Somehow, Morpho knew they would call him for THIS mission. He sensed the concern of THE FOUNDERS even as he luxuriated in the comforting confines of his gelatinous mass contained in a stainless steel storage case where he had been recharging himself since 1865 and the Quixotic mission of the Buggeral.
Inherently he knew his entire existence had been leading up to this ONE challenging moment where only he could finally influence the outcome of the epoch conflict between the forces of GOOD versus EVIL. He also knew if THE FOUNDERS had to call on HIM, the odds were not good for victory, and the desperation call was just that....HE WAS THE LAST HOPE FOR MANKIND!
Formally he was known as Morpheus, but he preferred "just plain Morpho" when he was on the job. Named after the Greek God of Dreams, Morpho was known to be scrupulously honest, adhering to a strict code of ethics, and therefore sought after during a host of crisis in his lifetime as the HEAD OF SECURITY where he invariably sought, found, and handed out justice, most of the time performing his duties undercover in menial positions.
His detractors, most either dead by STATE EXECUTION, or by HIS OWN HAND, considered Morpho as only "A LEGEND IN HIS OWN SLIME", a slur that rolled easily off his back, in whatever form he had chosen to take during his dangerous missions against EVIL...he was a SHAPESHIFTER of the highest order!
Morpho was only on board the star ship Enterprise on Star Date 2489 as an afterthought by Captain Buck Kirk who didn't realize Morphos full capability. Somehow THE FOUNDERS had mind melded, a Vulcan Trait, with Kirk and almost as an afterthought Kirk grabbed his carrying case and had it stored in the excess baggage hold of the Enterprise and then promptly forgot about him...just as THE FOUNDERS had willed.
From there Morpho took on daily duties managing the crew's night soil running it though the replicator to produce toasted cheese sandwiches, which in earlier military days was affectionately admired as S.O.S, better known as shit on a shingle. The crew ate shit and didn't die, and most enjoyed a shit eating grin as they made their way through their shifts.
Not only was Morpho versed in intergalactic Morse code, but he was also a Cunning Linguist who spoke in tongues of all known planetary languages. Taking this shitty job was a cover, for when he needed to rejuvenate himself and return to his jar, no one dared entered the Shit Shack where he toiled. Little did they know Morpho took no shit from anybody, as the Borg like Demoncats and zombie like D'rackam followers were soon to find out!
Morpho was now fully alert as he felt the Enterprise released from its Docking Station, and he sensed the slight hum of powerful engines as Warp Speed was achieved and the ship and crew were hurtled toward Worm Hole 7.62 and THE ULTIMATE DESTINY FOR LIFE AS THEY KNEW IT!
Morpho knew reconnaissance was necessary and he prepared to do a stealthy creep over the entire ship and its crew, some hastily recruited without being fully vetted, others, veterans of other conflicts that had proved themselves in earlier bloody battles.
Seamlessly Morpho became the essence of Cinnamon and Vanilla Extract as he spread through the ship's air ducts and into every intimate corner of the ship and even into the very pores and secret crevices of each crew member absorbing the nuances of the heartbeat of the Enterprise and every soul aboard!
It was quite a sensual experience and Morpho felt a strong tingling sensation at his innermost core as he had flashbacks of sexual intercourse when he had taken human as well as inanimate form and coupled with some of the most exquisite and infamous female forms known throughout history.
He was Catherine the Great's Pet Pony, Joan of Arc's fiery, licking flame of passion, Cleopatra's engorged snake, Monica's Monte Cristo and even Linda Lovelace's infamous popsicle. He was indeed a virtual love machine who had sampled a variety of famous Vulva Majoris's through the millenniums!
His enemies knew he wasn't just a lick and a promise, Morpho always followed though and delivered just satisfaction and Galactic Relief that caused his subjects to see bright lights and exploding Galaxies never to be matched by mere mortals. Most of them got off, too.
Returning from pleasant revelries, Morpho sensed excitement, anxiety, apprehension, sexual tension, gender confusion, and even some self doubt among the crew. But of more concern to him he was able to pinpoint some cloaked thoughts of betrayal and sabotage amongst some members of the crew who had boarded at the last minute to fill out the roster. All was not as it seemed. Traitors were aboard the good ship Enterprise!
He made a mental note of the turncoats, and knew he could and would deal with them at the appropriate time and in due course.
Morpho was on the verge of dallying in the library where the inscrutable Skoob, Master Librarian, was hunched over a purloined copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover, breathing hard and trying to control the gerbil in the left pocket of his jump suit, when the alarm klaxon sounded, and the Enterprise went on full alert responding to an armed Klingon Battle Wedgie Bird approaching on the starboard quarter.
To say that Captain Buck got hard at the first sign of armed conflict, was an understatement. "Spockapeno, what do you think their intent is?"
The Vulcan, tugged on his ears and scratched his nuts before replying. "Buck, you fucking War Monger, they claim to want to parlay and say they want to work with us on trapping that Romulan warbird that's been shadowing us. If they're sincere, we could probably use some extra firepower. Zeus only knows that blackheart B'rackam and that pubic headed Cabeza De Cables have paid handsomely to buy up any hired gun they can to kill off the Democratic Federation!"
"I agree, Spocko," Buck uttered, then turned to the helm where Yeoman Bitters and her puppies stood rigidly at attention, awaiting orders.
"Bring the ship to idle speed, prepare for docking with the Klingons and alert the dancing Ensigns Snockers and Big Tits. Remind Snockers to bring her handbook on "Ten Ways to Get a Klingon Off," it might come in Handy. And, make sure that Father McCarthy has some of that Ferengi Moon Shine brewed up and on ice. I hear these Klingons could drink a Russian General under the table...and by the way, make sure Ensign Barney Frank isn't hanging around under anymore tables during our meetings....damned embarrassing he is, friggin' sodomite wearing a Federation Uniform! And Yeoman, either turn down the air conditioning or put a pair of Band-Aids on those nipples, we've got company coming!"
With only the slightest bump docking was obtained and as the airlocks between the two ships melded, the Enterprise crew stood by to welcome the fiercesome Klingons.
This fateful meeting could foretell what could become a powerful coalition to combat the worst threat to freedom and democracy since the Clintonian Era 20 years before the Plutonium Meltdown.
The intercom played Roy Lynch's Deep Breakfast, Yeoman Bitters nervously adjusted her deeply rooted thong, and Morpho silently oozed his way between her puppies in the form of a bead of perspiration, from that vantage point to best observe the coming negotiations without being conspicuous.
The airlock opened and the bridge was suddenly filled with armed Klingons.
Captain Kirk smiled confidently and went to meet his former enemies......