Unidate: LUH 3417.

Captain's Log, unidate LUH 3417.

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The HMS Upskirt is on a rescue mission to the mysterious wandering wormhole of Accountant Zarse. Somewhere near the desolate Wight of Blankers. The last known location of Ensign Lovelyjugs according to last week's episdoe. No one actually knows how she managed to enter it, or why the Captain's escape pod has a warp drive.

The science officer reports that Accountant Zarse was a famous Banker who was know to be so tight with his money that he never spent a penny.

Shortly we will begin thrusting into the wormhole but before that, we may have to do a little science on some unwelcome extras. A Hive Collective Picket ship, The Rainbow Labia, some sort of spliff-class cruiser has been sniffing our exhaust. The chief engineer suspects that we haven't wiped properly since the beginning of the season.

Why all this effort over a mere redshirt? Doctor Firm-Posterior informs me that some red shirts are more equal than others and that Ensign Lovelyjugs is fabulous. One of the daughters of the ruler of the Bunny Nation and not rescuing her would cause our show to be cancelled.

Captain Seymour DickLogic closed the captain's log and locked it, the last thing he needed was Doctor Firm-Posterior discovering all his cat videos or the fact that he still couldn't do joined up writing. He chiselled for a moment, not hesitating although some inexperienced staff would mistake it as such. "Weapons! Science that rocket in my pocket. We're going in, Maximal thrusting!"

"Captain sir! We shouldn't science them!"

Clearly the weapons officer, Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom was sick, possibly terminally.

"No science?" The Captain ejaculated incredulously at the woman who controlled all the buttons that went boop!

"We let them witness us going into the Accountant Zarse and they will report our loss with all hands to this week's leader of the Hive Collective, the Vagendra of Manocide."

Despite appearances, Captain Seymour DickLogic was not stupid, not like Mister Tripod anyway. "Disinformation." He decided.

"And we'll get tax breaks for being legally dead until the next season." The weapons officer showed him her cosmogalacitax returns form where she listed every single red shirt as a dependant.

"Excellent idea. No science, massive thrusting!" he ejaculated forcefully, the recoil nearly bounced him over his captain's chair. "Helm, take us to ramming speed!"

"We could go plaid sir."

"No helm, we are trying to penetrate Accountant Zarse, not run down a Winnebago." The Captain admonished gently. the poor helmsman was clearly filling her ensign nappies with liquid fear.

"Wait, I thought next week was the season finale?" He looked around, "anyone seen my script?"

"Ensign Lovelyjugs has it."