index


Message-ID: <50823asstr$1111986605@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Shadowloup" <shadowloup@hotmail.com>
Mime-Version: 1.0
NNTP-Posting-Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 02:19:02 +0000 (UTC)
User-Agent: G2/0.2
Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com
Injection-Info: g14g2000cwa.googlegroups.com; posting-host=64.12.116.197;
   posting-account=DKRltgwAAADqFv4yspxqKCDz0KGwRr_h
Subject: {ASSM} Dr. Screw - Return of the Screw Chapter 1 (sci fi, mf, aliens, humor)
Lines: 339
Date: Mon, 28 Mar 2005 00:10:05 -0500
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d

Greetings.  You must be physically and metaphysically old enough to
read this.  I'm sure your children are fine, I just have no wish to
raise them.  Anyone other than ASSTR who wishes to use this story for
whatever purpose should contact me, since I can actually prove I wrote
it.  Everyone else, please enjoy.  Constructive feedback is always
welcome.  If you like it, please visit my website at
www.asstr-mirror.org/files/Authors/Shadowloup/www.

Dr. Screw II - The Return of the Screw
by Shadowloup


Chapter 1

OFFICIAL CAPTAIN'S LOG ENTRY, CONFEDERATION SHIP ROBERTY LEE:

VOICE OF CAPTAIN JAMES T. TURK:

Stardate: 38DD-29-36.

Due to an emergency assignment, we were forced to conclude our dealings
with the Ryelians early to convey a diplomatic mission to space station
Byzantium III.

The nature of this mission is classified on a need to know basis.
Suffice it to say that Admiral Kraag personally debriefed me of this,
and warned me not to put the "ass" in "classified".  Again.  That
fucking moronic dink.

Ooohhhh! Shit! Shit!  Computer, erase last sentence!

Whew!  Good thing I caught that, ehh Splock?

VOICE OF CS ROBERTY LEE'S SCIENCE OFFICER SPLOCK:

Captain, may I remind you again that computers are very literal.  Since
you uttered the colloquialism "shit" in three short, sentence-like
bursts, it is highly probably that the computer followed your orders
exactly by removing one of those "shits" and leaving the remainder of
the embarrassing log entry intact.

VOICE OF TURK:

You think I don't know how to use the computer on my own ship?  You're
getting to be as bad as those fucking turd-smokers at Confederation
Central.  AAaahhhh!  Shit! Shit!  Computer, erase last sentence.

****

The hyperspace drive room of the Confederation Ship Roberty Lee was
large, clean, and ran as smoothly as the precision machinery it housed,
thanks to the authority of Chief Engineering Officer Montivardi
"Snotty" Welsh.  The sturdy Scotsman loved his work as much as he loved
the mighty hyperspace engines with their ability to cleave space-time.

Snotty watched his workers with pride in his eyes.  Until he saw a
group warily eyeing one of the Jefferson Tubes leading towards the main
hall.

Suspecting them of planning an unauthorized cigarette break without
inviting him, Snotty ambled over.

"What's going on, laddies?" he asked, his slight Scottish burr just
waiting to roll some "R's".

One young ensign answered.  "We heard this very strange sound, Sir.
Like... a big radioactive monster spurting joy juice all over the
place."

Recognition dawned instantly in Snotty's eyes.  He grabbed a good-sized
spanner from a nearby tool shelve and strode towards the tube.

"I know just what it is, laddies.  I'll be right back," he announced
over his shoulder.

A second of crawling took Snotty to an area which widened out enough
for him to stand upright and walk seven steps.  He considered this his
secret office, a little hideaway just outside one of the main halls.
But someone had installed a large, antique pornographic video booth
which now took up half this empty space.

A worn placard on the side of the booth announced "Ton-O-Cum; Your one
stop ejaculation station."  An old, pink curtain obscured the entrance.

Snotty banged his spanner on an air duct, creating a horrendous
crashing metal ruckus.

A man popped his head out of the booth between the folds of the
curtain.  His curly hair was styled with cheap mousse.  His eyes were
surrounded by wire framed glasses with lightly tinted lenses.  A jaunty
Hawaiian shirt, Bermuda shorts and old sandals were his clothing.  The
unmistakable smoky tang of mind altering substances accompanied him.
He blinked as Snotty banged on the air duct again.

"That's got it, I think!  But you'd better run a full diagnostic test
now!" Snotty yelled towards the main room.  He ignored the low groans
of protest which floated back while he eyed the stranger.

"That'll keep the lads busy," Snotty said.  "But you might want to warn
a fellow when you're coming, Doc."

Doc gave the engineer a smile of blinding luminescence.  It was as
though the energy of a supernova had been captured in the enamel of his
teeth.

"If I had known I was coming I'd have worn a rubber," he said.

The Chief Engineer suppressed a smile.

"Still," Snotty said.  "Your popping into the engine room sudden-like
is a breach a protocols, and could get me in a wee bit a trouble."

"My apologies," Doc said.  He reached into one of the pockets of his
shorts and withdrew a small vial filled with a clear liquid, which he
presented to Snotty.

"Please accept this vial of Neptunian Juju juice to make up for my
thoughtlessness.  It's water soluble, and untraceable in drug tests."

Snotty's face lit up with his own smile.

"You're a sweet man, you are."

Doc reached into his other pants pocket and withdrew a clear plastic
bag filled with green vegetation.

"And also accept this baggy of Alpha Centauri cannabis buds.  For
medicinal purposes only.  I prescribe one bong hit a day."

If Snotty's smile was bright before, it now beamed as radiantly as
Doc's.

"Ahhh!  A friend with weed is a friend indeed!" he said.  "If I'm
feeling especially generous later, I'll pump some of it through the air
ducts.  Sometimes that's all that keeps the crew from killin' each
other."

"Excellent.  As a doctor, I heartily endorse that.  A lot of people are
not getting their daily minimum requirement of mellowness or slack."

Now it was Snotty's turn to reach into his Confederation uniform and
withdraw a clear plastic baggy of his own.

"Since we're in the gift givin' mood, here's a little something for
you."

Snotty shook the bag, causing the white crystals inside to hiss as they
rubbed together.

"Look at these, laddie.  It's from me own private stash.  You'll be
sailin' the stars without your ship in no time."

"You still snorting those?" Doc asked.

"That's why the call me Snotty," the engineer joked.  "But I should
warn you that this is tri-lithium.  One better than my usual di-lithium
brew."

Doc scratched his chin.

"Three lithiums makes it more potent?  Then tetra-lithium should be
even better?" he asked.

"Aye, but the wee atoms won't place right, so tetra-lithium is highly
unstable."

"Still, if you could just invent the process to get four..."

"You kennot change the laws of physics, if you ken my meaning," the
engineer said, shaking his head sadly.

"I can," Doc said.

To conclude the gift-giving portion of their agenda, Doc broke out his
antique metallic hipflask of Sonic Screwdriver.  As they basked in the
friendly glow of alcohol, Doc asked "So where are you folks bound this
time?  Some place exciting, I hope."

"Just a little dive called Byzantium III."

"Oh, I know that spot.  There's a lovely little place called the Porno
Palace.  Tell them I sent you."

"I think not, laddie.  Last time I told someone you'd sent me, some
lawyer-type fella tried to serve me palimony papers with your name on
them."

"Oh," Doc said.  "Sorry about that."

After another round of Sonic Screwdriver, Doc asked "Is James T. Turk
still commanding this tub?"

"Aye, that he is, the egomaniacal bastard.  He considers Roberty Lee to
be a glorified garbage scow."

Snotty patted the wall affectionately to soothe the ship's wounded
feelings.

"What does the 'T' in Turk's name stand for?"

"Just a T.  He originally didn't have a middle initial, so he gave
himself one to sound grander," Snotty explained.  "We call him
'Tirebiter' behind his back."

Snotty and Doc's conversation was interrupted by footsteps from the
corridor outside.  Keeping behind cover, they watched three men walk
down the hall.  The lead man was tall and muscular, though in a few
years that muscle would probably go to flab.  His wavy hair had a
youthfully tousled look.  His mouth was set in a cocky sneer.

To his right was a taller, more slender, dark-haired being with
extra-large ears and a pinched, dour look, as though he had just
smelled a particularly virulent eructation but was too polite to
comment.  The being on the left was smaller than either, with brown
hair and a perpetually peeved air about him as though he found
displeasure in everything.  He carried a limp white bag clearly marked
"Biohazardous Waste".

The trio strode to a door marked "Replicator Room", looked about as
nonchalantly as three beings with nefarious schemes could, and entered.

"Aye," Snotty said.  "Those three are thick as thieves today.  I wonder
what they're up to."

So saying, Snotty flipped open his palm-pocket computer and toyed with
a few settings.  A picture appeared showing the three men surrounding a
strange machine with more buttons than surface area.  Doc assumed the
buttoned machine was the replicator.

"I've tapped into the security net.  You kennever be too careful,"
Snotty said.

"Also helps you to know when the drug tests are coming," Doc said with
a wink.

Snotty returned the wink, and pointed to the commanding figure in the
palm-pocket's screen.  "That's the good Captain James T. Turk
himself.  The tall beanpole is Mr. Splock, and the short little twerp
is Doctor McElory."

Doc and Snotty watched as Turk pressed a few buttons spun several dials
on the replicator, then leaned over to speak into a microphone.

"James T. Turk.  Codeword: Monsterweiner."

Snotty snorted.  "Aye.  Now there's wishful thinking."

The tall being spoke next.  "First Science Officer Splock.  Codeword:
Logic."

McElroy gave short, nasty, sarcastic laugh.

"That's a very logical code word for you, Splock," he said.  "And as
such, it sucks.  You trying to get us caught?"

"Since it takes three of us to activate the program, the likelihood of
our being caught solely on one password alone being compromised are..."

"No, no, no," McElroy interrupted.  "You just don't get it, do you?
The logical, unbreakable password in this particular case would be one
that is illogical, wouldn't it?"

McElroy smiled devilishly, adding "See how your logic falls flat on its
pointy-eared little ass?"

"Very well, Doctor," Splock said in a precise tone.  "Let us hear your
unbreakable illogical password."

McElory glared at Splock as he spoke into the microphone.  "Chief
medical officer Lenny McElroy.  Codeword: malpractice."

"That password is neither illogical nor unbreakable," Splock said
dryly.

"Oh fuck you, you... you chartreuse-blooded Hephaestian motherfucker!"

"Sticks and stones, doctor.  Sticks and stones."

"Splock!  Boner!  Please!"  Turk interrupted in a melodramatic gasping
cadence.  "We have got to stick together."

"He uses a lame ass password for the same reason I do, he can't
remember it," McElroy protested, adding "He's dead to me, Jim.  He's
dead."

As they argued, the replicator rumbled into action, creating a golden
glow accompanied by a low humming sound like a monk uttering a throaty,
guttural mantra.  Green stacks of neatly bundled papers appeared in the
replicator's opening.

McElroy opened the medical waste bag and Splock began tossing those
stacks inside.

"Ohh, those wee, rotten bastards!"  Snotty said.

"What are they making?"

"Money, you daft fool!  Those bastards are forging money and they're
not cutting me in."

"What are you going to do with this fascinating new tidbit of
information?"

"I'll have to ponder that, laddie, while imbibing on your Neptunian
Juju Juice."

"Just remember only one hit at a time with that stuff," Doc said.
"It's pretty potent."

"Aye.  It's this rotten trip.  Things have really gone to hell in a
handbasket ever since we took on that secret cargo."

Doc was on that in an instant.  "Secret cargo?  Are you guys ferrying
drugs?  And if so, can I have some?"

"No, laddie, not unless you know of some type of drug that requires
food and water."

Doc pondered the possibilities.  One put a gleam in his eyes.  "Hhmmm.
White slavery?  And if so, can I have a poke?"

"Laddie, you've got more paranoid conspiracy theories than the Grassy
Knoll Club.  Maybe you should lay off the drugs."

"I can't do that.  I've a reputation to live down to.  Besides, I'm a
Time Fnord.  We live, eat and breath conspiracies," Doc said with a
smile of nova-like intensity.  He walked toward the curtained door of
his porno-booth-cum-ship.  "But I think I'll pop on ahead of you.  See
you at Byzantium III."

With that, Doc re-entered the booth, which was actually his JOINT,
Jovian Organically Integrated Noisy Transporter.  True to its name, the
booth created a noise like a large beast having its jollies
electrically molested and faded away

Snotty watched as the gentle breeze created by the sudden absence of a
large object swayed the dust bunnies on the floor.

"Dafter than a swan," he said, and went back to work.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+