Trek It!

by Robert T. Jeschonek

  Unquestionably, it was McClod, the cynical, crotchety old doctor who had assisted Quirk in so many heroic missions and shore leaves in the past. However, there were subtle changes inherent in Bobo’s visage; his eyes were a bit more crinkled at the corners, his hair a little whiter, and on top of his head he sported a visored cap emblazoned with the words “Bob Hope Invitational - 2433.” Quirk also noticed that slung around Bobo’s shoulders was a golf bag and clasped in his right hand, a putter. The doctor was clad in par-fours, a casual shirt and button down sweater, and looked for all the universe to Quirk like a seventy-year-old, second hand Arnold Palmer.

  “Well, Bobo,” groaned Quirk, rubbing his head and slowly struggling to a sitting position. “What have you been doing with yourself?”

  McClod smirked crustily. “Wa’ll, Jambo, after the ol' Enterprunes mission, ah moseyed on home and decided to play a li'l cow-pasture pool. Y’all know, golf,” he added in response to Quirk’s grimace of puzzlement and confused eye crossing, “the official sport of doctors. Now I’m on the pro-circuit -- Masters, Pebble Beach, Beta Gamma Four, Bing Crosby -- or rather,” Bobo’s voice shifted to a low growl, “ah was on the pro-circuit till you-all had me rounded up and throwed up here!”

  “I simply requested that Starfeet gently and subtly deliver you onboard the Enterprunes, no big deal.”

  McClod laughed grimly and furrowed his brows in anger. “No big deal? Gently and subtly?! Jambo, Starfeet sent half a battalion 'a infantry equipped with full taser weaponry and photon cannon and yanked me right outta the middle 'a the Doctor’s Invitational. Ah was one undah pah, too.”

  “I’m sorry, Bobo,” muttered Quirk as he pulled himself to his feet. “Starfeet has a way of exaggerating things.” Quirk dusted himself off and checked his makeup. “I do need you though, Bobo, now more than ever. We’ve got to save the Earth, and you’re the most qualified doctor in the service to help accomplish this critical mission. Besides, no one else would be caught dead serving on this jalopy.”

  Bobo hesitated for a moment, broke his putter over one leg, gritted his teeth and responded to Quirk’s plea with a hearty handshake and nod of the head. “Ah-right Jambo. Y’all got yuhself one doctor and bartender.” McClod turned and crankily thudded out the door. “Damn Yankee,” was the last thing Quirk heard from the doctor before the door swished shut behind him.

  Almost immediately after McClod left the transplurter room, a hailing bleep sounded over the intercom. Slyle, who was standing nearby kissing Yeowoman Rant, discontinued his activity with the pretty young female and answered the bleeping device.

  “Hey hey Quirk,” spoke Slyle after receiving the message. “You is wanted on the freakin’ bridge baby. Some new chick just came in and brother Wreckov thought you’d like to scan her data. Said she’s a foxy hunk-a carbon Quirk-o.”

  Quirk, already annoyed by Slyle’s disc-jockey jargon, which the Lootenant had obtained after serving as an announcer on Starfeet radio, suddenly started yelling angrily. “No, No! I’m supposed to fight with Snicker first, then meet Iliac, and then meet McClod! I don’t care if this is a spoof, it should still follow the script.” Quirk glared at Slyle, who was again sucking face with Rant. “And another thing...let go of my Yeowoman!”

  Just then, the door of the transplurter room opened and a large, very rotund rogue entered. Upon seeing Quirk, the jocular man’s mouth curled into a smile and his eyes lit with recognition.

  Quirk was stunned and his heart beat wildly in shock. “Hairy Muck!” he shouted confusedly. “But you were never in this movie!”

  “Ah, but I should have been,” chuckled Muck heartily, running up to the transplurter platform and mounting one of its beaming disks. “Well, sorry I can’t chat, Quirk 'ol boy, but I really gotta fly. Chow.” Muck vanished in a shower of transplurter energy.

  Quirk, his eyes glazed over in blank confusion, wandered slowly to the door. “McClod...,” he mumbled dazedly, a mindless smile plastered upon his lips, “...Slyle...Iliac...wrong script...Muck...bridge. Help, police.” The door swished softly shut behind him.

  *****

  After a hasty trip up the turbo-pole, Quirk again strode onto the bridge. True to Wreckov’s message, Iliac stood there, beside her helm station, all 36-24-36 of her. Every male crewman on the bridge was also by Iliac’s helm station and the sounds of heavy panting and drooling filled the air.

  “What a woman!” whispered Quirk admiringly to himself. Indeed, Iliac was beautiful, with shimmering blue eyes, inviting crimson lips...and a head of long, dark hair which hung flowingly all the way to the bridge floor. Strangely, the provocative hairiness of her head only seemed to enhance Iliac’s attractiveness, and together with the pharaoh-gnomes continuously emitted by her Builtan body served to turn all males within a five-mile radius into raving, drooling wolves.

  Not even the dignified, gallant Captain Quirk was spared the effects of Iliac’s beauty. Within five seconds of Quirk’s entry onto the bridge, his tongue was lolling crazily out of his mouth, his eyes were dilated and bulging out of their sockets, and his heart was beating wildly in his chest. Seeing an opportunity to put the make on a hot fox, Quirk strode purposefully forward, pushed away the other crewmen fawning over Iliac, and seductively whispered his most original and effective lines.

  “Come here often, baby? What’s a nice girl like you doing on a ship like this? What’s your sign?”

  Iliac, obviously extremely impressed by Quirk’s macho come-on, turned quickly and provocatively booted him in the rump. Knocked off-balance by Iliac’s entrancing beauty and the sheer brute force of her kick, Quirk gracefully crumpled to the floor.

  “Well Lulu,” whispered Quirk as his Asian helmsman helped him up. “Once again I have won the heart of a fair, gracious and beauteous maiden in one fell swoop. Good, huh?”

  Lulu smirked blissfully and offered Quirk a tract. “Women are the root of all evil, Captain. Try the Church of the Great Burp of the Galaxy. Happiness, peace, and the joys of roller disco sculpting await you there.” Quirk shook his head in refusal of Lulu’s offer, gently threw the tract on the floor and stepped on it, and winced in pain when Lulu subtly elbowed him in the eye.

  As Quirk recovered from the various injuries inflicted upon him by Lulu and Iliac, a soft yet resonant voice sang out from the communications station.

  “Captain, oh Captain,” sang the voice, which Quirk quickly identified as that of Yoohoora. “Starfeet command has se-e-ent a message in top-priority code. Would you like it de-e-e-e-coded now?”

  Fighting down the impulse to sing his answer, Quirk brusquely nodded his head. After a brief pause, during which Yoohoora’s back-up group, Hailing Frequency, hummed a medley of Sulking folk songs, Yoohoora finished decoding the message.

  “It says: 'Captain Quirk please hear our plea, right now, right now/ Save the Earth from T’Jerk’s spree/ Oh, please save the Earth/ T’Jerk’s getting near/ We are all in fear/ And if you don’t save the day/ YOU WILL LOSE YOUR JOB!’ Signed Admiral Blowhard. 'P.S.,’ “ added Yoohoora. “Good luck. You morons’re gonna need it.’ End of message.”

  Quirk stood for a moment, brooding silently over the deep philosophical meanings inherent in Starfeet’s message; then, his heart beating wildly, he burst into action.

  “All right,” he shouted suddenly. “Enough dilly-dallying around in drydock! The Earth’s in danger and we’re the only ones who can save it! You heard the message: T’Jerk is approaching! Our duty, our very world, calls to us!” Head held high, chest puffed with pride, Quirk majestically strode to his command stool. All eyes were on him as he commandingly marched to the stool, inspiringly mounted it, and gracefully toppled backwards to the floor when he forgot to activate the retractable backrest. Quirk was now, undeniably, the picture of a gallant starboat captain, an awe-inspiring figure completely devoted to Starfeet, the Fodderation, and stealing scenes whenever possible. His face was set in flint as he issued commands to his crew. “Lulu, Iliac, take us out of drydock and head for T’Jerk�
�s coordinates. Yoohoora, signal Starfeet that we are leaving at once. Wreckov, alert security that we are moving to yellow alert status. McClod, bring me a steak and a bottle of port. Crew of the Enterprunes, our mission begins NOW!”

  Like a single, well-honed mechanism, the crew of the great starboat moved to follow Quirk’s orders. Lulu put a key in the ignition switch mounted on his helm console, turned it, and was rewarded with the deep rumble of the Enterprunes’ engines, all eight cylinders of them. Iliac deftly manipulated the controls on the panel before her, taking the starboat out of park and skillfully turning the steering wheel to bring the vessel’s nose around. Wreckov swiftly activated the bleeping, flashing purple lights which signaled a yellow alert throughout the Enterprunes. McClod strode onto the bridge carrying a hamburger and cola and surreptitiously dumped them onto Quirk’s lap.

  Within four minutes and twenty-three point six-four-one-nine seconds, the Enterprunes was out of drydock and closing on the menacing T’Jerk.

  Several minutes after the Enterprunes’ departure, while the majestic starboat’s dedicated crew engaged itself in the critical task of playing tournament tiddly-winks and the courageous Captain Quirk efficiently snarfed a dozen jelly-filled donuts he had filched from the commissary, an unexpected signal reached the vessel’s communications equipment.

  “Captain,” sang out Yoohoora suddenly, diverting Quirk’s attention from the delicate operation of filling a mug with coffee and subsequently causing him to spill the entire pot on his lap. “Captain, Captain, a message is coming through/ Now a shuttlecraft is approaching you/ It says that it’s from Sulking/ And requests details for docking/ And with some luck/ Its passenger may turn out to be Mr. Spook.” Yoohoora gave a curt bow in response to the applause her rendition of the message had produced. Hailing Frequency followed this with a collection of Tellarite snort-songs and an intricate Romulan soft-shoe which quickly enthralled the entire watching bridge crew.

  A split-second after Quirk received the message, the turbo-pole doors swooshed open and a tall, lean figure clad entirely in hot pink Sulking robes strode out.

  “Spook!” shouted Quirk abruptly, his heart beating wildly at the sight of his old Sulking science officer.

  “Suck worms, jello brain,” muttered Spook sarcastically, sticking his tongue out at Quirk and stomping haughtily towards his bridge science station.

  While Quirk stood stock-still and displayed his best expression of outrage, Bobo McClod and Nurse Chapped-Lips stumbled onto the bridge. At the sight of Spook, Bobo’s face twisted into a crotchety grimace and Chapped-Lips fainted dead away, collapsing on the Life-Support console and shutting off the air supply for five decks and the Enterprunes bowling alley.

  “Spook you 'ol opossum-puss,” jeered McClod while struggling with several technicians to haul Nurse Chapped-Lips off Life-Support. “So help me, ah actually hate to see you. Ah must say in all honesty ah wish y’all were dead.”

  Spook politely spit on McClod’s boots, gently threw a right cross into his jaw, and slowly drawled out a reply. “Bobo, you are a maggot in the stinking armpit of life.”

  Just as McClod was recovering from the impact of Spook’s fist and was preparing to apply his own brand of Southern Comfort, the Enterprunes screeched to a halt, throwing crewmembers everywhere and slamming Quirk heavily to the floor.

  “What the devil?!” exclaimed Quirk weakly from his sprawled position on the deck. “What happened?!”

  “Use your eyes dolt,” snapped Spook insolently, motioning for Quirk to look at the viewscreen.

  Slowly, while floundering to his feet, Quirk directed his eyes to the large viewscreen mounted in the front portion of the bridge. Displayed there for all to see was a terrible, threatening sight -- the massive, grinning, cloudlike monstrosity known as T’Jerk. Quirk’s heart beat wildly at the very sight of it.

  “T’Jerk!” whispered Quirk over-dramatically into the silence that had suddenly enveloped the bridge.

  “Nooooooooo Captain twit,” snarled Spook sarcastically. “It’s my dear Aunt Fanny.”

  Ignoring Spook’s condescending remark, partly because it was beneath his dignity as starboat captain to reply and also because he didn’t have a good comeback in mind, Quirk turned angrily on Lootenant Lulu.

  “Lulu,” he sputtered commandingly. “Why have we reached T’Jerk already? What about the wormhole and the long voyage in the movie? And what about my dramatic meeting with Snicker?”

  His mouth curled into a contented smile, Lulu sniffed one of the flowers he held. “Captain, nobody knows what a wormhole is in the first place, so why encounter one? Also, Snicker croaks at the end anyhow, so why bother introducing him at all?”

  Quirk’s eyes crossed in confusion. “Then why introduce Iliac? She buys the farm, too.”

  Lulu pulled Quirk closer and whispered confidentially in his ear. “ 'Cause she’s stacked, Quirk-baby.”

  His eyes uncrossing and a look of comprehension settling over his features, Quirk returned his attention to the viewscreen. To his surprise, all the screen displayed was dark, black nothingness.

  “All right,” shouted the Captain suddenly, stumbling across the bridge and mounting the command stool. “Let’s get moving, people. We have to defeat this T’Jerk thing, so we may as well start now. First, I want Yoohoora to fix the viewscreen...”

  “Captain,” sang Yoohoora melodiously, “the viewscreen is fixed. That blackness on the screen is the inside of T’Jerk.”

  Quirk was stunned and his heart beat wildly. “You mean we’ve been swallowed?”

  “Yes,” growled Spook gratingly. “We’re Jonah-city, Captain noodnik.”

  Quirk gnashed his teeth angrily, his mind racing. “What next?” he muttered, sucking his thumb in concentration.

  As if in reply to Quirk’s query, a bright light flared up near the helm, zapped some security guards, probed Spook’s computers, disintegrated Iliac and abruptly disappeared.

  “Oh,” said Quirk quietly after the light had vanished. “That was next.”

  McClod, dazed by the action and looking for a scene to steal, slowly spoke up. “What th’ tarnation was that, Jambo?”

  “It was the Good Humor man, you incompetent dixie cup,” bellowed Spook boorishly in reply.

  McClod bared his teeth and angrily clenched both his hands into fists. “Suck mah stethoscope, you sanctimonious Sulking boob.”

  Quirk, brooking no arguments among his officers and eager to focus attention back upon himself, broke into Spook and Bobo’s heated exchange. “Enough, both of you. While you two stand here bickering like children, T’Jerk is getting closer to Earth. This situation’s getting grim, people, and if we’re going to remedy it, we better get cracking.”

  Wreckov turned to face Quirk from his seat at the weapons console. “Is that General Cracking or Doctor Cracking, sir?”

  Quirk coolly resisted the impulse to strangle Wreckov, partly because he was captain and captains are calm authority figures and also because he was afraid of smearing his make-up. “Well,” he muttered. “What next?”

  As if on cue, another bright light flared up, filling the bridge with a high-pitched whine and abruptly vanishing to reveal Iliac standing near the helm.

  “I had to ask?” stuttered Quirk resignedly as the entire male portion of the bridge crew began to again surround Iliac.

  “Captain,” intoned Spook snappishly. “That woman is not the real Iliac. My sensors show she is only an insipid, idiotic excuse for an android.”

  Quirk was shocked. “But Spook, she’s so...so...so...”

  “I believe 'built’ is the term you were so cloddishly groping for, you spineless pattymelt,” oozed Spook snakily.

  Again at a loss for a quickie comeback, Quirk rapidly whirled around to face the Iliac-replica.

  “Take us to your leader,” requested the daring starboat captain, obviously bubbling over with original lines.

  The Iliac-duplicate beeped twice, flexed an arm, which subsequently smashed an
engineer through the floor and down through three more decks, and slowly began to speak.

  “Cap-tain...Quirk,” dictated the Iliac-replica in a low, deadly monotone. “T’Jerk sent...me...to eliminate...the...carbon-based units...infesting the Enterprunes. That means you, buddy.”

  Quirk recoiled in shock, tumbling over a railing and gracefully thudding headfirst to the deck. Then, suddenly experiencing a rush of courage, and stupidity, he poked his head over the railing which had tripped him, set a look of defiance upon his face, and spoke snarlingly to the Iliac-replica.

  “You don’t scare us, you creaking tin can. My ship is the finest in the fleet, my crew, the most efficient in the galaxy, my jai-alai team, the winningest in the Inter-Ship Galactic Amateur League.” In a sudden, daring move, Quirk defiantly stuck his tongue out at the Iliac-replica. The entire crew on the bridge gasped.

  In reply, the Iliac-replica simply turned, pointed at the helm console, and smiled daintily as it abruptly disappeared.

  “Then again,” grinned Quirk amiably, “what was that about carbon-units?”

  Iliac turned slowly around to again face Quirk. “You heard me...the...first...time...baby,” she monotoned dryly. Then, suddenly, the android froze; smoke began puffing out from behind her/its ears, her/its eyes crossed crazily and a low chugging sound started to reverberate from somewhere in the replica’s stomach.

  “What’s it doing?” whispered Quirk querulously, his heart beating wildly.

  “Obviously communicating with T’Jerk, you witless simpleton,” grumbled Spook grouchily.

  Quirk nodded, absorbing the information imparted to him by Spook and making a mental note to accidentally lose the sarcastic Sulking’s next paycheck. Then, as quickly as they began, the unusual noises and activity occurring within the Iliac-replica ended, and Quirk’s full attention was again drawn to the menacing android.