Don Trek The Black Whole
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Don Trek: Deep Sleep Station Nine free porn video
ACT ONE
‘Captain’s log stardate 9410.20: We have received orders from Starfleet Command and are enroot to starbase Deep Space Station Hooters, in the fifth quadrant, to deliver much needed medical supplies and frozen wings. It’s will also serve as a much needed bit of shore leave as we have been working pretty much nonstop for well over a star-month since out launch.’
‘Capt. Don I can’t stress how important it is that you arrive in a timely manner,’ pleaded Cmdr. Crisco manager of Deep Space Hooters, ‘this place is more like a Deep Sleep Station than a family restaurant without those desperately needed wings. Oh and we need those band-aids and ace bandages too.’
‘Cmdr. Crisco I’m doing all I can,’ explained Capt. Don. ‘According to our fuel calculations we’re pushing it as it is. I promise you we will be there no later than originally promised. USS Bonneville out.’
‘I won’t lie Capt. Don, I’m looking forward to the time on Deep Space Hooters myself,’ said Cmdr. Mike dreamily. ‘I don’t know what about that place makes me crave their wings so much, or maybe it’s their cheese cake.’
‘I do not understand the human desire for scantily clad females to deliver hot wings to their tables accompanied by alcoholic beverages,’ stated the fully Vulcan Lt. Solok.
‘It’s because they’re perverts Lt. Solok,’ offered Lt. Pam.
‘Ha ha ha ha,’ Capt. Don and Cmdr. Mike laughed together.
‘We’re picking up a strange impulse emission in our general vicinity,’ reported Ensign Tommy.
‘Those findings would be consistent with a Klingon battle cruiser,’ added Lt. Solok, ‘and my scans confirm the emissions.’
‘Shields up, red alert!’ ordered Capt. Don.
‘They have to uncloak to fire,’ mentioned Cmdr. Mike, ‘ready battle stations!’
‘They better watch out, there dealing with a top of the line Excelsior-class starship,’ boasted Capt. Don, ‘the USS Bonneville is not paper target or long dead satellite.’
‘The battle cruiser is now decloaking,’ reported Lt. Solok.
‘They mean to fight,’ offered Cmdr. Mike.
‘The Klingons are hailing us,’ announced Lt. Pam.
‘Put them on screen,’ ordered Capt. Don.
‘Este es el barco de era a Klingon Viper y sabemos lo que su carga es y si no se presenta la vuelta vamos a destruir su nave.’
‘Lt. Pam, what the hell did he just say,’ asked Capt. Don, ‘is there something wrong with the universal translator?’
‘There’re no error readings or red flashy lights blinking over here Capt. Don.’
‘No pruebe mis pacientes porque yo soy un guerrero era a poderoso y voy a deleitarse en sus alas de pollo esta noche insignificante Federación hormiga!’
‘What the hell? Does anyone on this ship speak Klingon? How can we know what they want, how can we know what to refuse them, or why we are blowing them out of space if we can’t understand a word they’re saying? This is Capt. Don of the USS Bonneville on an important humanitarian mission to deliver medical supplies to a family restaurant that employs scantily clad human females as waitresses. If we can come to an understanding then we won’t have to destroy you and maybe I can buy you a beer,’ offered Capt. Don.
‘Es un buen día para que te mueras Federación era a!’
‘They are getting ready to fire sir,’ offered Lt. Solok.
‘Ensign Tommy, fire phasors at the Klingon ship!’
‘Yes Capt. Don,’ answered Ensign Tommy as he pushed the ‘fire phasors’ button.
‘Someone look up the Klingon phrase, ‘die you poopy headed douche-bag,” ordered Capt. Don
‘We seem to be fairly matched with the Klingon ship,’ stated Lt. Solok.
Lt. Pam looked up the phrase Capt. Don requested and sent it to the display on the Captain’s chair.
‘Teñir tu caca encabezaba DOUCHE-BAG,’ barked Capt. Don at the Klingon commander on the screen.
‘What, what did you just say,’ laughed the Klingon Commander, ‘you just told by to ‘dye my poop headed douche-bag,’ what is that supposed to mean. How does one dye a douche-bag? Ha ha ha ha!’
‘And the asshole speaks English,’ smirked Cmdr. Mike.
‘Lock photon torpedoes and fire Ensign Tommy,’ ordered Capt. Don.
‘Locked and fired sir!’
‘Hoy en día la era a era suya Capitán Don, pero un día de mi muerte era vengada por mi hermano, que estará al mando de un Klingon acorazado llamado El caballo blanco y le traerá la muerte!’
‘Is someone recording this shit so we can find out what the hell he is saying later?’ asked Capt. Don.
‘I am recording and processing all the data,’ responded Lt. Camcorder, ‘and have translated the entire conversation. Do you want to hear it now?’
‘Capt. Don,’ interrupted Lt. Solok, ‘the Klingon ship is about to explode but they managed to fire one torpedo at us and we will sustain a direct hit.’
‘He says that so calmly,’ observed Cmdr. Mike.
‘Well he’s a Vulcan,’ quipped Capt. Don.
‘Prepare for impact!’ yelled Ensign Tommy.
The dual impact of parts of the Klingon battleship and the photon torpedo shook the USS Bonneville and its crew to the point where almost everyone fell out of their seats.
‘Damage reports are coming in from all decks,’ reported Lt. Pam.
‘This is Engineer Bourbon from, uh, engineering. We have sustained a direct hit to the matter/antimatter…’
‘Lt. Pam,’ barked Capt. Don, ‘get him back on the line!’
‘…the short of it is that we have no fuel!’
ACT TWO
‘I’ve called this meeting of the command staff to try to come up with ideas,’ explained Capt. Don.
‘There is a matter mining plant two and a half parsecs,’ offered Lt. Solok, ‘and there is an antimatter plant three parsecs away in the other direction. It would be possible for us to make it to the matter plant and part of the way to the antimatter plant, or to make it to the antimatter plant then leave its orbit and be stranded without the matter.’
‘Then we should go to the antimatter plant, because we have all the matter we need here on the ship,’ stated Lt. Pam.
The Tennessean-Scottish engineer Mr. Bourbon then corrected her. ‘No lass, if you mixed unrefined matter with refined antimatter then the whole ship could blow!’
‘Then there’s nothing we can do, we have to wait for another Starfleet ship to come and rescue us,’ sighed Cmdr. Mike.
‘That’s not an option,’ declared Capt. Don, ‘well, I guess it’s an option, but not one I will allow us to suffer. The people on Deep Space Hooters are counting on us to bring them their much needed frozen chicken wings, not to mention the medical supplies. Are there any other options Bourbon?’
‘Yes, there’s one more option,’ offered Mr. Bourbon, ‘and it’s bourbon.’
Capt. Don asked, very puzzled, ‘say again?’
‘Bourbon Capt. Don, our option is none other than bourbon itself,’ proclaimed the engineer of the same name. ‘If I can take the residual amounts of matter and antimatter that are still left in the containment tanks and mix the matter with the bourbon, then eject the matter infused bourbon into the matter/antimatter containment field it just might get us enough to sustain a warp jump long enough to get us within transporter range of Deep Space Hooters!’
‘Then do it!’ Capt. Don ordered and the crew returned to their posts.
‘Lt. Camcorder, I’m gonna need your help,’ asked Mr. Bourbon, ‘would ya be will’n to use your internal pathways to better refine the Bourbon before it’s mixed with the matter?’
‘It would be an agreeable thing for me to do as only I could get the bourbon distilled to the exacting level it would need to be distilled to,’ agreed Lt. Camcorder.
‘You better be doing all that you can Capt. Don or I’ll have your career for this! Deep Space Station Hooters OUT!’
‘What an ass,’ mumbled Capt. Don under his breath. ‘We need warp speed Mr. Bourbon!’
‘If we filter this too fast it could cause Lt. Camcorder’s heads to b
low, the four internal ones and the one on top! We are doing the best we can!’
It was the truth, they were doing all they could and Lt. Camcorder’s internal pathways were flooded with bourbon at a capacity that she was never designed to tolerate.
‘Mr. Bourbon,’ she began, ‘I do not know what is happening to me. Every system seems to pass diagnostic checks yet the longer the Bourbon is in my system the most I am forgetting about things that have happened over the last day?’
‘Yes ma’am,’ responded Bourbon, ‘even though you are an android the alcohol is having a similar effect on you as it would a human. If we don’t finish quickly your recording heads will be affected and so will your data storage units, you could forget everything. You would still function but it would be like you’re starting as a brand new machine. Don’t worry, we’re almost done!’
‘Yes,’ she informed, ‘the bourbon is at the optimum purity for the mix. You may now withdraw it from my system and introduce it to the matter.’
‘We need warp speed Mr. Bourbon!’ barked Capt. Don.
‘Any moment now,’ Mr. Bourbon replied.
Capt. Don was getting very nervous on the bridge of the USS Bonneville as he waited for the all go sign from engineering. He tapped on the indicator light willing it to come on!
‘Capt. Don, this is Lt. Camcorder. I am losing my memory of the events that have occurred in the last few hours. I have lost most of the translations I made of the Klingon commander but I must tell you what I know before I forget. He said that, ‘…The White Horse and he will bring you death!”
‘That’s weird.’
‘Warp speed NOW Capt. Don!’ yelled Mr. Bourbon.
‘GO GO GO!’
‘Captain’s log stardate 9410.21: Mr. Bourbon and Lt. Camcorder were able to get us warp speed in time to get within transporter range of Deep Space Hooters so that they had wings in time for the big space cricket game being broadcast from Alpha Centauri. In addition to that we were able to deliver the medical supplies needed for a medical emergency involving many players of a basketball team whose practice facility was carpeted. Dr. Good Doctor said she’d never seen so many level three rug burns in her entire career. The fuel filtering operation took its toll on Lt. Camcorder, one of her four internal heads were completely destroyed by the process and the greater part of a day erased from her permanent memory. She should still be able to function at peak levels with an extended rest period and tape backups till a new head can be installed. I’m left with one question that perplexes me, ‘…el caballo blanco y le traerá la muerte!’ or ‘…the white horse and he will bring you death.’ Whatever, for now, it’s off to Hooters to drink a nice cold pint of Cochrane’s Best Brew.’ ~Capt. Don
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