[MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (3/9)

[pieceoftheuniverse]

[We pan out, and find Tom, Joel, and Crow clustered around a computer
terminal. Joel is fiddling around with the input controls ... er, the
keyboard and mouse, that is.]

JOEL: It can't be. There has to be one around here -somewhere-.
TOM: Maybe they're just sold out.
JOEL: But there'd still be a listing for it, even if it is out of stock.
I don't care how long we have to wait for delivery, as long as it
gets here.
CROW: Maybe you're spelling "thesaurus" wrong.
JOEL: I would look it up, but we don't have a dictionary on board.
TOM: Head on over to the Webster site, then. It'll correct your
spelling, at least.
JOEL: And where is that?
TOM: Um ... http://www.m-w.com/ , I think.

[Joel clatters away on the keyboard, and reacts as if he's received the
page instantaneously. Don't you wish you had his connection?]

JOEL: Hey! There's a perfectly serviceable thesaurus right here!
CROW: Well, then Ray-Ray's got no excuse.
TOM: Type in "demand," Joel, and see what comes up.

[Joel basically slams his fingers in random locations on the keyboard.
The computer beeps at him to signify to the audience that there's
actually a coherent response.]

JOEL: "Demand: synonyms: call, challenge, claim, exact, postulate,
require, requisition, solicit ..."
CROW: "Related words: ask, request, bid, charge, command, direct,
enjoin, order; cite, summon, summons; coerce, compel, constrain,
force, oblige; necessitate...
TOM: There's a whole slew of alternates to choose from!
JOEL: Really just no excuse at all.
CROW: Now go to a name dictionary, Joel. I want to solve this
"Abbott/Abott" thing once and for all.

[Lights, buzzer, siren]

JOEL: No time, guys; we've got Demanding Sign!

[ ... 6 ... 5 ... 4 ... 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... ]

[As they're filing back in]

TOM: Or an Enjoining Sign!
CROW: Or a Summoning Sign!
JOEL: Save it for when we really need it, guys.

>
>
>
>
>Chakotay had the phasor rifle he had picked up from a fallen guard

TOM: Of course, he had to kill the guard to get it ...
CROW: I've lost count of redshirts dead. Is that five or six?

>levelled and ready when the lift door opened on deck 8.

JOEL: Ah, but does he have exact change ready?
TOM: Those toll booths in the turbolifts can be pretty strict.

>He only justmanaged to prevent himself shooting the security officer that
>was crouched waiting for them when the door opened.

CROW: Everyone on Voyager is a bunch of trigger-happy fools, aren't
they?

>"Where are they?"

TOM: Who? The dwarves? The dead crewmen?
CROW: Silly 'bot. He doesn't care about the dead crewmen.

>Chakotay demanded quickly.

JOEL: Or "requested quickly."
CROW: Dang. We forgot to look up synonyms for "quickly."

>"Carys and Dennard are trying to track two of them near section 13,
>Commander.

TOM: Thirteen? No obvious foreshadowing -here-.

>But they can disappear into the ducts so easily. They could
>be anywhere," the guard admitted.

JOEL: So Carys and Dennard are shirking their duties?
CROW: I think he means the dwarves.
JOEL: The dwarves are shirking their duties?
TOM: No ... well, not as far as we know ... that is ... oh, hell!

>
>"Let's get on with it,"

ALL: Yes! Please!

>Chakotay decreed,

CROW: I thought you had to be of royalty to decree something.
JOEL: I'm just glad Ray-Ray's off the "demanding" kick.

>leading the way with ensign Abbott keeping close behind him.

TOM: And *poof*, she's in the scene, just like that.

>Reaching the damaged distribution node proved uneventful

CROW: Well -that- is a relief.
TOM: Really?
CROW: Anything to make this fanfic shorter...

>and ensign Abbott opened the hatch to the panel.

JOEL: So there's this hatch, which leads to a panel ...
TOM: ... which reveals a lever which springs open a trap door ...
CROW: ... that leads to the node that Jack built!

>"The damage, I don't think it is too bad, Commander," she reported.

TOM: [Shatner] Isn't it, nice, to see the. Legacy, live on.

>"Most of the links can be repaired.

CROW: Is she fixing a circuit board or a web page?

>But a few will have to be replaced with something."

JOEL: [Abbott] Some sort of engineering dohickey. I'm not a technical
person.

>"Do what you can," Chakotay tried to be encouraging as he in his turn
>glanced around nervously. He didn't like the ventilation grill almost
>opposite where he was squatting.

TOM: It had insulted him in the past, and the voices in his head were
rioting.

>Given the enemies seeming frequent use of the airducts, it seemed
>uncomfortably dangerous.

JOEL: Maybe if he brought in a Lay-Z-Boy?

>Unconsciously he stepped up the power on the rifle.

CROW: Oh, great. Not two seconds on guard detail and already he's
asleep.

>Abott began carefully pulling links from the distribution node and
>painstakingly running a regenerator across each one, rebuilding the
>circuitry.

TOM: So why don't they have automatic regenerators?
CROW: It would lower the redshirt count.

>She was desperately trying to concentrate upon her task. She admonished
>herself for volunteering for the task.

JOEL: Her task was before her; she must finish her task.
CROW: Nothing else mattered but the task.
TOM: The task was all-knowing, all-powerful.
ALL: Bow before the Task!

>Even for volunteering to take a comms watch after listening to and finally
>believing the Colonel about how easy it would be.

TOM: Wait a minute; one minute the Colonel's the best officer on the
ship, the next he's a baldface liar?
CROW: And the contradiction is ... ?
JOEL: [holds his face in his hands] I can hear the artillery shells
homing in ...

>Never again was she going to believe him, she decided, as she slipped a
>link into place.

CROW: So the links are greased?
TOM: That explains their problems.

>She fumbled the next one and dropped it and ducked to pick it up.

JOEL: Deus ex machina, take one.

>At the same time a bright beam lanced out from the vent that had been
>causing Chakotay concern.

TOM: Maybe she -can- move faster than light.

>She screamed in terror as the laser struck the wall just infront of where
>she had stood.

CROW: So it would have missed her anyway?
JOEL: What are these dwarves using as gun sights? A hall of mirrors?

>Chakotay responded instinctively,

TOM: Well, he'd have to, being asleep and all.

>spinning and firing at the same time.

JOEL: ... thus vaporizing everything within a one-eighty degree arc.

>The vent cover disappeared, but there was no attending scream and there
>was nothing behind it.

CROW: So the dwarves can move faster than light, as well.
TOM: At least the teams are evenly matched.
CROW: What with all the plot holes running around, not really.

>Cautiously he approached the new opening and peered in.

JOEL: [Chakotay] Hello?
TOM: [echo] Hello?
CROW: [echo] Hello?
JOEL: [echo] Hello?
TOM: [dwarf] Hi! [sfx] ZAP!

>"Commander!" Abott screamed, desperately ripping her phasor from her
>belt.

CROW: [sfx] Riiiiiiiiiiiiiip!
TOM: [Abott] Dang! There goes another fashion accessory.

>She fired down the corridor, then screamed again as a laser beam
>struck her.

JOEL: Gotta watch those ricochets.

>Desperately Chakotay spun out of the vent, saw a movement and fired.

TOM: Striking a fellow crewman.
CROW: That's seven.

>He turned again to look the other way, nothing moved.

JOEL: The Kommodans have mastered the ancient art of "staying still."

>"Gurnard!" He called for the security guard that had been supposedly
>guarding the corridor.

CROW: ... so that he could have his nap.
JOEL: And you say that -I'm- obsessed with Chakotay's narcolepsy.

>There was no reply.

TOM: Well of course not! You just shot him, remember?

>Carefully he crept towards Ensign Abbott. "Llinos?" He called softly.

JOEL: Is he afraid of waking her?
TOM: What kind of name is "Llinos," anyway?
CROW: I'd almost prefer the Abbot/Abbott dichotomy again ...

>She was deathly white from the shock, and the shoulder of her uniform
>was still offering a wisp of smoke.

TOM: [shoulder] Here, take a puff.

>She groaned, and he cradled her gently until she started to recover.

CROW: The ancient medical art of "cradling." Used by doctors the world
over.
JOEL: Well, pediatricians, anyway.

>"Are you alright? Can you finish?" he asked gently.

TOM: [Chakotay] Finish the job so I can stop pretending to like you!

>"My shoulder! It hurts so much!"

JOEL: [Abott] Could you not squeeze it, please?

>She squealed in pain, her brown eyes looking large under the tears.
>"I killed somebody! I'm so sorry!"
>
>"He was trying to kill you!" Chakotay pointed out, at a loss for more
>comforting words.

CROW: That's not comforting at -all-.
TOM: [Chakotay] Yes, you killed somebody, but look on the bright side:
you're in a fight to the death!

>"But we have to get the node working. Can you do it?"

JOEL: [Chakotay] Screw your ethics, can you get back to work?

>She did not look at him, but tried to stand. Chakotay ended up almost
>picking her up

TOM: How does one almost pick something up?
JOEL: Reaching for it, then changing your mind.
CROW: So basically, he didn't touch her at all?

>and leant her against the wall, so she could reach.

CROW: [Abbott] Ow! My -other- shoulder, lean me on my -other- shoulder!

>She completed repairs to the last two links and would have collapsed again
>if Chakotay had not caught her.

TOM: Did he almost catch her?

>Quickly he scooped her up in his arms

JOEL: [falsetto] My hero!
CROW: We've used that already.
JOEL: Yes, but -I- haven't.

>and staggered for the lift, almost tripping over the body of Gurnard the
>Security Guard.

TOM: So he called for him, but didn't bother looking around?
CROW: If it stays still, he can't see it.
JOEL: Chakotay, the T-Rex of Voyager.
TOM: In mental capacity as well, it seems.

>Chakotay did not need to look to tell what condition he was in. The
>blackened face said everything.

CROW: The fact that Gurnard was African-American didn't register until
two days later.

>"Computer. Emergency site to site transport. Two to Sick Bay!"

JOEL: Sure; -now- he thinks of the transporters.

>He demanded,

TOM: Requested!
CROW: At least he didn't do it quickly.

>hoping that the dwarves had not managed to hit the transport systems.
>
>Thankfully he found himself rematerialising in Sick Bay,

JOEL: Being a main character really helps overcome basic plot elements,
doesn't it?

>with the Doctor glaring at him.

CROW: Twenty pages into this fic, and the best actor finally makes an
appearance?

>"Put her down there!" The Doctor demanded,

TOM: Ordered!
JOEL: Directed!

>indicating a spot on the floor. "I'm running out of space," he continued

JOEL: So no one ever leaves Sickbay?
CROW: [singing] You can check out any time you want, but you can never
leave.

>examining the ensigns shoulder carefully.

TOM: [Doctor] Yup. That's a shoulder, alright.

>"Second degree burns. I'll give her a cortesone injection until I can
>finish treatment," he declared.

CROW: Which will probably take all of twenty seconds with an upside-down
eggbeater.

>"Can't you do more?" Chakotay pleaded. "She saved my life and probably
>the ship as well!"

JOEL: If the dwarves have any brains at all, they're tearing apart those
repairs right now.
TOM: So the ship's safe, then?

>The Doctor glared at him imperiously.

CROW: [Doctor] -I- control who lives or dies!
TOM: [author] Zot!
CROW: [Doctor] -He- controls who lives or dies!

>"I have twenty others in worse condition than Ensign Abott," he declared.

JOEL: [Doctor] Some are dead, but patients are patients.

>"I can give you a growth stimulator.

CROW: A growth stimulator, did you say?
JOEL: Crow ...
CROW: What? I was just wondering if it would work on Chakotay's lone
brain cell.

>If you would care to treat her yourself?"
>
>"Give it here!" Chakotay accepted heavily,

TOM: How do you take something heavily?
JOEL: Take something heavy, you mean.
TOM: I don't know anymore.

>almost snatching the device from the Doctors hand as it was offered.
>"How about Carver?"

CROW: Carve her? But she's just got an injured shoulder!

>"Critical," the Doctor responded. "But he will live."

JOEL: Well, I'll be. Carver -did- get transported to sickbay, after all.
TOM: Pity we never got to see it.

>"Bridge to Commander!" Kim's voice floated down to Chakotay.

JOEL: ... like a feather.
TOM: ... like a bird.
CROW: ... like a duck in the hunting season.

>"Chakotay!"

JOEL: [Kim] No, I'm Harry. You're Chakotay, the Doctor's over there, and
Carver's in a bed over there.

>"We've picked up a second squadron of Komos ships, Commander.

TOM: What?! No "common" or "commode"?
CROW: He can barely keep Abbott's name straight, and you expect him to
extend courtesy to an entire race?
TOM: Point.

>They are on an intercept course."
>
>"Will they intercept us before we reach the anomaly?"

JOEL: [Kim] That depends, sir, on what the term "intercept" means to
you.

>On the Bridge Kim looked questioningly at Winston at the con. He winked
>at him, already making amendments to their course and speed.

CROW: [Winston] Let's see ... no slavery, women's rights, no prayer ...
TOM: What are you doing?
CROW: Making amendments.

>"We have reworked our course to avoid them," Kim relayed quickly.

JOEL: Which will last all of five seconds, when the squadron reworks
-their- course.

>"And the Borg?"
>
>"No sign of them coming after us yet, Commander."

TOM: Nooooo, of course not. One subplot at a time.

>"Keep track of them," Chakotay commanded. "And send what security are
>available to Sick Bay. We need to deal with our dwarf problem."

CROW: Shouldn't they save that for segment eight at least?
JOEL: Maybe Ray-ray's thinking of changing the name of the story.

>Killing his link Chakotay leaned back to think, until security arrived.

TOM: I hope they take their time. He hasn't done that in a while.

>
>
>
>"The problem is that they keep disappearing into the ventilation
>system," Security Ensign Gardner complained,

JOEL: I wonder if all expendable crewmember's names start with "G."

>twenty minutes later when the security team arrived.

CROW: Wait a minute. What took them twenty minutes?
TOM: Well, the corridors were supposedly filled with dwarves ...
CROW: So just getting through the corridors should have taken care of
their problem, one way or another, right?
JOEL: Maybe they were actually smart about it, and used transporters.
CROW: It takes twenty minutes for them to transport to sickbay? Chakotay
did it in two seconds!
TOM: [as his head begins to smoke] Guys...
JOEL: Erm, maybe it's best not to think about it too much. Making sense
of fanfic was not meant for mortal minds.

>"It gives them almost total access to the ship with any number of routes
>to get there.

TOM: So next time, are they going to remember to check the vents when
guest species begin to disappear?
JOEL: Of course not. That would actually make sense.

>We even tried erecting force fields across the ducts but they found a way
>around them!

CROW: [Gardner] We were going to place force fields -in- the ducts, but
we thought putting them across would give us a better double-word
score.

>There are too many corners for us to go after them."

TOM: So the crew can all move faster-than-light, but not around corners?

>"That's it," Ensign T'Pau agreed.

TOM: Thank you, I thought so.
JOEL: You can tell she's an alien 'cause she's got an apostrophe in her
name.
CROW: Does that make her smart?
TOM: No; she's still a member of the Voyager crew.

>"If they are in the open, then they aren't a real threat."

CROW: ... except to redshirts.
JOEL: How many have died so far?
CROW: I counted seven, but I might have missed a couple in the battle in
Engineering.
TOM: Death by toilets. Redshirt or not, that's gotta be embarrassing.

>"Well there has to be some way of getting to them?" Chakotay prompted.

JOEL: [T'Pau] Well, they have a predilection for brunettes. So I've
asked B'Elanna to play dress-up...

>"When the Colonel ran those simulated hostage routines, he used tear gas
>grenades.

TOM: Alright! Random gassing of crewmembers!
CROW: That's great! He just needs to kill a few off, and he's got
command of the ship for sure!

>We couldn't get out the room quick enough, and couldn't see for more than
>an hour afterwards," T'Pau offered.

JOEL: Well, she can't be Vulcan. She's using contractions.
TOM: That makes her either Klingon or out of character.
CROW: I'm leaning towards the latter.

>"It would work in the ducts."

TOM: So why are they only thinking of this now?
JOEL: Maybe they didn't want to make the sensitive equipment in the
ducts cry.

>"Do you have any?" Chakotay asked quickly.

CROW: [T'Pau] Nope. Not at all. Nosirrie bob. Just mentioned it to
insert a random element. Now, back to our regularly scheduled plot
...

>T'Pau shrugged. "I dunno, Commander Tuvok,

JOEL: No, he's Chakotay. Tuvok's AWOL. Gardner's over there, and -your-
name is T'Pau.

>confiscated any he found afterwards. They are against Star Fleet regulations.

TOM: Excerpt from Star Fleet Regulations: "At no time should crewmembers
be in possession of weapons that might be useful for non-lethal
combat, unless it helps the plot. Or if the crewmembers feel like
it. But they have to really, really feel like it."

>But the Colonel may have hidden a few in the container he uses in Cargo
>Bay 2?"

CROW: Apparently he felt like it.
TOM: Nothing like breaking the occasional rule to make the plot
contrivances look bigger.

>"Go and get them, then take them to environmental.

JOEL: As opposed to ejecting them into space?

>Gather up everybody who can carry a weapon," Chakotay decided.

CROW: On the ship, or just in sickbay?
TOM: I have this strange image now, of redshirts in wheelchairs fending
off dwarves with their crutches.
CROW: I do what I can.

>"Call me on the Bridge when ready. We can introduce it from there.

JOEL: Introduce what from where?
TOM: My guess is the gas, but I thought he said to take that to
Environmental.

>Find as many breather masks as you can find.

JOEL: As opposed to locating ones you -can't- find.

>We will need them."

CROW: [Chakotay] But not for the whole crew. I have a list of people I
don't like; I'll be passing that out later.

>"You aren't proposing to gas them?" The Doctor protested as the guards
>left. "Chemical weapons are illegal!"

JOEL: [Doctor] But keep shooting them. I like that.

>"Our people are dying Doctor, because we can't get at them!

TOM: Use the transporters!
CROW: I think he means the dwarves.
TOM: My statement still stands.

>In a few hours we may have to fight some of their friends

JOEL: [Chakotay] Some field mice, a fairy godmother, some sort of wooden
boy ...

>and I don't want to do that without our weapons on line,"

CROW: Or at least an unsubtle plot contrivance.

>Chakotay snapped out impatiently, his voice becoming harsh.

TOM: As opposed to snapping in a gentle tone.

>"Have you a better way of getting them out?"

JOEL: [Doctor] Well, I hear they have a weakness for brunettes that
clean houses. B'Elanna's a brunette ...

>The Doctor fell back into sulky silence.

CROW: Aw, he missed out on a perfect alliteration.
TOM: Like "slipped silently into a sublime sulk"?
CROW: Right. Or "slowly slid in a sulky silence."

>"Doctor what have you got that we can use to put them to sleep after
>they have come out of the vents?" Chakotay asked a few minutes later.

JOEL: So he's going to gas them to get them out, then gas them -again-?
TOM: When all you have is a hammer, you know...

>"I have anaesthetic gases," the Doctor admitted. "But it will put the
>crew to sleep for several hours as well."

CROW: Oh, they could use the rest.
TOM: If they can't be smart, at least they can use more beauty sleep.

>"I'll take the risk. Take some canisters to Environmental as well. You
>can go around with security to treat anybody that is injured."

JOEL: One doctor touring the entire ship.
TOM: That shouldn't take more than three or four days.

>With that Chakotay returned to the Bridge.

CROW: ... for his nap.
>
>
>
>
>"Kala, prepare to seal ventilation to the Bridge," Chakotay demanded as
>soon as he emerged from the lift.

TOM: Never one to let a little thing like breathing bother him, is he?

>"How soon before we reach the anomaly?" He continued, slumping in his
>chair.

JOEL: A military man who slumps in his chair?
CROW: Well, it -has- been a long day.
TOM: A long fanfic, yes. But only an hour has passed story-time.

>"Three hours, Sir!" Winston reported.

TOM: ... and, judging from how long it took to get through that single
hour, we're in for a looooong fanfic.

>That was going to be close, he decided. "And the others?"
>
>"We should be about twelve hours ahead of the Komos vessels.

CROW: So it's going to be close to what, then? They'll be in the nebulae
nine hours before the toilet-heads catch up with them.

>The Borg cube is underway, Captain. Estimated arrival about the same time,"
>Ensign Kala reported.

JOEL: Which cube? The one that has Janeway, the one chasing them, or the
one Q took to use on his Monopoly board?
TOM: Too ... many ... questions ... ... head ... wants ... to ...
explode ...
JOEL: Hang in there, buddy.

>He turned to look at her. "I'm not the Captain," he said mildly.

CROW: Finally! He responds to Tuvok's name, B'Elanna's, and only -now-
does he correct someone?

>"Senior Officer aboard a Star Ship is the Captain, Captain," she refuted
>adamantly.

JOEL: Try mutiny today! It's fun!

>"You've been with the Colonel too long," he grinned.

TOM: [Chakotay] Ho, ho, ho! I laugh in the face of you granting me
power!
CROW: Isn't that supposed to be "face of death"?
TOM: We can only hope.

>"Remember this is Star Fleet, not the Royal Navy!"

JOEL: Right! We'll have none of this "British" stuff here! We're all
Americans, in an American show!

>"Captain!" She maintained the distinction carefully in her response.

CROW: If we're lucky, he'll count that as treason and have her shot.

>Chakotay shook his head in disbelief and hit his communicator.

TOM: Nope. Took out his badge instead.

>"Chakotay to Engineering?"

JOEL: Don't ask us!

>It was with some relief he heard B'Elanna's strident response.

CROW: On the other hand, maybe giving Ray-ray a thesaurus would be a
-bad- idea.
JOEL: I don't know. I liked the "Strident" video game.
CROW: "Stri-DER."
JOEL: Yeah, that one, too.

>"We are about to smoke the dwarves out of the vents with tear gas

TOM: Or, if you're in a wacky mood, fill the vents with mud and start up
dwarf-tossing for the twenty-fourth century.

>then put them to sleep," he advised.

JOEL: Fluffy! [breaks down and cries]
TOM: There, there, Joel. Fluffy's gone on to a better place.
CROW: [aside to Tom] Fluffy?
TOM: [aside to Crow] Pet dust bunny. Long story.

>"Can you seal the ventilation systems down there until the gases
>dissipate.

JOEL: [sniffs] I'm alright now.
CROW: Then we can start riffing again?
JOEL: Sure.

>Sam Wildman claimed they had been badly damaged."

TOM: [Chakotay] But since I don't know what she does on this ship, I
don't trust her.

>"How long have I got before you start?" B'Elanna Paris asked, thinking
>hard.

TOM: [Chakotay] You hear that hissing noise? That probably means now.

>"Not sure," Chakotay admitted. "But the problem is at the other end.

JOEL: The other end of what?
CROW: The vents, I guess.

>We have a few hours to prepare for what comes next. We could runaway
>from the Kommodans easily enough, but not the Borg.

TOM: But if the toilets are in league with the Borg, isn't running away
from one escaping the other?

>How are you?" Sam said you were hurt?"

CROW: I've lost track, now. Who's talking here?
JOEL: Let's see ... it was Chakotay, then B'Elanna, back to Chakotay,
B'Elanna again, Chakotay, so this has got to be B'Elanna.
TOM: But Chakotay was never hurt!
JOEL: Then I'm lost, too.

>"I forgot I was in Star Fleet!" B'Elanna breezed.

CROW: "Breezed"?
TOM: She doesn't exactly strike me as the typical airhead type.

>"I lost my head.

TOM: Right-o. Revising that statement now.

>I'll try and set portable shields around what is left of the ducts.

JOEL: Why not just tear out the ducts entirely?
CROW: This from the only one on this satellite that needs to breathe.
JOEL: Common sense hasn't stopped them so far.

>Engineering out."

TOM: I would do a "hokey-pokey" joke here, but we've done it already.

>
>
>
>
>In Engineering B'Elanna looked around her in some confusion.

CROW: [B'Elanna] Dammit, not -another- bad fanfic!

>She had not long regained consciousness and was still trying to work out
>what Sam Wildman had been doing whilst she had been inactive.

JOEL: Oh, the usual: pretending she knew what she was doing, taking over
your job, stealing your husband ...

>The force fields across the doors were obvious enough,

TOM: I thought force fields were invisible.
CROW: Supposedly, but that's usually just to save on CGI costs.

>that she had made some sense of the rapid bypassing of the warp
>controls by Lieutenant Caerey, was also easily identified.

JOEL: I refuse to diagram that sentence.
TOM: That "mortal minds" thing again?
JOEL: Precisely.

>Eventually she gave up and asked. "Sam, how secure are the forcefields across
>the vents?" She called.

CROW: She asked, she called, she even tried paging her. If only Samantha
would respond!

>Samantha Wildman looked up from a panel she was trying to repair. "Level
>5, Lieutenant. Enough to stop people getting in."

TOM: [Wildman] Or us getting out. I'm taking a cue from Chakotay.

>"Get them upto level 10.

CROW: These are purely arbitrary numbers, aren't they?
JOEL: Pretty much.

>We might have to withstand a gas attack and some pretty serious dwarves.

TOM: She can tell they're serious because they've stopped singing.
CROW: Uh-oh. If they start pushing her off a cliff, she's in real
trouble.

>Find breathers and make sure everybody has phasors, in case they try
>and break through."

JOEL: [B'Elanna] But don't give those to just anybody. I'll be handing
out a list ...

>B'Elanna turned and checked Caerey.

TOM: Random hurt crewmember?
CROW: Check!

>They had been unable to transport him out of engineering because
>of the forcefields.

JOEL: Idiotic plot contrivance?
CROW: Check!

>Instead they had wrapped his burns as well as they could and applied
>what anti burn salves were in the Engineering first aid kit.

TOM: ... but not necessarily in that order.
CROW: And if so, at least the bandages won't burn.

>He was as white as a sheet,

JOEL: Casper the friendly engineer?

>unconscious but generally comfortable,

TOM: If he's unconscious, his comfort level is pretty much moot.

>B'Elanna decided hopefully. She turned to continue working on the panel left
>by Sam Wildman as she arranged for the required increase in shields.

CROW: [B'Elanna] Deus ex machina, deus ex machina ... -there- it is!

>
>
>
>
>"We are ready, Commander," T'Pau informed Chakoaty fifteen minutes
>later.
>
>Chakotay tensed before issuing the command. It was going to prove a
>dramatic cure for the situation.

JOEL: Oh, so that's what Ray-ray's after: drama.
CROW: And here I thought he was trying to make us cry out in pain. My
mistake.

>He felt for the crew that were unprotected from what was to come

TOM: [Clinton] I feel your pain.

>and prayed that the Doctor would be able to treat the resultant injuries.

JOEL: If not, no biggie. Next episode, none of this will have ever
happened.

>"Set off the gas," he commanded. "Give it forty-five minutes to work its way
>through the ventilation system, then activate the anaesthetic."

CROW: Of course, you could just anaesthetize and spare everyone the tear
gas.
TOM: Yeah, but then you have a bunch of sleeping dwarves all over the
ship.

>"Kala, close Bridge vents. We will have to survive on emergency air
>supplies for the couple of hours."
>
>"Vents closed. Emergency air system active, Captain," Ensign Kala
>informed him sombrely.

JOEL: So, erm, where is this mysterious emergency air coming from?
CROW: Emergency air vents, of course!
TOM: Which are, according to Plot Contrivance #237, dwarf-free.

>"Time to anomaly, ensign?"
>
>"Two hours, Sir!"
>
>"B'Elanna, I need some more speed. Can you get it?" Chakotay demanded.
>
>"Trying!"
>
>There was nothing to do but wait.

CROW: We've been waiting for twenty-odd pages now.

>"It is working Commander!" Ensign Kala reported fifteen minutes later.
>"Security are reporting numerous dwarves have appeared coughing.

TOM: I thought it was tear gas.
JOEL: Coughing, crying; it's hard to tell with dwarves.

>They are dealing with them as they catch them."

CROW: Oh, good. Pity they can't deal with them before they catch them.

>"Remind them there is a second phase," Chakotay agreed.

JOEL: But if you have them in custody, isn't it overkill to drug them,
too?
TOM: We keep telling you, Joel: this is all a prelude to some serious
dwarf-tossing amusement.

>"Engineering to Bridge. There are some half dozen dwarves trying to get
>in from the ventilation ducts," B'Elanna reported a few minutes later.
>"I can let them in?"

CROW: Sure, let them in. Let them have control of the ship.

>"Let them choke!" Chakotay snapped. "They chose the route."

JOEL: Yes, but -you- chose to gas them.

>More waiting.

CROW: -Tell- us about it!

>"Security to Captain. The tear gas is dissipating, Sir," Ensign T'Pau
>reported from Environmental Control. "I think all but a couple of
>dwarves have been forced out. The captives report a total of 94.

TOM: What would make her think that they're giving her an accurate
number?

>We have accounted for 83 and think there may be a few trapped. Do you
>wish to continue with the anaethestine gas?"

CROW: [Chakotay] As long as it's laughing gas. I love that stuff.

>For a few moments Chakotay thought about the question. Using the
>anaesthetic would be a close call with what was destined to come next
>and he would need the crew in good order if they were to fight other
>ships.

JOEL: Except, of course, for the crewmembers he didn't like. To hell
with them.

>"Ensure there is security in all strategic points.

TOM: And make sure you guard the vents this time! Morons.

>Gather a team together to find the trapped dwarves.

CROW: Only one team, though. And make sure you stick together, so they
can avoid you for three more segments.

>If you are right and the effects last for a while then you have an hour to
>drag them out," he decided.
>
>"Aye, Sir!"

TOM: Oh, good; the door from the theatre just opened.
CROW: Finally!
JOEL: You know, I'm surprised it continues after this. Everything's just
about wrapped up.
CROW: The Captain's missing, Voyager's being chased, and they've been
betrayed!
JOEL: Like I said: I'd be perfectly satisfied if it ended right here.

[Joel picks up Tom and they file out]

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