Space. The Final Frontier.

These are the voyages of the starship Roddenberry.

Its five-season mission:

To foul up strange new worlds.

To tick off new life and new civilizations.

To boldly go where no man wants it to go!

Captain Joe P. Cork sat back in his shuttlecraft, watching the stars go by and thinking the same words the author had put in the previous paragraph. As of this day, September 8, 2266, he was the commanding officer of the second-finest ship in the United Planets Space Fleet. It should have been a happy day for Cork. It had always been his lifelong dream to command a starship, especially one as famous as the Roddenberry. And on top of that, Cork was now the youngest starship captain in the history of Space Fleet at just 25 years old, thanks to his rich parents’ generous “donations” to Space Fleet Command. Yet somehow, for some reason, Cork felt something…off. Something like being a captain of a major starship wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

Cork looked ahead at the windshield, and there it was. There he beheld the starship USS Roddenberry, ST-101, in all her glory. 300 meters long, with a thick rocket-shaped hull and two long rocket-shaped engines, she was a marvel of 23rd-century human technology. Never mind the faded silver paint, the dents and scratches all over the hull, and the metal plates crudely bolted on to poorly disguise said dents and scratches. She was a true starship, a great vessel worthy of her name. The name of some guy who had created a sci-fi franchise 300 years before, but never mind that either.

No man was more familiar with the USS Roddenberry than Joe Cork — well, other than the engineers who had designed it, but forget about them. During his time at the Academy, he had spent countless hours studying the Roddenberry‘s past missions under the command of Captain Charles Pork — on TV, sitting in his dorm room with his friends when he was supposed to be in class, but forget about that too. All Cork knew was that he was very privileged to succeed the great Captain Pork, and that meant he had big shoes to fill. Shoes almost as big as Captain Pork’s mother, but don’t tell her.

The doors of the Roddenberry‘s hangar flipped open, and the shuttlecraft flew in. Once the shuttlecraft landed and its door slid open, Captain Cork stood up as straight as he could and stepped out. There, in front of him, all 4,000 of the Roddenberry‘s crew were assembled in formation to greet their new captain — a vast sea of yellow, blue, and red polo shirts, because Space Fleet couldn’t afford real uniforms for some reason. Some of them were standing at attention, others were fidgeting, and a few were picking their noses. At the front of the formation stood the ship’s senior officers, and at the front of them stood a tall man in a blue polo shirt, black slacks, and black boots. He also had black hair in a fringe cut, greenish skin, and pointed ears. He was a Volcano — the first ever in Space Fleet now that it had enough makeup budget to give him his ears.

“Live short and suffer, Captain,” said the Volcano officer, raising his hands in the Volcano traditional greeting. “I am Commander Spark, first mate and pseudoscience officer aboard the Roddenberry.”

“Thanks,” said Cork, trying to return Spark’s greeting but failing to get his fingers to cooperate. “Who are all these people next to you?”

“These are your co-stars and senior officers, Captain,” said Spark. “Our job is to sit next to you on the bridge and give you suggestions that you will surely ignore. Your job as captain is to take credit for all of our actions and blame us for stealing all of your lines.”

“Sounds like a plan,” said Cork.

“Howdy,” said an older man standing next to Spark, wearing a blue shirt and a blood-stained apron and brandishing a rusty saw. “I’m Dr. Ronald McDonald. I’m the ship’s barber, and sometimes I do surgery.”

“Top o’ the morning, Cap’n,” said a man in a red shirt and a tweed flat cap holding a toolbox in one hand and a bottle of Guinness in the other. “M’name is Commander Patrick O’Spot, Spotty for short. I’m the chief engineer, which means I say all sorts of words that sound technological but don’t really mean anything.”

“Konichiwa, Captain,” said a man with a yellow shirt, Asian features, and a long sword on his belt. “I am Lieutenant Solo, helmsman on ship. I steer ship and fire weapons. Also am world’s strongest swordsman. Hi-yah!“

“Good afternoon, Captain,” said an attractive black woman in a red minidress. “I’m Lieutenant Ohio.”

“And what’s your job, Lieutenant?” asked Cork.

“It’s my job to be a black woman, sir,” said Ohio.

“Okay,” said Cork. “Nice to meet you all, I suppose. Everyone dismissed!”

And at that command, all the crewmen fell out of line and rushed for the door to resume their duties and video games. Spark led the captain the same way, walking calmly in the Volcano fashion, and the rest of the crew followed the two.

“Where are we going, Spark?” asked Cork.

“The bridge, Captain,” said Spark. “It is your job to command the ship out of drydock and engage the Burp Drive. Then, we will take you on a complete tour of the Roddenberry and its facilities.”

“Sounds fun!” said Cork.

Spotty headed off to Main Engineering, while McDonald headed for sick bay. The rest walked down the corridor and entered the bridge. It was a circular room with computer consoles all over the walls. There was a big screen at the front showing what was in front of the ship, and a round pit in the middle containing the captain’s chair and the helm/navigation console. All in all, it was a very, very familiar design. Don’t ask us where they got it, or somebody might get sued.

Spark, Solo, and Ohio took their consoles, and Cork took the captain’s chair. Pressing the intercom button on one of his armrests, he then dialed up Engineering.

“Spotty, prepare to engage Burp Drive!” said Cork.

“But Cap’n, we’re still in drydock!” protested Spotty from Engineering. “We’ve got to get out using rocket drive before we engage Burp!”

“Whatever!” said Cork. “Warm up the Burp engine! That’s an order, Spotty!”

“Aye, Cap’n,” sighed Spotty, before ordering his men to load another case of Burp Cola into the Burp Core.

“Open hailing frequencies, Lt. Ohio,” ordered Cork.

“Aye, sir,” said Ohio, punching buttons on her console.

“Drydock command, this is Captain Cork,” spoke Cork into his armrest. “Permission to exit drydock.”

“Permission denied, Captain,” said a nameless officer on the other end. “We haven’t yet completed pre-departure checks—”

“Whatever!” said Cork. “Spotty, is the Burp Core ready?”

“Aye, sir,” said Spotty.

“You can’t charge the Burp Core yet!” protested the drydock officer. “We’ve—”

“Good!” said Cork. “Mr. Solo, set Burp Factor 2!”

“Aye, sir,” said Solo, punching buttons on his console.

“We’ve got to follow—” repeated the drydock officer.

“Engage!” shouted Cork, pointing at the screen in front of him.

“We’ve got to follow basic protocol, for crying out loud!” repeated the drydock officer again.

But it was too late. Solo pressed the “engage” button, and with a mighty belch, the starship Roddenberry broke the light barrier and jumped a billion kilometers in an instant. The space-time shock wave from the Burp tore the drydock into shreds, along with all the smaller starships carrying the spectators and journalists gathered to witness this historic event. 500 lives and countless trillions of dollars of equipment were lost that day. But that didn’t matter. The Roddenberry was away. Her latest five-season mission had begun.

“Which way, Captain?” asked Solo.

“That way,” said Cork, pointing in a random direction. “I don’t care. As long as it’s somewhere no man wants us to go.”

TO BE CONTINUED