Spam Trek 6
The Subspace, er, no, The Alien Lifef-, um, no ...

by Graham Goring (graham@duketastrophy.demon.co.uk)   1 February 1998
Summary: Um. It's all about a mysterious subspace anomaly. And sexual discrimination, for good measure.

The ship drifts lazily towards the camera point, taking it's time, in no particular hurry ... Captain Jon Luk Pickle's voice cut's into the infinite silence, a sharp and annoyed tone. The scene cuts to 10 Forward, where the Captain is standing behind a tombola, fighting and kicking off a small child ...

Pickle:

I'm the Captain and therefore I should get to draw the ticket! Stop arguing with me!

Kid's Mum:

But Billy won the prize at school, and so it's his turn to pick the ticket! It's only fair.

Child:

I want to pick the ticket! I was told I could! Boo-hoo-hoo! Waaaaaaaaahhhh!

Pickle:

Oh god! Now the little bleeder's crying ... Warf! Dartar! Get this child and his mother out of here!

Warf and Dartar step up behind the two and grasp their shoulders firmly, but not unkindly. They are pushed out of the door to 10 Forward, whilst the child screams about "The horrid baldy man" to all the passers by.

Pickle:

Okay then, is everybody ready? Have you all got your lottery slips?

Murmurs of 'yes' and variations on the theme can be heard from the crowd.

Pickle:

Right ... (fishing his hand about in the tombola) and the correct answer is ... Today's episode is going to be ... a subspace anomaly one!

Crowd:

Damn!

Pickle:

Who won then? Did anyone win?

Wessey:

I did! I got it, my slip says subspace anomaly!

Pickle:

(Under breath) Bugger! (Out loud) Oh, well that's a pity ... um ... er ... Oh yeah, I read the slip out wrong. Whilst I read it as "Subspace Anomaly", it actually said, erm, "New Species of Alien". Sorry about that, but what can you do?

Wessey:

I think you're lying!

Pickle:

Wessey, do you want to go far in Star Fleese?

Wessey:

Of course, it's always been my ambition to ...

Pickle:

Shuttit. Look at it this way, either believe me and go far, or call me a liar again and go far ... but on the end of a photon torpedo. Get my drift?

Wessey:

Oh darn, I guess I didn't win ...

Dana:

Oh look! I got "New Species of Alien" ! I suppose I win then!

Pickle:

Wessey, the prize is yours.

The crew amble back to the bridge, picking up Dartar and Warf on the way ...

Pickle:

Warf, I know I am going to regret asking this, but why have you got blood on your tunic?

Warf:

I'm afraid the prisoners tried to escape and I had to use necessary force to subdue them. Sir.

Pickle:

And now the truth, Dartar.

Dartar:

The child asked to use the toilet and Warf shot them both dead, sir.

Warf:

Fink!

Pickle:

How many is that in the last two weeks, Warf?

Warf:

Um ... I'm sorry sir, but I cannot count past fifty.

Pickle:

Well let me remind you. The grand total is now 73. In fourteen days. And 32 of those where just on an OAP's day out that got caught in the crossfire when those ...

Warf:

Hardened convicts ...

Dartar:

Single mothers ...

Pickle:

... yes, single mothers dropped a used nappy in the wrong recycling bin.

Warf:

I am nothing if not ecologically aware, sir.

Pickle:

Wrong, Warf. You are nothing if not a brainless lump of muscle and stupidity. Now, what are you?

Warf:

I am a sprained hump of gussets and duplicity?

Pickle:

I give up.

The crew take up their stations aboard the Renta-Pies bridge and start playing games on the consoles, but a warning bleepy noise tells them that something is amiss with the very fabric of space and time.

Computer:

Warning! Warning! Something is buggering about with reality! Warning! Warning!

Pickle:

Computer, shut up. Okay then, Warf, scan the outside to a range of one thousand kilometres and report any disturbances. Troy, at the risk of wasting some perfectly good breath, can you sense anything?

Dana:

Yes, I can sense ...

Pickle:

Well hurrah! Captain Pickle to the entire crew. Dana Troy sensed something!

Everyone:

Hurrah!

Pickle:

Well then, what did you sense? Dana? Did anyone see where Dana went?

Dartar:

Yes Captain, she just ran out, crying.

Pickle:

Typical woman, always overreacting to a tiny little joke!

Wessey:

Amazing, it's the 25th century, we have gotten rid of suffering, poverty and hunger. But a minuscule thing like sexism and we're stuck!

Pickle:

Oi! Wessey! No asides to the camera, this ain't Lovejoy y'know! So, Warf, what did the scan show up?

Warf:

A large biological being lurking on the other side the subspace rip in front of us.

Pickle:

Suggestions?

Ricky:

How about a party?

Pickle:

Non-moronic suggestions? Really, Number 2, I don't know why you bother turning up on duty.

Ricky:

Because I get paid to. One thing, why do you insist on calling me number 2 when I should be number 1?

Pickle:

Well, truth of the matter is ... and this goes no further ... the script writer got it wrong and is secretly hoping no-one will notice.

Ricky:

Really?

Writer:

Yes, and thanks a lot, Pickles. Just for that I am giving you bad lines from now on.

Pickle:

My mother is a fruit-fly and I want to learn to play the banjo the way my dear departed aunt used to! Hey! Stop it!

Writer:

All right, but step out of line once more and you're for it, buddy ...

Pickle:

Sheesh, Mister Sensitive. Talking of sensitive, I think that you should apologise to Dana, Wessey, so that we can find out that subspace creatures intentions.

Wessey:

But it wasn't me that offended her!

Pickle:

Stop nit-picking and get flower-picking. You've got to apologise to the soppy empathic prat, like it or not!

Wessey:

(Grumble) OK, but I really don't see why it has to be ME that says sorry ...

Pickle:

Uh, Wessey ... Photon torpedo? Get the message?

Wessey:

I'll just be off to the arboretum then ...

Wessey picks some flowers in the arboretum and then goes to Troy's quarters, proffering them as a gift to apologise for Captain Pickle's behaviour ...

Dana:

Oh, it's okay Wessey. I know it was all his fault. I suppose he wants to know what the creature out there wants with us.

Wessey:

Um, yes. Since I am here, I was wondering whether I could ask you a question?

Dana:

Certainly Wessey. You know I always have time for you.

Wessey:

(Uncomfortably) Thank you, yes ... Well, I've been having these odd dreams about you and when I wake up in the morning ...

Dana:

GET OUT YOU SICKENING LITTLE ADOLESCENT!

Wessey runs from the screaming Troy's quarters, and wipes a tear from his eye as he walks down one of the ships many corridors ...

Wessey:

You know it's things like this that turn people into mass murderers when they grow up.

Pickle:

Captain Pickles to Wessey Brusher, NO MORE ASIDES!

Wessey:

No one understands me ...

Pickle:

Or mooning about like some sickening little adolescent!

Wessey eventually returns to the bridge. Captain Pickles stands up as he enters ...

Pickle:

Well? What did she say? Friend or foe?

Wessey:

(Quickly realising he forgot to ask) Urrrrm. Friend.

Pickle:

How friendly then? Are we talking invite it into tea or just don't splat it with the phasers?

Wessey:

(Desperately) Yes!

Pickle:

What?!?

Wessey:

That one. Invite it in for tea. That's what she said to do. That's what the alien wants.

Pickle:

(Suspiciously) Are you sure ... ?

Wessey:

Oh god no, I'm lying. I can never lie effectively!

Pickle:

Well, you've got no chance of making Captain then. Tell you what, scoop your brains out and you can have Ricky or Warf's job.

Warf:

Grrrr! I am a Cling-film warrior! How dare you say that to me!

Pickle:

Good point, sorry. You can't be head of security ... you have to be born without a brain to do that. Now, Captain Pickles to Dana Troy.

Dana:

Yes (sniff) Captain?

Pickle:

This creature in subspace, is it on our side or not?

Dana:

It's an immense intelligence, hundreds of years old, it has been in this universe for millions more years than us and is much wiser than we could ever conceive. And it is the last if it's race.

Pickle:

Oh. Hmm ... Well, standard Star Fleese regulations say we have to try and make peaceful contact with it ...

Dana:

But what do you feel as a human?

Pickle:

As a human? I suppose I feel like making it extinct. Thanks very much, Troy.

Dana:

But that's horrible ...

Pickle:

Captain out. Now, fire photon torpedoes! Can't have things cleverer than us floating about space ...

The Alien is unaffected by the blast of the torpedoes, and floats out of the anomaly in space towards the Renta-Pies, energy crackling off it's body in great searching tendrils...

Pickle:

Oh bugger. Let's get the hell out of here!

Warf:

I say we should stay and fight, it is the Cling-film way!

Pickle:

Very well, YOU stay and fight but we're all getting out of here pronto! Wessey, maximum warp, heading ... um ... Oh sod it! Anywhere but here!

Wessey:

Aye sir.

Pickle:

Why aren't we moving?

Wessey:

Because you haven't said the magic word.

Pickle:

Please?

Wessey:

No, the other word.

Pickle:

Wessey, we are about to be splattered into little floating chicken McNuggets. Unless you get us moving this very second I am going to poke my command chair up your bottom. Do you understand?

Wessey:

Ulp! Yes sir!

The ship pulls a jerky hand-brake turn in space and veers off in the opposite direction, puncturing a hole into warp-space and easily outrunning the giant alien beast.

Pickle:

OK then, we are safe now. And I am very disappointed at you lot, so I am handing out court marshals to Wessey for being a pain ...

Wessey:

All you had to say was "Engage" ...

Pickle:

Warf, for being so stupid ...

Warf:

Thank you sir!

Pickle:

And Troy, for being a female, and therefore liable to blub in the line of duty ...

Dana:

Not fair! Blame my parent's genes!

Pickle:

Oh don't be so petty. If you think I am letting you pass the buck to your parents trouser ware then you have another think coming ...

Ricky:

Um, how are we going to wrap this episode up then?

Pickle:

Good question ... I suppose that creature is still following us ... I reckon we can get away with a lingering look at it in space, with me pointing out that one day it'll catch up with us and then we'll have to fight it.

Ricky:

What? Like the Bjork?

Pickle:

If you are referring to the cybernetic breed of killer machines that sing songs that sound like they were written by whales, then yes.

The Humungous monster slows to a crawl in space, aligning nicely for it's sinister camera shot ...

Pickle:

You know, one day that creature will catch up with us, and when it does, we had better be ready ...

There is an odd reverse popping noise as the creature shrinks to a tiny size. The view shifts to show a devilish looking man hanging in space, a smile crosses his lips and he blinks slowly ...

Q:

See you next time, Pickles ...

Previous Story: SpamTrek 2