Tuesday, June 24, 2008

Written on

The Missions of Agent Z., Intergalactic Spy Episode 1 – Final Decisions on the Final Frontier

Greetings, readers! Agent Z. here, checking in after my latest mission, and I’m happy to be back on my home planet. I’ll tell you more about my mission to the Planet Gor another time.

I ran into a little problem with my cybernetic chamber on my way to Gor, and was jarred awake mid-flight. I won’t go into the problems I had fixing the darn thing, but it was a good thing I woke up, because unbeknownst to me my ship had fallen into a massive rift in the space-time continuum (don’t you hate it when that happens?) and I had a helluva time getting myself out of it. One minute I’m knee-deep in the electronic guts of the sleep chamber; the next I’m dressed in a fur bikini and am staring at two very fine specimens of manhood—Captain James T. Kirk and Captain Jean-Luc Picard. (Insert dramatic pause here!)

As I glanced around, I couldn’t help but notice that a many-tentacled thing was pointing a weapon at my head and a human male in a monochromatic suit was demanding my final answer. The situation was serious. In order to heal the rift in the continuum I would have to choose a Captain to mate with. (This is the sort of situation my employers neglected to mention when I interviewed for the spy gig. Bloody typical!)

Kirk stood there, dressed only in a pair of too-tight britches and a torn shirt, his naked chest oiled and gleaming, his hair carefully tousled, his smile as devil-may-care as ever. He raised one eyebrow questioningly, as he looked me up and down. He seemed quite happy with the situation.

Picard distracted me from my viewing pleasure with a dignified harrumph. My eyes turned to him, just as he was tugging impatiently on his tunic. My eyes alighted on his massive bald egg head, and then drifted down to meet those endlessly compassionate eyes. He smiled a slow, mysterious smile.

I would have to choose. (Yeah, it’s tough being an intergalactic spy.) I turned to the man in the monochromatic suit. “Any chance of getting to test drive them?” I asked.

“I need your final decision!” he boomed. “Or it’s death—for all of you!”
The tentacled thing shoved the barrel of his weapon against my temple.

I made my choice. I did my duty. I did the deed with the captain of my choice. I healed the rift in the space-time continuum. All in a day’s work for an intergalactic spy! (I need to ask for a raise!)

But discretion is an important part my job description and I make a habit of not kissing and telling. The reputations of Kirk and Picard are safe with me. Well, sort of. If enough of you readers, writers and other aliens are willing to share, then I could be persuaded to, also. So, tell me. Who would you have chosen? And why? And do you think I deserve a raise?

Be seeing you!

Agent Z