Practical wormholing.

"Captain! We have a problem." The helmsman declared declaratively. Practically the only lines he ever got to say on the bridge, that and screaming like a girly girl when they hit asteroid fields.

"Indeed," Captain Seymour DickLogic grunted manfully. It seemed they were unable to get close to the wormhole of Accountant Zarse due to space waves. Fortunately, being captain and intensely manly, he had a solution for everything. Or in this case, a lubricant. "Tiffany, fire forward lube cannons."

The announcer swooned in her manliness-proof harness. Oh to be called by her first name like that!

The Weapons officer, Tiffany Bangbangbangbangkaboom glanced up from her controls for a fraction of a second to flutter her eyelashes at her beloved captain, "firing forward lube cannons." Of course, if he ever found out about her raging BL fan fiction, she'd be red shirted on the away team before the episode even started.

Lube canons are a curious device, not strictly speaking weapons as such, although they do share most of the common parts with the Mark LXIV Penetrator magneto-launcher, they have been modified to fire space lube which is normally used to get into the sub-aether in emergencies.

"Lube away." The weapons officer beamed cheerfully, she got a healthy bonus for everything she destroyed, that was what made being a weapons officer awesome. She fired a second salvo of cosmic unguent too, just because she could. The lube cannons throbbed with pleasure.

"Helm, follow that lube!" Captain Seymour DickLogic grunted manfully, furrowing his perfectly chiselled brow. They watched as the lube spiraled towards the wormhole and the helmsman tried to follow it as closely as possible. It was working, despite the buffeting, they were getting closer and closer.

Now it was the turn of the Communications Officer, who usually only got to go "beep." She stared at her screen as a Type-Paisley message popped up from the Starfleet Spy Network. Pantagraph Aardvark Nectar Tricycle Steam Elephant... She pressed the button for Google Translate and read in horror the resulting message. "Captain sir, the Vagendra of Manocide is after our butt!"

Captain Seymour DickLogic grunted in approval. He had hit the big time, the Jackpot, the Big Kablooey if one of the top commanders of The Hive Collective was after them. It was time for a witty repartee, the kind of sexist remark that made women swoon and SJW's boil in their own blood. "It's a nice butt, they're just jealous."

Something exploded in the announcer corner. Mister Tripod carted off the poor red shirt, she was soaked in her own drool.

The wormhole loomed, or it would have but it did not resemble the normal tapestry of space. It orificed, resembling a button hole in the space fabric of time as the HMS Upskirt thundered manfully into it.

"Wormhole side-effects are foncussing our sensors. You may see or experience things that could not possibly happen." The Science Officer reported, his sensor screen a lovely shade of Panda with a Poleaxe.

"Maximal Thrusting!" The helmsman chanted gleefully, pressing the big red button and tromping on the welly pedal. The mighty Manspreader Drives throbbed with extreme manliness as with a swell foop, The HMS Upskirt entered the wormhole of Accountant Zarse!

"Cor Blimey Guv!"

---

A huge battleship hulked in real-space, sensors observing the distant wormhole. This was The Cosmonipple, a battleship of such fearsome power that captains in the Mankind fleet had been known to have messy accidents in their captainappies at the mere sight of it looking in their direction.

The Vagendra of Manocide watched the screen as the picket ship crew were brought before her. "I am disappointed." She frowned, partly because she was disappointed, mostly because her bra itched. "Mistress-at-arms, consign them to the Orgasmatron."

"Your command is my wish," the phenomenon that was the mistress-at-arms agreed softly, "the Orgasmatron awaits you." she beamed at the poor quivering crew. Now that they knew their fate, they were desperately trying to work out how to commit suicide without being able to move.

The Vaginamen in their fabulous furry red armour carted the crew of the picket ship away to their horrific fate.

"Wait!" The Vagendra snapped, could this be a reprieve. "Did you fix the timer on the Orgasmatron?"

"Indeed your excellence. five minutes, the full half hour and until the next episode." The Mistress-at-arms explained, for most people, five minutes was a pantie melting disaster of the highest order and the rumours that Captain Seymour DickLogic had survived the full half hour were just that, rumours. "It's also been completely overhauled and the wurlizter replaced with a brand new Fairlight."

"Excellent, then it will need breaking in. Take them away."

The wailing of the picket ship crew redoubled and was silenced at the doors to the bridge of The Cosmonipple were completely sound proofed.

"Helm. Take us in. If Captain Seymour DickLogic can get in the Accountant Zarse, so can we. Make it so."