Forum Trek: Episode OneFollow

Forum Trek: Episode One

(Rewritten except act II, which I liked, so I kept. You may have read that one before. This story has the same plot as the original, but is more condensed.)

Forum Trek: Episode One: ‘Tard Trek

Dramatis Personas:

Enterprise-A Crew:
Kirk: Smash
*Spock: Kelv
McCoy: Angsty
Wesley (Crusher): Neph
Uhura: Nexa
Chekov: Debalic
Red Shirt: Kakar
Ensign Johnson: Nadune

Enterprise-D Crew:
Data: gbaji
Spot: Wingchild
Geordi: mrens
*Dr. Beverly Crusher: DSD
Councilor Troy: Katie
Worf: Moe
Ro Laren: Yanari
Chief O’Brien: Buffyisgoddess
Lt. Barclay: Danalog
Guinan: Flea
Sulu: Jophiel

Deep Space 69 Crew:
Holographic Doctor Not appearing in this story: Yossarian
7th of 9: Darqflame
*Commander Sisko: Totem
Chief Malcolm Reed: Tarv

Miscellaneous:Gene Roddenbery: Alla
Luke Skywalker: Codyy
Lore: varus
Q: Kao
Harcourt Fenton Mudd: Nobby
Tribbles: sockpuppets
Marta (An Orion Slave Woman): Tare
Other Orion Slave Women: DVEight, Thumblyna
Sexy-but-disturbing Alien: Samira

*Commanding Officer for this story

Act I: Bridge of Enterprise D – crew present: Crusher, Data, Worf, Ro Laren, Sulu and Troy. The screen shows a vast ragtag array of tiny spacecraft craft heading toward the ship.

Sulu: Where do they all come from?
Data: A broad variety of stars in quadrant=10, quadrant=28 but mostly from quadrant=21 – the most populace local quadrant and one which is growing rapidly…
Crusher: Troy, what do they want?
Troy: I sense they all want to cut-and-paste sappy news stories and play stupid forum games and circle jerk and bask in the glory of quadrant=4.
Crusher: Grand. Just like the last bunch, huh? Ensign Ro, any word from any of the admins at Starfleet Command why so many?
Ro: Q linked our quadrant directly to the others on their main pages. Apparently word is spreading in the outer quadrants that some brave souls posted here and didn’t get flamed too badly.
Crusher: Where are the usual suspects? Sulu?
Sulu: Wedding preparations.
Crusher: Data?
Data: I’ve been reconfiguring our central computer to fend off the latest virus which…
Crusher: Worf?
Worf: Parenthood is time consuming.
Crusher: Ensign Ro, what about Kirk? Sisko? Mudd? For god’s sake we can’t be the only ones out here on the frontier, alone.
Ro: Kirk is...um…distracted. Sisko has a new job and Mudd is enjoying his new ship.
Crusher: Who’s in charge of Enterprise-A?
Ro: Spok
Collective groan from the rest of the crew.
Ro: What?
Crusher: Anyone know where to score the best pot in the quadrant?
Data: The best crystal is from Janus VI from the droppings of the carpet-like silicone based life form…
Crusher: Ah, thanks, Data. Worf, who’s the biggest pothead on the crew?
Worf: They all transferred to Enterprise-A. We have the drunkards, **** addicts, methheads…
Crusher: Oh I know it.
Sulu: Captain, I used to serve on the “A”, I can track her warped-logic signature.
Crusher: No, we need to draw these loosers away from our home. Ro, lay in a course to…quadrant 69.
Ro: The sanctuary? But Q will karma-bomb us if we use it.
Crusher: Yes exactly. Data, invite them to come with us. Use small words and keep it short…say, 25 words maximum.
Data: With pleasure, captain.
Data’s fingers fly at near supersonic speed across a keyboard.
Sulu: How can he type so fast?
Crusher, Troy, Ro and Worf exchange meaningful looks.
Crusher: Worf, better warn Sisko we’re coming and bringing company. Sulu: leave a private message for Spock.

Act II: Bridge of Enterprise A

Crew Present: Spock, Chekov, Wesley Crusher, Uhura and Ensign Johnson (at the science station - ).
Chekov: “Captain, we should be off before that bowl we smoked fully kicks in.”
Wesley: “Is it wise to embark with the captain and the navigator both high?”
Spock: “Indubitably. Set a course for the Neutral zone Mr. Chekov.”
Chekov: “Course laid in…bwahhhahahhaha…I said laid…”
Spock: “Yes, fascinating Mr. Chekov. Wesley, lean over and smack the “Engage” key.”
Wesley: “Aye captain.”
Spock: “So Chekov, where is the finest weed in the neutral zone?”
Chekov: “Quadrant 69…pfffft…bwahhahahahhaha…I said “69””
Spock: “Mr. Wesley, lean over and make the course adjustment to quadrant 69.”
Wesley begins to lean, stalls, looks around, wordlessly lost in total confusion.
Uhura: “Um, captain, I don’t see how this helps our mission.”
Spock: “Good point. Uhura, any subspace communications from quadrant 69?”
Uhura: “None.”
Spock: “What about CRI-band?”
Uhura: “That? Good lord, there must be millions of signals.”
Spock: “Find one; put it on audio.”
Uhura: “Aye captain.”
Uhura fiddles with some dials and…
VOICE ONE: (young, male, adolescent, whispering furatively) “Wanna cyber?”
VOICE TWO: (middle aged, female, earthy with a touch of girlishness) “Aight”
VOICE ONE: “Slip out of those pants baby, yeah.”
VOICE TWO: “I slip out of my pants, just for you, bloodninja.”
VOICE ONE: “Oh yeah, aight. Aight, I put on my robe and wizard hat...”
Spock: “I’ve heard enough. Logically, we must incarcerate this Blood-Ninja hybrid and score some righteous marijuana in the process. Mr Chekov?”
Chekov: “Aye, captain. He’s a threat for sure.”
Spock: “Wesley, lay in a course…Wesley?”
Johnson rushes over to Wesley and leans over him. “He’s asleep, sir, should I wake him?”
Spock taps console to his right and speaks toward it: “McCoy to bridge”
McCoy’s voice: “Aye captain”
Moments pass with Johnson leaning over Wesley. Chekov begins leaning over lower and lower leering at Johnson.
Enter McCoy, bleary eyed and limping. He approaches Wesley.
McCoy: “What happened? I can’t bend down. My back is out.”
Spock: “He seems to be sleeping.”
McCoy: “Computer: medical records Wesley Crusher.”
Computer: “Working…working…”
Uhura: “Mr. McCoy, this could take some time. Barclay replaced our Computer with a gerbil, a Viking Husqvarna 980, and a lampshade.”
McCoy: “Johnson: how’s his pulse? Is his breathing steady?”
Johnson places her head atop Wesley’s well muscled chest: “breathing steady, pulse about 55. I think he’s in REM sleep already his eyes are flickering.”
Chekov falls out of his chair.
McCoy: “What is this, a fundamentalist revival or a bridge?”
Spock: “Chekov, stop checking Johnson out.”
Chekov, “Sorry captain”
Uhura: “What about Wesley? Should I call Nurse Chapel?”
McCoy: “No! She dumped me last night.”
Spock: “Logically.”
McCoy: “What?!”
Spock: “No one volunteered to play the part, and therefore she cannot be called.”
McCoy: “Women. Rip your heart out, stomp on it while it is still beating, and just when you think you can’t take it anymore…”
Wesley springs awake and stands up “Why am I not being hazed? Where is the paddle? Joke uniform? Shaving cream? Oddly shaped vegetables? Where are the practical jokes? I demand...oh”
Spock: “Mister Wesley, please report to sick bay immediately. McCoy, I want to know what is wrong with Wesley, and what can be done about it.”
McCoy: “I can tell you most of what ails Wesley cannot be addressed medically.”
Exit McCoy, Wesley. All other crew return to station.
Spock: “Our bridge crew wares thin…Uhura, who is on duty qualified to take the helm?”
Uhura: “Not many…we have…ensign Yoh.”
Spock: “Isn’t he a security officer?”
Uhura: “Yes. I could get a trainee instead.”
Spock: “No. Extra security on the bridge at this time seems appropriate.”
Enter Ensign Yoh dressed in the traditional red shirt. Yoh takes the helm.
Chekov: “Here we are, captain.”
A brown green planted with a giant weed-leaf shaped continent appears on view.
Spock, standing: “This is quadrant 69?”
Chekov: (fondly) “Finest cannabis in the neutral zone.”
Uhura: “We’re being hailed. Apparently someone called Disgruntled Hippopotamus demands a password.”
Spock: “Chekov?”
Chekov: “Oh, right! Just a moment…”
Uhura: “He’s threateneing us with a ratedown.”
Spock: “Johnson, what is his post count?”
Johnson: “Checking…7500.”
Uhura: “Should we even bother to raise shields?”
Spock: “Raise shields. Arm RateSpam™ torpedoes. Chekov, our ability to score high quality Mary-Jane depends on swift action. Be alert.”
Chekov: “Aye.”

Act III: Bridge of Deep Space 69.
Crew Present: Reed and 7th of 9, who is not in uniform, reclining on a couch, painting her toenails.

Reed taps a button and Sisko appears on a small screen. Sisko is in the hanger bay working on a small arrow shaped spacecraft which appears to be little more then a cockpit mounted on a giant engine.
Reed: “Commander, Enterprise-D has hailed us warning that a fleet of low post count tards is coming.”
Sisko: “Mudd just bought a new racecraft and I’ve got a race against him tomorrow. Lock down the quadrant. Let no one in.”
Reed: “Sir, I can’t…”
Sisko: “Ya, but 7th of 9 can.”
Reed: Turning to 7th of 9: “Give us a hand, love?”
7th of 9: Shrugs noncommitially. “I’m an admin I can’t abuse my powers.”
Reed: “Yes, but this is just a story, so…”
7th of 9: “Ya but if Gene reads it”
Reed: “I think he’s too busy giving interviews to gaming websites.”
7th of 9: Sighs. “Well, alright.” She wiggles her nose and snaps her fingers. A fleet of burly bare chested men appear wareing tight leather pants and firemen’s helments and very little else. 7th of 9 lovingly fingers a paddle which wasn’t in her hand last time Reed checked and wiggles a finger at the door. They march out. “They’ll patrol the boundary letting no one in or out. Not much in the way of brains, but they have stamina. I’m going to check on Mudd. See ya.” She grins like the Cheshire cat, snaps her fingers and vanishes.
Reed: “I’m a married spud…I’m a married spud…”

Act IV: Ten Forward (Bar of the Enterprise-D): Crew present: Guinan, Crusher and Spot.

Guinan, tending the bar “So what can I get you Captain?”
Crusher: “Coffee.”
Guinan: “Spot, need a refill on that saucer of milk?”
Spot: “Nah, I’m done. Got to get to engineering.”
Crusher: “Spot, you’re a cat – what does Barclay have you doing in engineering?”
Spot: “I scare the hamsters. It makes things go. See ya.” (exits)
Guinan: “Here ya go captain. The usual. But you have a question.”
Crusher: “I do. We’re being chased by a horde of ‘tards from quadrant 21. Your quadrant was attacked by them. What can we do?”
Guinan: “Whitey McTard led them to my homeworld long, long ago. They’ll spew their crappy generic culture all over everyone and everything you love. Their very breath can kill. Once one lands, they will never stop coming.”
Crusher: “Is there no hope?”
Guinan: Smiles. “There are an infinite number of them. No matter what happens now, the only way to maintain your way of life is to keep them out. But I do have a piece of advice for you: if they offer you a trinket, no matter how nonsensical, don’t discard it. It makes them angry.”
Crusher: “Thanks.”

Act V: Bridge of Enterprise-D.
Ro: “Captain, there appears to be a line of…um…leather clad fire engines patrolling the boundary of quadrant 69.”
Worf: “I sense the work of the Administratix…”
Sulu: “Wait, don’t we have Barclay? Can’t he do something?”
Crusher: “It’s best to just let Barclay keep the ship running. Last time we asked him for a favor the whole universe flashed in and out of existence.”
Worf: “For weeks.”
Troy: “And all the ship controls moved around from left to right and back and a bunch of numbers winked out of existence.”
Ro: “We have to do something quickly. The ‘tards are growing restless. They’re continuing that lame ‘corrupt a wish’ game again. They’ve got to be pretty desperate.”
Worf, under his breath, “Or just mentally challenged…”
Sulu: “Quick, Data: they are all liberals. They want socialized medicine! They voted for Jimmy Carter! They…” Sulu looks around desperately for help…
Crusher: “They’re French. Look, Data, just use a holodeck, create the optimal interface for your hypersonic typing fingers and try to burry them under an avalanche of verbiage…er, I mean talk to them. All.”
Data: “With pleasure. Liberals you say?” Data swiftly walks out.
Worf: “That will hold them off for now. But we need a way into the station.”
Troy: “Ro, they are…men in uniform?”
Ro: “Well, what little of it there is, in the loosest sense of the word…yes”
Troy: “Like shooting fish in a barrel. Captain, I’ll ask a couple of the Orion Slave Girls to come with me and we’ll have them wrapped around our fingers momentarily.”
Crusher: “Go for it.”
Troy under her breath as she exists: “…Thumb should pick out the shoes…Marta can bring the Molson…”

Act VI: Bridge of the Enterprise-A. Crew present: Yoh, Johnson, Spock, Chekov, Uhura.
Spock: “Chekov, the password, if you know it.”
Chekov: “Pffft…”
Uhura: “Captain, the Enterprise-D is calling. It appears quadrant=4 is threatened. There’s a horde of ‘tards coming.”
Spock: Arches an eyebrow. “Tards, you say? Then we need that password more then ever…”

Act VII: Bridge of Mudd’s private spacecraft. Luxurious wood paneling offset tastefully with the latest chrome indicators give the impression of the interior of an old tavern crossed with a wooden ship, crossed with a sports car. Mudd is standing behind a wooden wheel, gently guiding it left, then right dodging asteroids. 7th of 9 is fingering a short strip of leather.
Mudd: “So how’s Sisko coming? Will he be ready?”
7th of 9: “Well, you know I can’t divulge any secrets, but I think so.”
Mudd: “Splendid.”
7th of 9: “The only thing is he was having some trouble with tards”
Mudd: “Tards?”
7th of 9: “Mmmm-hmmm. Seems they’re migrating.”
Mudd: “Indeed? But if they lurk here Q will intervene.”
7th of 9: “No, no, I think they were heading for quadrant=4, but Crusher is leading them here.”
Mudd: “Egad! No time to loose.”
Mudd makes a sharp left.

Act VIII: Bridge of Enterprise D: Crusher, Ro Laren, Sulu, Worf present. Ro has just entered.

Crusher: “How’s gbaji holding up?”
Ro: “Seems he’s enjoying it. And…he can keep typing for, ahem, days.”
Sulu: “And we’re in. Troy moved the fire engines. Engaging now.”
Worf: “I’m picking up the Enterprise-A and two smaller ships: one is registered to Starfleet command, the other to a private citizen…a scoundrel named Harcourt Fenton Mudd.”
Crusher: “Mudd? He sponsors quadrant-wide competitions. Independently wealthy I think. Can we hail him?”
Worf: “He’s hailing us.”
Mudd, appearing on screen, with 7th of 9, and he bows slightly “Ahoy my dear Captain Crusher my I offer my services to the cause?”
Crusher: “Certainly. We can use all the help we can get.”
Mudd: “Excellent. I shall commence. Mudd out.”
Crusher: “Can we get the “A”?”
Spock appears on screen.
Spock: “Hello Captain. We need your help distributing our cargo to the tards. Our transporter chief is…inefficient.”
Crusher: “Sulu – I’m putting you in charge of that. 32000 posts must mean you can work efficiently. Get Chief O’Brien on it.”
Sulu: “I’m on it.” Exits.
Worf: “Mudd’s plan is working. The ‘tards are chasing a shiny object.”
Crusher: “What shiny object?”
Worf: “The second small ship – Commander Sisko’s. It’s a Helicopter, so he is outmaneuvering them badly. He should be able to amuse them for some time…Captain, we’ve got another message incoming.”
Crusher: “Who?”
Worf: “It’s one of the fire engines.”
Crusher: “On screen.”
Troy appears smiling…

Act IX: Deep space

And in space several ‘tard ships finally caught up with Sisko’s. As if by magic, the spell broke. They all started spamming cut and paste news stories, threads about games, threads about their favorite pop music, and every detail of their life. Quadrant-69 began to fill with spam. Just when it looked like they were getting started with a colossal circle jerk, no doubt resulting in all of them getting guru and then smacked down by Q to default, the fire engines started rate blasting them from no where. Both Enterprises and the smaller ships form a ring (actually a sphere, space is 3-d), back to back, and opened fire with flames on the horde:
Mudd: “Cnuts.”
Worf: “Loosers.”
Data: “Liberal smelly commie New York Times reading…”
Sisko: “Crackers”
Guinan: “Gringos”
Marta: “Yay!”
Crusher: “Stay focused, Marta.”
Marta: “Oh, sorry…Illiterate yanks!”

But all ships are sustaining heavy returning fire. None of the flames are worth mentioning, however.

Reed: “Close-minded fools! Just boosted the gain of the station, captains.”
McCoy: "You still program in BASIC"
An anonymous Red Shirt: "Eeeee-Yahhhhhh!" (And dies as the computer console he's stationed at blows up, theatrically.)
Spot: "Rrrrrraw!"
Spock: "You are all illogical."
Geordi: "You stole my van!"
O'Brien: "Ragamuffins!"
Wesley: "None of you can bench over 120. Or fall asleep at a moments notice."
Uhura: "I'm just now getting a new transmission from Starfleet: it's official - you are the lowest form of life in the galaxy."
Sexy-but-disturbing-alien: "I am your drill thrall. Scram."

Ro: “It isn’t working. They’re just totally confused and wandering around aimlessly. We need bigger flames. I think we need Kirk. Uhura, can you hail him?”
Uhura: “Oh sure. Honey?”
Kirk steps onto the bridge of Enterprise-A and draws a deep breath. All the other Starfleet forces cease flaming, except Data. Who is in fine form.
Data: “Above and beyond does mean ‘in addition to’ but…”
The ‘tards, sensing weakness, gather to finish off the Starfleet forces, approaching dangerously close to them. Close enough to subdefault, or be subdefaulted. Normally, they would be wiser then to get so close to those with such high post counts. Perhaps it was Mister Spock's righteous weed. Perhaps it was Data's confounding stream of data. Or perhaps it was the bright, shiny spaceship Mudd had challenged them to corner.
Kirk begins to speak, and at the last moment two orion slave girls sprinkled "Flamethrower" brand instant inspiration powder. A rare substance. And a hand held up a megaphone before him, so his words echoed all throughout the quadrant. A magical hand. One attached to an arm, which is attached to a torso. Which is attached to a head which knows that the asylum needs to remain separate from the other forums and doesn’t need and can’t tolerate a massive influx of fresh meat. Some say it was an admin. Others say it was Gene, himself.
And Kirk did flame the ‘tards. He flamed them with references to improbable sex acts with farm animals. He questioned the sexual orientation of their parents. Their priests. Their pets. Their pet’s parent’s priest’s roommates. He railed in such fine form that all were too stunned to copy the words down and so the exact flame is lost in the history of flames.

And the ‘tards left. To go back to more friendly forums.

And there was left a message to all those who would enter forum=4. It says, to this day: “No holds barred forum for deep OOT discourse. Not for the faint of heart.”

The End.




Edited, Sep 20th 2007 3:36am by yossarian

Yay!

Kirk: Now men, we are about to go on a very dangerous mission. It is highly likely that one of you will die. The crew that will go with me are Spock, McCoy and Ensign Ricky.

Ensign Ricky: Aw crap.

Beautiful and bookmarked!

Truer words never spoken.

Not only a part, but a speaking part!

Oddly, I've thought of you as a sexy-but-disturbing-alien for years. I figured I was the only one. Something like this, really.

Nexa

I'm sowwy :( For the only person who *ever* posts on my myspace account I should do better. You were critical to distracting Darqflame's firemen.

I've wanted to type this up for a while but never had the time. My wife's out of town with the baby. I did dishes. I did laundry. I turned on the TV - and smacked it right back off. Then I realized I actually had time to write it. It had to be last night only (basically) or it would never get finished (again). So I just copied my prior notes. I have no idea who actually volunteered for what (Samira I'm certain picked out sexy yet disturbing alien) and who I drafted into roles.

Thanks for all the feedback.

Nice work!

Plus I got to be the guy who introduced tribbles, no?

Thanks. Actually, the tribbles were introduced by Cyrano Jones who shared many attributes with Mudd. Mudd is famous for beautiful android women.

You *******