MSTed: "Way of Harmony" 2/3
Lynsa
Your Host: Lynsa
And now, part two of DynaYellow's delightful MSTed Star Trek: DS9 fanfic,
"Way of Harmony." Enjoy.
_______________
> U.S.S. Enterprise. Captains Log: Stardate 34804.4; Captain Xander
>Coerforam
TOM: Make your own adventures with the Coerforam press-on
playset.
>recording. The probe we encountered three hours ago while enroute
>to Outpost 23 still appears to be of completely alien origin. We have
>been unable to translate or even parametrize the signal it is
>transmitting.
>I consider it unlikely to be Romulan, but we are too close to the
>Neutral Zone to chance not investigating it completely. First Officer
>Sisko has been personally leading a science team in an attempt to
>analyze it and decode its transmissions.
TOM: Is this a flashback?
MIKE: Uh... I dunno.
> Captain Coerforam swings in his chair to the bridge science station.
CROW: Then back around to the view screen. Wheeeeeee!
>Number One, status report.
MIKE: Well, Iąve been having this burning sensation--
> Sir, the signal is completely alien. It does not correspond to any
>known Romulan code or encryption, or resemble anything
>encountered before.
> Is the signal repeating?
> It hasnt in the past three hours.
TOM: Okay, enoughąs enough! Is this an alternate universe where
apostrophes donąt exist?
> Coerforam kneads his chin, perhaps a few moments too long.
CROW: What the hell does _that_ mean?
>We cant
TOM: Thievesą Cant?
> let ourselves be led off the mark here. It might be
>coincidence that we find this thing so close to the Neutral Zone; or it
>may be a decoy. In either case we have to rededicate our sensors to
>long range scanning of the Zone and get underway again to Outpost
>23.
> I remind the Captain
MIKE: Of his first wife.
> that one of our primary missions is scientific
>discovery. Whatever the probe is, I believe the wisest course is
>complete investigation of it.
> Continue your analysis, Commander.
> Aye, Sir...but we may not have long, regardless.
TOM: Then what the hell are you busting my butt about scientific
discovery for!?
> What do you mean?
> The probes power source is showing signs of instability. Signal
>coherence is breaking up.
CROW: Tell *us* about it! Sheesh!
> The decision to fully analyze it may soon be taken out of our hands.
CROW: (Sisko voice) Iąll have to run it past my floor manager...
> Helm, move us back to 500 kilometers from the object.
MIKE: See ya, later, Sisko! Enjoy your *scientific discovery!*
> I dont want to
>be caught in a catastrophic failure.
TOM: Ha-ha! Too late!
> Dont raise shields until I signal.
>Sisko, how long do we have?
> Maybe minutes, maybe hours.
MIKE: Ambiguous dialogue theatre will continue...
> Assume minutes. I dont want to come out of this empty-handed,
>Ben. Come up with something.
> I will, Sir. Alright, team, one more time. What havent we tried?
CROW: Building a bridge out of Śer!
> Science Officer: Im out of ideas, Commander. Weve gone through
>the whole book on this one. None of the Universal Translator
>precode templates gave us anything but noise.
> Theres got to be a way to extract meaning out of this signal. I
>want you to configure the sensors in a fast fourier transform array,
>across the entire frequency range. Rotate each frequency channel
>independently in phase space and give me every meaningful
>integrated result.
TOM: And engage the techobable generators!
> Calculating. No intelligible result.
CROW: Oh, theyąre analysing this story...
> Damn! Okay, forget discrete channels.
MIKE: I *love* you, dammit!
> We need more resolution.
TOM: Buy a HDTV.
>I want a
TOM: Barney Clark bar.
> continuously differentiated analysis distribution curve.
> The computers not set up for that. I dont know if its been tried
>before in the field. Itll take a few minutes to set up.
> We dont have a few minutes.
MIKE: Didnąt the Captain say to... well, never mind.
>The probe is building up a power surge.
>Guess the curve shape and trace it in by hand. Quickly, man.
> Science Officer: Im on it.
CROW: Whoever this officer Im is, he sure gets around.
TOM: Quite knowledgeable fellow, too.
> Helm: Probe detonation imminent.
> Captain: Raise shields.
> Sisko: Not yet! Im tying in a subspace attenuation filter.
> Captain: Anything?
> Sisko: No!
TOM: Well, nice knowiną ya! BOOM!
>What is this thing?
CROW: Itąs a sensor reading called... łlove.˛
> Captain: Time to wrap this up.
ALL: YEA!!!
(They get up to leave. Pause)
MIKE: Oh, wait... darn.
(They sit)
>Were needed elsewhere. Helm, raise shields. Sorry, Ben.
> Helm: Shields up. Main sensors offline.
> The viewscreen fills with a blinding flash, and Ben Sisko gets an
>unaccustomed taste of disappointment.
CROW: When he finds out that DS9 has been renewed...
MIKE: HEY!
>
> So, how do you think I did? Honest.
CROW: Is this the author?
TOM: Oh, *please* let it be...
>Give me the chicken salad.
CROW: Huh?
TOM: ...the hell?
> As well as any of your other command exercises. Ill take the pilaf.
MIKE: Non-sequitur theatre presents...
> I dont know. I have a feeling it was more than a routine command
>exercise.
CROW: Who the heck is talking!?
TOM: I think itąs the voices in the authorąs head...
> Nothing out of the ordinary happened- except that probe.
CROW: Ick.
> But that
>was acomplete dead end, believe me. I did everything but go out to
>it with a can opener.
MIKE: You didnąt try the can opener? No wonder he never made
Captain...
CROW: Kirk wouldąve tried the can opener first thing.
TOM: Mm-hmm....
>I think they just wanted to see how long youd allocate time to the
>problem and when youd cut your losses. Theres two seats.
> There was something out of square in the set-up. The way they let
>me pick all my own bridge crew,
TOM: Too bad they couldnąt get Omar Sharriff.
> gave me extra time to prepare.
>When we went into the simulator the proctors were looking at me
>strangely,
TOM: You know: that sly, come-hither stare...
> like they were expecting something special. Do you think
>it was my Kobayashi Maru test?
MIKE: (falsetto) Hope it comes back negative.
> Why on Earth would you say that?
CROW: Earth? I thought this was DS9.
TOM: Lame...
> They dont always use the same scenario for the test. You never
>know when it will come or what form it will take. Ive heard some
>officers sayit took them years after graduation to figure out exactly
>what it was.
> It would have to be the blandest KM test Ive ever heard of.
MIKE: Believe me, we empathize.
CROW: Mike, do you suppose this is *your* Kobayashi Maru test?
(Mike shrugs)
> Well, you know what they say; you have to find the plate before
>you can take your turn at bat. There might have been some whole
>dimension to the test I completely missed.
TOM: Like... *depth?*
MIKE: I think I missed that dimension with this whole story.
CROW: Definitely got *length*, however.
TOM and MIKE: Yep.
> Now youre being paranoid. Theres no way Xander Coerforam
CROW: Leader of the Anesthetics.
>would get lost on the way to a challenge. Besides, isnt sophomore
>year a little early to face the test?
> Sophomore year is ending, and we have to choose our career
>specialty paths.
TOM: (falsetto) I think we should break up, Ted.
> Weve already said we wanted command, one hundred percent of
>the way. Youre not shagging out on me, are you?
CROW: No, the doctor just said it was an inflammation.
> No, of course not. I... look, here comes Lt. Chang.
> As you were, cadets. Please, sit down. Eat. I just wanted to tell
>you, Mr. Coerforam, you were graded well in your latest exercise.
MIKE: Based on the dorkiness of your name, however, weąre kicking
you out of Starfleet.
> Im glad to hear it, Sir.
TOM: (Sisko voice) Ensign Im, when did you get here?
> You attracted attention as well, Mr. Sisko. Some of the moves you
>made
CROW: At the sophmore Prom...
> trying to decode that signal were very clever. You have a talent
>for scientific thinking. Tell me, did you think of trying a multi-modal
>sort of the signal across the subspace domain?
TOM: (CS geek voice) Yeah, but my modemąs only 2400 baud...
> Well, Sir, a multi-modal sort wouldnt have told us anything about
>the actual signal, just the carrier wave. I agree thats part of a
>thoroughanalysis, but we didnt have the time for that. I decided
>that finding intelligent content was the top priority.
MIKE: I bet Ensign Im could have figure out a way!
TOM: Yeah!
> Besides, multi-
>modal statistics classes wont be offered til our junior year, so I
>figured it would be unwise to waste time on a theory I wasnt
>familiar with.
> A sound assessment. Have you considered the science career
>specialty? They need innovative thinkers who can take initiative as
much as the red suits.
> Sorry Sir, but Im foursquare for command.
TOM: Yes, but weąre talking about *your* career, Sisko.
>Its what Ive wanted all my life.
CROW: I feel a song coming on...
> Excellent! I look forward to working with you both next semester.
>The juniors tell me that multi-modal statistics is one of their hardest
>courses. You might want to bone up on it in advance during your
>summer break.
> We will, Sir. Count on it.
> Very good. Carry on.
> Wow! What was that? Officers almost never sit with
>underclassmen in common areas.
CROW: Whatąs an uncommon area?
MIKE: Iąll tell you later.
> See, I told you all was well. Hes taking us under his wing, giving
>us advice- he wants to be our mentor.
> I guess youre right. But everything Lt. Chang says is like a zen
>puzzle. Youre never sure what he really means.
TOM: Yeah, remember that time when the Romulans were attacking
and he said to raise the shields to the level of one hand clapping?
(Mike looks at Tom)
> Would you relax? Well be among the stars before you know it,
>friend.
CROW: No thanks, man, that stuff give me flashbacks...
>
> Alright. Multi-modal sorting. If I pull an all-nighter I should be
>able to get the computer to teach me enough to do an analysis on
>that probes signal. Xander was right, you cant get Changs words out
>of your head. Besides, I want to have an intelligent answer if he
>brings it up again. Oh, man. Look at that parameter list. Wheres my
>coffee?
TOM: You know, it would be really, really nice if I knew what the hey
was going on.
> Hours of work. Ah, here we go. A power curve profile.
MIKE: Whoa, check out the centerfold!
>Lets see.
>Anything interesting at all?
TOM: Not in this fanfic.
> Hello, whats this? A shifting resonance pattern. Thats interesting.
MIKE: Not really.
>The probe seems to have been trying to get a frequency phase lock
>with our sensor beam. A neat clue to their technology. Maybe
>Memory Beta will have records of a culture that used that
>technique. Slamdunk. Hi Lt. Chang, that Mumblegumbian probe
TOM: WHAT???
(Laughter breaks out among the guys)
CROW: (Sisko voice) Sir, the Snifflewuffians are attacking!
MIKE: Not now, Sisko, Iąm in delicate negotiations with the
BoogieWoogian deligates...
> was something
>else, wasnt it?
TOM: Yeah, really lame.
> Sisko, youre a genius.
> And heres where it got the lock. Hmm, same time it started
>showing instability in its power source. Coincidence? Or something
>more? We shall learn all. Maybe it couldnt handle the extra resonant
>power influx. Yes, here we go. The resonant power buildup coincides
>with the extra sensor intensity I used toward the end.
> Oh, no. I blew up the probe. I got so caught up in the theoretical
>puzzle that I lost sight of the fact that it was a real object, and fried
>it. I fought the wrong battle and lost the war.
MIKE: (Sisko Voice) Glad Starfleet isnąt łYou break it, you bought it.˛
> I was so sure I could crack that code, so sure that was the only
>important thing. I should have realized in the first twenty minutes
>that the signal was indecipherable and started looking for other
>approaches, but I was too full of myself.
CROW: Insert comment here...
> Stopping a resonant power
>buildup is the easiest thing in the world - if Id bothered to look,
MIKE: But the superego distracted it.
>I could have easily set up a counter resonant carrier wave...bought
>myself more time, or could have just taken it into a hangar bay to
>study later or use for leverage further in the exercise... who knows
>what doors I closed off by destroying it. I showed up to the wrong
>field, missed the game, went down looking on the third strike.
CROW: Oooh, *great* analogy.
TOM: What is he, George Will?
> Stupid! Stupid!
TOM: Rat Creatures!
> A commander is responsible for everything: just because MM stats
>is a junior-level course is no excuse...a commander has to have the
>resources to bring whatever is needed to a situation... its his job to
>find the real battlefield and not waste time on the wrong one. I had
>a chance to distinguish myself, but instead I fucked up.
MIKE: Whoa! Deep Space Nineąs Def Comedy Jam!
> It wasnt
>Xanders Kobayashi Maru test: it was yours! Yours, Ben Sisko, yours!
> Oh, no! Ben grips his head in his big hands and cries in anguish.
MIKE: Is it me, or does this fanfic remind anyone else of Ulysses...
>
>Station Log: Stardate 46601.7. My son has been missing for two
>days.
TOM: I suppose I should mention it to someone, eventually.
> Constable Odo has conducted several searches of the station;
CROW: Including three passes through Daxąs underwear drawer.
TOM: Grrrr!
>repeated sensor scans for his life signs have turned up nothing.
>Chief OBrien, who has just returned from Earth, checked all the
>transporter logs before he even unpacked. We have contacted every
>ship that has docked here in the past week hoping for some news of
>him with no result. Somehow he has disappeared without a trace.
CROW: How can they tell heąs missing as opposed to his regular
appearances on the show?
TOM: Uh... I donąt know.
>
> Commander Sisko, this is Quark.
> Yes, Quark, what is it?
MIKE: Pagemakerąs been in here giving me problems again.
> I have something I need to discuss with you. In private.
TOM: Bomp-chicka-Wern!
> Come to my office. I can only give you a few minutes.
(All clear their respective throats and whistle)
> It might be better if you came down to the canteen.
> Im very busy right now, Quark.
TOM: Well, why donąt you come, instead?
> I cant get free just now...
> Its a matter of the utmost personal concern for you, Commander. I
>really think you ought to come down. Now.
MIKE: (Quark voice) Itąs about my... little problem...
> Im on my way
TOM: (Sisko voice) And Iąll be there, too.
> ... Kira, you have Ops. Im going to get a drink.
CROW: Well, Im deserves it, heąs been working hard lately.
>
> Alright, Quark. what is it?
> Rom, get in here and draw the curtain.
CROW: And stop killing the Dire Wraiths, theyąre paying customers!!
> Now tell the Commander what you were
>telling me.
> You are looking very well, Commander. Do...do you find your drink
>satisfactory?
> Rom!
> Alright! My boy is a good boy, you know, Commander.
(All make łrandy˛ noises)
> Sometimes subject to high spirits, but you know what its like to be
>a father to a young boy.
> Rom, Id appreciate it if youd tell me what you brought me down
>here for.
> For the past two days Nog has been moping about our quarters.
>Hes hardly eaten- hardly said anything, although even normally far
>be it for him to have a conversation with his own old man. Why, I...
> Stick to the subject, brother.
> Quark, weve already asked Nog several times if he knew anything
>about Jakes whereabouts, and he said he had no idea. Are you
>withholding something? Do you expect some kind of ransom or
>reward?
MIKE: For my kid? Forget it!
> Quark: Not this time, Commander, though I wouldnt want to say I
>was above it. This time I have all our interests in mind. You see, Nog
>came home in better spirits today, and he was wearing...a new set of
>clothes.
TOM: And driving... a new car!
(Crow makes cheering noises)
> Is there supposed to be something sinister in that?
> Commander, like every Ferengi father, Ive tried to raise my boy
>right. Give him standards; pass down some wisdom. We tell our
>children, when youre suffering from a guilty conscience, whistle a
>happy tune and try to find a way to profit from what youve done.
>Nog has obviously found a way to deal with his feelings, and get his
>hands on a little swag.
ALL: Dennis Moore! Dennis Moore! Riding Ścross the land!
> I dont have to be a mind reader to put two
>and two together.
CROW: Just an abnormally smart Ferengi.
TOM: Hey, man, thatąs anti-Ferengi!
> We have another saying: you covet what's under your eyes.
MIKE: Your nose?
CROW: Your chin?
TOM: That little bumpy ridge above your mouth?
> Now
>Nog wouldnt ordinarily buy himself new clothes with a fresh batch
>of cash, unless he were in a clothing shop. I know the smell of the
>other dealers on this station, and I know that Cardassian tailor
>Garek is involved.
TOM: Oh, what the hey, letąs bring *another* supporting character in.
CROW: Just so long as itąs not another Kidąs Crew...
(All shudder)
> If the Cardassians had a part in Jakes
>disappearance, this thing could rapidly go from an occurrence to a
>situation, or even to an incident.
MIKE: Or maybe even something happening!
TOM: In this story? Dream on!
> Maybe you can do something
>before that happens. If the Federation and Cardassia resume
>hostilities, this station wont change hands peacefully again.
> Thats all we know, Sisko. Fair warning. Im just acting to protect
>my own skin. I certainly wouldnt want to be in yours.
CROW: Not until we can be alone, that is...
>
> Thanks for coming over, Nog.
> What did you want, Mr. Sisko? Is there any news about Jake?
> No, but Im sure hell turn up.
MIKE: Itąs already here.
>Hes a pretty tough kid. I was just wondering if youd do me a favor
until he gets back.
ALL: Heh-heh-heh...
> What?
> This is his baseball glove. Its made of what we call cowhide,
>something that used to be made from animal skin.
TOM: I thought it was... oh, never mind.
>Its got to be used every day to maintain its suppleness and its
shape,
MIKE: (Warning) Crow...
CROW: Too easy...
>or itll get stiff and hard to play with. It can take months to break in
>a good glove, and Im sure Jake would appreciate it if youd work
>with it so itll still be good when he gets back.
CROW: That Im is so sensitive...
TOM: Heąs my favorite character so far.
> Well, why dont you do it?
> My hand is too big. See, heres my glove. Youre just the right size.
>Will you do it for me?
> S...sure.
> Lets toss a couple around; Ill show you how its done. My wife
>would never let Jake and me throw the ball in the house, but I think
>now we can get away with a few.
> Slap!
TOM: (falsetto) Fresh! Donąt you *ever* try that again!
> Good catch. Dont close your eyes, though.
> Slap! Whoa! A little wild, but OK. Heres another.
> Slap! Hows school coming?
> Okay, I guess.
> Slap! Jake and you study together a lot?
> Slap! Sometimes.
> Slap! Mmm, smell that leather oil when you make a good catch.
>Always makes me think of Jake. Know what I mean?
> Yes.
> Slap! Wheres Jake, Nog?
> Nog throws down the glove. Hes DEAD, okay?! Dead!
MIKE: (Sisko voice) Well, darn... Okay! Batter up!
> Kira, Odo, Dax - OBrien,
TOM: When did Dax and OąBrien get married?
>meet Lt. Primmin of Starfleet Security - heres the situation: the
>Ferengi boy Nog reports witnessing my son disintegrated by a new
>and unknown Cardassian weapon in one of the off-limits sectors of
>the station.
TOM: And Iąm torn torn up about it.
> He smuggled this item into his quarters, and contacted
>the Cardassian Garek to extort money in exchange for keeping
>it secret, and to negotiate its resale to the Cardassian government.
>The item is now sitting in the bottom drawer of my desk,
MIKE: Under my Playboys.
> and the
>boy is under house arrest.
> Primmin: My condolences on the loss of your son, but let me
>suggest that it may be in the best interests of the Federations
>security to let this transaction go through without the Cardassians
>knowing that we ever learned about it, and get the thing off the
>station.
CROW: Oh my god! Do we actually know whoąs talking?
MIKE: Careful, people, it might be a trap...
> Thank you for your condolence, but I havent accepted that my son
>is dead.
>We have to make a thorough examination of what this item is and
>does in order to find out exactly what happened. Chief OBrien....
MIKE: Iąm sorry, but Lieutenant Letterman is doing much better in
the ratings.
> With respect Sir, thats exactly what we cant afford to do. If this is
>a new Cardassian technology, its a state secret which we have to
>respect.
TOM: Well, weąve lost the speaking voice.
> Odo: Thats a strange attitude for an intelligence agent.
TOM: No, wait...
MIKE: Somebody adjust the rabbit ears.
> Commander Sisko, I know you want to do right, but you know the
>political situation here. Its incredibly volatile. Bajor is at the
>outermost pickets of the Federations territory, but its near the
>breast
TOM: Say!
> of some of Cardassias most vital interests. Its the most febrile
>strategic point between the two powers. The only reason we were
>able to get a treaty signed is that we managed to convince an
>important faction of their military government that we were
>genuinely only interested in peace, coexistence, and detente. Salem
>One, Camp Khitomer, Narendra Three, Galorndon Kor,
MIKE: Kent State...
TOM: Chicago Democratic Convention...
CROW: Cedar Point...
MIKE and TOM: Huh?
> all our past
>history paid off for us. They believed that our offer to administer
>this system neutrally was on the level, and the compromise of
>making Bajor a nonaligned planet bought us the treaty. But
>there are major factions that will never trust us. If they get any hint
>at all that were exploiting our presence here for military advantage,
>its war again, so fast that our bodies will be cooling in space before
>we even know what happened.
> Thats what Im here for.
MIKE: Heąs my best officer. Thank God I brought him along.
>For every formal protocol of a treaty there are a thousand unwritten
ones.
MIKE: Like high school.
> If the Cardassians get the impression that were combing the
>wreckage of this station for military secrets, theyll go ballistic.
CROW: (surfer voice) And that would be most unrighteous, dude...
>I think your son, rest his soul, would be content with a cenotaph
>rather than a gravestone in exchange for avoiding a war.
MIKE: If he knew what a cenotaph was...
> Kira: I dont agree, Commander. If the Cardassians go back to war,
>it wont be for rational reasons. Wed be fools not to exploit every
>advantage that comes our way.
> Sisko folds his hands before him, then unfolds them, then folds
>them again.
CROW: (Sisko voice) Look, I can make a butterfly!
>He scans each face at the table, lingers at the end on Daxs eyes.
ALL: Heh heh heh...
>He brushes back his almost nonexistent hair.
> Alright, here it is. Cardassia is a long way away. Earth is even
>farther.
MIKE: And an comprehesible structure to this story? Donąt even ask!
>I dont give a damn about war,
CROW: Oh, heąs a Republican.
> I dont give a damn about military
>advantage.
TOM: No, heąs a Democrat.
> This station is my command, and I am responsible
>for it and everything on it. It is my responsibility to find out what
happened to Jake Sisko, son or not, and not to give up until I have
proof that hes dead.
MIKE: (Sisko voice) All I want is a finger, an organ. Is that so much to
ask of you people?
>It is my responsibility to discover the function of the object and
>gauge what threat or boon it presents while it is here.
CROW: Itąs just a bidet!
> I will not hide
>my head in the sand and hope everything turns out okay.
TOM: Like the author of this fanfic did.
> I will
>execute
CROW: The author.
> my command and carry out my responsibilities, to the
>bitter end if necessary.
> Commander, thats unbelievably reckless.
MIKE: But thatąs why I love you!
> Thats command, Primmin, what Ive been trained and tempered
>for. OBrien, you will go into my office, take the object and subject it
>to a complete analysis.
> Yes, Sir.
> Odo, you will apprehend Garek and quarantine him. We will
>attempt to learn what the Cardassians know and prevent them from
learning anything more.
> Odo dips his head in his gesture of submission.
TOM: Whoa, weąre getting into a whole weird area, here...
>Computer, locate the Cardassian civilian Garek.
> Garak is not aboard the station.
> Where is he?
MIKE: (computer voice) Bodysurfing off Big Sur.
> Ship manifest records indicate he was on the 0800 passenger liner
>headed for the Malenka sector.
> Bloody Hell. Well Primmin, welcome to Deep Shit Nine.
TOM: I donąt remember that from the show...
CROW: Well, itąs appropriate.
MIKE: HEY! (baps Crow, knocking off his headpiece)
> No? What do you mean, no?
MIKE: łNo˛ means łno,˛ Sisko.
CROW: Itąs probably the Doctor hitting on Jax again.
> I mean, I love you Ben, but I dont want to marry you.
CROW: What the hey? Are we getting riffback?
> But Jennifer, I love you too, more than Ive ever loved anything in
>my life. It seems to me that when two people love each other
>getting married is the obvious thing to do.
CROW: Next to...
(Mike glares)
CROW: Shopping!
> Oh Ben. If I were interested in marriage, I might marry you. But it
>would be a dull world if the only thing worth
TOM: ...reading was this fanfic.
> committing yourself to
>was another person. Im an artist, Ben. You said thats one of the
>things that attracted you to me. But you have to accept that Im
>serious about it;
MIKE: (Sisko voice) Im?! How can I compete with him! (Sobs)
> its not just something I do to intrigue men.
MIKE: That comes later.
> And you prefer to dedicate your life to making pots?
> You make it sound like theyre just holders for bean dip. You know
>better. Look at this Japanese piece. It has *wabi*, the wildness of the
>struggle for existence. Its bowl is bits of flimsy something trying to
>keep a purchase on the nothing it surrounds. Like the thin mold of
>life grasping on the skin of Earth with numb outer space at our back.
>The art of pottery is more than making clay knick-knacks. Its a
process of negotiating the terms of my existence with the universe.
TOM: And now, pottery subplot theatre.
>Its a motivation I feel I have to follow,
MIKE: (artsy voice) Whatąs my motivation?
>and its more basic than the motivation to have a home and family.
TOM: (documentary-style) Anthropologists today confirmed that the
urge to make pottery is more primordial than reproduction...
> How can you negotiate the terms of your existence with the
>universe when youve never been off Earth? Come with me,
CROW: Thatąll be a first.
MIKE: Okay, thatąs one.
CROW: For what?
MIKE: For ripping off Rocky Horror.
(Crow mumbles under his breath)
> Ill
>acquaint you with the universe. You cant imagine the adventure...
TOM: Certainly not in *this* story.
> Ben, lets be realistic. In the year since Ive met you, weve really
>hardly seen each other. You can only get a furlough every few
>months. The correspondence weve had has been wonderful, but I
>hardly think were ready to get married. What do we really share?
>Everybody has the right to follow their own destiny; I respect your
>choices, even though I dont understand why anyone would want to
>join Starfleet and spend their lives in space.
MIKE: Right on!
(Bots cheer)
> I expect you to respect
>mine.
TOM: (falsetto) And stay out of my sock drawer.
> You can take me to dinner later if you want. But right now Ive got
>to teach my class. Ill see you later.
> Ben Sisko clutches the tiny box containing the ring. He sits on a
>bench and hangs his head low. He stares at the ochre color of his
jumpsuit sleeves and feels real despair.
TOM: As he reads this fanfic...
> Excuse me, Mr. Sisko?
> Hmm...uh, what?
> Sorry, Sir. Im Alan Ruck, Im in Miss Jennifers pottery class. I was
>hoping to talk with you because, well, youre the only Starfleet
>officer I know. Do you have a minute?
> Sure. Sure, I guess I do have a minute.
> See Sir, I want to apply to Starfleet Academy. But my parents dont
>want me to go into the service, and the Academy says I have to get
>their permission before my application is considered. I was hoping
>you could give me some advice, and maybe talk to my parents. You
>can show them you dont have to be crazy to want to join Starfleet.
MIKE: And if not, can I borrow that disintegrating ball thing?
> Yeah, well, Ive got news for you kid....
TOM: Thereąs not much advancement in Starfleet for potters.
> Jennifer keeps saying everyone has the right to follow their own
>path. I figured you feel the same way, being her boyfriend and all.
> Did she tell you to come talk to me?
> No, I havent mentioned this to her yet.
> In that case, come here.
MIKE: Sit on my lap.
>Yes, okay. I have a plan. If you really want to get into the Academy,
>youll do what I say. Now...listen carefully - heres what I want you to
>do.
> Ben learns that despair is just hope with bad lighting.
TOM: What--the hell--does *that* mean?
MIKE: Letąs get out of here...
CROW: Wait thereąs more...
MIKE: Jeez... AOL, man...
[they exit the theater; commercial break]
--
lyns...@teleport.com:
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