I am still in the holding cell.

Apparently, Starfleet command believe that I am a clone.

Sisqo has been questioning me to see if it's true. I told him that just because a Captain can juggle, it doesn't mean he paints his face and wears baggy trousers. He said that I misunderstood him; a clone is an exact copy of somebody. I said that sounded quite dull, and that small children were unlikely to be enterained by two people who just look the same - you need a car that falls apart when you beep the horn, and balloons.

He went a funny colour and threw his dinner against the wall.

After he left, I reached through the bars and scooped up the remains of his meal.

Commander Sisqo - hungry
Captain Berk - not hungry

1-0 to me!

I am onboard a Starfleet base called 'Deep Space Nine' - which sounds like a rude Ferengi film I heard about (but didn't see).

When I mentioned this similarity during a discussion with the crew of The Nine about my docking procedure, it didn't go down too well, so I abandoned any further attempts to lighten the mood.

After all the shouting died down and everyone put away their phasers, I was told that I was now on a space station near Bajor.

I have only been to this sector once before and I remember little about it- ending up here after a game of Transporter Roulette; a drinking game Khan invented. I think we had to leave quickly because Khan thought it would be funny if we taped toast racks to our noses and threw hourglasses at the locals. It turned out that wasn't particularly funny, judging by the fanatical mob that tried to lynch us. Damn that blood wine.

Anyway, a rubber faced man with bad hair asked me to give my name rank and serial number but I refused - just in case.

You never know what's lurking in the memory banks.

After a long stand off, a funny looking bald man emerged from his hiding place and told me his name; Sisqo. I asked him whether he was descended from the famous 20th century musical artist of the same name.

There was more shouting and a brief firefight (which I lost - because my phaser ran out of batteries), then Sisqo had me escorted to the holding cells whilst he 'tried to figure out how he was going to remove a Klingon warbird from the belly of his station'.

I think it looks quite good - like a young tribble suckling it's mother.

Ah, it's working. Good.

It's now an incalculable time since I was last able to complete an entry; I have no watch, and I'm not quite what those point things mean in the stardate.

Anyway, the computer on this Klingon Warbird is rubbish when compared to Stafleet's finest.

It's running something called 'Super Mario Brothers' instead of the Klingon standard 'Ms Pacman', which is extremely irritating. It means that I couldn't spend these last few months bettering my high score. On a less inconvenient note, it also means I have been unable to maintain this private log, as the computer says 'no information can escape a black hole'.

Khan must have rewired it.

Since my last entry, I've been quite busy.

On my way to meet The Remans to introduce myself for some freelance mercenary work, I fell asleep on the control desk and accidentally spilled whisky on the console, causing the computer to change course - inadvertantly guiding the warbird into a black hole. The computer refused to provide me with an A-Z of black holes, claiming something about 'their dimensions being infinite' and 'the event horizon representing the point of no return'. Usually, pounding on the console and screaming loudly sorts out these problems - an officer usually assists, or the admiralty get involved.

Not on this hunk of junk.

Luckily, the Black Hole spat the ship out somewhere, which the computer said was 'technically impossible'. I responded by pointing out that it had actually happened, so it was not technically impossible, therefore making the phrase 'technically impossible' an oxymoron - which is defined as a phrase uttered by a moron that is just a waste of oxygen.

I won't repeat what the computer said in response.

The computer was annoying me, so I took control manually. The scanners indicated there was a Starbase nearby and I figured it would probably sober me up to try and maintain a course to dock with it. There isn't much you can crash into in space, so it's a pretty good hangover cure. Just don't try it on your way out of a starbase. That can get you in all sorts of trouble.

Eventually, I arrived and asked the computer to open a hailing frequency (and get me another bottle of whisky).

Before it could comply, a message came over the comm-link:

"This is Deep Space Nine. Please approach the docking bay in the usual manner, rather than in reverse as you appear to be doing"

Deep Space Nine?