.

“Captain, are you taking over the Bridge now?” the embarrassed First Officer asked.

“No, I just need to get something out of my office real quick. I have somewhere to be in half an hour.”

“Oh, is this that date you were talking about?” asked Whatsisname.

Clerk’s face turned red. “No, it’s not a date. I told you that. Captain Safeway and I are just having a meal together, and catching up on old times. Distress call aside, we haven’t talked to each other in months.”

After hurriedly making his way to and from the Ready Room, he left the Bridge without another word.

“It’s not logical for him to insist it isn’t a date.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Whatsisname as he checked his watch. “Of all the crazy stuff I’ve seen in the universe, the thing I understand least is dating. Makes me glad I’m not human. Anyways, I have to be going too. There’s a poetry slam down at the Topiary Gardens that I’ve been looking forward to for weeks.” And with that, the Lieutenant was gone as well.

Klaa’ck stood there silently for a moment while confusion made its way onto his face.

“He’s not human?” he said to nobody in particular.

====

Clerk stood outside the door marked HOLODECK, unsure of what exactly he was standing outside of. He had quickly searched for some information, but mostly ran into websites about Holodeck Addiction. Virtual Reality was one thing, but this…

“Your punctuality never ceases to amaze me, Jimi,” Safeway said, interrupting the Captain’s train of thought.

“Well, you know what I always say: Better two hours early than five minutes late.”

“Do you mean to tell me you’ve been here for–”

“No, only about 15 minutes.” Trying to get up enough gumption to enter this thing, to be honest.

“Good. I’d hate for you to have been waiting too long for me.” She tried her best to hide the nervousness in her speech, but then again, she figured if it showed, Clerk probably wouldn’t be observant enough to notice it anyways.

“So how do you–”

“It’s easy. It’s like everything else on the ship, it’s voice-activated.”

And so, it will be the bane of my existence. Like everything else on the ship.

Safeway turned to the panel to the right of the door. “Watch this. Computer?”

The panel chirped.

“Italian restaurant, 21st-Century era, with an ocean view.”

A few seconds passed. “Program Ready,” the panel announced at last.

“Voilà,” Safeway said with a smile, gesturing to the door.

I’ve got a bad feeling about this.

The pair entered the room, and Clerk froze in place, nearly having to pick his jaw up from the floor. He continued being in a state of disbelief as the simulated waitress took them to their table.

“Wow… so, this is all holograms? But how can we sit on these chairs? You set this up in advance, didn’t you?”

“No, of course not. Computer?” Chirp. “Switch to night time view.”

In an instant, time appeared to advance about 6 hours.

“But wait… how does this work?”

Safeway then proceeded to utter a lot of long words that he didn’t understand in the slightest.

The waitress, still standing by the table, attempted small talk. “So… do you always talk tech when on a date?”

“It’s not a date!” they both said in unison.

“Of course it isn’t. Would you like to order something to drink?”

====

After eating what was still to Clerk an inexplicable meal, and trying to find anything else to talk about besides their relationship, the two sat at the table, quietly enjoying the simulated gentle breeze. Safeway was gazing out the window, and Clerk was wondering if you still had to pay for the meal, even if it was simulated.

“This is so nice. I miss this,” Safeway said wistfully.

“Oh, no. Don’t even go there. You say that every time we’ve broken up, and then it starts all over again. It’s not happening again this time, Kathy.”

“What? No! I wasn’t… uh…” she stammered, having been snapped out of her romantic haze.

“Uh huh.”

Safeway slumped in her chair and pouted a bit.

Whew. Dodged a phaser blast there.

“Anyways, I’ve really enjoyed seeing you, and–”

“Engineering to Captain Clerk.”

Clerk, relieved to have been interrupted, broke out his communicator, almost dropping it because his hands were still shaking.

“Clerk here.”

“Captain, we have just received word that the Citation is almost here. They will arrive in four hours.”

“Thanks, Reely… I mean Riley. Clerk out.”

“Gotta go?” Safeway asked.

“Well, no… no rush. I mean, it’s four hours. So… yeah, I…”

“Okay, that’s cool… um…”

“Yeah…”

====

As Clerk and Safeway made it to her guest quarters, they both simultaneously stressed out over how to end the evening, since it wasn’t a date or anything.

“Well, good night, Kathy. I’ll, uh… see you… whenever, I guess.”

“Yeah… good night… I, I had a… nice time.”

Clerk nervously waved as he turned around and headed to the nearest elevator, silently wondering if he should have kissed her or something.

Safeway nervously waved back as she watched him go, silently wishing he’d have kissed her or something.

“Engineering, please,” the Captain said as the elevator doors closed.

“What are you gonna do?” the elevator replied. “You made a D in Basic Engineering Concepts.”

“Hey… what are you doing reading my Academy transcripts?”

“What can I say, Captain… an elevator gets bored sometimes.”

Note to self: cut off the Elevator’s access to main memory banks. ”Anyways, not that it’s any of your business, but I’m going down there to see what’s wrong, and oversee the process of resolution. Now get a move on; we’ve got to get to the starbase ASAP.”

“Alright… I guess that’s what you’re here for.”

The elevator began moving.

“The incident with the antacids and the hockey sticks was pretty funny.”

“Yeah, that was a pretty good pra– Stay outta my personal files!”

====

Clerk finally emerged from the elevator, and was immediately approached by Reely O. Riley, the Chief Assistant Engineer.

“Captain! Good to see you here,” Riley began.

“So… what are we dealing with?” Clerk asked, doing his best to put away his elevator-flavored rancor.

“Well, we’re not quite sure yet. There was a small explosion near the back of the core, and a bunch of sparks flying all over the place, but I mean, that’s normal for a Friday, so we didn’t pay it much attention. Then it started idling really slowly, and then it just cut off, and we can’t get it back on. Cecil’s back there yelling at it right now.”

So that’s what that sound is…

Cecil emerged from the bowels of the engine core, covered in grease and dilithium powder, and holding various broken engine parts.

“What’s the prognosis, doc?” Clerk asked.

“SSSSSIR, IT LOOKSSSSS LIKE SSSSSOMETHING WASSSS WRONG WITH THE SSSSSTARTER AND THE ALTERNATOR! I’VE REPLACSSSSSED THE PARTSSSSS BUT THE ENGINE’SSSSS NOT CRANKING! WE NEED SSSSSOMEBODY TO JUMP USSSSS OFF SSSSSO WE CAN GET GOING!”

“Wait a minute,” said Clerk. “Don’t we have one of those emergency jump-start thingies?”

“We do…” Riley said with a little embarrassment. “But we loaned it out to the Funkytown last season and haven’t seen it since.”

They still have my tape deck too. ”Okay, so… we just need to radio Fleet Headquarters and see if we can get somebody out here.”

“SSSSSORRY SSSSSIR! I DID WHAT I COULD! ALMOST LOST A CLAW WORKING ON THISSSSS SSSSSTUPID THING TOO!”

“Oh yeah,” said Riley. “I shoulda warned ya about that part.”

That reminds me… I need to re-schedule the OSHA Compliance Meeting.

====

“I’m sorry, Admiral Placãrd isn’t in right now. Would you like his voicemail?”

“Well, this is an emergency. Is there somebody else I can talk to?”

“Let me look. Hold, please.”

Clerk waited through several minutes of lite jazz until the receptionist finally returned.

“Captain, I have Admiral Safeway on the line.”

Great. The man that could have been my father-in-law. What else can go wrong?

“This had better be good, James Clerk. I’m missing a round of golf right now,” the Admiral said with the least amount of palpable enthusiasm possible in human speech.

“Apologies for the interruption, Mr. Sa– I mean, Admiral. My ship is stuck out here in orbit around one of Alpha Beta IV 1/2′s moons. Our engine is dead and we’re in dire need of a jump-off.”

“Typical,” Admiral Safeway said with scorn. “Let me see who’s around you.”

Clerk sweated bullets while he waited for a result.

“Well, it looks like you’re the only ship in the sector, Captain. I can send… let’s see… the Citation, but it’ll take a few days for it to get out there.”

“Understood. Thank–”

Safeway cut off the transmission before Clerk could even finish.

Why is it we’re always the only ship in the sector? It’s like they’re all coordinated to stay away from us.

====

Clerk arrived at Sick Bay just as Kathy Safeway was checking out.

“Oh, nice to see you Jimi,” she said with a little surprise.

“I was just coming by to see how you were recovering. It looks like you’re doing alright.” At least this was a Safeway that Clerk could stand to talk to.

“So what’s going on with the ship? I heard we’re having some engine trouble.”

“Yeah… we’re a sitting duck at the moment. There’s a ship on its way to help us, but it’s a few days out.”

“Why is it the Secondprize is always the only ship in its sector?”

“I dunno, Kathy… anyways, it looks like we’ve got some time to kill.”

“Well… we could go and get a bite to eat. I’m getting pretty hungry.” Safeway’s face suddenly lit up. “Oh, I know! Let’s go to the holodeck! I’ll order the restaurant, you order the meal.”

Utter confusion crossed Clerk’s face. “Holo-what?”

“You know… a holodeck. One of those rooms where you can program it to be anywhere you want it to be. Simulates environments and all that. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of one. They’re standard issue these days.”

“Uh… I guess not. Do we have one of those?”

“Can’t keep Ensign Rondo out of there,” Dr. Flüshaht interrupted. “He’s always programming it to be red-carpet movie award events where he’s the main attraction.”

That would explain those sunglasses he’s always wearing. ”Well… I guess we could do that.”

Safeway began to giggle.

“What?”

“You’re so behind the times, Jimi. Anyways… I’ll meet you down there at 7pm. Don’t be late!”

“Yeah, um… okay…” Clerk was beginning to get nervous. “But just remember… this isn’t a date. We’re all done with that now.”

“Oh, of course not!” Safeway replied somewhat defensively. “Just a little dinner.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

Clerk stumbled out of the room, followed shortly by Safeway, who was a bit nervous herself.

Flüshaht sighed. “It’s a date alright.”

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. Hanger,” Clerk said, brandishing his phaser. “I’m not going to let you do anything to my gir– I mean my former– uhh… I mean to a Starship Captain!”

“No such doing!” Cliff yelled back. “This is no concern of yours. This is between me… and my wife Barbara!”

“Okay, one, she’s never been married, and two, her name is Kathy, okay? So–”

“That’s preposterous! How dare you say that about my Barbara!”

“Listen, man, it’s on her birth certificate… well, Kathirynne, but you get the picture.”

Cliff turned to the unconscious Safeway, still slumped in the corner of the bridge. “You lied to me! I can’t believe this! For all those years, you…” He paused suddenly, squinting. “Wait a minute…”

Clerk and company stood there, befuddled, as Cliff stopped to clean his glasses with the tail of his shirt.

“Man… I need a new prescription. You’re not my Barbara. Come to think of it… you don’t look much like her at all.” He turned to Clerk and shrugged. “Um, my bad.”

“Yeah, well, your bad is still getting you jail time, buckaroo. Your blind chase has left you with quite a rack up of charges, what with all the ships you’ve shot down, protocols you’ve breached, attempted kidnapping, plus, the Fleet database tells me you have a ton of speeding tickets to boot. But because I’m such a groovy guy, I’m gonna ask you what you have to say for yourself.”

Cliff really had no excuse, and he knew it. So, he replied with the one thing he had going for him.

“Nice cape, though, don’t you think?”

Clerk had to admit it was a pretty sweet cape. “Yeah man, totally. Wharf, take him away.”

“Aye, sir!” Wharf and his Redshirts took Cliff Hanger into custody and beamed back to the ship.

Clerk knelt down beside Safeway and took her pulse. Whew, at least she’s still alive. He got out his communicator.

“Clerk to Secondprize.”

“Secondprize here.”

“I’m here with Captain Safeway. She’s alive, but in bad shape. I need us to be beamed to the Full Warp Salon on deck -6, immediately!”

“Um, sir…” stammered Ensign Tolstoy. “Shouldn’t we be beaming her to Sick Bay?”

“No way, Ensign. She’d kill me if I let her in there with her nails looking like this. Trust me on this one.”

“Whatever you say, Captain. Two to beam to the new salon.”

As the pair materialized in the salon, Sallé, the Head Beautician, walked up. “Can I help you?”

“She needs an Express Manicure, pronto. I’ll explain later.”

As the extremely confused beautician began her work, Clerk made a call to Sick Bay. “Flüshaht, are you there?”

“I’m here, but not all there, sir,” the doctor grumbled. “Is she on board?”

“Yes, we got her here safely.”

“Have you already–”

“Yes, we’re at the new place on -6.”

“Alright, I’m on my way.”

Minutes later, Flüshaht and a small medical team showed up and crowded the station in the salon. As they worked around each other, Sallé’s question of what it was like to work on a starship was finally answered.

“Can you help her?” Clerk asked.

“Well, her nails are pretty scuffed up, but–”

“Not you, I’m talking to Dr. Flüshaht.”

“Sorry, sir,” Sallé said sheepishly, returning to her work.

“Jimi, I dunno what’s going on. She’s not responding to the stimulant.”

“Stimulant?”

“Well, yeah. It’s the standard stuff we use for phaser stuns.”

“But what about–”

“Everything else is fine. Bumps, bruises, she’ll be alright. I just can’t get her to wake up.”

“She may not want to until I finish with these nails; they’re pretty bad.” Sallé piped up.

“I’ll try the Downloadable Doctor,” said Nurse Smasher.

Flüshaht pointed his finger. “You do and I’ll–”

“Now wait a minute,” Clerk interrupted. “Let’s do it, if it’ll help her.”

With a loud sigh, Flüshaht relented. “Fine.”

It was bad enough working with the Captain and a medical team as an audience, but now Sallé had a hologram in her way as well. At least it didn’t take up any space.

“Version 2.0.1.15 at your service!”

“Another upgrade?” Clerk asked.

“Baked fresh this morning,” Flüshaht said sarcastically.

No wonder you’re in such a foul mood.

“Alright, Minesweeper, here’s the deal,” the doctor continued grousing. “She’s been stunned, but we can’t seem to wake her up. The usual stuff isn’t working.”

“Do you know the type of phaser that was used? The newer kinds produce–”

“No, I don’t know what kind! I wasn’t there!”

“It looked like some custom job,” Clerk spoke up. “Maybe a modded Klingon type or something.”

“That would explain it, sir,” the hologram politely replied. “Many of those produce nonstandard neurological disruptions. Let me see if I can decipher it.”

Everybody in the room waited expectantly for the Downloadable Doctor’s evaluation.

“Tsk, tsk,” it finally replied. “It’s a hack job, alright, and a really lousy one at that, obviously produced by some script kiddie with–”

“Can you help?” even the Captain was getting frustrated with the hologram at this point.

“Yes, sir. All we need to do is tweak the dosage and apply it directly to the forehead.”

As they did so, Safeway came to, and started to look around. “Aww, Jimi, you remembered!” she said as she noticed where she was.

“There was no way I was going to go through that argument again with you.”

“Well, I’m all done here,” Sallé interrupted. “Check ‘em out!”

“They’re beautiful. Thank you,” Safeway said as she admired Sallé’s handiwork.

Once Safeway was transferred to Sick Bay for recovery, Clerk took Flüshaht aside. “Well, you gotta admit, those Downloadable Doctors are good for something after all.”

With a scowl for the ages on his face, the doctor relented. “Yeah… I guess so. I won’t delete it this week.”

“Good man,” Clerk said, patting Flüshaht on the back as he headed out the door, en route to the Bridge.

====

Finally back in his Big Comfy Chair, Captain Clerk was relieved that, finally, all was ostensibly well. He had contacted Safeway’s ship and apprised them of the situation, and was all settled in for a nice relaxing trip to Deep Space Seven-Eleven.

“Warp 4, helmsman.”

“No response from the engines, sir.”

“What? Clerk to Engineering.”

“YESSSSS SSSSSIR!” Cecil answered.

“Is there something wrong with the engines?”

“THEY WON’T SSSSSTART FOR SSSSSOME REASSSSSON! I’VE GOT MY BESSSSST GUYSSSSS LOOKING AT IT!”

Not again…

“Well, really, it’s a diversion in the story, where–”

“Thank you, Dr. Exposition, but that’s not necessary.”

“But I–”

“We’re on a tight schedule, here, Doctor,” Youlla interrupted again. “We need to get moving as fast as we can.”

“Sorry, sir.”

“Okay, first of all, let’s do the requisite Roll Call. Lt. Cmdr. Shenanigans?”

“I am present, sir.”

“Lt. Cmdr. LaGrange?”

The room fell silent. Dr. Exposition cleared his throat.

“Sir, we couldn’t get the teleconference set up.”

“What happened? I thought we’d cleared it with their government and all.”

“Oh, that’s not the problem,” the doctor replied. “It’s… um… we didn’t have the right drivers for the webcam. You see, our respective systems aren’t compatible. They’re still using–”

“Fine, we’ll go on without him. Lt. Ethel?”

“Honey, I’m here,” she replied in her deep Southern drawl.

“Let’s see… now for our ensigns. Mr. Nubiee?”

“Present!”

“Kazoo?”

“He’s not here either,” Exposition interjected. “Last week, he was promoted to Junior Science Officer, and is going to be featured later on this season.”

“How disappointing,” lamented Youlla. “I was really looking forward to his report on the Dress Code Situation.”

A few chuckles permeated the room. Youlla pounded on the lectern.

“Moving right along…” he continued. “Ensign #7812?”

“Here and happy to be on solid flooring.”

“Rondo?”

“Hey man, I’m here. Let the good stardates roll.”

“Um… thank you. Nice shades, by the way.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Now, let’s see… on to our non-crewmembers…”

“How long is this gonna take?” Quirk yelled out, finally having been given a speaking part. “I have customers, you know!”

“Ah yes, I see that Mr. Quirk and his waitress are here–”

“I have a name, you know.”

“Of course you do. 6 of 1?”

The resident Bord sighed. “Whatever.”

“And, finally, our newest crewmember, Mr. Ka’ppaa’ck, who was brought on board just for this meeting.”

“Arrrrrrr!” the Klingon assistant engineer growled.

“Thank you, Ka’ppaa’ck. Anyways, on to business. We all know it’s been an ongoing issue of crewmembers only being given one assignment, and then never getting to be in another episode ever again. That’s why I’ve called this meeting. Our respective jokes are over, ladies and gentlemen, and it’s up to us to come up with a plan for integrating ourselves into future episodes.”

“Episodes can only be so long, Commander,” Exposition spoke up. “It won’t be easy for us to get screen time.”

“I know, Doctor, but–”

“I’ve got it!” Nubiee exclaimed. “Let’s go on strike!”

“You can’t go on strike, Nubiee,” Quirk sneered. “You don’t have a union, dummy!”

“Well… okay, then, Mr. Smarty-ears. We’ll organize a union, then go on strike. Duh.”

“Bad idea, Nubiee,” Youlla spoke up. “The Trepidatious unionized last season, and it’s been one problem after another. They need 6 redshirt ensigns just to change a lightbulb.”

“Dude, we need 6 ensigns to change a lightbulb.”

“Yes, but that’s because 5 of them usually get lost on the way to the store room.”

“If I may interject, gentlemen,” Shenanigans said, walking up to the front of the room so he’d be visible.

“Please do. We could use a voice of reason here.”

“Thank you, Commander. Indubitably, while it would be propitious for tertiary characters such as us to collectively aspire to augment our respective presences, unionization would ineluctably exacerbate our predicament, as any venture to escalate our prominence by coercion would inevitably engender more adverse effects than any leverage such an endeavor would procure.”

Youlla stood there for a moment, speechless. “Okaaaaaay… well, since the Automatic Translator didn’t kick in, I’ll assume that was English, but can somebody explain what he just said?”

“He’s saying it’s more trouble than it’s worth, darlin’,” Lt. Ethel replied with a sigh.

“Well… are there any other suggestions? We’ve been in here a while now and have accomplished precisely zilch.”

The room’s occupants grumbled for a minute until Youlla finally pounded on the lectern again.

“Okay, everybody. It’s become apparent this whole thing was a concentrated dose of fail. Meeting adjourned. See you again next month.”

“Wait, this is gonna be a monthly thing?” Ensign #7812 whined.

“Yes,” Youlla said sternly. “Until you goofballs stop complaining about it. Now get out of here before I start reading contracts to you.”

As everybody quickly made their way to the exit, Youlla sighed and shook his head. “Well… it was worth a shot, anyways.”

OH YEAH, THE CLIFF HANGER. WE’LL GET TO THAT NEXT TIME.

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.

“It wasn’t another one about time travel and aquatic creatures was it?” Whatsisname asked, not even turning his head from his station.

“No, not that. It was really short, but in it we were all fictional characters, and the author had decided to end the story. Only, it really felt unfinished, more like an outline of what was going on than the event itself.”

“An unfinished dream? Now I’ve heard everything.”

“Glad Admiral Nezbomb isn’t here, or he’d go on about it being another example of me having no ambition.”

“You mean the old Nezbomb,” Whatsisname corrected.

“Yeah,” sighed Clerk, scratching his head. “I still can’t get used to this new version of him. I’m getting Holomark® cards like every other day from him. He’s on extended vacation, touring the galaxy.” Kinda wish I could go with him, now that I think about it.

“Incoming transmission, Captain!” said Ensign Tolstoy.

“Wow, you’re still at Communications,” said Clerk. “You’ve been there for three whole weeks now. Figure you’ll stay there?”

Tolstoy shrugged. “I dunno. I really want to get into Navigation, but the waiting list is measured in parsecs.”

“Stick with it, kid. I think you’d make a great navigator. So, who’s calling?”

“It’s Captain Safeway.”

Ahh, Kathy. A real firebrand, that one. “What’s she doing out here? I thought she was taking that job at the movie theater, investigating some Marquees or whatever.”

“Beats me, sir. She just said it was urgent–”

“Okay, put it on the screen.”

“–and private.”

I hate it when she does this. Drama queen. “Fine, I’ll go to the Ready Room.“

Like nearly every other room on the Secondprize, the Ready Room never seemed to get used for its intended purpose (though, in this case, nobody seemed to know what it was). Clerk tried to come up with a clever nickname for it, but “Unready Room” was all he could think of, and it never got any laughs. At least there was a chair in it today.

“Clerk here,” the Captain wearily spoke.

“Jimi, I’m so glad you’re here!” Safeway began, out of breath and obviously under duress. “I don’t have much time! He’s on his way right now!”

“If you’re needing me to wire you some cash, you’re–”

“No, it’s not the landlord this time! This is serious!”

I’ll bet. “What trouble have you gotten into this time?”

“Why do you always respond to me like that?”

Clerk sighed. “Computer, bring up chat logs between me and Captain Safeway, from Stardate–”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Look, I know this sounds crazy, but–”

“Nothing you say can top anything I’ve encountered in the last two months.”

“Listen! I was on my way to my new assignment on the Trekker when I started being followed by some unknown assailant in an unidentifiable vessel.”

“Look,” Clerk interrupted. “If you’re trying to make me jealous, it won’t work. I broke up with you for a reason.”

“What?! Now when have I ever done that?”

“Computer, bring up chat logs–”

“Alright, alright. Just that once. This is different. This guy was shooting at me!”

“So it’s an ex-boyfriend.”

Safeway facepalmed. “Will you just shut up and listen for a minute?”

“Fine, whatever. Tell me your tale of woe.”

With a look that said next time I see you I will kill you, Safeway continued. “This guy — whoever he is — began shooting at my shuttle, and I crash-landed on Alpha Beta IV 1/2, about two days ago. I managed to bargain my way into this garbage scow so I could get out of there before he found me.”

“Do you have any identifying information about him?”

“No,” Safeway continued. “He was masked, and dressed all in black–”

“If this is leading up to a ‘tall, dark and handsome’ joke, you can just hang up now.”

“No, you idiot! Anyways, he–”

“Intruder Alert! Intruder Alert!” the scow’s computer blared.

“Oh no!” Safeway exclaimed. “He’s beamed on board. Help!”

Suddenly, Clerk felt the sinking feeling that for once, she was serious. “Kathy! Hold on! We’re–”

Whatsisname and Wharf burst into the room.

“Captain!” shouted Wharf. “What’s going on?”

Just as Clerk was about to speak, the shadowy figure shot Safeway, who collapsed out of sight. Sure enough, he was masked, all in black, and looked at least marginally dangerous.

“Who are you?” shouted Clerk. “What are you–”

“What I am doing is of no consequence to you, Mr. James Clerk,” said the dark figure. “But if you must know my name, it’s Hanger. Cliff Hanger.”

“No… not you…”

Wharf and Whatsisname looked at each other. “There goes the season.”

TO BE CONTINUED… LIKE, IN A FEW WEEKS OR SOMETHING.

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.

“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.

“You okay, Lionel? What’s wrong?”

Without missing a beat, Lionel immediately spoke up. “I was worried because I just noticed that I was drinking the can of root beer that I had marked for you, which I had put some hypnotic suggestion serum into. I did that so you would be forced to take me away from here and do as I was going to order you to do.”

“You little twerp,” said Clerk. “So what was your plan, then?”

“I was going to use your ship to help me distribute Blubbles.”

“What are Blubbles?”

“They are cute little blob-like creatures that some people keep as pets. However, due to their rapid breeding, they quickly infest any locale they encounter.”

“Just like Tribbles?”

“Hence the name.”

“Do you ever do anything original?”

“No, not really.”

“Okay,” Clerk sighed. “So you have off-brand Tribbles you’re ripping people off with. What’s the catch?”

It was painful, but Lionel couldn’t help continuing. “The catch is that these are tinier and harder to clean up. My plan was to go around selling these pesky things, and then make the rounds later on, making money from extermination.”

“Wow,” said Clerk. “You’re worse than Percy here.”

“Hey…”

“So you were going to set up a protection racket involving an infestation of icky but apparently cute pets? What made you think you were going to get away with this?”

After a moment’s pause, Lionel said, “I hadn’t really thought that far ahead.”

Clerk laughed. “I’ll assume you aren’t lying, due to the serum, so… yeah, that’s probably the worst stunt you’ve ever come up with.”

“Not so fast, Jimbo,” Percy butted in. “Have you heard of some of the antics he’s been up to here?”

“No, and I probably don’t want to know.”

“You’re right, Jimi. You don’t.”

Lionel’s sudden candor was a welcome breath of fresh air. With the mood lightened, Clerk finally walked over to the fridge to get something to drink.

“I assume you only spiked one drink?”

“That’s correct.”

Clerk laughed as he cracked open a can. “You guys are terrible. Of all the crazy stuff I’ve seen in this galaxy, leave it to my own brother to take the cake. I gotta tell you, you guys are so dumb and crooked you deserve each other, and this planet of misfits.”

Percy perked up. “So… maybe this means you might just leave us here instead of arresting us?”

“Yeah,” Clerk said, sighing. “You’ve found a society messed up enough to fit into, and seeing as you’re the textbook definition of ‘harmless bumbling crooks’ you’re no danger to anybody, at least around here. So yeah, just stay here, and behave, or I’ll be back. That means no more alligator pits, by the way.”

“Fine,” Percy grumbled. “So you’re leaving, then?”

“I’m leaving, alright, but don’t worry, I’ll come back in a season or two and check up on you. I have no doubt you’ll have something even nuttier after you’ve had some more time for scheming.”

“So what are you going to tell the Fleet?”

“I’m gonna tell them the truth. They still think you’re some dangerous criminal. I’ll let them know that just being here is punishment enough for you.”

“There goes my reputation.”

“Anyways, goodbye. As much as I’d like to stay here and see what kind of messes you guys get into, I’ve got to go.”

“You’ll come back and visit every now and then, won’t you?” Lionel asked with a tinge of sadness.

Clerk smiled. “Of course I will, little bro. You know I miss ya.”

“Thanks Jimi.”

Opens you up to suggestion and reveals your true feelings. This stuff is dangerous. “You don’t happen to have any more of this serum, do you?”

“No,” Percy replied. “That was the last we could find.”

“Good. Anyways, I’m out of here. Try to stay out of trouble.”

At that, Clerk turned and headed for the door, relieved. The situation was resolved, nobody was hurt, and he was going to get back to the ship in time for Bajor’s Funniest Home Videos. Just before he got to the door, however, he stopped and turned back around.

“Hey Lionel… when we were kids, whatever happened to my Albert Einstein Collectible Plate that you kept insisting the dog ran off with?”

“I broke it because I was mad that you’d borrowed my science project idea, then got an A on it.”

“I knew it.“

“Hello everybody,” said Lt. Whatsisname as he stood at the front of Training Room B. “Sorry it’s taken so long for us to get the New Crewmember Orientation session going. As you know, we’ve had quite an unusual last couple of months, what with the yearly inspection, the kitchen fire, the Monopoly tournament, discovering over a dozen new floors to the ship, and all the other craziness going on. Still, it’s Fleet policy to go over all this stuff, and hey, better late than never. So, to get started, we’ll–”

Just then, the doors opened, and a very disheveled (and sleepy) Mr. Klaa’ck stumbled into the room.

“7:30am is a very illogical time for an orientation session,” he growled.

“It’s 8pm, sir.”

“You are very fortunate I do not have anything sharp on me.”

“Indeed,” Whatsisname said nervously. “If you would, sir, take your seat beside Lt. Cmdr Cecil.”

Klaa’ck sauntered over to the one empty seat in the room, and chugged away at his coffee in an attempt at continued consciousness.

“GOOD TO SSSSSEE YOU AGAIN, SSSSSIR!”

“Please do not speak to me until over 75% of the contents of this mug is consumed.”

“SSSSSORRY SSSSSIR!”

“Ahem,” Whatsisname continued. “Anyways, as I was saying, we’ve tried over the years to get this Orientation business as streamlined as possible, so we can all get back to our duties. So, after our 18th revision, we’ve managed to distill our work ethic down to just three simple words: Stay Out of the Way.”

“That’s five words!” shouted an unfortunately enthusiastic Ensign at the back of the room.

“Ensign, this will all be over sooner if we limit the number of interruptions to zero. Thanks.” The lights dimmed, and Whatsisname started the overhead projector. “As you can see from this diagram, we–”

The Lieutenant suddenly interrupted himself when he realized that he had gotten out the Fiscal Stardate Expense Reports transparencies instead of the New Crewmember Orientation set.

“– need to move on to the hands-on portion of the session.”

====

Wharf whistled as he leaned against the wall of the stairwell. After 15 tries, he still couldn’t manage to get the melody to “Summertime Blues” quite right. As he began try #16, one of the Ensigns spoke up.

“They’ve been in there a really long time, sir. Shouldn’t we be a little worried?”

“No, I wouldn’t be,” Wharf replied. “The Captain can take care of himself very well. He’s in a room with a bunch of comic books, and two of the Top Ten Most Harmless Criminals of the Last 15 Stardates. If anything, it’s them we should be worried about.

“Oh, okay. Sure is boring just standing out here though. How long do you figure this will take?”

“Hard to tell, Ensign. With the Captain and his brother arguing, it could go on for hours. It’s really not wise to have the two of them in the same conversation. You are right, though, it is a bit boring. I’ve got an idea. Wharf to Secondprize.”

“Secondprize here. Tolstoy speaking.”

“The Captain is in a meeting right now, and we’re stuck outside. Could you beam down a SKIP-BO deck or something?”

“Right away, sir.”

====

“The purpose of this exercise is team-building: to build up a sense of respect and trust for one another, so in that crucial moment of crisis, instead of pushing one another into that oncoming phaser beam, you’ll work together toward a common solution! Let’s begin!”

Whatsisname patrolled around the room, checking on everybody’s progress. Everything was going well… until he got to the First Officer and Chief Engineer.

“I refuse to let myself freefall into the arms of someone with my back turned.”

“Commander, the logic here is to–”

“I know what the logic is, Lieutenant. I just think it’s… stupid.”

“YOU CAN TRUSSSSST ME, SSSSSIR! I’LL CATCH YOU!”

Klaa’ck sighed. “I would sooner attempt to tear the m’blarnghthis off a burangabeast.”

“Sir, it was either this or the three-legged race. We get fewer injuries with this activity.”

“Fine.”

Klaa’ck stood with arms folded, facing away from the Gorn. He began to rock back on his heels a little, then stopped.

“We have no treaty with these people! If–”

“Commander, please.”

Growl.

“For great justice.”

“I’M RIGHT HERE FOR YOU, SSSSSIR!”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“Ahem!”

Klaa’ck began again. Slowly he leaned back. As he began to fall back, finally deciding that the logical thing to do was go through with this. He even began to see the worth of getting along, even with Lt. Cmdr. Cecil. Running a vessel is a team effort. All officers and crew need to work together, even when–

“WHOA, LOOK AT THAT GUY’SSSSS SSSSSUNGLASSSSSESSSSS!”

The First Officer hit the floor with a resounding thud as his teammate stepped to see Ensign Rondo’s ridiculously overpriced shades.

“OH, SSSSSIR! I’M SSSSSO SSSSSORRY! I WASSSSS JUSSSST…”

“Commander! Let me help–”

“No, no… I’m fine, Lieutenant,” Klaa’ck said calmly. “I’m going to lie here for a minute and think about what I’ve done. Just… bring me my coffee mug.”

“Well yeah,” Lionel said, shifting in his chair. “I mean, you gotta get through plan phase to get to operation phase.”

Sigh. “Okay, fine. Tell me your plan.”

“You don’t want to hear it.”

“Yes I do. I asked, didn’t I?”

“But you don’t want me too. You just want to get it over with so you can call me names. Any time you start with ‘Okay, fine‘ I know you–”

“Just tell me, okay?”

Lionel crossed his arms and sulked for a while.

“Are you done being five years old, or are you still brewing up a tantrum of some sort? We can just beam you out of this rock and take you away from your comic books, you know,” Clerk finally said.

“Captain, should we… um…” Wharf fumbled for words. “You know…”

“Yeah, you guys just wait outside for a bit. This may take a while.”

Wharf, the security officers, and Percy began to make their way to the door.

“Not so fast, Sludge,” Clerk interrupted. “You’re part of this conversation.”

“Well, Captain, I hardly need to be part of a sibling argu–”

“You got me into this mess, so you’re in this argument, whether you like it or not.”

Grumbling, Percy took his place by the lava lamp. As the door closed, Lionel finally acquiesced. With a light sigh, he got up and headed for the fridge.

“You want something to drink, Jimi? We don’t have much, but–”

Clerk gently raised his hand. “I’m fine.”

“Suit yourself.” Lionel grabbed one of the few remaining sodas and leaned against the wall. “So… the plan…”

“This better be good, Lionel. Just so you know, your pal here nearly killed one of my nameless Redshirt ensigns while evading us. Or was that all ‘part of the plan’?”

“Oh, you mean that no-good aftermarket alligator pit? He’s been trying that out for weeks to intimidate the locals. I told him from the outset it wasn’t worth the price they–”

“What part of nearly killed didn’t you get?”

“Relax, bro. It didn’t work, did it?”

“Ya see, Jimbo?” Percy interrupted, laughing nervously. “Intimidation, okay? No… no killing! Just intimidation!”

“Yeah, and you failed there too. I can still arrest you on Villainous Intent, so don’t think you’re off the hook.”

“Percy’s delusions of heinousness aside, this whole situation really isn’t as bad as you think,” Lionel continued.

“Mmm-hmm. I’ve heard that one before.”

Lionel sighed. “Anyways, I’d heard you were coming out here, so I figured now was as good of a time as any to do it.”

“Wait a minute. You knew we were coming? How?”

“You’re not exactly on a Top Secret Mission here, Jimi. It’s not that hard to get that kind of info.”

So much for the element of surprise.

“Now look… I know this looks bad…”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Will you let me finish a sentence? I get the feeling not a lot of sentences get finished around you.”

Clerk sighed. This mission was going way better when I wasn’t believing a word Sludge was saying.

Flustered, Lionel continued. “Percy and I have been working together since he got here. We were getting started on the record store idea when I got word that you were on your way. Once I knew you were on the planet, I sent him up there to bring you down.”

“Which naturally involves death traps and turning the shields on over the only entrance to your lair.”

“You know me, Jimbo,” Percy said with a smile. “A flair for the dramatic.”

“Right… next you’re going to tell me that phaser wasn’t loaded.”

“Well, now that you mention it, Captain…”

“Never mind.” Clerk turned back to Lionel. “So let me get this straight… your plan was to get me down here to talk?”

“That’s just Step 1.”

“Step 1 of what? A family reunion?”

“No, Step 1 of revenge, goofball. Or did you somehow forget that you banished me to this lousy rock?”

“Good idea, Lieutenant,” Captain Clerk replied. “We may need his help.”

Within minutes, Lt. Cmdr. Shenanigans showed up. “And just what seems to be the trouble here, fellows?” he said as he sat down at the table across from Sludge. At 2’7″, he was barely taller than the table top, and he spoke with a whiny, nasal voice that always sounded like it had a cold.

“And just who are you, ya little runt?” Percy said, giggling a little.

“I’m your worst nightmare,” Shenanigans said, leaning in and narrowing his eyes. It did nothing to add to his intimidation factor, but he tried. Oh, how he tried.

“Heh, I’ll bet.”

“Cut the theatrics, you two,” Clerk interrupted. “Let’s get this over with. Supper’s in 45 minutes, and it’s Meatloaf Night.”

“Sorry, sir. It’s all part of the job.”

Gimme a break.

“What was that, Captain?”

Sigh. “Never mind.”

“Oh, a mind reader, eh?” Percy laughed. “Well, then you’ll know that I’m telling the truth.”

“Mr. Sludge, you have to have a mind in order for me to read it.”

Burn!

“Anyways, I’m not a mind reader… but I do specialize in lie detection techniques and psychological profiling.”

“Listen people!” Percy exclaimed as he stood up. “You don’t have to coerce me into telling the truth. I already am!”

“It’s not that we don’t believe you,” said Clerk. “It’s that nobody believes you.”

“Captain, Captain! Look, I’m willing to show you. You just have to–”

“Let you back down onto the planet’s surface. Just how stupid do you think I am?” Pause. “Don’t answer that.”

====

Clerk returned from supper, and the two were still going at it. Klaa’ck and Whatsisname were leaning on the door, holding glasses up to their ears, trying to hear something.

“Hear anything good?” he whispered.

“These new doors are nearly sound-proof, sir,” Whatsisname replied. “I can only hear something when it gets really loud, and that’s only when Sludge is yelling at the little fella.”

“And he hasn’t even done that in quite a while,” Klaa’ck added.

“Shen’s a tough cracker. It’s probably quiet because he’s reduced Percy to tears.”

Just then, the doors opened, and Klaa’ck and Whatsisname quickly hid their glasses behind their backs.

“You can come in now.”

As they did, they saw an exasperated Percy Sludge drumming his fingers on the table.

“Well, Shen, what’s the verdict?”

“I can’t detect any deception.”

“You sound so disappointed,” Percy taunted. “Well, there’s your verification, Jim Bob. Two hours of raking me over the coals and I’m still vindicated.”

“So you’ve totally convinced yourself that you’re telling the truth.”

“I am telling the truth!”

Clerk sighed. “Alright, alright. Obviously you’re wanting to get back down there, and you’ve made up some cockamamie story to make us take you down there. You’ve even managed to fool our Lie Detector. But you don’t fool me. I’ve just received word that the Brig is ready, so in you go. I’m tired of these shenanigans…” Catching what he said, he turned to Shen. “Oops, sorry, no offense…”

“None taken.”

“Anyways, I’m tired of all this, so unless you can give me a solid argument in five words or less, it’s over.”

“Your brother says hello.”

====

Captain’s Blog, Stardate: Meatloaf Night. We’re beaming back down to Alpha Beta II with Percy Sludge, seeking some underground city, apparently run by my estranged brother Lionel. Nobody believes anything this merchant has been telling us, but he passed all of Lt. Cmdr. Shenanigans’ lie detection tests, so we’re contractually obligated to check it out.

“I still don’t believe you,” Clerk said as he, Wharf, Sludge, and a couple of Security officers walked to the Chamber of Commerce building.

“I know you’re expecting my usual tricks, and granted, if I were you, so would I. But for once in my life, my dearest Jimnasium, I’m being straightforward with you.”

“We’ll see about that.”

They entered the main office, which was still deserted. Percy hit a switch behind one of the filing cabinets, and a secret door slid open, revealing a staircase.

Percy stretched out his arm to the open door. “Shall we?”

The group made their way down, and the stairwell got narrower and darker. Finally, they reached the bottom, where there was a steel door with a bare lightbulb glowing above it.

“Some city,” Clerk remarked.

“Just you wait.”

The door opened to reveal a small room, packed wall-to-wall with records, comic books, and the occasional action figure. In the middle of it all was Lionel Clerk, sitting on a bean bag chair.

“What took you so long, Perce?”

“They had to throw a lie detector at me first.”

“Was it Shenanigans? I miss that guy.”

“Some city you have here, Percy,” Clerk interrupted.

“You told him it was a city?”

“Some say small, uninviting cave, I say underground city. It’s a matter of nomenclature.”

“Should we just beam them up now, or what?” Wharf asked.

“I’d like to hear their lame explanation of what’s going on first. So… what kind of ‘operation’ are you nutcases up to?”

“What operation?” Lionel asked, surprised. “I just asked him to bring you down here while you were in town.”

“He was arresting me, man! I had to make it sound interesting so he’d actually come down.”

“You could have just said, ‘Dude, your brother’s down there. Wanna say hi?’”

“I would have believed the underground city thing first, to be honest.”

Lionel shrugged. “Touché. Well, now that you’re here, let me tell you my plan…”

“Just what are you trying to pull off here, anyways?” Captain Clerk demanded.

“Duh, escape. I’m trying to evade arrest. Are you always this obtuse? Seriously guys, is he always this obtuse?”

“No, I mean, overall… here on this planet. You couldn’t stir up enough trouble where you came from, so you had to seek out the most wretched hive of scum and villainy you could find?”

“Well, to be honest, I only came here because the Intergalactic Karaoke Guild has no jurisdiction here. It’s one of the few places I have left to go to. The fact that this is a primarily black-market planet actually almost deterred me. I was about to have to resort to setting up a legitimate establishment. Anyways, enough talk. I’m outta here.”

“Wait!”

“What is it now, Captain Jerk? Are you stalling or something?”

“Well, I–”

“You’re not fooling me! I know you’re up to something!” Flustered, Percy turned around…

…to find Ensign Rann Dome standing there, holding a rather large rock over his head.

“Figures.”

“You probably should put that phaser down, Mr. Sludge.”

Percy did so, and as soon as Wharf got it out of his reach, Dome put down the rock.

“So, stalling until the big guy with the rock got over here, eh?”

“Actually, he’s been there for quite a while.”

“Huh?”

“Yeah, I got here right about the time you started kicking the door.”

Confused, Percy turned back to Clerk. “So why were you stalling?”

“I just wanted to see how long he could hold that thing above his head. I just figured he’d disarm you as soon as he got tired of holding it.”

“So he wasn’t–”

“It’s against Fleet protocol to take people out with rocks. My ensigns know that.”

“Yeah, I was just getting bored waiting on you to try and make your escape, so I was going for the Stupidly Holding a Large Rock Over Your Head Record.”

“You missed it by about 17 seconds,” said Wharf.

“Aww, man.”

“Better luck next time, Ensign.”

“Mind if I practice some more while you finish making your arrest, sir?”

“Go for it.”

As Klaa’ck went over to give Rann Dome some lifting tips, Clerk did the usual rights-reading and signaled the ship for beaming.

“This is an outrage!”

“Totally,” said Clerk. “I was really hoping he’d break that record.”

====

“But we’ve just finished changing it back into the Bingo Room, sir!”

“Sorry, Jenkins, but we’ve got a bona fide prisoner now.”

“Alrighty, I’m on it.”

While they waited for the brig to get cleared out, Clerk, Klaa’ck, Whatsisname and Sludge sat in a nearby conference room and talked.

“So let me get this straight,” Clerk said, head in hands. “You came to Alpha Beta II, the most corrupt society in the known universe, an environment in which you would be expected to thrive better than anywhere else… to set up an above-board, legitimate, by-the-books trading establishment?”

“Yes, Captain. A record store, to be exact.”

“And you’re expecting me to believe that story?”

“You can believe it if you wish, my dear Jimbo, but it’s the truth. Going against the grain is the Sludge way, and I’m not a man who breaks family tradition!”

“Well, seeing as you come from a long line of karaoke singers, I hardly think–”

“Bad karaoke singers, Captain! We have a right to be as off-key as we want! It’s not our fault the Guild is oppressing us.”

“So you went from singing to black-market commerce?”

“Seemed logical to me,” Percy said with a shrug.

Clerk looked at Klaa’ck.

“No comment.”

“Anyways, Harold–”

“Percy.”

Don’t ask. He’ll probably make up another song or something. “We’ve been asked to take you in, so I won’t hear any excuses you’ve got. Your police record for the last six months alone is enough to incarcerate you until I retire. So, whether or not you were there to set up a ‘legit’ business, you’re on your way to prison.”

“Fine. Have it your way. You won’t get to see it then.”

“See what?”

“Nothing. Forget I said anything.”

“You’re just trying to mess with me.”

“Mess with you, nothing. I saw it.”

“Saw what?”

Percy whistled.

“Saw what?”

“No, you’ve got your whole I’m-arresting-you thing going on. Never you mind about the underground city.”

“Underground city? There’s no–”

“Have it your way.”

I’m going to regret this. “Percy, what underground city are you talking about? And no shenanigans this time. You’re not in a position to bargain.”

“That’s what you think, Captain. It’s there, alright, and I can get you in, but you’ll have to let me go back there.”

“What are you talking about? And what makes you so sure–”

“Because you’re not out here to get me, you dope. You’re after him. He’s set up a whole new racket down there. Underground. And if you want to see him, I’m your ticket in.”

Clerk stood there dumbfounded as the rest of the landing party looked for ways inside the Chamber of Commerce building. Everybody came back except Ensign Rann Dome, who probably suffered a horrible, unsuspected death.

He’s not usually this resourceful. He’s never had his act this much together…

“Captain,” said Wharf. “We cannot find any way into the building. He’s got it secured very well.”

“Yeah, the Chamber’s shields are designed to be a big bubble, and they’ve made sure there’s no way in or under them. These buildings are probably the most important buildings on this planet.”

“Our only option is to try and penetrate them with our ship’s phaser banks.”

“I doubt that’d work, Wharf. These things are tough. Besides, a weasel like him’s not gonna stay hunkered down in there. I’m sure he’s long gone by now.”

“Where would he have gone?” Klaa’ck asked. “There aren’t any cities or places of business for miles.”

“Yeah, that’s what I don’t get,” Clerk said, stroking his chin. “He’s not behaving the way he usually does. He’s been the king of small-stakes black market stuff for so long. His entire career has been hit-and-run, karaoke included. For him to have set up some kind of base of operations is rather enterprising for him.”

“Maybe he’s finally found the right locale.”

“If there’s any place for that, it’s here,” Wharf interjected.

“These Chamber of Commerce buildings aren’t much of a crime-lord-type base, though. You might have a small office or two, but other than that, it’s restrooms, vending machines, and brochures.”

“Maybe that’s what he’s counting on,” Klaa’ck said. “The fact that nobody would think to look here for a black market dealer.”

“Perhaps. But we still need to track him down. This building may be a red herring. Clerk to Secondprize.”

“Secondprize here,” Whatsisname answered.

“Can you get a fix on Mr. Sludge? He seems to have eluded us.”

“Sorry, sir. We’re still downloading all the GPS data for this planet. We’ve tried 5 files from 3 different servers and none of them seem to match the planet.”

“Okay, well… let us know when you can track him.”

“Yes sir.”

“Well, that’s a bummer,” Clerk said with a sigh. “I mean, we can spread out and try to look for him, but I don’t like the idea of splitting up the party, and, if he’s still here, we’d have really wasted our time.”

At that point, they all saw a brief flash. The shields were down.

“Finally!” Klaa’ck exclaimed. “Let’s go–”

Clerk held him back. “Hold on. This could be a trap.”

“Well, seeing as we want to see him, we might want to fall into a trap.”

“Maybe, Wharf, but he’s getting unpredictable. It might be more than a net attached to a vacuum cleaner this time.”

“And that was bad enough.”

“No kidding. I still have nightmares about it.”

“Gentlemen!” shouted Klaa’ck. “It is both illogical and cowardly to stand around commiserating over previous encounters. We must act, and quickly at that!”

He’s got a point. “Alright, I’ll go in.”

“Sir, you’re the captain, are you sure–”

“You know how it is, Wharf. Captain’s Bravado outranks Common Sense.”

“Yes sir.”

Captain Clerk walked in through the main entrance, followed closely behind by the rest of the landing party. The place looked pristine, as if it hadn’t been touched in years. Obvious exits were North, West, and the creepy dark hallway to the South.

“Percy?” Clerk called out. “We just want to talk to you! Come on out!”

“Captain,” said Wharf. “I’m getting a reading. Human life forms down that hallway.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it, sir.”

“Okay, then. Off we go.”

The group headed down the creepy dark hallway to the South. As they walked down, the life signs grew stronger and stronger until–

“Aaaahhhh!” Ensign #7812 shouted as the floor gave way and dropped him down… about a foot and a half.

Everyone else just stood around the trap door, not sure what to make of the situation.

“Um… help?” the Ensign said, embarrassed.

“That’s weird,” said the Captain. “Why would a trap door only–”

“Argh!” Percy Sludge came out, furious. “Never trust a Ferengi to sell you a decent alligator pit!” He furiously pushed buttons on his remote control, hoping to make the Ensign drop to his demise. Finally, he gave up, and threw it down, smashing it into pieces while the landing party just stood there, frozen in disbelief and confusion.

Percy finally opened a nearby door, with a rather large lever in it. “This should work,” he mumbled under his breath as he pulled it. The floor finally dropped a bit more — now the apparently-doomed Redshirt was three feet down.

“Stupid alligator pit!” Percy said as he kicked the hidden door. “It’s worked every single time before. Naturally, it would fail now. I mean, can you believe it?”

The Captain walked over to Sludge. “Well, I for one am glad I haven’t lost this nameless Redshirt. But seeing as you have deliberately attacked a member of my crew, I’m going to have to place you under arrest… Harold.”

The Alpha Beta system wasn’t exactly the best neighborhood to begin with, but the second planet had a special reputation as a particularly seedy place. The black market there had became so prevalent that all the legitimate businesses went under, making the planet a favorite test case for economic theorists.

With a three days’ journey to look forward to, Captain Clerk immediately started with the natural first Action Item: setting up a Senior Officers’ Meeting.

====

Klaa’ck, Cecil, Flüshaht, Wharf and Whatsisname were already sitting around the conference table when Clerk and Yeoman Rind walked in.

“Okay, everybody, everybody,” Clerk said as he sat down at the head of the table. “I am foolhardily assuming you’ve all read the Mission Report, or at least have some vague idea of what we’re getting into.”

“Some rogue merchant stirring up trouble in an already troublesome area?” Wharf responded.

“Correct. I know who this guy is and I know his general M.O. His name is Harold Oswald “Percy” Sludge, a washed-up karaoke singer from the armpit of the galaxy who somehow decided he could break into the black market. People who run into him get the unfortunate double-whammy of having to deal with both his shady business practices and his indomitable caterwaul.”

“A jerk of all trades, eh?” Flüshaht interjected.

“No joke there,” said Clerk. “Not only are various planetary governments out to get him, even the Intergalactic Karaoke Guild has a price on his head.”

“So what is our objective here?” Klaa’ck chimed in.

Whatsisname raised his hand. “What usually happens in these cases is somebody finds him and arrests him on some charges, and he inevitably manages to weasel his way out of it, typically using bribery of some sort.”

“What we’ve got to do is find a way to put this guy behind bars permanently,” said the Captain.

“Can’t we detain him?” asked Flüshaht.

“Well… technically he’s out of our jurisdiction,” Clerk said with a sigh. “But, if he does something bad enough, they might be willing to hand him over to us simply because he’s raising enough of a stink. Kind of a passive-aggressive extradition, if you will.”

“That doesn’t sound like a guaranteed recipe for success.”

“I know, Doctor, but every law enforcement agency in the known universe has been trying to keep this guy under lock and key for years, and nothing’s worked so far. Anyways, we’ve got a few days to brainstorm about it, and I’m all ears on this, believe you me. If you have any strategy you think might work, just see me or Janet, or send one of us an e-mail. Meeting dismissed.”

The journey was fairly uneventful, save for a small fire in the kitchen which destroyed half of the ship’s meal templates. All of the ensigns got a temporary upgrade for their meal plans as a result.

The Secondprize arrived at Alpha Beta II without any of the Senior Officers having come up with a workable plan. Clerk tried hard not to worry, but seeing as how it was anxiety — not blood — that ran through his veins, that plan failed as well. For a brief moment, he even considered calling Lt. Ethel for an appointment.

====

Upon arrival, Clerk, Klaa’ck, Wharf, and a couple of Redshirt Ensigns beamed down fashionably late to the scheduled rendezvous at the Planetary Chamber of Commerce. However, Percy Sludge had gotten wind of the meeting, and showed up early, sending the local officials running.

“We meet again, eh, Captain?”

“What have you done with the–”

“They’re fine,” Sludge chuckled. “One look at me, and they ran away, cowering in fear!”

It wasn’t because of your swagger, I’ll tell you that much. “Look, Harold–”

“That’s Percy to you, Clerk!”

Sigh. “Look, Percy, we know what you’re up to, and we’ve been called upon to do something about it. I’d hoped to be able to talk to the powers that be here, but you’ve forced my hand. The galaxy has put up with your hijinks long enough. So, like, just come with us and leave these people be.”

“Aww, Captain…” Percy mockingly replied. “That’s no fun. How about a song?”

We can do without that, thanks.

“Now what shall I sing… how about…”

At that exact moment, his eyes latched onto Klaa’ck. Pulling a guitar out of nowhere, he cleared his throat and began.

“When a Vulcan loves a Klingooooonnnnn…”

In a flash, Klaa’ck leaped over and grabbed the merchant by the throat, lifting him up at least a foot off the ground.

“Klaa’ck!” Clerk shouted. “Put him down!”

“But Captain, he–”

“Now!”

“I can’t allow this!”

“You’re being illogical!”

“Illogical? My honor is at stake here!”

Wharf spoke up. “Fleet Regulation #178-B specifically forbids choking of merchants, regardless of their singing ability.”

With a loud sigh, Klaa’ck dropped Percy Sludge and walked back over to the rest of the landing party.

“Well, well, well…” the merchant taunted, once he was able to speak. “We’ve got a sensitive one, have we? You could have at least let me finish the chorus.”

Klaa’ck growled.

“Anyways, as much as I want to talk shop with you guys, I’ve got business to do.”

“That’s exactly why we’re here, Mr. Sludge,” Clerk said as he slowly began to step forward. “Now, if you’ll just come with us, we’ll discuss this… business… of yours.”

“No dice, Jimbo. You’re not a paying customer, so I don’t have time for you.”

As he spoke, he pulled a remote control out of his pocket and turned on the Chamber of Commerce’s shields. Separated from the Secondprize crewmembers, he quickly entered the building and ran out of sight.

Which meant, of course, that weeks would pass by before the Secondprize had its new mission.

Things went rather well in the interim. Certainly, nobody minded that at all. Craziness generally stays at a particular base level on the Secondprize at all times, so when a nice long break like this occurs, everybody takes full advantage of it. The swimming pools are booked solid during times like these.

Captain Clerk kept a watchful eye over the situation, monitoring the usual Ships Operations stuff: computer upgrades, virus scans, furniture replacements, and so forth. He had begun taking his blood pressure medication again, so he managed to maintain his cool in just about all situations. The only real exception had to do with getting his new Bridge Chair. It took 7 tries to get the right one, and by that point, the cool he had been maintaining was expended for that day.

Having such a break also helped with acclimation (or re-acclimation, as it were) of the Department Heads. Returning vacationers notwithstanding, there was certainly no shortage of breaking in that had to occur. Dr. Flüshaht, try as he might, still hasn’t really been able to handle having a hologram as an assistant doctor. Hope springing eternally, Clerk has continued to insist that Flüshaht refrain from hitting the Delete key. So far, they’ve only had to re-install the Downloadable Doctor twice.

Klaa’ck and Cecil have been different stories altogether.

Since Cecil’s first major assignment was essentially being a living, breathing (though very well shielded) plumber’s snake, going about the daily business of running a starship’s engines was a downright cakewalk. Now that his Chief Assistant has learned his peculiar English dialect, everything has been running smoothly ever since.

Klaa’ck had a more difficult time adjusting to life on the Secondprize. Since his primary starship experience had been gained on science vessels, diplomatic missions, and other situations where rules were generally followed, he didn’t really know how to function on a ship whose Operations Manual mainly consisted of the words Don’t Kill Anybody. While the First Officer has not yet racked up a body count, he has set the record for the most crewmembers sent to Sick Bay in a 2-week period.

The “X Days Since Last Workplace Injury” sign has since been permanently retired.

Clerk’s main concern, however, has been dealing with Deck X.  The cleaning and refurbishing took quite a while, but what has taken even longer is getting anybody to move in down there. Despite how well-designed and well-furnished the area is (even before the Port Incident occurred), its location is not exactly prime real estate.

Additionally, once its history had become common knowledge (primarily through Jed Jenkins’ penchant for being willing tell anybody anything, with or without the drop of a hat), even committed tenants started backing out. It also didn’t help that they still, to this stardate, have not yet been able to completely get the smell out, despite having the best industrial cleaners around. Thus, even with the higher rates on the new upper decks, almost nobody has rented out spaces on Deck X. As a result,  its primarily function has been relegated to that of being the Fleet’s most expensively decorated storage area.

====

After about a month’s stay at Deep Dish $9, the crew of the Secondprize finally got its new mission. Clerk, having been summoned to the Bridge, barely managed to peel himself away from the Extreme Starship Makeover marathon his eyes had been glued to since Monday. When he arrived at the Bridge, Admiral Placãrd was already on screen.

“Good to see you again, Captain,” the Admiral genteelly began the conversation.

“Good to see you too, Admiral. How’s the wife and kids?”

“Don’t start with me today, Clerk. I’m not in a good mood.”

“Sorry, sir. So… I take it we finally have our new assignment?”

“Indeed. We have what I think will be a good one for your new crewmembers to test their mettle on.”

Captain Clerk began to get nervous. This kind of description usually meant either a boring diplomatic mission, or cinematic-level combat against a supervillain. Clerk actually hoped for the former, given the fact that the bulk of the ship had just been remodeled.

“We have a situation on Alpha Beta II,” the Admiral continued. “A space merchant has been harassing the locals there, breaking just about every protocol we have in our databanks. We also suspect he’s operating without a license and all that.”

I’ve got a bad feeling about this. “Has he been torturing them with his singing as well?”

Taken aback, Placãrd briefly reviewed the assignment’s description again. “Hmm… yes, there do seem to be a few reports along those lines.”

“I know who we’re dealing with, sir,” Clerk said with a little resignation. “I’ve dealt with him before.”

Captain Clerk had had more than his fair share of First Officers. For some reason, they always wound up suddenly transferring to other ships within about six weeks of being assigned to the Secondprize, and he never understood why. And with Klaa’ck’s peculiar history (and lineage), Clerk was particularly unsure of how things would go.

However, considering how crazy things tended to be on this ship, it may be that they’d finally found somebody who was enough of a misfit to stick around.

As the Captain approached Klaa’ck’s room, he suddenly stopped in his tracks. Instead of hearing the usual clangs and bangs, he heard a faint chanting. Curious, he slowly crept up to the door, turning his ear to get a better listen. He could make out a couple of words, but it didn’t make any sense.

“This door is locked,” the door informed Clerk.

“I know, I know,” Clerk whispered. “I was just–”

“Would you like to use your personal security override?”

“Huh? I can do that?”

“Yes, sir. Captains always have top security privileges.”

Whoa, really? “Um… sure. Okay.”

The door opened quietly, and Clerk sneaked in. The room was dimly lit. Klaa’ck was at the other end of the room, facing his mirror. As he was chanting, he assumed two different stances: first, he stood straight and tall; next, he quickly crouched into a fighting stance. He alternated between these two poses. Once in the room, the Captain could hear the chanting clearly…

…and it still didn’t make sense.

“What time is it? It’s KLAA’CK TIME! What time is it? It’s KLAA’CK TIME! What time is it? It’s KLAA’CK TIME! What time is it? It’s KLAA’CK TIME!”

Clerk stepped in a bit further to get a better look, and in doing so, bumped into Klaa’ck’s weapons rack. Klaa’ck spun around as he heard the blades hit the floor.

“Captain!” Klaa’ck exclaimed, embarrassed to be caught in the act. “What are you doing?”

“Well, I was just… um… I mean, I needed to… what were you doing?”

Klaa’ck cleared his throat. He looked around nervously. “I was… practicing battle cries.”

Clerk turned the light on, and finally got a good look at his new First Officer. Klaa’ck was tall and muscular, dressed in a traditional Vulcan robe, with long hair tied back in a pony tail. His skin was the typical Klingon brown, but his visage was more Vulcan. Upswept eyebrows and pointed ears framed a calm, logical face… with a Fu Manchu mustache.

At a loss for words, Captain Clerk fumbled with Klaa’ck’s weapons rack. “Sorry about this… I was just…”

“It’s okay, sir. I had forgotten you were on your way. I let time get away from me. It won’t happen again.”

“No worries, Commander.”

Once the weapons were all in order, the two stood together with an uncomfortable silence between them.

“So…” Clerk stammered, breaking the ice as best he could. “Battle cries? Really? Why would a Vulcan…”

Sighing, Klaa’ck pointed at his facial hair.

“Oh… right, right. The… the Klingon part.”

“I can glue a crustacean to my forehead if it’ll help, Captain.”

“No, no, I’ll get it. Still… it really doesn’t seem logical to–”

“EVERYTHING I DO IS LOGICAL!”

Clerk stammered back, wide-eyed. “Um… maybe I should… just… go…”

Realizing what he’d done, Klaa’ck began to apologize profusely. “Sorry, sir! It must have been the Klingon in me! I–”

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m so sorry! I try to keep my rage at bay. Sometimes I… get a bit carried away…”

“Really, Klaa’ck, it’s okay. Relax.”

Klaa’ck tried his best to regain his composure. “Yes, sir. I’ll… just try to be more diligent with my meditation regimen.”

“Speaking of that… those are some… formidable weapons. How did you get those things past security? I barely got my pocket knife onto the ship.”

“I… have credentials, sir.”

“What kind of credentials lets you get away with this?”

“Well, my father is an ambassador.” Klaa’ck paused as a mischievous smile tried to work its way through his Vulcan Emotion Blocker. “I get away with stuff you wouldn’t believe.”

Clerk smiled. “I’ll bet.”

Finally the tension was all gone as the two shared a good laugh, though Klaa’ck promptly cut his short.

“Well… I need to be going,” Clerk finally said. “Glad we got to meet at last. See you on the Bridge in the morning. We should get our next assignment sometime tomorrow.”

“Yes, sir.”

Clerk patted him on the back as he headed toward the door. Just before the doors opened, however, he turned back around.

“Klaa’ck Time?”

“That’s the best I have so far. I do have another I’ve been working on.”

“Alright, let’s hear it.”

Klaa’ck assumed his fighting stance. “Can you smell what the Klaa’ck is cooking?”

Clerk winced. “I like Klaa’ck Time better.”

“I do as well, sir.”

At that, Clerk left the room. As soon as the doors closed, he stopped. As often as he had arguments with the elevator, talking to anything else on the ship always made him feel a little nervous. He never seemed to know what to say.

“Door?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Just out of curiosity, who else has personal security override?”

“That privilege is reserved for the Captain, the First Officer, and the Security Chief.”

“Oh, okay… but that’s all, right?”

“Yes sir.”

“You’re sure?”

The door sighed. “Yes, Captain.”

Okay, okay! Just checking. “Thank you… Door…”

Still a little nervous (and not sure if the last few minutes had really happened), Clerk finally left and headed to his room for the evening. As he sat down on his bed, he sighed and shook his head.

This is the second craziest week I’ve had all year.

“Deck W, please,” ordered the Captain.

“Huh?”

“You know, The Port.”

“Oh, right, right.”

“Um… we’re not moving,” Clerk finally spoke after several seconds had passed.

“You’re not going to make me go down there again are you? I still feel–”

“Listen here, Elevator. You take us down there right now, at full speed, with no stops, or I will see to it personally that you are dismantled as soon as this is all over, and reconstituted on Alpha Beta IV as an outhouse. Right now, the Admiral is on his way there, and if we don’t–”

“Duh. Of course I know he’s down there. I took him there.”

“Right! And if we don’t–”

“I explained the whole thing to him.”

“If we don’t– wait, you what?? You told him all about the–”

“Yeah. Dude was pretty upset about it too. That’s what I’m saying, Captain. You don’t want to go down there.”

Clerk and Wharf looked at each other. The elevator did have a point.

“Captain,” Wharf said after a few seconds. “He’s going to have our hides anyways. We can either enter the fray and go down like warriors, or run and hide like cowards.”

Always a battle analogy. “Look, Elevator, just take us there, okay? Wharf has a metaphorical point here. Let’s get this over with. I want my death to be quick and painless.”

“You’ll go down like a redshirt!” the elevator protested.

At that, Captain Clerk took in a deep breath, stood straight and tall, and gave his order.

“Bring it on.”

====

Clerk and Wharf arrived at the Port Room to see Flüshaht and Rind standing nervously outside the door. Through the glass they could see Admiral Nezbomb standing in front of the observation window. Unfortunately, the area had not yet been cleaned up.

“What took you two so long?” Flüshaht asked.

“Elevator trouble,” Clerk responded. “So you two haven’t gone in yet?”

“We’ve been afraid to,” said Rind. “When we first got here, he was pacing back and forth, yelling… we couldn’t tell what he was saying but it sure wasn’t happy. Then suddenly… he just stopped.”

“Stopped?”

“Yeah, right where he is now. He stopped pacing around, and just relaxed,“ Flüshaht said, pointing to where Nezbomb now stood.

Clerk sighed. It was the moment of truth. “Well… I’ve gotta go in there.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Jimi,” said Flüshaht, holding him back. “You don’t know what he’ll do.”

“I know,” Clerk said with resignation. “But this is my responsibility. I have to do this.”

“Responsibility? It’s not your fault this happened!”

“Actually, Doc, it is. It’s that captainy stuff, y’know. ‘A captain is responsible for his crew’ and all that.”

“I agree,” said Wharf. “Still, one or more of us should accompany you, for support.”

“No, Wharf, I’m his protégé–”

“And his favorite punching bag,” Flüshaht interrupted.

“Correct. I must face him… alone.”

“It’s been nice working with you, Jimi,” Flüshaht said, beginning to tear up a bit.

“And with you as well,” Clerk replied.

After a group hug, the Captain turned to face his destiny. He slowly walked into the Port Room and stood right beside Nezbomb. As he turned to look at the Admiral’s face, he saw an expression he did not expect to see: not only was he not angry, he was practically bereft of all emotion whatsoever. The only thing left was a mild confused look, as if he just couldn’t process what his eyes were seeing.

Once Admiral Nezbomb noticed the Captain’s presence, he turned to him and spoke. “Oh hey, Jimi,” he said calmly, as if greeting an old friend. But he was distant, as if still reeling from the shock.

“Sir, I apologize for all this. I–”

Nezbomb raised his hand. “No… it’s okay,” he said. “It’s okay.”

“Are you… sure, Admiral? I mean, with all the–”

“Yeah…” Nezbomb’s expression lightened up. He even smiled a bit. “It’s all good. The mess, the bees, the Klingon boxing, the Gorn… I’m… I’m okay with this.

Clerk nearly had to pick his jaw up off the floor. Now he was in shock… until it hit him…

We’ve broken him.

“Sir, this is very magnanimous of you, but–”

“Call me Mike.”

“Okay… Mike…” the Captain fumbled. “But you’re… I mean, how did you…”

“I dunno Jimi… I just realized what a wreck you’ve got here… and you’re just the man to captain this wreck.”

Clerk wasn’t sure if he’d just been complimented or insulted.

“Say Jimi… how’s about you and I go explore those new upper decks? That sounds like fun.”

Clerk smiled. He’s… he’s serious. “Sure. I’ve been wanting to have a good look myself.”

The pair walked out of the room with smiles on their faces, arm in arm like brothers.

Janet Rind fainted.

====

Clerk and Nezbomb spent the rest of the week checking out the various levels above the bridge, talking with the locals, trying out all the pizza places, overseeing the beauty salon construction, and just really bonding in a way they never had. They even tried Quirk’s special burangabeast pizza. It’s not half bad, really.

As the Admiral was making his way off the ship, Captain Clerk caught up with him. “Adm– I mean, Mike?”

“Yeah, Jimi?”

You know, someday I might get used to that nickname. “I was wondering what kind of report you’re gonna give. You did say it’s a wreck.”

“I know,” Nezbomb said reluctantly. “I guess I’ll say… ‘Same As It Ever Was’.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“No, Jimi… thank you. I haven’t been this chill in years. I think I might actually go on vacation this year.”

“Send me a holocard if you do.”

“You betcha,” Admiral Nezbomb said as he waved to everybody on his way through the airlock. Clerk was sure he was going to be accused of staging a transporter accident or something, but nobody seemed to mind this New-and-Improved Admiral Nezbomb.

I think this is gonna be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Now all he had to do was meet his new First Officer…

The elevator, naturally, was in a hurry to get to the bridge, but Captain Clerk wished it’d savor the journey. In the scarce moments before they arrived, Clerk tried some of those relaxation techniques the Ship’s Counselor keeps trying to get him to do. At least he managed to keep from noticeably panicking.

The doors opened up to the Bridge, where the crewmembers — who were still scurrying around trying to get things together — promptly froze in place. Even the computers seemed to have turned the volume down on their normal beeps and bloops.

Except one.

The DVR component wasn’t a standard feature of ships’ Bridge consoles, but Clerk didn’t see anything in Fleet Regulations specifically against it, so… you get the idea. Unfortunately, being nonstandard equipment, it didn’t follow all the protocols the other ones did… like shut up when the Admiral is around.

“Captain, your prerecorded program is ready! Would you like to view it?”

“No, not right–”

“Yes,” the Admiral interrupted.

Clerk tried frantically to come up with some kind of response that might dissuade the Admiral from going forward with this, but Nezbomb’s “yes” was the unpleasant, definitive sound of inevitability. Staying silent, the Captain accepted his fate.

“Coming right up!” the DVR console happily responded, immediately displaying the show on the Main Screen.

“And in this corner, weighing 320 lbs, the J’Tim’blak Regional Champion, T’Kobor the Maleficent!”

“Klingon boxing?” the Admiral asked indignantly over the prerecorded sounds of cheering. “You’re using the Bridge’s Main Screen to watch Klingon boxing?”

As bad as Clerk wanted to say “Well, what else is a sweet HD screen like that for?”, he knew better, but the only alternative he had ready was his usual nervous babbling, which wasn’t a particularly effective response either.

“Turn that mess off!”

Ensign Tolstoy promptly did so, and scurried off to hide behind Wharf.

Admiral Nezbomb’s tone mellowed slightly — but only slightly. “Jimi, I’m disappointed in you. Not surprised, not angry…” Uh huh. “… just disappointed. It’s one thing to leave your room a bit untidy. It’s another thing altogether to engage in blatant misuse of Fleet resources. I nev–” Nezbomb stopped in his tracks. That’s when he saw the clown.

The Admiral’s face was a mix of confusion, surprise, and wrath. He slowly walked over to the Science Station, where before his vigilantly inspecting eyes was a full-bore, dyed-in-the-wool, full-makeup-and-everything clown. He stood there for several seconds, staring wide-eyed. Once he’d seen enough, he quickly spun around and marched back to the Captain.

“Do my eyes deceive me,” he said evenly yet angrily, “but do I see a clown on the Bridge?”

“Yes, sir. That’s Ensign Kazoo.”

“Tell me, Captain James Clerk, why Mr. Kazoo is not wearing a standard uniform?”

“Well… I… uh…”

“It’s Casual Day!” Ensign Kazoo uttered enthusiastically, honking his horn.

You’re not helping, Ensign.

“Oh really?” the Admiral responded. “Well why didn’t I put on my Bermuda shorts and Hawaiian shirt? Oh, that’s right! Because when I went to the Academy, they taught me that we always wear our uniforms when on duty! So might I suggest you leave your post right now and go dig through your wardrobe until you either find something you were issued when you became a crewmember, or get whisked away to a magical land of make-believe! At this point, I don’t care which!”

Kazoo looked to Clerk, who put on his best “there’s-nothing-I-can-do” face.

“Sorry… standard uniform, Mr. Kazoo,” the Captain said softly as a very sad clown walked across the Bridge to the elevator.

As the Bridge Crew continued to stand in silence, Admiral Nezbomb walked over to Clerk and put his arm around the Captain’s shoulder.

“Now Jimi,” the Admiral said in an uncharacteristically soothing tone. “It might seem like I’m being a hard-nosed jerk about everything…” Then he turned to face Clerk directly. “BUT THAT’S WHAT I DO!”

The Captain froze in place as Nezbomb stormed off the Bridge. He continued to stay there, like a statue, until 15 minutes before the end of the shift, when “Happy Trails” began to play on the ship’s intercom. Slowly, he relaxed and finally got his bearings.

“That really happened, didn’t it?” Clerk, still in a daze, said to Lt. Whatsisname.

“I’m afraid it did, sir.”

The Captain sighed heavily. Getting fired may be the least of my troubles. “So… where did he head off to?”

“I don’t know, sir. He didn’t say and we were all afraid to ask. And to be honest, I know I for one didn’t even want to know.”

“Can’t blame you there. Computer?”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Where is Admiral Nezbomb? Or rather, where has he been, and where is he going?”

“After leaving the bridge, Admiral Nezbomb went to inspect the Main Conference Rooms, the Biology Labs, and the Topiary Gardens. Currently he is en route to The Port.”

“Oh no…” Clerk, Wharf and Whatsisname all said in unison.

Boy did I ever pick a lousy time to quit taking my blood pressure medicine. “Wharf, come with me. Lieutenant, call Dr. Flüshaht and Yeoman Rind and have them meet us at The Port.”

“Yes sir.”

They stepped onto the elevator. Wasting no time, the Admiral uttered the command.

“Bridge, please.”

The elevator was silent and motionless.

Nezbomb cleared his throat. “Bridge, please.”

“Yeah, um…” the elevator said nervously. “That totally doesn’t work.”

“What do you mean, it ‘doesn’t work’?”

“Just what I said, sir. All ‘up’ circuits are offline at the moment.”

GOOD JOB LT.

“And just why are said circuits ‘offline’? They were working just minutes ago.” Even an elevator could not escape Nezbomb’s fury.

“Beats me, sir,” the elevator said cavalierly. “All I know is it’s a no-go. I can’t interpret the error codes.”

With clenched fists and a loud sigh, the Admiral tried not to punch the panel’s lights out.

“Well, does down work? Or are we stuck here?”

“Oh, yeah, down is all great and happenin’ and stuff,” the elevator bubbled. “We can go wherever you want down there!”

Well, not wherever…

“Alright,” Nezbomb fumed. “Crew quarters.”

“Good choice, sir. A fine destination if I say–”

“Don’t say.”

Clerk almost chuckled.

THX LT. GOING TO QUARTERS.

Since the crew quarters were fairly high on the “Not-So-Bad” list, Clerk felt a tinge of relief. Those planning sessions weren’t useless after all…

Standard Fleet procedure was to have the computer generate a random list of rooms the inspector would visit. It was a guideline more than a rule, naturally, but nearly every admiral did it. Not so with Nezbomb, who preferred to use (as closely as he could approximate) the Fibonacci sequence.

This took up the bulk of the day, which was fine by Clerk. He’d given the crewmembers plenty of warning to clean their rooms before inspection time, so most of the rooms were in about as good a condition as to be expected. As they walked past Klaa’ck’s quarters, the requisite flurry of bangs and clangs resounded throughout the hallway.

“And just what is going on in there?”

“Oh, that’s our new First Officer, Commander Klaa’ck. He’s… meditating.”

“He calls that meditating?”

“Well, he is half-Klingon, sir.”

“Oh… that guy. I’ve heard of him.”

An uncomfortable silence followed.

“So… shall we go in there?” Admiral Nezbomb said at last.

“I don’t think I want to interrupt that, to be honest, sir.”

“Good point, Jimi. I don’t think I want to either.”

As bad as Clerk wanted to meet his new First Officer, now certainly wasn’t the time.

Onward the pair went until they stopped at another room, though it didn’t match the numeric sequence. The Captain’s blood pressure rose a bit. The name tag read: CAPT. JAMES R. CLERK.

Great.

“Still haven’t gotten your middle initial corrected in the system?”

“I’ve given up on trying. It’s not worth the hassle anymore.”

“I’ll see if I can pull some strings. No sense in going by a name that isn’t yours, even if it’s just an initial.”

The first thing they saw upon entrance was how messy the Captain’s room was. Granted, he kept it better than he used to, but his reputation for having the messiest room in the rattiest dorm on campus had by now become the stuff of legend.

“Some things never change,” the Admiral said, sighing just a little.

“Well, what with all the hubbub lately, I haven’t had the–”

“Don’t go there with me, Jimi. You and I both know better than that.”

Touché. But just once, I’d like to hear you call me James again. One play on a jukebox and I’m marked for life…

Naturally, the Admiral had to examine this one more closely. Clerk was his protégé, after all.

“Let’s see here… non-standard bedding… non-standard room configuration… unacceptable cleanliness level… bee hives…”

That’s when he did the double take.

“Bee hives? You’re keeping bees in here?”

“Y-y-y-yes sir,” came Clerk’s sheepish response.

“I thought you were over that whole beekeeping phase.” Now Nezbomb’s more fatherly tones were coming out.

“I’ve never been over it, sir. I have been, and always shall be, an apiarist.”

The Admiral crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as he turned back to the buzzing box in the corner.

“Jimi… I do not know offhand of any Fleet regulation that forbids beekeeping in one’s quarters…”

Whew.

“…but I’m sure there is one, and rest assured, I’ll find it.”

No rush, sir.

====

Meanwhile, panic on the bridge had reached fever pitch, with Whatsisname and Wharf doing their best to control and minimize the chaos.

“We’re getting too many complaints about the elevators. We have to turn them back on.”

“And risk the Admiral getting up here before we’re ready?” a very stressed Whatsisname responded. “I’m sorry, we just can’t risk that. I mean, look around!”

“We can’t put him off forever. He’ll suspect something’s up.”

Just then, another txt from the Captain came in.

GUYS HE'S GETTING ANXIOUS. R U READY YET?

The cats weren’t all herded, but Wharf was right. They had to do it.

“Fine.”

Wharf switched the elevators back to fully operational status.

ELEVATORS BACK ONLINE. COME ON UP.

Clerk walked up to Nezbomb, afraid to give his news, but equally afraid not to.

“24 violations, Clerk,” the Admiral announced. “That’s 25 too many. I won’t put you on probation this time, but I will file a Minor Infraction Report ASAP.”

That was the least of the Captain’s worries. He cleared his throat. “I’ve just received word that the elevators are back to normal functionality now.”

“Good.” Without another word, the Admiral immediately took off toward the door. The two got back on the elevator.

“Hey, guys! I’ve got great news! The–”

“We know,” Clerk interrupted.

“Can you at least let me finish the sentence?”

“No,” the Admiral thundered. “Bridge. Now.”

Grumbling a bit, the elevator took them to their destination. Clerk closed his eyes. Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t hyperventilate. Don’t hyperventilate…

“Better him than us,” was the catchphrase around campus.

To Nezbomb, Clerk was the son he never had. To Clerk, Nezbomb was the father he never wanted. Generally, things worked out between the two, and having a mentor among the admiralty never hurts at the Academy. Still, the Admiral had a special knack for capitalizing on (and exacerbating) any given crewperson’s anxiety.

It was his major when he was a student.

====

Timing was crucial here. The Admiral had equal disdain for people who were either early or late. Clerk kept his eye on his watch as he made his way down to the Guest Suites.

“58… 59…”

Clerk pressed the doorbell, only to find that when the door opened, Admiral Nezbomb was standing there with arms folded, none too pleased.

“You forgot to synchronize your watch, didn’t you?”

“Huh?”

Nezbomb sighed. “You’re 44 seconds late. Obviously, I’ve made far too few visits to your ship lately.”

No, you’re fine, really. “Sorry, sir, I–”

“Can the excuses. I scarcely slept a wink last night, so I want to go ahead and get this stupid inspection over with.” He stepped out into the hallway and headed straight for Sick Bay.

Great. Cranky and sleep-deprived.

While they made a bee line for what hopefully did not contain a sick Gorn, a light bulb went off over Clerk’s head. Wait a minute. Did he say “get this over with”? As discretely as he could, he grabbed his communicator and started typing.

HEADED 2 SICK BAY. ADM IS TIRED & WANTS THIS OVER WITH. WE MAY HAVE AN ADVANTAGE.


Lt. Whatsisname was still assessing the state of the Problem Areas on the ship. Sick Bay wasn’t too high on the list. The biggest thing was Cecil. He made a quick call to see if the Gorn had been discharged yet.

Dr. Flüshaht answered. “Let me guess. The Admiral’s on his way.”

“Yep,” Whatsisname replied with a sigh. “What’s his status?”

“We’re trying to get him checked out as soon as we can, but dealing with his medical records is a headache for the ages. I’ve got two diplomats on the line and a crack team of programmers trying to up the accuracy of the translations. So far, we’ve ordered 6 tons of ice cream, insulted their Head of State, and crossed a Norse saga with ‘Jack and Jill went up the hill’, so we’re–”

The front door opened up, and the entire Sick Bay fell silent. Nezbomb surveyed the scene.

“Doctor Flüshaht, I presume,” Nezbomb said flatly.

“In the flesh. What can I do for you, sir?”

“Didn’t you die last season?”

“That’s the rumor.”

“Good to have you back in service, I suppose. Now the first–”

Cecil picked that moment to walk back in from the Medical Records Department.

“SSSSSORRY THAT TOOK SSSSSO LONG! I THINK WE’VE GOT IT ALL SSSSSTRAIGHTENED OUT!”

Nezbomb had always heard of people being speechless, but had never personally experienced it… until now. He didn’t like it.

“What… is… that… GORN… doing here?!?!”

Clerk stammered for at least 15 seconds before being able to utter an actual syllable. “Don’t… you re… member… the…” What’s that called again? “The… Officer Exchange Program?” Yes! I remembered it!

“I was unaware we were doing so with non-treatied parties,” came the Admiral’s barely-restrained reply.

Wow, not as caustic as usual. Maybe he’s softening in his old age? “You’ll have to talk to my yeoman about that. Apparently she set it up.”

“Janet Rind, still?”

“Yes sir.”

The tension in the room eased up as Nezbomb, sighing heavily, visibly relaxed. “That woman’s going to get us all into trouble one of these days.”

No arguments there.

“So,” Nezbomb said as he turned to Cecil, with a somewhat playful half-grin on his face. “What’s your name and position?”

“I’M SSSSSEESSSSSUL, SSSSSIR! I’M THE NEW CHIEF ENGINEER!”

Now the Admiral had experienced speechlessness twice. Remaining strangely calm, he turned to Clerk and spoke under his breath. “Watch it, Jimi. One more stunt like this and I’ll have both of you polishing up your résumés.”

Clerk could barely squeak out a reply. “Yes sir.”

Flüshaht and the rest of his staff rushed to get Cecil discharged while Admiral Nezbomb, somehow blurring the line between livid and catatonic, carried out the rest of what turned out to be an abnormally perfunctory inspection. Clerk stood still. Breathing wrong could get everybody fired at this point.

“That does it for here,” Nezbomb said tersely. “On to the bridge.”

The bridge?? “Um, according to the itinerary, we’re going to Engineering next.”

“I think I know everything I need to know about Engineering.”

Uh oh.

As the Admiral led the way out of Sick Bay, Captain Clerk reached for his communicator again.

CHANGE OF PLANS. EN ROUTE 2 BRIDGE.

Lt. Whatsisname spit out his coffee. “Wharf! Emergency Plan 1B! Quick!“

The debriefing meeting began at Half Past Late, and mainly consisted of Captain Clerk, Lt. Wharf, Dr. Flüshaht and Lt. Whatsisname coming up with a plan for Damage Control.

Head in hands, Clerk began the meeting. “Okay guys, the Admiral is on board, and there’s nothing we can do about it. So… what are we gonna do about it?”

“Well, we never quite reached all of the objectives for Operation Make This Ship Look Presentable,” Whatsisname began. “We got pretty far along, but what with the Bord, um, ‘Event’, and New Member Orientation and all… well, we’ve still got a ways to go.”

“I know one part of the ship that ain’t ready,” grumbled Flüshaht.

“Yeah, that’s definitely last on the tour,” Clerk groaned. “If he makes it that far without giving us all a Dishonorable Discharge.” He turned to Whatsisname. “So, what parts are done? Do we have somewhere to begin?”

The Lieutenant flipped through his notes. “Let’s see… Engineering’s not too bad… Topiary Garden’s in good shape… aside from a few key rooms, the Crew Quarters are fine… as detailed and thorough as Nezbomb tends to be, that’s at least one or two day’s worth. I think we could draw up an itinerary for tomorrow that would take him through the good parts while we work on the rest.”

“Sounds good,” replied the beyond-weary Captain.

“What about the rest of the ship?” Wharf chimed in. “Can we get the rest of it done while the Admiral is inspecting what we have so far?”

“We’ll have to do it incrementally,” said Whatsisname. “As soon as a new section is done, the Captain will take Admiral Nezbomb to that area, while the Cleaning Crew moves on to their next area. Basically, we’ll have two itineraries.”

“That’s gonna be hard to pull off,” said Dr. Flüshaht.

“It’s our only option, as far as I can tell,” Clerk responded with a sigh. “Now that he’s here, we can’t put him off. He’s going to be on the attack first thing in the morning, that’s for sure. Lieutenant, I’ll need you to get right on that. I know it’s late, but we’re officially out of time. I’ll meet with you here at 5am to go over things. The Admiral always gets up at 5:45am exactly, so that will at least give us a little bit of a head start. You are dismissed.”

“Yes, sir.”

“As for the rest of you, it’s business as usual unless you hear from us, which you probably will. We’ll be handing out assignments as necessary throughout the day.”

Just then, Yeoman Janet Rind walked in. “Captain, I’ve been trying to reach you for hours. Is your communicator set to Silent?”

“I’ve been a little busy.”

“Anyways, I know it’s late, but the Admiral wanted me to give you his itinerary for tomorrow. He expects to see you at his quarters at 7am sharp.”

Rind dropped the itinerary down on the table and walked out without another word. Everyone sat there silently until Clerk finally got the gumption to pick up the itinerary and read it.

Yep. Just as I suspected. It’s the exact opposite of what we need…

====

The stress of what was about to happen and the fatigue of what had just happened played tug-of-war with Clerk until he finally passed out at 1am. Three hours later, his alarm went off, and he begrudgingly accepted his fate. Showered, shaved, and armed with a load of energy drinks, aspirin and eye drops, the Captain made his way to the Conference Room to hash things out with Lt. Whatsisname. It was probably a fruitless endeavor, but he figured there was no harm in having a Plan B just in case Nezbomb had a brief fit of malleability.

That’s when the headaches began.

“Captain, are you okay?” Whatsisname asked after seeing Clerk wince for the 20th time in 45 minutes.

“Just headaches, Lieutenant.” This one’s a beaut, though, thanks for asking.

“No surprise there.”

“Well, I don’t know how much sleep you got, but I got less than 4 hours. I always take a trip to Headache City when I haven’t had enough sleep.”

Lt. Whatsisname cocked his head. “Is that another one of your Earth idioms?”

Not now, Lieutenant! “Uh… I guess. I’m from Earth and I just made up the idiom.” Focus!

6:50am arrived quickly, and Contingency Plans A-F got drafted fairly quickly. Clerk prided himself on the fact that he only consumed half a bottle of antacids during the planning session.

Clerk sighed. “None of this is going to work.”

“I know, sir,” Whatsisname replied. “A guy can dream, though, right?”

“Yeah,” Clerk said with a hint of a laugh. “Anyways, I gotta go. He’s expecting me in 10 minutes. Start with Plan A and we’ll keep in touch via text message.”

“Yes sir.”

Clerk walked out and headed toward the Admiral’s quarters. He could practically hear the guillotine being built…

The contents of Deck X continued their involuntary journey toward the hatch. Chair after chair, vase after vase, some couches, a foosball table…

“I CAN’T HOLD ON MUCH LONGER!”

“Don’t worry, Cecil!” Clerk replied. “You’re tethered to the hull! You’ll be fine! Just try to stay out of the way!”

“I’M DOING MY BESSSSST, SSSSSIR!”

“Wharf!” the Captain said, turning away from the screen. “How is the pressure now?”

“It’s no longer critical, sir, but we still have a long way to go before we’re in the clear. We’ve got to have the entire contents of that deck emptied. Chief Engineer excepted, of course.”

“How long will that take?”

“At the present rate, I’d say 20 minutes.”

“Is that long enough?”

“Barely, I… uh oh.”

“Uh oh?” Clerk shrieked. “What’s ‘uh oh’?”

“Look!”

Wharf pointed at the hatch, where the foosball table had gotten wedged in, plugging up the hole.

“Yeah, that’s bad,” said Clerk. “Cecil, can you get that out of the way?”

“I’LL TRY, CAPTAIN!”

Why, oh why, did I turn down that bonus shipment of Liquid Plumr? “Wharf, I’ve got an idea: could you–”

“Bridge to Captain.”

“Um, now’s not a good time, Lieutenant. Can I call you back later?”

“Well, we thought you needed to–”

“Yeah, we’ve got the whole ship-about-to-blow-up deal going on and it’s kind of an emergency and all…”

“Okay, sir, but the Admiral, he–”

“The Admiral? He’s here?”

“Yes, sir. He beamed aboard just before we left the starbase.”

Impeccable timing, as always. “Right, well, let me get back to this, then I’ll–”

“CAPTAIN! I’VE MOVED THE FOOSSSSSBALL TABLE! THE SSSSSTUFF ISSSSS MOVING AGAIN!”

“Stuff? What stuff is this?” a familiar voice said over the intercom. “And why aren’t we docked anymore?”

“Hi… uh… Admiral… um… how’s it… going?”

“James Clerk,” said Admiral Nezbomb in his typical tone of condescension. “We need to talk, don’t we?”

At least he didn’t call me Jimi. “Sure… um… how about in, say, 20 minutes or so?”

“Now now, Jimi…”

 Rats. “I would, sir, but I’m really busy. This just isn’t a good time.”

Nezbomb sighed. “Fine… I’ll be up in my quarters. See me when you get half a chance.”

“Yes, sir. Clerk out.”

“You were saying, sir?” Wharf asked.

“Huh? Oh. Yeah… um…”

“CAPTAIN! SSSSSTUFF KEEPSSSSS GETTING CAUGHT IN THE HATCH!”

“Oh yeah! Wharf, beam a phaser in there and have him vaporize the larger pieces of furniture. That oughta speed up the flow.”

“Right away, sir,” said Wharf as he raced over to the nearest Security Booth.

“Cecil, Wharf’s gonna beam a phaser to you. Vaporize anything bigger than a potato. Got it?”

“YESSSSS SSSSSIR!”

Moments later, the phaser materialized in Cecil’s hand. He began firing away at the furniture…

…which set off the alarm.

“Phaser fired on deck. Phaser fired on deck. Phaser fired on deck.” the alarm repeated.

Admiral Nezbomb returned to the intercom. “Jimi, is there something going on down there I need to see?”

No, you absolutely do not need to see this. “Everything’s under control, Admiral. Go back to bed.”

“Jimi, you worry me. I think I’ll come on down there.”

Please don’t. Please don’t. “Seriously, sir. It’s all under control.”

“Are you sure, Jimi?”

“Yes sir, totally sure.”

“Alright. See you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning, sir.” Whew. The Captain was almost more relieved about that than about Cecil opening the hatch. Speaking of which…

“How’s it going in there now?”

“I’VE GOT ALL THE BIG SSSSSTUFF TAKEN CARE OF, SSSSSIR! IT’SSSSS FLOWING WELL NOW!”

“Good job, Cecil!”

“THANKSSSSS CAPTAIN!”

Just then, Wharf returned. “Captain, you look like you’re about to bust a vein in your forehead. What’s wrong?”

“Nezbomb threatened to come down here when he heard the alarm. I barely managed to talk him out of it.”

“Sorry, sir. I should have turned that off before I beamed the phaser in.”

“Don’t worry about it. Anyways, Cecil’s gotten everything taken care of. Looks like it’s emptying out at a pretty good clip now. How much time do we have?”

“Since the pressure’s decreasing, we’ve actually gained a minute or two. Judging by what’s in there now, I think we’re in good shape. We could probably even beam Cecil out of there at this point; I don’t think we’ll need him in there anymore.”

“Sounds good. Is the Cleaning Room ready?”

“Ready and standing by, sir.”

“Alright. Beam him on over.” Clerk turned on the intercom. “Clerk to Cleaning Room.”

“Cleaning Room here, sir.”

“Prepare to receive one extremely dirty Gorn.”

“Aye, sir. Sanitizer guns locked and loaded.”

“Transporter room: energize.”

“Aye, sir.”

Clerk breathed yet another sigh of relief as Cecil vanished from Deck X.

“Wharf, keep an eye on everything and keep me posted. I’m heading to the Cleaning Room.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’ll… stay here,” interjected Dr. Flüshaht.

Clerk wasn’t going to fight that battle. “Okay, Doctor. See you at the debriefing meeting when this is all over.”

On his way to the Cleaning Room, Clerk could smell the alcohol from down the hall.

Poor guy. “How ya doing, Cecil?”

Clerk had never seen a nervous, shaking Gorn before, and really wasn’t sure what to make of it.

“THOSSSSSE GERMSSSSS… THOSSSSSE GERMSSSSS…“

“You fought bravely, son. I’ll put in a commendation for you right away. You earned it.”

Cecil was still too out of it to really process what the Captain had said.

“Sir, we’ve already vaporized the spacesuit, and cleaned every particle we could find.”

“Good work, Ensign. Don’t forget to take Cecil over to Sick Bay to make sure he’s okay.”

“Yes sir.”

Meanwhile, Captain Clerk had an even bigger issue to deal with: the Fleet’s most hard-nosed admiral was on board… in Inspection Mode.

Everyone stood in the Port Room, nervously waiting while the ship backed out of the dock. Everyone, that is, except for Cecil, who was already in the thick of the mess, trying not to think about all the germs surrounding him.

“You’re doing great, Cecil!” said Captain Clerk. It had been 22 seconds since Cecil’s last attempt to get out of the room.

Time moved about as slowly as it does during Vulcan Council Meetings. After what seemed like a month (and only 6 more attempts at escape by Cecil), the ship was finally clear of the starbase.

“Fifteen seconds to safe unloading distance,” said Wharf. “Sanitizer pumps are at the ready.”

“Alright, Cecil, here’s what I’m going to need you to do,” Clerk said into the intercom. “Turn on your X-Ray Goggles and find where the pipe ends. It should be right in front of you, about 20 feet away.”

Cecil pressed the On button. “I CAN SSSSSEE IT, CAPTAIN!”

“Good! Now move over toward it and find the gap between the pipe and the floor.”

“Better him than us,” muttered Dr. Flüshaht under his breath.

“Shhhh!” Clerk whispered. “Or I’ll send you in to retrieve him.”

“WHAT WASSSSS THAT, CAPTAIN??”

“Just talking to the Doctor. Keep on going.”

Moving through the deck was painfully slow. The buildup was extremely thick, and Gorns aren’t known for their speed anyways. Clerk, Jenkins, Flüshaht and Wharf stood focused on the computer screen, which kept track of Cecil’s position. Cecil, however, couldn’t help turning his head periodically to see what was around him.

“HEY CAPTAIN! THE FURNITURE IN HERE ISSSSS REALLY NICSSSSSE!”

“Focus, Cecil! We don’t have much time!”

“SSSSSORRY CAPTAIN!”

The pressure was increasing at an exponential rate. Instead of 12 hours, they now had mere minutes. The structural damage that would incur if it exploded was calculated to be even higher than expected. In short, the Secondprize would be totaled, and the Fleet would still have to pay for it.

“Fifteen more feet. Keep going!”

“YESSSSS SSSSSIR! I’M GOING AS FASSSSST AS I CAN!”

The pipes in the Port Room were so bloated now, it looked like they could burst at any time, which also kept the officers nervous. The Transporter Room was at the ready in case that happened, but Clerk had been in way too many episodes to trust the response time of a Transporter Chief.

“Ten more feet, Cecil. Can you see the opening?”

“YESSSSS, CAPTAIN!”

“Can you open it?” A bit too late to ask that question, isn’t it?

“I THINK SSSSSO CAPTAIN! IT’SSSSS HARD TO TELL FROM HERE THOUGH!”

Jenkins had never before bitten his nails, but he’d always heard that’s what people in stressful situations did, so he decided he’d start. As far as he knew, it might be the last habit he’d ever take up. However, he didn’t really know how to did it, and wound up biting a bit too much.

“Cap’m, I’m bleedin’.”

“What are you– never mind, just get to Sick Bay. We can handle things from here.”

“Yessir!”

Jenkins made his way to the elevator, still trying to grasp the nail-biting concept. Clerk just sighed and shook his head, returning his attention to Cecil’s position just in time to see him reaching down for something, about ten feet from the pipe.

“Cecil, what are you doing? You still have ten feet to go!”

“CAPTAIN! THERE’SSSSS SSSSSOMETHING ON THE FLOOR HERE!”

“Leave it alone! You’ve got to get to the hatch!”

“BUT IT’SSSSS–”

“20 minutes to rupture,” interjected Wharf.

“Get going, Cecil! That’s an order!”

Flüshaht and Wharf looked at each other, eyes wide. This was the first time they’d ever heard Captain Clerk shout.

“SSSSSORRY SSSSSIR! I’M GOING!”

Finally, Cecil reached his goal. He knelt down to where the hatch was.

“10 minutes,” said Wharf.

“Okay, Cecil, what do you see?”

“LOOKSSSSS LIKE A REGULAR HATCH SSSSSIR! I’LL HAVE TO UNSSSSSCREW IT!”

“Can you do it?”

“I THINK SSSSSO SSSSSIR!”

“Go for it!”

“YESSSSS SSSSSIR!”

Cecil began to turn the handle on the hatch. It was moving, but not fast enough.

“Five minutes.”

Cecil turned with all his might, then…

“IT’SSSSS SSSSSTUCK!”

“What??”

“WAIT, NEVER MIND, I–”

Before the next syllable came out, the hatch came open, and the contents of Deck X began emptying out into space.

“Down the hatch!” Clerk exclaimed in excitement. Flüshaht and Wharf groaned.

“You’ve been waiting for that all this time, haven’t you?” Flüshaht groused. Clerk couldn’t argue with it, so he remained silent.

Suddenly, they noticed that not only was the waste headed for the hatch, but so were all the furnishings. Everything was headed toward the hole. Cecil, meanwhile, held on to the wall to keep from getting sucked out, but his strength was starting to give way…

Clerk frantically pressed the Close Doors button on the elevator. Janet reached in and began to pull on his arm.

“Captain!” she exclaimed. “Captain, what’s the matter with you?”

“Th-th-th-th-th-th-”

“Huh?”

“Th-th-ther-there’s a–”

“GREETINGSSSSS CAPTAIN!” came a loud voice from the Engine Room.

“AHHHHH!”

Clerk grabbed Yeoman Rind and pulled her into the elevator just before the doors closed.

“What’s the matter with you?”

“Didn’t you see the–”

“The Gorn? Yes. That’s our new Chief Engineer. I take it you didn’t read the dossier?”

The Captain just stood there, eyes wide and jaw dropped. Was there a Treaty of Paris I missed or something? “How did this happen?”

“It’s the Officer Exchange Program. I thought you were aware of it.”

“Well, yeah, but… isn’t that limited to people we have diplomatic relations with?”

Rind looked around nervously. “This is… um… an experiment.”

“An experiment? Who authorized this?”

“I… um…”

“You signed us up for this? Did you use my signature keycard? That’s only for–”

“I thought you’d go for it. You’re always saying we should–”

“Not a Gorn though! At least… not in Engineering! That’s like Batman hiring the Penguin to fix the Batmobile.”

“Huh?”

“Never mind,” Clerk sighed. This was a done deal, apparently, and he was going to have to live with it. “So let me get this straight. We’ve switched Chief Engineers?”

“Yes, sir.”

“So they have Mr. LaGrange?”

“Yes, sir.”

I’m gonna miss ol’ Georgie. Such great taste in books. “Well, they got the better end of the deal, that’s for sure.”

“Give him a chance, sir. I’m sure underneath that brutish, extremely destructive exterior is a… um… tender… heart-equivalent?”

It was all Clerk could do to keep from facepalming himself into warp speed.

“Alright,” he said after a moment. “Let’s go meet him.”

In retrospect, Captain Clerk would regard this moment as probably the greatest suppression of the fight-or-flight-response of his entire career. He slowly walked up to the fearsome reptile, whose booming voice had to have been a strain on the hull.

“H-h-h-h-hi,” Clerk gulped. “I’m–”

“PLEASSSSSED TO MEET YOU CAPTAIN! I’M VERY EXCSSSSSITED TO BE HERE!”

Janet caught the Captain and held him in place.

“You’re not going anywhere,” she whispered.

“Can I at least tell him to tone it down?” Clerk whispered back.

“They don’t have inside voices, Captain.”

Of course not. Clearing his throat, Clerk resumed his normal speaking voice. “So… uh… what’s your name?”

“SSSSSEESSSSSULL!”

“Come again?”

“SSSSSEESSSSSULL!”

Rind leaned over and whispered. “It’s Cecil.”

“Cecil? Really?” Clerk whispered back.

“Yes, sir.”

I have a cousin named Cecil. “So, Cecil… how long have you been in Engineering?”

“SSSSSEVEN YEARSSSSS!”

“Well… good. I trust you’ll do a fine job here.” Clerk never sweated so much in his life. I can only hope I don’t look like as much of a buffoon as I feel.

Seeing the can-I-please-leave-now look on the Captain’s face, Janet spoke up.

“Good to see you again, Cecil. The Captain and I are headed off now, so we’ll see you at the Senior Officers’ Meeting at 18:00.”

“YESSSSS MA’AM!”

As soon as the elevator doors closed, Captain Clerk let out a beaut of a sigh and nearly collapsed.

“You have 4 hours, Captain. I’d suggest you rest up.”

No kidding.

====

Even with the uncomfortable new addition, it was still good to have everybody there for the Senior Officers’ Meeting. Everybody, that is, except Klaa’ck, who was summoned away on last-minute business. Clerk didn’t mind, however. One introduction for today was enough.

“Okay, let’s call this meeting to order,” Clerk said, shakily standing up. “It’s good to have everybody back. We made a stop at Discount Crisis Warehouse while you were gone, so we have plenty of problems for everybody to solve. Hopefully we can get some stuff done. And rest assured, I will never let this many of you have time off simultaneously again.”

“And I see we have Dr. Flüshaht back with us,” said Lt. Whatsisname. “Didn’t you die last season?”

“Order! Order!” Clerk interrupted. “We’ll discuss staff changes later. First order of business is The Port. Wharf, do you have an update on that?”

“Yes sir,” Wharf replied. “We’ve reached critical mass, sir. The entire bottom floor is full, and is expected to burst by tomorrow morning.”

“I’m sure you’ve all been briefed on that situation,” said Clerk amongst the murmurs. “What we need is a solution.”

Wharf spoke up again. “We do have an idea, but it’s pretty impractical, and we’re going to have a problem finding somebody to do it.”

“What do you mean?”

“Due to the construction of that outer part of the hull, it appears that somebody intended to route the pipes through there, but didn’t for some reason. If we could get somebody strong enough, they could get down in there and open up that hatch. That would release the, um, contents of the hull. Then we could get the plumbing put in.”

“We don’t have a robot or something that could do it?”

“Nothing that we could get configured in time. It takes a lot of force and they’re going in blind. A strong enough crew member with X-ray goggles could get in there and do it.”

All eyes in the room slowly moved to the only one in the room with that kind of upper body strength…

“WHAT’SSSSS EVERYBODY LOOKING AT ME FOR?”

“Cecil, I hate to ask you to do this on your first day–”

“SSSSSORRY, SSSSSIR! THOSE GERMSSSSS! THOSE GERMSSSSS!” Cecil quickly stood up and started to back out of the room.

Great. Strongest crew member on board, and he’s a germaphobe.

“We have the best cleaning crew in the Fleet,” I can’t believe I’m saying this, “You just have to muscle past the gag reflex for a minute.”

Gathering up all his courage, and wanting to make a good impression upon the Captain (since they had already gotten off to a bad start), Cecil stood tall.

“YESSSSS, CAPTAIN. I’LL DO IT. I’LL SSSSSAVE THE SSSSSHIP!”

“Good man, er, lizard!” the Captain said awkwardly. Then he reached for a communicator and uttered one of the strangest commands he’d ever given.

“Attention all decks: Redirect all hand sanitizer to The Port!”

“Starbase Deep Dish $9 to starship Secondprize.”

“Secondprize here. Clerk speaking.”

“Understood. Can you please connect us to the Captain.”

“That’s who you’re talking to.”

“You just said you were the clerk.”

“Captain Clerk speaking.”

Snickering ensued. Clerk sighed. Every. Single. Time. “OK, OK. Is there someone there without a sense of humor? A Vulcan, perhaps?”

“We’ve got half a Vulcan on here, but you might not like the other half.”

“Excuse me?”

“Never mind. Prepare for docking procedures. Deep Dish $9 out.”

Goofballs. “Okay, everybody,” Clerk said, addressing the Bridge Crew. “Best behavior and all that. As you know, we’re getting an inspection this time.”

As the ship docked, Clerk did his best to try and come up with an explanation for all that had gone on in the last couple of days. The new decks, the Bord infestation, the mess down below The Port…

“Captain,” Lt. Whatsisname spoke up, breaking Clerk’s train of thought.

“Yes, Lieutenant?”

“We’re having trouble finding a good parking spot. There a really good one up close, but it’s kind of a tight fit. What with the new decks and all, I wasn’t sure if we should go for it.”

“Well, they’re on top and bottom, and I think they’re the same width… I’d say go for it.”

“Yes, sir.”

It took lots of backing in and out, but the Secondprize at last managed to get in the spot without scratching either the Trepidatious or the Fancypants.

“Excellent navigating… um, Lieutenant.”

“Thank you, sir!”

Just then, Clerk’s personal assistant, Janet Rind, arrived on the bridge. “I’ve got your schedule from the starbase, sir.”

The Captain looked it over. “Ugh. Lots of meetings.”

“Yes, sir. Meetings all morning tomorrow, then New Officer Orientation.”

“Any word on who the new guys are?”

“Nobody I’ve heard of,” Janet said. “But their dossiers are… interesting…”

Clerk handed back the report. “Well, I don’t really have time to read this tonight. I’ve got to coordinate stuff with our Security Chief regarding our crew roster. Put it near my bed, though, in case I have trouble getting to sleep.”

“Yes sir.”

====

It wasn’t that Captain Clerk hated visits to starbases. Hate is far, far too mild a word. But Deep Dish $9 was one of the more tolerable ones, so he didn’t complain too much. Plus, it was another chance to see his mentor. It was always good to see Admiral Nezbomb, even if it meant a shipwide inspection as part of the visit.

Nezbomb was busy for the entire day, so Clerk wouldn’t get to see him until tomorrow. But then again, so was Clerk, especially in the morning. At least the barrage of meetings gave Clerk the opportunity to catch up on some of the sleep he’d been losing. The afternoon, however, was a different story. Yeoman Rind picked up the Captain at the Conference Center promptly at 1:30 to begin New Officer Orientation.

“Are you sure we can’t pick up lunch here first? I’m starved,” whined the Captain. None of the meetings were catered this time.

“Sorry, Captain, but we’re already late for Orientation.”

Just once, I’d like to have somebody in charge of Scheduling that has a sense of time. “Let me at least pick up a sandwich or something and wolf it down while we walk.”

“Okay, sir. There’s a really good sub shop just around the corner.”

Sandwich procured, the pair began to walk toward the dock.

“So what’s the skinny on the new crewmembers?” Clerk asked, hoping Janet wouldn’t chide him too much for having not read the dossiers.

“Mostly just lowly ensigns who are very promising according to their bios. But the new First Officer and Engineering Chief are the most interesting of the bunch.”

“Tell me about the new first officer,” Clerk said as they boarded the Secondprize.

“He’s half-Vulcan…”

So that’s who they were talking about.

“…and half-Klingon–”

Clerk stopped in his tracks. “He’s what??” How does that even work?

“They say he’s an interesting fellow,” the Yeoman continued. “His name is Klaa’ck. We might not be able to talk with him right away. He’s been meditating since he got on board.”

Those Vulcans and their meditation. “Let’s stop by his quarters anyways and see.”

“Yes sir.”

As they approached the First Officer’s quarters, a cacophonous cavalcade of bangs and clangs could be heard, along with a lot of screaming in what Clerk assumed was Klingon (it wasn’t Vulcan; he’d studied that in high school).

“Yep. Still meditating,” Rind said flatly.

Clerk’s eyes widened. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know…

“Shall we move on?”

“Yes, please,” Clerk said, trying not to think about what was going on in those quarters.

The two got onto the elevator. “Engineering, please.” Yeoman Rind requested.

“He’s already on-duty?”

“Yes, sir. He was very eager to get acclimated to his new post.”

“Well, he’s got initiative. That’s good.”

The door opened to Engineering HQ, and Clerk froze in terror. Of all the Engineering Sections in all the starships in all the galaxy…

“Captain? Captain, what’s wrong?”

It beams onto mine…

“Okay, Dr. Exposition,” Clerk interrupted. “Anyways, the Bord infestation is very dangerous, as they are very adept at manipulating your emotions. Please use the Buddy System. Any questions, just refer to me. I’ll be up on the Bridge making preparations for our arrival at Deep Dish $9, but I can help you with anything you may need. Psychiatrists, start your engines.”

Dr. Exposition was a little frustrated that he didn’t get to finish his sentence. Then again, nobody ever seemed to want him to go on too long…

Captain Clerk arrived on the Bridge, nervous (his normal state of mind) but hopeful, now that the Psychology Department was working its way through the Bord problem. It didn’t solve the mystery of the extra floors, or fix the wifi or the plumbing, but at least it was going to save the crew from certain depression.

He was greeted by the Communications Officer. “Captain, we’ve received a subspace communiqué from the starbase.”

“Anything special?”

“Most of it was the usual — Welcome to Our Starbase, local attractions and restaurants, and so on — but there was one thing I thought I had to warn you about.”

“Yes, Mr. Tolstoy?”

The Ensign took a deep breath. “Admiral Nezbomb is there to give us our yearly inspection.”

Is it August already? “Noted, Ensign. Any word on our staff adjustments?”

“Yes, sir. Most of our Senior Staff is returning, but we’re getting a new First Officer, and, I think, a new Engineering Officer as well.”

And an inspection. Swell. “Thank you, Ensign.”

Clerk sat down in the Big Comfy Chair and sighed. Admiral Nezbomb was a lot of things to him — mentor, father figure, hair loss consultant — but his well-earned reputation as a hard-nose put the Captain ill at ease. Having him to do the yearly inspection this year was going to make things difficult. At least he’d stopped doing white glove inspections of the Engine Room years ago. Many careers had been ended with the words “I spent all week polishing those warp drives!”

The next several hours went relatively well, with Captain Clerk overseeing Operation Make This Ship Look Presentable while fielding the occasional question from the psychiatrists hard at work on the Bord situation. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly, until–

“Captain, you’re needed at the Brig.”

Clerk looked up from the Operation MTSLP spreadsheet. “Um, is this urgent? Can I–”

“Sir, we are down to the last Bord, and he is refusing all treatment. All attempts to rehabilitate have failed. We’ve tried everything.”

“Well, if you’re down to the last one, take a break and try again in a little while.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, sir. He’s the most powerful one, the ringleader. At least a quarter of our rehabilitation work has been on doctors trying to treat him.”

Hoo boy. “I’m on my way.”

When Captain Clerk arrived at the Brig, he noticed that there was more padding than ever duct-taped into place. All this, for one guy? How bad is he?

Dr. Exposition greeted the Captain. “Thanks for coming so quickly. He’s been a real prob– issue. Most of the Bord we dealt with didn’t take much counseling to overcome their depression and all, but he’s very resilient and resistant. It’s been all we can do to keep him at bay.”

“So everybody else is fine?”

“Yes, sir.”

“All right, I’m going in.”

“Alone, Captain? I’d advise against that.”

“Well, Doctor, if he hasn’t listened to the psychiatrists already, I doubt he’s going to now. Maybe this is the different approach we need.”

“Okay, sir…” Exposition said nervously. “Still, it’s dangerous to go alone. Take this.”

The Doctor handed Clerk a huge tablet.

“Vitamin D? Really?”

“You’re going to need a lot of sunshine to get through this, Captain.”

Clerk turned dramatically toward the Brig’s door. The security guards dutifully peeled back all the layers until they finally reached the actual door itself, with opened with a whoosh. Clerk slowly walked inside the room (immediately hearing furious re-taping) to see…

…6 of 1.

Somehow I knew it’d be you. “So… we meet again, eh? How are ya, son?”

The Bord remained silent, pouting and looking at the floor.

“Look, we’re going to have to work through this, and we don’t have much time. The ship’s falling apart, but we’re about to reach a starbase for repairs. But we can’t have somebody like you spreading misery around and going all wet-blanket on us. So what can we do — what can I do — to help get you over this?”

“They’re telling me to be Not Depressed. I don’t want to be Not Depressed.”

“There’s a lot to be said for happiness, kid.”

“6 of 1. My name is 6 of 1.”

“Okay, okay. Listen 6…” Clerk stopped to gather his thoughts for a second. “Many times people wallow in misery, just like pigs wallow in mud–”

“What’s a pig?”

“Never mind. Anyways, I’m saying, you stay there because it’s all you know.”

“I know lots of things. Biology, pharmaceutical engineering, art history, hypercrocheting…”

Work with me here! “I mean, you get stuck in certain patterns that are familiar, so you don’t deviate from them. Sometimes that’s okay. Sometimes it’s not okay, like debilitating my crew and all that. Can you find it in your heart — or corresponding organ, if you have one — to do that?”

“But… I’ll miss the comfort in being sad.”

“I know… but you could find new comforts, perhaps. Maybe… maybe you could stay depressed without bringing anybody else down?”

“Well, that’s kind of what I do, man.”

“Please, 6. I got a ship to run, and you’re a swell fella and all, but you’re a danger to us, and we really need to, like, not have that danger. Don’t get me wrong, I like you, but you can’t be mopifying my crew.” Boy, did I ever watch too many After School Specials.

6 of 1 sighed heavily. “I guess…” he said weakly.

“So, you’re gonna quit this, then?”

“Yeah… I’ll quit it.”

Clerk felt a palpable lifting of mood in the entire room. “Thanks, 6.”

6 shrugged. “Whatever.”

“So,” the Captain said after somewhat of an awkward silence. “Where do we need to take you? Is there anywhere you need to be? Where do you call home?”

6 responded slowly. “I don’t really have anywhere else to go. We got kicked out of the Bord Cubicle for being too much of a drag.”

Achievement unlocked. “Well… I guess you can stay here, as long as you don’t cause any trouble.”

With astoundingly effective puppy-dog eyes, 6 of 1 looked up at Clerk. “Oh? Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Thanks, man. That’s the best thing anybody’s ever done for me.”

“I’ll talk to Security about getting you a room. A new area has just opened up, so finding one shouldn’t be too hard.”

Clerk and 6 of 1 emerged from the Brig, to everyone’s shock. 6 was even smiling a little.

“Captain!” Flüshaht exclaimed as he walked up to him. “How’d you do it?”

“Sometimes you just need a lot of sunshine to get through it.”

“That makes no sense, Jimi.”

“You say that like you’re surprised.”

“Touché.”

The camaraderie was interrupted by Clerk’s communicator beeping. “Captain speaking.”

“Sir, we’re arriving at the starbase now.”

Captain Clerk’s stomach did a flip. “I’ll be right up.” Here we go loop-de-loo…

“Okay, guys,” Clerk said as they all sat in the Waiting Room. “I don’t know how every single senior officer on this ship managed to get time off at the same time, but rest assured, I’m going to get to the bottom of it. We have three or four major problems going on right now, and hardly anybody who can solve them. The ship is in danger, gentlemen. Any ideas on how we can get out of this?”

Dr. Flüshaht spoke up first. “Well, you know what I think about them Bord kids.”

“I realize that, Doctor,” replied the Captain. “But them Bord kids now includes over 11% of my crew, including a couple of really cool guys from Engineering who were going to teach me hypercrocheting next week. Besides, regulations state that no more than 7% of a ship’s crew can be ejected for Emergency Purposes at any given time. So that remedy is out.”

“We oughta get them to clean up that mess at The Port. It’s probably their fault!”

“We tried that,” Wharf chimed in. “They just stood there, complaining about the smell. After a couple of hours we couldn’t take the whining any more, so we had to lock them back up.”

“Doctor, have you been able to come up with anything about their infectiousness? We’re losing crew members left and right.”

“Well,” Flüshaht said, leaning forward, “that’s the strange thing about it, Captain. Near as I can tell, there are no recognizable pathogens, no chemical agents, no weird mind rays, no nothing! The only thing I can think of might be some sort of subconscious mind manipulation or something like that, but I can’t even see any evidence of that, either. Usually something of that sort would leave some telltale patterns in their brainwaves, but I can’t find any. I have no idea how this is happening, Captain. But it ain’t medical, from what I’ve seen.”

“It’s as if you just look at them and feel sorry for them…” Wharf’s voice started to trail off, and his gaze slowly moved toward the floor…

Clerk jumped over the table, grabbed Wharf’s shoulders, and shook hard. “Snap out of it! They’re getting to you!”

A light bulb came on.

“They’re mental, Doctor! They’re mental!”

“You can say that again, Captain.”

“No! I mean, it’s a mental thing! They’ve got some kind of psychological power over people! They can actually make people feel sorry for them!”

“Captain, I already said, there’s no recognizable mind manip–”

“I don’t mean they’re messing with people’s brains,” interrupted Clerk. “They’re playing with our emotions somehow.”

“They’re just misunderstood, Captain,” moped Wharf.

Clerk shook him again. “Wharf! Stop it! That’s an order!”

Wharf stood up, slowly, holding his head. “Whoa… I could feel myself… getting all depressed… and wondering where I could get the best price on black nail polish.”

Flüshaht’s eyes widened. “Jimi, I think you’re onto something!”

Ignoring his least favorite nickname, Clerk got out his communicator. There was no time to waste.

“Clerk to Psychology Department!”

“Secondprize Mental Wellness Center. Can you hold please?”

“No, this is an–”

The muzak cut him off. The tune was catchy, even though it was a cheap MIDI replication of the original. Clerk paced the floor for at least five minutes before the voice returned.

“Secondprize Mental Wellness Center, this is Ethel. How may I help you?”

“This is your Captain speaking. There is–”

“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve finally decided to give us a call. We can schedule you for an evaluation on–”

“No, I’m not calling for an appointment! This is a psychiatric emergency!”

“A what, now?”

“We need every available psychiatrist on the ship to meet me down at the Brig! I’ve figured out how to–”

“The brig? Do we have one of those?”

“Yes, it’s the room we’ve been using for Bingo Night.”

“I was wondering why we didn’t have a game last night…”

“Anyways, I need everybody down there. Even the student assistants. The fate of the ship is at stake!”

“Right away, sir… now are you sure you can’t squeeze in an appointment sometime next week?”

Clerk sighed. “Not now, Lt. Ethel. Ship comes first. Clerk out.” He turned to Wharf and Flüshaht. “Gentlemen, let’s get down there. These kids — I mean, my crew members — need help!”

“You ain’t kiddin’, Captain,” Flüshaht said under his breath.

As soon as they were all on the elevator, the Captain gave the order. “To the Brig, please.”

“The Brig?” replied the elevator. “That’s where those Bord people are.”

“Yes, and that’s where we’re going.”

“But they’re so depressing, do we really need–”

“We’re going there.”

“On purpose?”

“We’re going to help them.”

“Okay…” the elevator sighed. “It’s for a good cause, I guess.”

The trio arrived on the scene minutes later, greeted by everybody even ancillarily related to the Psychology Department.

“Ladies and gentlemen of the Secondprize Mental Wellness Center,” the Captain spoke up, “you’re probably wondering why I’ve called you here today…”

“AHHHH!” yelled Captain Clerk, who quickly reached for the light switch. The lights came on, revealing a 6-month-old Kurilian Bobtail cat, who was, much to the Captain’s chagrin, all too familiar.

Sighing, he reached for the communicator. “Clerk to Transporter Room.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Ensign Tolstoy’s cat has gotten out again.”

“Yes sir.” The cat vanished in a flash of light.

Clerk looked at the time. It was 5:31am, about an hour before his alarm was set to go off. Figures. Might as well get up and head to the Infirmary and get a head start on acclimating Dr. Flüshaht.

He arrived at the Infirmary (or Sick Bay, or Medical Area, or whatever they were calling it this week) to find Flüshaht already inside, arguing with the ship’s computer. No surprise there.

“No, I haven’t read it. I don’t have time for that junk. Just upgrade the stupid thing!” the Doctor was yelling.

“Need any help?” Clerk asked sarcastically.

“Well,” Flüshaht sighed, “I’ve been trying to use the stupid Downloadable Doctor for about an hour now, and this thing keeps telling me a new version is available, and that I should upgrade it.”

“So what’s the problem?”

“Well it’s got these silly Terms and Conditions or whatever, and I don’t have time to read all that! It’s about 500 pages long and written in a foreign language that looks deceptively like English.”

Clerk held back the laughter as best he could. “Don’t worry,” he said. “We’ve got a guy from Legal that reads those things.”

Since the Legal Department practically never slept, it was a safe bet that Commander Youlla was already up. Clerk called, and sure enough, Youlla was there within 15 minutes, getting through all the popups so they could do the upgrade.

Within minutes, the Downloadable Doctor appeared. “Version 2.0.1.12 at your service!”

Flüshaht looked at it in disgust. ”Can we get an upgrade to get this software some more hair? Surely we’ve got some remedies for–”

“Don’t worry about that, Doctor,” interrupted the Captain. “Just learn how to use it.”

Flüshaht grumbled. “Fine.”

“You two play nicely,” said the Captain as he headed for the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I need to check up on the Bord situation. They’re detained right now, and I think they’re trying some therapy, on Jenkins at least.”

“You need to beam them punks off the ship and get away! They’re–”

“Dangerous, I know,” Clerk replied, holding up a hand. At that, he turned and exited.

Flüshaht sighed. “Nobody ever listens to me.” He turned to the Downloadable Doctor. “I suppose you won’t either.”

“Is that your desired course of action?” the amiable software replied.

“Don’t you get started with me, you lousy pile of ones and zeroes!”

====

Captain Clerk arrived at the Bingo Room Brig to find a gaggle of Security Officers, buffered by layer after layer of duct-taped sheet metal, padding, and anything else they could find, standing around, looking very worried.

“Do I want to know what’s going on?” the Captain asked.

“Well, sir,” Ensign Rann Dome said, stepping forward. “The situation is worsening.”

“How?”

“They’re infectious, sir. You get anywhere near them, and they get you. We’ve lost 7 crew members to this plague already.”

“Can I see?” Clerk said, looking for a vantage point.

“Right here, sir,” Rann Dome replied, pointing to a small monitor mounted off to the side. Clerk looked at it, seeing a rather depressing-looking group of guys moping around the small room.

“Has any of the treatment worked?”

“No, sir,” the Ensign said, disappointed. “We’ve tried everything: classical music, fashionable clothing, even sunlamps — to no effect. They’re bound and determined to be gloomy and dour, and to bring us all down with them.”

“Understood. So, what’s with all the extra barriers?”

“That’s how infectious they are, sir. It’s been all we can do to keep them from affecting anybody who gets anywhere near the door.”

“Wow… that bad, eh?”

“Yes, sir. And getting worse as time goes on.”

“Okay, well… keep me posted. We’re getting close to the starbase, and we gotta have this contained and dealt with before then.”

“Aye, sir!”

Clerk moved to the other side of the room and got out his communicator. “Clerk to Port Room.”

“Wharf here.”

“How are things going down there?”

“It’s still pretty bad, sir. We haven’t been able to patch things through, and it’s backing up even faster than before.”

“What are our options?” Clerk asked, though he was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Well, there are really only two, Captain. Let this thing blow, taking the bottom deck with it, or try and salvage it by routing the pipes through here.”

“Which is cheaper?”

Wharf thought for a second. “Well, we’re talking either plumbing installation or ship repair. It’s gonna be an arm and a leg either way.”

“No kidding. We’ll have to talk to Accounting and see what they’re willing to fund, and get somebody down there for an estimate.” I feel sorry for whoever gets to do that. ”Changing the subject, have you found any other intruders down there?”

“No, sir. We’ve checked everywhere, and there’s nobody in sight. Oh, and the ceiling’s been patched as well.”

“All right. Anyways, as soon as you can get away from there, I need you to meet me in the Infirmary.”

“You mean Sick Bay?”

“Did they change it again?”

“Yes, sir, it was in this morning’s email.”

Clerk sighed in frustration. “Okay, well, anyways, meet me up there ASAP.”

“Why there?”

“Dr. Flüshaht is up there getting trained on the new software, and this is the closest we can get to a Senior Officers Meeting right now.” How this many higher-ups got vacation time simultaneously infuriated Captain Clerk.

“Dr. Flüshaht? Didn’t he die last season?”

“No, he wound up on one of the new upper decks somehow.”

“Oh, that’s right. I vaguely recall seeing his name on the report. I’ll be up in about 15 minutes.”

“Thanks, Wharf. Clerk out.”

The Captain walked back over to the monitor, which now showed thirteen people in the room, including Ensign Dome. He also noticed a few more layers of padding had been duct-taped onto the door.

Poor guys. Like we don’t have enough problems on this ship already.

“Keep me posted,” the Captain informed the current Security Officer on duty.

“Yes sir!”

With a nod, Clerk left the room to head for Dr. Flüshaht’s location, whatever it was called.

“Well, hello there, Jimi,” said the elderly gentleman, walking over to Clerk’s table.

“I’ve told you a million times, don’t call me that,” groused the Captain. “Besides, didn’t you die last season?”

Dr. Flüshaht sat down. “Do I look dead to you?”

“Well, no…”

“There you go.”

“Come on, it was a two-part episode.”

“You sound like such a noobie,” replied the Doctor. “Everybody knows that nobody who dies in a two-parter really dies. Or at least, they always get a fair shot at returning. It’s when you get bumped off in a random episode that you have to worry.”

You’ve got a point there. “But where have you been all this time? We’ve been having to use one of those Downloadable Doctor programs in your absence.”

“Well, I somehow got stuck on this floor, and I had no idea how to get back down. So I just started treating people up here, and there’s been plenty of work… eventually I just forgot about coming back down.”

“You never tried the elevator?”

“Well, I wasn’t quite sure what to tell it. I’ve never been able to work that thing since they put in the voice controls. And besides, it’s nice and quiet up here. No fights, no drama, no cliffhangers. I figured a guy could retire in a place like this. So I did.”

Just then, the waitress showed up. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“Diet Citrus, if you’ve got it,” said the Captain.

“Coming right up!”

As the waitress walked off, Clerk leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “So you’re retired, are you?”

“Well, not totally. I treat the occasional broken arm or something every so often, to keep my license current.”

“Any chance I could talk you into coming back into active duty? We could really use you down there.”

Flüshaht sighed. “Well, I don’t know. I mean, I’ve thought about it, ‘What if they ever found me up here’ and all that. I gave up hope after a while, and really just settled in and accepted my fate. Now that we’re ‘discovered’ as it were, that’s all fresh in my mind, but…” the doctor’s voice trailed off as he gazed into the distance.

Captain Clerk sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to think of something to say — preferably something that was more hopeful than the mass toilet-clogging — but came up short. The doctor snapped back to reality as the waitress returned with the diet soda.

“What’ll ya have to eat?” she asked.

“Medium pepperoni, thin crust,” Clerk said.

“Ah, why don’t ya be a bit more adventurous?” Flüshaht prodded. “They’ve got some great specialty pies here. The burangabeast pizza is the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

“I have a rule about pizza restaurants,” replied Clerk. “Get something simple first. If a pizza place can’t handle the basics, don’t even bother with the exotic stuff.”

“Bah! Suit yourself,” the doctor said, turning to the waitress. “I’ll have a slice of buranga, extra cheese.”

“Will that be all?”

Clerk and Flüshaht both nodded.

“Okay, I’ll put your order in!” the waitress said as she turned and rushed off toward the kitchen.

“So… I hear you’ve solved the toilet-clogging mystery,” Flüshaht said after another moment’s silence.

“Well, not really solved. We’ve got some suspects. Just some emo goth kids who sneaked on board somehow. I don’t think–”

“You better watch those kids, son,” interrupted the doctor. “They’re dangerous!”

“I can’t imagine them being able to do much of anything.”

“Ah! But that’s where they get ya. They cultivate that helpless, shy demeanor, then they gum up the woodwork while you’re not looking. They’re sneaky like that. And they’re infectious.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen that already. They got to Jenkins,” Clerk replied.

“Oh, that maintenance guy? Well, he was easy pickings, but I mean they can get any of us if we let down our guard at the right moment.”

“Do you know how to deal with them?”

“Nobody really knows what to do with the Bord, Captain. You just have to get them off the ship and get away at Warp Factor 20 or whatever. I’m not joking with you, Jimi. They’re no small threat.”

“Well, Doc, since you’re familiar with them, you need to come down and help us. We could really use your insight.”

“I was afraid you’d say that,” Flüshaht said with a sigh. “Alright… I’ll do it. Let me get a good night’s sleep first and then reacquaint myself with the Medical Area. With all that software-based stuff they do nowadays, I’ll probably need to pursue another degree just to do vaccinations.”

Clerk smiled a bit. “Good to have you back on board.”

Flüshaht couldn’t help smiling back. “It’s good to be needed.”

The rest of the evening was spent with the two old friends shooting the breeze and enjoying the pizza. When Clerk finally laid his head down at the end of the evening, he was actually not stressed out for a change. It was a strange, but welcome, feeling.

You know what that means…

He looked up and saw one of the ceiling tiles had been pried open. Clerk reached for his communicator. “Security, we need a team down here at the Port, stat!”

“Sir, stat is the word for the Medical team,” Wharf replied.

“Well, what’s the word for Security?”

“On the double, sir.”

Fine. “We need a security team here at the Port, on the double.”

“We’ll be right there.”

Within seconds, Wharf and a few Redshirts materialized in the Port Room.

Now that’s just cheating.

“What seems to be the problem, sir?”

Clerk pointed up. “Somebody’s messed with the ceiling tile, and–”

“That’s a maintenance problem, sir.”

“AND, I suspect it may be intruders sabotaging our systems.” How saboteurs could clandestinely build extra floors Clerk didn’t know, but he figured it was as good a theory as any other.

“Intruders?” Wharf snapped to attention. “That’s our specialty! We’ll get right on it!”

Clerk stepped out of the way as the Security team leaped into action. He was almost to the elevator door when Jenkins showed up in his hazmat suit.

“Hay Cap’m!” he shouted. “What’s with the Security team?”

“I think there may be intruders down here, if you look–”

“Who in their right mind’d come down here? Even I don’t–”

“If you look at the ceiling tile, it’s obviously been tampered with.”

“Ohhhhhh,” said Jenkins, very slowly. “I see whatcha mean. You want me to keep lookin’ at the facilities, Cap’m?”

“Yeah, go ahead. We still need to figure out what to do about this mess.”

“Alrighty rooty, Cap’m!”

As Jenkins dashed off to investigate, Clerk turned to the elevator once again, deciding that now he was going to take two showers.

====

Freshly showered and dressed, Captain Clerk walked over to his bed with some 90% cacao and a stick of incense. Before he had a chance to lie down, his communicator beeped. Like clockwork. Reluctantly, the Captain pressed the Answer button.

“Clerk here. You found something?”

“Yes sir. We have detained three individuals we believe are suspects.”

“Vandals, eh?” the Captain half-joked.

“Worse than that, sir. It’s goths.”

This I gotta see. “I’ll be right down.”

Clerk arrived at the Port Room and saw the Security team standing by a trio of gangly, pale teenagers. The youths, dressed all in black, hair half spiked and half covering one eye, stood there quietly, gadgets hanging off various body parts. As Clerk sized them up, he noticed that their fingernails were all painted black. This is the first thing that’s made sense all day.

“So, who are you?” Clerk said, addressing the group.

The three looked at each other nervously. “We are the Bord,” said the one in the middle.

“So, you have nothing better to do, that’s great,” the Captain said sarcastically. “But who are you?”

“We are the Bord.”

Wharf pulled Captain Clerk aside. “You can’t talk to these guys as a group. You have to go one-on-one with them.”

“Okay, but who are they?”

“They are the Bord. A bunch of scraggly kids from the far side of the galaxy. They don’t normally get out this much. Frankly, sir, I’m surprised they left the house at all.”

“So, you’re familiar with them?”

“Yes, sir. I roomed with one in college.”

“What was he like?”

“He didn’t do much, sir. Mostly he just sat there, feeling all gloomy, listening to the Cure and complaining about how nice the weather was. Always had the lights turned off. I’m pretty sure he got sunburned under a fluorescent lamp once.”

Sounds like my younger brother. “Do you think these guys are responsible for this?”

“I don’t know, sir. Usually their M.O. is simply spreading their misery around and trying to get people to feel sorry for them. Sabotaging a ship is really enterprising for kids like these.”

“What do you suggest?”

“You can try to talk to them, I guess,” Wharf replied. “Though I’m not sure if you’ll get anything out of them. They’re not a very talkative bunch.”

Clerk decided he’d go for it anyways. He walked right up to the one in the middle. “What’s your name, son?” Ugh, Admiral Nezbomb is right. I am starting to sound like my father.

Clerk’s target started looking at his companions, again, very nervously.

“Don’t look at your friends, look at me. What’s your name?”

“6 of 1,” he sheepishly responded after a long pause.

Avoiding the obvious joke, Clerk turned to his left. “And you? What’s your name?”

“0 to 60.”

The Captain was almost afraid to ask the other one, but did anyways. “What about you?”

“2 of π.”

I could go for two of pie right about now. Clerk’s stomach rumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t had dinner yet. He motioned for Wharf, who walked up to his side.

“So these Bord kids, do they all have number-related names?” Clerk whispered.

“Yes, sir. Surprisingly, they’re all terrible at math. One of the great ironies of the universe, in my opinion.”

Turning back to 6 of 1, Captain Clerk had to devise some way of getting information out of the dark-clad introverts ahead of him. “Do you know anything about this?” he said, pointing to the clogged pipes.

6 of 1 glanced over in that direction, then quickly resumed staring at the floor.

“Well? Do you?”

Just when he thought he might get an answer, Clerk realized that the other two Bord were gone. After looking around the room, he saw them off in the corner, standing by Jenkins, who was no longer wearing his hazmat suit, and was inexplicably wearing all black, nail polish included.

“Jenkins! What are you doing?”

“I am the Bord too, now, Cap’m,” Jenkins replied in a mopier version of his usual drawl.

Clerk facepalmed. “Wharf!”

The Security Chief looked up from his sandwich. How anybody could eat in a place like this eluded Captain Clerk, but he wasn’t about to press the issue.

“Sorry, sir!” Wharf said, running over to the Bord and the strangely silent Jenkins.

“It’s begun,” Wharf lamented. “We need to put these kids somewhere.”

“Agreed,” the Captain replied. “Do we have one of those rooms? You know… what are they called?”

“Brigs?”

“Yeah, do we have one of those?”

“Yes, sir. But it wasn’t getting much use, so we’ve been having Bingo Night in there.”

“Well, clear it out and put them in there. We can’t have these guys going around putting a damper on everybody.”

“Right away, sir!”

Once the Bord (Jenkins included) were stashed away, Clerk decided he’d check out one of the pizza restaurants in the newly-discovered upper decks, desperately hoping for at least one uneventful hour before the end of his shift…

“Calm down, Jenkins. What happened?”

“You just wouldn’t believe me if I told you, sir!” the Head of Maintenance said breathlessly.

“What, did you find an extra floor beneath the ship?”

“Oh, has somebody told you already?”

“Call it an educated guess,” Clerk said with a sigh.

“Ennyways, Cap’m, it’s cloggin’ up the facilities!”

How is it that we can communicate with non-human lifeforms but can’t translate from Country Bumpkin to English? the Captain thought as he attempted to gather his thoughts and figure out what in the universe Jed Jenkins had just uttered.

“What’s clogging up what, now?”

“This new floor, Cap’m! It’s all filled up! It’s backin’ up inta tha facilities!”

“The what?”

“The facilities!”

The toilets, maybe? “So, this floor is all filled up… with…?”

“It smells terrible bad down here, Cap’m.”

Crap. “I’ll be right down.”

Clerk reluctantly stepped onto the elevator. It was going to give him trouble about this trip, for sure.

“Bottom deck, please.”

“All the way to the bottom, sir?”

“Yes. The very last floor.”

“Are you sure? I mean, it smells pretty bad down there.”

Like you would know. “It smells bad all over the ship.”

“Of course, Captain, but it’s so much worse down there. Wouldn’t you rather explore some of these new floors first? I hear they’re pretty exciting!”

“Not now. I really need to get down there.”

“But–”

“Now.”

It’s a strange thing to hear a computer sigh. Dejected, the elevator finally mumbled “Fine,” and slowly began going down.

Some 15 or 500 or so minutes later, Captain Clerk arrived at Deck W, or, as it had become affectionately known, “The Port”. Down here was the ship’s waste disposal, which, until the last few days, had never been a problem. Waste got pumped down here, then emptied out into the vast void of space. Standard procedure. It stands to reason that if the whole system is getting clogged up and wreaking havoc on the whole ship, this would be the first place to look for a solution. So naturally, nobody did.

Clerk fought the gag reflex as he stepped off the elevator, hearing “told you so” faintly as the doors closed.

“Cap’m!” Jenkins yelled as he rushed over to the still-queasy Captain. “Over here! The facilities! The faci–”

“I got it, I got it,” said Clerk. “Where is the problem?”

“Right here, Cap’m.” Jenkins walked up to a large, bloated pipe. “It’s the Port, sir. It ain’t emptyin’ out into the ether as we figured it was.”

Covering his nose and mouth with his hand, Clerk walked up for a closer look.

“You see, Cap’m, normally it feeds through there–” he pointed through a window designed for an exterior view, “– and on out into yon universe. But takey look at it.”

Through the glass Captain Clerk could see what looked to be a typical observation deck — and a rather lavishly furnished one at that — filled at least halfway to the top with the, ahem, “output” of the tube.

“And nobody knew this extra floor was here?” Clerk asked.

“I reckon not, sir. Who’da put the Port a floor too early?”

No engineer I’ve ever seen with a passing grade. “Has anybody been working down here lately?”

“Are you kiddin’ me? I can’t even get redshirt ensigns to do any maintenance down here, let alone any real work.”

Clerk couldn’t argue with that. “Well… have we been able to figure anything out about it yet?”

“Sorry, Cap’m, but ain’t none of us been able to stay down here long enough to study it rightly.”

“Well, go grab some hazmat suits and get to the bottom of this. If this keeps up, we may not make it to the starbase in time.”

“Will do, sir!”

Clerk turned toward the elevator, on his way to take a shower, lie down, and try to pretend this day never happened, when all of a sudden, a bottle of black nail polish fell from a hole in the ceiling…

Captain Clerk pressed Stop on the recorder and looked around the bridge nervously. It always made him self-conscious to do his podcast on the bridge, but he’d already forgotten to do his last two episodes, and this was the only time he had today to do it. Never mind the fact that his ratings were plummeting. He had already accepted not being first in the Captains Listings, but now he wasn’t even the top-rated podcaster on the ship any more. How The Redshirt Show beat him consistently every week made no sense. They don’t even have the same host every week.

He handed over the recorder to his assistant and turned his attention to the main screen, which was still showing static. Probably going to miss Vulcan’s Got Talent again, he thought. We have got to talk to somebody in Billing. I know we paid the cable bill this month.

“Change it to the See Where We’re Going Channel, I guess,” Clerk said, finally. “Watching the stars shoot past us is better than this.”

“Aye sir.” Lt. Whatsisname replied.

The screen changed to what Clerk was sure was a screensaver, but it didn’t bother him. It was actually kind of soothing, and, all things considered, soothing was a welcome state of being right now. With everything breaking down, his inbox was filled to capacity with complaints, and he couldn’t even keep up with them by holding down the Delete button. This was going to be a long ride.

“Lieutenant, what’s our estimated time of arrival?”

“We’re at least two commercial breaks away, sir.”

Figures. “Thank you, lieutenant.”

The captain was just about to pull out his tricorder for a game of Sudoku when the intercom came on. It was the Security Chief. This was never a good sign.

“Security Chief to Bridge.”

“Captain speaking. What’s shaking?”

“We’ve got a… um… situation up here.”

It was the wording that worried Clerk. A call from Security is bad enough, but when it’s a situation, you may as well give up on having a good day.

“Can you be more specific? Is this a we’re-gonna-need-more-firepower situation or a we’re-out-of-diet-soda-again situation?” Both were roughly equal in the Captain’s mind.

“Well…” the Security Chief stammered. “It’s just… kind of… weird, and, um… embarrassing. Can you come up here?”

Clerk’s stomach turned. “Where are you?”

“I’m by the elevator, three floors above you.”

“You’re aware the bridge is on the top floor, right?”

“That’s what’s so weird about this, Captain.”

Captain Clerk choked down a Klonopin and got out of his seat. “I’ll be right there.”

Sighing, he stepped into the elevator, and wondered how to word his instruction as the doors closed.

“Up three floors, please,” was all he could think of.

“Pardon?” the elevator politely responded.

“Up three floors, please.”

“Are you sure about this? There’s nothing but–”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Clerk interrupted. “Go on up.”

“But there’s no more–”

“Just do it.” At this point, the Captain didn’t even care if there were no more floors and he wound up out in the depths of space. It’s not like the day could get any worse at this point.

Oddly enough, the elevator went up without any problem.

“Well, what do you know!” it chirped.

The door opened to a huge hustle and bustle, with swarms of confused security officers roaming the area. In the middle of it all was Security Chief Wharf.

Brow furrowed, the Captain looked around what appeared to be a normal, functioning part of the ship… that shouldn’t be here.

“So… what is all this?”

“We’ve made an astounding discovery,” said Wharf. “Apparently, there are twelve floors above Deck A that none of us knew about.”

“Twelve floors?” Clerk exclaimed. “What’s up here?”

“Lots of stuff, sir. Plenty of science labs, a bowling alley, two pizza restaurants, Stellar Cartography…”

I’ve always wondered where Stellar Cartography was.

“…some really nice coffee shops, an under-construction beauty salon, and an entire floor with nothing but a bunch of empty cubicles. Frankly, sir, we’re flummoxed.”

“How did you find this?”

“Well, Ensign Nubiee was doing his regular patrol but went to the wrong floor by mistake. Somehow he wound up six floors up and was having a latte before anybody noticed.”

Clerk’s jaw dropped as he paced around the floor. Twelve extra floors of activity? Is that where our budget keeps disappearing to?

“We’ve just finished our initial security sweep, sir. Here’s the report.”

Wharf handed over the report, and the captain flipped threw a few pages. “Astounding, it’s like– hey, Dr. Flüshaht’s up here? I thought he died last season. And what’s with the–”

The intercom went off again. This time is was the Head of Maintenance.

“Cap’m! Cap’m!” said the most annoying accent in the history of annoying accents.

“Yes?” Clerk said with a sigh.

“You’re never going to believe this!”

By now, there wasn’t much that would have surprised Captain Clerk.