Embedded Files
“Personal log, Stardate… oh bugger, I don’t bluidy know what Stardate it is. It’s been one year since I left Starfleet to breed whippets, and now they want me back. Well, they want me to attend the launch of a new starship. The Disposable-A, no less. I’ve decided to go, basically because I’ve got nothing better to do. Ho hum.”
--
Olding straightened his uniform tunic, and stepped on to the bridge of the Disposable. The ship was one of the new modified Excelsior class, and the bridge was massive. Olding had to strain his eyes to see to the other side. It was more crowded than usual, as not only was there a lot of the crew on the bridge, but there was also a pack of journalists and cameramen cluttering up the place. As soon as they realised Olding was there, they swarmed round him and started asking stupid questions. Waving them away, he wandered round the bridge stations, looking over the heads of the crew on duty and trying to figure out what the hell all these new displays meant.
“Er, excuse me, Captain sir,” a voice called out.
Olding froze. He knew that voice only too well. The hairs rose on the back of his neck as a young version of Cholmondely-Smythe approached him.
“Hello, Captain Olding. Nice day for it, doncha know?”
Olding gritted his teeth. “Hello, ensign. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Well, it seems one has been given the honour of becoming the Disposable‘s first helmsman.”
“Oh. Jolly good.” Olding struggled to find something complimentary to say. “It wouldn’t be t’ Disposable without a Cholmondely-Smythe aboard.” He covered his mouth, and added, “unfortunately.” The ensign had already turned away, and so did not hear him.
At that point, the Captain of the Disposable, John Hairyman, waved his arms to try and get people’s attention.
“Excuse me,” he quavered, “would everybody please take your seats. We’re about to depart.”
Olding found his seat by the side, and sat down.
No sooner had he got comfortable than Hairyman said, “Captain Olding, I’d be honoured if you’d give the order to get under way.”
Olding shook his head. “I wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.”
“Please. I insist.”
“No, really!” Olding realised that he wasn’t going to get out of this. He stood up, straightened his tunic, and said, “Take us out.”
The bridge crew and reporters erupted into cheers and applause. Olding sat down again.
--
Some time later, they had completed a brief tour of the ship, and Olding was starting to wonder about the possibilities of lunch, when the communications station started to warble. An ensign flicked it on, and a panicky voice filled the bridge.
“This is the transport ship Lackey. We are caught in an intense gravimetric field!!!!! Our structural integrity is collapsing!!!! Can you help us?!!!!”
Olding sat up in his chair. At last, he thought. Something interesting was going to happen today. Hairyman had other ideas.
“Are there any other ships in range?” he asked the science officer. Feeling the glare of the journalists, he explained, “We’re in no condition to mount a rescue attempt.”
Olding frowned at him. Hairyman shrank back.
His nervousness was compounded by the science officer’s response. “We’re the only ship in range, sir!”
“Oh, dear.”
Olding stood up. Much to his astonishment, he found himself itching to start giving orders.
Hairyman reluctantly gave the order to take them in closer. At Warp 4, the Disposable sped towards the emergency. The picture on the viewer was a shocking one. Three transports were caught in the grip of a writhing, flaming energy ribbon. Hairyman obviously didn’t know what to do next. Olding started to vibrate on the spot with frustration.
“Helm, full stop!” Hairyman called. “We don’t want to get in too close. We could get caught up in it too.”
He looked across at his science officer. “Is there any way we can disrupt the ribbon?”
“We could try venting drive plasma from the warp nacelles.”
“Do it!!” Hairyman ordered, then looked across at Olding for support.
Olding shook his head. He had no idea whether it would work or not, but he did have a close relationship with the effects of Sod’s Law. It couldn’t be that easy.
As he had guessed, the drive plasma had no effect. Hairyman hadn’t given up quite just yet. “We could try generating a subspace energy field around the ships. Maybe that would break them free.”
Olding didn’t say or do anything this time, preferring instead to feel his hackles rise until they nearly burst off him. The subspace field did nothing. Olding was in serious danger of breaking the railing in front of him, he was gripping it so tightly. Hairyman looked flustered for a little while, during which time one of the transports exploded. An involuntary groan escaped from Olding.
Swallowing what little he had left of his pride, Hairyman said, “Captain Olding. I would really appreciate any advice you could offer me.”
Olding went into overdrive. He vaulted over the railing, and practically ran to where Hairyman was standing, just in front of the centre seat. “Right!!!” he said, his voice sounding more clear and confident than it had done for ages. “First thing you do is, take us in closer.”
“But we could get sucked in as well!!!”
“Risk is part of t’ game if you want to sit in that chair,” Olding responded, with his gaze clearly stating that he wanted to be sitting in it.
“Okay. Helm, take us in.”
The Disposable entered the outer edges of the energy ribbon.
“Tractor beam!” Olding commanded.
“Er…” Olding knew that `Er’ very well. It was the pre-pathetic excuse ‘Er’ that the Psycho crew had refined to an artform. “…we don’t have a tractor beam.”
“You left Spacedock without a tractor beam? How bluidy stupid can you get?!!!! I thought I was the only survivor from t’ Psycho!”
Hairyman looked confused.
“Never mind. Okay, no tractor beam. Right.”
“It’s not due to arrive until Tuesday!”
Olding fought down the urge to burst into tears. “Fine. Start beaming those people out of there!”
The Disposable was suddenly jolted roughly, and Olding, along with several others, fell to the deck.
“Damage report!!” he shouted.
It was Cholmondely-Smythe who answered him. “We seem to be have been caught up by the energy ribbon. I rather think we’re in trouble.”
Olding stood up again, and realised that they had yet another problem. They had to break free of the ribbon, and soon. A possibility presented itself.
“Arm photon torpedoes, and prepare to fire on my command.”
“Ahahaha. We don’t actually…”
“…have photon torpedoes. Don’t tell me. Tuesday.”
Hairyman blushed.
Olding paced the bridge. They had to dissipate the field before they escape its clutches. There was one last option.
“We could try simulating a torpedo blast with an energy discharge from the main deflector dish.” Olding wondered where he’d got that idea from. Oh well, it sounded right.
Hairyman thought for a moment, and said. “The dish’ll need modification. I’ll do it. Captain Olding, would you please take the conn.”
Olding shot into the command chair, and made himself comfy. Then, something occurred to him.
“No. You stay here. I’ll do it. If you go, you’ll only make a muck-up of it.” He left the bridge.
--
He found the deflector control room more by luck than anything else. He examined the console, and discovered that, apparently alone amongst the Disposable‘s equipment, the deflector dish controls were remarkably similar to the ones on the Psycho. Olding began to reset the chips as fast as he could. The console itself was easy to refit, but clambering up a deck to modify the actual control interface was a complicated task that involved Olding having to hang upside down over a very big drop while refitting the chips. Finally, it was done.
“Olding to bridge. It’s done!!! Hit it!!!”
He heard the response on the bridge before the channel cut off. Climbing back onto the deck, Olding decided to take a breather.
--
Hairyman was sat tensely in his chair. When he heard the message from Olding, he said, “Activate the dish!” A beam of energy spread out from the dish, and mingled with the energy ribbon.
“It seems to be working, old frui… er, Captain,” Cholmondely-Smythe reported, and simultaneously, the science officer reported that they had all the survivors aboard.
Hairyman thumped his chair arm in delight, and said, “You did it, Olding! Helm, all engines full reverse!!”
The ship slowly backed away. Everyone on the bridge held their breath as they watched the ribbon recede. Just as they thought they were clear, a pulse of energy snaked out from the ribbon, and hit the ship, throwing it sideways.
“Damage report!!” Hairyman called.
“Hull breach on decks 13, 14, … and 15, sir!” Cholmondely-Smythe reported.
Deck 15 was the deck on which the deflector control room was found. Hairyman pressed the comm button.
“Bridge to Olding? Can you hear us?” Silence. “Ensign Cholmondely-Smythe, take us home. I’m going to take a look.”
Hairyman descended to deck 15 alone. When he reached the site of the deflector control room, all he could see was empty space. Olding was nowhere to be seen.
75 years later…
The sea was sparkling, and the sun was warm, as the sailing ship Psycho rocked gently on the breeze. Captain Cholmondely-Smythe sighed happily as he clasped his hands behind his back and watched his crew make a total mess of tacking. Luckily for them, it was only a holographic ship, so Cholmondely-Smythe wouldn’t have to discipline them. And it was nice for once not to be constantly aware of the hostility the crew felt towards him. It didn’t help when the ship’s counsellor kept pointing it out to him.
She had joined the ship at the same time as he had, two weeks after the Psycho had suddenly popped out of the temporal rift. He had originally thought that the crew’s hostility was a result of their nervousness at their unexpected trip into the future, but they had seemed to get on with the counsellor well enough. Being blissfully unaware of the crew’s relationship with the Cholmondely-Smythe dynasty, he had attributed the counsellor’s integration to the fact that she was a relative of Commander Hill’s.
Apparently, Hill had had a half-brother, who had had children, who had in turn had more children, one of whom had married a Betazoid. So now the Psycho had Lieutenant-Commander Deborah Hill as ship’s counsellor. Once she had stopped referring to Commander Hill as ‘Unk’, every time she saw him, things had settled down. Now, she just did it occasionally, which annoyed Hill, but made everyone else laugh. Currently, she was having a friendly argument with Wall about the finer points of sailing, and, as far as he could tell, winning hands down. This was made obvious by the fact that she was doing most of the talking while Wall stammered “Yes… But…” every so often.
Wall and Damerell had discovered that they were in serious trouble soon after they had emerged from the temporal rift. A relative of one of the artists whose songs they had ripped off had discovered their actions and brought a court case against them. It had come a few days after Starfleet had just paid the crew seventy-five years wages in one lump, and Wall and Damerell had had to borrow that money to pay off their legal costs and damages. They were paying it off, but at the rate of a credit a month, Cholmondely-Smythe doubted that the other crew-members would ever see their wages again.
Fortunately, the Psycho crew seemed to have the collective memories of a fruitfly, and so Wall and Damerell had been spared a lynching.
It had also helped that they had been instrumental in the capture of Admiral Forster (Wall had rammed the Admiral’s ship by accident, forcing it to stop).
Cholmondely-Smythe dragged his attention back to the business at hand. “Bring out the prisoner,” he bellowed.
A couple of security guards dragged Jackson out from below decks. Like the rest of them, Jackson was dressed in period costume. Damerell was wearing his backwards. Hardly surprising, really, that he was so confused, seeing as the crew had had to cope with four uniform changes in quick succession after their arrival. Now, they were wearing the new black jumpsuits with grey shoulders and shirts denoting department by colour.
Thinking of uniforms reminded Cholmondely-Smythe of the problems they had endured with the rank pips. It had taken the crew a while to get used to them, and for a while, confusion had reigned as people sported too many or too few pips for their ranks. Cholmondely-Smythe had started to smell a rat when Hill turned up with twenty-seven pips arranged all the way around his collar, claiming that he had checked the regulations and this was his correct allocation.
Hill cleared his throat noisily, and Cholmondely-Smythe unwrapped the imitation scroll he was clutching.
“Are you ready to hear the charges?” he intoned.
Jackson nodded.
Cholmondely-Smythe continued, “The prisoner is charged with: One, that he did perform his duty to the best of his ability. Two, that he has consistently shown great enthusiasm for his task, and Three, most seriously, he has gained the fear and grudging admiration of the crew. I hereby promote you to Lieutenant-Commander, and may God have mercy on your soul.”
That wasn’t exactly a great speech, but it would have to do, Cholmondely-Smythe thought.
Hill rubbed his hands together. “Extend the plank!!!”
A couple of the crew dragged a plank out over the side of the ship. A cocked hat was lowered on a rope from the mainmast. Jackson took his position at the plank. Slowly, he edged his way out along the plank, until he was under the hat. He tried to reach up to it, but he couldn’t quite reach. So he produced a hook from his pocket and pulled the hat down that way. The crew booed him.
“You dirty rotten cheat!!!” Damerell screamed, peeved because he hadn’t thought of it first.
Hill wasn’t finished yet. “Computer, remove plank.”
The plank disappeared, and Jackson plummeted into the water.
“Er, Number One, old bean, that’s retract plank, not remove plank.”
“No, I think I was right actually.”
“Well, whatever you say.”
Everybody split their sides laughing as Jackson flailed around in the water. Damerell was laughing so hard he leant against Wall’s shoulder for support. Unfortunately, Wall was standing over the open gangway, so the additional weight pushed him over the edge and into the sea, right on top of Jackson.
Just then, the computer chime sounded, and Cholmondely-Smythe answered the call. It was Mr Bleep on the bridge. The android had been repaired by the Utopia Planitia Yards, and now it was working perfectly.
“Captain, we have received a call from the Avocado space observatory. They have been attacked.”
Cholmondely-Smythe swung into action. “Right, chaps, red alert!! Computer, end program.”
The ship disappeared, revealing the dark wall and yellow grid of the ship’s new Holodeck unit. Wall and Jackson suddenly found themselves flailing about on the floor, and stood up, dripping wet. The rest of the officers followed Cholmondely-Smythe out to the bridge.
--
When they arrived at the observatory, it was to find that they were too late. The observatory’s power was off-line, and it was hanging dead in space. Cholmondely-Smythe shifted in his chair, wishing that he had taken his sword off before he sat down. His view of the screen was slightly obscured by the steam being generated by Wall as his clothes dried out. A small puddle had collected under the helmsman’s chair, and Wall looked decidedly uncomfortable.
“Mr Hill, take an away team and examine the station, if you wouldn’t mind.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Thanks awfully.”
Hill thought for a moment, then said, “Mr Bleep, Mr Damerell, Doctor, you’re with me.” They followed him off the bridge, and down to the transporter room.
--
Arriving on the observatory, they discovered that it looked just as bad inside as it did out. There was wreckage everywhere, and, more distressingly, bodies everywhere. Jackson looked quite pleased about it, but Hill felt sick.
“Mr Bleep, carry out a sweep of the place.”
“Yes, Commander.”
While Bleep got on with that, and Jackson poked at some of the more interesting wounds on the corpses, Hill and Damerell clambered over some of the wreckage to try and get to the observatory’s central station. They were almost there when Damerell trod on something soft, and a muffled voice said, “Ow!! Do you mind?!!!”
“There’s somebody down there!” Damerell said.
“Well of course there is,” the voice responded. “Who do you think this is? A ventriloquist?!!!”
Hill and Damerell hurriedly cleared away the debris, to find a white-haired man dressed in a bizarre black leather outfit underneath.
Helping him up, Hill said, “My name’s Commander Hill. I’m from the starship Psycho. We’re here to help.”
The man blinked for a few seconds, as if unused to the light, then replied, “Sonar. Doctor Toblerone Sonar. Chief Scientist aboard the Avocado observatory.”
“Pleased to meet you, Doctor,” Hill said. “What happened here?”
“We were attacked by Romulans. I don’t know what they were after. Whatever it was, they looked everywhere for it. I was in the middle of a critical experiment when they barged in and disrupted everything!!”
Hill wiped the flecks of spit off his face, and tried to calm the scientist down. Sonar did not seem to react well to “There, there, don’t let it get you down,” so Hill punched his comm badge (yet another change the crew had not yet got used to), winced at the pain, then said, “Hill to Psycho. Five to beam up.”
--
“So we missed the Romulans, eh? Dashed poor showing, that, Commander. If we’d been just a tad faster, we could have caught them as they were engaged in their dastardly deeds. Still, I suppose we’d better make the best of it. You’ll carry out a thorough search of the observatory, and report back to me with your findings. Dismissed.”
Cholmondely-Smythe fluttered his fingers at Hill, and the commander left, resisting the urge to bow and scrape as he did so. It was really annoying, the way Cholmondely-Smythe treated them all like inferiors. And the way he had cavalierly taken over the ship’s cinema and turned it into a private office still rankled.
He met Counsellor Hill in the corridor. She grinned. “Hiya, Commander Unk!”
Hill growled at her.
“I’m sensing some hostility from you.”
Hill thumped the wall.
“Yup, there’s definitely hostility there.”
“Very funny!”
“Now, now, you shouldn’t talk to your elders and betters like that,” she admonished him. It was one of the confusing parts of their relationship that she was actually two years older than him. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hill tried to calm down a bit. “Well, now you come to mention it, I suppose that it would be a good idea to…”
“Well, make an appointment at the office. See ya later!” She walked off with a spring in her step.
Hill jumped up and down on the spot, screaming loudly.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe entered Fred’s Bar. Apparently, Dr Sonar wanted to see him. He wasn’t really interested in the scientist’s ramblings. He was a starship captain with many years experience, and should be immune from the demented witterings of scientists and their ilk. Cholmondely-Smythe stepped up to the bar. Fred was busy cleaning glasses. He didn’t have to, as there were cleaning machines behind the bar, but he did it anyway to add a bit of atmosphere.
“Howdy, Cap’n. What can ah do ya for?”
“Hello, Fred old chap. A bottle of your finest, if you would be so kind.” Cholmondely-Smythe liked Fred. The barman wasn’t nearly so hostile to him as the others were.
“Certainly, Cap’n sir. Here, try this. It’s noo in from Verruca 7. Ah’d like someone to give it a test-run.”
Fred produced a dusty bottle from beneath the counter, then dug out a glass. He very carefully uncorked the bottle, then poured out some of the liquid. Cholmondely-Smythe wondered why his hands were trembling. As he finished pouring, he spilled a bit, which landed on the counter, and started to eat its way through the surface. Cholmondely-Smythe didn’t notice, as he had just seen Doctor Sonar. Picking up his drink, he walked over to join the Doctor, who was staring out of the window.
“Greetings and salutations, Doctor. What is it you wanted to talk to me about, hmm?”
Sonar looked around at him, and Cholmondely-Smythe was taken aback by the intensity of his stare.
Then the doctor smiled, and said, “I would very much appreciate it if you would allow me to return to the observatory at once, Captain. I was in the middle of a delicate experiment when the Romulans attacked. It is vitally important that I return to the station to complete my work within the next twelve hours.”
Cholmondely-Smythe shook his head. “Terribly sorry, old fruit, but I’m afraid I can’t allow you to go back just yet. My first officer is still carrying out an investigation into the attack, but as soon as he’s finished, I’ll let you know.” He turned away, but Sonar grabbed his arm and pulled him back to face him.
“They say time is the fire in which we burn, Captain,” he said, his voice low.
Cholmondely-Smythe was nonplussed. “Do they really? Well, that’s, er, jolly nice to know, isn’t it. I’ll see you later, Doctor.”
He extracted his arm and left Fred’s bar in a hurry, still clutching the drink, which was starting to react with the atmosphere.
--
Wall was waiting patiently outside the counsellor’s office. He had an appointment with her, as part of a psychiatric evaluation of the entire crew. Wall wasn’t in the least nervous, despite people’s attempts to make him so by telling him horror stories about the counsellor’s technique. He’d had evaluations before, and they’d all turned out fine. Granted, the last one he’d had they ended up taking the psychiatrist out in an ambulance in a straitjacket, but Wall had always had his doubts about that guy anyway. The door opened, and Counsellor Hill stuck her head around it.
“Oh good, you’re here,” she said. “Come in.”
Wall walked in, and looked around him curiously. It was the first time he had been into the counsellor’s office, which had once been a storeroom for something. Its previous function was reflected in its size, which was pretty small. There was a chair and a couch that was only about four feet long. Counsellor Hill motioned him to lie down on the couch. Wall did so, but found that he had to stick his feet halfway up the wall. The counsellor sat down, and cracked her knuckles.
“Right,” she said briskly, “What do you think about death?”
“Er, um, death. Well, you know, I hadn’t really thought about it. You don’t, in my line of work.” He flashed her what he thought was a dashing grin, but, due to his ridiculous position, only made him look like a smug orang-utan.
“I see. So if you were told you had one day left to live, what would you do?”
“Well, I suppose I’d go out and do all the things I’ve ever wanted to do.”
“Such as?”
Wall closed his eyes, and a wide, peaceful smile spread across his face. “A handbrake turn in a starship.”
The counsellor dropped off her chair laughing. “Oh, right. Is this a guy thing?”
“What?”
“This business with handbrake turns. Is it some kind of male bonding ritual or something?”
“I don’t think so. It’s just something I’ve always wanted to do.”
“Right.” The counsellor wiped her eyes and sat down again. “Is there anything else you’d like to do?”
“I don’t think so. No, no, that’s about it.”
“Well, that’s odd. Most blokes I talk to go on about women.”
“Women?”
“Yeah, you know.”
“Oh, yeah!!” Wall winked expressively. “Well, I’ve never met anyone I could ever sign the letter with.”
“Sign the letter?”
“Yeah, you know, the letter that a man and a woman have to write to the storks if they want to have a baby.”
This time, the counsellor was sure something had broken as she clutched her sides and guffawed.
Wall just lay there on the couch and looked mildly perplexed.
When she had calmed down, she said, “Okay. Thank you, Mr Wall. That’ll be all.”
Wall clambered up from the couch and left.
--
Stark and Bleep were exploring the station when Bleep walked into a wall. He backed off, then tried again. Stark watched the android repeatedly collide with the wall for a minute or two, before saying, “Is there a problem?”
“Affirmative. I cannot seem to progress into the next room.”
Stark looked at the dents left in the bulkhead. “That’s because there’s a wall in the way, Bleep.”
“Fascinating. My visual sensors cannot register this wall. I can instead detect an opening.”
Stark looked at the wall again. It still looked solid to him. “Where is this opening then?”
Bleep’s hand came up and smacked the wall. Before Stark’s shocked eyes, a large hunk of metal collapsed inwards, revealing a room beyond.
They walked forwards into the room. In the centre was a class four probe with what looked like some unusual attachments. Of course, Stark wasn’t really sure whether it was unusual or not. His knowledge of probes only got up to class two. He prised one of the panels open, and looked inside. When Bleep tried to do so, their heads collided and Stark reeled. Spinning round a couple of times, he collapsed on to the floor and tried to catch the stars currently orbiting his head. Bleep, oblivious to the damage he had just inflicted, continued to examine the probe. So he didn’t see who did it when a large lump-hammer made violent contact with his head.
--
Hill had just handed his report to Cholmondely-Smythe when the red alert sirens sounded. Hill ran over to his station and examined the status report.
“Captain, somebody’s just launched a class four probe at the Avocado star!!”
“Good grief!!” Cholmondely-Smythe said. “On screen.”
Wall pressed a button, and the screen changed to show the probe hurtling towards the star. It hit, and the resulting flash almost burnt out the screen’s optical sensors. When it had calmed down, Hill’s sensors revealed that all solar activity was breaking down within the star. Then he said, “Captain, there’s somebody aboard the station!”
“Mr Hill, take Dr Jackson and find out who it is. And be quick about it! When the breakdown finishes, the dead sun will emit a level ten shockwave.”
“That’s big enough to destroy everything in this system!” the counsellor had just arrived on the bridge in time to hear this last piece of news.
Hill nodded as he and Jackson raced for the transporter room.
--
After materialising on the station, Hill whipped out his tricorder and scanned the area. They followed the bearing the tricorder gave them. There was a large hole in one of the bulkheads, and, sticking his head round the wall, Hill nearly had it blown off by Sonar. The disruptor he was carrying was very small, but, judging by the large blast-mark on the wall behind Hill’s head, packed a nasty punch.
Stark came staggering out of the room, before falling onto the floor and giggling. Recovering some semblance of sanity, he slapped his comm badge and said, “Mummy, I want to go home!!”
The Psycho‘s transporter picked him up and returned him to the ship.
“Give it up, Sonar!!!” Hill shouted. “In a few minutes this station’ll explode!!!!”
The shrill bleep of a communicator formed Sonar’s reply. He was kneeling by Bleep, who was comatose on the floor. He muttered something, and he and Bleep were snatched away from the station. Hill, realising that there was not much point hanging around, slapped his comm badge, and yelled, “For God’s sake get us out of here!!!!!!!”
--
The Klingon Bird of Prey had decloaked moments before, surprising everybody. Then, before he could respond to this new threat, Cholmondely-Smythe heard Hill’s scream, and, waiting for a few seconds to allow the transporter operator to bring the away team aboard, said, “Helm! Warp One, if you would be so kind!! Engage!!!!”
Wall slapped down on the relevant controls, and the Psycho lurched off into warp speed a few seconds before the shockwave reached her. They watched as the shockwave destroyed the Avocado system, hurling debris at them which they only just missed.
--
Some hours later, Cholmondely-Smythe and Damerell arrived in Stellar Cartography. This was yet another new room on the ship, created out of a two-level turbolift tube that had been fitted by mistake. Cholmondely-Smythe was trying to figure out why on earth Sonar would want to destroy an entire star system, and Stellar Cartography seemed like the logical place to do it. Damerell turned on the system, and the galaxy appeared in front of them.
“Zoom in on the Avocado system, there’s a good chap,” Cholmondely-Smythe said.
Damerell bent over his panel, and manipulated the controls. Cholmondely-Smythe felt the need to hang on to the railing around the control station as the galaxy appeared to rush towards him at dizzying speed.
When it had stopped, Damerell said, “There you are, sir.”
The Avocado system and its environs were displayed in full colour. Cholmondely-Smythe squinted at the display. This wasn’t actually helping any.
Damerell looked up, frowned, and said, “What the hell?! Er, excuse me, sir.”
He zoomed in again, and Cholmondely-Smythe fought against vertigo. A small red line that had been tucked away in one corner of the screen was blown up to ridiculous proportions. Damerell looked at his monitors, and breathed, “So that’s it!”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow, old fruit.”
“That red line, sir, is the Nexus. It’s a temporal energy ribbon that passes through our galaxy once every thirty-five years. It’s very dangerous. Once you’ve experienced the Nexus, real life isn’t nearly as attractive as it used to be. The Nexus creates a perfect world of your own choosing, which you can live in for all eternity.”
Cholmondely-Smythe was astounded by the unexpected verbal waterfall from Damerell that, against all the odds, actually made sense.
“I see. How do you know all this?”
“One year after we flew through the temporal vortex, our previous captain died during the launch of the Disposable-A. We all wanted to know what had happened to him in the seventy-five years we were, um, away, so we made it our business to find out.”
“How does that affect Sonar, old fruit?”
“Erm…,” Damerell’s rush of intelligence was starting to peter out. “That is, uh, well… I don’t know actually.”
Cholmondely-Smythe pondered the situation. Then, a salient point brought itself to the front of his mind. Sonar was an El Aurian. El Aurians lived for a very long time.
“Mr Damerell, call up the manifest of survivors from the Disposable-A.”
Damerell tapped away at the console, and after a few moments, a list of names came up. Cholmondely-Smythe scanned through the list until he found the name he was looking for: Sonar, Toblerone.
“I thought that was it,” he said. “So now we know. Sonar wants to get into the jolly old Nexus. But why doesn’t he just fly into it with a ship?”
“Every ship that has tried to fly into the Nexus has either been destroyed or severely damaged.”
Cholmondely-Smythe looked up at the display again. “Mr Damerell, would you mind awfully zooming out just a smidgen?”
The galaxy suddenly shrunk down to a pinpoint. “Yes, well, perhaps a bit closer in than that.”
Damerell zoomed in again so that Cholmondely-Smythe could see the surrounding systems. He looked at the path of the Nexus.
“Mr Damerell, list all the effects the destruction of the Avocado star has had.”
Damerell tapped away, and said, “A research project on Aubergine 45 has been disrupted by increased neutrino emissions, the starship Boozeman was forced to make a course correction, toilet facilities on…”
“Hang on just a tad. Why did the Boozeman have to make a course correction?”
“The destruction of the star has disrupted the gravitational balance of the region.”
“Have you taken that into account when you plotted the course of the Nexus?”
“Oops. Hang on a moment, sir.” Damerell fiddled with the console, and the red line shifted a bit.
“Aha! That’s the answer! Look, it almost intersects that planet! What would happen if that star was destroyed?”
Damerell, who was getting quite good at this now, removed the star, and grinned smugly as the red line neatly intersected the planet.
“What’s the name of that planet, Damerell?”
“Verydull 3, sir.”
“Is it inhabited?”
“No, but Verydull 2 is home to 36 million purple frogs, sir. They are very close to developing a system of transport that will allow them to journey from one pond to the next.”
“Oh, dear. We’ll have to stop him then, won’t we.”
“Yes sir. I think.”
Cholmondely-Smythe pressed his comm badge, and said, “Captain to bridge. Plot a course for the Verydull system.”
There was a long pause, before Hill answered, “We can’t sir. You’ve got our navigator.”
“Oh, jolly good then. We’re on our way.”
--
The Psycho dropped shakily out of warp in the Verydull system. Cholmondely-Smythe turned to the latest ensign to sit at the communications console, and said, “Open hailing frequencies, if you would be so kind.”
“Hailing frequencies open, sir.”
“Klingon Bird of Prey, this is the Federation Starship Psycho. We know you’re out there. Kindly hand over our communications officer, and we won’t say anything more about it, what?”
In answer, the Bird of Prey decloaked, and the screen changed to reveal two Klingon women, one rather tall and the other rather short and fat. Cholmondely-Smythe recognised them at once.
“Lurcher and Bernadette!” he said.
The two women were sisters, and had gained notoriety a few years ago when they had attempted to topple the Klingon Empire by seizing control of the multi-billion darsek Rekhtag sauce production industry. The Psycho had somewhat inadvertently been responsible for the whole scheme falling apart around their ears.
“Greetings, Captain. To what do we owe the pleasure?”
Cholmondely-Smythe brightened. They didn’t seem to be holding a grudge. After all, they were talking the same as he did. He entirely missed the sarcastic note to their voices, a trait that had saved him from repeated humiliation in public for many years.
“Hello. Look, one doesn’t wish to be abrupt, but I do think that you are holding my communications officer, and that that is a bit of an illegal act, doncha know. I’d really be obliged to you if you’d just return him to us now.”
“Sod off, you ponce!!” Lurcher responded. Cholmondely-Smythe blushed. “We’re not going to hand over a vital asset like a Federation hostage!!”
“Ah. Yes. I tell you what. Why don’t we carry out a bit of a hostage exchange, what?”
“Yeah,” said Hill, “The Captain’ll be happy to be a hostage.”
“Yes, thank you, Number One. As it happens, I would be happy to be a hostage, but only on condition that you allow me to speak to Doctor Sonar.”
“Doctor Sonar’s on the planet.”
“That’s okay. You can beam me down to him.”
“Very well, Captain. Lower your shields and we’ll beam you to him.”
The screen changed back to the Bird of Prey.
“Number One, you have the conn.”
“Aye aye sir. Shields are down.”
--
The Klingons beamed Cholmondely-Smythe off the bridge, and a second later replaced him with Bleep. The deckplates creaked under the android.
“Reporting for duty, sir,” the android said.
“You look a bit under the weather,” Hill said. “Why don’t you go down to Engineering and get Chief Stark… er actually probably Barfoot would be a better option… to give you a quick once over.”
“Aye sir.”
The android stomped off the bridge, and Hill settled down in the centre seat.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe rematerialised on Verydull 3. It was very hot, and very dry. Sonar had built a large complex of scaffolding around a central launch point, where another class four probe was situated. The doctor looked around to see Cholmondely-Smythe walk nonchalantly towards him. He burst out laughing when the captain walked straight into the forcefield he had put up around his site.
“That’s not very friendly, now is it?” Cholmondely-Smythe complained.
“No, Captain. But then, I don’t have time to be friendly. I’ve got an appointment with eternity, and I don’t want to be late.”
Sonar turned back to his work. Cholmondely-Smythe decided to appeal to the scientist’s morals.
“Sonar, old chap,” he called. “Think of all those jolly old frogs on Verydull 2. If you go through with this, they’ll all die!”
“Do you think I care?” Sonar shouted. “Before the Borg destroyed my homeworld, and killed my family, then, maybe I would have cared. But now, Captain, the Nexus represents the only way I can be reunited with my family. I don’t care about anything else!!”
Cholmondely-Smythe decided to scrap Plan A, and move on to Plan B. The main flaw with this scheme was that he currently didn’t have a Plan B. He sat down on a rock, and considered his position.
--
Mr Bleep was striding towards Engineering, carving the usual trail of chaos in his wake. This time, there was something different about him. Nobody noticed, as nobody was willing to stay in front of a Bleep on the move to have a chance to notice, that there was an extra protrusion on the side of his head. The protrusion was a camera, sending a picture of the Psycho‘s corridors back to two very impatient Klingons sitting in the bridge of the Bird of Prey hanging some kilometres off the Psycho‘s port bow.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe realised that there was something very odd about the rock he was looking at. Erosion had hollowed out its underneath, leaving an empty space. And the rock was sitting exactly under the line of Sonar’s shield. Very carefully, Cholmondely-Smythe picked up a stone, and tossed it through the gap. The stone passed through to the other side without triggering the shield. Sonar, engrossed in his work, didn’t notice Cholmondely-Smythe’s little experiment. Cholmondely-Smythe hurriedly started to crawl under the rock. It was a tight fit, but he was confident of getting through.
--
Mr Bleep walked into Engineering, and stopped in front of Stark, who was busily whisking some eggs for a light mid-shift snack. Stark looked up to see Bleep towering over him. He put the bowl of eggs and whisk down, and asked, “What can I do for you, Mr Bleep?”
“Commander Hill suggested that I should come and see you about a ‘check-up’, Engineer Stark.”
Stark’s eyes bulged, and he fished around under the main display table for the toolkit he had inherited from Graham.
“Right, well, this can’t be that difficult…”
He led Bleep over to the status board, and opened up his front inspection panel. He pulled out a datapadd with a hurriedly scribbled map of Bleep’s innards, and began to try and acquaint himself with the system. Meanwhile, the camera mounted in Bleep’s head recorded all the information currently displayed on the board, including the frequency modulation of the ship’s shields.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe was having to reappraise Plan B. It seemed he should have taken Jackson’s advice about losing some weight (he was still sure that Jackson’s preferred method of weight loss – forcible liposuction with a hoover – wasn’t the right way to do things, though). He was currently jammed halfway through the opening. He had just started to suck in his stomach to try and get through the gap when Sonar noticed his struggles.
The scientist levelled his disruptor, and said, “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Ah, Toblerone, old bean, so nice to see you. Jolly fine weather we’re having, don’t you think?”
“Nice try, Captain.” Sonar opened fire. The rock dissolved under the energy from his disruptor.
--
Hill was slowly building up speed. He had been spinning in the centre seat for five minutes now, and, provided he didn’t open his eyes, was having fun. He was more than a little annoyed, then, when the first torpedo hit threw him clean out of the chair and into the helm console. Reluctantly, he opened his eyes. Five Birds of Prey appeared to be firing on the Psycho. He corrected this assumption when he realised that he was seeing five Walls as well.
Damerell looked around, his face panicky. “They’ve found a way to penetrate our shields!!!”
“Oh, damn.” Rubbing his eyes, Hill crawled back to the centre seat, just in time for another hit to throw him into it the wrong way up. Taking his feet off the headrest, he climbed back to a position on roughly the same relative angle to the rest of the crew, and said, “Ideas, anyone?”
Counsellor Hill, who had just arrived on the bridge, said, “Perhaps you could return fire?”
“Hey, that’s not such a bad idea!! Mr Wall, arm phasers and photon torpedoes!!”
“Men. Can’t live with ’em, can’t shoot ’em,” the counsellor said dryly as she leant up against the turbolift alcove walls. Hill waved irritably at her.
“Take the science station, counsellor!”
She sat down, and adjusted the chair to get comfortable. Hill tried to remember what Olding did in these circumstances.
He raised an eyebrow, pointed at the screen, and said, “Fire!” The Psycho fired off a salvo of photon torpedoes. At least two of them actually hit.
“Not enough against their shields!!” Damerell called.
More hits from the Bird of Prey caused a hull breach in the engineering section. A fire started on the bridge, and Wall tried to put it out by waving his hanky at it.
--
Sonar looked down at the crater where Cholmondely-Smythe had been. He could see no sign of any movement. He turned back to the probe, and was about to make a minor adjustment to it, when he felt a hand grip his leg. Cholmondely-Smythe hauled himself up on to the platform, and punched Sonar straight in the jaw. Sonar staggered back, then charged Cholmondely-Smythe at full speed. Cholmondely-Smythe was unready, and fell off the platform and down the slope again. Sonar smiled, and started the launch countdown.
--
“Damage report!!” Hill screamed.
“We haven’t got enough time for that!!” Wall replied.
“Oh, okay!!” Hill said.
This was getting ridiculous. There was no way they could beat the Klingons in a straight fight. Hill cast about his memory for some amazing tactic he could use to defeat the Klingons. The answer hit him like a bolt. What was that thing he’d read about in the refresher course Starfleet had put them through? The Heimlich Manoeuvre? No, the Picard Manoeuvre. A shock manoeuvre like that might just do the trick.
“Helm, standby on warp engines!”
“What?!”
“Just do it!! Prepare to engage on my mark! Mr Damerell, course 000 Mark 034!!”
Damerell tapped away furiously. “Ready sir!”
“Engage!!” The Psycho leapt into warp speed. Hill counted to ten, then shouted, “Stop!!”
“Pardon?!!”
“I said…”
There was an almighty great explosion, and the bridge dissolved into fire and chaos. Stark’s voice came over the speakers.
“Bridge, we have a problem down here!!! The deflector dish has just arrived in my office!!! Now, obviously I’m no expert, but it isn’t supposed to do that, is it?”
“… Stop.”
Wall pulled his hands out of the helm console. “Full stop, sir.”
Damerell’s monitors were still intact. “We seem to have collided with the Bird of Prey, sir. She’s been totally destroyed!!”
“Yes!!!” Wall shouted.
Everybody on the bridge looked smug. Hill grinned to himself. That hadn’t been so hard.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe looked up. Sonar had climbed to the top of his structure and was waving his arms in the air. Collecting himself, Cholmondely-Smythe began climbing the slope once more. He knew his time was limited now.
--
“Bridge, we have a new problem!!” Stark sounded very agitated. “We’re three minutes away from a warp-core breach, and there’s nothing I can do about it!!!”
“Are you sure?” Hill asked.
“There’s coolant gas coming out of at least seven different holes in the core!!! Of course I’m bloody sure!!!”
“Okay, okay. Um, you’d better evacuate the engineering section.”
“Oh, damn. We haven’t practised thaaaaaaatt!!!!!” The channel cut off abruptly.
Down in Engineering, the moment Hill’s order to evacuate came through, there was a panicked rush for the door. Stark found himself carried away on a tide of people. He was dumped to the floor, and, picking himself up, followed the rest as fast as he could. He found himself running alongside Bleep, who astonishingly was running at quite a fast pace. They climbed frantically up the Jefferies tubes until the indicator markings on the side of the tube and the large hatch told Stark that they had arrived in the primary hull.
“Crew evacuation complete!” the counsellor said.
“Two minutes, ten seconds to core breach!!!” Damerell added.
Hill’s palms were very cold and sweaty.
“Begin separation sequence.”
Wall unlocked the panel that covered the explosive bolt activation. “Ready!”
Hill hit the communications button. “Mr Stark, is the hatch secure?”
“Hang on a mo! Right, there we go!!”
“Please confirm hatch secure,” Hill pressed.
“Er, well, in a way…”
“That’ll have to do!! Mr Wall, fire explosive bolts!!!”
Wall pressed the buttons, and there was a sudden bang. The saucer section pushed clear of the engineering hull as the explosive bolts severed it neatly. The force of the blast flipped the saucer neatly over.
“Mr Wall, get us clear of the secondary hull!!”
Wall tapped on the thruster controls and the saucer levelled off. Then the engineering hull blew.
The blast pushed the saucer suddenly forwards, and everyone was thrown back into their seats. Wall fought with the helm to try and maintain some control, but he couldn’t get any power to it. Then, the viewscreen flickered on, and showed them a very unwelcome sight. The atmosphere of Verydull 3. A very close view of the atmosphere of Verydull 3. Damerell took one look at it, and said the words which summed it all up neatly.
“Oh SHIT!!!!!!”
--
Cholmondely-Smythe was almost up to the platform when Sonar leaned over it.
“I’m very sorry, Captain, but you’re too late!”
He pressed a button, and the probe launched. The blastwave knocked Cholmondely-Smythe back down the slope yet again. He watched helplessly as the probe flew straight towards the bright orb of the sun.
--
They had dropped through the atmosphere with relative ease. Gravity had got them that far. Now it was up to Wall to put them down intact.
“Mr Wall,” Hill screamed, “You’ve crashed shuttles, Klingon Birds of Prey, and God knows what else! I’m sure we all believe you can crash the saucer reasonably safely!!”
Damerell’s eyes clamped shut.
Wall looked around, eyes wide. “Helm controls are off-line!!!!”
Hill started to sweat buckets.
“Diverting all nonessential power to the helm!!” the counsellor shouted.
Wall looked at his displays. Power was slowly feeding into the system.
“I’ve got partial power to the attitude control thrusters! Um… well, it’s better than nothing!!!”
He looked up at the viewscreen. The ground was getting very close. Then, he realised that the coastline lay directly ahead.
“Bugger it!” he shouted.
“Can’t you turn us?” Hill shouted back.
“I haven’t got the power!”
Wall thought frantically, then fired the starboard thrusters.
The saucer tipped to port, and began to drop like the proverbial stone.
“What are you doing!!!!!!!!” Hill shouted as he clung for dear life to the arm of the chair.
“Side-slipping!!” came the reply.
“Oh.”
Wall watched as the altimeter reading dropped off very fast, then fired the portside thrusters. The saucer tipped up to level flight, then tipped the other way. Everyone who had been pushing hard the other way fell out of their seats. Wall managed to retain his seat, and got ready to fire the starboard thrusters for the last time. Unfortunately, they hit turbulence at that point, and his hand slipped and hit the port thrusters rather than the starboard. The saucer flipped right over on its side.
Wall looked at his power gauges. He calculated that there was probably just enough power to level the saucer out. He looked up at the screen, and realised that he had just run out of time.
“All hands, brace for impact!!” Hill yelled.
The saucer hit the ground trailing edge first, and began to roll…
--
Stark was not having a good day. The warp core breach had been stressful enough, and having to climb up the Jefferies tubes was worse. The final insult had been when they had been unable to close the security hatch. Stark had improvised by pushing Mr Bleep into the gap. As he had hoped, the android filled the gap neatly. As they had fallen through the atmosphere, Bleep had glowed cherry red, and the error messages on his display screen had not been encouraging. So when the saucer began to roll downhill, Stark was really unhappy. And violently sick.
--
Hill was wondering how he’d managed to stay in his chair for this long. It was a major miracle that the saucer hadn’t disintegrated under the unaccustomed strain. He didn’t dare look round; he was dizzy enough already without trying to take a look at the rest of the crew. So his vision was limited to the back of Wall’s and Damerell’s heads. They were hanging on to the helm console like it was going to fall off. Hill considered asking for a status report, but then decided it was probably not worth it. Then he felt the roll begin to slow, and they tipped sideways, before slowly coming to rest in the same way as a coin did. Now Hill asked for a status report.
“St-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tat-t-t-t-t-tusssssss rep-p-p-p-p-p-p-port-t-t-t-t-t-t!!!!”
They came to a complete halt.
Wall turned round, and said, “We’ve stopped, sir.”
Then the world went dark.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe watched with horror as the sun suddenly went dark. Premature night descended over Verydull 3. The only light now came from the Nexus, which was coming inexorably closer. Above him, Sonar screamed with joy. Cholmondely-Smythe braced himself as the ribbon hit him.
Verydull 3 vanished from his gaze. In its place was a kaleidoscope of colours and sounds, which slowly resolved themselves into a room. A very big room. In fact, the room was absolutely enormous. And it was full of cheering people. And they all appeared to be cheering Cholmondely-Smythe. He walked forwards unsteadily into the room, unsure of what was happening to him. But whatever it was, he was enjoying it. He couldn’t for the life of him find out what they were cheering about, but frankly, he didn’t care.
Somebody handed him a drink, and someone else drew up a chair for him. Glamorous women appeared from out of nowhere and draped themselves decoratively over the furniture. Cholmondely-Smythe closed his eyes, and smiled contentedly. It couldn’t get much better than this, he thought.
“Good, isn’t it?” a voice said.
Cholmondely-Smythe’s eyes snapped open again. He knew that voice. Everyone in Starfleet knew that voice. James Kirk was sat across the table from him.
“Er…”
For the first time in his garrulous life, Cholmondely-Smythe was at a loss for words.
“It’s called the Nexus,” Kirk said, as if sensing his confusion.
“Yes, I know. How did you get here, old fruit?” Cholmondely-Smythe said.
Kirk frowned and said, “I don’t really know. One minute I was in the deflector control room aboard the Enterprise, then, I was here. And the funny thing is, I have this feeling I’m not really me.”
Cholmondely-Smythe raised an eyebrow at that, but decided to ignore this. Inwardly, he knew that everything here was false, including James Kirk, but he didn’t care. It was Paradise.
“How did you get here?” Kirk asked. Cholmondely-Smythe thought for a moment. Funny that, he thought. His memories were already dim.
“I was on the surface of Verydull 3, when…” the memory suddenly hit him. “Good grief! Sonar! Can you leave the Nexus?”
“Of course. Where would you go?”
“I’m afraid I don’t quite take your meaning, old chap.”
“You can go to any place or time. Where would you go?” It was the answer Cholmondely-Smythe was hoping for.
“Back to Verydull 3 before Sonar destroyed the sun. But… I can’t defeat him by myself. Will you come with me?”
Kirk shook his head. “I can’t leave here. I don’t know why not, but I just know that I can’t. But I know a man who can.”
He grinned, and the room started to disappear, until Cholmondely-Smythe was left in a white nothingness with Kirk. Then Kirk himself slowly vanished, still grinning, until just his grin remained. Finally, Kirk’s grin vanished, and Cholmondely-Smythe was utterly alone.
--
Another scene slowly appeared. Cholmondely-Smythe shivered. Wherever this was, it was jolly cold. The landscape was bleak, and there were large pit-heads scattered at irregular intervals. He was standing in the middle of a coal-mine. There was a sudden outbreak of cheerful talk from behind him. He spun round to see a large group of miners appear from a mineshaft. They were talking and laughing amongst themselves. Cholmondely-Smythe was confused. How on earth was a miner going to help him defeat Sonar? Then, he saw a face that he recognised.
It was grimy, and the large yellow hard-hat obscured much of the man’s features, but the face was undoubtedly that of Captain Christopher Olding. Even Cholmondely-Smythe, who had snoozed through most of his history classes at the Academy, knew the face of Olding. A dimly-remembered lesson sprung from his memory. Olding had died aboard the Disposable-B trying to save the ship from an energy ribbon. Except that the ribbon was the Nexus, and Olding had obviously not been killed.
“Captain Olding!” he called.
“Aye, lad?” Olding responded. He frowned as he looked at Cholmondely-Smythe’s uniform.
“Captain, can I talk to you?”
Olding’s frown increased. “Your name wouldn’t be Cholmondely-Smythe, would it?”
Cholmondely-Smythe grinned. “Absolutely! The latest in a long line of Cholmondely-Smythes who have served in Starfleet.”
“I bluidy knew it!” Olding said. “What do you want?”
Cholmondely-Smythe couldn’t believe his luck. He had already won Captain Olding round to his cause. “Well, you see Captain, I’m from what you would consider the future. About 75 years into the future.”
“Aye. And?”
“I’m the captain of the… of the Psycho.”
Olding displayed some interest at that. “T’ Psycho, eh? So they built another one?”
“Not exactly, old chap. You see, it’s actually your Psycho.” Cholmondely-Smythe quickly filled Olding on the events surrounding the Psycho‘s unexpected arrival in the present. “…Now, there’s this fellow called Sonar, who is hell-bent on destroying a sun, so that he can get into the Nexus. I need you to help me.”
“Why? What’s in it for me?”
“Um… Well, the lives of 36 million frogs on Verydull 2, the lives of the crew of the Psycho… It’s very important!”
Olding walked away.
Cholmondely-Smythe hurried to catch up. “Captain Olding, it’s your duty to help me!!”
Olding turned on him. “Don’t you bluidy lecture me on duty!! I was doing my duty long before you were born. In fact,” Olding said, thinking fast, “I was directly responsible for your birth.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your grandfather was aboard t’ Disposable that day as a young ensign. Now, t’ Disposable survived its encounter wi’ t’ Nexus, yes?”
--
“Yes of course! You’re a hero because of that, Captain!”
“Yes, well, whatever. But the point is, if I hadn’t been there, then you wouldn’t be here. Understand?”
“I think so.”
“About bluidy time. So, if anything, you owe me one, so, I don’t see why I should leave here to help you. I can do anything I want here.”
“But it’s not real!!” Cholmondely-Smythe was getting desperate now.
“It isn’t?” Olding said. “You mean, all t’ effort I’ve put into building up this bluidy mine, all t’ difficult decisions I’ve taken, sinkin’ t’ shafts… None of it is real?”
“No, Captain!”
“And I’ve been here for SEVENTY-FIVE YEARS!!!!”
Cholmondely-Smythe was astounded. Meekly, he said, “Yes, that’s right, old fruit.”
Olding thought for a moment. “Captain o’ t’ Psycho, eh?”
“That’s right.”
“Mr Wall still a pain in t’ neck, is he?”
“Yes.”
“I see.” Olding sighed. “If Commander Hill were here… But he is here, isn’t he?”
“Yes, he is.”
“What am I gettin’ myself into? Come on then, let’s go.” Olding strode off purposefully. “Well, come on!!”
Cholmondely-Smythe rushed after him, into a bright white light, and…
--
Sonar looked down at the crater where Cholmondely-Smythe had been. He could see no sign of any movement. He turned back to the probe, and was about to make a minor adjustment to it, when he felt a hand grip his leg. Cholmondely-Smythe hauled himself up on to the platform, and punched Sonar straight in the jaw. Sonar staggered back, then charged Cholmondely-Smythe at full speed. Cholmondely-Smythe was unready, and fell off the platform and down the slope. Sonar smiled, and turned back to the probe to start the launch countdown. There was someone standing in his way. He looked up.
“Who the hell are you?”
“He’s Christopher Olding. Don’t you read your history?” Cholmondely-Smythe said as he clambered back on to the platform.
Sonar looked at Olding, who said, “Mornin’, lad.”
Sonar wasted no further time, and swung out at Olding. Olding, unprepared for it, took the blow straight on the chin, and staggered back. Then Cholmondely-Smythe threw himself onto Sonar’s back. Sonar rolled over, and Cholmondely-Smythe fell off. Sonar turned away, but Olding was blocking his route to the probe. So Sonar threw himself off the platform and slid down the slope. He would have to reach the probe by another route.
“Bugger,” Olding said, wiping a trickle of blood from his mouth.
“No time to hang around,” Cholmondely-Smythe said.
“Right,” Olding replied. He thought for a moment. “I’ll go after Sonar. You try to sabotage t’ probe.”
“Jolly good.” Olding slid down the slope after Sonar.
Cholmondely-Smythe hurried to the probe launcher. Just before he reached it, however, it suddenly vanished. He looked around to see Sonar putting some sort of control padd into a pocket. Then he had to drop to the floor, as Sonar raised his disruptor and fired at him.
Olding had seen Sonar engage the cloaking device, and realised that the padd had to be his first priority. Sonar was fiddling with a computer on one of the other platforms. Olding stealthily approached the scientist, wishing fervently that he had paid more attention in the martial arts classes. Coming up behind him, he tapped Sonar on the shoulder. The scientist swung round, and Olding raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger.
“Right!” he said. “We’ll be having no more o’ that, got it?”
Sonar smiled, and said, “Aren’t you supposed to be dead?” Then he dodged away before Olding could get a decent grip.
Olding’s grabbing fingers did manage to get a momentary grip on the padd, which slipped out of Sonar’s pocket and off the platform. Sonar jumped off the platform, and disappeared from Olding’s view.
Cholmondely-Smythe hauled himself up onto the platform. He was wheezing and puffing in a most unathletic fashion. “Have you got the padd?”
Olding looked over the edge of the platform. The padd had caught on a bridge covering a very long drop. “It’s down there.” He pointed at the bridge, and Cholmondely-Smythe looked down.
“We can get that, can’t we?” he asked.
“Of course we bluidy can!” Olding replied testily. He led the way off the platform, and slowly the two Captains made their way down to the bridge.
Halfway there, Cholmondely-Smythe said, “Where’s Sonar?”
“I don’t know lad.” Olding stepped out on to the bridge, gingerly. He wasn’t sure how safe the structure was.
He was almost at the padd when Sonar suddenly appeared from behind a rock and fired his disruptor. He hit the bridge right in its centre. The bridge snapped under the weight, and Olding hung on to the railing as it flopped downwards. Thankfully, it hadn’t come completely away from its mountings, and he was able to haul himself back up. Cholmondely-Smythe extended a hand to help him the remainder of the way up.
“That’s torn it,” Cholmondely-Smythe said bitterly.
Olding looked down at the wreckage of the bridge. As the smoke cleared, he saw what he was hoping to see. The padd was still on the other section of the bridge. The gap between the two broken sections was large, but not impossible to get across.
Olding turned to Cholmondely-Smythe. “You get to t’ probe, and I’ll get t’ cloak down.”
“Are you sure you can manage by yourself, Captain?”
“Of course I’m bluidy sure!!! Stop questioning every bluidy thing I do!!!!! Now go!!!”
Cholmondely-Smythe hurried off back towards the probe.
--
Olding stepped back onto the bridge. If he had been worried about the condition of the structure before, he was doubly worried now. He could hear the metal groan, and knew that the bridge wasn’t going to remain attached to the rock for very much longer. He quickly made it down to the break. It was a long way down, he thought. Olding’s hands were sweaty, and slipped on the railing. Behind him, one of the bolts holding the bridge in place sheared off, and the bridge slipped. Olding realised it was now or never. Nerving himself, he jumped. Grabbing frantically at the splintered end, he just managed to get a grip. He heard the other section of bridge break off and fall.
Pulling himself up using reserves of strength he barely knew existed, Olding grabbed the padd. He pushed every button on it until the probe shimmered back into view. Olding breathed a sigh of relief, and hauled himself fully onto the section of bridge. Now all he had to do was climb off the other end, and go and see if he could give Cholmondely-Smythe a hand with the probe.
Then the bridge snapped off from its bolts, and he and it fell into the canyon.
--
Cholmondely-Smythe reached the platform with the probe launcher on it just as the probe reappeared. He looked around for Sonar, but couldn’t see him. Cholmondely-Smythe hurriedly manipulated controls on the launcher. He had to find some way of preventing the launch. His frantic hands slapped down hard on a big red button, and a message scrolled across the screen he was looking at. It read, “Clamps engaged.” Cholmondely-Smythe punched the air, a bizarre gesture he had seen Wall use, but one which seemed entirely appropriate.
Then, Sonar came out of nowhere, screaming, “Nooooooo!!!!”
Ignoring Cholmondely-Smythe, the scientist leapt at the control panel, feverishly trying to release the clamps.
Cholmondely-Smythe realised that the noises coming from the probe were those of a probe about to launch. He dived off the platform, thinking as he did so that he was getting to know this slope fairly intimately. He reached the bottom in time to see a massive explosion obliterate the probe launcher and Sonar. Overhead, the Nexus could dimly be seen passing on its way through the galaxy. Cholmondely-Smythe shaded his eyes against the sun to watch as the ribbon disappeared into the glare. The sun. Still intact. As were the 36 million frogs on Verydull 2. He had to tell the good news to Olding.
Cholmondely-Smythe looked around, and then saw the wreckage of the bridge. His triumphant expression vanishing, he hurried down to the site of the wreckage.
He reached Olding to find that the captain was buried under a massive section of bridge. Olding was pale, and a cut on his forehead was steadily dribbling blood down his face.
“Did we do it?” Olding’s voice was weak.
“Yes!” Cholmondely-Smythe said, nodding his head furiously. “Hang on, Captain! We’ll soon have you out!!” Olding closed his eyes, and Cholmondely-Smythe was afraid that he had lost him. He pulled with superhuman effort on the girders, and felt them shift. He pulled them again, and the girders fell backwards. Too late, Cholmondely-Smythe realised that they were falling on him. The weight of the metal squashed him to a pulp on the rocks.
--
Olding opened his eyes again. He wiped his sleeve across the cut, and staggered out from the hollow where he had landed. He had been extremely fortunate, he mused. If he had landed just a foot to the right, then he would be as flat as Cholmondely-Smythe. As it was, the bridge had landed over the hollow, saving Olding from having his back broken by the impact. He had been winded by the force of the landing, and the metal had been starting to squeeze a bit. So he supposed he ought to be grateful to Cholmondely-Smythe for taking that weight off his chest, so to speak.
--
Hill was wondering how he’d managed to stay in his chair for this long. It was a major miracle that the saucer hadn’t disintegrated under the unaccustomed strain. He didn’t dare look round; he was dizzy enough already without trying to take a look at the rest of the crew. So his vision was limited to the back of Wall and Damerell’s heads. They were hanging on to the helm console like it was going to fall off. Hill considered asking for a status report, but then decided it was probably not worth it. Then he felt the roll begin to slow, and they tipped sideways, before slowly coming to rest in the same way as a coin did.
Now Hill asked for a status report. “St-t-t-t-t-t-t-t-tat-t-t-t-t-tusssssss rep-p-p-p-p-p-p-port-t-t-t-t-t-t!!!!” They came to a complete halt.
Wall turned round, and said, “We’ve stopped, sir.”
“Thank you, Mr Wall,” Hill replied. “I had guessed that.” There was a long silence.
Finally, Damerell broke it. “Er, what do we do now, sir?”
Hill was at a loss. “Um, well, I suppose we’d better evacuate.”
The bridge crew picked themselves up from where they had been thrown. The counsellor was gingerly touching her nose, and Wall was clutching his head as if it was going to fall off, but otherwise everybody looked okay. Hill looked around the bridge. It was devastated. It was obvious that he would never be able to tinker with the science station again.
The Psycho was beyond recovery.
--
The rescue ships arrived early the next day. They had evacuated most of the crew from the crash-site, when somebody remembered the captain. Wall and Damerell volunteered to take a shuttle and find him. The captain of the Flabbygut readily agreed to loan them one of his shuttles, which in Hill’s eyes was conclusive proof that the captain was either a fool or just didn’t know the Psycho crew too well.
They were carrying out a standard search pattern when Damerell picked up a life-form reading. “I’ve got something!”
“Where?” Wall said, slamming on the brakes. The shuttle screamed to a halt. Damerell pointed to the blip on the scanners.
“Okay. Laying in a new course,” Wall said, before swinging the shuttle around to take a look.
--
Olding scratched his chin. He had spent an extremely cold and generally uncomfortable night under the remains of Sonar’s little set-up, and was starting to wonder how on earth he was going to get off this Godforsaken planet. Then, he saw the shuttle. He waved at it, in the hope that someone on board would see him. He was initially happy when the shuttle screamed to a halt, but started to wonder when it suddenly changed course and accelerated directly towards him.
It didn’t appear to want to stop. Olding frowned. An old reflex suddenly reasserted itself, and he threw himself to the ground just as the shuttle screamed through the space where his head had been.
Behind him, the shuttle stopped dead, before performing one of the shoddiest landings Olding could remember. He stood up, and didn’t bother looking round. So Wall nearly jumped out of his skin when Olding said, “Good mornin’, Mr Wall.”
Damerell shrieked and dived behind Wall.
Olding turned around then, and said, “I see your flying skills haven’t improved much in t’ past seventy-five years.”
Wall gibbered for a bit as his brain attempted to catch up with his eyes, and his mouth relayed the confused result. “B-b-b-b-b- but… I, er, that is, um, well, I thought, well, we all did, actually, that you were, ah, dead?”
“Yes, well, I’m not, am I. Now then, don’t stand there faffin’ abou’! Get me back to t’ Psycho!”
“Ah. Well, there could be a problem there…”
--
Some hours later, Olding stood alongside Hill in the ruins of the bridge. He had had things explained to him, and, apart from getting a tad annoyed when Hill revealed that the Psycho was completely destroyed, had taken things quite well. Now, he had come to say his last goodbyes. Hill had come to remove a few souvenirs, like most of the science station.
Olding stepped carefully over the wreckage of his command chair, and rested a hand on the helm console. Miraculously, it had survived the landing almost intact. While Hill fidgeted by the turbolift, Olding reached down and carefully detached the green fur trim around the console’s edge. Then, he climbed up onto the console itself to remove the fluffy dice which still hung from the ceiling, grimy but intact.
Wrapping the fur around his arm and clutching the fluffy dice with the other hand, he nodded to Hill, who tapped his comm badge, and said, “Hill to Flabbygut. Two to beam up.”
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