Communique.

The HMS Upskirt haddocked in space, sensors were scanning everything they could scan for traces of weirdness, things that would make them go ping and of course, the latest updates on Ensign Lovelyjugs. The nearest planet was weird enough to make them go ping. It was weird enough to make anything go ping, being flat. Space was weird too, there were no Space Goats to be seen, but some neutrino traces typical of Space Flounders.

"It's quiet, too quiet." Captain Seymour DickLogic brooded broodingly. "Did they forget to wind up the wurlitzer for our theme music?" he mused amusedly, furrowing his brow and wishing for a fleet to admire.

Ping!

"Captain, sir! Message from Starfleet!" The communications officer wibbled nervously. She was certain her shirt was the wrong shade of blue, tucked in her officer nappies or something, it didn't match the science officer at all. Not lumpy enough around the waist either, although it strained magnificently under the kind of loads that could compete with the Weaponised H-Cup Breasts of the Weapons Officer Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom.

"How long is it?" The captain brooded, he really needed a fleet to admire, preferably one that wasn't Doctor Firm-Posterior's toes. Something manly, shiny and thrusty like those cigar ships of the last series.

"Worse than usual sir." The communications officer found her groove. "Apparently it was sent last week after the last episode and no one noticed in the excitement." she breathed huskily,

"I wouldn't read it," Doctor Firm-Posterior offered, "if you read communiques from starfleet, your eyes will fall out." Today's pheromone was called Ufufu and supposed to work even on the strongest of the strong. Fortunately Mister Tripod was off the bridge. Or unfortunately, but she already knew how manly Captain Seymour DickLogic was and that was very besides, Mister Tripod was a reformed porn star and had the hots for the Announcer redshirt in her announcing corner and swoon-proof harness. The captain would have to do, again... and again and so on. She leaned on the back of his captainly chair of captaining and wondered what the mysterious meter that pointed to a bottom was for.

Captain Seymour DickLogic was made of sterner stuff. Reading was difficult without his glasses and he wasn't going to be seen dead on the bridge with those. Captains needed to be able to survey their fleet, not count... what in the name of the Sainted Pants of Michael was the doctor wearing? "Very well, quick précis if you please." He turned his captainly chair of captaining to face the communications officer and Doctor Firm-Posterior's firm posterior. She promptly sat on the arm of the chair and offered that this promised to be exciting. The material of her space onesie straining under the strain so much that the label on her officer-grade unisex doctor nappies was clearly readable: 'this side towards enemy.'

"Greetings Captain Blah Blah Blah. Yes it really says that. Blah blah blah. I'm not making this up, there's blah blah blah everywhere." Pause for a deep breath that nearly ripped her space onesie, "As it is now the age of the miniskirt, all manly male persuasion crew will be required to wear the new padded flounderpiece nappies and all female persuasion crew will be required to wear the new miniskirt space onesie together with the new slimline female nappies available in uniform matching colours with optional polkadot and uniform fishnet tights. Blah blah, it goes on about the size of the flounder and the narwhal option. Blah blah, signed Rear-Admiral Admiral-Flabby-Posterior." The communications officher gasped for breath, the first officer sitting at his machine that went ping was unable to take his eyes off her bouncing chest the odd shade of blue her uniform was, he wondered if he had washed his wrong as it clearly didn't match, hers was also shinier.

"No relation." Doctor Firm-Posterior noted cheerfully. "Oh dear, the Engine room nurses will go crazy... crazier. Can you imagine that lot in space onesies?" She could and she had to stop drooling or she'd be found out.

"Expecting them to wear underwear is clearly the work of a deluded mind." The captain clenched his fists. "To say nothing of the redskirts, I mean, redshirts. Whatever, can we lose that communique in the excitement?"

Silence on the bridge, a complete lack of excitement, even the announcer in her corner was un-swooned although she did seem to be drooling for some reason.

The astrogator, being a robot, was completely unfazed until he realised that being a robot, gender was just a flip of a bit and oo, fishnet.

"Where's the nearest Cosmogalactistarbase to stock up on new uniforms, fishnet, doublet and hose, torpedoes and ensign nappies?" The first officer worried, keeping the crew clothed and not eating each other was one of his jobs.

Captain Seymour DickLogic cogitated, then he suddenly ejaculated with such force that Doctor Firm-Posterior fell into his lap with an amazed squeak: "Got it!" He wondered what the good doctor was swooning about. "We are on the wrong side of the wormhole, everything is guaranteed to be strange. We will treat the whole thing as a dream sequence." This was a plan, this would work even without his Manly Theme Music! "Science officer, find Ensign Lovelyjugs, Helm, lay in a course at medium thrusting. Communications, recycle that."

"I heard weapons-"

"I'll take it, we need litter for the tribbles." Weapons officer Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom perked up perkily, her weaponised breasts clubbing the first officer on the side of the head and putting her out of his misery.

"Excellent," Captain Seymour DickLogic grunted. Another episode, another problem solved. Also another plot point revealed, Weapons was keeping tribbles? Didn't they know the trouble with tribbles? "Astrogator, I wasn't aware that robots drooled."

"Sorry Captain."