BAW meets SSB!
 

I was thinking about BAW fivers the other day, and how it's been a long time since we've had one. A little later I was thinking about the thread game known as Simulated Spaceship Battle, in which posters shoot the crap out of each other to the amusement of everyone else. Then the two thoughts collided, and when I'd regained conciousness it seemed like a jolly good idea to combine the two and create my very own BAW SSB! Only, it's not really an SSB because it's just me writing it, and it's not really a BAW fiver because I say so for the purpose of making this sentence sound better.

So here, now, I present the first part of The Alternative Factor II: When Egos Collide!


After receiving a mysterious distress call, the Excelsior-class USS Watch Where You're Pointing That Thing, commanded by the insane yet curiously still employed Rear Admiral PointyHairedJedi, arrives in the far-flung Botox system to investigate...

PHJ: Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Helm: No.
PHJ: How about now?
Helm. No.
PHJ: And now?
Helm: No.
PHJ: Can't you... you know, go faster?
Helm: We're going as fast as we can, sir.
PHJ: Hmm. Are you sure I can't use the big screen to play Tetris on for just a little while?
Helm: No.
PHJ: You're a real party-pooper, you know that? The first dangerous away mission we get, I'm dressing you in red and sending you down first.
Helm: Whatever.
PHJ: Damnit, Number One, when did they start getting to be so blasé?
Number One: I think it was when Starfleet banned you from carrying out summary executions on the bridge. Plus, to be honest, the huge baggy clown trousers do make it hard to fear you.
PHJ: Bah! Bah and tosh! Bah, tosh, and splinge! Just because I keep beating the computer at 3D chess, it stole all my uniform trousers and replaced them with these. I tell you, the very next overhaul, I'm getting that thing upgraded to Linux for good.
Tac. Officer: Sir, to be fair, you do cheat incessantly.
PHJ: I'm the captain! It's practically expected of me. Now, are we there yet?
Helm: Yeah, we arrived about ten minutes ago.
PHJ: And you didn't tell me why?
Helm: I honestly didn't care all that much.
*PHJ reaches for his phaser rifle but is restrained by Number One*
PHJ: Nobody lets me have any fun anymore. Right! You there, peon over at the sensor console, tell me there's something out there worth shooting at.
Science Officer: Nope. Nada. I can't even locate the precise source of the distress call. There's interference on the sub-spacial quasi-phase--
PHJ: How many times? How many do I have to tell you? No technobabble while I'm earshot, or else! There's like a six foot high sign right over your station that says that. Right there, right above your head.
S.O.: But how am I supposed to--
PHJ: I can still throw custard pies at them, right, Number One? Computer, three custard pies, double quick!
S.O.: Sir, please, if you'll wait just a moment... There appears to be some debris ahead. It's pretty scattered, but I would say at a guess that it was the remains of an Andorian civilian cargo ship. It was destroyed by phaser fire and torpedoes.
PHJ: Now that's more like it! TO, raise shields, and go to chicken alert.
T.O.: ...Chicken?
PHJ: Yes. Chicken. I reprogrammed the yellow alert protocol.
T.O.: ...
Number One: Just go with it man, just go with it. It's easier in the long run.

*Half a million killometres away, a ship decloaks without warning. It is heavily battle scarred but looks fully functional, and bears a striking resenblance to the Excelsior-class, only it looks somewhat... meaner. The name of this mysterious ship, lit up on the front of the saucer, is the ISS Stand Still While I'm Pointing This Thing*

PHJ: ...Smeg. Ketchup alert! Batten the hatches! Stow the tea cosies! Unfurl the battle ensign!
Number One: I'm sure he'll appreciate it, sir. It's awfully cramped in that cupboard.
T.O.: It's definitely Mirror Universe, Admiral. The scars are a dead giveaway. Their shields are raised, but no weapons on-line yet.
S.O.: It must have come through some sort of sub-temporal rift or anomalous--*SPLAT*
PHJ: Don't say I didn't warn you.
Comms: Sir, they're hailing us.
PHJ: Frequencies open, then. But keep the amplitudes closed till I say so.
Helm: Oh, ha ha, sir. Ha ha.
*On the screen appears... a face*
PHJ: My God! It's me! And I'm gorgeous!
mPHJ: Oh, I know, I know. It is so very tiresome, isn't it?
PHJ: I know exactly how you feel. Though... some would say that the eyepatch AND goatee were too much together, but you know, you really do pull it off.
mPHJ: Oh, you're too kind, too kind. And you know, you're not so bad looking yourself. Those clown trousers are pretty striking.
PHJ: Oh, you think? Anyway, to bizzz.
mPHJ: Yezzz. As you've guessed, I'm from what you know as the MU, though as an aside we call your universe the MU, but let's not go down that path as it would be long and confusing and I'd have to kill some of my crew for sighing in an exasperated manner which would of course be extremely disrespectful, especially as I am so hot. I am here on a mission to steal technology and science and stuff, though to be honest I don't really know much about the details. I have people for that.
PHJ: Of course, of course. No point in burdening yourself with the boring stuff. I see it that way myself.
mPHJ: Sound fellow. So, in the spirit of that, and given that coincidentally you happen to be me, I think it would be a jolly good wheeze if you surrendered so I can plunder your ship.
PHJ: ...Ah. Much as I'd like to, old sock, I'm rather afraid I can't do that. So it looks like we'll have to have a bit of a knockabout.
mPHJ: That's the spirit! I knew you wouldn't just roll over like that Andorian chappie. I've been looking forward to a good fight since I got here, and if there's anyone that can give me one it'll be... well, me.
PHJ: I do like to oblige. Except when I don't, of course. Me out.
Crew: Oo-er!

...Is the implication of this thread that one or more PHJs are not evil?!

EHAD!

Bah, tosh, and splinge! (No, I don't think so.)

Ah. In that case, 'tis muchly amusiful. :)

And now, the exciting part two!



S.O.: Fascinating. Normally MU counterparts are almost polar opposites, but in this case it seems they are disturbingly similar.
Number One: So now there are two of them. "Oh crap" would be a phrase that comes to mind.
PHJ: Nonsense! It'll be fun. Sure, a few of you might die along the way, but I want you to know that you're all completely expendable.
Helm: All in favour of a mutiny...
All: Aye!
Helm: Anyone against?
*Silence*
Number One: Um, sir, you're aware that you just voted to mutiny against yourself?
PHJ: Given that there's two of me that makes perfect sense, don't you think? And now we're all agreed to fight against me, I say we get on with it. TO!
T.O.: How is it we can never win? Um, anyway, they weren't doing anything up until a moment ago. Sir.
PHJ: Probably having a jolly little chat about mutineering, I shouldn't wonder. Helm, evasive maneuvers, TO, charge phasers and target... you know, stuff. Bits that look important.
T.O.: They're on the move - incoming photons, sir!
*Explosions and shaking and stuff*
PHJ: They're using torches? The bastards!

*The WWYPTT and the SSWIPTT sweep past each other firing gamely away, causing many consoles to explode and redshirts to die, as well as some other bad stuff I suppose*

Ensign Michael Redshirt, Jr: GAK!
PHJ: Alas, poor Michael, I hardly knew ye. Or liked ye, for that matter. Damage report, someone!
T.O.: Shields holding steady at eighty percent, some minor damage to tea storage on deck ten.
PHJ: ...How minor?
T.O.: Some of the Assam was singed by an exploding power relay, apparently.
PHJ: GO TO RAMMING SPEED!
Number One: Let's not be hasty, sir.
PHJ: AND WHY NOT?
Number One: Uh... the other you might have some tea you can steal? If you beat him, that is.
T.O.: Coming back for another pass now, sir!
PHJ: Fire! Fire everything!

*Another dramatic exchange of weapons fire occurs; on the WWYPTT, several things on the bridge blow up with really quite impressive showers of sparks, almost as though they were designed to do so by some bored engineer with a perverse sense of humour, probably the same one that thought it would be a smashing idea to have plasma conduits running through crew consoles, though I bet he's a real hoot on April Fools Day... ahem, where were we?*

PHJ: Report!
T.O.: Smeg!
S.O.: I second that smeg, sir!
Chief: I third it!
PHJ: Helm, go to high warp, and head for the nearest starbase - one of those ones that's a proper starbase, mind, not a namby pamby planetary based one. And would someone be a darling and signal for some well armed reinforcements?

*The WWYPTT wheezes into warp, followed closely behind by the eyepatch and goatee wearing ship from the MU*

Helm: Warp nine point insert a tenth and then a hundredth of a number here, sir. The SSWIPTT is following us at a slightly higher speed than the one I just said - I imagine they'll catch up at some point.
PHJ: Some point when?
Helm: Add up all the minutes between now and when their first torpedo hits us, and it will have been exactly that long.
*Once again, PHJ reaches for his trusty phaser rifle, only to find that no good busybody Number One has put it away somewhere*
PHJ: *Sulk*
T.O.: The nearest friendly ship, in case anyone is interested, is the USS Ottawa.
PHJ: Rear Admiral Zeke! Yes! We'll pay him a visit.
Number One: Shouldn't we give him some prior warning, sir? You know that he can be a little... cantankerous, sometimes, and there are two of you.
PHJ: Nonsense. I'm sure he'll be just thrilled to see us. Helm, increase speed to warp plaid! Someone call me if I look like I'm going to overtake - I'm going to go and play with my dolls.

I'd like to see the ship wearing an eyepatch and goatee. That would be pretty cool.


Sinister! I meant sinister.

Good point.

Actually, design in the ST universe does generally seem to be more for look than practicality - I mean, why put the bridge on the top of the ship in space? There's no need!

And why run so much current through a bridge console that it'll kill?

Or are these PNQs?

And now, part the third, featuring some familiar faces...


*Meanwhile, on the bride of the as yet unsuspecting USS Ottawa...*

Zeke: Dammit, I can't believe it's come to this.
Nate: Yeah yeah, just gimme the pips.
Zeke: I mean, I really can't believe it's come to this. *Sigh* Crewman Nate, I hereby promote you to Junior Apprentice Helmsperson, Third Grade.
Nate: Woo hoo! I get to steer the ship!
IJD: Face it, Admiral--
Zeke: Ahem.
IJD: Fine. Face it, Commodore, you don't have much choice. You've promoted everyone else to fill in the gaps, and we've still got some. You were going to have to give Nate something to do at some point, and face it, the emergency inflatable helmsman is great for going in straight lines, but not much else.
Zeke: You're right, number one, but I'm still going to punish you by turning down the heating anyway.
IJD: Again? But it's practically an icecube in here already!
Nate: Don't be daft. Back home in Minnesota we'd call this sunbathing weather.
IJD: Eskimos. I'm surrounded by flaming Eskimos. Hrmph.
Valium: Admiral, sir--
Zeke: AHEM.
Valium: Yes yes. If you'd let me finish, Rear Admiral, long range sensors are picking up two ships travelling towards us at high warp.
Zeke: Do I have to send you to the brig?
Valium: It's completely archaic! Starfleet doesn't actually use the rank any more, sir, and hasn't in a while. So why do you persist?
Zeke: Why did IJD panel the whole bridge in cedar? It's just one of those things, Lieutenant. Now behave yourself or I'll remove all the vowels from your console's keyboard.
Valium: *Mutter mutter mutter*
Zeke: I didn't quite catch that.
Valium: I said, *Mutter mutter mutter*, sir.
Zeke: That's better. Now what's this about incoming ships?
Valium: One of them has a Starfleet transponder. The other is unknown. The 'Fleet ship reads as the Watch Where You're Pointing That Thing. Sapristi nobolas! Isn't that...
Zeke: ...Rear Admiral PointyHairedJedi. Yes. Hmm. I think perhaps we should go to red alert and arm all weapons. Just in case.
Mudshark: Waaay ahead of you there, Zeke.
Zeke: Excellent. Mr NAH, how are things looking down in engineering?
NAH: Och aye, Commodore laddie. Thins' look reet bonny doon here--
Zeke: For the last time, don't do the accent! It sounds just terrible.
NAH: But it's traditional, sir!
Zeke: I don't care. Just don't do it. Frogarium status?
KatyJane: It's all green down here, sir.
Zeke: You'll get a recommendation for that, Ensign. Or a charge. I'm not sure which yet. Helm? Don't crash into anything unless I say so.
Nate: What about billboards bearing acronyms that feature the word 'the' as part of the acronym?
Zeke: Anything APART from those. Weapons status?
Mudshark: They make things go 'kaboom', sir.
Zeke: Good, good. Doctor whoiam, prepare sickbay to recieve casualties. Lieutenant LtFielding -- and by the way, how confusing is that? -- prepare security teams to repel boarders. I think that just leaves you, Mister Sa'ar.
Sa'ar: Just say the word, Commodore, and I'll have those gold nanoparticles ready and waiting for action.
Zeke: ...Yeah. You... do that, then. And make me some coffee, while you're at it.
Sa'ar: Sure. You want some gold nanoparticles in that?
Zeke: I'll pass, if it's all the same.
Valium: They'll be dropping out of warp any second now, sir.

*The WWYPTT drops out of warp almost right in front of the Ottawa, avoiding ramming the other ship only by a few tens of metres. Not twenty seconds later, the SSWIPTT appears too, and almost immediately starts attacking the other two ships. It is fair to say that many redshirts will probably die in the next few minutes*

*Splosions and stuff*
Zeke: If we survive this, I'll kill him! I'll pun him to death with my own keyboard! Return fire, Mister Shark, return fire!

PHJ: Wheeeee! This is fun!
Number One: If we survive this, hopefully Zeke will kill him.
T.O.: If we survive. Sheilds at sixty-three percent, sir! Ventral phasers offline!
PHJ: Wheeeeeeeee! All this shaking is even more fun when you spin the chair around.
Number One: Sir! We need orders!
PHJ: Harumph. Fine. Try to take out their sensor arrays, then, and determine if they have any tea on board!
Helm: Today is not a good day to die!
PHJ: Wheeeeeeee!

Zeke: Report!
Valium: Eeek!
Nate: --dontwannadiedontwannadiedontwannadie--
NAH: Mommie!
Mudshark: I've been better.
Zeke: Pull yourselves together! What's Pointy doing?
Mudshark: Attacking their sensors, looks like. They're in better shape than us, but not by much!
IJD: Might I suggest that we stage a retreat before we get completely blown to pieces?
Sa'ar: Sir, I don't mean to alarm you, but I dropped my box of gold nanoparticles. They're all over the bridge, sir! Oh God, they're everywhere! We're all dooooomed!
Zeke: Yes, but not for your silly reason. Nate, plot a course for somewhere that it looks like we could hide for a while, and I suppose someone should let Pointy know that we're retreating.
Valium: Oh, must we? Ah well. Sir, I've got the perfect place.
Zeke: Mister Nate, engage!

*mashes a bunch of laughing smilies into three rofl smilies, one for each part*


Terrible, but scarily accurate. :D


[edit]Although the fact that I'm in charge of Engineering is much scarier.

:D

Yes.

:D Very funny. Good job.

They're using new and experimental fractal warp drive technology on the USS Ottawa, so it makes sense in a roundabout sort of manner.

A fractal warp drive?

Does this mean it's no longer necessary to bounce phased polyputtheketlon beams off the deflector array?

You could, but you'd look pretty silly doing it.

Part the four!


T.O.: The Rear Admiral is retreating, sir! He's taken a bit of a battering!
PHJ: Good, good, fine, fine. Did we knock out their sensors yet?
T.O.: Affirmative. If we go to warp now they'll have a hard time finding us.
PHJ: Alrighty then! Chief, deploy the RBFBG on my Robert; helm, take us after Zeke as soon as it goes off!
Chief: ...Who is Robert?
PHJ: Robert, Mark, whatever. It's not that hard to figure out. Charlie!
Number One: I think that's you, Chief.
Chief: *Sigh* Really Big Flash Bang Grenade away, sir!

*An object the size of a garbage can is launched from the ship; when it is between the two vessels it detonates, producing a huge bright flash that utterly obscures the WWYPTT's getaway*

PHJ: No bang. Shoot.
S.O.: For the very last time, sir, there's no air in space! Not any! None at all!
PHJ: Yeah, sure, whatever. So where is Zeke headed, exactly?
Helm: Over that way, more or less. I don't really care that much to be honest,
PHJ: You'd earn a splat for that, but the replicators seem to be offline. Darn.
S.O.: He seems to be heading towards the Snagge Nebula. Hmm. What an odd name.
PHJ: Not that odd. I'll bet Valium had something to do with the choosing of that particular destination. Very well, follow them in. SO, what can you tell me about this nebula? Bear in mind I have a custard pie in each hand.
S.O.: It's... uh... it's a stellar nursery with a high proportion of young noisy stars. A good place to hide out.
PHJ: Damn punk kids, with their loud music and their ridiculous cars. Get the hell off my lawn, you young whippersnappers!
Number One: I know what you're thinking, sir, and it's really not a bit like suburban LA.
PHJ: I'm wearing clown trousers, Number One. Huge, baggy clown trousers. Do you really want to second guess the thoughts of someone who commands a spaceship in such patently ludicrous attire?
Number One: ...Perhaps you have a point there.
PHJ: I always do, even if no-one understands just what the heck it is. Sometimes even I don't! So there.
Helm: We'll be arriving at the Ottawa's position shortly if anyone cares. Which I don't.
PHJ: Now we can have a proper chat without that dastardly me trying to interrupt things. Good-oh!

Zeke: Mister Sa'ar, I want you to open a channel the moment they arrive.
Sa'ar: Hmm. And that would involve gold nanoparticles how?
Zeke: I'm sure you'll find a way. Mister NAH, what's our systems status?
NAH: We'll be okay, sir. These Intrepids have an incredible capacity for getting the crap kicked out of them repeatedly without so much as getting s single scratch. Plus, I can tie the transporters into the magical shuttle generator systems and pretty much fix anything on the whole ship, barring unforseen plot occurrences. I just need a little time.
Zeke: Chief, you know I rate you very highly, but so much as ding the fourth wall again and I'll throw you out the airlock myself. Are we clear?
NAH: Uh, yes sir.
IJD: You don't think that was a little harsh?
Zeke: Nope. Exactly harsh enough, I felt.
Nate: They're here, Commodore!
Mudshark: I don't suppose you'd let me fire just a little friendly warning shot at, say, their bridge?
Zeke: Now now, Mister Shark. That wouldn't be polite. And besides which, it wouldn't be half so satisfying as clubbing him to death with... something.
Valium: A piano would be traditional, sir.
Zeke: Noted. Channel open!
PHJ: Zekey! Old bean! Old sock! Old turnip! How are you? Long time no see, eh? Don't suppose I could interest you in a pot of tea?
Zeke: Only if I can clunk you over the head with it. Just what is the meaning of turning up with a hostile ship in pursuit without even the barest warning?
PHJ: I wanted it to be a nice surprise, of course. Although... my crew do keep telling me that not everyone is as keen on explosions and space battles as I am. A lot of nonsense, of course, and at least the Tactical Officer sees things my way. Or he used to until I got him killed and had to replace him with this new one. She's not nearly so much fun, I can tell you, but on the plus side I don't have to worry about armed mutinies so much any more. I did ask if I could get some clones made, you know, it's so much hard work getting new officers properly trained, but Starfleet said no. Old fuddy duddy stick-in-the-muds, but at least I have enough incriminating evidence on the top brass to ensure they don't kick me out any time soon. How are you, by the by?
Zeke: ...Dammit. I always start out at the beginning of these conversations angry, but by the time you finish my brain is lagging so far behind I've forgotten why.
PHJ: It's a gift, old cuttlefish. So here's the thing -- that other ship is also commanded by me. It's from the MU, and we should probably try and stop it. I thought you might get a kick out of getting to blow me up, even if it wasn't really me.
Zeke: Wow. That's actually sort of considerate, in a deeply twisted way. Well... alright then. But next time, would you please give some warning that my ship is going to get shot at?
PHJ: I'll give it my fullest and most active consideration, and by that I mean fat chance. Oh, sometimes it's so good to be me. Pointy out!
Zeke: Number one, would you kindly hand me one of those stress balls.
IJD: They're made from finest cedar, sir.
Zeke: *Sigh*

*Meanwhile, on the bridge of the SSWIPTT...*
mPHJ: We've lost them, then.
mS.O.: For the moment. There's a faint trail, but it'll take a while to pick out against the background subspace noise levels. *SPLAT*
mPHJ: That was a terrible waste of a perfectly good Marmite pie, but you deserved it.
mS.O.: My eyes! Oh God, it burns!
mPHJ: Heheheheh. Chief, get us fixed up or you're next. Someone get me a mug of Bovril!

Bovril?

Bovril?

Bovril?!

You inhuman monster.

No little green baize card table? Too bad, that.

Got any pianos?

I'd highlight bits to 'lol' at but I think it'd take up a whole page. :)

Anyone else read these as the 'Whip-it' and the 'so-whipped'? Just me? Okay then.

Yes, just you.

More... when I've written it! I do have one particularly evil idea in mind, I must warn you.

...Just one?

Your powers are weak...

I'd call you 'old man', but you're about ten years younger than me, possibly more like 15, so that would make me positively decrepit...

Only one?

How disappointing.

Of course there's more than one! It's just I'm going to share this particular one with you. Or, more accurately, I'm going to foist it on your poor defenceless minds for my own amusement and edification. Or, to be even more accurate, I'm going to foist it on Zeke's mind.

Mwah.

Ew.

Cecil B. De Crepit? Featuring a Cast of Thousands?

*has fun flipping between Mandelbrot and Julia*

*Ottawa does not appreciate this*

He's such a party-pooper. :(

Curse! My Secret Identity [(tm), each sold separately, illegal where prohibited by law] uncovered at last! :P

Part the splinge!



*Some hours later...*

PHJ: So, how is it looking?
Chief: We've had to switch to backup systems in a few places, but we're otherwise about as ready as we can be.
PHJ: Hmm. Good. You know, I don't believe I've ever been down to Engineering before. Most of the time I just stay on the bridge. Oh, you should here the fuss they make when I take a bath.
Chief: I'm told it's a sight that's hard to forget, sir.
PHJ: You know, it's nice and roomy down here. Plenty of space if I wanted to install a few bathtubs, eh?
Chief: Please. I'm begging you. Have mercy.
PHJ: Ha ha, what a jolly sense of humour you have. I'll have to make you come up to my end of the ship more often. Retrofitting the entire ship so that I could travel in my genuine reproductionPopemobile down the corridors and turbolifts is all very well, but it's better in the long run to make the little people come to you. Shows them the proper order of things.
Chief: Is there anything I can say to that that won't end up with me in the brig?
PHJ: Ordinarily, no, but as I'm feeling expansive today I'll let you off with doing my laundry for the next week. I don't trust the computer with it any more.
Chief: The clown trousers do sort of suit you, sir, though I couldn't say precisely why.
PHJ: Then you'd better take extra special care of them. In fact, here, take them right now.
Chief: Sir, really, I... oh, good heavens.
PHJ: That's right. Hotpants, baby. Hotpants. And now, I must go and grace someone else with my presence. Computer, beam me to the bridge! I can't be doing with any more of this walkingmalarky today.
*The strangely dressed jerk dematerialises*
Chief: Let's see -- I'm holding the captain's clown trousers, and there's a Popemobile taking up most of the compartment. And yet, oddly, it doesn't feel that strange any more. Would somebody fetch me some Daz and a pair of driving gloves, please?

Zeke: It would be hard to tell that just a few hours we were getting the crap kicked out of us. Nice job, Mister NAH.
NAH: Don't thank me, sir. Thank the magical powers of--
Zeke: I warn you, I will come down there and get all mathematical on yo' ass.
NAH: ...
Zeke: Yeah. I... don't quite know what came over me there. Must be the stress.
Mudshark: Given that there are twice the usual number of PHJ's, and that you're having to deal with both of them, at the same time no less, it's hardly surprising.
Zeke: Yeah. It's a good thing that pie isn't as unhealthy as it used to be - I've just had my third in as many hours. Mmmm, pie.
IJD: We've been meaning to talk to you about that. Myself and most of the other officers are starting to get a little worried about your high rate of pie consumption in general.
Zeke: What are you implying? It's not a problem. I don't have a problem! I can stop any time I like, dammit!
IJD: Are you sure? We've all noticed it.
Sa'ar: We're coming to you as friends, sir.
Mudshark: We're not judging you in any way at all.
Zeke: You know what? Fine. I'll give up pie if you'll respectively give up cedar, gold nanoparticles, and flower pressing.
*There is silence, and crickets can be heard (which is pretty strange when you think about it. I mean, how on earth would crickets get onto the bridge of a Federationstarship ? The only logical conclusion is that someone released them on purpose just in case there was such a silence, and who'd do a wacky thing like that? Except, of course, Nate is now on the bridge, so... Uh, yeah. Back to the story)*
Zeke: Yeah, that's what I thought. Now enough of this -- we've got a lunatic to beat the crap out of.
Valium: Which one do you mean, exactly?
Zeke: Either. Both. I don't care. I'm going to enjoy it regardless. Mister Nate, plot a course to take us near to the last known position of mirrorPHJ's ship, and prepare to engage on my mark. Mister Tate, signal non-mirror PHJ's ship and tell him he's going to follow along and help sort out this mess he's dragged me into or else I'm going to get his arse thrown out ofStarfleet for good.
Nate: Nice use of 'arse' there, sir.
Zeke: Your toadying is noted. Mister Shark, are we battle-ready?
Mudshark: My trigger finger is itchy with excitement, sir.
Zeke: I'm glad to see I'm not the only one getting into this. Engage!

Comms: Zeke's signalling that he's ready to go, sir. There's some more to the message than that, but I don't want to be the guy that repeats the rest.
PHJ: Whoah! Where did you spring from? I didn't even know we had a comms officer.
Comms: It's not like get much to do, what with you being a 'ram first and ask questions later' kind of guy.
PHJ: Heh, yeah. One of my more endearing qualities.
T.O.: Was that irony? I can't tell.
Helm: Always assume it isn't. You won't often be wrong.
PHJ: I'm sitting right here, you know!
Helm: I can't tell you how fervently we wish you weren't, sir. *SPLAT*
PHJ: Hmph. It's just not the same. I want agonized screams, dammit. Do I have to resort to Barry Manilow over the PA? Is that what it'll take?
Number One: Sir, Zeke is leaving, and we really should follow.
PHJ: Very well. Go to tap-dancing monkey alert and follow that ship!

mS.O.: Mercy! Please! Have mercy!
mPHJ: ...Sometimes all I need is the air that I breathe and to love youuuuu....
mS.O.: Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Stop! Please! I've... I've found them! Mercy!
mPHJ: ...All I need is the air that I-- ...Found them, you say? Good news for you then, buddy.
mS.O.: They went off towards this nebula here.
mT.O.: Actually, sir, the probes show two ships at extreme long range heading back this way. I rather suspect it's them.
mPHJ: Not so good news for you then, buddy. Finding them just as they were heading back anyway... bad timing, eh? I predict that many awful things will happen to you in the near future.
mS.O.: Eeep.
mPHJ: Eeep indeed, buddy, eeep indeed. All hands, feet, and bits in between, prepare boarding parties and go to red alert! Oh boy, this is the fun part.

*The scene: the SSWIPTT, which is managing somehow to both lurk and hulk at the same time, no mean feat given that it's an inanimate starship in the middle of a whole lot of nothing, is waiting in the middle of said nothing for two other ships, who appear... any moment now, I promise... any moment now...aaaany moment... oh, come on, this is just taking the widdle -- there, there they are, took their flaming time, ruined my whole narration, the dastards. Forming up into an attack formation that can only be described as eccentric, the two ships go in for the attack. The battle can only be described as epic, a veritable special effects bonanza, which had we been concerned about things like budget, probably would have cost oodles. For a while it seems like the two attacking Starfleet ships have the advantage, but the SSWIPTT seems to be able to take the beating and dish it right back out again with interest; a concerted attack on the first ship causes such massive damage that the hull is irreparably breached in a great many places. Clouds of gas rush out the holes, carrying many bodies with them, and external and internal lights flicker and die for the last time. It appears to be entirely dead. The remaining ship, a plucky little Intrepid, seems unable to escape at warp, and so attacks even more furiously than before. It is however entirely futile; a massive volley of torpedoes plows into it, causing to explode with a sudden and dramatic violence that in other circumstances would look really cool. The SSWIPTT , victorious, takes the dead hulk in tow and warps to the nearest empty star system to pick over the hulk, like some kind of strange mechanical vulture, in peace. At the site where the battle occurred, all that is left is a vast cold cloud of debris, littered with the corpses of Starfleet's finest. It would be fair to say, 'sucks to be them'.*

mPHJ: An excellent haul! And what a glorious battle! I enjoyed it muchly, and I expect everyone else did too.
mT.O.: You betcha!
mNumber One: It was pretty good, though I'd quite like my arm back.
mEMH: Don't whinge, man, I'll pinch one from the many redshirt corpses that are lying around.
mPHJ: An evil hologram after my own heart.
mEMH: Does that mean I can have my own goatee and eyepatch at last? You do keep promising.
mPHJ: That was before you tried to reprogram the holodeck to kill me. Just be thankful I let you off with changing your appearance to that of Geoffrey Archer.
mEMH: That would probably be more of a punishment if anyone actually remembered who he was these days.
mPHJ: I remember, EMH, and that's all that counts. Now then. I want a report on those two ships that we blantered.
mT.O.: One was called the Titan and was commanded by an annoying bearded man by the name of Riker. The other was the Voyager, which was commanded by the equally annoying Admiral Janeway.
mPHJ: I killed the counterparts of Riker and Janeway? Sweet.
mNumber One: Indeed sir, indeed. Um... perhaps you'll excuse me while I go and shave.
mPHJ: Shave, Number One? Why, I think not. Hold him down, boys, while I fetch a waxing kit!
mEMH: (Aside) And to think, I once tried to kill him. How foolish I was!

Not the bore-worms?

They'll be in the 'cut scenes' section on the DVD when it comes out.

Tap-dancing monkey alert...

*snicker, chortle, wheeze*

And now for the exciting conclusion in two parts! Oooh-er!



Valium: We're entering a pretty big debris cloud, sir.
Nate: Strange, it's not on any of the charts. I know! They must have blown up Alderaan! Also, that's no moon, it's a--
Zeke: Very amusing, I'm sure, but let's stick to the facts. And if it turns out to be an ambush, then I'm calling that line right now.
Nate: Aw.
Zeke: Rank hath its privileges, and so on. Mister Valium, can you tell me any more?
Valium: Yes. "In sixteen-hundred and ninety-two, Columbus sailed the ocean blue."
Zeke: I don't wish to know that! I meant about the debris cloud, of course.
Valium: Most of it is the remains of the USS Voyager, but parts appear to come from the USS Titan as well. I'd say the former was destroyed outright and the latter severely damaged and then towed.
Zeke: They... blew up... Voyager?
IJD: Wow. I don't think I've ever seen you go quite that colour before.
LtFielding: Forgive me if this is a stupid question, but what's so special about Voyager?
Mudshark: He's a big fan of the serial they made out of it for the News And Fun Federation network. I heard that the one time he actually got to meet Admiral Janeway in person he was so nervous that--
Zeke: Ahem, I think that's enough of that particular story. Right! Ask-- no, tell Pointy to sweep the area and watch our backs while we pick up the flight recorders and bodies and such.
Tate: You could tell him yourself, sir, he's hailing.
Zeke: You know, I don't care. He'll only say something that'll make me want to shoot him, and I need to save that for... him. The other him. You know.
Nan: Transporter room here, el capitano. We've got the recorders aboard and are recovering bodies now.
IJD: Liek, whoah.
Zeke: Nan! Where did you spring from? I had no idea you were the transporter chief. How come I never noticed you on board before?
Nan: I've been lurking in the shadows, mysteriously.
Zeke: Also, aren't you a Romulan?
Nan: That just means I'm extra good at it. Lurk lurk lurk.
Valium: Doesn't saying 'lurk lurk lurk' make the lurking less effective?
Nan: I can't hear you, I'm too busy lurking. Bodies all aboard now sir.
Zeke: Very well. Mister Valium, did you find out where they went?
Valium: I would imagine the morgue.
Zeke: ...
Valium: Fine, fine. They headed towards the nearest planetary system, with what's left of the Titan in tow. The tractor beam has left a pretty clear trail.
Zeke: Mister Nate, set a course!

PHJ: I'm looking for Mike Rotch! Mike Rotch. Has anyone seen Mike Rotch?
Number One: You know sir, it's not really a prank call when you do it over your own PA system.
PHJ: That sounds dangerously like logic, Number One.
Number One: It does have it's uses sometimes.
S.O.: Talking computers into self-destruction, you mean?
T.O.: To be fair, the Admiral has never really favoured that approach, have you sir?
PHJ: Heavens no. Semtex every time. Oh, I do so enjoy our jolly little chats on the bridge. I.P. Freely! Does anyone here know I.P. Freely?
Comms: Sir, Zeke's signalling that he knows where the SSWIPTT went.
S.O.: It's not hard to figure out -- you'd just have to follow that trail of charged partic-- *SPALT*
Number One: Is if just me, or did that one make a noise that sounded like 'spalt'?
PHJ: I'm trying out a new recipe. TO, take us to von Richthofen alert and stand by with all weapons. Let's go and kick my arse!
All: Woo-hoo!
PHJ: Just to clarify, I mean MU me, not me me.
All: Aw.
PHJ: Deal with it. Helm, engage!

mT.O.: Two more incoming ships, sir.
mChief: We're in reasonable shape from the last battle, but I can't make any promises. There just hasn't been enough time to make any effective repairs.
mPHJ: Hrmph. Remind me to have you tortured later then. Recall all the teams from that dead ship and make ready for battle. Let's get ready to prod buttock!
mT.O.: With great gusto, my hairy captain!

*The Ottawa appears first, immediately firing a large volley of torpedoes and banking to avoid any incoming fire, which it sort of manages but quite; it takes several hits to the starboard side of the saucer (though it's really more of a spoon than a saucer in this case). Inside, everyone is getting bounced around quite nicely.*

Zeke: Next time, when I tell you to avoid incoming fire, you think you might actually try and avoid it?
Nate: I missed most of it! Sheesh, you are so picky!
Mudshark: Shields holding, commodore, but those torpedoes didn't do much in the way of damage to them. They aren't in great shape to begin with though.
Zeke: Excellent. Now, where the hell is Pointy?
Valium: Beats me, sir. Incoming!
Zeke: I am so going to him fired.

*The two ships continue to peck away at each other, neither decisively; some way away from where the action is taking place, a very strange scene is happening...*

PHJ: Wheeeeeeee! Wheeeeeeeeeeee!
Number One: Sir! We should be helping Zeke to fight the other you!
PHJ: Chill out, dude. This is fun!
S.O.: Nauseating is what it is. I'll have you know I suffer from terrible motion sickness.
PHJ: That's rich, coming from you. Inertial dampeners, and all that.
S.O.: That may be as so, sir, but the way the main viewer is spinning round and round and round and round and... oh dear. Where's that sick bag?
PHJ: Gnarly.
T.O.: I'm begging you, please, never ever say that again. Especially not whilst wearing hotpants. I most strongly recommend that we get the hell on with kicking the other you's arse!
PHJ: Obviously you can't appreciate the beauty of what I've done. A roundabout in space -- have you ever heard of something so wonderfully ludicrous? My genius just cannot be denied!
Helm: 'Genius' is one word for it. I can think of some others...
Number One: Sir, I'm begging you! Some of us want to still have jobs when this is all over!
PHJ: Hah! You'll be lucky if you're still alive when this is over.
*Silence*
PHJ: I don't even get any marks for honesty? Oh, you lot are so harsh sometimes. Fine, you party poopers, we'll mosey over to the battle, but you mark my words -- someday, the space roundabout will catch on. I'd stake my considerably strange reputation on it!

*Meanwhile, the odds seem to have turned against the Ottawa -- despite the legendary and mystical ability of the Intrepid to take a jolly good kicking without leaving a mark, the battle with the SSWIPTT is evidently taking its toll on the small ship. On the outside, it's starting to look pretty beat-up; on the inside, even more so, with silver pipes of indeterminate function lying all over the place and generally getting in the way. And showers of sparks, of course. There are always showers of sparks.*

Mudshark: Shields at 47% and holding!
*KA-BOOM!*
Nate: I think we just got hit again.
Zeke: Give that man a promotion.
Nate: Really?
Zeke: No. Mister NAH, how bad does it look down there?
NAH: Pretty bad, sir. A conduit exploded in the bulkhead separating us from the Frogarium... I don't know quite how to say this, sir, but there are bits of frog everywhere.
Zeke: Ewww. Mister Shark, how many torps do we have left?
*KABLOWIE!*
Mudshark: Uh.... the display seems to be faulty. It's telling me there are 3.1459 left. Isn't that...?
Zeke: Mmmm, pi. Save them for the moment then -- I guess we'll just have to try and do the job with phasers. Also, WHERE THE HELL IS POINTY?
Valium: Still no... oh wait, there he is.
Sa'ar: Incoming message, text only. It just says... "JITNOT".
Zeke: I shoulda guessed. Mister Nate, take us in close! Fire at will!

T.O.: Commencing attack!
PHJ: YEEEEE-HAH!

mPHJ: Hey, it's me again! Concentrate fire on the new ship, that'll teach me not to surrender to someone as awesome as I!

*Swooping around each other, the SSWIPTT and the WWYPTT blaze away at each other, with the Ottawa pouring in fire from the sidelines; the ship from the MU puts up a good fight, but it is simply too damaged from the earlier engagements to effectively defend itself, and it is quickly worn down, with many cool explosions taking place in the process*

mPHJ: Hey, they're winning! That's not fair!
mChief: Terrible news -- the shipwide quantum teleport doohicky is offline.
mPHJ: Which means...
mChief: The SSWIPTT can't teleport back to our own universe any more. Plus, I should hardly need to mention that the ship is being blasted to pieces even as we speak.
mPHJ: Pants.
*FAZOOOM!*
mRedshirts: GAK!
mPHJ: They're killing my redshirts! Only I am allowed to kill my redshirts!
mT.O.: The shields will collapse pretty soon, sir, and weapons systems are failing! We've even run out of rocks to throw at them!
mPHJ: Double pants. Number One, I have a plan!
mNumber One: Would this plan involve ramming something, sir?
mPHJ: You better believe it, buddy.
mHelm: How... super.

S.O.: They're coming about, sir, and unless I've very much mistaken they mean to ram us.
PHJ: The magnificent beast! All hands, abandon ship!
Helm: We could just... you know, steer away from them.
PHJ: And ruin a perfectly good ramming? I think not!
Number One: But this is the third ship this month! Starfleet said they won't give you any more if you keep going through them at this rate.
PHJ: Meh. With the dirt I've got on those bozos I can go through as many as I like.
S.O.: Sir, there isn't time for the pods to get away. They're almost on top of us!
PHJ: Now sounds like a fine time to pay Zeke a visit. Transporters, energise!

*The SSWIPTT, moving at a fair old clip, ploughs straight into the WWYPTT, initially sending debris everywhere (and in a much more dramatic fashion than with that sissy Enterprise-E); both ships are quickly eclipsed in a huge, really cool, explosion, the sort that would be the envy of any Death Star you care to mention, or even Steven Segal, which is saying a lot because that guy can make things explode just by standing near them. Anyway, you get the idea, I think.*

PHJ: Please tell me you were recording that. It would be such a shame not to have saved such a beautiful explosion for posterity.
Zeke: ...What the hell are you doing on my bridge?
PHJ: That should be, 'What the hell are you doing on my bridge, sir'.
Zeke: I'd blanter you with my own hands if Mister GAF weren't attached to one and Mister Shark the other.
PHJ: There's a tradition -- if an officer comes aboard a ship, and he's the same rank as the one who commands that ship, he gets treated as though he were of one rank higher. Plus, you haven't complimented me on my hotpants yet.
Zeke: Firstly, I don't care, and secondly, I'm trying really hard to keep my eyes above waist level. There are some things that I just don't need to see in this life, and you wearing hotpants is one of them.
Valium: If I might interrupt this scintillating repartee, sirs, the Mirror Universe ship appears to have been crewless when it struck the WWIPTT. I can only surmise that they had access to personal transdimensional transporters and were able to escape back to their own universe.
PHJ: So, my alter ego survived? Excellent. He is far too splendid to die quite so easily as that.
Zeke: EASILY? My ship has been half-blasted to pieces, not to mention yours being totally so, most of my crew are injured, and there are bits of dead frog all over the engine room! You call that easy?
PHJ: Considering that you're talking about polishing off a more evil version of me, yeah.
Zeke: You actually have a fair point there. Bugger. I hate it when that happens.
PHJ: Nate, where's the nearest starbase? We should set a course at once.
Zeke: Hey! This is still my bridge. I'll give the orders around here!
Nate: Well?
Zeke: ...What the hairy idiot said.
Nate: The state we're in, that's a three week trip.
PHJ: Very well. Mister Nate, engage!
Zeke: Three weeks... with Pointy? Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

*Zeke loses his sanity at Ludicrous Speed*


THE END

*snerf* http://i57.photobucket.com/albums/g2.../bgbiggrin.gif


And well you should.


With showers of sparks -- always showers of sparks.

:p

Ask a silly question...Speaking of which...

*CV puts on a ridiculous falsetto child's voice and some glass innocent-looking eyes.*

Please, sir, is there any more?

More?

Catch him! Snatch him!
Hold him! Scold him!
Pounce him, trounce him
Pick him up and bounce him!

Uh, yeah, sorry it took so long for me to notice this. I guess I took one look at the thread title and thought it had to be about one of those shows I don't watch, one of those virtual season projects I don't read, or so on. Anyway, thanks for including me! Does this mean I've been promoted to The Old Guard now?

Zeke: Dammit, I can't believe it's come to this.
Nate: Yeah yeah, just gimme the pips.
Zeke: I mean, I really can't believe it's come to this. *Sigh* Crewman Nate, I hereby promote you to Junior Apprentice Helmsperson, Third Grade.
Nate: Woo hoo! I get to steer the ship!

Happy dance! My first step to ruling the universe!

Zeke: I'm still going to punish you by turning down the heating anyway.
IJD: Again? But it's practically an icecube in here already!
Nate: Don't be daft. Back home in Minnesota we'd call this sunbathing weather.
IJD: Eskimos. I'm surrounded by flaming Eskimos. Hrmph.

Brr. I'm not that coldblooded. I still prefer goose down coats. In any event, I may've actually used the word "daft" in my life. It certainly sounds like me. :)

*There is silence, and crickets can be heard (which is pretty strange when you think about it. I mean, how on earth would crickets get onto the bridge of a Federation starship ? The only logical conclusion is that someone released them on purpose just in case there was such a silence, and who'd do a wacky thing like that? Except, of course, Nate is now on the bridge, so... Uh, yeah. Back to the story)*

I can totally see myself raising crickets for the express purpose of beaming them onto the bridge for moments like this. It'd be a riot!

Nate: Nice use of 'arse' there, sir.
Zeke: Your toadying is noted.

Thank you, sir.

Nate: Strange, it's not on any of the charts. I know! They must have blown up Alderaan! Also, that's no moon, it's a--
Zeke: Very amusing, I'm sure, but let's stick to the facts. And if it turns out to be an ambush, then I'm calling that line right now.
Nate: Aw.
Zeke: Rank hath its privileges, and so on.

Hehe. I'm sure if we ever speak in real life you'll be cutting me off with "Very amusing, I'm sure" within minutes. "Aw," indeed.

Zeke: Next time, when I tell you to avoid incoming fire, you think you might actually try and avoid it?
Nate: I missed most of it! Sheesh, you are so picky!

Now I DO use sheesh. As I'd have said in this instance, "close enough for government work."

*KA-BOOM!*
Nate: I think we just got hit again.
Zeke: Give that man a promotion.
Nate: Really?
Zeke: No.

Oh sure, dangle that carrot, Z, dangle that carrot.

Wheeeeee!, indeed! :D :D

BAW = Bored at Work

BAW fivers were invented and so named by Celeste one day back in Ought-whenever-it-was, when she was... well, I think you can probably fill in the blanks.

And never apologize for being sorry.

I may write another at some point if an idea should strike me, but I've no definite plans. I should also say, hurrah for Google Docs, without which this one wouldn't have been written.

I'm glad you've all enjoyed it, though I'm a little disappointed Zeke hasn't smoted (smiten? smitted? smoten?) me for calling Voyager NAFF and killing Janeway in an entirely gratuitous fashion. It was awfully fun, you know. I should kill her more often.