I think though that this will be the last one for a little while - we're off to Canada on holiday at the end of August, so I don't think there will be a September edition. Perhaps you might like to make up for it by checking some back numbers!
ILLOGICAL, CAPTAIN
Wales
could be the home of Europe's first spaceport
ITV
News
Space,
the final frontier, see. These are the voyages of the Starship
Ent-y-pridd, isn't it? And, see here, it's got some mission or other
about new life and civilisations, and boldly going somewhere, outside
Wales even. Duw mawr!
Even
for a veteran like Cap'n Curig, the new spaceport was stunning. From
his vantage point outside one of Starfleet Wales' many immense
hangars, he surveyed a world of throbbing spacecraft and futuristic
technological wizardry so advanced that for a moment he doubted
whether even Lt Commander Taff, his faithful and long serving ship's
engineer, would understand all of it. He smiled sheepishly when he
realised his own foolishness – likely as not Taffy had designed
half of it in his spare time.
The
spaceport gleamed. Or would have done had it not for the past 24
hours been shrouded in a kind of drenching mist, which was forecast
to lift fairly soon and give way to a prolonged downpour. He'd like
to see it gleam, though. Just once.
Negotiating
the terminal building had been somewhat fraught. Hurrying to take
command of his new craft, Cap'n Curig had nipped into WH Smith after
check in and was not pleased to discover that he needed his boarding
card just to buy a bloody newspaper - he couldn't find his at the
critical moment. Neither had he thought it becoming to the dignity
of a Starfleet Commander to have to remove half his clothing -
including his belt - to go through security, with the result that his
new uniform trousers subsided to his knees as he struggled through a
scrum at the conveyor belt to retrieve bags, jacket, shoes, car keys,
starship keys, loose change and the newspaper he was already wishing
he hadn't bought. After that came a forced march past endless burger
bars, jewellery shops, displays of socks and signs which postulated
the possible existence of toilets which might or might not be open
half a mile away. A lesser man would have been daunted by the
experience; Curig though chose to focus on the new friendship he had
struck up with the girl in the cosmetics store as he had paraded
through. The old magic had not deserted him. He now had her number
firmly in his jacket pocket. It would have surprised him to know
that their encounter did not go wholly unnoticed.
Curig
was especially keen to meet his new First Officer, recently assigned
to him by Starfleet. It would be fair to say that Splott was a man
whose reputation preceded him. Half Welsh, half Vulcan, Splott would
always be remembered as the main reason the new spaceport had been
built.
Although
not, perhaps, in the way he would have wished.
Under
a previous Commander, he had been piloting a starship down into the
old spaceport, and had ended up demolishing most of it. At the time
Curig had been surprised that Splott's then Commanding Officer had
rather taken his side at the resulting tribunal, arguing that he
deserved the chance of a fresh start under another Commander and
supporting his central defence that siting the spaceport at
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch
had been a serious error of judgement on Starfleet Wales' part. He
had agreed with Splott's counsel that there was a grave and wholly
foreseeable danger of loading the name incorrectly into ships' satnav
systems, and noted that Splott - ever the perfectionist - had
insisted on getting it exactly right, by which time it was too late.
He had even dared to express surprise that the accident hadn't
happened sooner. At least, thought Curig, there would be no such
problems with Cardigan.
Spying
his First Officer approaching, Curig advanced towards him, hand
outstretched and a welcoming smile on his face.
'It's
those four 'l's coming together, see,' began Splott, 'it just didn't
look right if you know what I mean, not consecutive like that, so I
thought to myself, I thought you'd better check this out, Mr Splott,
got to get it right, haven't you, get it wrong and you never know
what might happen, isn't it, so I thought best be logical and Gwgl
this and then – oh, sorry, you do know what Gwgl is do you? - I
know I sometimes assume too much scientific knowledge on the part of
people who aren't specialists – oh, you do, there we are then,
smashing that, isn't it, only not everyone does, but there we are, I
can see we're going to get along lovely, you and me; anyway by the
time I'd Gwgled it it was too late......'
Curig's
hand remained ungrasped; the smile on his face frozen. Turning away,
he welcomed some familiar faces – Dr 'Bwns' McCoy, the brilliant
but crusty old ship's Medical Officer; Mr Swlw, the helmsman and Lt
Whwrw, who – by common agreement – would be an outstanding
Communications Officer if only she'd ever learnt to pronounce her own
name. It was no wonder, reflected Curig, that all the 'w's on the
keyboards in Starfleet Wales' HR department had had to be specially
strengthened.
Exasperated
by Splott's incessant chatter, Curig crisply ordered his crew
aboard. It was time to exert his authority, to make it quite clear
who was in charge.
'Mr
Splott, please lay in our first course, we're going to Jupiter.'
'Oh,
there's lovely. My auntie used to go there regular, swore by it so
to speak, she had this terrible chest, see, proper martyr to it she
was, well, she'd had it for years, of course, and she always
said..........'
'Take
us up, Mr Swlw.'
Had
you been observing the scene from the edge of the spaceport, you
would have seen the Ent-y-pridd rise silently and majestically, then
disappear into the angry, slate grey clouds which enveloped Cardigan
Spaceport. Aboard, there was no sensation of speed or movement as
the short journey passed without incident. All too soon, it seemed,
Splott was announcing their arrival.
'Here
we are then, safe and sound, looks like it might brighten up a bit
later, but best be logical and take a mac if you're going down, I
would, you can't be too careful I always say......'
'Bwns
and I will beam down. Mr Taff, you have command.'
Curig
and Bwns were startled by what they found on the planet's surface.
They had visited Jupiter many times before, but didn't remember it
being like this. They were in a wet, scrubby field, standing
alongside a long stretch of what looked suspiciously like tarmac.
Heavy rain squalled into their faces. Rain? On Jupiter? There was
silence, eventually broken by the sound of a heavy engine. They spun
round to see a lorry trundling slowly towards them along what they
now realised was a road. Curig walked out onto the road and
signalled the lorry to stop.
'I'm
sorry, but we seem to be lost, can you tell us where we are?'
'Baa!!!'
said the lorry.
'Wh.....'
'Baa!!!'
Heavily,
the driver wound down his window.
'You're
on the A482. So am I. I've got to get these sheep to the abattoir.
What's your excuse?'
They
mumbled their apologies, and Curig flipped open his communicator.
'Two
to beam up, Mr Taff, and have Mr Splott meet us in the briefing
room.'
Which
is where Curig described what had happened and demanded an
explanation. Bwns simply glowered.
'Jupiter!'
exclaimed Splott. 'I thought you said Lampeter, that's why I landed
you on the A482, see. I did think it was an illogical sort of
destination to choose if you know what I mean, it can't be much more
than what, about fifty miles or so from Cardigan, you'd have been
quicker on the bus I shouldn't wonder, there's one every hour or
so......'
Furiously,
Bwns cut him off, but as Splott started to plead for another chance
Whwrw's
voice broke in on the intercom.
'Cap'n
Curig to the bridge. I'm picking up signals about unauthorised
Klingon movements in the Viga sector. A Federation freighter is in
trouble. Starfleet want us to investigate.'
The
three officers hurried to the bridge where Curig quickly assessed the
situation before commanding Splott to lay in a course for Viga.
'That's
Viga, Mr Splott' muttered Bwns. 'Viga. Not Tredegar'.
The
journey to Viga passed quickly, efficiently and without incident, and
as they approached the star system they were hailed by Captain
Llwybyr of the Federation freighter Cnychwr who requested permission
to come aboard.
'I
was only a few hours out of Cardigan, see,' began Captain Llwybyr
'when I spotted Klingons. There's tricky, I thought, I wonder what
they want, I've nothing very valuable, have I, never have these days,
mind you there was a time when I transported good Welsh steel all
over the galaxy of course, I could have understood if it was steel,
but that's all gone years ago and half my cargo was bloody
daffodils........'
'Daffodils!'
exclaimed Curig.
'Yes.
Bit of a turn up, turns out that's what they were after, isn't it?
Seemingly Mothers' Day is very big in Klingon culture, they all get a
bit tearful, see, and want to send their Mums some daffs. Of course,
they won't be much good after travelling through sub space for
hundreds of thousands of light years, but I didn't tell them
that....'
Curig
smiled warmly at this, but Splott seemed struck by a revelation and
spent the next few minutes downloading various learned texts from the
computer's library, and studying them feverishly.
'It
was something Captain Llwybyr said,' he began 'triggered a thought,
so to speak, I thought to myself I wonder, Mr Splott, use a bit of
logic, I wonder if....'
Bwns'
suggestion that he get to the point lacked both tenderness and
diplomacy. Splott was unmoved.
'New
way of fighting Klingons, see,' he began 'psychological warfare, it's
called. We've found a weak spot and now we can exploit it.'
'Explanation.'
'Well,
we now know they're very sentimental about their mothers. So, we
create fake messages from their mothers saying how much they're
missing them, that sort of thing, beam them pictures of happy Klingon
mothers with their families; apparently Klingon songs are very big on
motherhood, so we play loads of them to their ships. Unman them,
see.'
Bwns
and Taffy failed entirely in their attempts to imply that they'd
already thought of this, but both had to admit privately that Splott
had suddenly gone up several notches in their estimation. Nodding
his appreciation, Curig demanded more detail and was deeply impressed
with the way Splott had marshalled facts, conclusions and
speculation. The First Officer made a point of lingering on the
sentimental nature of Klingon – and human- relationships.
The
Captain coloured slightly. He felt in his pocket for the number of
the girl in the cosmetics store and was reassured to find it still
there. The gesture didn't go wholly unnoticed.
'Excellent,
Mr Splott. Prepare a strategic proposal for Starfleet. Emphasise
the prospects of this new approach for galactic Armani, er, harmony.'
Bwns
smirked.
'They'll
have to Arden their resolve' he chuckled.
Curig
coloured again, but was equal to the challenge.
'Lay
in a course for home, Mr Swlw. Ahead, Max Factor one.'
They
all grinned. The Ent-y-pridd made a textbook landing at Cardigan.
Producing a large bunch of daffodils which he had kept well hidden,
Splott suggested that the Captain might wish to dispense with the
usual formalities and beam direct to the cosmetics store in the
departure hall.
The
Captain beamed, in both senses, and was gone.
'I
do believe you're showing signs of emotion, Mr Splott' growled Bwns.
'On
the contrary, Doctor. I am deploying a wholly logical tactic to
manage human illogicality. But the Captain may find that having is
not so pleasing a thing as wanting. This is not logical, but it is
often true.'
_________________________________________________________________________
ANAGRAM CORNER ON THE LABOUR PARTY LEADERSHIP ELECTION
POISONED-EST CHALICE
ELECTION CHAOS SPIED!
