Doctor Trek - What A Load Of Crap

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
A murder on a space station leads to a - er - sticky situation for the green Captain Who and his new starship crew.

Submitted: June 04, 2008

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Submitted: June 04, 2008

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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! (This is because Grems do not reproduce sexually, but via a process

times

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...

it's not what it looks like, honest!"

"Professor Watkins, it's your tea-break," Warriss told him. "Get out."

"Yes Commander, thank you Commander," Watkins rushed to the door.

"Come along, Flossie," the unlikely couple exited.

"Well?" Spielberg rounded on Warriss and Phillips, "what did you have to

show me? Apart from another example of your obvious inability to control

your staff?"

"It's just around here, Mr Spielberg." Pleasently, Warriss took his arm and

turned him away, nodding at Phillips.

Phillips grabbed one of the rubber test-tubes and threw the contents all over

Spielberg's trousers.

"Whoa! What the hell?!" Spielberg spluttered.

"Oh forgive me, I do apologise," Phillips slobbered. "I must have caught it

with my sleeve."

"Do you realise how expensive wool is these days?" Spielberg demanded,

aghast.

"Your trousers are wool?" Warriss inquired malevolently. "Oh dear. Oh

dear oh dear oh dear..." she burst into a cackle of evil laughter.

 

 

 

 

Darkness.

Just darkness.

Then suddenly a light dawned.

The light of a new life. But...not new...for with this new life, this new ability to

see and comprehend, came memory, knowledge of it's previous, non-living

state.

And that memory brought hatred.

Hatred at the way it had been treated. Worn 'til filthy, so covered in filth you

could almost not see the original colour underneath. Thrown on the floor, and

left there like a discarded piece of trash. The number of times it had been

farted in 'accidentally', urinated on, and walked over like a doormat. Back

then, it had been impotent, unable to object or fight back. But now it had life,

it had strength...and it wanted revenge.

 

 

Spielberg screamed and collapsed, dead. He'd just had the life squeezed

out of him by his own trousers.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FOUR

 

 

 

 

"Leave him, Phillips," Warriss glanced down in distaste at the corpse lying

at her feet.

"He's quite dead."

"And the trousers?" Phillips inquired.

"Harmless now," Warriss smiled. "It was him they wanted to punish."

A strange wheezing, groaning sound suddenly filled the room.

Warriss looked about in panic. "What the hell's that?"

Phillips seized on what he saw as a great opportunity. "A sign from the

God's that we should go to bed together?"

"Phillips," Warriss snarled.

A blue tent with the words "Police Public Call Box" written on the front

suddenly materialised in the corner and three men, one a dandy, one a

Chinaman with questionable dress sense, and one a spaced-out hippy,

emerged from within it.

"Phillips!" Warriss roared.

Phillips drew his gun and advanced on the three strangers. "Hold it right

there!"

"Right where?" Who looked around, bemused.

"Right there!" Wok pointed down at Who's corpse.

"Oh my goodness!" Completely ignoring the gun-toting Phillips, Who leapt

past him and crouched down by the body. "He's dead."

"Whoa man, this is heavy," Frobisher commented.

Who looked sternly up at Commander Warriss. "What's happened here?"

he demanded.

"Who the hell are you?" Warriss scowled.

"Forgive me, I've forgotten my manners," Who leapt up and shook her

hand. "I am Captain James T. Who, the spaced-out one is Frobisher, and

the one looking at the camera is Mr Wok."

"The Captains!" Warriss went purple. "This is all I need!"

Phillips shoved the gun up Who's nose. "Shall I kill them, Commander?"

"No, of course not, Phillips, don't be ridiculous," Warriss snapped.

"Yeah man, lighten up," Frobisher intervened.

"Shut up, hippy!" Phillips yelled.

"Prejudice, man," Frobisher complained. "That ain't cool."

Who was bending down, examining the body. "This man has had all the air

literally squeezed from his body," he looked up, "how?"

"He did say his trousers were a bit tight," Phillips couldn't stifle a chuckle.

Who jumped up and faced him, unsmiling. "Do you find murder funny?"

Phillips paled. "M - m - murder?"

"How do you know it was murder?" Warriss snapped.

Who turned to face her. "Because people don't put on trousers

sixty-thousand times too small for them themselves, Commander!"

"Vot an astute observation," Phillips reeled, wondering where he'd just got

that German accent from.

"Yes, I thought so - " Who began, but stopped himself. "Come on Mr Wok,

Frobisher, something is afoot - and there are clues to find!" he strolled out,

followed by Wok and finally Frobisher.

"Yeah man," Frobisher danced out, "someone might have some drugs, too."

Phillips waited until they had gone and then glared at Warriss. "Why didn't

you let me kill them, Commander?"

"Because, Phillips," Warriss scowled, "they're a part of the Captains' fleet.

We so much as hurt a hair on their heads and we'll have those omnipotent

do-gooders on us and erasing us from time and space! Do you really want

that, Phillips?"

"No, Commander," Phillips admitted.

"Exactly," Warriss smiled. "So we keep our cool, they leave, and the plan

stays the same. You forget, Phillips - absolutely nobody knows what really

happened here."

There was a cough from the doorway. "Well, almost nobody."

It was Olav the Grem.

 

 

 

 

Captain Who, Mr Wok and Frobisher strolled down the corridors of the huge

space station, noting the general filth of the place.

Wgo stopped short. "Not exactly spick and span, is it?"

"It might be a new style," Wok suggested.

"Yeah man, art decor," Frobisher offered.

"I rather think Grem cleaners are more likely." Noting his companions'

bemused expression (although Frobisher always looked like that), Who

elected to explain. "The Grems - they're the worst workers in the history of

the cosmos. They're also short, fat, ugly, devious, cunning and always out

for number one."

Wok was looking at Frobisher strangely. "Are you sure you're a Whifferdil,

Frobisher?"

Frobisher ignored him. "Why have we stopped moving, man?" he asked

Who. "To relax, to chill out, to do some general contemplation, hey?"

"No," Who replied, "to double-back."

"Why?" Wok asked.

"Because there's something evil here," Who frowned, "and I'll wager it's

something to do with the Science Department - and I want to take a look in

there when Commander Warriss and Security Chief Phillips have gone."

"How did you know their names?" Wok was amazed.

"I read the name tags on their uniforms," Who replied. "Smart, huh?"

 

 

 

 

Olav the Grem knew an advantage when he saw one. These two had

committed murder, and he's seen it. "You're in deep trouble," the Grem

growled viciously. "I saw what you did. I could destroy both of you."

"What do you want?" Warriss demanded.

"In return for never telling anyone what I saw here," the Grem chuckled

horribly, "I want to never have to clean your room ever again."

"What?!" Warriss was horrified. "This is sheer blackmail! I won't bow down

to it!"

"Up to you, Commander," the Grem shrugged. "A dirty room - or an ended

career. The choice is yours."

Phillips raised his gun. "I could kill you right now, you little vermin!"

"Another murder, Commander?" the Grem chuckled. "A bit too suspicious,

wouldn't you say?"

Warriss took a deep breath. "Very well, Grem. You have a deal."

"Excellent. Nice doing business with you, Commander."

Fuming, Warriss stormed out, Phillips trailing after her.

Olav watched them go. "Humans," he chuckled. "Pillocks."

"I'm certain the Science Department is the key," Who's voice drifted down

the corridor. "Then we all have to do is find the lock - and bingo!"

Olav looked around desperately. Who and co would come in, find the

chemical, put two and two together, arrest Warriss, and his deal would be

blown! Thinking fast (thinking slow was a difficult enough task for your

average Grem, but Olav was clearly exceptional in more ways than one) the

Grem grabbed the remaining test-tubes of liquid, and ran into the back,

locking himself in the toilet, where the smell soon made him wish he hadn't.

Who, Wok and Frobisher entered the Science Department. "Take a look

around," Who advised. "Tell me if you find anything suspicious - or any tea."

"Yes, Captain," Wok and Frobisher said in unison.

 

 

In the toilet, Olav was looking around in rising panic. He had the evidence in

his hands, and if he was found with it, it would be he who was arrested, and

no one would listen to his story about Warriss and Phillips! Almost hysterical

now, the Grem picked up the toilet seat and emptied the contents of the two

test-tubes into the water, and flushed the chain. Breathing a contented sigh

of relief, Olav bustled into the main laboratory, ignoring the amazed stares

of the three strangers, placed the test-tubes back on the rack, and hurried

away rather too quickly.

"A Grem," Who looked after him suspiciously. "What would a Grem be

doing in the Science Department?!" he picked up the test-tubes and sniffed

them. "My lord, Mr Wok, Frobisher - smell these!"

Mr Wok and Frobisher leaned in, sniffed, and recoiled, coughing.

"Do you know what was in here?" Who demanded excitedly.

"Joss-sticks?" Frobisher offered.

"Co3 H2 4o?" Wok decided,

Who looked rather put out. "Yes, well done, Mr Wok." Wok smiled smugly.

"Of course - it reanimates organic tissue into life! Those trousers! My

Goodness, Mr Wok, do you know what this means?"

"What?" Wok over-acted.

"Murder," Who stared at an invisible audience impressively. "Murder most

foul."

 

 

 

 

Phillips entered Warriss' office and saluted. "You wanted to see me,

Commander? See me, beat me and whip me hopefully?"

"Not just now, Phillips," Warriss sighed. "As you know, I bug every room in

this space station, and you and I both have a good laugh over Professor

Watkins' sexual preferences."

"What? Oh yeah - Flossie!" Phillips chuckled.

"There have been disturbing developments," Warriss informed him.

"Captain Who and co. now know Spielberg was murdered - and it won't

take them long before they realise we did it. They know we used Co3 H2 4o

on Spielberg's trousers, but as yet they have no proof. There will not be

enough chemical left in the test-tubes to prove their claim, and there is no

more anywhere on the station."

"But what about - " Phillips began.

"The Grem tipped them down the toilet," Warriss told him.

"Oh."

"Which means all they have to do is go down to the Sewage Department

and analyse it - and we're done for!" Warriss bawled.

"But who'd go down to the Sewage Department?" Phillips wrinkled his

nose at the very thought.

"We're not talking about going on a picnic, Phillips," Warriss raged. "We're

talking about catching a murderer - me! You! Both of us!" she tried to calm

herself. "I want you to go down to the Sewage Department and eject the

entire stock into space."

"We're not due to that for another two weeks," Phillips objected.

"I don't care, Phillips!" Warriss roared. "That sewage is the only evidence

they've got against you and me! Without it, they've nothing! Now go and

eject the bloody thing!"

"Yes, sir," Phillips hurried away.

Warriss fumed. "Cretin."

 

 

 

 

Security Chief Phillips hurried along until he came to the Sewage

Department. On the computer keyboard by the door, he began keying in the

instructions for ejecting the garbage. As he came to the final keycode, he

heard a strange rumbling noise coming from within. "Hello?" he called. "Is

someone in there?"

More rumbling.

Puzzled, Phillips pressed a button on the terminal and the doors slid open.

The smell hit him in the face and, coughing and spluttering, he made his way

in. "Hello?" he called again. "Is someone in here?" He made his way further,

hearing his feet squelch on sloppy faeces. "This isn't funny!" An ominous

rumbling alarmed him. "Listen punk, I'm one keycode away from ejecting

this lot into space, so whoever's in here better clear out now."

Something moved behind him. Phillips turned and screamed in horror. A

giant load of faecal matter hit him in the face and knocked him to the

floor, unconscious.

All around him, the contents of the sewage dump were coming to life,

slithering and sliding into one huge, pulsating mass of living shit, and soon,

Phillips himself was consumed, to become a part of it.

The blubbering mound of faeces made it's way out the door, intent on

revenge, and filled with hatred for all those who had rejected it from their

bodily systems.

The killing spree had just begun.

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER FIVE

 

 

 

 

"You wanted to see me, Commander?" Watkins inquired, striding into

Warriss' office.

"Indeed, Professor," Warriss greeted him. "You have heard of the

substance called Co3 H2 4o?"

"Of course," Watkins sat down.

"I want you to forget it. Forget it ever existed. Wipe it from your memory,

and while you're at it, wipe all files on the subject. It never existed."

Watkins was horrified. "But it's a major scientific discovery! On what

grounds do you give this outrageous instruction?"

"On the grounds that if you don't," Warriss smiled pleasently, "I shall have

to send photos and audio recordings of the nights you and Flossie spent

together to your wife and family."

"You wouldn't!" All the colour drained from Watkins' face.

"Indeed I would," Warriss grinned malevolently. "Up to you, Professor.

Science - or

family. Which is the more important to you?"

As white as a ghost, Watkins rushed from the room and Warriss gave a

cackle of quite malicious laughter. "Now then," she gasped, recovering

herself, "where is that idiot Phillips?"

 

 

 

 

Down in Engineering, Lieutenant Rogers heard the Commander's voice

echo over the loudspeaker system. "Would Security Chief Phillips please

report to Commander Warriss' office immediately. Repeat, immediately."

Rogers glanced up with a frown. "Legover time again, no doubt," he

commented, and turned to have the life gorged out of him by the smelly

remnants of yesterday's chicken curry.

 

 

 

 

Commander Warriss was ready in her Leela-outfit and whip when Who

came sauntering

in.

"Commander, I think it's time you and I had a little chat," Who told her.

"I really don't think this is the time or place, Captain," Warriss said

offendedly. "I'm expecting company."

"Yes yes, Chief Phillips, I heard," Who dismissed that irritably. "I've really no

interest in that. I'm here to tell you that the game is up, Commander. It's over.

You're finished."

Warriss raised an eyebrow. "Finished? And how might that be, Captain?"

"Mr Wok and Frobisher have gone down to the Sewage Department to

analyse the contents of the garbage. It will be found to contain Co3 H2 4o, a

substance that brings organic, inanimate objects to life - in this case Mr

Spielberg's trousers. The autopsy will reveal to an exact point when he

died - when you were with him. You're a murderer, Commander, and I'm

here to tell you that your cover's blown, and the only future you have is

behind bars."

"Really?" Warriss snarled. She uncoiled the whip and struck. It wrapped

tightly around Who's neck, knocked him to his knees, and began dragging

him across the floor toward him. "You really think I'm going to let a

scarf-covered ponce like you wander in here and ruin all my plans? If I can't

kill you with Co3 H2 4o, if I can't kill you with this whip, then I shall kill you

with my body!" she thrust her breasts forward.

Who eyed her sagely. "Are you trying to seduce me?"

Warriss laughed harshly. "I suppose you could say that."

Who struggled with the whip desperately. "Well, I am only eight. That's

illegal, you know."

Warriss laughed. "Come now, let's not worry about that."

Wok and Frobisher came skidding in. "Captain!" Wok began breathlessly.

"Oh, sorry..."

"That's wild, man," Frobisher regarded Who's predicament. "Free love,

huh? And they said the sixties were over."

"Perhaps we should leave and come back later," Wok suggested.

"Help...me..." Who gasped for breath.

Wok and Frobisher rushed over and released Who from the whip.

Who climbed to his feet, pointing at Warriss in defiance. "You're

finished, Warriss. Wok and Frobisher have the evidence to destroy you.

Don't you?"

"No, we don't," Wok shook his head.

"Sorry to lay this on you, man," Frobisher apologised, "but it was all gone."

"All of it?" Who was stunned.

"Ejected into space," Warriss informed him gleefully, "beyond your grasp.

I'm rather afraid your gloating came too soon, Captain."

"We know you did it," Wok spat, "and we'll find a way to prove it."

"I have no doubt you will," Warriss clicked her fingers. "Olav!"

Who, Wok and Frobisher whirled to see Olav the Grem in the doorway,

covering them with a blaster.

"And that's why I can't let you live," Warriss finished.

 

 

 

 

Professor Watkins hurried back to his laboratory, his life in crisis. Co3 H2

4o was a major discovery - he couldn't destroy all trace of it's existence...

could he? But if he didn't - his wife had been very understanding about his

first fling with Flossie, but if she found out he'd been seeing her again...it

didn't bah thinking about. He looked up, just in time to see an unimaginably

large piece of shit thundering toward him. "Oh my goodness," in horror,

Watkins saw the face of Lieutenant Rogers staring deathly out from under

mounds of faeces. Screaming in terror, Watkins turned tail and ran for his

life.

 

 

 

 

"Mr Wok, are you sure there was nothing left?" Who begged.

"Not inside, no," Wok shook his head, "but there was some kind of trail

leading out... brown and smelly...it looked like someone had been dragging

all the crap from inside along the floor."

Warriss was becoming suspicious. "Was there any sign of Chief Phillips?"

"No," Wok told her, "why?"

"Yes, why?" Who stared at her curiously. "Getting worried, Commander?"

"Not at all," Warriss stared at them with loathing, "and I'm tired of your

incessant babbling. Olav - kill them all!"

"With pleasure, mistress," the little Grem grinned horribly and prepared to

pull the trigger.

"My God, look behind you!" Who, Wok and Frobisher screamed in unison.

"You think I'm going to fall for that one?" Olav grinned. "We Grems may be

small, but we're not stupid."

The huge mound of blubbering faecal matter behind him quickly gobbled

him up and advanced into the room, blocking the exit.

"What the hell is it?" Wok screamed.

Frobisher gabbled insanely. "It smells like the contents of the sewage

dump!"

Who was seized by a horrifying thought. "Of course - the chemical was

flushed down the toilet - into the sewage dump. Anything organic! Oh my

God!" he turned, grabbing the shell-shocked Warriss by her shoulders and

shoved his face in hers. "What have you created?!"

The shit lurched inexorably toward them, revealing it's gruesome contents.

"That's where Chief Phillips got to!" Who told Warriss viciously. "That's what

your schemes have done to your lover - gobbled up by a vengeful by-product

of human consumption!" Warriss still didn't respond. "For God's sake,

Warriss, it's over! It's gone too far! Do something!" he released her and

whirled to face the advancing monstrosity. "Now look - do you know who I

am? Erm - sit! Heel!"

"Stand back, everybody!" Professor Watkins rushed in with a rubber

test-tube. "Inside this is the very last phial of Co3 H2 4o we've made!"

"What use is that?" Wok screamed.

"Watch!" Watkins threw the chemical all over the carpet. The woolen

carpet...

 

 

 

Darkness.

Just darkness.

Then suddenly a light dawned.

The light of a new life. No - not new. For with this new life, this new ability to

see and comprehend, came memory, knowledge of it's previous, non-living

state.

And that memory brought love. Love at the way it had been treated.

Commander Warriss ensuring that it was the only carpet in the entire

station that ever got cleaned. Commander Warriss and Chief Phillips

stripping off and making love on the floor, involving it in their multiple

orgasms. Treated with respect, treated like an equal, treated like one of

the family, treated with love. Back then it had been impotent, unable to say

thank you or show it's gratitude. But now it had life, it had strength...and it

wanted to show it's love.

Who, Wok, Frobisher and Warriss screamed as the carpet underneath them

ripped itself up from the floor, threw them away to safety, and leapt up to

confront the marauding shit. It gripped the faeces with strenght and

determination, wrapping all it's slimy, sloppy filth up in it's warm woolen

comfort, all it's fibres aching with the effort as it gripped the shit

tightly and carried it out the door and down the corridor.

"Follow it!" Who ordered. He, Warriss, Wok, Frobisher and Watkins

rushed after the struggling carpet and shit.

 

 

 

The battle reached the Sewage Department and the carpet, still holding the

fighting giant faeces, dragged them both inside the room.

Who and co. reached them. "What's it doing?" Who demanded.

"Press the button," echoed a voice from nowhere.

"Who said that?" Who looked around.

"Press the button, please."

"It's the carpet!" Watkins gasped.

"Press the button," the voice spoke again.

"But..." Who protested. "It'll kill you, too."

"It's the only way," the carpet told him.

"But - "

"Please," the carpet pleaded, "I want to. There is no other way. Press the

button. For me. Please."

With a lump in his throat, Who moved to the keyboard and pressed the final

button in the keying-in sequence. The carpet and shit were ejected into

space to die.

"That's it," Who said sadly. "He's gone. The carpet's dead."

Wok and Frobisher were blubbering into their handkerchiefs. "That's

heartbreaking,"

Wok wailed. "He was so brave!"

"He sacrificed himself for us," Watkins spoke, "the most noble act a carpet

can perform."

"Oh, the humanity!" Frobisher wailed.

Who shook his head in exhaustion. "There should have been another way,"

he said.

 

 

 

 

Later, back in Warriss' office, Warriss was arguing it out with Who and co.

"And I tell you," she snarled, "you still have absolutely no proof of my

involvement with any of this!"

"Ah well, that's where you're wrong," Who smiled, taking out a tape

recorder and pressing "Play".

"We're not talking about going on a picnic, Phillips," Warriss' voice was

clearly recognisable. "We're talking about catching a murderer - Me! You!

Both of us!" Who stopped and fast-forwarded slightly. "That sewage is the

only evidence they've got against you and me! Without it they've nothing!"

Who stopped the tape and grinned in an infuriatingly smug manner. "I think

that's more than enough to put you away for a very long time, Commander."

"Where did you get that from?" Watkins inquired.

"Commander Warriss, of course," Who smiled. "She bugs every room in the

station, including this one."

Watkins gaped. "She bugs her own office?"

"Well, you don't know who you can trust these days," Warriss said

defensively.

"Yes well, take her away and lock her up, lads," Who ordered. Two

security guards came in and grabbed Warriss.

"You're forgetting, Watkins," Warriss snarled. "What if your wife found out

about you and Flossie?"

"And that's another thing," Who cut in. "As highest rank left, Watkins here

will have to take over as Commander until a new one is appointed - and I've

no doubt that will give him plenty of time to search for, find and destroy any

incriminating evidence you may have against him," he smiled benignly. "You

see, Commander, I'm gloating - and this time you haven't got your whip!" he

laughed. "Okay boys, take her away." Warriss was dragged away. "Ah,

well, Mr Wok, Frobisher, I think it's time we were off."

"You won't stay here and help me run the station?" Watkins asked.

"Thank you, Professor," Who answered gently, "but we have other galaxies

to travel. And besides, I'm afraid, like Ace here, I have always found

circuses a little sinister..."

Wok and Frobisher stared at each other, wondering what on Earth he was

talking about. "Captain," Wok interrupted hurriedly, "perhaps we should get

going..."

"Yeah man," Frobisher agreed, "I need some drugs bad."

"Yes, and I need some tea," Who smiled charmingly. "The TARDISPRISE

doesn't appear to have a stock of Darjeeling. I wonder where we could get

some from..."

 

 

 

 

THE END

 

 

 

 

THE CAPTAIN WILL RETURN

IN

MEETING THE GRADE

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


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