_____________ ____________ ____________ * / R \ */ \ */ \ * | E ______ | *\____ ____/ *| ________/ * | S |******| | ****| |*** *| F |******** * | I | *| | *| | *| U |____ * | S ~~~~~~~ / *| I | *| T \ * | T ____ \ *| S | *| I ____/ * | A |*** \ \ *| | *| L |*** * | N | * \ \ ___*| |____ *| E | * | C | * \ \/ \ *| | * \__E_/ * \___/______________/ *\____/ ***** **** ************** ***** AN ALL TALK NO ACTION PUBLICATION RIF BBS (805) 588-9349 P.O. Box 81181 Bakersfield, CA 93308 subscriptions: ktaborn@lightspeed.net http://www.startrek.in-trier.de/rif http://www.tamnet.interbusiness.it/htmlpages/adds/ borgpage/ shopslow.htm ftp://fvk ma.tu-graz.ac.at/pub/star-trek/rif THE OFFICIAL ORGAN OF THE GALACTIC BORG CONSCIOUSNESS ISSUE NUMBER 66 SHARAF (Honor) 153 B.E. December 30, 1996 C.E. ========= CONTENTS ========= FROM THAT PESKY EDITOR-IN-CHIEF: We Live! CUTTING ROOM FLOOR: TNG: Wesley in Love, Part 5 RUMOR MILL: Promo for SILLY TREK: DROPPED CONTACT; Morn, Keeper of the Gate, Part 3 MORE BORG TAGLINES ST:TNG: "THE UNETHICALS WITHIN" An Original TNG Parody STAR TREK: DOOR REPAIR GUY: 15. Point of Departure Upcoming in RIF The Fine Print =============================== FROM THAT PESKY EDITOR-IN-CHIEF =============================== Yes. There has been a lengthy break between RIF #65 (10/20/96) and RIF #66 (12/30/96). Furthermore, I will not be able to release RIF every Baha'i month. However, I will still release it as I have the time. Thank you for your support and patience. This issue we start the exciting second season of STAR TREK: DOOR REPAIR GUY; our hero is on his way to Deep Space Nine when he finds himself surrounded by Pakleds (don't you hate that when that happens to you?). RUMOR MILL releases the promo for STAR TREK: DROPPED CONTACT, the upcoming parody of STAR TREK: FIRST CONTACT, which will appear in RIF #67. We also feature an original TNG parody where the fearless Enterprise-D crew encounter the Melkotians from TOS. Enjoy! ================== CUTTING ROOM FLOOR ================== [Cutting Room Floor is a series memorializing scenes from the various incarnations of Star Trek which ended up on the cutting room floor.] Star Trek: TNG Wesley in Love, Part V --------------------------------------- [TNG: various episodes] "So how did you get a woman, Worf?" Wesley had turned, albeit reluctantly, to his beefy Klingon friend. He knew that Worf had even fathered an illegitimate child, so had some experience in this area. Worf fixed Wesley with an icy stare. "A warrior does not kiss and tell." "Aw, c'mon, Worf, I won't tell anyone! Promise!" "Well... if you put it that way, all right." Worf looked around, to see if others were listening. "When you find someone suitable to mate with...." "Yes, yes?" "You must take her to the holodeck...." "Go on, go on!" said Wesley excitedly. "And together fight against phantom monsters." "That creates love?" Wesley was incredulous. Worf frowned. "That is how I met my woman." His frown grew deeper. "Nothing is higher than the bonding between two warriors." Worf picked up a painstick, and started to tentatively jab himself. "Now leave me! I have important matters to attend to!" ---Steve Gordon (editorman@aol.com) ============== THE RUMOR MILL ============== For those who are new to RIF, The Rumor Mill is a column in which I, the washed-up RIF contributor, babble about my upcoming parody of the next Star Trek movie as if you cared, and put forth any other juicy rumors I happen to come across. For your pleasure, I am also using this column to push my serial parody/drama, "Morn: Keeper of the Gate." Well, I've just got one rumor this time, but it's a biggie. Submitted for your approval, the official promo for "Silly Trek: Dropped Contact" (yes, we have a title!): Hey, look at that, kind of a smiley of Geordi back when he was a Leutenant, ha ha. OFFICIAL SILLY TREK: DROPPED CONTACT PROMO FOR IMMEDIATE RE-RELEASE ------------------------------------------- [Throughout the preview, the announcer has the stereotypical "Sunday! At Bakersfield Speedway! See Jack Davis drive his monster truck into the audience and kill hundreds of rednecks!" voice. Except at the end, I guess.] Announcer: The galaxy's greatest threat has returned! [A Borg.] Borg: One false move and the galaxy gets it! [We see a close-up of Picard's face so extreme, the glare from his head makes the shot look like a matte of a nebula.] Picard: NOOOOOO! Announcer: The invasion has begun! [A convenience store. A Borg steps to the counter and plunks an armful of batteries onto it.] Borg: Just these please. [The camera suddenly zooms in on the clerk very very fast, and we can see, in the split second before the camera enters his mouth, that it is Picard.] Picard: NOOOOOO! Announcer: They mean to win Wimbledon! [A Borg, on a tennis court, swinging an implanted racket with incredible speed.] [Another patented "The closest man has ever gotten to Patrick Stewart in the wild" shot.] Picard: NOOOOOO! [A group of Borg on the Enterprise bridge.] Borg #1: What are you going to do about it, organic boy? [Actually not such an extreme closeup on this one.] Picard: I-- am going-- to PONTIFICATE! Borg #2: He's turning into Shatner! Borg #1: Let's get outa here! [They beam out.] Announcer: The ultimate battle! [The following few lines are quick shots.] Riker: It's terrible! They've assimilated over half of the ship's luscious babes! Luscious Babe: Destroy the ship! Riker: Hey, there's one! [Tackles her.] Picard: NOOOOOO! Announcer: Really uncomfortable dramatic scenes! [We see Worf face-to-face with Picard.] Worf: If you were any other man, I would have thrown you roughly to the bed, ripping the bodice from your heaving-- [Picard begins laughing hysterically and Worf realizes that once more his script has been tampered with. He snarls.] Announcer: "SILLY TREK: DROPPED CONTACT"! Coming eventually! [We see the ST:DC logo, with all the names of everybody so tiny that they won't have any proof they ever worked on the parody.] Announcer: Plus, don't forget to collect all 23,555 Burger King action figures! (There aren't that many different kinds, that's how many there are.) [A brief shot of managers cracking whips onto Burger King flunkies, who in turn are frantically ripping the heads off of old Buzz Lightyear promotional figures and putting Worf heads in their place. Rapid cut to Worf in his spacesuit with a phaser rifle pointed at the BK clerk.] Worf: Merchandise THIS! [Worf vaporizes the unfortunate proletarian.] [We see a Picard action figure in extreme closeup. A kid is holding it.] Kid's Voice [Bad Picard impression]: NOOOOOO! [We see the kid's mom, trying to refrain from strangling her offspring as this would not reflect well upon the Burger King corporation.] Mom: Rrrng... Announcer: "SILLY TREK: DROPPED CONTACT!" Rated PG (Prodigiously Goofy)! See it first in RIF! Mainly because nobody else will publish it! They didn't dare! Yeah, that's it, they were afraid! They were afraid, schweetheart, and now you'll be afraid too. You dirty raaat, you assimilated my brother, and now you'll pay. OH LADY! OH MRS BORG QUEEN LADY OH!! WHAT'S THIS ON MY ARM?!? OH LAAAAAAYD-- [The audio is suddenly cut off.] ------------------ Well, that was exciting wasn't it? I bet you can't wait for it to come out. Why am I talking to you like you're five years old? I don't know. (If you are five years old, disregard that last bit.) Anyway, here's the latest installment of "Morn: Keeper of the Gate", in which Morn will speak! Yes, it is confirmed. If you want to skip to the end and see Morn speak, that's fine with me. Otherwise, read on. Leonard Richardson proudly presents "Morn: Keeper of the Gate" Part 3 ----------------------------------- Announcer: Last time, on Morn: Keeper of the Gate... [The conference room. The main characters are there, as is a Cardassian named Gul Delocks. I'm not going to explain why he's on the station. Read part 1. It's good for you.] Sisko: We've got to find some way to make this an interesting episode, or Paramount will want to know why they're spending $9 million a week for a lousy 4.2 on the Nielsens! [Quark's bar.] Quark: I can't figure it out... yesterday, I was doing fine. Today, my profits are plummett-- HEY, WAIT A MINUTE! This wasn't in the last part! Announcer: Just trying to keep you guys on your toes. [The conference room again. Quark, Grand Nagus Heck, and his assistant Mr. Homm-Wannabe are there.] Heck: We have the one you know as Morn. Within thirty hours the show's orbit will decay and the entire studio will crash into Bajor, unless you meet our demands. Captain Sisko, bring a runabout to The Planet of the Overdone Meatloaf in order to listen to our terms. Announcer: And now, the exciting continuation. [The Certs. Sisko is in the command, unfortunately nobody else is there. Sisko sits around and frets for a while, when his communicator beeps.] Dax [Over communicator]: Benjamin! Open the airlock! Sisko: Oops. [Sisko presses some buttons and people pile in. It's O'Brien, Dax, Kira, Delocks, Worf, Bashir, and Quark.] Sisko: Waitaminute Kira, you can't come on this action-packed adventure! You're seven months pregnant! Kira: Who cares, it's not like it's my baby or anything. Sisko: Good point. [Sees Quark.] Waitaminute Quark, you can't come on this action-packed adventure! Quark: Listen captain, without Morn's prodigious liver to cover my fixed costs, my bar is ruined! I've got to see him safely home! Sisko: All right, all right. Is that everybody? Dax: Well, there's someone in the airlock... Sisko: Will that running joke never die? [We hear a "thud".] Sisko: Apparently so. Undock! O'Brien: Huh? Sisko: Undock! O'Brien: Sorry, I wasn't paying attention. [Sees Kira.] Waitaminute Kira, you can't come on this action-packed adventure! Sisko: We already went through this, people! Bashir: I have to go to the bathroom! CAPTION: TWO HOURS LATER... [A stock shot of the Certs entering the wormhole.] Announcer: But meanwhile, in the Spamma Quadrant... [A cave. Three Flounders, a few Hemm'erhoid soldiers, Heck, and Mr. Homm-Wannabe are there. Morn is also there, bound and gagged.] Flounder #1: They should have been here two hours ago! What's keeping them? Flounder #2: I still say we should have told them where this planet is! Heck: Don't be stupid! [The Certs.] Sisko: Set a course for the Planet of the Overdone Meatloaf, Ensign. O'Brien: That planet isn't in any of our Spamma Quadrant navigational logs. Sisko: Drat! We'll have to guess. Delocks: Not necessarily! [All turn to look at him. There is dramatic music for no reason.] Delocks [clears throat]: This is a serious breach of security that will probably cost me my stuffed animal collection, but I feel it's my duty as a character to help get Morn back onto Deep Throat Nine. Covert Cardassian operations in the Spamma Quadrant have discovered Flounder influence in a system known as the Meatloaf System. Dax: How many planets in the system? Delocks: Only three, but they're all inhabitable. Sisko: Well, set a course for the Meatloaf System. We'll leave no meatloaf unturned! O'Brien: I can't sir, Gul Delocks hasn't told me where it is. Sisko: That's never mattered before, has it? O'Brien: Yeah, you're right. Course set. Sisko: Engage! [The cave.] Heck: Wasn't it a bit excessive to gag Morn? [The Changelings and Hemm'erhoids shudder violently.] Changeling #2: Speak not his name! Heck: You guys are weird. Morn: Mmmph! Mmmph! [Zoom in on Morn as he struggles with his bonds.] [A nice planet. Dax is fighting off an insect.] Worf: I submit to you, captain, that this planet is much too pretty to be the Planet of the Overdone Meatloaf! Sisko: Still, we need to check. [A man trundles up to the landing party, pushing a cart full of meatloaf.] Man: Meatloaf for sale! Kira: I'll take some of that! [Kira grabs some meatloaf and stuffs it into her mouth, then immediately spits it out.] Kira: Blech! Underdone meatloaf! Man: Well what did you expect from the Planet of the Underdone Meatloaf? All: D'oh! [The runabout.] Sisko [Over communicator]: Beam us back up, O'Brien. O'Brien: I hate this job. Quark: I hear you. Bashir: I never get to beam down either. [Another, identical planet. Dax is still being chased by the insect.] Worf: Hey, this looks just like the other planet! Dax: That's probably because it's the same set! We just cut to O'Brien for a second to imply that we had gone to a different planet! Worf: I knew that. [Enter the man from the last planet.] Man: Meatloaf for sale! Kira: Don't look at me. Sisko: Oh, all right, I'll have some. [Sisko takes some meatloaf and eats it.] Sisko: Yuck! Horrible... burnt meatloaf! Worf: This must be the right planet! [grunt] [Dax consults her tricorder.] Dax: But according to this, we're the only humanoids on this planet! Sisko: Couldn't you have seen that from orbit? Dax: No. [Sisko looks confused.] Dax [to the man]: Hey, you look familiar. Who are you, anyway? [The man rips off his clothes to reveal the shiny red plastic uniform underneath... it's Convenient Plot Twist Man!] All: CONVENIENT PLOT TWIST MAN! CPTM [As he flies away]: You were told to visit the wrong planet! Morn is on the Planet of the Perfectly Done Meatloaf! [They all look at each other.] Delocks: Which one's that? [The cave. Everyone is sitting around, looking bored. Morn is still struggling with his bonds, but nobody seems to notice. A Hem'erhoid enters, carrying a pan of meatloaf.] Hem'erhoid: Anyone for meatloaf? Heck: I'm starved! [Mr. Homm-wannabe takes the meatloaf and offers it to Heck, who digs in.] Heck: What the-- this meatloaf isn't overdone! It's perfectly cooked and juicy and meaty! [Playing to the camera] Just the way us Ferengi hate it! [Spits it out.] Changeling #2: Then... that means... Changeling #3: We're on the wrong planet, you doofus! Changeling #1: It was an easy mistake to make, okay? [Outside the cave.] Dax: They're definitely in this cave. Sisko: That's what you said about the last seven caves! Heck's Voice: Hey! Who's there? [Interior of the cave, suddenly the sunlight streaming through the entrance is blocked out.] Worf: It's me. Worf. The big guy. Other Voices: And us! Changeling #2: Get your hand off my thigh, Varkh! Heck: Well stop standing in the mouth of the cave and blocking out all the light! Don't you know anything about shot directing? Come in! Have some meatloaf! [They all enter and sit down on rocks. Each one sees Morn as they enter and shouts "MORN!". Morn nods and continues to struggle.] Sisko [declining Mr. Homm-Wannabe's offer of meatloaf]: So, you thought you could fool us by hiding Morn on the Planet of the Perfectly Done Meatloaf. Well, it didn't work! [Silence.] Sisko: Respond! Changeling #1: Huh? Oh, I didn't know you were done. What should I say? Sisko: Tell us why you've kidnapped Morn! Changeling #2: Simple. Because Morn is the centerpiece not only of your space station, but of the entire show. Delocks: I knew it! When the Cardassians-- [One of the Hem'erhoid suddenly hits Delocks with his rifle butt, and Delocks falls peacefully to the floor. All other major characters react overly shocked to this plot twist.] Changeling #2: Ah ha ha ha, we are EVIL! Anyway, we figured that the best way to destroy you guys was to get rid of Morn; without him, viewer interest would wane and Paramount would eventually cancel the show and replace it with a new Trek spin-off even lamer than Voyager! And now, with ALL the main characters in our grasp, the show is doomed! DOOMED! [All changelings and Hemm'erhoids laugh in unison.] Dax: There's just one problem... Worf: You're hardly in our GRASP! [As Worf says that last word, he slugs the guard nearest to him, grabs the guard's phaser rifle, and fires. The bolt misses by about a mile anything Worf might have been aiming at, and hits the wall, starting a rockslide which buries the exit to the cave. All changelings and Hemm'erhoids laugh again.] Changeling #3: You have sealed your fate. There is no escape. [More laughing.] Sisko [Tapping communicator]: O'Brien, get us out of here now! [The bad guys laugh so hard that the ones with weaker constitutions actually fall on the floor and roll around.] Sisko: What's so funny? Changeling #2: It's the first rule of Star Trek! Communicators don't work in caves! Changeling #1: Yeah, so there. [Takes out a communicator and speaks into it.] Okay, we've got 'em all here. Come pick us up. Sisko: Hey, how come your guys' communicators work in caves? Changeling #1: Um.. er... [The good guys are transported out.] Changeling #2: Phooey! We were so close! Changeling #3: Don't worry, we'll get 'em in Part 4. Changeling #2: Yeah right. [The Certs.] Sisko: Good timing, Chief. O'Brien: I knew you had a couple more jokes to do in that scene. [They shake hands, there is the sound of cameras clicking.] Worf: Quick! Untie Morn so we can hear him speak! Dax: Yeah, this part's almost over. [Kira unties Morn and yanks the gag out of his mouth.] Quark: Oh, this is gonna be great... [Morn's voice sounds like what you would get if you took Michael Jackson's voice and transposed it down four octaves.] Morn: We've got to get back to DT9 NOW! [Everyone just stares at Morn, enraptured. Morn looks around confusedly. Heavenly hosts begin to sing; Gul Delocks, who had just regained consciousness, swoons; and somewhere, off in the distance, dogs' heads begin to explode.] Heavenly Hosts: TOOOOOO.... BEEEEEE.... CONTIIIIINUED.... ---Leonard Richardson (leonardr@ucla.edu) ================== MORE BORG TAGLINES ================== #1 on the BORG Hit Parade: We all sleep in a single subroutine. #2 on the Borg Hit Parade: Borg in the USA. All a Borg! Assimilate me tender - Elvis of Borg. Blonde Borgs have the same fun. Borg Answering Machine Message: WE ARE BORG. RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. YOU WILL BE ASSIMILATED. But we're not home right now. So leave a message at the tone and we'll assimilate you later. Borg Moderator - Your topic is irrelevant. Borg saying: We came. We absorbed. We left. Borg spreadsheet program: Locutus 1-2-3. Borg Starter Kit: some assimilation required. Borg virus detected. (A)ssimilate? (Y/y) Borg, James Borg. Borg-again. Resistance is futile. Borger King. We do it our way. Your way is irrelevant. Borga-Cola: Not the choice of The Next Generation. BorgDOS: Irrelevant command or filename. Chocolate will be assimilated. Clinton of Borg - Inhaling is irrelevant. Gates of Borg: OEMs will be assimilated. Geraldo of Borg: Next--brothers who assimilate sisters. GOTO, GOING TO, GONE TO - Borg subroutines. Groucho Borg: That's the silliest thing We ever assimilated. Healthy Trekkies work out at the He's Dead Gym! HersheyBORG: Wrappers are futile. Hillary of Borg: Choice is irrelevant. McBorgers: Over 50 million assimilated. Our other computer is a Borg. P-Porky P-Pig of Borg: You will be assim-assim. . . absorbed. Pythagoras of Borg - Distance is irrelevant. Q: How many Borg does it take to screw in a lightbulb? A: All of them. Springsteen: Borg in the USA. Tagline theft is futile. Taglines are irrelevant. Tennis is irrelevant - Bjorn Borg. The Borg are coming! Quick, try and look useless. The Borg assimilated our race and all We got was this crummy T-Shirt! The Borg: Calm, Cool and Collective. The Swedish Chef has been assimilated. Borg borg borg! U2 will become one with the Borg. Uhura of Borg: Assimilation frequencies open, sir. We are Al of Borg. Aww, Peg, We assimilated you last year. We are Bart of Borg - Don't have a cow, man! Absorb it! We are Bugs Bunny of Borg. What's up, Collective? We are Caffeine of Borg. Sleep is irrelevant. We are Clinton of Borg. Hillary says resistance is futile! We are CopyCat of Borg. Your tagline will be assimilated. We are Dangerfield of Borg. Respect is irrelevant. We are Daleks of Borg. ASSIMILATE! ASSI-MIL-ATE!!!!!!! We are Descartes of Borg: We assimilate therefore We are. We are Drunk of Borg. Resistance is floor tile. We are Fudd of Borg! Pwepawe to be assimiwated! Wesistance is usewess! We are Garfield of Borg - Hairballs are irrelevant. We are Ginsu of Borg. You will be assimilated - but WAIT! There's MORE! We are Homer of Borg. Prepare to be. . . ooooohh, doughnuts! We are Jordan of Borg. Gravity is irrelevant. We are Madonna of Borg. Gender is irrelevant. We are Madonna of Borg: Justify our assimilation! We are Popeye of Borg. Prepare to be askimilgrated. We are Rodman of Borg: Borg as We wanna be! We are Shakespeare of Borg. Prepare to be, or not to be, assimilated. We are Tweety of Borg. We _tawt_ We attimiwated a puddy tat! We are Windows NT of Borg. DOS will be assimilated. We are Yoda of Borg: Irrelevant the Force is. We have engaged the Borg. The wedding will be Friday. Welcome to Borg Burger. No pickles. Pickles are irrelevant Yoooouuuuu'rreee Irrelevant! - Daffy Duck of Borg. Zsa Zsa of Borg. Prepare to be assimilated dahling. ---CUAL59A@prodigy.com (ROBERT E KOGAN) =============================== ST:TNG: "THE UNETHICALS WITHIN" =============================== [An original TNG parody which includes the Melkotians from TOS] Commander Riker looked around the conference table expectantly. "Surely we can work this all out," he said, giving everyone a smile overflowing with the goodness of milk and honey. "There can be no peace with them!" said the Klingon ambassador, the putty-like ridges on his forehead glistening with sweat. "Romulans do not deal with bone-heads," said the Romulan ambassador, turning up his nose. "I have no interest in peace," said the Ferengi representative, toying with an enormous Q-tip. "Let us instead talk of profitable transactions." And on it went. Commander Riker knew this was going to be difficult. He thrust his chest out, held his chin up, and gave The Speech. "My fellow delegates, surely everyone wants to live together in peace. Conflict among us is usually caused by misunderstanding. For example, when the Ferengi blasted a Romulan freighter three years ago, the Ferengi innocently thought they were plundering a Federation ship," said Riker, smiling broadly. "So you see, it was all a big misunderstanding. We should all work together, for galactic peace and harmony." The Star Trek music rose to a thundering crescendo. "By living together, we can face the future together, and make it a better galaxy for all of us." The effect of the speech was electric; you could see it in the faces of the delegates. Suddenly, the atmosphere in the room altered drastically. Riker's speech had made the difference. Mr. Data entered the chamber, and inconspicuously stood in a corner. Riker was now holding hands with the delegates on either side of him, as they swayed in a line from side to side. "Yes, we can live in peace!" said the Klingon ambassador. "Commander Riker," said Data, coming forward. "And to think we fought so long!" said the Romulan ambassador, reaching over to give the Ferengi a hug. "Commander Riker is right! We should have listened to him sooner!" said the Gorn representative, a large tear emerging from one of its crocodile eyes. "Commander Riker," said Data again, insistently. "Let's all be friends!" declared the chocolate pudding monster from 'Skin of Evil'. "Computer, suspend scenario," said Data. All the delegates froze, some in mid-hug. "Why did you do that for, Data?" said Riker, quickly snapping out of his self-induced euphoria. "I'm sorry to disturb you in your fantasy story, but you are ten minutes late for your tutoring session with Ensign Wesley." Suddenly the smile was wiped from Riker's face. "Wesley, yeah," he muttered. Before he left the holodeck, he turned around. "Computer," he said, "Save scenario." "Title?" said computer. "Captain Riker," said Riker, lifting his chin. "Why the fantasy scenario?" Data asked, as they walked down a corridor. "It wasn't fantasy, Data. I programmed the computer to have actual holographs of alien representatives put into the negotiating-" Data interrupted, "I couldn't help but notice that you altered the pointers on their personality indexes, making them more sympathetic to-" "Hi Commander Riker, I did my homework!" said a familiar voice. Young Ensign Crusher came bouncing up. He held a large printout. "I was calculating the warp vectors of 3.2 megajoule post-Cochran enhanced engine, and I was wondering, if the matter/anti-matter mix were 4% off, would the resulting field strength be... 79%?" He handed the printout to Riker, and looked over inquiringly. "Um... um..." said Riker, looking over the long list of calculations. He appeared to grow more and more nervous. "Did I calculate the derivative analysis correctly?" said Wesley anxiously. Riker pretended to study the papers. "The der-... sure, yes, that's fine, fine," he said. "As for the other stuff-" "Commander Riker, Mr. Data, please report to the briefing room," a wall suddenly announced. Riker shrugged, attempting to hide his relief. "Sorry Pest," he yelled behind him, sprinting to the door. Data had already made it out of the corridor. "That's Wes," said Wesley, looking a little forlorn. "My name is Wesley." Riker quickly caught up to Data. "You made a quick escape." Data said, matter of factly, "One does not often get a legitimate opportunity to escape from Wesley's presence." "Captain's Log, stardate supplemental. I have called a meeting of the ship's senior staff in the briefing room. It is only the second one today, and yet this has prompted several of my senior officers to request permission to move their duty stations here. Their inappropriate attempts at humor were not appreciated." "Is everyone here?" said Picard, looking around the conference table. "Dr. Crusher, Geordi, Chief O'Brien, Keiko, Mrs. Troi, Worf, his son, Alexander...." "I'm here too, Captain!" said Wesley, popping in. "Oh, Wes," said Picard, making a weak smile. "So good to see you." He looked around the table, wondering who had told the young lad about the meeting. Picard attempted to make some light banter. "So, Wes, how are your studies coming?" "Well, gee.. they're fine...." "Good, good...." Picard smiled genially. Everyone in the room looked at him. Were they waiting for something? "Captain!" said Troi. "I sense something...." "Yes? What?" said Picard, struggling to remember why he had called this particular meeting. "I sense... you are wasting our time...." "Quite right," said Picard, pulling down on his uniform as memory returned to him. "Let us get down to business. Starfleet has ordered us to establish relations with the Melkotians in the star system-" "Melkotians?" said Riker. "Don't we already have diplomatic relations with them?" "You know of them, Will?" said Picard. "Only from what I've read of the old Enterprise records. Wasn't there something about the 18th Century Wild West, and a shootout at OK Corral....?" "Sir, if you will permit me, I can elaborate on this topic in a more articulate matter," said Data. Picard nodded, implicitly acknowledging Riker's inadequacy. Data continued. "The old Enterprise, under the command of Captain James T Kirk-" Picard winced, even at the name, "-was charged with establishing relations with the Melkots, 80 years ago. The Melkotians were resistant to Captain Kirk's overtures and punished him for trespassing on their region of space. They created an illusion of Earth's old Wild West, and, after a spectacular confrontation, Captain Kirk beat up Wyatt Earp, landing fist after fist in Earp's-" Picard winced at the mere inference of violence. "I think we understand, Commander," he said sternly. "But I am puzzled for the need for our mission," said Data. "Well, Captain K-... the Captain of that Enterprise did establish relations with the Melkots," said Picard. "And, for the past 80 odd years, we've had good relations with them. Until recently." There was silence for a moment. Troi remarked, "I sense that everyone here is annoyed with you for wanting to make us ask the obvious question." "Hm, yes," said Picard. "Well, anyway, one day three months ago, the Federation ambassador was giving a speech on morals, when all of a sudden he and his staff were booted off the planet." "Does the ambassador know what precipitated the break in relations? Data asked. "No. The only thing the Melkotians said was that they were finally getting rid of a bunch of boring hypocritical spineless do-nothings.... And in response Starfleet has decided to present the Melkots with a different face of the Federation." Picard cleared his throat meaningfully for a moment. Everyone in the briefing room suddenly looked around at each other. "Have we taken someone new aboard?" said Riker, confused. "Negative, Numba One. We're the ones who are going in," Picard said, in case any of the others hadn't figured it out. "We have been assigned to reestablish relations with the Melkots at all costs." Picard paused, and then, rapidfire, snapped out orders. "Commander Riker, you'll take the next bridge watch. Mr. LaForge, we'll need full power to the engines. Mr. Data, we'll need an appropriately plotted course. Mr. Worf, we'll need you to refrain from arming weapons. Counselor Troi, we'll need you to continue to sense things. Chief O'Brien, we'll need the transporter in ship shape to beam us down. Keiko, we'll need you to continue to trim the plants in botany. Whoopi, I'll need you to make sure that the liquor replicators are in good working order. Is that everyone? Oh yes, and Alexander, we'll need you to curb some of your bolder kleptomaniacal tendencies. Yesterday you shut down the ship for several hours when you stole the dilithium crystals during your school tour in main engineering. There, is that everyone? Yes? Yes, that is all," said Picard. "Captain's Log, stardate supplemental. We have entered Melkotian space, on our mission to reestablish diplomatic relations. We were at first hailed by a Melkotian space beacon, which warned us not to proceed further. As our mission was one of peace and goodwill, I felt I had no choice but to continue. Unfortunately the beacon trailed us to their home planet, blasting phaser rounds at us all the way." "We're in a standard orbit," said Data. The ship shuddered. "Another hit, sir, aft shield four," said Worf. "How much more of this can we take?" said Picard. Data spoke up. "I estimate 10 hours, 17 minutes, eight seconds-" "That's a remarkably accurate calculation," said Picard admiringly. "-Give or take an hour or two," Data added. "Numba one, you have until that time to reestablish peaceful relations," said Picard. "Prepare an Away Team." The ship shuddered as it was hit again. "Aye aye, sir," said Riker quickly, turning to the bridge crew amid shouts of "Pick me, pick me!" Riker considered, looking hard at those eager faces. Geordi hadn't been out of the ship in the while but, lonely for company, he was often morose whenever he was far from the holodeck. Worf hadn't been on an away mission in a while either, but the last time the Klingon had beamed down he had gotten himself bayonetted by one of Q's vicious animal things. That left... "Data, Troi, and Wesley," said Riker, to disappointed "Aaaws...." from the unchosen ones. "Oh, do stop whining," said Picard. "I'm the Captain, and I almost never get to beam down." In the transporter room, Keiko, Chief O'Brien's wife, stood behind the controls. "Where's Chief O'Brien?" said Riker. "Oh, he's tending my plants," said Keiko. "We're switching jobs for a day. He's always complaining how hard it is, to beam people around the galaxy, but what Miles doesn't understand is how difficult it is to feed some of the plants. I mean, just to deal with the carnivorous tree strikers from Alpha Two-" "All right, all right," said Riker. "But are you familiar with the controls?" "Sure," said Keiko. "I read all the manuals. You pull these three levers down, right?" Riker nodded. He turned to his Away team. He distributed phasers to them. "As a precaution only," he reminded. Wesley, accidently pressing the firing stud, sent a beam of energy flying over the transporter console. There was a distinct thud as Keiko, stunned, fell to the ground. Riker took away Wesley's phaser. "We're on a mission of peace. If necessary, we're going down to make humble pie." He paused, reflecting. "But an appropriate defensive posture might also be required. Reset your phasers to 'mild rebuke'," he told the others. They beamed down to the planet, as soon as they had revived the dazed Keiko. They materialized in a gloomy fog. "Data, are you picking up any of this?" said Riker. Data raised an eyebrow. "My tricorder does not pick up this mist," said Data, looking at his instruments. "But then, it does not pick up lint from shaggy carpets either." Then, they saw it. A Melkotian. "Momma!" Wesley cried instinctively, cringing against Counselor Troi. "What a cheap prop," said Riker. "That must be the one they used in the old Star Trek episode. I wonder who's basement it's been in all these years." "Lifeforms!" boomed the prop. "You were warned not to return!" "We want to reestablish relations with you," said Riker. "If we have some problem, we can talk it out." "Yes, yes, we have a problem," cackled the Melkotian. "Sir, I don't like the sound of that," said Data. Riker thrust out his chest. "Then let us help you. We can talk... over coffee and doughnuts...." "The problem is you!" said the Melkot. And suddenly, it was gone. And so was the mist. The Away Team found itself in an empty field. "Captain, we can't take much more of this," said Lt. Worf, as the ship shuddered from another phaser hit. Picard, looking up from his Shakespeare volume, raised a finger. "Oh, that's where you're wrong, Mr. Worf. This isn't like the old Enterprise, where the shields buckled after a few disrupter bursts. The shields are much stronger, so we can be safe and secure in our delusions-" The ship rocked again. "Hm, you've got a point," said Picard. "That means... you'll let me... fire back?" A chord of emotion crept in Worf's voice. He frantically flipped through the operations manual, looking for the part about operating the weapons. "Hm, no need to be so rash," said Picard, turning back to his Shakespeare. "Let us procrastinate a bit longer. But see if you can't stabilize the ship better after every hit. My book is jostling around all over the place." "Captain's Log, stardate supplemental: We are in orbit around the planet Melkot, where Commander Riker has beamed down with an Away Team to reestablish relations. In the meantime, a Melkotian space beacon has been firing on us for the past few hours. I'm sure our Away Team can clear up this misunderstanding. "Sir, over there," said Data. "They look like... costumes of some sort," said Troi. "What are those, Data?" said Riker. Data picked one up. "Some sort of apparel... with yellow feathers... and beaks...." "There are four suits," said Riker. "They seem about our size...." "There's even a smaller one for me!" Wesley yelped. "But what are they? Are we really supposed to wear them?" Riker wondered. "Data, analysis." "Cloaked in them, I hypothesize that we would superficially resemble some variety of fowl." "I see," said Riker. "But why would the Melkots want us to wear them? What does this have to do with their problem?" "Perhaps it's a local custom," said Data. "Yes, perhaps this is how they conduct diplomacy." "Wearing... this?" said Troi. "And why not?" said Riker, lifting his chin. "On Trantus Two I wore furs when meeting with the official delegation. On Glopus Three I had to cover myself with slime. On Angel One it was the sissy clothes and the girlie-man earclip necessary to impress the woman leader-" "But nothing in my memory banks indicates any sorts of customs involving this sort of...clothing," said Data. "It's probably part of a secret initiation into their culture. Once we've done this, we'll break the diplomatic impasse!" said Riker excitedly. "I don't know...." said Data reluctantly. As if to get confirmation, Riker turned to Troi. "Deanna, what do you sense?" Troi considered, wetting her finger, and putting it into the air. "I sense something... scorn...disdain ...more disdain than scorn...no... more scorn than disdain...." "You see," said Riker. "They won't show any respect for us until we take the first step. " "But Commander," said Wesley. "They look like chicken suits to me." "Evasive maneuvers are reducing the number of hits we're taking," Worf reported. "But these zigs and zags are throwing me off balance," said Ensign Ro, grasping a railing. "Captain!" said Geordi. "Yes, Geordi?" said Picard, noting the sound of alarm in the young engineer's voice. "I've had even fewer lines than Ensign Ro, and she's new," Geordi protested. The turbolift hissed open. "And what about me?" said Guinan. "Yes, Whoopi?" said Picard. "Your zigging and zagging is causing me to slosh the drinks," said Whoopi. "How do you expect me to operate a bar under battle conditions?" "I'm sorry," said Picard. "But the Melkotian space beacon seems rather intent on attacking us. I am permitting this, on the theory that these repeated attacks will allow them to work out their hostility-" But Whoopi wasn't listening. "And I lost my hat!" "Your hat?" "When the first lurch came, my hat came flying off, and fell into a malfunctioning replicator. There was a flash, and my hat turned into a bowl of noodle soup!" "Well, I'm sorry about your hat," said Picard. "Here, sit down. Sit down besides me." Whoopi reluctantly sat by his side. Picard smiled approvingly, and opened his thick Shakespeare tome. "Listen to the impressive language!".... "This feels silly," said Troi, looking down at her feathered self. "What's wrong?" said Riker, sticking his chest out proudly in his bird costume. "On Trantus Two I had to get dressed up as-" "Yes, yes, I know," said Troi. "That's the third time you've given us that speech today." They were all in the large, yellow feathered costumes. The costumes even came with long chicken legs. Data made an observation. "We are in the suits," he said, studying the others. "But what now?" "We flap our wings, silly," said Wesley. Commander Riker flapped his arms up and down. Troi flapped back and forth. For several minutes, Starfleet's finest gave it their best. "But nothing's happening," said Troi. Riker, looking rather like Big Bird in his yellow feathered suit, stopped flapping. "Is there something we're missing?" he wondered. Data looked glossy-eyed for a moment, as if he were retrieving something from memory. "Sir, I believe that chickens make sounds." "Sounds? What sort of sounds." Data retrieved the sound from memory. "'Buck Buck Buck', I believe, is the appropriate noise." Riker immediately gave it a try. "Buck Buck Buck!" "Sure!" said Wesley, flapping his wings enthusiastically. "Buck Buck Buck, Buck Buck Baaack!" "Emulate him," said Riker, lifting his wings. "We must make contact!" "Buck Buck Buck," said Data, in a monotone. "Baaack Buck Buck," said Troi, with real feeling. "Buck Buck Buck," said Riker, wondering if this was getting them anywhere. Maybe he should crow louder. "I sense... something different..." said Troi. "Yeah yeah?" said Riker anxiously. "The scorn is still there... but something new, also..." "What?" "Laughter, amusement, much amusement...." "-Brave new worlds, to seek out new life forms and new civilizations, except for the Borg, and to boldly fumble along where no man, woman, or Data has done so before!" said Picard, his chin up as the noble Star Trek music played in the background. "Captain, I don't think reading the Starfleet manual is going to help at a time like this," said Worf. The ship shuddered as it was hit. Picard put down the book. "Quite right, Mr. Worf. It's becoming quite difficult to read with the ship jolting about. What's causing that?" "The Melkotians attacking us," said Worf. "Oh, yes, that. I had nearly forgotten," said Picard, frowning. He looked around. What had become of his tea? "Captain, we've got to do something," Geordi implored. "Geordi, I let you establish communications before. There are only so many lines each star can have per episode," said Picard. "No sir, about the attacks," Geordi said. As if to underscore his comment, the ship was rocked again. "We have to do something!" "I've read words of moral inspiration from the Starfleet manual," said Picard reasonably. "What more can you want?" Picard snapped his fingers. "I completely forgot about the Away team. There's something you can do... establish contact with Commander Riker." "Me?" said Geordi, moving to the controls. "No, pick me!" said Worf. "I can do it from my console just as easily!" "What about letting me do it?" said Ensign Ro. "I'm so hard up for lines that even a banal 'hailing frequencies open' would be welcome. Picard said, "Oh, never mind, I'll do it." He touched a certain spot on his rather concave chest. "Picard to Away Team." In moments the voices of the Away Team could be heard on the bridge. "Buck Buck Buck..." "Commander Riker?" said Picard. "-uck... Captain?" "What are you doing, Numba One?" Riker's voice sounded embarrassed. "We're... attempting to make contact with the Melkots, sir." The ship rocked again. "We keep getting hit up here. You're going to have to speed up the process." "Sir, we're flapping as hard as we can," said Riker. Picard frowned. "Give me a visual." The viewscreen gave a shot from the chest camera built into Riker's communicator. Picard could see his Away team dressed like chickens, rapidly running in circles, going "Buck buck buck...." Picard sighed. He would have to beam down to expedite matters. In the transporter room, Picard said, "Energize." Nothing happened. Peering closer, Picard saw there was no one behind the console. Fuming, he said, "Where is that O'Brien?" "He's getting a tap dancing lesson from Doctor Crusher, sir," said Alexander, suddenly coming out of hiding from where he had been teething on the transporter circuits. "But he taught me how to operate it." Picard sighed. "Alexander, the transporter is a highly technical piece-" Alexander cut in. "You just pull the three levers at the same time, right?" Picard materialized on the planet, just in time to see another "Buck buck buck" rendition by his Away Team. "Stop this, stop this at once," said Picard. "This is not 'The New Zoo Review'." "I sense something different now..." said Troi. "The scorn is still there, but something else.... amusement... a special sort of amusement... I can't explain it, but it's somewhat like the feeling one get from... belly laughs... many belly laughs...." "You have amused us," said a Melkot, suddenly appearing. "We are willing to talk now." "What?" said Picard. "I beam down here to give a speech, and now there is no need?" So he gave one anyway. "How dare you! We come here in peace and friendship, to reestablish relations with you, and what do you do? Humiliate our Away Team! I admit, Commander Riker may be an easier target than most, but that gives you no right! No right!" Picard raised his chin. "There, I hope you've learned your lesson." "Captain's Log, Supplemental. We have reestablished full diplomatic relations with the Melkots. It was my speech that turned the tide, convincing them of the worthiness of the Federation. Right now an emergency has forced us back to Starbase 123 at Warp 9; Alexander's ridges are turning to putty, and we are all out of Klingon children's vitamins." ---Steve Gordon (editorman@aol.com) ========================== STAR TREK: DOOR REPAIR GUY ========================== Season 02. Episode 15. "Point of Departure" [ MEMO From: Executive Producer To: Other Executive Producer Re: DRG 2nd Season Opening Credits Gul Michael: I don't know what you were thinking of when you approved the 2nd season story arc but it means huge expense on a new opening credit sequence that we can only use for four or five episodes. This is what I get for going on vacation.] [ MEMO From: Other Executive Producer To: Executive Producer Re: Re: DRG 2nd Season Opening Credits Gul Rick: Don't sweat it. This was all hashed over weeks ago. We're retooling footage from various Star Trek movies: a little matting and image-reprocessing and we'll have high-quality visual effects at bargain basement prices. The opening sequence for episode 015 comes out the beginning of STIV: The Voyage Home. Wait till you see how we hide the Probe!] Stars. In a combination of the Borg transporter and the Klingon decloaking effects appear the words: Star Trek: Door Repair Guy Starring Door Repair Guy as Himself F. Murray Abraham as Atoth the Tamarian With Guest Appearances by Jonathan Frakes as Commander William T. Riker Max Keeping as Malakod Mike Duffy as Barchibod Former CTV News Anchor Harvey Kirck as Aylmod Sportsline Correspondent Bill Bird as Ostabod Former Global Television News Anchor Peter Trueman as Ral'fi And a Special Guest Appearance by Harrison Ford And a Bear. While these names appear and vanish in turn a nebula forms in the far distance in the right-centre of the screen and gradually changes colour from orange-yellow to indigo and blue. At last the credits are done and a dark, cylindrical object appears from the midst of the nebula. The object moves inexorably in our direction, the light of distant stars gleaming along its scratched and pitted length. As it passes us we are able to read the words LABATT MAXIMUM ICE. A huge gloved hand closes on it and holds it up to the tinted visor of a space helmet. Through the glass, darkly, we make out the features of Door Repair Guy. We hear his voice over the communication channel say: "No good. Cap's too tight. Try another one." In a transporter room on board Starbase 106 a maintenance man in orange overalls nods to another at the transporter console. A transporter beam appears on the transporter pad and the first maintenance man lobs a bottle of Labatt Maximum Ice into it. The bottle materializes in space in front of the nebula and moves toward us at the velocity lent it by the maintenance man's underhand pitch. This time, however, the sudden exterior pressure drop is too much for the screw-off cap. The cap bursts off in a jet of vapourizing beer, sending the bottle rocketing across the screen, past Door Repair Guy, away into the distance along the outer hull of the starbase and on into open space. Door Repair Guy twists around and follows it with a tricorder. "Good one, guys!" *Escape velocity?* "Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-y-e-e-e-o-o-o-oh! Not quite!" He performs several functions on the tricorder. "Expect it back in fifty-seven days, four hours." *You'll be here to catch it?* "Not me, boys. Enterprise leaves in two hours." At this the leading edge of the Saucer Section appears beyond the blue-grey duranium horizon. It grows and swells into a complete underside view of the Enterprise exiting the starbase's space doors. Door Repair Guy turns slowly and watches the mighty ship cruise off until, when it is small enough to rest on the end of his index finger, it stops, rotates, and bursts away in a flash of light. He stands there a while, gawking into the void. "Computer. What time is it?" *It is fourteen hundred hours* "That's four o'clock, right?" *You are incorrect. Fourteen hundred hours is two o'clock* "D***n." [Commercial: Timex] The Federation logo on the public viewscreen is replaced by an image of an exasperated Commander Riker. *Riker here. What can I do for you?* "Uh. Hi. It's me. Door Repair Guy." *And?* "I missed my flight. Ah. Time dilation effect." *I beg your pardon?* "Time dilation effect." *Rapid eye movement effect, more likely* "So, ah, like, what do I do now?" We see Riker pick up a portable computer pad. *According to my records you were transferred from the Enterprise to Maintenance Division, Starbase 106, two weeks ago to deal with the faulty space door situation. All outgoing traffic, including the Enterprise's departure, was delayed until you were able to effect repairs, a process which, according to the base commander, should have taken six to eight hours. You were subsequently assigned to space station DS9 and were allocated guest quarters on board the Enterprise for the first leg of your journey there. You were paged continually for the hour prior to the Enterprise's departure but for some reason your comm badge was deactivated. The Enterprise left thirteen days behind schedule with one passenger missing -- you. As I am no longer your commanding officer I am in no position to discipline you but I am in a position to wonder why you are bothering me. As a friend and comrade at arms I can offer you this advice: get down to Starbase Administration and book passage on the next ship out, pronto. Riker out* The star field logo of the Federation pops up again, reminding Door Repair Guy of the very long distance he has to figure out how to get across. Door Repair Guy comes around a corner in the administrative area of Starbase 106, wearing characteristic work boots, baseball cap and orange overalls. He is searching for something. He spots a window and walks over. A woman behind a desk looks up. "Where's the Lost and Found?" he asks. "What have you lost?" "My way." "Ask the base computer. There's a terminal right over there." "Wait! I found something." "What?" "I found I lost my way." She makes that bureaucratic face. He goes over to the computer terminal. "Computer." The computer makes an "Okay, I'm listening" sound. "Computer." It waits. "Computer." *I am not programmed to ask you what you want* "Ha! You did anyway. I need the next ship to the Bajoran system." *Please input security clearance code* He looks around, then whispers, "Delta rho gamma let me in." *That is a door maintenance lockout override code. It is insufficient authorization for access to Starfleet flight itineraries* "GGGrrrrr. Okay, smarty-pants, where's the bar where the traders hang out?" *There are twelve drinking establishments answering that description on Starbase 106* "Yeah, but which one serves genuine mud beer?" *Ralphie's. Level fourteen, section seven* "Thanks." Silence. "Thanks." More silence. "Thanks." *I am not programmed to say, "You're welcome"* "Ha." [Commercial: Compuserve] Ralphie's. Door Repair Guy wanders in, rubbernecking. At a table in the far corner is a Tamarian. Behind the bar is a Vulcan. Seated at the bar are a couple of Pakleds. Everyone watches him. He goes to the bar. "Genuine mud beer." The Vulcan pulls the tap and genuine mud beer begins to plop slowly into the glass. DRG watches this in silence for a moment. "Top of the barrel." The Vulcan nods solemnly and says, "Your beer will be poured in four minutes, twenty one seconds." One of the Pakleds closes a hammy hand on DRG's sleeve and says, "We came for beer. We have lost our money. Will you pay?" By process of elimination Door Repair Guy has already figured out that these are the traders we needs, if anyone in the room is, so he says: "Yeah. Beer's on me." The Pakleds look at each other, squirming with happiness. "The beer is on him." "He is a real pal." They turn to him. "You are a real pal." "We like you." They turn to the barkeeper. "We will have Romulan Ale." "We like it." The Vulcan produces the characteristic glass Romulan Ale bottle with the electrical-insulator-shaped cap from below the counter and pours two glasses. The Pakleds lift the glasses happily and down the contents. "That will be three hundred and two credits." "Three hundred for the ale and two for the mud, right?" "That is correct." DRG pays however it is Starfleet personnel pay for things. "What's the ETA on the genuine mud beer?" "Two minutes and forty-nine seconds." DRG turns to the Pakleds. "You fellas must have a pretty nice ship." The Pakleds look at each other, at their glasses, then at him. "We forget." "Yes. We forget." DRG makes a gesture and the Vulcan refills the glasses. The Pakleds smile and drink. "He is a good friend." "Yes." To Door Repair Guy: "You are a good friend." "That will be three hundred credits," says the bartender. DRG pays. "How's that beer coming?" Glop, glop. "One minute and fifty-one seconds." "Our ship is big." "And fast." "That's great. What's it called?" The Pakleds look at each other. "Big and Fast." "Going anywhere soon?" "Yes." "Yes. Soon we are going somewhere." All eyes turn to the empty glasses. "Time." "Forty-one seconds." "Fill 'er up." "I wish he would come with us. He is a real pal." "Yes. I wish he would come too." They drink. "Three hundred credits." DRG pays. Glop. Glop. "Where do you think you'll be going? Perhaps . . . Bajor?" "We like Bajor." "Bajor is good. It is a good place." "We like Quark. He is our friend. Do you like Quark?" "I . . . haven't met him. Why don't you introduce me?" "We could introduce him." "Yes. We could introduce him." "So . . . you'll take me to Bajor?" The Pakleds exchange looks. "I cannot decide. Can you decide?" "I cannot decide." DRG makes a hurry-up motion to the Vulcan. The glasses are filled. "Three hundred." He pays. They drink. Everyone waits for the answer, even the Tamarian in the corner. "We will take him." "Yes. We will take him." The Vulcan places the mud beer on the bartop, but Door Repair Guy is already out the door. "He is in a hurry." "Yes. He likes to go." From the corner: "Groucho, his arms full of breeder's guides." The Vulcan, beginning the long process of pouring the mud beer down the drain: "Fascinating." [Commercial: tootsie-fruitsie ice cream] Shot of the Big and Fast at warp speed, the stars streaking past it. Cut to the interior, specifically a small, cluttered passenger section heaped with cargo. There are two passengers in among the containers, one seated on either side of the aisle. To the left sits the Tamarian from the bar. He is reading _The Hero With a Thousand Faces_ by Joseph Campbell. Beside him on the seat are piled: _The Tale of Genji_ by Murasaki Shikibu, _The Complete Poems and Prophesies of William Blake_, LaFontaine's _Fables_, _The Castle of Crossed Destinies_ by Italo Calvino and _The Big Book of Klingon Bedtime Stories_. Across the way is Door Repair Guy spread out over a number of carrier bags, the peak of his baseball cap pulled down, headphones on his ears, a portable eight-track player balanced on his chest, reading a Mighty Thor comic. "Takin' Care of Business" by Bachman Turner Overdrive seeps out from the headphones, adding its small tintinnabulation to the aural ambience. Pakleds lumber by from time to time intent on some aspect of making the Big and Fast go. The Tamarian leans over and taps Door Repair Guy on the arm. "Popeye and Wimpey looking into the future." "Oh. Right." DRG removes his headphones, shuts off the eight track, heaves several carrier bags out of the way, unzips one and pulls out a couple of somewhat flattened food packages. He tosses one over. A member of the crew tromps up in the middle of the meal. "Barchibod is my friend. He is locked in the bathroom. Come and get him out." The ship streaks onward. [Bob: "Back to Star Trek: Door Repair Guy in just a minute. You may have noticed a few changes since last season, not the least of which is I'm wearing a tie! Pretty sharp, eh? And I've got it on for a very good reason. Because with me, practically here on the Bob couch itself, via closed-circuit television, in Hollywood, is F. Murray Abraham." Cut to F. Murray Abraham on a hotel sofa. He is dressed casually but smartly (open-necked shirt with cravat) and seated with his legs crossed and his hands folded on his knee in a posture that could be interpreted as either friendly or reserved. "So, like, F., you're the first Oscar award winner to appear in Star Trek. I guess what all your fans are wondering is: has Star Trek: Door Repair Guy developed such a good reputation that now even Oscar winners are clamouring to get on it, or is this an indication that Amadeus was in fact just a fluke and that for the rest of your career you'll be playing opposite goofs like Gary Busey?" Cut to empty hotel sofa and sounds of shouting off-camera. "Well, there you have it. F. Murray Abraham in Hollywood. Back to Door Repair Guy in just a moment."] [Commercial: Chipmunkade. "Only pennies a glass, and *I* control the sugar."] View of the Big and Fast proceeding at warp speed. The passenger compartment. Door Repair Guy is wedged in the corner among containers and carrier bags, tapping a personal log entry into his antiquated Tandy laptop. (And believe you me, it took him a long time to get it antiquated.) "Hey, Atoth, what stardate is it?" The Tamarian pulls out a dollar and passes it over. The Pakled bridge. Crewmembers lean over a variety of work stations or trundle about on diverse errands, pausing occasionally to walk around one another. An alarm sounds on the communications console and one of them moves over and investigates. "Malakod. Somebody is hailing." "What do they want?" "'What do you want?' says Malakod." Pause. "He says, 'We are in distress.'" "Ask him, 'Who are you?'" "Yes. Ask him that." "Yes. Ask him who he is." "Malakod wants to know, 'Who are you?' So does Aylmod, and Osbatod." Pause. "He says, 'We are traders.'" "Why are the traders in distress?" "That is a good question. You are smart, Malakod." "Yes. Ask him." "Malakod says, 'Why are you traders in distress?'" Pause. "He says 'Who are you?'" "Tell him we are Pakleds. We look for things." "That is a good answer." "Yes. That is a good answer." "Tell him that answer." "We are Pakleds. We look for things." Pause. "He says, 'There is a bear loose on our ship.'" "A bear is loose on the trader ship!" "We should go and see!" "Bears are interesting!" "Yes, bears are interesting!" "Osbatod, change course! Aylmod, make us go faster! We are going to go and see the bear!" View of Pakled vessel changing course and warping off to see the bear. [Commercial: Molson Genuine Mud Beer Guy throwing baseballs at barn in the middle of the prairies. Slow motion shot of the ball curving right in to the dead centre of the strike zone. Voiceover: "When you get it right, when you get it really right . . . " Planet explodes. " . . . you know it."] The Big and Fast falls out of warp. It coasts up to the stationary form of the trading ship, a sort of a cylindrical job with an A-frame superstructure -- the shape is kind of reminiscent of a killer whale in a way, but not really. Besides, it's brown. A gif would be handy here. Look, make up your own mind about how it looks -- though I'll bet the knowledge of the bear on board influences your thinking and combines with the orca image to produce a sort of west coast design -- something Haida, perhaps. Ooo, that's cool. Can't wait for the MicroMachine. But I'm really just angling you along. All this description is nothing but a red salmon, I mean herring. Or is it? A corridor inside the Big and Fast. Pakleds are crowding toward the transporter room. Door Repair Guy and Atoth, playing cribbage on an upturned crate, watch the procession go by. "Something's up." "Barnum and Bailey, their tents spreading." The excited Pakleds jostle into the transporter room and, group after group, beam over to the other ship. The transporter chief steps onto the pad just as Door Repair Guy and the Tamarian come in. "There is a bear." (Dematerializes.) "Hm. Sounds interesting. Think we oughta go over?" "Penelope on Ithaca, her loom working." Door Repair Guy makes a face. "Yeah, you're probably right. I'll bet we can get in another couple of hands before they want back." They hurry off to their game. The next moment the deserted transporter activates. Four figures materialize and step down off the transporter pad, pointing phaser rifles in all directions. They're dressed in a motley assortment of stolen uniforms, with Billy Idol haircuts and facial tattoos. Come to think of it, they remind me of the mutineers in _Mutiny on the Bounty_, the version with Anthony Hopkins and (gulp) Mel Gibson!!! OH MY GOD!! OH MY GOD!! MARTHA COME QUICK IT'S MEL GIBSON THE CREDITS SAID A SPECIAL GUEST APPEARANCE BY HARRISON FORD BUT LOOK THERE'S MEL GIBSON MAYBE THEY'RE BOTH IN THE EPISODE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT, IT'S INCRED. . . oh. Oh. No, nothing, dear! They just have somebody who looks like Mel Gibson! No, don't bother! No, don't come in! It's just somebody who reminded me of Mel Gibson. No, that one. He does so. Well, I think so. The four intruders fan out through the ship, securing strategic points and shutting down unnecessary systems. We watch shot after shot of them advancing down corridors, checking deserted compartments, pulling off control panels and activating door releases, in that kind of shot where the camera stays just ahead of the advancing actor and the corridor continually slides away into the background. One of the bandits hits a light switch. Door Repair Guy and Atoth look up as the lights in the passenger compartment go to sleep setting. An armed figure hurries past in the half-light, freezes, and turns back. Quick as anything Door Repair Guy picks up the cribbage board and beans the stranger right between the eyes. Thud. The cribbage players lean over the prostrate intruder. Hm. Shocking white hair. And cool tattoos. Kinda snaky in design. Intruder commbadge voice: *Alert. Alert. Team member down* Two intruders immediately double back toward the downed team member's coordinates. The team leader moves on toward the bridge. We see the intruder's inert body slide into a storage closet. The two cribbage players emerge and scamper away, armed with a plenitude of looted phaser weaponry. They scramble down a service corridor and around a corner. The camera catches up to find them looking this way and that for a way out of the dead end. They stop and stare at each other, the beads of sweat springing off their foreheads. "Oh, man." "Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid at the river gorge." The two intruders advance toward the storage closet, pull it open and discover their comrade. One of them makes a head motion and they move down the corridor. They advance carefully, covering each other in turns. They round the corner. Phaser fire erupts from a stack of barrels at the end of the corridor. The bandits hit the deck and roll for cover, returning fire at the heap of containers concealing Atoth and Door Repair Guy. Streaks of luminous phaser fire crisscross down the length of the corridor. Superheated bulkheads burst apart in showers of sparks. Acrid smoke fills the nostrils (for those with smellevision, anyway). The sound effects department makes a play for another Emmy nomination. A door slides open halfway down the corridor and... [ MEMO From: Executive Producer To: Other Executive Producer Re: Cameo Appearance, DRG 015 Gul Michael: $150,000 for a four second cameo appearance? I'm beginning to regret that vacation more and more.] [ MEMO From: Other Executive Producer To: Executive Producer Re: Re: Cameo Appearance, DRG 015 Gul Rick: The big picture: 1) ET is doing a segment the day before. Expect total domination of the time slot. 2) _Clear and Present Danger_ Meal Deal at McDonald's tie- in premieres just before credits. Accounts Department very happy. 3) We may yet be able to get him to take off his clothes and stick a hypo in his b**t.] A door slides halfway open and Harrison Ford, in full Indiana Jones gear, puts his foot out into the corridor. He gasps in fright at the deadly crossfire, then casts a glance directly at the camera, giving us his "Don't worry; I can get out of anything" grin, and slips back behind the closing door. By now the fourth intruder has reached the bridge, located the helm, taken the slack out of the safety harness, and entered new coordinates into the navigational computer. We see an index finger poise above the warp drive initiator control. "O mighty Vaal, the moment of your resurrection is at hand." Contact. The Big and Fast rotates, elasticizes, and disappears in a burst of light, leaving the Haida- influenced trader adrift. Barchibod trudges into the command centre of the orca-shaped vessel. Pakleds are standing around, looking at their feet or poking randomly at the unfamiliar controls. "Malakod," he complains, "we cannot find the bear." "Maybe it is sleeping." "The bear is maybe sleeping!" "We will look!" "There is another thing, Malakod. Where is the crew?" "Did anybody see the crew?" They shake their heads. "We did not find the crew." "Malakod, perhaps it ate the crew." "Perhaps it ate the crew and then it fell asleep." "You are smart, Barchibod." "We will go and look." "Go and look for the bear." Everybody but Malakod trundles out. He looks around the command centre, scratching the flap of his ear. He sees a handle he hasn't tried yet. He pulls it, opening a large closet. The bear awakes and peers out, sniffing the air. It smells something it doesn't like. "A bear!" "GGGGGGRrrrrrrr." [Commercial: _Clear and Present Danger_ Meal Deal at McDonald's.] [Music. Credits.] --- Douglas A. McLeod (ai919@freenet.carleton.ca) =============== UPCOMING IN RIF =============== SILLY TREK: DROPPED CONTACT a full length parodoy of STAR TREK: FIRST CONTACT ============== THE FINE PRINT ============== TRYING TO LOCATE A COPY OF RIF???? WORLD WIDE WEB/FTP: http://www.startrek.in- trier.de/rif; http: //www.tamnet.interbusiness.it/ htmlpages/adds/borgpage/shopslow. htm; http://www.marshall.edu/~swann1/cborg2.html;ftp://fvkma .tu- graz.ac.at/pub/star-trek/rif INTERNET EMAIL: Request free subscription: send "subscribe RIF" to ktaborn@lightspeed.net. LOCAL BBS: There are many BBS distribution centers (when you call, tell them you heard about their BBS from RIF!). 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