[MiSTing] Trouble of Dwarves (6/9)

[pieceoftheuniverse]

[Cambot pans out to get a view of the Sattellite of Love's bridge, which
is not only sparkling clean, but empty -- at first. The Mad's button is
flashing. Joel comes from stage right, faces Cambot, and hits the
button. Crow comes from stage left, faces Cambot, and hits the button.
Tom comes from stage right, faces Cambot, and then tries to hit the
button. After several repeat tries, he finally hits it with his head]

[Switch to Deep 13, where Dr. F is making a big show of waiting. Frank
is in the background, eating some chocolate ice cream.]

DR F: Well, it's about time you decided to answer, Joel. Do you think
that answering my call is some kind of *option*?

[Switch back to the SOL, where everyone -- yes, even Tom -- has their
arms crossed, as a stern parent might]

JOEL: We might have been here sooner, Dr. F, if you hadn't just dropped
us into an experiment like that.
TOM: Yeah! One minute I'm ... I'm ... er, doing something else, and the
next I'm in the theatre!
CROW: Not only that, but you dropped us right into the middle of the
story!

[Switch]

DR F: What are you nutcases talking about? We haven't even started the
experiment for this week yet! I've got a particularly vicious
nine-part monster for you to go through --

[Switch]

TOM: -- called "Trouble of Dwarves"?
CROW: Seen it.
JOEL: Read it.
TOM: Hated it.

[Switch]

DR F: Wha ... ? But that's impossible! It's fresh! It's new! Well, three
or so months old, but it's pure torture nonetheless! And I know I
haven't ... wait a minute. Frank!

[Frank steps up to Dr. Forrester, still eating his ice cream]

FRANK: Yes, Dr. F?
DR F: Remember that reset button I gave you the other day to repair?
FRANK: A rest button?
DR F: A *reset* button, Frank.
FRANK: Oh, that's right.
DR F: Did you fix it?
FRANK: Not yet.
DR F: Were you going to fix it?
FRANK: I'm busy eating ice cream.

[Clayton pushes Frank's hand upwards, and now Frank has ice cream all
over his face. Frank starts to cry]

DR F: You're done now. You weren't thinking of pressing that button,
were you?
FRANK: [sniffing] You're mean to me! I'm going to tell your mom! [he
runs away]
DR F: [composes himself, and then] Well, it looks like we have a little
temporal mix-up. Not only did dim-bulb there press the button
before the experiment ended, but now I have no idea where you are
in the story or how it stayed there while everything else got
reset.

[Switch]

JOEL: Does that mean what I think it means?
TOM: No fanfic?
CROW: No experiment?
ALL: Yes! Party!

[Music starts playing, confetti and balloons fall from the ceiling,
Gypsy joins in the conga line, and all start singing "Frank hit the
reset but-TON, no fanfic for us to-DAY"]

[Switch]

DR F: Not so fast, my little fiesta monkeys. According to the
satellite's computers, the rest of the fanfic is still up there and
ready to go. Frank may have disrupted space and time, but he can't
pull a Kevorkian on one of -my- experiments! The fanfic will resume
... now!

[Switch]

[The confetti and balloons are gone, and all look fairly depressed]

JOEL: Drat.
CROW: So close, I could taste it.
TOM: That's what we get for partying where Dr. Forrester could see us.

[Lights, siren, general chaos]

JOEL: Back to the theatre! We've got Voyager sign!

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

>
>
>
>"How long until the Kommodans get here?" Chakotay demanded from his
>position behind ensign Carver.

TOM: Poor Carver. He gets shot, and gets demoted from Ensign to ensign.

>"About twenty-seven minutes, sir!" Kala reported from her place at the
>ops console.

CROW: Where is ops again?
JOEL: On Deep Space Nine.

>It was, Chakotay knew, time to get things started.

TOM: Oh, wait, not yet! Wait until the last possible second!

>If only Kathryn and The Colonel were here, he'd feel a lot better.

JOEL: He also wouldn't have to do anything.

>For now, he'd have to do with a patched together group of ensigns from
>two utterly different watches.

CROW: Pocket and wrist?

>Each trained under totally different standards.

TOM: Digital and analog?

>He knew well that the crew was as unsure of their ability to work
>together as he was,

JOEL: Well, you know what they say: confidence is everything.
CROW: So they're doomed, then?
ALL: Hurrah!

>and only hoped that something would break the rising tension on
>Voyager's bridge.

TOM: [Chakotay] Let's do the -mamba-!

>Needless to say, he was not sure that he could find the words to
>overcome it himself.

JOEL: [Chakotay] Four score and seven years ago ...

>Hopefully, the heat of battle would melt their fears...and his own.

CROW: Or they could just save some time and jump into the smelter's pit
right now.

>"Hail Mr. Winston

ALL: ALL HAIL MR WINSTON!

>aboard Argonaut and tell him to get things moving," he said as he took
>Kathryn's chair,

TOM: Oh, so which chair has he been sitting in all this time?
CROW: They must not have had them labeled before.

>hoping that Winston's report would divert him from worrying about the state
>of Voyager's crew.

JOEL: [Chakotay] So they're going to die, too. Okay, now I'm happy.

>"Captain Winston on the main viewer," Carver reported as Argonaut's
>image was replaced by Winston's purposeful frown.

CROW: It's not just a frown; it's got a purpose!
TOM: A plan!
JOEL: A mission!

>Chakotay wasted no time in coming to the point.
>
>"We're about twenty-six minutes from direct contact with the Kommodans.

TOM: And indirect contact would be what?
CROW: If you breathe out, and they breathe in the same air.
TOM: Ewww! That's almost kissing!
CROW: And just think: everywhere, all over the world, everyone is
indirectly kissing everyone who has ever lived.
TOM: Ewww!
CROW: You could even say that we're kissing right now --
TOM: Arrrrrggghhh!
CROW: -- a deep, passionate --
JOEL: Okay, Crow, that's enough.

>Are you ready over there?"
>
>"Yes Sir, or at least as ready as we'll ever be." Winston reported.

CROW: Last will and testament signed and everything.

>"Ms. Paris tells me that the last of her engineers has beamed back to
>Voyager. She told me to tell you that Mr. Caerey will be in charge down
>in engineering if you need to talk with someone there.

JOEL: [Chakotay] Caerey, I ... I need to talk.
TOM: [Caerey] We're in the middle of a battle, sir. Maybe later?
JOEL: It's times like this, when the shields are down and we're being
boarded by aliens, that I start to wonder whether I chose the
right career path. You know what I mean?
TOM: That's nice, sir. [to invader] Could you kill me now, please?

>All weapons are ready to fire, and Corporal Miller has just installed
>himself on the helm.

CROW: [Winston] Of course, he -is- a third-party program, so tech
support refuses to help us sort out any conflict issues he may
have with the operating system.

>He's got the ship's major systems fairly well automated

TOM: So what is anyone else doing on board, then?
JOEL: The phrase "cannon fodder" keeps going through my mind.

>and tells me that he's ready to take the Starfleet navigator's examination
>if we've got the time."

CROW: The exam would only take twenty minutes?
JOEL: There it is again! What is it with that number?

>"Unfortunately, he'll have to wait until we cansfer him back here
>for that," Chakotay said with a smile.

TOM: Star Trek: where the programs are either mildly amusing or looking
for ways to kill you.
CROW: Or, on occasion, both.

>"Tell him that we'll be happy to make him an officer if he sees you through
>the battle."

JOEL: "If," not "when." Not exactly exuding confidence, is he?

>At this, the screen shifted slightly, showing Miller's horrified face.

CROW: [Corporal] We're going to battle?!

>"I didn't say nuffin' about becommin' a bleedin' officer, Cap'n," the
>scruffy-looking hologram snapped, "I just told 'im that I'd be 'appy to
>take the exam if you wanted me to, Guv'. Honest!."

TOM: This guy drops more consonants than Vanna White.

>"Not necessary," Chakotay laughed. "I trust that you'd do quite well on
>it after all of the time that you've spent in the computers of some of
>Starfleet's best ships."

JOEL: And where, might I ask, did they come into contact with several of
Starfleet's best ships ... when they're thousands of light-years
away?

>Winston retook the screen at this point,

CROW: Playing "King of the Hill" with the remote?

>obviously trying to suppress laughter at the now invisible corporal's antics.

TOM: So the Corporal can turn himself invisible?
JOEL: Well, he is a hologram. Though it would be easier just to shut him
off to achieve the same general effect.

>"I'd not offer him the chance, Sir!" He said straight faced.

CROW: They not only broke the mold when they made Winston, but the
protractor as well.

>"After all, he's seen every Starfleet exam on the subject for at least the
>last century.

TOM: So exams are stored in non-encrypted files just laying about on the
computers?
JOEL: That at least explains everyone's ineptitude. They just hack in,
swipe the exams, and then cheat their way to success.

>There's no question but that he could cheat his way to a perfect score."

CROW: Just like everyone else.

>"True enough," Chakotay agreed over Miller's loud protestations.
>"Hopefully he'll do as well as we expect," Voyager's captain continued,

TOM: Janeway's back?!
ALL: Run for your lives!

>refocusing them on the job at hand.
>
>"Are you ready for operation Trash Box?" he queried,

CROW: Wouldn't that be "Operation: Trash Box"?
JOEL: The letters are gradually becoming capitalized.
TOM: Oh, great. So in another two or three mentions, it's going to
become "OpErAtIoN: TrAsH BoX."
CROW & JOEL: Gahhh!

>not sure that he truly wanted to hear a "yes" in answer to his question.

JOEL: So he'd prefer no plan at all?
CROW: That'd be better than what they've got now.

>Necessary though it might be, starting the operation would irrevocably
>commit him to fighting the Kommodans.

TOM: I think it's a little late for that.
CROW: Once they open fire at you, diplomacy goes right out the window.

>and The Borg as well.

JOEL: The Federation has been fighting the Borg since day one. Like
that's going to change?

>Much as Chakotay might want to use Voyager's superior speed to run away
>from Kommos, he would have to fight both in order to assure himself of
>the ability to return there.

CROW: So he's hoping the fight will endear him to the hearts of the
toilets, so he can return at will?
JOEL: Sounds like it.

>A return that would have to be carried out in order to assure himself and
>Voyager's crew that The Captain hadn't been trapped on a planet whose people
>were far too adept at treachery.

TOM: I thought they were sure the Captain was on a Borg cube.
CROW: Chakotay can't even get basic plot elements right.

>"Yes, Sir!" Winston replied.
>
>"Ms. Abbott has targeted four large vessels whose antimatter load is
>high enough to assure us a sufficiently large explosion.

JOEL: So: they're going to transport live explosives into a ship with a
large amount of highly-reactive material.
TOM: Right.
JOEL: The explosion gets set off, and from what I understand of
matter-antimatter reactions, it will be larger and more powerful
than a nuclear blast.
CROW: Right.
JOEL: So, essentially, the craft will vaporize, leaving little or no
material left to actually create the much-needed debris field.
TOM: Right. Not only that, but there hardly ever seems to be debris
whenever a Star Trek ship is destroyed.
JOEL: So, essentially, their plan was a non-starter from the get-go.
BOTS: Right.
JOEL: Just wanted to get that straight.

>She's also found a few other ships that you might be able to use as heavy
>explosives if you need to.

TOM: How do ships double as heavy explosives?
CROW: Apparently all hulls are explosive by nature.
TOM: And so they think sending out these things loaded with people is a
good idea?
JOEL: No wonder the Federation wins almost every battle.

>She is sending transporter co-ordinates to your tactical board."

CROW: And how are transporter coordinates going to help?
TOM: Maybe they actually heard us, and are going to use them to kamikaze
the Kommodans.

>Carver nodded when the transmission came in and Chakotay repeated the
>gesture for Winston.

JOEL: Everybody bounce your heads!

>"OK, then," Winston sighed.
>
>"We'll be in position in about thirty seconds. After that, Captain, I'm
>not sure if we'll be able to receive you until after the battle.

TOM: That's a likely story.
CROW: Hey, if I were him, I wouldn't want to talk to Chakotay any more
than I'd have to, either.

>Interference from antimatter explosions like the ones that we're setting
>off will probably be fairly heavy."

JOEL: Heavy, dude.
TOM: Groovy, man.
CROW: Like, totally gnarly.

>"Understood," Chakotay said as the main viewer shifted to show Argonaut
>moving toward the centre of the anomaly.

CROW: Hopefully it's nothing like the center of the galaxy.
JOEL: You mean with a god-like being trapped behind a wall of illusion?
TOM: Crow, hit him. He's not supposed to bring up _Star Trek V_.

>Winston continued to describe what Argonaut's sensors were telling him
>as his ship closed on its targets.

JOEL: Oh, so a running commentary.
TOM: So Winston also used to work for a tournament golf course?

>"We're about twenty seconds from energising the transporters.

CROW: Now I'm imagining this being said in a hushed whisper.

>Ms. Paris reports that the warp drive is at full power and Corporal Miller
>has a high warp course laid in.

JOEL: [Winston as golf announcer] It's a beautiful course today, with
seven distinct water traps and a freshly-cut green.

>We'll be able to intercept the Kommodan fleet in three minutes, Mark."

TOM: Who's Mark?
JOEL: The only one who comes to mind is Janeway's long-lost boyfriend.
TOM: But he's supposed to take care of her puppies!

>Kim tapped on his board and a countdown clock appeared on Voyager's main
>viewer.

CROW: Harry Kim IS Casey Casem, counting down to the New Year!

>"Ten seconds to transport," Winston reported, voice quiet with tension.

JOEL: [Winston as golf announcer] He's about to make his putt ... the
Argonaut is a practiced shot, and this drive should be easy for
him ...

>"Good luck, Captain," Chakotay said, offering a brief prayer that his
>shipmates would survive the forthcoming battle.

CROW: [God] Well, okay. But I want a cameo appearance in the next
episode.

>"Thank you, Voyager," Winston replied. "Argonaut wishes you luck as
>well, and reports that transport will commence in five, four, three,
>two, one......."

ALL: HAPPY NEW YEAR!

>Time seemed to stand still for just a moment.

TOM: [Time] Where was I going again? Oh, that's right. Forward.

>Then, with virtually no warning, Voyager was shaking violently.

CROW: Intense camera-waving action!
JOEL: Hey, it looks just like my family's home movies!

>The ship had been caught by the tremendous gravimetric waves

TOM: See, this is what happens when you convert from Imperial to metric.

>caused by the explosion and its interaction with the anomaly's still-
>functioning machinery.

CROW: If you know what causes an anomaly, doesn't it stop being an
anomaly and begin resembling an understood phenomenon?

>Its structure screamed under the unimaginable stress and then blessed
>silence returned.

JOEL: So not only are the about to enter a terrible battle, but their
life-saving plan weakens the ship first.
TOM: And if Voyager was that badly hurt as far away as they were, the
Argonaut must have taken considerable damage.
CROW: To recap: they're doomed.
ALL: Hurrah!

>A silence mirrored by Voyager's bridge crew, all of whom were

TOM: ... brain-dead. Not that this was anything new ...

>staring in amazement at the massive confusion that had broken loose
>throughout the region.

CROW: [nebulae] What am I doing, again? I was floating here, doing
nothing, the explosion hit, and now ... what am I supposed to do?

>Huge chunks of metal span lazily across the view screen

JOEL: [scrap metal] Wheeeeee ...

>in a growing plume of debris, several striking each other,

TOM: Hey, watch where you're going! [sfx] Honk! Honk!

>sometimes breaking into smaller parts, others simply spinning off in new
>directions.

CROW: ... going where no scrap metal had gone before!

>"It worked!" Chakotay breathed. "Harry, take us into the middle of it.

JOEL: So Harry's at the conn now?
TOM: I thought Carver was steering.

>Just don't hit anything!"

CROW: Oh, sure. Plot the course of every random bit of metal, then go
forward.

>
>
>
>Winston's fingers were clutched tightly around the arm rests of
>Argonaut's command chair.

JOEL: I understand he wants to leave his mark, but that's taking it a
bit literally ...

>Miller had redirected the Argonaut as soon as the torpedoes had been beamed
>off. Now the ship was hurtling through space at a bit less than warp 9,

CROW: So, warp eight, then?

>her engines straining mightily to bring her into contact with the Kommodan
>fleet.

TOM: They could just wait for the toilets to come to them.
JOEL: What's that line from Sun Tzu? "Choose your battlefield"?

>"Two minutes from intercept with Kommodans," Miller said, fingers
>working the helm/navigation console far faster than any corporeal being
>could have hoped to.

CROW: If he has a body, doesn't that automatically make him corporeal?

>Though he would have preferred to simply control the ship's functions from
>inside the computer,

JOEL: ... that would have given too much of a "ghost in the machine"
feel.

>too many systems had been separated by either failure or design.

TOM: [engineer] Let's separate these two systems, in case a
semi-sentient computer program takes over the ship and wants to
drive.

>Therefore, he was forced to use the physical controls in order to bridge the
>gaps.

CROW: [author] Get it? "Bridge the gaps"? 'Cause they're on the Bridge?
Laugh! I'm funny, dammit!

>"Very well," Winston acknowledged. "Bridge to photon control room,

JOEL: That must be where they keep all their flashlights.
TOM: Torches.
JOEL: Them, too.

>Ms. Abbott, are you ready?"
>
>"Yes, Captain." she replied, unnerved by the responsibility that she had
>been asked to bear.

CROW: A groundhog, mistaken for a mouse, is asked to bear. They're
running a virtual menagerie, aren't they?

>"All torpedo systems show green."

JOEL: Alright, who splashed Vulcan blood on the controls?

>"Good." Winston said, knowing that more words would only increase her
>nervousness. "You know what to do after we've fired the first
>broadside?"

TOM: The first broadside what?
JOEL: Maybe that's supposed to be "broadsword."
TOM: What's a sword doing in the torpedo tube?

>"Yes, Captain." Abbott's voice replied. "Ms. Torres told me that the
>ship will reload the torpedoes automatically, I only need to arm them
>before you fire."

CROW: So the ship can pull the torpedoes from storage, load them onto a
cart, move them to the tube, put them in, but can't press a button
to arm them?

>"That's right," Winston concurred. "There shouldn't be any problems so
>long as you remember to hit the arming controls as soon as the torpedoes
>are in the tubes.

TOM: And if you do forget, you'll have demonstrated one of the slower
mass drivers in history.

>I'm hoping that we won't need to use the photons

JOEL: Turn off your lights.
CROW: Where available.

>after the first broadside

TOM: ... salvo ...

>, so things should be fairly quiet down there.

CROW: Twiddle your thumbs, sabotage the ship, just stay out of his hair.

>We're a minute away, so buckle in and just hold on."

TOM: They have seat belts?
JOEL: You'd think they'd install those on the bridge, where they're most
needed.

>"I will, sir." Abbott replied, voice shaking. Winston sighed, frustrated

CROW: Still can't find the Captain's porn, eh?

>that he had been forced to take her aboard.

TOM: So beam her off-ship.
JOEL: They're out in the middle of space!
TOM: Her name's apparently too much of a challenge; it's time she died.

>The work with Argonaut's scanners had been good for her

CROW: Massages, spas, and scanning things: the top three relaxing tasks
in the galaxy.

>but she was now in a position that would require her to act and react quickly
>if called on.

TOM: So why put her there? Better yet, why didn't he trade her when they
were near Voyager?

>He doubted that she would be able to do what was needed and only hoped that
>Argonaut's phasers would be enough.

JOEL: Probably not.
TOM: But the wandering plot holes will take care of that.

>It was now time to make sure that everything else was in its place.
>
>"Bridge to Engineering. Ms. Torres, your status?"
>
>"All's fine down here," The Klingon's voice replied.

CROW: Her voice has taken a life of it's own!
TOM: Not only that, but it's killed her human half.

>"Warp engines are running fine and all phasers are ready to fire from
>engineering control.

JOEL: So B'Elanna has control of the phasers?
TOM: I guess so.
JOEL: So what's Winston doing?
CROW: Ordering people around, apparently.

>All extraneous life support is shut down,

TOM: They're saving all the really *good* oxygen for the trip back.

>which should give us a bit of extra power for weapons and shields."

CROW: So extra oxygen equals power?
JOEL: Only if you burn it.

>"How much extra?" Winston asked, pleased that she had been able to
>divert the power.

TOM: Just enough for you to fake your command ability.

>"Oh, enough for 130 percent of standard on phasers and full shields,"
>Torres said smugly.

JOEL: So they're just going to stand there and get hit while delivering
blows.
CROW: Appears so.
JOEL: Evasive maneuvering never crossed their minds?

>"Excellent!" Winston enthused. "We're twenty seconds out, lock down and
>get ready for anything."
>
>"As always, sir." Torres replied, confidently.

TOM: She always locks down?
CROW: You really don't want me to tell you -what- she locks down.

>Winston smiled, closing the link.

JOEL: [Winston] Finally! Damn porn sites and their javascript pop-ups
...

>"Mr. Miller, tactical on the main viewer please."
>
>"Tactical, Aye."
>
>Winston glanced at the viewer's representation of the tactical
>situation.

TOM: The viewer had gotten a bit creative, and was representing Voyager
as a ham sandwich.

>Voyager had relayed its scan of the Commodans' formation

CROW: The who?
JOEL: [singing] There's nothing in the way that I walk that could tell
you where I'm going / There's nothing in the words I speak that
can betray anything I'm knowing / Don't think about the way I
dress, you can fit me on a labeled shelf, / Don't pretend that you
know me 'cause I don't even know myself, / Oooh, I don't know
myself ...
TOM: That defines the author, alright.

>as it closed on the anomoly.

JOEL: Holy anomoly!
TOM: Now served with a side of cajoles!
CROW: Are they going there slowly?
JOEL: Is it guarded by a goalie?
TOM: As long as they're going lowly!

>As a result, he had he had been able to plan

CROW: [Brain] ... to take over the world!

>for what was to come, knowing that he had a number of advantages over
>his numerically superior foe.

JOEL: All the plot holes, for instance.
TOM: The author having created him doesn't hurt, either.

>Argonaut would enter the Commodan

CROW: Who are these guys?
TOM: Not two-thirds through this story, and suddenly we're introduced to
a new species.
JOEL: Apparently "Kommodan" was too close to "commode" for Ray-Ray's
subconscious to bear.
CROW: Yeah, but now it's almost like he's -expecting- us to make a
toilet reference. It's no fun that way.

>sensor range in about three seconds, and would be on them in fifteen.

TOM: Battle tactics from the Borg: piggy-backing the fighting way.

>There were benefits, Winston reflected grimly, to

CROW: ... plot contrivances ...

>advanced technology

CROW: Same difference.

>--even if it was half a century behind the Federation's best.

JOEL: The Federation: we stand behind our technology.
TOM: Except the engines. The possibility of burning to death in the
backwash makes us stand slightly to the side.

>The three Commodan ships that had been sent to chase Voyager down were
>in the classic sloped triangle formation,

CROW: You'd think they'd be sort of rectangular, maybe with a
moon-shaped cutout.

>the lead ship a few thousand kilometers ahead of, and below,

TOM: And behind, and just off to the side, and above.
JOEL: The great thing about fighting omnipresent ships: you can't miss.

>its companions. These were spaced a few thousand kilometers apart, flying
>in a horizontal line

CROW: ... whose up, of course, was Voyager's up, and whose down was
Voyager's orientation, as well.

>from which their forward firing arcs would not interfere with each other.

JOEL: So what's wrong with a vertical line? Or a zig-zag? Or a cube? Or
any other geometrical shape?
TOM: Like a pentagram?
CROW: Yes! Ward off evil foes with the dreaded pentagram formation!
JOEL: Call up demons and elementals in your spare time!

>"Mr. Miller, you have the helm, take her in as we planned it," Winston
>said,

TOM: [Miller] Yes, sir. Running away screaming even now, sir.

>fingers tightening on the arms of the captain's chair.

JOEL: In some cases, that's even worse than backseat driving.

>"Aye, Guv'nor," Miller said.

CROW: Governor, Captain, Ensign; these guys give out titles like candy.
TOM: Oooo, spearment-flavoured commander!

>Even the hologram's voice seemed to tighten as the Federation ship
>closed on its unsuspecting targets.

JOEL: Unsuspecting?!
TOM:[Kommodan] Sir, there's a ship approaching us, shields up, weapons
armed.
CROW: [other Kommodan] Ship, ship ... that word sounds familiar, but I
don't know what that is.
TOM: A large thingy, sir, with people inside who want to see us dead.
CROW: Oh, a *ship*! Well, why didn't you say so!
TOM: Er, sir?
CROW: Yes?
TOM: It's coming closer.
CROW: Think nothing of it.

>"Commodan sensors have us," Winston said,

JOEL: Well, that battle was quick.
TOM: End of the fanfic can't be that far off, then.

>looking at the centre seat's tactical repeater.

CROW: ... which was living up to it's name, and was caught in an endless
loop.

>"Commencing starboard evasive," Miller shouted as the ship bucked hard,

ALL: [rodeo cowboy] Yeeeeeeeeeeeeha!

>swinging to the right and decelerating at the same time.

TOM: [Miller] Whoops. Stalled.

>Engines screaming,

CROW: With a British writer, you'd think the engines would be more
civilised.
JOEL: [engines, British accent] Excuse me, but do you have any Grey
Poupon?

>the big ship slid

TOM: Because space is wet, ladies and gentlemen.

>down and to the right, shooting past the Commodans at a bit less than warp
>five.

JOEL: In other words, warp four.

>Winston fired its phasers,

CROW: Dammit, Winston has lost his sex, too.
TOM: Should we look for it as we might a contact?
JOEL: [Winston] Nobody move! I've just lost my gender!

>clipping the right-most Commodan ship

TOM: ... and saving it in his scrapbook.

>but doing no damage.
>
>"Coming around," Miller reported,

CROW: ... smelling salts in hand.

>as the ship spun to the left, inertial stabilisers struggling to hold against
>the crushing forces exerted by the manoeuver.

JOEL: They didn't say anything about the inertial dampers being
repaired.
TOM: They didn't say much of anything about the things being repaired.
CROW: Would you prefer an item-by-item list?
JOEL: Well, no. But there are enough plot contrivances already without
compounding them by omission.

>"Moving up between the after-most ships, Cap'n," Miller shouted

TOM: Is it just me, or is he making less sense than usual?
JOEL: After-most ships are a lot like after-dinner mints, except in
battle formation.
TOM: Minty-flavoured-death?

>a few seconds later. "Coming into position for attack on forward ship."

CROW: [sfx of someone being slapped] Fresh!

>Winston watched the main viewer, eyes

TOM: ... glazing over as he caught up on his favourite soap opera.

>flicking down to his tactical repeater

CROW: ... rifle ...

>as Argonaut slid between the ships at the rear of the Commodan
>triangle.

JOEL: Look! It's an Argonaut-Kommodan sandwich!
TOM: So warriors in an outhouse between two slices of bread? I'll pass.

>If Miller could hold things just right,

CROW: ... he might finally master that juggling technique!
JOEL: Sadly, he's trying to juggle a single ball with the optimum number
of hands.

>the Commodan ships at the base of the triangle

TOM: Had a distance between each other equal to the other two sides.
CROW: ... if an equilateral.
TOM: And had a distance equal to one of the other two sides if
isosceles.

>wouldn't be able to fire at Argonaut as they would risk hitting each other
>if they missed.

JOEL: Hence the wonderful invention of "laser sights."
TOM: Of course, if the dwarves are any indication, they're using a hall
of mirrors to track their targets.

>It wouldn't take more than a few seconds for them to adjust, but he would get
>enough time to shoot at the painfully unprotected lead ship.

CROW: [Dr Smith] Oh, the pain, the pain!

>Hitting it with a full broadside from behind.

TOM: But if they're facing them, wouldn't it be a *front*side?
JOEL: Don't dwell in the author's mind too long, Servo.

>Before Miller could tell him that they had found their position, his finger
>stabbed down on the phaser and photon controls.

CROW: I thought Winston was in charge of weapons.

>Argonaut's awesome weapons

JOEL: [Bill] Awesome, dude!
TOM: [Ted] Totally gnarly!

>unleashed a withering storm of fire into the Commodan battleship.

CROW: ... where it made a terrible mess on the carpet.
JOEL: See, this is what happens when you don't train your storms of fire
to go in the sandbox like all the -other- means of destruction.

>The Federation vessel's torpedoes crashed into the Commodan's shields,

TOM: A lightpost, a fire hydrant, and finally into a police cruiser.

>doing notable damage. Argonaut's phasers, which were being fired

CROW: Really? No kidding?
JOEL: Let him finish the sentence ...

>at far above maximum power levels

JOEL: You see? Actual semi-pertinent information.
TOM: You know, when they talk of "blow-by-blow accounts" of battles, I
don't think many imagined this level of boring detail.

>tore into the weakened shielding, blasting it into flaring submission.

CROW: So, while this is going on, let's see if we can get a full account
of what's happening.
JOEL: Okay.

>Moments later, the unprotected Commodan ship had lost its starboard warp
>nacelle.

CROW: Voyager fled a battle that consists of, apparently, all of three
Kommodan ships, who, in mid-flight, changed to Commodan ships.
JOEL: Right.
TOM: Ships so mind-blowingly incapable and piloted by brain-dead
enemies, that were so initially frightening that Chakotay turned
tail and ran.
JOEL: Right.

>While rebalancing the warp field of such a ship might be possible, Winston
>knew that it would take many hours to complete the task, nor would they be
>taking a great part in the battle.

CROW: There was a mild bit of sabotage that bordered on interesting, but
it was killed rather quickly.
TOM: Then Voyager dives into a convenient nebulae, where, even more
conveniently, they find another Federation vessel ... which just
happens to be repairable.
CROW: And, with this ancient tech, they are able to soundly defeat the
Kommodans, now the Commodans, in a long-winded battle. With, might
I add, a considerably disappointing tally of redshirts dead.
JOEL: Right.

>For now, he could ignore it and move onto the other ships, one
>of which had twisted out of position and was now firing its powerful
>plasma weapons.....

CROW: So my point, Joel, is this: what exactly is this "Trouble of
Dwarves" that the title alludes to?
TOM: It seems more like a "Mild Annoyance of Dwarves," or even "Just
Another Almost-Interesting Episode, If Not For All the Plot Holes."
JOEL: I think you guys just need to relax.
TOM: I'll relax when the Corporal is erased, Winston's dead, and
Chakotay gets his spleen served to him on a silver platter by the
Borg.
JOEL: Breathe, Tom. Breathe.
CROW: And now, back to the story.
TOM: ... such as it is.

>"Hold on," Winston cried, trying to retarget the phasers in hopes of
>shooting down the plasma bolt before it struck.

CROW: Isn't that akin to trying to shoot a bullet out of the air?

>His shot went wide, spearing out into open space.

TOM: My deity in sweet heaven! These characters -aren't- infallible
after all!
JOEL: Quick, someone check the temperature in Hell!

>Fortunately, Miller had also noticed the threat

CROW: Hold on, guys. You might want to cancel that winter wonderland
holiday in Dante's Inferno -- we've got plot contrivances, coming
in fast.

>and his incredibly fast reflexes brought Argonaut through a sharp evasive.
>He succeeded in evading the first bolt,

TOM: These dwarves couldn't hit the broadside of a barn ...

>but his inexperience led the great ship directly into the path of the next.

TOM: ... unless, of course, if the barn is driven by a moron.

>Fired at such close range no shields in the galaxy could completely
>contain the crushing blow.

JOEL: ... except ours! Buy Today! Shields so firm, you can bounce a
quarter off them!
CROW: If this turns into the longest advert of all time, I'm going to
seriously consider homicide.
TOM: Forget homicide; that would call for all-out thermonuclear warfare.

>The plasma bolt struck the underside of the saucer section,

CROW: So the Argonaut was relatively upside-down?
JOEL: That's impossible. Everyone knows that Star Trek rules say that
all ships have to have the same orientation.
CROW: So the bolt must have been a ricochet.
TOM: Off the vacuum of space?
CROW: If a starship can slide, skid, and scream, a shot can ricochet.

>sending Winston flying.

JOEL: [Calvin] Wheee! [Pause] Houston, we have a negative on that
orbital trajectory.

>At the helm Miller flickered for a moment as the power dipped.

TOM: But isn't Miller using the mobile emitter?
CROW: And doesn't the mobile emitter have its own power source?

>"Starboard shields are down, Sir!"

CROW: Erm, how does that work, when they were hit from underneath?

>Miller reported to a still dazed Winston as he staggered back to the tactical
>console.

JOEL: [Winston] Turns out I -can't- fly, no matter what the author says.

>"Major breaches decks 9 to 15. Think it exploded on deck 12, Sir."

TOM: I thought the whole idea of missiles and torpedoes was that they
exploded on impact?
CROW: But these are special suppository-bolts from the Commodans!
Designed to go right up to where you don't want them, and deliver
the goods!

>"B'Elanna, I need starboard shields!" Winston demanded, working
>feverishly at his panel, much of the targeting array had failed as well.

JOEL: There's a lack of proper punctuation there, but I'll be damned if
I can find out where.

>In engineering, B'Elanna Paris struggled past the console that had
>shifted in the explosion to examine the readouts.

TOM: The explosion must have also shifted the author's perception of
run-on sentences.
CROW: What moved where? The readouts are in which console? How?

>"Not a chance," she responded to Winstons curt demand.

JOEL: And she did it curtly, at that.

>"Every power relay on that side of the ship has gone.

CROW: So hit the underside, the starboard shields are gone. So where do
they have to hit to bring down the port shields?
TOM: Good question. The top, maybe?
CROW: Who wired this ship together? M.C. Escher?

>I'm redirecting power to give you phasors."

JOEL: So lack of power allows her to give more power. I'll have to
remember that come the next blackout, so I can charge dead
batteries.

>"Abbott, are the torpedoes still operational?" Winston tried, slamming
>the panel in frustration.

CROW: Whoops. Just fired phasers.
JOEL: That's okay; they're in a battle. With Winston's luck, they
probably scored a direct hit.

>"The tubes are loaded," Ensign Abbotts shaky voice reported. "But the
>loaders have got stuck."

TOM: So the loaders loaded, but locked when loading? Or got stuck
-after- loading?

>"Free them," Winston demanded. "Miller don't show a starboard side to
>them again.

JOEL: Better yet, why not just avoid going down a gauntlet like that
again?

>Bring us around for a second shot."

CROW: ... of tequila!

>Miller had already anticipated the first command, but was taken by
>surprise by the second.

TOM: [Miller] Error. Stack overflow.

>He had thought that the Ensign had been the Colonels prodigy until now.

JOEL: I wonder if that's anything like the Colonel's chickens?
TOM: [trying it]"We do ensigns right!" [pause] No, that's just sick.

>He glanced over his shoulder. "Can't do both, Sir."

CROW: What's so difficult about it? Swing around so you present the port
side!

>"We need to regain momentum, or we'll be sitting ducks," he explained
>quickly to the outraged look.

JOEL: Isn't that more or less what Winston said, though?
TOM: Well, his exact words were to prevent the starboard side from being
shown, and to come 'round for a second pass. To be fair, he didn't
actually say anything about *moving*.
JOEL: There's still plenty of room for interpretation.

>"No sense in being the coconuts in the shy."

CROW: What in the who in the where?
TOM: No MENSA in the beings on high?
JOEL: No cents in the bank in the sky?
CROW: No avocados allowed in the pie?
TOM: No peanuts and tuna on rye?

>As if to prove the point

JOEL: You mean the point of the nonsensical comment? Yes, I thought that
was odd, too.

>another plasma bolt struck, this time glancing off the port shields.

TOM: Turns out those rubber insoles were a good investment.

>"Get me a shot!" Winston roared. "Now!"
>
>"Sir!"

CROW: "When Starfleet Hires Alcoholics," next on Jerry Springer!

>Applying full power, Miller pushed the Argonaut forward, rolling as he
>did so

JOEL: Well, that must have looked a might odd.
TOM: Well, he is part of the ship, and the ship's on fire, so ...
CROW: Isn't it nice when you find a fire safety message hidden in a
story?

>to avoid the plasma bolts directed at the ship as she staggered away.

TOM: Drunk captain, drunk ship.

>Barely sixty seconds later he was reefing

JOEL: First a fire safety message, now a plea to legalize marijuana.
CROW: Talk about your ups and downs.

>her around again to point at the enemy.
>
>"Coming bow on to nearest Kommode ship, Sir,"

TOM: Hey, they got the "K" back!
ALL: Hurrah!

>he declared. "No deflection, so manual targeting will work."

CROW: "Deflection"?
JOEL: It means they aren't doing any evasive maneuvers; it's an easy
shot.
CROW: Geez, so why not just say, "Here's an easy one, lardass?"

>Winston glared at him

TOM: [Winston] I'm not a lardass; I'm big-boned!

>as he worked course corrections to find the little corporal correct.

CROW: [Winston] Hey, he must be a main character or something!

>The Kommodes were still turning to intercept, without the Argonauts advantage
>of momentum they were slower to respond.

JOEL: Shouldn't he be doing something important right about now, like
firing?

>They could still fire though and the glowing orbs of plasma were already
>sailing towards them.

TOM: Like little toy remote-controlled boats -- of DEATH!

>Winston tried to ignore them.

CROW: [Winston] I'm too cute to die.

>Manual targeting was more likely to succeed at shorter ranges and he needed
>his weapons to do serious damage.

JOEL: As opposed to tickling them, which was only humourous damage.

>He counted to ten, then stabbed at the fire controls.

TOM: In response, the sprinkler head above him turned on.

>As soon as the torpedoes left their launcher Miller was again hauling
>the Argonaut away,

CROW: Over his shoulder?
JOEL: I hope he lifted it properly. It's all in the legs, you know.

>desperately trying to avoid the rapidly approaching bolts.

TOM: [Miller] No, not an offshoot political party!
JOEL & CROW: Huh?
TOM: You guys really need to work on your vocabulary skills.

>He almost made it, most passing harmlessly behind the Argonaut as he
>hauled her upwards.

CROW: So he moved the ship up, making the shots pass behind. Neat trick.

>One wandered off course and slid past the damaged shields and struck the
>engineering section.

TOM: I thought they were trying to limit exposure to their port side.
JOEL: Right. So the shot went around the ship and hit where it would do
the most damage.
TOM: This is starting to sound like a JFK conspiracy theory.

>As it exploded sending the ship reeling, Miller sensed the drive
>failing.

CROW: [Miller] I sense a disturbance in the Force.

>"Loosing impulse,"

JOEL: Well, you shouldn't do that. It'll get into everything, and knock
down the Christmas tree.

>he managed to splutter.

TOM: Eww, spit!
CROW: Say it, don't spray it!
JOEL: [passes out towels] Here you go, guys.

>His image flickered and died.

TOM: I would hereby like to bring up the bit about the mobile emitter
again, and the fact that it houses its own power supply.
JOEL: Plot contrivance and objection to such has been noted.
CROW: Still, it was nice to see him die, even temporarily.
TOM: Yes, very.

>About the same instant Argonauts torpedoes struck the Kommodan
>battleship. On his own, transfixed by the spectacle, Winston could only
>watch as plumes of fire and smoke gushed towards him.

CROW: So where are the other two ships?
JOEL: Lost without their leader, I suppose.

>The shields must have been dropped for another salvo for the torpedoes to
>do that much damage, he reasoned.

TOM: [author] Quick, explain away the Deus Ex Machina before anyone
notices!

>Two minutes later Miller flickered back into life at his seat.

CROW: How?
JOEL: His mobile emitter must have ignored the laws of gravity so he
could emerge properly.
CROW: Either that, or he's now wearing it on his butt.

>"Sorry, Sir.

TOM: I wish -our- computer would apologize every time it crashed.
MAGIC VOICE: I never crash!

>A few relays blew in the last strike. I've diverted power.

JOEL: Through relays with actual fuses, or is that too much to ask?

>Lieutenant Paris is bringing impulse on line, but its hell down there"
>he reported circumspectly.

CROW: "Circumspectly"?
JOEL: Just break down the word, Crow. "Circ" comes from "circle," "ums"
comes from "tums," and "pectly" comes from good exercise. So he
reported when he got around to it, sometime between eating tums
and exercising.

>Winston ignored him and continued to stare at the Kommodan battleship,
>as it began to swing around towards his own ship,

TOM: You mean the one destroyed? The one with critical damage? The one
that probably just lost power?

>explosions now clearly visible over her upper flanks

JOEL: A ship with legs?
CROW: And what legs! [wolf whistles]

>as well as from her mauled side.

TOM: "When Starships Attack," next on Fox!

>The Kommodans couldn't escape, their ship was in its death throes. Their
>manoeuvres could mean only one thing.

JOEL: That they have Tom Petty on board?
CROW: They've run out of sour cream?
TOM: They need to go shopping?

>"Suicide!!!!" He cried, leaping from his chair and diving for the helm.

CROW: That must be where he carries the sacrificial knife for just such
an emergency.

>Fortunately, Miller had figured out the enemy captain's plans at the
>same moment

TOM: [Miller] Now that's odd. Why would I care if they had Tom Petty on
board?

>and was struggling to bring Argonaut through an incredibly tight turn,
>slamming items both big and small all over the ship.

CROW: [Miller] You suck! And you stink! And you're too big!

>They crashed about the ship,

JOEL: Who did? Winston and Miller?
TOM: They're the only ones immediately available.

>the low rumble caused by their impacts against her superstructure in
>counterpoint to the scream of the mighty vessel's engines.

CROW: If it wasn't in the middle of a battle, it would almost be a
symphony.
TOM: Save for the vacuum of space, of course.

>Winston stared in mute horror

JOEL: Ack! Winston's a mime!
TOM: Quick, kill him!

>as he held onto the navigator's seat, feet literally flying above the deck

CROW: [Winston] Dang it, my feet grew wings again. Who am I? Hermes?

>as a result of the inability of the intertial dampers to handle Miller's
>manoeuvre.

TOM: Flying feet is a small price to pay compared to, say, being crushed
into a bloody goo.

>The viewer showed the Kommodan ship bearing down on them, its captain
>determined to gain a victory.

CROW: This must be some strange new definition of the word "victory" of
which I was not previously aware.

>His crew's lives would be lost, but Argonaut's superior technology had ensured
>this in any case.

JOEL: Maybe your fellow men-at-arms back home will be smart enough to
send more than three lousy ships next time.

>It was obvious that Winston's opponent had decided that ramming was now his
>only option.

TOM: "Winston's opponent," notice. Forget Miller, forget B'Elanna or
Abbott; we now know who the true hero in this story is.
CROW: As if we had any doubt before?

>Winston closed his eyes,

JOEL: [Winston] If I can't see it, it can't get me!

>fully expecting not to open them again. Miller cursed, his holographic fingers
>literally buzzing over the helm console as he sought to minimise the contact.

TOM: So he's trying not to touch the console, then?
CROW: *I'm* trying not to read the story.
JOEL: That's okay; looks like we're done for now, anyway.

[Joel picks up Tom and they file out]

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