“Sir!” the ensign shouted, spinning in his chair to face the captain. “Proximity sensors detect a fleet of Triple Venti Caramel Macchiatos!”
The captain arched an eyebrow, leaning forward on the railing as he gazed into the view screen. He depressed the call button on his headset.
“Engineering, we need to milk the engines for more speed. Get those wands steaming!”
The call fizzled back, “Milk’s not the problem, Captain! We’re givin’ her all the shots!”
“Make it a quad. There’s no telling whether our shields can withstand their weapons.”
The ship lurched to one side, spilling the navigator’s frappucino across the console.
“Enemy vessel has deployed small fighters!”
“Captain, they’re charging the extra caramel drizzle!”
“Classic,” the captain muttered.
“Um, sir, macchiatos actually use vanilla.” Number One offered apologetically. He received a simmering glare.
“Bring us around. Men, prepare for boarding. Set mochas to skinny.”
“Aye, Captain!”
“Beam me up, Scotty,” the captain said, chugging a doppio espresso.