Are you a Star Trek addict? If so, you probably know that Star Trek was created by Gene Rodennberry and is owned by Paramount. If you would like a cure for Trek addiction, I suggest Star Traks. It was created by Alan Decker and is far more humorous, with none of the made-for-network- television side effects. Star Traks: Silverado was created by Brendan Chris. Former Trek addict.

Author: Brendan Chris
Copyright: 2009

Author’s Note: This story was originally posted in the lengthy gap between Silverado Seasons Four and Five, when I needed a break from writing the Matrian story arc. The continuity doesn’t really line up, but oh well. Putting it on the Season Four page creates its own continuity problems, as Valtaic didn’t join the crew until well after Halloween. So…here you go.


Captain’s Log, Stardate…YEOWITCH!


Captain Christopher Stafford cried out in pain and yanked his hand back from the small panel on his command chair that controlled his log recorder. The panel sparked, resulting in not only a burnt hand but also a couple of burnt patches on his uniform pants.

“Sylvia?” he demanded, “What the hell?”

“Sorry Chris,” replied the disembodied voice of the sentient computer, “But if you’re going to spill coffee on the equipment you really can’t come bitching to me when something bad happens!’

Stafford crossed his arms.

“I didn’t spill coffee on my chair!” he said crossly.

“Somebody did,” Sylvia shot back, “It sure didn’t spill coffee on itself!”

“How do you know it was coffee anyway?”

“Sweetie, I have internal sensors that can detect the exact number of fleas on a dogs back. It was coffee. A mocha latte to be precise.”

“Stafford to Jall,” Stafford snapped, slapping his comm-badge.

“What do you want?” came Jall’s annoyed voice, “I’m trying to get fitted for my dress for tonight!”

Stafford’s jaw dropped. At the helm, Yanick giggled. At Operations, Riven Valtaic swivelled around in his seat.

“I was under the impression that in human and Trill societies it was the females who wore the dresses,” he said.

“Why do you care,” Yanick asked, “Isn’t something like that a ‘social irrelevancy’?” she made little air quotes.

“Understanding other cultures is part of my duty as a Starfleet Officer,” Valtaic replied hautily, “As such, the question is relevant. Unlike your question.”

“Is she not also attempting to understand your culture?” T’Parief pointed out, coming immediately to Yanick’s defence.

“Her question was based in attempt to find fault, not an attempt to understand my culture,” Valtaic said crossly.

“WHY ARE YOU WEARING A DRESS?” Stafford shouted, interrupting the growing argument.

“It’s a time-honoured tradition,” Jall replied, sounding slightly offended, “You’re the one that insisted on a cultural theme for Halloween this year!”

“Jall, I thought we had an agreement.” Yanick jumped onto the channel, “If you ever decided to go drag, you were going to let me pick out the dress,”

“He and I already had an agreement!” Stafford snapped, “No drag on my ship!”

“I’m not doing drag,” Jall snapped, “Although if I was, it wouldn’t any business of yours!”

“OK, now I’m confused,” Yanick said.

“As am I,” Valtaic agreed.

“It’s for my Halloween costume!” Jall explained, “I’m going as one of those Scottish guys. You know, a High-man,”

“A Highlander,” Stafford gave a sigh of relief, “That’s not a dress, you dumb-ass! It’s a kilt!”

“I know, but if I told you I was getting fitted for a kilt it wouldn’t have been anywhere near as much fun. Jall out.”

Stafford blew out a breath.

“I hate him,” he muttered.

“And you didn’t finish your log,” Yanick reminded him.

“Or ask Commander Jall if he’d spilled coffee on your chair,” Valtaic added.

“That’s another social irrelevancy! Yanick snapped.

“I am assisting my commanding officer!” Valtaic snapped back.

“Yanick,” Stafford sighed, letting his face fall into his hands, “Just drop us out of warp before we hit the planet we’re going to, OK?”

“Which planet is that again?” Yanick asked innocently.

“It’s in my log,” Stafford’s jaw tightened in realization, “I…just…ARGHHH!”


Down in Sickbay, Dr. Noel Wowryk was hovering over the central bio-bed while Nurse Kerry hovered over a tray of medical instruments.

“Lt Commander Quintaine, just how exactly did you manage to electrocute yourself AND give yourself second-degree burns on your leg and genitals?” she asked crossly.

“We hit a subspace fibre bundle when I had the conn,” Quintaine said, wincing as Wowryk treated the electrical burns on his hand, “I sort of dumped coffee all over the control panel on the Captain’s chair,”

“Smooth,” Kerry smirked.

“Remove…ugh…your pants,” Wowryk ordered, a look of distaste on her face.

Quintaine looked up at the two women.

“Um, can’t you just give me some burn cream or something?”

“You can either drop your pants and get this over with now, or spend the next week in serious pain with every step you take,” Wowryk snapped, “I don’t like this any more than you do! Now drop your pants and let me do my work!”

There was a chocking sound behind her. She turned just in time to see somebody rushing back into the corridor.

“Hmm. Wonder who that was.”


Out in the hallway, Simon Jeffery practically ran for the nearest cross- corridor and ducked around the corner.

He’d been working up the nerve to go talk to Wowryk all morning. He wasn’t going to ask for much, all he had in mind was in invitation to lunch. A bit of a chat, maybe a chance to try to rebuild the shattered ruins of their friendship.

Well, looks like he’d be having lunch by himself.

He took a turbolift to Deck 12 and walked into Platterheads. Alpha shift was just starting to trickle in for lunch. Outside the windows the stars streaked by as Silverado warped through space. On one vidscreen the daily transmission of ‘The Vonna Show’ was playing quietly. He’d no sooner taken his seat and chased away the waiter/life-counsellor when Stafford plopped down in the seat next to him, his hand shiny from burn ointment.

“Hiya Simon,” he said, “Why so glum?”

“Nothin’,” Jeffery muttered.

“Noel Nothing?” Stafford guessed.

“Look, just drop it mate, k?”

“Ok, fine,” Stafford raised his hands in surrender, “Oh, by the way, I need somebody to come fix my log recorder. I can’t explain our mission to anybody without it!”

“Mission? Ah thought we were responsin’ to a distress call,”

“We are. But without my log, nobody knows that!” Stafford said, “They have no idea that we picked up a distress call from a Federation colony, or that they say they’ve been assaulted by ghosts for the past two days,”

“Hmm. Ghosts. Isn’t it convenient that missions like this always come up around the same time of year?”

“Yeah, Stafford agreed, “Creepy, isn’t it?”

“Spooky, even,” Jeffery agreed.

Across the room, Wowryk, Kerry and Quintaine walked in, chuckling as they approached the food replicators. Jeffery’s expression immediately darkened.

“Come on, Simon,” Stafford said, noticing where he was looking, “She’s just having lunch.”

“With Quintaine,” Jeffery said darkly.

“It’s Wowryk,” Stafford said flatly, “At the rate she moves, you don’t have to worry about her giving him a kiss for at least two years, never mind seeing him naked!”

“She’s ALREADY seen him NAKED!” Jeffery fumed, stabbing his fork into a cherry tomato with enough force to squirt juice and seeds across his plate, “About fifteen minutes ago!”

“Great,” Stafford, “Jall’s wearing a dress, Wowryk’s looking at naked guys and some asshole spilled coffee on my chair! What a great day this is turning into!”

“A dress?”

“Kilt,” Stafford corrected.

“Aw, the little git picked me culture, did he?” Jeffery looked almost touched.

“Apparently.”

“What are ye goin’ as, anyway?” Jeffery asked

“Something Canadian,” Stafford shrugged, “Which means I’m either dressing up as a beaver, a Mountie or a bottle of Maple Syrup.”


Captain’s Log, Supplemental:


Hand written by Commander San-the-Man Jall, because a certain Captain doesn’t believe that it wasn’t me that spilled coffee all over his stupid chair. We’re on course for the planet Gerog IV, a Federation colony that was recently established in the Beta Quadrant. According to the colonists, and I really hope we find some sexy colonial types there, they’ve been bothered by spirits, ghosts, apparitions, whatever. Something that shouldn’t be there. Since this is a big galaxy, and since energy beings have been making trouble for over a hundred years and counting, Starfleet figures we’ll either know how to handle them or we’ll find something new and interesting to be killed by. I mean, study.

Oh, and from what I’ve overheard, Stafford’s planning on dressing up as womanly parts for tonight’s Halloween Party, which I think is TOTALLY inappropriate.


“Jall, what the hell are you talking about?” Stafford asked, reading over Jall’s hand-typed log entry.

“You told Jeffery you were thinking of going as beaver,” Jall said innocently.

“Yeah, I also asked to you take dictation,” Stafford shot back, “Not make snide little comments. And I’m not going to the party as a beaver! I’m going as a Mountie!”

“Really?” Jall looked surprised, “Who’s mounting you?”

“It’s a POLICE OFFICER!” Stafford shouted, “You sicko!”

“You’re dressing up as somebody being mounted by a police officer and you’re calling ME the sicko?” Jall shook his head, “It’s always the quiet ones,”

“Except he really isn’t that quiet,” Yanick piped up, “He talks too much.”

“Yanick, you’re supposed to be helping me here,” Stafford said.

“Oh.” Yanick turned to Jall, “A Mountie is a Canadian police officer, a member of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police,”

“Ohhhh,” Jall nodded his head knowingly, “So the whole police force was mounted? By who? The Royal Canadian Mounting Police?”

“Jall, just go to hell!” Stafford snapped, getting up and moving towards his ready room.

“According to Wowryk, it sounds like your whole police force beat me there,” Jall called.

“The bottle of maple syrup is sounding better all the time,” Stafford muttered.


On the surface of Gerog IV there was a shower of transporter sparks as four figures and a device resembling a hot-water-heater materialized. Jall, Fifebee, Wowryk and T’Parief looked briefly around the empty main square of Gerogenous, the capitol city.

“Oh!” Jall exclaimed, shivering in the crisp evening air, “I didn’t realize these kilt things were so…breezy outdoors!”

“My chain mail itches,” Wowryk complained, trying to adjust her Joan of Arc costume.

“As does my antennae,” agreed T’Parief. He’d dressed up as Xessiznizzzz, an Andorian famous for the massacres of the 2nd, 3rd, 5th, 7th 11th and 13th hives. (His habit of killing off all hives that had prime numbers had earned him the title of the Prime Butcher.)

“It would have been more convenient had Yanick timed our arrival to coincide with the end of the party,” Fifebee commented, “Rather than the beginning,” She was the only member not wearing a costume. (She’d planned to attend the party as an Apple PowerBook, but had been able to quickly reset her imaging system prior to beaming down.)

“She was supposed to,” Jall said, adjusting his tartan, “It’s not her fault the party started late,”

“Excuse me, are you the Starfleet officers sent to help us, or are you the travelling circus that was supposed to arrive tomorrow?”

The away team turned to find a fairly generic human dressed in the finery of a Federation governor.

“If you ask our Captain, he’d probably tell you we’re both,” Jall said diplomatically, “I’m Commander San Jall, USS Silverado. We’re here to help with your…ghost…problem,”

“In a dress?”

“It’s a kilt,” Jall said, “It’s…Halloween.”

“I see.” The man frowned, “I’m Governor Rartris. If you’ll come this way, I’ll show you what I’m talking about.”

“Sure. Oh, by the way, you don’t have a spare pair of boxer shorts, do you?”


Rartris led them into a crowded restaurant. Citizens were seated at various tables, but they didn’t so much as glance at the newcomers. Instead, their attention was focused on a group of three tables near one wall. A group of nearly a dozen spectral, amorphous forms were hovering over the chairs, shoving food into their mouths.

“They just keep eating!” Rartris complained, “But…they’re not eating anything!”

As they watched, one of the ‘ghosts’ grabbed a plate of gagh and tipped it into its mouth. The worms fell right through, landing on the floor and slowly starting to slither away.

“The kitchen staff can barely keep up!” Rartris wailed, “And there’s more! Ghosts leering in people’s windows, ghosts ransacking stores, ghosts floating around the park…it’s intolerable!”

“Have you tried communicating with them?” Fifebee asked, not pulling her attention from her tricorder.

“Yes,” Rartris replied, “They just give us orders, or make lewd suggestions!”

“What are you getting?” Jall asked Fifebee, trying to lean over her shoulder to see her tricorder screen. She shied away.

“No exact matches for their energy patterns,” Fifebee replied, “However, they are similar enough to known phenomena to conclude that they are an intrusion of another plane of existence into our own space-time. The readings are similar to those of a Q, but weaker and less focused. Certain aspects are indicative of a partially ascended race known as the Selvan, but there’s a drift to their quantum signature that suggests a completely different space-time than our own,”

“Hmm?” Jall shook his head, as if to clear it, “Oh, you’re done. Sorry, I drifted.”

Wowryk simply crossed her arms, looking unimpressed. She approached the table.

“Greetings, tortured souls,” she said, her voice sympathetic, “Would you like help finding your true path back to the Lord?”

The spectral forms turned to her.

“BBBRAAAAAAUUUUPPPPPP!!!!!!!!”

Food, drink and ectoplasm flew from the table, all of it converging directly on Wowryk.

The doctor stood there for a moment, ooze dripping down her costume.

“Perhaps a nice visit to Satan, then?” she said calmly.


Stafford stood in Unbalanced Equations, a wide-brimmed brown hat on his head and a cocktail in his hand. He was wearing black pants with a thick red stripe down the side and a bright red uniform tunic, the traditional formal wear of a Mountie.

“Ahhh,” he said, “This is the way to do it. Food, drink, fun, no Jall to mock my costume, no Wowryk to tell us we’re going to hell and no Fifebee to drain the fun out of the room like a cop at a bush party,”

“Chris, you’re terrible,” Sylvia said, her holographic form walking up to him and punching him on one red-clad arm, “I can’t believe you talked Yanick into mis-calculating the arrival time just to get rid of Jall!”

“Think about what you just said, Sylvia,” Stafford suggested.

“And Wowryk. And T’Parief. And Fifebee,” Sylvia continued.

“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Stafford shrugged.

“Chris, have ye seen Noel anywhere?” Jeffery asked, coming up to them.

“She’s down on the planet,” Stafford replied, “Along with Jall,”

“Whot? Isn’t that cruel and unusual punishment?”

“Maybe, but it’s her that’s being subjected to it, not me,” Stafford gave Jeffery a conspiratorial look, “And you’re not being subjected to her, either,”

“And whot’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you can relax a little and stop looking over your shoulder anytime somebody invites you for a little ‘just friends’ dancing,” Yanick broke in, grabbing Jeffery by the arm and pulling him towards the dance floor, “You need to relax more!”

Jeffery gulped, his head pivoting around as he scanned the room.

“I already told you, T’Parief’s down on the planet!” Stafford called.

“Oh, aye,” Jeffery said uneasily.

“Wheeeeee!” Yanick cried , throwing her hands over her head and shaking her ‘thang’.

“Oh, what the hell,” Jeffery shrugged. He commenced dancing.


“I gotta say, Doc, I’m surprised you’re being so cool about this,” Jall said. He and Wowryk were walking to a nearby store to investigate another spectral appearance.

“I am always calm, cool and collected,” Wowryk said. She tried wiping off a blob of ectoplasm, only to have it stretch into a long, sticky, disgusting string of slime, “And I am going to SEND THOSE SOULS OF THE DAMNED TO THE NEXT AFTER-LIFE!”

The scary part, Jall realized, was that this really was Noel’s idea of calm, cool and collected.

“Well, you’re handling it well, considering the last time we dealt with this sort of thing you went on a rampage with a super-soaker filled with holy water and basically caused a diplomatic incident with the undead,” he said. He’d pulled out his tricorder and was busy tapping away, “It took weeks to get the smell of wet, decomposing flesh out of Unbalanced Equations!”

“I thought we’d agreed never to speak of that fiasco again,” Wowryk sniffed.

“We said the same thing about the go-go boy I’d programmed into our New Year’s Eve party last year, but you still brought it up at the planning group for this year’s party,”

“I just wanted to prevent another disgusting sin from tarnishing your soul,” Wowryk replied. She then dropped her voice, “Like it would show,”

“Hmmm,” Jall frowned.

“Hmmm, what?”

“Hmmm, I see why the colonists got all embarrassed when I asked them what kind of store this was,” Jall replied. He pointed.

Right ahead of them was a modest, two-floor retail store. The sign above the door proudly proclaimed it to be ‘Sassy Seductions’. Though the broken windows, they could see nearly a dozen spectral forms soaring through the store, laughing as they flipped though old-style magazines, examined the images on boxed holo-program chips and played catch with the lingerie and intimate toys.

“That’s dis-GUSTING!” Wowryk snarled. She gathered her still-soggy costumer and marched right towards the door, “REPENT, FOUL SINNERS! REPENT AND FIND LIGHT IN THE SALVATION OF-“

TWANG!

One of the ghosts had stretched out a lacy, glittery, four-breasted bra like a slingshot, sending it soaring right at Wowryk’s head. The doctor stood there for about five seconds, lacy naughtiness draped around her. She then flung it to the ground and spun on a heel.

“I need to talk to Fifebee,” she snapped, marching away.

“Uh-huh,” Jall smirked, turning back to his tricorder.


Fifebee and T’Parief had found a group of ghosts in the park. Unlike the beings chowing down in the restaurant or rampaging through the sex store, these ones were simply lying on the ground, sighing.

“If only you would explain to me your purpose here,” Fifebee was saying to one of them, sounding more than a bit frustrated.

“Meh,” the ghosted sighed, rolling away from her and gazing at the grass, “Don’t feel like it,”

“But we could assist you in returning to your own plane of existence, or to the nearest convenient parallel dimension!” Fifebee said, then frowned, “Now where have I heard that before?”

“Don’t feel like going anywhere,” the ghost muttered, “Leave us alone,”

“This group is not a threat,” T’Parief rumbled as he scanned the area for security threats, “We should move on to the next group,”

“Very well,” Fifebee said, drawing herself up to her full height (or lack thereof), “But if your laziness prevents us from resolving this situation, I swear I will place you all in a proton collider!”

As they began walking back to the street, T’Parief turned to her.

“I presume you were talking to the ghosts,”

“I was,” Fifebee confirmed.

“I thought so.” They walked in silence for a moment.

“Is it not strange that so many beings from other levels of reality end up visiting this one?” T’Parief suddenly wondered, “The Q. The Selvan. Trelane. Misrek. Species 8472. The list goes on,”

“I believe somebody once asked a higher being that very question, once,” Fifebee replied, “They stated that ‘everybody likes to go slumming once in a while’,”

“Do you believe then that it’s possible for beings like us to achieve a higher level of consciousness?”

“Events such as those surrounding V’ger, the Selvan and the Ocompa Kes suggest it is indeed possible to transcend this reality,” Fifebee said. She started at the sound of a very loud crash. Up the street, a group of spectral figures was hauling a large, leather sofa out of somebody’s house, through the living room window, “Whether that results in a ‘higher level’ of consciousness or awareness is open to some debate.”

T’Parief was already running towards the scene.

“STOP! In the name of Starfleet Security, you are under arrest for breaking and entering!” he roared.

The ghosts stopped their efforts involving the couch as they took in this newcomer.

“I want the electronic thing he’s holding!” one cried.

“Dibs on those boots!”

“I’ll take that shiny metal belt!”

“I want the tunic!”

“I’ll take that white wig!”

T’Parief suddenly disappeared under a haze of ghostly bodies. Fifebee rushed towards him, until she noticed that his life-sign readings were completely stable.

In second, the ghosts broke off, disappearing down the street and apparently forgetting about the couch.

“Let’s find a house with gold stuff!” one of the ghosts could be heard saying, “Lots of jewellery, and fancy rocks!”

“I wanna find a pony!”

Fifebee stepped over to T’Parief.

“Most interesting,” she said, still tapping her tricorder, “I’ve collected some very interesting data! When they interact with normal matter, they appear to-“

T’Parief cleared his throat. Loudly.

“Hmmm?” Fifebee didn’t look up.

“I require your tunic,” he said, “Now,”

Fifebee looked up, only to find the hulking officer standing completely naked in the middle of the street.

“Interesting,” she cocked her head, “I have heard the expression ‘nipples that could cut glass’ before, however I didn’t realize that in your species that expression becomes reality-“

“JUST GIVE ME YOUR TUNIC!” T’Parief roared.


Commander San Jall tucked his tricorder back into his belt and contemplated the scene in front of him. Wowryk had left him to find Fifebee, leaving him alone with a group of possibly hostile and definitely horny alien spectres. In any other circumstance, horny and hostile could lead to very disturbing consequences, but as these aliens were non-corporeal, Jall was reasonably sure the worst that could happen would be an ectoplasmic sliming like the one Wowryk had endured at the restaurant. And if not, well, that was a risk he was willing to take.

Squaring his shoulders and dropping his voice an octave, Jall marched into the store.

“I’m Commander San Jall of the USS Silverado,” he declared, “Identify yourselves and state your purpose!”

The ghosts all slowly turned to look at him.

“This one is real,” one of the ghosts said.

“Yes, not simply an image,”

“We could use this one,”

“It is dressed in a dress. According to this magazine, that means it is a transsexual,”

“Ohh, how perverse,”

“No, no! It’s a kilt!” Jall squeaked. He deepened his voice again, “I mean, no! Just tell me why you’re all here!”

“To have fun and get laid, why else?” asked one of the ghosts.

“Well, I can respect those reasons,” Jall shrugged, “But you’re freaking out the people that live here.”

“So?”

“So, this is their planet!”

“You’re voice is getting squeaky again,” another ghost pointed out.

Jall cleared his throat.

“Hey, meat bag, what’s this for?” a ghost asked, holding up a bottle of personal lubricant.

“Um, to makes…things…slippery,” he replied.

“Really?” the ghost squeezed the bottle until the lid popped off, showering Jall with Axxnizz of Andoria Scalding Heat lubricating jell. The other ghosts joined in until the half-Trill officer was showered in goo.

Another ghost came up behind Jall, shoving him down and pushing with enough force to send him sliding across the floor, all the way to the other side of the store. Another ghost shoved him right back, sending him bouncing off a wall and right between two racks of dirty magazines.

“SCORE!” somebody shouted.

“I’VE ALWAYS HATED SOCCER!” Jall cried as he skidded across the floor.


Wowryk found Fifebee and T’Parief walking down the street, heading towards Jall and the sex store.

“Did you change cloths?” she asked T’Parief, noticing that he was now dressed in a rather expensive-looking tuxedo.

“I do not want to talk about it,” he grumbled.

“Is that glitter in your hair? Fifebee asked curiously.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Wowryk said curtly.

“Very well,” Fifebee conceded, “I assume that you have something you wish to discuss with us?”

“Yes. I want to build a weapon to use against these evil, heathen sin- magnets!”

“Are you referring to the ghosts or our crewmates?” Fifebee inquired.

Wowryk looked thoughtful for a moment.

“The ghosts. Our crewmates are a lost cause,” she finally decided.

“I resent that!” T’Parief declared, stopping. Unfortunately, his tuxedo continued walking, leaving him again naked in the street. Wowryk shrieked and turned away.

“No sudden moves!’ Fifebee snapped. The tuxedo stopped walking, turned around, walked back to T’Parief and fitted itself to his form, “My holo- relay does have limitations, you know!”

“Is it safe to look yet?” Wowryk asked, hands over her eyes.

“You have seen me naked several times during my physicals!” T’Parief, “There is nothing to be afraid of!”

“Yes, there is,” Wowryk and Fifebee said together.

“Primitive human notions of modesty,” T’Parief muttered, “In a warrior culture…”

They resumed walking towards Jall’s position.

“Now what is this about a weapon?” Fifebee asked. At the word ‘weapon’, T’Parief stopped muttering and began paying rapt attention.

“I’ve been studying the energy signatures of these things, and I think I know of a way we can disrupt them,” Wowryk said, “Maybe not enough to destroy them, but enough to cause enough discomfort that we can drive them away, or contain them, or something,”

“I see. And are you referring to an actual weapon, or some sort of prayer device? Or perhaps a super-soaker filled with holy-“

“Nobody was supposed to bring that up again!” Wowryk said shrilly, “And I mean an actual weapon!”

“Why would a Catholic doctor have knowledge of energy-based life-forms?” T’Parief wanted to know.

“I took it as an elective,” Wowryk sniffed, “Besides, God helps those who help themselves,”

“Very well. Let us find Commander Jall and return to the ship,” Fifebee decided.

“Hmph,” Wowryk snorted, “That pervert? He’s probably started some sort of strange spectral orgy by now,”

As they approached the store there was a shattering of glass as Jall flew through the last unbroken window and slid across the street. They ran over.

“Something smells familiar,” T’Parief frowned.

“What did you say to them?” Wowryk demanded, surveying the bruised, jell-covered officer.

“Nothing!” Jall said, “They just decided that kicking me around the floor was more interesting than porno or naughty lingerie!”

“Hmmm,” Wowryk mused, “maybe I underestimated these beings.”

TWANG! TWA-TWA-TWANG!

This time, she was pelted by now fewer than six lacy bras, skimpy panties and at least one leather harness.

“Oh good, cloths,” T’Parief said.


Stafford, Yanick and Jeffery were seated around a corner table as Samantha cleared away their empty beer mugs. Yanick was wrestling with the thick polymer wrapping on a new holo-chip she’d won in the costume contest.

“Supid ‘easy-open’ tabs my ass,” Yanick muttered.

“So, boys,” Samantha cooed, “When are you gonna invite me over to see your bed sheet collection?”

Stafford and Jeffery exchanged a look.

“Which of us are ye talkin’ to?” Jeffery asked.

“Either,” Samantha shrugged, turning away. She looked over he shoulder and gave a suggestive wink, “Or both,”

Stafford’s jaw dropped.

“Forget it,” Yanick advised, “Neither of you has the maturity or the stamina to handle her,”

“And I’m not into the group thing,” Stafford said flatly, “No offense, Simon,”

“None taken. Ah think.”

The doors hissed open and Jall came in followed by Wowryk, Fifebee and T’Parief. Wowryk was covered in mucus-like ectoplasm and dusted with glitter, Jall was coated in glistening, clear goo and covered in bruises and T’Parief was dressed in a tiny pair of leather shorts that looked about ready to explode.

“Oh, good,” Yanick exclaimed. She ran up, pressed the holo-chip package to his chest, moved it sharply to the left, then pulled it back and yanked the chip through the new gash in the plastic-like wrapping. She jumped up and gave him a peck on the cheek.

“Thanks, sweetie!” she said, jumping back into her seat. She frowned, “Hey, do I smell Axxnizz of Andoria?”

Stafford and the rest just blinked.

“Sooo, eventful trip?” he asked.


“I can’t believe this,” Stafford complained, fidgeting with one of the buttons on his red Mountie tunic, “Why do none of our missions go over like regular, Starfleet-type missions? Why is it that somebody has to get possessed, or turned into a duck, or covered in slime,”

“Chris, some people have good luck. Sylvia’s voice filtered down from the ceiling, “Some people have bad luck. Some people have weird luck. You just have to learn to live with it.”

“That’s really distracting, Sylvia!” Stafford said. Sylvia’s avatar was seated in a comfortable looking chair, up on the ceiling. They were gathered in Science Lab 2, at the request of Lt. Cmdr Fifebee.

“Well, if this science lab wasn’t so crowded, I wouldn’t have to sit up here, would I?”

“It’s nae crowded,” Jeffery said. He, Stafford and Yanick were the only people in the lab, along with a pulsing energy field generator that was supposed to be simulating the energy fields given off by the ghosts.

“Yes, but the rest will arrive in exactly…now.”

The doors hissed open and Jall, Wowryk, T’Parief and Fifebee stepped in. They were all dressed in drab brown overalls, though Jall’s were looking somewhat singed. They had heavy-looking pieces of equipment strapped to their backs. Heavy cables led to barrel-like beam emitters. As Jeffery looked closer at the packs he realized they looked very familiar.

“Hey, those are the nuclear accelerators from the fusion reactors!” he said, “What are ye doin’ with’em?”

“And why do you look so familiar?” Stafford frowned.

“Because you have known us for several years,” Fifebee said cooly.

“Don’t remind me,” Stafford grimaced, “Wait, why are you dressed as the Ghostbusters?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Fifebee asked, hefting the barrel of her weapon.

“We’re not going to hurt your precious accelerators,” Jall said, “Oh, but you probably don’t want to shut down impulse reactors 1 through 4 for a while, since we’ve sort of ripped the guts out of the micro-fusion initiators to build these proton thingies,”

“Are ye bleedin’ mad?’ Jeffery snapped.

“You built proton packs,” Stafford said, his eyes widening, “Ohhh, Fifebee, do you really think that’s a good idea?”

“No,” Fifebee replied immediately, “And these are not ‘proton packs’, as you say. When I attempted to build a proton pack Commander Jall accidently burnt my face off and caused a rather large explosion.” She turned to Jeffery, “Incidentally, Science Lab 4 has been destroyed. Kindly rebuild it at your earliest convenience.”

Jeffery scowled.

“Well, they sure look like proton packs to me,” Stafford said.

“She said we weren’t allowed to play with proton streams because we’d either kill ourselves or destroy the ship,” Jall complained.

“So what’ve you got?” Stafford asked.

Fifebee thumbed her trigger, causing the tip of her barrel to glow with a fierce yellow light. She moved it close to the energy field in the center of the lab. The second it made contact, the field jumped away.

“Proton prods,” she said.

Stafford looked at her blankly.

“So what’s yer plan, poke ‘em until they get pissed off enough to leave?” Jeffery asked.

“Well, basically,” Jall shrugged, “We couldn’t figure out how to build a trap,”

“This is stupid,” Wowryk grunted, trying to adjust her straps.

“We herd them together, then we convince them to get out of our universe,” Jall said.

“Isn’t this something the Hazardous Team should be doing?” Jeffery asked.

“This is now personal,” T’Parief said coldly.

“Whatever,” Stafford sighed.


After the away team beamed back down to the planet, Stafford, Yanick and Jeffery made their way up to the bridge, somewhat to the surprise of the night shift. Lieutenant Pye tried to hide the pizza he’d been eating under the helm and Lt. Cmdr Quintaine rushed to turn off the ‘Days of Honor’ rerun that was on the main viewscreen.

“Focus the short-range sensors on the colony,” Stafford ordered, deciding to ignore the red sauce drippings on Pye’s uniform, “I wanna see how this goes over,”

“You don’t think San’s plan is going to work, do you,” Yanick accused him.

“Of course I don’t. It’s a stupid plan,” Stafford shrugged.

“Then you shouldn’t have let him go down there!”

“I agree,” Sylvia joined in, “You’re just being vindictive!”

“What’s the worst that could happen?” he said, “So Jall and Wowryk get slimed again. I can’t think of anybody else I’d rather have that happen to.”

He noticed that the night shift was looking at him with expressions of surprise or disapproval.

“Look, you people, just forget whatever you’re hearing. I’m trying to have a private chat with Yanick.”

“That’s what your ready-room is for,” Lieutenant Burke pointed out.

“But then I wouldn’t be able to watch the show now, would I?” Stafford said.

“Oh, right,”

There was a beep, then a bird’s-eye view of the colony appeared on the screen. The image focused in on the away team as they approached a group of ghosts in the process of robbing a bank. The ghost ignored them, right until Jall walked up and jabbed one with his proton prod. The ghost recoiled in surprise. Wowryk, T’Parief and Fifebee joined in, zapping the ghosts and trying to herd them towards the slothful group in the park.

The doors hissed open and Counsellor Yvonnokoff stepped onto the bridge.

“Keptin Stafford,” she said primly, “Sylvia tells me you are haffing hostile projections on away team, and that you need to be counselled,”

“Sylvia!?” Stafford objected.

“Sorry Chris, but you’re not behaving very professionally,”

“That’s no reason to sic the shrink on me!”

“Vhat is happening?” Yvonnokoff asked, looking at the viewscreen. T’Parief was now jabbing one ghost with his proton prod while two more were the process of sliming Jall. Wowryk and Fifebee were chasing yet another one down the street.

“Just a little ghost hunting, counsellor,” Stafford said, “Nothing that concerns you,”

“Ghosts?” Yvonnokoff looked alarmed, “You do not hunt ghosts!”

“Well, ‘hunting’ sounded a bit more professional than ‘busting’,” Stafford said, shooting a dark look in Sylvia’s direction.

“No, no, no!” Yvonnokoff turned and stepped back into the turbolift, “You do not hunt ghosts!”

“Well we’re about out of ideas here!” Stafford snapped, “Any suggestions?”

“Ve counsel zem!” she replied as the doors shut.

“Uh-huh,” Stafford twirled one finger around his ear, “Cu-coo! Cu-coo! And you people thought she was supposed to counsel me?”

“You are being a thoroughly unpleasant person today, Chris,” Sylvia said crossly.

“Everybody has their moods,” Stafford grunted.


Yvonnokoff materialized on the planet. She had her standard padd clipped to her belt. In her hand she held another padd, on which she’d uploaded the mission report.

“Vun group of ghosts eating ze restaurant,” she muttered, “Vun lying in grass. Vun stealing. Anozer obsessed vith sex,”

She started walking towards the away team’s position.

Dr. Wowryk was zapping a very angry looking ghost when she found them.

“Doctor! You must stop at vunce!” she called, “Vill not accomplish anyzing!”

“It’s making me feel better!” Wowryk snarled, wiping slime off her face.

Yvonnokoff stepped between Wowryk and the ghost. The ghost seemed to pause as it regarded her.

“Apologies,” she said to the ghost, “Please, tell vhat it eez you vant here,”

“I want that meat-bag to stop zapping me!” the ghost said.

“Done. Vhat else? Vhat brings you to zis plane of existence?”

“Vacation,”

“Really?” Yvonnokoff looked dubious, “Here? Zis is ze best place you could come up vith?”

“It was sort of a short notice thing,”

“Ah. You chust decided that it would be fun to come and roll around in ze dilapidated filth of zis reality?”

“Well…even a spirit has needs,”

“Zere are healthier forms of release!” Yvonnokoff shook her head, “Vhich von are you? Lust? Greed ? Pride?”

“Um…” now the ghost was looking really embarrassed.

Yvonnokoff shook her head.

“On vith you,” she said, “Scoot! Get your jollies somevhere else!”

The ghost looked at her for another moment, then vanished.

Wowryk blinked.

“How did you…you embarrassed it into leaving? But how did you know it would be embarrased?”

“Really, doctor,” Yvonnokoff looked smug, “I am surprised zat you off all people didn’t see zat zey were acting out ze seven deadly sins,”


Captain’s Log, Supplimental,


Still hand written by Commander of Awsomeness, San Jall, because apparently rebuilding a science lab is more important than fixing a log recorder. Counsellor Yvonnokoff has managed to embarrass all of the energy beings into leaving Gerog IV. Based on the way they were acting out, she had determined that the ‘ghosts’ were ascended beings that needed to let off a little steam. I guess becoming the embodiment of lust is fun and relaxing until you realize that somebody’s standing there watching and judging every move you make. Whatever, they’re gone. And now we all have to be nice to Yvonnokoff for a while.


“I didn’t say that,” Stafford said, reviewing the log entry Jall had typed out.

“But it’s true,”

“OK, I guess I have to give you that,” Stafford sighed. He blinked. “Hey, why are you still wearing that kilt? Halloween’s over!”

“Well, it’s surprisingly comfortable,” Jall shrugged, “And breezy,”

“Ewww,”

“It just feels like all the tension is easing right out of my body,” Jall went on, “You really should try it,”

“That’ll be the day,”

“You could stand to relax a little. So much negative energy!”

“That’s just from hanging around you,”

“Speaking of things that are hanging around-“

“JAAAALLLL!”