SKYTREK : THE KRYSTALS OF KHARG (standard:humor, 5120 words) [1/15] show all parts
Author: Danny Miami	Updated: May 24 2010	Views/Reads: 3229/1851	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
A comedy adventure novel based on the original Star Trek characters. PROLOGUE AND CHAPTER ONE.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

and catching his breath. When he'd recovered, he took a cigar from the 
inside pocket of his jacket and lit it then made himself comfortable on 
the boulder to watch Kharg. 

“This should be good,” he muttered, puffing away happily. “Worth all
that bloody digging.” 

A short distance away Kharg had laid the white rock on the ground and
had drifted back from it a little. He raised his hands, spread his long 
tapering fingers then flicked them. Instantly, ten straight blue lines 
shot out from them, straight blue lines that hissed and crackled and 
gouged holes in the ground. He brought his hands together, palm to palm 
and the ten blue lines fused into a single thick one, emanating from 
his right index finger. 

He pointed up into the night sky and as he moved his finger along,
traces of blue remained against the darkness. Satisfied, he began 
outlining something and as Giraffe watched, a large hand began to take 
shape. 

When the hand was completed Kharg flicked his finger and the thick blue
line changed to an intermittent golden one. He sprayed the gold light 
all over the hand and when it was covered, stood back to watch. 

Slowly, the shimmering gold began to disappear and when the last of it
vanished there was a real live hand underneath – the skin was a light 
brown colour, nails had formed on the ends of fingers, knuckles stood 
out and veins criss-crossed and pulsed slightly. 

Giraffe applauded. “Brilliant special effects, Boss!” he said, grinning.


Kharg ignored him and watched as the fingers of the hand twitched
slightly then it began moving across the night sky. Suddenly it swooped 
down in a wide curve and stopped in front of him. 

Kharg pointed at the white rock and the hand moved forward and picked it
up. The fingers curled round it and squeezed and there were crunching 
sounds as the rock disintegrated. The hand shot upwards then tossed the 
fragments high into the air and they whirled round and round as they 
rose, sparkling in the moonlight. 

Just as they were about to fall back, they stopped and hung motionless
in the purple night sky. Each of the fragments began glowing from 
within then flashed and changed into small multi-coloured crystals. 

The crystals fell to the ground around Kharg and when the last one had
dropped he drifted forward and held out a long bony hand. One by one, 
the crystals leapt from the ground and into his palm, forming a neat 
glowing pyramid. 

“At last I have them!” he rasped triumphantly. “I have the Krystals! The
Krystals of Kharg!!” 

Behind him, Giraffe applauded enthusiastically. “Amazing special
effects, boss! The best I've seen yet!” 

Kharg ignored him again and took out an ornate ivory box. Carefully he
slid the Krystals into it then replaced it inside his voluminous dark 
blue robe. “Come Giraffe,” he rasped, drifting away. “There is much we 
have to do.” 

“Aw don't tell me we have to walk all the way back to the ship?” Giraffe
complained. “Its bloody miles.” 

Kharg stopped and turned. “What do you suggest?” he rasped. 

“A taxi!” replied Giraffe, grinning. He put two fingers to his mouth and
let out a piercing whistle. 

Immediately the hand swooped down from the sky and hovered in front of
them. Giraffe grabbed his hat and jacket, ambled over and climbed into 
it. He peered over the large fingers which were curled up slightly then 
he pointed into the distance. 

“Follow that meteor!” he yelled, giggling. 

Kharg shook his head then drifted over and joined him. He rasped out an
order and the hand rose into the air then started moving away from the 
rocky hillside and headed back across the plain towards their ship. 

CHAPTER ONE 

“Why do I like working for Kharg? That's an easy one. Kharg has vision,
he has charisma, he has amazing magic powers – everything a future Boss 
of the Universe needs. Apart from that, he promised to make me taller!” 


GIRAFFE 

ONE 

Space. The final challenge. 

These are the journeys of the starship Orion. Our five year mission : to
get about the Universe a bit and see if any aliens can play Grand Theft 
Auto IV – no that's not right....our five year mission : to search out 
new worlds and new life-forms, to make contact with new civilizations, 
to bravely go where no man has ever gone. 

CAPTAIN'S LOG : STARDATE 501.75 

A few days after leaving Earth on our latest journey into one of the
unexplored areas of the Universe, we picked up a distress call from a 
ship somewhere in the Avalon System. The signal was weak and we have no 
idea how long it's been beaming out but under one of the unwritten laws 
of space, all distress calls must be responded to and consequently we 
have changed course and are on our way to investigate. 

Captain James T. Kork sighed, closed the ship's Log and leaned as far
back in his chair as his Tummy Trimmer Corset would comfortably allow. 
With that first entry yet another mission of the Orion had officially 
commenced. God knows how long this one would last and here he was, once 
again condemned to wear this stupid, ridiculous uniform. 

‘To bravely go where no man has ever gone ought to be – to bravely wear
what no man has ever worn,' he thought in disgust. 

He glanced down at the garish, bright red jumper, the ill-fitting green
ski pants and the lace-up brown combat boots he had to wear. With 
despairing realization he noticed that apart from the colours not 
co-ordinating, there wasn't even any overall flair to the design of the 
outfit. Groaning, he strolled over to the full length mirror in his 
cabin and examined himself. 

“Who in their right mind would turn out garbage like this?” he muttered,
peering at the uniform from several different angles. “Look at it – 
whoever designed this uniform must have been a whisky-soaked drunkard. 
No wonder any new life-forms we meet laugh at us. How the hell can we 
expect them to take us seriously when we're dressed like this?” 

If only Federation Command had taken him up on his offer to re-design
the uniforms for the entire Star Fleet. He'd taken a portfolio with him 
to Head Quarters at the end of the last mission but after they'd looked 
at his round-collared cut away velvet jackets, white shirts with 
frilled fronts and an individual choice of full length breeches, they'd 
ordered him to rest completely for a month then had offered him a desk 
bound job as a Mission Co-ordinator. 

True the salary would have been higher and he wouldn't have had to
endure these tedious voyages but my God, the uniforms Mission 
Co-ordinators had to wear – they were worse than this! Those stiff 
collars really chaffed the underside of your chin, an inherited weak 
spot with him anyway and the breeches that ended just below the knee 
were hell in winter. 

On the grounds of superior clothes taste he'd turned down the offer and
had settled for another mission with the Orion. 

This time his younger brother Ricky was accompanying them on the
invitation of Federation Command who were trying to persuade him to 
join them. 

‘God knows why,' thought Captain Kork, still glancing at himself in the
mirror. 

Agreed, Ricky's intelligence was exceptional but so was his fondness for
every conceivable drug known to man, something he would have to watch 
him on. 

“Apart from that he also dresses like a tramp,” muttered the Captain,
having a last look at himself before he made his way to the bridge. 

He smoothed down a few wayward strands of his neat but fashionably cut
brown hair and smiled lazily at his reflection. Damn! Those little 
crow's feet at the corners of his eyes really gave his handsome tanned 
face an added touch of maturity. 

‘Not bad for a forty five year old,' he thought. ‘Not bad at all.' 

He turned sideways and examined his profile, pleased to see there were
no giveaway bulges from his Tummy Trimmer Corset. 

Satisfied with his appearance, apart from the uniform that is, he
strapped on his laser pistol and strolled towards the door of his 
cabin. As he approached, the doors swished open and he stopped to watch 
and listen, a smile on his face. 

God how he loved the doors on this ship! The lovely smooth way they
swished open and that pleasant little hissing noise they made as they 
disappeared into the cabin walls. 

He stepped through the opening and turned to watch the door closing. He
took a couple of steps backwards to get a better view and kicked over a 
mop bucket, sending a miniature tidal wave of dirty brown water surging 
down the corridor. 

“You bloody prat!” an elderly female voice screeched. “I've just mopped
that friggin floor!” 

Captain Kork glanced round. Hilda the cleaning lady was glaring at him,
flabby arms folded across and resting on her sagging bosom. 

From head to foot, Hilda was the opposite of good dress sense : a faded,
full length floral apron was her main outfit, from the bottom of which 
two bare varicosed lower legs poked out before they disappeared into 
black socks and a pair of tattered trainers. A dirty blue beret covered 
most of her grey hair and a half-smoked cigarette dangled permanently 
from her lips. 

The Captain gave her the benefit of his lazy smile, complete with those
appealing crow's feet at the corners of his eyes but Hilda remained 
unmoved and continued to glare at him. 

He glanced at the rapidly moving muddy water which was still surging
along an already mopped, dried and gleaming corridor floor. “Even King 
Canute couldn't stop that,” he remarked philosophically. 

“Bugger you an bugger yer mate!” Hilda replied, the movement of her lips
dislodging half an inch of cigarette ash which fell into the torrent. 
“I'll have to mop this pissin corridor again because of you.” 

“My apologies madam,” Captain Kork said courteously, turning on the full
smile and showing his perfect white teeth which, he always thought, 
contrasted nicely with the light tan on his face. 

Hilda ignored his perfect white teeth as moments before she had ignored
his appealing crow's feet. “While we're here,” she said, still without 
removing the cigarette, “is this your room?” 

The Captain nodded. 

“Well let's you an me get a few things straight my lad,” she went on,
jabbing a podgy forefinger at him. “I want it kept tidy so don't be 
expectin me to go round pickin up yer clothes. No women after midnight 
– I don't allow that sort of thing on my ship. And no aliens, 
definitely no bloody aliens. I'm pissed off cleanin up after them – 
discarded skins lyin around an that slimy stuff all over the place, so 
no aliens in the room. Got all that?” 

An amused twinkle in his blue eyes, the Captain nodded again. 

“So long as we understand each other then,” Hilda said, “we won't have
no trouble. If we do there's always this,” she warned, brandishing the 
long mop handle. 

Involuntarily, Captain Kork felt his buttocks tighten. 

Hilda took a final draw from her cigarette then tossed it into the mop
bucket. “Right, on yer way,” she ordered, jerking a thumb at him. 

Glad to get away, the Captain tiptoed through the inch of brown water on
the floor and continued on his way to the bridge. 

‘It's a damn shame the uniforms these cleaning ladies have to wear,' he
thought as he strolled along the corridor to the lift. He sighed and 
shook his head. ‘If only Federation Command had given more serious 
consideration to my portfolio.' 

TWO 

In the heart of the Avalon System which lies some distance from our own
small Galaxy, the planet Dulkodaz and its people had meandered about 
their daily business for centuries with nothing unduly dramatic 
happening. 

Until Kharg and Giraffe arrived. 

Within an hour, Kharg had deposed the ruler of the planet and had taken
over his palace. Giraffe informed the population that they needed to 
‘borrow' their planet for a few days but that it would be returned 
‘unbroken' – so long as they gave no trouble. 

After witnessing a display of Kharg's powers the population wisely
decided not to cause any trouble and kept their distance. 

Before he had arrived on Dulkodaz, Kharg had positioned his empty decoy
ship in the Avalon System and had triggered its distress call, knowing 
that Captain Kork and the Orion would have no choice but to respond to 
it. 

In the elderly Observatory on Dulkodaz, the elderly white haired
Astronomer looked up from his elderly star maps as the door opened and 
Kharg drifted in. 

“Have those Federation fools picked up the distress call yet?” he
rasped. 

“Yes, my Lord,” replied the old Astronomer. “They have already changed
course and are heading towards your decoy ship.” 

“Show me.” 

“Certainly, my Lord. If my Lord would care to step over to the wall
map.” 

From floor to ceiling on the far wall and stretching all the way along
it, Kharg had earlier set up a map of the Avalon System on thin black 
glass so he could track the Orion. 

Giraffe however had taken over the wall map, despite the old
Astronomer's protests and was intent on playing Grand Theft Auto IV on 
it....until Kharg flicked out a thin blue line from his index finger 
and zapped him on the back of the head. 

“Shit!” yelled Giraffe, dropping his control pad and causing his car to
crash through a shop window in downtown New York. He turned and saw 
Kharg glaring at him. “Oh sorry, Boss,” he said. “Just waiting till you 
arrived. Everything's set up.” 

Quickly he unhooked his games console and the wall map reappeared. Kharg
drifted across the room to it and the old Astronomer picked up a 
pointer and shuffled after him. 

“Earth,” said the old man, tapping a white circle on the map. Several
inches away from it, representing a billion space miles, a flashing red 
triangle was moving slowly along. “The Federation ship Orion,” he 
added, pointing to it. “At first they were heading away over here,” he 
went on, tracing the Orion's original route, “but as soon as they 
picked up the distress call they changed course and are now coming to 
investigate it.” 

“Good,” rasped Kharg. “Where is my decoy ship?” 

The old Astronomer moved further along the wall and peered at the map.
“Ah here it is,” he said, indicating a flashing green triangle which 
was travelling slower than the Orion. 

Kharg glanced at an array of instrument panels and monitors in the
corner of the room. “You are controlling the decoy ship from there?” he 
asked. 

“Yes, my Lord.” 

Kharg nodded and turned back to the map. “Where will you cut its power?”


The old man peered at the wall again and stroked his long white beard.
“In this area here,” he replied, tapping a section in front of the 
decoy ship. “Near Dulkodaz.” 

“When will the Orion reach it?” 

“At the most, one more day, my Lord.” 

Kharg seemed satisfied with the answer. The next stage in his plan to
destroy Earth and rule the 	Universe was in place. “You have done well, 
“he rasped. He reached into his robe, withdrew a glittering diamond and 
tossed it onto a table. 

Giraffe grinned at the way the old man's eye's lit up when he saw it. 

“For me!?” the old Astronomer gushed, clasping his arthritic hands
together. 

“For you,” confirmed Kharg. “Inform me when my decoy ship is in its
final position and the Orion is approaching.” He turned and drifted 
towards the door. “Come Giraffe,” he rasped. “We must prepare for the 
arrival of Captain Kork and Mr Sprock.” 

“Oh good!” said Giraffe. “Noddy and Big Ears! I can't wait to see what
Sprock's ears will be like this time!” 

THREE 

The nerve-centre of any ship travelling through space is its bridge. It
is here that all information from scanners and computers is received, 
monitored and acted on. It is here that all decisions regarding the 
route and speed of the ship are made. When danger threatens, it is here 
that action is taken, whether it is offensive or defensive, with the 
uppermost thoughts in the Commanding Officer's mind being the safety of 
the crew and the ship. 

As Captain James T. Kork was making his way up in the lift he was
whistling softly to himself, confident that the Orion was in capable, 
competent hands and should any problems arise, they would be dealt with 
swiftly and professionally by his highly trained bridge personnel...... 


“Eyes down for a full house!” yelled Ensign Cool. 

In front of him on the bridge, half a dozen of the Orion's crew were
gathered in a semi-circle, pens poised over their bingo cards. 

“What's the big prize this week?” someone asked. 

“One of those new uniforms the Captain designed for us,” Ensign Cool
replied. 

All the players groaned. 

“Right, here we go with the first number!” Ensign Cool announced as a
small numbered ball slid down the glass tube in front of him. “Two fat 
spacemen – 88!” 

The players bent over their cards and concentrated. 

“Next number. Youhoor's bra size, all the fours – 44!” 

The game continued...... 

“Alien bone necklaces! Alien bone bangles! Get all your alien bone
jewellery here!” shouted the tall, elegant Doctor Malloy, the Orion's 
Surgeon, as he moved round the bridge. 

He had a large tray slung in front of him which had various types of
bone jewellery on display. 

“Bones! I need bones! I got to have bones or this ship ain't goin
nowhere!” Mr Zulu yelled. 

Mr Zulu, the Orion's Navigator, was a large dark brown chap with a large
dark brown voice. On the floor beside his console he had a complicated 
pattern of bones laid out however he required some additional material 
before he could determine the next part of the ship's course. 

Doctor Malloy smiled at him and strolled over. “Big bones, small bones,
fat bones, thin bones,” he reeled off. “What did you have in mind, 
Zulu?” 

“Let's see what you got in this tray here,” Zulu said. He searched
around and came up with a necklace made up of thin alien bones. He 
broke the necklace and examined the bones. “These are perfect, man. How 
much?” 

The Doctor pursed his lips. “Two hundred UniCredits,” he told him. 

Zulu nodded and fished out a credit card from a drawer in his station.
“This okay?” he asked. 

“Sure,” said Doctor Malloy, taking a note of the number. “I'll put it
through as a navigational aid, how's that?” 

Zulu grinned. “That's cool, bro,” he replied and happily turned back to
his floor lay-out...... 

“Skin the bastards alive!” announced Lieutenant Victor ‘Butch' Bradley,
the Orion's Weapons Officer. “That's how I'd deal with aliens or any 
other friggin life-forms we meet.” 

The other crew members propping up the small bar nodded in agreement. 

“Screw the old ‘make friendly contact with the bastards' routine,” went
on the well-built Butch. “Let's blow them apart. Then we can take what 
we want without having to bargain with the mothers. What d'you say, 
Jocky?” 

Jocky, the Orion's Chief Engineer, stared moodily into his drink. “Yer
too soft, Bradley,” he replied in his rolling Scottish accent. “Whit 
aboot prisoners?” 

Butch visibly brightened. “Prisoners?” he said, grinning. “Good idea,
Jocky. We could bring a few back to torture.” 

At the end of the bar a young Ensign half-choked on his drink. 

“Yeah, prisoners are good,” Butch said with feeling, warming to his
subject. “Remember once we brought back one of them aliens from Signus 
Five. We nailed him to some metal girders and --” 

The young Ensign pushed his drink away and clutched his stomach. 

“-- cut a hole in him with a welding torch. Then we started to pull him
inside out, bit by bit and --” 

The young Ensign collapsed at the end of the bar and lay on the floor,
retching. 

“-- what the hell's that noise?” Butch asked, looking round. 

“It's probably that poof ower there,” Jocky answered, jerking his thumb
at Simon, the Orion's exquisitely groomed Beautician. 

Butch glanced over at Simon with distaste. “Commie faggot bastard,” he
sneered. “Tell you what I'd like to do with him.” 

On the floor at the end of the bar the young Ensign has passed out and
was mercifully spared Butch's detailed, graphic description...... 

Oblivious to the insults being hurled in his direction, Simon was trying
to get rid of a spot on Mr Cracker's cheek by popping it between his 
nails. 

Mr Cracker's, a small balding man, was the Orion's Helmsman. He screwed
his eyes shut, gritted his teeth and manfully let his spot be squeezed. 


“There,” said Simon, popping it. “All finished.” 

Crackers whimpered a little and opened his eyes. 

“Damn!” Simon complained, examining his finger. “I've chipped a nail.”  
Some loud laughter from the bar caught his attention and he glanced 
over. 

“My, isn't he a hunk!” he muttered, gazing admiringly at Butch Bradley.
“Wish he'd ask me to squeeze something!” He stared wistfully at Butch 
for a few minutes then set about the arduous task of repairing his 
damaged nail...... 

Ricky Kork, the Captain's younger brother, lay sprawled on one of the
bridge couches, dressed in t-shirt and faded Levis. On either side of 
him sat a black stocking'd, black boot'd, mini-skirt'd Ensign. 

Ricky sucked in some more smoke from the fat cigarette he was holding
and nodded appreciatively. “Good stuff,” he drawled and passed it to 
one of the women. 

She took a draw and exhaled slowly. “Nice,” she agreed. “Where'd you get
this?” 

Ricky brushed his long brown hair away from his face and gazed out one
of the observation windows, a dreamy smile on his face. “Traded it for 
that Pendant the Captain used to wear,” he replied. 

The women giggled. 

“You mean that Pendant he's obsessed with? The one he was presented with
on Vargas?” 

Ricky nodded. “The very one. He thinks it's got something to do with the
Evil Force!” 

“The Evil Force!” one of the women repeated mockingly and the couch
dissolved into a sniggering, giggling heap...... 

“So I went back to this film director's place after the party,”
Lieutenant Youhoor drawled to the semi-circle of attentive women crew 
members. The Lieutenant was the Orion's Communications Officer. She 
patted her curly, jet black hair and crossed one silky brown thigh over 
the other, “and after he fixes me a drink he says he's popping into the 
shower.” 

Her listeners leaned forward expectantly. The Lieutenant's exploits back
on Earth were legendary and her stories kept the other women 
entertained on the long voyages.” 

“So after he's had a shower he wanders back into the room,” Youhoor went
on, the memory parting her sensuous lips in a fond smile, “and all he's 
wearing is --” 

Suddenly the bridge door swished open and an Ensign rushed in. 
“Captain's coming!” he yelled, cutting short the Lieutenant's tale. 
“Captain's coming!” 

With practised ease, indicating that this was a regular occurrence, the
crew calmly swung into a well-organised routine to get the bridge back 
into shape before he arrived. 

The bingo equipment was cleared away, the small bar was slid neatly into
the wall and some pleasant air freshener was sprayed around. All 
non-bridge personnel filed out a side door in an orderly manner, 
somebody dragging out the Ensign who had earlier collapsed during 
Butch's reminiscences. The remaining crew members returned to their 
stations and in under a minute the bridge had  returned to normal. 

FOUR 

Unfortunately for Captain Kork and his crew, Kharg and Giraffe weren't
the only ones who were interested in them. From the opposite end of the 
Avalon System a Klinger Mother Ship was deliberately heading towards 
them, having tracked the Orion since it left Earth. 

The Mother Ship was a massive vessel, four times the size of the Orion
and it contained five hundred Klinger warriors under the command of one 
General Draygo. 

The Klingers were the arch-enemies of the Federation and Captain Kork
had crossed swords with them many times before and remained a permanent 
barrier to their plans to dominate the Universe. 

This time however the problem of Captain Kork and his crew was going to
be dealt with once and for all because General Draygo had been sent out 
with one purpose only – to kill the Captain and destroy the Orion and 
thereby remove the main obstacle that stood between the Klingers and 
their universal empire. 

General Draygo's plan to kill Captain Kork had seemed simple enough on
paper when he worked it out. When the Mother Ship entered the Avalon 
System they picked up the distress call from Kharg's decoy ship and had 
tracked the Orion changing course to respond to the call. Being 
Klingers, they had totally ignored the distress call. 

The Mother Ship was now deliberately heading towards the Orion, knowing
full well that they would eventually be picked up on their outer 
scanners and the Orion would change course to avoid them. 

The plan therefore was to release a small attack ship before the Mother
Ship was picked up by the Orion's scanners. When the attack ship was in 
position it would be invisible under its cloaking device and would not 
be picked up by the Orion's scanners and would then wait in ambush to 
blow it up as it passed. 

On the bridge of the Mother Ship, General Draygo stood in front of his
two man attack squad who were ready to leave. “So you understand the 
plan then?” he asked the two warriors. 

“Yes sir!” replied the Sergeant and the Private in unison. 

“Get down to the attack ship then,” ordered the General. “And remember
this – when you succeed in your mission you will become heroes of the 
Klinger empire.” 

The Sergeant and Private saluted proudly and left the bridge. 

General Draygo strolled over and looked out one of the observation
windows at the stars twinkling in blue-black space. “Time to die, 
Captain James T. Kork!” he muttered. He sat down in his command chair, 
drumming his fingers impatiently on the arms as he waited for word from 
the Exit Bay. 

A couple of minutes later his intercom buzzed and he flicked it on.
“Attack ship ready to launch, sir,” a voice told him. 

“Launch it!” ordered the General then leaned back and watched the Exit
Bay observation screen. 

Deep in the Mother Ship the huge steel doors of the Exit Bay slid open
and the small attack ship drifted out. It swung round onto its course 
then headed out into space. 

Draygo watched it for a minute then swivelled round to the Navigator.
“How soon till it's in position?” he asked. 

“One hour, sir,” the Navigator told him. 

The General nodded. “And how long till the Orion picks us up on their
scanners?” 

“Two hours, sir.” 

An evil grin spread over Draygo's ugly face. The attack ship would soon
be in position. The Mother Ship was heading towards the Orion. The 
Orion would pick them up on their scanners and change course to avoid 
them....and head straight towards the attack ship waiting in ambush. 
Then....BOOM!! There would be a distant yellow flash as the Orion 
exploded in space. 

Content with how his plan was progressing, the General settled back
comfortably to watch and wait. 


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