MiSTed: "Dark Dawn" (TNG/Galactica crossover)

[Tom Salyers]

[Fade in on the Satellite of Love. Crow and Tom Servo are wearing womens'
ice-skating outfits and gliding across the "ice" of the control room. Tom
has a blonde wig on, Crow a brunette one. Mike drags himself up into view and
holds onto the counter, keeping himself upright with obvious difficulty.]

Mike: Hi, and welcome to the Satellite of Love. The 'bots and I were going to
reenact that--whoops!--whole Olympic figure-skating ugliness from a while
back, but it was a no-go.

Crow: [skating by] Yeah, Servo's got no legs to whack, and he couldn't whack
mine 'cause his arms don't work.

Tom: [not skating but hovering] Y'know, Mike, I don't see what all the
hoopla about skating is. It's not really all that different from what I
do all the time. Here, watch!

Mike: Servo, NO!

[Tom spins up into the air and performs a triple axle, unfortunately colliding
with Mike in the process. There is a Cataclysmic Explosion(tm).]

Tom & Mike: Arrrrrrrrrgh!

[Crow skates back by.]

Crow: Oh, ick. You're bleeding all over Servo's finish, Nelson. [Mads light
starts flashing] Hey, look alive--Mimi Rogers and "friend" are calling!

Dr. F: Greetings, Michelin Man. It does my heart good to see you in a twisted,
mangled heap of blood and human organs. Now stop loafing and get with
the invention exchange!

[Mike and Tom manage to disentangle themselves. Mike retrieves from the floor
a large black box with ominous-looking ports on one side. Think Roach Motel as
produced by Darth Vader.]

Mike: Well, our invention is inspired by the recent "A Gul's Revenge" fanfic
you minions of evil inflicted on us a while back. We call it the
Ratliff Trap. My lovely assistant Crow will help me demonstrate.

Crow: What?!? Uh, Mike, you didn't say anything about this at rehearsal....

Mike: It'll be okay, Crow. Work with me here.

Crow: Well, okay...here goes. Ahem...I think it would be a great idea to
write a fanfic in which children are put in command of a major piece of
Starfleet equipment and...

[Behind Crow, the Ratliff Trap's ports have opened, revealing a large array of
pincers, butterfly nets, lassos, and so on.]

Crow: [continuing] .....Wesley comes back for only one scene and in which a
single Cardassian warship tries to conquer Earth and gets defeated by
the aforementioned bunch of kids and WAUGH!

[The Ratliff Trap snares Crow and drags him into the box that makes up its
body. Muffled thumps are heard.]

Crow: Mmpf! Mmmmke! Hlp! Rrrgh!

[The Trap eventually spits Crow out, bound and gagged.]

Mike: Not only does it do all that, but it's revoked Crow's Usenet access, too.

Crow: [Spitting gag out] Yeah, and it hurts and burns and stuff.....

Tom: [In awe] Wow! Now if we could only get back to Earth and use it on the
real thing.

Dr. F: Not if *I* have anything to say about it. Well, our invention exchange
is based on the new Windows 4.0 that's coming out, also known as
"Chicago", and the upcoming "Cairo" system. Basically, we just break
one major thing in each product and "fix" it in the next release while
breaking something even more major. So far we've got: "Fresno", which
can't print to any printer known to man; "Poughkeepsie", which can't
handle disks with greater capacity than 360K; and "Toad Suck", which will
only run Apple II applications from floppies on alternate Fridays.

Frank: *I* wanted a "Frankfurt", but NOOOO......

Dr. F: Quiet, Frank, or you'll get the "Manchurian Candidate" treatment again.

Frank: [visibly intimidated] Yes, your Microsoftness.

Dr. F: Well, Micturation, your fanfic is a dreadful little TNG/Battlestar
Galactica crossover in which no crossing over actually occurs. Why
don't you pass the time by playing a little solitaire? Send 'em the
fanfic, Frank....

All: Ahhhhh!! Fanfic sign!!!!

6...5...4...3...2...1.......

> Sunset
>
> I
>
>
> Starbuck's eyes darted nervously back and forth, alternating
>between the fan of round cards in his hand and the two other
>players sitting at the table with him.
> "Well...??" Boomer queried, with a slight edge to his normally
>calm voice.
> "Just a centon, I'm calculating." Starbuck's brow began to
>twitch as he tried to concentrate on his cards, while computing the
>unbelievable odds.

Tom:...of this series lasting more than two seasons.

> "Come on, Starbuck!" boomed Jolly, who always seemed to be in
>a hurry to go somewhere.
> "Hey guys, I got a whole secton's pay riding here... "
>Starbuck exclaimed, trying to stay calm. He brought a fragrant
>Gemonese cigarillo to his lips and began to chew on the tip.
> "Starbuck... " Boomer was clearly irritated.

Crow: [Boomer] I'm dead now, Starbuck. Don't smoke.

> "Ok... Ok. I'm in. While you're at it, I'll take two."
> "Finally!" Jolly huffed while he tossed two cards, face down
>in front of Starbuck.
> "You Ok Boomer?" Jolly asked congenially to his friend, who
>was now unconsciously clenching his teeth.
> "I'm all set," the Lieutenant replied, finally relaxing a
>little.
> "Ok... " Jolly continued. "Shall we up the stakes some more?"
> "I'll bet fifty," Boomer announced, tossing a handful of
>credits onto the growing pile.
> "Fifty??!!" screamed Jolly. "Forget it! I'm outta here."
>Jolly, now totally disgusted, threw his useless cards down in front
>of him, out of turn.

Tom: So far, Jolly's "boomed", "huffed", "continued" and "screamed". Doesn't
anyone _say_ anything in this fanfic?

> "Starbuck?"
> A pause. Starbuck ran his fingers through his thick mane of
>maize-colored hair and noticed that it was slightly damp. 'Gods!
>Gotta work on my

Mike: Hygiene.

>demeanor,' he chided only to himself of course. "Ok. I'll see your fifty
>and... raise you another secton's pay!"
> "Oh come on Starbuck. The last time you bet two secton's pay,

Crow: We spent six hours arguing over what the hell a "secton" was.

>you welshed on it claiming that 'you couldn't help it' when the
>Commander and the Council decided to temporarily dock our wages,
>while they investigated the source and amount of counterfeit
>currency that had suddenly began circulating around the Fleet,"
>Jolly recited.

Tom: "Recited"? I think that I shall never see/A fanfic lovely as a tree...

> "Yeah... I'll never forget that one myself," added Boomer.
> "Hey fellows, you know I'm good for the money. Besides, I
>thought that that issue was settled a long time ago," Starbuck
>smoothly but defensively remarked, with a twinkle in his clear blue
>eyes and an exotic-smelling plume of smoke curling from his lips.

Crow: Chili peppers burn Starbuck's gut.

> "Sure... and I'm a daggit's best friend," Jolly mumbled,

Tom: Keep your personal life out of this, Mister.

>with sarcasm punctuating each word. "You forget, we can see through
>your tall tales, even if you do know every trick in the book."

Mike: And every cliche in it like Jolly does.

> "Boomer old pal... I believe it's your call," Starbuck said,
>ignoring Jolly's remarks and turning his head slightly towards
>Boomer, flashing his trademark - a brilliant but insidious smile.

Tom: Which was tattooed on his forehead.

> Boomer looked forlornly at his cards with his dark brown eyes,
>and sighed heavily. "Forget it. I'm folding... I refuse to bet
>any more of my hard earned pay on a lousy game of Pyramids!" He
>too, threw his cards on the table with disgust.
> "Lousy?? Getta load of this... " Starbuck spread his hand
>out, face up, on the table surface in front of him.

Crow: Arr! It do be the Black Spot on yon Starbuck's palm!!

> All of a sudden, Boomer looked as if he was ready to propel
>himself out of a launch tube.

Crow: And small wonder.

>"YOU... YOU!!! I had a CAPSTONE in my hand!" He then stood up and
>began stabbing a forefinger in the air in the direction of the offender.

Tom: The author?

>"And YOU!... you... you've got NOTHING! Nothing! NOTHING but a HANDful of

Mike: RanDOMly CAPitalized woRDs!

Crow: It's Battlestar McElwaine, apparently....

>trash!" he alternately shouted and stammered.
> "Easy, easy," Starbuck replied, seriously trying to sooth his
>obviously furious friend. "Temper, temper 'ole buddy, 'ole pal.
>No sense crying over spilled milk." Then he reverted back to his
>mischievous side.

Tom: Dirk Benedict *is* Sybil.

> The now gloating young Colonial Warrior motioned to the large pile of
>currency in the center of the table, using the Gemonese delight in his
>hand as a pointer before placing it in his mouth. He next made an
>exaggerated, melodramatic gesture of

Mike: ...wetting his pants.

>encircling his arms around the pile saying, "I believe... this is
>all mine... " He then proceeded to sweep the profits of his
>patience towards his end of the table.
> "Gentlemen?" a handsome, young dark-haired man with thoughtful
>green eyes said, after sauntering up to the table, grabbing a chair

Crow: And smashing Starbuck over the head with it.

>and settling down next to Jolly.
> "Apollo!" Starbuck beamed.

Tom: ...with an Aldis lamp.

> "Captain... " Jolly chimed in, but less enthusiastically.
> Boomer took a large swallow of his ale and loudly banged his
>mug on the table.

Crow: In public, too!

> "Hmmm... So he took you again, huh Boomer?" said Apollo,
>sympathetically.

Mike: ["camp" voice] Over and over again! It was *faaabulous*!

> "I don't want to talk about it," Boomer said evenly.
> "Well gentlemen, actually... we won't have time to talk about
>it since the Colonel wants us all to go on a little patrol duty,"
>informed Apollo.
> "Whah...?" Jolly managed to say before being cut off by
>Apollo.
> "That's right. In fact, we gotta go right now.

Tom: Oh, is the great Apollo going to lead us into combat? Ooh, sign me
up for *that*!

> Seems Doctor Wilker has picked up some more of those weird messages. The
>Colonel wants us to check them out so we don't run into any more
>Baseships. This time we want to make sure that we don't make the
>same mistake twice."

Crow: Like "Galactica 1980"?

> "Figures... " Boomer mumbled, almost imperceptibly.
> "Hey look at the bright side Boomer," teased Starbuck, "I'd
>rather be out there flying among the stars, than be stuck in here
>with you complaining for the next ten centaurs."

Mike: Or five unicorns and an ogre, whichever comes first.

> "That's just like you Starbuck. Rub it right in my face,"
>Boomer retorted.

Tom: Oh, ick. Now we're getting into a whole weird area I don't want to know
about.

> "Let's go," Apollo finally added, trying to minimize the
>tension in the room and set a more serious tone for the long
>mission ahead of them.
> Starbuck stood up and slapped his down-on-the-luck buddy

Mike: ....hard across the face to _really_ rub his victory in.

>on the back as the four Warriors quickly exited the Officer's Lounge
>and headed towards the Launch Bay.
>
> -----
>
> "Status, Colonel?" inquired the well-seasoned, silver-haired,

Crow: Steel-eyed, golden-throated, iron-willed, nickle-plated--

>Commander of the Galactica.
> Colonel Tigh, a slightly graying serious man, with smooth
>coffee-colored skin, stiffened and sighed as he again checked the

Mike: Fit of his underwear.

>myriad of readouts flashing before him. "Unchanged, except for the
>fact that

Tom: ...all the readouts are different now.

>the additional data that we have collected has allowed us to calculate
>a better fix on the source of the unknown transmissions."
> "Very good. Inform the long range patrol of the new
>coordinates and instruct them to report in every centaur.

Tom: [Commander] And if they find the One Ring, tell them to let me know.

>We want to make sure that we stay with them at all times so that we can
>make course adjustments quickly, should anything go wrong."
> "Aye sir." Tigh began to feel the stirrings of a headache.
>Soon, it would reach epic proportions. He placed a forefinger and
>thumb between his eyes and gently massaged his sinus cavity.

Tom: _Wow_, that's some reach he's got.

Crow: Remember you can pick your friends, you can pick your nose...

>He then briefly considered requesting a furlon for a few days, but

Mike: ...realized he had already had a nylon, an orlon, and a dacron this year.

>just as quickly pushed those thoughts out of his mind.

Tom: Which is relatively easy when you've got your fingers up your sinuses.

>He straightened up and immediately contacted the flight crew in Launch
>Bay Alpha.

Crow: Not Moonbase Alpha?

Tom: SHH!! Don't give anybody any ideas......

> Launch Bay Control signaled that the ships were ready and the
>four Vipers catapulted out of their sterile, metal launch tubes and
>into the velvety blackness of space.
>

Crow: Phew. Was it good for you, too?

> --o--
>
> "Ante up!"
> It began as a simple, harmless distraction from the stress and
>boredom of space travel.

Tom: And quickly developed into a stressful, boring poker game.

>Through regularity, it developed into a routine. A routine that quickly grew

Crow: Unlike your neck!!

Mike: [to Crow] Huh?

Crow: It's obscure. I'll explain later.

>to become a very popular, well-known, and well-respected tradition.
>Inevitably, during a lull in ship-wide activity, such as was the case
>presently, the surface of the round, green velvet

Tom: Counselor Troi.

>table, normally bare and uninteresting, would burst forth with the various
>geometric objects of 'the challenge'.

All: "Battle of the Network Stars!" NOOOOOOO!

>White or red or blue disks would intermittently be launched towards the
>table's center. Colorful, precisely cut pieces of waxed, rectangular
>cardboard would often be found resting in small piles along the table's
>perimeter.

Crow: Mike, why doesn't Henry just say "chips" and "cards", huh?

Mike: She's trying to sound science-fictional. Hush, boy.

> An android, two Humans, and a Klingon sat around this night's
>particular display, in anticipation of revealing the evening's
>easiest 'mark'.

Mike: Or 'matthew', 'luke', or 'john'.

>Another, a young raven-haired half-Human, half-Betazoid woman, sat quietly in

Crow: Her little puddle of shame.

Tom: That...that sounds like....Creepy Girl! [cries softly] Oh, Creepy
Girl.....

>the same room, just outside the circle of players. She calmly contemplated
>the various emotions that floated around her and through her.
> "Worf?" queried Riker.
> A soft, low rumble. "Hmmmm... I will take three cards," Worf
>finally replied.
> "I'll take three as well," Beverly Crusher chimed in.

All: *Ding!*

> "Very well," Riker answered. "Data?"
> "I will take one card," replied the golden-eyed and gold-
>skinned android, who was wearing a vintage twentieth century
>dealer's cap on his head.

Tom: And a vintage twentieth century dealer's pager at his waist.

> "Dealer takes two," Will Riker said, as he discarded two
>useless cards into the pile and placed two fresh cards down in
>front of himself. As he began to arrange the new cards into his
>hand,

Mike: What was Raymond doing with his hands???

>he quickly smiled and then just as quickly stifled it.

Crow: If only the rest of him stifled so easily.

>"Worf?"
> "I'll bet ten," the Klingon Security Chief grumbled as he
>tossed two chips into the pile.
> "I'm in," the Doctor replied, unconsciously running two
>fingers

Mike: Eww. I hope she licked those two fingers clean.

Tom: Been listening to my Tull albums again, Nelson?

>through her bright red hair before tossing two chips into
>the center of the table, causing the pile to suddenly rearrange
>itself to accommodate the additional load.

Mike: Trumpy, you can do *magic*!

> Then Data challenged, "I'll match your ten and add ten more."

Crow: And Henry challenges the readers by having Data use contractions.

>He reached for his neatly stacked chips, selected four, and
>carefully dropped them on the now over-flowing pile.
> A large, left hand reached up and cupped it's owner's chin,
>slowly and methodically caressing the soft, reddish-brown whiskers.

Mike: Hey, I thought Riker's beard was black.

Tom: What do you want--continuity?

>"Hmmmmm. Ok... I'll see your twenty and... will add fifty more,"
>Riker said calmly, answering 'the challenge' with a handful of

Crow: Gravel thrown into his opponents' faces.

>chips thrown into the midst of the pile in the center. He then
>turned his head slightly to face the android, giving him his most
>devious version of a smile.

Mike: Which only served to make him look like a koala bear with gas.

> Data squinted, head thrust forward slightly, as he carefully
>looked into Will Riker's twinkling blue eyes. He moved his head a
>little closer, trying to garner any additional visual image data
>that could assist him in deciding whether his superior officer was

Mike: ...proposing.

>bluffing. He finally observed very formally, "I believe you are
>bluffing, sir."
> Riker raised an eyebrow, a smile slowly creeping higher along
>his cheekbones. "Are you sure Mister Data?"

Tom: [Data] I sure are Mister Data. You sure Riker?

> "Sir, as you know, I have made it a point to study and record
>as many Human facial expressions as I can, in order to attempt to
>better predict the emotional state of the individual."
> "Data... I know you must be aware of the so-called 'poker
>face," Beverly commented.

Crow: [falsetto] It's what I use when I act.

> "Of course, Doctor. However, I have found from experience
>that the infamous poker face, as it were, is not as neutral or non-
>that in nearly one in every... "

Tom: [Riker] He's babbling. Somebody smack him.

> "Worf!! Your bet," Riker suddenly interrupted, saving the
>room's inhabitants from a complex dissertation into the variations

Mike: Of Riker's sex life.

>of Human facial appearances as a result of exposure to multiple
>internal or external stimuli. Complete with the relevant
>statistical data.

Mike: And the irrelevant poker-playing scene.

> "The bets are TOO high. I fold." And with that, Worf
>gathered together his cards and neatly laid them down in a pile.
>He then folded his hands on the table in front of him, closing his
>mouth tightly and grinding his teeth back and forth, in order to
>stifle a groan.

Crow: Ouch! Maybe he shouldn't have folded his hands so tightly.

> "Don't look at me!" Beverly Crusher added.

Tom: Don't EVER look at me!! Mooooommmmyyyyyyy!!

>"I'll save my chips for another hand." She quickly tossed her cards
>on the table.
> "Data?" The eyebrow raised again as Riker's face took on a
>new look, one of pure

Mike: Um...dull surprise?

Tom: Eesh. That was ages ago, Mike. Catch up, will ya?

> bemusement.
> Data frowned. This expression had been learned and utilized
>by him very early on, as he found that Humans often used a frown to
>indicate a sense of frustration, confusion, or intense
>concentration. He tilted his head downwards slightly, to better
>imitate the look of concentrating on

Tom: Keeping his head from falling off again.

>the cards in his hand. His downcast eyes quickly shifted to his left,
>in an attempt to capture any last minute change of expression in Will
>Riker's face. Suddenly he replied, "I will match your fifty and raise
>you twenty more. And... " he added, "I call." Six chips landed
>unceremoniously on the pile.

Crow: And Riker landed unceremoniously on Counselor--

Nelson: Muzzle it, Crow...

> "Hmph... Ok." A pause. Then with each word drawn out,
>"Here... you... go!" Riker said, answering the 'call' and 'the
>challenge',

Tom: And the 'phone'--

>as he carefully lay seven red cards, face up, in front of him on the
>table. With a nasty smirk he said, "Looks like it's my lucky day."
> Interrupting, Data replied, "I am afraid not, Commander," and
>he placed his hand on Riker's, halting a motion towards the center

Crow: Of the ballroom, where they danced the night away! Whee!

>of the table that served as the temporary home to the promised
>payoff.

Crow: Oh, the Free Parking space!!

Mike & Tom: Huh?

> Again, Riker raised his eyebrow, a slightly perceptible
>tenseness beginning to etch into his forehead.

Tom: Etching in with nitric acid.

> With a smirk, equal to that of Riker's just moments earlier,
>Data carefully laid seven spades

Crow: All aces---Data is experimenting with cheating this week....

>on the table and replied, "A Royal Flush beats a Straight, if I am not
>mistaken." His glowing yellow eyes slowly shifted their position and
>focus to intercept the now vacant eyes of the First Officer.

Mike: What do you mean, "now" vacant?

> Riker slowly retracted his hand away from the bets and weakly
>responded, "So it does. I guess it's not my lucky day after
>all..."
> "So it seems," Data quickly retorted, with just a slight hint
>of sarcasm

Tom: Sarcasm? From Data? Lore's turned him from the Evil Data into the
Annoying Poor-Sport Data.

Crow: Servo, you fanboy.

>creeping into his voice. He reached out across the table to his
>well-earned winnings and pulled them over to a small, clear area in
>front of him.
> Beverly Crusher teased, "Well Will, looks like Data's research
>on Human facial expressions has improved quite a bit lately, don't
>you think?"

Crow: [a la _Wild Rebels_] Shut up! This android bugs me.....he really
BUGS me!!!

> Worf, previously sitting quietly, suddenly harumphed, with his
>black eyes on fire. "Enough!"

Mike: [Worf] It is time to put out this fire in my eyebrows.

> He grabbed the deck of cards and began to furiously shuffle them.
>"It is my turn to deal and we shall see if the Commander can read MY face."

Tom: [Data] Like a pamphlet, speedbump head.

> Another 'challenge', but the seriousness of Lt. Worf's
>comments were beyond Data's comprehension as he again began to
>expound on his thoughts and observations regarding the situation,
>to anyone and everyone around him.
> "It is true Lieutenant, that I have not had much time to study
>Klingon emotional states as they relate to their ultimate
>translation into facial expressions, however... "
> "Data... " Crusher said, interrupting him as usual, in mid-
>sentence.
> "Sorry," Data quickly responded. Of late, he had found
>himself lapsing back into an old habit of expressing his new found
>knowledge during the most inopportune moments and in an

Mike: ...absolutely *stunning* Christian Dior original.

>irritatingly verbose manner. He noted that this behavior pattern
>had begun to re-emerge not long after his recent experiences with

Crow: ...eating yellow snow.

>some newly found, internal dream programs and his short but
>devastating encounter with his first 'real' emotion.
> Riker glanced over to the still silent observer in the room
>and queried, "Deanna, 'sure you don't want to play?"
> "Yes Deanna, come on over and join in," Beverly prodded. "I
>hate to see you sitting there looking so gloomy."

Crow: [falsetto] Let me prescribe you some Prozac.

> Softly Deanna responded, "I'm fine. I just want to watch,
>that's all. Besides, how best to really learn the ins and outs

Tom: *a-hem!*

>of this game then from observing?"
> "Suit yourself. Worf?" Riker interjected.

All: ["Schoolhouse Rock"] In-ter-jec-tions!!

> "Cut!" Worf always seemed to take 'the challenge' or any
>other challenge, too seriously. Tonight was no different.
> Riker deftly cut the cards and Worf swiftly dealt each player
>their hands.

Mike: Which he had severed the night before in a senseless Klingon fertility
ritual.

> The four players then threw a few chips each, into the center of
>the table.
> "I'll take three," Beverly said as she tossed three of her
>cards onto the table and smiled as Worf placed three new cards onto
>the table in front of her.
> "Give me two," Data replied, discarding two cards and
>receiving two.
> "Hmmm... " A calculated pause as Riker contemplated,
>intensely studying his hand. I'll take... "
> "Picard to Riker."

Mike: Magic Voice?

> Riker looked up suddenly and tapped his com badge. "Riker
>here."

Crow: [Riker] Quiet, you guys, Mom and Dad are calling!

> "I apologize for the interruption Number One,

Crow: That's okay. At least you didn't interrupt Number Two.

Tom: Oh, yuck, Crow....

>but could you come to my Ready Room please? There are some urgent
>matters that we need to discuss,"

Tom: [Picard] I love you.

>the Enterprise Captain stated, without a hint of emotion.

Mike: Or, strangely enough, a French accent.

> Riker sighed. "Aye sir. On my way. Riker out." He tapped
>his com badge a second time, terminating the connection. "Well
>folks, looks like I'll have to do this another time." Glancing
>over to the Ship's Counselor again he offered, "Deanna, how 'bout
>taking over in my place?"
> Troi teasingly retorted, "What for? You appear to be losing!"
> "Gee thanks,"

Crow: ...Counselor Dickweed.

Tom: [Riker] Fishwife! FISHWIFE!!

Mike: Easy, Tom.....just keep repeating to yourself that "Genesis" was only
a bad dream.....

>Riker responded with a resigned look, placing his cards face down on the
>table. He then maneuvered around Worf's chair, glided across the small room

Crow: I'm a pixie!

>and disappeared down a hallway outside the swiftly closing door.

Tom: Which was located on the swiftly tilting planet.

>He quickly headed for the nearest turbolift that would take him to the main
>Bridge. "So much for the 'R and R'," he commented to himself.
>
> -----
>
> "Come." Jean-Luc Picard sat slightly hunched over, one hand
>cupping the side of his face, the other grasping a liquid filled
>glass mug,

Mike: Much better than a glass-filled liquid mug, if you ask me.

Crow: Oh, so now it's just "glass"? Why doesn't Henry say "a liquid filled
vitreous fluid container", huh?

>as he intently studied the data padd in front of him.
>His First Officer entered the room.
> "Sir?" Riker queried, bracing himself for word of some
>assignment that was guaranteed to destroy any chance he had for

Tom: Leaving Starfleet with his beard intact.

>taking a few days off for a vacation.
> "Ah Will, have a seat. Take a look at this. You may find it
>very interesting." Picard leaned forward, extending his arm
>towards Riker to hand him the padd.

Mike: [Riker] What--your arm?

> Riker stepped over to the nearest chair, pulled it out from
>under

Tom: ...Captain Picard, dropping him to the floor. In his off hours, Riker
is master of the cheap laugh.

>the table and carefully eased into it, taking the small unit.
>He glanced at the display, intermittently pressing the small area
>mechanism for the data. "Hmmm," he murmured.

Crow: [Riker] How the hell do you work this thing?

> As he read further, his face began to alternately take on a

Mike: Look of fear as the faces of those he had wronged floated up at him.

>look of part confusion and part amusement.
> "Pardon me sir, but what is it that I am looking at that you find
>so interesting?" He handed the padd back to Picard.

Tom: [Picard] The Hair Club for Men's having a sale.

> Picard smiled, took the pro-offered padd, and sat back in his
>chair. "This is the transcript that we just received from Station
>LL

Mike: Bean.

>-5. Granted, on the surface it appears to be routine ship to
>ship communications. However, LL-5 also sent us a copy of the
>audio recording, the actual voices behind the words."

Tom: [Picard] The faces behind the names, the story behind the headlines, the
people behind the scenes, the caboose behind the....

Crow: [Riker] Would you just get on with it??

> "I see... Again I ask, what is it about that," Riker
>repeated, gesturing towards the padd, "that's different from what
>we've seen or heard before?"
> "It's a mystery, Number One," Picard replied, with a twinkle
>in his eye. Then, with a more serious tone he added, "Perhaps I'm

Tom: [Picard] ...actually bald. How shocking.

>being unfair. Let me give you some more information that may help
>clear up your confusion.

Tom: [Picard] You're adopted.

>Not only were no life-forms detected aboard those ships, but the audio
>recording, although poor in quality, was carefully analyzed and the
>conclusion was that the voices were mechanical. Or, for lack of a better word,

Mike: Kevin Costner-esque.

>synthesized."
> "Mechanical? Synthesized?" A long pause

Crow: A long, *long* pause while we smell something burning...

>and then a revelation.

All: Finally!

>"The Borg...?" Riker suddenly bolted upright in his chair. The Borg.
>That's all he needed right now. A once deadly and now totally confused
>group of beings who were part-Humanoid and part-machine.

Crow: The average Usenetter, in other words.

Mike: Hey, that's not very nice......

> In spite of a wave of individualism that appeared to
>be spreading like wild fire throughout the known Borg Collective,

Tom: They all still lived in all-Borg neighborhoods and went to the
"right" schools.

>the memories of their past atrocities did not sit well with the
>Commander.
> "Not likely, Number One. Judging from information obtained
>from our encounters with and study of several members of the Borg,
>the data that we have gathered suggests that they have shown a
>distinct preference for

Crow: Seinfeld.

>the use of a more biological means of vocalization, rather than the use
>of some artificial construct."
> "Maybe the ships themselves are some sort of artificially

Mike: --sweetened--

>intelligent life form, or were programmed by others to be such,
>like that organism we encountered a number of years ago, we called
>'Tin Man'?" Riker surmised.
> "Perhaps. Perhaps not. However, if you recall, 'Tin Man'

Crow: Was *not* played by Ray Bolger. That was the Scarecrow.

>could only function properly with the help of an organic,
>telepathic species, in a symbiotic-type relationship."

Tom: Oh, and a heart.

Crow: Yeah, but what about Scarecrow's brain?

> "Well, looks like we're running out of choices, Captain."
> "In a situation such as this, there are always other choices
>and other possibilities, Number One. We need more information,
>more 'clues', if you will, before we can come to any conclusion.

Mike: Because as of now, we're clueless.

>I want you to take charge of this investigation, Will, as a
>personal favor.

Tom: [Marlon Brando in 'The Godfather'] This I cannot do.

> As soon as Astrophysics completes it's survey of this sector, I

Tom: AAAAGGHH!! "Its"! The word you want is "its", not "it is"! DIE! DIE!
DIE! DIE!!!

Mike: Easy, Servo---it's only a fanfic.....

>want you to set a course for Station LL-5 and have Data and Geordi
>enhance our scanning capability to boost our reception of

Crow: ...Comedy Central.

>the unusual frequencies that were carrying these transmissions."
> "Aye sir," Riker responded, while standing and easing around
>the chair.

Crow: [Dr. Smith of _Lost in Space_] Keep away....keep away...oh, the pain,
the pain.....

> "Oh, by the way sir, Geordi requested that we take some key systems
>off-line so that he can

Mike: Have something to do besides sit around spouting Treknobabble.

>perform a Level IV diagnostic. He figured that since things were
>relatively quiet, now would be a good time."
> "Sounds like a prudent move, Number One. You should still
>proceed with the mission. So far, it doesn't yet appear that those
>unidentified ships have any hostile intentions."
> Riker nodded, turned, and left the room. Picard pulled his
>chair closer to the table. He again tilted his head forward and

Tom: It fell into his cup of tea.

>balanced it on one hand. He brought the steaming mug to his lips,
>took a sip of the fragrant clear brown liquid, and resumed his
>study of the padd.

Crow: Mmmm, that's *good* varnish!!

>---------------------COPYRIGHT/DISCLAIMER NOTICE----------------
>
>This story, _Dark_Dawn_, by B.J. Henry, is a figment of the
>author's imagination. Characters portrayed are fictional and do
>not

Crow: [Swamp Thing] ...bring their evil here.

>reflect actual people, either living or deceased.

Mike: Shhhh!!! What if the fanboys hear you, you fool?

>"Star Trek", "Star Trek: The Next Generation", it's characters and
>certain technological devices and/or references to such, from the
>television show, may be or are registered trademarks of, and may be
>or are copyrighted by the _Paramount_Studios_ Corporation.

Crow: "May be or are". Nothing like utter confidence, huh?

>"Battlestar Galactica", it's characters, and certain technological
>devices and/or references to such, from the television show, may be
>or are registered trademarks of, and may be or are copyrighted by
>the _Universal_Studios_ Corporation.

>Neither Studio is responsible for the content of this story.

Tom: And would deny it utterly if they were.

1...2...3...4...5...6......

Tom: Well, that one wasn't so bad, guys. Stiff characterizations, stiff
dialogue, and an utterly bad crossover idea, but we didn't suffer too
much.

Mike: Yeah, that was actually---oh, look, the Mads are calling.

Dr. F: Don't get your hopes up yet. That little fever dream was only part
one of ten! Mu-ahhahhahhah!!

Tom: WHAT?? [starts crying]

Mike: Evil...you're evil, Doctor Forrester. And hey, you never *did* sign
my time card, you cheapskate!

Dr. F: Just put it in my in box, Nelson. Until next time.....push C-x C-c,
Frank....

[ObDisclaimer: All of the above characters, even B.J. Henry, are the property
of their respective owners. No copyright infringement or personal attacks
are implied. Deal with it, pink boy.]

--
Tom Salyers "Now is the Windows of our disk contents
IRCnick: Aqualung made glorious SimEarth by this Sun of Zork."
Denver, CO ---Richard v3.0