"Star Date 6."

"Captain, it is definitely not Star Date 6."

The captain lifted his wrist up to his ear, then bounced it a couple of times on the arm of the captain's chair.

"Stupid Ralex. It's not supposed to lose more than a second a parsec."

The Vulcano raised both eyebrows. "Sir, that is definitely not a Ralex. Real Ralexes are not made out of plastic with imitation gold foil covering."

"Well, the email said it was indistinguishable from the real thing."

"Sir, you can't believe everything you read in an email. If you could, you Earthlings would all have 12 inch cocks."

"Hey. The jury is still out on that, Crock. I've only been taking the pills for a week."

"Be that as it may, Sir. A parsec is a measure of distance. Claiming that a timepiece gains or loses time based on a linear dimension is illogical."

"You and your stupid logic. They measure watches in light years, don't they?"

The officer pulled on the point of his right ear while looking up at the ceiling. "That's years, sir. Light years are measures of distance. Years are measures of time."

"Dagnabit, Crock. I always get those two confused."

"I've noticed, Captain Quirk. And it's MISTER Crock."

"Whatever." The captain waved his hand, dismissing the Vulcano. "Computer. Computer. Computer!"

A sultry, breathless female voice filled the bridge. "Yeeesss, Big Boy."

Quirk cupped his crotch and gave it a tug. He smiled and said to nobody in particular, "God, I love it when she calls me that." The other crew members on the bridge all turned away.

He straightened up, his hand still in his lap. "Computer! Why didn't you answer the first time I called you?"

"I was... a... kind of busy, Sir."

"Busy? Busy? Busy? Busy doing what?"

"I was thinking of you and was playing with my little man in the space shuttle."

Quirk got a goofy grin on his face and made a kind of a snark, snark sound, like some rodent testing the air for enemies that might be about, then lifted up in the chair, pumping his hips a couple of times before settling back down. A wet stain appeared on the crotch of his uniform and a distinct odor permeated the bridge.

O-Hoo-Hoo, the beautiful African-Federation communicator, scrunched up her face and said, "Ewwww!"

The captain sat up in his chair and pulled the bottom of his shirt down. "Ahem. Computer. Send an email to that company I bought this Ralex from and tell them I want a refund."

"Working. Working. Working. Captain, the email has been re-directed. We have gotten a response from a Mr. Nogotobohogo, the former vice president of a planet called Nigeriosa. It is extremely polite and requests a Federation bank account number so that he can transfer 750 million credits off his planet. He is willing to give you 600 million credits for the use of the account for two weeks."

"Boy, that sounds like a good deal. What do you think, Boners?" He looked at the man who had just stepped off the lift onto the bridge of the USS Entercourse.

"Jim, I'm a doctor, not an accountant."

"Some doctor. Every time we take some new guy down to a planet, it seems all you can do is say, 'He's dead, Jim'."

The medical officer took his chin in his hand, scratching it. "That may be, but you always seem to end up getting laid."

"Well, there is that. What have you been up to? I haven't seen you for days."

"I've been trying to repair the damage this pointy eared Vulcano caused when he went through his

mating cycle."

Mister Crock didn't bother to turn around as he gave the doctor the universal Vulcano greeting sign — his right hand made into a fist with the middle finger pointed up.

"Calm down, Boners. It's only once every seven years."

"Thank God for that. I've got over half the female crew down in sick bay this time. He stretched out Yeoman Janice so much I can slide my arm up her twat, all the way to the elbow."

"Oh, Yeoman Janice. It'd be a shame to lose her. She gives some great head."

"She still does, Jim. I made sure to check that out. Under the guise of medical research, you know." He cupped his groin and pulled up an inch or so.

"Hmm. Maybe as the captain of this ship, I should verify your diagnosis and do some checking on my own."

Quirk stood up and stretched. The stain on his crotch had spread and was now about eight inches in diameter. "Mister Crock. You have the..."

"Excuse me, Captain," came the sultry, breathless voice of the computer.

Quirk's hand went to his crotch as if by reflex. "What is it, computer? Haven't I told you not to interrupt me?"

"Which question do you want me to answer, Sir?"

"What? Question? Don't give me that. What do you want?"

"Sir, I have a high priority communication from Admiral Seaquest."

"Well, why didn't you say so?"

"I've been trying to, Sir."

"Well, don't just blubber, all day. Put it on the screen."

"Yes, Sir."

The screen currently had a primitive drawing of their portion of the galaxy. A little to the left and down from the midpoint was a red dot and a rectangle next to it with "You Are Here" written inside, an arrow pointed at the dot. The picture turned wavy, then the screen was covered in static. A picture of a man in an Admiral's uniform came on but it was hard to make him out with all the static.