//Audio Dictation – CURUN05980A-8

Hey, hey, it’s your boy, Cal Carver, back here dropping a fat log!

Wait, no. No, that felt wrong on a number of levels. Let me try again.

Captain’s Log, Stardate… still Tuesday, I think. Could be a Wednesday by now. You know what, let’s call it Tuesday-point-five. Twoosday. That’s a thing. I’m making it a thing as of right now.

Sorry about that introduction back there at the start. It’s been a long space day. I mean, it’s been a long few years, but who’s counting, right?

It appears you are, sir.

Kevin, please. Really trying not to lose my train of thought here, buddy. Let’s can it with the snarky interjections for now.

Very good, sir.

Thank you.

I completely understand.

Right. Good. I appreciate that.

You won’t hear another word out of me, sir.

Kevin.

…

OK, good. So, as I was…

Wait. Kevin, are you humming?

Sir?

That humming I can hear? Is that you?

I believe that may be the ship’s engines, sir.

The ship’s engines?

Indeed, sir.

The ship’s engines are humming the theme tune to Cagney & Lacey?

Oh, THAT humming, sir? Yes, it appears that is me. My apologies.

It’s fine.

It is such a catchy arrangement.

I mean, no arguments there, Kevin, but can you do me a favor, buddy, and shut the fonk up so I can, you know, get back to captaining the shizz out of this log?

…

OK. Thank you. So. The Triskar system. Last time I did one of these, we were headed there, having just accidentally killed a bunch of space midgets by shooting directly at their spaceship and blowing it into a billion little pieces.

It’s funny, but I can’t help almost feeling sort of partly responsible.

Well, you did—

Kevin, please.

Anyhoo, we eventually made it to the Triskar system, and man, were my hopes high when we landed and/or crashed, depending on who you ask, reasonably near the docking bay we’d been directed to. Like, you know, in the vicinity of it.

After shutting down the alarm and waiting for Mech to extinguish what seemed to me to be a number of small fires, we headed down the ramp only to be met by a platoon of ogre-looking bamstons armed with fonking huge rifles.

I’ll be honest, my hopes lowered somewhat at that point, and Mech must’ve felt the same, because he whipped out his arm blasters and managed to kill three of them stone dead before they returned fire.

It was confetti.

Technically, space confetti, I guess.

Next thing we know, a band starts up, a big platform rises out of the ground, and suddenly were’s face to face with thousands of cheering fans all waving banners and little flags with our faces on them.

Or, I say our faces, but that’s not quite true. In fact, it’s only one-sixth true. Or one-seventh, if you count Kevin.

I would appreciate being counted, sir.

That’s fair. But then, you don’t have a face, Kevin. You’re a disembodied voice.

Touché, sir.

I tell you what - what’s, like, halfway between one-sixth and one-seventh?

Thirteen eighty-fourths, sir.

Oh, for fonk’s… Jesus. Fine. It’s thirteen eight-fourths true. Because it wasn’t all our faces on the banners and flags.

It was Miz’s. Just Miz’s. She was everywhere.

And, I mean, no offence to Miz. She has a striking face, and I respect it immensely, but… seriously? Her, and not me?

I’ve saved the fonking galaxy, been hunted on live space TV, and have a whole sort of young-Ryan Reynolds meets late-Paul Rudd charm going on that the ladies - and this is not an exaggeration - go fonking wild for.

And they’re losing their collective shizz over a werewolf in cut-off denim shorts who had zero interest in being there. Like, none. She had been complaining about it the whole way.

I think that’s what she’d been complaining about, at least. She was complaining about something. Although, I mostly try to tune it out these days.

Some purple thing with two heads breaks through the barriers and makes the mistake of racing towards her. So, of course, she kills him instantly. Like, boom. She just tears his throats out without so much as raising an eyebrow.

I see Loren glancing back into the ship, and I know what she’s thinking. She’s thinking we need to make a fonking run for it, because we’ve killed, like, four people at this point, not counting that small village the ship went careening through during the landing process, which I could smell by this point was almost certainly on fire.

And these people - the Triskarians, or whatever they call themselves - I should stress that they’re huge. Like, twenty feet tall. Scary, too. Their eyes have teeth. Or their mouths have pupils. Or… Jesus, I don’t know. You wouldn’t want to kiss them, put it that way. Or get into a staring contest.

So, given that we’d murdered four people (five, if you count both that guy’s heads) and both crushed and set fire to a nearby settlement, it felt like they’d be well within their rights to, you know, kill us all.

Instead, they fonking loved it. The cheering got louder, the flag-waving was ramped up to ten, and I’m told that footage of the double-throat-clawing has gone space-viral. Because that’s apparently a thing that happens now.

Fonking internet.

Anyway. We’re taken to a big glitzy compound-type place. Nice, don’t get me wrong. They’ve got rooms for everyone, and food like I’ve never seen before. Literally. Fonk knows what any of it was, but it was pretty good.

Although I wouldn’t recommend the blue one, given that it tasted like rancid chicken, smelled like chocolate milk, and resulted in three hours of explosive diarrhea.

Anyway, after the place is hosed down, we’re taken to meet a production company that - get this - wants to make a documentary about us. This… I want to say woman, but honestly I have no idea, makes a pitch to us. She goes hard, really trying to sell it. It’ll be a twelve-part series all about Space Team.

About our adventures. About the kind of people who get hunted across the galaxy and survive. Brave people. Interesting people. People who save the fonking universe!

They want to call it Mizette: Hairy and Deadly.

I pointed out that, while Miz is undoubtedly a fascinating and complex individual with many virtues, their documentary should probably focus on me. I’m the main one. That might sound arrogant, but let’s be frank here, I think we all know that I’m really the driving force behind the team. And the face of it. And also the connective glue holding it all together.

And probably the brains, if I’m being completely honest.

So, I tell them that, and the woman, or whatever it is, nodded very sympathetically and said they were thinking that I could have a sort of “recurring comic presence” in the show.

And then someone whispered something to her, and she said that, if things goes well, maybe I could take the lead in my own spin-off somewhere down the line. Something lighter. Something “fun and accessible.”

They even came up with a potential title, but I forget what it was.

I believe it was “The Buffoon,” sir.

That was a potential title, Kevin. One of many, I’m sure. Definitely not the final product. And, I want to be clear that I have not agreed to this. I have not signed anything, or—

You have signed something, sir.

Wait, what?

Earlier, sir. The gentleman with the clipboard. You signed, then asked him if he wanted a photograph.

Ah! No, that was just an autograph.

On a three-hundred page contract, sir. Multi-series. You also agreed to a breakfast cereal tie-in.

What kind of cereal?

Captain Carver’s Cosmic Puffs, sir.

Oh.

…

I mean, that’s actually not terrible.

It’s Mistress Mizette’s face on the box, sir.

Of course it is.

Jesus.

Anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m not going to think about the cereal. I’m not going to think about the documentary, or the still-to-be-named spin-off, either. I’m going to focus on the positives. We’re safe, we’re fed, we’re in a nice compound. Nobody is currently trying to kill us, which is, historically speaking, a high watermark for this crew.

Also, and I’m choosing to see this as a moral victory: Kevin has not won a single round of Name That Thing since we arrived.

I haven’t been playing, sir.

You also haven’t won. That’s all I’m saying. Just let me have this one, Kevin, even if it’s on a technicality.

…

Well done, sir.

Thank you. I appreciate that.

So, that’s it for now. This is Captain Cal Carver of the Currently Untitled, recurring comic presence, future space-cereal mascot, signing off.

…

Kevin?

Sir?

Just end the fonking—

//Recording Terminated

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/Audio Dictation – CURUN05980A-7

Captain’s Log, Stardate… Jesus, I don’t know. It feels like a Tuesday. Stardate Tuesday, we’ll go with that.

The last time I, uh, spoke words into this thing–

Dictated, sir.

Thanks, Kevin. I knew there was a name for it.

I live to serve, sir.

The last time I dictated words into this thing, the ship was being chased by space midgets. They were also in a ship, I mean. They weren’t running through space after us, or anything. With their little legs. Waving their pudgy little fists, faces all bunched up.

Man, that would’ve been adorable.

But, no. They had their own ship. Twice the size of ours, too, which seems impractical. I mean, they’re like, I don’t know, forty percent our size–thirty percent in Miz’s case–so why not make their ship forty percent the size of ours? They could’ve saved the metal. And, I mean, I’m not expert, but spaceships aren’t cheap. Probably.

Kevin, are spaceships cheap?

No, sir.

There you go. Why spend more than you have to on a big ship for tiny people? It’s senseless.

There were three hundred of them aboard, sir.

Three hundred?!

Yes, sir.

Jesus. How do they all fit?

Sideways, sir.

But how do they…? Know what? Fonk it. I don’t want to know.

It’s standard practice for the Ru’k’toorush, sir.

Kevin, I thought we agreed not to call them that. They’re the Midgetarians.

They really aren’t, sir.

Kevin…

Very good, sir. They’re the Midgetarians, grotesquely offensive as that may be.

Thank you. And anyway, not like they’re going to complain about it now.

Not since you killed them all, sir, no.

Hey! Don’t say it like that. We were defending ourselves from attack! They shot us first! And anyway, it was just a warning shot.

A warning shot–

That missed, yes. Or, you know, hit. I’m well aware of what happened. I was there, Kevin. I saw it happen.

And caused it to happen, sir.

And also, yes, caused it to happen. But it was an accident. And they were shooting at us. And they’d already been quite aggressive to me in person earlier, so, there’s that.

…

Seriously, three hundred?

At least, sir. I lost count of them, what with all the different bits floating past in different directions.

OK, so… my bad, I guess? Anyway, can I press on? I’ve got a lot of Captain’s Logging left to do here, and I’m kind of pressed for time. We’re arriving at the Triskar system in just… what?

Eleven hours, sir.

Exactly. So, you know, I should probably get this done ASAP. I promised Splurt we’d play Name That Thing later, and… shizz.

Name That Thing, sir? I wasn’t aware we had a game scheduled.

Uh, yeah. I mean, no. I mean, it’s not ‘scheduled,’ exactly. It’s more sort of… pencilled in. Nothing’s set in stone yet. It may happen, it may not. It’s… We haven’t decided.

You weren’t going to tell me, were you, sir?

What?! Not tell you?! Why wouldn’t we… OK, no. No. We weren’t going to tell you. But it’s because… you’re so good at it! Between you and me, Kevin, I wanted to give Splurt a fighting chance. Give him a confidence boost, you know?

Really, sir?

No, not really. The last time we played, it took you two-and-a-half days to make a guess, and even then you guessed ‘loneliness’. Loneliness isn’t a thing, Kevin, it’s an abstract emotional concept.

There’s nothing abstract about it from where I’m sitting, sir.

Jesus. Are you trying to make me fell bad? Is that was this is, Kevin?

I wouldn’t dream of it, sir. Don’t mind me. You and Master Splurt play your games. Have your fun. I’ll be here ready to serve whenever you see fit to summon me.

Argh. Fine. OK, you can play. Happy?

Window.

What?

Chair.

No, we haven’t started the fonking…

Not now, Kevin. We’ll play later, OK? Jesus.

I shall look forward to it, sir.

Right, so… Fonk. I’ve completely lost the thread now. Captain’s Log, Stardate Tuesday, yadda yadda, accidentally killed a bunch of space midgets, yadda yadda, Name That Thing…

Oh! Yes. Triskar system. So, I found out why we’re headed there. No one wanted to tell me at first, because they were worried it would go to my head, but get this–apparently, we’re celebrities there!

I mean, mostly me, I’m assuming, what with my having been hunted on live TV for half the galaxy to see, but I’m letting the others think it’s partly them, too. I’m nice like that.

Fame, of course, brings other rewards. Some, I don’t know, production company or whatever wants to give us a shizzload of money. Presumably, they’ll want to interview us (me), maybe get us (me) doing some sort of ads or endorsements, or whatever. Maybe they’ll put us (me) in a movie!

Whatever, it’s going to be a nice change from all the bad shizz that usually happens to us – big space-time monsters, spider-dragons, squirrel’s tits.

Ozzy Osbourne that one time.

Spending some time on Easy Street is going to be pretty sweet, after all that. And I, for one, cannot wait to get started!

Brimprickles.

…

What? What the fonk’s a ‘brimprickle’?

It’s a thing, sir. Do I win?

No, Kevin, we still hadn’t… Actually, you know what? Yes. Yes, you’ve won. Congratulations. Game over. You got us again!

Well done me!

Well done you, Kevin. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Splurt and I will go practice. We’ll get you next time!

Bring it on, sir!

Oh, we will bring it on, Kevin. We will bring it on! Just give us, like, a few months to improve our game without your involvement, and we’ll give you a fight you won’t forget!

I shall look forward to it, sir.

Great. Well, OK. I think that’s a wrap for this Captain’s Log. I’ll report back once we reach the Triskar system and become galactic sensations. Assuming we aren’t already.

This is Captain Cal Carver of the Currently Untitled, signing off.

…

…

Hello?

Hello, sir.

Jesus, Kevin, again? I thought we agreed, when I said the signing off part, you’re supposed to–

//Recording Terminated

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I made it as far as two entries. Personally, I blame Cal.

Anyway, I thought that I’d bring it back, so am starting with the first two entries, and will continue to share Cal’s ongoing updates as and when they come in.

//Audio Dictation – CURUN05980A-6

Captain’s Log, stardate… uh… one, I guess?

No, that can’t be right. Hold up, let me check with Mech.

//Recording Paused

//Recording Resumed

OK, I asked, and apparently it’s stardate, “What the fonk are you talking about now?” So, let’s just stick with the original plan. It’s stardate one.

Or, does that sound, I don’t know, like I’m not trying? Does ‘stardate one’ make me sound like a rookie?

Fonk it, let’s call it one-point-seven. That sounds spacey, right?

Captain’s Log, stardate one-point-seven. Ish.

We are en route to the Tiskar system. Maybe the T’skar system, I haven’t seen it written down. Why are we going to the Tiskar system? I have no idea.

Here are some other things I don’t know about the Tiskar system:

• How you spell it.

• Where it is.

• Who lives there?

• What’s going to try to kill us? (Because something always does).

• If it has good restaurants.

• What’s the parking situation?

• How MANY things are going to try to kill us?

• Any why? I mean, what have we ever done to them? The shizznods.

• How big it is.

• Will I need a coat?

You’re probably wondering dear Captain’s Log, why we’re hurtling through space towards the Tiskar (Tisscar?) system when I clearly haven’t given the order.

I mean, I’m the boss, right? I have the middle chair. Everyone respects me, more or less. Some less than others, but whatever. I’m the captain. Why else would I be the one dictating the Captain’s Log, if I’m not the big cheese?

And yet, have I given any orders to go to the Tiskar system? No. No, I have not.

I mean, not that I can remember, anyway.

Sure, I was recently fired out of a space cannon, and sustained some pretty major head injuries that left me partially-sighted and unable to talk for almost an hour, but I’m sure I’d remember giving an order to go to a star system I’ve never heard of, right?

That’s not the kind of thing you just forget, partially collapsed cranium or no partially collapsed cranium.

I should probably explain the cannon thing. I’d like to say it was all part of some daring heroic adventure, but truth be told, space cards on the table, I lost a bet.

I mean, I say ‘bet,’ it was more a sort of personal challenge.

OK, technically, if you really want to break it down to its component parts, I got in a fight with a couple of midgets.

Can we say midgets? Is that allowed in space? Hold on.

Hey, Kevin?

Good afternoon, sir. You have activated this device’s integrated AI-link. Any questions posed will be routed to the ship’s mainframe via this terminal, and–

Sure, great! Yadda, yadda. I get it. Quick question. Can we say midgets?

You appear to be, sir, yes, unless my audio input sensors are malfunctioning.

No, I don’t mean can I literally say the word ‘midgets,’ I mean is it offensive?

To me personally, sir?

In general. Like, if I rounded up fifty midgets, and said, “Hey, midgets! How’s it hanging?” would that be problematic?

On a number of levels, sir. Where would we keep them, for one thing?

I don’t know. Like… a cage?

In that case, sir, I suspect you could call them whatever you liked.

Great. Thanks, Kevin. You can stop listening now.

Oh, if only I could, sir.

Anyway, where was I?

In the kitchen, sir.

No. I mean, where was I in the story? And it’s a rhetorical question, I don’t need you to tell me. I need you to stay quiet.

…

OK, so–

From when, sir?

Jesus, Kevin. From them. From earlier. From twenty seconds ago.

And how do you propose I do that, exactly?

Look, just stop talking from now, OK? Just don’t say anything else unless I specifically ask you to. I’ll say, “Hey, Kevin, can I ask you a question?”

Of course, sir. I live to serve.

No. Fonk. That wasn’t… I didn’t mean…

Forget it. Let’s just say I got on the wrong side of a couple of little people, one thing followed another, and I ended up being shot out of a cannon at a wall. That pretty much covers the pertinent points. And now, we’re on the way to the Tri-Star region.

Triskar system.

Shizz. Yeah. Tri-Star were the movie guys. With the flying horse, right?

I have absolutely no idea, sir.

They were. I’m sure that was them.

Anyway, we’re now on the way to the Triskar system, and nobody has any idea why we’re going there. With the possible exception of Loren and Mech. Maybe Miz, but I doubt she’s all that interested, and Tyrra just tries to punch me in the balls whenever I try to broach the subject with her.

Man, that girl has issues.

Fortunately, I was able to secure myself an armored jockstrap to protect myself from her. And when I say ‘secured myself’ I mean ‘asked Splurt to turn into.’ I’ll be honest, he was kind of hesitant at first, but like I said to him, “What are friends for, if not to occasionally cup your testicles with their face?”

I’m kidding, of course!

He isn’t using his face. I’d say it’s more like his… abdomen? Does he have an abdomen? Hold on, I’ll check.

Splurt, buddy? Do you have an abdomen?

…

Apparently, he doesn’t have an abdomen. Oh, and Splurt? I wouldn’t go jiggling around like that, pal. Just trust me on this one, OK?

Hold on, Loren’s shouting. Be right back.

//Recording Paused

//Recording Resumed

OK, so apparently there’s good news and bad news. The good news is, we’re almost at the Tiskar region, or whatever. The bad news is, those midgets I mentioned earlier? With the cannons? They’re totally chasing us.

I’m hoping one of us dropped a wallet and they’re just trying to return it, but Mech seems to think this is probably unlikely, given that none of us carries a wallet, and that they’ve already shot at us twice.

I should probably go up and be all captainy on the bridge. Maybe I’ll shoot the guns, or I might just sit in the big chair dishing out commands. I’ll play it by ear.

I’ll come back and carry on later, once all this midget-stuff has blown over. Until then, this is Captain Cal Carver of the Currently Untitled, signing off.

…

Hello? Is that…? Is this off?

No, sir.

Shizz. How do I turn it off? Is there a button? How the fonk does–

//Recording Terminated

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