Food Trek

go to the bathroom and ruminate on the wonder of toilets

You don't have time to admire the wonders of space-plumbing right now! Sure, there was a time in your life where you considered the life of a free-wheeling, independent space-plumber, but those dreams are behind you now! The Luncheon is where you belong, and you wouldn't have it any other way.

cover their ship in whipped cream to disable their cloaking mechanism in advance, then fire off a maraschino cherry to break through their shields. slow them down and overheat their systems with a hot fudge glaze. this is going to be one bloody sundae

You have a brief flashback to your days as an ensign, on board the Dessert Class Warship, the Adjudicator. In those days, the Dominion was at war with a strange race of flavor despising monsters, the Blandulons. Your first battle was over the planet Soy, a primary producer of the Superdense Tofu used to power most of the Dominion's starships. Maraschino missiles and streams of molten superfudge tore through the night sky over the Soyer's heads. The Dominion won that day, but at great cost...

Sadly, the Luncheon is no Dessert Class warship. Yours is primarily a diplomatic vessel (though not completely defenseless).

Don a poofier hat.

As Chef-Captain, yours is the poofiest hat on board. You'd have to be a Chef-Admiral to get a poofier hat! Maybe someday, if you play your cards right. But you've got bigger problems than the relative poofiness of your headwear right now!

Food tourists who have heard of your culinary genius!

PREPARE FOR BOARDERS... by cooking them a fine meal and making sure your guest rooms are ready to receive them.

Dining aboard the Luncheon is by reservation only! If they want something on a walk-in basis they should track down one of Burger Shogun's fast food stations, conveniently located in most major star systems.

RAM IT

"RAM IT." You shout, directly into the ensign's ear.

"But Captain!" Vgarr says, his head-vines rustling in confusion, "Our ship is not built for that! Our hull would crumple like a discarded cupcake wrapper!"

He has a point, there, Attila. Most starships aren't built for that kind of abuse, not even the Dominion's warships. Is it really worth sacrificing your life and the lives of everyone on board to slam your starship into an unknown vessel?

>Hail them!

"I meant to say hail them," you lie, "Computer, hail the unknown vessel!"

"Acknowledged... Hailing the unknown vessel. With Scoville torpedoes."

>No! Computer! No! Don't hail them with missiles! Hail them ,as in open a communication channel GODDAMIT COMPUTER

The computer sighs in annoyance.

"Very well. Opening a communications channel."

"This is Chef-Captain Sir Garli Conion, Jr. of the Dominion Starship Luncheon. Please identifty yourself, unknown vessel."

There is a brief period of silence.

"Receiving visual communications," the computer states.

You order it to be projected on-screen.

Turning towards the bridge's main screen, you are shocked at what you see.

He looks like he was human... once. However, his body is heavily modified. Strange mechanical components are grafted into his skin. Lenses of some sort cover his eyes. One of his arms looks to be wholly mechanical. When he speaks, his voice is in a robotic monotone.

"We are the Smorgasborg. Halt your ship and allow yourselves to be boarded. You will be absorbed, and your culinary techniques and flavors will be melded with our own. Opposition is useless."

The Smorgasborg. You thought they were merely a myth. There's never been any solid information about them, and no one has claimed to see them for decades. These guys look pretty serious though. You don't know much about them, except that they supposedly travel the galaxy, subjugating entire species and absorbing them. You do know one thing for certain though: You can't let them have the Luncheon. You won't.

"We repeat: Halt your ship and allow yourselves to be boarded. This is your final chance. If you do not comply, we will resort to force."

So, Chef-Captain, what's your reply?