MIS- Fleet Lark 2 (humour)

[ray gower]

With tongue very firmly welded in cheek

Fleet Lark (part 2)
Parbold learns a little about the characters on his new home territory.

With apologies to the BBC Light Programme. I proudly present USS Tuttenbeck, the pride of Starfleet and the antithesis of boringly efficient Federation Starships.

The Startrek Universe is the property of Paramount, though they might not want this bit of it.

The stories are my own and any other sad but kind person that wishes to join in the fun.

Comments good, bad or indifferent always welcome at story@thestoryboard.co.uk

Rated PG

Some where in the darkness there was a groan from the floor and a mumbling, “..puter ... on!”

The owner of the groan obviously expected something to happen and was disappointed by the result. It tried again.

“Computer. Lights on!”

The room was bathed in brilliant white light. That wasn’t what was wanted either.

“Turn ‘em OFF!” The voice screamed.

The offended computer did so and descended into a sulk, from which it would not be encouraged.

Instead an arm groped around for a battery lantern. Finding it, it banged it on the ground several times before turning it on. Dim shadows now revealed the owner of the arm as it crawled slowly out of its layers of blankets.

After three weeks and thirty bottles of brandy, Parbold was starting to find the Tuttenbeck easier to live with, thanks largely to the almost permanent stupor. He now felt like a regular. Even the crew had accepted him.

Captain Geroff had introduced him to his first glass of the local beer. It worked exactly like a bottle of brandy, but quicker and seemingly consisted of an equal mix of meths, turpentine, carbon dioxide and curry powder. If ever there was a product that met all the Description Acts in one easy to understand word, Parbold decided, ‘Blower’ certainly achieved it.

The glass had gone down surprisingly smoothly and he had swallowed the half litre in one manful session. He then wondered why his fellow officers were watching him curiously and edging quietly away from the door.

It started mildly enough, a thin layer of sweat shrouding his brow. Then he had been drenched in it, followed instantaneously by a desperate urge as his stomach managed to do repeated triple back flips and spins in one smooth and simultaneous action. He missed the head by a full fifteen metres as both ends exploded.

“You’ve got to admit. He’s quick on his feet,” Geroff observed quietly to the others. “I don’t think anybody has got that close before.”

But that was the night before, his mouth was now as sour as curdled milk and as furry as an Angoran goat. “Computer, a glass of water, please?” he whispered.

The computer and replicator still sulked.

He sighed and reached into one of the few draws that still opened and pulled out a bottle full of green fluid. He took a swig from it, swilled it around his mouth and swallowed.

Creme-de-Menthe is not a recommended cure for a hangover, reducing thirst, or for clearing the mouth. But today it tasted as fresh as mountain spring water.

Suitably refreshed he reached for his stained uniform and shrugged it on and staggered towards the door. Geroff had promised to give him a tour of the Bridge, just in case they had to use it.


“Morning, Sir!” Chief Catchen greeted him cheerfully as he staggered off the lift.

Parbold considered him queasily. Wherever he went aboard the ship the Chief Bosun always seemed to be there. He recalled him seeing behind the servery in the Wardroom, doling out something called food and in Sickbay, issuing remedies with the same reckless abandon. It could even have been at the same time.

“Cap’n will be up in a moment, Sir,” the Chief continued happily, oblivious to the green tinged officer as he collapsed uncomfortably into a chair.

Finally Parbold found his voice. “Is there anywhere or thing you don’t do?” He asked.

“Don’t paint, Sir,” Catchen declared reproachfully.

Another vague memory of two tins of paint appearing in his quarters, flickered across Parbold’s mind. He had watched them intently for a full week, wondering if something would happen. But as the day-glow salmon pink was worse than the current daubing he had not taken the obvious solution of doing it himself.

Rather than say anything he settled to examine the Bridge. Like the rest of the ship, ‘Non Regulation’ appeared to be the theme.

Most of the bridge stations appeared to be in the usual place. The pilot sat at the front. The navigator probably sat beside him, but he could not see the chair as the Captain’s Wilton covered high-winged armchair was in the way. That failed to match the ‘G-Plan’ dining chair he was sat in perfectly.

“Ah, there you are lieutenant,” Geroff observed casually, entering the bridge. “Settling in I see. Any problems?”

“I couldn’t help noticing the furniture,” Parbold admitted hesitantly.

“It’s an old ship.”

“And the wallpaper?”

Geroff examined the floral walls as if for the first time. “Quite attractive don’t you think?” He asked. “Put it up myself. Besides you’ve seen the paint the Chief supplies.”

“And the consoles. I don’t think they belong on a Miranda?”

“Some of them don’t belong on a Starship, let alone a Miranda,” Geroff admitted. “But yours came of a Klingon Bird of Prey. Bright chap like you should have no problem deciphering them.”

T’Riz and Corbett slinked quietly onto the Bridge and took their stations. T’Riz almost disappeared when she took hers.

“I thought we ought to give you a tour of the home patch,” Geroff commented in explanation. “Then you will know where the sights are. Take her out Mr Corbett.”

“You might want to hold onto your seat,” he added quietly.

Parbold watched as Lieutenant Corbett cracked his fingers like a concert piano player then laid them dramatically on what ought to have been his touch screen control panel. This one looked as if it was actually a large canteen tray with various switches haphazardly punched into it.

His attention was then redirected to the viewscreen as a screeching sound filtered through to the bridge. It clearly showed the pylon that Tuttenbeck had been safely attached to by Hammit and his workers while he was off on holiday, start to twist. Obviously Corbett had engaged forward thrust and not a gentle push to the side.

Contact was lost with a loud screech and a ‘Twang’ and Parbold omitting to take the Captains advice was propelled heavily to the floor.

“Not bad,” Geroff suggested. “Another few breakaways like that and pier 9 will match ours. I think Maggies first Mr Corbett.”

Parbold picked himself gingerly off the floor and resumed his seat. The excursion had given him the opportunity to observe why T’Rizz had disappeared. Her seat was a large garden mushroom, complete with red domed top and white spots. It left her head less than 500 mm above the console that she was clinging to.

"Can I use Warp, Sir?" Corbett demanded hopefully from his seat. "I can go the long way round it won't take any longer."

"Mr Corbett. Maggies is less than thirty minutes at full impulse," Geroff put the eager Lieutenant down firmly. "We are not wasting precious time on your boy racer tendencies or T'Riz's dubious navigation."

"I've been reading up, Sir!" T'Riz protested.

"No!" Geroff declared. "I want to get there and back today!"

Muttering between themselves, Corbett and T'Riz set the Tuttenbeck on course.

If Parbold had expected 'Maggies' to be anything other than a bar he would have been sadly disappointed. As it was cyncisim and a certain amount of common sense led him to suspect one. It meant he was at least partly right: It was a bar, but a huge one; a Nebula Starship could comfortably fit in the hall.

The real surprise came in the proprietor herself.

Parbold had never seen anything with two legs that big. At 6 metres tall and at least that across, she probably made up a sizeable proportion of the mass of the small asteroid they were on herself.

"A small genetic accident," Geroff explained as she spyed the arriving contingent and made her way between the widely spaced tables with a sort of toppling rolling motion, each forward fall caught by a leg the diameter of a mature redwood. "She was born here. Crushed her parents to death at the age of four and they sort of built this place around her. Really lovely girl."

"Ah Capitan. You come see me so little!" At 100 metres Maggie's voice rolled like thunder. At fifty Parbold was grabbing for the nearest table. "You want usual table and food?"

"Can't stop Maggie," Geroff apologised. "We're just here to show Lieutenant Parbold the sights."

"And you brought him to see Maggie! The Capitan is clever, No? He knows the best sights," The thunderous voice now took on the ominous tone of a gurgle

From somewhere above a hand the size of a Chesterfield sofa appeared, grabbed Parbold by the waist and whisked him off the floor before he had the chance to run for safety.

After a few moments he risked opening his eyes again and found himself gazing into a huge, round and friendly face. The face winked at him, then a cavern opened as it blew the terrified Lieutenant a kiss.

"He's cute," Maggie announced dropping Parbold gently to the floor. "But too much like a Vulcan twig. Why your Starfleet no send real men?"

"You leave him to Maggie. Maggie make him a real man in a week or two?" She nudged Geroff with a huge finger, sending him reeling towards a table.

"Now you sit at table. Maggie say you all need feeding proper," she chortled on happily, ushering them to a table with the threat of an open hand.

"Think you're made," Geroff remarked happily. "Maggie's taken a liking for you."

"Of course under Federation law, at fourteen she is still too young to marry, or run a bar," he added, climbing onto a chair. "But if she decides to make something of it, I certainly won't try to stop it. Besides this place is so peaceful it would be ruined if we let the law get in the way."

Parbold, still winded by the crushing hand said little as he gingerly felt his chest for the bones he knew must have been crushed. He had once seen the historic film King Kong and had come out thinking Fay-Rae had made too much of the experience. Now he had some sympathy for the woman.

Maggie approached the table again. Advancing with the inexorable progress of a planet in orbit, she approached bearing two trays. In her hands they looked like ordinary tea trays, each bearing a soup bowl.

Arriving at the table Parbold realised it was an illusion. They were actually the size of wardrobe doors, the bowls the size of small lakes. They also contained what could only be described as a gigantic loaf of bread. His stomach quavered at the thought of the thick brown ooze the bowls contained. You could swim in it, probably drown in it. Eating the entire contents seemed unlikely.

"You in hurry, Capitan," Maggie complained. "Maggie un'erstand. Just bring gumbo as snack, yes?"

"Thank you, Maggie. Gumbo will be adequate," Geroff assured her.

"I get other trays," Maggie declared happily.

"Other trays?" Parbold queried uncertainly. "Surely this is for everybody?"

"All a matter of scale," Geroff observed. "Maggie hasn't got one. She will be tremendously upset if you don't eat it. You really don't want to upset her."

"Besides it is very good stuff. Just avoid the green bits and don't ask what is in it," he added as he selected his first spoonful with care.

Parbold with the care of a man in a minefield sipped at the ladle that formed his first spoonful. Geroff's opinion of good often had his tastebuds curling up his tongue and try to burry it in the back of his throat. To his surprise the gumbo was actually edible, a sense of chocolate and honey oiled itself across his tongue, counterpointing the sharp bite of chili in perfect harmony.

"But why is she still here?" Parbold asked after a short while.

"Why on Earth should she want to go anywhere else?" Geroff demanded. "She has friends here. Why go and be anonymous on Earth. It would be cruel!"

Parbold doubted something the size of Maggie would be anonymous anywhere, but sensibly refrained from saying anything.

"Besides," Corbetts voice called from the other side of the table. "We would have to tow her! Starships aren't designed to carry anything that big, at least not one that moves on its own."


After an hour and barely a dent upon the lake in front of him, Parbold was starting to feel quite ill. His stomach yearning for the release offered by a litre of blower, but it was not a beverage offered in Maggies and her Rum simply did not have the instant power.

"Chief," Geroff said seeing the Lieutenant roll off his chair with a glooping noise. "I think Mr Parbold has had enough. You know what to do with the remains?"

"Sir!"


Parbold did not remember most of the rest of the tour. Except that it included visits to at least another nine bars. All served their own variety of high octane alcohol and they took their inevitable effect. Consequently he missed Tuttenbecks return to her dock by virtue of being in the toilet.

The crash as she mated with the pylon threw him hard against the door. He sank slowly to the floor. He lay there, his stomach too full to move and him too inebriated to want to. A night in the loo seemed like a safe bet.

[Gater]

i really do love these stories and the adventures of a Starfleet crew who aren't perfect! :lol::laugh2:

[Qwxy]

they are up to the sith story now on the site arent they??

[Qwxy]

ignore that last post but damn ray
i had no idea you did the Fleet lark website
i found it a while ago and it was waiting for the fifth one then. hit a writers block or somming?
well nice one is all i can say i read all the stories and loved them. keep it up and can't wait for the next installment

[ray gower]

A closet fan!

Guilty as charged, I am the author of the Fleet Lark series (or at least the five I know about). Accept no substitute! If you know of any others and think them worthy (or not?) I'd be delighted to know about them, for inclusion if nothing else.

There is a sixth in preperation, but as they've always been light relief when I'm stuck, it gets done between jobs as it were.

Read on and enjoy!

[Qwxy]

well all i can say is 'i like' and 'more more more'

[hellsgate]

Just a quick tactical question:

- what class is the U.S.S. Tuttenbeck?

I'd love to see a ship image attached to your site since I don't see any to summarily explain what role your ship is supposed to fill. I've got plenty of images. I already linked you to my homepage, Mr. Gower. Hope you don't mind. I love parodies such as your "Fleet Lark" & Andrew Decker's "Star Traks" series. I'm working on some outlines of my own for some stories. Would you mind taking a look at my concepts & letting me know if you like any of them?

http://www.angelfire.com/ak4/startre...roduction.html

Go Manchester United!

Jason Kim Scott Hauck,
Ottawa Ontario Canada
ufpi_morgan@hotmail.com

[ray gower]

LOL!
Mr Gower indeed!
Flattery etc.

Tuttenbeck started life as a Miranda, a destroyer.
Though as you will find if you read the others of the series- time and crew have not been particularly kind to her.

Images. I have none. I am not slick enough with photo-editing software to graft and morph the bits properly. Was thinking of a warp nacelle from a Galaxy on one side, something a little smaller on the other. Plus all the dings and dents. Volunteers?

Sorry to correct your most excellent and welcome plug, but Navy Lark was a radio series (and a bad film).
I will reciprocate in due course. Many Thanks!

BTW A warm welcome to AsciFi! Only one major rule here- HAVE FUN!

[hellsgate]

Miranda-Class? Hmm...I might have something like that. The Victory-Class with Sovereign-Class nacelles & two forward pulse cannon ports.

I'll make the corrections about the radio series & bad movie immediately.

Any chance of the Tuttenbeck meeting its ultimate fate: gets destroyed or severely incapacitated, towed back to Hell's-Gate Station (Series Crossover?) for salvage & the crew is moved to a successor vessel, the "U.S.S. Tuttenbeck-A"?

I have a few ships at my site I'd love to see featured in a new series I've been thinking about; but didn't know whose series would suit the possibility of a spin-off connection:

Suggested Titles:
"Fleet Lark: Deep Space Whine" (Parody of "Deep Space 9")

"Fleet Lark: The Next Desecretion" (Parody of "Next Generation")

"Fleet Lark: Vaccuous" (Parody of "Voyager")

[hellsgate]

You can find my banner for "Star Trek: Hell's-Gate" (for your links section) at:

http://www.angelfire.com/ak4/startrekfanfiction

Corrections have been made about the radio series and movie you mentioned. Thanks.

Jason Hauck,
Webmaster.

[ray gower]

Think I'll pull the plug on all of them, sooner or later. Asking where the series will go is pointless. I haven't a clue.

[hellsgate]

It's unfortunate that you feel that way. I'd love to see the Tuttenbeck soar into many further adventures. Any links you decide to kill, just email me before doing-so, enabling me to change/erase sites as appropriate.

Besides, I think that you had something with that enormous alien you built your bar around. I loved the malfunctioning lights though I thought it had been done on DS9 with the Chief constantly banging his head & "'Bloody 'Ell!"

I've found an image of a "Prodigal Daughter" (light-hearted peck at Wesley Crusher,) who's a nasty-tempered piece of work, part Trill/part Romulan in Science Blue Starfleet Uniform created in the image of Angelina Jolie.

A total ice-queen who basically holds no punches. T'Pol & Hoshi, Troi & Ezri would ALL blush at the retorts this Angelina clone spews at her own Captain & Crew, let alone some aliens who've decided to make an example of them.

Every time someone threatens to blow them out of orbit, she rolls her eyes, gets up out of her seat, expertly strokes her console like a concert pianist with a withering expression fixed on the viewer: & "Is that it? I've got Ensigns oggling & creating avatars of me in the holodeck that are better equipped than you."

Those keystrokes are silently scrambling every shuttle available in their maintenance or launch bays with any kind of weapon from Chafee-Class (Defiant pods) to Danube & Argo-Class runabouts to surround the enemy. The shuttles slip inside temporary opened-&-closed holes in the enemy's shields during the verbal exchange; the shuttles' weapons fix on the enemy while they're under threat of attack themselves. Taunting the enemy to give them JUST the excuse the Tuttenbeck needs to "clean house".

The shuttles slice off the bigger vessel's nacelles and pound its bridge & disable its impulse drive while beamming nasty explosives into every nook & cranny they can find big enough to conceal a tri-lithium self-replicating mine. One of them is beammed into the sanitary fluid basin in the Enemy Captain's Private Head (toilet).

"You have one hour to comply." the enemy says.
"And I'm not sure you have even that long," She gestures to communications to cut the signal.

The Captain looks irate at her presumptuous assumption of leadership, but allows the curvy Lietenant to proceed with her inspiration as she recalls the shuttles, they dock while they're each under a personally-refitted interphase cloak.

The Science Officer crosses the room to helm & backs the ship away at high impulse, pivots the ship & dropkicks the bucket up to warp five as the enemy craft suddenly explodes without any warning in spectacular fashion.

Later, in the Ready Room:

"(Stifling a rupturing intestine from laughing so hard) Your plan gives a whole new meaning to the Terran term '**** hitting the fan', Lieutenant. Congratulations on a job well-done."

"Do you think we'll be hearing from the Romulans again soon, sir?"

"Somehow, I don't think there's ever going to be a reason why they'd bother. Unless the Romulans compulsively need to be handed their asses on a plate over and over again."

[ray gower]

Sorry Hellsgate.
Think you miss-understood. I'm not intending to kill anypart of the web-site.
But I am using Tuttenbeck to have a side swipe at StarTrek and its boring efficiency, and some of the characters. The Navy Lark is, I think, a nice way of doing it without scrambling to many of the 'Trek is all' brigade.

[hellsgate]

Ah, I see. Good to hear!!! Truthfully, I'd always pictured the Tuttenbeck as a Loknar-Class starship from TMP-era Trek. Boringly-efficient. Hmm..what would you have the Tuttenbeck do in the situation given above? The torpedoes would sputter-out half-way between them & a K'tinga-Class Klingon vessel? I want to do something parody-like.

[ray gower]

Well it is a TOS era ship, now over 100 years old and generally forgotten about! Don't truthfully know what a Loknar is. I do no Miranda's were considered competent ships, when new.

As for the answer to your question on what would Tuttenbeck do, try Tuttenbeck to the rescue?

Not a great expert on parodies. Whether I can write one depends upon my mood at the time. But the best always follow the good writing skills of any other story, there is a good thread on the subject in Original Fiction, off of General Discussions. I'll add my thoughts on the subject there if you don't mind, or we'll be going off topic too much. Besides there are better writers than myself here that will add their much more coherent thoughts.