'Repeat to yourself, it's just a show - I should really just relax.'

- Love Theme From Mystery Science Theatre 3000

Welcome to the future.

An age of starships, federations, and space empires.

Some ships are noble.

Some are feared.

And some are negligible.

Prepare to encounter a ship that is all of these things. Prepare to meet Euan, Ruth, Leila, Ksenia, Graham, Colleen, Terri, Bobbi, Ratbat and Emma...the senior staff of the USS Compromise.

The lives of the crew of the USS Compromise

© Urac Sigma & Leila Fetter 1995

Star Trek: The Last Generation created by Leila Fetter and Urac Sigma

With apologies to Gene Roddenberry

Lieutenants Hick and O'Ferez

Colleen tapped the necessary glowing controls on her panel. ‘Shuttlecraft Heineken,’ she announced into the intercom, ‘you are cleared for departure.’

Behind her, the captain forgot to mention that he was leaving the bridge, then wandered off into his ready room. The green-skinned Terri O’Ferez finished all pretence of doing work and turned to her brownish-toned colleague. ‘Colleen...?’ she asked.

‘Yeah?’

‘How long have you been going to get married?’

Colleen paused for a minute. ‘Ummmm...it’s 2373 now, that means...for...seven or nine years? Yeah, about that.’

Terri scowled. Since joining the crew of the NSF flagship, she had become a good scowler. ‘Seven or nine years? That’s a funny way of reckoning.’

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Why seven or nine? Why not seven or eight? Or eight or nine?’

‘No, I can’t have been engaged for an even number of years.’

‘Why not?’

‘Don’t be silly, sweetheart, I just can’t have been.’

‘Oh. All right.’ Terri made to press a few buttons in a pretence of doing work, then realised she would be fooling no-one but herself, who didn’t care. ‘Don’t you ever think that that’s a pretty long engagement?’

‘No.’

‘Uh. Fine.’

‘In fact...over on Neelablan, you wouldn’t even think about getting married if you hadn’t been engaged for fifteen years.’

‘Ow,’ winced Terri. ‘Now, that’s commitment.’ She paused, remembering a common reason for many marriages on Earth. ‘But what if...?’

‘What?’

‘You know, what if you have to get married in a hurry?’

‘Oh, that. That’s all right. A Neelablan pregnancy lasts for twenty years.’ She saw Terri go beyond wincing, and couldn’t help but shudder herself. Even the maternalest of instincts couldn’t help but see that as slightly daunting. [1] Still, it must be somewhat different there, given that there were so many Neelablan.[2] She changed the subject before she gave herself a mental image she couldn’t handle. ‘Do you ever wonder why we do this job?’

Terri shrugged. ‘It was either that or back to the Istanbul restaurant.’

‘Oh, yeah - I remember that.’ Who didn’t remember that day in 2174 when the entire city of Istanbul had been turned into an enormous eatery?

‘What about you?’

‘Oh, it just gave me something to do for a while. Listen - about the bridesmaids’ dresses...I’ve given up on mauve. What do you think about spots?’

And so the starship cruised on...

No matter how old he might be in body, Captain Euan Bowen would always remain about ten in spirit.

However, when you’ve been ten in spirit for long enough, you end up becoming not so much grown-up, more a sort of grown-up ten-year-old.

He was sitting alone in his ready room, and realising that he was just that - alone. He was four hundred and ninety-seven years old, and - to unimaginatively coin a phrase - never been kissed.

He’d been seduced three times just in the last year, but he’d never been kissed.[3]

It wasn’t that he was unattractive - quite the opposite, he knew that he was quite handsome - his mother had told him so enough times - it was just that...well, in all of almost five hundred years, he’d never really found that...that special someone.

And the Compromise wasn’t exactly the Federation’s hottest date-spot.

He thought back over the three encounters he’d had. All three were little more than accidents, he had to admit. Anyway, the first one wouldn’t really get him anywhere - not so much because it hadn’t actually gone all the way, but because the young lady in question was now dead. And as for the second...well, he’d been sick and not in full control - despite what Dr Graham said about his being in full control and thereby capitulating to Lieutenant Ritherdon of his own accord.

But what about the third? That great...‘misunderstanding’ aboard the Private Imperial Compromise with Chief Scholes.

That had been a bit different. Maybe she... Maybe him and her...

Propelled by a sudden impulse, he tapped the intercom button on his desk. ‘Captain to Engineering,’ he said.

There was an ever-so-brief pause, then he heard: ‘Engineering. Lieutenant Ritherdon. What’s up, Euan?’

‘Ah!’ he squeaked. ‘Um, nothing. It’s down now, er...it’s fixed now. Uh, bye.’

He closed the channel. Oh, well...it had been a whim, and it hadn’t paid off. He was a starship captain, and he had more important things to worry about. Sinking down off his chair, he began searching the floor for the Cobra BAT figure’s backpack.

Chief Robyn Scholes walked back into engineering. She had only ducked out to the little girls’ room, but a bizarre maintenance error on the part of Ensign Robinson meant that an awful lot of restrooms were out of order, and the nearest working one was up in the saucer section.

Travelling over twenty decks just to relieve herself had given her time to reflect on aspects of her life. Some things were trivial - she might have had the longest hair out of anyone on the crew, but she was still the second flattest girl (and only the eighth flattest person) on the ship. Some things were a bit less trivial - like the fact that she hadn’t had a real consort in quite a long time. And CFs didn’t count. Or wouldn’t if she’d had any. Except...well, that wasn’t even...that had, quite literally, been an accident.

She came up to the scanner table, where Chaedy was conducting a level 4 diagnostic, and finding it very difficult because she was actually going at it backwards.

‘I’m back,’ Robyn greeted her. ‘Anything interesting happen while I was out?’

Chaedy shook her head. ‘Nuh.’

‘Hm.’ Robyn shrugged. Somehow, she’d been expecting (hoping?) that the captain would call down for her.

Oh, well... She flicked Chaedy’s panel back into order, then returned to work herself.

And so the starship cruised on...

Commander Sigma wandered into Counsellor Fetter’s quarters, which were kept, as ever, unlocked. The Counsellor was just visible as a red-haired bump under a considerable pile of bedclothes.

‘Time to get up, darling,’ Ratbat ordered.

‘Goorrrawttsty,’ replied the bump.

‘It’s nearly nine o’clock. If ye don’t get up now, the better part of the day will be gone!’

Leila finally shoved herself upright. ‘I hate mornings!’

Ratbat flopped down on the bed beside her. ‘I wouldn’t do this if you didn’t ask me to, darling.’

‘I know. It’s the only way I can get out of bed. But I still hate mornings!’ She seized a camouflage-patterned toy dinosaur and gave Ratbat a thump with it.

‘Oi! That’s not very nice!’

‘Well, you did wake me up.’

‘You asked me to!’

‘So?’

Ratbat grinned. ‘OK, you win. What shall we do today?’

Leila replied with a phrase that Ratbat had come to know and hate. ‘Let’s play!’

Ratbat buried her head in the pillow. It was an unfortunate move, however, as Leila chose that moment to bounce off the bed. The resulting change in the shape of the mattress catapulted her sister on to the floor.

‘What are you doing down there, Sig?’

‘Havin’ sex,’ replied the chiropteran, muffled by the carpet.

‘Not on my floor you’re not!’

Leila wandered into the adjacent bathroom to get dressed. Despite the fact that she and Ratbat had been friends for close to five hundred years, she was still coy about getting dressed in public, or at least what she called public.[4]

An hour later, they finally managed to emerge from the Counsellor’s quarters.

‘What shall we do today? And, Leila, if you say let’s play, I’ll hit you.’ Ratbat stopped at a replicator to get a cheeseburger.

‘Let’s go shopping,’ Leila said, a bit put out at not being able to use her favourite line. ‘I want a new nail file.’

‘OK.’

On their way, the odd pair ran into the other pair that was Lieutenants O’Ferez and Hick. They were arguing about the bridesmaids’ dresses again.

‘Ratbat, tell her that mauve dresses with orange spots don’t go with green skin!’ Terri complained.

‘She’s right, darling, you can’t make Tel wear mauve.’ Ratbat didn’t like mauve on anyone, verdæsean or otherwise. ‘Make them light grey.’

‘But spots??? Ratti, make her be sensible!’ Terri was still worried about the orange bit.

‘Work it out for yourselves, guys. We’re going shopping,’ Leila interrupted.

‘Oh, go on. Why don’t you come with us and pick out bouquets?’ Terri suggested.

‘Because the wedding is next year, and even if you buy the bouquet now it will be dead by the time you actually need it!’

‘So?’

‘Hah!’

The two pairs wandered off in separate directions.

‘I’m getting sick of holidays,’ said Leila. ‘Nothing to do.’

And so the starship cruised on...

Groovy Kind of Love (synthesiser version) - Russell B

It was no use trying to deny it. Dr Graham Henstock was drunk. So was Transporter Chief Emma the Techie. The two of them had been trying to drink each other under the table for the past hour and a half. The trouble was, both were too experienced. Both were too good at it.

‘You’re pissed,’ Graham told Emma unsteadily.

‘Crap,’ said Emma. ‘I can hold my drink as easy as the next girl.’

‘Yeah, only if the next girl’s pished.’

‘Crap.’

‘Crap it’s crap.’

‘Again.’ They both reached for another shot glass, and both downed it simultaneously.

‘How many’s that?’ Graham asked the two gold-and-black shaven-headed transporter operators before him.

Emma looked at the haphazard glass pyramid before them. ‘Forty-three,’ she slurred.

‘Betcha pass out any second.’

A whole bunch of any seconds passed, and neither passed out. ‘Bugger,’ Graham added.

‘You’re only OK ‘cos you’re sitting down!’ Emma retorted. ‘Second you get up...kerspalash!’

‘Splash?’ queried Graham.

‘Yeh, splash. Dead in a pool of your own dribble.’

‘Fuck off.’

‘Fuck on. Again.’

‘Gotta pour.’

‘Got a poor what?’

‘Got a poor sense of direction, ‘cos I just splilt the drink.’

‘Pour it proper, then!’

Graham poured, and they drank again.

‘Forty-four,’ they both said. Well, ‘Fargy-far,’ anyway.

‘My head hurtsh,’ admitted Emma.

‘So does mine! My your head hurtsh!’

‘You don’have my head...’

‘Gimme your head.’

‘You’re joking.’

‘Aw, come on! You just pick on me all the time, you do, Emma Coco-Pops!’

‘Dere’zh a good reason for that.’

‘What?’

‘I hate you.’

‘Then why are y’drinking with me?’

Emma paused. She didn’t rock back on her chair for fear of it disappearing beneath her. ‘Dunno. Le’sh go again.’

Graham somehow managed to pour two more shots, which they consumed even more unsteadily than they had the previous forty-four.

‘Forty-five shots...’ said Graham shakily.

‘Yah...We’re not going to out-drink each other, are we?’

‘Nah...we’re not even afflecticled.’ He paused. ‘Let’s get outta here,’ he said at last.

‘Good idea.’ They both rose from their chairs, took a step toward the door, and fell face-down on the floor.

Back at the bar, Emma the Klingon frowned to herself. Every fucking Friday.

And so the starship cruised on...

Ksenia was really wishing that Ruth had somewhere else to be. She had successfully either exhausted or destroyed all of the phaser ranges on the ship, and her favourite victim, Ensign Thomas, had last been seen within the Heineken heading for parts unknown, or at least for parts very far away.

So, Lieutenant RK Crabb had decided to while away her morning ‘protecting’ Ksenia and her work.

‘I told you before, Ruth - they’re just ore samples from the survey expedition last week. They’re not going to attack anything, so they don’t need you to watch over them.’

Ruth sulked. She looked towards the door and thought about leaving through it, but then decided against it. ‘Well, what are they ore samples of?’ she asked.

‘Ore,’ said Ksenia absently.

Ruth growled, then rather harshly contacted her phaser against Ksenia’s tailbone. ‘What kind of ore?’

Ksenia ignored her, twitching her backside to get it away from the firearm. ‘We don’t know yet. That’s why I have to run tests.’

‘Might they be an energy source?’

Ksenia paused. She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like Ruth had just asked an intelligent question. ‘Quite possibly,’ she said.

‘Like for the weapons?’

Ksenia sighed. Single-minded or what, this chick? ‘Again, possibly,’ she had to admit.

‘Then can you build me a new phaser?’

‘Why are you always modifying your personal armoury? What’s wrong with it as it is?’

‘You can never be too armed.’ Ruth paused, considering. ‘No, you can never be armed enough.’ She heard a snicker from behind her. ‘Shut up!’ she snapped. She whipped her phaser behind her and fired in that manner that looks so much better if you actually hit what you’re thinking of instead of using the wrong setting and just blowing Louise’s hair.

‘God.’ Ksenia sighed again. She tried to ignore Ruth and get on with her work.

‘Hey! How do you know I don’t have a good reason for it? What makes you so sure that when I was sixteen I wasn’t on a corrupt and collapsing colony planet, running through caves and chased by rape gangs?’

Ksenia looked at her. ‘Because when you were sixteen, you were at the same school I was. And I didn’t go to school in a rape cave colony, or whatever it was you said.’

‘Hmph. What’s this?’

‘It’s my tricorder.’

‘Does it fire?’

‘No.’

Ruth grumbled.

‘Look,’ said Ksenia, paying attention at last. ‘Why don’t you go and use the main phaser banks to carve your initials on a planet, or something?’

Ruth thought about it. ‘That’s a good idea,’ she said, then disappeared from the room. Ksenia shook her head and returned to work. Louise approached her.

‘That’ll be the fourth “RKC” planet this month,’ she told her department head, then left also.

Ksenia watched her go. ‘Good,’ she muttered to herself. ‘They can chart them with all the LDMs.’

And so the starship cruised on...and on...and on...

A no-stop, one-way, express-trip night-flight to nowhere.