[MiSTing] Mercator: Into the Void [TNG, XOVER, MEMIST] [CASTLE] [4/4]
David Thurston
am actually writing this note before reading the six chapters ahead
of us, and am going by what I am remembering.
Please, don't make me do it, it'll hurt!
It gets confusing, it gets gawd awful, but hang in, and we'll make
it through this together, you, I, Mike, and the Bots.
That's enough of that, let's roll.
**************************************************************************
[The commercials end with Mike and the Bots already in the theater.
Mike is still furiously strumming his guitar.]
Tom: It's over, dear, give it a break.
>Chapter Seventeen
Tom: On second thought, keep going.
>
> Thorn quickly exited his ready room onto the bridge. "Miller,
>can we get a view from tangent 103, level 11, mag factor 10?"
Mike: Meaningless technobabble is, though awful, stomachable. But
can we at least have some sort of universal coordinates?
Crow: This seems to be an odd tangent you're on.
> The view on the main screen changed to what Hurr and Thorn saw
>through the ready room window.
Tom: The floating head of Zsa-Zsa Gabor?
> Something was blocking out the stars
>in the center of the screen, what was uncertain.
Mike: No, What is helm, Where is tactical, Who is the captain.
Tom: And Why was this written...
> The starscape around the edge of the void was changing, stars
>being added and taken away at what seemed to be random intervals.
Crow: Much like the characterizations.
> It
>was obvious that the void, whatever it was, was changing in some way.
Mike: Oh, wait, I get it. It's the "void."
Tom: Damn, so if there is a void, it's been seventeen chapters to lead
up to it? Someone was reading Moby Dick.
Crow: At least it wasn't us.
> Then the figure changed in such away to reflect the light from a
>star nearby and opposite the ship for it.
Tom: My CAD-CAM fanfic rendering program is disputing with my language
parser, and it all hurts so much!
> There was a rapid flash of
>light across the surface of what appeared to be a long flat slab of
>perfectly black obsidian. Almost as soon as the light was there, it
>was gone, as though the slab had adapted, and absorbed it.
Crow: Nurtured it, loved it, fed it small pieces of spaghetti.
> Hurr, who had been walking out of the ready room at that moment,
Mike: What, did he make a pit stop along the way?
>let out a soft whistle. "Damn, what the hell is that?"
Crow: It's a big ole slab of--
Mike: I have no idea where you're going, but I should interrupt to be
safe.
> "That, commander, is what we are here for,
Tom: So life's purpose, the reason we're all in this mixed-up universe
is for a poorly written crossover?
> beyond that, I am as
>much in the dark as you are."
Crow: Well, considering that you're Hurr, maybe not *quite* as much
in the dark.
Tom: I'm debating whether Hurr would be better played by Coleman
Francis or Joe Don Baker.
> Thorn looked back from the commander
>back to the main viewscreen,
Mike: [Thorn, under breath] Bah, dolt.
> and the slab flashed once again as
>another star hit it.
Crow: You'd think that if stars are impacting on it, someone would
have found it a bit sooner.
> "It almost looks like..." Smith shut himself up, and continued
>looking at the screen.
Tom: I know nothing, I know nothing, la la la.
> "Ensign Smith?" Thorn prompted.
Mike: [Smith, panic] Eclairs! The Battle of Trafalgar! Could you
repeat the question?
> "It almost looks like a Clarke monolith."
Crow: So fiction coming to life in a world that is, itself, fiction.
Exactly which "wall" does this fall under.
> Smith suddenly felt multiple pairs of eyes looking at him, each
>having absolutely no idea what the ensign was talking about.
Tom: Greatest sci-fi series of novels, and no one in the 24th century
has even heard of it?
Crow: The purging of 3001 from the collective memory went too far.
> "Clarke Monolith.
Mike: Oh great, sit back, we're in for a long winded plot summary.
> In the late 20th century, Arthur C. Clarke came
>out with a series of novels postulating the existence of an advanced
>species that thrives by furthering life that deserves it.
Crow: And since they end up furthering human life, it seems to debunk
their entire mission statement.
> They used
>large crystalline or black monoliths to enact these changes and keep
>tags on civilizations they were...experimenting with.
Tom: I suddenly picture a large dissecting tray.
Mike: Did it just get cold in here?
> In the series one
>of their main projects was humankind, with a monolith on the earth,
>moon, and orbiting Jupiter to keep tabs on how far human intelligence
>is gone, allowing them to find the monoliths."
Tom: Oh, *those* monoliths. Jeepers, you'd be surprised the things
one will do for fun at the edge of the universe!
> "Well that is all fine and good, and a nice little story, but
>this isn't.
Crow: What isn't what?
Mike: No, What is what. What is helm!
Tom: No, this piece is not a nice little story, great observation.
> Can we scan this thing, I'll be willing to guess not,
>though."
Tom: Well thank you, Captain Pessimist!
> "Sorry, sir, unable to penetrate its surface with the sensors, in
>fact I can't even seem to convince the sensors that this objects even
>exists.
Crow: They've been having problems ever since the deflector broke up
with them.
> They seem to read right through it."
Mike: Boy, it's freaky when someone looks right through you like that.
> Thorn was not at all surprised. Just the opposite. If they HAD
>been able to read the monolith on the sensors it would have gone
>against this instinct that seemed to be leading him onward.
Tom: Not really an instinct, more like the smell of bacon.
> "Sir, I am picking up something after all, like a weak halo
>around the monolith at a distance of a couple thousand kilometers."
Crow: Let me guess, it's a halo of--
All: [Flatly] Ytterbic radiation!
> Hurr went up take a look at the sensor readouts, but didn't need
>to. "Don't tell me, let me guess. You are picking up a halo of
>Ytterbic radiation around the monolith.
Mike: Drinking game, one shot for every Ytterbic mention.
> Could we configure the screen
>to show this Ytterbic halo?"
Mike: Wouldn't "Ytterbic Halo" be a great name for a rock band?
> Miller began to tap at controls, "yes, sir, that shouldn't be too
>hard."
Tom: Ironically, Thorn had been told the same thing last night.
> He hit one or two more controls, and a yellow haze appeared on
>the screen.
Crow: Gazundheit.
> The haze was slightly ovaloid in shape, and the long axis rotated
>around the halo.
Tom: Quite an accomplishment for something with a halflife of less than
five days. Shouldn't really stay around all that long.
> As it flopped, it brightened and dulled in a
>sequence that seemed more haphazard,
Mike: [Drawl] Yup, those Hap boys was lookin' for some trouble.
> some times becoming bright enough
>for the crew to shade their other sides,
Crow: Are we sure this hasn't been put through Babel Fish and back
again?
> other time dull enough so as
>to vanish.
Crow: No, sorry, varnish. Don't you like the nice oak shade on the
monolith?
Mike: As much as I like running gags, I don't think vanish-varnish
is a keeper.
Crow: Oh, and isosceles--
Tom: WHAAAAAAAAA!
Crow: --is?
> All at once the halo was gone, and stayed that way for a moment,
>until a yellow spheroid began to form in the middle of the screen.
Crow: Wow, cool!
Mike: I can't believe Pearl let us see THAT!
[Tom rushes back in]
Tom: What, what, what did I miss?
Mike: Nothing, just like keeping you on your toes.
>The sphere didn't grow, but brightened to an unbearable shine.
Tom: Oh, Suzanne Somers.
> The
>viewscreen began to automatically dull the image, but was unable to
>keep up.
Mike: Something tells me if that's their technology state, they have
bigger problem than a big yellow ball.
> The sphere of yellow then exploded outwards, turning the
>screen pure yellow, then it was gone.
Tom: [Singing] The morning sun's exploding like a big yellow ball.
> Klaxons then began to go off on the bridge, a combination of red
>alert, and a slightly shriller pitch of the intruder alert warning.
Crow: Tuned to D and D# respectively, just to piss off the crew.
>Miller started to pour over his counsel,
Mike: Miller is a liquid, convenient plot twist.
> trying to get any internal
>scans that could help them out in the situation.
Tom: Women's locker shower, no. Female security dressing room, no...
> "Miller?...Miller!
Crow: [Miller] What!?
Mike: [Thorn] Can I have a cookie?
> Give me something to work with here."
Tom: [Miller] Alright, here are some Lincoln Logs that should keep
you busy.
> The
>captain began to back off a bit,
Crow: No, further...good, now stay there until you can get some new
deodorant
> remembering how much he hated
>commanding officers looking over his shoulder when he was a young ops
>officer.
Mike: And their constant chuckling did nothing to assuage his
paranoia.
> "Captain, the internal sensors are sporadic, it's almost as
>though something is-"
Mike: [Rayburn] Miller was unable to get any reports, when he realized
that there was something tapping into his *blank*.
> The lights on the bridge dimmed a bit came back on, then dimmed
>down to only the emergency lights. "...Almost as though something is
>tapping power directly from the main core."
Mike: He has said "main core." Tom?
Tom: [Brett] I didn't know what to think, so I said his brain.
Crow: [Richard Dawson] I said "Bippy."
> "Get me the sensor logs, what happened?"
Tom: We flushed them, sir.
> Miller was working frantically at his station, his hands almost
>beginning to blur as he attempted to pull up sensor logs,
Mike: Up to the last two words, that fragment was scaring me.
> as well as
>get the sensors back online.
Tom: I knew we shouldn't have outsourced systems integration to AOL.
> "Sir, I have the sensor logs, I am
>transferring them over to Science II, I'll keep working on getting the
>sensors back up and running."
Crow: And they're off!
Mike: Please, no Belmont Stakes reminders.
> "OK, Miller, take the resources that you feel necessary, but stay
>away from key systems.
Tom: Too late, I already routed Life Support to--ERK!
> I want all non key and emergency power to the
>sensors and life support." Thorn turned to look at the Science II
>console, and Hurr joined him in examining the data.
> "Sir, what about the shields, weapons?"
Tom: I'm leaning to Coleman Francis for Hurr.
> "Don't worry, commander, I don't think its necessary. The
>same...instinct that drew me here also tells me that we are safe here.
>At least for the moment."
Crow: Thorn: definitely John Agar.
> The sensor logs began to come on screen, and Hurr and Thorn began
>to manually go over the data, a slow process.
Mike: Let's watch ALL of it!
Tom: This makes Titanic look like a short.
> They looked deck by
>deck, time increment by time increment until they saw what they were
>looking for.
Tom: A snack with the taste of chocolate and the delightful tang of
Worcestershire sauce.
Crow: You'd think by now they would wise up and just look for this
damned Ytterbic radiation.
> "Captain, there it is."
Mike: No that's just a reflection.
> Hurr was pointing to deck 2, 3 time increments before that sensor
>went out.
Tom: Voyeurism has really gone high tech.
> This was also, by what they were seeing was no coincidence,
>the first of the internal sensors to go out.
> "A spike of Ytterbic Radiation, just before the sensors went out.
>In fact, it looks like..."
Crow: Imagine that. Anyone else bitter right now.
Mike: Long past.
> Thorn saw exactly what Hurr had, and finished the sentence when
>his first officer trailed off.
Tom: [Charles Nelson Reilly] A catamaran.
Mike: Ever wonder if we watch that show too much?
Tom: Any show with wockachickas in the main theme is alright by me.
Crow: That's what this piece needs. Wouldn't it be better with some
wockachickas?
> "It looks almost exactly like the readings we got from the alien
>vessel and the energy creature."
Bots: Wockachicka, wockachicka, wockachicka , wockachicka.
Mike: Nope, it isn't working.
> The two exchanged a brief glance as this sunk in, then the
>captain spoke,
Tom: WOOF!
> "Hurr, Miller, get down there, and get that thing off
>my ship!"
Crow: So should we try communicating with...oh nevermind.
>
>Chapter Eighteen
Mike: Ironic, since this piece *shouldn't* be legal.
>
> Hurr and Miller exchanged a slow, silent glance in the turbolift
>as the door closed around them,
Tom: [Hurr] Don't worry, they don't suspect a thing.
> isolating them in the small moving
>chamber.
Crow: Make it sound so sinister, and you're going to make them paranoid.
> Nothing was said, and there really was nothing to say, both
>knew what had to be done, how to do it, and that they were the ones in
>charge of doing it.
Mike: So, in short, [singing] The talk was small, when they talked at
all, they both knew what they wanted.
> The turbolift seemed to take longer than even it seemed to in
>other emergency situations to Hurr.
Tom: I'm suspecting that English is *not* this guy's first language.
> He watched the lights outside the
>small window that helped show the progress of the turbolift car.
Crow: I always thought they were just a cheep way to create the illusion
of movement in a stationary set.
Mike: Shh, they don't know that.
> Each
>one seemed to almost stop in the window as it went by, and then
>lethargically moved on again.
Tom: I've had days like that.
Mike: I'm having one now.
> "Miller," he said, more to break the silence than anything else,
>"will we have everything on hand that we're going to need?"
Crow: Will they be on hand when the game is afoot?
> "Yes, sir, we should. If not, we can use an emergency power pack
>to boost up one of the replicator units and get what we need. I have
>al the specifics saved in my tricorder."
Tom: It worries me when he *names* the specifics.
> He whipped the small
>electronic device from his belt, spun it once in the palm of his hand,
>then put it away again.
Mike: I was more impressed by Kilmer's cup twirling in Tombstone.
> "Good job, Miller." Hurr allowed the deathful silence of the
>turbolift ride take over again, absorbed the deep red glow of the
>emergency lighting, and watched the decks go by.
Crow: So, ah, come here often...oh, sorry, stupid, Stupid, *STUPID!*
> What seemed to be nearly an hour later,
Tom: More like two. Isn't that clone done *yet*?
> the doors of the
>turbolift opened into an absolutely empty hall.
Crow: Except for some kids in there doing sketch comedy.
> The red emergency
>lights danced down the hall,
Mike: I know what he meant, but it's still a fun mental image.
> flashing in order, combined with the
>alert lights to create a blood red glow through the entire hallway.
Tom: Is this really good for crew morale in an emergency?
>It added to the situation a feeling of menace which wasn't necessary,
>and which Hurr absolutely detested.
Mike: Guess not.
Crow: I hate to harp on this, but wasn't Barclay in this story?
> Miller was already in the hall, with an access panel pulled off
>scanning the circuitry and the channels inside for what might match,
Tom: [Miller] Ha, ha, it's ME time!
Mike: How long were you waiting for that one?
>and could be cannibalized into destroying the creature. He began to
>pull a few of the wires out, and reconnected them in various ways.
Crow: [Miller] I learned this from a balloon animal book...
> He
>hated working with these new biopacs, as they were often a lot more
>finicky to work with in these situations.
> He grabbed a handful isolinear chips, and began to move them
>around at what seemed to be fast paced randomness,
Tom: Well, that's what Miller always looks like
> but rather
>reprogramming the systems and rerouting power. "Dammit.
Tom: Yeah, that's a bitch.
> Sir, I'm
>going to have to replicate a few of the necessities for the trap."
Mike: I doubt the necessity of chocolate to the trap.
> "Just do it, Miller."
Crow: I wonder how much Reebok paid to NOT be plugged in this.
> Hurr felt useless, but didn't want to get
>under the ops officer's feet here.
Tom: When it's so much more fun to be over his head.
> Miller tapped his comm badge, "Miller to Engineering, Commander
>Barclay, could we get a independent mobile generator up here to use on
>one of the replicator units.
Crow: Yes, I'm happy he's finally back in the plot, but am I allowed
to question the logic of having possibly important pieces of
equipment in a single centralized location.
Mike: Just smile and nod.
>
> "Well, I guess, I mean yes,
Tom: He guesses he means yes? So he could subconsciously mean no,
and not even know it himself?
> I'll be right up there with it."
Crow: Go Speed Barclay, go Speed Barclay, go Speed Barclay go!
Mike: Are you alright?
>Barclay closed the transmission at his end, and went into the back
>engineering storage room to pick up one of the units.
> "Henderson, take care of the place, I expect the engines in one
>piece when I get back down."
Tom: Well, seeing as they are two separate units located on either
side of the ship, and dependant on a drive that must keep the
two reactants separate...
Mike: Smile and nod, just smile and nod.
> "Yes sir, commander, and in one piece you will find them.
Crow: Though he never specifies *where* he'll find them
> Good
>luck, sir."
Tom: Do I notice a sarcastic edge to that voice?
Mike: Well, since we're in a text-based medium, I doubt it.
Crow: Since when?
> Barclay hoped that luck was not something that he would need,
>but he appreciated the wish none the less. He turned the corner out
>of the engineering bay, and called for the turbolift.
Tom: Call me a turbolift.
Mike: You're a turbolift.
> The car slowly began its assent from engineering to the location
>of Hurr and Miller.
Crow: Sounds like an "Irish" pub/restaurant.
> Barclay put the mobile generator down, and
>enjoyed the ride as much as he could.
Tom: [Barclay] WHOO! Ceeeeeelebrate good times, COME ON!
> A light, rhythmic tapping noise began to slowly fill the room.
Mike: A look inside Barclay's brain, next on neurotic theater.
>It was a rapid, steady paced beat that seemed to echo through the
>chamber.
Crow: As long as it isn't Celene Dion.
> Barclay's first inclination was to place his hand to his
>chest, but his heartbeat, while speeding up a bit, did not match the
>tapping noise. He looked around the chamber, trying to find what was
>wrong, when something caught his eye.
Tom: Let me guess, a ten foot tall Orion pirate with a sharpened T'Kai
blade in his mouth.
> He was tapping his foot.
Tom: Well, that was my second guess.
Crow: Barclay, isn't he amazing, he'll be here all week.
> He stopped himself, feeling silly that he was able to frighten
>himself like this.
Mike: Like he scares himself with that book of Nostradamus up upon
the shelf?
> He let the ride continue, and went to watching the
>lights go by out the small window.
> The tapping returned.
Tom: Is this Telltale Heart all of a sudden.
> This time it was much louder, but about the same tempo as
>before. There was no way his foot could be causing this,
Crow: Maybe it's both feet?
> and a glance
>to the floor confirmed this conclusion.
Mike: Good guess, though.
> The tapping grew louder, and began to fill the chamber.
Tom: This is just one long thesaurus entry for "turbolift."
> The
>floor vibrated with each tapping noise, rattling ever bone from his
>foot to his jaws,
Crow: I hate rattling Everbones. Hopefully the author has since learned
to proofread, not just spell check.
> which were now grinding with the noise.
Mike: And his septum was doing the full out Humpty Dance.
> "Computer!" Barclay shouted to be heard above the ruckus, but
>was apparently not heard.
Crow: No one even heard him, not even the chair?
> He reached over to the control pad, but
>only felt a bit of a buzzing beneath his finger.
Tom: It's the fact that he keeps doing it that bothers me.
> He pressed it again,
>and a shock came out that sent him yelping, and wheeling to the back
>of the turbolift car.
Crow: With his ears back and tail between his legs?
> As he hit the back wall, he slid downwards, shaking his head a
>bit to try to clear it.
Mike: Well that's the rattling sound.
> He could only feel the vibrations, which were
>now too strong to allow him to stand back up again. He struggled to
>do so none the less, and reached his hand up to the guardrail, which
>shook it off again like a cowboy on a wild horse.
Tom: I'll take completely random analogies for $100 please, Alex.
> "Computer!" He shouted, and this time he got a reply.
Crow: Not one we can print, but a reply none the less.
> Darkness.
> The emergency lights went out.
Mike: Same principle as Zaphod's glasses.
> The lights outside the turbolift
>went out, and its moved to a fast halt,
Tom: And became a logical oxymoron.
> which only cemented Barclay to
>the floor even more for a moment.
Crow: He's going to be sent to sleep with the Slime Devils.
> Once the car had come o a
Mike: A, ting tang, walla-walla bing bang!
> complete
>stop, he stood up, and groped for the mobile generator, trying to flip
>on its light function.
Tom: Mobile comma generator?
> A dull yellow-white light filled the turbolift as Barclay found
>the switch and threw it.
Crow: Unfortunately it was for ball one.
> He looked around the turbolift for a moment,
>and went to the manual door override.
Tom: Well, that was the tension, can I go to sleep.
Mike: You got one nap earlier.
> He pulled the panel off, and
>hit the release code once through, and grabbed the mag handles to
>force the doors opened.
> Straining to his limit,
Crow: Course, he has the same problem with a pop can
> he pulled at the door, trying to get it
>open.
Tom: So then he's trying to open it?
Mike: Let's not jump to conclusions!
> He left the handles on the door,
Crow: Putting his hip into it, squeezing those love handles to the door.
Mike: Bad thought.
> tried the sequence again,
Tom: OK, what joker changed the noises to the alien "song" from Close
Encounters?
> and
>went back to the door. When he could not open it this time, he pulled
>one of the handles off, and put them both on the same door, straining
>at a different angle.
Crow: New Action Barclay with Kung-Fu Grip!
> Barclay went flying into the wall as he got the door part of the
>way open,
Tom: If this is Action Barclay, are we sure we didn't switch to A-Team.
> and it shot the rest of the way open, along with the other
>door. Barclay dusted himself off a bit, stood, and looked out the
>door.
Crow: I have a suspicion that a door is involved in this scene...
> "Of course."
All: Of course!
> Barclay mumbled to himself when he saw that the
>turbolift was exactly between corridors.
Mike: Well that's second nature, it's like saying he breathed when
he noticed it.
> The center of the door
>revealed the bulkhead,
Tom: Ah, racy pictures for engineers.
> while the top and the bottoms showed only a few
>inches of corridor,
Tom: [Engineer] Oh yeah, baby, show them corridors!
> not nearly enough to let him through.
Crow: Why you gotta be that way?
> Barclay stumbled a bit as the turbolift shuddered a bit in its
>moorings.
Mike: Just a bit, then?
Crow: Bit me, Mike.
> He frantically looked towards the ciceiling and the
>emergency hatch there.
Tom: Wouldn't it be easier all around if they but the emergency
hatch somewhere more accessible, like the fofloor?
> He began to scale the small escape ladder to
>get to it, more worried about getting himself out than the mobile
>generator.
Crow: Where are your priorities? SAVE THE MACHINE!
Mike: Pssh! Robots!
> He went up one or two rungs of the ladder when his attention was
>drawn away by the whoosh of pneumatics rapidly moving.
Tom: Hark, are those pneumatics I doth hear?
> He turned his
>head to see the doors close, and felt himself begin to loose weight as
>the turbolift car plummeted.
Tom: Actually, if the car is falling at a constant acceleration, there
will still be the illusion of gravity, and thus weight, but it
will just reverse--
Mike: Let it go. Just let it go.
>
>Chapter Nineteen
>
> Blindly Barclay's
Crow: Bought some butter?
> left hand shot down
All: WOAH!
Tom: Oh, he's a lefty?
> to find the only physical
>button in the turbolift car: emergency brake. He felt for the button,
Crow: Dirty, just dirty.
Mike: Have I ever mentioned that you robots have an odd view of the
ways of the world?
>then pushed with all his might,
Tom: If you need all your might to push a little button..
> a difficult task as he was hanging on
>for dear life to the ladder,
Crow: We've replaced Barclay's Grip-Talc powder with new Acme Petroleum
Jelly, let's see if he notices...
> trying not to be shot to the ceiling by
>the laws of momentum.
Mike: Well, I know we can't break laws of physics, but can't we just
hedge a bit on this one?
> He palm hit the button,
Tom: No, he *Barclay* hit the button
> and he felt the reassuring feeling as it
>slipped into the wall of the car,
Crow: Ah, sliding into the wall, sweet Joy Crystals work your magic!
> activating spring loaded emergency
>clamps on all sides of the car.
Mike: Springs that react to acid trips. Nice touch.
> He kept pushing as he felt his speed
>slow,
Tom: So, something that DOES work on the same principle of repeatedly
hitting the "Down" button on an elevator.
> until he was able to stand and flip over the rotating panel
>meant to hold the button down.
Crow: Nope, can't follow that move. I give it a 10 though.
> He looked out the door, which remained open through the plummet,
>and saw that he had a step down to the deck, but an easy one.
Mike: No, three inches, too much!
> He
>grabbed a hold on the mobile generator he had been carting in the
>turbolift, and carried it out to the deck to figure out where he was.
Tom: The Mercator.
> Looking around for a moment, he realized he had taken an exact
>round trip, returning to the engineering deck that he had started at.
Crow: D'oh! Haha, that wacky Barclay. Gotta love 'im.
> "Henderson, get out here,
Mike: Henderson! Stop this crazy thing!
> and bring me the other mobile
>generator, we've had a slight change of plans here."
Tom: Wouldn't it be helpful in case of an emergency to have, say,
more than two of these?
> Barclay walked
>out, and saw that his crew was working rapidly on rerouting power from
>the various parts of the ships to wherever it was absolutely needed.
Crow: But since this is Barclay's engineering crew, top priority is
listed as "Holodeck."
>Henderson's red head became visible out of the group as he was lugging
>a large metallic object:
Tom: Crow, how did they get you to cameo?
Mike: Let's not in fight. We still have a few chapters to go...
> the second generator.
> "Short trip, sir, what went wrong up there?"
Crow: It's standard procedure to ask what went wrong whenever Barclay
arrives.
> He asked in his
>light Irish drawl that had not, after generations of family history,
>left his voice.
> "Well, I had, shall we say, a long ride up, and a very short ride
>down.
Mike: Alright.
All: [monotone] a long ride up, and a very short ride down.
Mike: [Leslie Neilson] Now, let's say I need the second generator...
> I need the second generator so I can get the first generator up
>to where it's needed."
Tom: This sounds like we're going into the Bucket Song.
> Barclay lifted the first generator back to the
>turbolift, and watched as Henderson fell in behind him.
Crow: [Barclay] Oh, by the way, the turbolift shaft is empty...
> "Sounds like fun, too bad I wasn't there to enjoy the ride."
Mike: Engineering! The kooky fun new sitcom!
>Henderson said as he hefted the generator up the step created by the
>abrupt stop of the turbolift.
Tom: Turborobics!
> "Yeah, well I wouldn't have minded you enjoying that ride instead
>of me either."
Mike: Should we have a laugh track?
> Barclay hefted himself right after he hefted the
>generator,
Crow: He's using Cinch Sacks?
> then offered a hand down to Henderson.
Tom: So it's a hand down, not a hand out?
> "Thank you, sir. It shouldn't take but a moment to hook this
>unit in, and the turbolift should have more than enough power then."
Mike: Ye-haw, have ourselves a REAL turbo-lift.
>Henderson got right to work, and Barclay stood there, watching,
Crow: That's disturbing.
> and
>taking in everything that had gone on in just these last ten minutes.
Tom: Hmmm, inhaled 52 time, exhaled 46 times...wait, that cant be right.
> Suddenly he noticed that he was not worried,
Mike: [Frank] Zen warrior must learn to breath in the air.
Tom: Sure, Mike, like anyone else watches that show.
> he was not nervous,
>he was not anything except driven to get this generator up to Ensign
>Miller.
Crow: We're proud of him, but is that really the best life goal?
> He smiled at himself,
Mike: [Barclay] You beautiful hunk of man you.
> and brushed back what was left of his
>hair.
Tom: So we're continuing the tradition of baldly going where no one
has gone before?
> "Well, if I'm able to put aside a little trepidation," he
>thought,
Crow: [Barclay] What's "trepidation"?
> "why can't I get rid of this damned balding?"
Mike: Gee, even in the 20th century we have Minoxadil!
> He pulled his
>hand back down, and saw four or five hairs interlaced with his
>fingers, and sighed.
Tom: Least they're standard hairs...
Mike: Ohh...no, that's just, NO!
> "All set, sir, you should be able to get up there with no
>problem."
Crow: No worries, moate!
> Henderson looked up Barclay, and at the few hairs he was
>holding in his hand.
Mike: [Henderson] Sir, give those back to me!
Tom: Shouldn't Bigfoot be in this scene somewhere?
Crow: No, one crossover is plenty.
> "Want me to get on fixing that problem next?"
> "Uh, no Lieutenant, this will be find, get back on the power
>ratios."
Tom: [Barclay, to himself] Yup, ratios, that sounds important...they
respect me.
> Barclay released the emergency brake, dropped the hairs, and
>quickly shut the doors.
Crow: [Singing] Ground floor: perfumary, stationary, linen wares, wigs and
habidashary, kitchenware, and linens, going up! Going up!
Mike: Crow?
Crow: I'm free!
> "OK, computer, lets get this show on the road."
All: Let's go out to the lobby, let's go out to the lobby, let's go
out tot he lobby, and get ourselves a snack.
> He pressed one
>of the newly lit buttons.
Tom: He just likes shiny buttons, doesn't he?
> The lights dimmed for awhile, as the
>generator strained to work the lift mechanisms, but came back on again
>quickly.
Crow: A quick while then.
>
> Miller had a trickle of sweat trickling down his brow,
Mike: I know we joke about thesauruses, but this guy could honestly
have used one.
> cheek,
>then get splattered as he wiped it off.
Tom: Darn, the one character I was actually liking.
> He moistened his lips, and
>tasted the salt of other drops of sweat that had evaporated there.
> Hurr was looking at his tricorder.
Crow: [Stimpy] This thing makes the coolest sounds!
> "Miller, I have the creature
>at ten minutes and closing, are you sure there's nothing more that you
>can do without the generator?"
Mike: Well, I could do the opening number to Cabaret if it would help.
> Miller looked up, his hair matted back and moist.
Tom: Just trying to make Hurr and Barclay jealous he is.
> "No, sir,
>there is absolutely nothing I can do until Barclay gets off that
>turbolift, and comes down that hall."
Crow: Yes, right down that hall, right there...down that hall, yup,
just right down that hall...any moment now...
> The rush of pneumatics from behind them was barely heard above
>the crackling of the lightning creature moving in on them.
Mike: That, or the sound effect guys are just getting lazy.
> Hurr
>turned to watch the chief of engineering come around the bend of the
>hallway.
Tom: [Drawl] Them duke boys had come just in time.
> "Great timing, Commander, what kept you?"
Crow: [Professor from Simpsons] Ach, the various shenanigans and goings
on with the explosion and the hurting and the moihaaa!
> Hurr grabbed the large
>metallic generator from the engineer, not even waiting for an answer.
Mike: The battle of Bunker Hill...wait, what was the question again?
>The engineer fell in beside the first officer to offer the answer
>anyway.
Tom: Yes, I was hoping for a rehash of the last two chapters.
> "Loss of power in the turbolift system. I fell about five decks
>before I could get back to engineering to get the secondary generator
>to get myself back up here.
Crow: Yes, yes, want a cookie?
> Hope I was able to get here in time."
>Barclay rushed ahead to relieve Miller from his position of messing
>with the device.
Mike: Here, I'm late, and have no idea what this necessarily is, let
me steal the spotlight!
> "Great design here, Ensign, ever thought of putting in some
>shifts down in engineering?"
Tom: No? Good.
> "Thank you, sir, but I think I've gotten my fill of engineering
>today. I shouldn't need a refresher in at least...the rest of my
>career."
Crow: Ah, the wackiness just fills me with mirth and suicidal tendencies.
> Miller then leaned against the opposite wall, and slid down
>until his butt was on the deck.
Mike: [Singing] get your ying-yang onto the floor!
> Barclay quickly looked at what was going on in the mechanism, and
>connected the generator up where it needed to go.
Tom: Don't forget to check polarity--oops, too late.
> "Well, commander,
>that should do it. Want to do the honors?"
> Hurr gave Barclay a cold stare,
Mike: Gee, ask a guy a question...
> and the engineer meekly said,
>"activating, sir."
> The generator spat to life,
Tom: Hey, now, say it, don't spray it.
> and the trapping mechanism began to
>activate. "Here it goes, sir, device activated, should just be a
>matter of time."
Crow: And yet another chance for drama adverted by the crew making their
deadline with time to spare.
> "Shade your eyes commander."
Mike: Miller has to take his shirt off, and it ain't pretty!
> Hurr said in a matter of fact way.
> Barclay looked up at the commander, who was flipping his
>biomechanical eye off,
Tom: That's a rather odd thing to do...
Crow: Best riff you could think of?
Tom: It's been a long fanfic, bite me!
Crow: Oh yes? ISOSCELES!
[Tom goes airborne]
> and shutting his other eye as tightly as he
>could. Barclay looked back, and quickly understood, shutting and
>covering his eyes as hard as he possibly could.
Mike: [Barclay] OH GAWD THE BLOOD!
> All Barclay could see was a bright red, as the blood rushing
Mike: Wow, maybe I was right...so they all die, the end?
[Tom hovers in]
Tom: Hey, that's my bit!
>through his eyelids illuminated by an intense light from somewhere in
>the hall.
Crow: Maybe from the kids down there?
> He sat and waited for the crimson blindness to subside,
Tom: Sounds like a great song lyric. [Singing] Crimson blindness
won't subside, since you poked out my eyes...[stops singing]
Ok, so it needs some work.
>then slowly, tentatively opened his eyes.
> What he saw was completely normal.
Mike: Well, normal for Barclay.
Tom: [Stoner] Doooooooooood! The colors!
> The hallway was lit by the soft white track lights that ran along
>the hallway.
Crow: [Jeff Foxworthy] Is anyone in this room?? Is anyone going through
this room?? We're lighting up the neighborhood!!
> The panels were all lit with their controls as they
>should be,
Tom: Well, that would be "normal" now wouldn't it?
Mike: One Mercator, one can never know...
> and all that was left was the running red alert lights that
>had not yet been turned off.
Crow: [Jeff Foxworthy] I've got a 60 watt bulb in here, but I can drop
it down to 15 if we can't handle the responsibility!
> On the bridge the same thing had happened.
Tom: SIR! NORMALITY IS BREAKING OUT ALL OVER THE SHIP!
> All the lights had
>come back to life, and all the control consoles were active again.
>Thorn stood up and looked around at what had happened.
Mike: Aw damn, no federal emergency funds.
> "Well, it looks as though they were successful.
Crow: That, or we're all dead and this is the afterlife.
> Bring the
>viewscreen back online, lets see the monolithical
[Crow goes catapulting out of the theather.]
> artifact."
Tom: "Monolithical," I'll have to remember that.
> What he
>ordered happened,
Mike: Wow, it's like he's in command or something.
Crow: [Hobbling back in] Got to be a nice ego boost.
Mike: Welcome back, enjoy your trip?
> and they saw the object,
Tom: [Thorn] Miller...no, not THAT object!
> actually seeing the object
>instead of perceiving its presence by what it blocked out.
Crow: OK, that completely lost me!
Tom: By that time my lungs were aching for air!
Mike: How does that riff fit?
Tom: About as well as that sentence.
> The surface had turned a milky white,
All: OH GAWD NO!
> and appeared to ripple.
>Its edges became less defined, but its size changed only a slight
>amount.
Crow: I think I fried my CAD/CAM.
> "Ensign Smith, fold the wings, and take us in."
Tom: Wow, that's a fun line out of context.
> Smith turned to look at the captain, "Sir?"
Mike: Well, so much for everything he orders happening.
> "Ensign Smith, take us in. Trust me."
Crow: Don't Panic.
Mike: No, I think we have an odd enough crossover here
> Smith shrugged, went back to his console, and began to tap in
>commands, hoping no one would notice that he was typing for an
>unnecessarily long time.
Tom: [Thorn] Hey, Smith, I notice that you seem to be typing for an
unnecessarily long time...
> No one did.
> They went in.
Crow: Ladies and gentlemen, the shortest lemon in the world.
>
> A transmission was all that was left of the Mercator in the space
>called reality.
Mike: I've never liked reality anyway, too many laws of physics to
muck around with.
> It was running away from the anomaly by subspace
>towards Pluto.
Tom: Wow, he actually managed to tie something back. I want a
picture of this.
> "Object verified and contact successful, heading in."
Crow: Smith's status report on Nicholson?
>
>Chapter Twenty
Tom: Ironic, seeing as I want to X this out!
>
> The milky-white surface of the monolith rippled for a moment,
>then the surface flattened out.
Mike: Martha Stewart is the Monolith in 2000: Round Numbers Are
More Aesthetic.
> The monolith the flipped over on its
>right side, like a door closing, and blinked out of existence, fading
>as it folded.
Crow: Then folded a few more times becoming a lovely crane.
>
> "Where the bloody hell are we?"
Tom: And why the bloody hell am I talking like a bleeding Englishman
all of a bloody sudden?
> Lieutenant Henderson had been the first to talk,
Mike: [Juvenile] Ma...ma!
Crow: YoYo Ma?
> but it was the
>same sentiment expressed silently by all the rest of the crew.
Tom: No, I'm thinking more along the lines of "who the bloody hell
is this twit."
Crow: WITH A CAST OF THOUSANDS!
> The
>entire crew was standing on a flat matte gray field that went on,
Mike: [Yenta] Oy, no don't get me started about that! Well, anyway
it seems that she thought she would go to New York, New York,
can you believe that? Well I told her it was meshuginas, but
off she went anything, well anyways...
>without change, in all directions at once.
Tom: And I thought reality was boring.
> The seemingly infinite
>expanse of gray had no hills, no dips, no nothing to change the flat
>gray.
Crow: Know nothing? Like the author?
> "Well, Lieutenant, 'bloody hell' may not hav been the worst
>choice of words I've ever heard. We are where I was."
Mike: Wow, that's...deep.
> Thorn looked
>around him,
Tom: Is Henderson really that big?
> wondering just what had happened to his ship,
Crow: Now where did we park again?
> but knowing
>deep down that nothing had.
Mike: This is getting all too existential.
> "Sir, that makes no sense. Do you know where this is or not?"
Tom: Didn't he say you are where he was?
Crow: That's an answer?
Tom: I guess not.
> Thorn turned to look at his first officer, then did a three-sixty
>to survay the surroundings.
Mike: Then got dizzy, and vomited.
> "Yes, Hurr, I know exactly where we are.
Crow: [Jim Davis] Schenectady!
>And I know where we need to go...uh--"
Tom: Damn, where's the little captain's room?
> Thorn turned, and pointed in what
>most of the crew could only feel was a random direction "at-a-way."
Mike: Don't you just trust this management style.
Tom: [Pointy-Hair] ...Did he ask me to make a decision?...Let's do both!
> As all the crew thought,
Crow: Oh, is that what that noise is?
> Henderson again was the one to speak for
>them. "Sir, is it beyond my position to ask, for the benefit of all,
>what this bleedin' place is?"
Mike: [Mr Burns] Funny, the blood usually gets off on the second floor.
> Thorn, who had already taken a few steps, turned to look at
>Henderson. "I'm sorry, lieutenant, but no I can't, as this place
>Isn't. It is no is, it doesn't exist as any of you, or even myself,
>can explain."
[All sit, befuddled.]
Tom: I think we just transcended any semblance of English!
> "I'm still confused, sir."
> "So am I.
Mike: So is the author.
Tom: So are the readers.
> Can I ask you all to just trust me,
Tom: [Deep Throat] Trust no one!
> a bit of support
>for your captain?"
Crow: [Henderson] Uh, sir, can we take a bloody vote?
> Thorn looked around the crew, all of who made
>direct contact,
Tom: He gets around.
> then looked on to someone else. "Alright, then, let's
>go."
Mike: Leadership by befuddlement.
>
> Walking over a surface that seemed to not change at any point was
>a difficult process.
Crow: Is this something being written from experience?
> Not only could the crew not be certain if any
>progress was being made in the long run, they could not even tell if,
>step-by-step, they were not simply just walking in place.
Tom: That's what this story feels like, walking in place.
> The temperature around them was completely comfortable. All of
>the humans felt it was a farily standard temperature, around seventy
>degrees farenheit, more or less for some.
Mike: Can we stop, and introduce everyone, with names and ranks?
> For the Vulcans, it felt
>comfortable ten to twenty degrees warmer, for Hurr and other Bolians,
>cooler and muggier.
Tom: BOLIANS! [Does a few more shots. Without arms, it's an
interesting sight.]
> None though to verbalize this fact,
Crow: [Announcer] Due to easy of comprehension, the rest of this
fanfic has been feed into BabelFish and back, for your
helpfulness.
> as none felt
>it was anything to verbalize, not realizing that each of the others
>was feeling the comfortable temperature for their race as well.
Mike: Come to think of it, I'm beginning to feel a bit warm.
> The walking continued,
Tom: For pages, and pages, and pages...
> but none could be certain how long it had
>gone on.
Crow: Years, I'd say.
Mike: At least. GET ON WITH IT!
> None were uncomfortable or sore after the distance they had
>gone, adding to the effect that they had not gone anywhere at all.
>Finally, a familiar Irish drawl came up from the back of the group.
Tom: Ensign Henderson O'Whiner.
> "Where the bloody hell are we going, and when the bloody hell are
>we getting there?"
Mike: He has this rather unnatural obsession with blood.
> As a whole, the group stopped, and turned to look
>at Henderson. "Ah...sir."
Crow: [Henderson] Open wide, let's check those molars.
> "Do you remember I said this place does not exist?"
Tom: Well then did that memory ever exist?
Mike: You're starting to sound like the author.
> "Yes, sir"
> "So do you understand that nothing here is necessarily what it
>appears?"
Crow: That last paragraph included, I hope.
> As Thorn was saying this, he was slowly walking around the
>group to end up in the back, with Henderson.
> "That seems reasonable, sir."
Mike: I think Henderson is too far gone.
> At this point the entire group had turned, wanting to see what
>was going on.
Tom: [singing] There's gonna be a rumble tonight!
> Thorn looked up at the direction that they were going,
>but did not want to direct any attention to it.
> "So, nothing here..."
Crow: Thrill at the awkward small talk!
Tom: Extreme small talk!
Bots: SUUUURGE!
> "Is as it seems, sir."
Mike: This is the author trying to get us to believe this isn't a
crappy fanfic.
> "Everything here can be written off as..." "An illusion, sir."
Tom: Sorry, I meant "delusion."
> "All right, then, Henderson, crew, the 'bloody hell' that we are
>going to was just a few meters further, look there, right over that
>ridge."
Crow: Zoink!
> The group turned, as saw a slight rising that had not been there
>before.
All: Ohh! Ahh! [golf clap]
> As this was registering to them, Thorn had made his way back
>to the front of the group. "Well, shall we go onwards?"
Mike: Or upwards, your choice.
> The crew began to walk again.
Tom: [Singing] Yes, indeed!
> As they did so, the rise seemed to
>fluctuate, remaining th same color, but rippling and changing heigth.
Crow: All in all, I think the crew got some damn good acid.
>It also was taking the crew twice as long to get to the ridge as it
>seemed it would take from their original glimpse.
Mike: We noticed.
> Eventually,
>however, Thorn put his foot on a piece of land that was definitely
>higher that what he had stepped off of.
Tom: [Hurr] Ah, time for stair-robics!
> The hill still seemed to fluxuate, but not as badly.
Crow: I wouldn't comment, except he spelled it right two lines ago,
dammit!
> Each step
>landed sure, but was tenuous before being put down.
Tom: I miss the excitement of the breathing scenes earlier.
Mike: Seems to prove that they *did* inhale.
> There was a
>rippling of the air which gave the affect of a mirage throughout all
>of the surroundings. Then a figure rippled into existence at the top
>of the hill.
Crow: [singing] sees the sun going down, and in his mind he can see,
the world spinning 'round.
> Thorn automatically turned and began to walk towards the
>figure, which was blurred by some effect.
Mike: [Toker] And the COLORS!
> As Thorn approached the figure seemed roughly humanoid, and
>pointing off in the distance.
Tom: Originally human "you are here" people were employed, but
went out of favor when they began to get disgruntled.
> There was a familiarity about the
>figure, a familiarity that he could not quite put his finger on. As
>he kept moving towards the figure, it seemed to age supernaturally
>fast,
Crow: He drank from the wrong grail.
> though Thorn could not be certain what to account that to.
> The aging of the figure accelerated as Thorn approached, until it
>was obvious that it was nothing more than a human skeleton.
Mike: [Singing] Human skull, on the ground, turn around.
> A human
>skeleton wearing the exact clothes that he had last seen Gerald
>Cunningham in when he had previously visited this place.
Tom: NO! WHY GAWD WHY...COULDN'T IT HAVE BEEN THORN?
> He turned
>his head to follow where the skeleton was pointing, and saw where he
>knew they needed to go.
Crow: Hell?
> The crew was beginning to crest the hill,
Tom: In PUBLIC?
> and they saw as well,
>continuing onwards as though being dragged on by an unseen leash.
Mike: Despite the fact they were trying to stop and piddle.
> In
>front of them was what appeared to be a translucent crimson curtain,
Crow: Not a velvet rope? I'm disappointed.
>leading on to they knew not what.
> Thorn stood, walked towards it, and stuck his hand through and in
>to a whole different reality.
Tom: So that's what, the third reality this fanfic?
>
>Chapter Twenty-One
Mike: Good, cause I could use a drink.
>
> "Well, it's really...red."
Crow: So it's bloody red?
> "Yes, Henderson, it is very red indeed."
Tom: Humoring Henderson is really the only way to deal with him.
> Thorn looked around,
>and tried to figure out just where the hell he was,
Mike: What, not "bloody hell"?
> and they were to
>do next. The intuition that seemed to have been planted in his head
>and driving him on was gone now.
Crow: He misses his voices.
> He was left to just his own devices.
Tom: And they all required batteries.
> Thorn snapped his fingers,
Mike: [Singing] Boy, boy, crazy boy, stay cooool boy.
> and a red version of his captain's
>chair was molded out of the land around him.
Crow: Oh, well now we are really throwing out the laws of physics.
> He sat down to think,
>without taking the time to think just where and how he was sitting.
Tom: Guess what yooOOOOOoooOOou sat in!
> "Sir, do you want to explain just how the bloody hell you just
>did that?"
Crow: Hell must have hemophilia.
> Henderson snapped his fingers a few times, as did a few
>other members of the crew.
All: [Whistle Andy Griffith]
> The landscape randomly changed around
>them, creating pyramids, bizarre shapes, and a few haphazard and
>changing surreal sculptures.
Mike: Mostly of Nicholson.
> "You know what, crew, I think we've just answered our own
>questions right here. Give me a chance, and I think we can make our
>own destination."
Crow: Thorn Motivational Speakers.
> Thorn concentrated for a moment on the horizon,
>which began to bulge, and a large sign came out of the landscape, and
>hovered above it. "Destination."
Tom: Isn't that cheating?
Mike: Don't complain about anything that hurries the story along.
> "Sir, this is all entirely too weird for me, is there a way to
>just stop this place so I can get off?"
Crow: [George] JANE! STOP THIS CRAZY THING!
> Hurr was sitting on a very
>plush, comfortable armchair, the same red color as everything else.
Tom: [Spanish Inquisitor] Bring out...THE COMFY CHAIR!
> "I'm afraid that the only way you could really be comfortable is
>to just play along. We're not getting out until we're allowed out. I
>don't know what we'll be forced to do, but it will involve
>something...unpleasant."
Mike: I don't think I want any details there.
> "Unpleasant, sir, don't you think you could have said something
>about this before?"
Crow: [Woody Allen] Please, I--I bleed easily! I'm allergic to pain!
> "Well, it is quite simple, really.
Tom: First our abdomens will be sliced open, and our colons removed.
They will then be tied in nooses which will be used to hang
ourselves by. Nothing major.
> The people who created this,
>maintain this, and live in this are under attack. They were once like
>us, but are not anymore.
Mike: They made the place during one of their bigger toked stupors.
> They are Watchers now.
Crow: More like Voyeurs.
> They have
>transcended the physical, but are still interested in what the
>physical does.
Tom: They have these things called "Stag films".
> They watch civilizations develop and evolve.
Mike: And cheer when they fail, and die in nuclear holocaust. Kind of
sick, really.
> "When they transcended the physical, however, there were aspects
>that they had to leave behind.
Crow: BO, embarrassing bodily noises, inconvenient hair...
> A human quality that they lost, and
>that they need now to combat this foe.
Tom: And the egocentricism of Star Trek continues.
> That is why we are here. That
>I why we had to go through their tests, to prove our worthiness, and
>that is why we were brought to this place."
Mike: And that is why I am randomly ranting.
> The crew looked around for a moment, not completely comfortable
Crow: As their underwear collectively rode up.
>with what they had heard. They did know, however, that they had no
>idea how to get out of wherever they were.
Tom: There's no place like home, there's NO PLACE like home!
> If they had to rely on
>these people, they would need to help the Watchers.
Mike: Or if they would assist Jenny Craig instead.
Crow: Am I allowed to ask who watches the Watchers?
Mike: No.
> "All right, then, lets go."
Mike: [Does the clapping from the Enterprise ads]
All: LET'S GO!
Tom: There's our blatant commercialism quota for this one.
> Thorn began to walk towards the sign that he had created,
Crow: "Men's"
> and one
>by one his crew began to fall in behind him.
Mike: Like crew through an hourglass, these are the days of our crap.
> The sign came upon them
>rapidly,
All: EWWWWWWWW!
> as all of their surroundings became redder,
Crow: Might want to have a doctor look at that.
> until all they
>could see was a shape of crimson.
Tom: And we can only pray this is Red Death.
> Then there it was. Destination.
Crow: So can we go?
Mike: Soon...soon.
> The sign hung in the air,
>glowing red. Thorn was again the first to arrive there, and looked
>straight up at his creation.
Tom: He's a bit TOO proud of this, isn't he.
> He allowed a door to be created from it,
>and turned the red brass handle.
Mike: Red brass? Must be L.A. Sax.
Crow: And you think anyone gets that reference?
> The door opened on its own, quite
>slowly yet smoothly.
> Once the door was opened Thorn stepped in,
Tom: Good thing he waited.
> and waited for his
>crew to follow.
Mike: Come crew, come'ere! Gooood crew!
> From outside the crew saw the door open, Thorn vanish
>as he walked through it, the door slam shut, then open again revealing
>Thorn once again on the other side.
Crow: Nothing suspicious THERE.
> The crew thought nothing of this
Tom: So they're IDIOTS?
Mike: Now now, they haven't thought much about anything.
> and all began to walk through
>the doorway that had been opened for them,
Crow: If the ethereal weird alternate reality is a-rockin'...
> and that now stayed open.
>Beyond the surroundings looked nothing different, and they simply
>stood around waiting for the rest to come through.
Mike: No one will be entered during the waiting scene.
> "All right, here we are, what now?"
Tom: Now, you die.
>Thorn stood silent, lifted one arm, stuck up a thumb, and shot it over
>his shoulder.
Crow: You do the Hokey Pokey, and you turn yourself around!
Mike: Will you PLEASE stop trying to explain gestures, "Duncan!"
> Everyone looked where he was pointing,
Tom: As Thorn wisely ran, getting himself the hell out of this
fic.
> and three
>hundred pairs of eyes went wide as saucers as what appeared to be a
>giant, flying dragon began to fly over the horizon and straight for
>them.
Crow: So it walked then?
> "Oh my..."
> "Oy mein..."
Tom: A very popular noodle dish among the Orthodox Chinese Jews I
understand.
> "What the..."
Mike: [Cosby] I'll bust...! Get outta my face!
> The crew stood transfixed, staring at the creature that was
>flying towards them.
Crow: Guys, what is this? I don't recognize it!
Mike: It's a plot point. Haven't seen one in a long time myself.
> Thorn reached into the ground, took a handful of
>the red stuff, poured it over his head,
Tom: And screamed as it ate his flesh.
> and it cemented into full body
>armor. One more gob of the stuff became a sword in his hand, which he
>sliced through the air a few times to test its weight.
Crow: Richard Thorn is Gringr in "Crap of Argon."
> "Perfect." Thorn smiled, and swung the sword in the air.
Mike: Slicing his own head off.
Tom: Damn, when Mike is morbid, you know it's been a painful trip.
> It
>elongated like taffy and snapped into the side of the creature's neck,
Crow: Ah good ole fashioned taffy pull!
>where it clanged like hitting rebar. "Well this is not good. This is
>not good at all."
Tom: We had that figured out about 20 chapters ago!
> Thorn gave a few more swiped, sending shudders through his body
>that the crew shuddered when they heard it.
Crow: Hell, I just shudder at the English.
> For their part they stood
>a distance, none quite sure what to do. A few of the security guards
>had tried phasers, which did little more than produce flower bouquets
>when the trigger was hit.
Mike: Just when this can't get worse, we cross to the wacky.
> They however knew what to do the instant
>the dragon barreled down on Thorn and swallowed him in one bite.
[Cheering erupts.]
Tom: Yeah, but really too little too late.
> "DIOS MIO, that bastard dragon killed the captain!"
Crow: The odd thing is that this piece was written before the premier
of South Park.
Mike: And how do you come by that knowledge.
Crow: I'd tell you, but it invloves a lot of mucking around the fourth
wall.
> The crew, as a whole, ran forward towards the dragon,
Tom: Is this Braveheart now?
> which had
>now landed, and was resting with a few slight wounds. Its long tongue
>was trying to clean the blood off of the wounds as the crew swarmed
>it.
Crow: Cat fight?
> The dragon slowly shrank away as it tried to fix its wounds.
Mike: [Wicked witch] I'm melting, MEEEEELTING!
> Its
>snout ceased to point, and its eyes began to grow in proportion with
>its shrinking face.
Tom: It's turning into a Gray!
> In fact every appearance around it began to look
>almost...
> ...human
> "Captain?"
Tom: Since when has Thorn looked almost human?
> Thorn lifted his body slowly, still cut and bruised from his
>alternate form that he had taken.
Crow: Wait wait wait. What the HELL is going on here?!?
Tom: That's it, I'm outta here! Isoceles!
[Tom flies out, cheering happily]
> "Hopefully that got the problem
>fixed,"
Mike: Round about way of clearing up the cable.
> he said weekly, then collapsed to the ground, which was fading
>from crimson to dirty red and back to gray again.
Crow: [Stoner] Fun trip while it lasted. Got anymore man?
> Then the halls of the Mercator began to fade into existence, and
>all found themselves where they had been before, except that sickbay
>had two new tenants.
> Richard Thorn.
> And Gerald Cunningham.
[Tom floats in crying]
Tom: [sobbing] Is it over yet?
Mike: Almost dear, almost.
>
>Chapter Twenty-Two
>
> Hurr walked into the Sickbay,
Crow: A bolian walks into a bar, and says "ouch!"
> looking for some information from
>the captain.
Mike: I'd sure love some.
> He found Thorn awake, and sitting on the edge of the
>medical bed, being scanned by one of the medical technicians.
Tom: Ah, Sally Struthers is still going strong!
> "Nurse..."
> "Torantis, sir."
Crow: But I hardly know her!
> "Nurse Torantis, how is the captain doing?"
Mike: Well, his tongue cramped up trying to figure out my name, but
otherwise...
> The nurse finished her scans quickly, then folded up the
>tricorder.
Tom: [Jon Stewart] She's naughty...
> "He's in perfect shape.
Crow: Tetrahedron.
> He was a little dehydrated, had
>low electrolyte levels, and a few minor cuts and bruises. All of
>this, however, was quite easily fixed."
Mike: By Gatorade. Is it in you?
> "Thank you, nurse, would you mind excusing us so I can talk with
>him?"
Crow: Wink wink, nudge nudge, know what I mean?
> "No problem, sir, I need to run some of this stuff into the
>official medical log anyway." The technician turned, and walked to
>the other side of the sickbay,
Tom: [Hurr] That's good, woman, we have men things to discuss!
> linking the tricorder she was carrying
>into the computer.
Crow: Wow, this went hard core in a hurry.
Mike: [sotto voco] Bots...
> "Alright, sir, I would really like to know what the hell happened
>in there."
Tom: [Hurr] Oops, sorry, I mean "bloody hell."
> Thorn stood up for a moment, testing his legs unnecessarily.
Mike: [Thorn] When was the Battle of Hastings fought?
>"Well, Hurr, I tried to explain it in...there. As best I can tell, I
>was taken in there to study, as was Mr. Cunningham over there."
Crow: Well, then his legs should have been ready for the test!
> Thorn
>motioned over to his friend, who was still lying unconscious, but
>healthy beyond that.
> "The...Watchers--that's what they call themselves,
Tom: Well, it really translates more closely to "voyeurs"
> the watchers--
>they were infected with something.
Mike: Boogie fever.
> That's the best I can describe it:
>an infection. We were basically the antibodies.
Crow: The crew of the USS Valtrex.
> They swallowed us
>like a pill, and we destroyed what was infecting their space by our
>mere presence.
Tom: Of course, they're humans, of course they were able to solve a
problem with their very presence. What is it with your species,
Mike?
Mike: I'm not proud.
> Our idle
Crow: Wrote delightfully humorous songs in his own British way.
> ...toying with their space, and with its
>capabilities caused us to have an effect on it, and already to help
>combat it."
Tom: Plus it aides in the author not having to write a plausible ending!
> Thorn was now walking out of sickbay, with Hurr listening to the
>story as they traveled.
Crow: And they walk off into the sunset...burning up painfully, the end.
> "So finally, the infection decided to...steal
>my form, in order to possibly gain the following of the crew.
Mike: Ah, this makes complete sense...
All: Huh?!
> What it
>did not anticipate was the strength of the mere presence of the crew,
>was weakened,
Crow: WHOO! TGIF!
> and I was able to easily dispatch of it. Bridge."
Tom: Suppose we could enter the fanfic and destroy it by our mere
presence?
Mike: Somehow, I think we have.
> The
>last bit was said as Hurr and Thorn walked into the open doors of the
>turbolift.
Crow: I woulda paid money to see them walk into the closed doors.
> "It's probably selfish of me to think of any reward, sir, but is
>there one?"
Mike: This entire damn solution is rather selfish.
Tom: Deus ex crappina.
> "A reward, Hurr. Yes, there is a reward, the greatest reward we
>could think of getting:
Crow: Seven of Nine to boost our ratings.
> knowledge. The knowledge that these creatures
>exist, and the knowledge that they are willing to interact with the
>physical, mortal coil that they left behind.
Tom: [Childish whine] Oh, that reward sucks. Can't we get cookies?
> Hurr, we have been
>rewarded with an ally greater than any we could hope for. In fact it
>all seems entirely too easy to me."
Mike: Like we're in a crappy piece of fiction!
>
> The original message had been simple. "Object verified and
>contact successful, heading in."
Crow: Nicholson got another one!
> The response was not so easy, however.
Tom: So to speak. But then we got the ExLax...
> Of course they had been prepared, and they knew what the response
>had to be. This element was all entirely too dangerous, and they had
>to nip it in the bud.
Crow: [Fife] Isn't that what I've been saying, Andy? Nip it in the BUD.
> With reluctance, the reply was sent.
>* * *
Tom: I'd go with one of our standard star jokes, but I've lost all
my will.
> "Captain Thorn, sir, good timing.
Mike: [Random person] Pull my finger.
> We are receiving a message
>from Starfleet Command. Level one encryption, but it is slated for
>the general crew."
Crow: Well since we have no army personal on board.
> "Seems a bit odd. Put it on screen, Mr. T'Pat."
Tom: Did T'Pat visit Switzerland?
> The slender Vulcan tactical officer tapped a few buttons on her
>console, and the Starfleet shield appeared onscreen.
> "Crew men and women of the Starship Mercator."
Mike: And you wahoos from the last 20 chapters.
> The image had
>changed over to Admiral Hansen of central command. "We have been
>monitoring the sector of space you are supposed to be stationed in,
>and are disappointed that we cannot find you there.
Crow: Then why do I hear a party in the background?
> We dispatched a
>five ship search team, and when they came up with negative results, we
>assumed you destroyed.
Tom: Starfleet is dreaming, but I approve.
> "If, in fact, this is not the case, please radio us your location
>so that we may pick you up, and bring you in.
Mike: Cause you need a good spanking!
Crow: Yes, Mike, thank you for that image.
> If we do not receive a
>response within twenty-four hours, we will upgrade you condition to
>MIA and presumed destroyed. Message repeats.
Tom: [Vogon] I've just had an unhappy love affair, and don't see why
Anybody else should have a good time.
> Crew men and women of
>the Star--"
> T'Pat shut the message off after receiving a slashing motion from
>Thorn across his throat.
Mike: [T'Pat] Sir, you dropped your knife.
> "Sensor sweeps, are there any signs of
>Starfleet activity in this sector minus ourselves?"
Crow: He's always worried the popular ships will have activities
without them.
> "No, sir."
> "Was that message a general broadcast to the fleet?"
Tom: Nope, just to the fleet's generals.
> "No, sir, I read that as a message directed to us and us alone.
Mike: It's always just about them, isn't it?
>It does not make sense, sir, why would they broadcast a message to our
>exact location saying they did not know where we are?"
Crow: But then, after the rest of this story, it seems to make a whole
lot of sense.
> Thorn sat down, as this was all sinking in. He knew the answer
>all too well.
Mike: The battle of hastings!
> "We've tread on feet. They don't like it. They don't
>want to take us in out of compassion, or out of concern.
Tom: Okay, now tell us WHO THE HELL IS "THEY"?!?
> They want to
>debrief us,
Crow: Well, really just Nicholson. Rrowr!
> and split us up, so that what we've found does not slip
>out."
Mike: Bad enough there's been a fanfiction about it.
> Hurr looked at the captain. "Sir, that means..."
> "Yes, Hurr, we are officially disavowed."
Tom: Thank you, Captain Phelps.
>
> The Watchers had been for centuries,
Crow: And even they experienced occasional irregularity.
> and they would be for
>centuries more.
Mike: Before the Y10K bug wipes them out
> They were beyond the need for the physical, and for
>the uncomfortable realm that the physical beings referred to as
>"reality."
Tom: Yeah, I think this author finds reality very uncomfortable.
> They had been there all along; they had helped life so as to
>watch its development.
Crow: Then put it on the internet for the world to see.
> It had set outposts were they were not to be
>found, usually on the outermost reaches of what was being observed.
Mike: We've found the King James version of the fanfic.
> When their lookout post in the system that called itself Sol had
>been discovered, they knew they were dealing with a species that was
>different from the others.
Tom: More egotistical than the others.
> They were intrigued, and happy for the
>first time since they had sloughed off the mortal coil for the
>immortality of the stars.
> When the species visited them, they were happier still, but their
>further watching of the species caused them dismay.
Crow: For the species began to write fanfictions, an offense punishable
only by death.
> For they who had
>visited them were cut off from the rest, and those that had discovered
>them had isolated themselves.
Mike: And buried under a lethal amount of pronouns.
> Surely more observation was needed.
> Test subjects: Passed. Phase two begins.
Crow: Phase t-t-t-two??
Tom: That means?
All: A SEQUEL?!?! NOOOOOOOOOOO!
Mike: Let's get out of here before it's too late!
[Mike picks up Tom, and the trio books from the theater as fast as they
can.]
[1... 2... 3... 4... 5... 6... ...]
[SOL Bridge. Mike and Crow are there talking in a hushed, worried tone.]
Crow: Yes, we must, we must stop the sequel! For if Pearl would find it
it would mean certain...
[Tom interrupts the sentence by hovering in quickly wearing a huge
moustache,
and a leather shirt.]
Crow: ...death...what the hell?
Tom: Hit it, Cambot!
Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii'm WARPing awaaaaaaaaaaaay...
Set an open course, through the galaxy.
Cause Iiiiiiiiiiiiiii've
Mike: Stop this Tom.
Tom: Got to be freeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee...
Mike: Cambot, stop the music. Tom, what the hell are you doing?
Tom: It's a song parody, we've always done song parodies.
Mike: Yeah, but we've already done it two times this fanfiction.
Crow: We need something else then...
[They think for a few moments.]
Mike: I know! [Mike hits one of the buttons, causing a six foot tall
red-head to appear on the bridge.]
Guy: Hi! I'm Duncan MacBeth!
Crow: Yes, we'd like to talk to you about your use of clichés, and
the creation of random elements that didn't come up again later
in the story. For example, early on you have a tricorder self-
destruct, a fact that seems important, but is not revisited.
Guy: Well...
Tom: No, no, no. Don't you see, contacting the author has been done
also. Get the hell out of here!
Guy: But we're in space...
Tom: Oh, just use that escape pod.
[Duncan gets into a pod and jettisons. Mike looks stunned.]
Tom: Don't you see what this means?
Mike: [Mumbling] We had an escape pod...?
Crow: I think I do. The fanfiction with all of it's clichés has caused
us to be able to act in nothing but clichés. Bite me!
Mike: [Mumbling] They gave him my escape pod?
[The light begins to flash.]
Crow: Oh good, saved by the mads. Mike, do you mind?
Mike: [Snapping out of it] Tom, remind me to kill you later. [Taps the
light.]
[Castle Forester. The Easy Clone Oven timer is counting down very
quickly. The trio can do nothing but stare at it with barely
contained excitement. Pearl turn to look at Mike, beaming.]
Pearl: It's almost time! My plan will soon come to fruition!
[*BING*]
Pearl: [As giddy as a school girl] It's done, it's done!! Brain
Guy, let my clone out.
[Observer opens the door, looks shocked for a moment.]
Obs.: Lawgiver, are you sure that--
Pearl: OPEN THE OVEN!
[Observer swings the door open to reveal Beez wearing severe eyeshadow
and lipstick, and generally dressed like Pearl.]
Bob: We appear to have created a perfect 1/8 likeness of you, Pearl!
Pearl: Oh, I'll call her...Minime!
[SOL]
Crow: Oh no, the clichés are spreading!
All: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
[The screen fades to black, and the blood curdling yell somehow continues
through the closing credits.]
----
There it is, finally finished. All 22 chapters.
All situations and characters used in this work are copyright Best Brains
Incorporated. They are used here as a tribute, and not as a breach. BBI,
you have my deepest adoration on your 10 successful years on television.
Characters are used without permission, but with no monetary gain taken.
This MiSTing was written with the permission of the author, and all
characters
within are the creation and possession of him alone. Don't rub it in too
hard, I don't want them any more than you would! I can't remember what
originally inspired me to write this drivel, but I'm sure that controlled
substances were involved in some way.
[The trio gasp in unison, then resume yelling.]
Any criticism and commentary would be very much appreciated, and can
be directed to thur...@wfu.edu
All clichés presented in this piece were done solely for commentary
about the clichés in the work presented, and are in no way criticism
of whomever started each separate one, be it BBI themselves, or various
other MiSTing authors. I only included the clichés that I personally
find funny, so please don't be too upset!
Thank you for reading all of this, I realize it was long...just imagine
how long it took to do all of this. Don't forget to place your vote now
if you are reading this on WS#9.
All: ...OOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo...[trail off]
----
*Twaing!*
>Then the two men looked at each other, and gasped with a single voice:
> "Ytterbic radiation!"