MSTed: Stephen Ratliff's "Falling Into Command". (1/6)

[JAREK]

"I think i have plot, my ENGL 309 teach thinks at least FIC has plot,
same on charactor developement."

-- Stephen Ratliff, posted to rec.arts.tv.mst3k.misc on Feb. 10, 1997


Stephen Ratliff's "Falling Into Command" was MSTed by:

Jarek Myszewski (V335...@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu) (editor)
Merritt Stone (howi...@pixi.com)
Badger (bad...@infinet.com)
Kevin Gowen (kgo...@efn.org)

Contributing writer: Carrie Dahlby (dah...@augsburg.edu)


[Opening sequence]


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


[Bridge of the Satellite of Love. Mike is here, looking around with a
confused look on his face.]

MIKE: Crow! Where is that little... Oh, hi folks! Welcome to the Satellite
of Love. I was just looking for Crow, he's got some explaining to do
about some magazines I found in his room.... CROW!!! Where the heck
did he get to.... [Looks up at the ceiling] Computer! Location of
Crow T. Robot?

MAGIC VOICE: Crow T. Robot is not on board the Satellite of Love.

MIKE: Okay, well that explains why... HUH?!?

[Tom Servo wanders in, whistling a tune.]

TOM SERVO: Oh, hi Mike!

MIKE: Tom, I don't suppose you know where Crow went?

TOM SERVO: Oh yeah! He said he was headed off to section G-14 on the outer
hull. Said he wanted to face the sun, lie back, soak up some rays
and get a nice golden tan.

MIKE: Servo... Crow already IS a nice golden tan!

TOM SERVO: Well, you know, you *try* to tell him these things, but does he
listen? NooooOOOOooooooo...

MIKE: *Sigh* Well, we've gotta get him back here before...

[At this point a crash is heard. The lights dim briefly, the camera shakes
and a rotating light near the door turns on.]

MIKE: What was THAT?!

[Gypsy enters quickly]

GYPSY: Warning! Warning! We've been hit by a meteor! We've sustained minor
structural damage, and heat shields in section G-14 have failed! No
one is to go near that section until repairs are complete!

MIKE: G-14? What a coincidence! That's where Crow went to... GYPSY!!!
Crow's in that section right now! On the outer hull!

GYPSY: Oh dear.

MIKE: Cambot, give me Rocket #9 and zoom in on section G-14!

[Exterior view. Crow is lying back on the hull of the ship wearing Hawaiian
patterned bathing trunks and sunglasses with a bottle of suntan lotion
nearby. The lotion bottle, the sunglasses and Crow are all visibly
deforming in the heat.]

MIKE [offscreen]: Crow! You've gotta come back in, buddy! The heat shields
have failed and you're starting to melt! Come on!

[Crow moves his mouth as if to speak, but no words come out. He tries to
sit up, but his back stretches like taffy and he is pulled back to a lying
position.]

TOM SERVO [offscreen]: No good, Mike! He's stuck to the hull!

MIKE [offscreen]: Hang on, Crow! I'm deploying the manipulator arms!

[The MANOS manipulator arms from MST3K: The Movie extend from the SOL. One
hand is carrying a spatula which scrapes Crow off the hull.]

[Bridge of the SOL.]

[Mike takes off the gloves that control the manipulator arms and rushes to
the airlock by the main doors. He opens the airlock.]

MIKE: Crow? Speak to me, buddy! Are you all right?

[With a guttural rasp and a hellish screech, Crow emerges from the airlock.
He is burned almost as black as his evil twin brother Timmy, his form is
distorted from its original shape, and melted plastic dangles like icicles
from every part of him. He looks like he spent too much time in a microwave
oven. Gypsy gasps at the sight of him.]

TOM SERVO: My God... Mike, what happened to him?!?

MIKE: Crow's been turned into...

[Mike, Tom and Gypsy all turn towards the camera]

MIKE, TOM & GYPSY: ... THE INCREDIBLE MELTING BOT!!!

[The commercial sign light flashes as Tom screams because Crow has just
leaped on top of him with a hideous roar...]

[Commercials. Foreigny-looking people slowly back away from crazed teenagers
who appear to be under the influence of drug-laced breath mints.]

[Bridge of the SOL. Tom and Gypsy are trying to get to Crow, but Mike is
standing in the way with his arms stretched out as though to shield Crow
from harm.]

TOM SERVO: Out of the way! Lemme at him!!!

GYPSY: He is evil! He must be *destroyed*!!!

[The Mads light flashes.]

MIKE: No! Don't hurt him! I'm Mike Nelson! I'M MIKE NELSON!!!

[Crow growls like an angry hellbeast as the scene changes to...]

[Deep 13]

[Dr. Forrester is watching the chaos on the SOL with amusement.]

DR. F: Hello Homeboys in Outer Space! Looks like your friend forgot his
2,000,000 sunblock and had himself a *really* *bad* *day*! [Dr. F.
chuckles evilly at this.] Speaking of bad days, I think I'm going
to have one of those myself after I break the news to Mother.
I'm just not sure how to tell her...

MRS. F [offscreen]: Tell me what, Clayton?

[Mrs. Forrester walks onscreen, places her hands on her hips and stares at
Clayton expectantly. Dr. F. braces himself.]

DR. F: *Sigh* All right... Mother, I don't think that what I'm doing right
now is working out. I just feel like I've done everything possible
to take over the world from down here and I'm not getting the results
I've been looking for. I need to try something new and different. So
I've decided to move on to other challenges. Mother... I'm leaving
Deep 13.

[Mrs. Forrester stares for a little while, shocked at the news.]

MRS. F: I see. So this is how you reward your faithful mother, hm? *This*
is the thanks I get for standing by you and supporting you all those
years, helping you to be the best mad scientist you could be? Huh?
May I remind you, Clayton Deborah-Susan Forrester, that without *me*
you wouldn't even *be* here, let alone have a successful career in a
prestigious research lab? You owe everything you are now to me,
Clayton! And now you want to run off, chuck it all and abandon me???
I think that shows a real lack of consideration, Clayton!

DR. F: Now, Mother, try to understand....

MRS. F: Understand? Oh, I understand, all right! You've got some neurons
misfiring in that head of yours, and now you've turned against your
poor, dear mother!

DR. F: Mother, that's just not true!

MRS. F: Well, that's my opinion! Are you telling me that my opinion is
wrong? Let me tell you something about the nature of opinions, young
man! First of all, they're purely subjective, so they can't be
proven or disproven...

[SOL]

[Gypsy and Tom look on as Mike applies ointment to Crow. Crow isn't as
burned and melted as he was before, but he still shows signs of pain as Mike
tends to him.]

MIKE: See guys? A little calamine lotion and he's good as new! I told you
he wasn't evil!

CROW [Bill Corbett voice]: Ouch! Well, no more than I ever was before,
anyway....

GYPSY: Crow, your voice sounds...

CROW [Bill Corbett voice]: ... different? Yeah, I guess it does. Must be
some damage to my voice synthesizer. Like I don't
have enough going wrong today... OUCH! Be careful
on that spot, will ya?

MIKE: Sorry.

TOM SERVO: Crow, I *told* you it was dangerous out there! You almost ended
up like Frosty the Snowman in a sauna!

CROW [Bill Corbett voice]: Yeah, well, I've been melted down before, it's no
big deal, really... hey, what's got Pearl so
worked up down there?

[Deep 13]

MRS. F [angrily]: ... so I think I've adequately proven that my opinions
cannot be disproven!

DR. F: Is that your opinion, Mother?

MRS. F: Don't you *dare* backtalk to *me*, Clayton! I brought you into this
world, and I'll take you *out*! Who put these ideas into your head,
Clayton?! Did some Sci-Fi rep come along and give you info on a
better deal? Did some comic book company tempt you with a better
offer? Clayton... has your dog been telling you what to do again?

DR. F [frustrated]: Mother... look, I haven't got time for this! I've got a
job interview to get to, and my taxi's waiting outside!
And when I'm ruling the world without your help, *I'LL*
be laughing! Me! ME!!! Goodbye, Mother!

[Dr. Forrester stomps to the door, exits, starts to close the door, then
leans his head back inside.]

DR. F: Oh, and one more thing... SHAVE YOUR MOUSTACHE!!!

[Dr. Forrester ducks back outside and slams the door behind him. Mrs.
Forrester reaches up to touch the area above her mouth briefly.]

MRS. F: OooooOOOOOHHHHH!!! That Clayton can be *so* aggravating! You know,
you try to raise them right, you try to make them as evil as you can,
and what happens? They run off and betray you! Who would have
thought that... [looks at camera as though noticing it for the first
time] AAAAAaaaahhhh!!! How long have *you* been up there?!
Listening in and spying on a mother in turmoil? Well, I'll teach you
to eavesdrop on *me*....

[SOL]

CROW: But... we didn't...
TOM SERVO: We weren't trying to...
MIKE: It's not like you think...
GYPSY: You don't think that we were...

[Deep 13]

MRS. F: ENOUGH!!! The only whining I want to hear out of you is your cries
of agony as you watch today's experiment! [Picks up a clipboard
from control panel and looks at it] I see my Clayton had a 28-hour
Pauly Shore marathon scheduled for you, but I'm not going to let you
off *that* easily! Oh no! *You're* going to watch Stephen Ratliff's
latest literary triumph... it's called Falling Into Command but it
feels more like falling into a vat of live lobsters! Oh, and just so
you know... Ratliff's English professor gives this one two and a half
stars! And just in case *that's* not enough to bring you to your
knees and beg me for mercy, I'm going to throw a short at you too!
Enjoy your pitiful lives while you still can, you peeping eyes in the
sky!

[Mrs. Forrester stabs her finger down on the button.]

[SOL]

[Crow looks almost completely back to normal now.]

CROW [Bill Corbett voice]: I don't think she likes me anymore.

[Lights flash, buzzers buzz and pandemonium erupts.]

MIKE: Better get over it, Crow... 'CAUSE WE'VE GOT RATLIFF SIGN!!!


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


[Inside the theater]

TOM SERVO: Are you okay, Crow? You look a little stiff or something....
CROW: Yeah? Let's see how free and easy *you* move after getting massive
third degree burns!
MIKE: C'mon, guys... save it for the fanfic.

[Mike and the bots sit down]

CROW: At least she's letting us warm up with a short before the pain REALLY
hits....

>Path: acsu.buffalo.edu!news.acsu.buffalo.edu!news.clt.bellsouth.net!news.
> mem.bellsouth.net!hammer.uoregon.edu!zephyr.texoma.net!uunet!in3.uu.
> net!192.35.48.11!hearst.acc.Virginia.EDU!newslink.runet.edu!not-for-
> mail

TOM SERVO: Something about that path looks familiar... No! It CAN'T be!

>From: srat...@runet.edu (Stephen Ratliff)

ALL: AAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGHHHHHH!!!!
TOM SERVO: DAMN YOU, Mrs. Forrester! DAMN YOU TO HELL!!!
CROW: Mike... you should have let me melt.

>Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative
>Subject: NEW Dear Isabella I [G] (TNG) 1/1
>Date: 15 Feb 1997 22:01:06 GMT
>Organization: Radford University
>Lines: 57
>Message-ID: <5e5bn2$m...@newslink.runet.edu>

MIKE: Absolutely *no one* will be admitted during the spine-tingling message
header scene.

>Title: Dear Isabella I
>Author: Stephen Ratliff (srat...@runet.edu)
>Series: TNG
>Rating: [G]
>Part: 1/1
>
>This is what I believe will be a series of Diary enteries set in my
>Marrissa Stories Series.

CROW: *groan* I hope this is an idea that doesn't catch on.

> I hope you enjoy these really shorts.

TOM SERVO: Stephen Ratliff: boldly going where no grammar-checker has gone
before.

>
>Stephen

>_______________________________________________________________________
>| |
>| ________ |
>| \/ / D E A R / / / |
>| ___ / __ __ / __ / / __ |
>| / / /_ __/ /\ /_/ / / __/ |
>| \__/ __/ /_/ /_/ /__ / / /_/ * |
>| ' |
>|_____________________________________________________________________|
>
>Dear Isabella,

CROW [as Clara]: I still want a real word processor. My cheesy ascii-art
letters are almost unreadable.

>
> I know you're not real, but sometimes I need someone to talk to.

MIKE [as Clara]: I've been pretty lonely since the new medication made the
voices in my head go away.

>Counselor Troi says that talking to you isn't bad unless it's done to
>excess. She says many officers use a personal log like I use you.

TOM SERVO: Personally, I'd like to use a log on Stephen Ratliff.

> I
>told her that my log has more personality.

CROW: But then again, that's what Margaret on _Twin Peaks_ used to say.

> She smiled and

MIKE [as Clara]: ... gave me a hard rubber puck to bite on as she gently
placed the electroshock apparatus on my temples.

> said that's
>certainly true.
> I like Counselor Troi.

CROW [as Clara]: She's the best court-appointed psychiatrist I've ever had.

> She's going me involved in many fun
>things.

TOM SERVO [as Clara]: Like having me look at funny ink blots on cards and
then letting me out of that room with mattress pads
covering the walls if I've been really good.

> I especially like the fantasy design class.

CROW [as Clara]: Thinking up new ways for Marrissa Picard to die in horrible
agony sure is fun.

> The other people
>in my class don't seem to take the real world into account.

MIKE [as Clara]: Fortunately, the real world has never been one of my
problems.

> Like
>Captain Scott said in my textbook,

TOM SERVO [as Scott]: Aye, Cap'n, I didna ken fgne ha scrmpah wha' hae,
laddie!

> "You can't change the laws of
>physics." Troi says it's just for fun.

CROW [as Clara]: That's what they'll all think until Marrissa's face is
shredded with a thousand steel spikes from the exploding
booby trap concealed in her grapefruit! Bwa ha ha ha!

> I say you can still have fun
>without changing the universe.

MIKE: If Ratliff kept this in mind every time he wrote one of his damn fool
Marrissa stories, we'd all be a lot better off.

> Of course that's probably just my dad's
>influence, I'm his little Engineer.

TOM SERVO: And this whole Marrissa Universe is a train wreck.

> Go to go ... Counselor Troi wants me to go to

CROW [as Clara]: ... yet another group therapy session.

> a picnic and Dad's
>insisting

MIKE [as Clara]: ... that I be locked up again for my own protection.

>
> ____
> / |/ / Your Friend,

CROW: Mrs. Bates
MIKE: Dolores Claiborne
TOM SERVO: Lizzie Borden

> / / _ _
> | / / | /_ / |
> \___/ /\_/\/\/ /_/\/\/
>

CROW: This fanfic is just like Dr. Forrester: short and ugly!

[Commercials. Feminine hygiene products share the next two minutes and two
seconds with imported beer salesmen singing at the top of their lungs.]

[Continued in Part 2]