Lilo & Stitch's Star Trek version 2
Chapter 40: The Way Aboard

“We need to find an opening of some kind,” murmured 419, mainly to herself, as she examined the screen in front of her.

“Gotcha, one exhaust pipe coming up,” 426 peppery replied, tapping in the data. “626, can you keep an eye on the cube thingy?”

“Ih,” 626 answered, adjusting the thrusters a bit.

“Cool, so if anyone needs me, I’ll be playing paddleboard…”

419 looked at him sternly.

“What? It’s probably going to take forev…”

“5,550,198,293,434 matches found.”

Smiling smugly, 419 folded her arms.

“All right, all right… lemme guess, ninety-nine percent of those couldn’t fit a splonk[1] through them,” 426 muttered as he hurriedly tapped in the size specifications.

“No matches found. Did you mean ‘Atlantis’?”

“Er… you added an extra zero,” informed 419, pointing at his screen.




Now, some empty hallways are named so because of a lack of objects contained within, such as furnishings, drawers, and pictures of Auntie Cay. But others are called ‘empty’ not because they are actually devoid of anything at all, but just because of the lack of any sentient life, or, in some instances, any life whatsoever. This particular hallway was of the latter type, containing within several objects, such as a large LCD screen, a smaller screen with console, and a sign pointing to engineering, but, at this time, no life. That isn’t to say it never had life, such as when Jumba began construction on it, when he tested it for the first time, and when it broke under his weight. More recently, it had herded various beings towards the lower decks, some of which strolled merrily whilst humming tunes that, had this hallway auditory apparati, would have detested grossly.

Some empty hallways even have names, such as HTD5878, N82, or James. The one mentioned above did indeed have a name, A12. Mind you, it was a rather boring name, and, had it been sentient, the hallway would have had it legally changed the first time it heard it (assuming, of cause, it had auditory apparati).

Little did this humble hallway know that it was about to cease to exist.



“Bwarp! Bwarp! Bwarp!” blared the Red Alert alarm.

“There’s been a hull breach!” Pleakley informed Jumba. “Deck 3 Corridor A12.”

Jumba started typing. “I am now adjusting shields to compen…”

“Warning: Hull breach,” the computer read, seemingly oblivious to their awareness of the situation. “Deck 3 Corridor A12. Recompression failure. Recommended cause of action: increase shield integrity around affected area.”

Jumba sighed and continued to type.



“Hey, 419!” shouted 426.

“What?” called 419 back.

“They’re shooting weird green ray thingys…”

“Just keep looking.”

“Ah, found it! A small conveniently-placed cargo bay-like opening about twelve degrees down and to the right of our position.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” said 419.

426 shrugged. “Hey, what could possibly go wrong?”

“I’m just saying, it doesn’t bode well,” replied 419. “OK, 626, steer us towards the aperture.”




“Y’know,” 419 muttered, three minutes later, “after all the television you’ve watched, you’d think you know that whenever anyone says ‘what can possibly go wrong’, things always go wrong.”

They were glued to the floor, rigidly swaying on their feet about a metre outside the craft; all the while three Borg drones were menacingly advancing on their position.

“You will be assimilated,” they mandated in unison. “Your technological…”

“OK,” said 426, “I know exactly what to do.”

“…be added to our own. Your culture will…”

“Oh yeah?”

“…to service ours. Resistance is futile!”


426 stared at the drones with determination, eyes fixated on their twitching claw-like appendages.


426 grabbed 419’s hand and pulled her towards a passageway leading to what appeared to be a corridor. Wherever it led, it was at least not here, and so with this reasoning in mind, 419 and 426 rushed as fast as they could towards it.



Alerted by 426’s shout, Stitch ran to the exit of the ship.

Drones. Oh goody.

Firing up the engines, Stitch took the controls of the ship and guided it ‘round the hold, forcing the drones to duck every now and then for fear of decapitation. Setting one in his sights, he triggered the shuttle’s plasma cannons.

Alas, they did not fire.

Annoyed and dismayed, he tried again.

Stupid cannons.

As the shuttle was no longer of any use to him (except for maybe playing a few rounds of “Ten-Drone Bowling”), and as it was about to hit a barrier of vast height, with great haste did Stitch evacuate the craft, not knowing or caring where he would land.




As it so happened, Stitch landed on top of one of the drone’s heads, who, understandably, wasn’t too happy about it; in fact he tried to grab the small blue being that was obscuring his visual cortex and increasing body load by 17.4 percent. Stitch was too quick; he seized the arm and pulled it out of its socket, then started slapping the drone with its own mechanical hand. It was only when the drone decided that enough was enough and he might as well assimilate the strange entity that was on top of him that Stitch leaped off his head and hurried to the nearest exit.


[1] ^ A splonk is, basically, a goo creature. It can fit through just about any crack in existance, hence the expression. Splonks make good pets, and many a splonk can be sighted on Galactic Federation planets.


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Copyright © 2013 Mark Kéy-Balchin.