Doctor Trek - What A Load Of Crap (1) DOCTOR TREK: WHAT A LOAD OF CRAP BY IAN KIDD CHAPTER ONE "Pep talk." "What?" Who exclaimed, throwing an incredulous look at Admiral Borusa. "You think I, Captain James T. Who, need a pep talk?" Who was seated in the office of the very grand, very powerful, and very spotty Borusa, who looked at him with some distaste. "Well, we don't often give command of Starships to eight year olds." Who was genuinely stunned. "You don't?" "No." "What about Captain Kirk?" "Ah, yes..." Borusa coughed, somewhat awkwardly. "He was the exception." "And the Doctor?" Who continued recklessly. "And him," Borusa conceded. "And - " "Very well!" Borussa cut him short angrily. "Yes alright, we often give command of Starships to eight year olds." "I have the body of a mature seventeen year old," Who told him. "And you have to admit, I don't act like an eight year old," he finished, sucking his thumb in satisfaction. "No," Borusa whispered in a tone Who presumed was meant to be menacing but merely meant he couldn't hear what he was saying. "You act more like a four year old!" "What?" Who leaned forward. "I can't make out what you're saying." "That," Borusa whispered, "was the intention." "What?" Who cried. "It's just that I always like to have a chat with my new Captain's before they go out," Borusa returned to his normal level of speech. "What?" Who exclaimed. "I can't hear you." "I'm speaking normally!" Borusa roared, clearly not. "Ah, I can hear you a little better now," Who smiled. "Oh, do be quiet," Borusa told him. "Alright," Who subsided. "And listen to what I have to say," Borusa continued. "Quite." "When you go out in your Starship, the TARDISPRISE, you will encounter many dangers." "Indeed," Who smiled. "And people who want to kill you." "Yes," Who agreed. "And you may have to kill them." "I'm looking forward to it," Who said gleefully. "Or maim them." "Maybe." "I just wondered if you feel you're ready for all that?" "I think Darjeeling will be nice." "What?" Borusa snapped. "I quite agree, although - " "May I ask what you're rambling at?" Borusa demanded. "I think so too," Who smiled. "But as for Earl Grey..." "Are you trying to be funny?" Borusa eyed him coldly. "Not at all." "Good," Borusa frowned. "I just don't happen to think it's very nice to drink," Who concluded. "Do you want to get fired?" Borusa demanded. "Oh yes, that'll do nicely," Who smiled, climbed out of his chair, shook hands with the astonished Borusa, and went to the door. "You're a maniacal, stupid young imbecile!" Borusa roared at him. Who opened the door and smiled at him. "And you." He went out and closed the door after him, still unable to hear a word Borusa was saying. Captain Who, Admiral Borusa, the TARDISPRISE and the undrinkable Earl Grey tea were all existing on the Earth of the far, far future. Earth is a united world, under the wise and benevolent guidance (well, that's what it says in their press releases anyway) of the Admiralty, the elite members of the Presidential Council, the highest of the high, second only to the President. A fine, noble time in which to be alive (back to the press releases again) with the whole of space and, thanks to remarkable scientific discoveries, the whole of time to explore. That is the Captain's mission, he and his crew: To search out new lifeforms, to discover new civilisations, to boldly go where Gene Roddenberry has gone before.... Who's entrance to the console bridge of the TARDISPRISE caused a flurry of activity. People who had been sitting on their behinds and generally doing sod all had to sit up and stand to attention. Who breezed over to the main console like he hadn't noticed. "All looks nice and clean," he confided to a bemused six-headed alien. "Ahh, Captain." Who turned to face a Chinese man in a silly green dress and with a bad case of acne. "That looks bad," Who said cheefully. "You need this," he produced a tube of spot cream and turned and smiled at an invisible audience. "Clearasil!" he cried gleefully, "it really works!" He turned back to the bemused Chinaman and handed him the bottle. "I've always wanted to do that," he grinned childishly. The Chinaman's response was to delve into his underpants, retrieve a stupid green hat, and promptly plonk it on his own head. Who regarded him quizzically. "Didditwobble?" he inquired. The Chinaman looked horrified. "I really don't think that's any of your concern," he sniffed. "What?" Who frowned. "What are you, some kind of perv?" "Course he is," a voice that came from a lamp on the main console chirped in cheekily. "Why else would he be promoted?" This was all getting a bit beyond Who. "Are you Didditwobble?" The Chinaman got it. "Oh, no! That's Didditwobble," he pointed across the room to a crimson-eyed robot whose groinal sockets were plugged into a vacuum cleaner and who had a very large smile on his face. "I'm Mr Wok." "Ah," Who backed away nervously. "You're the one with the contagious genital fungus, aren't you?" "No!" Wok retorted. Who frowned. "Oh, no," he whirled, "that was Mr Swok, wasn't it?" At this, ten or so men pulled violently away from a console desk, leaving one poor individual on his own. "Don't worry," Who reassured them. "You can only get it from sharing needles, sexual intercourse and toilet seats." All those same ten men screamed and ran from the room. "Now I assume the talking lamp is Frobisher, the shapeshifting Whifferdil," Who decided. "Well, a Whifferdil. There is a whole planet load of us, you know," came the cocky reply. "I must say I'm alarmed at that revelation," Who turned back to Mr Wok. "Very well Mr Wok - lift-off!" There was an awful silence. "What?" Wok said quietly. "Lift-off! Get her up there! Engage! Set the dimensional stabilisers, etcetera, etcetera!" "If you mean engage the Zeeg Quong Kloo Positron Feedback Neutron Flow Hyperspace Drive," Wok said coldly, "then say it." "The Peeg Pong what?!" Who exclaimed. "Repeat after me," Wok instructed, "Mr Wok, pretty please will you - " "Please, pretty Mr Wok, will you - " Who continued. "Engage." "Engage." "The Zeeg Quong Kloo Positron Feedback Neutron Flow Hyperspace Drive," Wok finished in a flourish. "The Peeg Pong Poo Deposit Feedback Nutrition Flow U-Bend Tube," Who concluded. Wok sighed. "Better still, just press these buttons and turn the key." Who did so. "Well done," Wok smiled, collapsing into the Captain's chair. "Now sit down and enjoy the take-off." Who sat down, seeing Wok's smile and hearing Frobisher's sly chuckle, and wondering just who was in charge here. CHAPTER TWO Not far away from the newly-launched TARDISPRISE, by a few thousand miles and years give or take, hung the space station Delta Magma, a station as old as the TARDISPRISE was new. It's once gleaming white corridors were a filthy shade of brown - and black - and orange - and...you get the idea. On this week alone, five people had needed urgent medical attention after the chocolate drops on the specialty ice cream cake, had turned out instead to be rat droppings. Two people are still in a coma. The toilets stink like the inside of Tony Robinson's underwear, beds are never made, and rotting furniture is just left, waiting to damage the parenting prospects of the next unfortunate to use them. In fact, the only room in the entire station not looking and smelling like an orangutan's posum pouch was Commander Warriss's. This strange coincedence had come about after the time Commander Warriss had come off-shift from a hard day's work, arrived in her quarters to find the shower on and had stepped inside, assuming it was her lover, Security Chief Phillips, only to be confronted by a pair of her long-since-worn-out, hidden-under-the-bed knickers, which had finally got sick of the waiting and decided if she wasn't going to wash it, it'd jolly well have to do it itself. But how, you ask yourselves, is this possible? Doesn't this place have cleaners? Yes, and that was part of the problem. Space Station Delta Magna had only a very limited budget on which to run yearly, and as the station was a scientific installation to invent and test out new scientific installation to invent and test out new scientific marvels, the major chunk of said budget went toward the hi-tech equipment necessary for such endeavours. Add to this the Commander's personal salary (which tripled the salary of everyone else on the station put together) and this meant very little money was left to employ the 'best' people for major operations such as cleaning. Any old brain-dead mule, Warriss decided, could clean even the crappiest space station toilet. Unfortunately, Warriss, looking for cheap labour, was gullible enough to employ this company: RENT-A-GHOST CLEANING AGENCY We'll make those urine marks vanish - like a ghost! which was run by the Grems, a small, furry, incredibly ugly life-form from Alpha Centauri, who were notorious for, apart from having bad breath, being quite the lousiest workers in the entire space/time continuum, notwithstanding Burger King employees. The Grems are slack, sloppy, but very cheap, and therefore very successful. They were also very successful because, as not one single employee actually did a single scrap of actual work for the company (except for the poor unfortunate who now had to clean Commander Warriss's quarters or face the firing squad), none of the money they were paid for doing this non-existent work had to go on buying new materials. In actual fact, the "RENT-A-GHOST CLEANING AGENCY" did not actually have a single piece of cleaning equipment to begin with. Give a Grem a bottle of washing-up liquid, and he'd think it was the poor man's equivalent of a bedet. The particular Grem on the Delta Magna station, in charge of this brilliant cleaning, was named Olav. He was short, fat, ugly and he was, in all honesty, the sexual king of the entire Grem race. He'd actually made love two whole times! (This is because Grems do not reproduce sexually, but via a process that is too complicated to explain here - and besides, this is a children's book.) Anyway, Olav had just finished a fifteen-minute clean-up job on Commander Warriss's office, and was now slinking away to his own cess-pit to have a two-day rest after all this hard work. Commander Warriss entered her office, brushing past the little Grem and barely noticing him at all. Warriss was a tall, dark-haired, not unattractive woman in her mid-thirties. She was fair, kind, charming, generous, warm, loving, concerned, caring and completely and utterly out of her mind. Warriss went over to her desk and pressed a button. "Security Chief Phillips, report to Commander Warriss's office immediately. Urgent business," she turned off the communicator, and began unbuttoning her uniform. "I need it bad!" Down on A level, Security Chief Phillips heard his Commander's message and cast a glance of mock-suffering at Lieutenant Rogers. "Sorry," grinned Phillips, his mind reeling with memories of the last time Commander Warriss had called him to her office like this. They'd played "What do you get if you mix custard sauce and a famiy-sized tub of blueberry yoghurt?" God, it had been a great night! "Guess I'm in demand," Phillips hurried away, wondering why his perfectly comfortable trousers were becoming tighter by the minute. Lieutenant Rogers, who like everyone else on the station (even Olav the Grem) knew perfectly well what Warriss and Phillips got up to together, merely glanced despairingly after him. "I hope it gets trapped in there," he commented crudely, bewildering some factory workers, and enraging one who was involved in a fight to the death with the station's printing press for possession of his tie (that was, incidentally, still around his neck). Rogers went back to work. Security Chief Phillips entered Warriss's office, checking no one saw him start unbuckling his belt. Warriss was sitting behind her desk, the table obscuring her body from view below her shoulders. "Not yet, Phillips, not yet." "Oh, ple-ase, Commander," Phillips whined pathetically. "Soon," Warriss reproved. "But we have a problem." "No, no, I remembered them this time," Phillips objected, reaching into his pocket. "Silence, Phillips!" Warriss's tongue stung him hard. "This is a grave matter. Very grave." "What's the matter?" Phillips tried to pretend he was concerned, but all he really cared about was getting these air-restricting trousers off. "As you are no doubt aware," Warriss began, "my salary for running this lovely little station is of a rather high nature. Some say too high." "You truly deserve every penny," Phillips lied. "You really are desperate for me to get my knickers off, aren't you?" Warriss rasped. "Yes, sir!" Phillips said eagerly. Warriss fumed. "That was a rhetorical question, Phillips!" "Oh," Phillips was puzzled. "So why ask it?" "Can I get on with it?" Warriss roared. "No, but you can get off with it," Phillips began. "PHILLIPS!" "Sorry, sir, get on with it, sir," Phillips subsided. "Thank you," Warriss drew in her breath. "As I said, some people think my salary is too high. This afternoon, a man from the company, Steven Spielberg, is coming here. He's coming here to see this station in action, or more specifically, to see me in action." "He knows about us?" Phillips really wasn't following the conversation at all. "Shut up, Phillips," Warriss said dangerously. "If he thinks the station isn't doing a good enough job, if he thinks I'm not doing a good enough job, he will recommend that my salary be slashed. I can't let that happen, Phillips. So you know what you're going to have to do?" "Butter him up?" Phillips suggested. "Butter him up? You're going to have to smother him in it!" Warriss roared. "And if, at the end, he still decides to recommend that they cut my salary - you know what we're going to have to do to him, don't you?" Phillips stared at her in dawning horror. "No...no, you can't!" "Can't I?" Warriss grinned evilly. "Why not?" "Because it's obscene!" Phillips protested wildly. "You can't! You just can't force him to drink Earl Grey tea!" "I'm not talking about tea, Phillips!" Warriss raged. "I'm talking about murder!" "Murder?" Phillips sighed. "Thank God for that. But how?" "Oh, not by shooting him or sticking a knife in him," Warriss shook her head. "Far too crude, far too obvious." "Then what?" Phillips inquired. "This is a scientific installation, remember?" Warriss smiled. "Now science can mean danger. And our Mr Spielberg is going to have to meet some very dangerous science, get my meaning?" she laughed. Phillips burst out laughing, then stopped. "No." "Just forget it, Phillips," Warriss smiled. "Just forget it." Phillips nodded, wondering if he'd get out of these trousers while he still had functional genitals. Warriss smiled coyly. "Would you like to play a game, Phillips?" Phillips nodded. Warriss stood up, revealing herself to be clad only in a leather-skin leotard that, in all honesty, really did look better on Louise Jameson. "I think I'm going to like this game, Commander," Phillips smiled. "Good," Warriss reached into her drawer and pulled out a whip. "Bend over, Phillips." He did so. Warriss uncoiled the whip and struck with a painful thwack! "Oh, yes," Phillips moaned. Warriss struck again. Thwack! "Oh, yes." Thwack! "Oh, yes!" Thwack! "More, more!" Thwack! "Yes, yes!" Thwack! "Can I take my trousers off yet?" The TARDISPRISE had been in orbit around Earth for around ten minutes now and Captain Who decided it was about time he reasserted his authority. He leapt to his feet. "Right, Mr Wok," he said crisply, "I think it's time we went." "Where to, Captain?" Wok instantly sensed a new authority in Who's voice. "Set a course to somewhere not too far away, where we can stop and have a cup of tea," Who smiled. "Like?" Wok still wasn't going to make it easy for him. "Oh, er - " Who paused, considering, "oh I know! Set a course for Sector ZZ6, Dalton Magna - I mean Delta Magma 544785." "Yes, Captain," Wok began implementing his instructions. Who looked around, suddenly restless. "Does anyone know what kind of tea we have on this ship?" From the moment Steven Spielberg stepped out of his shuttle craft onto the landing bay of Space Station Delta Magma, it was immediately obvious to Lieutenant Rogers that he was trouble. "Can I see your security pass, please sir?" Rogers inquired. "What the hell for?" Spielberg had had a bugger of a day, what with Frank and Kathleen's romantic hassles to worry about, not to mention his own wife's apparent lesbian tendencies, and the last thing he needed was some poncy bureaucrat who didn't know his arse from his elbow. "Stop this tot and take me to Commander Warriss immediately." "I'm afraid the Commander's busy at the moment, Mr Spielberg," Rogers protested as politely as he could. "I don't care if she's making love with a lubricant-covered dolphin, I want to see her!" Spielberg bellowed. "What d'you think I'm here for - to make movies?!" Who looked around the perfectly still TARDISPRISE and nodded his approval. "Very still, very calm. It's a great ship. You really wouldn't know we were hurtling through hyperspace, would you?" Wok glanced up from the console with a malicious grin. "That's because we haven't set off yet, Captain." Who noticed with some disconcertment that the lamp was visibly shaking with laughter. CHAPTER THREE Professor Watkins was a curious little man, with curious eating habits, curious dress sense and a curious sex life. All this was even more curious as three of the aforementioned topics were all connected with sheep. He was having his lunch hour, and he looked up from his lamb chop somewhat sheepishly as Commander Warriss and Security Chief Phillips entered the room. "Bah, excuse me," he said quickly, standing up. "Quite alright," Warriss smiled pleasently. "Carry on about your bah-business. Mind if we have a look around?" "Of course not, Commander," Watkins regained his seat. Warriss and Phillips began inspecting his laboratory. "There's some very interesting things in here, you know," Warriss stated. Phillips was busy looking down her blouse. "You're telling me." "Phillips, could you keep your mind on the job?" Warriss sighed. "I'd rather keep my body on it," Phillips bleated. Watkins looked up. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" he inquired. "Shut up," Warriss ordered, then returned her attention to Phillips. "Look at this," she pointed at several rubber test tubes that held some strange, bubbling liquid. "Do you know what this is?" "Rubbers," Phillips grinned. "You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?" "Phillips, could you keep your mind off sex for five minutes?!!?" Warriss bellowed. "Just five?" "Just five," Warriss promised. Phillips began checking his watch. "What are you doing?" "Timing myself," Phillips said earnestly. "This'll be a record." "Phillips, in these test-tubes is a liquid that is a genetically engineered marvel. This liquid makes things come alive." "I'm already alive for you," Phillips was clearly mistaking minutes for seconds. "Phillips, will you stop bleating!" Warriss roared. Watkins looked up again. "Did someone mention sheep?" "Shut up!" Warriss and Phillips said together. Warriss turned her venom back onto Phillips. "This liquid is known as Co3 H2 4o. It genetically restructures inanimate objects - providing there is some organic content. It would, for example, make Professor Watkins' lamb chop come to life." "Are you two having a game with me?" Watkins demanded. Warriss just ignored him. "This is perfect, Phillips, just perfect." "It is?" Phillips didn't understand, but then, there was very little Phillips did understand, except for events that concerned using bikini's as sling-shots. "I have now decided to get rid of Mr Spielberg immediately," Warriss told him. "I have already drafted a report stating that I am perfect for the job, with the forged signature of Mr Spielberg. He will die, and I will still be the highest-paid station manager in the cosmos." "What's that got to do with rubbers?" Phillips wanted to know. Warriss narrowed her eyes greedily. "Mr Spielberg wants to tour the station. It's going to be a very dangerous tour, know what I mean?" Phillips laughed, long and hard. "No." The TARDISPRISE came out of hyperspace in Sector ZZ6 Delta Magna 544785, and it's unfortunate crew started to come out of unconsciousness after a somewhat bumpy flight. Didditwobble, who during the flight had, for a few alarming moments, actually lost physical contact with his genitals, clumped along to Captain Who and shook him. "Cap-a-ten, are you all-right?" he said metallicly. Who leapt up, dazed. "There's Klingons on the starboard bow, starboard bow, Klingons on the starboard bow, Scotty beam me up!" "I think you may have con-cush-on, Cap-a-ten," Didditwobble suggested. The lamp uncoiled itself. "No," Frobisher moaned, "he's always been like that." Mr Wok staggered to his feet. "Where are we, Didditwobble?" "At our in-ten-ded des-tin-a-shon," Didditwobble replied. "Sec-tor Zed Zed Sick - " "Yeah, yeah," Frobisher interrupted, "we get the picture," "Anywhere round here sell tea?" Who wondered. Spielberg was facing Warriss in her office and, frankly, he was not impressed. "Frankly, I'm not impressed," he told her. "And what, pray tell, are you not impressed with?" Warriss demanded. "I have to tell you?" Spielberg was amazed. "For the highest paid station manager in the corporation, Commander Warriss, you are a disgrace. This station is a mess, it's work production is practically non-existent, morale is currently to be located on one of the Ice Moons of Zonda, quite a few billion light years from where it ought to be, discipline is laughable to say the least, and health standards are nothing short of scandalous! I hear that two men died moments ago from cat dropping poisoning!" "It was rat droppings," Warriss said defensively. "There is no difference!" "Yes, there is," Warriss replied quietly, "especially in taste." "I can vouch for that, sir," Phillips spoke from the door. Spielberg swung around. "You see - security personnel eavesdropping on confidential senior management conversations! This place is a shambles!" Phillips moved awkwardly from foot to foot. "I was just going to suggest, sir, that I show you something that would change your whole outlook on life on this station." "Oh?" Spielberg mocked. "And where would this miracle be?" Phillips smiled thinly. "The Science Department." "Ah, ," Who was reading the information on the scanner. "A space station, now that does look interesting." "Fascinating, I'm sure," Frobisher groaned. Who ignored him. "I think a little expedition might be in order." Wok frowned. "Why?" Who shrugged. "Well, they might have some tea on board." Wok rolled his eyes. Frobisher just moved his cables a little. "Right, Mr Wok, Frobisher and myself - into the teleport cubicle...oh, and Frobisher, change shape from that lamp." "Into what?" Frobisher bristled. "Something human might be appropriate," Who advised. There was a peculiar noise, a strange blurring around the lamp, and Frobisher transformed into what looked like an ageing hippy, with long, straggly hair, stupid red glasses, flowery shirt and flared trousers. "Hey man..." Frobisher grinned. "Don't you just dig my new form?" "Frobisher, how dare you so rudely disregard my orders!" Who bellowed at the top of his voice, in a real rage. Even Frobisher flinched. "What did I do?" Who was flushed with anger. "I told you to change into something human!" Security Chief Phillips and Commander Warriss ushered Spielberg into the Science Department. "Professor Watkins?" Phillips called. "Watkins?" Watkins jumped up from behind his desk, covered in white hair, a struggling sheep in his arms, and his fly undone. "I was just...we were just...
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