BAW meets SSB!

[PointyHairedJedi]

I was thinking about BAW fivers the other day, and how it's been a long time since we've had one. A little later I was thinking about the thread game known as Simulated Spaceship Battle, in which posters shoot the crap out of each other to the amusement of everyone else. Then the two thoughts collided, and when I'd regained conciousness it seemed like a jolly good idea to combine the two and create my very own BAW SSB! Only, it's not really an SSB because it's just me writing it, and it's not really a BAW fiver because I say so for the purpose of making this sentence sound better.

So here, now, I present the first part of The Alternative Factor II: When Egos Collide!


After receiving a mysterious distress call, the Excelsior-class USS Watch Where You're Pointing That Thing, commanded by the insane yet curiously still employed Rear Admiral PointyHairedJedi, arrives in the far-flung Botox system to investigate...

PHJ: Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet? Are we there yet?
Helm: No.
PHJ: How about now?
Helm. No.
PHJ: And now?
Helm: No.
PHJ: Can't you... you know, go faster?
Helm: We're going as fast as we can, sir.
PHJ: Hmm. Are you sure I can't use the big screen to play Tetris on for just a little while?
Helm: No.
PHJ: You're a real party-pooper, you know that? The first dangerous away mission we get, I'm dressing you in red and sending you down first.
Helm: Whatever.
PHJ: Damnit, Number One, when did they start getting to be so blasé?
Number One: I think it was when Starfleet banned you from carrying out summary executions on the bridge. Plus, to be honest, the huge baggy clown trousers do make it hard to fear you.
PHJ: Bah! Bah and tosh! Bah, tosh, and splinge! Just because I keep beating the computer at 3D chess, it stole all my uniform trousers and replaced them with these. I tell you, the very next overhaul, I'm getting that thing upgraded to Linux for good.
Tac. Officer: Sir, to be fair, you do cheat incessantly.
PHJ: I'm the captain! It's practically expected of me. Now, are we there yet?
Helm: Yeah, we arrived about ten minutes ago.
PHJ: And you didn't tell me why?
Helm: I honestly didn't care all that much.
*PHJ reaches for his phaser rifle but is restrained by Number One*
PHJ: Nobody lets me have any fun anymore. Right! You there, peon over at the sensor console, tell me there's something out there worth shooting at.
Science Officer: Nope. Nada. I can't even locate the precise source of the distress call. There's interference on the sub-spacial quasi-phase--
PHJ: How many times? How many do I have to tell you? No technobabble while I'm earshot, or else! There's like a six foot high sign right over your station that says that. Right there, right above your head.
S.O.: But how am I supposed to--
PHJ: I can still throw custard pies at them, right, Number One? Computer, three custard pies, double quick!
S.O.: Sir, please, if you'll wait just a moment... There appears to be some debris ahead. It's pretty scattered, but I would say at a guess that it was the remains of an Andorian civilian cargo ship. It was destroyed by phaser fire and torpedoes.
PHJ: Now that's more like it! TO, raise shields, and go to chicken alert.
T.O.: ...Chicken?
PHJ: Yes. Chicken. I reprogrammed the yellow alert protocol.
T.O.: ...
Number One: Just go with it man, just go with it. It's easier in the long run.

*Half a million killometres away, a ship decloaks without warning. It is heavily battle scarred but looks fully functional, and bears a striking resenblance to the Excelsior-class, only it looks somewhat... meaner. The name of this mysterious ship, lit up on the front of the saucer, is the ISS Stand Still While I'm Pointing This Thing*

PHJ: ...Smeg. Ketchup alert! Batten the hatches! Stow the tea cosies! Unfurl the battle ensign!
Number One: I'm sure he'll appreciate it, sir. It's awfully cramped in that cupboard.
T.O.: It's definitely Mirror Universe, Admiral. The scars are a dead giveaway. Their shields are raised, but no weapons on-line yet.
S.O.: It must have come through some sort of sub-temporal rift or anomalous--*SPLAT*
PHJ: Don't say I didn't warn you.
Comms: Sir, they're hailing us.
PHJ: Frequencies open, then. But keep the amplitudes closed till I say so.
Helm: Oh, ha ha, sir. Ha ha.
*On the screen appears... a face*
PHJ: My God! It's me! And I'm gorgeous!
mPHJ: Oh, I know, I know. It is so very tiresome, isn't it?
PHJ: I know exactly how you feel. Though... some would say that the eyepatch AND goatee were too much together, but you know, you really do pull it off.
mPHJ: Oh, you're too kind, too kind. And you know, you're not so bad looking yourself. Those clown trousers are pretty striking.
PHJ: Oh, you think? Anyway, to bizzz.
mPHJ: Yezzz. As you've guessed, I'm from what you know as the MU, though as an aside we call your universe the MU, but let's not go down that path as it would be long and confusing and I'd have to kill some of my crew for sighing in an exasperated manner which would of course be extremely disrespectful, especially as I am so hot. I am here on a mission to steal technology and science and stuff, though to be honest I don't really know much about the details. I have people for that.
PHJ: Of course, of course. No point in burdening yourself with the boring stuff. I see it that way myself.
mPHJ: Sound fellow. So, in the spirit of that, and given that coincidentally you happen to be me, I think it would be a jolly good wheeze if you surrendered so I can plunder your ship.
PHJ: ...Ah. Much as I'd like to, old sock, I'm rather afraid I can't do that. So it looks like we'll have to have a bit of a knockabout.
mPHJ: That's the spirit! I knew you wouldn't just roll over like that Andorian chappie. I've been looking forward to a good fight since I got here, and if there's anyone that can give me one it'll be... well, me.
PHJ: I do like to oblige. Except when I don't, of course. Me out.
Crew: Oo-er!