“Damn the torpedoes!” Melia shouted authoritatively.

“Sir,” the ensign questioned, “We don’t have any torpedoes.”

“Sigh, I know. How’s the flux capacitor?”

“Operating at peak efficiency,” chimed in the chief engineer.

“Excellent. Any zombies on the scanner?” Melia asked gravely.

“Sir, we have had no pseudo-life signs noted,” the science officer droned.

“Oh. Vampires?”

“Negative, sir.”

“Oh,” Melia replied, a little dejected. “Sigh, get me a soda, ensign.”

“Cola, root beer, or…”

“Do you really need to ask, ensign?”

“Sorry, sir. Cherry Fanta coming right up.”

Melia looked around, “Anyone seen my sonic screwdriver?”

“I believe it is in your shirt pocket, sir,” the science officer said dryly.

“Right, thanks. Any…”

“No Daleks on the scanner, sir,” the science officer cut in, rather impertinently.

With nothing else to do, Melia gave the order, “Helm, set a course for Cedar Street. Sovereign Vizier Stovohobo, you have the com. I’ll be in my quarters…writing a ficlet.”