Faulty Warp Core

by A Nomad Soul

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Space: the final frontier. That’s what they used to call it. But that was a long time ago in a galaxy so far away, most humans don’t even know where it is. These days, space is where you get stuck if you have a faulty warp core.

Humans have successfully occupied one hundred and eighty seven planets across five galaxies. “Occupied” is a bit of a loose term though; at least five of the eight sentient species humans have encountered so far prefer the term “infested”. One particularly astute Presst’on ambassador dubbed us “the cockroaches of the Universe” during a speech at a conference that the “cockroaches” weren’t invited to (ironically, the conference in question was centred around forming relationships with the fledgling Human Empire of the time – the name of the conference literally translated to “DON’T PANIC!” in English). But, all of that isn’t important. Okay, it’s kind of important, but we’ll get to that in a minute. For now, all you need to know is that there is a small escape shuttle (Yordle class) racing through the space between Viltvodle 3 and Bringer’s Rift, hoping to find a waystation (faulty warp core). There are three humans inside: a fat one, a short one, and an unconscious one.

“Is it supposed to be green?”

“No idea. Why?”

“Because it’s flashing red.”

“Have you tried turning it off and on again?”

“Um… I have now.”

“And?”

“Still flashing. Still red.”

“Check the manual.”

“Hang on. Oooooh, okay. It’s the engine light. So, I guess it should be green.”

“Yeah, but what does it mean if it’s flashing?”

“Uuuuh… Oh, here we go. The engine’s overheating.”

“What!?”

“Oh. That’s not good, is it?”

“Well what’s the temperature, dammit?”

“It’s… Over nine thousand.”

“I take it that’s a lot.”

“I think so. Oh, wait. It says here that if engine temperature reading exceeds twelve thousand, explosion is inevitable.”

“Well, that’s comforting.”

“Perhaps we should slow down?”

They should slow down, but they won’t be able to, on account of the fact that there’s an ADC Cruiser chasing them and it’s about to catch up. But first, introductions are in order; it’s always good to know those who are about to die, and salute them. The fat one is Darius van de Koot, but everyone he knows calls him “Crash” so, thankfully, he isn’t the pilot right now. The short one is Kirk Ji’doon, also known as “Solid Snake” for reasons that will become relevant later. As for the unconscious one, nobody knows who the hell she is, but she’s hot, so the other two thought it would be a waste to leave her in the station when it exploded.

So, back to the present predicament at the precise moment two phaser blasts fly over the Yordle’s bow.

“Holy Mother of Hubbard, that was close! I thought we’d lost ‘em. You said we’d lost ‘em!”

“Well I couldn’t see them on the scanners.”

“Can you see them now?!”

“Um…. No.”

“Why the hell not?! They’re clearly on our tail.”

“Well, there’s an error message, I think.”

“You think?”

“Well it just says ‘Bing’.”

“That’s the logo, you idiot. We’ve got Bing scanners. Great.”

“You’re being sarcastic, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I’m being sarcastic! Bing scanners can’t find a damn thing!”

“Like those asteroids?”

“What asteroids? OH SH –“

It should be noted that Yordles are meant to be manoeuvrable, a fact that has just saved Kirk, Crash and Hot Unconscious Girl from becoming little bits of squishy space stuff. The ADC is pretty light on her feet too, so basically, the status quo remains unchanged. What has changed, is the Yordle’s flight path – from the straight and narrow to the wibbly wobbly.

“What’s that sound?”

“What sound?”

“That beeping.”

“No idea.”

“Check please!”

“Alright, alright… Aha, found it.”

“And?”

“It’s a missile lock.”

“Well, do something about it!”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know! Drop a flare or a mushroom beacon! Countermeasures, Crash!”

“We don’t have any.”

“It’s an escape shuttle, there got to be something.”

“Well there’s a button here that says ‘Flash’.”

“PRESS IT!”

The button is pressed. It turns out that a Flash is a short range warp jump coupled with an electromagnetic pulse, designed for those moments when a system malfunction prevents the escape shuttle from being jettisoned into space. In this case, the Flash sends the Yordle to the other side of a big space rock while simultaneously shorting out the ADC’s scanners (made on planet Google). It flies right past them without noticing. Kirk finally calms down and shuts off the engines in order to let them cool down.

“Kirk.”

“Yeah?”

“We just trolled an ADC.”

“I suppose we did. What I don’t understand though, is why they came after us. I thought they just wanted to blow up the station.”

“Why blow up the station?”

“Because… Terrorists?”

“Well that makes about as much sense as trying to make a sword out of light.”

“Hey, that’s not fair. I was this close to sorting out the containment matrix.”

“Oh sorry, it was a glitch in the matrix that made it a flashlight.”

“Shut up. Why couldn’t they just be terrorists?”

“Well an orbital outpost that even the auditors forget about isn’t exactly a high priority target, is it?”

“Fair enough. Maybe we should ask the girl what she thinks?”

“Yeah alright.”

It’s a little cramped inside the Yordle, so getting from the front seat to the hold near the back involves a lot of grunting and heavy breathing of the non-steamy variety, but the two men manage. They stare at Hot Unconscious Girl for a bit, as human men are wont to do.

“Is she even alive?”

“Um… I’m not sure.”

“Kirk… What are you doing?”

“Checking for a pulse.”

WHAM! Kirk is woken up before he go-goes by a well-placed punch in the jaw courtesy of Hot Not-Unconscious Girl, sending him flying backwards about three feet into the opposite wall. It would be further but, like I said, it’s cramped in there. Crash is laughing his head off.

“You should have bought her dinner first.”

“Well, I didn’t think she’d notice. Will you stop laughing?!”

“Come on. Solid Snake, conquering Casanova of seven of the eight sentient species in the known universe, who has planted his flag on more worlds than most people have visited, gets punched in the face by a woman who wasn’t even conscious.
That’s hilarious.”

“Shut up. Ask her who she is.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“She’s passed out. Again.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. I think she’s started snoring.”

“Well wake her up!”

“After what she did to you? Not a chance. But you’re welcome to try.”

“To hell with that. Hang on. You’ve still got the security app on your communicator, yeah?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Well, check to see if she’s in the database.”

“Good idea. Give me a sec.”

“Well?”

“It’s installing the latest update. It’s only two terabytes, won’t take a minute.”

“Is that the iComm 5X?”

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know you were a fan of the Fruit.”

“Yeah, well they just work.”

“Only on one hellishly overpriced architecture. Waste of money if you ask me. You’re not a total chipster, are you?”

“No. I hate chipsters.”

“Chipster. Do you have instastream on that thing?”

“Shut up. Update’s done. Aha. Her name is Clara Oswyn Croft. Works in Maintenance.”

“Really?”

“What? Girls can do maintenance.”

“No, not that. I heard about a Clara from maintenance. Nobody said she was gorgeous.”

“I don’t think anyone ever got a good look at her, what with the helmets that they wear down there.”

“You don’t think she’s related to Laura Croft?”

“Who?”

“You know, from Moon Raiders? She’s the one with the big… house.”

“Oh yeah. Well if she is, then she’d be a high priority target.”

“Why?”

“Ransom.”

“But then why blow the whole station up?”

“Good point.”

At this point in the story, there is a large, clanking metal thud from the outside. And then two more. The first one startles the two men, but the next two only inspire curiosity since neither of them have ever watched a horror stream (horror as a genre is illegal on most planets, due to the Empire’s Interstellar Relations Department ruling that most, if not all, horror stories are “speciesist”).

“Did someone just knock on the door?”

“I’m not sure.”

Knock. Knock.

“Who’s there?”

“I don’t think it can hear you in the vacuum of space, Crash. Check the scanners.”

“Okay… [grunting, heavy breathing]… Hey Kirk! It looks like we have a cling on.”

“Say that again.”

“Kirk. We have a cling on.”

“A what?”

“Well it looks like one of the bots from the station. I think it latched on when we flew out?”

“Yeah, well… Bots are stupid. But… They’ve got system casings that would survive a supernova. Can you access its comsys?”

“I should be able to.”

Knock. Knock.

“Got it. Oh dear.”

“What?”

“It just says ‘daisy’.”

“Try asking it to let go.”

“Okay. Who’s Dave?”

“Dave?”

“Yeah. It responded with ‘I’m sorry but I can’t do that Dave.’ Who’s Dave?”

“Oh… Fancy that. It’s Dent.”

“Huh?”

“You remember, that weird guy Davis Jenkins, from up in R and D?”

“Yeah.”

“Well he stole one of the maintenance bots and tinkered with it constantly. It was an R3 DT model. He ended up calling it R3 Dent. Apparently it can do all sorts of things.”

“Like what?”

“Raphael-knows. But it’s still a maintenance bot. Get it to run diagnostics on the shuttle.”

“It says it can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Uuuum… ‘I’m stuck.’”

“Stuck where?”

“It’s saying… ‘twixt space rock and hard place.’ I guess the hard place is us.”

“Just jimmy the thrusters quick. Should shake it loose. What’s so funny?”

“Nothing. It’s just. Shake the cling on loose… Get it?”

“You’re disgusting. Just do it.”

“It says thanks.”

“A polite robot. That’s new. Tell it to run diagnostics.”

“It already did. The warp core is out of alignment and the housing is shot. Main fuel cells are leaking too. So that’s why we were
overheating.”

“Can Dent fix it?”

“He says he can do a patch job, but we’ll still have to get to a waystation before we can do any kind of long rang jumping.”

“He’s bloody articulate for a robot, isn’t he?”

“I know, right? You should try talking to him.”

“No, you can do it. How long will this take.”

“Um… 30 seconds. No, 56 seconds. Wait. Two hours and fifty three minutes. No, five minutes. Han-“

“Are you reading off the progress bar?”

“Yes.”

“Typical…”

“Done!”

“Already?”

“Yep. Dent’s sent me coordinates to the nearest waystation. It’s not far. He’s asking for a lift.”

“Just tell him to cling on again, we can’t… What now?”

“He just said… ‘Silly meatbags require oxygen otherwise extermination is inevitable. Will attach to outer hull for dear non-life.’ Non-life. That’s brilliant.”

The trip to the waystation is, sadly, uneventful with the conversation revolving around the three staples: sex (specifically Kirk’s taste for every non-human he can find), intergalactic politics (specifically the question of whether or not UWA chose to invade Lux Aeterna for its prozium supply or because the Luxans are supposedly building ‘ulties’, aka WUD’s or Weapons of Ultimate Destruction), and naturally, religion (Kirk is a Scientificist, Crash is a Polymorphologist, so naturally they disagree about which Greek letter means what). After about an hour (imperial), they see the familiar flashing lights of a waystation up ahead.

“You know, I think you should stop calling yourself Solid Snake.”

“What? Because I’m on a dry spell, I should just give up my claim to fame?”

“Well no. But I think it would have helped your case.”

“What are you on about?”

“Well – Don’t forget to turn on the docking sensors – You’re on a dry spell because of… what’s her name again?”

“Cthululumaxikikitssseeerapoulous. Just call her Cthulu.”

“Lulu! That’s the one. I think she left you because of your reputation. You haven’t got any since.”

“No, it wasn’t that.”

“What was it then?”

“Um… Her brother. We didn’t, uh, get on very well. Hang on. I need to concentrate for this.”

“Kirk.”

“Shhh!”

“KIRK!”

“WHAT!?”

“Is that an ADC?”

Yes, it is an ADC Cruiser. The very same one that was trying to turn the Yordle into dust earlier. Obviously, the ADC’s pilots were not stupid enough to ignore the nearest waystation, while Kirk and Crash were stupid enough to forget that if you’re an idiot, you shouldn’t be in control of an ADC. In Kirk’s defence though, he did get punched in the face by Clara Croft. Crash has no excuse. He’s supposed to be the smart one, according to current Planet Holibush movie-stream stereotypes. In Dent’s defence, he’s a robot and bots are stupid. And Clara Croft is still unconscious, so you can’t expect her to know what the hell is going on anyway.

“Maybe they won’t notice us.”

“Maybe.”

“Oh look, a message.”

“Yes?”

“It says ‘All your ship are belong to us.’”

“I guess they noticed us.”

“What’s up with their Human?”

“Googlian translators I suppose. Who is it from?”

“The ADC?”

“I know that! Who is in the ADC?”

“How am I supposed to know?”

“Ask them!”

“Alright, alright… I can’t pronounce that.”

“Let me see. Oh… Well that makes sense. Nice knowing you, Crash. And uh, sorry.”

“For what? What do you mean? What’s going on?”

“Um… It’s complicated.”

“How!? This isn’t some relationship on MyFace! Who are they?”

“Um, well… That ADC belongs to Raxicoricofallibatorianomous.”

“Who?”

“Cthulu’s brother.”

“You’re joking.”

“I wish I was. There’s another message.”

“It’s just from Dent. He says, ‘I’ll be back in a German accent.’”

“How long is a German accent?”

“Don’t change the subject, Kirk! What did you do?”

“Well, Cthulu is a Prydonian.”

“Yeah, number seven of eight, I know, I know.”

“Yes, but Prydonian’s don’t… do the deed… like we do.”

“Come again?”

“Several times a second actually, it’s ridiculous. But no, I mean, they don’t do it for fun. It’s strictly a sort of ceremonial thing to tie two families together. Like, they have a list of rules as long as the Cruiser about it.”

“But you still managed?”

“Well, yes. But I had to genuinely fall in love with her, and get her to do the same.”

“This is not how you told it the first time.”

“Well, what happens in Prydonia, stays in Prydonia.”

“Okay, so what’s the big deal?”

“She’s the Prydonian crown princess.”

“You dog, you.”

“No… It’s not good. The Prydonians hate humans, remember…”

“Still, you boinked an alien princess.”

“I married one.”

“Wait, what? But doesn’t that make you family?”

“It would, if they hadn’t locked her away and chased me to the furthest reaches of space. I had to change my name and everything?”

“What’s your real name?”

“Pond. James, Pond.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“What, my name or my situation?”

“Yes. Oh… They’re sending another message.”

“Well?”

“It says: ‘Say hello to my little friend, heaven.’”

“Definitely Googlian translators. They actually said, ‘Sag’ith álí möt’halï, gritsch.’”

“Which means?”

“Greet death, puny human.”

“Aaah, I see how the translator messed that up. Hang o –”

Two phasers (set, of course, to roast-to-f****ng-cinder) proceed gracefully from the ADC and hit the Yordle in the metaphorical no-no place. R3 Dent returns to find only space dust in the waystation’s dock. He remarks, “Triple kill. Tons of damage,” before he heads off to find someone who could use the three cups of Starbucks and a medkit that he so conscientiously bought for his now-atomised almost-friends.

So, kids, what can we learn from this story? Well, if you see a cockroach, don’t panic, just kill it before it lays eggs and spreads all the way to the far corners of the universe. In other words: Exterminate!

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And that's my bit of fun and games. A little #sidequest for folks who are interested: Count the pop-culture references and see what number you arrive at :p let me know in the comments below :)

Peace, Lovve and a Little Madness

Nomad