[MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (1/9)
pieceoftheuniverse
A Star Trek: Voyager fanfic by Raymond Gower
MiSTed by pieceoftheuniverse <mis...@pieceoftheuniverse.com>
"Mystery Science Theater 3000" and its related characters and situations
are trademarks of and copyrighted [c] 1999 by Best Brains, Inc. All
rights reserved. Same goes for Star Trek and all related characters,
this time trademarks of Paramount/Viacom. This is my first MiSTie, but I
have to say: this story practically begged for it. Still, you've got to
admire the effort, so remember this story is copyrighted [c] 2001
Raymond Gower. Thanks for the opportunity, Ray; I hope it's at least an
-enjoyable- death and dismemberment.
[Scene: the SOL, of course. What, you were expecting DS9?]
TOM: Suck!
CROW: Not!
TOM: Suck!
CROW: Not!
TOM: Suck!
JOEL: Hi, everyone. We've just seen the newest Star Trek shootoff,
entitled _Enterprise_, and naturally things are a little testy
around here as the finer points are discussed.
CROW: Not!
TOM: Suck!
JOEL: As you can tell, the bots and I were having an intellectual
conversation...
CROW: Joel, tell Tom that _Enterprise_ doesn't suck!
TOM: Joel knows better than that, Crow. He lives in space; he knows the
sound of a -vacuum- when he hears it!
JOEL: I'd love to get in the middle of your pitched battle, guys, but
Hoover and his pet windtunnel are calling.
[Switch to Deep 13, where Dr. F is watching a television (pointed away
from us, of course), remote in hand, and chuckling evilly. He hits a
button on the remote, and the television switches off]
DR F: Good day to you, Joel. I've just been watching a particularly evil
concoction by one of my good friends over at Paramount Studios. I
believe you've heard of it? It aired only days ago, and I think it
would be just perfect to send along to you...
[Switch]
TOM: You see?! If Dr. F thinks it's suitable for an experiment, it's
-got- to be terrible!
JOEL: I've got to admit, Crow, that is strong evidence in Tom's
favour...
CROW: Wait a minute! How do we even know he's talking about
_Enterprise_?
[Switch]
DR F: Ah, so you -have- heard of it! Very good, very good. I'll not
subject you to it's evil quite yet; the suspense of not knowing
when it's going to strike will hopefully push you over the edge.
For now, I'll be content with the experiment I have lined up for
you ... and today's invention exchange, of course. Frank!
[Frank appears from stage left, covered in what the audience hopes to
god is chocolate]
FRANK: Yes?
DR F: The invention, Frank!
FRANK: But --
DR F: -NOW-, Frank! [Frank toddles off stage] Perhaps you'd best go
first, Joel.
[Switch]
[Joel and the bots have now composed themselves, though Crow and Tom are
still "accidentally" shoving each other in debate, occasionally
whispering "suck" and "not" at various inopportune intervals. A large
box is in front of the trio, covered by a cloth]
JOEL: We here in the Satellite of Love have noticed that Star Trek has
been the inspiration for a lot of wonderful technological advances
over the years: the cell phone, the laptop, the upside-down
eggbeater, and of course who can forget glitter's first starring
role in a major motion picture.
TOM: Right. But where are the transporter beams? The replicators?
CROW: I thought the glitter -was- the transporter beam.
JOEL: So we present to you: the Future-O-Matic! [whips cloth off of the
box to present a snazzy-looking box with the words
"Future-O-Matic" stenciled on]
TOM: That's right! With this wondrous invention, you can predict the
future with unerring accuracy so that you don't look like a
complete moron when your television series hits repeats seventy
years from now!
CROW: I wanna try! I wanna try!
JOEL: Okay, Crow, go ahead.
CROW: [presses a button on the side of the box, and a ticker-tape feeds
out the top end] Oooo, this says "Calista Flockheart revealed to
be a resurrected skeleton!" That just explains so much!
TOM: [presses the button] And this one says "T&A play an important role
in cast selection for the next fifty years of television." Joel,
who's T&A?
JOEL: I'll, um, explain when you're older. What do you think, sirs?
[Switch]
[Frank has made it back with a box slightly larger than Joel's ... well,
okay, a lot larger. One wonders how he got it in front of the screen
without a forklift. It, too, is covered with a cloth]
DR. F: Clever, Joel, but your teletype magic eight-ball isn't clever
enough. I, too, have noticed the disturbing lack of technological
advancement that we were promised, but I've decided to actually
do something about it. I present to you: [pulls back cloth] the
Friplicator!
[Switch]
ALL: Frip-a-what?
[Switch]
DR. F: You know, a Dr. F-created repli -- it doesn't matter. What -does-
matter is that it works just like the replicators on the sho
_Star Trek: The Next Generation_!
[Switch]
JOEL: No. You can't mean...
[Switch]
DR. F: Yes! They break down every week or so, due to random and
indescribable errors that no one can adequately explain except
through meaningless technobabble! Muhahahahahaha! I'll make a
fortune! Watch! [Dr. F motions, and Frank requests "tea. Earl
Grey. Hot." The replicator spews steaming liquid all over Frank,
causing him to writhe in pain, and then an oversized cup
materializes over Frank's head and traps him] You see? It works
perfectly! [Laughs evilly for a little while, then stops] Since
my invention is clearly far more superior, I'm going to be
especially cruel today and inflict a nine-part _Voyager_
storyline called "Trouble of Dwarves," by none other than a Mr.
Raymond Gower. To make it even more painful, I've extracted this
story directly from his website, rather than the original
posting. Send them the 'fic, Frank!
FRANK: It burns! It burns!
DR. F: Oh, hell. [sends the 'fic]
[Switch]
TOM: Nine ... parts?
CROW: He's kidding. Tell me he's kidding.
JOEL: [presses the button on the Future-O-Matic] "You will suffer
incredible anguish and torment." [Lights, buzzer] We've got fanfic
sign!
[ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ...]
>
>1-25 A Trouble of Dwarves
CROW: Wait, is this one of nine or one of twenty-five?
TOM: Joel, I'm scared.
JOEL: Don't worry, guys. We'll get through this.
>With Captain Janeway away saving the Universe from the Borg,
TOM: I thought Captain Proton saved the universe.
CROW: No, no, it's Superman. He always saves the day.
ALL: [singing] Jane-way's here to save the daaaaaay!
>Chakotay is let
JOEL: Chakotay IS Let, Super-Janeway's deadwood sidekick!
TOM: [Chakotay] Holy abelative armour, Janeway!
>with the problem of saving Voyager
CROW: Well, that's it. They're screwed.
>and finds how much Voyager and her crew means to him.
TOM: Squat.
JOEL: You're supposed to go before we come in here.
>Voyager and characters (except the Colonel)
CROW: Who is the Colonel?
JOEL: The Colonel, in the bedroom, with the candlestick.
TOM: I think it was the Colonel, on the bridge, with the phaser rifle.
>in this story are copyright of Paramount.
CROW: [author] I didn't ask permission or anything, though, so don't
tell anyone.
>No resemblance is intended to any person alive or dead.
TOM: [author] Well, except my Aunt Vera, but don't tell her I said that.
>The Colonel is my own.
JOEL: [the Prisoner/Colonel] I am not a character! I am a free man!
>Story line by Matt Weed and myself.
CROW: [author] But since I killed Matt yesterday, he's not likely to
complain about what I did to the story.
>Constructive criticism and comments are welcome
TOM: How about just plain ol' criticism?
JOEL: That's the best kind.
>on e-mail st...@rgower.plus.com.
JOEL: Spam-guns?
CROW: Check.
JOEL: Marketing ploys?
TOM: Check.
JOEL: Denial-of-service drones?
CROW: On layaway.
JOEL: Damn!
>
>If like me you like to know why things occur like they do,
TOM: Wait a minute. Did he just admit that even -he- doesn't know what
he's writing?
JOEL: Be afraid. Be very afraid.
>I would heartily recommend you start at chapter 1-01 Castaway.
CROW: He's inviting us to view more of his work?
JOEL: From what I've seen so far, I'm not impressed.
TOM: Thanks but no thanks, Ray-ray.
CROW: We're trapped, not suicidal.
>This story is rated PG13
JOEL: No less than thirteen poltergeists at any one time.
TOM: Oh, good. Then we can leave.
>ŠR Gower 2001
CROW: If he's just disavowed almost everything about this series, what's
left to copyright?
TOM: Our eternal pain and suffering.
CROW: I thought that was property of Best Br--
JOEL: [muffling Crow] Ixnay onway Estbay Ainsbray.
>
>
>
>Chakotay was in a relaxed mood when he stepped upon the Bridge
TOM: [Chakotay] Eww, what's this on my shoe?
>to take the Conn
CROW: Chakotay's going to fly! Abandon ship! Abandon ship!
>while they waited for the Captains return from Komos.
JOEL: How many captains do they have, anyway?
>"Anything to report?" He asked of the duty Officer cheerfully
TOM: Duty Officer Man!
JOEL: What, now everyone on the ship is a superhero?
>"Anything from the Captain and the ball?"
CROW: The Captain went to a ball?
JOEL: She'd better get back before midnight, or else Voyager will turn
into a pumpkin!
TOM: Too late. The series is already squash.
>It was a rare event that the Captain left the ship,
JOEL: Who could blame her? Every time she leaves, something disastrous
happens.
>even then she never seemed to let it slip far away,
CROW: [motherly] Now, Voyager, I want you to go out and have fun, but
remember not to drift more than three parsecs away from me.
TOM: [Voyager] Aw, -mom-...
>there was inevitably some communication to remind him of something she had
>forgotten to tell him before she left.
TOM: So Janeway is the absent-minded professor?
JOEL: Yes, but you don't want to see the Star Trek version of flubber.
>It was not something that worried either of them.
CROW: [Janeway] By the way, Chakotay, I set the ship to self-destruct
before I left.
>He had learnt that Voyager meant everything to the Captain
TOM: You would think it would mean everything to the entire crew, them
being stranded inside it and all.
>and found it very difficult to let go.
CROW: Who found it difficult? The ship?
JOEL: I'm not in the mood to diagram sentences. Let's pretend it's Duty
Officer Man who has issues.
>"Nothing, but a report for the Captain from Seven of Nine, Commander,"
TOM: That's not nothing then, is it?
>Ensign Abbott reported dutifully.
JOEL: I would hope so, him being the duty officer and all!
>"I wasn't expecting anything from them for a couple of days," Chakotay
>remarked, unconcerned. Messages from Seven to the Captain were not in
>themselves unusual, if she wanted advice, though it was uncommon now.
CROW: So it's uncommon, but not unusual? Isn't one the definition of the
other?
>"What did she say?"
TOM: [Abbott] It says "Go to hell, you bastard." I'm still trying to
figure it out.
>"I didn't decode it. But it was unusual. It was a burst transmission,"
>the ensign admitted.
JOEL: We've got him! He's admitted to the whole thing!
>That was more alarming. Sub-Space communications were normally
>considered secure enough without resorting to data compression as well.
CROW: Never mind that everyone and their grandmother have sub-space
receivers.
>"Decode it quickly. There could be trouble," Chakotay commanded in
>trepidation
TOM: How -do- you command in trepidation?
JOEL: It's a lot like commanding in Jell-o, but without having to wait
for it to set.
TOM: Oh.
>and getting to his feet to pace in impatience until the ensign could supply
>the details.
CROW: Doesn't have much faith in this crew, does he? Barely gives an
order, and already he wants an answer.
>"Seven advises that there are three Borg cubes enroute for Komos.
>Arrival estimated 21:00," she finally deciphered.
CROW: ... and gets one.
JOEL: Ray-ray apparently has difficulty seeing time as anything other
than immediate.
>Now alarmed Chakotay checked the chronometer.
TOM: He shut off the alarm; now was no time for his lesson on comma
placement.
>"Less than three hours. Contact the Captain. Bring her back now!"
CROW: Shouldn't the Captain decide when she gets to come back?
JOEL: Nah. They can snatch her up at any time.
TOM: Good thing no one in Star Trek uses the bathroom, then.
>He thumbed his own communicator.
CROW: s/own/nose at his/
TOM: Ah, thank you. That scans much better.
>"All stations Red Alert. Ensign Kim to the Bridge!"
JOEL: And he's calling the lowest ranking member of the crew for what
reason?
CROW: It's in Garret Wang's contract.
>He paused for a moment then added "Dog Watch to the Bridge."
TOM: What's a dog watch?
CROW: You know; like a watchdog, but backwards.
JOEL: So it's an animal that lets criminals into your house?
>He suspected he was going to need their inventiveness
CROW: Lord knows he hasn't any of his own.
>and he was down more than half of the prime Bridge crew.
TOM: And why is that, exactly?
JOEL: If we're really lucky, they're all dead.
>"I can't raise the Captain, Sir!"
CROW: Use the crowbar!
>Chakotay could hear the alarm in her voice, it was mirroring his own
>concerns.
TOM: Er, "her" voice?
JOEL: We've made a terrible assumption; all this time we thought Ensign
Abbott was a man!
CROW: In those uniforms, who can tell?
>"Contact Seven of Nine and keep trying for the Captain," he demanded, as
>much to keep the ensign busy than real hope.
TOM: Yeah; heaven forfend something actually get -done- in the first
fifteen minutes.
>The reason for Seven's use of a burst transmission was obvious now, she
>was trying to avoid her own detection.
CROW: And failed miserably.
JOEL: How so?
CROW: Well, Voyager knows where she is, right?
>A reply from their transmission may well not be forthcoming.
TOM: Chakotay, man of psychic abilities!
>Kim appeared from the Turbo lift,
ALL: [sfx] Poof!
>looking flushed.
JOEL: [Chakotay] Next time, Ensign, don't take the stairs.
>He was almost immediately followed by the Dog Watch. It allowed Chakotay
>something else to concentrate on.
CROW: [Chakotay] So, when are you guys going to let the bad guys on
board?
>"Harry, long range scans. Look for a transwarp conduit or Borg Vessels.
>Kala assist him and find the Captain," Chakotay ordered quickly. "Winston,
>take the Conn. Carver, take Tactical. I want the Captain and Seven of Nine."
TOM: Who -are- all these people?
JOEL: Either we've come into the middle of something, or these are all
redshirts.
>Finished with issuing orders he collapsed into his chair to wait.
CROW: Pointing at people must really take it out of him.
>I've got the Colonel, Sir!" Carver reported. "Still trying to raise the
>Captain."
TOM: The crowbar must have snapped.
CROW: Maybe they've got a winch?
>"Status report, Colonel?" Chakotay demanded quickly.
>
>"We and our hosts will be over Komos in about two hours, Sir.
JOEL: We who?
CROW: Got me. The Captain's at a ball, Seven's in an undisclosed
location; maybe the Colonel's got schizophrenia.
>I intend to switch hosts when they have finished.
TOM: And "hosts" is his code name for his separate personalities?
CROW: Sure.
>You can come and collect us then."
JOEL: [Colonel] We're at the pawn shop at seventy-second and third.
>"Where are you?" Chakotay asked in surprise.
>
>"Attached to the lead cube."
CROW: Well, that's gotta hurt.
>Chakotay could almost see the Colonel's ghoulish grin.
JOEL: So either the viewscreen's on the fritz, or Carver couldn't get a
visual.
TOM: It'd be nice to know for sure, wouldn't it?
>"Can we keep this short. They haven't found us yet. I want it to stay
>that way," the Colonel prompted.
CROW: They who?
JOEL: Well, they can't be afraid of the Borg.
TOM: Not the Borg that's been a minor nuisance for six seasons, anyway.
>"We can't get hold of the Captain!" Chakotay blurted. "We can't even
>detect her!"
ALL: Hurrah!
>The Colonel was silent for a few minutes, then came back.
JOEL: Came back from where?
TOM: The twisted recesses of his mind, is my guess.
>"It figures. Your hosts aren't all they claim.
CROW: [gasps in mock horror] The ball is *ruined*!
>Get out of there, Captain.
TOM: That's the Commander, smartypants.
>And watch your backs.
JOEL: That would take some major reconstructive surgery.
TOM: Not for us! [twists his head around] See?
JOEL: Stop that. You're giving me _Exorcist_ flashbacks.
CROW: [twists head around] It's an excellent day for an exorcism.
JOEL: Stop that!
>Seven of Nine and I will find Captain Janeway," he declared.
JOEL: Awww.
CROW: Don't worry, Joel. We still have twenty more pages to kill her
off.
>"Ensign Carver, you play that tune again. I will break your neck! Out!"
TOM: Erm, what tune?
CROW: Maybe Carver was playing the flute or something before he came to
the bridge.
JOEL: But sound doesn't travel in spa -- oh, Star Trek physics. Right.
>"Get him back!" Chakotay shouted.
>
>"Sorry, Sir. The Colonel has terminated the communication," Carver
>responded after a moment.
TOM: Apparently they've lost that great twentieth-century device known
as the "redial."
>"I've found the conduit, Sir. Details passed to Conn. Still no trace of
>the Captain," Ensign Kala reported.
JOEL: I thought she was at the ball.
CROW: [Chakotay] Look for a woman in a dress and glass slippers.
>"Evasion course plotted and laid in," Ensign Winston reported immediately.
>"We will require 65 minutes to avoid detection."
TOM: Shouldn't they be flying a little faster than that?
CROW: You'd think so. Nothing like impending death to motivate someone.
>"Gives us twenty-five minutes before we need to break orbit, Sir!"
>Carver reported. "Increasing scan rates to compensate."
JOEL: Shouldn't they have been running maximum scans -anyway-?
TOM: They're only pretending to look for the Captain. It doesn't matter
how fast they pretend.
>Chakotay was not sure if the Dog Watches fabled predictive responses
>were helpful or not.
CROW: "Dog Watches"?
TOM: I'm pretty sure that's meant to be plural possessive.
JOEL: Assume nothing.
>He was grateful that they were predicting the correct responses and waiting
>for the go ahead to execute them.
TOM: Never mind that it makes his position as commander somewhat
superfluous.
>But it meant that he was left with little to do, except worry about
>Kathryn's fate.
CROW: Looks like -he- needs some busy work.
JOEL: [Abbott] Here, sir, -you- keep trying to reach the Captain. I'll
sit around and do nothing.
>"Keep scanning until the last minute," he demanded.
TOM: Isn't that what they were going to do anyway?
>He knew it was an unnecessary command, even as he said it.
JOEL: Wow. Deadwood -realizing- that he's deadwood. Will wonders never
cease?
>But he felt slightly better forgiving it, he decided,
CROW: Forgiving what? His own actions?
TOM: Chakotay: man of psychic abilities and his own father-confessor!
>settling in his seat again.
JOEL: For a military man, he sure does get tired quickly.
>"What was the tune you played to get the Colonel's attention?" He asked
>suddenly of Carver.
TOM: Voicing the thoughts of the readers...
>The ensign smiled broadly. "The British Grenadier, Sir. It irritates the
>Colonel immensely. Guaranteed to get a response."
CROW: Oh, great strategy: tick off your allies.
>He looked as if was going to say more and Chakotay waved him down.
JOEL: So Carver's flying now?
>There was something else in what the Colonel had said that troubled him.
TOM: Was it about the multiple personalities?
CROW: Maybe it's the solution to _Clue_.
>What was it? 'Watch your back'. Surely he didn't mean the Borg, he was
>not likely to forget them now he knew of their presence.
JOEL: Oh, but we wish you would.
CROW: Talk about your overused plot devices.
>"Have you found the Captain yet?" He demanded,
TOM: He sure does demand a lot.
CROW: He gets power hungry when the Captain's not around.
>putting his thoughts to one side for a moment
JOEL: Well, that didn't take very long.
TOM: Longer than -I- expected.
>to deal with the more pressing matter at hand.
>
>"There is a self modulating dampening field around the Visitor Reception
>building," Kim complained.
CROW: Ensign Kim, the Wesley Crusher of Voyager.
JOEL: But only half as intelligent.
TOM: Ouch.
>"Every time we find a way through it changes frequency! I can't keep up with
>it! But I'm almost certain the Captain is there. There appears to be a build
>up of Koman military in the area."
CROW: Not very clever of the Komans, is it?
TOM: [Koman] Let's put extra security where we've trapped the Captain.
No one will look at large group of armoured people with guns!
>"Keep trying! See if they know where they are on Komos," Chakotay growled.
JOEL: Er, who knows where they are?
TOM: You can bet no one on -this- crew.
>"We could trust the Colonel, Sir?" Carver commented.
CROW: That sounds more like a question than a comment to me, soldier!
>"If we can't find her, what chance has he?" Chakotay exploded.
TOM: ... taking all of Voyager with him.
ALL: Hurrah!
>Chastised the Ensign fell quiet.
CROW: We wish he'd just fall.
>"I could take an away team and drag her back, Sir?" Ensign Kala
>volunteered.
JOEL: Kala needs to work on her self-confidence a little more.
>Chakotay shot her a grateful look,
TOM: [sfx] Bang!
>but a sense of reality struck him.
CROW: Reality? In a Star Trek story?
JOEL: A fluke. Has to be.
>"How many away teams have you taken, Ensign?" He asked.
TOM: [Kala] I've stolen them all! Muhahahahahaha!
>"One, Sir!" The ensign admitted.
CROW: Well, there goes her chance of being a redshirt.
>"Not this time then. I may need you here," Chakotay decided.
JOEL: And there goes her chance of being killed behind the nearest rock.
>"Chakotay to B'Elanna," he demanded of the intercom.
TOM: [intercom] No. You can't talk to her until you ask nicely.
>Her reply was instant. "B'Elanna."
CROW: [Chakotay] No, -you- are B'Elanna. I'm Chakotay, and Harry's over
there.
>"Prepare an Away Team from Security. Heavy weapons," he declared. "We
>are going to find the Captain."
TOM: But isn't Tuvok the security chief?
JOEL: Maybe he's in the brig for shooting Janeway.
CROW: We can always hope.
>"There are twenty vessels approaching," Carver warned. "They appear to
>be Kommodan vessels.
CROW: The plural of their race is "commode"?!
>They are powering weapons."
JOEL: Beware the flush offensive!
>"Should that worry me, after their fighter attack?" Chakotay asked
>sourly.
TOM: [Carver] Well, sir, you know the expression "when the shit hits the
fan"?
>The ensign nodded. "I think so, Sir. These mean business. They are
>packing heavy plasma weapons."
CROW: As opposed to light plasma weapons, which we use to toast bread.
>"Perhaps they know about the Borg approach?" He added hopefully.
JOEL: Sure! The fact that they're heading towards you with weapons
charged means nothing.
>"Could they take on a cube?" Chakotay asked in surprise, with the
>evidence of Vesa to go by and what he had seen of Komos it seemed
>unlikely.
TOM: They'd better be able to, being two feet away from a Borg freeway
and all.
>With a critical eye Carver examined the readings from his panel and
>weighed up the probabilities.
CROW: You know, that's what computers were made for.
>"If they have somebody who knew what they are doing. Yes, Sir!" He was also
>sceptical about the military abilities of the Komons.
JOEL: I'm not sure which plural I like better: "commode" or "commons."
TOM: I like "commode."
>"I am receiving a message from Komos, Sir," he added a few moments
>later.
>
>"Put it on," Chakotay agreed.
CROW: [Carver] I don't know, sir; it looks a bit skimpy.
>"Voyager, this is General Hallock!" The small frame of the General
>appeared upon the view screen, looking somewhat smarter than he had
>before
JOEL: Before what? His haircut?
TOM: His murder?
CROW: His sex-change operation?
>"This is Commander Chakotay. There are three Borg cubes approaching. We
>would like our crew back, General," Chakotay demanded quickly.
JOEL: He doesn't demand anything at a normal pace, does he?
>"I am aware of that fact," General Hallock informed him.
CROW: [Hallock] Shush, you. This is my only scene.
>"We have been expecting them for several days. If you surrender your vessel,
>the Borg may permit some of your crew to live.
TOM: Well, yes -- as *drones*!
>They have only expressed an interest in your Captain, the Borg female
>and the one you refer to as the Colonel. We will find them shortly."
CROW: And, once again, the Borg search out three meaningless faces
against the scope of the universe.
JOEL: That was very poetic of you.
CROW: If the Borg can break character, so can I.
>Chakotay's mind raced at the statement, as its meaning sank in. "You
>mean you signalled the Borg?" He asked in desperation.
TOM: And in our next news update: Chakotay can add two and two together.
JOEL: Star Trek fans everywhere are reported as amazed.
>The General nodded. "We need to protect our race. We do not have the
>technology to take the Borg on directly. So we trade with them. We
>capture technologies they want and they leave us alone.
CROW: But wouldn't it just be easier for the Borg if the Kommodans were
assimilated?
JOEL: That just gives whole new meaning to "eat excrement and die,"
doesn't it?
CROW: [Borg] We are the Borg. Constipation is futile. You will --
JOEL: [Holding Crow's beak] Don't say it.
>You were particularly easy to trap," he sneered.
ALL: Kill them all!
>With a deft signal Chakotay waved the link shut.
TOM: "Deft"? Since when does Chakotay have any sort of flair?
>"Our chances against the Kommodan ships?" He demanded.
JOEL: [Carver] They're arming toilet brushes, sir. We don't have a
chance.
>"We can't stand and fight, Sir!" Carver opined quickly.
CROW: [Chakotay] A perfect chance for me to sit down, then.
>Chakotay accepted the statement. "Winston,. Keep us out of range."
TOM: Joel, stop making shadow puppets on the screen.
JOEL: Are you telling me you don't like my impersonation of a period?
CROW: I'm not touching that one.
>A new thought came to him.
TOM: To Chakotay?
CROW: This story's crossed the line between plain silly and downright
absurd.
>"What was the discrepancy between those arriving from Komos and those
>leaving?" He asked quickly.
JOEL: And if a train leaves Newark at seven-fifteen, and another leaves
Chicago at twelve-forty-five...
>"Fifty fewer left than boarded, Sir!" Carver declared after a check.
>
>"Any reason for the discrepancy?"
TOM: Some stayed rather than left.
CROW: Our next news update: yes, two plus two -is- four.
>"Commander Tuvok never found one," the ensign answered.
JOEL: Logic must have refused to suggest the obvious.
>"Every calibration check worked out. He put it down to another glitch in
>the new computer system and has marked it for Corporal Millers attention."
TOM: New computer system? But they're out in the middle of nowhere!
JOEL: Best place to get a new system.
>"Kim, establish a comms blackout over the whole ship.
CROW: Well, there goes any chance they had of contacting the Captain.
ALL: Hurrah!
>Carver, execute a full security sweep and head count.
JOEL: [waves] Don't forget us!
>B'Elanna, take your security team to Engineering," Chakotay ordered quickly.
TOM: He does -everything- quickly, doesn't he?
CROW: Why else do you think the Captain won't date him?
JOEL: Crow!
>"I think this may be what the Colonel was warning us about."
TOM [Abbott] Actually, sir, he meant the hair on your back. It's
unsightly.
>"The lead Kommodan ships are spreading into attack pattern," Carver
>warned.
CROW: [Carver] It's the infamous "Dirty Latrine" formation, sir. We're
doomed!
ALL: Hurrah!
>"Move us out of orbit, Winston. Avoidance pattern Gamma-Delta," Chakotay
>announced. "Weapons up."
JOEL: You put your weapons up...
TOM: You put your weapons down...
CROW: You put your weapons up...
JOEL: And you shoot the Captain dead.
TOM: You do the jig on her grave and turn yourself around...
ALL: That's what it's all about!
>"What about the Captain?" Kim demanded quickly.
ALL: Kill her!
JOEL: Do you guys think maybe we're being too harsh?
TOM: Ah, she'll never know.
>"We are going to have to rely upon the Colonel to get the Captain,"
CROW: Well, since he promised to find her -anyway-...
>Chakotay accepted. "We have to deal with our current problems."
TOM: [Chakotay] Like my sex appeal. What do you think Kathryn's looking
for in a guy?
>"Him and Seven will hack their way through the whole of Komos, if they
>have to," Carver commented with relish.
CROW: I prefer sauerkraut with my death and dismemberment.
TOM: I like pastrami.
JOEL: As long as there aren't any anchovies, I'm fine.
>"Serve them right too!"
TOM: So first he wants them dead, now he wants to be a waiter?
JOEL: Many know the hazards of the missing comma --
CROW: Not Ray-Ray.
JOEL: -- but few realize the horrors when the invisible "s" rears its
ugly head.
>Chakotay turned on him angrily.
TOM: Uh-oh! He's ticked him off now!
>"How is the security scan and head count, ensign?"
TOM: ...at which point he asks something almost completely unrelated.
JOEL: Vicious temper he's got there.
>"Two crewmen reported missing," he reported.
CROW: And the redshirt casualties begin to mount.
>"I'm having a deck by deck search for them. Security are taking position
>on all decks."
JOEL: [Security] Are you -sure- they said to stand on these cards?
>"The Komos vessels have opened fire," he added. "But the range is too
>long for their weapons to do serious damage."
TOM: Pretty dumb of them to fire then, wasn't it?
>"Deploying defensive pattern Alpha-Delta 3," Winston responded before
>Carver finished. "They are closing, Sir!"
CROW: Well, open them back up again!
JOEL: They can't. They broke the crowbar on the Captain, remember?
>For a few seconds they watched as the first Plasma salvo shot past the
>rapidly turning ship.
TOM [Bridge crew] Forget the danger; I want to stare at the pretty
shapes of death passing us by.
>"Warp 3. Put some distance between us, but not so much that they stop
>following," Chakotay decided.
CROW: It's not like we want to survive this encounter, after all.
>"We'll pull their fleet away, it might give the Colonel slightly better odds.
JOEL: So he's going to abandon the Captain to the Borg?
TOM: More like he's going to flush her down the commodes.
ALL: Hurrah!
>Keep track of those Borg ships. We might have to follow them."
CROW: Admit it; you just like playing "Follow the Leader."
>Behind him three security guards came out of the lift and silently took
>station.
JOEL: I'm pretty sure the bridge crew can take care of themselves, guys.
Why don't you go play with the toilets downstairs?
TOM: But there are no toilets in Star Trek.
CROW: Ray-Ray's out to change all that.
>"The Kommodans are following, Sir. And the Borg cubes have arrived,"
>Carver advised.
JOEL: Isn't advice supposed to be helpful in some way?
>"Any sign of the Colonel?" Chakotay asked in concern.
TOM: [Kim] We saw him in the billiard room with the rope, but Miss
Scarlet says to think nothing of it.
>"I can't tell, Commander.
CROW: [Kim] I've been sworn to secrecy!
>But the Valorian ship is always difficult to spot," Kim reported. Then in
>more alarm. "One of the cubes has just jumped to Transwarp, a second is
>following the Komos fleet."
JOEL: I thought there were three cubes.
TOM: The third was picked up by Q for his Monopoly board.
JOEL: I always wondered how they made those.
>"Track the direction of the one leaving!" Chakotay almost screamed.
CROW: And an "almost scream" would be what, exactly?
TOM: Talking normally, I suppose.
>"They must have the Captain.
JOEL: Or it's a diversionary tactic.
CROW: Borg that actually -think-? Doesn't sound like the same Borg
Voyager's had for the past six years.
>Winston, find a way to follow their course, then maximum warp!"
>
>
>
>
TOM: Is it over? Is it over?
>In Engineering,
TOM: Damn.
CROW: But at least he used a comma correctly.
>Lieutenant B'Elanna Paris, chased
JOEL: Well, there was a lesson quickly learned and forgotten.
>two security guards out of her way as she raced around trying to keep her
>engines running at peak efficiency.
TOM: You know, they make consoles for that sort of thing.
>A sixth sense was telling her that there were going to be major calls upon
>Voyagers power system.
CROW: It's pretty sad when the crew has to rely on a sixth sense to know
what to do.
TOM: Lord knows they can't tell from the script.
>The repeaters in Engineering were showing what Chakotay was trying to
>do,
JOEL: Repeaters?
CROW: Maybe she's got a group of actors playing out the action on the
bridge for her.
JOEL: Wouldn't it be easier to just have a video feed of the original?
>carefully work his way around the Komos Fleet so that the ship could
>follow the now disappeared cube.
TOM: Q needed another die, I see.
>She suspected that things were not going to be as simple as that.
CROW: Of course not.
JOEL: I think it's in the Star Trek writer's manual to paint your story
into a corner so tight only a deus ex machina can get you out.
>Above her a ventilation grill was silently removed and a small face
>appeared in the aperture.
TOM: Small compared to what? The grill? A gorilla? A dinosaur?
JOEL: Assume nothing.
>Apparently satisfied that it had not been noticed,
CROW: Voyager, the Crew That Knew Too Little.
>the face withdrew to be replaced by a hand aiming a hand weapon.
TOM: As opposed to a hand aiming a foot weapon.
JOEL: Or a moustache weapon.
CROW: You'd think they'd lock those up, though.
TOM: Maybe they brought them with them.
CROW: You'd think they'd search anyone with suspicious bulges.
JOEL: Aliens with suspicious bulges are a dime a dozen.
>Carefully the weapon was aimed at the frenetic engineer and fired.
TOM: [sfx] Click!
CROW: [Kommodan] Whoops, sorry, forgot to load it. Hold on, let me try
to kill you again.
>B'Elanna turned
JOEL: Why is it that none of the main crew can ever suffer permanent
injury?
TOM: I dunno ... B'Elanna was pregnant for a while, wasn't she?
JOEL: That's not an injury!
CROW: Insurance companies count it as a disability.
>to pass on an order to one of her engineering team as she came up behind her.
TOM: B'Elanna was coming up behind herself?
JOEL: Ray-Ray -did- say she was frantic.
>She opened her mouth to speak, in time for it to become a shriek of horror
>as the young engineering technician slumped in front of her.
CROW: B'Elanna doesn't strike me as the type to scream in terror.
TOM: She's more the type to reach out and strangle the offender.
>A few milliseconds later she was diving behind a console as more weapons
>fired.
JOEL: Those are some fast reflexes she's got there.
TOM: Maybe everyone on board -is- a superhero.
>"Engineering to Bridge!" She screamed, tearing for her phasor.
CROW: [sfx] riiiiiip!
JOEL: [B'Elanna] No, not there either. Damn it, I'm running out of
pockets!
>"We are under attack!"
TOM: I think they already know that.
JOEL: She means from the -inside-.
TOM: Ah. Well, you'd think she'd specify, lest Chakotay think her a
dim-watt bulb.
>Peering over the console she saw one of the security team drop as he
>fired at the ceiling.
CROW: That's three.
>She looked up and saw a small figure duck out of sight from the vent
>aperture.
JOEL: So she didn't know where the shots were coming from? Then why duck
behind a console?
>She fired at it, but another bolt struck the console beside her causing
>it to spark brightly,
TOM: Was that caused by her shot or theirs?
JOEL: Tough call.
>making her duck down again.
CROW: You don't get down from a duck, you get down ... oh. Dang.
>Rolling to spot where she could identify where that shot came from she saw
>another open grill.
JOEL: [the Count] Two! Two open grills!
TOM: You had a weird childhood.
>She kept rolling until she could tuck herself under a console and clear
CROW: How does one tuck oneself under a clear?
>of the cross fire from the two open apertures. She heard several more
>small explosions as shots hit more consoles. She was not certain what
>they were shooting at,
ALL: They're shooting at YOU!
>so she risked another peek over the top of her cover.
TOM: And was picked off by the sniper. Everyone else died. The end.
>They weren't random shots just to keep heads down, she realised. They
>were being deliberately aimed at consoles, attempting to disable them.
JOEL: That must have taken some shooting.
CROW: How so?
JOEL: They missed B'Elanna at point-blank range, didn't they?
>She dived back again as she was spotted and tried to think.
TOM: [Winnie the Pooh] Think, think, think.
>
>
>
>B'Elanna's desperate call to the Bridge for help,
CROW: [singing] Help!
JOEL: [singing] I need somebody...
TOM: [singing] Help!
JOEL: Not just anybody...
>held Chakotay stunned
>for a whole five seconds, before Winston's equally desperate cry. "Warp
>drive is down.!" Brought him to his senses.
CROW: Finally!
JOEL: We've been waiting seven seasons for that.
>"Carver, you were one of those that tried the Colonel's security
>training,
CROW: Thank you, Exposition Man.
TOM: Chakotay, man of psychic abilities, his own father-confessor, and
exposition man!
>take more security to Engineering.
JOEL: Star Trek, the show that turned "security" into a synonym for
"cannon fodder."
>We need warp power back.
CROW: Duh!
TOM: How did he get in charge again?
CROW: He slept with the Captain.
TOM: And she -still- let him be in command?
>How long before the Kommodan ships get here?" He demanded.
JOEL: [Kim] That depends on the sewer lines, sir.
>"Not more than twenty minutes," Kim responded quickly.
CROW: [Kim] And not less than thirty ... wait a minute...
>Carver leapt for the lift.
TOM: [sfx] Sproing!
>In time for it to open to reveal three dwarves.
JOEL: It's Happy, Doc, and Sneezy!
>Their first two shots took Carver and the security guard by the
>door.
CROW: Wooohooo!
TOM: Yehaw!
JOEL: So it's unanimous; we're cheering for the dwarves.
>The three remaining security guards opened fire upon them, swinging around
>from their posts guarding the alternative entries.
CROW: Wait, I thought the bridge was elliptical.
TOM: Yeah?
CROW: So why were they facing away from the bridge?
>The three dwarves fell.
JOEL: [southpark] You killed Sneezy! You bastard!
>Kim braved the risk
TOM: What risk? The dwarves have been shot.
>and dived across the Bridge to reach the tactical station.
CROW: Isn't Kim's station all of two feet away from tactical?
JOEL: Maybe we should buy Ray-Ray a map.
>"Security reports that there are small groups of dwarves appearing all
>over the ship, Commander."
TOM: [Kim] There are seven of them, and they're complaining about a bad
apple.
>"Armoury?"
CROW: [Kim] No, sir; no sign of Prince Charming yet.
>"Okay so far. But a party of dwarves are on that deck, Commander."
TOM: Is it a dwarf-tossing party?
>The hatch for the Jefferies tube started to move. Immediately Kala
>fired at it with her phasor and it slammed shut again.
JOEL: I hope that wasn't a crewman trying to escape the dwarves.
>"They're in the Jefferies tube!" she shouted. "They can do real damage
>in there!"
CROW: If it's such a high-risk area, why didn't the security teams check
them?
>Chakotay nodded and approached the hatch with caution. "Harry and
>Winston, do what you can to keep us out of their weapons.
TOM: "Out of their weapons"?
JOEL: Apparently they can shrink people down and fit them inside.
TOM: As bullets?! Cool!
>If we lose shields we are dead."
CROW: Pray, guys. Pray.
>He crouched by the hatch and signalled Kala and a security guard to do
>the same.
JOEL: Monkey, see, monkey do.
>"When I say, open the hatch as quickly as you can, but keep behind the
>door, it will protect you," he whispered to Kala.
TOM: Um, aren't phasers descendants of lasers?
CROW: Yes.
TOM: Well, lasers can shoot -through- metal.
CROW: Anything that lessens the crew count, I'm happy with.
>She nodded her understanding and grasped the handles securely.
>
>"Now!" Chakotay hissed.
CROW: How do you hiss a yell?
TOM: Especially without an "s" in the word. Joel?
JOEL: Don't look at me. I just live in this body; I didn't say I could
do stuff with it.
>She pulled the door open with a giant heave.
CROW: ... banging Chakotay firmly in the noggin.
>The first thing Chakotay saw was a dwarf immediately behind the door.
JOEL: Look, it's Sleepy!
>He was shot by the guard.
TOM: Now that's just mean. Sleepy never harmed anyone.
>Around the edge of the door Kala saw a second dwarf fiddling with a junction
>box, she fired her phasor at him. She missed but it was enough to have him
>tumbling away from it.
CROW: No one on this ship is very good with a gun, are they?
>Chakotay dived through the entrance, saw the Dwarf get to his feet and
>start to run. He fired and the Dwarf was running no more.
TOM: So he let him walk out of there.
>He pulled out again
JOEL: Hey now!
>and gave the two young officers an encouraging smile, before giving
>instructions.
CROW: Much like your first date, eh Joel?
>"Follow the tube to the junction and take station. Fry anything that
>moves,"
TOM: [guard] Are you sure you wouldn't prefer a nice saute? Or perhaps
flame-broiled?
>he ordered the guard. "Kala,check the junctions. Make sure they
>haven't done any damage.
JOEL: Of course they haven't. They were just looking for prime vacation
spots.
>Kim, lock the Turbo Lift. I don't want anymore of them getting here!"
CROW: Or anyone getting out, either.
TOM: Excerpt from Starfleet Regulations: When boarded by hostile forces,
lock yourself in with no escape plan and limited weapons.
Eventually a plot hole will open, allowing you to take back the
ship.
JOEL: Addendum: You may not take back the ship until the last fifteen
minutes.
>He stalked back to his seat
CROW: Fortunately, the chair hadn't finalized the restraining order.
>and collapsed into it,
JOEL: He sure does tire easily.
TOM: You've stated that twice, now.
JOEL: I'm just trying to figure out how to name it as a super-power.
>trying to decide upon the next move.
CROW: B-12!
TOM: Aw, you sank my battleship!
>He noticed that the duty ensign was examining Carver and the fallen guard,
>he had almost forgotten she was still there.'
JOEL: Compassionate, isn't he?
>"How are they?" he asked, quietly.
CROW: Is he afraid of waking them up?
>"Alive, Commander," she responded nervously.
TOM: Dang.
>"Beam them to sickbay," he instructed
JOEL: So he's assuming the dwarves didn't do anything to the ship's
systems?
CROW: Or he wants to get rid of extra crewmen as much as we do.
>then added. "This is your first Bridge duty and close quarters combat
>isn't it?"
TOM: [Abott] Talking to yourself again, sir?
>She nodded unhappily at him, a pleading look in her eyes.
CROW: [Abott] Kill me! Kill me now!
>For once he really wished he had the Colonel's knack of calming and
>encouraging people into amazing feats,
JOEL: So explain to me why the Colonel isn't in command.
TOM: You'd think that as soon as Janeway had an alternative...
>the ensign was terrified and with good reason. Ensign Abott was a mouse.
CROW: So she had large ears, fur, and a tail?
TOM: At least now we know what happens to Minnie Mouse in the future.
>She never appeared anywhere,
JOEL: That must make bridge duty interesting.
TOM: Abott, the Invisible Woman!
>took her meals alone,
CROW: I wish -I- could do that.
JOEL: If you could eat food, it might be an option.
>rarely used the holodecks,
TOM: Ah, so she's the only normal one among them, then.
CROW: No wonder they're suspicious of her.
>was never involved in disciplinary reports.
JOEL: Isn't that a -good- thing?
>B'Elanna had described her as 'being afraid of her own shadow'.
CROW: So she's not a mouse; she's a groundhog.
>Chakotay felt a wave of compassion for the young woman.
TOM: No, wait; that was heartburn.
>Her first bridge shift was proving to be a baptism of fire "Ensign Llinos
>Abott,
CROW: He's going to fire the Ensign in the middle of a crisis?
JOEL: Why not? It ranks right up there with all the other command
decisions.
>Airponics, isn't it?"
TOM: What is airponics?
CROW: Well, you know what airplanes are, right? Same principle.
TOM: I'll pretend I understood that.
>She nodded weakly.
JOEL: No one on this ship has much energy.
CROW: Or many brains.
>"Well it isn't always like this.
TOM: Now that's just an outright lie.
CROW: Yeah. They get in some sort of trouble every week.
TOM: You'd think they'd notice by now.
JOEL: That reminds me. Have you noticed that --
CROW: Shh. I'm trying to read.
>I'm going to need your help," was all he could find to say.
JOEL: His collection of cliches must be in his other pants.
>She nodded and smiled weakly at him, staggering up to resume her station
>at ops.
CROW: So they're just going to leave Carver there, then?
TOM: I guess so. They never did get around to beaming him to Sickbay.
>Chakotay sank back in his chair,
JOEL: [Chakotay] Ah, comfort. Maybe it's time for a nap.
>the Colonel's ability with people was not the only thing he needed,
>he realised.
CROW: Acting ability, he noted, was important, too.
>Not even in the Maqui had he been forced into such a close corner,
>with enemies running loose on his ship and a battle fleet bearing
>down on him.
TOM: But didn't he have a Cardassian spy on board?
CROW: And wasn't Tuvok a Federation spy?
JOEL: And didn't they have to turn and run every time a starship came
after them?
TOM: Sounds like he should be right at home.
>Idly he thumbed the communicator.
CROW: You've got to admit, he keeps his cool in a crisis.
JOEL: He's probably too sleepy to demand anything now.
>"B'Elanna, I'm trying to get relief to you, but there are dwarves all over
>the ship, getting there is difficult.
TOM: And who exactly told him that?
CROW: It's so sad that by the twenty-fourth century they've lost the art
of dwarf-tossing.
JOEL: "Art" is a bit of a stretch there, Crow.
>I need warp power within the next ten minutes. Can you do it?" He demanded
>quietly.
JOEL: We're just seeing all sorts of facets of Chakotay: demanding
quickly, quietly...
TOM: Surprising, considering he's a one-dimensional character.
>"We're pinned down,
CROW: Like butterflies?
>and they are trying to disable the controls,"
JOEL: "Trying" being the operative word here.
TOM: They make Imperial Stormtroopers look like crack shots.
>B'Elanna's voice echoed up to him, in the background he could hear
>several small explosions confirming her declaration.
CROW: Thank goodness that happened, else he might not believe her.
>
>
>
>
>"Who else is here. Count off?" B'Elanna yelled from here hiding place.
>"Caerey?"
JOEL: Sure, count off.
TOM: Hopefully they'll pick you off as you give away your positions.
>"Lieutenant." Joe Caerey's voice sounded from beside the Distribution
>Board. One by one the rest of the engineering team announced themselves,
CROW: ... and all died in turn.
>there were six left and one of the Security team she had brought down
>from the aborted rescue mission.
JOEL: One out of how many?
CROW: It was never specified. I'm hoping twenty-seven.
TOM: That puts a lot more faith into the dwarves' target practice than
I'm willing.
>"How many points are they using?" She asked.
CROW: Points? You mean this is an RPG?
>"The three vents, Lieutenant. I think there are four of them," Caerey
>called.
TOM: So three is equal to four?
JOEL: He must have x-ray vision. He never even looked up.
>She thought for a moment.
CROW: Nope, too difficult.
>She had to regain warp drive, flush out their attackers
JOEL: Presenting, from Tie-d-bowl, Inc: Dwarf flushers!
TOM: Alien commodes getting you down? We've got the solution!
CROW: Now available in Bashful Red and Grumpy Brown.
JOEL: Sleepy Blue not available in some areas.
>and prevent them getting in again.
TOM: Well, there goes the hokey-pokey tournament.
>Ground offensives were not her field of expertise and had only basic
>levels of training.
CROW: What had only basic levels of training?
JOEL: My guess? The ground offensives.
>She had however listened to the Colonels' stories with some interest.
TOM: Apparently however listening will teach you things.
JOEL: As opposed to regular listening, which is done in schools.
TOM: Something's backwards here. If I could just put my finger on it...
>"Saturate the vents with phasor fire," she shouted.
CROW: Doesn't she mean "marinate"?
JOEL: [pulls out recipe book] Saturate vents with phaser fire until
dwarves are well-done. Immerse in gas, boil when ready. Serves one
bridge crew. [closes book] No, she's right.
>"I've got to get warp power online."
>
>Immediately she crawled from her hiding place and dived for another
>console as two laser bolts hit the deck beside her.
TOM: [B'Elanna] The grates *above* you, idiots!
>More gratifying were the six pale phasor beams that lanced out from
>the deck at the source of fire.
TOM: [B'Elanna] That's better!
>Taking courage from her teams rapid response she ran for the warp
>control console.
CROW: Which, according to Plot Contrivance #250, has not been hit.
>A yellow beam chased her as she dived headlong under the console.
JOEL: Wow. She can travel faster than light.
>She was stopped with a crash as she hit the console mounting head first and
>lay there stunned.
TOM: Under, into; it's all the same to Ray-Ray.
>"Lieutenant!" Lieutenant Caerey shouted in alarm, springing up and
>racing towards the fallen B'Elanna Paris,
CROW: I thought she was keeping her own name?
JOEL: Come to think of it, where -is- Tom, anyway?
TOM: I'm right here!
JOEL: [surprised] Oh, hi!
TOM: [stage whisper] Dummy.
>firing blindly at where the shot that had forced her down had come from.
CROW: If he's firing blindly, it can't be at a specific point, now can
it?
>A small figure rose from behind the warp core and fired at the fast
>moving lieutenant, from less than ten feet.
JOEL: If this one misses, I vote we dub him "Dopey."
>Only the violent shudder from the ship that forced them both to stagger
>saved Caerey from being vaporised.
ALL: Hi, Dopey!
CROW: Amazing that even the ship can shudder at FTL speeds.
>He missed.
JOEL: And the award for "Most Obvious Statement" goes to...
TOM: ... Ray-Ray, for his epic "Trouble of Dwarves"!
ALL: [mock cheering]
>Caerey still with impetuous leapt at him,
JOEL: [opens dictionary] Impetuous: marked by impulsive vehemence or
passion.
CROW: "Still with marked impulsive vehemence." That almost works...
TOM: I think you've just summarized the entire story in those three
words.
>knocking him to the ground and started to pound at him withis fists until
>the dwarf fell silent.
CROW: But isn't Dopey the mute?
ALL: It's a trick, Caerey!
>He staggered up again and dived for B'Elanna's recumbent position.
TOM: He likes swooping and diving about, doesn't he?
JOEL: Just be glad he's not the one flying the ship.
>She was just coming around as he arrived.
CROW: [singing] she'll be comin' round conscious when she comes...
>"He's got a phasor rifle!" She declared groggily.
>
>"Dealt with," Caerey promised in a whisper.
TOM: [falsetto] My hero!
>"Now lay still. I'll get the Warp drive working."
JOEL: You mean he knows -how-?!
CROW: Wow. And he's not even a main character.
>Carefully he stood and tried to ignore the flash of laser and phasor
>fire as he started work.
TOM: Sure, go ahead and stand. Making yourself a bigger target won't
hurt at all.
>Again the ship rocked violently anmd a terminal behind him exploded in a
>shower of sparks, forcing him to duck.
CROW: Of course, the -plot critical- console is perfectly fine.
JOEL: It's the only one with actual fuses.
>A crewman screamed as a terminal was dislodged onto her as she
>cowered beneath it.
TOM: Either there's something wrong with the chain of events...
CROW: ... or she dived under the terminal when she saw it was going to
fall.
>There was another scream, followed by a sickening thud as a dwarf slipped
>from his hiding place and fell the twenty feet to the deck.
JOEL: Was he shot?
TOM: Maybe he just slipped.
CROW: Poor Doc. He never had a chance.
>With an effort Caerey reached to the far end of the console and thumped
>a pad.
TOM: What effort? It takes no more than a fingertip to work one of those
things.
>Then sharply withdrew his hand again with a scream of pain as a laser beam
>singed past his arm,
TOM: Okay. Never mind.
>causing the fabric to wither and melt to the skin. He sank to the ground dizzy
>from the excruciating burning sensation
CROW: But it's just his -hand-! And a grazing shot, at that!
TOM: Maybe he was hit in ... you, know. A sensitive area.
CROW: So his species' gonads are located near his hands?
TOM: Most are.
JOEL: Hey!
>from the smouldering uniform.
>
>With his teeth clenched, he hit the communicator.
CROW: That's a neat trick.
TOM: Can -you- hit your chest with your teeth, Joel?
>"Engineering to Bridge. You have warp." Then he passed out,
JOEL: Weakling.
>collapsing onto B'Elanna as she struggled to sit up.
CROW: [Godfather] Just when I get up, they push me back down!
>"Joe!"
TOM: Joel?
JOEL: Almost looks like it.
>B'Elanna screamed at him, shaking him hard. There was no response.
CROW: She slapped him. No response.
JOEL: She dropped him from twenty feet; no response.
TOM: She shaved his body. No response
CROW & JOEL: Tom!
>Roughly she pushed Caerey's body off from on
CROW: Off from on!
JOEL: On from off!
>top
TOM: ... to bottom!
>of her
CROW: ... to him!
>and crawled to
TOM: ... walk?
JOEL: I think the joke died.
>where the fallen dwarf lay,
CROW: [Hamlet] Alas, poor Dopey! I knew him, Snow White. A fellow of
infinite silence, of most excellent dress...
JOEL: [Holding Crow's beak] That's enough, I think.
>snatched up the dropped phasor rifle, reset it to maximum fire power and
>aimed carefully at the vent above her.
TOM: So -that's- what everyone else has been doing wrong. They've been
aiming, but not aiming -carefully-.
>A tentative hand appeared aiming at the control console that Caerey had
>been working at
CROW: They've had two whole minutes! What have they been doing?
Sleeping?
JOEL: You'd think they'd leave the apple alone after Snow White dropped
it.
>and she fired. The resultant explosion ripped a gaping hole in the vent
>system
TOM: ... causing everyone to choke to death from lack of breathable air.
CROW: I don't know about you, but if I were in space, the last thing I'd
do is punch a hole in the ship.
JOEL: Crow, we -are- in space.
CROW: We -are-?!
TOM: Well of -course- we are, Crow!
[Crow screams, and runs out of the theatre]
JOEL: Damn. Well, I suppose we'd better go after him.
[Joel picks up Tom, and they head out]
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