some expendable blueshirt I've never met before
the temporary science officer filling in for Mr. Spock, the Plot Implausibility anomaly that has taken three of my crew has been fading in and out of our time. For the first time in two weeks we have been able to stabilize the anomaly enough to try to transmit through it.
I am going to attempt to contact Archer's Enterprise and see if Mr. Spock has made any progress on his end figuring out how to return to our timeline
or if he's spent the whole time screwing Bones like a maniac, the bastard
|What... the HELL... is going on here?
Captain's Log. Half my crew seem to have... disappeared
... into a mysterious Plot Implausibility Field. It's taken me a week to
figure out how to work the communication system
work around the mysterious disappearance of Mr. Spock and Lt. Uhura, as well as Dr. McCoy.
Now I've managed to locate... a system
... where we appear to be receiving... communications
from both the past and future. Mr. Spock, Dr. McCoy and Lt. Uhura have all been transported into the past, onto the NX-01.
My crew is all being taken from me! My command is being destroyed! My ship! My SHIP!.... (take deep breaths, calm down)
I must find a WAY to... return
them all to their proper time
and my ship! MY SHIP! NOT JONATHAN ARCHER'S SHIP!
Captain's Log, stardate
whatever it is. I can never keep track of these stupid things, why don't they go in any reasonable order? Yeoman, look up the stardate and insert it here.
While on a routine mission to the planet Plottus Devicus IV, the Enterprise
passed through an ion storm, and now my Chief Medical Officer has disappeared without a trace. Numerous sensor sweeps have failed to produce any evidence of his location. Mr. Spock believes he may have passed through a micro-dimensional rift.
Although our orders are to
make fools of ourselves dressing up in what the brass laughingly calls "dress uniform" and put on a dog and pony show
make diplomatic contact with the government of Plottus Devicus IV to persuade them of the value of
strengthening our position against the Klingons
joining the Federation, I can't in all conscience abandon Dr. McCoy.
He has the best hangover remedies known to man, and besides, he owes me 15 credits from the last poker game.
I've made the decision to remain here,
traveling in aimless circles
searching for the opening of the dimensional rift, so that we can retrieve Dr. McCoy from whatever
strange dimension he may have found himself in.
And Starfleet can bite me if they don't like it. They won't get this transmission for three weeks anyway because I'm having Uhura send the logs out on the Super-Slow Protocol, as usual. Current Mood: worried