A cold wind blew across the plains outside the detention complex on DaQrah Pagh, a planetoid deep within the Clingon Empire. The wails of the tormented souls within surrounded the prison like a death shroud. Feared was the very mention of its name, much less its caretakers. DaQrah Pagh's prison treatment was unparalleled in any sector of the explored galaxy. It was here that the High Council had sent innumerable inmates to their deaths. The security was impregnable, quite impossible to escape from-- or so they thought...

Cremated Clingons

By Gordon Scott & John Kanost

Jean-Luc Kanost roused himself out of the fitful sleep he was having. Propping himself up on the straw-filled mattress given him by his captors, he again began to think out his escape plan. Already he had located his command crew in the complex and had devised a crude Morse code communications system by tapping on the air ducts that spanned the entire complex. Perhaps, when the time came, those very ducts would provide a method of escape.

Kanost's thoughts were interrupted, for it was at that moment that the guard brought the evening "meal." It was, as always, a form of pureed hash that his captors called "grej jadichka." Heaven only knew what was in it. At first, he could barely force it down, but since it was the only nourishment provided, it was either eat it or starve to death. As of late, however, the prospect of death had become almost appealing...

CAPTAIN'S LOG: STARDATE 251234698434011069847913.0000000004: This is my first log as captain of the USS Vengeance. Tensions along the Clingon neutral zone have increased in the past few years, and Lamefleet has evidently run short of qualified captains aboard their ships. This tension has finally been demonstrated through the sudden disappearance of the Nova-Scotia, a ship whose captain I have had previous adventures with. I now officially resign my position at Lamefleet Operations on Starbase 17, and go to join my crew aboard my new command. Our first assignment: locate the Nova-Scotia and her crew and return them to Federation space through any means possible. End log.

As Scot was turning off the log recorder, the Federation Fleet Admiral himself entered the room. Gordon snapped to attention.

"You are now officially transferred to the Vengeance," said Fleet Admiral Reenow, a Vulgar.

Soon after, the ship was on its way.

Later, in his cabin, Scot sat at his desk, reflecting over the past three years spent at Starbase 17. The first six months had gone by very slowly for Gordon, who was constantly irritated by the fact that Captain Ben Avery was preparing for another exciting mission while he was stuck doing paperwork for a year. However, even he knew that his actions had been wrong, and that Lamefleet couldnât let him completely off the hook. After all, he had committed-- instigated-- mutiny! Gordon still wasnât sure why he had done it, but he did remember feeling... well, prompted somehow. Then, after six months, the Benterprise's departure time had come, and Avery and his ship had vanished, seemingly forever. With Avery no longer a factor to compete with, the final 2¸ years had slipped by quickly, and now-- now he was finally in command again!

Despite the enmity between Avery and himself, Scot still felt a begrudging respect for the man, having seen him in action so many times.

"Where are you, my friend... what are you doing?" Gordon's thoughts were interrupted as the intercom came on.

"Captain, we have arrived at the rendezvous point," said Commander Jefferson, Gordon's first officer.

"Thank you, commander. I'm on my way."

Hearing the clacking echo of boots coming down the hallway toward his cell, Kanost awoke from a fitful sleep. Judging from the angle of the gloomy sunlight coming through his window, he determined that it must be about mealtime again. He was right.

"Whatteryew lookin' at, Federation scum?" growled the one-eyed guard, named Korpse, as he shoved the tray beneath the bars. Kanost picked up the tray, smelled its contents, and promptly dropped it in disgust.

"What's this slop?" he demanded.

"Har har har!" laughed the Clingon raucously. "We decided you was getting to like the grej jadichka too much, so's we thought you might like to try something a little more tasty!"

"But what is it?"

"It's called mung! Enjoy! Har har har!" The one-eyed Clingon left, laughing all the way. Jean-Luc eyed the tray distrustfully. He thought he saw it move.

CAPTAIN'S LOG: STARDATE 251234968434011069847914.999999: At 1300 hours, we rendezvoused with the USS Cool Guy, commanded by Captain Christopher Farley, and the USS Lame Duck, commanded by Captain Scott Krieger. Although I have never worked with these men before, I am confident that together, we can get the job done. I have a meeting scheduled with them five minutes from now, at 1400 hours. End log.

Five minutes later, Gordon greeted captains Krieger and Farley in the Vengeance's briefing room.

"Gentlemen, let's do away with the amenities and get down to business. You both know of the unfortunate disappearance of one of our most valuable assets-- the USS Nova-Scotia, and along with her, Captain Jean-Luc Kanost, a very experienced and valuable officer who will most likely be our next fleet admiral. You also must know that their last reported position was four parsecs from here, along the edge of the Clingon Neutral Zone, and obviously, they are suspect.

"Our mission," continued Scot, "is to ascertain the whereabouts of the Nova-Scotia and her crew, and if necessary, rescue them."

"But how..." began Farley, who was chewing on a piece of polish sausage, "are we gonna do that?"

"Well, I feel that our first step is to proceed to their last known location and search for clues there."

"I agree," said Krieger. "We should--

Suddenly, the red alert klaxons sounded off!

"What's going on, Jefferson?" shouted Gordon.

"Captain, Clingon battleship approaching!" yelled the first officer. Scot galvanized into action, running to the bridge.

"Are the shields up?"

"Shields up, sir!" replied T'Pringle, his second and science officer.

"Range to Clingon vessel?"

"50,000 kilometers and closing rapidly, sir!"

"Status of battleship?"

"Their shields are raised... weapons on standby. Sir, they are hailing us!"

"Put them on screen." Scot watched as the image of the tall, burly Clingon commander filled the viewscreen.

"Perhaps you have heard of me... my name is Kobill!"

Meanwhile...

"Eeew!" Kanost whined. "What is this stuff made of? The other gruel looked better!" The captain took a quick sniff of the stuff and reeled back from the fetid fumes that greeted his olfactory senses. "Oh, gross!" With that, he threw the food-- if you could call it that-- across the cell and against the far wall. The bowl clattered to he floor, but the mung stuck. Slowly, the stuff began to ooze down the wall like some centuries-old slime.

"I think I'm gonna hurl!"

"I'm sorry," stated Scot, "I didn't quite catch that. What was your name again?"

"I said," repeated the Clingon, "I am Kobill... the Merciless!"

"Not the Kobill who destroyed all those Lamulan ships ten years ago! Not the Kobill who refused a direct invitation to the Clingon High Council itself! Not the same Kobill who single-handedly thwarted an invasion of Andromedan forces at Clingzai! Not the mighty Kobill who can watch ten hours of Partridge Family reruns with no visible side effects!"

"Yes!" came the reply. "I am he."

"Never heard of you. I'm Captain Scot, of the USS Vengeance."

"Pleased to make your acquaintance. Prepare to die!" Scot ordered Ensign Mushmouth to mute the communique.

"Suggestions?" snapped Scot.

"Rather blunt, isn't he?" remarked Jefferson.

"We've got him now!" interrupted Hanz. "We vill ovah-vehlm him with mah intense mus-kew-la-choor! Hoooh!"

"The logical course of action does not involve emotional reactions such as pride, Lieutenant Schwartzeneggar," stated T'Pringle. "We must find more peaceful solutions."

"Nonsense! Pooh-pooh and rubbish!" exclaimed Ensign Widow, the communications officer on duty. "I say that Scot can make the decision on his own! Independence is the key here, not a bunch of weaklings leaning on each other for support!"

"And I say that what this situation needs is a biig, fat, juicy Big Mac and a large golden order of fries! That always wins me over!" Everyone responded in kind as Doctor Bozo McDonalds strode onto the bridge...

"Grrrr!" Kobill was on hold. He was mad. In fact, not only was he mad, he was furious! "Look at those moronic Lamefleet fools!" he yelled. "They dare put Kobill on hold? We'll show them! Krunch! Contact captains Korhett and Komark and have them arrive here as soon as possible!"

"Yes, sir!" responded Sublieutenant Krunch. The message was sent. Kobill's brothers were on their way.

That was it! The last straw! Kanost couldn't take the prison any longer! The captain sat on his cot, deep in thought...

"Now is the time to put my plan into action... if only I had one."

On the Vengeance, Bozo was still making trouble, and so Kobill was still on hold.

"Come on, Captain Scot! Surely you can enjoy the merits of a little bitty snack now and then!"

"I don't think so, doctor. Please..." But Bozo had moved on.

"Jefferson! Jefferson, you look like just the kind of guy who would enjoy a Big Mac with all the trimmings! You--

"No thank you, doctor, not while I'm on duty." Jefferson stated seriously.

"Okay, how 'bout you, Hanz? Quarter Pounders build muscles, you know."

"Not true! Grease, fat and cholesterol are for girly-men!"

"Nonsense! A McLean Deluxe would be just the thing for you!"

"Well... maybe lah-tah."

"That's the spirit! And how about you, Ensign Widow? You enjoy food, folks n' fun, don't you?"

"Of course I do, doctor! In fact, why don't you try some of my delicious chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies?"

"Ugh, no thanks. I'll stick to McDonaldland cookies!" Bozo ran over to T'Pringle.

"..."

"No." Bozo went over to Ensign Mushmouth.

"Hey-b Doctor Bo-b-zo! Can I-b ha-b-ve so-b-me fri-b-ies?"

"Oh finally! Someone who understands!" Bozo cried with elation, putting his arm around Ensign Mushmouth's shoulder. "Captain Scot, you have a very fine young officer here! Why, I'm just sure that some day, he'll become one of your best men! He'll pave the way for universal economic freedom and the open sale of Big Macs everywhere, throughout the cosmos!" Gordon had had enough.

"BEGONE!" Doctor Bozo scooted into the turbolift and was gone. "And as for you..." said Scot, glaring at Mushmouth, "Never, never, never ever encourage a McDonalds. Now return to your station at once!"

"Ye-b-s, sir-b."

Meanwhile, on the Clingon battleship Insufferable...

"Captain Kobill! The Impostor and the Irresistible Force have arrived! Captain Komark and Captain Korhett are both trying to hail us!" reported Krunch.

"Put them on, split screen!" Krunch did it, and the two Clingons appeared, but neither realized that Kobill was receiving them now. They were too busy talking to each other.

"You khest'lagh! I am going to talk to Kobill first!" yelled Korhett of the Irresistible Force.

"No! I, Komark, will speak first!" Komark's ship, the Impostor, was only a cruiser, half the size of the other two.

"No! My ship is bigger, so I get to talk first! Nyaah nyaah!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

"Do not!"

"Do too!"

Kobill sat watching all this with contempt, and finally spoke. "Komark! Korhett!" growled Kobill, immediately getting their attention. "Stop this at once! We are Clingons! We have no time to argue amongst ourselves! We..." Kobill's bridge crew leaned back as Kobill launched into another one of his grandiose, garrulous speeches about honor and glory...

"Captain!" said T'Pringle, "Two more Clingon vessels have arrived! Another battleship and a cruiser!"

"Then we are badly outgunned. If only Jean-Luc were here."

"Captain, I do not think that the presence of one Lamefleet captain would significantly raise the odds in our favor."

"No, I meant him and his ship! Ensign Mushmouth, set our coordinates for the Nova-Scotia's last known position, and prepare to jump to warp nine! Ensign Widow, please contact captains Farley and Krieger and notify them of our plan!"

"Done, sir!" reported the communications officer.

"Engage!"

"...All Clingons must band together in the face of adversity. If we do, we shall never be defeated! Honor and glory will be our inheritance! We--

"Captain!" shouted Koolaid, Kobill's first officer, "The Federation ships! They are gone!"

"DOH!" Kobill shot Koolaid.

Don't tell my heart, my achy-breaky heart! I just don't think it understands... Lieutenant Richman stood outside the captain's quarters, listening to the late twentieth century music filter out into the corridor.

"You know," she thought, "that music can be downright annoying sometimes. I think I'm getting a little verklempt!" With that, she rolled her eyes back and took several deep breaths, until she finally regained her composure. "Oh! Oh my! There... it's passed..." she finally said, as she activated the door signal.

"Come," came the reply. Richman strode into Captain Krieger's quarters, prepared to give her report. "What do you think of this music, lieutenant?" asked the captain. "It's a four-hundred year old recording by a composer named... uhhhh... Cyrus. Billy Ray Cyrus, I believe."

"Just lovely. It's like buttah," said the lieutenant sardonically. "Anyway, sir, I have the ship's status and diagnostic reports here for you to sign, sir."

"Isn't handling the diagnostic reports Ensign Diassoto's job?" inquired Krieger.

"Well sir, normally, yes, but it appears that the poor girl has developed shvilkus in her gonnectigazoink and is going to be laid up for a while. I'm covering for her."

"Oh, that's just terrible! Is it contagious?"

"I don't think so, but I hear she's having problems with her goius ashcutz, and if that gets around-- well, let me tell you, you might as well quarantine the entire ship!"

"Ooh! I'll tell the doctor to take extra precautions with Diassoto!" Krieger then made a cursory glance at the reports, scrawled his signature on them, and hastily dismissed Lieutenant Richman. He then called sickbay.

"Doctor! Doctor Frankenstein! Please come to the intercom!"

"AACK! THAT'S DOCTOR FRANKINSHTEEN!" screamed the reply. "...sir!"

"Frankenstein, Frankinshteen... whatever! You need to prepare Ensign Diassoto for surgery! Her goius ashcutz is bad!"

"Right away, captain! I'll remove it immediately! I only have one question."

"Yes?"

"What's a goius ashcutz?"

"Um... I dunno... ask our communications officer."

Kobill shot Koolaid.

"Captain!" said T'Pringle, "We have arrived at the designated coordinates! May I inquire as to what course of action the captain intends to pursue at this point?"

"Patience is a virtue, my friend!" came the reply. "Ensign! Scan for any objects smaller than five meters and larger than one meter in the space ahead of us!"

"Fi-b-ve me-b-ter-b-s, sir-b?"

"Yes, ensign, five meters."

"Ye-b-s, sir-b!"

"What are looking for?" inquired Jefferson.

"A glimpse of the past," responded Scot.

Kobill shot Koolaid.

The reverberating sound of boots striking the floor echoed down the hall as Koffee the security guard made his rounds. As he passed cell T-57 of the DaQrah Pagh solitary confinement ward, he noticed something odd. Upon closer inspection, he realized that the cell was empty! The prisoner had escaped! Koffee overrode the manual lock and burst into the room, only to be ambushed from above by Kanost! After seizing the guard's disruptor and immobilizing him, Kanost raced toward the first of his shipmate's cells. He had to hurry, for it was only a matter of time before Korpse and the other Clingons noticed Koffee's disappearance.

"That guy deserved what he got!" thought Kanost. "Imagine! Falling for the oldest escape trick in the book: hanging from the rafters!"

Kobill shot--

"Sir!" exclaimed Krunch, "the Federation scum are getting away! We've got to pursue!"

"Maybe you're right." Kobill shot Koolaid. "Warp speed now!" The three ships leapt into the darkness of the interstellar sky.

Scot tractored the newly found Nova-Scotia log buoy and pulled it aboard the Vengeance, where all three captains had gathered to view the recording. The lights dimmed as the viewer began playing back the tape, and everyone became as silent as the grave. Suddenly, some theme music began to play:

Thank you for coming to Loew's! Sit back and relax; enjoy the show!

"Oops! Wrong tape! Sorry!" apologized Ensign Widow. She slipped in a different tape, and the picture of empty popcorn tubs, nacho trays and paper cups flying magically into a trashcan was replaced by an overhead view of the Nova-Scotia's bridge. Then the tape started and the figures spurred into action.

CAPTAIN'S LOG:
STARDATE 125981363341500.000068: Routine neutral zone patrols are going well, if a bit slowly. We've been out on patrol with no action now for six weeks now, and the crew is getting bored. We have picked up some faint signs of movement in Clingon territory, but nothing that would indicate any kind of hostile action. Fortunately, we are scheduled for rest leave in two weeks. I have a meeting with counselor Clown in a few minutes, to discuss crew morale, so I must go. End log.

Just as Kanost switched off the log recorder, Homey Clown, the ship's counselor, came onto the bridge.

"Hey, captain!" Homey said jovially. Kanost's first officer, Rich Mann, chose this moment to enter into the conversation.

"He-he-heeey!" he said, pointing his index finger at the counselor as he did so. "Homeeey! The Home-meister! Clownerama! Homato-laaaa!" The commander had a way with words, a way that irritated everyone he talked to.

"Shut up, ugly! You better put dat finger away befoe I break it! Homey don't play dat!"

"Homeyramaaaa! The Clownmeister! Clowny-to-tooo! Clown..."

"Hey idiot! I said 'shut up' and I meant it, you moron!" With that, Homey brought his red-and-green striped sock down on Mann's head. The commander wandered off, saying,

"The Sockmeister! Sockin' me on the head! Sock-a-ramarusky, the guy who took a swing at me! The world goes topsy-turvy for the Rich-man!" Although Kanost was usually skeptical about the value of McPeople as Lamefleet personnel, Homey made a good counselor. He seemed to have a way with people÷ he always seemed to be able to knock some sense into them.

"Come on, Homey, let's go into my ready room."

"Okay! You da man!"

It was Captain Krieger who had paused the tape. "That counselor should be court-martialed!" exclaimed Krieger. "He struck a superior officer! I can't believe that Captain Kanost just went on like nothing happened! What is he, some kind of pushover?"

"Please, captain," interrupted Scot. "You've never worked with McPeople before, have you?" Krieger shook his head. "Sometimes, you just have to get used to their little... idiosyncrasies. Isn't that so, Captain Farley?" Farley, whose science officer was a McPerson, answered in the affirmative.

"Yeah, dat's right, Captain Scot. My science officer, he's always playin' tricks on me n' the crew... sayin' stuff about flyin' fry guys on the sensors÷ stuff like dat. He sure can cook up a mean polish sausage, doh."

"There, you see? Kanost's no pushover, he just knows how to handle his crew. Now, can we get on with it? I'd like to fast forward through all this stuff and find out what happened to the ship!"

Meanwhile, on DaQrah Pagh...

Approaching his destination with great stealth, Kanost picked the cell's lock, releasing the prisoner within.

"You okay?" he furtively whispered.

"Yes siiiir, guh! Let's hurry and find the others, siiir!"

"Right! Let's go!" The two then quietly slipped into the darkness.

Division commander Kaulk raced down the corridor in a blind fury. Koffee had failed to report back after his rounds! Imagine the insubordination! As he flew around the corner into the detention hallway, Kaulk was both surprised and disgusted by what he saw: Koffee tied and gagged like a pet targ! Kaulk flung open the door.

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