Stardate, oh, wait, that’s pajama boy talk.
We finally laid our hands on a new load of torpedoes from the Duras Sisters. We had plenty of Mr. Zog’s S.. Wax on hand as I had traded 10 barrels of blood wine and a case of Romulan Ale with the Doctor. The Doctor had decided that surfing supernovas was a bit hard on his TARDIS. However, he did insist on coming along for the ride. It was time to surf!
All that was needed was an out of the way destination, like Vogosphere.
Okay, I admit it. That spineless buffoon in a bathrobe put us up to it. Something about his home world being demolished by a Vogon Constructor Fleet to make way for a hyperspace by-pass. Never mind the fact that this not-so-hoopy non-frood’s planet was replaced with a new, exact to the minutest detail, planet. And he didn’t even want to come with us.
His loss.
And it was fairly well out of the way.
We set up on the outskirts of the system, and prepped the torpedo, and were about to send it on its way when we spotted another vessel. Sleek. Black. So black you could barely discern it against the back drop of space, as though it had a new fangled cloaking device that defied all logic. And it was headed right into the Vogostar. With any luck, we wouldn’t need to use a torpedo to get a nice ride.
All frequencies were picking up the blast of heavy metal music, and we spotted off in the distance a group of ships that comprised the concert fleet of Hot Black Desiato and the Disaster Area. If sound waves could travel through the vacuum of space, we would be in for one wild ride just on the output from the concert. At least when Desiato’s “Sun Ship” hit’s Vogostar, we should see a spectacular novel and be on the receiving end of some awesome waves as the exploding star spews forth its entire mass into the vast reaches of space.
Soon enough, the Sun Ship smashed into Vogostar, and the race for good waves on, as we deftly maneuvered the Kowabunga into the wild surf.
Hailing frequencies opened.
“Hey, Kahuna, get off of my wave!”
It couldn’t be. Could it?
“Yeah, Kahu-u-u-una,” came a very familiar voice. It was.
We picked up the Winter Soldier on screen, just ahead of us, being tossed by the tremendous shockwaves thrown off by the exploding like a rodeo bronco throwing it’s rider. The Winter Soldier narrowly avoided colliding with the Heart of Gold, which also picked up the same choice wave.
“By Zarquon, #$@$#*!”
I opened up communications, “Is that you, Flipper?”
“Yes, now get off my wave! Locals only, dude!”
“Now, wait a minute, Howlie, you aren’t from around here!”
“I bought the system, so, in fact, yes I am,” came Flipper Kerry’s response. “I needed to do something to get my mind off of losing the election!”
Just great, nothing is sacred.
“Dude,” I called back, “when you stop being a poser and actually learn to surf, let me know, otherwise, this here is my wave!” I closed all frequencies, except for the channel that poured in the Disaster Area’s concert, which caused the Kowabunga to shake and rattle more than the waves of energy thrown off by the super nova.
And we got it on tape. Quark is going to love this.
Kahuna
