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Old September 28 2008, 10:53 AM   #5
Herkimer Jitty
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Re: Star Trek: Entepriez

Statements in between equals signs ( =like so=) indicate voice communications.

Star Trek: Entepriez
Episode 1X01 - “The Enterpriez Incident”
Act 1

"Captain's Log, Stardate 9021.0. We are en route to the Sigma Epsilon system to investigate the mysterious loss of our listening post. End log."


The Enterpriez suddenly dropped from warp, like a Californian driver talking on his cell phone and suddenly noticing a stop sign. The scene that awaited it was grim. The outpost had been almost entirely destroyed. Well, perhaps almost entirely isn't the best way to put it. The outpost had been outright destroyed. Debris drifted through space, like so many hippies through an LSD trip.

The bridge was bustling with activity. Key word being was. At this point, the bridge was relatively calm, with very little actual excitement up to this point. Not that I would call discovering an abandoned station particularly exciting. More like depressing or perhaps foreboding.

Hawke sunk further back into the plush command chair, accidentally activating the recliner function. Hawke was surprised by this, but crossed his arms and acted like he meant to do it.

Jack was visibly shocked for a moment, then quickly ran a hand through his hair to make sure his coif hadn't lost it's stand. "Sir, we've arrived at Sigma Epsilon."

"Oh?" asked the reclining, seemingly lazy, commander, "I couldn't tell. Mister Phlegm, analysis."

Phlegm stopped filing his earnails and typed a series of commands into his console. "Weapons pattern is consistent with a class 3 disruptor."

"SIR!" Yelled Kraa'pla into Hawke's ear, "RECCOMEND IMMEDIATE YELLOW
ALERT. It's scaary."

"Agreed" said he, "Yellow alert, Commander"


Hawke used his feet to force the recliner closed and moved up to standing.

Doctor Fune, possessing a fine sense of dramatic timing, had just arrived from sickbay and was slowly entering through the turbolift alcove. "Good god man, what the hell happened"

"I don't know," came the vague, ominous statement from Hawke, "But I intend to find out. We're going over there. Mr. Phlegm, Kraa'pla, you're with me," he tapped his commbadge, which magically routed him to engineering without any input, "Cooper, get to transporter room 3"

="On my way, skipper."=

"Sir," Stanford started again, revealing her character's recurring joke to already be tiresome and predictable in a second or two, "Starfleet regulations clearly state the captain is not to go on away missions under any circumstances."

But, Hawke continued to the turbolift regardless. However, she did follow, trying to make her point on the turbolift ride, through 40 meters of corridor and while waiting for the transporter chief to warm things up.
It is widely accepted that the collected regulations of Starfleet are the most boring and wasteful text in existence. There are 40 book volumes alone dedicated to regulations regarding flag officers beaming down to hazardous planets. Regulation, treaty and general order nomenclature is constantly changing, creating an indecipherable mess. Many have stated that the rulebook is boring and should be changed. Some have proposed that officers should be given X-Men comics instead, since "no one will read the bloody rules anyways", but Admirals call these sort of people "silly". These people in turn, have accused the Admirals of "being the man who is bringing me down... man."

Stanford was almost certainly aware of the Starfleet regulation known as the "Saavik Law", which stated that it was annoying if you over-quoted Starfleet rules, but she made an exception since it was such an obscure law.

The transporter chief finished pretending to look busy and motioned Hawke and his away party to the transporter pad. They put on their spiffy new field jackets (props to the costume department), and stepped onto the transporter pad.

"Mr. O'Connely. Four to beam down."

The transporter chief slid his hands across the controls, like an amateur musician who has mastered a 60 dollar keyboard. In a shimmering display of light and what is probably carbonated water, the away team dematerialized.

"But... my name isn't O'Connely"


The three of them beam in, the accompanying visual effects being analog or digital, whatever your preference is.

Cooper waved her tricorder around, as everyone else pulled out their tricorders, giving Trekkies bad memories of Starfleet officers walking around a farm, all of them waving tricorders only for the reason that they have them.

"ooks like this section's intact. Atmosphere's stable."

Hawke looked thoughtful for a second.

"Maybe we should have checked before we beamed in witout pressure suits."

Everyone paused for a moment, looked at Hawke, then shook their heads and moved on.

Cooper sat down at a computer station, emptied a bottle of Coke and stuck the bottle into a circuit panel, causing it to light up and power the computer station.

"That was implausible."

"Hey," she replied, Shatnering her head to the right, "It's what I do."

Hawke leaned in over her shoulder to get a better look at the console display.

"What've you got?" He asked rather stiffly.

"Someone leaning over my shoulder. Give me a second." She typed on the flat plexiglass-like control panels. "I've got the station logs."

"lright, let's play em."

A weary-eyed officer, suspiciously similar to Darren McGavin, appeared onscreen. In fact, this particular man had won a Darren McGavin lookalike contest on Omicron Persei 8, a planet where actors are revered. For years, he has been stalked by fans who believe him to be the actor in question, although he's been dead for hundereds of years.


"Personal log. We've greeted an alien race known as the Zamboni, who have never met others like them before. Things are going well-"

"Fast-forward this, will ya?" Asked Hawke, spinning his finger around as if manipulating a dial.

"Things are going horribly! What was I thinking! It's all horribly horribly wrong. Oh god! Oh god!"

"O god oh god?" Asked Phlegm, "I thought you humans didn't have religion anymore, that you evolved beyond it."

"No," replied Hawke, "That's just something we tell everyone else so we can feel smug and superior."

"Alright skipper," Cooper said, pulling an isolinear chip from it's slot, "I've got all the logs here."

Kraa'pla looked rapidly from side to side as the lights flickered for a moment, and huddled close to Cooper's side.

"Get offa me, will ya?"

"Sorry. It startled me and uh.. I mean, I am a bold Klingon warrior and I was trying to prevent you from being harmed by whatever that was!"

She stared at him for a second, then shifted her attention to the captain. "We've got all we need."

"Alright," he said, "Let's get back to the ship. Hawke to Enterpriez" he said as he slapped his nipple, then aimed higher and got his commbadge, "4 to beam up."

And they dissolved in a dazzling show of alka-seltzer.


The senior staff had gathered around the table, which still had the net from last night's ping-pong match. The viewer was active and Cooper was standing next to this.

"Mind if I light a smoke?" Fune asked, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of her pocket.

Hawke points at the "NO SMOKING" sign by the door. Fune shrugs in understanding and lights her cigarette. Hawke's eyebrow twitches in minor irritation.

"So," she says, "Let me axe ya this: what are we doing here?"

"An excellent question Doctor!" Phlegm enthusiastically began, "Some believe that God is an all-powerful benevolent force that surrounds us and binds us, while others feel that he is a prick who likes bossing people around, and that's a good reason to worship him. Still, people can't particularly fathom the meaning of their own tiny existences, most don't even give it a second thought, but those that do, beyond all probability have an experience that-"

"Yes, that's enough."

"I agree. Starfleet regulation 32A, paragraph 42: Shut the hell up."

Hawke looked surprised, "Is that really a regulation?"

"No," she replied, "I just made it up."

"Oooh," said Jack, "Am I sensing a new running joke?"

"Morons, idiots, simpletons, lend me your attention please." Alvarez stood up, putting his hands down on the table. "Can we get back on task before I die of old age? I have 12 very important projects in progress, all of which require my genius and intellect to succeed."

"Right." Said Hawke, "Anyways, it seems the Listening Post made contact with a group of aliens known as the Zamboni. Things were going well, but there are some records missing. This is the last video record from the station."

"Oh god, this is awful!"

"You will be destroyed, pitiful ones!"

"Wait no! I take it back-"

Fune raised her eyebrows, "Good god man, those aliens took out a whole outpost! And Janeway expects us to be able to do something about this?"

Jack propped his feet up on his table, having stolen Indiana Jones's cool hat, which he was using to put his face in the shade. "That's the point."

"Can we stay on topic?" Alvarez asked, "Or do I need to get a spray bottle for you people?"

"Right," continued Hawke, "It looks like they offended the Zamboni somehow, so we'll just have to tread carefully. Any questions."

Everyone sat and was silent, heads propped up on hands, thumbs twiddling, and so on.

"Alright. Dismissed."

= "Uhh, conference room." =

Hawke tapped his commbadge, "Go ahead Ensign Vernon"

= "We've got an unidentifed ship coming in. Never seen anything like it." =

"I call dibs." proclaimed Jack, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms behind his head.

"Dibs on what?" Asked Fune, casting her green eyes on the young helmsman.

"First escape pod."


The crew rapidly entered through the portside door, quickly going to their stations, like a bunch of high-schoolers rushing to get to the pizza line first.

"Sir," reported Phlegm, "We are being hailed."


A friendly-looking alien wearing a bright wool sports coat and tacky tie appeared onscreen.

"Hello friend," he said, "I am Zanzibar of the Zamboni. Are you comfortable?"

"Uhh yes."

"Are you sure we can't make you more comfortable?"

"Uhh..." Hawke hesitated for a moment. Perhaps answering yes is what killed the station crew. Then again, perhaps no is the wrong answer and yes is the right answer, being higher on a scale of choices. But, if you start second guessing yourself, he thought to himself, then you start to slip up. And then once you start second guessing your second guesses, you should just give up at that point.

"Green!" He blurted out.


"I mean, no."

"You will be destroyed, pitiful ones!"

"Oh shi-" fortunatley for the network censors, Hawke was cut off by an incoming disruptor blast, which struck the unshielded vessel. A computer bank burst into sparks, flinging an unsuspecting crewman on the floor.

"Damage report!" Captain Hawke yelled over the din of alarm klaxons and combat chatter.

"We've lost shields, and our weapons are gone!"

Hawke trudged over to the science station, using the rail to steady himself as the ship rocked under the duress of some decidedly rude weapons fire.

"Lieutenant, what's have you got on that thing??"

Alvarez spun his chair around, his face showing his horror. "Sir, I'm getting a readout on the enemy vessel. It appears to have conformium cannons, a stink machine and a flapperjack mcgoogle. It's a warship."


Hawke quickly grabbed hold of the nearest handrail.

"Everybody hang on!"

I promise you I will listen to what has been said here, even though I wasn't here.

Last edited by Herkimer Jitty; September 28 2008 at 11:05 AM. Reason: WTF size codes
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