CHAPTER TWO

“The most intelligent person I’ve ever met in the entire Universe? Unqu
estionably it’s me. The worst thing about being me? Unquestionably it’s the way
my damned ears keep changing shape every month. Totally preposterous.”
MR SPROCK

PART ONE
Unaware of the plans for the Orion’s imminent destruction, Captain Kork step
ped out of the lift and strolled along the short corridor to the bridge. Three q
uarters of the way along he slowed deliberately, an anticipatory smile playing a
bout the corners of his mouth.
God how he loved the bridge door! Unlike most of the others on the ship it d
idn’t slide open from side to side but parted in the middle, each half disappear
ing neatly into the opposing wall with a lovely hissing sound at exactly the sam
e time.
After a final check that there were no give-away bulges from his Tummy Trimm
er Corset he stepped up to the door. It swished open when he was about a foot aw
ay from it and he glanced quickly from side to side so he could see the halves d
isappearing into the walls.
He took a couple of paces into the bridge and turned to watch them hissing o
ut again and meeting in the centre with that delightful little click. ‘Ah, wonde
rful!’ he thought, grinning to himself. ‘Absolutely wonderful.’
Resisting the impulse to step back out and re-enter so he could watch the do
or again he turned and surveyed the scene on the bridge. The crew were quietly a
nd calmly going about their work and everything appeared under control.
Satisfied, he strolled down to his chair and slipped into it. “Status report
, Mr Crackers,” he requested.
“We’re still on course to investigate that distress call, Captain,” replied
Crackers.
The Captain nodded. “Is it growing any stronger?”
“The closer we get the stronger it gets, sir. It’s definitely coming from a
ship near the centre of the Avalon System.”
“Have we tried contacting it yet?”
“Yes sir. We’re sending out an automatic message every half hour but so far
there’s been no response.”
“How long till we reach it at our present speed?”
“One day, sir.”
The Captain frowned. A day. It was highly unlikely they were going to find a
nybody alive after all this time. Still they had to try.
“There’s something else, sir,” said Crackers. “The outer scanners picked up
a Klinger Mother Ship a few minutes ago heading straight towards us. We changed
course to avoid it.”
“A Klinger Mother Ship?” I wonder what they’re doing in this area?”
Before Crackers had a chance to reply the lights above the Transporter Platf
orm started flashing, indicating someone was being beamed aboard. Several of the
crew suddenly remembered who it was and groaning inwardly, pretended an all-con
suming interest in their work.
Captain Kork swivelled round. “Who’s arriving?” he asked Lieutenant Youhoor.
“It’s uh, just a couple of the crew,” she replied and quickly returned to he
r scanners.
The Captain turned back to the Platform. As the transporter beam grew strong
er the outline of two men began to take shape, the bright red of their uniform j
umpers becoming visible. Moments later they had beamed up completely and he reco
gnised two of the Engine Room crew.
“Hey everybody – hamburgers!” one of them yelled, stepping off the Platform
and starting to hand out boxes.
Unlike his friend, the second guy had seen the Captain. He shoved his boxes
down behind Butch Bradley’s console then frantically tried to attract the first
guy’s attention, pulling at his jumper from the back.
“Double cheeseburger – that’s Lieutenant Youhoor’s,” the first guy went on,
continuing to hand out boxes. “Hey, stop pulling buddy, you’ll get yours,” he sa
id to someone yanking at his jumper, unaware of who it was. “Double quarter poun
der with relish, what greedy bastard ordered – look buddy, will you quit pulling
?” he said angrily, turning round.
A thumb jerked in the direction of the Captain told him what all the pulling
had been about. He turned back and saw Captain Kork staring at him.
“Oh shit!” he muttered. He shifted about uncomfortably for a few moments the
n tentatively held out a box. “Cheeseburger, sir?” he asked.
The Captain shook his head and waved them away. He strolled over to one of t
he bridge couches where Ricky was dubiously engrossed in a training manual. Help
fully the Captain turned the book the correct way up as he sat down beside him.
“Ricky,” he said, putting a brotherly arm round his shoulder, “I realise you
’re along on this mission to learn and I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm bu
t don’t use the Transporter Platform to beam people down to hamburger joints.”
Ricky grinned and nodded.
“It’s junk food,” his elder brother went on. “It’s not good for your body. A
ll those fats and carbohydrates. There are some great health food places dotted
around space. In future if you’re beaming people down I expect to see them comin
g back with yoghurts or nuts or fresh fruit. Understand?”
“Okay Tadpole,” Ricky drawled.
“Ssshhh!” the Captain hissed, glancing round to see if anybody had heard. “D
on’t call me that.”
“Why not?” Ricky asked. “It’s your middle name.”
“I know, I know but we don’t use middle names on the ship.”
Ricky grinned. “Especially when they’re really silly ones, eh Taddy?”
The Captain bit his lip then his hand reached up involuntarily to the front
of his jumper. “You haven’t seen my Pendant by any chance, have you?” he asked.
“That one I always wear?”
“The one that’s got something to do with the Evil Force?”
Captain Kork shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, that’s the one,” he admitted.
“Evil Force!” Ricky said mockingly and sniggered.
The Captain leaned back in the couch and stared thoughtfully out one of the
observation windows. “When you’ve travelled the Universe as much as I have,” he
began, “when you’ve made contact with other life-forms and seen how some are goo
d and some are evil, you get to thinking.”
Ricky yawned and glanced round about the bridge.
“Yes you get to thinking,” the Captain went on, standing up and gazing out i
nto the blackness of space. “You get to wondering – what does it all mean, where
did we all come from, who created us in the first place?”
A female Ensign had caught Ricky’s eye. She smiled at him and after a quick
look at his brother who was still staring off into space, Ricky slipped over to
her.
“And if something did create us, it can only be described as a Force,” the i
nterstellar philosopher went on. “A Good Force. And since everything in the Univ
erse has an opposite, there must be an opposite Force. An Evil Force.”
Ricky and the Ensign were now strolling towards a side door, arm in arm. All
 round the bridge the crew had gradually stopped what they were doing and were l
istening to the Captain.
“I believe there is an Evil Force,” he continued, oblivious to the attention
he was receiving. “I’ve seen it. Felt it. Beaten it. But it’s still there in ot
her parts of the Universe. Malignant. Waiting. I believe we’ll come into contact
with it again and we must be strong. We must face it. We must overcome it. And
with the help of the Good Force, we will overcome it!”
The bridge crew nodded to each other and gave the Captain a warm round of ap
plause. Startled, he looked round then realised they’d all been listening to him
. Slightly embarrassed he waved the applause away.
“Resume stations everyone,” he ordered and strolled back to his chair, grate
ful that the light tan on his face was concealing the light blush underneath.
PART TWO
Swivelling impatiently in his chair in front of the observation screen, Gene
ral Draygo waited for news from his attack ship. His red and black leather outfi
t identified him immediately as a General but apart from that he looked like any
other Klinger.
In fact one of the things Klingers were so angry about and which contributed
to their aggressive natures was that they all looked pretty similar and pretty
ugly at that.
Straight black hair grew on their large heads and fell from a centre parting
to their shoulders. Beneath their heavily wrinkled foreheads large hairy eyebro
ws grew in an uninterrupted line, nearly obscuring their small piggy eyes. Vario
us lumps and bumps adorned their cheeks and chins and it was the size and positi
oning of these which gave them their only facial individuality.
However not only was your average Klinger pretty ugly, he was pretty thick a
s well, as General Draygo was about to be painfully reminded.
His plan to kill Captain Kork and wipe out the Orion had seemed simple enoug
h – the Mother Ship would deliberately enter the Orion’s outer scanner limits, k
nowing it would change course to avoid them and head straight into the path of t
he already positioned small attack ship, lying in wait invisible under its Cloak
.
The General had waited patiently for the distant yellow flash on his observa
tion screen which would indicate the destruction of the Orion and the success of
his mission but as time dragged on and the view of space remained unchanged, he
grew tired of waiting and broke communication silence to contact the two-man at
tack ship.
“Is the Orion approaching yet?” he asked them.
On the attack ship, the puzzled Sergeant frowned at the Private sitting next
to him. “The Orion?”
“Yes the Orion,” growled Draygo. “Is it approaching?”
There was a lengthy pause. “Is it approaching what?” the Sergeant eventually
asked.
“Is it approaching you!?” Draygo roared.
The Sergeant sniggered. “Not unless it turns back,” he replied.
It was Draygo’s turn to pause. “What d’you mean, turns back?” he asked, puzz
led.
“It passed us five minutes ago,” the Sergeant told him, grinning confidently
at the Private.
“It passed you five minutes ago!? Why didn’t you blow it up?”
“Blow it up? Don’t be daft, we’re the diversion.”
“We’re the frigging diversion, you prick!!” roared Draygo, thumping his desk
in frustration. “You mean you let them go past!?”
“Uh…well…I suppose we did.”
The General paced around the bridge for a full minute, roaring and cursing a
nd taking his temper out on anything that got in his way. When he had calmed dow
n a bit he spoke to the Sergeant again. “Listen carefully,” he said through grit
ted teeth. “Have you got your Cloak on?”
 “Nope, I forgot,” admitted the Sergeant.
“Well put it on,” Draygo instructed. “Go after the Orion. When you get close
enough, blow it up. Understand?”
“Yes sir,” said the Sergeant and flicked off the radio.
He shook his head and left the small bridge, returning shortly afterwards, c
arrying something.
“What have you got that for?” asked the Private. “Feeling cold?”
The Sergeant shook his head. “Not really,” he replied, “but Draygo says that
I‘ve to put my cloak on and we’ve to go after the Orion.”
PART THREE
With the bridge crew settled down and concentrating on their work after Capt
ain Kork’s recent well-received monologue, the Orion continued on its course to
respond to the distress call from the unknown ship. Something else however was a
bout to distract their attention.
As he glanced round the bridge, the Captain noticed that someone was missing
. Just as he was about to enquire after his whereabouts, a cigar-chewing Butch B
radley wandered over, goosing Crackers as he passed.
“Acting First Officer Bradley reporting,” he announced casually then leaned
down and put an arm round the Captain’s shoulder. “Queer Ears is sulking in his
cabin again,” he told him. “Scared we all laugh at him. Haw haw haw!”
The Captain wiped away small cigar shreds from the side of his head. “I take
it you are referring to First Officer Sprock?” he asked.
“You got it,” agreed Butch. “Queer ears.”
“Return to your station, Mr Bradley. I’ll contact Mr Sprock and find out wha
t the problem is,” the Captain said.
Butch strolled off, both hands up at his ears and flapping about, causing so
me poorly suppressed sniggering amongst the crew.
Catching the laughter the Captain sighed and wearily rubbed a hand across hi
s brow. Mr Sprock, his First Officer, was a damned fine man to have as his secon
d in command. The only problem with him was that he was a Bulcan. Although Bulca
ns were reasonably similar to Earthlings they did have one striking difference,
or rather two – their ears.
Bulcans had strange ears. Very strange. They changed shape once or twice a m
onth but nobody knew what form the new ones were likely to take, not even the ow
ner. Sometimes they were large and pointed, sometimes they were shaped like cabb
ages, sometimes they stuck out at floppy right angles like a dog’s.
Unfortunately for Mr Sprock the new ears were invariably ridiculous and he t
ook understandable offence at people laughing at him especially as he was a high
ly intelligent, dignified man and First Officer of the Orion, a position which s
hould have commanded respect not hilarity.
Captain Kork sighed again then leaned forward and pressed a button on his de
sk intercom, buzzing Sprock’s cabin.
“Yes Captain?” the familiar, slightly nasal voice answered immediately.
“Not joining us on the bridge, Mr Sprock?”
Sprock hesitated. “I have a bit of a headache, Captain.”
“More like earache,” muttered Butch Bradley, causing more subdued sniggering
.
“Come come, Mr Sprock,” the Captain chided. “I need you on the bridge.”
Sprock sighed. “To be honest, Jim,” he said, “my ears have changed again. I
fear some of the more vulgar members of the crew might find them amusing and lau
gh at me.”
This caused more muted giggling around the bridge.
“I can understand your predicament and believe me I sympathise,” said the Ca
ptain, “but I really do need you up here.” He leaned closer to his intercom and
tried to whisper into it. “How bad are your ears anyway?”
“Very bad, Jim. The worst they’ve been in a long time.”
An uncontrollable snigger escaped from someone. The Captain glanced round qu
ickly but everyone appeared engrossed in their work.
 “I’ll tell you what, Mr Sprock,” he went on, turning back to his intercom, “
I’ll give the crew a good talking to before you come up. How’s that?”
“It won’t work, Captain. As soon as they see these they’ll disintegrate.”
“Christ, get him up, get him up!” Butch hissed.
“Mr Sprock,” the Captain said more firmly. “I can assure you as Commander of
this ship that if I issue the crew with a direct order and they fail in their d
uties then the consequences for them would be extremely serious. They know that
so if I say they won’t laugh, they won’t laugh.”
Sprock considered this. “All right Captain,” he eventually agreed. “I take y
our word. I’m on my way.”
A buzz of excitement and expectation ran round the crew as Captain Kork flic
ked off the intercom. He swivelled round in his chair, stood up and faced them.
“No doubt most of you heard that conversation,” he announced. “It seems my F
irst Officer, Mr Sprock, has gone through another ear change. Now you are all aw
are of how sensitive he can be about this so I’ve assured him that there will be
no laughing or derogatory remarks made. If anybody causes him any embarrassment
or says anything stupid it will be treated as an act of direct insubordination
and you all know how harshly Federation Command deals with that. Do I make mysel
f clear?”
The crew nodded respectfully.
“Then carry on with your normal duties,” the Captain ordered. “And don’t let
me hear one word out of place when Mr Sprock arrives.” He turned and resumed hi
s seat.
PART FOUR
Zipping across space in their small attack ship, the fierce but dim Klinger
warriors eventually caught up with their prey. Maintaining their traditions of s
tupidity the Sergeant was wearing his cloak instead of activating their Cloak bu
t it didn’t really matter – the bridge crew aboard the Orion were only pretendin
g to work as they awaited Mr Sprock’s arrival so no-one noticed the scanner swee
ps which showed the small yellow dot approaching from the rear.
“There they are,” said the Sergeant as they picked up the Orion on their obs
ervation screen.
“So it is,” agreed the Private. “The Orion. Should we signal them?”
The Sergeant laughed derisively and slapped him across his forehead. “Don’t
be thick. We’re going to blow them up.”
The Private frowned. “Blow them up? I thought they were the diversion?”
“Naaa,” said the Sergeant. “Draygo’s the diversion.”
“Oh is he?” muttered the Private, his frown deepening as he tried to work ou
t the complexities of modern warfare.
“Right, line them up,” ordered the Sergeant.
The Private gave up trying to fathom out the depths of their battle tactics
and busied himself with the controls and brought them in not far behind the Orio
n. “Enemy ship lined up,” he said.
The Sergeant grunted and leaned forward to his console. He flicked some swit
ches and waited till the flashing red light became steady, indicating that the s
hip’s lasers were ready for firing. “Weapons ready!” he announced, grinning and
rubbing his hands together.
“Oh go on, let me!” pleaded the Private. “I like the firing bit.”
“All right,” the Sergeant agreed and leaned back in his seat. “Fire!”
“Thanks Sarge,” said the Private. “You’re a sport.”
He flexed his thick fingers then stretched across to the Sergeant’s console
and jabbed the green button. The two of them sat back and watched the observatio
n screen expectantly, waiting for the Orion to erupt in a bright yellow ball but
all they heard was the sound of the toilet flushing in the rear of the ship.
The Sergeant turned and slapped the Private across the head again. “Twat! Y
ou pressed the wrong button!” he yelled. “You’ve flushed the toilet! Line the da
mn thing up again!”
 PART FIVE
Unaware of how close they’d come to being flushed all over space, tension co
ntinued to mount amongst the bridge crew as Mr Sprock’s arrival grew near.
As the Captain was staring at the forward observation screen, deep in though
t, Butch Bradley took the opportunity to add to the suppressed excitement by par
ading up and down with two large paper plates held against the side of his head,
causing an outbreak of muted sniggering amongst the crew. One of the Ensigns lo
st control completely and hand clapped over his mouth, he had to leave before th
e main event began.
A couple of minutes later the bridge door swished open and breaths were held
collectively as Mr Sprock took a hesitant step in.
As he had stated earlier, his ears were bad. Very bad. They were the same sh
ape, texture and colour as an adult pig’s and they stuck out at right angles to
his head, pink and hairy.
A strangled, tortured gurgle escaped from Lieutenant Youhoor and had him qui
ckly turning in her direction, eyebrows raised, ears twitching but with a magnif
icent effort she managed to turn the gurgle into a cough and nodded pleasantly a
t him.
He glanced in the opposite direction but the crew all had their heads down m
ainly because after having had the briefest of looks at him they realised it was
either pretend they were working or surrender to bladder-emptying convulsions.
Satisfied for the time being that there was no collective outburst of laught
er but aware that it could still happen, Sprock made his way tentatively across
the bridge, pausing here and there to investigate and eliminate any suspicious s
ounds that remotely resembled sniggering.
In his wake he left a devastated crew : Lieutenant Youhoor, in her continuin
g fight not to laugh, was biting hard on her lower lip and had her legs tightly
crossed; Butch Bradley was silently thumping his fist against the soft rubber su
rround of his console; Ensign Cool had fallen off his chair and lay behind a des
k, his legs kicking in the air and a couple of the women were huddled next to ea
ch other, their slim shoulders shaking in fits of silent giggling.
The entire bridge had become a tinderbox of suppressed laughter and one care
lessly tossed aside remark was liable to set it alight.
Ignoring the large, hairy, pink ears, the Captain rose from his seat and smi
led warmly at Sprock as he approached. “You see,” he said proudly, his hand swee
ping round the bridge, “nothing to worry about. Not even a titter.”
At the mention of the word ‘titter’, Mr Zulu nearly lost control and fought
desperately to stifle a snigger. Quickly he ducked under his console and pretend
ed to search through his bone box. Sprock watched him closely, an eyebrow arched
in suspicion.
“Relax,” the Captain told him. “It’s nothing. Mr Zulu’s just sorting through
his bones.”
“Dem bones, dem bones, dem ear bones!” Butch Bradley hissed and Lieutenant Y
ouhoor nearly bit through her lip.
Sprock twitched his ears and nodded. A full two minutes had elapsed since hi
s entrance and no-one had laughed and no derogatory remarks had been hurled at h
im. Obviously he had underestimated the Captain’s authority over the crew.
“I was unwise to doubt your word, Jim,” he said apologetically.
Captain Kork smiled at him. “Think nothing of it,” he replied.
After a final glance round Mr Sprock relaxed completely. Putting all his pre
monitions aside he began to concentrate on his work. He studied the observation
screen for a few moments then turned to the Captain.
“From the constellations on display I see we are in the Avalon System,” he r
emarked. “What is our purpose here?”
“Oh we’re responding to a distress call from your ears,” the Captain replied
.
As one, the crew disintegrated. Laughter which had so far been denied releas
e suddenly sensed freedom and escaped from every possible orifice in a gigantic,
sniggering, giggling, hee-hawing, boisterous roar that threatened to lift the c
eiling off the bridge.
Lieutenant Youhoor fell off her seat and joined Ensign Cool on the floor who
was now doubled up in uncontrollable spasms. Mr Zulu had put his bone box over
his head and was shrieking wildly.
Crackers was reeling about on top of his desk, his elbows bumping his instru
ments, sending them zigzagging through space. This was exceptionally fortunate b
ecause the Klinger attack ship had just fired on them and the Orion’s unexpected
course change caused them to miss.
Butch Bradley had his eyes screwed shut and was thumping his console with bo
th fists. Without realising what he was doing his left hand banged down on the ‘
Fire’ button and he released a rear heat-seeking missile which scored a direct h
it on the Klingers.
The attack ship disintegrated in a ball of yellow flame but its destruction
went completely unnoticed by everyone on the Orion.
Realising what he’d said, Captain Kork’s head sank into his hands as Mr Spro
ck ear flapped and squeaked his way from the bridge.
When the door swished shut the Captain glanced up. He looked round at the ro
aring, screaming, thigh-slapping, giggling mass that was the bridge crew then sl
owly his shoulders began to shake.
Laughter welled up in him and he tried to hold it back but it burst out and
he sprawled back in his chair slapping the arms, tears running down his face, hi
s stomach heaving so much that it threatened to split his Tummy Trimmer Corset.