The Enemy Revealed

Captain Beefheart barked a few gruff words in an attempt to restore some order to the meeting. The crew were showing signs of hysteria and the now kicked in sugar rush from the Brownies Ubermilf had provided as "meeting bait" was only adding to the mayhem.

She punched another code into the "Net-Rep" replicator device and downloaded a glass coffee caffatiere, seventeen mugs and began to hand round the hot java brew. The device had only recently been repaired by the ships droids after another unknown crew member had attempted to replicate a copy of Angelina Jolie downloaded from the Internet. The attached virus that crashed the device replicated into a pair of giant lips that consumed the whole of the crews ready room area. Nanobots were dispatched to clean the mess up but were put on stand-by for three hours after Nick Seaman was spotted writhing in the puffy red mass, naked.

"Well if it's not WhiteBoyBob who's gone an' crashed his space girth into our starry porthole..." Questioned a small stout pirate sipping on his coffee to sounds of muffled laughter from the crew.

"Then who is it?"

Ubermilf fixed her gaze on the crewmember and applied her best disapproving teacher look in an attempt to quash any further outbreaks of the giggles. He shrank back as if deflated, like a failed erection.

She continued. "From the reverse-tachyon-pulse-array-signature diagnostics we can only assume that the beings aboard our ship have originated from the Romany Quad - possibly from the fifth moon".

The pirate rabble gazed at her. Slowly, they all began to nod slowly to each other and pronounced their agreement to her with the odd "arrrr" and "grrrr".

"You've no idea what the fuck I just said..... have you?" she quipped.

In his brain, the electrical activity that made up "beefie" heard and began to process the words she had said. Neuron's sprang to alert, synapses fired and the VR implant located at the base of his skull suddenly started to itch. He knew this was a bad sign. Sensory cross-over caused as a by-product of such a cheap back-street purchased intercourse between silicon and flesh. He first felt this happen when betting his ex-colleagues life savings on him winning a Zero-G mud wrestling contest against an eight armed, bald, muscular opponent. The rumor was spread that he lost the fight deliberately - allowing the expressly oiled assailant to grapple him brutally and he avoiding the chance to pull a quad-nelson to win the fight. And to think they wondered why he was smiling? While he lay sweaty, bloody and pummled, strapped to a spine board in a recovery room his colleagues entered and had their revenge. The itch was a bad sign...

Beefheart's face turned a pale grey and he turned his head slowly to face Ubermilf.

"The Church?... This Church have found us... Here?"