Enterprise
The Augments (3)

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Wrath Of Retcon

I think this was about the time when Belch and I took it upon ourselves to tell Gytha and Mr. Gytha way more than they ever needed (or wanted) to know about Spike, Angel, and vampires with souls.

Enterprise. Quantum increases speed and tells the Khannabees that he'll destroy them if they don't drop out of warp. "Sounds pretty confident for a dead man," Dain'ta snarks before ordering to fire on the ship. Enterprise fires back. Mullet wants to engage them, but Dain'ta negs that, saying that Enterprise outguns them three to one. Enterprise fires again. "Father!" Mullet bawls, hanging off of Dain'ta's chair like an ugly leech. I've decided that when people use the word "Father" without irony, they're either evil or they're Jesus. Dain'ta orders the Denobulan pilot put in the shuttle and plots a course for a planetary system.

Enterprise pursues and fires. In a streaky rainbow of old Trek Technicolor effects, the Klingon ship drops out of warp. Okay, I have to admire that one. Enterprise notes that the Khannabees are moving into a low orbit and opening their sh'bay doors. On the viewscreen, Quantum sees the shuttle dropped from the ship. T'Pol announces the Denobulan biosign. They can't get a transporter lock because the atmosphere is too dense. Dain'ta comms them. "Murdering hostages is becoming a new hobby for you," Quantum snarks. Dain'ta says that he and Khanquistadors haven't killed anyone: "That ship is caught between two thermal layers. It should be safe for four or five hours -- enough time for you to mount a rescue mission." T'Pol nods her agreement with this. Quantum tells Daint'a that this isn't over. Because he's going to chase him 'round the moons of Nibia before he gives him up. Dain'ta waves goodbye and signs off.

The Khannabees work on repairs to the ship and Mullet informs Dain'ta that their warp trail's been dispersed. "Excellent work," Dain'ta beams. "There something else we need to -- FATHER!" he bellows as Dain'ta continues to pick his way among the welding sparks. Dude, calm the fuck down! He's totally a classic case of needy kid syndrome. Dain'ta stares at him. Mullet creeps closer and goes on and on about Starfleet not giving up and how they have to fight for their right to be ugly. Mullet reveals how he downloaded all those germs from Cold Station 12, and proposes they let the pathogens loose on a Klingon colony, "Every organism on the surface will be dead within days. When the High Council hears that humans have decimated their colony, they will launch a counterstrike. The Klingons will keep Starfleet busy for years!" Dain'ta gasps that Mullet is proposing mass murder. Mullet argues, "There is no other choice -- how long before Starfleet turns to the Klingons for help in finding us?" Dain'ta orders Mullet back to the Bridge. "What happened to you in prison?" Mullet wonders. "You're not the man who raised us. The man who was willing to do whatever was necessary." "Return to your station," Dain'ta growls. Mullet rolls his eyes and leaves, but not before he decides to sign a khantract with the devil.

Belch brought us wine from New Zealand, adorable juice glasses with kitties on them, and a huge sleeve of After Eights, which we just adore eating with port. Gytha had put together these goodie bags for all of us. Remember those goodie bags at birthday parties? I loved them. Gytha stuck in all kinds of funny candy along with a Data bookmark, an alien pencil topper, and mini-Slinkies, which are just so cool because every thing is better when it's mini. The Evil Dr. Mathra and I swapped his Andes mints for my Smarties (his favorite), and my banana Now 'n' Laters for his apple (my favorite). However, I did insist on holding onto my A&W Root Beer hard candy because I just can't give those up. Around about 2:30 in the morning, we discovered Superballs at the bottom of the bags. I LOVE Superballs, so for the next hour and a half, the Evil Dr. Mathra and I bounced our Superballs all over our apartment entry, trying to get six bounces between the floor and the ceiling. Are we thirty-one? I don't think so. At least, he is, but I'm not for another four days.

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